Chapter 1 Christie
 　　"AUNT BETSEY, there's going to be a new Declaration ofIndependence.""Bless and save us, what do you mean, child?" And the startled oldlady precipitated a pie into the oven with destructive haste.
 
　　"I mean that, being of age, I'm going to take care of myself, andnot be a burden any longer. Uncle wishes me out of the way; thinks Iought to go, and, sooner or later, will tell me so. I don't intendto wait for that, but, like the people in fairy tales, travel awayinto the world and seek my fortune. I know I can find it."Christie emphasized her speech by energetic demonstrations in thebread-trough, kneading the dough as if it was her destiny, and shewas shaping it to suit herself; while Aunt Betsey stood listening,with uplifted pie-fork, and as much astonishment as her placid facewas capable of expressing. As the girl paused, with a decided thump,the old lady exclaimed:
 
　　"What crazy idee you got into your head now?""A very sane and sensible one that's got to be worked out, so pleaselisten to it, ma'am. I've had it a good while, I've thought it overthoroughly, and I'm sure it's the right thing for me to do. I'm oldenough to take care of myself; and if I'd been a boy, I should havebeen told to do it long ago. I hate to be dependent; and now there'sno need of it, I can't bear it any longer. If you were poor, Iwouldn't leave you; for I never forget how kind you have been to me.
 
　　But Uncle doesn't love or understand me; I am a burden to him, and Imust go where I can take care of myself. I can't be happy till I do,for there's nothing here for me. I'm sick of this dull town, wherethe one idea is eat, drink, and get rich; I don't find any friendsto help me as I want to be helped, or any work that I can do well;so let me go, Aunty, and find my place, wherever it is.""But I do need you, deary; and you mustn't think Uncle don't likeyou. He does, only he don't show it; and when your odd ways frethim, he ain't pleasant, I know. I don't see why you can't becontented; I've lived here all my days, and never found the placelonesome, or the folks unneighborly." And Aunt Betsey lookedperplexed by the new idea.
 
　　"You and I are very different, ma'am. There was more yeast put intomy composition, I guess; and, after standing quiet in a warm cornerso long, I begin to ferment, and ought to be kneaded up in time, sothat I may turn out a wholesome loaf. You can't do this; so let mego where it can be done, else I shall turn sour and good fornothing. Does that make the matter any clearer?" And Christie'sserious face relaxed into a smile as her aunt's eye went from her tothe nicely moulded loaf offered as an illustration.
 
　　"I see what you mean, Kitty; but I never thought on't before. You bebetter riz than me; though, let me tell you, too much emptins makesbread poor stuff, like baker's trash; and too much workin' up makesit hard and dry. Now fly 'round, for the big oven is most het, andthis cake takes a sight of time in the mixin'.""You haven't said I might go, Aunty," began the girl, after a longpause devoted by the old lady to the preparation of some compoundwhich seemed to require great nicety of measurement in itsingredients; for when she replied, Aunt Betsey curiously interlardedher speech with audible directions to herself from the receipt-bookbefore her.
 
　　AUNT BETSEY'S INTERLARDED SPEECH.
 
　　"I ain't no right to keep you, dear, ef you choose to take (a pinchof salt). I'm sorry you ain't happy, and think you might be ef you'donly (beat six eggs, yolks and whites together). But ef you can't,and feel that you need (two cups of sugar), only speak to Uncle, andef he says (a squeeze of fresh lemon), go, my dear, and take myblessin' with you (not forgettin' to cover with a piece of paper)."Christie's laugh echoed through the kitchen; and the old lady smiledbenignly, quite unconscious of the cause of the girl's merriment.
 
　　"I shall ask Uncle to-night, and I know he won't object. Then Ishall write to see if Mrs. Flint has a room for me, where I can staytill I get something to do. There is plenty of work in the world,and I'm not afraid of it; so you'll soon hear good news of me.
 
　　Don't look sad, for you know I never could forget you, even if Ishould become the greatest lady in the land." And Christie left theprints of two floury but affectionate hands on the old lady'sshoulders, as she kissed the wrinkled face that had never worn afrown to her.
 
　　Full of hopeful fancies, Christie salted the pans and buttered thedough in pleasant forgetfulness of all mundane affairs, and theludicrous dismay of Aunt Betsey, who followed her about rectifyingher mistakes, and watching over her as if this sudden absence ofmind had roused suspicions of her sanity.
 
　　"Uncle, I want to go away, and get my own living, if you please,"was Christie's abrupt beginning, as they sat round the evening fire.
 
　　"Hey! what's that?" said Uncle Enos, rousing from the doze he wasenjoying, with a candle in perilous proximity to his newspaper andhis nose.
 
　　Christie repeated her request, and was much relieved, when, after ameditative stare, the old man briefly answered:
 
　　"Wal, go ahead.""I was afraid you might think it rash or silly, sir.""I think it's the best thing you could do; and I like your goodsense in pupposin' on't.""Then I may really go?""Soon's ever you like. Don't pester me about it till you're ready;then I'll give you a little suthing to start off with." And UncleEnos returned to "The Farmer's Friend," as if cattle were moreinteresting than kindred.
 
　　Christie was accustomed to his curt speech and careless manner; hadexpected nothing more cordial; and, turning to her aunt, said,rather bitterly:
 
　　"Didn't I tell you he'd be glad to have me go? No matter! When I'vedone something to be proud of, he will be as glad to see me backagain." Then her voice changed, her eyes kindled, and the firm lipssoftened with a smile. "Yes, I'll try my experiment; then I'll getrich; found a home for girls like myself; or, better still, be aMrs. Fry, a Florence Nightingale, or"--"How are you on't for stockin's, dear?"Christie's castles in the air vanished at the prosaic question; but,after a blank look, she answered pleasantly:
 
　　"Thank you for bringing me down to my feet again, when I was soaringaway too far and too fast. I'm poorly off, ma'am; but if you areknitting these for me, I shall certainly start on a firmfoundation." And, leaning on Aunt Betsey's knee, she patientlydiscussed the wardrobe question from hose to head-gear.
 
　　"Don't you think you could be contented any way, Christie, ef I makethe work lighter, and leave you more time for your books andthings?" asked the old lady, loth to lose the one youthful elementin her quiet life.
 
　　"No, ma'am, for I can't find what I want here," was the decidedanswer.
 
　　"What do you want, child?""Look in the fire, and I'll try to show you."The old lady obediently turned her spectacles that way; and Christiesaid in a tone half serious, half playful:
 
　　"Do you see those two logs? Well that one smouldering dismally awayin the corner is what my life is now; the other blazing and singingis what I want my life to be.""Bless me, what an idee! They are both a-burnin' where they are put,and both will be ashes to-morrow; so what difference doos it make?"Christie smiled at the literal old lady; but, following the fancythat pleased her, she added earnestly:
 
　　"I know the end is the same; but it does make a difference how theyturn to ashes, and how I spend my life. That log, with its one dullspot of fire, gives neither light nor warmth, but lies sizzlingdespondently among the cinders. But the other glows from end to endwith cheerful little flames that go singing up the chimney with apleasant sound. Its light fills the room and shines out into thedark; its warmth draws us nearer, making the hearth the cosiestplace in the house, and we shall all miss the friendly blaze when itdies. Yes," she added, as if to herself, "I hope my life may be likethat, so that, whether it be long or short, it will be useful andcheerful while it lasts, will be missed when it ends, and leavesomething behind besides ashes."Though she only half understood them, the girl's words touched thekind old lady, and made her look anxiously at the eager young facegazing so wistfully into the fire.
 
　　"A good smart blowin' up with the belluses would make the greenstick burn most as well as the dry one after a spell. I guesscontentedness is the best bellus for young folks, ef they would onlythink so.""I dare say you are right, Aunty; but I want to try for myself; andif I fail, I'll come back and follow your advice. Young folks alwayshave discontented fits, you know. Didn't you when you were a girl?""Shouldn't wonder ef I did; but Enos came along, and I forgot 'em.""My Enos has not come along yet, and never may; so I'm not going tosit and wait for any man to give me independence, if I can earn itfor myself." And a quick glance at the gruff, gray old man in thecorner plainly betrayed that, in Christie's opinion, Aunt Betseymade a bad bargain when she exchanged her girlish aspirations for aman whose soul was in his pocket.
 
　　"Jest like her mother, full of hifalutin notions, discontented, andsot in her own idees. Poor capital to start a fortin' on."Christie's eye met that of her uncle peering over the top of hispaper with an expression that always tried her patience. Now it waslike a dash of cold water on her enthusiasm, and her face fell asshe asked quickly:
 
　　"How do you mean, sir?""I mean that you are startin' all wrong; your redic'lus notionsabout independence and self-cultur won't come to nothin' in the longrun, and you'll make as bad a failure of your life as your motherdid of her'n.""Please, don't say that to me; I can't bear it, for I shall neverthink her life a failure, because she tried to help herself, andmarried a good man in spite of poverty, when she loved him! You callthat folly; but I'll do the same if I can; and I'd rather have whatmy father and mother left me, than all the money you are piling up,just for the pleasure of being richer than your neighbors.""Never mind, dear, he don't mean no harm!" whispered Aunt Betsey,fearing a storm.
 
　　But though Christie's eyes had kindled and her color deepened, hervoice was low and steady, and her indignation was of the inwardsort.
 
　　"Uncle likes to try me by saying such things, and this is one reasonwhy I want to go away before I get sharp and bitter and distrustfulas he is. I don't suppose I can make you understand my feeling, butI'd like to try, and then I'll never speak of it again;" and,carefully controlling voice and face, Christie slowly added, with alook that would have been pathetically eloquent to one who couldhave understood the instincts of a strong nature for light andfreedom: "You say I am discontented, proud and ambitious; that'strue, and I'm glad of it. I am discontented, because I can't helpfeeling that there is a better sort of life than this dull one madeup of everlasting work, with no object but money. I can't starve mysoul for the sake of my body, and I mean to get out of the treadmillif I can. I'm proud, as you call it, because I hate dependence wherethere isn't any love to make it bearable. You don't say so in words,but I know you begrudge me a home, though you will call meungrateful when I'm gone. I'm willing to work, but I want work thatI can put my heart into, and feel that it does me good, no matterhow hard it is. I only ask for a chance to be a useful, happy woman,and I don't think that is a bad ambition. Even if I only do what mydear mother did, earn my living honestly and happily, and leave abeautiful example behind me, to help one other woman as hers helpsme, I shall be satisfied."Christie's voice faltered over the last words, for the thoughts andfeelings which had been working within her during the last few dayshad stirred her deeply, and the resolution to cut loose from the oldlife had not been lightly made. Mr. Devon had listened behind hispaper to this unusual outpouring with a sense of discomfort whichwas new to him. But though the words reproached and annoyed, theydid not soften him, and when Christie paused with tearful eyes, heruncle rose, saying, slowly, as he lighted his candle:
 
　　"Ef I'd refused to let you go before, I'd agree to it now; for youneed breakin' in, my girl, and you are goin' where you'll get it, sothe sooner you're off the better for all on us. Come, Betsey, we mayas wal leave, for we can't understand the wants of her higher nater,as Christie calls it, and we've had lecterin' enough for one night."And with a grim laugh the old man quitted the field, worsted but ingood order.
 
　　"There, there, dear, hev a good cry, and forgit all about it!"purred Aunt Betsey, as the heavy footsteps creaked away, for thegood soul had a most old-fashioned and dutiful awe of her lord andmaster.
 
　　"I shan't cry but act; for it is high time I was off. I've stayedfor your sake; now I'm more trouble than comfort, and away I go.
 
　　Good-night, my dear old Aunty, and don't look troubled, for I'll bea lamb while I stay."Having kissed the old lady, Christie swept her work away, and satdown to write the letter which was the first step toward freedom.
 
　　When it was done, she drew nearer, to her friendly confidante thefire, and till late into the night sat thinking tenderly of thepast, bravely of the present, hopefully of the future. Twenty-oneto-morrow, and her inheritance a head, a heart, a pair of hands;also the dower of most New England girls, intelligence, courage, andcommon sense, many practical gifts, and, hidden under the reservethat soon melts in a genial atmosphere, much romance and enthusiasm,and the spirit which can rise to heroism when the great momentcomes.
 
　　Christie was one of that large class of women who, moderatelyendowed with talents, earnest and true-hearted, are driven bynecessity, temperament, or principle out into the world to findsupport, happiness, and homes for themselves. Many turn backdiscouraged; more accept shadow for substance, and discover theirmistake too late; the weakest lose their purpose and themselves; butthe strongest struggle on, and, after danger and defeat, earn atlast the best success this world can give us, the possession of abrave and cheerful spirit, rich in self-knowledge, self-control,self-help. This was the real desire of Christie's heart; this was tobe her lesson and reward, and to this happy end she was slowly yetsurely brought by the long discipline of life and labor.
 
　　Sitting alone there in the night, she tried to strengthen herselfwith all the good and helpful memories she could recall, before shewent away to find her place in the great unknown world. She thoughtof her mother, so like herself, who had borne the commonplace lifeof home till she could bear it no longer. Then had gone away toteach, as most country girls are forced to do. Had met, loved, andmarried a poor gentleman, and, after a few years of genuinehappiness, untroubled even by much care and poverty, had followedhim out of the world, leaving her little child to the protection ofher brother.
 
　　Christie looked back over the long, lonely years she had spent inthe old farm-house, plodding to school and church, and doing hertasks with kind Aunt Betsey while a child; and slowly growing intogirlhood, with a world of romance locked up in a heart hungry forlove and a larger, nobler life.
 
　　She had tried to appease this hunger in many ways, but found littlehelp. Her father's old books were all she could command, and theseshe wore out with much reading. Inheriting his refined tastes, shefound nothing to attract her in the society of the commonplace andoften coarse people about her. She tried to like the buxom girlswhose one ambition was to "get married," and whose only subjects ofconversation were "smart bonnets" and "nice dresses." She tried tobelieve that the admiration and regard of the bluff young farmerswas worth striving for; but when one well-to-do neighbor laid hisacres at her feet, she found it impossible to accept for her life'scompanion a man whose soul was wrapped up in prize cattle and bigturnips.
 
　　Uncle Enos never could forgive her for this piece of folly, andChristie plainly saw that one of three things would surely happen,if she lived on there with no vent for her full heart and busy mind.
 
　　She would either marry Joe Butterfield in sheer desperation, andbecome a farmer's household drudge; settle down into a sourspinster, content to make butter, gossip, and lay up money all herdays; or do what poor Matty Stone had done, try to crush and curbher needs and aspirations till the struggle grew too hard, and thenin a fit of despair end her life, and leave a tragic story to haunttheir quiet river.
 
　　To escape these fates but one way appeared; to break loose from thisnarrow life, go out into the world and see what she could do forherself. This idea was full of enchantment to the eager girl, and,after much earnest thought, she had resolved to try it.
 
　　"If I fail, I can come back," she said to herself, even while shescorned the thought of failure, for with all her shy pride she wasboth brave and ardent, and her dreams were of the rosiest sort.
 
　　"I won't marry Joe; I won't wear myself out in a district-school forthe mean sum they give a woman; I won't delve away here where I'mnot wanted; and I won't end my life like a coward, because it isdull and hard. I'll try my fate as mother did, and perhaps I maysucceed as well." And Christie's thoughts went wandering away intothe dim, sweet past when she, a happy child, lived with lovingparents in a different world from that.
 
　　Lost in these tender memories, she sat till the old moon-faced clockbehind the door struck twelve, then the visions vanished, leavingtheir benison behind them.
 
　　As she glanced backward at the smouldering fire, a slender spire offlame shot up from the log that had blazed so cheerily, and shoneupon her as she went. A good omen, gratefully accepted then, andremembered often in the years to come.
Chapter 2 Servant
 A FORTNIGHT later, and Christie was off. Mrs. Flint had brieflyanswered that she had a room, and that work was always to be foundin the city. So the girl packed her one trunk, folding away splendidhopes among her plain gowns, and filling every corner with happyfancies, utterly impossible plans, and tender little dreams, solovely at the time, so pathetic to remember, when contact with thehard realities of life has collapsed our bright bubbles, and thefrost of disappointment nipped all our morning glories in theirprime. The old red stage stopped at Enos Devon's door, and his niececrossed the threshold after a cool handshake with the master of thehouse, and a close embrace with the mistress, who stood pouring outlast words with spectacles too dim for seeing. Fat Ben swung up thetrunk, slammed the door, mounted his perch, and the ancient vehicleswayed with premonitory symptoms of departure.
 
　　Then something smote Christie's heart. "Stop!" she cried, andspringing out ran back into the dismal room where the old man sat.
 
　　Straight up to him she went with outstretched hand, saying steadily,though her face was full of feeling:
 
　　"Uncle, I'm not satisfied with that good-bye. I don't mean to besentimental, but I do want to say, 'Forgive me!' I see now that Imight have made you sorry to part with me, if I had tried to makeyou love me more. It's too late now, but I'm not too proud toconfess when I'm wrong. I want to part kindly; I ask your pardon; Ithank you for all you've done for me, and I say good-byeaffectionately now."Mr. Devon had a heart somewhere, though it seldom troubled him; butit did make itself felt when the girl looked at him with his deadsister's eyes, and spoke in a tone whose unaccustomed tenderness wasa reproach.
 
　　Conscience had pricked him more than once that week, and he was gladto own it now; his rough sense of honor was touched by her frankexpression, and, as he answered, his hand was offered readily.
 
　　"I like that, Kitty, and think the better of you for't. Let bygonesbe bygones. I gen'lly got as good as I give, and I guess I deservedsome on't. I wish you wal, my girl, I heartily wish you wal, andhope you won't forgit that the old house ain't never shet aginstyou."Christie astonished him with a cordial kiss; then bestowing anotherwarm hug on Aunt Niobe, as she called the old lady in a tearfuljoke, she ran into the carriage, taking with her all the sunshine ofthe place.
 
　　Christie found Mrs. Flint a dreary woman, with "boarders" writtenall over her sour face and faded figure. Butcher's bills and houserent seemed to fill her eyes with sleepless anxiety; thriftlesscooks and saucy housemaids to sharpen the tones of her shrill voice;and an incapable husband to burden her shoulders like a modern "Oldman of the sea."A little room far up in the tall house was at the girl's disposalfor a reasonable sum, and she took possession, feeling very richwith the hundred dollars Uncle Enos gave her, and delightfullyindependent, with no milk-pans to scald; no heavy lover to elude; nohumdrum district school to imprison her day after day.
 
　　For a week she enjoyed her liberty heartily, then set about findingsomething to do. Her wish was to be a governess, that being theusual refuge for respectable girls who have a living to get. ButChristie soon found her want of accomplishments a barrier to successin that line, for the mammas thought less of the solid than of theornamental branches, and wished their little darlings to learnFrench before English, music before grammar, and drawing beforewriting.
 
　　So, after several disappointments, Christie decided that hereducation was too old-fashioned for the city, and gave up the ideaof teaching. Sewing she resolved not to try till every thing elsefailed; and, after a few more attempts to get writing to do, shesaid to herself, in a fit of humility and good sense: "I'll begin atthe beginning, and work my way up. I'll put my pride in my pocket,and go out to service. Housework I like, and can do well, thanks toAunt Betsey. I never thought it degradation to do it for her, so whyshould I mind doing it for others if they pay for it? It isn't whatI want, but it's better than idleness, so I'll try it!"Full of this wise resolution, she took to haunting that purgatory ofthe poor, an intelligence office. Mrs. Flint gave her arecommendation, and she hopefully took her place among the ranks ofbuxom German, incapable Irish, and "smart" American women; for inthose days foreign help had not driven farmers' daughters out of thefield, and made domestic comfort a lost art.
 
　　At first Christie enjoyed the novelty of the thing, and watched withinterest the anxious housewives who flocked in demanding that raraavis, an angel at nine shillings a week; and not finding it,bewailed the degeneracy of the times. Being too honest to professherself absolutely perfect in every known branch of house-work, itwas some time before she suited herself. Meanwhile, she wasquestioned and lectured, half engaged and kept waiting, dismissedfor a whim, and so worried that she began to regard herself as theincarnation of all human vanities and shortcomings.
 
　　"A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at last offeredher, and she posted away to secure it, having reached a state ofdesperation and resolved to go as a first-class cook rather than sitwith her hands before her any longer.
 
　　A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties seemed thingsto be grateful for, and Christie decided that going out to servicewas not the hardest fate in life, as she stood at the door of ahandsome house in a sunny square waiting to be inspected.
 
　　Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected the artistic,and the new applicant found her with a Roman scarf about her head, arosary like a string of small cannon balls at her side, and azuredraperies which became her as well as they did the sea-greenfurniture of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers tripped overcoral and shells, grew sea-sick looking at pictures of tempestuousbillows engulfing every sort of craft, from a man-of-war to ahencoop with a ghostly young lady clinging to it with one hand, andhad their appetites effectually taken away by a choice collection ofwater-bugs and snakes in a glass globe, that looked like a jar ofmixed pickles in a state of agitation.
 
　　MRS. STUART.
 
　　Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's "Rain, Wind, andHail," that pleasing work which was sold upsidedown and no one foundit out. Motioning Christie to a seat she finished some delicatesloppy process before speaking. In that little pause Christieexamined her, and the impression then received was afterwardconfirmed.
 
　　Mrs. Stuart possessed some beauty and chose to think herself a queenof society. She assumed majestic manners in public and could notentirely divest herself of them in private, which often producedcomic effects. Zenobia troubled about fish-sauce, or Aspasiaindignant at the price of eggs will give some idea of this lady whenshe condescended to the cares of housekeeping.
 
　　Presently she looked up and inspected the girl as if a new servantwere no more than a new bonnet, a necessary article to be orderedhome for examination. Christie presented her recommendation, madeher modest little speech, and awaited her doom.
 
　　Mrs. Stuart read, listened, and then demanded with queenly brevity:
 
　　"Your name?""Christie Devon.""Too long; I should prefer to call you Jane as I am accustomed tothe name.""As you please, ma'am.""Your age?""Twenty-one.""You are an American?""Yes, ma'am."Mrs. Stuart gazed into space a moment, then delivered the followingaddress with impressive solemnity:
 
　　"I wish a capable, intelligent, honest, neat, well-conducted personwho knows her place and keeps it. The work is light, as there arebut two in the family. I am very particular and so is Mr. Stuart. Ipay two dollars and a half, allow one afternoon out, one service onSunday, and no followers. My table-girl must understand her dutiesthoroughly, be extremely neat, and always wear white aprons.""I think I can suit you, ma'am, when I have learned the ways of thehouse," meekly replied Christie.
 
　　Mrs. Stuart looked graciously satisfied and returned the paper witha gesture that Victoria might have used in restoring a grantedpetition, though her next words rather marred the effect of theregal act, "My cook is black.""I have no objection to color, ma'am."An expression of relief dawned upon Mrs. Stuart's countenance, forthe black cook had been an insurmountable obstacle to all the Irishladies who had applied. Thoughtfully tapping her Roman nose with thehandle of her brush Madame took another survey of the new applicant,and seeing that she looked neat, intelligent, and respectful, gave asigh of thankfulness and engaged her on the spot.
 
　　Much elated Christie rushed home, selected a bag of necessaryarticles, bundled the rest of her possessions into an empty closet(lent her rent-free owing to a profusion of cockroaches), paid upher board, and at two o'clock introduced herself to Hepsey Johnson,her fellow servant.
 
　　Hepsey was a tall, gaunt woman, bearing the tragedy of her racewritten in her face, with its melancholy eyes, subdued expression,and the pathetic patience of a wronged dumb animal. She receivedChristie with an air of resignation, and speedily bewildered herwith an account of the duties she would be expected to perform.
 
　　A long and careful drill enabled Christie to set the table with butfew mistakes, and to retain a tolerably clear recollection of theorder of performances. She had just assumed her badge of servitude,as she called the white apron, when the bell rang violently andHepsey, who was hurrying away to "dish up," said:
 
　　"It's de marster. You has to answer de bell, honey, and he likes itdone bery spry."Christie ran and admitted an impetuous, stout gentleman, whoappeared to be incensed against the elements, for he burst in as ifblown, shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and said all in onebreath:
 
　　"You're the new girl, are you? Well, take my umbrella and pull offmy rubbers.""Sir?"Mr. Stuart was struggling with his gloves, and, quite unconscious ofthe astonishment of his new maid, impatiently repeated his request.
 
　　"Take this wet thing away, and pull off my overshoes. Don't you seeit's raining like the very deuce!"Christie folded her lips together in a peculiar manner as she kneltdown and removed a pair of muddy overshoes, took the drippingumbrella, and was walking away with her agreeable burden when Mr.
 
　　Stuart gave her another shock by calling over the banister:
 
　　"I'm going out again; so clean those rubbers, and see that the bootsI sent down this morning are in order.""Yes, sir," answered Christie meekly, and immediately afterwardstartled Hepsey by casting overshoes and umbrella upon the kitchenfloor, and indignantly demanding:
 
　　"Am I expected to be a boot-jack to that man?""I 'spects you is, honey.""Am I also expected to clean his boots?""Yes, chile. Katy did, and de work ain't hard when you gits used toit.""It isn't the work; it's the degradation; and I won't submit to it."Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey shook her head,saying quietly as she went on garnishing a dish:
 
　　"Dere's more 'gradin' works dan dat, chile, and dem dat's bin'bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy. You's paid for it, honey;and if you does it willin, it won't hurt you more dan washin' demarster's dishes, or sweepin' his rooms.""There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing. Do you think it'sright to ask it of me?" cried Christie, feeling that being servantwas not as pleasant a task as she had thought it.
 
　　"Dunno, chile. I'se shore I'd never ask it of any woman if I was aman, 'less I was sick or ole. But folks don't seem to 'member datwe've got feelin's, and de best way is not to mind dese ere littletrubbles. You jes leave de boots to me; blackin' can't do dese olehands no hurt, and dis ain't no deggydation to me now; I's a freewoman.""Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave?" asked the girl, forgetting herown small injury at this suggestion of the greatest of all wrongs.
 
　　"All my life, till I run away five year ago. My ole folks, and eightbrudders and sisters, is down dere in de pit now; waitin' for theLord to set 'em free. And He's gwine to do it soon, soon!" As sheuttered the last words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow fromHepsey's face, and the solemn fervor of her voice thrilledChristie's heart. All her anger died out in a great pity, and sheput her hand on the woman's shoulder, saying earnestly:
 
　　"I hope so; and I wish I could help to bring that happy day atonce!"For the first time Hepsey smiled, as she said gratefully, "De Lordbress you for dat wish, chile." Then, dropping suddenly into herold, quiet way, she added, turning to her work:
 
　　"Now you tote up de dinner, and I'll be handy by to 'fresh your mind'bout how de dishes goes, for missis is bery 'ticular, and don'tlike no 'stakes in tendin'."Thanks to her own neat-handed ways and Hepsey's prompting throughthe slide, Christie got on very well; managed her salverdexterously, only upset one glass, clashed one dish-cover, andforgot to sugar the pie before putting it on the table; an omissionwhich was majestically pointed out, and graciously pardoned as afirst offence.
 
　　By seven o'clock the ceremonial was fairly over, and Christiedropped into a chair quite tired out with frequent pacings to andfro. In the kitchen she found the table spread for one, and Hepseybusy with the boots.
 
　　"Aren't you coming to your dinner, Mrs. Johnson?" she asked, notpleased at the arrangement.
 
　　"When you's done, honey; dere's no hurry 'bout me. Katy liked datway best, and I'se used ter waitin'.""But I don't like that way, and I won't have it. I suppose Katythought her white skin gave her a right to be disrespectful to awoman old enough to be her mother just because she was black. Idon't; and while I'm here, there must be no difference made. If wecan work together, we can eat together; and because you have been aslave is all the more reason I should be good to you now."If Hepsey had been surprised by the new girl's protest against beingmade a boot-jack of, she was still more surprised at this suddenkindness, for she had set Christie down in her own mind as "one obdem toppin' smart ones dat don't stay long nowheres." She changedher opinion now, and sat watching the girl with a new expression onher face, as Christie took boot and brush from her, and fell to workenergetically, saying as she scrubbed:
 
　　"I'm ashamed of complaining about such a little thing as this, anddon't mean to feel degraded by it, though I should by letting you doit for me. I never lived out before: that's the reason I made afuss. There's a polish, for you, and I'm in a good humor again; soMr. Stuart may call for his boots whenever he likes, and we'll go todinner like fashionable people, as we are."There was something so irresistible in the girl's hearty manner,that Hepsey submitted at once with a visible satisfaction, whichgave a relish to Christie's dinner, though it was eaten at a kitchentable, with a bare-armed cook sitting opposite, and three rows ofburnished dish-covers reflecting the dreadful spectacle.
 
　　After this, Christie got on excellently, for she did her best, andfound both pleasure and profit in her new employment. It gave herreal satisfaction to keep the handsome rooms in order, to polishplate, and spread bountiful meals. There was an atmosphere of easeand comfort about her which contrasted agreeably with the shabbinessof Mrs. Flint's boarding-house, and the bare simplicity of the oldhome. Like most young people, Christie loved luxury, and wassensible enough to see and value the comforts of her situation, andto wonder why more girls placed as she was did not choose a lifelike this rather than the confinements of a sewing-room, or thefatigue and publicity of a shop.
 
　　She did not learn to love her mistress, because Mrs. Stuartevidently considered herself as one belonging to a superior race ofbeings, and had no desire to establish any of the friendly relationsthat may become so helpful and pleasant to both mistress and maid.
 
　　She made a royal progress through her dominions every morning,issued orders, found fault liberally, bestowed praise sparingly, andtook no more personal interest in her servants than if they wereclocks, to be wound up once a day, and sent away the moment they gotout of repair.
 
　　Mr. Stuart was absent from morning till night, and all Christie everknew about him was that he was a kind-hearted, hot-tempered, andvery conceited man; fond of his wife, proud of the society theymanaged to draw about them, and bent on making his way in the worldat any cost.
 
　　If masters and mistresses knew how skilfully they are studied,criticised, and imitated by their servants, they would take moreheed to their ways, and set better examples, perhaps. Mrs. Stuartnever dreamed that her quiet, respectful Jane kept a sharp eye onall her movements, smiled covertly at her affectations, envied heraccomplishments, and practised certain little elegancies that struckher fancy.
 
　　Mr. Stuart would have become apoplectic with indignation if he hadknown that this too intelligent table-girl often contrasted hermaster with his guests, and dared to think him wanting in goodbreeding when he boasted of his money, flattered a great man, orlaid plans to lure some lion into his house. When he lost histemper, she always wanted to laugh, he bounced and bumbled about solike an angry blue-bottle fly; and when he got himself upelaborately for a party, this disrespectful hussy confided to Hepseyher opinion that "master was a fat dandy, with nothing to be vain ofbut his clothes,"--a sacrilegious remark which would have caused herto be summarily ejected from the house if it had reached the augustears of master or mistress.
 
　　"My father was a gentleman; and I shall never forget it, though I dogo out to service. I've got no rich friends to help me up, but,sooner or later, I mean to find a place among cultivated people; andwhile I'm working and waiting, I can be fitting myself to fill thatplace like a gentlewoman, as I am."With this ambition in her mind, Christie took notes of all that wenton in the polite world, of which she got frequent glimpses while"living out." Mrs. Stuart received one evening of each week, and onthese occasions Christie, with an extra frill on her white apron,served the company, and enjoyed herself more than they did, if thetruth had been known.
 
　　While helping the ladies with their wraps, she observed what theywore, how they carried themselves, and what a vast amount ofprinking they did, not to mention the flood of gossip they talkedwhile shaking out their flounces and settling their topknots.
 
　　Later in the evening, when she passed cups and glasses, thisdemure-looking damsel heard much fine discourse, saw many famousbeings, and improved her mind with surreptitious studies of the richand great when on parade. But her best time was after supper, when,through the crack of the door of the little room where she wassupposed to be clearing away the relics of the feast, she looked andlistened at her ease; laughed at the wits, stared at the lions,heard the music, was impressed by the wisdom, and much edified bythe gentility of the whole affair.
 
　　After a time, however, Christie got rather tired of it, for therewas an elegant sameness about these evenings that became intenselywearisome to the uninitiated, but she fancied that as each had hispart to play he managed to do it with spirit. Night after night thewag told his stories, the poet read his poems, the singers warbled,the pretty women simpered and dressed, the heavy scientific was dulydiscussed by the elect precious, and Mrs. Stuart, in amazingcostumes, sailed to and fro in her most swan-like manner; while mylord stirred up the lions he had captured, till they roared theirbest, great and small.
 
　　"Good heavens! why don't they do or say something new andinteresting, and not keep twaddling on about art, and music, andpoetry, and cosmos? The papers are full of appeals for help for thepoor, reforms of all sorts, and splendid work that others are doing;but these people seem to think it isn't genteel enough to be spokenof here. I suppose it is all very elegant to go on like a set oftrained canaries, but it's very dull fun to watch them, and Hepsey'sstories are a deal more interesting to me."Having come to this conclusion, after studying dilettanteism throughthe crack of the door for some months, Christie left the "trainedcanaries" to twitter and hop about their gilded cage, and devotedherself to Hepsey, who gave her glimpses into another sort of lifeso bitterly real that she never could forget it.
 
　　HEPSEY.
 
　　Friendship had prospered in the lower regions, for Hepsey had amotherly heart, and Christie soon won her confidence by bestowingher own. Her story was like many another; yet, being the firstChristie had ever heard, and told with the unconscious eloquence ofone who had suffered and escaped, it made a deep impression on her,bringing home to her a sense of obligation so forcibly that shebegan at once to pay a little part of the great debt which the whiterace owes the black.
 
　　Christie loved books; and the attic next her own was full of them.
 
　　To this store she found her way by a sort of instinct as sure asthat which leads a fly to a honey-pot, and, finding many novels, sheread her fill. This amusement lightened many heavy hours, peopledthe silent house with troops of friends, and, for a time, was thejoy of her life.
 
　　Hepsey used to watch her as she sat buried in her book when theday's work was done, and once a heavy sigh roused Christie from themost exciting crisis of "The Abbot.""What's the matter? Are you very tired, Aunty?" she asked, using thename that came most readily to her lips.
 
　　"No, honey; I was only wishin' I could read fast like you does. I'sberry slow 'bout readin' and I want to learn a heap," answeredHepsey, with such a wistful look in her soft eyes that Christie shuther book, saying briskly:
 
　　"Then I'll teach you. Bring out your primer and let's begin atonce.""Dear chile, it's orful hard work to put learnin' in my ole head,and I wouldn't 'cept such a ting from you only I needs dis sort ofhelp so bad, and I can trust you to gib it to me as I wants it."Then in a whisper that went straight to Christie's heart, Hepseytold her plan and showed what help she craved.
 
　　For five years she had worked hard, and saved her earnings for thepurpose of her life. When a considerable sum had been hoarded up,she confided it to one whom she believed to be a friend, and senthim to buy her old mother. But he proved false, and she never saweither mother or money. It was a hard blow, but she took heart andwent to work again, resolving this time to trust no one with thedangerous part of the affair, but when she had scraped togetherenough to pay her way she meant to go South and steal her mother atthe risk of her life.
 
　　"I don't want much money, but I must know little 'bout readin' andcountin' up, else I'll get lost and cheated. You'll help me do dis,honey, and I'll bless you all my days, and so will my old mammy, ifI ever gets her safe away."With tears of sympathy shining on her cheeks, and both handsstretched out to the poor soul who implored this small boon of her,Christie promised all the help that in her lay, and kept her wordreligiously.
 
　　From that time, Hepsey's cause was hers; she laid by a part of herwages for "ole mammy," she comforted Hepsey with happy prophecies ofsuccess, and taught with an energy and skill she had never knownbefore. Novels lost their charms now, for Hepsey could give her acomedy and tragedy surpassing any thing she found in them, becausetruth stamped her tales with a power and pathos the most giftedfancy could but poorly imitate.
 
　　The select receptions upstairs seemed duller than ever to her now,and her happiest evenings were spent in the tidy kitchen, watchingHepsey laboriously shaping A's and B's, or counting up on her wornfingers the wages they had earned by months of weary work, that shemight purchase one treasure,--a feeble, old woman, worn out withseventy years of slavery far away there in Virginia.
 
　　For a year Christie was a faithful servant to her mistress, whoappreciated her virtues, but did not encourage them; a true friendto poor Hepsey, who loved her dearly, and found in her sympathy andaffection a solace for many griefs and wrongs. But Providence hadother lessons for Christie, and when this one was well learned shewas sent away to learn another phase of woman's life and labor.
 
　　While their domestics amused themselves with privy conspiracy andrebellion at home, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart spent their evenings inchasing that bright bubble called social success, and usually camehome rather cross because they could not catch it.
 
　　On one of these occasions they received a warm welcome, for, as theyapproached the house, smoke was seen issuing from an attic window,and flames flickering behind the half-drawn curtain. Bursting out ofthe carriage with his usual impetuosity, Mr. Stuart let himself inand tore upstairs shouting "Fire!" like an engine company.
 
　　In the attic Christie was discovered lying dressed upon her bed,asleep or suffocated by the smoke that filled the room. A book hadslipped from her hand, and in falling had upset the candle on achair beside her; the long wick leaned against a cotton gown hangingon the wall, and a greater part of Christie's wardrobe was burningbrilliantly.
 
　　"I forbade her to keep the gas lighted so late, and see what thedeceitful creature has done with her private candle!" cried Mrs.
 
　　Stuart with a shrillness that roused the girl from her heavy sleepmore effectually than the anathemas Mr. Stuart was fulminatingagainst the fire.
 
　　Sitting up she looked dizzily about her. The smoke was clearingfast, a window having been opened; and the tableau was a strikingone. Mr. Stuart with an excited countenance was dancing franticallyon a heap of half-consumed clothes pulled from the wall. He had notonly drenched them with water from bowl and pitcher, but had alsocast those articles upon the pile like extinguishers, and wasskipping among the fragments with an agility which contrasted withhis stout figure in full evening costume, and his besmirched face,made the sight irresistibly ludicrous.
 
　　Mrs. Stuart, though in her most regal array, seemed to have left herdignity downstairs with her opera cloak, for with skirts gatheredclosely about her, tiara all askew, and face full of fear and anger,she stood upon a chair and scolded like any shrew.
 
　　The comic overpowered the tragic, and being a little hysterical withthe sudden alarm, Christie broke into a peal of laughter that sealedher fate.
 
　　"Look at her! look at her!" cried Mrs. Stuart gesticulating on herperch as if about to fly. "She has been at the wine, or lost herwits. She must go, Horatio, she must go! I cannot have my nervesshattered by such dreadful scenes. She is too fond of books, and ithas turned her brain. Hepsey can watch her to-night, and at dawn sheshall leave the house for ever.""Not till after breakfast, my dear. Let us have that in comfort Ibeg, for upon my soul we shall need it," panted Mr. Stuart, sinkinginto a chair exhausted with the vigorous measures which had quenchedthe conflagration.
 
　　Christie checked her untimely mirth, explained the probable cause ofthe mischief, and penitently promised to be more careful for thefuture.
 
　　Mr. Stuart would have pardoned her on the spot, but Madame wasinexorable, for she had so completely forgotten her dignity that shefelt it would be impossible ever to recover it in the eyes of thisdisrespectful menial. Therefore she dismissed her with a lecturethat made both mistress and maid glad to part.
 
　　She did not appear at breakfast, and after that meal Mr. Stuart paidChristie her wages with a solemnity which proved that he had taken acurtain lecture to heart. There was a twinkle in his eye, however,as he kindly added a recommendation, and after the door closedbehind him Christie was sure that he exploded into a laugh at therecollection of his last night's performance.
 
　　This lightened her sense of disgrace very much, so, leaving a partof her money to repair damages, she packed up her dilapidatedwardrobe, and, making Hepsey promise to report progress from time totime, Christie went back to Mrs. Flint's to compose her mind and beready à la Micawber "for something to turn up."
Chapter 3 Actrbss
 FEELING that she had all the world before her where to choose, andthat her next step ought to take her up at least one round higher onthe ladder she was climbing, Christie decided not to try going outto service again. She knew very well that she would never live withIrish mates, and could not expect to find another Hepsey. So shetried to get a place as companion to an invalid, but failed tosecure the only situation of the sort that was offered her, becauseshe mildly objected to waiting on a nervous cripple all day, andreading aloud half the night. The old lady called har an"impertinent baggage," and Christie retired in great disgust,resolving not to be a slave to anybody.
 
　　Things seldom turn out as we plan them, and after much waiting andhoping for other work Christie at last accepted about the onlyemployment which had not entered her mind.
 
　　Among the boarders at Mrs. Flint's were an old lady and her prettydaughter, both actresses at a respectable theatre. Not stars by anymeans, but good second-rate players, doing their work creditably andearning an honest living. The mother had been kind to Christie inoffering advice, and sympathizing with her disappointments. Thedaughter, a gay little lass, had taken Christie to the theatreseveral times, there to behold her in all the gauzy glories thatsurround the nymphs of spectacular romance.
 
　　To Christie this was a great delight, for, though she had pored overher father's Shakespeare till she knew many scenes by heart, she hadnever seen a play till Lucy led her into what seemed an enchantedworld. Her interest and admiration pleased the little actress, andsundry lifts when she was hurried with her dresses made her gratefulto Christie.
 
　　The girl's despondent face, as she came in day after day from herunsuccessful quest, told its own story, though she uttered nocomplaint, and these friendly souls laid their heads together, eagerto help her in their own dramatic fashion.
 
　　"I've got it! I've got it! All hail to the queen!" was the cry thatone day startled Christie as she sat thinking anxiously, whilesewing mock-pearls on a crown for Mrs. Black.
 
　　Looking up she saw Lucy just home from rehearsal, going through aseries of pantomimic evolutions suggestive of a warrior doing battlewith incredible valor, and a very limited knowledge of the noble artof self-defence.
 
　　"What have you got? Who is the queen?" she asked, laughing, as thebreathless hero lowered her umbrella, and laid her bonnet atChristie's feet.
 
　　"You are to be the Queen of the Amazons in our new spectacle, athalf a dollar a night for six or eight weeks, if the piece goeswell.""No!" cried Christie, with a gasp.
 
　　"Yes!" cried Lucy, clapping her hands; and then she proceeded totell her news with theatrical volubility. "Mr. Sharp, the manager,wants a lot of tallish girls, and I told him I knew of a perfectdear. He said: 'Bring her on, then,' and I flew home to tell you.
 
　　Now, don't look wild, and say no. You've only got to sing in onechorus, march in the grand procession, and lead your band in theterrific battle-scene. The dress is splendid! Red tunic, tiger-skinover shoulder, helmet, shield, lance, fleshings, sandals, hair down,and as much cork to your eyebrows as you like."Christie certainly did look wild, for Lucy had burst into the roomlike a small hurricane, and her rapid words rattled about thelisteners' ears as if a hail-storm had followed the gust. WhileChristie still sat with her mouth open, too bewildered to reply,Mrs. Black said in her cosey voice:
 
　　"Try it, me dear, it's just what you'll enjoy, and a capitalbeginning I assure ye; for if you do well old Sharp will want youagain, and then, when some one slips out of the company, you canslip in, and there you are quite comfortable. Try it, me dear, andif you don't like it drop it when the piece is over, and there's noharm done.""It's much easier and jollier than any of the things you are after.
 
　　We'll stand by you like bricks, and in a week you'll say it's thebest lark you ever had in your life. Don't be prim, now, but sayyes, like a trump, as you are," added Lucy, waving a pink satintrain temptingly before her friend.
 
　　"I will try it!" said Christie, with sudden decision, feeling thatsomething entirely new and absorbing was what she needed to expendthe vigor, romance, and enthusiasm of her youth upon.
 
　　With a shriek of delight Lucy swept her off her chair, and twirledher about the room as excitable young ladies are fond of doing whentheir joyful emotions need a vent. When both were giddy theysubsided into a corner and a breathless discussion of the importantstep.
 
　　Though she had consented, Christie had endless doubts and fears, butLucy removed many of the former, and her own desire for pleasantemployment conquered many of the latter. In her most despairingmoods she had never thought of trying this. Uncle Enos considered"play-actin'" as the sum of all iniquity. What would he say if shewent calmly to destruction by that road? Sad to relate, thisrecollection rather strengthened her purpose, for a delicious senseof freedom pervaded her soul, and the old defiant spirit seemed torise up within her at the memory of her Uncle's grim prophecies andnarrow views.
 
　　"Lucy is happy, virtuous, and independent, why can't I be so too ifI have any talent? It isn't exactly what I should choose, but anything honest is better than idleness. I'll try it any way, and get alittle fun, even if I don't make much money or glory out of it."So Christie held to her resolution in spite of many secretmisgivings, and followed Mrs. Black's advice on all points with adocility which caused that sanguine lady to predict that she wouldbe a star before she knew where she was.
 
　　"Is this the stage? How dusty and dull it is by daylight!" saidChristie next day, as she stood by Lucy on the very spot where shehad seen Hamlet die in great anguish two nights before.
 
　　"Bless you, child, it's in curl-papers now, as I am of a morning.
 
　　Mr. Sharp, here's an Amazon for you."As she spoke, Lucy hurried across the stage, followed by Christie,wearing any thing but an Amazonian expression just then.
 
　　"Ever on before?" abruptly asked, a keen-faced, little man, glancingwith an experienced eye at the young person who stood before himbathed in blushes.
 
　　"No, sir.""Do you sing?""A little, sir.""Dance, of course?""Yes, sir.""Just take a turn across the stage, will you? Must walk well to leada march."As she went, Christie heard Mr. Sharp taking notes audibly:
 
　　"Good tread; capital figure; fine eye. She'll make up well, andbehave herself, I fancy."A strong desire to make off seized the girl; but, remembering thatshe had presented herself for inspection, she controlled theimpulse, and returned to him with no demonstration of displeasure,but a little more fire in "the fine eye," and a more erect carriageof the "capital figure.""All right, my dear. Give your name to Mr. Tripp, and your mind tothe business, and consider yourself engaged,"--with whichsatisfactory remark the little man vanished like a ghost.
 
　　"Lucy, did you hear that impertinent 'my dear'?" asked Christie,whose sense of propriety had received its first shock.
 
　　"Lord, child, all managers do it. They don't mean any thing; so beresigned, and thank your stars he didn't say 'love' and 'darling,'
 
　　and kiss you, as old Vining used to," was all the sympathy she got.
 
　　Having obeyed orders, Lucy initiated her into the mysteries of theplace, and then put her in a corner to look over the scenes in whichshe was to appear. Christie soon caught the idea of her part,--not adifficult matter, as there were but few ideas in the whole piece,after which she sat watching the arrival of the troop she was tolead. A most forlorn band of warriors they seemed, huddled together,and looking as if afraid to speak, lest they should infringe somerule; or to move, lest they be swallowed up by some unsuspectedtrap-door.
 
　　Presently the ballet-master appeared, the orchestra struck up, andChristie found herself marching and counter-marching at word ofcommand. At first, a most uncomfortable sense of the absurdity ofher position oppressed and confused her; then the ludicrous contrastbetween the solemn anxiety of the troop and the fantastic evolutionsthey were performing amused her till the novelty wore off; themartial music excited her; the desire to please sharpened her wits;and natural grace made it easy for her to catch and copy the stepsand poses given her to imitate. Soon she forgot herself, enteredinto the spirit of the thing, and exerted every sense to please, sosuccessfully that Mr. Tripp praised her quickness at comprehension,Lucy applauded heartily from a fairy car, and Mr. Sharp popped hishead out of a palace window to watch the Amazon's descent from theMountains of the Moon.
 
　　When the regular company arrived, the troop was dismissed till theprogress of the play demanded their reappearance. Much interested inthe piece, Christie stood aside under a palm-tree, the foliage ofwhich was strongly suggestive of a dilapidated green umbrella,enjoying the novel sights and sounds about her.
 
　　Yellow-faced gentlemen and sleepy-eyed ladies roamed languidly aboutwith much incoherent jabbering of parts, and frequent explosions oflaughter. Princes, with varnished boots and suppressed cigars,fought, bled, and died, without a change of countenance. Damsels ofunparalleled beauty, according to the text, gaped in the faces ofadoring lovers, and crocheted serenely on the brink of annihilation.
 
　　Fairies, in rubber-boots and woollen head-gear, disported themselveson flowery barks of canvas, or were suspended aloft with hooks intheir backs like young Hindoo devotees. Demons, guiltless of hoof orhorn, clutched their victims with the inevitable "Ha! ha!" andvanished darkly, eating pea-nuts. The ubiquitous Mr. Sharp seemed topervade the whole theatre; for his voice came shrilly from above orspectrally from below, and his active little figure darted to andfro like a critical will-o-the-wisp.
 
　　The grand march and chorus in the closing scene were easilyaccomplished; for, as Lucy bade her, Christie "sung with all hermight," and kept step as she led her band with the dignity of aBoadicea. No one spoke to her; few observed her; all were intent ontheir own affairs; and when the final shriek and bang died awaywithout lifting the roof by its din, she could hardly believe thatthe dreaded first rehearsal was safely over.
 
　　A visit to the wardrobe-room to see her dress came next; and hereChristie had a slight skirmish with the mistress of that departmentrelative to the length of her classical garments. As studies fromthe nude had not yet become one of the amusements of the elite ofLittle Babel, Christie was not required to appear in the severesimplicity of a costume consisting of a necklace, sandals, and a bitof gold fringe about the waist, but was allowed an extra inch or twoon her tunic, and departed, much comforted by the assurance that herdress would not be "a shock to modesty," as Lucy expressed it.
 
　　"Now, look at yourself, and, for my sake, prove an honor to yourcountry and a terror to the foe," said Lucy, as she led her protégéebefore the green-room mirror on the first night of "The Demon'sDaughter, or The Castle of the Sun!! The most Magnificent Spectacleever produced upon the American Stage!!!"Christie looked, and saw a warlike figure with glittering helmet,shield and lance, streaming hair and savage cloak. She liked thepicture, for there was much of the heroic spirit in the girl, andeven this poor counterfeit pleased her eye and filled her fancy withmartial memories of Joan of Arc, Zenobia, and Britomarte.
 
　　"Go to!" cried Lucy, who affected theatrical modes of speech. "Don'tadmire yourself any longer, but tie up your sandals and come on. Besure you rush down the instant I cry, 'Demon, I defy thee!' Don'tbreak your neck, or pick your way like a cat in wet weather, butcome with effect, for I want that scene to make a hit."CHRISTIE AS QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS.
 
　　Princess Caremfil swept away, and the Amazonian queen climbed to herperch among the painted mountains, where her troop already sat likea flock of pigeons shining in the sun. The gilded breast-plate roseand fell with the quick beating of her heart, the spear shook withthe trembling of her hand, her lips were dry, her head dizzy, andmore than once, as she waited for her cue, she was sorely tempted torun away and take the consequences.
 
　　But the thought of Lucy's good-will and confidence kept her, andwhen the cry came she answered with a ringing shout, rushed down theten-foot precipice, and charged upon the foe with an energy thatinspired her followers, and quite satisfied the princess strugglingin the demon's grasp.
 
　　With clashing of arms and shrill war-cries the rescuers of innocenceassailed the sooty fiends who fell before their unscientific blowswith a rapidity which inspired in the minds of beholders a suspicionthat the goblins' own voluminous tails tripped them up and gallantrykept them prostrate. As the last groan expired, the last agonizedsquirm subsided, the conquerors performed the intricate dance withwhich it appears the Amazons were wont to celebrate their victories.
 
　　Then the scene closed with a glare of red light and a "grandtableau" of the martial queen standing in a bower of lances, therescued princess gracefully fainting in her arms, and the vanquisheddemon scowling fiercely under her foot, while four-and-twentydishevelled damsels sang a song of exultation, to the barbaric musicof a tattoo on their shields.
 
　　All went well that night, and when at last the girls doffed crownand helmet, they confided to one another the firm opinion that thesuccess of the piece was in a great measure owing to their talent,their exertions, and went gaily home predicting for themselvescareers as brilliant as those of Siddons and Rachel.
 
　　It would be a pleasant task to paint the vicissitudes and victoriesof a successful actress; but Christie was no dramatic genius born toshine before the world and leave a name behind her. She had notalent except that which may be developed in any girl possessing thelively fancy, sympathetic nature, and ambitious spirit which makesuch girls naturally dramatic. This was to be only one of manyexperiences which were to show her her own weakness and strength,and through effort, pain, and disappointment fit her to play anobler part on a wider stage.
 
　　For a few weeks Christie's illusions lasted; then she discoveredthat the new life was nearly as humdrum as the old, that hercompanions were ordinary men and women, and her bright hopes weregrowing as dim as her tarnished shield. She grew unutterably wearyof "The Castle of the Sun," and found the "Demon's Daughter" anunmitigated bore. She was not tired of the profession, onlydissatisfied with the place she held in it, and eager to attempt apart that gave some scope for power and passion.
 
　　Mrs. Black wisely reminded her that she must learn to use her wingsbefore she tried to fly, and comforted her with stories ofcelebrities who had begun as she was beginning, yet who had suddenlyburst from their grub-like obscurity to adorn the world as splendidbutterflies.
 
　　"We'll stand by you, Kit; so keep up your courage, and do your best.
 
　　Be clever to every one in general, old Sharp in particular, and whena chance comes, have your wits about you and grab it. That's the wayto get on," said Lucy, as sagely as if she had been a star foryears.
 
　　"If I had beauty I should stand a better chance," sighed Christie,surveying herself with great disfavor, quite unconscious that to acultivated eye the soul of beauty was often visible in that face ofhers, with its intelligent eyes, sensitive mouth, and fine linesabout the forehead, making it a far more significant and attractivecountenance than that of her friend, possessing only piquantprettiness.
 
　　"Never mind, child; you've got a lovely figure, and an actress'sbest feature,--fine eyes and eyebrows. I heard old Kent say so, andhe's a judge. So make the best of what you've got, as I do,"answered Lucy, glancing at her own comely little person with an airof perfect resignation.
 
　　Christie laughed at the adviser, but wisely took the advice, and,though she fretted in private, was cheerful and alert in public.
 
　　Always modest, attentive, and obliging, she soon became a favoritewith her mates, and, thanks to Lucy's good offices with Mr. Sharp,whose favorite she was, Christie got promoted sooner than sheotherwise would have been.
 
　　A great Christmas spectacle was brought out the next season, andChristie had a good part in it. When that was over she thought therewas no hope for her, as the regular company was full and a differentsort of performance was to begin. But just then her chance came, andshe "grabbed it." The first soubrette died suddenly, and in theemergency Mr. Sharp offered the place to Christie till he could fillit to his mind. Lucy was second soubrette, and had hoped for thispromotion; but Lucy did not sing well. Christie had a good voice,had taken lessons and much improved of late, so she had thepreference and resolved to stand the test so well that thistemporary elevation should become permanent.
 
　　She did her best, and though many of the parts were distasteful toher she got through them successfully, while now and then she hadone which she thoroughly enjoyed. Her Tilly Slowboy was a hit, and aproud girl was Christie when Kent, the comedian, congratulated heron it, and told her he had seldom seen it better done.
 
　　To find favor in Kent's eyes was an honor indeed, for he belonged tothe old school, and rarely condescended to praise modern actors. Hisown style was so admirable that he was justly considered the firstcomedian in the country, and was the pride and mainstay of the oldtheatre where he had played for years. Of course he possessed muchinfluence in that little world, and being a kindly man used itgenerously to help up any young aspirant who seemed to himdeserving.
 
　　He had observed Christie, attracted by her intelligent face andmodest manners, for in spite of her youth there was a nativerefinement about her that made it impossible for her to romp andflirt as some of her mates did. But till she played Tilly he had notthought she possessed any talent. That pleased him, and seeing howmuch she valued his praise, and was flattered by his notice, he gaveher the wise but unpalatable advice always offered young actors.
 
　　Finding that she accepted it, was willing to study hard, workfaithfully, and wait patiently, he predicted that in time she wouldmake a clever actress, never a great one.
 
　　Of course Christie thought he was mistaken, and secretly resolved toprove him a false prophet by the triumphs of her career. But shemeekly bowed to his opinion; this docility pleased him, and he tooka paternal sort of interest in her, which, coming from the powerfulfavorite, did her good service with the higher powers, and helpedher on more rapidly than years of meritorious effort.
 
　　Toward the end of that second season several of Dickens's dramatizednovels were played, and Christie earned fresh laurels. She lovedthose books, and seemed by instinct to understand and personate thehumor and pathos of many of those grotesque creations. Believing shehad little beauty to sacrifice, she dressed such parts to the life,and played them with a spirit and ease that surprised those who hadconsidered her a dignified and rather dull young person.
 
　　"I'll tell you what it is, Sharp, that girl is going to make acapital character actress. When her parts suit, she forgets herselfentirely and does admirably well. Her Miggs was nearly the death ofme to-night. She's got that one gift, and it's a good one. You 'dbetter give her a chance, for I think she'll be a credit to the oldconcern."Kent said that,--Christie heard it, and flew to Lucy, waving Miggs'scap for joy as she told the news.
 
　　"What did Mr. Sharp say?" asked Lucy, turning round with her facehalf "made up.""He merely said 'Hum,' and smiled. Wasn't that a good sign?" saidChristie, anxiously.
 
　　"Can't say," and Lucy touched up her eyebrows as if she took nointerest in the affair.
 
　　Christie's face fell, and her heart sunk at the thought of failure;but she kept up her spirits by working harder than ever, and soonhad her reward. Mr. Sharp's "Hum" did mean yes, and the next seasonshe was regularly engaged, with a salary of thirty dollars a week.
 
　　It was a grand step, and knowing that she owed it to Kent, Christiedid her utmost to show that she deserved his good opinion. Newtrials and temptations beset her now, but hard work and an innocentnature kept her safe and busy. Obstacles only spurred her on toredoubled exertion, and whether she did well or ill, was praised orblamed, she found a never-failing excitement in her attempts toreach the standard of perfection she had set up for herself. Kentdid not regret his patronage. Mr. Sharp was satisfied with thesuccess of the experiment, and Christie soon became a favorite in asmall way, because behind the actress the public always saw a womanwho never "forgot the modesty of nature."But as she grew prosperous in outward things, Christie found herselfburdened with a private cross that tried her very much. Lucy was nolonger her friend; something had come between them, and a steadilyincreasing coldness took the place of the confidence and affectionwhich had once existed. Lucy was jealous for Christie had passed herin the race. She knew she could not fill the place Christie hadgained by favor, and now held by her own exertions, still she wasbitterly envious, though ashamed to own it.
 
　　Christie tried to be just and gentle, to prove her gratitude to herfirst friend, and to show that her heart was unchanged. But shefailed to win Lucy back and felt herself injured by such unjustresentment. Mrs. Black took her daughter's part, and though theypreserved the peace outwardly the old friendliness was quite gone.
 
　　Hoping to forget this trouble in excitement Christie gave herselfentirely to her profession, finding in it a satisfaction which for atime consoled her.
 
　　But gradually she underwent the sorrowful change which comes tostrong natures when they wrong themselves through ignorance orwilfulness.
 
　　Pride and native integrity kept her from the worst temptations ofsuch a life, but to the lesser ones she yielded, growing selfish,frivolous, and vain,--intent on her own advancement, and careless bywhat means she reached it. She had no thought now beyond her art, nodesire beyond the commendation of those whose opinion wasserviceable, no care for any one but herself.
 
　　Her love of admiration grew by what it fed on, till the sound ofapplause became the sweetest music to her ear. She rose with thishope, lay down with this satisfaction, and month after month passedin this feverish life, with no wish to change it, but a growingappetite for its unsatisfactory delights, an ever-increasingforgetfulness of any higher aspiration than dramatic fame.
 
　　"Give me joy, Lucy, I'm to have a benefit next week! Everybody elsehas had one, and I've played for them all, so no one seemed tobegrudge me my turn when dear old Kent proposed it," said Christie,coming in one night still flushed and excited with the good news.
 
　　"What shall you have?" asked Lucy, trying to look pleased, andfailing decidedly.
 
　　"'Masks and Faces.' I've always wanted to play Peg. and it has goodparts for you and Kent, and St. George I chose it for that reason,for I shall need all the help I can get to pull me through, I daresay."The smile vanished entirely at this speech, and Christie wassuddenly seized with a suspicion that Lucy was not only jealous ofher as an actress, but as a woman. St. George was a comely youngactor who usually played lovers' parts with Christie, and playedthem very well, too, being possessed of much talent, and agentleman. They had never thought of falling in love with eachother, though St. George wooed and won Christie night after night invaudeville and farce. But it was very easy to imagine that so muchmock passion had a basis of truth, and Lucy evidently tormentedherself with this belief.
 
　　"Why didn't you choose Juliet: St. George would do Romeo so well?"said Lucy, with a sneer.
 
　　"No, that is beyond me. Kent says Shakespeare will never be my line,and I believe him. I should think you'd be satisfied with 'Masks andFaces,' for you know Mabel gets her husband safely back in the end,"answered Christie, watching the effect of her words.
 
　　"As if I wanted the man! No, thank you, other people's leavingswon't suit me," cried Lucy, tossing her head, though her face beliedher words.
 
　　"Not even though he has 'heavenly eyes,' 'distracting legs,' and 'amelting voice?'" asked Christie maliciously, quoting Lucy's ownrapturous speeches when the new actor came.
 
　　"Come, come, girls, don't quarrel. I won't 'ave it in me room.
 
　　Lucy's tired to death, and it's not nice of you, Kitty, to come andcrow over her this way," said Mamma Black, coming to the rescue, forLucy was in tears, and Christie looking dangerous.
 
　　"It's impossible to please you, so I'll say good-night," andChristie went to her room with resentment burning hotly in herheart.
 
　　As she crossed the chamber her eye fell on her own figure reflectedin the long glass, and with a sudden impulse she tinned up the gas,wiped the rouge from her cheeks, pushed back her hair, and studiedher own face intently for several moments. It was pale and jadednow, and all its freshness seemed gone; hard lines had come aboutthe mouth, a feverish disquiet filled the eyes, and on the foreheadseemed to lie the shadow of a discontent that saddened the wholeface. If one could believe the testimony of that countenance thingswere not going well with Christie, and she owned it with a regretfulsigh, as she asked herself, "Am I what I hoped I should be? No, andit is my fault. If three years of this life have made me this, whatshall I be in ten? A fine actress perhaps, but how good a woman?"With gloomy eyes fixed on her altered face she stood a momentstruggling with herself. Then the hard look returned, and she spokeout defiantly, as if in answer to some warning voice within herself.
 
　　"No one cares what I am, so why care myself? Why not go on and getas much fame as I can? Success gives me power if it cannot give mehappiness, and I must have some reward for my hard work. Yes! a gaylife and a short one, then out with the lights and down with thecurtain!"But in spite of her reckless words Christie sobbed herself to sleepthat night like a child who knows it is astray, yet cannot see theright path or hear its mother's voice calling it home.
 
　　On the night of the benefit, Lucy was in a most exasperating mood,Christie in a very indignant one, and as they entered theirdressing-room they looked as if they might have played the RivalQueens with great effect. Lucy offered no help and Christie askednone, but putting her vexation resolutely out of sight fixed hermind on the task before her.
 
　　As the pleasant stir began all about her, actress-like, she felt herspirits rise, her courage increase with every curl she fastened up,every gay garment she put on, and soon smiled approvingly atherself, for excitement lent her cheeks a better color than rouge,her eyes shone with satisfaction, and her heart beat high with theresolve to make a hit or die.
 
　　Christie needed encouragement that night, and found it in the heartywelcome that greeted her, and the full house, which proved how kinda regard was entertained for her by many who knew her only by afictitious name. She felt this deeply, and it helped her much, forshe was vexed with many trials those before the footlights knewnothing of.
 
　　The other players were full of kindly interest in her success, butLucy took a naughty satisfaction in harassing her by all the smallslights and unanswerable provocations which one actress has it inher power to inflict upon another.
 
　　Christie was fretted almost beyond endurance, and retaliated by anominous frown when her position allowed, threatening asides when amoment's by-play favored their delivery, and angry protests whenevershe met Lucy off the stage.
 
　　But in spite of all annoyances she had never played better in herlife. She liked the part, and acted the warm-hearted, quick-witted,sharp-tongued Peg with a spirit and grace that surprised even thosewho knew her best. Especially good was she in the scenes withTriplet, for Kent played the part admirably, and cheered her on withmany an encouraging look and word. Anxious to do honor to her patronand friend she threw her whole heart into the work; in the scenewhere she comes like a good angel to the home of the poorplay-wright, she brought tears to the eyes of her audience; and whenat her command Triplet strikes up a jig to amuse the children she"covered the buckle" in gallant style, dancing with all thefrolicsome abandon of the Irish orange-girl who for a moment forgother grandeur and her grief.
 
　　That scene was her best, for it is full of those touches of naturethat need very little art to make them effective; and when a greatbouquet fell with a thump at Christie's feet, as she paused to bowher thanks for an encore, she felt that she had reached the heightof earthly bliss.
 
　　In the studio scene Lucy seemed suddenly gifted with unsuspectedskill; for when Mabel kneels to the picture, praying her rival togive her back her husband's heart, Christie was amazed to see realtears roll down Lucy's cheeks, and to hear real love and longingthrill her trembling words with sudden power and passion.
 
　　"That is not acting. She does love St. George, and thinks I mean tokeep him from her. Poor dear! I'll tell her all about it to-night,and set her heart at rest," thought Christie; and when Peg left theframe, her face expressed the genuine pity that she felt, and hervoice was beautifully tender as she promised to restore the stolentreasure.
 
　　Lucy felt comforted without knowing why, and the piece went smoothlyon to its last scene. Peg was just relinquishing the repentanthusband to his forgiving wife with those brave words of hers, when arending sound above their heads made all look up and start back; allbut Lucy, who stood bewildered. Christie's quick eye saw theimpending danger, and with a sudden spring she caught her friendfrom it. It was only a second's work, but it cost her much; for inthe act, down crashed one of the mechanical contrivances used in alate spectacle, and in its fall stretched Christie stunned andsenseless on the stage.
 
　　A swift uprising filled the house with tumult; a crowd of actorshurried forward, and the panic-stricken audience caught glimpses ofpoor Peg lying mute and pallid in Mabel's arms, while Vane wrung hishands, and Triplet audibly demanded, "Why the devil somebody didn'tgo for a doctor?"Then a brilliant view of Mount Parnassus, with Apollo and the NineMuses in full blast, shut the scene from sight, and soon Mr. Sharpappeared to ask their patience till the after-piece was ready, forMiss Douglas was too much injured to appear again. And with anunwonted expression of feeling, the little man alluded to "thegenerous act which perhaps had changed the comedy to a tragedy androbbed the beneficiary of her well-earned reward at their hands."All had seen the impulsive spring toward, not from, the danger, andthis unpremeditated action won heartier applause than Christie everhad received for her best rendering of more heroic deeds.
 
　　But she did not hear the cordial round they gave her. She had saidshe would "make a hit or die;" and just then it seemed as if she haddone both, for she was deaf and blind to the admiration and thesympathy bestowed upon her as the curtain fell on the first, lastbenefit she ever was to have.
Chapter 4 Governess
 DURING the next few weeks Christie learned the worth of many thingswhich she had valued very lightly until then. Health became a boontoo precious to be trifled with; life assumed a deeper significancewhen death's shadow fell upon its light, and she discovered thatdependence might be made endurable by the sympathy of unsuspectedfriends.
 
　　Lucy waited upon her with a remorseful devotion which touched hervery much and won entire forgiveness for the past, long before itwas repentantly implored. All her comrades came with offers of helpand affectionate regrets. Several whom she had most disliked nowearned her gratitude by the kindly thoughtfulness which filled hersick-room with fruit and flowers, supplied carriages for theconvalescent, and paid her doctor's bill without her knowledge.
 
　　Thus Christie learned, like many another needy member of the gayprofession, that though often extravagant and jovial in their way oflife, these men and women give as freely as they spend, wear warm,true hearts under their motley, and make misfortune only anotherlink in the bond of good-fellowship which binds them loyallytogether.
 
　　Slowly Christie gathered her energies after weeks of suffering, andtook up her life again, grateful for the gift, and anxious to bemore worthy of it. Looking back upon the past she felt that she hadmade a mistake and lost more than she had gained in those threeyears. Others might lead that life of alternate excitement and hardwork unharmed, but she could not. The very ardor and insight whichgave power to the actress made that mimic life unsatisfactory to thewoman, for hers was an earnest nature that took fast hold ofwhatever task she gave herself to do, and lived in it heartily whileduty made it right, or novelty lent it charms. But when she saw theerror of a step, the emptiness of a belief, with a like earnestnessshe tried to retrieve the one and to replace the other with a bettersubstitute.
 
　　In the silence of wakeful nights and the solitude of quiet days, shetook counsel with her better self, condemned the reckless spiritwhich had possessed her, and came at last to the decision whichconscience prompted and much thought confirmed.
 
　　"The stage is not the place for me," she said. "I have no genius toglorify the drudgery, keep me from temptation, and repay me for anysacrifice I make. Other women can lead this life safely and happily:
 
　　I cannot, and I must not go back to it, because, with all my pastexperience, and in spite of all my present good resolutions, Ishould do no better, and I might do worse. I'm not wise enough tokeep steady there; I must return to the old ways, dull but safe, andplod along till I find my real place and work."Great was the surprise of Lucy and her mother when Christie told herresolution, adding, in a whisper, to the girl, "I leave the fieldclear for you, dear, and will dance at your wedding with all myheart when St. George asks you to play the 'Honeymoon' with him, asI'm sure he will before long."Many entreaties from friends, as well as secret longings, tried andtempted Christie sorely, but she withstood them all, carried herpoint, and renounced the profession she could not follow withoutself-injury and self-reproach. The season was nearly over when shewas well enough to take her place again, but she refused to return,relinquished her salary, sold her wardrobe, and never crossed thethreshold of the theatre after she had said good-bye.
 
　　Then she asked, "What next?" and was speedily answered. Anadvertisement for a governess met her eye, which seemed to combinethe two things she most needed just then,--employment and change ofair.
 
　　"Mind you don't mention that you've been an actress or it will beall up with you, me dear," said Mrs. Black, as Christie prepared toinvestigate the matter, for since her last effort in that line shehad increased her knowledge of music, and learned French enough toventure teaching it to very young pupils.
 
　　"I'd rather tell in the beginning, for if you keep any thing backit's sure to pop out when you least expect or want it. I don'tbelieve these people will care as long as I'm respectable and teachwell," returned Christie, wishing she looked stronger and rosier.
 
　　"You'll be sorry if you do tell," warned Mrs. Black, who knew theways of the world.
 
　　"I shall be sorry if I don't," laughed Christie, and so she was, inthe end.
 
　　"L. N. Saltonstall" was the name on the door, and L. N.
 
　　Saltonstall's servant was so leisurely about answering Christie'smeek solo on the bell, that she had time to pull out herbonnet-strings half-a-dozen times before a very black man in a verywhite jacket condescended to conduct her to his mistress.
 
　　A frail, tea-colored lady appeared, displaying such a smallproportion of woman to such a large proportion of purple and finelinen, that she looked as if she was literally as well asfiguratively "dressed to death."Christie went to the point in a business-like manner that seemed tosuit Mrs. Saltonstall, because it saved so much trouble, and shereplied, with a languid affability:
 
　　"I wish some one to teach the children a little, for they aregetting too old to be left entirely to nurse. I am anxious to get tothe sea-shore as soon as possible, for they have been poorly allwinter, and my own health has suffered. Do you feel inclined to trythe place? And what compensation do you require?"Christie had but a vague idea of what wages were usually paid tonursery governesses, and hesitatingly named a sum which seemedreasonable to her, but was so much less than any other applicant hadasked, that Mrs. Saltonstall began to think she could not do betterthan secure this cheap young person, who looked firm enough tomanage her rebellious son and heir, and well-bred enough to beginthe education of a little fine lady. Her winter had been anextravagant one, and she could economize in the governess betterperhaps than elsewhere; so she decided to try Christie, and get outof town at once.
 
　　"Your terms are quite satisfactory, Miss Devon, and if my brotherapproves, I think we will consider the matter settled. Perhaps youwould like to see the children? They are little darlings, and youwill soon be fond of them, I am sure."A bell was rung, an order given, and presently appeared aneight-year old boy, so excessively Scotch in his costume that helooked like an animated checkerboard; and a little girl, whopresented the appearance of a miniature opera-dancer staggeringunder the weight of an immense sash.
 
　　"Go and speak prettily to Miss Devon, my pets, for she is coming toplay with you, and you must mind what she says," commanded mamma.
 
　　The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to Christie'sknee, and stood there staring at her with a dull composure thatquite daunted her, it was so sadly unchildlike.
 
　　"What is your name, dear?" she asked, laying her hand on the younglady's head.
 
　　"Villamena Temmatina Taltentall. You mustn't touch my hair; it'sjust turled," was the somewhat embarrassing reply.
 
　　"Mine's Louy 'Poleon Thaltensthall, like papa's," volunteered theother young person, and Christie privately wondered if thepossession of names nearly as long as themselves was not a burden tothe poor dears.
 
　　Feeling that she must say something, she asked, in her mostpersuasive tone:
 
　　"Would you like to have me come and teach you some nice lessons outof your little books?"If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot it could nothave caused greater dismay. Wilhelmina cast herself upon the floorpassionately, declaring that she "touldn't tuddy," and Saltonstall,Jr., retreated precipitately to the door, and from that refugedefied the whole race of governesses and "nasty lessons" jointly.
 
　　"There, run away to Justine. They are sadly out of sorts, and quitepining for sea-air," said mamma, with both hands at her ears, forthe war-cries of her darlings were piercing as they departed,proclaiming their wrongs while swarming up stairs, with a skirmishon each landing.
 
　　With a few more words Christie took leave, and scandalized the sableretainer by smiling all through the hall, and laughing audibly asthe door closed. The contrast of the plaid boy and beruffled girl'sirritability with their mother's languid affectation, and her ownunfortunate efforts, was too much for her. In the middle of hermerriment she paused suddenly, saying to herself:
 
　　"I never told about my acting. I must go back and have it settled."She retraced a few steps, then turned and went on again, thinking,"No; for once I'll be guided by other people's advice, and let wellalone."A note arrived soon after, bidding Miss Devon consider herselfengaged, and desiring her to join the family at the boat on Mondaynext.
 
　　At the appointed time Christie was on board, and looked about forher party. Mrs. Saltonstall appeared in the distance with her familyabout her, and Christie took a survey before reporting herself.
 
　　Madame looked more like a fashion-plate than ever, in a mass ofgreen flounces, and an impressive bonnet flushed with poppies andbristling with wheat-ears. Beside her sat a gentleman, rapt in anewspaper, of course, for to an American man life is a burden tillthe daily news have been absorbed. Mrs. Saltonstall's brother wasthe possessor of a handsome eye without softness, thin lips withoutbenevolence, but plenty of will; a face and figure which somethirty-five years of ease and pleasure had done their best to polishand spoil, and a costume without flaw, from his aristocratic bootsto the summer hat on his head.
 
　　The little boy more checkered and the little girl more operatic thanbefore, sat on stools eating bonbons, while a French maid and theAfrican footman hovered in the background.
 
　　MRS. SALTONSTALL AND FAMILY.
 
　　Feeling very much like a meek gray moth among a flock ofbutterflies, Christie modestly presented herself.
 
　　"Good morning," said Madame with a nod, which, slight as it was,caused a great commotion among the poppies and the wheat; "I beganto be anxious about you. Miss Devon, my brother, Mr. Fletcher."The gentleman bowed, and as Christie sat down he got up, saying, ashe sauntered away with a bored expression:
 
　　"Will you have the paper, Charlotte? There's nothing in it."As Mrs. Saltonstall seemed going to sleep and she felt delicateabout addressing the irritable infants in public, Christie amusedherself by watching Mr. Fletcher as he roamed listlessly about, anddeciding, in her usual rash way, that she did not like him becausehe looked both lazy and cross, and ennui was evidently his bosomfriend. Soon, however, she forgot every thing but the shimmer of thesunshine on the sea, the fresh wind that brought color to her palecheeks, and the happy thoughts that left a smile upon her lips. ThenMr. Fletcher put up his glass and stared at her, shook his head, andsaid, as he lit a cigar:
 
　　"Poor little wretch, what a time she will have of it betweenCharlotte and the brats!"But Christie needed no pity, and thought herself a fortunate youngwoman when fairly established in her corner of the luxuriousapartments occupied by the family. Her duties seemed light comparedto those she had left, her dreams were almost as bright as of old,and the new life looked pleasant to her, for she was one of thosewho could find little bits of happiness for herself and enjoy themheartily in spite of loneliness or neglect.
 
　　One of her amusements was studying her companions, and for a timethis occupied her, for Christie possessed penetration and a femininefancy for finding out people.
 
　　Mrs. Saltonstall's mission appeared to be the illustration of eachnew fashion as it came, and she performed it with a devotion worthyof a better cause. If a color reigned supreme she flushed herselfwith scarlet or faded into primrose, made herself pretty in thebluest of blue gowns, or turned livid under a gooseberry coloredbonnet. Her hat-brims went up or down, were preposterously wide ordwindled to an inch, as the mode demanded. Her skirts were rampantwith sixteen frills, or picturesque with landscapes down each side,and a Greek border or a plain hem. Her waists were as pointed asthose of Queen Bess or as short as Diana's; and it was the opinionof those who knew her that if the autocrat who ruled her lifedecreed the wearing of black cats as well as of vegetables, bugs,and birds, the blackest, glossiest Puss procurable for money wouldhave adorned her head in some way.
 
　　Her time was spent in dressing, driving, dining and dancing; inskimming novels, and embroidering muslin; going to church with avelvet prayer-book and a new bonnet; and writing to her husband whenshe wanted money, for she had a husband somewhere abroad, who sohappily combined business with pleasure that he never found time tocome home. Her children were inconvenient blessings, but she lovedthem with the love of a shallow heart, and took such good care oftheir little bodies that there was none left for their little souls.
 
　　A few days' trial satisfied her as to Christie's capabilities, and,relieved of that anxiety, she gave herself up to her social duties,leaving the ocean and the governess to make the summer wholesome andagreeable to "the darlings."Mr. Fletcher, having tried all sorts of pleasure and found that,like his newspaper, there was "nothing in it," was now paying thepenalty for that unsatisfactory knowledge. Ill health soured histemper and made his life a burden to him. Having few resourceswithin himself to fall back upon, he was very dependent upon otherpeople, and other people were so busy amusing themselves, theyseemed to find little time or inclination to amuse a man who hadnever troubled himself about them. He was rich, but while his moneycould hire a servant to supply each want, gratify each caprice, itcould not buy a tender, faithful friend to serve for love, and askno wages but his comfort.
 
　　He knew this, and felt the vain regret that inevitably comes tothose who waste life and learn the value of good gifts by theirloss. But he was not wise or brave enough to bear his punishmentmanfully, and lay the lesson honestly to heart. Fretful andimperious when in pain, listless and selfish when at ease, his oneaim in life now was to kill time, and any thing that aided him inthis was most gratefully welcomed.
 
　　For a long while he took no more notice of Christie than if she hadbeen a shadow, seldom speaking beyond the necessary salutations, andmerely carrying his finger to his hat-brim when he passed her on thebeach with the children. Her first dislike was softened by pity whenshe found he was an invalid, but she troubled herself very littleabout him, and made no romances with him, for all her dreams were ofyounger, nobler lovers.
 
　　Busied with her own affairs, the days though monotonous were notunhappy. She prospered in her work and the children soon believed inher as devoutly as young Turks in their Prophet. She devisedamusements for herself as well as for them; walked, bathed, drove,and romped with the little people till her own eyes shone liketheirs, her cheek grew rosy, and her thin figure rounded with thepromise of vigorous health again.
 
　　Christie was at her best that summer, physically speaking, forsickness had refined her face, giving it that indescribableexpression which pain often leaves upon a countenance as if incompensation for the bloom it takes away. The frank eyes had asofter shadow in their depths, the firm lips smiled less often, butwhen it came the smile was the sweeter for the gravity that wentbefore, and in her voice there was a new undertone of that subtlemusic, called sympathy, which steals into the heart and nestlesthere.
 
　　She was unconscious of this gracious change, but others saw and feltit, and to some a face bright with health, intelligence, and modestywas more attractive than mere beauty. Thanks to this and her quiet,cordial manners, she found friends here and there to add charms tothat summer by the sea.
 
　　The dashing young men took no more notice of her than if she hadbeen a little gray peep on the sands; not so much, for they shotpeeps now and then, but a governess was not worth bringing down. Thefashionable belles and beauties were not even aware of herexistence, being too entirely absorbed in their yearly husband-huntto think of any one but themselves and their prey. The dowagers hadmore interesting topics to discuss, and found nothing in Christie'shumble fortunes worthy of a thought, for they liked their gossipstrong and highly flavored, like their tea.
 
　　But a kind-hearted girl or two found her out, several lively oldmaids, as full of the romance of the past as ancient novels, abashful boy, three or four invalids, and all the children, forChristie had a motherly heart and could find charms in the plainest,crossest baby that ever squalled.
 
　　Of her old friends she saw nothing, as her theatrical ones were offon their vacations, Hepsey had left her place for one in anothercity, and Aunt Betsey seldom wrote.
 
　　But one day a letter came, telling her that the dear old lady wouldnever write again, and Christie felt as if her nearest and dearestfriend was lost. She had gone away to a quiet spot among the rocksto get over her first grief alone, but found it very hard to checkher tears, as memory brought back the past, tenderly recalling everykind act, every loving word, and familiar scene. She seldom wept,but when any thing did unseal the fountains that lay so deep, shecried with all her heart, and felt the better for it.
 
　　With the letter crumpled in her hand, her head on her knees, and herhat at her feet, she was sobbing like a child, when steps startledher, and, looking up, she saw Mr. Fletcher regarding her with anastonished countenance from under his big sun umbrella.
 
　　Something in the flushed, wet face, with its tremulous lips andgreat tears rolling down, seemed to touch even lazy Mr. Fletcher,for he furled his umbrella with unusual rapidity, and came up,saying, anxiously:
 
　　"My dear Miss Devon, what's the matter? Are you hurt? Has Mrs. S.
 
　　been scolding? Or have the children been too much for you?""No; oh, no! it's bad news from home," and Christie's head went downagain, for a kind word was more than she could bear just then.
 
　　"Some one ill, I fancy? I'm sorry to hear it, but you must hope forthe best, you know," replied Mr. Fletcher, really quite exertinghimself to remember and present this well-worn consolation.
 
　　"There is no hope; Aunt Betsey's dead!""Dear me! that's very sad."Mr. Fletcher tried not to smile as Christie sobbed out theold-fashioned name, but a minute afterward there were actually tearsin his eyes, for, as if won by his sympathy, she poured out thehomely little story of Aunt Betsey's life and love, unconsciouslypronouncing the kind old lady's best epitaph in the unaffected griefthat made her broken words so eloquent.
 
　　For a minute Mr. Fletcher forgot himself, and felt as he rememberedfeeling long ago, when, a warm-hearted boy, he had comforted hislittle sister for a lost kitten or a broken doll. It was a newsensation, therefore interesting and agreeable while it lasted, andwhen it vanished, which it speedily did, he sighed, then shruggedhis shoulders and wished "the girl would stop crying like awater-spout.""It's hard, but we all have to bear it, you know; and sometimes Ifancy if half the pity we give the dead, who don't need it, wasgiven to the living, who do, they'd bear their troubles morecomfortably. I know I should," added Mr. Fletcher, returning to hisown afflictions, and vaguely wondering if any one would cry likethat when he departed this life.
 
　　Christie minded little what he said, for his voice was pitiful andit comforted her. She dried her tears, put back her hair, andthanked him with a grateful smile, which gave him another pleasantsensation; for, though young ladies showered smiles upon him withmidsummer radiance, they seemed cool and pale beside the sweetsincerity of this one given by a girl whose eyes were red withtender tears.
 
　　"That's right, cheer up, take a little run on the beach, and forgetall about it," he said, with a heartiness that surprised himself asmuch as it did Christie.
 
　　"I will, thank you. Please don't speak of this; I'm used to bearingmy troubles alone, and time will help me to do it cheerfully.""That's brave! If I can do any thing, let me know; I shall be mosthappy." And Mr. Fletcher evidently meant what he said.
 
　　Christie gave him another grateful "Thank you," then picked up herhat and went away along the sands to try his prescription; while Mr.
 
　　Fletcher walked the other way, so rapt in thought that he forgot toput up his umbrella till the end of his aristocratic nose was burnta deep red.
 
　　That was the beginning of it; for when Mr. Fletcher found a newamusement, he usually pursued it regardless of consequences.
 
　　Christie took his pity for what it was worth, and thought no more ofthat little interview, for her heart was very heavy. But heremembered it, and, when they met on the beach next day, wonderedhow the governess would behave. She was reading as she walked, and,with a mute acknowledgment of his nod, tranquilly turned a page andread on without a pause, a smile, or change of color.
 
　　Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away; but Christie was all themore amusing for her want of coquetry, and soon after he tried heragain. The great hotel was all astir one evening with bustle, light,and music; for the young people had a hop, as an appropriateentertainment for a melting July night. With no taste for suchfolly, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr. Fletcher loungedabout the piazzas, tantalizing the fair fowlers who spread theirnets for him, and goading sundry desperate spinsters to despair byhis erratic movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long windowgave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he found Christie leaningin, with a bright, wistful face, while her hand kept time to theenchanting music of a waltz.
 
　　"Wisely watching the lunatics, instead of joining in their antics,"he said, sitting down with a sigh.
 
　　Christie looked around and answered, with the wistful look still inher eyes:
 
　　"I'm very fond of that sort of insanity; but there is no place forme in Bedlam at present.""I daresay I can find you one, if you care to try it. I don'tindulge myself." And Mr. Fletcher's eye went from the rose inChristie's brown hair to the silvery folds of her best gown, put onmerely for the pleasure of wearing it because every one else was infestival array.
 
　　She shook her head. "No, thank you. Governesses are very kindlytreated in America; but ball-rooms like that are not for them. Ienjoy looking on, fortunately; so I have my share of fun after all.""I shan't get any complaints out of her. Plucky little soul! Irather like that," said Mr. Fletcher to himself; and, finding hisseat comfortable, the corner cool, and his companion pleasant tolook at, with the moonlight doing its best for her, he went ontalking for his own satisfaction.
 
　　Christie would rather have been left in peace; but fancying that hedid it out of kindness to her, and that she had done him injusticebefore, she was grateful now, and exerted herself to seem so; inwhich endeavor she succeeded so well that Mr. Fletcher proved hecould be a very agreeable companion when he chose. He talked well;and Christie was a good listener. Soon interest conquered herreserve, and she ventured to ask a question, make a criticism, orexpress an opinion in her own simple way. Unconsciously she piquedthe curiosity of the man; for, though he knew many lovely, wise, andwitty women, he had never chanced to meet with one like this before;and novelty was the desire of his life. Of course he did not findmoonlight, music, and agreeable chat as delightful as she did; butthere was something animating in the fresh face opposite, somethingflattering in the eager interest she showed, and something mostattractive in the glimpses unconsciously given him of a naturegenuine in its womanly sincerity and strength. Something about thisgirl seemed to appeal to the old self, so long neglected that hethought it dead. He could not analyze the feeling, but was consciousof a desire to seem better than he was as he looked into thosehonest eyes; to talk well, that he might bring that frank smile tothe lips that grew either sad or scornful when he tried worldlygossip or bitter satire; and to prove himself a man under all theelegance and polish of the gentleman.
 
　　He was discovering then, what Christie learned when her turn came,that fine natures seldom fail to draw out the finer traits of thosewho approach them, as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the handof a child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsuspectedspots. Women often possess this gift, and when used worthily find itas powerful as beauty; for, if less alluring, it is more lasting andmore helpful, since it appeals, not to the senses, but the souls ofmen.
 
　　Christie was one of these; and in proportion as her own nature wassound and sweet so was its power as a touchstone for the genuinenessof others. It was this unconscious gift that made her wonder at theunexpected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this which madehim, for an hour or two at least, heartily wish he could live hislife over again and do it better.
 
　　After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christie when he met her,turned and joined her sometimes as she walked with the children, andfell into the way of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to aninvalid friend on piazza or sea-shore. Christie much preferred tohave no auditor but kind Miss Tudor; but finding the old ladyenjoyed his chat she resigned herself, and when he brought them newbooks as well as himself, she became quite cordial.
 
　　Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded the little groupthat met day after day among the rocks. Christie read aloud, whilethe children revelled in sand, shells, and puddles; Miss Tudor spunendless webs of gay silk and wool; and Mr. Fletcher, with his hatover his eyes, lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard, as hewatched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight, and listenedto the pleasant voice that went reading on till all his ills andennui seemed lulled to sleep as by a spell.
 
　　A week or two of this new caprice set Christie to thinking. She knewthat Uncle Philip was not fond of "the darlings;" it was evidentthat good Miss Tudor, with her mild twaddle and eternal knitting,was not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he camefor her sake alone. She laughed at herself for this fancy at first;but not possessing the sweet unconsciousness of those heroines whocan live through three volumes with a burning passion before theireyes, and never see it till the proper moment comes, and Eugene goesdown upon his knees, she soon felt sure that Mr. Pletcher found hersociety agreeable, and wished her to know it.
 
　　Being a mortal woman, her vanity was flattered, and she foundherself showing that she liked it by those small signs and symbolswhich lovers' eyes are so quick to see and understand,--an artfulbow on her hat, a flower in her belt, fresh muslin gowns, and themost becoming arrangement of her hair.
 
　　"Poor man, he has so few pleasures I'm sure I needn't grudge himsuch a small one as looking at and listening to me if he likes it,"she said to herself one day, as she was preparing for her dailystroll with unusual care. "But how will it end? If he only wants amild flirtation he is welcome to it; but if he really cares for me,I must make up my mind about it, and not deceive him. I don'tbelieve he loves me: how can he? such an insignificant creature as Iam."Here she looked in the glass, and as she looked the color deepenedin her cheek, her eyes shone, and a smile would sit upon her lips,for the reflection showed her a very winning face under thecoquettish hat put on to captivate.
 
　　"Don't be foolish, Christie! Mind what you do, and be sure vanitydoesn't delude you, for you are only a woman, and in tilings of thissort we are so blind and silly. I'll think of this possibilitysoberly, but I won't flirt, and then which ever way I decide I shallhave nothing to reproach myself with."Armed with this virtuous resolution, Christie sternly replaced thepretty hat with her old brown one, fastened up a becoming curl,which of late she had worn behind her ear, and put on a pair ofstout, rusty boots, much fitter for rocks and sand than the smartslippers she was preparing to sacrifice. Then she trudged away toMiss Tudor, bent on being very quiet and reserved, as became a meekand lowly governess.
 
　　But, dear heart, how feeble are the resolutions of womankind! Whenshe found herself sitting in her favorite nook, with the wide, bluesea glittering below, the fresh wind making her blood dance in herveins, and all the earth and sky so full of summer life andloveliness, her heart would sing for joy, her face would shine withthe mere bliss of living, and underneath all this natural contentthe new thought, half confessed, yet very sweet, would whisper,"Somebody cares for me."If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletcher's face thatmorning would have dispelled the doubt, for, as she read, he wassaying to himself: "Yes, this healthful, cheery, helpful creature iswhat I want to make life pleasant. Every thing else is used up; whynot try this, and make the most of my last chance? She does me good,and I don't seem to get tired of her. I can't have a long life, theytell me, nor an easy one, with the devil to pay with my vitalsgenerally; so it would be a wise thing to provide myself with agood-tempered, faithful soul to take care of me. My fortune wouldpay for loss of time, and my death leave her a bonny widow. I won'tbe rash, but I think I'll try it,"With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful thoughts in hismind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletchcr's eyes betrayed him, as he laylooking at Christie. Never had she read so badly, for she could notkeep her mind on her book. It would wander to that new andtroublesome fancy of hers; she could not help thinking that Mr.
 
　　Fletcher must have been a handsome man before he was so ill;wondering if his temper was very bad, and fancying that he mightprove both generous and kind and true to one who loved and servedhim well. At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of thetongue that covered her with confusion.
 
　　She was reading "John Halifax," and instead of saying "PhineasFletcher" she said Philip, and then colored to her forehead, andlost her place. Miss Tudor did not mind it, but Mr. Fletcherlaughed, and Christie thanked Heaven that her face was half hiddenby the old brown hat.
 
　　Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find that Mr.
 
　　Fletcher had joined a yachting party next day and he would be awayfor a week. During that week Christie thought over the matter, andfancied she had made up her mind. She recalled certain speeches shehad heard, and which had more weight with her than she suspected.
 
　　One dowager had said to another: "P. F. intends to marry, I assureyou, for his sister told me so, with tears in her eyes. Men who havebeen gay in their youth make very good husbands when their wild oatsare sowed. Clara could not do better, and I should be quite contentto give her to him.""Well, dear, I should be sorry to see my Augusta his wife, forwhoever he marries will be a perfect slave to him. His fortune wouldbe a nice thing if he did not live long; but even for that myAugusta shall not be sacrificed," returned the other matron whoseAugusta had vainly tried to captivate "P. F.," and revenged herselfby calling him "a wreck, my dear, a perfect wreck."At another time Christie heard some girls discussing the eligibilityof several gentlemen, and Mr. Fletcher was considered the best matchamong; them.
 
　　"You can do any thing you like with a husband a good deal older thanyourself. He's happy with his business, his club, and his dinner,and leaves you to do what you please; just keep him comfortable andhe'll pay your bills without much fuss," said one young thing whohad seen life at twenty.
 
　　"I'd take him if I had the chance, just because everybody wants him.
 
　　Don't admire him a particle, but it will make a jolly stir wheneverhe does marry, and I wouldn't mind having a hand in it," said thesecond budding belle.
 
　　"I'd take him for the diamonds alone. Mamma says they are splendid,and have been in the family for ages. He won't let Mrs. S. wearthem, for they always go to the eldest son's wife. Hope he'll choosea handsome woman who will show them off well," said a third sweetgirl, glancing at her own fine neck.
 
　　"He won't; he'll take some poky old maid who will cuddle him when heis sick, and keep out of his way when he is well. See if he don't.""I saw him dawdling round with old Tudor, perhaps he means to takeher: she's a capital nurse, got ill herself taking care of herfather, you know.""Perhaps he's after the governess; she's rather nice looking, thoughshe hasn't a bit of style.""Gracious, no! she's a dowdy thing, always trailing round with abook and those horrid children. No danger of his marrying her." Anda derisive laugh seemed to settle that question beyond a doubt.
 
　　"Oh, indeed!" said Christie, as the girls went trooping out of thebath-house, where this pleasing chatter had been carried onregardless of listeners. She called them "mercenary, worldly,unwomanly flirts," and felt herself much their superior. Yet thememory of their gossip haunted her, and had its influence upon herdecision, though she thought she came to it through her own goodjudgment and discretion.
 
　　"If he really cares for me I will listen, and not refuse till I knowhim well enough to decide. I'm tired of being alone, and shouldenjoy ease and pleasure so much. He's going abroad for the winter,and that would be charming. I'll try not to be worldly-minded andmarry without love, but it does look tempting to a poor soul likeme."So Christie made up her mind to accept, if this promotion wasoffered her; and while she waited, went through so many alternationsof feeling, and was so harassed by doubts and fears that shesometimes found herself wishing it had never occurred to her.
 
　　Mr. Pletcher, meantime, with the help of many meditative cigars, wasmaking up his mind. Absence only proved to him how much he needed abetter time-killer than billiards, horses, or newspapers, for thelong, listless days seemed endless without the cheerful governess totone him up, like a new and agreeable sort of bitters. A graduallyincreasing desire to secure this satisfaction had taken possessionof him, and the thought of always having a pleasant companion, withno nerves, nonsense, or affectation about her, was an inviting ideato a man tired of fashionable follies and tormented with the ennuiof his own society.
 
　　The gossip, wonder, and chagrin such a step would cause ratherpleased his fancy; the excitement of trying almost the only thing asyet untried allured him; and deeper than all the desire to forgetthe past in a better future led him to Christie by the noblerinstincts that never wholly die in any soul. He wanted her as he hadwanted many other things in his life, and had little doubt that hecould have her for the asking. Even if love was not abounding,surely his fortune, which hitherto had procured him all he wished(except health and happiness) could buy him a wife, when his friendsmade better bargains every day. So, having settled the question, hecame home again, and every one said the trip had done him a world ofgood.
 
　　Christie sat in her favorite nook one bright September morning, withthe inevitable children hunting hapless crabs in a pool near by. Abook lay on her knee, but she was not reading; her eyes were lookingfar across the blue waste before her with an eager gaze, and herface was bright with some happy thought. The sound of approachingsteps disturbed her reverie, and, recognizing them, she plunged intothe heart of the story, reading as if utterly absorbed, till ashadow fell athwart the page, and the voice she had expected to hearasked blandly:
 
　　"What book now, Miss Devon?""'Jane Eyre,' sir."Mr. Fletcher sat down just where her hat-brim was no screen, pulledoff his gloves, and leisurely composed himself for a comfortablelounge.
 
　　"What is your opinion of Rochester?" he asked, presently.
 
　　"Not a very high one.""Then you think Jane was a fool to love and try to make a saint ofhim, I suppose?""I like Jane, but never can forgive her marrying that man, as Ihaven't much faith in the saints such sinners make.""But don't you think a man who had only follies to regret mightexpect a good woman to lend him a hand and make him happy?""If he has wasted his life he must take the consequences, and becontent with pity and indifference, instead of respect and love.
 
　　Many good women do 'lend a hand,' as you say, and it is quiteChristian and amiable, I 've no doubt; but I cannot think it a fairbargain."Mr. Fletcher liked to make Christie talk, for in the interest of thesubject she forgot herself, and her chief charm for him was herearnestness. But just then the earnestness did not seem to suit him,and he said, rather sharply:
 
　　"What hard-hearted creatures you women are sometimes! Now, I fanciedyou were one of those who wouldn't leave a poor fellow to his fate,if his salvation lay in your hands.""I can't say what I should do in such a case; but it always seemedto me that a man should have energy enough to save himself, and notexpect the 'weaker vessel,' as he calls her, to do it for him,"answered Christie, with a conscious look, for Mr. Fletcher's facemade her feel as if something was going to happen.
 
　　Evidently anxious to know what she would do in aforesaid case, Mr.
 
　　Fletcher decided to put one before her as speedily as possible, sohe said, in a pensive tone, and with a wistful glance:
 
　　"You looked very happy just now when I came up. I wish I couldbelieve that my return had any thing to do with it."Christie wished she could control her tell-tale color, but findingshe could not, looked hard at the sea, and, ignoring his tenderinsinuation, said, with suspicious enthusiasm:
 
　　"I was thinking of what Mrs. Saltonstall said this morning. Sheasked me if I would like to go to Paris with her for the winter. Ithas always been one of my dreams to go abroad, and I do hope I shallnot be disappointed."Christie's blush seemed to be a truer answer than her words, and,leaning a little nearer, Mr. Fletcher said, in his most persuasivetone:
 
　　"Will you go to Paris as my governess, instead of Charlotte's?"Christie thought her reply was all ready; but when the moment came,she found it was not, and sat silent, feeling as if that "Yes" wouldpromise far more than she could give. Mr. Fletcher had no doubt whatthe answer would be, and was in no haste to get it, for that was oneof the moments that are so pleasant and so short-lived they shouldbe enjoyed to the uttermost. He liked to watch her color come andgo, to see the asters on her bosom tremble with the quickenedbeating of her heart, and tasted, in anticipation, the satisfactionof the moment when that pleasant voice of hers would falter out itsgrateful assent. Drawing yet nearer, he went on, still in thepersuasive tone that would have been more lover-like if it had beenless assured.
 
　　"I think I am not mistaken in believing that you care for me alittle. You must know how fond I am of you, how much I need you, andhow glad I should be to give all I have if I might keep you alwaysto make my hard life happy. May I, Christie?""You would soon tire of me. I have no beauty, no accomplishments, nofortune,--nothing but my heart, and my hand to give the man I marry.
 
　　Is that enough?" asked Christie, looking at him with eyes thatbetrayed the hunger of an empty heart longing to be fed with genuinefood.
 
　　But Mr. Fletcher did not understand its meaning; he saw the humilityin her face, thought she was overcome by the weight of the honor hedid her, and tried to reassure her with the gracious air of one whowishes to lighten the favor he confers.
 
　　"It might not be for some men, but it is for me, because I want youvery much. Let people say what they will, if you say yes I amsatisfied. You shall not regret it, Christie; I'll do my best tomake you happy; you shall travel wherever I can go with you, havewhat you like, if possible, and when we come back by and by, youshall take your place in the world as my wife. You will fill itwell, I fancy, and I shall be a happy man. I've had my own way allmy life, and I mean to have it now, so smile, and say, 'Yes,Philip,' like a sweet soul, as you are."But Christie did not smile, and felt no inclination to say "Yes,Philip," for that last speech of his jarred on her ear. The tone ofunconscious condescension in it wounded the woman's sensitive pride;self was too apparent, and the most generous words seemed to herlike bribes. This was not the lover she had dreamed of, the brave,true man who gave her all, and felt it could not half repay thetreasure of her innocent, first love. This was not the happiness shehad hoped for, the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweetcontent that made all things possible, and changed this work-a-dayworld into a heaven while the joy lasted.
 
　　She had decided to say "yes," but her heart said "no" decidedly, andwith instinctive loyalty she obeyed it, even while she seemed toyield to the temptation which appeals to three of the strongestfoibles in most women's nature,--vanity, ambition, and the love ofpleasure.
 
　　"You are very kind, but you may repent it, you know so little ofme," she began, trying to soften her refusal, but sadly hindered bya feeling of contempt.
 
　　"I know more about you than you think; but it makes no difference,"interrupted Mr. Fletcher, with a smile that irritated Christie, evenbefore she understood its significance. "I thought it would atfirst, but I found I couldn't get on without you, so I made up mymind to forgive and forget that my wife had ever been an actress."Christie had forgotten it, and it would have been well for him if hehad held his tongue. Now she understood the tone that had chilledher, the smile that angered her, and Mr. Fletcher's fate was settledin the drawing of a breath.
 
　　"Who told you that?" she asked, quickly, while every nerve tingledwith the mortification of being found out then and there in the onesecret of her life.
 
　　"I saw you dancing on the beach with the children one day, and itreminded me of an actress I had once seen. I should not haveremembered it but for the accident which impressed it on my mind.
 
　　Powder, paint, and costume made 'Miss Douglas' a very differentwoman from Miss Devon, but a few cautious inquiries settled thematter, and I then understood where you got that slight soupcon ofdash and daring which makes our demure governess so charming whenwith me."As he spoke, Mr. Fletcher smiled again, and kissed his hand to herwith a dramatic little gesture that exasperated Christie beyondmeasure. She would not make light of it, as he did, and submit to beforgiven for a past she was not ashamed of. Heartily wishing she hadbeen frank at first, she resolved to have it out now, and acceptnothing Mr. Fletcher offered her, not even silence.
 
　　"Yes," she said, as steadily as she could, "I was an actress forthree years, and though it was a hard life it was an honest one, andI'm not ashamed of it. I ought to have told Mrs. Saltonstall, but Iwas warned that if I did it would be difficult to find a place,people are so prejudiced. I sincerely regret it now, and shall tellher at once, so you may save yourself the trouble.""My dear girl, I never dreamed of telling any one!" cried Mr.
 
　　Fletcher in an injured tone. "I beg you won't speak, but trust me,and let it be a little secret between us two. I assure you it makesno difference to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose,so forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the other point.
 
　　I'm still waiting for my answer, you know.""It is ready.""A kind one, I'm sure. What is it, Christie?""No, I thank you.""But you are not in earnest?""Perfectly so."Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against the rock,saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise and disappointment thather heart reproached her:
 
　　"NO, I THANK YOU.""Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss Devon?""Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr, Pletcher."Christie tried to speak kindly, but she was angry with herself andhim, and unconsciously showed it both in face and voice, for she wasno actress off the stage, and wanted to be very true just then as alate atonement for that earlier want of candor.
 
　　A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher's face; his cold eyeskindled with an angry spark, his lips were pale with anger, and hisvoice was very bitter, as he slowly said:
 
　　"I've made many blunders in my life, and this is one of thegreatest; for I believed in a woman, was fool enough to care for herwith the sincerest love I ever knew, and fancied that she would begrateful for the sacrifice I made."He got no further, for Christie rose straight up and answered himwith all the indignation she felt burning in her face and stirringthe voice she tried in vain to keep as steady as his own.
 
　　"The sacrifice would not have been all yours, for it is what we are,not what we have, that makes one human being superior to another. Iam as well-born as you in spite of my poverty; my life, I think, hasbeen a better one than yours; my heart, I know, is fresher, and mymemory has fewer faults and follies to reproach me with. What canyou give me but money and position in return for the youth andfreedom I should sacrifice in marrying you? Not love, for you countthe cost of your bargain, as no true lover could, and you reproachme for deceit when in your heart you know you only cared for mebecause I can amuse and serve you. I too deceived myself, I too seemy mistake, and I decline the honor you would do me, since it is sogreat in your eyes that you must remind me of it as you offer it."In the excitement of the moment Christie unconsciously spoke withsomething of her old dramatic fervor in voice and gesture; Mr.
 
　　Fletcher saw it, and, while he never had admired her so much, couldnot resist avenging himself for the words that angered him, the moredeeply for their truth. Wounded vanity and baffled will can make anungenerous man as spiteful as a woman; and Mr. Fletcher proved itthen, for he saw where Christie's pride was sorest, and touched thewound with the skill of a resentful nature.
 
　　As she paused, he softly clapped his hands, saying, with a smilethat made her eyes flash:
 
　　"Very well done! infinitely superior to your 'Woffington,' MissDevon. I am disappointed in the woman, but I make my compliment tothe actress, and leave the stage free for another and a moresuccessful Romeo." Still smiling, he bowed and went away apparentlyquite calm and much amused, but a more wrathful, disappointed mannever crossed those sands than the one who kicked his dog and sworeat himself for a fool that day when no one saw him.
 
　　For a minute Christie stood and watched him, then, feeling that shemust either laugh or cry, wisely chose the former vent for heremotions, and sat down feeling inclined to look at the whole scenefrom a ludicrous point of view.
 
　　"My second love affair is a worse failure than my first, for I didpity poor Joe, but this man is detestable, and I never will forgivehim that last insult. I dare say I was absurdly tragical, I'm apt tobe when very angry, but what a temper he has got! The white, coldkind, that smoulders and stabs, instead of blazing up and being overin a minute. Thank Heaven, I'm not his wife! Well, I've made anenemy and lost my place, for of course Mrs. Saltonstall won't keepme after this awful discovery. I'll tell her at once, for I willhave no 'little secrets' with him. No Paris either, and that's theworst of it all! Never mind, I haven't sold my liberty for theFletcher diamonds, and that's a comfort. Now a short scene with mylady and then exit governess."But though she laughed, Christie felt troubled at the part she hadplayed in this affair; repented of her worldly aspirations;confessed her vanity; accepted her mortification and disappointmentas a just punishment for her sins; and yet at the bottom of herheart she did enjoy it mightily.
 
　　She tried to spare Mr. Fletcher in her interview with his sister,and only betrayed her own iniquities. But, to her surprise, Mrs.
 
　　Saltonstall, though much disturbed at the discovery, valued Christieas a governess, and respected her as a woman, so she was willing tobury the past, she said, and still hoped Miss Devon would remain.
 
　　Then Christie was forced to tell her why it was impossible for herto do so; and, in her secret soul, she took a naughty satisfactionin demurely mentioning that she had refused my lord.
 
　　Mrs. Saltonstall's consternation was comical, for she had been soabsorbed in her own affairs she had suspected nothing; and horrorfell upon her when she learned how near dear Philip had been to thefate from which she jealously guarded him, that his property mightone day benefit the darlings.
 
　　In a moment every thing was changed; and it was evident to Christiethat the sooner she left the better it would suit madame. Theproprieties were preserved to the end, and Mrs. Saltonstall treatedher with unusual respect, for she had come to honor, and alsoconducted herself in a most praiseworthy manner. How she couldrefuse a Fletcher visibly amazed the lady; but she forgave theslight, and gently insinuated that "my brother" was, perhaps, onlyamusing himself.
 
　　Christie was but too glad to be off; and when Mrs. Saltonstall askedwhen she would prefer to leave, promptly replied, "To-morrow,"received her salary, which was forthcoming with unusual punctuality,and packed her trunks with delightful rapidity.
 
　　As the family was to leave in a week, her sudden departure caused nosurprise to the few who knew her, and with kind farewells to such ofher summer friends as still remained, she went to bed that night allready for an early start. She saw nothing more of Mr. Fletcher thatday, but the sound of excited voices in the drawing-room assured herthat madame was having it out with her brother; and with trulyfeminine inconsistency Christie hoped that she would not be too hardupon the poor man, for, after all, it was kind of him to overlookthe actress, and ask the governess to share his good things withhim.
 
　　She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep, imagining a bridaltrip to Paris, and dreamed so delightfully of lost splendors thatthe awakening was rather blank, the future rather cold and hard.
 
　　She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat and so escapeall disagreeable rencontres, and having kissed the children in theirlittle beds, with tender promises not to forget them, she took ahasty breakfast and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door.
 
　　The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded, and MissWalker, the hearty English lady who did her ten miles a day, criedout, as she tramped by, blooming and bedraggled:
 
　　"Bless me, are you off?""Yes, thank Heaven!" answered Christie; but as she spoke Mr.
 
　　Fletcher came down the steps looking as wan and heavy-eyed as if asleepless night had been added to his day's defeat. Leaning in atthe window, he asked abruptly, but with a look she never couldforget:
 
　　"Will nothing change your answer, Christie?""Nothing."His eyes said, "Forgive me," but his lips only said, "Good-by," andthe carriage rolled away.
 
　　Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the hand still red withthe lingering grasp he had given it, and Christie said, as pitifullyas if she loved him:
 
　　"He has got a heart, after all, and perhaps I might have been gladto fill it if he had only shown it to me sooner. Now it is toolate."
Chapter 5 Seamstress
     BEFORE she had time to find a new situation, Christie received anote from Miss Tudor, saying that hearing she had left Mrs.
 
　　Saltonstall she wanted to offer her the place of companion to aninvalid girl, where the duties were light and the compensationlarge.
 
　　"How kind of her to think of me," said Christie, gratefully. "I'llgo at once and do my best to secure it, for it must be a good thingor she wouldn't recommend it."Away went Christie to the address sent by Miss Tudor, and as shewaited at the door she thought:
 
　　"What a happy family the Carrols must be!" for the house was one ofan imposing block in a West End square, which had its own littlepark where a fountain sparkled in the autumn sunshine, and prettychildren played among the fallen leaves.
 
　　Mrs. Carrol was a stately woman, still beautiful in spite of herfifty years. But though there were few lines on her forehead, fewsilver threads in the dark hair that lay smoothly over it, and agracious smile showed the fine teeth, an indescribable expression ofunsubmissive sorrow touched the whole face, betraying that life hadbrought some heavy cross, from which her wealth could purchase norelease, for which her pride could find no effectual screen.
 
　　She looked at Christie with a searching eye, listened attentivelywhen she spoke, and seemed testing her with covert care as if theplace she was to fill demanded some unusual gift or skill.
 
　　"Miss Tudor tells me that you read aloud well, sing sweetly, possessa cheerful temper, and the quiet, patient ways which are peculiarlygrateful to an invalid," began Mrs. Carrol, with that keen yetwistful gaze, and an anxious accent in her voice that went toChristie's heart.
 
　　"Miss Tudor is very kind to think so well of me and my fewaccomplishments. I have never been with an invalid, but I think Ican promise to be patient, willing, and cheerful. My own experienceof illness has taught me how to sympathize with others and love tolighten pain. I shall be very glad to try if you think I have anyfitness for the place.""I do," and Mrs. Carrol's face softened as she spoke, for somethingin Christie's words or manner seemed to please her. Then slowly, asif the task was a hard one, she added:
 
　　"My daughter has been very ill and is still weak and nervous. I musthint to you that the loss of one very dear to her was the cause ofthe illness and the melancholy which now oppresses her. Therefore wemust avoid any thing that can suggest or recall this trouble. Shecares for nothing as yet, will see no one, and prefers to livealone. She is still so feeble this is but natural; yet solitude isbad for her, and her physician thinks that a new face might rouseher, and the society of one in no way connected with the painfulpast might interest and do her good. You see it is a littledifficult to find just what we want, for a young companion is best,yet must be discreet and firm, as few young people are."Fancying from Mrs. Carrol's manner that Miss Tudor had said more inher favor than had been repeated to her, Christie in a fewplain-words told her little story, resolving to have no concealmentshere, and feeling that perhaps her experiences might have given hermore firmness and discretion than many women of her age possessed.
 
　　Mrs. Carrol seemed to find it so; the anxious look lifted a littleas she listened, and when Christie ended she said, with a sigh ofrelief:
 
　　"Yes, I think Miss Tudor is right, and you are the one we want. Comeand try it for a week and then we can decide. Can you begin to-day?"she added, as Christie rose. "Every hour is precious, for my poorgirl's sad solitude weighs on my heart, and this is my one hope.""I will stay with pleasure," answered Christie, thinking Mrs.
 
　　Carrol's anxiety excessive, yet pitying the mother's pain, forsomething in her face suggested the idea that she reproached herselfin some way for her daughter's state.
 
　　With secret gratitude that she had dressed with care, Christie tookoff her things and followed Mrs. Carrol upstairs. Entering a room inwhat seemed to be a wing of the great house, they found an old womansewing.
 
　　"How is Helen to-day, Nurse?" asked Mrs. Carrol, pausing.
 
　　"Poorly, ma'am. I've been in every hour, but she only says: 'Let mebe quiet,' and lies looking up at the picture till it's fit to breakyour heart to see her," answered the woman, with a shake of thehead.
 
　　"I have brought Miss Devon to sit with her a little while. Doctoradvises it, and I fancy the experiment may succeed if we can onlyamuse the dear child, and make her forget herself and her troubles.""As you please, ma'am," said the old woman, looking with littlefavor at the new-comer, for the good soul was jealous of anyinterference between herself and the child she had tended for years.
 
　　"I won't disturb her, but you shall take Miss Devon in and tellHelen mamma sends her love, and hopes she will make an effort forall our sakes.""Yes, ma'am.""Go, my dear, and do your best." With these words Mrs. Carrolhastily left the room, and Christie followed Nurse.
 
　　A quick glance showed her that she was in the daintily furnishedboudoir of a rich man's daughter, but before she could take a secondlook her eyes were arrested by the occupant of this pretty place,and she forgot all else. On a low luxurious couch lay a girl, sobeautiful and pale and still, that for an instant Christie thoughther dead or sleeping. She was neither, for at the sound of a voicethe great eyes opened wide, darkening and dilating with a strangeexpression as they fell on the unfamiliar face.
 
　　"Nurse, who is that? I told you I would see no one. I'm too ill tobe so worried," she said, in an imperious tone.
 
　　HELEN CARROL"Yes, dear, I know, but your mamma wished you to make an effort.
 
　　Miss Devon is to sit with you and try to cheer you up a bit," saidthe old woman in a dissatisfied tone, that contrasted strangely withthe tender way in which she stroked the beautiful disordered hairthat hung about the girl's shoulders.
 
　　Helen knit her brows and looked most ungracious, but evidently triedto be civil, for with a courteous wave of her hand toward an easychair in the sunny window she said, quietly:
 
　　"Please sit down, Miss Devon, and excuse me for a little while. I'vehad a bad night, and am too tired to talk just yet. There are booksof all sorts, or the conservatory if you like it better.""Thank you. I'll read quietly till you want me. Then I shall be veryglad to do any thing I can for you."With that Christie retired to the big chair, and fell to reading thefirst book she took up, a good deal embarrassed by her reception,and very curious to know what would come next.
 
　　The old woman went away after folding the down coverlet carefullyover her darling's feet, and Helen seemed to go to sleep.
 
　　For a time the room was very still; the fire burned softly on themarble hearth, the sun shone warmly on velvet carpet and richhangings, the delicate breath of flowers blew in through thehalt-open door that led to a gay little conservatory, and nothingbut the roll of a distant carriage broke the silence now and then.
 
　　Christie's eyes soon wandered from her book to the lovely face andmotionless figure on the couch. Just opposite, in a recess, hung theportrait of a young and handsome man, and below it stood a vase offlowers, a graceful Roman lamp, and several little relics, as if itwere the shrine where some dead love was mourned and worshippedstill.
 
　　As she looked from the living face, so pale and so pathetic in itsquietude, to the painted one so full of color, strength, andhappiness, her heart ached for poor Helen, and her eyes were wetwith tears of pity. A sudden movement on the couch gave her no timeto hide them, and as she hastily looked down upon her book atreacherous drop fell glittering on the page.
 
　　"What have you there so interesting?" asked Helen, in that softlyimperious tone of hers.
 
　　"Don Quixote," answered Christie, too much abashed to have her witsabout her.
 
　　Helen smiled a melancholy smile as she rose, saying wearily:
 
　　"They gave me that to make me laugh, but I did not find it funny;neither was it sad enough to make me cry as you do.""I was not reading, I was"--there Christie broke down, and couldhave cried with vexation at the bad beginning she had made. But thatinvoluntary tear was better balm to Helen than the most perfecttact, the most brilliant conversation. It touched and won herwithout words, for sympathy works miracles. Her whole face changed,and her mournful eyes grew soft as with the gentle freedom of achild she lifted Christie's downcast face and said, with a falter inher voice:
 
　　"I know you were pitying me. Well, I need pity, and from you I'lltake it, because you don't force it on me. Have you been ill andwretched too? I think so, else you would never care to come and shutyourself up here with me!""I have been ill, and I know how hard it is to get one's spiritsback again. I've had my troubles, too, but not heavier than I couldbear, thank God.""What made you ill? Would you mind telling me about it? I seem tofancy hearing other people's woes, though it can't make mine seemlighter.""A piece of the Castle of the Sun fell on my head and nearly killedme," and Christie laughed in spite of herself at the astonishment inHelen's face. "I was an actress once; your mother knows and didn'tmind," she added, quickly.
 
　　"I'm glad of that. I used to wish I could be one, I was so fond ofthe theatre. They should have consented, it would have given mesomething to do, and, however hard it is, it couldn't be worse thanthis." Helen spoke vehemently and an excited flush rose to her whitecheeks; then she checked herself and dropped into a chair, saying,hurriedly:
 
　　"Tell about it: don't let me think; it's bad for me." Glad to be setto work, and bent on retrieving her first mistake, Christie plungedinto her theatrical experiences and talked away in her most livelystyle. People usually get eloquent when telling their own stories,and true tales are always the most interesting. Helen listened atfirst with a half-absent air, but presently grew more attentive, andwhen the catastrophe came sat erect, quite absorbed in the interestof this glimpse behind the curtain.
 
　　Charmed with her success, Christie branched off right and left,stimulated by questions, led on by suggestive incidents, andgenerously supplied by memory. Before she knew it, she was tellingher whole history in the most expansive manner, for women soon getsociable together, and Helen's interest flattered her immensely.
 
　　Once she made her laugh at some droll trifle, and as if theunaccustomed sound had startled her, old nurse popped in her head;but seeing nothing amiss retired, wondering what on earth that girlcould be doing to cheer up Miss Helen so.
 
　　"Tell about your lovers: you must have had some; actresses alwaysdo. Happy women, they can love as they like!" said Helen, with theinquisitive frankness of an invalid for whom etiquette has ceased toexist.
 
　　Remembering in time that this was a forbidden subject, Christiesmiled and shook her head.
 
　　"I had a few, but one does not tell those secrets, you know."Evidently disappointed, and a little displeased at being reminded ofher want of good-breeding, Helen got up and began to wanderrestlessly about the room. Presently, as if wishing to atone for herimpatience, she bade Christie come and see her flowers. Followingher, the new companion found herself in a little world whereperpetual summer reigned. Vines curtained the roof, slender shrubsand trees made leafy walls on either side, flowers bloomed above andbelow, birds carolled in half-hidden prisons, aquariums andferneries stood all about, and the soft plash of a little fountainmade pleasant music as it rose and fell.
 
　　Helen threw herself wearily down on a pile of cushions that laybeside the basin, and beckoning Christie to sit near, said, as shepressed her hands to her hot forehead and looked up with adistressful brightness in the haggard eyes that seemed to have norest in them:
 
　　"Please sing to me; any humdrum air will do. I am so tired, and yetI cannot sleep. If my head would only stop this dreadful thinkingand let me forget one hour it would do me so much good.""I know the feeling, and I'll try what Lucy used to do to quiet me.
 
　　Put your poor head in my lap, dear, and lie quite still while I cooland comfort it."Obeying like a worn-out child, Helen lay motionless while Christie,dipping her fingers in the basin, passed the wet tips softly to andfro across the hot forehead, and the thin temples where the pulsesthrobbed so fast. And while she soothed she sang the "Land o' theLeal," and sang it well; for the tender words, the plaintive airwere dear to her, because her mother loved and sang it to her yearsago. Slowly the heavy eyelids drooped, slowly the lines of pain weresmoothed away from the broad brow, slowly the restless hands grewstill, and Helen lay asleep.
 
　　So intent upon her task was Christie, that she forgot herself tillthe discomfort of her position reminded her that she had a body.
 
　　Fearing to wake the poor girl in her arms, she tried to lean againstthe basin, but could not reach a cushion to lay upon the cold stoneledge. An unseen hand supplied the want, and, looking round, she sawtwo young men standing behind her.
 
　　Helen's brothers, without doubt; for, though utterly unlike inexpression, some of the family traits were strongly marked in both.
 
　　The elder wore the dress of a priest, had a pale, ascetic face, withmelancholy eyes, stern mouth, and the absent air of one who leads aninward life. The younger had a more attractive face, for, thoughbearing marks of dissipation, it betrayed a generous, ardent nature,proud and wilful, yet lovable in spite of all defects. He was veryboyish still, and plainly showed how much he felt, as, with a hastynod to Christie, he knelt down beside his sister, saying, in awhisper:
 
　　"Look at her, Augustine! so beautiful, so quiet! What a comfort itis to see her like herself again.""Ah, yes; and but for the sin of it, I could find it in my heart towish she might never wake!" returned the other, gloomily.
 
　　"Don't say that! How could we live without her?" Then, turning toChristie, the younger said, in a friendly tone:
 
　　"You must be very tired; let us lay her on the sofa. It is very damphere, and if she sleeps long you will faint from weariness."Carefully lifting her, the brothers carried the sleeping girl intoher room, and laid her down. She sighed as her head touched thepillow, and her arm clung to Harry's neck, as if she felt hisnearness even in sleep. He put his cheek to hers, and lingered overher with an affectionate solicitude beautiful to see. Augustinestood silent, grave and cold as if he had done with human ties, yetfound it hard to sever this one, for he stretched his hand above hissister as if he blessed her, then, with another grave bow toChristie, went away as noiselessly as he had come. But Harry kissedthe sleeper tenderly, whispered, "Be kind to her," with an imploringvoice, and hurried from the room as if to hide the feeling that hemust not show.
 
　　A few minutes later the nurse brought in a note from Mrs. Carrol.
 
　　"My son tells me that Helen is asleep, and you look very tired.
 
　　Leave her to Hester, now; you have done enough to-day, so let methank you heartily, and send you home for a quiet night before youcontinue your good work to-morrow."Christie went, found a carriage waiting for her, and drove home veryhappy at the success of her first attempt at companionship.
 
　　The next day she entered upon the new duties with interest andgood-will, for this was work in which heart took part, as well ashead and hand. Many things surprised, and some things perplexed her,as she came to know the family better. But she discreetly held hertongue, used her eyes, and did her best to please.
 
　　Mrs. Carrol seemed satisfied, often thanked her for her faithfulnessto Helen, but seldom visited her daughter, never seemed surprised orgrieved that the girl expressed no wish to see her; and, though herhandsome face always wore its gracious smile, Christie soon feltvery sure that it was a mask put on to hide some heavy sorrow from acurious world.
 
　　Augustine never came except when Helen was asleep: then, like ashadow, he passed in and out, always silent, cold, and grave, but inhis eyes the gloom of some remorseful pain that prayers and penancesseemed powerless to heal.
 
　　Harry came every day, and no matter how melancholy, listless, orirritable his sister might be, for him she always had a smile, anaffectionate greeting, a word of praise, or a tender warning againstthe reckless spirit that seemed to possess him. The love betweenthem was very strong, and Christie found a never-failing pleasure inwatching them together, for then Helen showed what she once hadbeen, and Harry was his best self. A boy still, in spite of hisone-and-twenty years, he seemed to feel that Helen's room was a saferefuge from the temptations that beset one of his thoughtless andimpetuous nature. Here he came to confess his faults and follieswith the frankness which is half sad, half comical, and whollycharming in a good-hearted young scatter-brain. Here he brought gaygossip, lively descriptions, and masculine criticisms of the worldhe moved in. All his hopes and plans, joys and sorrows, successesand defeats, he told to Helen. And she, poor soul, in this one happylove of her sad life, forgot a little the burden of despair thatdarkened all the world to her. For his sake she smiled, to him shetalked when others got no word from her, and Harry's salvation wasthe only duty that she owned or tried to fulfil.
 
　　A younger sister was away at school, but the others seldom spoke ofher, and Christie tired herself with wondering why Bella never wroteto Helen, and why Harry seemed to have nothing but a gloomy sort ofpity to bestow upon the blooming girl whose picture hung in thegreat drawing-room below.
 
　　It was a very quiet winter, yet a very pleasant one to Christie, forshe felt herself loved and trusted, saw that she suited, andbelieved that she was doing good, as women best love to do it, bybestowing sympathy and care with generous devotion.
 
　　Helen and Harry loved her like an elder sister; Augustine showedthat he was grateful, and Mrs. Carrol sometimes forgot to put on hermask before one who seemed fast becoming confidante as well ascompanion.
 
　　In the spring the family went to the fine old country-house just outof town, and here Christie and her charge led a freer, happier life.
 
　　Walking and driving, boating and gardening, with pleasant days onthe wide terrace, where Helen swung idly in her hammock, whileChristie read or talked to her; and summer twilights beguiled withmusic, or the silent reveries more eloquent than speech, which realfriends may enjoy together, and find the sweeter for the mutecompanionship.
 
　　Harry was with them, and devoted to his sister, who seemed slowly tobe coming out of her sad gloom, won by patient tenderness and thecheerful influences all about her.
 
　　Christie's heart was full of pride and satisfaction, as she saw thealtered face, heard the tone of interest in that once hopelessvoice, and felt each day more sure that Helen had outlived the lossthat seemed to have broken her heart.
 
　　Alas, for Christie's pride, for Harry's hope, and for poor Helen'sbitter fate! When all was brightest, the black shadow came; when alllooked safest, danger was at hand; and when the past seemed buried,the ghost which haunted it returned, for the punishment of a brokenlaw is as inevitable as death.
 
　　When settled in town again Bella came home, a gay, young girl, whoshould have brought sunshine and happiness into her home. But fromthe hour she returned a strange anxiety seemed to possess theothers. Mrs. Carrol watched over her with sleepless care, wasevidently full of maternal pride in the lovely creature, and beganto dream dreams about her future. She seemed to wish to keep thesisters apart, and said to Christie, as if to explain this wish:
 
　　"Bella was away when Helen's trouble and illness came, she knowsvery little of it, and I do not want her to be saddened by theknowledge. Helen cares only for Hal, and Bella is too young to be ofany use to my poor girl; therefore the less they see of each otherthe better for both. I am sure you agree with me?" she added, withthat covert scrutiny which Christie had often felt before.
 
　　She could but acquiesce in the mother's decision, and devote herselfmore faithfully than ever to Helen, who soon needed all her care andpatience, for a terrible unrest grew upon her, bringing sleeplessnights again, moody days, and all the old afflictions with redoubledforce.
 
　　Bella "came out" and began her career as a beauty and a belle mostbrilliantly. Harry was proud of her, but seemed jealous of othermen's admiration for his charming sister, and would excite bothHelen and himself over the flirtations into which "that child" asthey called her, plunged with all the zest of a light-hearted girlwhose head was a little turned with sudden and excessive adoration.
 
　　In vain Christie begged Harry not to report these things, in vainshe hinted that Bella had better not come to show herself to Helennight after night in all the dainty splendor of her youth andbeauty; in vain she asked Mrs. Carrol to let her go away to somequieter place with Helen, since she never could be persuaded to joinin any gayety at home or abroad. All seemed wilful, blind, orgoverned by the fear of the gossiping world. So the days rolled ontill an event occurred which enlightened Christie, with startlingabruptness, and showed her the skeleton that haunted this unhappyfamily.
 
　　Going in one morning to Helen she found her walking to and fro asshe often walked of late, with hurried steps and excited face as ifdriven by some power beyond her control.
 
　　"Good morning, dear. I'm so sorry you had a restless night, and wishyou had sent for me. Will you come out now for an early drive? It'sa lovely day, and your mother thinks it would do you good," beganChristie, troubled by the state in which she found the girl.
 
　　But as she spoke Helen turned on her, crying passionately:
 
　　"My mother! don't speak of her to me, I hate her!""Oh, Helen, don't say that. Forgive and forget if she has displeasedyou, and don't exhaust yourself by brooding over it. Come, dear, andlet us soothe ourselves with a little music. I want to hear that newsong again, though I can never hope to sing it as you do.""Sing!" echoed Helen, with a shrill laugh, "you don't know what youask. Could you sing when your heart was heavy with the knowledge ofa sin about to be committed by those nearest to you? Don't try toquiet me, I must talk whether you listen or not; I shall go franticif I don't tell some one; all the world will know it soon. Sit down,I'll not hurt you, but don't thwart me or you'll be sorry for it."Speaking with a vehemence that left her breathless, Helen thrustChristie down upon a seat, and went on with an expression in herface that bereft the listener of power to move or speak.
 
　　"Harry has just told me of it; he was very angry, and I saw it, andmade him tell me. Poor boy, he can keep nothing from me. I've beendreading it, and now it's coming. You don't know it, then? YoungButler is in love with Bella, and no one has prevented it. Think howwicked when such a curse is on us all."The question, "What curse?" rose involuntarily to Christie's lips,but did not pass them, for, as if she read the thought, Helenanswered it in a whisper that made the blood tingle in the other'sveins, so full of ominous suggestion was it.
 
　　"The curse of insanity I mean. We are all mad, or shall be; we comeof a mad race, and for years we have gone recklessly on bequeathingthis awful inheritance to our descendants. It should end with us, weare the last; none of us should marry; none dare think of it butBella, and she knows nothing. She must be told, she must be keptfrom the sin of deceiving her lover, the agony of seeing herchildren become what I am, and what we all may be."Here Helen wrung her hands and paced the room in such a paroxysm ofimpotent despair that Christie sat bewildered and aghast, wonderingif this were true, or but the fancy of a troubled brain. Mrs.
 
　　Carrol's face and manner returned to her with sudden vividness, sodid Augustine's gloomy expression, and the strange wish uttered overhis sleeping sister long ago. Harry's reckless, aimless life mightbe explained in this way; and all that had perplexed her throughthat year. Every thing confirmed the belief that this tragicalassertion was true, and Christie covered up her face, murmuring,with an involuntary shiver:
 
　　"My God, how terrible!"Helen came and stood before her with such grief and penitence in hercountenance that for a moment it conquered the despair that hadbroken bounds.
 
　　"We should have told you this at first; I longed to do it, but I wasafraid you'd go and leave me. I was so lonely, so miserable,Christie. I could not give you up when I had learned to love you;and I did learn very soon, for no wretched creature ever needed helpand comfort more than I. For your sake I tried to be quiet, tocontrol my shattered nerves, and hide rny desperate thoughts. Youhelped me very much, and your unconsciousness made me doublywatchful. Forgive me; don't desert me now, for the old horror may becoming back, and I want you more than ever."Too much moved to speak, Christie held out her hands, with a facefull of pity, love, and grief. Poor Helen clung to them as if heronly help lay there, and for a moment was quite still. But not long;the old anguish was too sharp to be borne in silence; the relief ofconfidence once tasted was too great to be denied; and, breakingloose, she went to and fro again, pouring out the bitter secretwhich had been weighing upon heart and conscience for a year.
 
　　"You wonder that I hate my mother; let me tell you why. When she wasbeautiful and young she married, knowing the sad history of myfather's family. He was rich, she poor and proud; ambition made herwicked, and she did it after being warned that, though he mightescape, his children were sure to inherit the curse, for when onegeneration goes free it falls more heavily upon the rest. She knewit all, and yet she married him. I have her to thank for all Isuffer, and I cannot love her though she is my mother. It may bewrong to say these things, but they are true; they burn in my heart,and I must speak out; for I tell you there comes a time whenchildren judge their parents as men and women, in spite of filialduty, and woe to those whose actions change affection and respect tohatred or contempt."The bitter grief, the solemn fervor of her words, both touched andawed Christie too much for speech. Helen had passed beyond thebounds of ceremony, fear, or shame: her hard lot, her darkexperience, set her apart, and gave her the right to utter the baretruth. To her heart's core Christie felt that warning; and for thefirst time saw what many never see or wilfully deny,--the awfulresponsibility that lies on every man and woman's soul forbiddingthem to entail upon the innocent the burden of their owninfirmities, the curse that surely follows their own sins.
 
　　Sad and stern, as an accusing angel, that most unhappy daughterspoke:
 
　　"If ever a woman had cause to repent, it is my mother; but she willnot, and till she does, God has forsaken us. Nothing can subdue herpride, not even an affliction like mine. She hides the truth; shehides me, and lets the world believe I am dying of consumption; nota word about insanity, and no one knows the secret beyond ourselves,but doctor, nurse, and you. This is why I was not sent away, but fora year was shut up in that room yonder where the door is alwayslocked. If you look in, you'll see barred windows, guarded fire,muffled walls, and other sights to chill your blood, when youremember all those dreadful things were meant for me.""Don't speak, don't think of them! Don't talk any more; let me dosomething to comfort you, for my heart is broken with all this,"cried Christie, panic-stricken at the picture Helen's words hadconjured up.
 
　　"I must go on! There is no rest for me till I have tried to lightenthis burden by sharing it with you. Let me talk, let me wear myselfout, then you shall help and comfort me, if there is any help andcomfort for such as I. Now I can tell you all about my Edward, andyou'll listen, though mamma forbade it. Three years ago my fatherdied, and we came here. I was well then, and oh, how happy!"Clasping her hands above her head, she stood like a beautiful, paleimage of despair; tearless and mute, but with such a world ofanguish in the eyes lifted to the smiling picture opposite that itneeded no words to tell the story of a broken heart.
 
　　"How I loved him!" she said, softly, while her whole face glowed foran instant with the light and warmth of a deathless passion. "How Iloved him, and how he loved me! Too well to let me darken both ourlives with a remorse which would come too late for a just atonement.
 
　　I thought him cruel then,--I bless him for it now. I had far ratherbe the innocent sufferer I am, than a wretched woman like my mother.
 
　　I shall never see him any more, but I know he thinks of me far awayin India, and when I die one faithful heart will remember me."There her voice faltered and failed, and for a moment the fire ofher eyes was quenched in tears. Christie thought the reaction hadcome, and rose to go and comfort her. But instantly Helen's hand wason her shoulder, and pressing her back into her seat, she said,almost fiercely:
 
　　"I'm not done yet; yon must hear the whole, and help me to saveBella. We knew nothing of the blight that hung over us till fathertold Augustine upon his death-bed. August, urged by mother, kept itto himself, and went away to bear it as he could. He should havespoken out and saved me in time. But not till he came home and foundme engaged did he have courage to warn me of the fate in store forus. So Edward tore himself away, although it broke his heart, andI--do you see that?"With a quick gesture she rent open her dress, and on her bosomChristie saw a scar that made her turn yet paler than before.
 
　　"Yes, I tried to kill myself; but they would not let me die, so theold tragedy of our house begins again. August became a priest,hoping to hide his calamity and expiate his father's sin by endlesspenances and prayers. Harry turned reckless; for what had he to lookforward to? A short life, and a gay one, he says, and when his turncomes he will spare himself long suffering, as I tried to do it.
 
　　Bella was never told; she was so young they kept her ignorant of allthey could, even the knowledge of my state. She was long away atschool, but now she has come home, now she has learned to love, andis going blindly as I went, because no one tells her what she mustknow soon or late. Mamma will not. August hesitates, remembering me.
 
　　Harry swears he will speak out, but I implore him not to do it, forhe will be too violent; and I am powerless. I never knew about thisman till Hal told me to-day. Bella only comes in for a moment, and Ihave no chance to tell her she must not love him."Pressing her hands to her temples, Helen resumed her restless marchagain, but suddenly broke out more violently than before:
 
　　"Now do you wonder why I am half frantic? Now will you ask me tosing and smile, and sit calmly by while this wrong goes on? You havedone much for me, and God will bless you for it, but you cannot keepme sane. Death is the only cure for a mad Carrol, and I'm so young,so strong, it will be long in coming unless I hurry it."She clenched her hands, set her teeth, and looked about her as ifready for any desperate act that should set her free from the darkand dreadful future that lay before her.
 
　　For a moment Christie feared and trembled; then pity conquered fear.
 
　　She forgot herself, and only remembered this poor girl, so hopeless,helpless, and afflicted. Led by a sudden impulse, she put both armsabout her, and held her close with a strong but silent tendernessbetter than any bonds. At first, Helen seemed unconscious of it, asshe stood rigid and motionless, with her wild eyes dumbly imploringhelp of earth and heaven. Suddenly both strength and excitementseemed to leave her, and she would have fallen but for the living,loving prop that sustained her.
 
　　Still silent, Christie laid her down, kissed her white lips, andbusied herself about her till she looked up quite herself again, butso wan and weak, it was pitiful to see her.
 
　　"It's over now," she whispered, with a desolate sigh. "Sing to me,and keep the evil spirit quiet for a little while. To-morrow, if I'mstrong enough, we'll talk about poor little Bella."And Christie sang, with tears dropping fast upon the keys, that madea soft accompaniment to the sweet old hymns which soothed thistroubled soul as David's music brought repose to Saul.
 
　　When Helen slept at last from sheer exhaustion, Christie executedthe resolution she had made as soon as the excitement of that stormyscene was over. She went straight to Mrs. Carrol's room, and,undeterred by the presence of her sons, told all that had passed.
 
　　They were evidently not unprepared for it, thanks to old Hester, whohad overheard enough of Helen's wild words to know that somethingwas amiss, and had reported accordingly; but none of them hadventured to interrupt the interview, lest Helen should be driven todesperation as before.
 
　　"Mother, Helen is right; we should speak out, and not hide thisbitter fact any longer. The world will pity us, and we must bear thepity, but it would condemn us for deceit, and we should deserve thecondemnation if we let this misery go on. Living a lie will ruin usall. Bella will be destroyed as Helen was; I am only the shadow of aman now, and Hal is killing himself as fast as he can, to avoid thefate we all dread."Augustine spoke first, for Mrs. Carrol sat speechless with hertrouble as Christie paused.
 
　　"Keep to your prayers, and let me go my own way, it's the shortest,"muttered Harry, with his face hidden, and his head down on hisfolded arms.
 
　　"Boys, boys, you'll kill me if you say such things! I have more nowthan I can bear. Don't drive me wild with your reproaches to eachother!" cried their mother, her heart rent with the remorse thatcame too late.
 
　　"No fear of that; you are not a Carrol," answered Harry, with thepitiless bluntness of a resentful and rebellious boy.
 
　　Augustine turned on him with a wrathful flash of the eye, and awarning ring in his stern voice, as he pointed to the door.
 
　　"You shall not insult your mother! Ask her pardon, or go!""She should ask mine! I'll go. When you want me, you'll know whereto find me." And, with a reckless laugh, Harry stormed out of theroom.
 
　　Augustine's indignant face grew full of a new trouble as the doorbanged below, and he pressed his thin hands tightly together,saying, as if to himself:
 
　　"Heaven help me! Yes, I do know; for, night after night, I find andbring the poor lad home from gambling-tables and the hells wheresouls like his are lost."Here Christie thought to slip away, feeling that it was no place forher now that her errand was done. But Mrs. Carrol called her back.
 
　　"Miss Devon--Christie--forgive me that I did not trust you sooner.
 
　　It was so hard to tell; I hoped so much from time; I never couldbelieve that my poor children would be made the victims of mymistake. Do not forsake us: Helen loves you so. Stay with her, Iimplore you, and let a most unhappy mother plead for a most unhappychild." Then Christie went to the poor woman, and earnestly assuredher of her love and loyalty; for now she felt doubly bound to thembecause they trusted her.
 
　　"What shall we do?" they said to her, with pathetic submission,turning like sick people to a healthful soul for help and comfort.
 
　　"Tell Bella all the truth, and help her to refuse her lover. Do thisjust thing, and God will strengthen you to bear the consequences,"was her answer, though she trembled at the responsibility they putupon her.
 
　　"Not yet," cried Mrs. Carrol. "Let the poor child enjoy the holidayswith a light heart,--then we will tell her; and then Heaven help usall!"So it was decided; for only a week or two of the old year remained,and no one had the heart to rob poor Bella of the little span ofblissful ignorance that now remained to her.
 
　　A terrible time was that to Christie; for, while one sister, blessedwith beauty, youth, love, and pleasure, tasted life at its sweetest,the other sat in the black shadow of a growing dread, and weariedHeaven with piteous prayers for her relief.
 
　　"The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping over me. Don'tlet it come, Christie! Stay by me! Help me! Keep me sane! And if youcannot, ask God to take me quickly!"With words like these, poor Helen clung to Christie; and, soul andbody, Christie devoted herself to the afflicted girl. She would notsee her mother; and the unhappy woman haunted that closed door,hungering for the look, the word, that never came to her. Augustinewas her consolation, and, during those troublous days, the priestwas forgotten in the son. But Harry was all in all to Helen then;and it was touching to see how these unfortunate young creaturesclung to one another, she tenderly trying to keep him from the wildlife that was surely hastening the fate he might otherwise escapefor years, and he patiently bearing all her moods, eager to cheerand soothe the sad captivity from which he could not save her.
 
　　These tender ministrations seemed to be blessed at last; andChristie began to hope the haunting terror would pass by, as quietgloom succeeded to wild excitement. The cheerful spirit of theseason seemed to reach even that sad room; and, in preparing giftsfor others, Helen seemed to find a little of that best of allgifts,--peace for herself.
 
　　On New Year's morning, Christie found her garlanding her lover'spicture with white roses and the myrtle sprays brides wear.
 
　　"These were his favorite flowers, and I meant to make my weddingwreath of this sweet-scented myrtle, because he gave it to me," shesaid, with a look that made Christie's eyes grow dim. "Don't grievefor me, dear; we shall surely meet hereafter, though so far asunderhere. Nothing can part us there, I devoutly believe; for we leaveour burdens all behind us when we go." Then, in a lighter tone, shesaid, with her arm on Christie's neck:
 
　　"This day is to be a happy one, no matter what comes after it. I'mgoing to be my old self for a little while, and forget there's sucha word as sorrow. Help me to dress, so that when the boys come upthey may find the sister Nell they have not seen for two longyears.""Will you wear this, my darling? Your mother beads it, and she triedto have it dainty and beautiful enough to please you. See, your owncolors, though the bows are only laid on that they may be changedfor others if you like."As she spoke Christie lifted the cover of the box old Hester hadjust brought in, and displayed a cashmere wrapper, creamy-white,silk-lined, down-trimmed, and delicately relieved by rosy knots,like holly berries lying upon snow. Helen looked at it without aword for several minutes, then gathering up the ribbons, with astrange smile, she said:
 
　　"I like it better so; but I'll not wear it yet.""Bless and save us, deary; it must have a bit of color somewhere,else it looks just like a shroud," cried Hester, and then wrung herhands in dismay as Helen answered, quietly:
 
　　"Ah, well, keep it for me, then. I shall be happier when I wear itso than in the gayest gown I own, for when you put it on, this poorhead and heart of mine will be quiet at last."Motioning Hester to remove the box, Christie tried to banish thecloud her unlucky words had brought to Helen's face, by chattingcheerfully as she helped her make herself "pretty for the boys."All that day she was unusually calm and sweet, and seemed to yieldherself wholly to the happy influences of the hour, gave andreceived her gifts so cheerfully that her brothers watched her withdelight; and unconscious Bella said, as she hung about her sister,with loving admiration in her eyes:
 
　　"I always thought you would get well, and now I'm sure of it, foryou look as you used before I went away to school, and seem justlike our own dear Nell.""I'm glad of that; I wanted you to feel so, my Bella. I'll acceptyour happy prophecy, and hope I may get well soon, very soon."So cheerfully she spoke, so tranquilly she smiled, that all rejoicedover her believing, with love's blindness, that she might yetconquer her malady in spite of their forebodings.
 
　　It was a very happy day to Christie, not only that she wasgenerously remembered and made one of them by all the family, butbecause this change for the better in Helen made her heart sing forjoy. She had given time, health, and much love to the task, andventured now to hope they had not been given in vain. One thing onlymarred her happiness, the sad estrangement of the daughter from hermother, and that evening she resolved to take advantage of Helen'stender mood, and plead for the poor soul who dared not plead forherself.
 
　　As the brothers and sisters said good-night, Helen clung to them asif loth to part, saying, with each embrace:
 
　　"Keep hoping for me, Bella; kiss me, Harry; bless me, Augustine, andall wish for me a happier New Year than the last."When they were gone she wandered slowly round the room, stood longbefore the picture with its fading garland, sung a little softly toherself, and came at last to Christie, saying, like a tired child:
 
　　"I have been good all day; now let me rest.""One thing has been forgotten, dear," began Christie, fearing todisturb the quietude that seemed to have been so dearly bought.
 
　　Helen understood her, and looked up with a sane sweet face, out ofwhich all resentful bitterness had passed.
 
　　"No, Christie, not forgotten, only kept until the last. To-day is agood day to forgive, as we would be forgiven, and I mean to do itbefore I sleep," Then holding Christie close, she added, with aquiver of emotion in her voice: "I have no words warm enough tothank you, my good angel, for all you have been to me, but I know itwill give you a great pleasure to do one thing more. Give dear mammamy love, and tell her that when I am quiet for the night I want herto come and get me to sleep with the old lullaby she used to singwhen I was a little child."No gift bestowed that day was so precious to Christie as the joy ofcarrying this loving message from daughter to mother. How Mrs.
 
　　Carrol received it need not be told. She would have gone at once,but Christie begged her to wait till rest and quiet, after theefforts of the day, had prepared Helen for an interview which mightundo all that had been done if too hastily attempted.
 
　　Hester always waited upon her child at night; so, feeling that shemight be wanted later, Christie went to her own room to rest. Quitesure that Mrs. Carrol would come to tell her what had passed, shewaited for an hour or two, then went to ask of Hester how the visithad sped.
 
　　"Her mamma came up long ago, but the dear thing was fast asleep, soI wouldn't let her be disturbed, and Mrs. Carrol went away again,"said the old woman, rousing from a nap.
 
　　Grieved at the mother's disappointment, Christie stole in, hopingthat Helen might rouse. She did not, and Christie was about to leaveher, when, as she bent to smooth the tumbled coverlet, somethingdropped at her feet. Only a little pearl-handled penknife ofHarry's; but her heart stood still with fear, for it was open, and,as she took it up, a red stain came off upon her hand.
 
　　Helen's face was turned away, and, bending nearer, Christie saw howdeathly pale it looked in the shadow of the darkened room. Shelistened at her lips; only a faint flutter of breath parted them;she lifted up the averted head, and on the white throat saw a littlewound, from which the blood still flowed. Then, like a flash oflight, the meaning of the sudden change which came over her grewclear,--her brave efforts to make the last day happy, her tendergood-night partings, her wish to be at peace with every one, thetragic death she had chosen rather than live out the tragic lifethat lay before her.
 
　　Christie's nerves had been tried to the uttermost; the shock of thisdiscovery was too much for her, and, in the act of calling for help,she fainted, for the first time in her life.
 
　　When she was herself again, the room was full of people;terror-stricken faces passed before her; broken voices whispered,"It is too late," and, as she saw the group about the bed, shewished for unconsciousness again.
 
　　Helen lay in her mother's arms at last, quietly breathing her lifeaway, for though every thing that love and skill could devise hadbeen tried to save her, the little knife in that desperate hand haddone its work, and this world held no more suffering for her. Harrywas down upon his knees beside her, trying to stifle his passionategrief. Augustine prayed audibly above her, and the fervor of hisbroken words comforted all hearts but one. Bella was clinging,panic-stricken, to the kind old doctor, who was sobbing like a boy,for he had loved and served poor Helen as faithfully as if she hadbeen his own.
 
　　"Can nothing save her?" Christie whispered, as the prayer ended, anda sound of bitter weeping filled the room.
 
　　"Nothing; she is sane and safe at last, thank God!"Christie could not but echo his thanksgiving, for the blessedtranquillity of the girl's countenance was such as none but death,the great healer, can bring; and, as they looked, her eyes opened,beautifully clear and calm before they closed for ever. From face toface they passed, as if they looked for some one, and her lips movedin vain efforts to speak.
 
　　Christie went to her, but still the wide, wistful eyes searched theroom as if unsatisfied; and, with a longing that conquered themortal weakness of the body, the heart sent forth one tender cry:
 
　　"My mother--I want my mother!"There was no need to repeat the piteous call, for, as it left herlips, she saw her mother's face bending over her, and felt hermother's arms gathering her in an embrace which held her close evenafter death had set its seal upon the voiceless prayers for pardonwhich passed between those reunited hearts.
 
　　When she was asleep at last, Christie and her mother made her readyfor her grave; weeping tender tears as they folded her in the soft,white garment she had put by for that sad hour; and on her breastthey laid the flowers she had hung about her lover as a farewellgift. So beautiful she looked when all was done, that in the earlydawn they called her brothers, that they might not lose the memoryof the blessed peace that shone upon her face, a mute assurance thatfor her the new year had happily begun.
 
　　"Now my work here is done, and I must go," thought Christie, whenthe waves of life closed over the spot where another tired swimmerhad gone down. But she found that one more task remained for herbefore she left the family which, on her coming, she had thought sohappy.
 
　　Mrs. Carrol, worn out with the long effort to conceal her secretcross, broke down entirely under this last blow, and besoughtChristie to tell Bella all that she must know. It was a hard task,but Christie accepted it, and, when the time came, found that therewas very little to be told, for at the death-bed of the eldersister, the younger had learned much of the sad truth. Thusprepared, she listened to all that was most carefully and tenderlyconfided to her, and, when the heavy tale was done, she surprisedChristie by the unsuspected strength she showed. No tears, nolamentations, for she was her mother's daughter, and inherited thepride that can bear heavy burdens, if they are borne unseen.
 
　　"Tell me what I must do, and I will do it," she said, with the quietdespair of one who submits to the inevitable, but will not complain.
 
　　When Christie with difficulty told her that she should give up herlover, Bella bowed her head, and for a moment could not speak, thenlifted it as if defying her own weakness, and spoke out bravely:
 
　　"It shall be done, for it is right. It is very hard for me, becauseI love him; he will not suffer much, for he can love again. I shouldbe glad of that, and I'll try to wish it for his sake. He is young,and if, as Harry says, he cares more for my fortune than myself, somuch the better. What next, Christie?"Amazed and touched at the courage of the creature she had fancied asort of lovely butterfly to be crushed by a single blow, Christietook heart, and, instead of soothing sympathy, gave her the solacebest fitted for strong natures, something to do for others. Whatinspired her, Christie never knew; perhaps it was the year ofself-denying service she had rendered for pity's sake; such devotionis its own reward, and now, in herself, she discovered unsuspectedpowers.
 
　　"Live for your mother and your brothers, Bella; they need yousorely, and in time I know you will find true consolation in it,although you must relinquish much. Sustain your mother, cheerAugustine, watch over Harry, and be to them what Helen longed tobe.""And fail to do it, as she failed!" cried Bella, with a shudder.
 
　　"Listen, and let me give you this hope, for I sincerely do believeit. Since I came here, I have read many books, thought much, andtalked often with Dr. Shirley about this sad affliction. He thinksyou and Harry may escape it, if you will. You are like your motherin temperament and temper; you have self-control, strong wills, goodnerves, and cheerful spirits. Poor Harry is willfully spoiling allhis chances now; but you may save him, and, in the endeavor, saveyourself.""Oh, Christie, may I hope it? Give me one chance of escape, and Iwill suffer any hardship to keep it. Let me see any thing before mebut a life and death like Helen's, and I'll bless you for ever!"cried Bella, welcoming this ray of light as a prisoner welcomessunshine in his cell.
 
　　Christie trembled at the power of her words, yet, honestly believingthem, she let them uplift this disconsolate soul, trusting that theymight be in time fulfilled through God's mercy and the saving graceof sincere endeavor.
 
　　Holding fast to this frail spar, Bella bravely took up arms againsther sea of troubles, and rode out the storm. When her lover came toknow his fate, she hid her heart, and answered "no," finding abitter satisfaction in the end, for Harry was right, and, when thefortune was denied him, young Butler did not mourn the woman long.
 
　　Pride helped Bella to bear it; but it needed all her courage to lookdown the coming years so bare of all that makes life sweet toyouthful souls, so desolate and dark, with duty alone to cheer thethorny way, and the haunting shadow of her race lurking in thebackground.
 
　　Submission and self-sacrifice are stern, sad angels, but in time onelearns to know and love them, for when they have chastened, theyuplift and bless. Dimly discerning this, poor Bella put her hands intheirs, saying, "Lead me, teach me; I will follow and obey you."All soon felt that they could not stay in a house so full of heavymemories, and decided to return to their old home. They beggedChristie to go with them, using every argument and entreaty theiraffection could suggest. But Christie needed rest, longed forfreedom, and felt that in spite of their regard it would be veryhard for her to live among them any longer. Her healthy natureneeded brighter influences, stronger comrades, and the memory ofHelen weighed so heavily upon her heart that she was eager to forgetit for a time in other scenes and other work.
 
　　So they parted, very sadly, very tenderly, and laden with good giftsChristie went on her way weary, but well satisfied, for she hadearned her rest.
Chapter 6 Seamstress
     FOR some weeks Christie rested and refreshed herself by making herroom gay and comfortable with the gifts lavished on her by theCarrols, and by sharing with others the money which Harry hadsmuggled into her possession after she had steadily refused to takeone penny more than the sum agreed upon when she first went to them.
 
　　She took infinite satisfaction in sending one hundred dollars toUncle Enos, for she had accepted what he gave her as a loan, and sether heart on repaying every fraction of it. Another hundred she gaveto Hepsey, who found her out and came to report her trials andtribulations. The good soul had ventured South and tried to buy hermother. But "ole missis" would not let her go at any price, and thefaithful chattel would not run away. Sorely disappointed, Hepsey hadbeen obliged to submit; but her trip was not a failure, for sheliberated several brothers and sent them triumphantly to Canada.
 
　　"You must take it, Hepsey, for I could not rest happy if I put itaway to lie idle while you can save men and women from torment withit. I'd give it if it was my last penny, for I can help in no otherway; and if I need money, I can always earn it, thank God!" saidChristie, as Hepsey hesitated to take so much from a fellow-worker.
 
　　The thought of that investment lay warm at Christie's heart, andnever woke a regret, for well she knew that every dollar of it wouldbe blessed, since shares in the Underground Railroad pay splendiddividends that never fail.
 
　　Another portion of her fortune, as she called Harry's gift, wasbestowed in wedding presents upon Lucy, who at length succeeded inwinning the heart of the owner of the "heavenly eyes" and"distracting legs;" and, having gained her point, married him withdramatic celerity, and went West to follow the fortunes of her lord.
 
　　The old theatre was to be demolished and the company scattered, so afarewell festival was held, and Christie went to it, feeling moresolitary than ever as she bade her old friends a long good-bye.
 
　　The rest of the money burned in her pocket, but she prudently put itby for a rainy day, and fell to work again when her brief vacationwas over.
 
　　Hearing of a chance for a good needle-woman in a large andwell-conducted mantua-making establishment, she secured it as atemporary thing, for she wanted to divert her mind from that lastsad experience by entirely different employment and surroundings.
 
　　She liked to return at night to her own little home, solitary andsimple as it was, and felt a great repugnance to accept any placewhere she would be mixed up with family affairs again.
 
　　So day after day she went to her seat in the workroom where a dozenother young women sat sewing busily on gay garments, with as muchlively gossip to beguile the time as Miss Cotton, the forewoman,would allow.
 
　　For a while it diverted Christie, as she had a feminine love forpretty things, and enjoyed seeing delicate silks, costly lace, andall the indescribable fantasies of fashion. But as spring came on,the old desire for something fresh and free began to haunt her, andshe had both waking and sleeping dreams of a home in the countrysomewhere, with cows and flowers, clothes bleaching on green grass,bob-o'-links making rapturous music by the river, and the smell ofnew-mown hay, all lending their charms to the picture she paintedfor herself.
 
　　Most assuredly she would have gone to find these things, led by theinstincts of a healthful nature, had not one slender tie held hertill it grew into a bond so strong she could not break it.
 
　　Among her companions was one, and one only, who attracted her. Theothers were well-meaning girls, but full of the frivolous purposesand pleasures which their tastes prompted and their dull lifefostered. Dress, gossip, and wages were the three topics whichabsorbed them. Christie soon tired of the innumerable changes rungupon these themes, and took refuge in her own thoughts, soonlearning to enjoy them undisturbed by the clack of many tonguesabout her. Her evenings at home were devoted to books, for she hadthe true New England woman's desire for education, and read orstudied for the love of it. Thus she had much to think of as herneedle flew, and was rapidly becoming a sort of sewing-machine whenlife was brightened for her by the finding of a friend.
 
　　Among the girls was one quiet, skilful creature, whose black dress,peculiar face, and silent ways attracted Christie. Her evidentdesire to be let alone amused the new comer at first, and she madeno effort to know her. But presently she became aware that Rachelwatched her with covert interest, stealing quick, shy glances at heras she sat musing over her work. Christie smiled at her when shecaught these glances, as if to reassure the looker of her good-will.
 
　　But Rachel only colored, kept her eyes fixed on her work, and wasmore reserved than ever.
 
　　This interested Christie, and she fell to studying this young womanwith some curiosity, for she was different from the others. Thoughevidently younger than she looked, Rachel's face was that of one whohad known some great sorrow, some deep experience; for there werelines on the forehead that contrasted strongly with the bright,abundant hair above it; in repose, the youthfully red, soft lips hada mournful droop, and the eyes were old with that indescribableexpression which comes to those who count their lives by emotions,not by years.
 
　　Strangely haunting eyes to Christie, for they seemed to appeal toher with a mute eloquence she could not resist. In vain did Rachelanswer her with quiet coldness, nod silently when she wished her acheery "good morning," and keep resolutely in her own somewhatisolated corner, though invited to share the sunny window where theother sat. Her eyes belied her words, and those fugitive glancesbetrayed the longing of a lonely heart that dared not yield itselfto the genial companionship so freely offered it.
 
　　Christie was sure of this, and would not be repulsed; for her ownheart was very solitary. She missed Helen, and longed to fill theempty place. She wooed this shy, cold girl as patiently and asgently as a lover might, determined to win her confidence, becauseall the others had failed to do it. Sometimes she left a flower inRachel's basket, always smiled and nodded as she entered, and oftenstopped to admire the work of her tasteful fingers. It wasimpossible to resist such friendly overtures, and slowly Rachel'scoldness melted; into the beseeching eyes came a look of gratitude,the more touching for its wordlessness, and an irrepressible smilebroke over her face in answer to the cordial ones that made thesunshine of her day.
 
　　Emboldened by these demonstrations, Christie changed her seat, andquietly established between them a daily interchange of somethingbeside needles, pins, and spools. Then, as Rachel did not draw backoffended, she went a step farther, and, one day when they chanced tobe left alone to finish off a delicate bit of work, she spoke outfrankly:
 
　　"Why can't we be friends? I want one sadly, and so do you, unlessyour looks deceive me. We both seem to be alone in the world, tohave had trouble, and to like one another. I won't annoy you by anyimpertinent curiosity, nor burden you with uninterestingconfidences; I only want to feel that you like me a little and don'tmind my liking you a great deal. Will you be my friend, and let mebe yours?"A great tear rolled clown upon the shining silk in Rachel's hands asshe looked into Christie's earnest face, and answered with an almostpassionate gratitude in her own:
 
　　"You can never need a friend as much as I do, or know what a blessedthing it is to find such an one as you are.""Then I may love you, and not be afraid of offending?" criedChristie, much touched.
 
　　"Yes. But remember I didn't ask it first," said Rachel, halfdropping the hand she had held in both her own.
 
　　"You proud creature! I'll remember; and when we quarrel, I'll takeall the blame upon myself."Then Christie kissed her warmly, whisked away the tear, and began topaint the delights in store for them in her most enthusiastic way,being much elated with her victory; while Rachel listened with anewly kindled light in her lovely eyes, and a smile that showed howwinsome her face had been before many tears washed its bloom away,and much trouble made it old too soon.
 
　　Christie kept her word,--asked no questions, volunteered noconfidences, but heartily enjoyed the new friendship, and found thatit gave to life the zest which it had lacked before. Now some onecared for her, and, better still, she could make some one happy, andin the act of lavishing the affection of her generous nature on acreature sadder and more solitary than herself, she found asatisfaction that never lost its charm. There was nothing in herpossession that she did not offer Rachel, from the whole of herheart to the larger half of her little room.
 
　　"I'm tired of thinking only of myself. It makes me selfish andlow-spirited; for I'm not a bit interesting. I must love somebody,and 'love them hard,' as children say; so why can't you come andstay with me? There's room enough, and we could be so cosy eveningswith our books and work. I know you need some one to look after you,and I love dearly to take care of people. Do come," she would say,with most persuasive hospitality.
 
　　But Rachel always answered steadily: "Not yet, Christie, not yet. I've got something to do before I can think of doing any thing sobeautiful as that. Only love me, dear, and some day I'll show youall my heart, and thank you as I ought."So Christie was content to wait, and, meantime, enjoyed much; for,with Rachel as a friend, she ceased to care for country pleasures,found happiness in the work that gave her better food than meredaily bread, and never thought of change; for love can make a homefor itself anywhere.
 
　　A very bright and happy time was this in Christie's life; but, likemost happy times, it was very brief. Only one summer allowed for theblossoming of the friendship that budded so slowly in the spring;then the frost came and killed the flowers; but the root lived longunderneath the snows of suffering, doubt, and absence.
 
　　Coming to her work late one morning, she found the usually orderlyroom in confusion. Some of the girls were crying; some whisperingtogether,--all looking excited and dismayed. Mrs. King satmajestically at her table, with an ominous frown upon her face. MissCotton stood beside her, looking unusually sour and stern, for theancient virgin's temper was not of the best. Alone, before them all,with her face hidden in her hands, and despair in every line of herdrooping figure, stood Rachel,--a meek culprit at the stern bar ofjustice, where women try a sister woman.
 
　　"What's the matter?" cried Christie, pausing on the threshold.
 
　　MRS. KING AND MISS COTTON.
 
　　Rachel shivered, as if the sound of that familiar voice was a freshwound, but she did not lift her head; and Mrs. King answered, with anervous emphasis that made the bugles of her head-dress rattledismally:
 
　　"A very sad thing, Miss Devon,--very sad, indeed; a thing whichnever occurred in my establishment before, and never shall again. Itappears that Rachel, whom we all considered a most respectable andworthy girl, has been quite the reverse. I shudder to think what theconsequences of my taking her without a character (a thing I neverdo, and was only tempted by her superior taste as a trimmer) mighthave been if Miss Cotton, having suspicions, had not made strictinquiry and confirmed them.""That was a kind and generous act, and Miss Cotton must feel proudof it," said Christie, with an indignant recollection of Mr.
 
　　Fletcher's "cautious inquiries" about herself.
 
　　"It was perfectly right and proper, Miss Devon; and I thank her forher care of my interests." And Mrs. King bowed her acknowledgment ofthe service with a perfect castanet accompaniment, whereat MissCotton bridled with malicious complacency.
 
　　"Mrs. King, are you sure of this?" said Christie. "Miss Cotton doesnot like Rachel because her work is so much praised. May not herjealousy make her unjust, or her zeal for you mislead her?""I thank you for your polite insinuations, miss," returned the irateforewoman. "I never make mistakes; but you will find that you havemade a very great one in choosing Rachel for your bosom friendinstead of gome one who would be a credit to you. Ask the creatureherself if all I've said of her isn't true. She can't deny it."With the same indefinable misgiving which had held her aloof,Christie turned to Rachel, lifted up the hidden face with gentleforce, and looked into it imploringly, as she whispered: "Is ittrue?"The woful countenance she saw made any other answer needless.
 
　　Involuntarily her hands fell away, and she hid her own face,uttering the one reproach, which, tender and tearful though it was,seemed harder to be borne than the stern condemnation gone before.
 
　　"Oh, Rachel, I so loved and trusted you!"The grief, affection, and regret that trembled in her voice rousedRachel from her state of passive endurance and gave her courage toplead for herself. But it was Christie whom she addressed, Christiewhose pardon she implored, Christie's sorrowful reproach that shemost keenly felt.
 
　　"Yes, it is true," she said, looking only at the woman who had beenthe first to befriend and now was the last to desert her. "It istrue that I once went astray, but God knows I have repented; thatfor years I've tried to be an honest girl again, and that but forHis help I should be a far sadder creature than I am this day.
 
　　Christie, you can never know how bitter hard it is to outlive a sinlike mine, and struggle up again from such a fall. It clings to me;it won't be shaken off or buried out of sight. No sooner do I find asafe place like this, and try to forget the past, than some onereads my secret in my face and hunts me down. It seems very cruel,very hard, yet it is my punishment, so I try to bear it, and beginagain. What hurts me now more than all the rest, what breaks myheart, is that I deceived you. I never meant to do it. I did notseek you, did I? I tried to be cold and stiff; never asked for love,though starving for it, till you came to me, so kind, so generous,so dear,--how could I help it? Oh, how could I help it then?"Christie had watched Rachel while she spoke, and spoke to her alone;her heart yearned toward this one friend, for she still loved her,and, loving, she believed in her.
 
　　"I don't reproach you, dear: I don't despise or desert you, andthough I'm grieved and disappointed, I'll stand by you still,because you need me more than ever now, and I want to prove that Iam a true friend. Mrs. King, please forgive and let poor Rachel stayhere, safe among us.""Miss Devon, I'm surprised at you! By no means; it would be theruin of my establishment; not a girl would remain, and the characterof my rooms would be lost for ever," replied Mrs. King, goaded on bythe relentless Cotton.
 
　　"But where will she go if you send her away? Who will employ her ifyou inform against her? What stranger will believe in her if we, whohave known her so long, fail to befriend her now? Mrs. King, thinkof your own daughters, and be a mother to this poor girl for theirsake."That last stroke touched the woman's heart; her cold eye softened,her hard mouth relaxed, and pity was about to win the day, whenprudence, in the shape of Miss Cotton, turned the scale, for thatspiteful spinster suddenly cried out, in a burst of righteous wrath:
 
　　"If that hussy stays, I leave this establishment for ever!" andfollowed up the blow by putting on her bonnet with a flourish.
 
　　At this spectacle, self-interest got the better of sympathy in Mrs.
 
　　King's worldly mind. To lose Cotton was to lose her right hand, andcharity at that price was too expensive a luxury to be indulged in;so she hardened her heart, composed her features, and said,impressively:
 
　　"Take off your bonnet, Cotton; I have no intention of offending you,or any one else, by such a step. I forgive you, Rachel, and I pityyou; but I can't think of allowing you to stay. There are properinstitutions for such as you, and I advise you to go to one andrepent. You were paid Saturday night, so nothing prevents yourleaving at once. Time is money here, and we are wasting it. Youngladies, take your seats."All but Christie obeyed, yet no one touched a needle, and Mrs. Kingsat, hurriedly stabbing pins into the fat cushion on her breast, asif testing the hardness of her heart.
 
　　Rachel's eye went round the room; saw pity, aversion, or contempt,on every face, but met no answering glance, for even Christie's eyeswere bent thoughtfully on the ground, and Christie's heart seemedclosed against her. As she looked her whole manner changed; hertears ceased to fall, her face grew hard, and a reckless mood seemedto take possession of her, as if finding herself deserted bywomankind, she would desert her own womanhood.
 
　　"I might have known it would be so," she said abruptly, with abitter smile, sadder to see than her most hopeless tears. "It's nouse for such as me to try; better go back to the old life, for thereare kinder hearts among the sinners than among the saints, and noone can live without a bit of love. Your Magdalen Asylums arepenitentiaries, not homes; I won't go to any of them. Your pietyisn't worth much, for though you read in your Bible how the Lordtreated a poor soul like me, yet when I stretch out my hand to youfor help, not one of all you virtuous, Christian women dare take itand keep me from a life that's worse than hell."As she spoke Rachel flung out her hand with a half-defiant gesture,and Christie took it. That touch, full of womanly compassion, seemedto exorcise the desperate spirit that possessed the poor girl in herdespair, for, with a stifled exclamation, she sunk down atChristie's feet, and lay there weeping in all the passionateabandonment of love and gratitude, remorse and shame. Never hadhuman voice sounded so heavenly sweet to her as that which broke thesilence of the room, as this one friend said, with the earnestnessof a true and tender heart:
 
　　"Mrs. King, if you send her away, I must take her in; for if shedoes go back to the old life, the sin of it will lie at our door,and God will remember it against us in the end. Some one must trusther, help her, love her, and so save her, as nothing else will.
 
　　Perhaps I can do this better than you,--at least, I'll try; for evenif I risk the loss of my good name, I could bear that better thanthe thought that Rachel had lost the work of these hard years forwant of upholding now. She shall come home with me; no one thereneed know of this discovery, and I will take any work to her thatyou will give me, to keep her from want and its temptations. Willyou do this, and let me sew for less, if I can pay you for thekindness in no other way?"Poor Mrs. King was "much tumbled up and down in her own mind;" shelonged to consent, but Cotton's eye was upon her, and Cotton'sdeparture would be an irreparable loss, so she decided to end thematter in the most summary manner. Plunging a particularly large pininto her cushioned breast, as if it was a relief to inflict thatmock torture upon herself, she said sharply:
 
　　"It is impossible. You can do as you please, Miss Devon, but Iprefer to wash my hands of the affair at once and entirely."Christie's eye went from the figure at her feet to the hard-featuredwoman who had been a kind and just mistress until now, and sheasked, anxiously:
 
　　"Do you mean that you wash your hands of me also, if I stand byRachel?""I do. I'm very sorry, but my young ladies must keep respectablecompany, or leave my service," was the brief reply, for Mrs. Kinggrew grimmer externally as the mental rebellion increasedinternally.
 
　　"Then I will leave it!" cried Christie, with an indignant voice andeye. "Come, dear, we'll go together." And without a look or word forany in the room, she raised the prostrate girl, and led her out intothe little hall.
 
　　There she essayed to comfort her, but before many words had passedher lips Rachel looked up, and she was silent with surprise, for theface she saw was neither despairing nor defiant, but beautifullysweet and clear, as the unfallen spirit of the woman shone throughthe grateful eyes, and blessed her for her loyalty.
 
　　"Christie, you have done enough for me," she said. "Go back, andkeep the good place you need, for such are hard to find. I can geton alone; I'm used to this, and the pain will soon be over.""I'll not go back!" cried Christie, hotly. "I'll do slop-work andstarve, before I'll stay with such a narrow-minded, cold-heartedwoman. Come home with me at once, and let us lay our planstogether.""No, dear; if I wouldn't go when you first asked me, much less willI go now, for I've done you harm enough already. I never can thankyou for your great goodness to me, never tell you what it has beento me. We must part now; but some day I'll come back and show youthat I've not forgotten how you loved and helped and trusted me,when all the others cast me off."Vain were Christie's arguments and appeals. Rachel was immovable,and all her friend could win from her was a promise to send word,now and then, how things prospered with her.
 
　　"And, Rachel, I charge you to come to me in any strait, no matterwhat it is, no matter where I am; for if any thing could break myheart, it would be to know that you had gone back to the old life,because there was no one to help and hold you up.""I never can go back; you have saved me, Christie, for you love me,you have faith in me, and that will keep me strong and safe when youare gone. Oh, my dear, my dear, God bless you for ever and forever!"Then Christie, remembering only that they were two loving women,alone in a world of sin and sorrow, took Rachel in her arms, kissedand cried over her with sisterly affection, and watched herprayerfully, as she went away to begin her hard task anew, withnothing but the touch of innocent lips upon her cheek, the baptism,of tender tears upon her forehead to keep her from despair.
 
　　Still cherishing the hope that Rachel would come back to her,Christie neither returned to Mrs. King nor sought another place ofany sort, but took home work from a larger establishment, and satsewing diligently in her little room, waiting, hoping, longing forher friend. But month after month went by, and no word, no sign cameto comfort her. She would not doubt, yet she could not help fearing,and in her nightly prayer no petition was more fervently made thanthat which asked the Father of both saint and sinner to keep poorRachel safe, and bring her back in his good time.
 
　　Never had she been so lonely as now, for Christie had a socialheart, and, having known the joy of a cordial friendship even for alittle while, life seemed very barren to her when she lost it. Nonew friend took Rachel's place, for none came to her, and a feelingof loyalty kept her from seeking one. But she suffered for the wantof genial society, for all the tenderness of her nature seemed tohave been roused by that brief but most sincere affection. Herhungry heart clamored for the happiness that was its right, and grewvery heavy as she watched friends or lovers walking in the summertwilight when she took her evening stroll. Often her eyes followedsome humble pair, longing to bless and to be blessed by the divinepassion whose magic beautifies the little milliner and her lad withthe same tender grace as the poet and the mistress whom he makesimmortal in a song. But neither friend nor lover came to Christie,and she said to herself, with a sad sort of courage:
 
　　"I shall be solitary all my life, perhaps; so the sooner I make upmy mind to it, the easier it will be to bear."At Christmas-tide she made a little festival for herself, by givingto each of the household drudges the most generous gift she couldafford, for no one else thought of them, and having known some ofthe hardships of servitude herself, she had much sympathy with thosein like case.
 
　　Then, with the pleasant recollection of two plain faces, brightenedby gratitude, surprise, and joy, she went out into the busy streetsto forget the solitude she left behind her.
 
　　Very gay they were with snow and sleigh-bells, holly-boughs, andgarlands, below, and Christmas sunshine in the winter sky above. Allfaces shone, all voices had a cheery ring, and everybody steppedbriskly on errands of good-will. Up and down went Christie, makingherself happy in the happiness of others. Looking in at theshop-windows, she watched, with interest, the purchases of busyparents, calculating how best to fill the little socks hung up athome, with a childish faith that never must be disappointed, nomatter how hard the times might be. She was glad to see so manyturkeys on their way to garnish hospitable tables, and hoped thatall the dear home circles might be found unbroken, though she hadplace in none. No Christmas-tree went by leaving a whiff of pinysweetness behind, that she did not wish it all success, and pictureto herself the merry little people dancing in its light. Andwhenever she saw a ragged child eying a window full of goodies,smiling even, while it shivered, she could not resist playing SantaClaus till her purse was empty, sending the poor little soulsenraptured home with oranges and apples in either hand, and splendidsweeties in their pockets, for the babies.
 
　　No envy mingled with the melancholy that would not be dispelled evenby these gentle acts, for her heart was very tender that night, andif any one had asked what gifts she desired most, she would haveanswered with a look more pathetic than any shivering child hadgiven her:
 
　　"I want the sound of a loving voice; the touch of a friendly hand."Going home, at last, to the lonely little room where no Christmasfire burned, no tree shone, no household group awaited her, sheclimbed the long, dark stairs, with drops on her cheeks, warmer thanany melted snow-flake could have left, and opening her door pausedon the threshold, smiling with wonder and delight, for in herabsence some gentle spirit had remembered her. A fire burnedcheerily upon the hearth, her lamp was lighted, a lovely rose-tree,in full bloom, filled the air with its delicate breath, and in itsshadow lay a note from Rachel.
 
　　"A merry Christmas and a happy New Year, Christie! Long ago you gaveme your little rose; I have watched and tended it for your sake,dear, and now when I want to show my love and thankfulness, I giveit back again as my one treasure. I crept in while you were gone,because I feared I might harm you in some way if you saw me. Ilonged to stay and tell you that I am safe and well, and busy, withyour good face looking into mine, but I don't deserve that yet. Onlylove me, trust me, pray for me, and some day you shall know what youhave done for me. Till then, God bless and keep you, dearest friend,your RACHEL."Never had sweeter tears fallen than those that dropped upon thelittle tree as Christie took it in her arms, and all the rosyclusters leaned toward her as if eager to deliver tender messages.
 
　　Surely her wish was granted now, for friendly hands had been at workfor her. Warm against her heart lay words as precious as if utteredby a loving voice, and nowhere, on that happy night, stood a fairerChristmas tree than that which bloomed so beautifully from the heartof a Magdalen who loved much and was forgiven.
Chapter 7 Through The Mist
 THE year that followed was the saddest Christie had ever known,for she suffered a sort of poverty which is more difficult to bearthan actual want, since money cannot lighten it, and the rarestcharity alone can minister to it. Her heart was empty and she couldnot fill it; her soul was hungry and she could not feed it; life wascold and dark and she could not warm and brighten it, for she knewnot where to go.
 
　　She tried to help herself by all the means in her power, and wheneffort after effort failed she said: "I am not good enough yet todeserve happiness. I think too much of human love, too little ofdivine. When I have made God my friend perhaps He will let me findand keep one heart to make life happy with. How shall I know God?
 
　　Who will tell me where to find Him, and help me to love and leanupon Him as I ought?"In all sincerity she asked these questions, in all sincerity shebegan her search, and with pathetic patience waited for an answer.
 
　　She read many books, some wise, some vague, some full ofsuperstition, all unsatisfactory to one who wanted a living God. Shewent to many churches, studied many creeds, and watched their fruitsas well as she could; but still remained unsatisfied. Some were coldand narrow, some seemed theatrical and superficial, some stern andterrible, none simple, sweet, and strong enough for humanity's manyneeds. There was too much machinery, too many walls, laws, andpenalties between the Father and His children. Too much fear, toolittle love; too many saints and intercessors; too little faith inthe instincts of the soul which turns to God as flowers to the sun.
 
　　Too much idle strife about names and creeds; too little knowledge ofthe natural religion which has no name but godliness, whose creed isboundless and benignant as the sunshine, whose faith is as thetender trust of little children in their mother's love.
 
　　Nowhere did Christie find this all-sustaining power, this paternalfriend, and comforter, and after months of patient searching shegave up her quest, saying, despondently:
 
　　"I'm afraid I never shall get religion, for all that's offered meseems so poor, so narrow, or so hard that I cannot take it for mystay. A God of wrath I cannot love; a God that must be propitiated,adorned, and adored like an idol I cannot respect; and a God who canbe blinded to men's iniquities through the week by a little beatingof the breast and bowing down on the seventh day, I cannot serve. Iwant a Father to whom I can go with all my sins and sorrows, all myhopes and joys, as freely and fearlessly as I used to go to my humanfather, sure of help and sympathy and love. Shall I ever find Him?"Alas, poor Christie! she was going through the sorrowful perplexitythat comes to so many before they learn that religion cannot begiven or bought, but must grow as trees grow, needing frost andsnow, rain and wind to strengthen it before it is deep-rooted in thesoul; that God is in the hearts of all, and they that seek shallsurely find Him when they need Him most.
 
　　So Christie waited for religion to reveal itself to her, and whileshe waited worked with an almost desperate industry, trying to buy alittle happiness for herself by giving a part of her earnings tothose whose needs money could supply. She clung to her little room,for there she could live her own life undisturbed, and preferred tostint herself in other ways rather than give up this liberty. Dayafter day she sat there sewing health of mind and body into the longseams or dainty stitching that passed through her busy hands, andwhile she sewed she thought sad, bitter, oftentimes rebelliousthoughts.
 
　　It was the worst life she could have led just then, for, deprived ofthe active, cheerful influences she most needed, her mind preyed onitself, slowly and surely, preparing her for the dark experience tocome. She knew that there was fitter work for her somewhere, but howto find it was a problem which wiser women have often failed tosolve. She was no pauper, yet was one of those whom poverty sets atodds with the world, for favors burden and dependence makes thebread bitter unless love brightens the one and sweetens the other.
 
　　There are many Christies, willing to work, yet unable to bear thecontact with coarser natures which makes labor seem degrading, or toendure the hard struggle for the bare necessities of life when lifehas lost all that makes it beautiful. People wonder when such as shesay they can find little to do; but to those who know nothing of thepangs of pride, the sacrifices of feeling, the martyrdoms of youth,love, hope, and ambition that go on under the faded cloaks of thesepoor gentle-women, who tell them to go into factories, or scrub inkitchens, for there is work enough for all, the most convincinganswer would be, "Try it."Christie kept up bravely till a wearisome low fever broke bothstrength and spirit, and brought the weight of debt upon her whenleast fitted to bear or cast it off. For the first time she began tofeel that she had nerves which would rebel, and a heart that couldnot long endure isolation from its kind without losing the cheerfulcourage which hitherto had been her staunchest friend. Perfect rest,kind care, and genial society were the medicines she needed, butthere was no one to minister to her, and she went blindly on alongthe road so many women tread.
 
　　She left her bed too soon, fearing to ask too much of the busypeople who had done their best to be neighborly. She returned to herwork when it felt heavy in her feeble hands, for debt made idlenessseem wicked to her conscientious mind. And, worst of all, she fellback into the bitter, brooding mood which had become habitual to hersince she lived alone. While the tired hands slowly worked, theweary brain ached and burned with heavy thoughts, vain longings, andfeverish fancies, till things about her sometimes seemed as strangeand spectral as the phantoms that had haunted her half-delirioussleep. Inexpressibly wretched were the dreary days, the restlessnights, with only pain and labor for companions. The world lookedvery dark to her, life seemed an utter failure, God a delusion, andthe long, lonely years before her too hard to be endured.
 
　　It is not always want, insanity, or sin that drives women todesperate deaths; often it is a dreadful loneliness of heart, ahunger for home and friends, worse than starvation, a bitter senseof wrong in being denied the tender ties, the pleasant duties, thesweet rewards that can make the humblest life happy; a rebelliousprotest against God, who, when they cry for bread, seems to offerthem a stone. Some of these impatient souls throw life away, andlearn too late how rich it might have been with a stronger faith, amore submissive spirit. Others are kept, and slowly taught to standand wait, till blest with a happiness the sweeter for the doubt thatwent before.
 
　　There came a time to Christie when the mist about her was so thickshe would have stumbled and fallen had not the little candle, keptalight by her own hand, showed her how far "a good deed shines in anaughty world;" and when God seemed utterly forgetful of her He senta friend to save and comfort her.
 
　　March winds were whistling among the house-tops, and the sky wasdarkening with a rainy twilight as Christie folded up her finishedwork, stretched her weary limbs, and made ready for her daily walk.
 
　　Even this was turned to profit, for then she took home her work,went in search of more, and did her own small marketing. As latehours and unhealthy labor destroyed appetite, and unpaid debts madeeach mouthful difficult to swallow with Mrs. Flint's hard eye uponher, she had undertaken to supply her own food, and so lessen theobligation that burdened her. An unwise retrenchment, for, busiedwith the tasks that must be done, she too often neglected ordeferred the meals to which no society lent interest, no appetitegave flavor; and when the fuel was withheld the fire began to dieout spark by spark.
 
　　As she stood before the little mirror, smoothing the hair upon herforehead, she watched the face reflected there, wondering if itcould be the same she used to see so full of youth and hope andenergy.
 
　　"Yes, I'm growing old; my youth is nearly over, and at thirty Ishall be a faded, dreary woman, like so many I see and pity. It'shard to come to this after trying so long to find my place, and domy duty. I'm a failure after all, and might as well have stayed withAunt Betsey or married Joe.""Miss Devon, to-day is Saturday, and I'm makin' up my bills, so I'lltrouble you for your month's board, and as much on the old accountas you can let me have."Mrs. Flint spoke, and her sharp voice rasped the silence like afile, for she had entered without knocking, and her demand was thefirst intimation of her presence.
 
　　Christie turned slowly round, for there was no elasticity in hermotions now; through the melancholy anxiety her face always wore oflate, there came the worried look of one driven almost beyondendurance, and her hands began to tremble nervously as she tied onher bonnet. Mrs. Flint was a hard woman, and dunned her debtorsrelentlessly; Christie dreaded the sight of her, and would have leftthe house had she been free of debt.
 
　　"I am just going to take these things home and get more work. I amsure of being paid, and you shall have all I get. But, for Heaven'ssake, give me time."Two days and a night of almost uninterrupted labor had given asevere strain to her nerves, and left her in a dangerous state.
 
　　Something in her face arrested Mrs. Flint's attention; she observedthat Christie was putting on her best cloak and hat, and to hersuspicious eye the bundle of work looked unduly large.
 
　　It had been a hard day for the poor woman, for the cook had gone offin a huff; the chamber girl been detected in petty larceny; twodesirable boarders had disappointed her; and the incapable husbandhad fallen ill, so it was little wonder that her soul was tried, hersharp voice sharper, and her sour temper sourer than ever.
 
　　"I have heard of folks putting on their best things and going out,but never coming back again, when they owed money. It's a meantrick, but it's sometimes done by them you wouldn't think it of,"she said, with an aggravating sniff of intelligence.
 
　　To be suspected of dishonesty was the last drop in Christie's fullcup. She looked at the woman with a strong desire to do somethingviolent, for every nerve was tingling with irritation and anger. Butshe controlled herself, though her face was colorless and her handswere more tremulous than before. Unfastening her comfortable cloakshe replaced it with a shabby shawl; took off her neat bonnet andput on a hood, unfolded six linen shirts, and shook them out beforeher landlady's eyes; then retied the parcel, and, pausing on thethreshold of the door, looked back with an expression that hauntedthe woman long afterward, as she said, with the quiver of strongexcitement in her voice:
 
　　"Mrs. Flint, I have always dealt honorably by you; I always mean todo it, and don't deserve to be suspected of dishonesty like that. Ileave every thing I own behind me, and if I don't come back, you cansell them all and pay yourself, for I feel now as if I never wantedto see you or this room again."Then she went rapidly away, supported by her indignation, for shehad done her best to pay her debts; had sold the few trinkets shepossessed, and several treasures given by the Carrols, to settle herdoctor's bill, and had been half killing herself to satisfy Mrs.
 
　　Flint's demands. The consciousness that she had been too lavish inher generosity when fortune smiled upon her, made the present wantall the harder to bear. But she would neither beg nor borrow, thoughshe knew Harry would delight to give, and Uncle Enos lend her money,with a lecture on extravagance, gratis.
 
　　"I'll paddle my own canoe as long as I can," she said, sternly; "andwhen I must ask help I'll turn to strangers for it, or scuttle myboat, and go down without troubling any one."When she came to her employer's door, the servant said: "Missis wasout;" then seeing Christie's disappointed face, she added,confidentially:
 
　　"If it's any comfort to know it, I can tell you that missis wouldn'thave paid you if she had a been to home. There's been three otherwomen here with work, and she's put 'em all off. She always does,and beats 'em down into the bargain, which ain't genteel to mythinkin'.""She promised me I should be well paid for these, because Iundertook to get them done without fail. I've worked day and nightrather than disappoint her, and felt sure of my money," saidChristie, despondently.
 
　　"I'm sorry, but you won't get it. She told me to tell you yourprices was too high, and she could find folks to work cheaper.""She did not object to the price when I took the work, and I havehalf-ruined my eyes over the fine stitching. See if it isn't nicelydone." And Christie displayed her exquisite needlework with pride.
 
　　The girl admired it, and, having a grievance of her own, tooksatisfaction in berating her mistress.
 
　　"It's a shame! These things are part of a present, the ladies aregoing to give the minister; but I don't believe he'll feel easy in'em if poor folks is wronged to get 'em. Missis won't pay what theyare worth, I know; for, don't you see, the cheaper the work is done,the more money she has to make a spread with her share of thepresent? It's my opinion you'd better hold on to these shirts tillshe pays for 'em handsome.""No; I'll keep my promise, and I hope she will keep hers. Tell her Ineed the money very much, and have worked very hard to please her.
 
　　I'll come again on Monday, if I'm able."Christie's lips trembled as she spoke, for she was feeble still, andthe thought of that hard-earned money had been her sustaining hopethrough the weary hours spent over that ill-paid work. The girl said"Good-bye," with a look of mingled pity and respect, for in her eyesthe seamstress was more of a lady than the mistress in thistransaction.
 
　　Christie hurried to another place, and asked eagerly if the youngladies had any work for her. "Not a stitch," was the reply, and thedoor closed. She stood a moment looking down upon the passers-bywondering what answer she would get if she accosted any one; and hadany especially benevolent face looked back at her she would havebeen tempted to do it, so heart-sick and forlorn did she feel justthen.
 
　　She knocked at several other doors, to receive the same reply. Sheeven tried a slop-shop, but it was full, and her pale face wasagainst her. Her long illness had lost her many patrons, and if onesteps out from the ranks of needle-women, it is very hard to pressin again, so crowded are they, and so desperate the need of money.
 
　　One hope remained, and, though the way was long, and a foggy drizzlehad set in, she minded neither distance nor the chilly rain, buthurried away with anxious thoughts still dogging her steps. Across along bridge, through muddy roads and up a stately avenue she went,pausing, at last, spent and breathless at another door.
 
　　A servant with a wedding-favor in his button-hole opened to her,and, while he went to deliver her urgent message, she peered inwistfully from the dreary world without, catching glimpses ofhome-love and happiness that made her heart ache for very pity ofits own loneliness. A wedding was evidently afoot, for hall andstaircase blazed with light and bloomed with flowers. Smiling menand maids ran to and fro; opening doors showed tables beautiful withbridal white and silver; savory odors filled the air; gay voicesechoed above and below; and once she caught a brief glance at thebonny bride, standing with her father's arm about her, while hermother gave some last, loving touch to her array; and a group ofyoung sisters with April faces clustered round her.
 
　　The pretty picture vanished all too soon; the man returned with ahurried "No" for answer, and Christie went out into the deepeningtwilight with a strange sense of desperation at her heart. It wasnot the refusal, not the fear of want, nor the reaction of overtaxednerves alone; it was the sharpness of the contrast between thatother woman's fate and her own that made her wring her handstogether, and cry out, bitterly:
 
　　"Oh, it isn't fair, it isn't right, that she should have so much andI so little! What have I ever done to be so desolate and miserable,and never to find any happiness, however hard I try to do what seemsmy duty?"There was no answer, and she went slowly down the long avenue,feeling that there was no cause for hurry now, and even night andrain and wind were better than her lonely room or Mrs. Flint'scomplaints. Afar off the city lights shone faintly through the fog,like pale lamps seen in dreams; the damp air cooled her feverishcheeks; the road was dark and still, and she longed to lie down andrest among the sodden leaves.
 
　　When she reached the bridge she saw the draw was up, and a spectralship was slowly passing through. With no desire to mingle in thecrowd that waited on either side, she paused, and, leaning on therailing, let her thoughts wander where they would. As she stoodthere the heavy air seemed to clog her breath and wrap her in itschilly arms. She felt as if the springs of life were running down,and presently would stop; for, even when the old question, "Whatshall I do?" came haunting her, she no longer cared even to try toanswer it, and had no feeling but one of utter weariness. She triedto shake off the strange mood that was stealing over her, but spentbody and spent brain were not strong enough to obey her will, and,in spite of her efforts to control it, the impulse that had seizedher grew more intense each moment.
 
　　"Why should I work and suffer any longer for myself alone?" shethought; "why wear out my life struggling for the bread I have noheart to eat? I am not wise enough to find my place, nor patientenough to wait until it comes to me. Better give up trying, andleave room for those who have something to live for."Many a stronger soul has known a dark hour when the importunate wishhas risen that it were possible and right to lay down the burdensthat oppress, the perplexities that harass, and hasten the coming ofthe long sleep that needs no lullaby. Such an hour was this toChristie, for, as she stood there, that sorrowful bewilderment whichwe call despair came over her, and ruled her with a power she couldnot resist.
 
　　A flight of steps close by led to a lumber wharf, and, scarcelyknowing why, she went down there, with a vague desire to sit stillsomewhere, and think her way out of the mist that seemed to obscureher mind. A single tall lamp shone at the farther end of theplatform, and presently she found herself leaning her hot foreheadagainst the iron pillar, while she watched with curious interest theblack water rolling sluggishly below.
 
　　She knew it was no place for her, yet no one waited for her, no onewould care if she staid for ever, and, yielding to the perilousfascination that drew her there, she lingered with a heavy throbbingin her temples, and a troop of wild fancies whirling through herbrain. Something white swept by below,--only a broken oar--but shebegan to wonder how a human body would look floating through thenight. It was an awesome fancy, but it took possession of her, and,as it grew, her eyes dilated, her breath came fast, and her lipsfell apart, for she seemed to see the phantom she had conjured up,and it wore the likeness of herself.
 
　　With an ominous chill creeping through her blood, and a growingtumult in her mind, she thought, "I must go," but still stoodmotionless, leaning over the wide gulf, eager to see where that deadthing would pass away. So plainly did she see it, so peaceful wasthe white face, so full of rest the folded hands, so strangely like,and yet unlike, herself, that she seemed to lose her identity, andwondered which was the real and which the imaginary Christie. Lowerand lower she bent; looser and looser grew her hold upon the pillar;faster and faster beat the pulses in her temples, and the rush ofsome blind impulse was swiftly coming on, when a hand seized andcaught her back.
 
　　For an instant every thing grew black before her eyes, and the earthseemed to slip away from underneath her feet. Then she was herselfagain, and found that she was sitting on a pile of lumber, with herhead uncovered, and a woman's arm about her.
 
　　THE RESCUE.
 
　　"Was I going to drown myself?" she asked, slowly, with a fancy thatshe had been dreaming frightfully, and some one had wakened her.
 
　　"You were most gone; but I came in time, thank God! O Christie!
 
　　don't you know me?"Ah! no fear of that; for with one bewildered look, one glad cry ofrecognition, Christie found her friend again, and was gathered closeto Rachel's heart.
 
　　"My dear, my dear, what drove you to it? Tell me all, and let mehelp you in your trouble, as you helped me in mine," she said, asshe tenderly laid the poor, white face upon her breast, and wrappedher shawl about the trembling figure clinging to her with suchpassionate delight.
 
　　"I have been ill; I worked too hard; I'm not myself to-night. I owemoney. People disappoint and worry me; and I was so worn out, andweak, and wicked, I think I meant to take my life.""No, dear; it was not you that meant to do it, but the weakness andthe trouble that bewildered you. Forget it all, and rest a little,safe with me; then we'll talk again."Rachel spoke soothingly, for Christie shivered and sighed as if herown thoughts frightened her. For a moment they sat silent, while themist trailed its white shroud above them, as if death had paused tobeckon a tired child away, but, finding her so gently cradled on awarm, human heart, had relented and passed on, leaving no waif butthe broken oar for the river to carry toward the sea.
 
　　"Tell me about yourself, Rachel. Where have you been so long? I 'velooked and waited for you ever since the second little note you sentme on last Christinas; but you never came.""I've been away, dear heart, hard at work in another city, largerand wickeder than this. I tried to get work here, that I might benear you; but that cruel Cotton always found me out; and I was soafraid I should get desperate that I went away where I was notknown. There it came into my mind to do for others more wretchedthan I what you had done for me. God put the thought into my heart,and He helped me in my work, for it has prospered wonderfully. Allthis year I have been busy with it, and almost happy; for I feltthat your love made me strong to do it, and that, in time, I mightgrow good enough to be your friend.""See what I am, Rachel, and never say that any more!""Hush, my poor dear, and let me talk. You are not able to do anything, but rest, and listen. I knew how many poor souls went wrongwhen the devil tempted them; and I gave all my strength to savingthose who were going the way I went. I had no fear, no shame toovercome, for I was one of them. They would listen to me, for I knewwhat I spoke; they could believe in salvation, for I was saved; theydid not feel so outcast and forlorn when I told them you had takenme into your innocent arms, and loved me like a sister. With everyone I helped my power increased, and I felt as if I had washed awaya little of my own great sin. O Christie! never think it's time todie till you are called; for the Lord leaves us till we have doneour work, and never sends more sin and sorrow than we can bear andbe the better for, if we hold fast by Him."So beautiful and brave she looked, so full of strength and yet ofmeek submission was her voice, that Christie's heart was thrilled;for it was plain that Rachel had learned how to distil balm from thebitterness of life, and, groping in the mire to save lost souls, hadfound her own salvation there.
 
　　"Show me how to grow pious, strong, and useful, as you are," shesaid. "I am all wrong, and feel as if I never could get right again,for I haven't energy enough to care what becomes of me.""I know the state, Christie: I've been through it all! but when Istood where you stand now, there was no hand to pull me back, and Ifell into a blacker river than this underneath our feet. Thank God,I came in time to save you from either death!""How did you find me?" asked Christie, when she had echoed in herheart the thanksgiving that came with such fervor from the other'slips.
 
　　"I passed you on the bridge. I did not see your face, but you stoodleaning there so wearily, and looking down into the water, as I usedto look, that I wanted to speak, but did not; and I went on tocomfort a poor girl who is dying yonder. Something turned me back,however; and when I saw you down here I knew why I was sent. Youwere almost gone, but I kept you; and when I had you in my arms Iknew you, though it nearly broke my heart to find you here. Now,dear, come home.
 
　　"Home! ah, Rachel, I've got no home, and for want of one I shall belost!"The lament that broke from her was more pathetic than the tears thatstreamed down, hot and heavy, melting from her heart the frost ofher despair. Her friend let her weep, knowing well the worth oftears, and while Christie sobbed herself quiet, Rachel took thoughtfor her as tenderly as any mother.
 
　　When she had heard the story of Christie's troubles, she stood up asif inspired with a happy thought, and stretching both hands to herfriend, said, with an air of cheerful assurance most comforting tosee:
 
　　"I'll take care of you; come with me, my poor Christie, and I'llgive you a home, very humble, but honest and happy.""With you, Rachel?""No, dear, I must go back to my work, and you are not fit for that.
 
　　Neither must you go again to your own room, because for you it ishaunted, and the worst place you could be in. You want change, andI'll give you one. It will seem queer at first, but it is awholesome place, and just what you need.""I'll do any thing you tell me. I'm past thinking for myselfto-night, and only want to be taken care of till I find strength andcourage enough to stand alone," said Christie, rising slowly andlooking about her with an aspect as helpless and hopeless as if thecloud of mist was a wall of iron.
 
　　Rachel put on her bonnet for her and wrapped her shawl about her,saying, in a tender voice, that warmed the other's heart:
 
　　"Close by lives a dear, good woman who often befriends such as youand I. She will take you in without a question, and love to do it,for she is the most hospitable soul I know. Just tell her you wantwork, that I sent you, and there will be no trouble. Then, when youknow her a little, confide in her, and you will never come to such apass as this again. Keep up your heart, dear; I'll not leave youtill you are safe."So cheerily she spoke, so confident she looked, that the lostexpression passed from Christie's face, and hand in hand they wentaway together,--two types of the sad sisterhood standing on eithershore of the dark river that is spanned by a Bridge of Sighs.
 
　　Rachel led her friend toward the city, and, coming to the mechanics'
 
　　quarter, stopped before the door of a small, old house.
 
　　"Just knock, say 'Rachel sent me,' and you'll find yourself athome.""Stay with me, or let me go with you. I can't lose you again, for Ineed you very much," pleaded Christie, clinging to her friend.
 
　　"Not so much as that poor girl dying all alone. She's waiting forme, and I must go. But I'll write soon; and remember, Christie, Ishall feel as if I had only paid a very little of my debt if you goback to the sad old life, and lose your faith and hope again. Godbless and keep you, and when we meet next time let me find a happierface than this."Rachel kissed it with her heart on her lips, smiled her brave sweetsmile, and vanished in the mist.
 
　　Pausing a moment to collect herself, Christie recollected that shehad not asked the name of the new friend whose help she was about toask. A little sign on the door caught her eye, and, bending down,she managed to read by the dim light of the street lamp these words:
 
　　"C. WILKINS, Clear-Starcher.
 
　　"Laces done up in the best style."Too tired to care whether a laundress or a lady took her in, sheknocked timidly, and, while she waited for an answer to her summons,stood listening to the noises within.
 
　　A swashing sound as of water was audible, likewise a scuffling as offlying feet; some one clapped hands, and a voice said, warningly,"Into your beds this instant minute or I'll come to you! AndrewJackson, give Gusty a boost; Ann Lizy, don't you tech Wash's feet totickle 'em. Set pretty in the tub, Victory, dear, while ma seeswho's rappin'.""C. WILKINS, CLEAR STARCHER."Then heavy footsteps approached, the door opened wide, and a largewoman appeared, with fuzzy red hair, no front teeth, and a plump,clean face, brightly illuminated by the lamp she carried.
 
　　"If you please, Rachel sent me. She thought you might be able"--Christie got no further, for C. Wilkins put out a strong bare arm,still damp, and gently drew her in, saying, with the same motherlytone as when addressing her children, "Come right in, dear, anddon't mind the clutter things is in. I'm givin' the children theirSat'day scrubbin', and they will slop and kite 'round, no matter efI do spank 'em."Talking all the way in such an easy, comfortable voice that Christiefelt as if she must have heard it before, Mrs. Wilkins led herunexpected guest into a small kitchen, smelling suggestively ofsoap-suds and warm flat-irons. In the middle of this apartment was alarge tub; in the tub a chubby child sat, sucking a sponge andstaring calmly at the new-comer with a pair of big blue eyes, whilelittle drops shone in the yellow curls and on the rosy shoulders.
 
　　"How pretty!" cried Christie, seeing nothing else and stopping shortto admire this innocent little Venus rising from the sea.
 
　　"So she is! Ma's darlin' lamb! and ketehin' her death a cold thisblessed minnit. Set right down, my dear, and tuck your wet feet intothe oven. I'll have a dish o' tea for you in less 'n no time; andwhile it's drawin' I'll clap Victory Adelaide into her bed."Christie sank into a shabby but most hospitable old chair, droppedher bonnet on the floor, put her feet in the oven, and, leaningback, watched Mrs. Wilkins wipe the baby as if she had come for thatespecial purpose. As Rachel predicted, she found herself, at home atonce, and presently was startled to hear a laugh from her own lipswhen several children in red and yellow flannel night-gowns dartedlike meteors across the open doorway of an adjoining room, withwhoops and howls, bursts of laughter, and antics of all sorts.
 
　　How pleasant it was; that plain room, with no ornaments but thehappy faces, no elegance, but cleanliness, no wealth, buthospitality and lots of love. This latter blessing gave the placeits charm, for, though Mrs. Wilkins threatened to take her infants'
 
　　noses off if they got out of bed again, or "put 'em in the kettleand bile 'em" they evidently knew no fear, but gambolled all thenearer to her for the threat; and she beamed upon them with suchmaternal tenderness and pride that her homely face grew beautiful inChristie's eyes.
 
　　When the baby was bundled up in a blanket and about to be set downbefore the stove to simmer a trifle before being put to bed,Christie held out her arms, saying with an irresistible longing inher eyes and voice:
 
　　"Let me hold her! I love babies dearly, and it seems as if it woulddo me more good than quarts of tea to cuddle her, if she'll let me.""There now, that's real sensible; and mother's bird'll set alongwith you as good as a kitten. Toast her tootsies wal, for she'scroupy, and I have to be extra choice of her.""How good it feels!" sighed Christie, half devouring the warm androsy little bunch in her lap, while baby lay back luxuriously,spreading her pink toes to the pleasant warmth and smiling sleepilyup in the hungry face that hung over her.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins's quick eyes saw it all, and she said to herself, inthe closet, as she cut bread and rattled down a cup and saucer:
 
　　"That's what she wants, poor creeter; I'll let her have a right nicetime, and warm and feed and chirk her up, and then I'll see what'sto be done for her. She ain't one of the common sort, and goodnessonly knows what Rachel sent her here for. She's poor and sick, butshe ain't bad. I can tell that by her face, and she's the sort Ilike to help. It's a mercy I ain't eat my supper, so she can havethat bit of meat and the pie."Putting a tray on the little table, the good soul set forth all shehad to give, and offered it with such hospitable warmth thatChristie ate and drank with unaccustomed appetite, finishing offdeliciously with a kiss from baby before she was borne away by hermother to the back bedroom, where peace soon reigned.
 
　　"Now let me tell you who I am, and how I came to you in such anunceremonious way," began Christie, when her hostess returned andfound her warmed, refreshed, and composed by a woman's three bestcomforters,--kind words, a baby, and a cup of tea.
 
　　"'Pears to me, dear, I wouldn't rile myself up by telling anywerryments to-night, but git right warm inter bed, and have a goodlong sleep," said Mrs. Wilkins, without a ray of curiosity in herwholesome red face.
 
　　"But you don't know any thing about me, and I may be the worst womanin the world," cried Christie, anxious to prove herself worthy ofsuch confidence.
 
　　"I know that you want takin' care of, child, or Rachel wouldn't asent you. Ef I can help any one, I don't want no introduction; andef you be the wust woman in the world (which you ain't), I wouldn'tshet my door on you, for then you'd need a lift more'n you do now."Christie could only put out her hand, and mutely thank her newfriend with full eyes.
 
　　"You're fairly tuckered out, you poor soul, so you jest come rightup chamber and let me tuck you up, else you'll be down sick. Itain't a mite of inconvenience; the room is kep for company, and it'sall ready, even to a clean night-cap. I'm goin' to clap this warmflat to your feet when you're fixed; it's amazin' comfortin' andkeeps your head cool."Up they went to a tidy little chamber, and Christie found herselflaid down to rest none too soon, for she was quite worn out. Sleepbegan to steal over her the moment her head touched the pillow, inspite of the much beruffled cap which Mrs. Wilkins put on withvisible pride in its stiffly crimped borders. She was dimlyconscious of a kind hand tucking her up, a comfortable voice purringover her, and, best of all, a motherly good-night kiss, then theweary world faded quite away and she was at rest.
Chapter 8 A Cure For Despair
     WHEN Christie opened the eyes that had closed so wearily, afternoonsunshine streamed across the room, and seemed the herald of happierdays. Refreshed by sleep, and comforted by grateful recollections ofher kindly welcome, she lay tranquilly enjoying the friendlyatmosphere about her, with so strong a feeling that a skilful handhad taken the rudder, that she felt very little anxiety or curiosityabout the haven which was to receive her boat after this narrowescape from shipwreck.
 
　　Her eye wandered to and fro, and brightened as it went; for though apoor, plain room it was as neat as hands could make it, and soglorified with sunshine that she thought it a lovely place, in spiteof the yellow paper with green cabbage roses on it, the gorgeousplaster statuary on the mantel-piece, and the fragrance ofdough-nuts which pervaded the air. Every thing suggested home life,humble but happy, and Christie's solitary heart warmed at the sightsand sounds about her.
 
　　A half open closet-door gave her glimpses of little frocks andjackets, stubby little shoes, and go-to-meeting hats all in a row.
 
　　From below came up the sound of childish voices chattering, childishfeet trotting to and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetlythrough the Sabbath stillness of the place. From a room near by,came the soothing creak of a rocking-chair, the rustle of anewspaper, and now and then a scrap of conversation common-placeenough, but pleasant to hear, because so full of domestic love andconfidence; and, as she listened, Christie pictured Mrs. Wilkins andher husband taking their rest together after the week's hard workwas done.
 
　　"I wish I could stay here; it's so comfortable and home-like. Iwonder if they wouldn't let me have this room, and help me to findsome better work than sewing? I'll get up and ask them," thoughtChristie, feeling an irresistible desire to stay, and strongrepugnance to returning to the room she had left, for, as Racheltruly said, it was haunted for her.
 
　　When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins bounced out of herrocking-chair and hurried to meet her with a smiling face, sayingall in one breath:
 
　　"Good mornin', dear! Rested well, I hope? I'm proper glad to hearit. Now come right down and have your dinner. I kep it hot, for Icouldn't bear to wake you up, you was sleepin' so beautiful.""I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like a newcreature. It was so kind of you to take me in, and I'm so grateful Idon't know how to show it," said Christie, warmly, as her hostessponderously descended the complaining stairs and ushered her intothe tidy kitchen from which tubs and flat-irons were banished oneday in the week.
 
　　"Lawful sakes, the' ain't nothing to be grateful for, child, andyou're heartily welcome to the little I done. We are country folksin our ways, though we be livin' in the city, and we have a reg'larcountry dinner Sundays. Hope you'll relish it; my vittles is cleanef they ain't rich."As she spoke, Mrs. Wilkins dished up baked beans, Indian-pudding,and brown bread enough for half a dozen. Christie was hungry now,and ate with an appetite that delighted the good lady who vibratedbetween her guest and her children, shut up in the "settin'-room.""Now please let me tell you all about myself, for I am afraid youthink me something better than I am. If I ask help from you, it isright that you should know whom you are helping," said Christie,when the table was cleared and her hostess came and sat down besideher.
 
　　"Yes, my dear, free your mind, and then we'll fix things up rightsmart. Nothin' I like better, and Lisha says I have considerable ofa knack that way," replied Mrs. Wilkins, with a smile, a nod, and anair of interest most reassuring.
 
　　So Christie told her story, won to entire confidence by thesympathetic face opposite, and the motherly pats so gently given bythe big, rough hand that often met her own. When all was told,Christie said very earnestly:
 
　　"I am ready to go to work to-morrow, and will do any thing I canfind, but I should love to stay here a little while, if I could; Ido so dread to be alone. Is it possible? I mean to pay my board ofcourse, and help you besides if you'll let me."Mrs. Wilkins glowed with pleasure at this compliment, and leaningtoward Christie, looked into her face a moment in silence, as if totest the sincerity of the wish. In that moment Christie saw whatsteady, sagacious eyes the woman had; so clear, so honest that shelooked through them into the great, warm heart below, and lookingforgot the fuzzy, red hair, the paucity of teeth, the faded gown,and felt only the attraction of a nature genuine and genial as thesunshine dancing on the kitchen floor.
 
　　Beautiful souls often get put into plain bodies, but they cannot behidden, and have a power all their own, the greater for theunconsciousness or the humility which gives it grace. Christie sawand felt this then, and when the homely woman spoke, listened to herwith implicit confidence.
 
　　"My dear, I'd no more send you away now than I would my Adelaide,for you need looking after for a spell, most as much as she doos.
 
　　You've been thinkin' and broodin' too much, and sewin' yourself todeath. We'll stop all that, and keep you so busy there won't be notime for the hypo. You're one of them that can't live alone withoutstarvin' somehow, so I'm jest goin' to turn you in among themchildren to paster, so to speak. That's wholesome and fillin' foryou, and goodness knows it will be a puffect charity to me, for I'mgoin' to be dreadful drove with gettin' up curtins and all manner ofthings, as spring comes on. So it ain't no favor on my part, and youcan take out your board in tendin' baby and putterin' over themlittle tykes.""I should like it so much! But I forgot my debt to Mrs. Flint;perhaps she won't let me go," said Christie, with an anxious cloudcoming over her brightening face.
 
　　"Merciful, suz! don't you be worried about her. I'll see to her, andef she acts ugly Lisha 'll fetch her round; men can always settlesuch things better'n we can, and he's a dreadful smart man Lisha is.
 
　　We'll go to-morrer and get your belongins, and then settle rightdown for a spell; and by-an'-by when you git a trifle more chipperwe'll find a nice place in the country some'rs. That's what youwant; nothin' like green grass and woodsy smells to right folks up.
 
　　When I was a gal, ef I got low in my mind, or riled in my temper, Ijest went out and grubbed in the gardin, or made hay, or walked agood piece, and it fetched me round beautiful. Never failed; so Icome to see that good fresh dirt is fust rate physic for folk'sspirits as it is for wounds, as they tell on.""That sounds sensible and pleasant, and I like it. Oh, it is sobeautiful to feel that somebody cares for you a little bit, and youain't one too many in the world," sighed Christie.
 
　　"Don't you never feel that agin, my dear. What's the Lord for ef Heain't to hold on to in times of trouble. Faith ain't wuth much efit's only lively in fair weather; you've got to believe hearty andstan' by the Lord through thick and thin, and He'll stan' by you asno one else begins to. I remember of havin' this bore in upon me bysomethin' that happened to a man I knew. He got blowed up in apowder-mill, and when folks asked him what he thought when the bustcome, he said, real sober and impressive: 'Wal, it come through me,like a flash, that I'd served the Lord as faithful as I knew how fora number a years, and I guessed He'd fetch me through somehow, andHe did.' Sure enough the man warn't killed; I'm bound to confess hewas shook dreadful, but his faith warn't."Christie could not help smiling at the story, but she liked it, andsincerely wished she could imitate the hero of it in his piety, nothis powder. She was about to say so when the sound of approachingsteps announced the advent of her host. She had been ratherimpressed with the "smartness" of Lisha by his wife's praises, butwhen a small, sallow, sickly looking man came in she changed hermind; for not even an immensely stiff collar, nor a pair of bootsthat seemed composed entirely of what the boys call "creak leather,"could inspire her with confidence.
 
　　Without a particle of expression in his yellow face, Mr. Wilkinsnodded to the stranger over the picket fence of his collar, lightedhis pipe, and clumped away to enjoy his afternoon promenade withoutcompromising himself by a single word.
 
　　His wife looked after him with an admiring gaze as she said:
 
　　"Them boots is as good as an advertisement, for he made every stitchon 'em himself;" then she added, laughing like a girl: "It'sredick'lus my bein' so proud of Lisha, but ef a woman ain't a rightto think wal of her own husband, I should like to know who has!"Christie was afraid that Mrs. Wilkins had seen her disappointment inher face, and tried, with wifely zeal, to defend her lord from evena disparaging thought. Wishing to atone for this transgression shewas about to sing the praises of the wooden-faced Elisha, but wasspared any polite fibs by the appearance of a small girl whodelivered an urgent message to the effect, that "Mis Plumly was downsick and wanted Mis Wilkins to run over and set a spell."As the good lady hesitated with an involuntary glance at her guest,Christie said quickly:
 
　　"Don't mind me; I'll take care of the house for you if you want togo. You may be sure I won't run off with the children or steal thespoons.""I ain't a mite afraid of anybody wantin' to steal them littletoads; and as for spoons, I ain't got a silver one to bless myselfwith," laughed Mrs. Wilkins. "I guess I will go, then, ef you don'tmind, as it's only acrost the street. Like's not settin' quiet willbe better for you 'n talkin', for I'm a dreadful hand to gab when Igit started. Tell Mis Plumly I'm a comin'."Then, as the child ran off, the stout lady began to rummage in hercloset, saying, as she rattled and slammed:
 
　　"I'll jest take her a drawin' of tea and a couple of nut-cakes:
 
　　mebby she'll relish 'em, for I shouldn't wonder ef she hadn't had amouthful this blessed day. She's dreadful slack at the best oftimes, but no one can much wonder, seein' she's got nine children,and is jest up from a rheumatic fever. I'm sure I never grudge ameal of vittles or a hand's turn to such as she is, though she doesbeat all for dependin' on her neighbors. I'm a thousand timesobleeged. You needn't werry about the children, only don't let 'emgit lost, or burnt, or pitch out a winder; and when it's done give'em the patty-cake that's bakin' for 'em."With which maternal orders Mrs. Wilkins assumed a sky-blue bonnet,and went beaming away with several dishes genteelly hidden under herpurple shawl.
 
　　Being irresistibly attracted toward the children Christie opened thedoor and took a survey of her responsibilities.
 
　　Six lively infants were congregated in the "settin'-room," and chaosseemed to have come again, for every sort of destructive amusementwas in full operation. George Washington, the eldest blossom, wasshearing a resigned kitten; Gusty and Ann Eliza were concocting mudpies in the ashes; Adelaide Victoria was studying the structure oflamp-wicks, while Daniel Webster and Andrew Jackson were draggingone another in a clothes-basket, to the great detriment of the oldcarpet and still older chariot.
 
　　Thinking that some employment more suited to the day might beintroduced, Christie soon made friends with these young persons,and, having rescued the kitten, banished the basket, lured the eldergirls from their mud-piety, and quenched the curiosity of thePickwickian Adelaide, she proposed teaching them some little hymns.
 
　　The idea was graciously received, and the class decorously seated ina row. But before a single verse was given out, Gusty, being of ahouse-wifely turn of mind, suggested that the patty-cake might burn.
 
　　Instant alarm pervaded the party, and a precipitate rush was madefor the cooking-stove, where Christie proved by ocular demonstrationthat the cake showed no signs of baking, much less of burning. Thefamily pronounced themselves satisfied, after each member had pokeda grimy little finger into the doughy delicacy, whereon one largeraisin reposed in proud pre-eminence over the vulgar herd ofcaraways.
 
　　Order being with difficulty restored, Christie taught her flock anappropriate hymn, and was flattering herself that their youthfulminds were receiving a devotional bent, when they volunteered asong, and incited thereunto by the irreverent Wash, burst forth witha gem from Mother Goose, closing with a smart skirmish of arms andlegs that set all law and order at defiance. Hoping to quell theinsurrection Christie invited the breathless rioters to calmthemselves by looking at the pictures in the big Bible. But,unfortunately, her explanations were so vivid that her audience werefired with a desire to enact some of the scenes portrayed, and nopersuasions could keep them from playing Ark on the spot. Theclothes-basket was elevated upon two chairs, and into it marched thebirds of the air and the beasts of the field, to judge by the noise,and all set sail, with Washington at the helm, Jackson and Websterplying the clothes and pudding-sticks for oars, while the youngladies rescued their dolls from the flood, and waved their hands toimaginary friends who were not unmindful of the courtesies of lifeeven in the act of drowning.
 
　　MRS. WILKINS' SIX LIVELY INFANTS.
 
　　Finding her authority defied Christie left the rebels to their owndevices, and sitting in a corner, began to think about her ownaffairs. But before she had time to get anxious or perplexed thechildren diverted her mind, as if the little flibberty-gibbets knewthat their pranks and perils were far wholesomer for her just thenthan brooding.
 
　　The much-enduring kitten being sent forth as a dove upon the watersfailed to return with the olive-branch; of which peaceful emblemthere was soon great need, for mutiny broke out, and spread withdisastrous rapidity.
 
　　Ann Eliza slapped Gusty because she had the biggest bandbox; Andrewthreatened to "chuck" Daniel overboard if he continued to trample onthe fraternal toes, and in the midst of the fray, by some unguardedmotion, Washington capsized the ship and precipitated thepatriarchal family into the bosom of the deep.
 
　　Christie flew to the rescue, and, hydropathically treated, theanguish of bumps and bruises was soon assuaged. Then appeared theappropriate moment for a story, and gathering the dilapidated partyabout her she soon enraptured them by a recital of the immortalhistory of "Frank and the little dog Trusty." Charmed with hersuccess she was about to tell another moral tale, but no sooner hadshe announced the name, "The Three Cakes," when, like an electricflash a sudden recollection seized the young Wilkinses, and with onevoice they demanded their lawful prize, sure that now it must bedone.
 
　　Christie had forgotten all about it, and was harassed with secretmisgivings as she headed the investigating committee. With skippingof feet and clapping of hands the eager tribe surrounded the stove,and with fear and trembling Christie drew forth a melancholy cinder,where, like Casablanca, the lofty raisin still remained, blackened,but undaunted, at its post.
 
　　Then were six little vials of wrath poured out upon her devotedhead, and sounds of lamentation filled the air, for the irateWilkinses refused to be comforted till the rash vow to present eachmember of the outraged family with a private cake produced a lull,during which the younger ones were decoyed into the back yard, andthe three elders solaced themselves with mischief.
 
　　Mounted on mettlesome broomsticks Andrew and Daniel were ridingmerrily away to the Banbury Cross, of blessed memory, and little Viewas erecting a pagoda of oyster-shells, under Christie'ssuperintendence, when a shrill scream from within sent horsemen andarchitects flying to the rescue.
 
　　Gusty's pinafore was in a blaze; Ann Eliza was dancing franticallyabout her sister as if bent on making a suttee of herself, whileGeorge Washington hung out of window, roaring, "Fire!" "water!""engine!" "pa!" with a presence of mind worthy of his sex.
 
　　A speedy application of the hearth-rug quenched the conflagration,and when a minute burn had been enveloped in cotton-wool, like agem, a coroner sat upon the pinafore and investigated the case.
 
　　It appeared that the ladies were "only playing paper dolls," whenWash, sighing for the enlightenment of his race, proposed to make abonfire, and did so with an old book; but Gusty, with a firm beliefin future punishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to herprinciples, as the virtuous are very apt to do.
 
　　The book was brought into court, and proved to be an ancient volumeof ballads, cut, torn, and half consumed. Several peculiarlydeveloped paper dolls, branded here and there with large letters,like galley-slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the judgecould with difficulty preserve her gravity when she found "JohnGilpin" converted into a painted petticoat, "The Bay of Biscay, O,"situated in the crown of a hat, and "Chevy Chase" issuing from themouth of a triangular gentleman, who, like Dickens's cherub,probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to speak of.
 
　　It was further apparent from the agricultural appearance of the roomthat beans had been sowed broadcast by means of the apple-corer,which Wash had converted into a pop-gun with a mechanical ingenuityworthy of more general appreciation. He felt this deeply, and whenChristie reproved him for leading his sisters astray, he resentedthe liberty she took, and retired in high dudgeon to the cellar,where he appeared to set up a menagerie,--for bears, lions, andunknown animals, endowed with great vocal powers, were heard tosolicit patronage from below.
 
　　Somewhat exhausted by her labors, Christie rested, after clearing upthe room, while the children found a solace for all afflictions inthe consumption of relays of bread and molasses, which infantilerestorative occurred like an inspiration to the mind of theirguardian.
 
　　Peace reigned for fifteen minutes; then came a loud crash from thecellar, followed by a violent splashing, and wild cries of, "Oh, oh,oh, I've fell into the pork barrel! I'm drownin', I'm drownin'!"Down rushed Christie, and the sticky innocents ran screaming after,to behold their pickled brother fished up from the briny deep. Aspectacle well calculated to impress upon their infant minds theawful consequences of straying from the paths of virtue.
 
　　At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared, breathless, butbrisk and beaming, and in no wise dismayed by the plight of herluckless son, for a ten years' acquaintance with Wash's dauntlessnature had inured his mother to "didoes" that would have appalledmost women.
 
　　"Go right up chamber, and change every rag on you, and don't comedown agin till I rap on the ceilin'; you dreadful boy, disgracin'
 
　　your family by sech actions. I'm sorry I was kep' so long, but MisPlumly got tellin' her werryments, and 'peared to take so muchcomfort in it I couldn't bear to stop her. Then I jest run round toyour place and told that woman that you was safe and well, along'rfriends, and would call in to-morrer to get your things. She 'd benso scart by your not comin' home that she was as mild as milk, soyou won't have no trouble with her, I expect.""Thank you very much! How kind you are, and how tired you must be!
 
　　Sit down and let me take your things," cried Christie, more relievedthan she could express.
 
　　"Lor', no, I'm fond of walkin', but bein' ruther hefty it takes mybreath away some to hurry. I'm afraid these children have tuckeredyou out though. They are proper good gen'lly, but when they do taketo trainen they're a sight of care," said Mrs. Wilkins, as shesurveyed her imposing bonnet with calm satisfaction.
 
　　"I've enjoyed it very much, and it's done me good, for I haven'tlaughed so much for six months as I have this afternoon," answeredChristie, and it was quite true, for she had been too busy to thinkof herself or her woes.
 
　　"Wal, I thought likely it would chirk you up some, or I shouldn'thave went," and Mrs. Wilkins put away a contented smile with hercherished bonnet, for Christie's face had grown so much brightersince she saw it last, that the good woman felt sure her treatmentwas the right one.
 
　　At supper Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and children talkedincessantly, he ate four slices of bread and butter, three pieces ofpie, five dough-nuts, and drank a small ocean of tea out of hissaucer. Then, evidently feeling that he had done his duty like aman, he gave Christie another nod, and disappeared again without aword.
 
　　When she had done up her dishes Mrs. Wilkins brought out a few booksand papers, and said to Christie, who sat apart by the window, withthe old shadow creeping over her face:
 
　　"Now don't feel lonesome, my dear, but jest lop right down on thesotfy and have a sociable kind of a time. Lisha's gone down streetfor the evenin'. I'll keep the children as quiet as one woman can,and you may read or rest, or talk, jest as you're a mind.""Thank you; I'll sit here and rock little Vie to sleep for you. Idon't care to read, but I'd like to have you talk to me, for itseems as if I'd known you a long time and it does me good," saidChristie, as she settled herself and baby on the old settee whichhad served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now received thehonorable name of sofa in its old age.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins looked gratified, as she settled her brood round thetable with a pile of pictorial papers to amuse them. Then havinglaid herself out to be agreeable, she sat thoughtfully rubbing thebridge of her nose, at a loss how to begin. Presently Christiehelped her by an involuntary sigh.
 
　　"What's the matter, dear? Is there any thing I can do to make youcomfortable?" asked the kind soul, alert at once, and ready to offersympathy.
 
　　"I'm very cosy, thank you, and I don't know why I sighed. It's a wayI've got into when I think of my worries," explained Christie, inhaste.
 
　　"Wal, dear, I wouldn't ef I was you. Don't keep turnin' yourtroubles over. Git atop of 'em somehow, and stay there ef you can,"said Mrs. Wilkins, very earnestly.
 
　　"But that's just what I can't do. I've lost all my spirits andcourage, and got into a dismal state of mind. You seem to be verycheerful, and yet you must have a good deal to try you sometimes. Iwish you'd tell me how you do it;" and Christie looked wistfullyinto that other face, so plain, yet so placid, wondering to see howlittle poverty, hard work, and many cares had soured or saddened it.
 
　　"Really I don't know, unless it's jest doin' whatever comes along,and doin' of it hearty, sure that things is all right, though veryoften I don't see it at fust.""Do you see it at last?""Gen'lly I do; and if I don't I take it on trust, same as childrendo what older folks tell 'em; and byme-by when I'm grown up inspiritual things I'll understan' as the dears do, when they git tobe men and women."That suited Christie, and she thought hopefully within herself:
 
　　"This woman has got the sort of religion I want, if it makes herwhat she is. Some day I'll get her to tell me where she found it."Then aloud she said:
 
　　"But it's so hard to be patient and contented when nothing happensas you want it to, and you don't get your share of happiness, nomatter how much you try to deserve it.""It ain't easy to bear, I know, but having tried my own way and madea dreadful mess on 't, I concluded that the Lord knows what's bestfor us, and things go better when He manages than when we goscratchin' round and can't wait.""Tried your own way? How do you mean?" asked Christie, curiously;for she liked to hear her hostess talk, and found something besidesamusement in the conversation, which seemed to possess a freshcountry flavor as well as country phrases.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins smiled all over her plump face, as if she liked to tellher experience, and having hunched sleepy little Andy morecomfortably into her lap, and given a preparatory hem or two, shebegan with great good-will.
 
　　"It happened a number a years ago and ain't much of a story any way.
 
　　But you're welcome to it, as some of it is rather humorsome, thelaugh may do you good ef the story don't. We was livin' down to theeast'ard at the time. It was a real pretty place; the house stoodunder a couple of maples and a gret brook come foamin' down therayvine and away through the medders to the river. Dear sakes, seemsas ef I see it now, jest as I used to settin' on the doorsteps withthe lay-locks all in blow, the squirrels jabberin' on the wall, andthe saw-mill screekin' way off by the dam."Pausing a moment, Mrs. Wilkins looked musingly at the steam of thetea-kettle, as if through its silvery haze she saw her early homeagain. Wash promptly roused her from this reverie by tumbling offthe boiler with a crash. His mother picked him up and placidly wenton, falling more and more into the country dialect which city lifehad not yet polished.
 
　　"I oushter hev been the contentedest woman alive, but I warn't, foryou see I'd worked at millineryin' before I was married, and had aneasy time on't, Afterwards the children come along pretty fast,there was sights of work to do, and no time for pleasuring so I gotwore out, and used to hanker after old times in a dreadful wickedway.
 
　　"Finally I got acquainted with a Mis Bascum, and she done me a sightof harm. You see, havin' few pies of her own to bake, she was fondof puttin' her fingers into her neighborses, but she done it so neatthat no one mistrusted she was takin' all the sarce and leavin' allthe crust to them, as you may say. Wal, I told her my werryments andshe sympathized real hearty, and said I didn't ought to stan' it,but have things to suit me, and enjoy myself, as other folks did. Sowhen she put it into my head I thought it amazin' good advice, andjest went and done as she told me.
 
　　"Lisha was the kindest man you ever see, so when I up and said Iwarn't goin' to drudge round no more, but must hev a girl, he gotone, and goodness knows what a trial she was. After she came I gotdreadful slack, and left the house and the children to Hen'retta,and went pleasurin' frequent all in my best. I always was a dressywoman in them days, and Lisha give me his earnin's real lavish,bless his heart! and I went and spent 'em on my sinful gowns andbunnets."Here Mrs. Wilkins stopped to give a remorseful groan and stroke herfaded dress, as if she found great comfort in its dinginess.
 
　　"It ain't no use tellin' all I done, but I had full swing, and atfust I thought luck was in my dish sure. But it warn't, seein' Ididn't deserve it, and I had to take my mess of trouble, which wasneedful and nourishin,' ef I'd had the grace to see it so.
 
　　"Lisha got into debt, and no wonder, with me a wastin' of hissubstance; Hen'retta went off suddin', with whatever she could layher hands on, and everything was at sixes and sevens. Lisha'spatience give out at last, for I was dreadful fractious, knowin' itwas all my fault. The children seemed to git out of sorts, too, andacted like time in the primer, with croup and pins, andwhoopin'-cough and temper. I declare I used to think the pots andkettles biled over to spite each other and me too in them days.
 
　　"All this was nuts to Mis Bascum, and she kep' advisin' andencouragin' of me, and I didn't see through her a mite, or guessthat settin' folks by the ears was as relishin' to her as bitters isto some. Merciful, suz! what a piece a work we did make betwixt us!
 
　　I scolded and moped 'cause I couldn't have my way; Lisha swore andthreatened to take to drinkin' ef I didn't make home morecomfortable; the children run wild, and the house was gittin' toohot to hold us, when we was brought up with a round turn, and I seethe redicklousness of my doin's in time.
 
　　"One day Lisha come home tired and cross, for bills was pressin',work slack, and folks talkin' about us as ef they 'd nothin' else todo. I was dishin' up dinner, feelin' as nervous as a witch, for awhole batch of bread had burnt to a cinder while I was trimmin' anew bunnet, Wash had scart me most to death swallerin' a cent, andthe steak had been on the floor more'n once, owin' to my havin'
 
　　babies, dogs, cats, or hens under my feet the whole blessed time.
 
　　"Lisha looked as black as thunder, throwed his hat into a corner,and came along to the sink where I was skinnin' pertaters. As hewashed his hands, I asked what the matter was; but he only mutteredand slopped, and I couldn't git nothin' out of him, for he ain'ttalkative at the best of times as you see, and when he's werriedcorkscrews wouldn't draw a word from him.
 
　　"Bein' riled myself didn't mend matters, and so we fell to hectorin'
 
　　one another right smart. He said somethin' that dreened my last dropof patience; I give a sharp answer, and fust thing I knew he up withhis hand and slapped me. It warn't a hard blow by no means, only akind of a wet spat side of the head; but I thought I should haveflew, and was as mad as ef I'd been knocked down. You never see aman look so 'shamed as Lisha did, and ef I'd been wise I should havemade up the quarrel then. But I was a fool. I jest flung fork, dish,pertaters and all into the pot, and says, as ferce as you please:
 
　　"'Lisha Wilkins, when you can treat me decent you may come and fetchme back; you won't see me till then, and so I tell you.'
 
　　"Then I made a bee-line for Mis Bascum's; told her the whole story,had a good cry, and was all ready to go home in half an hour, butLisha didn't come.
 
　　"Wal, that night passed, and what a long one it was to be sure! andme without a wink of sleep, thinkin' of Wash and the cent, myemptins and the baby. Next day come, but no Lisha, no message, nonuthin', and I began to think I'd got my match though I had a sightof grit in them days. I sewed, and Mis Bascum she clacked; but Ididn't say much, and jest worked like sixty to pay for my keep, forI warn't goin' to be beholden to her for nothin'.
 
　　"The day dragged on terrible slow, and at last I begged her to goand git me a clean dress, for I'd come off jest as I was, and folkskep' droppin' in, for the story was all round, thanks to MisBascum's long tongue.
 
　　"Wal, she went, and ef you'll believe me Lisha wouldn't let her in!
 
　　He handed my best things out a winder and told her to tell me theywere gittin' along fust rate with Florindy Walch to do the work. Hehoped I'd have a good time, and not expect him for a consider'blespell, for he liked a quiet house, and now he'd got it.
 
　　"When I heard that, I knew he must be provoked the wust kind, for heain't a hash man by nater. I could have crep' in at the winder ef hewouldn't open the door, I was so took down by that message. But MisBascum wouldn't hear of it, and kep' stirrin' of me up till I wasashamed to eat 'umble pie fust; so I waited to see how soon he'dcome round. But he had the best on't you see, for he'd got thebabies and lost a cross wife, while I'd lost every thing but MisBascum, who grew hatefuler to me every hour, for I begun to mistrustshe was a mischief-maker,--widders most always is,--seein' how shepampered up my pride and 'peared to like the quarrel.
 
　　"I thought I should have died more'n once, for sure as you live itwent on three mortal days, and of all miser'ble creeters I was themiser'blest. Then I see how wicked and ungrateful I'd been; how I'dshirked my bounden duty and scorned my best blessins. There warn't ahard job that ever I'd hated but what grew easy when I rememberedwho it was done for; there warn't a trouble or a care that Iwouldn't have welcomed hearty, nor one hour of them dear fractiousbabies that didn't seem precious when I'd gone and left 'em. I'd gottime to rest enough now, and might go pleasuring all day long; but Icouldn't do it, and would have given a dozin bunnets trimmed to killef I could only have been back moilin' in my old kitchen with thechildren hangin' round me and Lisha a comin' in cheerful from hiswork as he used to 'fore I spoilt his home for him. How sing'lar itis folks never do know when they are wal off!""I know it now," said Christie, rocking lazily to and fro, with aface almost as tranquil as little Vic's, lying half asleep in herlap.
 
　　"Glad to hear it, my dear. As I was goin' on to say, when Saturdaycome, a tremenjus storm set in, and it rained guns all day. I nevershall forgit it, for I was hankerin' after baby, and dreadfulworried about the others, all bein' croupy, and Florindy with nomore idee of nussin' than a baa lamb. The rain come down like areg'lar deluge, but I didn't seem to have no ark to run to. As nightcome on things got wuss and wuss, for the wind blowed the roof offMis Bascum's barn and stove in the butt'ry window; the brook riz andwent ragin' every which way, and you never did see such a piece ofwork.
 
　　"My heart was most broke by that time, and I knew I should give in'fore Monday. But I set and sewed and listened to the tinkle tankleof the drops in the pans set round to ketch 'em, for the houseleaked like a sieve. Mis Bascurn was down suller putterin' about,for every kag and sarce jar was afloat. Moses, her brother, waslookin' after his stock and tryin' to stop the damage. All of asudden he bust in lookin' kinder wild, and settin' down the lantern,he sez, sez he: 'You're ruthern an unfortinate woman to-night, MisWilkins.' 'How so?' sez I, as ef nuthin' was the matter already.
 
　　"'Why,' sez he, 'the spilins have give way up in the rayvine, andthe brook 's come down like a river, upsot your lean-to, washed themellion patch slap into the road, and while your husband was tryin'
 
　　to git the pig out of the pen, the water took a turn and swep himaway.'
 
　　"'Drownded?' sez I, with only breath enough for that one word.
 
　　'Shouldn't wonder,' sez Moses, 'nothin' ever did come up alive aftergoin' over them falls.'
 
　　"It come over me like a streak of lightenin'; every thin' kinderslewed round, and I dropped in the first faint I ever had in mylife. Next I knew Lisha was holdin' of me and cryin' fit to killhimself. I thought I was dreamin', and only had wits enough to givea sort of permiscuous grab at him and call out:
 
　　"'Oh, Lisha! ain't you drownded?' He give a gret start at that,swallered down his sobbin', and sez as lovin' as ever a man did inthis world:
 
　　"'Bless your dear heart, Cynthy, it warn't me it was the pig;' andthen fell to kissin' of me, till betwixt laughin' and cryin' I wasmost choked. Deary me, it all comes back so livin' real it kindertakes my breath away."And well it might, for the good soul entered so heartily into herstory that she unconsciously embellished it with dramaticillustrations. At the slapping episode she flung an invisible "fork,dish, and pertaters" into an imaginary kettle, and glared; when thecatastrophe arrived, she fell back upon her chair to expressfainting; gave Christie's arm the "permiscuous grab" at the propermoment, and uttered the repentant Lisha's explanation with anincoherent pathos that forbid a laugh at the sudden introduction ofthe porcine martyr.
 
　　"What did you do then?" asked Christie in a most flattering state ofinterest.
 
　　"Oh, law! I went right home and hugged them children for a couple ofhours stiddy," answered Mrs; Wilkins, as if but one conclusion waspossible.
 
　　"Did all your troubles go down with the pig?" asked Christie,presently.
 
　　"Massy, no, we're all poor, feeble worms, and the best meanin' of usfails too often," sighed Mrs. Wilkins, as she tenderly adjusted thesleepy head of the young worm in her lap. "After that scrape I donemy best; Lisha was as meek as a whole flock of sheep, and we giveMis Bascum a wide berth. Things went lovely for ever so long, andthough, after a spell, we had our ups and downs, as is but naturalto human creeters, we never come to such a pass agin. Both on ustried real hard; whenever I felt my temper risin' or discontentcomin' on I remembered them days and kep' a taut rein; and as forLisha he never said a raspin' word, or got sulky, but what he'd bustout laughin' after it and say: 'Bless you, Cynthy, it warn't me, itwas the pig.'"Mrs. Wilkins' hearty laugh fired a long train of lesser ones, forthe children recognized a household word. Christie enjoyed the joke,and even the tea-kettle boiled over as if carried away by the fun.
 
　　"Tell some more, please," said Christie, when the merrimentsubsided, for she felt her spirits rising.
 
　　"There's nothin' more to tell, except one thing that prevented myever forgittin' the lesson I got then. My little Almiry took coldthat week and pined away rapid. She'd always been so ailin' I neverexpected to raise her, and more 'n once in them sinful tempers ofmine I'd thought it would be a mercy ef she was took out of herpain. But when I laid away that patient, sufferin' little creeter Ifound she was the dearest of 'em all. I most broke my heart to hevher back, and never, never forgive myself for leavin' her thattime." With trembling lips and full eyes Mrs. Wilkins stopped towipe her features generally on Andrew Jackson's pinafore, and heavea remorseful sigh.
 
　　"And this is how you came to be the cheerful, contented woman youare?" said Christie, hoping to divert the mother's mind from thattoo tender memory.
 
　　"Yes," she answered, thoughtfully, "I told you Lisha was a smartman; he give me a good lesson, and it set me to thinkin' serious.
 
　　'Pears to me trouble is a kind of mellerin' process, and ef you takeit kindly it doos you good, and you learn to be glad of it. I'm sureLisha and me is twice as fond of one another, twice as willin' towork, and twice as patient with our trials sense dear little Almirydied, and times was hard. I ain't what I ought to be, not by a longchalk, but I try to live up to my light, do my duty cheerful, lovemy neighbors, and fetch up my family in the fear of God. Ef I dothis the best way I know how, I'm sure I'll get my rest some day,and the good Lord won't forgit Cynthy Wilkins. He ain't so fur, forI keep my health wonderfle, Lisha is kind and stiddy, the childrenflourishin', and I'm a happy woman though I be a humly one."There she was mistaken, for as her eye roved round the narrow roomfrom the old hat on the wall to the curly heads bobbing here andthere, contentment, piety, and mother-love made her plain facebeautiful.
 
　　"That story has done me ever so much good, and I shall not forgetit. Now, good-night, for I must be up early to-morrow, and I don'twant to drive Mr. Wilkins away entirely," said Christie, after shehad helped put the little folk to bed, during which process she hadheard her host creaking about the kitchen as if afraid to enter thesitting-room.
 
　　She laughed as she spoke, and ran up stairs, wondering if she couldbe the same forlorn creature who had crept so wearily up only thenight before.
 
　　It was a very humble little sermon that Mrs. Wilkins had preached toher, but she took it to heart and profited by it; for she was apupil in the great charity school where the best teachers are oftenunknown, unhonored here, but who surely will receive commendationand reward from the head master when their long vacation comes.
Chapter 9 Mrs. Wilkins's Minister
     MR. POWER.
 
　　NEXT day Christie braved the lion in his den, otherwise the flintyFlint, in her second-class boarding-house, and found that alarm andremorse had produced a softening effect upon her. She wasunfeignedly glad to see her lost lodger safe, and finding that thenew friends were likely to put her in the way of paying her debts,this much harassed matron permitted her to pack up her possessions,leaving one trunk as a sort of hostage. Then, with promises toredeem it as soon as possible, Christie said good-bye to the littleroom where she had hoped and suffered, lived and labored so long,and went joyfully back to the humble home she had found with thegood laundress.
 
　　All the following week Christie "chored round," as Mrs. Wilkinscalled the miscellaneous light work she let her do. Much washing,combing, and clean pinaforing of children fell to her share, and sheenjoyed it amazingly; then, when the elder ones were packed off toschool she lent a hand to any of the numberless tasks housewivesfind to do from morning till night. In the afternoon, when otherwork was done, and little Vic asleep or happy with her playthings,Christie clapped laces, sprinkled muslins, and picked out edgings atthe great table where Mrs. Wilkins stood ironing, fluting, andcrimping till the kitchen bristled all over with immaculate frillsand flounces.
 
　　It was pretty delicate work, and Christie liked it, for Mrs. Wilkinswas an adept at her trade and took as much pride and pleasure in itas any French blanchis-seuse tripping through the streets of Pariswith a tree full of coquettish caps, capes, and petticoats bornebefore her by a half invisible boy.
 
　　Being women, of course they talked as industriously as they worked;fingers flew and tongues clacked with equal profit and pleasure,and, by Saturday, Christie had made up her mind that Mrs. Wilkinswas the most sensible woman she ever knew. Her grammar was anoutrage upon the memory of Lindley Murray, but the goodness of herheart would have done honor to any saint in the calendar. She wasvery plain, and her manners were by no means elegant, but goodtemper made that homely face most lovable, and natural refinement ofsoul made mere external polish of small account. Her shrewd ideasand odd sayings amused Christie very much, while her good sense andbright way of looking at things did the younger woman a world ofgood.
 
　　Mr. Wilkins devoted himself to the making of shoes and theconsumption of food, with the silent regularity of a placid animal.
 
　　His one dissipation was tobacco, and in a fragrant cloud of smoke helived and moved and had his being so entirely that he might havebeen described as a pipe with a man somewhere behind it. Christieonce laughingly spoke of this habit and declared she would try itherself if she thought it would make her as quiet andundemonstrative as Mr. Wilkins, who, to tell the truth, made no moreimpression on her than a fly.
 
　　"I don't approve on't, but he might do wuss. We all have to have ourcomfort somehow, so I let Lisha smoke as much as he likes, and helets me gab, so it's about fair, I reckon," answered Mrs. Wilkins,from the suds.
 
　　She laughed as she spoke, but something in her face made Christiesuspect that at some period of his life Lisha had done "wuss;" andsubsequent observations confirmed this suspicion and another onealso,--that his good wife had saved him, and was gently easing himback to self-control and self-respect. But, as old Fuller quaintlysays, "She so gently folded up his faults in silence that fewguessed them," and loyally paid him that respect which she desiredothers to bestow. It was always "Lisha and me," "I'll ask myhusband" or "Lisha 'll know; he don't say much, but he's a dreadfulsmart man," and she kept up the fiction so dear to her wifely soulby endowing him with her own virtues, and giving him the credit ofher own intelligence.
 
　　Christie loved her all the better for this devotion, and for hersake treated Mr. Wilkins as if he possessed the strength of Samsonand the wisdom of Solomon. He received her respect as if it was hisdue, and now and then graciously accorded her a few words beyond theusual scanty allowance of morning and evening greetings. At his shopall day, she only saw him at meals and sometimes of an evening, forMrs. Wilkins tried to keep him at home safe from temptation, andChristie helped her by reading, talking, and frolicking with thechildren, so that he might find home attractive. He loved his babiesand would even relinquish his precious pipe for a time to ride thelittle chaps on his foot, or amuse Vic with shadow rabbit's on thewall.
 
　　At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins's face made tobaccofumes endurable, and the burden of a dull man's presence lessoppressive to Christie, who loved to pay her debts in somethingbesides money.
 
　　As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces that Saturdayafternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, "Ef it's fair to-morrow I want you togo to my meetin' and hear my minister. It'll do you good.""Who is he?""Mr. Power."Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of Thomas Poweras a rampant radical and infidel of the deepest dye, and been warnednever to visit that den of iniquity called his free church.
 
　　"Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you don't mean it!" she said, leaving her laceto dry at the most critical stage.
 
　　"Yee, I do!" answered Mrs. Wilkins, setting down her flat-iron withemphasis, and evidently preparing to fight valiantly for herminister, as most women will.
 
　　"I beg your pardon; I was a little surprised, for I'd heard allsorts of things about him," Christie hastened to say.
 
　　"Did you ever hear him, or read any of his writins?" demanded Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins, with a calmer air.
 
　　"Never.""Then don't judge. You go hear and see that blessed man, and ef youdon't say he's the shadder of a great rock in a desert land, I'llgive up," cried the good woman, waxing poetical in her warmth.
 
　　"I will to please you, if nothing else. I did go once just because Iwas told not to; but he did not preach that day and every thing wasso peculiar, I didn't know whether to like it or be shocked.""It is kind of sing'lar at fust, I'm free to confess, and not aschurchy as some folks like. But there ain't no place but that bigenough to hold the crowds that want to go, for the more he's abusedthe more folks flock to see him. They git their money's wuth I dobelieve, for though there ain't no pulpits and pews, there's a sightof brotherly love round in them seats, and pious practice, as wellas powerful preaching, in that shabby desk. He don't need nocommandments painted up behind him to read on Sunday, for he keeps'em in his heart and life all the week as honest as man can."There Mrs. Wilkins paused, flushed and breathless with her defence,and Christie said, candidly: "I did like the freedom and good-willthere, for people sat where they liked, and no one frowned over shutpew-doors, at me a stranger. An old black woman sat next me, andsaid 'Amen' when she liked what she heard, and a very shabby youngman was on the other, listening as if his soul was as hungry as hisbody. People read books, laughed and cried, clapped when pleased,and hissed when angry; that I did not like.""No more does Mr. Power; he don't mind the cryin' and the smilin' asit's nat'ral, but noise and disrespect of no kind ain't pleasin' tohim. His own folks behave becomin', but strangers go and act as theylike, thinkin' that there ain't no bounds to the word free. Then weare picked at for their doin's, and Mr. Power has to carry otherfolkses' sins on his shoulders. But, dear suz, it ain't much matterafter all, ef the souls is well-meanin'. Children always make anoise a strivin' after what they want most, and I shouldn't wonderef the Lord forgive all our short-comin's of that sort, sense we arehankerin' and reachin' for the truth.""I wish I had heard Mr. Power that day, for I was striving afterpeace with all my heart, and he might have given it to me," saidChristie, interested and impressed with what she heard.
 
　　"Wal, no, dear, I guess not. Peace ain't give to no one all of asuddin, it gen'lly comes through much tribulation, and the sort thatcomes hardest is best wuth havin'. Mr. Power would a' ploughed andharrered you, so to speak, and sowed good seed liberal; then ef youwarn't barren ground things would have throve, and the Lord give youa harvest accordin' to your labor. Who did you hear?" asked Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins, pausing to starch and clap vigorously.
 
　　"A very young man who seemed to be airing his ideas and beliefs inthe frankest manner. He belabored everybody and every thing, upsetchurch and state, called names, arranged heaven and earth to suithimself, and evidently meant every word he said. Much of it wouldhave been ridiculous if the boy had not been so thoroughly inearnest; sincerity always commands respect, and though peoplesmiled, they liked his courage, and seemed to think he would make aman when his spiritual wild oats were sown.""I ain't a doubt on't. We often have such, and they ain't all emptytalk, nuther; some of 'em are surprisingly bright, and all mean sowell I don't never reluct to hear 'em. They must blow off theirsteam somewheres, else they'd bust with the big idees a swellin' in'em; Mr. Power knows it and gives 'em the chance they can't findnowheres else. 'Pears to me," added Mrs. Wilkins, ironing rapidly asshe spoke, "that folks is very like clothes, and a sight has to bedone to keep 'em clean and whole. All on us has to lend a hand inthis dreadful mixed-up wash, and each do our part, same as you andme is now. There's scrubbin' and bilin', wrenchin' and bluein',dryin' and foldin', ironin' and polishin', before any of us is fitfor wear a Sunday mornin'.""What part does Mr. Power do?" asked Christie, much amused at thispeculiarly appropriate simile.
 
　　"The scrubbin' and the bilin'; that's always the hardest and thehottest part. He starts the dirt and gits the stains out, and leaves'em ready for other folks to finish off. It ain't such pleasant workas hangin' out, or such pretty work as doin' up, but some one's gotto do it, and them that's strongest does it best, though they don'tgit half so much credit as them as polishes and crimps. That's showywork, but it wouldn't be no use ef the things warn't well washedfust," and Mrs. Wilkins thoughtfully surveyed the snowy muslin cap,with its border fluted like the petals of a prim white daisy, thathung on her hand.
 
　　"I'd like to be a washerwoman of that sort; but as I'm not one ofthe strong, I'll be a laundress, and try to make purity asattractive as you do," said Christie, soberly.
 
　　"Ah, my dear, it's warm and wearin' work I do assure you, and hardto give satisfaction, try as you may. Crowns of glory ain't wore inthis world, but it's my 'pinion that them that does the hard jobshere will stand a good chance of havin' extra bright ones when theygit through.""I know you will," said Christie, warmly.
 
　　"Land alive, child! I warn't thinking of Cynthy Wilkins, but Mr.
 
　　Power. I'll be satisfied ef I can set low down somewheres and seehim git the meddle. He won't in this world, but I know there'srewards savin' up for him byme-by.""I'll go to-morrow if it pours!" said Christie, with decision.
 
　　"Do, and I'll lend you my bunnit," cried Mrs. Wilkins, passing, withcomical rapidity, from crowns of glory to her own cherishedhead-gear.
 
　　"Thank you, but I can't wear blue, I look as yellow as a dandelionin it. Mrs. Flint let me have my best things though I offered toleave them, so I shall be respectable and by-and-by blossom out."On the morrow Christie went early, got a good seat, and for half anhour watched the gathering of the motley congregation that filledthe great hall. Some came in timidly, as if doubtful of theirwelcome; some noisily, as if, as Mrs. Wilkins said, they had notlearned the wide difference between liberty and license; many as ifeager and curious; and a large number with the look of childrengathering round a family table ready to be fed, and sure thatwholesome food would be bountifully provided for them.
 
　　Christie was struck by the large proportion of young people in theplace, of all classes, both sexes, and strongly contrasting faces.
 
　　Delicate girls looking with the sweet wistfulness of maidenly heartsfor something strong to lean upon and love; sad-eyed women turningto heaven for the consolations or the satisfactions earth could notgive them; anxious mothers perplexed with many cares, trying to findlight and strength; young men with ardent faces, restless, aspiring,and impetuous, longing to do and dare; tired-looking students, withperplexed wrinkles on their foreheads, evidently come to see if thisman had discovered the great secrets they were delving after; andsoul-sick people trying this new, and perhaps dangerous medicine,when others failed to cure. Many earnest, thoughtful men and womenwere there, some on the anxious seat, and some already at peace,having found the clew that leads safely through the labyrinth oflife. Here and there a white head, a placid old face, or one ofthose fine countenances that tell, unconsciously, the beautifulstory of a victorious soul.
 
　　Some read, some talked, some had flowers in their hands, and all satat ease, rich and poor, black and white, young and old, waiting forthe coming of the man who had power to attract and hold so many ofhis kind. Christie was so intent on watching those about her thatshe did not see him enter, and only knew it by the silence whichbegan just in front of her, and seemed to flow backward like a wave,leaving a sea of expectant faces turning to one point. That pointwas a gray head, just visible above the little desk which stood inthe middle of a great platform. A vase of lovely flowers was on thelittle shelf at one side, a great Bible reposed on the other, and amanuscript lay on the red slope between.
 
　　In a moment Christie forgot every thing else, and waited with acurious anxiety to see what manner of man this was. Presently he gotup with an open book in his hand, saying, in a strong, cheerfulvoice: "Let us sing," and having read a hymn as if he had composedit, he sat down again.
 
　　Then everybody did sing; not harmoniously, but heartily, led by anorgan, which the voices followed at their own sweet will. At first,Christie wanted to smile, for some shouted and some hummed, some satsilent, and others sung sweetly; but before the hymn ended she likedit, and thought that the natural praise of each individual soul wasperhaps more grateful to the ear of God than masses by greatmasters, or psalms warbled tunefully by hired opera singers.
 
　　Then Mr. Power rose again, and laying his hands together, with apeculiarly soft and reverent gesture, lifted up his face and prayed.
 
　　Christie had never heard a prayer like that before; so devout, socomprehensive, and so brief. A quiet talk with God, asking nothingbut more love and duty toward Him and our fellow-men; thanking Himfor many mercies, and confiding all things trustfully to the "dearfather and mother of souls."The sermon which followed was as peculiar as the prayer, and aseffective. "One of Power's judgment-day sermons," as she heard oneman say to another, when it was over. Christie certainly felt atfirst as if kingdoms and thrones were going down, and each man beingsent to his own place. A powerful and popular wrong was arrested,tried, and sentenced then and there, with a courage and fidelitythat made plain words eloquent, and stern justice beautiful. He didnot take David of old for his text, but the strong, sinful, splendidDavids of our day, who had not fulfilled the promise of their youth,and whose seeming success was a delusion and a snare to themselvesand others, sure to be followed by sorrowful abandonment, defeat,and shame. The ashes of the ancient hypocrites and Pharisees wasleft in peace, but those now living were heartily denounced; modernmoney-changers scourged out of the temple, and the everlasting truthset up therein.
 
　　As he spoke, not loudly nor vehemently, but with the indescribableeffect of inward force and true inspiration, a curious stir wentthrough the crowd at times, as a great wind sweeps over a cornfield, lifting the broad leaves to the light and testing thestrength of root and stem. People looked at one another with aroused expression; eyes kindled, heads nodded involuntary approval,and an emphatic, "that's so!" dropped from the lips of men who sawtheir own vague instincts and silent opinions strongly confirmed andnobly uttered. Consciences seemed to have been pricked to duty, eyescleared to see that their golden idols had feet of clay, andwavering wills strengthened by the salutary courage and integrity ofone indomitable man. Another hymn, and a benediction that seemedlike a fit grace after meat, and then the crowd poured out; notyawning, thinking of best clothes, or longing for dinner, but wakedup, full of talk, and eager to do something to redeem the countryand the world.
 
　　Christie went rapidly home because she could not help it, and burstin upon Mrs. Wilkins with a face full of enthusiasm, exclaiming,while she cast off her bonnet as if her head had outgrown it sinceshe left:
 
　　"It was splendid! I never heard such a sermon before, and I'll nevergo to church anywhere else.""I knew it! ain't it fillin'? don't it give you a kind of spiritnlh'ist, and make things wuth more somehow?" cried Mrs. Wilkins,gesticulating with the pepper-pot in a way which did not improve thesteak she was cooking, and caused great anguish to the noses of heroffspring, who were watching the operation.
 
　　Quite deaf to the chorus of sneezes which accompanied her words,Christie answered, brushing back her hair, as if to get a betterout-look at creation generally:
 
　　"Oh, yes, indeed! At first it was rather terrible, and yet so true Iwouldn't change a word of it. But I don't wonder he ismisunderstood, belied, and abused. He tells the truth so plainly,and lets in the light so clearly, that hypocrites and sinners mustfear and hate him. I think he was a little hard and unsparing,sometimes, though I don't know enough to judge the men and measureshe condemned. I admire him very much, but I should be afraid of himif I ever saw him nearer.""No, you wouldn't; not a grain. You hear him preach agin and you'llfind him as gentle as a lamb. Strong folks is apt to be ruther ha'shat times; they can't help it no more than this stove can helpscorchin' the vittles when it gits red hot. Dinner's ready, so setright up and tell me all about it," said Mrs. Wilkins, slapping thesteak on to the platter, and beginning to deal out fried potatoesall round with absent-minded lavishness.
 
　　Christie talked, and the good soul enjoyed that far more than herdinner, for she meant to ask Mr. Power to help her find the rightsort of home for the stranger whose unfitness for her present placewas every day made more apparent to the mind of her hostess.
 
　　"What took you there first?" asked Christie, still wondering at Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins's choice of a minister.
 
　　"The Lord, my dear," answered the good woman, in a tone of calmconviction. "I'd heard of him, and I always have a leanin' towardsthem that's reviled; so one Sabbath I felt to go, and did. 'That'sthe gospel for me,' says I, 'my old church ain't big enough now, andI ain't goin' to set and nod there any longer,' and I didn't.""Hadn't you any doubts about it, any fears of going wrong or beingsorry afterwards?" asked Christie, who believed, as many do, thatreligion could not be attained without much tribulation of somekind.
 
　　"In some things folks is led; I be frequent, and when them leadin'scorne I don't ask no questions but jest foller, and it always turnsout right.""I wish I could be led.""You be, my dear, every day of your life only you don't see it. Whenyou are doubtful, set still till the call conies, then git up andwalk whichever way it says, and you won't fall. You've had bread andwater long enough, now you want meat and wine a spell; take it, andwhen it's time for milk and honey some one will fetch 'em ef youkeep your table ready. The Lord feeds us right; it's we that quarrelwith our vittles.""I will," said Christie, and began at once to prepare her littleboard for the solid food of which she had had a taste that day.
 
　　That afternoon Mrs. Wilkins took her turn at church-going, saw Mr.
 
　　Power, told Christie's story in her best style, and ended by saying:
 
　　"She's true grit, I do assure you, sir. Willin' to work, but she'sseen the hard side of things and got kind of discouraged. Soul andbody both wants tinkerin' up, and I don't know anybody who can dothe job better 'n you can.""Very well, I'll come and see her," answered Mr. Power, and Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins went home well satisfied.
 
　　He kept his word, and about the middle of the week came walking inupon them as they were at work.
 
　　"Don't let the irons cool," he said, and sitting down in the kitchenbegan to talk as comfortably as if in the best parlor; more so,perhaps, for best parlors are apt to have a depressing effect uponthe spirits, while the mere sight of labor is exhilarating toenergetic minds.
 
　　He greeted Christie kindly, and then addressed himself to Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins on various charitable matters, for he was a minister atlarge, and she one of his almoners. Christie could really see himnow, for when he preached she forgot the man in the sermon, andthought of him only as a visible conscience.
 
　　A sturdy man of fifty, with a keen, brave face, penetrating eyes,and mouth a little grim; but a voice so resonant and sweet itreminded one of silver trumpets, and stirred and won the hearer withirresistible power. Rough gray hair, and all the features ratherrugged, as if the Great Sculptor had blocked out a grand statue, andleft the man's own soul to finish it.
 
　　Had Christie known that he came to see her she would have been illat ease; but Mrs. Wilkins had kept her own counsel, so when Mr.
 
　　Power turned to Christie, saying:
 
　　"My friend here tells me you want something to do. Would you like tohelp a Quaker lady with her housework, just out of town?"She answered readily: "Yes, sir, any thing that is honest.""Not as a servant, exactly, but companion and helper. Mrs. Sterlingis a dear old lady, and the place a pleasant little nest. It is goodto be there, and I think you'll say so if you go.""It sounds pleasant. When shall I go?"Mr. Power smiled at her alacrity, but the longing look in her eyesexplained it, for he saw at a glance that her place was not here.
 
　　"I will write at once and let you know how matters are settled. Thenyou shall try it, and if it is not what you want, we will find yousomething else. There's plenty to do, and nothing pleasanter than toput the right pair of hands to the right task. Good-by; come and seeme if the spirit moves, and don't let go of Mrs. Wilkins till youlay hold of a better friend, if you can find one."Then he shook hands cordially, and went walking out again into thewild March weather as if he liked it.
 
　　"Were you afraid of him?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.
 
　　"I forgot all about it: he looked so kind and friendly. But Ishouldn't like to have those piercing eyes of his fixed on me longif I had any secret on my conscience," answered Christie.
 
　　"You ain't nothin' to fear. He liked your way of speakin' fust rate,I see that, and you'll be all right now he's took hold.""Do you know Mrs. Sterling?""Only by sight, but she's a sweet appearin' woman, and I wouldn'task nothin' better 'n to see more of her," said Mrs. Wilkins,warmly, fearing Christie's heart might misgive her.
 
　　But it did not, and when a note came saying Mrs. Sterling would beready for her the next week, she seemed quite content with everything, for though the wages were not high she felt that country airand quiet were worth more to her just then than money, and thatWilkinses were better taken homceopathically.
 
　　The spirit did move her to go and see Mr. Power, but she could notmake up her mind to pass that invisible barrier which stands betweenso many who could give one another genuine help if they only daredto ask it. But when Sunday came she went to church, eager for more,and thankful that she knew where to go for it.
 
　　This was a very different sermon from the other, and Christie feltas if he preached it for her alone. "Keep innocency and take heed tothe thing that is right, for this will bring a man peace at thelast," might have been the text, and Mr. Power treated it as if hehad known all the trials and temptations that made it hard to liveup to.
 
　　Justice and righteous wrath possessed him before, now mercy andtenderest sympathy for those who faltered in well-doing, and thestern judge seemed changed to a pitiful father. But better than thepity was the wise counsel, the cheering words, and the devoutsurrender of the soul to its best instincts; its close communionwith its Maker, unchilled by fear, untrammelled by the narrowness ofsect or superstition, but full and free and natural as the breath oflife.
 
　　As she listened Christie felt as if she was climbing up from asolitary valley, through mist and shadow toward a mountain top,where, though the way might be rough and strong winds blow, shewould get a wider outlook over the broad earth, and be nearer theserene blue sky. For the first time in her life religion seemed avisible and vital thing; a power that she could grasp and feel, takeinto her life and make her daily bread. Not a vague, vast ideafloating before her, now beautiful, now terrible, always undefinedand far away.
 
　　She was strangely and powerfully moved that day, for the ploughinghad begun; and when the rest stood up for the last hymn, Christiecould only bow her head and let the uncontrollable tears flow downlike summer rain, while her heart sang with new aspiration:
 
　　"Nearer, my God, to thee,E'en though a cross it beThat raiseth me,Still all my song shall be,Nearer, my God, to thee.
 
　　Nearer to thee!"Sitting with her hand before her eyes, she never stirred till thesound of many feet told her that service was done. Then she wipedher eyes, dropped her veil, and was about to rise when she saw alittle bunch of flowers between the leaves of the hymn book lyingopen in her lap. Only a knot of violets set in their own broadleaves, but blue as friendly eyes looking into hers, and sweet askind words whispered in her ear. She looked about her hoping todetect and thank the giver; but all faces were turned the other way,and all feet departing rapidly.
 
　　Christie followed with a very grateful thought in her heart for thislittle kindness from some unknown friend; and, anxious to recoverherself entirely before she faced Mrs. Wilkins, she took a turn inthe park.
 
　　The snow was gone, high winds had dried the walk, and a clear skyoverhead made one forget sodden turf and chilly air. March was goingout like a lamb, and Christie enjoyed an occasional vernal whifffrom far-off fields and wakening woods, as she walked down the broadmall watching the buds on the boughs, and listening to the twitterof the sparrows, evidently discussing the passers-by as they sat atthe doors of their little mansions.
 
　　Presently she turned to walk back again and saw Mr. Power comingtoward her. She was glad, for all her fear had vanished now, and shewanted to thank him for the sermon that had moved her so deeply. Heshook hands in his cordial way, and, turning, walked with her,beginning at once to talk of her affairs as if interested in them.
 
　　"Are you ready for the new experiment?" he asked.
 
　　"Quite ready, sir; very glad to go, and very much obliged to you foryour kindness in providing for me.""That is what we were put into the world for, to help one another.
 
　　You can pass on the kindness by serving my good friends who, inreturn, will do their best for you.""That's so pleasant! I always knew there were plenty of good,friendly people in the world, only I did not seem to find themoften, or be able to keep them long when I did. Is Mr. Sterling anagreeable old man?""Very agreeable, but not old. David is about thirty-one or two, Ithink. He is the son of my friend, the husband died some years ago.
 
　　I thought I mentioned it.""You said in your note that Mr. Sterling was a florist, and mightlike me to help in the green-house, if I was willing. It must belovely work, and I should like it very much.""Yes, David devotes himself to his flowers, and leads a very quietlife. You may think him rather grave and blunt at first, but you'llsoon find him out and get on comfortably, for he is a trulyexcellent fellow, and my right-hand man in good works."A curious little change had passed over Christie's face during theselast questions and answers, unconscious, but quite observable tokeen eyes like Mr. Power's. Surprise and interest appeared first,then a shadow of reserve as if the young woman dropped a thin veilbetween herself and the young man, and at the last words a halfsmile and a slight raising of the brows seemed to express the queermixture of pity and indifference with which we are all apt to regard"excellent fellows" and "amiable girls." Mr. Power understood thelook, and went on more confidentially than he had at first intended,for he did not want Christie to go off with a prejudice in her mindwhich might do both David and herself injustice.
 
　　"People sometimes misjudge him, for he is rather old-fashioned inmanner and plain in speech, and may seem unsocial, because he doesnot seek society. But those who know the cause of this forgive anylittle short-comings for the sake of the genuine goodness of theman. David had a great trouble some years ago and suffered much. Heis learning to bear it bravely, and is the better for it, though thememory of it is still bitter, and the cross hard to bear even withpride to help him hide it, and principle to keep him from despair."Mr. Power glanced at Christie as he paused, and was satisfied withthe effect of his words, for interest, pity, and respect shone inher face, and proved that he had touched the right string. Sheseemed to feel that this little confidence was given for a purpose,and showed that she accepted it as a sort of gage for her ownfidelity to her new employers.
 
　　"Thank you, sir, I shall remember," she said, with her frank eyeslifted gravely to his own. "I like to work for people whom I canrespect," she added, "and will bear with any peculiarities of Mr.
 
　　Sterling's without a thought of complaint. When a man has sufferedthrough one woman, all women should be kind and patient with him,and try to atone for the wrong which lessens his respect and faithin them.""There you are right; and in this case all women should be kind, forDavid pities and protects womankind as the only retaliation for thelife-long grief one woman brought upon him. That's not a commonrevenge, is it?""It's beautiful!" cried Christie, and instantly David was a hero.
 
　　"At one time it was an even chance whether that trouble sent Davidto 'the devil,' as he expressed it, or made a man of him. Thatlittle saint of a mother kept him safe till the first desperationwas over, and now he lives for her, as he ought. Not so romantic anending as a pistol or Byronic scorn for the world in general andwomen in particular, but dutiful and brave, since it often takesmore courage to live than to die.""Yes, sir," said Christie, heartily, though her eyes fell,remembering how she had failed with far less cause for despair thanDavid.
 
　　They were at the gate now, and Mr. Power left her, saying, with avigorous hand-shake:
 
　　"Best wishes for a happy summer. I shall come sometimes to see howyou prosper; and remember, if you tire of it and want to change, letme know, for I take great satisfaction in putting the right peoplein the right places. Good-by, and God be with you."
Chapter 10 Beginning Again
     MRS. STERLING.
 
　　IT was an April day when Christie went to her new home. Warm rainshad melted the last trace of snow, and every bank was full ofpricking grass-blades, brave little pioneers and heralds of theSpring. The budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays screamedamong the apple-trees; and robins chirped shrilly, as if rejoicingover winter hardships safely passed. Vernal freshness was in the airdespite its chill, and lovely hints of summer time were everywhere.
 
　　These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as she walked down thelane, and, coming to a gate, paused there to look about her. Anold-fashioned cottage stood in the midst of a garden just awakeningfrom its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over the low roof,sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every window flowers' bright facessmiled at the passer-by invitingly.
 
　　On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the other stood abarn, with a sleek cow ruminating in the yard, and an inquiringhorse poking his head out of his stall to view the world. Manycomfortable gray hens were clucking and scratching about thehay-strewn floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.
 
　　A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred its peace, andthe hopeful, healthful spirit of the season seemed to haunt thespot. Snow-drops and crocuses were up in one secluded nook; a plumpmaltese cat sat purring in the porch; and a dignified old dog camemarching down the walk to escort the stranger in. With a brighteningface Christie went up the path, and tapped at the quaint knocker,hoping that the face she was about to see would be in keeping withthe pleasant place.
 
　　She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little Quaker ladiesopened to her, with such an air of peace and good-will that theveriest ruffian, coming to molest or make afraid, would have foundit impossible to mar the tranquillity of that benign old face, ordisturb one fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her breast.
 
　　"I come from Mr. Power, and I have a note for Mrs. Sterling," beganChristie in her gentlest tone, as her last fear vanished at sight ofthat mild maternal figure.
 
　　"I am she; come in, friend; I am glad to see thee," said the oldlady, smiling placidly, as she led the way into a room whoseprincipal furniture seemed to be books, flowers, and sunshine.
 
　　The look, the tone, the gentle "thee," went straight to Christie'sheart; and, while Mrs. Sterling put on her spectacles and slowlyread the note, she stroked the cat and said to herself: "Surely, Ihave fallen among a set of angels. I thought Mrs. Wilkins a sort ofsaint, Mr. Power was an improvement even upon that good soul, and ifI am not mistaken this sweet little lady is the best and dearest ofall. I do hope she will like me.""It is quite right, my dear, and I am most glad to see thee; for weneed help at this season of the year, and have had none for severalweeks. Step up to the room at the head of the stairs, and lay offthy things. Then, if thee is not tired, I will give thee a littlejob with me in the kitchen," said the old lady with a kindlydirectness which left no room for awkwardness on the new-comer'spart.
 
　　Up went Christie, and after a hasty look round a room as plain andwhite and still as a nun's cell, she whisked on a working-apron andran down again, feeling, as she fancied the children did in thefairy tale, when they first arrived at the house of the little oldwoman who lived in the wood.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins's kitchen was as neat as a room could be, wherein sixchildren came and went, but this kitchen was tidy with theimmaculate order of which Shakers and Quakers alone seem to possessthe secret,--a fragrant, shining cleanliness, that made even blackkettles ornamental and dish-pans objects of interest. Nothing burnedor boiled over, though the stove was full of dinner-pots andskillets. There was no litter or hurry, though the baking of cakeand pies was going on, and when Mrs. Sterling put a pan of apples,and a knife into her new assistant's hands, saying in a tone thatmade the request a favor, "Will thee kindly pare these for me?"Christie wondered what would happen if she dropped a seed upon thefloor, or did not cut the apples into four exact quarters.
 
　　"I never shall suit this dear prim soul," she thought, as her eyewent from Puss, sedately perched on one small mat, to the dog dozingupon another, and neither offering to stir from their own dominions.
 
　　This dainty nicety amused her at first, but she liked it, and verysoon her thoughts went back to the old times when she worked withAunt Betsey, and learned the good old-fashioned arts which now wereto prove her fitness for this pleasant place.
 
　　Mrs. Sterling saw the shadow that crept into Christie's face, andled the chat to cheerful things, not saying much herself, butbeguiling the other to talk, and listening with an interest thatmade it easy to go on.
 
　　Mr. Power and the Wilkinses made them friends very soon; and in anhour or two Christie was moving about the kitchen as if she hadalready taken possession of her new kingdom.
 
　　"Thee likes housework I think," said Mrs. Sterling, as she watchedher hang up a towel to dry, and rinse her dish-cloth when thecleaning up was done.
 
　　"Oh, yes! if I need not do it with a shiftless Irish girl to driveme distracted by pretending to help. I have lived out, and did notfind it hard while I had my good Hepsey. I was second girl, and canset a table in style. Shall I try now?" she asked, as the old ladywent into a little dining-room with fresh napkins in her hand.
 
　　"Yes, but we have no style here. I will show thee once, andhereafter it will be thy work, as thy feet are younger than mine."A nice old-fashioned table was soon spread, and Christie keptsmiling at the contrast between this and Mrs. Stuart's. Chubbylittle pitchers appeared, delicate old glass, queer china, and tinytea-spoons; linen as smooth as satin, and a quaint tankard thatmight have come over in the "May-flower.""Now, will thee take that pitcher of water to David's room? It is atthe top of the house, and may need a little dusting. I have not beenable to attend to it as I would like since I have been alone," saidMrs. Sterling.
 
　　Rooms usually betray something of the character and tastes of theiroccupants, and Christie paused a moment as she entered David's, tolook about her with feminine interest.
 
　　It was the attic, and extended the whole length of the house. Oneend was curtained off as a bedroom, and she smiled at its austeresimplicity.
 
　　A gable in the middle made a sunny recess, where were stored bagsand boxes of seed, bunches of herbs, and shelves full of those tinypots in which baby plants are born and nursed till they can growalone.
 
　　The west end was evidently the study, and here Christie took a goodlook as she dusted tidily. The furniture was nothing, only an oldsofa, with the horsehair sticking out in tufts here and there; anantique secretary; and a table covered with books. As she whiskedthe duster down the front of the ancient piece of furniture, one ofthe doors in the upper half swung open, and Christie saw threeobjects that irresistibly riveted her eyes for a moment. A brokenfan, a bundle of letters tied up with a black ribbon, and a littlework-basket in which lay a fanciful needle-book with "Letty"embroidered on it in faded silk.
 
　　"Poor David, that is his little shrine, and I have no right to seeit," thought Christie, shutting the door with self-reproachfulhaste.
 
　　At the table she paused again, for books always attracted her, andhere she saw a goodly array whose names were like the faces of oldfriends, because she remembered them in her father's library.
 
　　Faust was full of ferns, Shakspeare, of rough sketches of the menand women whom he has made immortal. Saintly Herbert lay side byside with Saint Augustine's confessions. Milton and Montaigne stoodsocially together, and Andersen's lovely "M?rchen" fluttered itspictured leaves in the middle of an open Plato; while several booksin unknown tongues were half-hidden by volumes of Browning, Keats,and Coleridge.
 
　　In the middle of this fine society, slender and transparent as thespirit of a shape, stood a little vase holding one half-opened rose,fresh and fragrant as if just gathered.
 
　　Christie smiled as she saw it, and wondered if the dear, dead, orfalse woman had been fond of roses.
 
　　Then her eye went to the mantel-piece, just above the table, and shelaughed; for, on it stood three busts, idols evidently, but veryshabby ones; for G?the's nose was broken, Schiller's head crackedvisibly, and the dust of ages seemed to have settled upon Linn?us inthe middle. On the wall above them hung a curious old picture of amonk kneeling in a devout ecstasy, while the face of an angel isdimly seen through the radiance that floods the cell with divinelight. Portraits of Mr. Power and Martin Luther stared thoughtfullyat one another from either side, as if making up their minds toshake hands in spite of time and space.
 
　　"Melancholy, learned, and sentimental," said Christie to herself, asshe settled David's character after these discoveries.
 
　　The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more curious than ever tosee if this belief was true.
 
　　"Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son. Sometimes he doesnot hear the bell when he is busy. Thee will find my garden-hood andshawl behind the door," said Mrs. Sterling, presently; forpunctuality was a great virtue in the old lady's eyes.
 
　　Christie demurely tied on the little pumpkin-hood, wrapped the grayshawl about her, and set out to find her "master," as she had afancy to call this unknown David.
 
　　From the hints dropped by Mr. Power, and her late discoveries, shehad made a hero for herself; a sort of melancholy Jaques; sad andpale and stern; retired from the world to nurse his wounds insolitude. She rather liked this picture; for romance dies hard in awoman, and, spite of her experiences, Christie still indulged indreams and fancies. "It will be so interesting to see how he bearshis secret sorrow. I am fond of woe; but I do hope he won't be toolackadaisical, for I never could abide that sort of blighted being."Thinking thus, she peeped here and there, but saw no one in yard orbarn, except a workman scraping the mould off his boots near theconservatory.
 
　　"This David is among the flowers, I fancy; I will just ask, and notbolt in, as he does not know me. "Where is Mr. Sterling?" addedChristie aloud, as she approached.
 
　　The man looked up, and a smile came into his eyes, as he glancedfrom the old hood to the young face inside. Then he took off hishat, and held out his hand, saying with just his mother's simpledirectness:
 
　　"I am David; and this is Christie Devon, I know. How do you do?""Yes; dinner's ready," was all she could reply, for the discoverythat this was the "master," nearly took her breath away. Not thefaintest trace of the melancholy Jaques about him; nothinginteresting, romantic, pensive, or even stern. Only abroad-shouldered, brown-bearded man, with an old hat and coat,trousers tucked into his boots, fresh mould on the hand he had givenher to shake, and the cheeriest voice she had ever heard.
 
　　What a blow it was to be sure! Christie actually felt vexed with himfor disappointing her so, and could not recover herself, but stoodred and awkward, till, with a last scrape of his boots, David saidwith placid brevity:
 
　　"Well, shall we go in?"Christie walked rapidly into the house, and by the time she gotthere the absurdity of her fancy struck her, and she stifled a laughin the depths of the little pumpkin-hood, as she hung it up. Then,assuming her gravest air, she went to give the finishing touches todinner.
 
　　Ten minutes later she received another surprise; for David appearedwashed, brushed, and in a suit of gray,--a personable gentleman,quite unlike the workman in the yard.
 
　　Christie gave one look, met a pair of keen yet kind eyes with asuppressed laugh in them, and dropped her own, to be no more liftedup till dinner was done.
 
　　It was a very quiet meal, for no one said much; and it was evidentlythe custom of the house to eat silently, only now and then saying afew friendly words, to show that the hearts were social if thetongues were not.
 
　　On the present occasion this suited Christie; and she ate her dinnerwithout making any more discoveries, except that the earth-stainedhands were very clean now, and skilfully supplied her wants beforeshe could make them known.
 
　　As they rose from table, Mrs. Sterling said: "Davy, does thee wantany help this afternoon?""I shall be very glad of some in about an hour if thee can spare it,mother.""I can, dear.""Do you care for flowers?" asked David, turning to Christie,"because if you do not, this will be a very trying place for you.""I used to love them dearly; but I have not had any for so long Ihardly remember how they look," answered Christie with a sigh, asshe recalled Rachel's roses, dead long ago. "Shy, sick, and sad;poor soul, we must lend a hand and cheer her up a bit" thoughtDavid, as he watched her eyes turn toward the green tilings in thewindows with a bright, soft look, he liked to see.
 
　　"Come to the conservatory in an hour, and I'll show you the bestpart of a 'German,'" he said, with a nod and a smile, as he wentaway, beginning to whistle like a boy when the door was shut behindhim.
 
　　"What did he mean?" thought Christie, as she helped clear the table,and put every thing in Pimlico order.
 
　　She was curious to know, and when Mrs. Sterling said: "Now, my dear,I am going to take my nap, and thee can help David if thee likes,"she was quite ready to try the new work.
 
　　She would have been more than woman if she had not first slippedupstairs to smooth her hair, put on a fresh collar, and a black silkapron with certain effective frills and pockets, while a scarletrigolette replaced the hood, and lent a little color to her palecheeks.
 
　　"I am a poor ghost of what I was," she thought; "but that's nomatter: few can be pretty, any one can be neat, and that is morethan ever necessary here."Then she went away to the conservatory, feeling rather oppressedwith the pity and sympathy, for which there was no call, andfervently wishing that David would not be so comfortable, for he atea hearty dinner, laughed four times, and whistled as no heart-brokenman would dream of doing.
 
　　No one was visible as she went in, and walking slowly down the greenaisle, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely place. Thedamp, sweet air made summer there, and a group of slender, orientaltrees whispered in the breath of wind that blew in from an opensash. Strange vines and flowers hung overhead; banks of azaleas,ruddy, white, and purple, bloomed in one place; roses of every hueturned their lovely faces to the sun; ranks of delicate ferns, andheaths with their waxen bells, were close by; glowing geraniums andstately lilies side by side; savage-looking scarlet flowers withpurple hearts, or orange spikes rising from leaves mottled withstrange colors; dusky passion-flowers, and gay nasturtiums climbingto the roof. All manner of beautiful and curious plants were there;and Christie walked among them, as happy as a child who finds itsplaymates again.
 
　　Coming to a bed of pansies she sat down on a rustic chair, and,leaning forward, feasted her eyes on these her favorites. Her facegrew young as she looked, her hands touched them with a lingeringtenderness as if to her they were half human, and her own eyes wereso busy enjoying the gold and purple spread before her, that she didnot see another pair peering at her over an unneighborly old cactus,all prickles, and queer knobs. Presently a voice said at her elbow:
 
　　"You look as if you saw something beside pansies there."David spoke so quietly that it did not startle her, and she answeredbefore she had time to feel ashamed of her fancy.
 
　　"I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a little facewhen I look at this flower. Sometimes it is a sad one, sometimesit's merry, often roguish, but always a dear little face; and when Isee so many together, it's like a flock of children, all nodding andsmiling at me at once.""So it is!" and David nodded, and smiled himself, as he handed hertwo or three of the finest, as if it was as natural a thing as toput a sprig of mignonette in his own button-hole.
 
　　Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remembering that she camethere to work, not to dream. He seemed to understand, and went intoa little room near by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gayflowers on the table:
 
　　"These are to be made into little bouquets for a 'German' to-night.
 
　　It is pretty work, and better fitted for a woman's fingers than aman's. This is all you have to do, and you can vise your taste as tocolors."While he spoke David laid a red and white carnation on a bit ofsmilax, tied them together, twisted a morsel of silver foil aboutthe stems, and laid it before Christie as a sample.
 
　　"Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much," she said, buryingher nose in the mass of sweetness before her, and feeling as if hernew situation grew pleasanter every minute.
 
　　"Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk will soon bespoilt, for the flowers are wet," and David gravely offered her alarge checked pinafore.
 
　　Christie could not help laughing as she put it on: all this was sodifferent from the imaginary picture she had made. She wasdisappointed, and yet she began to feel as if the simple truth wasbetter than the sentimental fiction; and glanced up at Davidinvoluntarily to see if there were any traces of interesting woeabout him.
 
　　But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-forward lookwhich she liked so much, yet could not meet just yet; and all shesaw was that he was smiling also with an indulgent expression as ifshe was a little girl whom he was trying to amuse.
 
　　"Make a few, and I'll be back directly when I have attended toanother order," and he went away thinking Christie's face was verylike the pansies they had been talking about,--one of the sombreones with a bright touch of gold deep down in the heart, for thinand pale as the face was, it lighted up at a kind word, and all thesadness vanished out of the anxious eyes when the frank laugh came.
 
　　Christie fell to work with a woman's interest in such a pleasanttask, and soon tied and twisted skilfully, exercising all her tastein contrasts, and the pretty little conceits flower-lovers canproduce. She was so interested that presently she began to hum halfunconsciously, as she was apt to do when happily employed:
 
　　"Welcome, maids of honor,You do bringIn the spring,And wait upon her.
 
　　She has virgins many,Fresh and fair,Yet you areMore sweet than any."There she stopped, for David's step drew near, and she rememberedwhere she was.
 
　　"The last verse is the best in that little poem. Have you forgottenit?" he said, pleased and surprised to find the new-comer singingHerrick's lines "To Violets." "Almost; rny father used to say thatwhen we went looking for early violets, and these lovely onesreminded me of it," explained Christie, rather abashed.
 
　　DAVID AND CHRISTIE IN THE GREENHOUSE.
 
　　As if to put her at ease David added, as he laid another handful ofdouble-violets on the table:
 
　　"'Y' are the maiden posies,And so graced,To be placedFore damask roses.
 
　　Yet, though thus respected,By and byYe do lie,Poor girls, neglected.'
 
　　"I always think of them as pretty, modest maids after that, andcan't bear to throw them away, even when faded."Christie hoped he did not think her sentimental, and changed theconversation by pointing to her work, and saying, in a business-likeway:
 
　　"Will these do? I have varied the posies as much as possible, sothat they may suit all sorts of tastes and whirns. I never went to a'German' myself; but I have looked on, and remember hearing theyoung people say the little bouquets didn't mean any thing, so Itried to make these expressive.""Well, I should think you had succeeded excellently, and it is avery pretty fancy. Tell me what some of them mean: will you?""You should know better than I, being a florist," said Christie,glad to see he approved of her work.
 
　　"I can grow the flowers, but not read them," and David looked ratherdepressed by his own ignorance of those delicate matters.
 
　　Still with the business-like air, Christie held up one after anotherof the little knots, saying soberly, though her eyes smiled:
 
　　"This white one might be given to a newly engaged girl, assuggestive of the coming bridal. That half-blown bud would say agreat deal from a lover to his idol; and this heliotrope be mostencouraging to a timid swain. Here is a rosy daisy for some merrylittle damsel; there is a scarlet posy for a soldier; this delicateazalea and fern for some lovely creature just out; and there is abunch of sober pansies for a spinster, if spinsters go to 'Germans.'
 
　　Heath, scentless but pretty, would do for many; these Parma violetsfor one with a sorrow; and this curious purple flower witharrow-shaped stamens would just suit a handsome, sharp-tonguedwoman, if any partner dared give it to her."David laughed, as his eye went from the flowers to Christie's face,and when she laid down the last breast-knot, looking as if she wouldlike the chance of presenting it to some one she knew, he seemedmuch amused.
 
　　"If the beaux and belles at this party have the wit to read yourposies, my fortune will be made, and you will have your hands fullsupplying compliments, declarations, rebukes, and criticisms for thefashionable butterflies. I wish I could put consolation, hope, andsubmission into my work as easily, but I am afraid I can't," headded a moment afterward with a changed face, as he began to lay theloveliest white flowers into a box.
 
　　"Those are not for a wedding, then?""For a dead baby; and I can't seem to find any white and sweetenough.""You know the people?" asked Christie, with the sympathetic tone inher voice.
 
　　"Never saw or heard of them till to-day. Isn't it enough to knowthat 'baby's dead,' as the poor man said, to make one feel forthem?""Of course it is; only you seemed so interested in arranging theflowers, I naturally thought it was for some friend," Christieanswered hastily, for David looked half indignant at her question.
 
　　"I want them to look lovely and comforting when the mother opens thebox, and I don't seem to have the right flowers. Will you give it atouch? women have a tender way of doing such things that we cannever learn.""I don't think I can improve it, unless I add another sort of flowerthat seems appropriate: may I?""Any thing you can find."Christie waited for no more, but ran out of the greenhouse toDavid's great surprise, and presently came hurrying back with ahandful of snow-drops.
 
　　"Those are just what I wanted, but I didn't know the little dearswere up yet! You shall put them in, and I know they will suggestwhat you hope to these poor people," he said approvingly, as heplaced the box before her, and stood by watching her adjust thelittle sheaf of pale flowers tied up with a blade of grass. Sheadded a frail fern or two, and did give just the graceful touch hereand there which would speak to the mother's gore heart of the tenderthought some one had taken for her dead darling.
 
　　The box was sent away, and Christie went on with her work, but thatlittle task performed together seemed to have made them friends;and, while David tied up several grand bouquets at the same table,they talked as if the strangeness was fast melting away from theirshort acquaintance.
 
　　Christie's own manners were so simple that simplicity in othersalways put her at her ease: kindness soon banished her reserve, andthe desire to show that she was grateful for it helped her toplease. David's bluntness was of such a gentle sort that she soongot used to it, and found it a pleasant contrast to the politeinsincerity so common. He was as frank and friendly as a boy, yethad a certain paternal way with him which rather annoyed her atfirst, and made her feel as if he thought her a mere girl, while shewas very sure he could not be but a year or two older than herself.
 
　　"I'd rather he'd be masterful, and order me about," she thought,still rather regretting the "blighted being" she had not found.
 
　　In spite of this she spent a pleasant afternoon, sitting in thatsunny place, handling flowers, asking questions about them, andgetting the sort of answers she liked; not dry botanical names andfacts, but all the delicate traits, curious habits, and poeticalromances of the sweet things, as if the speaker knew and loved themas friends, not merely valued them as merchandise.
 
　　They had just finished when the great dog came bouncing in with abasket in his mouth.
 
　　"Mother wants eggs: will you come to the barn and get them? Hay iswholesome, and you can feed the doves if you like," said David,leading the way with Bran rioting about him.
 
　　"Why don't he offer to put up a swing for me, or get me a doll? It'sthe pinafore that deceives him. Never mind: I rather like it afterall," thought Christie; but she left the apron behind her, andfollowed with the most dignified air.
 
　　It did not last long, however, for the sights and sounds thatgreeted her, carried her back to the days of egg-hunting in UncleEnos's big barn; and, before she knew it, she was rustling throughthe hay mows, talking to the cow and receiving the attentions ofBran with a satisfaction it was impossible to conceal.
 
　　The hens gathered about her feet cocking their expectant eyes ather; the doves came circling round her head; the cow staredplacidly, and the inquisitive horse responded affably when sheoffered him a handful of hay.
 
　　"How tame they all are! I like animals, they are so contented andintelligent," she said, as a plump dove lit on her shoulder with animpatient coo.
 
　　"That was Kitty's pet, she always fed the fowls. Would you like todo it?" and David offered a little measure of oats.
 
　　"Very much;" and Christie began to scatter the grain, wondering who"Kitty" was.
 
　　As if he saw the wish in her face, David added, while he shelledcorn for the hens:
 
　　"She was the little girl who was with us last. Her father kept herin a factory, and took all her wages, barely giving her clothes andfood enough to keep her alive. The poor child ran away, and wastrying to hide when Mr. Power found and sent her here to be caredfor.""As he did me?" said Christie quickly.
 
　　"Yes, that's a way he has.""A very kind and Christian way. Why didn't she stay?""Well, it was rather quiet for the lively little thing, and rathertoo near the city, so we got a good place up in the country whereshe could go to school and learn housework. The mill had left her notime for these things, and at fifteen she was as ignorant as achild.""You must miss her.""I do very much.""Was she pretty?""She looked like a little rose sometimes," and David smiled tohimself as he fed the gray hens.
 
　　Christie immediately made a picture of the "lively little thing"with a face "like a rose," and was uncomfortably conscious that shedid not look half as well feeding doves as Kitty must have done.
 
　　Just then David handed her the basket, saying in the paternal waythat half amused, half piqued her: "It, is getting too chilly foryou here: take these in please, and I'll bring the milk directly."In spite of herself she smiled, as a sudden vision of the elegantMr. Fletcher, devotedly carrying her book or beach-basket, passedthrough her mind; then hastened to explain the smile, for Davidlifted his brows inquiringly, and glanced about him to see whatamused her.
 
　　"I beg your pardon: I've lived alone so much that it seems a littleodd to be told to do things, even if they are as easy and pleasantas this.""I am so used to taking care of people, and directing, that I do sowithout thinking. I won't if you don't like it," and he put out hishand to take back the basket with a grave, apologetic air.
 
　　"But I do like it; only it amused me to be treated. like a littlegirl again, when I am nearly thirty, and feel seventy at least, lifehas been so hard to me lately."Her face sobered at the last words, and David's instantly grew sopitiful she could not keep her eyes on it lest they should fill, sosuddenly did the memory of past troubles overcome her.
 
　　"I know," he said in a tone that warmed her heart, "I know, but weare going to try, and make life easier for you now, and you mustfeel that this is home and we are friends.""I do!" and Christie flushed with grateful feeling and a littleshame, as she went in, thinking to herself: "How silly I was to saythat! I may have spoilt the simple friendliness that was sopleasant, and have made him think me a foolish stuck-up oldcreature."Whatever he might have thought, David's manner was unchanged when hecame in and found her busy with the table.
 
　　"It's pleasant to see thee resting, mother, and every thing going onso well," he said, glancing about the room, where the old lady sat,and nodding toward the kitchen, where Christie was toasting bread inher neatest manner.
 
　　"Yes, Davy, it was about time I had a helper for thy sake, at least;and this is a great improvement upon heedless Kitty, I am inclinedto think."Mrs. Sterling dropped her voice over that last sentence; butChristie heard it, and was pleased. A moment or two later, Davidcame toward her with a glass in his hand, saying as if ratherdoubtful of his reception:
 
　　"New milk is part of the cure: will you try it?"For the first time, Christie looked straight up in the honest eyesthat seemed to demand honesty in others, and took the glass,answering heartily:
 
　　"Yes, thank you; I drink good health to you, and better manners tome."The newly lighted lamp shone full in her face, and though it wasneither young nor blooming, it showed something better than youthand bloom to one who could read the subtle language of character asDavid could. He nodded as he took the glass, and went away sayingquietly:
 
　　"We are plain people here, and you won't find it hard to get on withus, I think."But he liked the candid look, and thought about it, as he choppedkindlings, whistling with a vigor which caused Christie to smile asshe strained the milk.
 
　　After tea a spider-legged table was drawn out toward the hearth,where an open fire burned cheerily, and puss purred on the rug, withBran near by. David unfolded his newspapers, Mrs. Sterling pinned onher knitting-sheath, and Christie sat a moment enjoying thecomfortable little scene. She sighed without knowing it, and Mrs.
 
　　Sterling asked quickly: "Is thee tired, my dear?" "Oh, no! onlyhappy.""I am glad of that: I was afraid thee would find it dull.""It's beautiful!" then Christie checked herself feeling that theseoutbursts would not suit such quiet people; and, half ashamed ofshowing how much she felt, she added soberly, "If you will give mesomething to do I shall be quite contented.""Sewing is not good for thee. If thee likes to knit I'll set up asock for thee to-morrow," said the old lady well pleased at theindustrious turn of her new handmaid.
 
　　"I like to darn, and I see some to be done in this basket. May I doit?" and Christie laid hold of the weekly job which even the besthousewives are apt to set aside for pleasanter tasks.
 
　　"As thee likes, my dear. My eyes will not let me sew much in theevening, else I should have finished that batch to-night. Thee willfind the yarn and needles in the little bag."So Christie fell to work on gray socks, and neat lavender-coloredhose, while the old lady knit swiftly, and David read aloud.
 
　　Christie thought she was listening to the report of a fine lecture;but her ear only caught the words, for her mind wandered away into aregion of its own, and lived there till her task was done. Then shelaid the tidy pile in the basket, drew her chair to a corner of thehearth, and quietly enjoyed herself.
 
　　The cat, feeling sure of a welcome, got up into her lap, and went tosleep in a cosy bunch; Bran laid his nose across her feet, andblinked at her with sleepy good-will, while her eyes wandered roundthe room, from its quaint furniture and the dreaming flowers in thewindows, to the faces of its occupants, and lingered there.
 
　　The plain border of a Quaker cap encircled that mild old face, withbands of silver hair parted on a forehead marked with many lines.
 
　　But the eyes were clear and sweet; winter roses bloomed in thecheeks, and an exquisite neatness pervaded the small figure, fromthe trim feet on the stool, to the soft shawl folded about theshoulders, as only a Quakeress can fold one. In Mrs. Sterling, pietyand peace made old age lovely, and the mere presence of thistranquil soul seemed to fill the room with a reposeful charm nonecould resist.
 
　　The other face possessed no striking comeliness of shape or color;but the brown, becoming beard made it manly, and the broad arch of abenevolent brow added nobility to features otherwise notbeautiful,--a face plainly expressing resolution and rectitude,inspiring respect as naturally as it certain protective kindlinessof manner won confidence. Even in repose wearing a vigilant look asif some hidden pain or passion lay in wait to surprise and conquerthe sober cheerfulness that softened the lines of the firm-set lips,and warmed the glance of the thoughtful eyes.
 
　　Christie fancied she possessed the key to this, and longed to knowall the story of the cross which Mr. Power said David had learned tobear so well. Then she began to wonder if they could like and keepher, to hope so, and to feel that here at last she was at home withfriends. But the old sadness crept over her, as she remembered howoften she had thought this before, and how soon the dream ended, theties were broken, and she adrift again.
 
　　"Ah well," she said within herself, "I won't think of the morrow,but take the good that comes and enjoy it while I may. I must notdisappoint Rachel, since she kept her word so nobly to me. Dearsoul, when shall I see her again?"The thought of Rachel always touched her heart; more now than ever;and, as she leaned back in her chair with closed eyes and idlehands, these tender memories made her unconscious face mosteloquent. The eyes peering over the spectacles telegraphed a meaningmessage to the other eyes glancing over the paper now and then; andboth these friends in deed as well as name felt assured that thiswoman needed all the comfort they could give her. But the busyneedles never stopped their click, and the sonorous voice read onwithout a pause, so Christie never knew what mute confidences passedbetween mother and son, or what helpful confessions her traitorousface had made for her.
 
　　The clock struck nine, and these primitive people prepared for rest;for their day began at dawn, and much wholesome work made sleep aluxury.
 
　　"Davy will tap at thy door as he goes down in the morning, and Iwill soon follow to show thee about matters. Good-night, and goodrest, my child."So speaking, the little lady gave Christie a maternal kiss; Davidshook hands; and then she went away, wondering why service was solightened by such little kindnesses.
 
　　As she lay in her narrow white bed, with the "pale light of stars"filling the quiet, cell-like room, and some one playing softly on aflute overhead, she felt as if she had left the troublous worldbehind her, and shutting out want, solitude, and despair, had comeinto some safe, secluded spot full of flowers and sunshine, kindhearts, and charitable deeds.
Chapter 11 In The Strawberry Bed
 FROM that day a new life began for Christie, a happy, quiet, usefullife, utterly unlike any of the brilliant futures she had plannedfor herself; yet indescribably pleasant to her now, for pastexperience had taught her its worth, and made her ready to enjoy it.
 
　　Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never had such a cropof hopeful thoughts and happy feelings sprung up in her heart asnow; and nowhere was there a brighter face, a blither voice, or morewilling hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.
 
　　This was what she needed, the protection of a home, wholesome caresand duties; and, best of all, friends to live and labor for, lovingand beloved. Her whole soul was in her work now, and as healthreturned, much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it, alittle sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever. No task wastoo hard or humble; no day long enough to do all she longed to do;and no sacrifice would have seemed too great for those whom sheregarded with steadily increasing love and gratitude.
 
　　Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture ofthe birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune, andgave her Nature's most healing balm. She kept the little house inorder, with Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor sopleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like mother anddaughter, and Christie often said she did not care for any otherwages.
 
　　The house-work of this small family was soon done, and then Christiewent to tasks that she liked better. Much out-of-door life was goodfor her, and in garden and green-house there was plenty of lightlabor she could do. So she grubbed contentedly in the wholesomeearth, weeding and potting, learning to prune and bud, and findingMrs. Wilkins was quite right in her opinion of the sanitary virtuesof dirt.
 
　　Trips to town to see the good woman and carry country gifts to thelittle folks; afternoon drives with Mrs. Sterling in theold-fashioned chaise, drawn by the Roman-nosed horse, and Sundaypilgrimages to church to be "righted up" by one of Mr. Power'sstirring sermons, were among her new pleasures. But, on the whole,the evenings were her happiest times: for then David read aloudwhile she worked; she sung to the old piano tuned for her use; or,better still, as spring came on, they sat in the porch, and talkedas people only do talk when twilight, veiling the outer world, seemsto lift the curtains of that inner world where minds go exploring,hearts learn to know one another, and souls walk together in thecool of the day.
 
　　At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of another Davidthan the busy, cheerful man apparently contented with the humdrumduties of an obscure, laborious life, and the few unexcitingpleasures afforded by books, music, and much silent thought. Shesometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under this composed,commonplace existence another life went on; for, now and then, inthe interest of conversation, or the involuntary yielding to aconfidential impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed anunexpected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter memory thatwould not be ignored.
 
　　Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses, and so brief, soindistinct, were they that she half believed her own lively fancycreated them. She longed to know more; but "David's trouble" madehim sacred in her eyes from any prying curiosity, and always afterone of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so like hisunromantic self next day, that she laughed and said:
 
　　"I never shall outgrow my foolish way of trying to make people otherthan they are. Gods are gone, heroes hard to find, and one should becontented with good men, even if they do wear old clothes, leadprosaic lives, and have no accomplishments but gardening, playingthe flute, and keeping their temper."She felt the influences of that friendly place at once; but for atime she wondered at the natural way in which kind things were done,the protective care extended over her, and the confiding air withwhich these people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded noexplanations, seemed unconscious of conferring favors, and took herinto their life so readily that she marvelled, even while sherejoiced, at the good fortune which led her there.
 
　　She understood this better when she discovered, what Mr. Power hadnot mentioned, that the little cottage was a sort of refuge for manywomen like herself; a half-way house where they could rest andrecover themselves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness thatcome to such in the battle of life.
 
　　With a chivalry older and finer than any Spenser sung, Mr. Powerbefriended these forlorn souls, and David was his faithful squire.
 
　　Whoever knocked at that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed;comforted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened by thesweet good-will that made charity no burden, and restored to themore desperate and despairing their faith in human nature and God'slove.
 
　　There are many such green spots in this world of ours, which oftenseems so bad that a second Deluge could hardly wash it clean again;and these beneficent, unostentatious asylums are the salvation ofmore troubled souls than many a great institution gilded all overwith the rich bequests of men who find themselves too heavily ladento enter in at the narrow gate of heaven.
 
　　Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns from thecrowded, dusty highway down the green lane that leads to thesehumble inns, where the sign of the Good Samaritan is written on theface of whomsoever opens to the stranger, and refreshment for souland body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the poor.
 
　　Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish left him butlittle time to visit any but the needy. Christie enjoyed these briefvisits heartily, for her new friends soon felt that she was one ofthem, and cordially took her into the large circle of workers andbelievers to which they belonged.
 
　　Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan asylum, and every lonelycreature found a welcome there. He could rebuke sin sternly, yetcomfort and uplift the sinner with fatherly compassion; righteouswrath would flash from his eyes at injustice, and contempt sharpenhis voice as he denounced hypocrisy: yet the eyes that lightenedwould dim with pity for a woman's wrong, a child's small sorrow; andthe voice that thundered would whisper consolation like a mother, orgive counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.
 
　　He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to lead his peopleout of the bondage of dead superstitions, and go before them througha Red Sea of persecution into the larger liberty and love all soulshunger for, and many are just beginning to find as they comedoubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pioneers as hehave planted in the wilderness.
 
　　He was like a tonic to weak natures and wavering wills; and Christiefelt a general revival going on within herself as her knowledge,honor, and affection for him grew. His strength seemed to upholdher; his integrity to rebuke all unworthiness in her own life; andthe magic of his generous, genial spirit to make the hard placessmooth, the bitter things sweet, and the world seem a happier,honester place than she had ever thought it since her father died.
 
　　Mr. Power had been interested in her from the first; had watched herthrough other eyes, and tried her by various unsuspected tests. Shestood them well; showed her faults as frankly as her virtues, andtried to deserve their esteem by copying the excellencies sheadmired in them.
 
　　"She is made of the right stuff, and we must keep her among us; forshe must not be lost or wasted by being left to drift about theworld with no ties to make her safe and happy. She is doing so wellhere, let her stay till the restless spirit begins to stir again;then she shall come to me and learn contentment by seeing greatertroubles than her own."Mr. Power said this one day as he rose to go, after sitting an hourwith Mrs. Sterling, and hearing from her a good report of his newprotegee. The young people were out at work, and had not been calledin to see him, for the interview had been a confidential one. But ashe stood at the gate he saw Christie in the strawberry bed, and wenttoward her, glad to see how well and happy she looked.
 
　　Her hat was hanging on her shoulders, and the sun giving her cheeksa healthy color; she was humming to herself like a bee as herfingers flew, and once she paused, shaded her eyes with her hand,and took a long look at a figure down in the meadow; then she workedon silent and smiling,--a pleasant creature to see, though her hairwas ruffled by the wind; her gingham gown pinned up; and her fingersdeeply stained with the blood of many berries.
 
　　"I wonder if that means anything?" thought Mr. Power, with a keenglance from the distant man to the busy woman close at hand. "Itmight be a helpful, happy thing for both, if poor David only couldforget."He had time for no more castle-building, for a startled robin flewaway with a shrill chirp, and Christie looked up.
 
　　"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, rising quickly. "I was picking aspecial box for you, and now you can have a feast beside, just asyou like it, fresh from the vines. Sit here, please, and I'll hullfaster than you can eat.""This is luxury!" and Mr. Power sat down on the three-legged stooloffered him, with a rhubarb leaf on his knee which Christie keptsupplying with delicious mouthfuls.
 
　　MR. POWER AND CHRISTIE IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
 
　　"Well, and how goes it? Are we still happy and contented here?" heasked.
 
　　"I feel as if I had been born again; as if this was a new heaven anda new earth, and every thing was as it should be," answeredChristie, with a look of perfect satisfaction in her face.
 
　　"That's a pleasant hearing. Mrs. Sterling has been praising you, butI wanted to be sure you were as satisfied as she. And how does Davidwear? well, I hope.""Oh, yes, he is very good to me, and is teaching me to be agardener, so that I needn't kill myself with sewing any more. Muchof this is fine work for women, and so healthy. Don't I look adifferent creature from the ghost that came here three or fourmouths ago?" and she turned her face for inspection like a child.
 
　　"Yes, David is a good gardener. I often send my sort of plants here,and he always makes them grow and blossom sooner or later," answeredMr. Power, regarding her like a beneficent genie on a three-leggedstool.
 
　　"You are the fresh air, and Mrs. Sterling is the quiet sunshine thatdoes the work, I fancy. David only digs about the roots.""Thank you for my share of the compliment; but why say 'only digs'?
 
　　That is a most important part of the work: I'm afraid you don'tappreciate David.""Oh, yes, I do; but he rather aggravates me sometimes," saidChristie, laughing, as she put a particularly big berry in the greenplate to atone for her frankness.
 
　　"How?" asked Mr. Power, interested in these little revelations.
 
　　"Well, he won't be ambitious. I try to stir him up, for he hastalents; I've found that out: but he won't seem to care for anything but watching over his mother, reading his old books, andmaking flowers bloom double when they ought to be single.""There are worse ambitions than those, Christie. I know many a manwho would be far better employed in cherishing a sweet old woman,studying Plato, and doubling the beauty of a flower, than in sellingprinciples for money, building up a cheap reputation that dies withhim, or chasing pleasures that turn to ashes in his mouth.""Yes, sir; but isn't it natural for a young man to have somepersonal aim or aspiration to live for? If David was a weak or dullman I could understand it; but I seem to feel a power, a possibilityfor something higher and better than any thing I see, and this fretsme. He is so good, I want him to be great also in some way.""A wise man says, 'The essence of greatness is the perception thatvirtue is enough.' I think David one of the most ambitious men Iever knew, because at thirty he has discovered this truth, and takenit to heart. Many men can be what the world calls great: very fewmen are what God calls good. This is the harder task to choose, yetthe only success that satisfies, the only honor that outlives death.
 
　　These faithful lives, whether seen of men or hidden in corners, arethe salvation of the world, and few of us fail to acknowledge it inthe hours when we are brought close to the heart of things, and seea little as God sees."Christie did not speak for a moment: Mr. Power's voice had been sograve, and his words so earnest that she could not answer lightly,but sat turning over the new thoughts in her mind. Presently shesaid, in a penitent but not quite satisfied tone:
 
　　"Of course you are right, sir. I'll try not to care for the outwardand visible signs of these hidden virtues; but I'm afraid I stillshall have a hankering for the worldly honors that are so valued bymost people.""'Success and glory are the children of hard work and God's favor,'
 
　　according to ?schylus, and you will find he was right. David got aheavy blow some years ago as I told you, I think; and he took ithard, but it did not spoil him: it made a man of him; and, if I amnot much mistaken, he will yet do something to be proud of, thoughthe world may never hear of it.""I hope so!" and Christie's face brightened at the thought.
 
　　"Nevertheless you look as if you doubted it, O you of little faith.
 
　　Every one has two sides to his nature: David has shown you the leastinteresting one, and you judge accordingly. I think he will show youthe other side some day,--for you are one of the women who winconfidence without trying,--and then you will know the real David.
 
　　Don't expect too much, or quarrel with the imperfections that makehim human; but take him for what he is worth, and help him if youcan to make his life a brave and good one.""I will, sir," answered Christie so meekly that Mr. Power laughed;for this confessional in the strawberry bed amused him very much.
 
　　"You are a hero-worshipper, my dear; and if people don't come up tothe mark you are so disappointed that you fail to see the finereality which remains when the pretty romance ends. Saints walkabout the world today as much as ever, but instead of haircloth andhalos they now wear"--"Broadcloth and wide-brimmed hats," added Christie, looking up as ifshe had already found a better St. Thomas than any the church evercanonized.
 
　　He thanked her with a smile, and went on with a glance toward themeadow.
 
　　"And knights go crusading as gallantly as ever against the giantsand the dragons, though you don't discover it, because, instead ofbanner, lance, and shield they carry"--"Bushel-baskets, spades, and sweet-flag for their mothers," put inChristie again, as David came up the path with the loam he had beendigging.
 
　　Both began to laugh, and he joined in the merriment without knowingwhy, as he put down his load, took off his hat, and shook hands withhis honored guest.
 
　　"What's the joke?" he asked, refreshing himself with the handful ofberries Christie offered him.
 
　　"Don't tell," she whispered, looking dismayed at the idea of lettinghim know what she had said of him.
 
　　But Mr. Power answered tranquilly:
 
　　"We were talking about coins, and Christie was expressing heropinion of one I showed her. The face and date she understands; butthe motto puzzles her, and she has not seen the reverse side yet, sodoes not know its value. She will some day; and then she will agreewith me, I think, that it is sterling gold."The emphasis on the last words enlightened David: his sunburnt cheekreddened, but he only shook his head, saying: "She will find a brassfarthing I'm afraid, sir," and began to crumble a handful of loamabout the roots of a carnation that seemed to have sprung up bychance at the foot of the apple-tree.
 
　　"How did that get there?" asked Christie, with sudden interest inthe flower.
 
　　"It dropped when I was setting out the others, took root, and lookedso pretty and comfortable that I left it. These waifs sometimes dobetter than the most carefully tended ones: I only dig round them abit and leave them to sun and air."Mr. Power looked at Christie with so much meaning in his face thatit was her turn to color now. But with feminine perversity she wouldnot own herself mistaken, and answered with eyes as full of meaningas his own:
 
　　"I like the single ones best: double-carnations are so untidy, allbursting out of the calyx as if the petals had quarrelled and couldnot live together.""The single ones are seldom perfect, and look poor and incompletewith little scent or beauty," said unconscious David propping up thethin-leaved flower, that looked like a pale solitary maiden, besidethe great crimson and white carnations near by, filling the air withspicy odor.
 
　　"I suspect you will change your mind by and by, Christie, as yourtaste improves, and you will learn to think the double ones thehandsomest," added Mr. Power, wondering in his benevolent heart ifhe would ever be the gardener to mix the colors of the two humanplants before him.
 
　　"I must go," and David shouldered his basket as if he felt he mightbe in the way.
 
　　"So must I, or they will be waiting for me at the hospital. Give mea handful of flowers, David: they often do the poor souls more goodthan my prayers or preaching."Then they went away, and left Christie sitting in the strawberrybed, thinking that David looked less than ever like a hero with hisblue shirt, rough straw hat, and big boots; also wondering if hewould ever show her his best side, and if she would like it when shesaw it.
Chapter 12 Christie's Gala
     ON the fourth of September, Christie woke up, saying to herself: "Itis my birthday, but no one knows it, so I shall get no presents. Ah,well, I'm too old for that now, I suppose;" but she sighed as shesaid it, for well she knew one never is too old to be remembered andbeloved.
 
　　Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Sterling entered, carrying whatlooked very like a pile of snow-flakes in her arms. Laying this uponthe bed, she kissed Christie, saying with a tone and gesture thatmade the words a benediction:
 
　　"A happy birthday, and God bless thee, my daughter!"Before Christie could do more than hug both gift and giver, a greatbouquet came flying in at the open window, aimed with such skillthat it fell upon the bed, while David's voice called out frombelow: "A happy birthday, Christie, and many of them!""How sweet, how kind of you, this is! I didn't dream you knew aboutto-day, and never thought of such a beautiful surprise," criedChristie, touched and charmed by this unexpected celebration.
 
　　"Thee mentioned it once long ago, and we remembered. They are veryhumble gifts, my dear; but we could not let the day pass withoutsome token of the thanks we owe thee for these months of faithfulservice and affectionate companionship."Christie had no answer to this little address, and was about to cryas the only adequate expression of her feelings, when a hearty"Hear! Hear!" from below made her laugh, and call out:
 
　　"You conspirators! how dare you lay plots, and then exult over mewhen I can't find words to thank you? I always did think you were aset of angels, and now I'm quite sure of it.""Thee may be right about Davy, but I am only a prudent old woman,and have taken much pleasure in privately knitting this light wrapto wear when thee sits in the porch, for the evenings will soon growchilly. My son did not know what to get, and finally decided thatflowers would suit thee best; so he made a bunch of those theeloves, and would toss it in as if he was a boy.""I like that way, and both my presents suit me exactly," saidChristie, wrapping the fleecy shawl about her, and admiring thenosegay in which her quick eye saw all her favorites, even to aplumy spray of the little wild asters which she loved so much.
 
　　"Now, child, I will step down, and see about breakfast. Take thytime; for this is to be a holiday, and we mean to make it a happyone if we can."With that the old lady went away, and Christie soon followed,looking very fresh and blithe as she ran down smiling behind hergreat bouquet. David was in the porch, training up themorning-glories that bloomed late and lovely in that sheltered spot.
 
　　He turned as she approached, held out his hand, and bent a little asif he was moved to add a tenderer greeting. But he did not, onlyheld the hand she gave him for a moment, as he said with thepaternal expression unusually visible:
 
　　"I wished you many happy birthdays; and, if you go on gettingyounger every year like this, you will surely have them."It was the first compliment he had ever paid her, and she liked it,though she shook her head as if disclaiming it, and answeredbrightly:
 
　　"I used to think many years would be burdensome, and just before Icame here I felt as if I could not bear another one. But now I liketo live, and hope I shall a long, long time.""I'm glad of that; and how do you mean to spend these long years ofyours?" asked David, brushing back the lock of hair that was alwaysfalling into his eyes, as if he wanted to see more clearly thehopeful face before him.
 
　　"In doing what your morning-glories do,--climb up as far and as fastas I can before the frost comes," answered Christie, looking at thepretty symbols she had chosen.
 
　　"You have got on a good way already then," began David, smiling ather fancy.
 
　　"Oh no, I haven't!" she said quickly. "I'm only about half way up.
 
　　See here: I'll tell how it is;" and, pointing to the different partsof the flowery wall, she added in her earnest way: "I've watchedthese grow, and had many thoughts about them, as I sit sewing in theporch. These variegated ones down low are my childish fancies; mostof them gone to seed you see. These lovely blue ones of all shadesare my girlish dreams and hopes and plans. Poor things! some aredead, some torn by the wind, and only a few pale ones left quiteperfect. Here you observe they grow sombre with a tinge of purple;that means pain and gloom, and there is where I was when I camehere. Now they turn from those sad colors to crimson, rose, and softpink. That's the happiness and health I found here. You and yourdear mother planted them, and you see how strong and bright theyare."She lifted up her hand, and gathering one of the great rosy cupsoffered it to him, as if it were brimful of the thanks she could notutter. He comprehended, took it with a quiet "Thank you," and stoodlooking at it for a moment, as if her little compliment pleased himvery much.
 
　　"And these?" he said presently, pointing to the delicate violetbells that grew next the crimson ones.
 
　　The color deepened a shade in Christie's cheek, but she went on withno other sign of shyness; for with David she always spoke outfrankly, because she could not help it.
 
　　"Those mean love to me, not passion: the deep red ones half hiddenunder the leaves mean that. My violet flowers are the best andpurest love we can know: the sort that makes life beautiful andlasts for ever. The white ones that come next are tinged with thatsoft color here and there, and they mean holiness. I know there willbe love in heaven; so, whether I ever find it here or not, I am sureI shall not miss it wholly."Then, as if glad to leave the theme that never can be touchedwithout reverent emotion by a true woman, she added, looking up towhere a few spotless blossoms shone like silver in the light:
 
　　"Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I cannotreach them: but I can look up, and see their beauty; believe inthem, and try to follow where they lead; remember that frost comeslatest to those that bloom the highest; and keep my beautiful whiteflowers as long as I can.""The mush is ready; come to breakfast, children," called Mrs.
 
　　Sterling, as she crossed the hall with a teapot in her hand.
 
　　Christie's face fell, then she exclaimed laughing: "That's alwaysthe way; I never take a poetic flight but in comes the mush, andspoils it all.""Not a bit; and that's where women are mistaken. Souls and bodiesshould go on together; and you will find that a hearty breakfastwon't spoil the little hymn the morning-glories sung;" and David sether a good example by eating two bowls of hasty-pudding and milk,with the lovely flower in his button-hole.
 
　　"Now, what are we to do next?" asked Christie, when the usualmorning work was finished.
 
　　"In about ten minutes thee will see, I think," answered Mrs.
 
　　Sterling, glancing at the clock, and smiling at the bright expectantlook in the younger woman's eyes.
 
　　She did see; for in less than ten minutes the rumble of an omnibuswas heard, a sound of many voices, and then the whole Wilkins broodcame whooping down the lane. It was good to see Ma Wilkins jogponderously after in full state and festival array; her bonnettrembling with bows, red roses all over her gown, and a parasol ofuncommon brilliancy brandished joyfully in her hand. It was betterstill to see her hug Christie, when the latter emerged, flushed andbreathless, from the chaos of arms, legs, and chubby faces in whichshe was lost for several tumultuous moments; and it was best of allto see the good woman place her cherished "bunnit" in the middle ofthe parlor table as a choice and lovely ornament, administer thefamily pocket-handkerchief all round, and then settle down with ahearty:
 
　　"Wal, now, Mis Sterlin', you've no idee how tickled we all was whenMr. David came, and told us you was goin' to have a galy hereto-day. It was so kind of providential, for 'Lisha was invited outto a day's pleasuring so I could leave jest as wal as not. Thechildern's ben hankerin' to come the wust kind, and go plummin' asthey did last month, though I told 'em berries was gone weeks ago. Ireelly thought I'd never get 'em here whole, they trained so in thatbus. Wash would go on the step, and kep fallin' off; Gusty's hatblew out a winder; them two bad boys tumbled round loose; and dearlittle Victory set like a lady, only I found she'd got both feet inthe basket right atop of the birthday cake, I made a puppose forChristie.""It hasn't hurt it a bit; there was a cloth over it, and I like itall the better for the marks of Totty's little feet, bless 'em!" andChristie cuddled the culprit with one hand while she revealed thedamaged delicacy with the other, wondering inwardly what evil starwas always in the ascendant when Mrs. Wilkins made cake.
 
　　"Now, my dear, you jest go and have a good frolic with themchildern, I'm a goin' to git dinner, and you a goin' to play; so wedon't want to see no more of you till the bell rings," said Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins pinning up her gown, and "shooing" her brood out of theroom, which they entirely filled.
 
　　Catching up her hat Christie obeyed, feeling as much like a child asany of the excited six. The revels that followed no pen can justlyrecord, for Goths and Vandals on the rampage but feebly describesthe youthf ul Wilkinses when their spirits effervesced after amonth's bottling up in close home quarters.
 
　　David locked the greenhouse door the instant he saw them; andpervaded the premises generally like a most affable but verywatchful policeman, for the ravages those innocents committed muchafflicted him. Yet he never had the heart to say a word of reproof,when he saw their raptures over dandelions, the relish with whichthey devoured fruit, and the good it did the little souls and bodiesto enjoy unlimited liberty, green grass, and country air, even for aday.
 
　　Christie usually got them into the big meadow as soon as possible,and there let them gambol at will; while she sat on the broken boughof an apple-tree, and watched her flock like an old-fashionedshepherdess. To-day she did so; and when the children were happilysailing boats, tearing to and fro like wild colts, or discoveringthe rustic treasures Nurse Nature lays ready to gladden littlehearts and hands, Christie sat idly making a garland of greenbrakes, and ruddy sumach leaves ripened before the early frosts hadcome.
 
　　A FRIENDLY CHAT.
 
　　David saw her there, and, feeling that he might come off guard for atime, went strolling down to lean upon the wall, and chat in thefriendly fashion that had naturally grown up between thesefellow-workers. She was waiting for the new supply of ferns littleAdelaide was getting for her by the wall; and while she waited shesat resting her cheek upon her hand, and smiling to herself, as ifshe saw some pleasant picture in the green grass at her feet.
 
　　"Now I wonder what she's thinking about," said David's voice closeby, and Christie straightway answered:
 
　　"Philip Fletcher.""And who is he?" asked David, settling his elbow in a comfortableniche between the mossy stones, so that he could "lean and loaf" athis ease.
 
　　"The brother of the lady whose children I took care of;" andChristie wished she had thought before she answered that firstquestion, for in telling her adventures at diiferent times she hadomitted all mention of this gentleman.
 
　　"Tell about him, as the children say: your experiences are alwaysinteresting, and you look as if this man was uncommonly entertainingin some way," said David, indolently inclined to be amused.
 
　　"Oh, dear no, not at all entertaining! invalids seldom are, and hewas sick and lazy, conceited and very cross sometimes." Christie'sheart rather smote her as she said this, remembering the last lookpoor Fletcher gave her.
 
　　"A nice man to be sure; but I don't see any thing to smile about,"persisted David, who liked reasons for things; a masculine traitoften very trying to feminine minds.
 
　　"I was thinking of a little quarrel we once had. He found out that Ihad been an actress; for I basely did not mention that fact when Itook the place, and so got properly punished for my deceit. Ithought he'd tell his sister of course, so I did it myself, andretired from the situation as much disgusted with Christie Devon asyou are.""Perhaps I ought to be, but I don't find that I am. Do you know Ithink that old Fletcher was a sneak?" and David looked as if hewould rather like to mention his opinion to that gentleman.
 
　　"He probably thought he was doing his duty to the children: fewpeople would approve of an actress for a teacher you know. He hadseen me play, and remembered it all of a sudden, and told me of it:
 
　　that was the way it came about," said Christie hastily, feeling thatshe must get out of the scrape as soon as possible, or she would bedriven to tell every thing in justice to Mr. Fletcher.
 
　　"I should like to see you act.""You a Quaker, and express such a worldly and dreadful wish?" criedChristie, much amused, and very grateful that his thoughts had takena new direction.
 
　　"I'm not, and never have been. Mother married out of the sect, and,though she keeps many of her old ways, always left me free tobelieve what I chose. I wear drab because I like it, and say 'thee'
 
　　to her because she likes it, and it is pleasant to have a littleword all our own. I've been to theatres, but I don't care much forthem. Perhaps I should if I'd had Fletcher's luck in seeing youplay.""You didn't lose much: I was not a good actress; though now and thenwhen I liked my part I did pretty well they said," answeredChristie, modestly.
 
　　"Why didn't you go back after the accident?" asked David, who hadheard that part of the story.
 
　　"I felt that it was bad for me, and so retired to private life.""Do you ever regret it?""Sometimes when the restless fit is on me: but not so often now as Iused to do; for on the whole I'd rather be a woman than act aqueen.""Good!" said David, and then added persuasively: "But you will playfor me some time: won't you? I've a curious desire to see you doit.""Perhaps I'll try," replied Christie, flattered by his interest, andnot unwilling to display her little talent.
 
　　"Who are you making that for? it's very pretty," asked David, whoseemed to be in an inquiring frame of mind that day.
 
　　"Any one who wants it. I only do it for the pleasure: I always likedpretty things; but, since I have lived among flowers and naturalpeople, I seem to care more than ever for beauty of all kinds, andlove to make it if I can without stopping for any reason but thesatisfaction.""'Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, "'Then beautyis its own excuse for being,'" observed David, who had a weaknessfor poetry, and, finding she liked his sort, quoted to Christiealmost as freely as to himself.
 
　　"Exactly, so look at that and enjoy it," and she pointed to thechild standing knee-deep in graceful ferns, looking as if she grewthere, a living buttercup, with her buff frock off at one plumpshoulder and her bright hair shining in the sun.
 
　　Before David could express his admiration, the little picture wasspoilt; for Christie called out, "Come, Vic, bring me some morepretties!" startling baby so that she lost her balance, anddisappeared with a muffled cry, leaving nothing to be seen but apair of small convulsive shoes, soles uppermost, among the brakes.
 
　　David took a leap, reversed Vic, and then let her compose her littlefeelings by sticking bits of green in all the button-holes of hiscoat, as he sat on the wall while she stood beside him in the safeshelter of his arm.
 
　　"You are very like an Englishman," said Christie, after watching thepair for a few minutes.
 
　　"How do you know?" asked David, looking surprised.
 
　　"There were several in our company, and I found them very muchalike. Blunt and honest, domestic and kind; hard to get at, but trueas steel when once won; not so brilliant and original as Americans,perhaps, but more solid and steadfast. On the whole, I think themthe manliest men in the world," answered Christie, in the decidedway young people have of expressing their opinions.
 
　　"You speak as if you had known and studied a great variety of men,"said David, feeling that he need not resent the comparison she hadmade.
 
　　"I have, and it has done me good. Women who stand alone in theworld, and have their own way to make, have a better chance to knowmen truly than those who sit safe at home and only see one side ofmankind. We lose something; but I think we gain a great deal that ismore valuable than admiration, flattery, and the superficial servicemost men give to our sex. Some one says, 'Companionship teaches menand women to know, judge, and treat one another justly.' I believeit; for we who are compelled to be fellow workers with menunderstand and value them more truly than many a belle who has adozen lovers sighing at her feet. I see their faults and follies;but I also see so much to honor, love, and trust, that I feel as ifthe world was full of brothers. Yes, as a general rule, men havebeen kinder to me than women; and if I wanted a staunch friend I'dchoose a man, for they wear better than women, who ask too much, andcannot see that friendship lasts longer if a little respect andreserve go with the love and confidence."Christie had spoken soberly, with no thought of flattery or effect;for the memory of many kindnesses bestowed on her by many men, fromrough Joe Butterfield to Mr. Power, gave warmth and emphasis to herwords.
 
　　The man sitting on the wall appreciated the compliment to his sex,and proved that he deserved his share of it by taking it exactly asshe meant it, and saying heartily:
 
　　"I like that, Christie, and wish more women thought and spoke as youdo.""If they had had my experience they would, and not be ashamed of it.
 
　　I am so old now I can say these things and not be misjudged; foreven some sensible people think this honest sort of fellowshipimpossible if not improper. I don't, and I never shall, so if I canever do any thing for you, David, forget that I am a woman and tellme as freely as if I was a younger brother.""I wish you were!""So do I; you'd make a splendid elder brother.""No, a very bad one."There was a sudden sharpness in David's voice that jarred onChristie's ear and made her look up quickly. She only caught aglimpse of his face, and saw that it was strangely troubled, as heswung himself over the wall with little Vic on his arm and wenttoward the house, saying abruptly:
 
　　"Baby 's sleepy: she must go in."Christie sat some time longer, wondering what she had said todisturb him, and when the bell rang went in still perplexed. ButDavid looked as usual, and the only trace of disquiet was anoccasional hasty shaking back of the troublesome lock, and a slightknitting of the brows; two tokens, as she had learned to know, ofimpatience or pain.
 
　　She was soon so absorbed in feeding the children, hungry andclamorous as young birds for their food, that she forgot every thingelse. When dinner was done and cleared away, she devoted herself toMrs. Wilkins for an hour or two, while Mrs. Sterling took her nap,the infants played riotously in the lane, and David was busy withorders.
 
　　The arrival of Mr. Power drew every one to the porch to welcome him.
 
　　As he handed Christie a book, he asked with a significant smile:
 
　　"Have you found him yet?"She glanced at the title of the new gift, read "Heroes andHero-worship," and answered merrily: "No, sir, but I'm lookinghard." "Success to your search," and Mr. Power turned to greetDavid, who approached.
 
　　"Now, what shall we play?" asked Christie, as the children gatheredabout her demanding to be amused.
 
　　George Washington suggested leap-frog, and the others added equallyimpracticable requests; but Mrs. Wilkins settled the matter bysaying:
 
　　"Let's have some play-actin', Christie. That used to tickle thechildren amazin'ly, and I was never tired of hearin' them pieces,specially the solemn ones.""Yes, yes! do the funny girl with the baby, and the old woman, andthe lady that took pison and had fits!" shouted the children,charmed with the idea.
 
　　Christie felt ready for any thing just then, and gave them TillySlowboy, Miss Miggs, and Mrs. Gummage, in her best style, while theyoung folks rolled on the grass in ecstasies, and Mrs. Wilkinslaughed till she cried.
 
　　"Now a touch of tragedy!" said Mr. Power, who sat under the elm,with David leaning on the back of his chair, both applaudingheartily.
 
　　"You insatiable people! do you expect me to give you low comedy andheavy tragedy all alone? I'm equal to melodrama I think, and I'llgive you Miss St. Clair as Juliet, if you wait a moment."Christie stepped into the house, and soon reappeared with a whitetable-cloth draped about her, two dishevelled locks of hair on hershoulders, and the vinegar cruet in her hand, that being the firstbottle she could find. She meant to burlesque the poison scene, andbegan in the usual ranting way; but she soon forgot St. Clair inpoor Juliet, and did it as she had often longed to do it, with allthe power and passion she possessed. Very faulty was her rendering,but the earnestness she put into it made it most effective to heruncritical audience, who "brought down the house," when she fellupon the grass with her best stage drop, and lay there getting herbreath after the mouthful of vinegar she had taken in the excitementof the moment.
 
　　She was up again directly, and, inspired by this superb success, ranin and presently reappeared as Lady Macbeth with Mrs. Wilkins'sscarlet shawl for royal robes, and the leafy chaplet of the morningfor a crown. She took the stage with some difficulty, for theunevenness of the turf impaired the majesty of her tragic stride,and fixing her eyes on an invisible Thane (who cut his partshamefully, and spoke in the gruffest of gruff voices) she gave themthe dagger scene.
 
　　David as the orchestra, had been performing a drum solo on the backof a chair with two of the corn-cobs Victoria had been buildinghouses with; but, when Lady Macbeth said, "Give me the daggers,"Christie plucked the cobs suddenly from his hands, looking sofiercely scornful, and lowering upon him so wrathfully with hercorked brows that he ejaculated an involuntary, "Bless me!" as hestepped back quite daunted.
 
　　Being in the spirit of her part, Christie closed with thesleep-walking scene, using the table-cloth again, while a towelcomposed the tragic nightcap of her ladyship. This was an imitation,and having a fine model and being a good mimic, she did well; forthe children sat staring with round eyes, the gentlemen watched thewoful face and gestures intently, and Mrs. Wilkins took a longbreath at the end, exclaiming: "I never did see the beat of that forgastliness! My sister Clarissy used to walk in her sleep, but shewarn't half so kind of dreadful.""If she had had the murder of a few friends on her conscience, Idare say she would have been," said Christie, going in to makeherself tidy.
 
　　"Well, how do you like her as an actress?" asked Mr. Power of David,who stood looking, as if he still saw and heard the haunted lady.
 
　　"Very much; but better as a woman. I'd no idea she had it in her,"answered David, in a wonder-stricken tone.
 
　　"Plenty of tragedy and comedy in all of us," began Mr. Power; butDavid said hastily:
 
　　"Yes, but few of us have passion and imagination enough to actShakspeare in that way.""Very true: Christie herself could not give a whole character inthat style, and would not think of trying.""I think she could; and I'd like to see her try it," said David,much impressed by the dramatic ability which Christie's usualquietude had most effectually hidden.
 
　　He was still thinking about it, when she came out again. Mr. Powerbeckoned to her; saying, as she came and stood before him, flushedand kindled with her efforts:
 
　　"Now, you must give me a bit from the 'Merchant of Venice.' Portiais a favorite character of mine, and I want to see if you can do anything with it.""No, sir, I cannot. I used to study it, but it was too sober to suitme. I am not a judicial woman, so I gave it up," answered Christie,much flattered by his request, and amused at the respectful way inwhich David looked at her. Then, as if it just occurred to her, sheadded, "I remember one little speech that I can say to you, sir,with great truth, and I will, since you like that play."Still standing before him, she bent her head a little, and with agraceful gesture of the hands, as if offering something, shedelivered with heartfelt emphasis the first part of Portia's prettyspeech to her fortunate suitor:
 
　　"You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,Such as I am: though, for myself alone,I would not be ambitious in my wish,To wish myself much better; yet for you,I would be trebled twenty times myself;A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;That, only to stand high in your account,I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,Exceed account: but the full sum of meIs sum of something; which, to term in gross,Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd:--Happy in this, she is not yet so oldBut she may learn; happier than this,She is not bred so dull but she can learn;Happiest of all, is that her willing spiritCommits itself to yours to be directed,As from her lord, her governor, her king."David applauded vigorously; but Mr. Power rose silently, lookingboth touched and surprised; and, drawing Christie's hand through hisarm, led her away into the garden for one of the quiet talks thatwere so much to her.
 
　　When they returned, the Wilkinses were preparing to depart; and,after repeated leave-takings, finally got under way, were packedinto the omnibus, and rumbled off with hats, hands, andhandkerchiefs waving from every window. Mr. Power soon followed, andpeace returned to the little house in the lane.
 
　　Later in the evening, when Mrs. Sterling was engaged with aneighbor, who had come to confide some affliction to the good lady,Christie went into the porch, and found David sitting on the step,enjoying the mellow moonlight and the balmy air. As he did notspeak, she sat down silently, folded her hands in her lap, and beganto enjoy the beauty of the night in her own way. Presently shebecame conscious that David's eyes had turned from the moon to herown face. He sat in the shade, she in the light, and he was lookingat her with the new expression which amused her.
 
　　"Well, what is it? You look as if you never saw me before," shesaid, smiling.
 
　　"I feel as if I never had," he answered, still regarding her as ifshe had been a picture.
 
　　"What do I look like?""A peaceful, pious nun, just now.""Oh! that is owing to my pretty shawl. I put it on in honor of theday, though it is a trifle warm, I confess." And Christie strokedthe soft folds about her shoulders, and settled the corner that laylightly on her hair. "I do feel peaceful to-night, but not pious. Iam afraid I never shall do that," she added soberly.
 
　　"Why not?""Well, it does not seem to be my nature, and I don't know how tochange it. I want something to keep me steady, but I can't find it.
 
　　So I whiffle about this way and that, and sometimes think I am amost degenerate creature.""That is only human nature, so don't be troubled. We are allcompasses pointing due north. We get shaken often, and the needlevaries in spite of us; but the minute we are quiet, it points right,and we have only to follow it.""The keeping quiet is just what I cannot do. Tour mother shows mehow lovely it is, and I try to imitate it; but this restless soul ofmine will ask questions and doubt and fear, and worry me in manyways. What shall I do to keep it still?" asked Christie, smiling,yet earnest.
 
　　"Let it alone: you cannot force these things, and the best way is towait till the attraction is strong enough to keep the needle steady.
 
　　Some people get their ballast slowly, some don't need much, and somehave to work hard for theirs.""Did you?" asked Christie; for David's voice fell a little, as heuttered the last words.
 
　　"I have not got much yet.""I think you have. Why, David, you are always cheerful andcontented, good and generous. If that is not true piety, what is?""You are very much deceived, and I am sorry for it," said David,with the impatient gesture of the head, and a troubled look.
 
　　"Prove it!" And Christie looked at him with such sincere respect andregard, that his honest nature would not let him accept it, thoughit gratified him much.
 
　　He made no answer for a minute. Then he said slowly, as if feeling amodest man's hesitation to speak of himself, yet urged to it by someirresistible impulse:
 
　　"I will prove it if you won't mind the unavoidable egotism; for Icannot let you think me so much better than I am. Outwardly I seemto you 'cheerful, contented, generous, and good.' In reality I amsad, dissatisfied, bad, and selfish: see if I'm not. I often tire ofthis quiet life, hate my work, and long to break away, and follow myown wild and wilful impulses, no matter where they lead. Nothingkeeps me at such times but my mother and God's patience."David began quietly; but the latter part of this confession was madewith a sudden impetuosity that startled Christie, so utterly unlikehis usual self-control was it. She could only look at him with thesurprise she felt. His face was in the shadow; but she saw that itwas flushed, his eyes excited, and in his voice she heard anundertone that made it sternly self-accusing.
 
　　"I am not a hypocrite," he went on rapidly, as if driven to speak inspite of himself. "I try to be what I seem, but it is too hardsometimes and I despair. Especially hard is it to feel that I havelearned to feign happiness so well that others are entirelydeceived. Mr. Power and mother know me as I am: other friends I havenot, unless you will let me call you one. Whether you do or notafter this, I respect you too much to let you delude yourself aboutmy virtues, so I tell you the truth and abide the consequences."He looked up at her as he paused, with a curious mixture of prideand humility in his face, and squared his broad shoulders as if hehad thrown off a burden that had much oppressed him.
 
　　Christie offered him her hand, saying in a tone that did his heartgood: "The consequences are that I respect, admire, and trust youmore than ever, and feel proud to be your friend."David gave the hand a strong and grateful pressure, said, "Thankyou," in a moved tone, and then leaned back into the shadow, as iftrying to recover from this unusual burst of confidence, won fromhim by the soft magic of time, place, and companionship.
 
　　Fearing he would regret the glimpse he had given her, and anxious toshow how much she liked it, Christie talked on to give him time toregain composure.
 
　　"I always thought in reading the lives of saints or good men of anytime, that their struggles were the most interesting and helpfulthings recorded. Human imperfection only seems to make real pietymore possible, and to me more beautiful; for where others haveconquered I can conquer, having suffered as they suffer, and seentheir hard-won success. That is the sort of religion I want;something to hold by, live in, and enjoy, if I can only get it.""I know you will." He said it heartily, and seemed quite calm again;so Christie obeyed the instinct which told her that questions wouldbe good for David, and that he was in the mood for answering them.
 
　　"May I ask you something," she began a little timidly. "Any thing,Christie," he answered instantly. "That is a rash promise: I am awoman, and therefore curious; what shall you do if I take advantageof the privilege?" "Try and see.""I will be discreet, and only ask one thing," she replied, charmedwith her success. "You said just now that you had learned to feignhappiness. I wish you would tell me how you do it, for it is such anexcellent imitation I shall be quite content with it till I canlearn the genuine thing."David fingered the troublesome forelock thoughtfully for a moment,then said, with something of the former impetuosity coming back intohis voice and manner:
 
　　"I will tell you all about it; that's the best way: I know I shallsome day because I can't help it; so I may as well have done with itnow, since I have begun. It is not interesting, mind you,--only agrim little history of one man's fight with the world, the flesh,and the devil: will you have it?""Oh, yes!" answered Christie, so eagerly that David laughed, inspite of the bitter memories stirring at his heart.
 
　　"So like a woman, always ready to hear and forgive sinners," hesaid, then took a long breath, and added rapidly:
 
　　"I'll put it in as few words as possible and much good may it doyou. Some years ago I was desperately miserable; never mind why: Idare say I shall tell you all about it some day if I go on at thisrate. Well, being miserable, as I say, every thing looked black andbad to me: I hated all men, distrusted all women, doubted theexistence of God, and was a forlorn wretch generally. Why I did notgo to the devil I can't say: I did start once or twice; but thethought of that dear old woman in there sitting all alone andwaiting for me dragged me back, and kept me here till the firstrecklessness was over. People talk about duty being sweet; I havenot found it so, but there it was: I should have been a brute toshirk it; so I took it up, and held on desperately till it grewbearable.""It has grovn sweet now, David, I am sure," said Christie, very low.
 
　　"No, not yet," he answered with the stern honesty that would not lethim deceive himself or others, cost what it might to be true. "Thereis a certain solid satisfaction in it that I did not use to find. Itis not a mere dogged persistence now, as it once was, and that is astep towards loving it perhaps."He spoke half to himself, and sat leaning his head on both handspropped on his knees, looking down as if the weight of the oldtrouble bent his shoulders again.
 
　　"What more, David?" said Christie.
 
　　"Only this. When I found I had got to live, and live manfully, Isaid to myself, 'I must have help or I cannot do it.' To no livingsoul could I tell my grief, not even to my mother, for she had herown to bear: no human being could help me, yet I must have help orgive up shamefully. Then I did what others do when all else fails tosustain them; I turned to God: not humbly, not devoutly ortrustfully, but doubtfully, bitterly, and rebelliously; for I saidin my despairing heart, 'If there is a God, let Him help me, and Iwill believe.' He did help me, and I kept my word.""Oh, David, how?" whispered Christie after a moment's silence, forthe last words were solemn in their earnestness.
 
　　"The help did not come at once. No miracle answered me, and Ithought my cry had not been heard. But it had, and slowly somethinglike submission came to me. It was not cheerful nor pious: it wasonly a dumb, sad sort of patience without hope or faith. It wasbetter than desperation; so I accepted it, and bore the inevitableas well as I could. Presently, courage seemed to spring up again: Iwas ashamed to be beaten in the first battle, and some sort of blindinstinct made me long to break away from the past and begin again.
 
　　My father was dead; mother left all to me, and followed where I led.
 
　　I sold the old place, bought this, and, shutting out the world asmuch as I could, I fell to work as if my life depended on it. Thatwas five or six years ago: and for a long time I delved away withoutinterest or pleasure, merely as a safety-valve for my energies, anda means of living; for I gave up all my earlier hopes and plans whenthe trouble came.
 
　　"I did not love my work; but it was good for me, and helped cure mysick soul. I never guessed why I felt better, but dug on withindifference first, then felt pride in my garden, then interest inthe plants I tended, and by and by I saw what they had done for me,and loved them like true friends."A broad woodbine leaf had been fluttering against David's head, ashe leaned on the slender pillar of the porch where it grew. Now, asif involuntarily, he laid his cheek against it with a caressinggesture, and sat looking over the garden lying dewy and still in themoonlight, with the grateful look of a man who has learned thehealing miracles of Nature and how near she is to God.
 
　　"Mr. Power helped you: didn't he?" said Christie, longing to hearmore.
 
　　"So much! I never can tell you what he was to me, nor how I thankhim. To him, and to my work I owe the little I have won in the wayof strength and comfort after years of effort. I see now thecompensation that comes out of trouble, the lovely possibilitiesthat exist for all of us, and the infinite patience of God, which isto me one of the greatest of His divine attributes. I have only gotso far, but things grow easier as one goes on; and if I keep tuggingI may yet be the cheerful, contented man I seem. That is all,Christie, and a longer story than I meant to tell.""Not long enough: some time you will tell me more perhaps, since youhave once begun. It seems quite natural now, and I am so pleased andhonored by your confidence. But I cannot help wondering what madeyou do it all at once," said Christie presently, after they hadlistened to a whippoorwill, and watched the flight of a downy owl.
 
　　"I do not think I quite know myself, unless it was because I havebeen on my good behavior since you came, and, being a humbug, as Itell you, was forced to unmask in spite of myself. There are limitsto human endurance, and the proudest man longs to unpack his woesbefore a sympathizing friend now and then. I have been longing to dothis for some time; but I never like to disturb mother's peace, ortake Mr. Power from those who need him more. So to-day, when you sosweetly offered to help me if you could, it quite went to my heart,and seemed so friendly and comfortable, I could not resist trying ittonight, when you began about my imaginary virtues. That is thetruth, I believe: now, what shall we do about it?""Just go on, and do it again whenever you feel like it. I know whatloneliness is, and how telling worries often cures them. I meantevery word I said this morning, and will prove it by doing any thingin the world I can for you. Believe this, and let me be yourfriend."They had risen, as a stir within told them the guest was going; andas Christie spoke she was looking up with the moonlight full uponher face.
 
　　If there had been any hidden purpose in her mind, any falsesentiment, or trace of coquetry in her manner, it would have spoiledthat hearty little speech of hers.
 
　　But in her heart was nothing but a sincere desire to prove gratitudeand offer sympathy; in her manner the gentle frankness of a womanspeaking to a brother; and in her face the earnestness of one whofelt the value of friendship, and did not ask or give it lightly.
 
　　"I will," was David's emphatic answer, and then, as if to seal thebargain, he stooped down, and gravely kissed her on the forehead.
 
　　Christie was a little startled, but neither offended nor confused;for there was no love in that quiet kiss,--only respect, affection,and much gratitude; an involuntary demonstration from the lonely manto the true-hearted woman who had dared to come and comfort him.
 
　　Out trotted neighbor Miller, and that was the end of confidences inthe porch; but David played melodiously on his flute that night, andChristie fell asleep saying happily to herself:
 
　　"Now we are all right, friends for ever, and every thing will gobeautifully."
Chapter 13 Waking Up
 EVERY thing did "go beautifully" for a time; so much so, thatChristie began to think she really had "got religion." A delightfulpeace pervaded her soul, a new interest made the dullest taskagreeable, and life grew so inexpressibly sweet that she felt as ifshe could forgive all her enemies, love her friends more than ever,and do any thing great, good, or glorious.
 
　　She had known such moods before, but they had never lasted long, andwere not so intense as this; therefore, she was sure some blessedpower had come to uphold and cheer her. She sang like a lark as sheswept and dusted; thought high and happy thoughts among the pots andkettles, and, when she sat sewing, smiled unconsciously as if somedeep satisfaction made sunshine from within. Heart and soul seemedto wake up and rejoice as naturally and beautifully as flowers inthe spring. A soft brightness shone in her eyes, a fuller tonesounded in her voice, and her face grew young and blooming with thehappiness that transfigures all it touches.
 
　　"Christie 's growing handsome," David would say to his mother, as ifshe was a flower in which he took pride.
 
　　"Thee is a good gardener, Davy," the old lady would reply, and whenhe was busy would watch him with a tender sort of anxiety, as if todiscover a like change in him.
 
　　But no alteration appeared, except more cheerfulness and lesssilence; for now there was no need to hide his real self, and allthe social virtues in him came out delightfully after their longsolitude.
 
　　In her present uplifted state, Christie could no more help regardingDavid as a martyr and admiring him for it, than she could helpmixing sentiment with her sympathy. By the light of the lateconfessions, his life and character looked very different to hernow. His apparent contentment was resignation; his cheerfulness, amanly contempt for complaint; his reserve, the modest reticence ofone who, having done a hard duty well, desires no praise for it.
 
　　Like all enthusiastic persons, Christie had a hearty admiration forself-sacrifice and self-control; and, while she learned to seeDavid's virtues, she also exaggerated them, and could not do enoughto show the daily increasing esteem and respect she felt for him,and to atone for the injustice she once did him.
 
　　She grubbed in the garden and green-house, and learned hardbotanical names that she might be able to talk intelligently uponsubjects that interested her comrade. Then, as autumn endedout-of-door work, she tried to make home more comfortable andattractive than ever.
 
　　David's room was her especial care; for now to her there wassomething pathetic in the place and its poor furnishing. He hadfought many a silent battle there; won many a secret victory; andtried to cheer his solitude with the best thoughts the minds of thebravest, wisest men could give him.
 
　　She did not smile at the dilapidated idols now, but touched themtenderly, and let no dust obscure their well-beloved faces. She setthe books in order daily, taking many a sip of refreshment from themby the way, and respectfully regarded those in unknown tongues, fullof admiration for David's learning. She covered the irruptive sofaneatly; saw that the little vase was always clear and freshlyfilled; cared for the nursery in the gable-window; and preserved anexquisite neatness everywhere, which delighted the soul of theroom's order-loving occupant.
 
　　She also--alas, for romance!--cooked the dishes David loved, andliked to see him enjoy them with the appetite which once had shockedher so. She watched over his buttons with a vigilance that wouldhave softened the heart of the crustiest bachelor: she even gaveherself the complexion of a lemon by wearing blue, because Davidliked the pretty contrast with his mother's drabs.
 
　　After recording that last fact, it is unnecessary to explain whatwas the matter with Christie. She honestly thought she had gotreligion; but it was piety's twin-sister, who produced thiswonderful revival in her soul; and though she began in all goodfaith she presently discovered that she was"Not the first maidenWho came but for friendship,And took away love."After the birthnight confessions, David found it easier to go onwith the humdrum life he had chosen from a sense of duty; for now hefelt as if he had not only a fellow-worker, but a comrade and friendwho understood, sympathized with, and encouraged him by an interestand good-will inexpressibly comfortable and inspiring. Nothingdisturbed the charm of the new league in those early days; forChristie was thoroughly simple and sincere, and did her womanly workwith no thought of reward or love or admiration.
 
　　David saw this, and felt it more attractive than any gift of beautyor fascination of manner would have been. He had no desire to be alover, having forbidden himself that hope; but he found it so easyand pleasant to be a friend that he reproached himself for nottrying it before; and explained his neglect by the fact thatChristie was not an ordinary woman, since none of all the many hehad known and helped, had ever been any thing to him but objects ofpity and protection.
 
　　Mrs. Sterling saw these changes with her wise, motherly eyes, butsaid nothing; for she influenced others by the silent power ofcharacter. Speaking little, and unusually gifted with the meditativehabits of age, she seemed to live in a more peaceful world thanthis. As George MacDonald somewhere says, "Her soul seemed to sitapart in a sunny little room, safe from dust and noise, serenelyregarding passers-by through the clear muslin curtains of herwindow."Yet, she was neither cold nor careless, stern nor selfish, but readyto share all the joys and sorrows of those about her; and whenadvice was asked she gave it gladly. Christie had won her heart longago, and now was as devoted as a daughter to her; lightening hercares so skilfully that many of them slipped naturally on to theyoung shoulders, and left the old lady much time for rest, or thelighter tasks fitted for feeble hands. Christie often called her"Mother," and felt herself rewarded for the hardest, humblest jobshe ever did when the sweet old voice said gratefully, "I thankthee, daughter."Things were in this prosperous, not to say paradisiacal, state, whenone member of the family began to make discoveries of an alarmingnature. The first was that the Sunday pilgrimages to church wereseasons of great refreshment to soul and body when David went also,and utter failures if he did not. Next, that the restless ambitionsof all sorts were quite gone; for now Christie's mission seemed tobe sitting in a quiet corner and making shirts in the most exquisitemanner, while thinking about--well, say botany, or any kindredsubject. Thirdly, that home was woman's sphere after all, and theperfect roasting of beef, brewing of tea, and concocting ofdelectable puddings, an end worth living for if masculinecommendation rewarded the labor.
 
　　Fourthly, and worst of all, she discovered that she was notsatisfied with half confidences, and quite pined to know all about"David's trouble." The little needle-book with the faded "Letty" onit haunted her; and when, after a pleasant evening below, she heardhim pace his room for hours, or play melancholy airs upon the flute,she was jealous of that unknown woman who had such power to disturbhis peace, and felt a strong desire to smash the musical confidanteinto whose responsive breast he poured his woe.
 
　　At this point Christie paused; and, after evading any explanation ofthese phenomena in the most skilful manner for a time, suddenlyfaced the fact, saying to herself with great candor and decision:
 
　　"I know what all this means: I'm beginning to like David more thanis good for me. I see this clearly, and won't dodge any longer, butput a stop to it at once. Of course I can if I choose, and now isthe time to do it; for I understand myself perfectly, and if I reacha certain point it is all over with me. That point I will not reach:
 
　　David's heart is in that Letty's grave, and he only cares for me asa friend. I promised to be one to him, and I'll keep my word like anhonest woman. It may not be easy; but all the sacrifices shall notbe his, and I won't be a fool."With praiseworthy resolution Christie set about the reformationwithout delay; not an easy task and one that taxed all her wit andwisdom to execute without betraying the motive for it. She decidedthat Mrs. Sterling must not be left alone on Sunday, so the youngpeople took turns to go to church, and such dismal trips Christiehad never known; for all her Sundays were bad weather, and Mr. Powerseemed to hit on unusually uninteresting texts.
 
　　She talked while she sewed instead of indulging in dangerousthoughts, and Mrs. Sterling was surprised and entertained by thisnew loquacity. In the evening she read and studied with a diligencethat amazed and rather disgusted David; since she kept all herlively chat for his mother, and pored over her books when he wantedher for other things.
 
　　"I'm trying to brighten up my wits," she said, and went on trying tostifle her affections.
 
　　But though "the absurdity," as she called the new revelation, wasstopped externally, it continued with redoubled vigor internally.
 
　　Each night she said, "this must be conquered," yet each morning itrose fair and strong to make the light and beauty of her day, andconquer her again. She did her best and bravest, but was forced atlast to own that she could not "put a stop to it," because she hadalready reached the point where "it was all over with her."Just at this critical moment an event occurred which completedChristie's defeat, and made her feel that her only safety lay inflight.
 
　　One evening she sat studying ferns, and heroically saying over andover, "Andiantum, Aspidium, and Asplenium, Trichomanes," whilelonging to go and talk delightfully to David, who sat musing by thefire.
 
　　"I can't go on so much longer," she thought despairingly.
 
　　"Polypodium aureum, a native of Florida," is all very interesting inits place; but it doesn't help me to gain self-control a bit, and Ishall disgrace myself if something doesn't happen very soon."Something did happen almost instantly; for as she shut the coversharply on the poor Polypods, a knock was heard, and before Davidcould answer it the door flew open and a girl ran in. Straight tohim she went, and clinging to his arm said excitedly: "Oh, do takecare of me: I 've run away again!""Why, Kitty, what's the matter now?" asked David, putting back herhood, and looking down at her with the paternal expression Christiehad not seen for a long time, and missed very much.
 
　　"Father found me, and took me home, and wanted me to marry adreadful man, and I wouldn't, so I ran away to you. He didn't know Icame here before, and I'm safe if you'll let me stay," cried Kitty,still clinging and imploring.
 
　　"Of course I will, and glad to see you back again," answered David,adding pitifully, as he put her in his easy-chair, took her cloakand hood off and stood stroking her curly hair: "Poor little girl!
 
　　it is hard to have to run away so much: isn't it?""Not if I come here; it's so pleasant I'd like to stay all my life,"and Kitty took a long breath, as if her troubles were over now.
 
　　"Who's that?" she asked suddenly, as her eye fell on Christie, whosat watching her with interest:
 
　　"That is our good friend Miss Devon. She came to take your place,and we got so fond of her we could not let her go," answered Davidwith a gesture of introduction, quite unconscious that his positionjust then was about as safe and pleasant as that of a man between alighted candle and an open powder barrel.
 
　　The two young women nodded to each other, took a swift survey, andmade up their minds before David had poked the fire. Christie saw apretty face with rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and brown rings of hairlying on the smooth, low forehead; a young face, but not childlike,for it was conscious of its own prettiness, and betrayed the fact bylittle airs and graces that reminded one of a coquettish kitten.
 
　　Short and slender, she looked more youthful than she was; while agay dress, with gilt ear-rings, locket at the throat, and a cherryribbon in her hair made her a bright little figure in that plainroom.
 
　　Christie suddenly felt as if ten years had been added to her age, asshe eyed the new-comer, who leaned back in the great chair talkingto David, who stood on the rug, evidently finding it pleasanter tolook at the vivacious face before him than at the fire.
 
　　"Just the pretty, lively sort of girl sensible men often marry, andthen discover how silly they are," thought Christie, taking up herwork and assuming an indifferent air.
 
　　"She's a lady and nice looking, but I know I shan't like her," wasKitty's decision, as she turned away and devoted herself to David,hoping he would perceive how much she had improved and admire heraccordingly.
 
　　"So you don't want to marry this Miles because he is not handsome.
 
　　You'd better think again before you make up your mind. He isrespectable, well off, and fond of you, it seems. Why not try it,Kitty? You need some one to take care of you sadly," David said,when her story had been told.
 
　　"If father plagues me much I may take the man; but I'd rather havethe other one if he wasn't poor," answered Kitty with a side-longglance of the blue eyes, and a conscious smile on the red lips.
 
　　"Oh, there's another lover, is there?""Lots of 'em."David laughed and looked at Christie as if inviting her to be amusedwith the freaks and prattle of a child. But Christie sewed awaywithout a sign of interest.
 
　　"That won't do, Kitty: you are too young for much of such nonsense.
 
　　I shall keep you here a while, and see if we can't settle mattersboth wisely and pleasantly," he said, shaking his head as sagely asa grandfather.
 
　　"I'm sure I wish you would: I love to stay here, you are always sogood to me. I'm in no hurry to be married; and you won't make me:
 
　　will you?"Kitty rose as she spoke, and stood before him with a beseechinglittle gesture, and a confiding air quite captivating to behold.
 
　　Christie was suddenly seized with a strong desire to shake the girland call her an "artful little hussy," but crushed thisunaccountable impulse, and hemmed a pocket-handkerchief withreckless rapidity, while she stole covert glances at the tableau bythe fire.
 
　　David put his finger under Kitty's round chin, and lifting her facelooked into it, trying to discover if she really cared for thissuitor who seemed so providentially provided for her. Kitty smiledand blushed, and dimpled under that grave look so prettily that itsoon changed, and David let her go, saying indulgently:
 
　　"You shall not be troubled, for you are only a child after all. Letthe lovers go, and stay and play with me, for I've been ratherlonely lately.""That's a reproach for me," thought Christie, longing to cry out:
 
　　"No, no; send the girl away and let me be all in all to you." Butshe only turned up the lamp and pretended to be looking for a spool,while her heart ached and her eyes were too dim for seeing.
 
　　"I'm too old to play, but I'll stay and tease you as I used to, ifMiles don't come and carry me off as he said he would," answeredKitty, with a toss of the head which showed she was not so childlikeas David fancied. But the next minute she was sitting on a stool athis feet petting the cat, while she told her adventures with girlishvolubility.
 
　　Christie could not bear to sit and look on any longer, so she leftthe room, saying she would see if Mrs. Sterling wanted any thing,for the old lady kept her room with a touch of rheumatism. As sheshut the door, Christie heard Kitty say softly:
 
　　"Now we'll be comfortable as we used to be: won't we?"What David answered Christie did not stay to hear, but went into thekitchen, and had her first pang of jealousy out alone, while shebeat up the buckwheats for breakfast with an energy that made themmiracles of lightness on the morrow.
 
　　When she told Mrs. Sterling of the new arrival, the placid littlelady gave a cluck of regret and said with unusual emphasis:
 
　　"I'm sorry for it.""Why?" asked Christie, feeling as if she could embrace the speakerfor the words.
 
　　"She is a giddy little thing, and much care to whoever befriendsher." Mrs. Sterling would say no more, but, as Christie bade hergood-night, she held her hand, saying with a kiss:
 
　　"No one will take thy place with me, my daughter."For a week Christie suffered constant pin-pricks of jealousy,despising herself all the time, and trying to be friendly with thedisturber of her peace. As if prompted by an evil spirit, Kittyunconsciously tried and tormented her from morning to night, and noone saw or guessed it unless Mrs. Sterling's motherly heart divinedthe truth. David seemed to enjoy the girl's lively chat, her openlyexpressed affection, and the fresh young face that always brightenedwhen he came.
 
　　Presently, however, Christie saw a change in him, and suspected thathe had discovered that Kitty was a child no longer, but a young girlwith her head full of love and lovers. The blue eyes grew shy, thepretty face grew eloquent with blushes now and then, as he looked atit, and the lively tongue faltered sometimes in speaking to him. Athousand little coquetries were played off for his benefit, andfrequent appeals for advice in her heart affairs kept tendersubjects uppermost in their conversations.
 
　　At first all this seemed to amuse David as much as if Kitty were asmall child playing at sweethearts; but soon his manner changed,growing respectful, and a little cool when Kitty was most confiding.
 
　　He no longer laughed about Miles, stopped calling her "little girl,"and dropped his paternal ways as he had done with Christie. By manyindescribable but significant signs he showed that he consideredKitty a woman now and treated her as such, being all the morescrupulous in the respect he paid her, because she was sounprotected, and so wanting in the natural dignity and refinementwhich are a woman's best protection.
 
　　Christie admired him for this, but saw in it the beginning of atenderer feeling than pity, and felt each day that she was one toomany now.
 
　　Kitty was puzzled and piqued by these changes, and being a bornflirt tried all her powers on David, veiled under guilelessgirlishness. She was very pretty, very charming, and at times mostlovable and sweet when all that was best in her shallow little heartwas touched. But it was evident to all that her early acquaintancewith the hard and sordid side of life had brushed the bloom from hernature, and filled her mind with thoughts and feelings unfitted toher years.
 
　　Mrs. Sterling was very kind to her, but never treated her as she didChristie; and though not a word was spoken between them the elderwomen knew that they quite agreed in their opinion of Kitty. Sheevidently was rather afraid of the old lady, who said so little andsaw so much. Christie also she shunned without appearing to do so,and when alone with her put on airs that half amused, half irritatedthe other.
 
　　"David is my friend, and I don't care for any one else," her mannersaid as plainly as words; and to him she devoted herself soentirely, and apparently so successfully, that Christie made up hermind he had at last begun to forget his Letty, and think of fillingthe void her loss had left.
 
　　A few words which she accidentally overheard confirmed this idea,and showed her what she must do. As she came quietly in one eveningfrom a stroll in the lane, and stood taking off cloak and hood, shecaught a glimpse through the half-open parlor door of David pacingto and fro with a curiously excited expression on his face, andheard Mrs. Sterling say with unusual warmth:
 
　　"Thee is too hard upon thyself, Davy. Forget the past and be happyas other men are. Thee has atoned for thy fault long ago, so let mesee thee at peace before I die, my son.""Not yet, mother, not yet. I have no right to hope or ask for anywoman's love till I am worthier of it," answered David in a tonethat thrilled Christie's heart: it was so full of love and longing.
 
　　Here Kitty came running in from the green-house with her hands fullof flowers, and passing Christie, who was fumbling among the cloaksin the passage, she went to show David some new blossom.
 
　　He had no time to alter the expression of his face for its usualgrave serenity: Kitty saw the change at once, and spoke of it withher accustomed want of tact.
 
　　"How handsome you look! What are you thinking about?" she said,gazing up at him with her own eyes bright with wonder, and hercheeks glowing with the delicate carmine of the frosty air.
 
　　"I am thinking that you look more like a rose than ever," answeredDavid turning her attention from himself by a compliment, andbeginning to admire the flowers, still with that flushed and kindledlook on his own face.
 
　　Christie crept upstairs, and, sitting in the dark, decided with thefirmness of despair to go away, lest she should betray the secretthat possessed her, a dead hope now, but still too dear to beconcealed.
 
　　"Mr. Power told me to come to him when I got tired of this. I'll sayI am tired and try something else, no matter what: I can bear anything, but to stand quietly by and see David marry thatempty-hearted girl, who dares to show that she desires to win him.
 
　　Out of sight of all this, I can conquer my love, at least hide it;but if I stay I know I shall betray myself in some bitter minute,and I'd rather die than do that."Armed with this resolution, Christie went the next day to Mr. Power,and simply said: "I am not needed at the Sterlings any more: can yougive me other work to do?"Mr. Power's keen eye searched her face for a moment, as if todiscover the real motive for her wish. But Christie had nervedherself to bear that look, and showed no sign of her real trouble,unless the set expression of her lips, and the unnatural steadinessof her eyes betrayed it to that experienced reader of human hearts.
 
　　Whatever he suspected or saw, Mr. Power kept to himself, andanswered in his cordial way:
 
　　"Well, I've been expecting you would tire of that quiet life, andhave plenty of work ready for you. One of my good Dorcases is tiredout and must rest; so you shall take her place and visit my poor,report their needs, and supply them as fast as we can. Does thatsuit you?""Entirely, sir. Where shall I live?" asked Christie, with anexpression of relief that said much.
 
　　"Here for the present. I want a secretary to put my papers in order,write some of my letters, and do a thousand things to help a busyman. My old housekeeper likes you, and will let you take a dusternow and then if you don't find enough other work to do. When can youcome?"Christie answered with a long breath of satisfaction: "To-morrow, ifyou like.""I do: can you be spared so soon?""Oh, yes! they don't want me now at all, or I would not leave them.
 
　　Kitty can take my place: she needs protection more than I; and thereis not room for two." She checked herself there, conscious that atone of bitterness had crept into her voice. Then quite steadily sheadded:
 
　　"Will you be kind enough to write, and ask Mrs. Sterling if she canspare me? I shall find it hard to tell her myself, for I fear shemay think me ungrateful after all her kindness.""No: she is used to parting with those whom she has helped, and isalways glad to set them on their way toward better things. I willwrite to-morrow, and you can come whenever you will, sure of awelcome, my child."Something in the tone of those last words, and the pressure of thestrong, kind hand, touched Christie's sore heart, and made itimpossible for her to hide the truth entirely.
 
　　She only said: "Thank you, sir. I shall be very glad to come;" buther eyes were full, and she held his hand an instant, as if sheclung to it sure of succor and support.
 
　　Then she went home so pale and quiet; so helpful, patient, andaffectionate, that Mrs. Sterling watched her anxiously; David lookedamazed; and, even self-absorbed Kitty saw the change, and wastouched by it.
 
　　On the morrow, Mr. Power's note came, and Christie fled upstairswhile it was read and discussed.
 
　　"If I get through this parting without disgracing myself, I don'tcare what happens to me afterward," she said; and, in order that shemight do so, she assumed a cheerful air, and determined to departwith all the honors of war, if she died in the attempt.
 
　　So, when Mrs. Sterling called her down, she went humming into theparlor, smiled as she read the note silently given her, and thensaid with an effort greater than any she had ever made in her mostarduous part on the stage:
 
　　"Yes, I did say to Mr. Power that I thought I'd better be moving on.
 
　　I'm a restless creature as you know; and, now that you don't needme, I've a fancy to see more of the world. If you want me back againin the spring, I'll come.""I shall want thee, my dear, but will not say a word to keep theenow, for thee does need a change, and Mr. Power can give thee workbetter suited to thy taste than any here. We shall see theesometimes, and spring will make thee long for the flowers, I hope,"was Mrs. Sterling's answer, as Christie gave back the note at theend of her difficult speech.
 
　　"Don't think me ungrateful. I have been very happy here, and nevershall forget how motherly kind you have been to me. You will believethis and love me still, though I go away and leave you for a littlewhile?" prayed Christie, with a face full of treacherous emotion.
 
　　Mrs. Sterling laid her hand on Christie's head, as she knelt downimpulsively before her, and with a soft solemnity that made thewords both an assurance and a blessing, she said:
 
　　"I believe and love and honor thee, my child. My heart warmed tothee from the first: it has taken thee to itself now; and nothingcan ever come between us, unless thee wills it. Remember that, andgo in peace with an old friend's thanks, and good wishes in returnfor faithful service, which no money can repay."Christie laid her cheek against that wrinkled one, and, for amoment, was held close to that peaceful old heart which felt sotenderly for her, yet never wounded her by a word of pity.
 
　　Infinitely comforting was that little instant of time, when thevenerable woman consoled the young one with a touch, andstrengthened her by the mute eloquence of sympathy.
 
　　This made the hardest task of all easier to perform; and, when Davidmet her in the evening, Christie was ready to play out her part,feeling that Mrs. Sterling would help her, if need be. But Davidtook it very quietly; at least, he showed no very poignant regret ather departure, though he lamented it, and hoped it would not be avery long absence. This wounded Christie terribly; for all of asudden a barrier seemed to rise between them, and the oldfriendliness grew chilled.
 
　　"He thinks I am ungrateful, and is offended," she said to herself.
 
　　"Well, I can bear coldness better than kindness now, and it willmake it easier to go."Kitty was pleased at the prospect of reigning alone, and did notdisguise her satisfaction; so Christie's last day was any thing butpleasant. Mr. Power would send for her on the morrow, and she busiedherself in packing her own possessions, setting every thing inorder, and making various little arrangements for Mrs. Sterling'scomfort, as Kitty was a heedless creature; willing enough, but veryforgetful. In the evening some neighbors came in; so that dangeroustime was safely passed, and Christie escaped to her own room withher usual quiet good-night all round.
 
　　"We won't have any sentimental demonstrations; no wailing, or tenderadieux. If I'm weak enough to break my heart, no one need knowit,--least of all, that little fool," thought Christie, grimly, asshe burnt up several long-cherished relics of her love.
 
　　She was up early, and went about her usual work with the sadpleasure with which one performs a task for the last time. Lazylittle Kitty never appeared till the bell rang; and Christie wasfond of that early hour, busy though it was, for David was alwaysbefore her with blazing fires; and, while she got breakfast, he cameand went with wood and water, milk and marketing; often stopping totalk, and always in his happiest mood.
 
　　The first snow-fall had made the world wonderfully lovely thatmorning; and Christie stood at the window admiring the bridal lookof the earth, as it lay dazzlingly white in the early sunshine. Thelittle parlor was fresh and clean, with no speck of dust anywhere;the fire burned on the bright andirons; the flowers were rejoicingin their morning bath; and the table was set out with dainty care.
 
　　So homelike, so pleasant, so very dear to her, that Christie yearnedto stay, yet dared not, and had barely time to steady face andvoice, when David came in with the little posies he always had readyfor his mother and Christie at breakfast time. Only a flower bytheir plates; but it meant much to them: for, in these lives ofours, tender little acts do more to bind hearts together than great,deeds or heroic words; since the first are like the dear daily breadthat none can live without; the latter but occasional feasts,beautiful and memorable, but not possible to all.
 
　　This morning David laid a sprig of sweet-scented balm at hismother's place, two or three rosy daisies at Kitty's, and a bunch ofChristie's favorite violets at hers. She smiled as her eye went fromthe scentless daisies, so pertly pretty, to her own posy full ofperfume, and the half sad, half sweet associations that haunt theseblue-eyed flowers.
 
　　"I wanted pansies for you, but not one would bloom; so I did thenext best, since you don't like roses," said David, as Christiestood looking at the violets with a thoughtful face, for somethingin the peculiarly graceful arrangement of the heart-shaped leavesrecalled another nosegay to her mind.
 
　　"I like these very much, because they came to me in the beginning ofthis, the happiest year of my life;" and scarcely knowing why,except that it was very sweet to talk with David in the earlysunshine, she told about the flowers some one had given her atchurch. As she finished she looked up at him; and, though his facewas perfectly grave, his eyes laughed, and with a sudden convictionof the truth, Christie exclaimed!
 
　　"David, I do believe it was you!""I couldn't help it: you seemed so touched and troubled. I longed tospeak to you, but didn't dare, so dropped the flowers and got awayas fast as possible. Did you think it very rude?""I thought it the sweetest thing that ever happened to me. That wasmy first step along a road that you have strewn with flowers eversince. I can't thank you, but I never shall forget it." Christiespoke out fervently, and for an instant her heart shone in her face.
 
　　Then she checked herself, and, fearing she had said too much, fellto slicing bread with an energetic rapidity which resulted in a cutfinger. Dropping the knife, she tried to get her handkerchief, butthe blood flowed fast, and the pain of a deep gash made her a littlefaint. David sprung to help her, tied up the wound, put her in thebig chair, held water to her lips, and bathed her temples with a wetnapkin; silently, but so tenderly, that it was almost too much forpoor Christie.
 
　　For one happy moment her head lay on his arm, and his hand brushedback her hair with a touch that was a caress: she heard his heartbeat fast with anxiety; felt his breath on her cheek, and wishedthat she might die then and there, though a bread-knife was not aromantic weapon, nor a cut finger as interesting as a broken heart.
 
　　Kitty's voice made her start up, and the blissful vision of life,with David in the little house alone, van ished like a brightbubble, leaving the hard reality to be lived out with nothing but awoman's pride to conceal a woman's most passionate pain.
 
　　"It's nothing: I'm all right now. Don't say any thing to worry yourmother; I'll put on a bit of court-plaster, and no one will be thewiser," she said, hastily removing all traces of the accident buther own pale face.
 
　　"ONE HAPPY MOMENT.""Poor Christie, it's hard that you should go away with a wound likethis on the hand that has done so much for us," said David, as hecarefully adjusted the black strip on that forefinger, roughened bymany stitches set for him.
 
　　"I loved to do it," was all Christie trusted herself to say.
 
　　"I know you did; and in your own words I can only answer: 'I don'tknow how to thank you, but I never shall forget it.'" And Davidkissed the wounded hand as gratefully and reverently as if its palmwas not hardened by the humblest tasks.
 
　　If he had only known--ah, if he had only known!--how easily he mightrepay that debt, and heal the deeper wound in Christie's heart. Asit was, she could only say, "You are too kind," and begin to shoveltea into the pot, as Kitty came in, as rosy and fresh as the daisiesshe put in her hair.
 
　　"Ain't they becoming?" she asked, turning to David for admiration.
 
　　"No, thank you," he answered absently, looking out over her head, ashe stood upon the rug in the attitude which the best men will assumein the bosoms of their families.
 
　　Kitty looked offended, and turned to the mirror for comfort; whileChristie went on shovelling tea, quite unconscious what she wasabout till David said gravely:
 
　　"Won't that be rather strong?""How stupid of me! I always forget that Kitty does not drink tea,"and Christie rectified her mistake with all speed.
 
　　Kitty laughed, and said in her pert little way:
 
　　"Getting up early don't seem to agree with either of you thismorning: I wonder what you've been doing?""Your work. Suppose you bring in the kettle: Christie has hurt herhand."David spoke quietly; but Kitty looked as much surprised as if he hadboxed her ears, for he had never used that tone to her before. Shemeekly obeyed; and David added with a smile to Christie:
 
　　"Mother is coming down, and you'll have to get more color into yourchecks if you mean to hide your accident from her.""That is easily done;" and Christie rubbed her pale cheeks till theyrivalled Kitty's in their bloom.
 
　　"How well you women know how to conceal your wounds," said David,half to himself.
 
　　"It is an invaluable accomplishment for us sometimes: you forgetthat I have been an actress," answered Christie, with a bitter sortof smile.
 
　　"I wish I could forget what I have been!" muttered David, turninghis back to her and kicking a log that had rolled out of place.
 
　　In came Mrs. Sterling, and every one brightened up to meet her.
 
　　Kitty was silent, and wore an injured air which nobody minded;Christie was very lively; and David did his best to help her throughthat last meal, which was a hard one to three out of the four.
 
　　At noon a carriage came for Christie, and she said good-by, as shehad drilled herself to say it, cheerfully and steadily.
 
　　"It is only for a time, else I couldn't let thee go, my dear," saidMrs. Sterling, with a close embrace.
 
　　"I shall see you at church, and Tuesday evenings, even if you don'tfind time to come to us, so I shall not say good-by at all;" andDavid shook hands warmly, as he put her into the carriage.
 
　　"I'll invite you to my wedding when I make up my mind," said Kitty,with feminine malice; for in her eyes Christie was an old maid whodoubtless envied her her "lots of lovers.""I hope you will be very happy. In the mean time try to save dearMrs. Sterling all you can, and let her make you worthy a goodhusband," was Christie's answer to a speech she was too noble toresent by a sharp word, or even a contemptuous look.
 
　　Then she drove away, smiling and waving her hand to the old lady ather window; but the last thing she saw as she left the well-belovedlane, was David going slowly up the path, with Kitty close besidehim, talking busily. If she had heard the short dialogue betweenthem, the sight would have been less bitter, for Kitty said:
 
　　"She's dreadful good; but I'm glad she's gone: ain't you?""No.""Had you rather have her here than me?""Yes.""Then why don't you ask her to come back.""I would if I could!""I never did see any thing like it; every one is so queer and crossto-day I get snubbed all round. If folks ain't good to me, I'll goand marry Miles! I declare I will.""You'd better," and with that David left her frowning and pouting inthe porch, and went to shovelling snow with unusual vigor.
Chapter 14 Which?
 　　DAVID.
 
　　MR. POWER received Christie so hospitably that she felt at home atonce, and took up her new duties with the energy of one anxious torepay a favor. Her friend knew well the saving power of work, andgave her plenty of it; but it was a sort that at once interested andabsorbed her, so that she had little time for dangerous thoughts orvain regrets. As he once said, Mr. Power made her own troubles seemlight by showing her others so terribly real and great that she wasashamed to repine at her own lot.
 
　　Her gift of sympathy served her well, past experience gave her aquick eye to read the truth in others, and the earnest desire tohelp and comfort made her an excellent almoner for the rich, awelcome friend to the poor. She was in just the right mood to giveherself gladly to any sort of sacrifice, and labored with a quietenergy, painful to witness had any one known the hidden sufferingthat would not let her rest.
 
　　If she had been a regular novel heroine at this crisis, she wouldhave grown gray in a single night, had a dangerous illness, gonemad, or at least taken to pervading the house at unseasonable hourswith her back hair down and much wringing of the hands. Being only acommonplace woman she did nothing so romantic, but instinctivelytried to sustain and comfort herself with the humble, wholesomeduties and affections which seldom fail to keep heads sane andhearts safe. Yet, though her days seemed to pass so busily andcheerfully, it must be confessed that there were lonely vigils inthe night; and sometimes in the morning Christie's eyes were veryheavy, Christie's pillow wet with tears.
 
　　But life never is all work or sorrow; and happy hours, helpfulpleasures, are mercifully given like wayside springs to pilgrimstrudging wearily along. Mr. Power showed Christie many such, andsilently provided her with better consolation than pity or advice.
 
　　"Deeds not words," was his motto; and he lived it out mostfaithfully. "Books and work" he gave his new charge; and thenfollowed up that prescription with "healthful play" of a sort sheliked, and had longed for all her life. Sitting at his tableChristie saw the best and bravest men and women of our times; forMr. Power was a magnet that drew them from all parts of the world.
 
　　She saw and heard, admired and loved them; felt her soul kindle withthe desire to follow in their steps, share their great tasks, knowtheir difficulties and dangers, and in the end taste the immortalsatisfactions given to those who live and labor for theirfellow-men. In such society all other aims seemed poor and petty;for they appeared to live in a nobler world than any she had known,and she felt as if they belonged to another race; not men norangels, but a delightful mixture of the two; more as she imaginedthe gods and heroes of old; not perfect, but wonderfully strong andbrave and good; each gifted with a separate virtue, and each bent ona mission that should benefit mankind.
 
　　Nor was this the only pleasure given her. One evening of each weekwas set apart by Mr. Power for the reception of whomsoever chose tovisit him; for his parish was a large one, and his house a safehaunt for refugees from all countries, all oppressions.
 
　　Christie enjoyed these evenings heartily, for there was no ceremony;each comer brought his mission, idea, or need, and genuinehospitality made the visit profitable or memorable to all, forentire freedom prevailed, and there was stabling for every one'shobby.
 
　　Christie felt that she was now receiving the best culture, acquiringthe polish that society gives, and makes truly admirable whencharacter adds warmth and power to its charm. The presence of herbosom-care calmed the old unrest, softened her manners, and at timestouched her face with an expression more beautiful than beauty. Shewas quite unconscious of the changes passing over her; and if anyone had told her she was fast becoming a most attractive woman, shewould have been utterly incredulous. But others saw and felt the newcharm; for no deep experience bravely borne can fail to leave itsmark, often giving power in return for patience, and lending asubtle loveliness to faces whose bloom it has destroyed.
 
　　This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening when she wentdown to the weekly gathering in one of the melancholy moods whichsometimes oppressed her. She felt dissatisfied with herself becauseher interest in all things began to flag, and a restless longing forsome new excitement to break up the monotonous pain of her innerlife possessed her. Being still a little shy in company, she slippedquietly into a recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and satlooking listlessly about her while waiting for David, who seldomfailed to come.
 
　　A curious collection of fellow-beings was before herj and at anothertime she would have found much to interest and amuse her. In onecorner a newly imported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring,and the fragrance of many meerschaums still hovering about him, washammering away upon some disputed point with a scientific Frenchman,whose national politeness was only equalled by his nationalvolubility. A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive slave;a young poet getting inspiration from the face and voice of ahandsome girl who had earned the right to put M. D. to her name. Anold philosopher was calming the ardor of several rampant radicals,and a famous singer was comforting the heart of an Italian exile bytalking politics in his own melodious tongue.
 
　　There were plenty of reformers: some as truculent as Martin Luther;others as beaming and benevolent as if the pelting of the world hadonly mellowed them, and no amount of denunciatory thunder could sourthe milk of human kindness creaming in their happy hearts. Therewere eager women just beginning their protest against the wrongsthat had wrecked their peace; subdued women who had been worsted inthe unequal conflict and given it up; resolute women with "Nosurrender" written all over their strong-minded countenances; andsweet, hopeful women, whose faith in God and man nothing could shakeor sadden.
 
　　But to Christie there was only one face worth looking at till Davidcame, and that was Mr. Power's; for he was a perfect host, andpervaded the rooms like a genial atmosphere, using the welcome ofeye and hand which needs no language to interpret it, giving to eachguest the intellectual fare he loved, and making their enjoyment hisown.
 
　　"Bless the dear man! what should we all do without him?" thoughtChristie, following him with grateful eyes, as he led an awkwardyouth in rusty black to the statesman whom it had been the desire ofhis ambitious soul to meet.
 
　　The next minute she proved that she at least could do without the"dear man;" for David entered the room, and she forgot all abouthim. Here and at church were the only places where the friends hadmet during these months, except one or two short visits to thelittle house in the lane when Christie devoted herself to Mrs.
 
　　Sterling.
 
　　David was quite unchanged, though once or twice Christie fancied heseemed ill at ease with her, and immediately tormented herself withthe idea that some alteration in her own manner had perplexed oroffended him. She did her best to be as frank and cordial as in thehappy old days; but it was impossible, and she soon gave it up,assuming in the place of that former friendliness, a grave and quietmanner which would have led a wiser man than David to believe herbusied with her own affairs and rather indifferent to every thingelse.
 
　　If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom, her eyesbrightened, and all the world became endurable, the moment heappeared, he would not have been so long in joining her, nor havedoubted what welcome awaited him.
 
　　As it was, he stopped to speak to his host; and, before hereappeared, Christie had found the excitement she had been longingfor.
 
　　"Now some bore will keep him an hour, and the evening is so short,"she thought, with a pang of disappointment; and, turning her eyesaway from the crowd which had swallowed up her heart's desire, theyfell upon a gentleman just entering, and remained fixed with anexpression of unutterable surprise; for there, elegant, calm, andcool as ever, stood Mr. Fletcher.
 
　　"How came he here?" was her first question; "How will he behave tome?" her second. As she could answer neither, she composed herselfas fast as possible, resolving to let matters take their own course,and feeling in the mood for an encounter with a discarded lover, asshe took a womanish satisfaction in remembering that the verypersonable gentleman before her had once been.
 
　　Mr. Fletcher and his companion passed on to find their host; and,with a glance at the mirror opposite, which showed her that thesurprise of the moment had given her the color she lacked before,Christie occupied herself with a portfolio of engravings, feelingvery much as she used to feel when waiting at a side scene for hercue.
 
　　She had not long to wait before Mr. Power came up, and presented thestranger; for such he fancied him, never having heard a certainepisode in Christie's life. Mr. Fletcher bowed, with no sign ofrecognition in his face, and began to talk in the smooth, low voiceshe remembered so well. For the moment, through sheer surprise,Christie listened and replied as any young lady might have done to anew-made acquaintance. But very soon she felt sure that Mr. Fletcherintended to ignore the past; and, finding her on a higher round ofthe social ladder, to accept the fact and begin again.
 
　　At first she was angry, then amused, then interested in the somewhatdramatic turn affairs were taking, and very wisely decided to meethim on his own ground, and see what came of it.
 
　　In the midst of an apparently absorbing discussion of one ofRaphael's most insipid Madonnas, she was conscious that David hadapproached, paused, and was scrutinizing her companion with unusualinterest. Seized with a sudden desire to see the two men together,Christie beckoned; and when he obeyed, she introduced him, drew himinto the conversation, and then left him in the lurch by fallingsilent and taking notes while they talked.
 
　　If she wished to wean her heart from David by seeing him at adisadvantage, she could have devised no better way; for, though avery feminine test, it answered the purpose excellently.
 
　　Mr. Fletcher was a handsome man, and just then looked his best.
 
　　Improved health gave energy and color to his formerly sallow,listless face: the cold eyes were softer, the hard mouth suave andsmiling, and about the whole man there was that indescribablesomething which often proves more attractive than worth or wisdom tokeener-sighted women than Christie. Never had he talked better; for,as if he suspected what was in the mind of one hearer, he exertedhimself to be as brilliant as possible, and succeeded admirably.
 
　　David never appeared so ill, for he had no clew to the little comedybeing played before him; and long seclusion and natural reserveunfitted him to shine beside a man of the world like Mr. Fletcher.
 
　　His simple English sounded harsh, after the foreign phrases thatslipped so easily over the other's tongue. He had visited nogalleries, seen few of the world's wonders, and could only listenwhen they were discussed. More than once he was right, but failed toprove it, for Mr. Fletcher skilfully changed the subject or quenchedhim with a politely incredulous shrug.
 
　　Even in the matter of costume, poor David was worsted; for, in awoman's eyes, dress has wonderful significance. Christie used tothink his suit of sober gray the most becoming man could wear; butnow it looked shapeless and shabby, beside garments which bore thestamp of Paris in the gloss and grace of broadcloth and fine linen.
 
　　David wore no gloves: Mr. Fletcher's were immaculate. David's tiewas so plain no one observed it: Mr. Fletcher's, elegant andfaultless enough for a modern Beau Brummel. David's handkerchief wasof the commonest sort (she knew that, for she hemmed it herself):
 
　　Mr. Fletcher's was the finest cambric, and a delicate breath ofperfume refreshed the aristocratic nose to which the articlebelonged.
 
　　Christie despised herself as she made these comparisons, and felthow superficial they were; but, having resolved to exalt one man atthe expense of the other for her own good, she did not relent tillDavid took advantage of a pause, and left them with a reproachfullook that made her wish Mr. Fletcher at the bottom of the sea.
 
　　When they were alone a subtle change in his face and mannerconvinced her that he also had been taking notes, and had arrived ata favorable decision regarding herself. Women are quick at makingsuch discoveries; and, even while she talked with him as a stranger,she felt assured that, if she chose, she might make him again herlover.
 
　　Here was a temptation! She had longed for some new excitement, andfate seemed to have put one of the most dangerous within her reach.
 
　　It was natural to find comfort in the knowledge that somebody lovedher, and to take pride in her power over one man, because anotherdid not own it. In spite of her better self she felt the fascinationof the hour, and yielded to it, half unconsciously assumingsomething of the "dash and daring" which Mr. Fletcher had onceconfessed to finding so captivating in the demure governess. Heevidently thought so still, and played his part with spirit; for,while apparently enjoying a conversation which contained no allusionto the past, the memory of it gave piquancy to that longtete-a-tete.
 
　　As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher's friend beckoned tohim; and he rose, saying with an accent of regret which changed toone of entreaty, as he put his question:
 
　　"I, too, must go. May I come again, Miss Devon?""I am scarcely more than a guest myself; but Mr. Power is alwaysglad to see whoever cares to come," replied Christie rather primly,though her eyes were dancing with amusement at the recollection ofthose love passages upon the beach.
 
　　"Next time, I shall come not as a stranger, but as a former--may Isay friend?" he added quickly, as if emboldened by the mirthful eyesthat so belied the demure lips.
 
　　"Now you forget your part," and Christie's primness vanished in alaugh. "I am glad of it, for I want to ask about Mrs. Saltonstalland the children. I've often thought of the little dears, and longedto see them.""They are in Paris with their father.""Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope?""She died six months ago."An expression of genuine sorrow came over Mr. Fletcher's face as hespoke; and, remembering that the silly little woman was his sister,Christie put out her hand with a look and gesture so full ofsympathy that words were unnecessary. Taking advantage of thispropitious moment, he said, with an expressive glance and effectivetone: "I am all alone now. You will let me come again?""Certainly, if it can give you pleasure," she answered heartily,forgetting herself in pity for his sorrow.
 
　　Mr. Fletcher pressed her hand with a grateful, "Thank you!" andwisely went away at once, leaving compassion to plead for him betterthan he could have done it for himself.
 
　　Leaning back in her chair, Christie was thinking over this interviewso intently that she started when David's voice said close besideher:
 
　　"Shall I disturb you if I say, 'Good-night'?""I thought you were not going to say it at all," she answered rathersharply.
 
　　"I've been looking for a chance; but you were so absorbed with thatman I had to wait.""Considering the elegance of 'that man,' you don't treat him withmuch respect.""I don't feel much. What brought him here, I wonder. A French salonis more in his line.""He came to see Mr. Power, as every one else does, of course.""Don't dodge, Christie: you know he came to see you.""How do you like him?" she asked, with treacherous abruptness.
 
　　"Not particularly, so far. But if I knew him, I dare say I shouldfind many good traits in him.""I know you would!" said Christie, warmly, not thinking of Fletcher,but of David's kindly way of finding good in every one.
 
　　"He must have improved since you saw him last; for then, if Iremember rightly, you found him 'lazy, cross, selfish," andconceited.'""Now, David, I never said any thing of the sort," began Christie,wondering what possessed him to be so satirical and short with her.
 
　　"Yes, you did, last September, sitting on the old apple-tree themorning of your birthday.""What an inconvenient memory you have! Well, he was all that then;but he is not an invalid now, and so we see his real self.""I also remember that you gave me the impression that he was anelderly man.""Isn't forty elderly?""He wasn't forty when you taught his sister's children.""No; but he looked older than he does now, being so ill. I used tothink he would be very handsome with good health; and now I see Iwas right," said Christie, with feigned enthusiasm; for it was a newthing to tease David, and she liked it.
 
　　But she got no more of it; for, just then, the singer began to singto the select few who remained, and every one was silent. Leaning onthe high back of Christie's chair, David watched the reflection ofher face in the long mirror; for she listened to the music withdowncast eyes, unconscious what eloquent expressions were passingover her countenance. She seemed a new Christie to David, in thatexcited mood; and, as he watched her, he thought:
 
　　"She loved this man once, or he loved her; and tonight it all comesback to her. How will it end?"So earnestly did he try to read that altered face that Christie feltthe intentness of his gaze, looked up suddenly, and met his eyes inthe glass. Something in the expression of those usually serene eyes,now darkened and dilated with the intensity of that long scrutiny,surprised and troubled her; and, scarcely knowing what she said, sheasked quickly:
 
　　"Who are you admiring?""Not myself.""I wonder if you'd think me vain if I asked you something that Iwant to know?" she said, obeying a sudden impulse.
 
　　"Ask it, and I'll tell you.""Am I much changed since you first knew me?""Very much.""For the better or the worse?""The better, decidedly.""Thank you, I hoped so; but one never knows how one seems to otherpeople. I was wondering what you saw in the glass.""A good and lovely woman, Christie."How sweet it sounded to hear David say that! so simply and sincerelythat it was far more than a mere compliment. She did not thank him,but said softly as if to herself:
 
　　"So let me seem until I be"--and then sat silent, so full of satisfaction in the thought thatDavid found her "good and lovely," she could not resist stealing aglance at the tell-tale mirror to see if she might believe him.
 
　　She forgot herself, however; for he was off guard now, and stoodlooking away with brows knit, lips tightly set, and eyes fixed, yetfull of fire; his whole attitude and expression that of a man intenton subduing some strong impulse by a yet stronger will.
 
　　It startled Christie; and she leaned forward, watching him withbreathless interest till the song ceased, and, with the oldimpatient gesture, David seemed to relapse into his accustomedquietude.
 
　　"It was the wonderful music that excited him: that was all;" thoughtChristie; yet, when he came round to say good-night, the strangeexpression was not gone, and his manner was not his own.
 
　　"Shall I ask if I may come again," he said, imitating Mr. Flctcher'sgraceful bow with an odd smile.
 
　　"I let him come because he has lost his sister, and is lonely,"began Christie, but got no further, for David said, "Good-night!"abruptly, and was gone without a word to Mr. Power.
 
　　"He's in a hurry to get back to his Kitty," she thought, tormentingherself with feminine skill. "Never mind," she added, with a defiantsort of smile; "I 've got my Philip, handsomer and more in love thanever, if I'm not deceived. I wonder if he will come again?"Mr. Fletcher did come again, and with flattering regularity, forseveral weeks, evidently finding something very attractive in thosenovel gatherings. Mr. Power soon saw why he came; and, as Christieseemed to enjoy his presence, the good man said nothing to disturbher, though he sometimes cast an anxious glance toward the recesswhere the two usually sat, apparently busy with books or pictures;yet, by their faces, showing that an under current of deeperinterest than art or literature flowed through their intercourse.
 
　　Christie had not deceived herself, and it was evident that her oldlover meant to try his fate again, if she continued to smile uponhim as she had done of late. He showed her his sunny side now, andvery pleasant she found it. The loss of his sister had touched hisheart, and made him long to fill the place her death left vacant.
 
　　Better health sweetened his temper, and woke the desire to dosomething worth the doing; and the sight of the only woman he hadever really loved, reawakened the sentiment that had not died, andmade it doubly sweet.
 
　　Why he cared for Christie he could not tell, but he never hadforgotten her; and, when he met her again with that new beauty inher face, he felt that time had only ripened the blithe girl into adeep-hearted woman, and he loved her with a better love than before.
 
　　His whole manner showed this; for the half-careless,half-condescending air of former times was replaced by the mostcourteous respect, a sincere desire to win her favor, and at timesthe tender sort of devotion women find so charming.
 
　　Christie felt all this, enjoyed it, and tried to be grateful for itin the way he wished, thinking that hearts could be managed likechildren, and when one toy is unattainable, be appeased by a biggeror a brighter one of another sort.
 
　　"I must love some one," she said, as she leaned over a basket ofmagnificent flowers just left for her by Mr. Fletcher's servant, athing which often happened now. "Philip has loved me with a fidelitythat ought to touch my heart. Why not accept him, and enjoy a newlife of luxury, novelty, and pleasure? All these things he can giveme: all these things are valued, admired, and sought for: and whowould appreciate them more than I? I could travel, cultivate myselfin many delightful ways, and do so much good. No matter if I was notvery happy: I should make Philip so, and have it in my power tocomfort many poor souls. That ought to satisfy me; for what isnobler than to live for others?"This idea attracted her, as it does all generous natures; she becameenamoured of self-sacrifice, and almost persuaded herself that itwas her duty to marry Mr. Fletcher, whether she loved him or not, inorder that she might dedicate her life to the service of poorer,sadder creatures than herself.
 
　　But in spite of this amiable delusion, in spite of the desire toforget the love she would have in the love she might have, and inspite of the great improvement in her faithful Philip, Christiecould not blind herself to the fact that her head, rather than herheart, advised the match; she could not conquer a suspicion that,however much Mr. Fletcher might love his wife, he would be somethingof a tyrant, and she was very sure she never would make a goodslave. In her cooler moments she remembered that men are notpuppets, to be moved as a woman's will commands, and the uncertaintyof being able to carry out her charitable plans made her pause toconsider whether she would not be selling her liberty too cheaply,if in return she got only dependence and bondage along with fortuneand a home.
 
　　So tempted and perplexed, self-deluded and self-warned, attractedand repelled, was poor Christie, that she began to feel as if shehad got into a labyrinth without any clew to bring her safely out.
 
　　She longed to ask advice of some one, but could not turn to Mrs.
 
　　Sterling; and what other woman friend had she except Rachel, fromwhom she had not heard for months?
 
　　As she asked herself this question one day, feeling sure that Mr.
 
　　Fletcher would come in the evening, and would soon put his fortuneto the touch again, the thought of Mrs. Wilkins seemed to answerher.
 
　　"Why not?" said Christie: "she is sensible, kind, and discreet; shemay put me right, for I'm all in a tangle now with doubts and fears,feelings and fancies. I'll go and see her: that will do me good,even if I don't say a word about my 'werryments,' as the dear soulwould call them."Away she went, and fortunately found her friend alone in the"settin'-room," darning away at a perfect stack of socks, as shecreaked comfortably to and fro in her old rocking-chair.
 
　　"I was jest wishin' somebody would drop in: it's so kinder lonesomewith the children to school and Adelaide asleep. How be you, dear?"said Mrs. Wilkins, with a hospitable hug and a beaming smile.
 
　　"I'm worried in my mind, so I came to see you," answered Christie,sitting down with a sigh.
 
　　"Bless your dear heart, what is to pay. Free your mind, and I'll domy best to lend a hand."The mere sound of that hearty voice comforted Christie, and gave hercourage to introduce the little fiction under which she had decidedto defraud Mrs. Wilkins of her advice. So she helped herself to avery fragmentary blue sock and a big needle, that she might haveemployment for her eyes, as they were not so obedient as her tongue,and then began in as easy a tone as she could assume.
 
　　"Well, you see a friend of mine wants my advice on a very seriousmatter, and I really don't know what to give her. It is strictlyconfidential, you know, so I won't mention any names, but just setthe case before you and get your opinion, for I've great faith inyour sensible way of looking at things.""Thanky, dear, you'r welcome to my 'pinion ef it's wuth any thing.
 
　　Be these folks you tell of young?" asked Mrs. Wilkins, with evidentrelish for the mystery.
 
　　"No, the woman is past thirty, and the man 'most forty, I believe,"said Christie, darning away in some trepidation at having taken thefirst plunge.
 
　　"My patience! ain't the creater old enough to know her own mind? forI s'pose she's the one in the quanderry?" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins,looking over her spectacles with dangerously keen eyes.
 
　　"The case is this," said Christie, in guilty haste. "The 'creature'
 
　　is poor and nobody, the man rich and of good family, so you see it'srather hard for her to decide.""No, I don't see nothin' of the sort," returned blunt Mrs. Wilkins.
 
　　"Ef she loves the man, take him: ef she don't, give him the mittinand done with it. Money and friends and family ain't much to do withthe matter accordin' to my view. It's jest a plain question betwixtthem two. Ef it takes much settlin' they 'd better let it alone.""She doesn't love him as much as she might, I fancy, but she istired of grubbing along alone. He is very fond of her, and veryrich; and it would be a fine thing for her in a worldly way, I'msure.""Oh, she's goin' to marry for a livin' is she? Wal, now I'd rutherone of my girls should grub the wust kind all their days than dothat. Hows'ever, it may suit some folks ef they ain't got muchheart, and is contented with fine clothes, nice vittles, andhandsome furnitoor. Selfish, cold, silly kinder women might git on,I dare say; but I shouldn't think any friend of your'n would be oneof that sort.""But she might do a great deal of good, and make others happy evenif she was not so herself.""She might, but I doubt it, for money got that way wouldn't prosperwal. Mis'able folks ain't half so charitable as happy ones; and Idon't believe five dollars from one of 'em would go half so fur, orbe half so comfortin' as a kind word straight out of a cheerfulheart. I know some thinks that is a dreadful smart thing to do; butI don't, and ef any one wants to go a sacrificin' herself for thegood of others, there's better ways of doin' it than startin' with alie in her mouth."Mrs. Wilkins spoke warmly; for Christie's face made her fictionperfectly transparent, though the good woman with true delicacyshowed no sign of intelligence on that point.
 
　　"Then you wouldn't advise my friend to say yes?""Sakes alive, no! I'd say to her as I did to my younger sisters whentheir courtin' time come: 'Jest be sure you're right as to therebein' love enough, then go ahead, and the Lord will bless you.'""Did they follow your advice?""They did, and both is prosperin' in different ways. Gusty, shefound she was well on't for love, so she married, though Samuel Buckwas poor, and they're happy as can be a workin' up together, same asLisha and me did. Addy, she calc'lated she wan't satisfied somehow,so she didn't marry, though James Miller was wal off; and she's kepstiddy to her trade, and ain't never repented. There's a sight saidand writ about such things," continued Mrs. Wilkins, rambling on togive Christie time to think; "but I've an idee that women's heartsis to be trusted ef they ain't been taught all wrong. Jest let 'emremember that they take a husband for wuss as well as better (andthere's a sight of wuss in this tryin' world for some on us), and beready to do their part patient and faithful, and I ain't a grainafraid but what they'll be fetched through, always pervidin' theylove the man and not his money."There was a pause after that last speech, and Christie felt as ifher perplexity was clearing away very fast; for Mrs. Wilkins's plaintalk seemed to show her things in their true light, with all theillusions of false sentiment and false reasoning stripped away. Shefelt clearer and stronger already, and as if she could make up hermind very soon when one other point had been discussed.
 
　　"I fancy my friend is somewhat influenced by the fact that this manloved and asked her to marry him some years ago. He has notforgotten her, and this touches her heart more than any thing else.
 
　　It seems as if his love must be genuine to last so long, and not tomind her poverty, want of beauty, and accomplishments; for he is aproud and fastidious man.""I think wal of him for that!" said Mrs. Wilkins, approvingly; "butI guess she's wuth all he gives her, for there must be somethin'
 
　　pretty gennywin' in her to make him overlook her lacks and hold onso stiddy. It don't alter her side of the case one mite though; forlove is love, and ef she ain't got it, he'd better not takegratitude instid, but sheer off and leave her for somebody else.""Nobody else wants her!" broke from Christie like an involuntary cryof pain; then she hid her face by stooping to gather up theavalanche of hosiery which fell from her lap to the floor.
 
　　"She can't be sure of that," said Mrs. Wilkins cheerily, though herspectacles were dim with sudden mist. "I know there's a mate for hersomewheres, so she'd better wait a spell and trust in Providence. Itwouldn't be so pleasant to see the right one come along after she'dwent and took the wrong one in a hurry: would it? Waitin' is alwayssafe, and time needn't be wasted in frettin' or bewailin'; for theLord knows there's a sight of good works sufferin' to be done, andsingle women has the best chance at 'em.""I've accomplished one good work at any rate; and, small as it is, Ifeel better for it. Give this sock to your husband, and tell him hiswife sets a good example both by precept and practice to otherwomen, married or single. Thank you very much, both for myself andmy friend, who shall profit by your advice," said Christie, feelingthat she had better go before she told every thing.
 
　　"I hope she will," returned Mrs. Wilkins, as her guest went awaywith a much happier face than the one she brought. "And ef I knowher, which I think I do, she'll find that Cinthy Wilkins ain't furfrom right, ef her experience is good for any thing," added thematron with a sigh, and a glance at a dingy photograph of her Lishaon the wall, a sigh that seemed to say there had been a good deal of"wuss" in her bargain, though she was too loyal to confess it.
 
　　Something in Christie's face struck Mr. Fletcher at once when heappeared that evening. He had sometimes found her cold and quiet,often gay and capricious, usually earnest and cordial, with awistful look that searched his face and both won and checked him byits mute appeal, seeming to say, "Wait a little till I have taughtmy heart to answer as you wish."To-night her eyes shunned his, and when he caught a glimpse of themthey were full of a soft trouble; her manner was kinder than everbefore, and yet it made him anxious, for there was a resoluteexpression about her lips even when she smiled, and though heventured upon allusions to the past hitherto tacitly avoided, shelistened as if it had no tender charm for her.
 
　　Being thoroughly in earnest now, Mr. Fletcher resolved to ask themomentous question again without delay. David was not there, and hadnot been for several weeks, another thorn in Christie's heart,though she showed no sign of regret, and said to herself, "It isbetter so." His absence left Fletcher master of the field, and heseized the propitious moment.
 
　　"Will you show me the new picture? Mr. Power spoke of it, but I donot like to trouble him.""With pleasure," and Christie led the way to a little room where thenewly arrived gift was placed.
 
　　She knew what was coming, but was ready, and felt a tragic sort ofsatisfaction in the thought of all she was relinquishing for love ofDavid.
 
　　No one was in the room, but a fine copy of Michael Angelo's Fateshung on the wall, looking down at them with weird significance.
 
　　"They look as if they would give a stern answer to any questioningof ours," Mr. Fletcher said, after a glance of affected interest.
 
　　"They would give a true one I fancy," answered Christie, shading hereyes as if to see the better.
 
　　"I 'd rather question a younger, fairer Fate, hoping that she willgive me an answer both true and kind. May I, Christie?""I will be true but--I cannot be kind." It cost her much to saythat; yet she did it steadily, though he held her hand in both hisown, and waited for her words with ardent expectation.
 
　　"Not yet perhaps,--but in time, when I have proved how sincere mylove is, how entire my repentance for the ungenerous words you havenot forgotten. I wanted you then for my own sake, now I want you foryourself, because I love and honor you above all women. I tried toforget you, but I could not; and all these years have carried in myheart a very tender memory of the girl who dared to tell me that allI could offer her was not worth her love.""I was mistaken," began Christie, finding this wooing much harder towithstand than the other.
 
　　"No, you were right: I felt it then and resented it, but I owned itlater, and regretted it more bitterly than I can tell. I'm notworthy of you; I never shall be: but I've loved you for five yearswithout hope, and I'll wait five more if in the end you will come tome. Christie, I need you very much!"If Mr. Fletcher had gone down upon his knees and poured out the mostardent protestations that ever left a lover's lips, it would nothave touched her as did that last little appeal, uttered with abreak in the voice that once was so proud and was so humble now.
 
　　"Forgive me!" she cried, looking up at him with real respect in herface, and real remorse smiting her conscience. "Forgive me! I havemisled you and myself. I tried to love you: I was grateful for yourregard, touched by your fidelity, and I hoped I might repay it; butI cannot! I cannot!""Why?"Such a hard question! She owed him all the truth, yet how could shetell it? She could not in words, but her face did, for the colorrose and burned on cheeks and forehead with painful fervor; her eyesfell, and her lips trembled as if endeavoring to keep down thesecret that was escaping against her will. A moment of silence asMr. Fletcher searched for the truth and found it; then he said withsuch sharp pain in his voice that Christie's heart ached at thesound:
 
　　"I see: I am too late?""Yes.""And there is no hope?""None.""Then there is nothing more for me to say but good-by. May you behappy.""I shall not be;--I have no hope;--I only try to be true to you andto myself. Oh, believe it, and pity me as I do you!"As the words broke from Christie, she covered up her face, boweddown with the weight of remorse that made her long to atone for whatshe had done by any self-humiliation.
 
　　Mr. Fletcher was at his best at that moment; for real love ennoblesthe worst and weakest while it lasts: but he could not resist thetemptation that confession offered him. He tried to be generous, butthe genuine virtue was not in him; he did want Christie very much,and the knowledge of a rival in her heart only made her the dearer.
 
　　"I'm not content with your pity, sweet as it is: I want your love,and I believe that I might earn it if you would let me try. You areall alone, and life is hard to you: come to me and let me make ithappier. I'll be satisfied with friendship till you can give memore."He said this very tenderly, caressing the bent head while he spoke,and trying to express by tone and gesture how eagerly he longed toreceive and cherish what that other man neglected.
 
　　Christie felt this to her heart's core, and for a moment longed toend the struggle, say, "Take me," and accept the shadow for thesubstance. But those last words of his vividly recalled the compactmade with David that happy birthday night. How could she be hisfriend if she was Mr. Fletcher's wife? She knew she could not betrue to both, while her heart reversed the sentiment she then wouldowe them: David's friendship was dearer than Philip's love, and shewould keep it at all costs. These thoughts flashed through her mindin the drawing of a breath, and she looked up, saying steadily inspite of wet eyes and still burning cheeks:
 
　　"Hope nothing; wait for nothing from me. I will have no moredelusions for either of us: it is weak and wicked, for I know Ishall not change. Some time we may venture to be friends perhaps,but not now. Forgive me, and be sure I shall suffer more than youfor this mistake of mine."When she had denied his suit before he had been ungenerous andangry; for his pride was hurt and his will thwarted: now his heartbled and hope died hard; but all that was manliest in him rose tohelp him bear the loss, for this love was genuine, and made him bothjust and kind. His face was pale with the pain of that fruitlesspassion, and his voice betrayed how hard he strove for self-control,as he said hurriedly:
 
　　"You need not suffer: this mistake has given me the happiest hoursof my life, and I am better for having known so sweet and true awoman. God bless you, Christie!" and with a quick embrace thatstartled her by its suddenness and strength he left her, standingthere alone before the three grim Fates.
Chapter 15 Midsummer
 "NOW it is all over. I shall never have another chance like that,and must make up my mind to be a lonely and laborious spinster allmy life. Youth is going fast, and I have little in myself to attractor win, though David did call me 'good and lovely.' Ah, well, I'lltry to deserve his praise, and not let disappointment sour or saddenme. Better to hope and wait all my life than marry without love."Christie often said this to herself during the hard days thatfollowed Mr. Fletcher's disappearance; a disappearance, by the way,which caused Mr. Power much satisfaction, though he only betrayed itby added kindness to Christie, and in his manner an increasedrespect very comforting to her.
 
　　But she missed her lover, for nothing now broke up the monotony of auseful life. She had enjoyed that little episode; for it had lentromance to every thing while it lasted, even the charity basket withwhich she went her rounds; for Mr. Fletcher often met her byaccident apparently, and carried it as if to prove the sincerity ofhis devotion. No bouquets came now; no graceful little notes withbooks or invitations to some coveted pleasure; no dangerouslydelightful evenings in the recess, where, for a time, she felt andused the power which to a woman is so full of subtle satisfaction;no bitter-sweet hopes; no exciting dreams of what might be with theutterance of a word; no soft uncertainty to give a charm to everyhour that passed. Nothing but daily duties, a little leisure thathung heavy on her hands with no hope to stimulate, no lover tolighten it, and a sore, sad heart that would clamor for its right;and even when pride silenced it ached on with the dull pain whichonly time and patience have the power to heal.
 
　　But as those weeks went slowly by, she began to discover some of themiracles true love can work. She thought she had laid it in itsgrave; but an angel rolled the stone away, and the lost passion rosestronger, purer, and more beautiful than when she buried it withbitter tears. A spirit now, fed by no hope, warmed by no tenderness,clothed in no fond delusion; the vital soul of love which outlivesthe fairest, noblest form humanity can give it, and sits among theruins singing the immortal hymn of consolation the Great Musiciantaught.
 
　　Christie felt this strange comfort resting like a baby in her lonelybosom, cherished and blessed it; wondering while she rejoiced, andsoon perceiving with the swift instinct of a woman, that this was alesson, hard to learn, but infinitely precious, helpful, andsustaining when once gained. She was not happy, only patient; nothopeful, but trusting; and when life looked dark and barren without,she went away into that inner world of deep feeling, high thought,and earnest aspiration; which is a never-failing refuge to thosewhose experience has built within them"The nunnery of a chaste heart and quiet mind."Some women live fast; and Christie fought her battle, won hervictory, and found peace declared during that winter: for herloyalty to love brought its own reward in time, giving her thetranquil steadfastness which comes to those who submit and asknothing but fortitude.
 
　　She had seen little of David, except at church, and began to regardhim almost as one might a statue on a tomb, the marble effigy of thebeloved dead below; for the sweet old friendship was only a paleshadow now. He always found her out, gave her the posy she bestliked, said cheerfully, "How goes it, Christie?" and she alwaysanswered, "Good-morning, David. I am well and busy, thank you." Thenthey sat together listening to Mr. Power, sung from the same book,walked a little way together, and parted for another week with ahand-shake for good-by.
 
　　Christie often wondered what prayers David prayed when he sat sostill with his face hidden by his hand, and looked up with such aclear and steady look when he had done. She tried to do the same;but her thoughts would wander to the motionless gray figure besideher, and she felt as if peace and strength unconsciously flowed fromit to sustain and comfort her. Some of her happiest moments werethose she spent sitting there, pale and silent, with absent eyes,and lips that trembled now and then, hidden by the flowers heldbefore them, kissed covertly, and kept like relics long after theywere dead.
 
　　One bitter drop always marred the pleasure of that hour; for whenshe had asked for Mrs. Sterling, and sent her love, she forcedherself to say kindly:
 
　　"And Kitty, is she doing well?""Capitally; come and see how she has improved; we are quite proud ofher.""I will if I can find time. It's a hard winter and we have so muchto do," she would answer smiling, and then go home to struggle backinto the patient mood she tried to make habitual.
 
　　But she seldom made time to go and see Kitty's improvement; and,when she did run out for an hour she failed to discover any thing,except that the girl was prettier and more coquettish than ever, andassumed airs of superiority that tried Christie very much.
 
　　"I am ready for any thing," she always said with a resolute airafter one of these visits; but, when the time seemed to have comeshe was not so ready as she fancied.
 
　　Passing out of a store one day, she saw Kitty all in her best,buying white gloves with a most important air. "That lookssuspicious," she thought, and could not resist speaking.
 
　　"All well at home?" she asked.
 
　　"Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week; David went off onbusiness; but he's back now and--oh, my goodness! I forgot: I'm notto tell a soul yet;" and Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quiteoppressed with some great secret.
 
　　"Bless me, how mysterious! Well, I won't ask any dangerousquestions, only tell me if the dear old lady is well," saidChristie, desperately curious, but too proud to show it.
 
　　"She's well, but dreadfully upset by what's happened; well she maybe." And Kitty shook her head with a look of mingled mystery andmalicious merriment.
 
　　"Mr. Sterling is all right I hope?" Christie never called him Davidto Kitty; so that impertinent little person took especial pains tospeak familiarly, sometimes even fondly of him to Christie.
 
　　"Dear fellow! he's so happy he don't know what to do with himself. Ijust wish you could see him go round smiling, and singing, andlooking as if he'd like to dance.""That looks as if he was going to get a chance to do it," saidChristie, with a glance at the gloves, as Kitty turned from thecounter.
 
　　"So he is!" laughed Kitty, patting the little parcel with a joyfulface.
 
　　"I do believe you are going to be married:" exclaimed Christie, halfdistracted with curiosity.
 
　　"I am, but not to Miles. Now don't you say another word, for I'mdying to tell, and I promised I wouldn't. David wants to do ithimself. By-by." And Kitty hurried away, leaving Christie as pale asif she had seen a ghost at noonday.
 
　　She had; for the thought of David's marrying Kitty had haunted herall those months, and now she was quite sure the blow had come.
 
　　"If she was only a nobler woman I could bear it better; but I amsure he will regret it when the first illusion is past. I fancy shereminds him of his lost Letty, and so he thinks he loves her. I prayhe may be happy, and I hope it will be over soon," thought Christie,with a groan, as she trudged away to carry comfort to those whosewoes could be relieved by tea and sugar, flannel petticoats, andorders for a ton of coal.
 
　　It was over soon, but not as Christie had expected.
 
　　That evening Mr. Power was called away, and she sat alone, bravelytrying to forget suspense and grief in copying the record of herlast month's labor. But she made sad work of it; for her mind wasfull of David and his wife, so happy in the little home which hadgrown doubly dear to her since she left it. No wonder then that sheput down "two dozen children" to Mrs. Flanagan, and "four knithoods" with the measles; or that a great blot fell upon "twentyyards red flannel," as the pen dropped from the hands she claspedtogether; saying with all the fervor of true self-abnegation: "Ihope he will be happy; oh, I hope he will be happy!"If ever woman deserved reward for patient endeavor, hard-wonsubmission, and unselfish love, Christie did then. And she receivedit in full measure; for the dear Lord requites some faithful hearts,blesses some lives that seem set apart for silent pain and solitarylabor.
 
　　Snow was falling fast, and a bitter wind moaned without; the housewas very still, and nothing stirred in the room but the flamesdancing on the hearth, and the thin hand moving to and fro among therecords of a useful life.
 
　　Suddenly the bell rang loudly and repeatedly, as if the new-comerwas impatient of delay. Christie paused to listen. It was not Mr.
 
　　Power's ring, not his voice in the hall below, not his step thatcame leaping up the stairs, nor his hand that threw wide the door.
 
　　She knew them all, and her heart stood still an instant; then shegathered up her strength, said low to herself, "Now it is coming,"and was ready for the truth, with a colorless face; eyes unnaturallybright and fixed; and one hand on her breast, as if to hold in checkthe rebellious heart that would throb so fast.
 
　　It was David who came in with such impetuosity. Snow-flakes shone inhis hair; the glow of the keen wind was on his cheek, a smile on hislips, and in his eyes an expression she had never seen before.
 
　　Happiness, touched with the shadow of some past pain; doubt anddesire; gratitude and love,--all seemed to meet and mingle in it;while, about the whole man, was the free and ardent air of onerelieved from some heavy burden, released from some long captivity.
 
　　"O David, what is it?" cried Christie, as he stood looking at herwith this strange look.
 
　　"News, Christie! such happy news I can't find words to tell them,"he answered, coming nearer, but too absorbed in his own emotion toheed hers.
 
　　She drew a long breath and pressed her hand a little heavier on herbreast, as she said, with the ghost of a smile, more pathetic thanthe saddest tears:
 
　　"I guess it, David.""How?" he demanded, as if defrauded of a joy he had set his heartupon.
 
　　"I met Kitty,--she told me nothing,--but her face betrayed what Ihave long suspected."David laughed, such a glad yet scornful laugh, and, snatching alittle miniature from his pocket, offered it, saying, with the newimpetuosity that changed him so:
 
　　"That is the daughter I have found for my mother. You know her,--youlove her; and you will not be ashamed to welcome her, I think."Christie took it; saw a faded, time-worn likeness of a young girl'shappy face; a face strangely familiar, yet, for a moment, she gropedto find the name belonging to it. Then memory helped her; and shesaid, half incredulously, half joyfully:
 
　　"Is it my Rachel?""It is my Letty!" cried David, with an accent of such mingled loveand sorrow, remorse and joy, that Christie seemed to hear in it thedeath-knell of her faith in him. The picture fell from the hands sheput up, as if to ward off some heavy blow, and her voice was sharpwith reproachful anguish, as she cried:
 
　　"O David, David, any thing but that!"An instant he seemed bewildered, then the meaning of the grief inher face flashed on him, and his own grew white with indignantrepudiation of the thought that daunted her; but he only said withthe stern brevity of truth:
 
　　"Letty is my sister.""Forgive me,--how could I know? Oh, thank God! thank God!" and,dropping down upon a chair, Christie broke into a passion of thehappiest tears she ever shed.
 
　　David stood beside her silent, till tie first irrepressible paroxysmwas over; then, while she sat weeping softly, quite bowed down byemotion, he said, sadly now, not sternly:
 
　　"You could not know, because we hid the truth so carefully. I haveno right to resent that belief of yours, for I did wrong my poorLetty, almost as much as that lover of hers, who, being dead, I donot curse. Let me tell you every thing, Christie, before I ask yourrespect and confidence again. I never deserved them, but I tried to;for they were very precious to me."He paused a moment, then went on rapidly, as if anxious toaccomplish a hard task; and Christie forgot to weep while listeningbreathlessly.
 
　　"Letty was the pride of my heart; and I loved her very dearly, forshe was all I had. Such a pretty child; such a gay, sweet girl; howcould I help it, when she was so fond of me? We were poorthen,--poorer than now,--and she grew restless; tired of hard work;longed for a little pleasure, and could not bear to waste her youthand beauty in that dull town. I did not blame my little girl; but Icould not help her, for I was tugging away to fill father's place,he being broken down and helpless. She wanted to go away and supportherself. You know the feeling; and I need not tell you how theproud, high-hearted creature hated dependence, even on a brother whowould have worked his soul out for her. She would go, and we hadfaith in her. For a time she did bravely; but life was too hard forher; pleasure too alluring, and, when temptation came in the guiseof love, she could not resist. One dreadful day, news came that shewas gone, never to come back, my innocent little Letty, any more."His voice failed there, and he walked fast through the room, as ifthe memory of that bitter day was still unbearable. Christie couldnot speak for very pity; and he soon continued, pacing restlesslybefore her, as he had often done when she sat by, wondering whatunquiet spirit drove him to and fro:
 
　　"That was the beginning of my trouble; but not the worst of it: Godforgive me, not the worst! Father was very feeble, and the shockkilled him; mother's heart was nearly broken, and all the happinesswas taken out of life for me. But I could bear it, heavy as the blowwas, for I had no part in that sin and sorrow. A year later, therecame a letter from Letty,--a penitent, imploring, little letter,asking to be forgiven and taken home, for her lover was dead, andshe alone in a foreign land. How would you answer such a letter,Christie?""As you did; saying: 'Corne home and let us comfort you.'""I said: 'You have killed your father; broken your mother's heart;ruined your brother's hopes, and disgraced your family. You nolonger have a home with us; and we never want to see your faceagain.'""O David, that was cruel!""I said you did not know me; now you see how deceived you have been.
 
　　A stern, resentful devil possessed me then, and I obeyed it. I wasvery proud; full of ambitious plans and jealous love for the few Itook into my heart. Letty had brought a stain upon our honest namethat time could never wash away; had quenched my hopes in despairand shame; had made home desolate, and destroyed my faith in everything; for whom could I trust, when she, the nearest and dearestcreature in the world, deceived and deserted me. I could notforgive; wrath burned hot within me, and the desire for retributionwould not be appeased till those cruel words were said. Theretribution and remorse came swift and sure; but they came mostheavily to me."Still standing where he had paused abruptly as he asked hisquestion, David wrung his strong hands together with a gesture ofpassionate regret, while his face grew sharp with the rememberedsuffering of the years he had given to the atonement of that wrong.
 
　　Christie put her own hand on those clenched ones, and whisperedsoftly:
 
　　"Don't tell me any more now: I can wait.""I must, and you must listen! I've longed to tell you, but I wasafraid; now, you shall know every thing, and then decide if you canforgive me for Letty's sake," he said, so resolutely that shelistened with a face full of mute compassion.
 
　　"That little letter came to me; I never told my mother, but answeredit, and kept silent till news arrived that the ship in which Lettyhad taken passage was lost. Remorse had been tugging at my heart;and, when I knew that she was dead, I forgave her with a vainforgiveness, and mourned for my darling, as if she had never leftme. I told my mother then, and she did not utter one reproach; butage seemed to fall upon her all at once, and the pathetic quietudeyou see.
 
　　"Then, but for her, I should have been desperate; for day and nightLetty's face haunted me; Letty's voice cried: 'Take me home!' andevery word of that imploring letter burned before my eyes as ifwritten in fire. Do you wonder now that I hid myself; that I had noheart to try for any honorable place in the world, and onlystruggled to forget, only hoped to expiate my sin?"With his head bowed down upon his breast, David stood silent, askinghimself if he had even now done enough to win the reward he coveted.
 
　　Christie's voice seemed to answer him; for she said, with heartfeltgratitude and respect:
 
　　"Surely you have atoned for that harshness to one woman by years ofdevotion to many. Was it this that made you 'a brother of girls,' asMr. Power once called you? And, when I asked what he meant, he saidthe Arabs call a man that who has 'a clean heart to love all womenas his sisters, and strength and courage to fight for theirprotection!'"She hoped to lighten his trouble a little, and spoke with a smilethat was like cordial to poor David.
 
　　"Yes," he said, lifting his head again. "I tried to be that, and,for Letty's sake, had pity on the most forlorn, patience with themost abandoned; always remembering that she might have been whatthey were, if death had not been more merciful than I.""But she was not dead: she was alive and working as bravely as you.
 
　　Ah, how little I thought, when I loved Rachel, and she loved me,that we should ever meet so happily as we soon shall. Tell me howyou found her? Does she know I am the woman she once saved? Tell meall about her; and tell it fast," prayed Christie, getting excited,as she more fully grasped the happy fact that Rachel and Letty wereone.
 
　　David came nearer, and his face kindled as he spoke. "The shipsailed without her; she came later; and, finding that her name wasamong the lost, she did not deny it, for she was dead to us, anddecided to remain so till she had earned the right to be forgiven.
 
　　You know how she lived and worked, stood firm with no one tobefriend her till you came, and, by years of patient well-doing,washed away her single sin. If any one dares think I am ashamed toown her now, let him know what cause I have to be proud of her; lethim come and see how tenderly I love her; how devoutly I thank Godfor permitting me to find and bring my little Letty home."Only the snow-flakes drifting against the window-pane, and thewailing of the wind, was heard for a moment; then David added, withbrightening eyes and a glad voice:
 
　　"I went into a hospital while away, to look after one of my poorgirls who had been doing well till illness brought her there. As Iwas passing out I saw a sleeping face, and stopped involuntarily: itwas so like Letty's. I never doubted she was dead; the name over thebed was not hers; the face was sadly altered from the happy, rosyone I knew, but it held me fast; and as I paused the eyesopened,--Letty's own soft eyes,--they saw me, and, as if I was thefigure of a dream, she smiled, put up her arms and said, just as sheused to say, a child, when I woke her in her little bed--'Why,Davy!'--I can't tell any more,--only that when I brought her homeand put her in mother's arms, I felt as if I was forgiven at last."He broke down there, and went and stood behind the window curtains,letting no one see the grateful tears that washed away thebitterness of those long years.
 
　　Christie had taken up the miniature and was looking at it, while herheart sang for joy that the lost was found, when David came back toher, wearing the same look she had seen the night she listened amongthe cloaks. Moved and happy, with eager eyes and ardent manner, yetbehind it all a pale expectancy as if some great crisis was at hand:
 
　　"Christie, I never can forget that when all others, even I, castLetty off, you comforted and saved her. What can I do to thank youfor it?""Be my friend, and let me be hers again," she answered, too deeplymoved to think of any private hope or pain.
 
　　"Then the past, now that you know it all, does not change your heartto us?""It only makes you dearer.""And if I asked you to come back to the home that has been desolatesince you went, would you come?""Gladly, David.""And if I dared to say I loved you?"She only looked at him with a quick rising light and warmth over herwhole face; he stretched both arms to her, and, going to him,Christie gave her answer silently.
 
　　Lovers usually ascend straight into the seventh heaven for a time:
 
　　unfortunately they cannot stay long; the air is too rarefied, thelight too brilliant, the fare too ethereal, and they are forced tocome down to mundane things, as larks drop from heaven's gate intotheir grassy nests. David was summoned from that blissful region,after a brief enjoyment of its divine delights, by Christie, wholooked up from her new refuge with the abrupt question:
 
　　"What becomes of Kitty?"He regarded her with a dazed expression for an instant, for she hadbeen speaking the delightful language of lips and eyes that loversuse, and the old tongue sounded harsh to him.
 
　　"She is safe with her father, and is to marry the 'other one' nextweek.""Heaven be praised!" ejaculated Christie, so fervently that Davidlooked suddenly enlightened and much amused, as he said quickly:
 
　　"What becomes of Fletcher?" "He's safely out of the way, and Isincerely hope he will marry some 'other one' as soon as possible.""Christie, you were jealous of that girl." "David, you were jealousof that man." Then they both burst out laughing like two children,for heavy burdens had been lifted off their hearts and they werebubbling over with happiness.
 
　　"But truly, David, weren't you a little jealous of P. F.?" persistedChristie, feeling an intense desire to ask all manner of harassingquestions, with the agreeable certainty that they would be fullyanswered.
 
　　"Desperately jealous. You were so kind, so gay, so altogethercharming when with him, that I could not stand by and see it, so Ikept away. Why were you never so to me?""Because you never showed that you cared for me, and he did. But itwas wrong in me to do it, and I repent of it heartily; for it hurthim more than I thought it would when the experiment failed. I trulytried to love him, but I couldn't.""Yet he had so much to offer, and could give you all you most enjoy.
 
　　It is very singular that you failed to care for him, and preferred apoor old fellow like me," said David, beaming at her like abeatified man.
 
　　"I do love luxury and pleasure, but I love independence more. I'mhappier poking in the dirt with you than I should be driving in afine carriage with 'that piece of elegance' as Mr. Power called him;prouder of being your wife than his; and none of the costly thingshe offered me were half so precious in my sight as your littlenosegays, now mouldering away in my treasure-box upstairs. Why,Davy, I've longed more intensely for the right to push up the curlylock that is always tumbling into your eyes, than for Philip's wholefortune. May I do it now?""You may," and Christie did it with a tender satisfaction that madeDavid love her the more, though he laughed like a boy at the womanlywhim.
 
　　"And so you thought I cared for Kitty?" he said presently, takinghis turn at the new game.
 
　　"How could I help it when she was so young and pretty and fond ofyou?""Was she?" innocently.
 
　　"Didn't you see it? How blind men are!""Not always.""David, did you see that I cared for you?" asked Christie, turningcrimson under the significant glance he gave her.
 
　　"I wish I had; I confess I once or twice fancied that I caughtglimpses of bliss round the corner, as it were; but, before I coulddecide, the glimpses vanished, and I was very sure I was a conceitedcoxcomb to think it for a moment. It was very hard, and yet I wasglad.""Glad!""Yes, because I had made a sort of vow that I'd never love or marryas a punishment for my cruelty to Letty.""That was wrong, David.""I see it now; but it was not hard to keep that foolish vow till youcame; and you see I've broken it without a shadow of regretto-night.""You might have done it months ago and saved me so much woe if youhad not been a dear, modest, morbidly conscientious bat," sighedChristie, pleased and proud to learn her power, yet sorry for thelong delay.
 
　　"Thank you, love. You see I didn't find out why I liked my friend sowell till I lost her. I had just begun to feel that you were verydear,--for after the birthday you were like an angel in the house,Christie,--when you changed all at once, and I thought you suspectedme, and didn't like it. Your running away when Kitty came confirmedmy fear; then in came that--would you mind if I said--confoundedFletcher?""Not in the least.""Well, as he didn't win, I won't be hard on him; but I gave up thenand had a tough time of it; especially that first night when thissplendid lover appeared and received such a kind welcome."Christie saw the strong hand that lay on David's knee clenchedslowly, as he knit his brows with a grim look, plainly showing thathe was not what she was inclined to think him, a perfect saint.
 
　　"Oh, my heart! and there I was loving you so dearly all the time,and you wouldn't see or speak or understand, but went away, left meto torment all three of us," cried Christie with a tragic gesture.
 
　　"My dearest girl, did you ever know a man in love do, say, or thinkthe right thing at the right time? I never did," said David, sopenitently that she forgave him on the spot.
 
　　"Never mind, dear. It has taught us the worth of love, and perhapswe are the better for the seeming waste of precious time. Now I'venot only got you but Letty also, and your mother is mine in verytruth. Ah, how rich I am!""But I thought it was all over with me when I found Letty, because,seeing no more of Fletcher, I had begun to hope again, and when shecame back to me I knew my home must be hers, yet feared you wouldrefuse to share it if you knew all. You are very proud, and thepurest-hearted woman I ever knew.""And if I had refused, you would have let me go and held fast toLetty?""Yes, for I owe her every thing.""You should have known me better, David. But I don't refuse, andthere is no need to choose between us.""No, thank heaven, and you, my Christie! Imagine what I felt whenLetty told me all you had been to her. If any thing could make melove you more than I now do, it would be that! No, don't hide yourface; I like to see it blush and smile and turn to me confidingly,as it has not done all these long months.""Did Letty tell you what she had done for me?" asked Christie,looking more like a rose than ever Kitty did.
 
　　"She told me every thing, and wished me to tell you all her story,even the saddest part of it. I'd better do it now before you meetagain."He paused as if the tale was hard to tell; but Christie put her handon his lips saying softly:
 
　　"Never tell it; let her past be as sacred as if she were dead. Shewas my friend when I had no other: she is my dear sister now, andnothing can ever change the love between us."If she had thought David's face beautiful with gratitude when hetold the happier portions of that history, she found it doubly sowhen she spared him the recital of its darkest chapter, and bade him"leave the rest to silence.""Now you will come home? Mother wants you, Letty longs for you, andI have got and mean to keep you all my life, God willing!""I'd better die to-night and make a blessed end, for so muchhappiness is hardly possible in a world of woe," answered Christieto that fervent invitation.
 
　　"We shall be married very soon, take a wedding trip to any part ofthe world you like, and our honeymoon will last for ever, Mrs.
 
　　Sterling, Jr.," said David, soaring away into the future withsublime disregard of obstacles.
 
　　Before Christie could get her breath after that somewhat startlingannouncement, Mr. Power appeared, took in the situation at a glance,gave them a smile that was a benediction, and said heartily as heoffered a hand to each:
 
　　"Now I'm satisfied; I've watched and waited patiently, and aftermany tribulations you have found each other in good time;" then witha meaning look at Christie he added slyly: "But David is 'no hero'
 
　　you know."She remembered the chat in the strawberry bed, laughed, and coloredbrightly, as she answered with her hand trustfully in David's, hereyes full of loving pride and reverence lifted to his face:
 
　　"I've seen both sides of the medal now, and found it 'sterlinggold.' Hero or not I'm content; for, though he 'loves his mothermuch,' there is room in his heart for me too; his 'old books' havegiven him something better than learning, and he has convinced methat 'double flowers' are loveliest and best."
Chapter 16 Mustered In
 CHRISTIE'S return was a very happy one, and could not well beotherwise with a mother, sister, and lover to welcome her back. Hermeeting with Letty was indescribably tender, and the days thatfollowed were pretty equally divided between her and her brother, innursing the one and loving the other. There was no cloud now inChristie's sky, and all the world seemed in bloom. But even whileshe enjoyed every hour of life, and begrudged the time given tosleep, she felt as if the dream was too beautiful to last, and oftensaid:
 
　　"Something will happen: such perfect happiness is not possible inthis world.""Then let us make the most of it," David would reply, wisely bent ongetting his honey while he could, and not borrowing trouble for themorrow.
 
　　So Christie turned a deaf ear to her "prophetic soul," and gaveherself up to the blissful holiday that had come at last. Even whileMarch winds were howling outside, she blissfully "poked in the dirt"with David in the green-house, put up the curly lock as often as sheliked, and told him she loved him a dozen times a day, not in words,but in silent ways, that touched him to the heart, and made hisfuture look so bright he hardly dared believe in it.
 
　　A happier man it would have been difficult to find just then; allhis burdens seemed to have fallen off, and his spirits rose againwith an elasticity which surprised even those who knew him best.
 
　　Christie often stopped to watch and wonder if the blithe young manwho went whistling and singing about the house, often stopping tokiss somebody, to joke, or to exclaim with a beaming face like achild at a party: "Isn't every thing beautiful?" could be the sober,steady David, who used to plod to and fro with his shoulders alittle bent, and the absent look in his eyes that told of thoughtsabove or beyond the daily task.
 
　　It was good to see his mother rejoice over him with an exceedinggreat joy; it was better still to see Letty's eyes follow him withunspeakable love and gratitude in their soft depths; but it was bestof all to see Christie marvel and exult over the discoveries shemade: for, though she had known David for a year, she had never seenthe real man till now.
 
　　"Davy, you are a humbug," she said one day when they were making upa bridal order in the greenhouse.
 
　　"I told you so, but you wouldn't believe it," he answered, usinglong stemmed rose-buds with as prodigal a hand as if the wedding wasto be his own.
 
　　"I thought I was going to marry a quiet, studious, steady-going man;and here I find myself engaged to a romantic youth who flies aboutin the most undignified manner, embraces people behind doors, singsopera airs,--very much out of tune by the way,--and conducts himselfmore like an infatuated Claude Melnotte, than a respectablegentleman on the awful verge of matrimony. Nothing can surprise menow: I'm prepared for any thing, even the sight of my Quakerishlover dancing a jig.""Just what I've been longing to do! Come and take a turn: it will doyou good;" and, to Christie's utter amazement, David caught herround the waist and waltzed her down the boarded walk with a speedand skill that caused less havoc among the flower-pots than onewould imagine, and seemed to delight the plants, who rustled andnodded as if applauding the dance of the finest double flower thathad ever blossomed in their midst.
 
　　"I can't help it, Christie," he said, when he had landed herbreathless and laughing at the other end. "I feel like a boy out ofschool, or rather a man out of prison, and must enjoy my liberty insome way. I'm not a talker, you know; and, as the laws ofgravitation forbid my soaring aloft anywhere, I can only express myjoyfully uplifted state of mind by 'prancing,' as you call it. Nevermind dignity: let's be happy, and by and by I'll sober down.""I don't want you to; I love to see you so young and happy, only youare not the old David, and I've got to get acquainted with the newone.""I hope you'll like him better than the frost-bitten 'old David' youfirst knew and were kind enough to love. Mother says I've gone backto the time before we lost Letty, and I sometimes feel as if I had.
 
　　In that case you will find me a proud, impetuous, ambitious fellow,Christie, and how will that suit?""Excellently; I like pride of your sort; impetuosity becomes you,for you have learned to control it if need be; and the ambition isbest of all. I always wondered at your want of it, and longed tostir you up; for you did not seem the sort of man to be contentedwith mere creature comforts when there are so many fine things menmay do. What shall you choose, Davy?""I shall wait for time to show. The sap is all astir in me, and I'mready for my chance. I don't know what it is, but I feel very surethat some work will be given me into which I can put my whole heartand soul and strength. I spoilt my first chance; but I know I shallhave another, and, whatever it is, I am ready to do my best, andlive or die for it as God wills.""So am I," answered Christie, with a voice as earnest and a face asfull of hopeful resolution as his own.
 
　　Then they went back to their work, little dreaming as they tiedroses and twined smilax wreaths, how near that other chance was; howsoon they were to be called upon to keep their promise, and how welleach was to perform the part given them in life and death.
 
　　The gun fired one April morning at Fort Sumter told many men likeDavid what their work was to be, and showed many women like Christiea new right to claim and bravely prove their fitness to possess.
 
　　No need to repeat the story of the war begun that day; it has beenso often told that it will only be touched upon here as one of theexperiences of Christie's life, an experience which did for her whatit did for all who took a share in it, and loyally acted their part.
 
　　The North woke up from its prosperous lethargy, and began to stirwith the ominous hum of bees when rude hands shake the hive. Richand poor were proud to prove that they loved their liberty betterthan their money or their lives, and the descendants of the braveold Puritans were worthy of their race. Many said: "It will soon beover;" but the wise men, who had warned in vain, shook their heads,as that first disastrous summer showed that the time for compromisewas past, and the stern reckoning day of eternal justice was athand.
 
　　To no home in the land did the great trouble bring a more suddenchange than the little cottage in the lane. All its happy peace wasbroken; excitement and anxiety, grief and indignation, banished thesweet home joys and darkened the future that had seemed so clear.
 
　　David was sober enough now, and went about his work with a grim setto his lips, and a spark in his eyes that made the three women lookat one another pale with unspoken apprehension. As they sattogether, picking lint or rolling bandages while David read aloudsome dismal tale of a lost battle that chilled their blood and madetheir hearts ache with pity, each woman, listening to the voice thatstirred her like martial music, said within herself: "Sooner orlater he will go, and I have no right to keep him." Each tried to beready to make her sacrifice bravely when the time came, and eachprayed that it might not be required of her.
 
　　David said little, but they knew by the way he neglected his gardenand worked for the soldiers, that his heart was in the war. Dayafter day he left Christie and his sister to fill the orders thatcame so often now for flowers to lay on the grave of some dear, deadboy brought home to his mother in a shroud. Day after day he hurriedaway to help Mr. Power in the sanitary work that soon claimed allhearts and hands; and, day after day, he came home with whatChristie called the "heroic look" more plainly written on his face.
 
　　All that first summer, so short and strange; all that first winter,so long and hard to those who went and those who stayed, Davidworked and waited, and the women waxed strong in the new atmosphereof self-sacrifice which pervaded the air, bringing out the sturdyvirtues of the North.
 
　　"How terrible! Oh, when will it be over!" sighed Letty one day,after hearing a long list of the dead and wounded in one of thegreat battles of that second summer.
 
　　"Never till we have beaten!" cried David, throwing down the paperand walking about the room with his head up like a war-horse whosmells powder. "It is terrible and yet glorious. I thank heaven Ilive to see this great wrong righted, and only wish I could do myshare like a man.""That is natural; but there are plenty of men who have fewer tiesthan you, who can fight better, and whose places are easier to fillthan yours if they die," said Christie, hastily.
 
　　"But the men who have most to lose fight best they say; and to mythinking a soldier needs a principle as well as a weapon, if he isto do real service.""As the only son of a widow, you can't be drafted: that's onecomfort," said Letty, who could not bear to give up the brother lostto her for so many years.
 
　　"I should not wait for that, and I know mother would give herwidow's mite if she saw that it was needed.""Yes, Davy." The soft, old voice answered steadily; but the feeblehand closed instinctively on the arm of this only son, who was sodear to her. David held it close in both of his, saying gratefully:
 
　　"Thank you, mother;" then, fixing his eyes on the younger yet notdearer women, he added with a ring in his voice that made theirhearts answer with a prompt "Ay, ay!" in spite of love or fear:
 
　　"Now listen, you dear souls, and understand that, if I do thisthing, I shall not do it hastily, nor without counting well thecost. My first and most natural impulse was to go in the beginning;but I stayed for your sakes. I saw I was not really needed: Ithought the war would soon be over, and those who went then could dothe work. You see how mistaken we were, and God only knows when theend will come. The boys--bless their brave hearts!--have done nobly,but older men are needed now. We cannot sacrifice all the gallantlads; and we who have more to lose than they must take our turn andtry to do as well. You own this; I see it in your faces: then don'thold me back when the time comes for me to go. I must do my part,however small it is, or I shall never feel as if I deserved the loveyou give me. You will let me go, I am sure, and not regret that Idid what seemed to me a solemn duty, leaving the consequences to theLord!""Yes, David," sister and sweetheart answered, bravely forgetting inthe fervor of the moment what heavy consequences God might see fitto send.
 
　　"Good! I knew my Spartans would be ready, and I won't disgrace them.
 
　　I've waited more than a year, and done what I could. But all thewhile I felt that I was going to get a chance at the hard work, andI've been preparing for it. Bennet will take the garden andgreen-house off my hands this autumn for a year or longer, if Ilike. He's a kind, neighborly man, and his boy will take my placeabout the house and protect you faithfully. Mr. Power cannot bespared to go as chaplain, though he longs to desperately; so he isnear in case of need, and with your two devoted daughters by you,mother, I surely can be spared for a little while.""Only one daughter near her, David: I shall enlist when you do,"said Christie, resolutely.
 
　　"You mean it?""I mean it as honestly as you do. I knew you would go: I saw yougetting ready, and I made up my mind to follow. I, too, haveprepared for it, and even spoken to Mrs. Amory. She has gone asmatron of a hospital, and promised to find a place for me when I wasready. The day you enlist I shall write and tell her I am ready."There was fire in Christie's eyes and a flush on her cheek now, asshe stood up with the look of a woman bent on doing well her part.
 
　　David caught her hands in his, regardless of the ominous bandagesthey held, and said, with tender admiration and reproach in hisvoice:
 
　　"You wouldn't marry me when I asked you this summer, fearing youwould be a burden to me; but now you want to share hardship anddanger with me, and support me by the knowledge of your nearness.
 
　　Dear, ought I to let you do it?""You will let me do it, and in return I will marry you whenever youask me," answered Christie, sealing the promise with a kiss thatsilenced him.
 
　　He had been anxious to be married long ago, but when he asked Mr.
 
　　Power to make him happy, a month after his engagement, that wisefriend said to them:
 
　　"I don't advise it yet. You have tried and proved one another asfriends, now try and prove one another as lovers; then, if you feelthat all is safe and happy, you will be ready for the greatest ofthe three experiments, and then in God's name marry.""We will," they said, and for a year had been content, studying oneanother, finding much to love, and something to learn in the art ofbearing and forbearing.
 
　　David had begun to think they had waited long enough, but Christiestill delayed, fearing she was not worthy, and secretly afflicted bythe thought of her poverty. She had so little to give in return forall she received that it troubled her, and she was sometimes temptedto ask Uncle Enos for a modest marriage portion. She never had yet,and now resolved to ask nothing, but to earn her blessing by doingher share in the great work.
 
　　"I shall remember that," was all David answered to that last promiseof hers, and three months later he took her at her word.
 
　　For a week or two they went on in the old way; Christie did herhousework with her head full of new plans, read books on nursing,made gruel, plasters, and poultices, till Mrs. Sterling pronouncedher perfect; and dreamed dreams of a happy time to come when peacehad returned, and David was safe at home with all the stars and barsa man could win without dying for them.
 
　　David set things in order, conferred with Bennet, petted hiswomankind, and then hurried away to pack boxes of stores, visitcamps, and watch departing regiments with a daily increasingcertainty that his time had come.
 
　　One September day he went slowly home, and, seeing Christie in thegarden, joined her, helped her finish matting up some delicateshrubs, put by the tools, and when all was done said with unusualgentleness:
 
　　"Come and walk a little in the lane."She put her arm in his, and answered quickly:
 
　　"You've something to tell me: I see it in your face.""Dear, I must go.""Yes, David.""And you?""I go too.""Yes, Christie."That was all: she did not offer to detain him now; he did not denyher right to follow. They looked each other bravely in the face amoment, seeing, acknowledging the duty and the danger, yet ready todo the one and dare the other, since they went together. Thenshoulder to shoulder, as if already mustered in, these faithfulcomrades marched to and fro, planning their campaign.
 
　　Next evening, as Mrs. Sterling sat alone in the twilight, a tall manin army blue entered quietly, stood watching the tranquil figure fora moment, then went and knelt down beside it, saying, with a mostunsoldierly choke in the voice:
 
　　"I've done it, mother: tell me you're not sorry."But the little Quaker cap went down on the broad shoulder, and theonly answer he heard was a sob that stirred the soft folds over thetender old heart that clung so closely to the son who had lived forher so long. What happened in the twilight no one ever knew; butDavid received promotion for bravery in a harder battle than any hewas going to, and from his mother's breast a decoration moreprecious to him than the cross of the Legion of Honor from a royalhand.
 
　　When Mr. Power presently came in, followed by the others, they foundtheir soldier standing very erect in his old place on the rug, withthe firelight gleaming on his bright buttons, and Bran staring athim with a perplexed aspect; for the uniform, shorn hair, trimmedbeard, and a certain lofty carriage of the head so changed hismaster that the sagacious beast was disturbed.
 
　　Letty smiled at him approvingly, then went to comfort her mother whocould not recover her tranquillity so soon. But Christie stoodaloof, looking at her lover with something more than admiration inthe face that kindled beautifully as she exclaimed:
 
　　"O David, you are splendid! Once I was so blind I thought you plain;but now my 'boy in blue' is the noblest looking man I ever saw. Yes,Mr. Power, I've found my hero at last! Here he is, my knight withoutreproach or fear, going out to take his part in the grandest battleever fought. I wouldn't keep him if I could; I'm glad and proud tohave him go; and if he never should come back to me I can bear itbetter for knowing that he dutifully did his best, and left theconsequences to the Lord."Then, having poured out the love and pride and confidence thatenriched her sacrifice, she broke down and clung to him, weeping asso many clung and wept in those hard days when men and women gavetheir dearest, and those who prayed and waited suffered almost asmuch as those who fought and died.
 
　　When the deed was once done, it was astonishing what satisfactionthey all took in it, how soon they got accustomed to the change, andwhat pride they felt in "our soldier." The loyal frenzy fell uponthe three quiet women, and they could not do too much for theircountry. Mrs. Sterling cut up her treasured old linen without amurmur; Letty made "comfort bags" by the dozen, put up jelly, andsewed on blue jackets with tireless industry; while Christieproclaimed that if she had twenty lovers she would send them all;and then made preparations enough to nurse the entire party.
 
　　David meantime was in camp, getting his first taste of martial life,and not liking it any better than he thought he should; but no oneheard a complaint, and he never regretted his "love among theroses," for he was one of the men who had a "principle as well as aweapon," and meant to do good service with both.
 
　　It would have taken many knapsacks to hold all the gifts showeredupon him by his friends and neighbors. He accepted all that came,and furnished forth those of his company who were less favored.
 
　　Among these was Elisha Wilkins, and how he got there should be told.
 
　　Elisha had not the slightest intention of enlisting, but Mrs.
 
　　Wilkins was a loyal soul, and could not rest till she had sent asubstitute, since she could not go herself. Finding that Lishashowed little enthusiasm on the subject, she tried to rouse him bypatriotic appeals of various sorts. She read stirring accounts ofbattles, carefully omitting the dead and wounded; she turned out,baby and all if possible, to cheer every regiment that left; and wasnever tired of telling Wash how she wished she could add ten yearsto his age and send him off to fight for his country like a man.
 
　　But nothing seemed to rouse the supine Elisha, who chewed his quidlike a placid beast of the field, and showed no sign of a properspirit.
 
　　"Very well," said Mrs. Wilkins resolutely to herself, "ef I can'tmake no impression on his soul I will on his stommick, and see howthat'll work."Which threat she carried out with such skill and force that Lishawas effectually waked up, for he was "partial to good vittles," andCynthy was a capital cook. Poor rations did not suit him, and hedemanded why his favorite dishes were not forthcoming.
 
　　"We can't afford no nice vittles now when our men are sufferin' so.
 
　　I should be ashamed to cook 'em, and expect to choke tryin' to eat'em. Every one is sacrificin' somethin', and we mustn't be slack indoin' our part,--the Lord knows it's precious little,--and therewon't be no stuffin' in this house for a consid'able spell. Ef Icould save up enough to send a man to do my share of the fightin', Ishould be proud to do it. Anyway I shall stint the family and sendthem dear brave fellers every cent I can git without starvin' thechildren.""Now, Cynthy, don't be ferce. Things will come out all right, and itain't no use upsettin' every thing and bein' so darneduncomfortable," answered Mr. Wilkins with unusual energy.
 
　　"Yes it is, Lisha. No one has a right to be comfortable in suchtimes as these, and this family ain't goin' to be ef I can help it,"and Mrs. Wilkins set down her flat-iron with a slam which plainlytold her Lisha war was declared.
 
　　He said no more but fell a thinking. He was not as unmoved as heseemed by the general excitement, and had felt sundry manly impulsesto "up and at 'em," when his comrades in the shop discussed thecrisis with ireful brandishing of awls, and vengeful pounding ofsole leather, as if the rebels were under the hammer. But theselfish, slothful little man could not make up his mind to bravehardship and danger, and fell back on his duty to his family as areason for keeping safe at home.
 
　　But now that home was no longer comfortable, now that Cynthy hadsharpened her tongue, and turned "ferce," and now--hardest blow ofall--that he was kept on short commons, he began to think he mightas well be on the tented field, and get a little glory along withthe discomfort if that was inevitable. Nature abhors a vacuum, andwhen food fell short patriotism had a chance to fill the achingvoid. Lisha had about made up his mind, for he knew the value ofpeace and quietness; and, though his wife was no scold, she was theruling power, and in his secret soul he considered her a veryremarkable woman. He knew what she wanted, but was not going to behurried for anybody; so he still kept silent, and Mrs. Wilkins beganto think she must give it up. An unexpected ally appeared however,and the good woman took advantage of it to strike one last blow.
 
　　Lisha sat eating a late breakfast one morning, with a small son ateither elbow, waiting for stray mouthfuls and committing pettylarcenies right and left, for Pa was in a brown study. Mrs. Wilkinswas frying flap-jacks, and though this is not considered an heroicalemployment she made it so that day. This was a favorite dish ofLisha's, and she had prepared it as a bait for this cautious fish.
 
　　To say that the fish rose at once and swallowed the bait, hook andall, but feebly expresses the justice done to the cakes by thatlong-suffering man. Waiting till he had a tempting pile of thelightest, brownest flapjacks ever seen upon his plate, and waswatching an extra big bit of butter melt luxuriously into the warmbosom of the upper one, with a face as benign as if some of themolasses he was trickling over them had been absorbed into hisnature, Mrs. Wilkins seized the propitious moment to sayimpressively:
 
　　"David Sterlin' has enlisted!""Sho! has he, though?""Of course he has! any man with the spirit of a muskeeter would.""Well, he ain't got a family, you see.""He's got his old mother, that sister home from furrin' partssomewheres, and Christie just going to be married. I should like toknow who's got a harder family to leave than that?""Six young children is harder: ef I went fifin' and drummin' off,who 'd take care of them I'd like to know?""I guess I could support the family ef I give my mind to it;" andMrs. Wilkins turned a flapjack with an emphasis that caused her lordto bolt a hot triangle with dangerous rapidity; for well he knewvery little of his money went into the common purse. She neverreproached him, but the fact nettled him now; and something in thetone of her voice made that sweet morsel hard to swallow.
 
　　"'Pears to me you 're in ruther a hurry to be a widder, Cynthy,shovin' me off to git shot in this kind of a way," growled Lisha,ill at ease.
 
　　"I'd ruther be a brave man's widder than a coward's wife, any day!"cried the rebellious Cynthy: then she relented, and softly slid twohot cakes into his plate; adding, with her hand upon his shoulder,"Lisha, dear, I want to be proud of my husband as other women be oftheirs. Every one gives somethin', I've only got you, and I want todo my share, and do it hearty."She went back to her work, and Mr. Wilkins sat thoughtfully strokingthe curly heads beside him, while the boys ravaged his plate, withno reproof, but a half audible, "My little chaps, my little chaps!"She thought she had got him, and smiled to herself, even while agreat tear sputtered on the griddle at those last words of his.
 
　　Imagine her dismay, when, having consumed the bait, her fish gavesigns of breaking the line, and escaping after all; for Mr. Wilkinspushed back his chair, and said slowly, as he filled his pipe:
 
　　"I'm blest ef I can see the sense of a lot of decent men going offto be froze, and starved, and blowed up jest for them confoundedniggers."He got no further, for his wife's patience gave out; and, leavingher cakes to burn black, she turned to him with a face glowing likeher stove, and cried out:
 
　　"Lisha, ain't you got no heart? can you remember what Hepsey toldus, and call them poor, long-sufferin' creeters names? Can you thinkof them wretched wives sold from their husbands; them children asclear as ourn tore from their mothers; and old folks kep slavineighty long, hard years with no pay, no help, no pity, when they gitpast work? Lisha Wilkins, look at that, and say no ef you darst!"Mrs. Wilkins was a homely woman in an old calico gown, but her face,her voice, her attitude were grand, as she flung wide the door ofthe little back bedroom. and pointed with her tin spatula to thesight beyond.
 
　　Only Hepsey sitting by a bed where lay what looked more like ashrivelled mummy than a woman. Ah! but it was that old mother workedand waited for so long: blind now, and deaf; childish, and half deadwith many hardships, but safe and free at last; and Hepsey's blackface was full of a pride, a peace, and happiness more eloquent andtouching than any speech or sermon ever uttered.
 
　　Mr. Wilkins had heard her story, and been more affected by it thanhe would confess: now it came home to him with sudden force; thethought of his own mother, wife, or babies torn from him stirred himto the heart, and the manliest emotion he had ever known caused himto cast his pipe at his feet, put on his hat with an energetic slap,and walk out of the house, wearing an expression on his usuallywooden face that caused his wife to clap her hands and cryexultingly:
 
　　"I thought that would fetch him!"Then she fell to work like an inspired woman; and at noon asumptuous dinner "smoked upon the board;" the children were scrubbedtill their faces shone; and the room was as fresh and neat as anyapartment could be with the penetrating perfume of burnt flapjacksstill pervading the air, and three dozen ruffled nightcapsdecorating the clothes-lines overhead.
 
　　"Tell me the instant minute you see Pa a comin', and I'll dish upthe gravy," was Mrs. Wilkins's command, as she stepped in with a cupof tea for old "Harm," as she called Hepsey's mother.
 
　　"He's a comin', Ma!" called Gusty, presently.
 
　　"No, he ain't: it's a trainer," added Ann Lizy.
 
　　"Yes, 'tis Pa! oh, my eye! ain't he stunnin'!" cried Wash, strickenfor the first time with admiration of his sire.
 
　　Before Mrs. Wilkins could reply to these conflicting rumors herhusband walked in, looking as martial as his hollow chest and thinlegs permitted, and, turning his cap nervously in his hands, saidhalf-proudly, half-reproachfully:
 
　　"Now, Cynthy, be you satisfied?""Oh, my Lisha! I be, I be!" and the inconsistent woman fell upon hisbuttony breast weeping copiously.
 
　　If ever a man was praised and petted, admired and caressed, it wasElisha Wilkins that day. His wife fed him with the fat of the land,regardless of consequences; his children revolved about him withtireless curiosity and wonder; his neighbors flocked in to applaud,advise, and admire; every one treated him with a respect mostgrateful to his feelings; he was an object of interest, and withevery hour his importance increased, so that by night he felt like aCommander-in-Chief, and bore himself accordingly. He had enlisted inDavid's regiment, which was a great comfort to his wife; for thoughher stout heart never failed her, it grew very heavy at times; andwhen Lisha was gone, she often dropped a private tear over thebroken pipe that always lay in its old place, and vented heremotions by sending baskets of nourishment to Private Wilkins, whichcaused that bandy-legged warrior to be much envied and cherished byhis mates.
 
　　"I'm glad I done it; for it will make a man of Lisha; and, if I'vesent him to his death, God knows he'll be fitter to die than if hestayed here idlin' his life away."Then the good soul openly shouldered the burden she had borne solong in secret, and bravely trudged on alone.
 
　　"Another great battle!" screamed the excited news-boys in thestreets. "Another great battle!" read Letty in the cottage parlor.
 
　　"Another great battle!" cried David, coming in with the war-horseexpression on his face a month or two after he enlisted.
 
　　The women dropped their work to look and listen; for his visits werefew and short, and every instant was precious. When the firstgreetings were over, David stood silent an instant, and a suddenmist came over his eyes as he glanced from one beloved face toanother; then he threw back his head with the old impatient gesture,squared his shoulders, and said in a loud, cheerful voice, with asuspicious undertone of emotion in it, however:
 
　　"My precious people, I've got something to tell you: are you ready?"They knew what it was without a word. Mrs. Sterling clasped herhands and bowed her head. Letty turned pale and dropped her work;but Christie's eyes kindled, as she answered with a salute:
 
　　"Ready, my General.""We are ordered off at once, and go at four this afternoon. I've gota three hours' leave to say good-by in. Now, let's be brave andenjoy every minute of it.""We will: what can I do for you, Davy?" asked Christie, wonderfullysupported by the thought that she was going too.
 
　　"Keep your promise, dear," he answered, while the warlike expressionchanged to one of infinite tenderness.
 
　　"What promise?""This;" and he held out his hand with a little paper in it. She sawit was a marriage license, and on it lay a wedding-ring. She did nothesitate an instant, but laid her own hand in his, and answered withher heart in her face:
 
　　"I'll keep it, David.""I knew you would!" then holding her close he said in a tone thatmade it very hard for her to keep steady, as she had vowed she woulddo to the last: "I know it is much to ask, but I want to feel thatyou are mine before I go. Not only that, but it will be a help andprotection to you, dear, when you follow. As a married woman youwill get on better, as my wife you will be allowed to come to me ifI need you, and as my"--he stopped there, for he could not add--"asmy widow you will have my pension to support you."She understood, put both arms about his neck as if to keep him safe,and whispered fervently:
 
　　"Nothing can part us any more, not even death; for love like ourswill last for ever.""Then you are quite willing to try the third great experiment?""Glad and proud to do it." "With no doubt, no fear, to mar yourconsent." "Not one, David." "That's true love, Christie!"Then they stood quite still for a time, and in the silence the twohearts talked together in the sweet language no tongue can utter.
 
　　Presently David said regretfully:
 
　　"I meant it should be so different. I always planned that we'd bemarried some bright summer day, with many friends about us; thentake a happy little journey somewhere together, and come back tosettle down at home in the dear old way. Now it's all so hurried,sorrowful, and strange. A dull November day; no friends but Mr.
 
　　Power, who will be here soon; no journey but my march to Washingtonalone; and no happy coming home together in this world perhaps. Canyou bear it, love?""Have no fear for me: I feel as if I could bear any thing just now;for I've got into a heroic mood and I mean to keep so as long as Ican. I've always wanted to live in stirring times, to have a part ingreat deeds, to sacrifice and suffer something for a principle or aperson; and now I have my wish. I like it, David: it's a grand timeto live, a splendid chance to do and suffer; and I want to be in itheart and soul, and earn a little of the glory or the martyrdom thatwill come in the end. Surely I shall if I give you and myself to thecause; and I do it gladly, though I know that my heart has got toache as it never has ached yet, when my courage fails, as it will byand by, and my selfish soul counts the cost of my offering after theexcitement is over. Help me to be brave and strong, David: don't letme complain or regret, but show me what lies beyond, and teach me tobelieve that simply doing the right is reward and happiness enough."Christie was lifted out of herself for the moment, and lookedinspired by the high mood which was but the beginning of a noblerlife for her. David caught the exaltation, and gave no furtherthought to any thing but the duty of the hour, finding himselfstronger and braver for that long look into the illuminated face ofthe woman he loved.
 
　　"I'll try," was all his answer to her appeal; then proved that hemeant it by adding, with his lips against her cheek: "I must go tomother and Letty. We leave them behind, and they must be comforted."He went, and Christie vanished to make ready for her wedding,conscious, in spite of her exalted state of mind, that every thingwas very hurried, sad, and strange, and very different from thehappy day she had so often planned.
 
　　"No matter, we are 'well on't for love,' and that is all we reallyneed," she thought, recalling with a smile Mrs. Wilkins's advice.
 
　　"David sends you these, dear. Can I help in any way?" asked Letty,coming with a cluster of lovely white roses in her hand, and a worldof affection in her eyes.
 
　　"I thought he'd give me violets," and a shadow came over Christie'sface.
 
　　"But they are mourning flowers, you know.""Not to me. The roses are, for they remind me of poor Helen, and thefirst work I did with David was arranging flowers like these for adead baby's little coffin.""My dearest Christie, don't be superstitious: all brides wear roses,and Davy thought you'd like them," said Letty, troubled at herwords.
 
　　"Then I'll wear them, and I won't have fancies if I can help it. ButI think few brides dress with a braver, happier heart than mine,though I do choose a sober wedding-gown," answered Christie, smilingagain, as she took from a half-packed trunk her new hospital suit ofsoft, gray, woollen stuff.
 
　　"Won't you wear the pretty silvery silk we like so well?" askedLetty timidly, for something in Christie's face and manner impressedher very much.
 
　　"No, I will be married in my uniform as David is," she answered witha look Letty long remembered.
 
　　"Mr. Power has come," she said softly a few minutes later, with ananxious glance at the clock.
 
　　"Go dear, I'll come directly. But first"--and Christie held herfriend close a moment, kissed her tenderly, and whispered in abroken voice: "Remember, I don't take his heart from you, I onlyshare it with my sister and my mother.""I'm glad to give him to you, Christie; for now I feel as if I hadpartly paid the great debt I've owed so long," answered Lettythrough her tears.
 
　　Then she went away, and Christie soon followed, looking very like aQuaker bride in her gray gown with no ornament but delicate frillsat neck and wrist, and the roses in her bosom.
 
　　"No bridal white, dear?" said David, going to her.
 
　　"Only this," and she touched the flowers, adding with her hand onthe blue coat sleeve that embraced her: "I want to consecrate myuniform as you do yours by being married in it. Isn't it fitter fora soldier's wife than lace and silk at such a time as this?""Much fitter: I like it; and I find you beautiful, my Christie,"whispered David, as she put one of her roses in his button-hole.
 
　　"Then I'm satisfied.""Mr. Power is waiting: are you ready, love?""Quite ready."Then they were married, with Letty and her mother standing besidethem, Bennet and his wife dimly visible in the door-way, and poorBran at his master's feet, looking up with wistful eyes, half humanin the anxious affection they expressed.
 
　　Christie never forgot that service, so simple, sweet, and solemn;nor the look her husband gave her at the end, when he kissed her onlips and forehead, saying fervently, "God bless my wife!"A tender little scene followed that can better be imagined thandescribed; then Mr. Power said cheerily:
 
　　"One hour more is all you have, so make the most of it, dearlybeloved. You young folks take a wedding-trip to the green-house,while we see how well we can get on without you.""THEN THEY WERE MARRIED."David and Christie went smiling away together, and if they shed anytears over the brief happiness no one saw them but the flowers, andthey loyally kept the secret folded up in their tender hearts.
 
　　Mr. Power cheered the old lady, while Letty, always glad to serve,made ready the last meal David might ever take at home.
 
　　A very simple little marriage feast, but more love, good-will, andtender wishes adorned the plain table than is often found at weddingbreakfasts; and better than any speech or song was Letty's brokenwhisper, as she folded her arms round David's empty chair when noone saw her, "Heaven bless and keep and bring him back to us."How time went that day! The inexorable clock would strike twelve sosoon, and then the minutes flew till one was at hand, and the lastwords were still half said, the last good-byes still unuttered.
 
　　"I must go!" cried David with a sort of desperation, as Letty clungto one arm, Christie to the other.
 
　　"I shall see you soon: good-by, rny husband," whispered Christie,setting him free.
 
　　"Give the last kiss to mother," added Letty, following her example,and in another minute David was gone.
 
　　At the turn of the lane, he looked back and swung his cap; all wavedtheir hands to him; and then he marched away to the great workbefore him, leaving those loving hearts to ask the unanswerablequestion: "How will he come home?"Christie was going to town to see the regiment off, and soonfollowed with Mr. Power. They went early to a certain favorablespot, and there found Mrs. Wilkins, with her entire family perchedupon a fence, on the spikes of which they impaled themselves atintervals, and had to be plucked off by the stout girl engaged toassist in this memorable expedition.
 
　　"Yes, Lisha 's goin', and I was bound he should see every one of hisblessed children the last thing, ef I took 'em all on my back. Heknows where to look, and he's a goin' to see seven cheerful faces ashe goes by. Time enough to cry byme by; so set stiddy, boys, andcheer loud when you see Pa," said Mrs. Wilkins, fanning her hotface, and utterly forgetting her cherished bonnet in the excitementof the moment.
 
　　"I hear drums! They're comin'!" cried Wash, after a long half hour'swaiting had nearly driven him frantic.
 
　　The two younger boys immediately tumbled off the fence, and werewith difficulty restored to their perches. Gusty began to cry, AnnElizy to wave a minute red cotton handkerchief, and Adelaide to kickdelightedly in her mother's arms.
 
　　"Jane Carter, take this child for massy sake: my legs do tremble soI can't h'ist her another minute. Hold on to me behind, somebody,for I must see ef I do pitch into the gutter," cried Mrs. Wilkins,with a gasp, as she wiped her eyes on her shawl, clutched therailing, and stood ready to cheer bravely when her conquering herocame.
 
　　Wash had heard drums every five minutes since he arrived, but thistime he was right, and began to cheer the instant a red cockadeappeared at the other end of the long street.
 
　　It was a different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopefuldays. Young men and ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave byinstinct, burning with loyal zeal, and blissfully ignorant of allthat lay before them.
 
　　Now the blue coats were worn by mature men, some gray, all grave andresolute; husbands and fathers with the memory of wives and childrentugging at their heart-strings; homes left desolate behind them, andbefore them the grim certainty of danger, hardship, and perhaps acaptivity worse than death. Little of the glamour of romance aboutthe war now: they saw what it was, a long, hard task; and here werethe men to do it well.
 
　　Even the lookers-on were different. Once all was wild enthusiasm andglad uproar; now men's lips were set, and women's smileless even asthey cheered; fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyesneeded them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness,followed the acclamations of the crowd. All watched with quickenedbreath and proud souls that living wave, blue below, and bright witha steely glitter above, as it flowed down the street and away tojoin the sea of dauntless hearts that for months had rolled upagainst the South, and ebbed back reddened with the blood of menlike these.
 
　　As the inspiring music, the grand tramp drew near, Christie felt theold thrill and longed to fall in and follow the flag anywhere. Thenshe saw David, and the regiment became one man to her. He was pale,but his eyes shone, and his whole face expressed that two of thebest and bravest emotions of a man, love and loyalty, were at theirheight as he gave his new-made wife a long, lingering look thatseemed to say:
 
　　"I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more."Christie smiled and waved her hand to him, showed him his weddingroses still on her breast, and bore up as gallantly as he, resolvedthat his last impression of her should be a cheerful one. But whenit was all over, and nothing remained but the trampled street, thehurrying crowd, the bleak November sky, when Mrs. Wilkins satsobbing on the steps like Niobe with her children scattered abouther, then Christie's heart gave way, and she hid her face on Mr.
 
　　Power's shoulder for a moment, all her ardor quenched in tears asshe cried within herself:
 
　　"No, I could not bear it if I was not going too!"
Chapter 17 The Colonel
 TEN years earlier Christie made her début as an Amazon, now she hada braver part to play on a larger stage, with a nation for audience,martial music and the boom of cannon for orchestra; the glare ofbattle-fields was the "red light;" danger, disease, and death, thefoes she was to contend against; and the troupe she joined, nottimid girls, but high-hearted women, who fought gallantly till the"demon" lay dead, and sang their song of exultation with bleedinghearts, for this great spectacle was a dire tragedy to them.
 
　　Christie followed David in a week, and soon proved herself socapable that Mrs. Amory rapidly promoted her from one important postto another, and bestowed upon her the only honors left the women,hard work, responsibility, and the gratitude of many men.
 
　　"You are a treasure, my dear, for you can turn your hand to anything and do well whatever you undertake. So many come with plentyof good-will, but not a particle of practical ability, and areoffended because I decline their help. The boys don't want to becried over, or have their brows 'everlastingly swabbed,' as oldWatkins calls it: they want to be well fed and nursed, and cheeredup with creature comforts. Your nice beef-tea and cheery ways areworth oceans of tears and cart-loads of tracts."Mrs. Amory said this, as Christie stood waiting while she wrote anorder for some extra delicacy for a very sick patient. Mrs.
 
　　Sterling, Jr., certainly did look like an efficient nurse, whothought more of "the boys" than of herself; for one hand bore apitcher of gruel, the other a bag of oranges, clean shirts hung overthe right arm, a rubber cushion under the left, and every pocket inthe big apron was full of bottles and bandages, papers and letters.
 
　　"I never discovered what an accomplished woman I was till I camehere," answered Christie, laughing. "I'm getting vain with so muchpraise, but I like it immensely, and never was so pleased in my lifeas I was yesterday when Dr. Harvey came for me to take care of poorDunbar, because no one else could manage him.""It's your firm yet pitiful way the men like so well. I can'tdescribe it better than in big Ben's words: 'Mis Sterlin' is thenuss for me, marm. She takes care of me as ef she was my own mother,and it's a comfort jest to see her round.' It's a gift, my dear, andyou may thank heaven you have got it, for it works wonders in aplace like this.""I only treat the poor fellows as I would have other women treat myDavid if he should be in their care. He may be any hour, you know.""And my boys, God keep them!"The pen lay idle, and the gruel cooled, as young wife andgray-haired mother forgot their duty for a moment in tender thoughtsof the absent. Only a moment, for in came an attendant with atroubled face, and an important young surgeon with the well-wornlittle case under his arm.
 
　　"Bartlett 's dying, marm: could you come and see to him?" says theman to Mrs. Amory.
 
　　"We have got to amputate Porter's arm this morning, and he won'tconsent unless you are with him. You will come, of course?" addedthe surgeon to Christie, having tried and found her a woman with no"confounded nerves" to impair her usefulness.
 
　　So matron and nurse go back to their duty, and dying Bartlett andsuffering Porter are all the more tenderly served for that wastedminute.
 
　　Like David, Christie had enlisted for the war, and in the two yearsthat followed, she saw all sorts of service; for Mrs. Amory hadinfluence, and her right-hand woman, after a few months'
 
　　apprenticeship, was ready for any post. The gray gown and comfortingface were known in many hospitals, seen on crowded transports, amongthe ambulances at the front, invalid cars, relief tents, and fooddepots up and down the land, and many men went out of life liketired children holding the hand that did its work so well.
 
　　David meanwhile was doing his part manfully, not only in some of thegreat battles of those years, but among the hardships, temptations,and sacrifices of a soldiers' life. Spite of his Quaker ancestors,he was a good fighter, and, better still, a magnanimous enemy,hating slavery, but not the slave-holder, and often spared themaster while he saved the chattel. He was soon promoted, and mighthave risen rapidly, but was content to remain as captain of hiscompany; for his men loved him, and he was prouder of his influenceover them than of any decoration he could win.
 
　　His was the sort of courage that keeps a man faithful to death, andthough he made no brilliant charge, uttered few protestations ofloyalty, and was never heard to "damn the rebs," his comrades feltthat his brave example had often kept them steady till a forlornhope turned into a victory, knew that all the wealth of the worldcould not bribe him from his duty, and learned of him to treat withrespect an enemy as brave and less fortunate than themselves. Anoble nature soon takes its proper rank and exerts its purifyinginfluence, and Private Sterling won confidence, affection, andrespect, long before promotion came; for, though he had tended hisflowers like a woman and loved his books like a student, he nowproved that he could also do his duty and keep his honor stainlessas a soldier and a gentleman.
 
　　He and Christie met as often as the one could get a brief furlough,or the other be spared from hospital duty; but when these meetingsdid come, they were wonderfully beautiful and rich, for into themwas distilled a concentration of the love, happiness, and communionwhich many men and women only know through years of wedded life.
 
　　Christie liked romance, and now she had it, with a very sombrereality to give it an added charm. No Juliet ever welcomed her Romeomore joyfully than she welcomed David when he paid her a flyingvisit unexpectedly; no Bayard ever had a more devoted lady in histent than David, when his wife came through every obstacle to bringhim comforts or to nurse the few wounds he received. Love-letters,written beside watch-fires and sick-beds, flew to and fro likecarrier-doves with wondrous speed; and nowhere in all the brave andbusy land was there a fonder pair than this, although theirhoneymoon was spent apart in camp and hospital, and well they knewthat there might never be for them a happy going home together.
 
　　In her wanderings to and fro, Christie not only made many newfriends, but met some old ones; and among these one whose unexpectedappearance much surprised and touched her.
 
　　She was "scrabbling" eggs in a tin basin on board a crowdedtransport, going up the river with the echoes of a battle dying awaybehind her, and before her the prospect of passing the next day on awharf serving out food to the wounded in an easterly storm.
 
　　"O Mrs. Sterling, do go up and see what's to be done! We are allfull below, and more poor fellows are lying about on deck in adreadful state. I'll take your place here, but I can't stand thatany longer," said one of her aids, coming in heart-sick andexhausted by the ghastly sights and terrible confusion of the day.
 
　　"I'll go: keep scrabbling while the eggs last, then knock out thehead of that barrel and make gruel till I pass the word to stop."Forgetting her bonnet, and tying the ends of her shawl behind her,Christie caught up a bottle of brandy and a canteen of water, andran on deck. There a sight to daunt most any woman, met her eyes;for all about her, so thick that she could hardly step withouttreading on them, lay the sad wrecks of men: some moaning for help;some silent, with set, white faces turned up to the gray sky; allshelterless from the cold wind that blew, and the fog rising fromthe river. Surgeons and nurses were doing their best; but the boatwas loaded, and greater suffering reigned below.
 
　　"Heaven help us all!" sighed Christie, and then she fell to work.
 
　　Bottle and canteen were both nearly empty by the time she came tothe end of the long line, where lay a silent figure with a hiddenface. "Poor fellow, is he dead?" she said, kneeling down to lift acorner of the blanket lent by a neighbor.
 
　　A familiar face looked up at her, and a well remembered voice saidcourteously, but feebly:
 
　　"Thanks, not yet. Excuse my left hand. I'm very glad to see you.""Mr. Fletcher, can it be you!" she cried, looking at him withpitiful amazement. Well she might ask, for any thing more unlike hisformer self can hardly be imagined. Unshaven, haggard, and begrimedwith powder, mud to the knees, coat half on, and, worst of all, theright arm gone, there lay the "piece of elegance" she had known, andanswered with a smile she never saw before:
 
　　"All that's left of me, and very much at your service. I mustapologize for the dirt, but I've laid in a mud-puddle for two days;and, though it was much easier than a board, it doesn't improveone's appearance.""What can I do for you? Where can I put you? I can't bear to see youhere!" said Christie, much afflicted by the spectacle before her.
 
　　"Why not? we are all alike when it comes to this pass. I shall dovery well if I might trouble you for a draught of water."She poured her last drop into his parched mouth and hurried off formore. She was detained by the way, and, when she returned, fanciedhe was asleep, but soon discovered that he had fainted quietly away,utterly spent with two days of hunger, suffering, and exposure. Hewas himself again directly, and lay contentedly looking up at her asshe fed him with hot soup, longing to talk, but refusing to listento a word till he was refreshed.
 
　　"That's very nice," he said gratefully, as he finished, adding witha pathetic sort of gayety, as he groped about with his one hand: "Idon't expect napkins, but I should like a handkerchief. They took mycoat off when they did my arm, and the gentleman who kindly lent methis doesn't seem to have possessed such an article."Christie wiped his lips with the clean towel at her side, and smiledas she did it, at the idea of Mr. Fletcher's praising burnt soup,and her feeding him like a baby out of a tin cup.
 
　　"I think it would comfort you if I washed your face: can you bear tohave it done?" she asked.
 
　　"If you can bear to do it," he answered, with an apologetic look,evidently troubled at receiving such services from her.
 
　　Yet as her hands moved gently about his face, he shut his eyes, andthere was a little quiver of the lips now and then, as if he wasremembering a time when he had hoped to have her near him in atenderer capacity than that of nurse. She guessed the thought, andtried to banish it by saying cheerfully as she finished:
 
　　"There, you look more like yourself after that. Now the hands.""Fortunately for you, there is but one," and he rather reluctantlysurrendered a very dirty member.
 
　　"Forgive me, I forgot. It is a brave hand, and I am proud to washit!""How do you know that?" he asked, surprised at her little burst ofenthusiasm, for as she spoke she pressed the grimy hand in both herown.
 
　　"While I was recovering you from your faint, that man over thereinformed me that you were his Colonel; that you 'fit like a tiger,'
 
　　and when your right arm was disabled, you took your sword in theleft and cheered them on as if you 'were bound to beat the wholerebel army.'""That's Drake's story," and Mr. Fletcher tried to give the oldshrug, but gave an irrepressible groan instead, then endeavored tocover it, by saying in a careless tone, "I thought I might get alittle excitement out of it, so I went soldiering like all the restof you. I'm not good for much, but I can lead the way for the bravefellows who do the work. Officers make good targets, and a rebelbullet would cause no sorrow in taking me out of the world.""Don't say that! I should grieve sincerely; and yet I'm very gladyou came, for it will always be a satisfaction to you in spite ofyour great loss.""There are greater losses than right arms," muttered Mr. Fletchergloomily, then checked himself, and added with a pleasant change invoice and face, as he glanced at the wedding-ring she wore:
 
　　"This is not exactly the place for congratulations, but I can't helpoffering mine; for if I'm not mistaken your left hand also has growndoubly precious since we met?"Christie had been wondering if he knew, and was much relieved tofind he took it so well. Her face said more than her words, as sheanswered briefly:
 
　　"Thank you. Yes, we were married the day David left, and have bothbeen in the ranks ever since.""Not wounded yet? your husband, I mean," he said, getting over thehard words bravely.
 
　　"Three times, but not badly. I think a special angel stands beforehim with a shield;" and Christie smiled as she spoke.
 
　　"I think a special angel stands behind him with prayers that availmuch," added Mr. Fletcher, looking up at her with an expression ofreverence that touched her heart.
 
　　"Now I must go to my work, and you to sleep: you need all the restyou can get before you have to knock about in the ambulances again,"she said, marking the feverish color in his face, and knowing wellthat excitement was his only strength.
 
　　"How can I sleep in such an Inferno as this?""Try, you are so weak, you'll soon drop off;" and, laying the cooltips of her fingers on his eyelids, she kept them shut till heyielded with a long sigh of mingled weariness and pleasure, and wasasleep before he knew it.
 
　　When he woke it was late at night; but little of night's blessedrest was known on board that boat laden with a freight of suffering.
 
　　Cries still came up from below, and moans of pain still sounded fromthe deck, where shadowy figures with lanterns went to and fro amongthe beds that in the darkness looked like graves.
 
　　Weak with pain and fever, the poor man gazed about him halfbewildered, and, conscious only of one desire, feebly called"Christie!""Here I am;" and the dull light of a lantern showed him her facevery worn arid tired, but full of friendliest compassion.
 
　　"What can I do for you?" she asked, as he clutched her gown, andpeered up at her with mingled doubt and satisfaction in his haggardeyes.
 
　　"Just speak to me; let me touch you: I thought it was a dream; thankGod it isn't. How much longer will this last?" he added, fallingback on the softest pillows she could find for him.
 
　　"We shall soon land now; I believe there is an officers' hospital inthe town, and you will be quite comfortable there.""I want to go to your hospital: where is it?""I have none; and, unless the old hotel is ready, I shall stay onthe wharf with the boys until it is.""Then I shall stay also. Don't send me away, Christie: I shall notbe a trouble long; surely David will let you help me die?" and poorFletcher stretched his one hand imploringly to her in the firstterror of the delirium that was coming on.
 
　　"I will not leave you: I'll take care of you, and no one can forbidit. Drink this, Philip, and trust to Christie."He obeyed like a child, and soon fell again into a troubled sleepwhile she sat by him thinking about David.
 
　　The old hotel was ready; but by the time he got there Mr. Fletcherwas past caring where he went, and for a week was too ill to knowany thing, except that Christie nursed him. Then he turned thecorner and began to recover. She wanted him to go into morecomfortable quarters; but he would not stir as long as she remained;so she put him in a little room by himself, got a man to wait onhim, and gave him as much of her care and time as she could sparefrom her many duties. He was not an agreeable patient, I regret tosay; he tried to bear his woes heroically, but did not succeed verywell, not being used to any exertion of that sort; and, though inChristie's presence he did his best, his man confided to her thatthe Colonel was "as fractious as a teething baby, and thedomineeringest party he ever nussed."Some of Mr. Fletcher's attempts were comical, and some pathetic, forthough the sacred circle of her wedding-ring was an effectualbarrier against a look or word of love, Christie knew that the oldaffection was not dead, and it showed itself in his desire to winher respect by all sorts of small sacrifices and efforts atself-control. He would not use many of the comforts sent him, butinsisted on wearing an army dressing-gown, and slippers that costhim a secret pang every time his eye was affronted by theirugliness. Always after an angry scene with his servant, he would befound going round among the men bestowing little luxuries and kindwords; not condescendingly, but humbly, as if it was an atonementfor his own shortcomings, and a tribute due to the brave fellows whobore their pains with a fortitude he could not imitate.
 
　　"Poor Philip, he tries so hard I must pity, not despise him; for hewas never taught the manly virtues that make David what he is,"thought Christie, as she went to him one day with an unusually happyheart.
 
　　She found him sitting with a newly opened package before him, and agloomy look upon his face.
 
　　"See what rubbish one of my men has sent me, thinking I might valueit," he said, pointing to a broken sword-hilt and offering her abadly written letter.
 
　　She read it, and was touched by its affectionate respect and manlysympathy; for the good fellow had been one of those who saved theColonel when he fell, and had kept the broken sword as a trophy ofhis bravery, "thinking it might be precious in the eyes of them thatloved him.""Poor Burny might have spared himself the trouble, for I've no oneto give it to, and in my eyes it's nothing but a bit of old metal,"said Pletcher, pushing the parcel away with a half-irritated,half-melancholy look.
 
　　"Give it to me as a parting keepsake. I have a fine collection ofrelics of the brave men I have known; and this shall have a highplace in my museum when I go home," said Christie, taking up the"bit of old metal" with more interest than she had ever felt in thebrightest blade.
 
　　"Parting keepsake! are you going away?" asked Fletcher, catching atthe words in anxious haste, yet looking pleased at her desire tokeep the relic.
 
　　"Yes, I'm ordered to report in Washington, and start to-morrow.""Then I'll go as escort. The doctor has been wanting me to leave fora week, and now I 've no desire to stay," he said eagerly.
 
　　But Christie shook her head, and began to fold up paper and stringwith nervous industry as she answered:
 
　　"I am not going directly to Washington: I have a week's furloughfirst.""And what is to become of me?" asked Mr. Fletcher, as fretfully as asick child; for he knew where her short holiday would be passed, andhis temper got the upper-hand for a minute.
 
　　"You should go home and be comfortably nursed: you'll need care forsome time; and your friends will be glad of a chance to give it I'veno doubt.""I have no home, as you know; and I don't believe I've got a friendin the world who cares whether I live or die.""This looks as if you were mistaken;" and Christie glanced about thelittle room, which was full of comforts and luxuries accumulatedduring his stay.
 
　　His face changed instantly, and he answered with the honest look andtone never given to any one but her.
 
　　"I beg your pardon: I'm an ungrateful brute. But you see I'd justmade up my mind to do something worth the doing, and now it is madeimpossible in a way that renders it hard to bear. You are verypatient with me, and I owe my life to your care: I never can thankyou for it; but I will take myself out of your way as soon as I can,and leave you free to enjoy your happy holiday. Heaven knows youhave earned it!"He said those last words so heartily that all the bitterness wentout of his voice, and Christie found it easy to reply with a cordialsmile:
 
　　"I shall stay and see you comfortably off before I go myself. As forthanks and reward I have had both; for you have done something worththe doing, and you give me this."She took up the broken blade as she spoke, and carried it away,looking proud of her new trophy.
 
　　Fletcher left next day, saying, while he pressed her hand as warmlyas if the vigor of two had gone into his one:
 
　　"You will let me come and see you by and by when you too get yourdischarge: won't you?""So gladly that you shall never again say you have no home. But youmust take care of yourself, or you will get the long discharge, andwe can't spare you yet," she answered warmly.
 
　　"No danger of that: the worthless ones are too often left to cumberthe earth; it is the precious ones who are taken," he said, thinkingof her as he looked into her tired face, and remembered all she haddone for him.
 
　　Christie shivered involuntarily at those ominous words, but onlysaid, "Good-by, Philip," as he went feebly away, leaning on hisservant's arm, while all the men touched their caps and wished theColonel a pleasant journey.
Chapter 18 Sunrise
     THREE months later the war seemed drawing toward an end, andChristie was dreaming happy dreams of home and rest with David,when, as she sat one day writing a letter full of good news to thewife of a patient, a telegram was handed to her, and tearing it openshe read:
 
　　"Captain Sterling dangerously wounded. Tell his wife to come atonce. E. WILKINS.""No bad news I hope, ma'am?" said the young fellow anxiously, as hishalf-written letter fluttered to the ground, and Christie satlooking at that fateful strip of paper with all the strength andcolor stricken out of her face by the fear that fell upon her.
 
　　"It might be worse. They told me he was dying once, and when I gotto him he met me at the door. I'll hope for the best now as I didthen, but I never felt like this before," and she hid her face as ifdaunted by ominous forebodings too strong to be controlled.
 
　　In a moment she was up and doing as calm and steady as if her heartwas not torn by an anxiety too keen for words. By the time the newshad flown through the house, she was ready; and, coming down with noluggage but a basket of comforts on her arm, she found the hall fullof wan and crippled creatures gathered there to see her off, for nonurse in the hospital was more beloved than Mrs. Sterling. Many eyesfollowed her,--many lips blessed her, many hands were outstretchedfor a sympathetic grasp: and, as the ambulance went clattering away,many hearts echoed the words of one grateful ghost of a man, "TheLord go with her and stand by her as she's stood by us."It was not a long journey that lay before her; but to Christie itseemed interminable, for all the way one unanswerable questionhaunted her, "Surely God will not be so cruel as to take David nowwhen he has done his part so well and the reward is so near."It was dark when she arrived at the appointed spot; but ElishaWilkins was there to receive her, and to her first breathlessquestion, "How is David?" answered briskly:
 
　　"Asleep and doin' well, ma'am. At least I should say so, and Ipeeked at him the last thing before I started.""Where is he?""In the little hospital over yonder. Camp warn't no place for him,and I fetched him here as the nighest, and the best thing I could dofor him.""How is he wounded?""Shot in the shoulder, side, and arm.""Dangerously you said?""No, ma'am, that warn't and ain't my opinion. The sergeant sent thattelegram, and I think he done wrong. The Captain is hit pretty bad;but it ain't by no means desperate accordin' to my way of thinkin',"replied the hopeful Wilkins, who seemed mercifully gifted with anunusual flow of language.
 
　　"Thank heaven! Now go on and tell me all about it as fast as youcan," commanded Christie, walking along the rough road so rapidlythat Private Wilkins would have been distressed both in wind andlimb if discipline and hardship had not done much for him.
 
　　"Well, you see we've been skirmishin' round here for a week, for thewoods are full of rebs waitin' to surprise some commissary storesthat's expected along. Contrabands is always comin' into camp, andwe do the best we can for the poor devils, and send 'em along wherethey'll be safe. Yesterday four women and a boy come: about asdesperate a lot as I ever see; for they'd been two days and a nightin the big swamp, wadin' up to their waists in mud and water, withnothin' to eat, and babies on their backs all the way. Every womanhad a child, one dead, but she'd fetched it, 'so it might be buriedfree,' the poor soul said."Mr. Wilkins stopped an instant as if for breath, but the thought ofhis own "little chaps" filled his heart with pity for that bereavedmother; and he understood now why decent men were willing to be shotand starved for "the confounded niggers," as he once called them.
 
　　"Go on," said Christie, and he made haste to tell the little storythat was so full of intense interest to his listener.
 
　　"I never saw the Captain so worked up as he was by the sight of themwretched women. He fed and warmed 'em, comforted their poor scaredsouls, give what clothes we could find, buried the dead baby withhis own hands, and nussed the other little creeters as if they werehis own. It warn't safe to keep 'em more 'n a day, so when nightcome the Captain got 'em off down the river as quiet as he could. Meand another man helped him, for he wouldn't trust no one but himselfto boss the job. A boat was ready,--blest if I know how he gotit,--and about midnight we led them women down to it. The boy was astrong lad, and any of 'em could help row, for the current wouldtake 'em along rapid. This way, ma'am; be we goin' too fast foryou?""Not fast enough. Finish quick.""We got down the bank all right, the Captain standing in the littlepath that led to the river to keep guard, while Bates held the boatstiddy and I put the women in. Things was goin' lovely when the poorgal who'd lost her baby must needs jump out and run up to thank theCaptain agin for all he'd done for her. Some of them sly rascals waswatchin' the river: they see her, heard Bates call out, 'Come back,wench; come back!' and they fired. She did come back like a shot,and we give that boat a push that sent it into the middle of thestream. Then we run along below the bank, and come out further downto draw off the rebs. Some followed us and we give it to 'emhandsome. But some warn't deceived, and we heard 'em firin' away atthe Captain; so we got back to him as fast as we could, but itwarn't soon enough.--Take my arm, Mis' Sterlin': it's kinder roughhere.""And you found him?"--"Lyin' right acrost the path with two dead men in front of him; forhe'd kep 'em off like a lion till the firin' brought up a lot of ourfellers and the rebs skedaddled. I thought he was dead, for by thestarlight I see he was bleedin' awful,--hold on, my dear, hold on tome,--he warn't, thank God, and looked up at me and sez, sez he, 'Arethey safe?' 'They be, Captain,' sez I. 'Then it's all right,' sezhe, smilin' in that bright way of his, and then dropped off as quietas a lamb. We got him back to camp double quick, and when thesurgeon see them three wounds he shook his head, and I mistrustedthat it warn't no joke. So when the Captain come to I asked him whatI could do or git for him, and he answered in a whisper, 'My wife.'"For an instant Christie did "hold on" to Mr. Wilkins's arm, forthose two words seemed to take all her strength away. Then thethought that David was waiting for her strung her nerves and gaveher courage to bear any thing.
 
　　"Is he here?" she asked of her guide a moment later, as he stoppedbefore a large, half-ruined house, through whose windows dim lightsand figures were seen moving to and fro.
 
　　"Yes, ma'am; we've made a hospital of this; the Captain's got thebest room in it, and now he's got the best miss that's goin'
 
　　anywheres. Won't you have a drop of something jest as a stand-bybefore you see him?""Nothing; take me to him at once.""Here we be then. Still sleepin': that looks well."Mr. Wilkins softly led the way down a long hall, opened a door, andafter one look fell back and saluted as the Captain's wife passedin.
 
　　A surgeon was bending over the low bed, and when a hoarse voice athis elbow asked:
 
　　"How is he?" The doctor answered without looking up:
 
　　"Done for: this shot through the lungs will finish him beforemorning I'm afraid.""Then leave him to me: I am his wife," said the voice, clear andsharp now with the anguish those hard words had brought.
 
　　"Good God, why did no one tell me! My dear lady, I thought you werea nurse!" cried the poor surgeon rent with remorse for what nowseemed the brutal frankness of his answer, as he saw the white faceof the woman at his side, with a look in her eyes harder to see thanthe bitterest tears that ever fell.
 
　　"I am a nurse. If you can do nothing, please go and leave him to methe little while he has to live."Without a word the surgeon vanished, and Christie was alone withDavid.
 
　　The instant she saw him she felt that there was no hope, for she hadseen too many faces wear the look his wore to be deceived even byher love. Lying with closed eyes already sunken by keen suffering,hair damp with the cold dew on his forehead, a scarlet spot oneither cheek, gray lines about the mouth, and pale lips parted bythe painful breaths that came in heavy gasps or fluttered fitfully.
 
　　This was what Christie saw, and after that long look she knew thetruth, and sunk down beside the bed, crying with an exceeding bittercry:
 
　　"O David, O my husband, must I give you up so soon?"His eyes opened then, and he turned his cheek to hers, whisperingwith a look that tried to be a smile, but ended in a sigh ofsatisfaction:
 
　　"I knew you'd come;" then, as a tearless sob shook her from head tofoot, he added steadily, though each breath cost a pang, "'Yes,dear, I must go first, but it won't be hard with you to help me doit bravely."In that supremely bitter moment there returned to Christie's memorycertain words of the marriage service that had seemed so beautifulwhen she took part in it: "For better for worse, till death us dopart." She had known the better, so short, so sweet! This was theworse, and till death came she must keep faithfully the promise madewith such a happy heart. The thought brought with it unexpectedstrength, and gave her courage to crush down her grief, seal up hertears, and show a brave and tender face as she took that feeble handin hers ready to help her husband die.
 
　　He saw and thanked her for the effort, felt the sustaining power ofa true wife's heart, and seemed to have no other care, since she wasby him steadfast to the end. He lay looking at her with such sereneand happy eyes that she would not let a tear, a murmur, mar hispeace; and for a little while she felt as if she had gone out ofthis turbulent world into a heavenly one, where love reignedsupreme.
 
　　But such hours are as brief as beautiful, and at midnight mortalsuffering proved that immortal joy had not yet begun.
 
　　Christie had sat by many death-beds, but never one like this; for,through all the bitter pangs that tried his flesh, David's soulremained patient and strong, upheld by the faith that conquers painand makes even Death a friend. In the quiet time that went before,he had told his last wishes, given his last messages of love, andnow had but one desire,--to go soon that Christie might be sparedthe trial of seeing suffering she could neither lighten nor share.
 
　　"Go and rest, dear; go and rest," he whispered more than once. "LetWilkins come: this is too much for you. I thought it would beeasier, but I am so strong life fights for me inch by inch."But Christie would not go, and for her sake David made haste to die.
 
　　Hour after hour the tide ebbed fast, hour after hour the man'spatient soul sat waiting for release, and hour after hour thewoman's passionate heart clung to the love that seemed drifting awayleaving her alone upon the shore. Once or twice she could not bearit, and cried out in her despair:
 
　　"No, it is not just that you should suffer this for a creature whosewhole life is not worth a day of your brave, useful, precious one!
 
　　Why did you pay such a price for that girl's liberty?" she said, asthe thought of her own wrecked future fell upon her dark and heavy.
 
　　"Because I owed it;--she suffered more than this seeing her babydie;--I thought of you in her place, and I could not help doing it."The broken answer, the reproachful look, wrung Christie's heart, andshe was silent: for, in all the knightly tales she loved so well,what Sir Galahad had rescued a more wretched, wronged, and helplesswoman than the poor soul whose dead baby David buried tenderlybefore he bought the mother's freedom with his life?
 
　　Only one regret escaped him as the end drew very near, and mortalweakness brought relief from mortal pain. The first red streaks ofdawn shone in the east, and his dim eyes brightened at the sight;"Such a beautiful world!" he whispered with the ghost of a smile,"and so much good work to do in it, I wish I could stay and help alittle longer," he added, while the shadow deepened on his face. Butsoon he said, trying to press Christie's hand, still holding his:
 
　　"You will do my part, and do it better than I could. Don't mourn,dear heart, but work; and by and by you will be comforted.""DON'T MOURN, DEAR HEART, BUT WORK.""I will try; but I think I shall soon follow you, and need nocomfort here," answered Christie, already finding consolation in thethought. "What is it, David?" she asked a little later, as she sawhis eyes turn wistfully toward the window where the rosy glow wasslowly creeping up the sky.
 
　　"I want to see the sun rise;--that used to be our happy time;--turnmy face toward the light, Christie, and we'll wait for it together."An hour later when the first pale ray crept in at the low window,two faces lay upon the pillow; one full of the despairing grief forwhich there seems no balm; the other with lips and eyes of solemnpeace, and that mysterious expression, lovelier than any smile,which death leaves as a tender token that all is well with thenew-born soul.
 
　　To Christie that was the darkest hour of the dawn, but for Davidsunrise had already come.
Chapter 19 Little Heart's-Ease
     WHEN it was all over, the long journey home, the quiet funeral, thefirst sad excitement, then came the bitter moment when life says tothe bereaved: "Take up your burden and go on alone." Christie's hadbeen the still, tearless grief hardest to bear, most impossible tocomfort; and, while Mrs. Sterling bore her loss with the sweetpatience of a pious heart, and Letty mourned her brother with thetender sorrow that finds relief in natural ways, the widow sat amongthem, as tranquil, colorless, and mute, as if her soul had followedDavid, leaving the shadow of her former self behind.
 
　　"He will not come to me, but I shall go to him," seemed to be thethought that sustained her, and those who loved her saiddespairingly to one another: "Her heart is broken: she will notlinger long."But one woman wise in her own motherliness always answeredhopefully: "Don't you be troubled; Nater knows what's good for us,and works in her own way. Hearts like this don't break, and sorreronly makes 'em stronger. You mark my words: the blessed baby that'sa comin' in the summer will work a merrycle, and you'll see thispoor dear a happy woman yet."Few believed in the prophecy; but Mrs. Wilkins stoutly repeated itand watched over Christie like a mother; often trudging up the lanein spite of wind or weather to bring some dainty mess, someremarkable puzzle in red or yellow calico to be used as a patternfor the little garments the three women sewed with such tenderinterest, consecrated with such tender tears; or news of the warfresh from Lisha who "was goin' to see it through ef he come homewithout a leg to stand on." A cheery, hopeful, wholesome influenceshe brought with her, and all the house seemed to brighten as shesat there freeing her mind upon every subject that came up, from thedelicate little shirts Mrs. Sterling knit in spite of failingeyesight, to the fall of Richmond, which, the prophetic spirit beingstrong within her, Mrs. Wilkins foretold with sibylline precision.
 
　　She alone could win a faint smile from Christie with some oddsaying, some shrewd opinion, and she alone brought tears to themelancholy eyes that sorely needed such healing dew; for she carriedlittle Adelaide, and without a word put her into Christie's arms,there to cling and smile and babble till she had soothed the bitterpain and hunger of a suffering heart.
 
　　She and Mr. Power held Christie up through that hard time,ministering to soul and body with their hope and faith till lifegrew possible again, and from the dust of a great affliction rosethe sustaining power she had sought so long.
 
　　As spring came on, and victory after victory proclaimed that the warwas drawing to an end, Christie's sad resignation was broken, bygusts of grief so stormy, so inconsolable, that those about hertrembled for her life. It was so hard to see the regiments come homeproudly bearing the torn battle-flags, weary, wounded, butvictorious, to be rapturously welcomed, thanked, and honored by thegrateful country they had served so well; to see all this and thinkof David in his grave unknown, unrewarded, and forgotten by all buta faithful few.
 
　　"I used to dream of a time like this, to hope and plan for it, andcheer myself with the assurance that, after all our hard work, ourlong separation, and the dangers we had faced, David would get somehonor, receive some reward, at least be kept for me to love andserve and live with for a little while. But these men who havemerely saved a banner, led a charge, or lost an arm, get all theglory, while he gave his life so nobly; yet few know it, no onethanked him, and I am left desolate when so many useless ones mighthave been taken in his place. Oh, it is not just! I cannot forgiveGod for robbing him of all his honors, and me of all my happiness."So lamented Christie with the rebellious protest of a strong naturelearning submission through the stern discipline of grief. In vainMr. Power told her that David had received a better reward than anyhuman hand could give him, in the gratitude of many women, therespect of many men. That to do bravely the daily duties of anupright life was more heroic in God's sight, than to achieve in anenthusiastic moment a single deed that won the world's applause; andthat the seeming incompleteness of his life was beautifully roundedby the act that caused his death, although no eulogy recorded it, nosong embalmed it, and few knew it but those he saved, those heloved, and the Great Commander who promoted him to the higher rankhe had won.
 
　　Christie could not be content with this invisible, intangiblerecompense for her hero: she wanted to see, to know beyond a doubt,that justice had been done; and beat herself against the barrierthat baffles bereaved humanity till impatient despair was weariedout, and passionate heart gave up the struggle.
 
　　Then, when no help seemed possible, she found it where she leastexpected it, in herself. Searching for religion, she had found love:
 
　　now seeking to follow love she found religion. The desire for it hadnever left her, and, while serving others, she was earning thisreward; for when her life seemed to lie in ashes, from their midst,this slender spire of flame, purifying while it burned, rosetrembling toward heaven; showing her how great sacrifices turn togreater compensations; giving her light, warmth, and consolation,and teaching her the lesson all must learn.
 
　　God was very patient with her, sending much help, and letting herclimb up to Him by all the tender ways in which aspiring souls canlead unhappy hearts.
 
　　David's room had been her refuge when those dark hours came, andsitting there one day trying to understand the great mystery thatparted her from David, she seemed to receive an answer to her manyprayers for some sign that death had not estranged them. The housewas very still, the window open, and a soft south wind was wanderingthrough the room with hints of May-flowers on its wings. Suddenly abreath of music startled her, so airy, sweet, and short-lived thatno human voice or hand could have produced it. Again and again itcame, a fitful and melodious sigh, that to one made superstitious bymuch sorrow, seemed like a spirit's voice delivering some messagefrom another world.
 
　　Christie looked and listened with hushed breath and expectant heart,believing that some special answer was to be given her. But in amoment she saw it was no supernatural sound, only the south windwhispering in David's flute that hung beside the window.
 
　　Disappointment came first, then warm over her sore heart flowed thetender recollection that she used to call the old flute "David'svoice," for into it he poured the joy and sorrow, unrest and pain,he told no living soul. How often it had been her lullaby, beforeshe learned to read its language; how gaily it had piped for others;how plaintively it had sung for him, alone and in the night; and nowhow full of pathetic music was that hymn of consolation fitfullywhispered by the wind's soft breath.
 
　　Ah, yes! this was a better answer than any supernatural voice couldhave given her; a more helpful sign than any phantom face or hand; asurer confirmation of her hope than subtle argument or sacredpromise: for it brought back the memory of the living, loving man sovividly, so tenderly, that Christie felt as if the barrier was down,and welcomed a new sense of David's nearness with the softest tearsthat had flowed since she closed the serene eyes whose last look hadbeen for her.
 
　　After that hour she spent the long spring days lying on the oldcouch in his room, reading his books, thinking of his love and life,and listening to "David's voice." She always heard it now, whetherthe wind touched the flute with airy fingers or it hung mute; and itsung to her songs of patience, hope, and cheer, till a mysteriouspeace carne to her, and she discovered in herself the strength shehad asked, yet never thought to find. Under the snow, herbs of gracehad been growing silently; and, when the heavy rains had melted allthe frost away, they sprung up to blossom beautifully in the sunthat shines for every spire of grass, and makes it perfect in itstime and place.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins was right; for one June morning, when she laid "thatblessed baby" in its mother's arms, Christie's first words were:
 
　　"Don't let me die: I must live for baby now," and gathered David'slittle daughter to her breast, as if the soft touch of the fumblinghands had healed every wound and brightened all the world.
 
　　"I told you so; God bless 'em both!" and Mrs. Wilkins retiredprecipitately to the hall, where she sat down upon the stairs andcried most comfortable tears; for her maternal heart was full of athanksgiving too deep for words.
 
　　A sweet, secluded time to Christie, as she brooded over her littletreasure and forgot there was a world outside. A fond and jealousmother, but a very happy one, for after the bitterest came thetenderest experience of her life. She felt its sacredness, itsbeauty, and its high responsibilities; accepted them prayerfully,and found unspeakable delight in fitting herself to bear themworthily, always remembering that she had a double duty to performtoward the fatherless little creature given to her care.
 
　　It is hardly necessary to mention the changes one small individualmade in that feminine household. The purring and clucking that wenton; the panics over a pin-prick; the consultations over a pellet ofchamomilla; the raptures at the dawn of a first smile; the solemnprophecies of future beauty, wit, and wisdom in the bud of a woman;the general adoration of the entire family at the wicker shrinewherein lay the idol, a mass of flannel and cambric with a bald headat one end, and a pair of microscopic blue socks at the other.
 
　　Mysterious little porringers sat unreproved upon the parlor fire,small garments aired at every window, lights burned at unholy hours,and three agitated nightcaps congregated at the faintest chirp ofthe restless bird in the maternal nest.
 
　　Of course Grandma grew young again, and produced nurseryreminiscences on every occasion; Aunt Letty trotted day and night togratify the imaginary wants of the idol, and Christie was soentirely absorbed that the whole South might have been swallowed upby an earthquake without causing her as much consternation as theappearance of a slight rash upon the baby.
 
　　No flower in David's garden throve like his little June rose, for nowind was allowed to visit her too roughly; and when rain fellwithout, she took her daily airing in the green-house, where fromher mother's arms she soon regarded the gay sight with suchsprightly satisfaction that she seemed a little flower herselfdancing on its stem.
 
　　She was named Ruth for grandma, but Christie always called her"Little Heart's-ease," or "Pansy," and those who smiled at first atthe mother's fancy, came in time to see that there was an unusualfitness in the name. All the bitterness seemed taken out ofChristie's sorrow by the soft magic of the child: there was so muchto live for now she spoke no more of dying; and, holding that littlehand in hers, it grew easier to go on along the way that led toDavid.
 
　　A prouder mother never lived; and, as baby waxed in beauty and instrength, Christie longed for all the world to see her. A sweet,peculiar, little face she had, sunny and fair; but, under the broadforehead where the bright hair fell as David's used to do, thereshone a pair of dark and solemn eyes, so large, so deep, and oftenso unchildlike, that her mother wondered where she got them. Evenwhen she smiled the shadow lingered in these eyes, and when she weptthey filled and overflowed with great, quiet tears like flowers toofull of dew. Christie often said remorsefully:
 
　　"My little Pansy! I put my own sorrow into your baby soul, and nowit looks back at me with this strange wistfulness, and these greatdrops are the unsubmissive tears I locked up in my heart because Iwould not be grateful for the good gift God gave me, even while hetook that other one away. O Baby, forgive your mother; and don't lether find that she has given you clouds instead of sunshine."This fear helped Christie to keep her own face cheerful, her ownheart tranquil, her own life as sunny, healthful, and hopeful as shewished her child's to be. For this reason she took garden andgreen-house into her own hands when Bennet gave them up, and, with astout lad to help her, did well this part of the work that Davidbequeathed to her. It was a pretty sight to see the mother with heryear-old daughter out among the fresh, green things: the littlegolden head bobbing here and there like a stray sunbeam; the babyvoice telling sweet, unintelligible stories to bird and bee andbutterfly; or the small creature fast asleep in a basket under arose-bush, swinging in a hammock from a tree, or in Bran's keeping,rosy, vigorous, and sweet with sun and air, and the wholesomeinfluence of a wise and tender love.
 
　　While Christie worked she planned her daughter's future, as motherswill, and had but one care concerning it. She did not fear poverty,but the thought of being straitened for the means of educatinglittle Ruth afflicted her. She meant to teach her to labor heartilyand see no degradation in it, but she could not bear to feel thather child should be denied the harmless pleasures that make youthsweet, the opportunities that educate, the society that ripenscharacter and gives a rank which money cannot buy. A little sum toput away for Baby, safe from all risk, ready to draw from as eachneed came, and sacredly devoted to this end, was now Christie's soleambition.
 
　　With this purpose at her heart, she watched her fruit and nursedher flowers; found no task too hard, no sun too hot, no weed toounconquerable; and soon the garden David planted when his lifeseemed barren, yielded lovely harvests to swell his littledaughter's portion.
 
　　One day Christie received a letter from Uncle Enos expressing a wishto see her if she cared to come so far and "stop a spell." It bothsurprised and pleased her, and she resolved to go, glad that the oldman remembered her, and proud to show him the great success of herlife, as she considered Baby.
 
　　So she went, was hospitably received by the ancient cousin fivetimes removed who kept house, and greeted with as much cordiality asUncle Enos ever showed to any one. He looked askance at Baby, as ifhe had not bargained for the honor of her presence; but he saidnothing, and Christie wisely refrained from mentioning that Ruth wasthe most remarkable child ever born.
 
　　She soon felt at home, and went about the old house visitingfamiliar nooks with the bitter, sweet satisfaction of such returns.
 
　　It was sad to miss Aunt Betsey in the big kitchen, strange to seeUncle Enos sit all day in his arm-chair too helpless now to plodabout the farm and carry terror to the souls of those who servedhim. He was still a crabbed, gruff, old man; but the narrow, hard,old heart was a little softer than it used to be; and he sometimesbetrayed the longing for his kindred that the aged often feel wheninfirmity makes them desire tenderer props than any they can hire.
 
　　Christie saw this wish, and tried to gratify it with a dutifulaffection which could not fail to win its way. Baby unconsciouslylent a hand, for Uncle Enos could not long withstand the sweetenticements of this little kinswoman. He did not own the conquest inwords, but was seen to cuddle his small captivator in private;allowed all sorts of liberties with his spectacles, his pockets, andbald pate; and never seemed more comfortable than when sheconfiscated his newspaper, and sitting on his knee read it to him ina pretty language of her own.
 
　　"She's a good little gal; looks consid'able like you; but you warn'tnever such a quiet puss as she is," he said one day, as the childwas toddling about the room with an old doll of her mother's latelydisinterred from its tomb in the garret.
 
　　"She is like her father in that. But I get quieter as I grow old,uncle," answered Christie, who sat sewing near him.
 
　　"You be growing old, that's a fact; but somehow it's kind ofbecomin'. I never thought you'd be so much of a lady, and look sowell after all you've ben through," added Uncle Enos, vainly tryingto discover what made Christie's manners so agreeable in spite ofher plain dress, and her face so pleasant in spite of the gray hairat her temples and the lines about her mouth.
 
　　It grew still pleasanter to see as she smiled and looked up at himwith the soft yet bright expression that always made him think ofher mother.
 
　　"I'm glad you don't consider me an entire failure, uncle. You knowyou predicted it. But though I have gone through a good deal, Idon't regret my attempt, and when I look at Pansy I feel as if I'dmade a grand success.""You haven't made much money, I guess. If you don't mind tellin',what have you got to live on?" asked the old man, unwilling toacknowledge any life a success, if dollars and cents were left outof it.
 
　　"Only David's pension and what I can make by my garden.""The old lady has to have some on't, don't she?" "She has a littlemoney of her own; but I see that she and Letty have two-thirds ofall I make.""That ain't a fair bargain if you do all the work." "Ah, but wedon't make bargains, sir: we work for one another and share everything together.""So like women!" grumbled Uncle Enos, longing to see that "theproperty was fixed up square.""SHE'S A GOOD LITTLE GAL! LOOKS CONSID'ABLE LIKE YOU.""How are you goin' to eddicate the little gal? I s'pose you think asmuch of culter and so on as ever you did," he presently added with agruff laugh.
 
　　"More," answered Christie, smiling too, as she remembered the oldquarrels. "I shall earn the money, sir. If the garden fails I canteach, nurse, sew, write, cook even, for I've half a dozen usefulaccomplishments at my fingers' ends, thanks to the education you anddear Aunt Betsey gave me, and I may have to use them all for Pansy'ssake."Pleased by the compliment, yet a little conscience-stricken at thesmall share he deserved of it, Uncle Enos sat rubbing up his glassesa minute, before he led to the subject he had in his mind.
 
　　"Ef you fall sick or die, what then?""I've thought of that," and Christie caught up the child as if herlove could keep even death at bay. But Pansy soon struggled downagain, for the dirty-faced doll was taking a walk and could not bedetained. "If I am taken from her, then my little girl must do asher mother did. God has orphans in His special care, and He won'tforget her I am sure."Uncle Enos had a coughing spell just then; and, when he got over it,he said with an effort, for even to talk of giving away hissubstance cost him a pang:
 
　　"I'm gettin' into years now, and it's about time I fixed up mattersin case I'm took suddin'. I always meant to give you a littlesuthing, but as you didn't ask for't, I took good care on 't, and itain't none the worse for waitin' a spell. I jest speak on't, so youneedn't be anxious about the little gal. It ain't much, but it willmake things easy I reckon.""You are very kind, uncle; and I am more grateful than I can tell. Idon't want a penny for myself, but I should love to know that mydaughter was to have an easier life than mine.""I s'pose you thought of that when you come so quick?" said the oldman, with a suspicious look, that made Christie's eyes kindle asthey used to years ago, but she answered honestly:
 
　　"I did think of it and hope it, yet I should have come quicker ifyou had been in the poor-house."Neither spoke for a minute; for, in spite of generosity andgratitude, the two natures struck fire when they met as inevitablyas flint and steel.
 
　　"What's your opinion of missionaries," asked Uncle Enos, after aspell of meditation.
 
　　"If I had any money to leave them, I should bequeath it to those whohelp the heathen here at home, and should let the innocent FeejeeIslanders worship their idols a little longer in benighted peace,"answered Christie, in her usual decided way.
 
　　"That's my idee exactly; but it's uncommon hard to settle which ofthem that stays at home you'll trust your money to. You see Betseywas always pesterin' me to give to charity things; but I told her itwas better to save up and give it in a handsome lump that lookedwell, and was a credit to you. When she was dyin' she reminded meon't, and I promised I'd do suthing before I follered. I've beenturnin' on't over in my mind for a number of months, and I don'tseem to find any thing that's jest right. You've ben round among thecharity folks lately accordin' to your tell, now what would you doif you had a tidy little sum to dispose on?""Help the Freed people."The answer came so quick that it nearly took the old gentleman'sbreath away, and he looked at his niece with his mouth open after aninvoluntary, "Sho!" had escaped him.
 
　　"David helped give them their liberty, and I would so gladly helpthem to enjoy it!" cried Christie, all the old enthusiasm blazingup, but with a clearer, steadier flame than in the days when shedreamed splendid dreams by the kitchen fire.
 
　　"Well, no, that wouldn't meet my views. What else is there?" askedthe old man quite unwarmed by her benevolent ardor.
 
　　"Wounded soldiers, destitute children, ill-paid women, young peoplestruggling for independence, homes, hospitals, schools, churches,and God's charity all over the world.""That's the pesky part on 't: there's such a lot to choose from; Idon't know much about any of 'em," began Uncle Enos, looking like aperplexed raven with a treasure which it cannot decide where tohide.
 
　　"Whose fault is that, sir?"The question hit the old man full in the conscience, and he winced,remembering how many of Betsey's charitable impulses he had nippedin the bud, and now all the accumulated alms she would have been soglad to scatter weighed upon him heavily. He rubbed his bald headwith a yellow bandana, and moved uneasily in his chair, as if hewanted to get up and finish the neglected job that made hishelplessness so burdensome.
 
　　"I'll ponder on 't a spell, and make up my mind," was all he said,and never renewed the subject again.
 
　　But he had very little time to ponder, and he never did make up hismind; for a few months after Christie's long visit ended, Uncle Enos"was took suddin'," and left all he had to her.
 
　　Not an immense fortune, but far larger than she expected, and greatwas her anxiety to use wisely this unlooked-for benefaction. She wasvery grateful, but she kept nothing for herself, feeling thatDavid's pension was enough, and preferring the small sum he earnedso dearly to the thousands the old man had hoarded up for years. Agood portion was put by for Ruth, something for "mother and Letty"that want might never touch them, and the rest she kept for David'swork, believing that, so spent, the money would be blest.
Chapter 20 At Forty
    "NEARLY twenty years since I set out to seek my fortune. It has beena long search, but I think I have found it at last. I only asked tobe a useful, happy woman, and my wish is granted: for, I believe Iam useful; I know I am happy."Christie looked so as she sat alone in the flowery parlor oneSeptember afternoon, thinking over her life with a grateful,cheerful spirit. Forty to-day, and pausing at that half-way housebetween youth and age, she looked back into the past without bitterregret or unsubmissive grief, and forward into the future withcourageous patience; for three good angels attended her, and withfaith, hope, and charity to brighten life, no woman need lament lostyouth or fear approaching age. Christie did not, and though her eyesfilled with quiet tears as they were raised to the faded cap andsheathed sword hanging on the wall, none fell; and in a momenttender sorrow changed to still tenderer joy as her glance wanderedto rosy little Ruth playing hospital with her dollies in the porch.
 
　　Then they shone with genuine satisfaction as they went from theletters and papers on her table to the garden, where several youngwomen were at work with a healthful color in the cheeks that hadbeen very pale and thin in the spring.
 
　　"I think David is satisfied with me; for I have given all my heartand strength to his work, and it prospers well," she said toherself, and then her face grew thoughtful, as she recalled a lateevent which seemed to have opened a new field of labor for her ifshe chose to enter it.
 
　　A few evenings before she had gone to one of the many meetings ofworking-women, which had made some stir of late. Not a first visit,for she was much interested in the subject and full of sympathy forthis class of workers.
 
　　There were speeches of course, and of the most unparliamentary sort,for the meeting was composed almost entirely of women, each eager totell her special grievance or theory. Any one who chose got up andspoke; and whether wisely or foolishly each proved how great was theferment now going on, and how difficult it was for the two classesto meet and help one another in spite of the utmost need on one sideand the sincerest good-will on the other. The workers poured outtheir wrongs and hardships passionately or plaintively, demanding orimploring justice, sympathy, and help; displaying the ignorance,incapacity, and prejudice, which make their need all the morepitiful, their relief all the more imperative.
 
　　The ladies did their part with kindliness, patience, and oftenunconscious condescension, showing in their turn how little theyknew of the real trials of the women whom they longed to serve, howvery narrow a sphere of usefulness they were fitted for in spite ofculture and intelligence, and how rich they were in generoustheories, how poor in practical methods of relief.
 
　　One accomplished creature with learning radiating from every pore,delivered a charming little essay on the strong-minded women ofantiquity; then, taking labor into the region of art, painteddelightful pictures of the time when all would work harmoniouslytogether in an Ideal Republic, where each did the task she liked,and was paid for it in liberty, equality, and fraternity.
 
　　Unfortunately she talked over the heads of her audience, and it waslike telling fairy tales to hungry children to describe Aspasiadiscussing Greek politics with Pericles and Plato reposing uponivory couches, or Hypatia modestly delivering philosophical lecturesto young men behind a Tyrian purple curtain; and the Ideal Republicmet with little favor from anxious seamstresses, type-setters, andshop-girls, who said ungratefully among themselves, "That's all verypretty, but I don't see how it's going to better wages among us now"Another eloquent sister gave them a political oration which firedthe revolutionary blood in their veins, and made them eager to rushto the State-house en masse, and demand the ballot before one-halfof them were quite clear what it meant, and the other half were asunfit for it as any ignorant Patrick bribed with a dollar and a supof whiskey.
 
　　A third well-wisher quenched their ardor like a wet blanket, byreading reports of sundry labor reforms in foreign parts; mostinteresting, but made entirely futile by differences of climate,needs, and customs. She closed with a cheerful budget of statistics,giving the exact number of needle-women who had starved, gone mad,or committed suicide during the past year; the enormous profitswrung by capitalists from the blood and muscles of their employes;and the alarming increase in the cost of living, which was about toplunge the nation into debt and famine, if not destructiongenerally.
 
　　When she sat down despair was visible on many countenances, andimmediate starvation seemed to be waiting at the door to clutch themas they went out; for the impressible creatures believed every wordand saw no salvation anywhere.
 
　　Christie had listened intently to all this; had admired, regretted,or condemned as each spoke; and felt a steadily increasing sympathyfor all, and a strong desire to bring the helpers and the helpedinto truer relations with each other.
 
　　The dear ladies were so earnest, so hopeful, and so unpracticallybenevolent, that it grieved her to see so much breath wasted, somuch good-will astray; while the expectant, despondent, or excitedfaces of the work-women touched her heart; for well she knew howmuch they needed help, how eager they were for light, how ready tobe led if some one would only show a possible way.
 
　　As the statistical extinguisher retired, beaming with satisfactionat having added her mite to the good cause, a sudden anduncontrollable impulse moved Christie to rise in her place and askleave to speak. It was readily granted, and a little stir ofinterest greeted her; for she was known to many as Mr. Power'sfriend, David Sterling's wife, or an army nurse who had done well.
 
　　Whispers circulated quickly, and faces brightened as they turnedtoward her; for she had a helpful look, and her first words pleasedthem. When the president invited her to the platform she paused onthe lowest step, saying with an expressive look and gesture:
 
　　"I am better here, thank you; for I have been and mean to be aworking-woman all my life.""Hear! hear!" cried a stout matron in a gay bonnet, and the restindorsed the sentiment with a hearty round. Then they were verystill, and then in a clear, steady voice, with the sympatheticundertone to it that is so magical in its effect, Christie made herfirst speech in public since she left the stage.
 
　　That early training stood her in good stead now, giving herself-possession, power of voice, and ease of gesture; while thepurpose at her heart lent her the sort of simple eloquence thattouches, persuades, and convinces better than logic, flattery, ororatory.
 
　　What she said she hardly knew: words came faster than she couldutter them, thoughts pressed upon her, and all the lessons of herlife rose vividly before her to give weight to her arguments, valueto her counsel, and the force of truth to every sentence sheuttered. She had known so many of the same trials, troubles, andtemptations that she could speak understandingly of them; and,better still, she had conquered or outlived so many of them, thatshe could not only pity but help others to do as she had done.
 
　　Having found in labor her best teacher, comforter, and friend, shecould tell those who listened that, no matter how hard or humble thetask at the beginning, if faithfully and bravely performed, it wouldsurely prove a stepping-stone to something better, and with eachhonest effort they were fitting themselves for the nobler labor, andlarger liberty God meant them to enjoy.
 
　　The women felt that this speaker was one of them; for the same lineswere on her face that they saw on their own, her hands were no finelady's hands, her dress plainer than some of theirs, her speechsimple enough for all to understand; cheerful, comforting, and fullof practical suggestion, illustrations out of their own experience,and a spirit of companionship that uplifted their despondent hearts.
 
　　Yet more impressive than any thing she said was the subtle magnetismof character, for that has a universal language which all canunderstand. They saw and felt that a genuine woman stood down thereamong them like a sister, ready with head, heart, and hand to helpthem help themselves; not offering pity as an alms, but justice as aright. Hardship and sorrow, long effort and late-won reward had beenhers they knew; wifehood, motherhood, and widowhood brought her verynear to them; and behind her was the background of an earnest life,against which this figure with health on the cheeks, hope in theeyes, courage on the lips, and the ardor of a wide benevolencewarming the whole countenance stood out full of unconscious dignityand beauty; an example to comfort, touch, and inspire them.
 
　　It was not a long speech, and in it there was no learning, nostatistics, and no politics; yet it was the speech of the evening,and when it was over no one else seemed to have any thing to say. Asthe meeting broke up Christie's hand was shaken by many roughened bythe needle, stained with printer's ink, or hard with humbler toil;many faces smiled gratefully at her, and many voices thanked herheartily. But sweeter than any applause were the words of one womanwho grasped her hand, and whispered with wet eyes:
 
　　"I knew your blessed husband; he was very good to me, and I've beenthanking the Lord he had such a wife for his reward!"Christie was thinking of all this as she sat alone that day, andasking herself if she should go on; for the ladies had been asgrateful as the women; had begged her to come and speak again,saying they needed just such a mediator to bridge across the spacethat now divided them from those they wished to serve. She certainlyseemed fitted to act as interpreter between the two classes; for,from the gentleman her father she had inherited the fine instincts,gracious manners, and unblemished name of an old and honorable race;from the farmer's daughter, her mother, came the equally valuabledower of practical virtues, a sturdy love of independence, and greatrespect for the skill and courage that can win it.
 
　　Such women were much needed and are not always easy to find; foreven in democratic America the hand that earns its daily bread mustwear some talent, name, or honor as an ornament, before it is verycordially shaken by those that wear white gloves.
 
　　"Perhaps this is the task my life has been fitting me for," shesaid. "A great and noble one which I should be proud to accept andhelp accomplish if I can. Others have finished the emancipation workand done it splendidly, even at the cost of all this blood andsorrow. I came too late to do any thing but give my husband andbehold the glorious end. This new task seems to offer me the chanceof being among the pioneers, to do the hard work, share thepersecution, and help lay the foundation of a new emancipation whosehappy success I may never see. Yet I had rather be remembered asthose brave beginners are, though many of them missed the triumph,than as the late comers will be, who only beat the drums and wavethe banners when the victory is won."Just then the gate creaked on its hinges, a step sounded in theporch, and little Ruth ran in to say in an audible whisper:
 
　　"It's a lady, mamma, a very pretty lady: can you see her?""Yes, dear, ask her in."There was a rustle of sweeping silks through the narrow hall, avision of a very lovely woman in the door-way, and two daintilygloved hands were extended as an eager voice asked: "DearestChristie, don't you remember Bella Carrol?"Christie did remember, and had her in her arms directly, utterlyregardless of the imminent destruction of a marvellous hat, or thebad effect of tears on violet ribbons. Presently they were sittingclose together, talking with April faces, and telling their storiesas women must when they meet after the lapse of years. A few lettershad passed between them, but Bella had been abroad, and Christie toobusy living her life to have much time to write about it.
 
　　"Your mother, Bella? how is she, and where?""Still with Augustine, and he you know is melancholy mad: veryquiet, very patient, and very kind to every one but himself. Hispenances for the sins of his race would soon kill him if mother wasnot there to watch over him. And her penance is never to leave him.""Dear child, don't tell me any more; it is too sad. Talk of yourselfand Harry. Now you smile, so I'm sure all is well with him.""Yes, thank heaven! Christie, I do believe fate means to spare us asdear old Dr. Shirley said. I never can be gay again, but I keep ascheerful and busy as I can, for Harry's sake, and he does the samefor mine. We shall always be together, and all in all to oneanother, for we can never marry and have homes apart you know. Wehave wandered over the face of the earth for several years, and nowwe mean to settle down and be as happy and as useful as we can.""That's brave! I am so glad to hear it, and so truly thankful it ispossible. But tell me, Bella, what Harry means to do? You spoke inone of your first letters of his being hard at work studyingmedicine. Is that to be his profession?""Yes; I don't know what made him choose it, unless it was the hopethat he might spare other families from a curse like ours, orlighten it if it came. After Helen's death he was a changedcreature; no longer a wild boy, but a man. I told him what you saidto me, and it gave him hope. Dr. Shirley confirmed it as far as hedared; and Hal resolved to make the most of his one chance byinteresting himself in some absorbing study, and leaving no room forfear, no time for dangerous recollections. I was so glad, and motherso comforted, for we both feared that sad trouble would destroy him.
 
　　He studied hard, got on splendidly, and then went abroad to finishoff. I went with him; for poor August was past hope, and mamma wouldnot let me help her. The doctor said it was best for me to be away,and excellent for Hal to have me with him, to cheer him up, and keephim steady with a little responsibility. We have been happy togetherin spite of our trouble, he in his profession, and I in him; now heis ready, so we have come home, and now the hardest part begins forme.""How, Bella?""He has his work and loves it: I have nothing after my duty to himis done. I find I've lost my taste for the old pleasures andpursuits, and though I have tried more sober, solid ones, therestill remains much time to hang heavy on my hands, and such an emptyplace in my heart, that even Harry's love cannot fill it. I'm afraidI shall get melancholy,--that is the beginning of the end for us,you know."As Bella spoke the light died out of her eyes, and they grewdespairing with the gloom of a tragic memory. Christie drew thebeautiful, pathetic face clown upon her bosom, longing to comfort,yet feeling very powerless to lighten Bella's burden.
 
　　But Christie's little daughter did it for her. Ruth had beenstanding near regarding the "pretty lady," with as much wonder andadmiration as if she thought her a fairy princess, who might vanishbefore she got a good look at her. Divining with a child's quickinstinct that the princess was in trouble, Ruth flew into the porch,caught up her latest and dearest treasure, and presented it as asure consolation, with such sweet good-will, that Bella could notrefuse, although it was only a fuzzy caterpillar in a little box.
 
　　"I give it to you because it is my nicest one and just ready to spinup. Do you like pussy-pillars, and know how they do it?" asked Ruth,emboldened by the kiss she got in return for her offering.
 
　　"Tell me all about it, darling," and Bella could not help smiling,as the child fixed her great eyes upon her, and told her littlestory with such earnestness, that she was breathless by the time sheended.
 
　　"At first they are only grubs you know, and stay down in the earth;then they are like this, nice and downy and humpy, when they walk;and when it's time they spin up and go to sleep. It's all dark intheir little beds, and they don't know what may happen to 'em; butthey are not afraid 'cause God takes care of 'em. So they wait anddon't fret, and when it's right for 'em they come out splendidbutterflies, all beautiful and shining like your gown. They arehappy then, and fly away to eat honey, and live in the air, andnever be creeping worms any more.""That's a pretty lesson for rne," said Bella softly, "I accept andthank you for it, little teacher; I'll try to be a patient'pussy-pillar' though it is dark, and I don't know what may happento me; and I'll wait hopefully till it's time to float away a happybutterfly.""Go and get the friend some flowers, the gayest and sweetest you canfind, Pansy," said Christie, and, as the child ran off, she added toher friend:
 
　　"Now we must think of something pleasant for you to do. It may takea little time, but I know we shall find your niche if we give ourminds to it.""That's one reason why I came. I heard some friends of mine talkingabout you yesterday, and they seemed to think you were equal to anything in the way of good works. Charity is the usual refuge forpeople like me, so I wish to try it. I don't mind doing or seeingsad or disagreeable things, if it only fills up my life and helps meto forget.""You will help more by giving of your abundance to those who knowhow to dispense it wisely, than by trying to do it yourself, mydear. I never advise pretty creatures like you to tuck up their silkgowns and go down into the sloughs with alms for the poor, who don'tlike it any better than you do, and so much pity and money arewasted in sentimental charity.""Then what shall I do?""If you choose you can find plenty of work in your own class; for,if you will allow me to say it, they need help quite as much as thepaupers, though in a very different way.""Oh, you mean I'm to be strong-minded, to cry aloud and spare not,to denounce their iniquities, and demand their money or theirlives?""Now, Bella, that's personal; for I made my first speech a night ortwo ago.""I know you did, and I wish I'd heard it. I'd make mine to-night ifI could do it half as well as I'm told you did," interrupted Bella,clapping her hands with a face full of approval.
 
　　But Christie was in earnest, and produced her new project with allspeed.
 
　　"I want you to try a little experiment for me, and if it succeedsyou shall have all the glory; I've been waiting for some one toundertake it, and I fancy you are the woman. Not every one couldattempt it; for it needs wealth and position, beauty andaccomplishments, much tact, and more than all a heart that has notbeen spoilt by the world, but taught through sorrow how to value anduse life well.""Christie, what is it? this experiment that needs so much, and yetwhich you think me capable of trying?" asked Bella, interested andflattered by this opening.
 
　　"I want you to set a new fashion: you know you can set almost anyyou choose in your own circle; for people are very like sheep, andwill follow their leader if it happens to be one they fancy. I don'task you to be a De Sta?l, and have a brilliant salon: I only wantyou to provide employment and pleasure for others like yourself, whonow are dying of frivolity or ennui.""I should love to do that if I could. Tell me how.""Well, dear, I want you to make Harry's home as beautiful andattractive as you can; to keep all the elegance and refinement offormer times, and to add to it a new charm by setting the fashion ofcommon sense. Invite all the old friends, and as many new ones asyou choose; but have it understood that they are to come asintelligent men and women, not as pleasure-hunting beaux and belles;give them conversation instead of gossip; less food for the body andmore for the mind; the healthy stimulus of the nobler pleasures theycan command, instead of the harmful excitements of presentdissipation. In short, show them the sort of society we need moreof, and might so easily have if those who possess the means ofculture cared for the best sort, and took pride in acquiring it. Doyou understand, Bella?""Yes, but it's a great undertaking, and you could do it better thanI.""Bless you, no! I haven't a single qualification for it but the willto have it done. I'm 'strong-minded,' a radical, and a reformer.
 
　　I've done all sorts of dreadful things to get my living, and I haveneither youth, beauty, talent, or position to back me up; so Ishould only be politely ignored if I tried the experiment myself. Idon't want you to break out and announce your purpose with aflourish; or try to reform society at large, but I do want you todevote yourself and your advantages to quietly insinuating a betterstate of things into one little circle. The very fact of your ownwant, your own weariness, proves how much such a reform is needed.
 
　　There are so many fine young women longing for something to fill upthe empty places that come when the first flush of youth is over,and the serious side of life appears; so many promising young menlearning to conceal or condemn the high ideals and the noblepurposes they started with, because they find no welcome for them.
 
　　You might help both by simply creating a purer atmosphere for themto breathe, sunshine to foster instead of frost to nip their goodaspirations, and so, even if you planted no seed, you mightencourage a timid sprout or two that would one day be a lovelyflower or a grand tree all would admire and enjoy."As Christie ended with the figure suggested by her favorite work,Bella said after a thoughtful pause:
 
　　"But few of the women I know can talk about any thing but servants,dress, and gossip. Here and there one knows something of music, art,or literature; but the superior ones are not favorites with thelarger class of gentlemen.""Then let the superior women cultivate the smaller class of men whodo admire intelligence as well as beauty. There are plenty of them,and you had better introduce a few as samples, though their coatsmay not be of the finest broadcloth, nor their fathers 'solid men.'
 
　　Women lead in society, and when men find that they can not onlydress with taste, but talk with sense, the lords of creation will beglad to drop mere twaddle and converse as with their equals. Blessmy heart!" cried Christie, walking about the room as if she hadmounted her hobby, and was off for a canter, "how people can go onin such an idiotic fashion passes my understanding. Why keep up anendless clatter about gowns and dinners, your neighbors' affairs,and your own aches, when there is a world full of grand questions tosettle, lovely things to see, wise things to study, and noble thingsto imitate. Bella, you must try the experiment, and be the queen ofa better society than any you can reign over now.""It looks inviting, and I will try it with you to help me. I knowHarry would like it, and I'll get him to recommend it to hispatients. If he is as successful here as elsewhere they will swallowany dose he orders; for he knows how to manage people wonderfullywell. He prescribed a silk dress to a despondent, dowdy patientonce, telling her the electricity of silk was good for her nerves:
 
　　she obeyed, and when well dressed felt so much better that shebestirred herself generally and recovered; but to this day she singsthe praises of Dr. Carrol's electric cure."Bella was laughing gaily as she spoke, and so was Christie as shereplied:
 
　　"That's just what I want you to do with your patients. Dress uptheir minds in their best; get them out into the air; and cure theirills by the magnetism of more active, earnest lives."They talked over the new plan with increasing interest; for Christiedid not mean that Bella should be one of the brilliant women whoshine for a little while, and then go out like a firework. And Bellafelt as if she had found something to do in her own sphere, a sortof charity she was fitted for, and with it a pleasant sense of powerto give it zest.
 
　　When Letty and her mother came in, they found a much happier lookingguest than the one Christie had welcomed an hour before. Scarcelyhad she introduced them when voices in the lane made all look up tosee old Hepsey and Mrs. Wilkins approaching.
 
　　"Two more of my dear friends, Bella: a fugitive slave and alaundress. One has saved scores of her own people, and is my petheroine. The other has the bravest, cheeriest soul I know, and is myprivate oracle."The words were hardly out of Christie's mouth when in they came;Hepsey's black face shining with affection, and Mrs. Wilkins asusual running over with kind words.
 
　　"My dear creeter, the best of wishes and no end of happy birthdays.
 
　　There 's a triflin' keepsake; tuck it away, and look at it byme by.
 
　　Mis' Sterlin', I'm proper glad to see you lookin' so well. AuntLetty, how's that darlin' child? I ain't the pleasure of youracquaintance, Miss, but I'm pleased to see you. The children allsent love, likewise Lisha, whose bones is better sense I tried thecamfire and red flannel."Then they settled down like a flock of birds of various plumage andpower of song, but all amicably disposed, and ready to peck sociallyat any topic which might turn up.
 
　　Mrs. Wilkins started one by exclaiming as she "laid off" her bonnet:
 
　　"Sakes alive, there's a new picter! Ain't it beautiful?""Colonel Fletcher brought it this morning. A great artist painted itfor him, and he gave it to me in a way that added much to itsvalue," answered Christie, with both gratitude and affection in herface; for she was a woman who could change a lover to a friend, andkeep him all her life.
 
　　It was a quaint and lovely picture of Mr. Greatheart, leading thefugitives from the City of Destruction. A dark wood lay behind; awide river rolled before; Mercy and Christiana pressed close totheir faithful guide, who went down the rough and narrow pathbearing a cross-hilted sword in his right hand, and holding asleeping baby with the left. The sun was just rising, and a long raymade a bright path athwart the river, turned Greatheart's dintedarmor to gold, and shone into the brave and tender face that seemedto look beyond the sunrise.
 
　　"There's just a hint of Davy in it that is very comforting to me,"said Mrs. Sterling, as she laid her old hands softly together, andlooked up with her devout eyes full of love.
 
　　"Dem women oughter bin black," murmured Hepsey, tearfully; for sheconsidered David worthy of a place with old John Brown and ColonelShaw.
 
　　"The child looks like Pansy, we all think," added Letty, as thelittle girl brought her nosegay for Aunty to tie up prettily.
 
　　Christie said nothing, because she felt too much; and Bella was alsosilent because she knew too little. But Mrs. Wilkins with her kindlytact changed the subject before it grew painful, and asked withsudden interest:
 
　　"When be you a goin' to hold forth agin, Christie? Jest let me knowbeforehand, and I'll wear my old gloves: I tore my best ones all torags clappin' of you; it was so extra good.""I don't deserve any credit for the speech, because it spoke itself,and I couldn't help it. I had no thought of such a thing till itcame over me all at once, and I was up before I knew it. I'm trulyglad you liked it, but I shall never make another, unless you thinkI'd better. You know I always ask your advice, and what is moreremarkable usually take it," said Christie, glad to consult heroracle.
 
　　"Hadn't you better rest a little before you begin any new task, mydaughter? You have done so much these last years you must be tired,"interrupted Mrs. Sterling, with a look of tender anxiety.
 
　　"You know I work for two, mother," answered Christie, with theclear, sweet expression her face always wore when she spoke ofDavid. "I am not tired yet: I hope I never shall be, for without mywork I should fall into despair or ennui. There is so much to bedone, and it is so delightful to help do it, that I never mean tofold my hands till they are useless. I owe all I can do, for inlabor, and the efforts and experiences that grew out of it, I havefound independence, education, happiness, and religion.""Then, my dear, you are ready to help other folks into the sameblessed state, and it's your duty to do it!" cried Mrs. Wilkins, herkeen eyes full of sympathy and commendation as they rested onChristie's cheerful, earnest face. "Ef the sperrit moves you tospeak, up and do it without no misgivin's. I think it was a specialleadin' that night, and I hope you'll foller, for it ain't every onethat can make folks laugh and cry with a few plain words that goright to a body's heart and stop there real comfortable and fillin'.
 
　　I guess this is your next job, my dear, and you'd better ketch holdand give it the right turn; for it's goin' to take time, and womenain't stood alone for so long they'll need a sight of boostin'."There was a general laugh at the close of Mrs. Wilkins's remarks;but Christie answered seriously: "I accept the task, and will do myshare faithfully with words or work, as shall seem best. We all needmuch preparation for the good time that is coming to us, and can getit best by trying to know and help, love and educate oneanother,--as we do here."With an impulsive gesture Christie stretched her hands to thefriends about her, and with one accord they laid theirs on hers, aloving league of sisters, old and young, black and white, rich andpoor, each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happyend.
 
　　"Me too!" cried little Ruth, and spread her chubby hand above therest: a hopeful omen, seeming to promise that the coming generationof women will not only receive but deserve their liberty, bylearning that the greatest of God's gifts to us is the privilege ofsharing His great work.
 
　　"Each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy end."