Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 31

And she did read it. Soon Christie's socks and darning-cotton were forgotten, and she sat listening intently. It was something entirely new to her, and she yielded herself to the charm of the book with an eagerness that delighted the reader. Miss Gertrude liked the book at the second reading even better than at the first. She enjoyed it this time for herself and Christie too.

"There seems so much more in a book when you have anybody to enjoy it with you," she said, at the end of an hour. "But I am tired of reading aloud. You must take it a while now."

"But I have got out of the way of reading aloud," said Christie; "and besides, I do not read so well as you."

"Oh, never mind; you'll read well enough. And give me the basket; I'll darn your socks in the meantime."

"The socks? Oh, I had forgotten them! But there is very little to do.

I'll read a while if you like; but I know I don't read so well as you."

She took the book, however, and another hour pa.s.sed rapidly away. She shut the book with a sigh when Claude moved.

This was the first of many such readings. During the hours when Claude was asleep and Clement under the immediate superintendence of Martha, Miss Gertrude brought her book into the green room and shared the pleasure it gave her with her little brother's nurse. And at other times, too, when the little boys were amusing themselves together in the garden, they read and discussed their books, sitting in the cedar walk, or under the shadow of the locust-tree. And a very pleasant month they had. Christie had great enjoyment in all this; and apparently Miss Gertrude had no less; for she refused several invitations, and broke more than one engagement with her aunt, rather than interfere with these new arrangements.

But one day Miss Gertrude came into the green room with a cloud upon her brow. It was plain that something was the matter.

"It has been a great deal too pleasant to last long," she said, throwing down a letter which she held in her hand. "Here is papa coming home immediately. I wouldn't mind his coming," she added, checked by the look of surprise on Christie's face. "I shall be very glad to see him; and he won't make much difference--he is so seldom at home. Besides, he will let me please myself about things. He has no fancy for my going here and there at everybody's bidding. But Mr Sherwood is coming with him--Mrs Seaton's cousin--a very disagreeable person; at least, I think so. Mamma thinks him wonderfully good, and he is a great favourite with papa, too. I am sure I don't know why. I think he is conceited; and he is an Englishman, besides."

Christie laughed.

"That's not a very good reason."

"Perhaps not. But he has such a cool, indifferent way of a.s.serting the superiority of the English over all other nations, as though the question need not be discussed. 'It must be quite evident to everybody,' his manner seems to say."

After a pause, Miss Gertrude continued:

"And that is not all. He is very meddlesome. He is always telling mamma what ought to be expected from a young lady like me, and getting her to annoy me about lessons and other things; at least, I think so. I know he thinks me quite childish; and sometimes he interferes between Clement and me. What do you think he had the impertinence to say to me once? That no one was fit to govern who had not learned to obey. That it would be wiser for me to learn the lesson of obedience myself, than to attempt to teach it to my little brother."

"And what answer did you make?" asked Christie, after a little hesitation.

"I turned and walked out of the room; and I did not see him again. I chose to be out of the way when he came to say good-bye. I dare say that is one reason why I don't like the thought of his coming just now.

I feel a little awkward, you know. I owe him one good turn, however.

If it had not been for him, I think father would have listened to Aunt Barbara and sent me to school. I ought to thank him for that."

"And didn't you want to go to school?" asked Christie, in some surprise.

"No, indeed! I never was at school, you know. We had a governess and teachers at home. I am to have private teachers for some things here, when the summer is over, unless I should be sent to school, after all."

When the gentleman made his appearance among them the next day, he did not look like the formidable person Christie imagined him to be. They were sitting on the lawn, in the shadow of the locust-tree, when he arrived; and before he went into the house he came and shook hands with Miss Gertrude and the little boys. Christie thought he must have quite forgotten his falling-out with the young lady, he met her so pleasantly and frankly. The embarra.s.sment was all on her side.

As for the boys, they were beside themselves with delight. It was easy to see they did not share their sister's dislike. Poor little Claude clasped his arms about his neck and kissed him eagerly. Clement, in a way that showed he felt sure of his sympathy, began to tell him of the pony and the rabbits, insisting that he should come with him to the stable to see them at once.

The next day was Sunday. After a fortnight of lovely summer weather, a great change had taken place. The rain was falling in torrents, and the wind was whistling through the trees in the garden, when Christie looked out. A rainy day in the green room was by no means such a dreary matter as it used to be in Mrs Lee's attic-nursery, with only a glimpse of driving clouds and dripping roofs to vary the dulness within. So Christie comforted little Claude for the want of his morning ride and ramble in the garden, telling him how glad the dusty leaves and thirsty little flowers would be for all the bright drops that were falling on them. She told him how the bees, that had been so busy all the week, must take a rest to-day, and how warm and dry the little birds would be in their nest in the pear-tree, for all the driving rain. Setting him in his favourite chair by the window, she amused him with talk like this, as she went about putting things in order in the room. While she comforted him she comforted herself; for the rain had brought a disappointment to her too. It had been arranged that Martha should take charge of Claude while Christie went to church in the morning, where she had not been for several Sabbaths. But remembering Mrs Greenly's oft-repeated warnings against exposing herself to dampness, she did not like to venture in the rain. So she had to content herself at home.

This was an easier matter than it had sometimes been. As the morning wore away, and the time approached for the little boy to take his usual sleep, she was quite contented to be where she was.

"It is very pleasant, all this reading with Miss Gertrude," she said.

"She is very kind, and I like her very much. But I shall be glad to be alone for a little while."

Claude's eyes closed at last, and she was just taking her Bible from the table beside her, when the door opened and Miss Gertrude entered.

"I only heard this minute from Mattie that you did not go to church, after all," she said. "No wonder! What a rain! Papa thought it was too bad to take out the horses. He is tired, too, after his journey.

Is it half-past eleven? Everybody is lazy on Sunday morning. But there will be an hour or two before lunch yet. I have brought our friend 'Jeanie.' There will be time for a chapter or two."

Christie looked up with an expression of surprise and doubt on her face.

"Jeanie Deans, is it? But it is the Sabbath-day!"

Miss Gertrude laughed.

"Well, what if it is? I'm sure there is no harm in the book. You looked exactly like Aunt Barbara when you said that; I mean, all but her cap and spectacles. 'The moral expression' of your face, as she would say, was exactly the same."

Christie laughed, but said nothing.

"You don't mean to tell me that there is any harm in the book?"

continued Miss Gertrude.

"It is not a right book for the Sabbath, though," said Christie, gravely.

"Well, for my part, I don't see that a book that it is right to read every other day of the week can be so very bad a book for Sunday," said Miss Gertrude; sharply.

Christie made no reply.

"I declare, I like Aunt Barbara's way best; to call all tales wicked at once, and have nothing to do with them--these vile novels, as she calls them. Come, now, you are not in earnest?"

"I am quite in earnest," said Christie, gently, but firmly.

"And you have been reading or listening to this, or something like it, all the week! Well, that is what I should call straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel."

"Well, perhaps it is. I never thought about it in that way before. But I am sure it is not right to read such books on the Sabbath-day. And perhaps it is wrong to read them at all--at least, so many of them as we have been reading. I almost think it is."

She spoke sorrowfully, but not in any degree offensively. Indeed, she seemed to be speaking rather to herself than to Miss Gertrude. Yet the young lady was offended. a.s.suming the tone and manner with which she sometimes made herself disagreeable, she said:

"I should regret exceedingly to be the means of leading you to do anything that you think wrong. I must try and enjoy my book by myself."

And without looking towards her, she walked out of the room.

For a little while Christie sat motionless, gazing at the door through which she had disappeared, and thinking sorrowfully that this was a very sad ending to a very pleasant time. But there was a sharper pain at her heart than any that this thought awakened. All those days that had been so bright in pa.s.sing had a shadow over them as she looked back upon them. To what end and purpose had all their intercourse tended? What was the cause of the feeling of uneasiness, almost of guilt, that had come on her now and then at quiet moments? It had clung to her all the morning. She was not very wise or far-sighted. She could not reason from cause to effect, or a.n.a.lyse her own feelings very closely. But even when she was congratulating herself on the prospect of a quiet time she was half conscious that she was not very glad to find herself alone.

When she sat down with the Bible in her hand, there fell on her spirit no such blessed sense of rest and peace as used to transform the dim attic into something pleasanter than this pretty green room, and fairer than the summer garden.

"There is something wrong," she said to herself, as she listened to Miss Gertrude's footsteps on the stair. "I am afraid I am one of the folk that Mrs Grey used to tell about, that an easy life is not good for.

Better the weary days and nights than to fall back into my old ways again, just content with the pleasure the day brings, without looking beyond. Who would have thought that I could have forgotten so soon? It is just this foolish novel reading, I think. Aunt Elsie said it was a snare to me; and Effie said something like it once."

"Well, I'm not likely to have more of it," she continued, with a sigh.

"I suppose I ought to be glad that Miss Gertrude went away vexed; for I dare say I should not have had courage to-morrow to tell her that so much of that kind of reading is not good for me, Sabbath or week-day.

It couldn't have lasted long, at any rate. Of course, when Mrs Seaton comes home it will be quite different. Well, it will be better for me-- a great deal better. I must be watchful and humble. To think that I should grow careless and forget, just when I ought to be so mindful and thankful!"

A few tears fell on the leaves of her little Bible; but by and by the former peace came back again, as she felt herself half resting indeed on the only sure foundation. The foolish fancies that had haunted her imagination all the week vanished before the influence of the blessed words on those familiar pages. They were precious still, though the strange charm of her new companionship had turned her thoughts from them for a time. She forgot her idle dreams, the foolish fancies she had indulged, the vain longing for this or that earthly good for herself and for all at home that had at times for the last few days taken possession of her. The peace which flows from a sense of pardon and acceptance and a firm trust was for the time enjoyed. To be and to do just what G.o.d willed seemed infinitely desirable to her.

"'Great peace have they that love Thy law,'" she murmured. "I do love it; and I have the peace."