Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 33

"I have opened it. They are all well. I like to be sure of a quiet time to read a letter."

"Well, take the lamp and go over there. I will take care of him for the present."

"He is just asleep now," said Christie, hesitating. She was thinking that she would like to have the room to herself before she read her letter, but as Miss Gertrude seated herself in the low rocking-chair, she had only to take the lamp and go to the other side.

She soon forgot Miss Gertrude, Claude, and all besides, except Effie and the bairns at home. Effie had the faculty, which many people of greater pretensions do not possess, of putting a great deal into a letter. They were always written journal-wise--a little now, and a little then; and her small, clear handwriting had come to be like print to Christie's accustomed eyes. So she read on, with a smile on her lip, quite unconscious that the eyes that seemed to be seeing nothing but the bright embers were all the time furtively watching her. Miss Gertrude longed for a peep into the unseen world in which her humble friend was at that moment revelling. She felt positively envious of the supreme content that was expressed on Christie's plain, pale face.

She would not have understood it had the peep been granted. She never could have understood the interest which in Christie's mind was connected with the various little items of news with which Effie's letter was nearly filled. There was the coming and going of the neighbours, a visit from blind Alice, and her delight in her canary.

There was an account of Jennie's unprecedented success in chicken-raising, and of little Will's triumphant conquest of compound division; and many more items of the same kind. There were a few words--a very few--about the day Christie had spent in the cemetery with John Nesbitt, which brought the happy tears into her eyes; and that was all.

No, the best came last. The letter had been opened again, and a slip of paper had been added, to tell how Effie had got a letter from Mrs Lee.

It was a very short letter, scarcely more than a line or two; but Effie was to keep it safe to show to Christie when she came home. In the meantime she must tell her that she had never in all her life been so proud and happy as she had been when she read to Aunt Elsie what a help and comfort her dear little sister had been to the writer in the midst of sickness and sorrow; and more than that, how, by means of her little Bible and her earnest, humble words, she had opened to her a way to a higher hope and a better consolation than earth could give, and how the lady could not go away without doing what she knew would give her friend more pleasure than anything else she could do. She must tell Christie's sister how good and patient and useful she had been.

"And so, Christie, when you are weary or desponding, as I am afraid you sometimes are, I think you may take a little rest and pleasure from the thought that you have been favoured to be made the giver of a 'cup of cold water to one of _His_ little ones.'"

Oh, it was too much! Such words from her dearest sister Effie! And to think that Mrs Lee should have written them that last night, when she must have been so weary! And had she really done her good? Oh, it was too much happiness! The letter fell from her hands, and her face, as she burst into happy tears, was hidden by them. It was only for a moment, however. She fancied herself quite un.o.bserved as she took up her precious letter.

"Are they all well at home?" asked Miss Gertrude, as Christie, having stealthily wiped away all traces of her tears, came and sat down on the other side of the cot, where Claude was now sleeping soundly.

"They are all quite well. My aunt is better. Everything is just as usual."

"Your sister is a very pretty writer, is she not?" she asked.

"Yes, she writes very plain and even. Her writing is easily read." But Christie did not offer to show her the letter, as Miss Gertrude half hoped she would. It was not altogether for the gratification of her curiosity, nor chiefly for that, she wanted to see it. Though her companion was sitting there, with her cheek leaning on her hand, so gravely and so quietly, she knew that her heart was by no means so quiet as her outward appearance seemed to indicate. She saw that it was ready to overflow with emotion of some kind--happiness, Miss Gertrude thought, but was not sure.

But it could not be all happiness. Christie must be longing for the sight of the sister whose written words could call forth such tears as she had seen falling even now. And she wished to be able to sympathise with her, to say some word that would establish confidence between them.

Besides, she had a feeling that she ought to atone for her petulance in the morning. At any rate, she wanted to be sure that Christie did not resent it.

But Christie said nothing. She sat quite still, and her thoughts were far-away. When she roused herself, it was not to speak, but to take up her little Bible, that lay within reach of her hand.

"How fond you seem to be of that book!" said Miss Gertrude, as she watched her turning over the leaves.

"Yes," said Christie, quietly. "Effie gave it to me."

"Are you going to read now?"

"I was looking for something that Effie wrote about. I can't mind the exact words, and I am not sure where to find them." And she still turned over the leaves.

"Have you found it?" said Miss Gertrude, when she paused.

"Yes; I have found it. Here it is. 'And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only, in the name of a disciple, shall in no wise lose his reward.'"

She read it slowly and gravely, but Miss Gertrude could by no means understand the look of mingled doubt and pleasure that she saw on her face when she had done.

"Well?" she said, inquiringly.

But Christie had nothing to say. Her face was bowed down on her hands, and she did not raise it till she heard the door open and shut; and when she looked up, Miss Gertrude was gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A TALK IN THE GARDEN.

The next day was rainy, and the next, and the next. There was not a glimpse of sunshine till Friday, and then it was only a glimpse. There was no such thing as going into the garden, or even into the wide gallery that ran along the ends of the house. The only change that little Claude enjoyed all that time was being daily taken into the drawing-room while the green room was aired, or into the dining-room when his father was at home, a little while before he went to bed. He did not grow worse, however. He seemed quite contented with Christie, and fretted less when Clement left him than he used to do.

He was growing very fond of his nurse. She was gentle and patient with him, never sparing herself when he needed to be amused. But her firmness was equal to her gentleness. She never suffered herself to be persuaded to indulge him in anything that had been forbidden by the doctor; and she was faithful to the letter in obeying all his directions. The little boy soon learned to yield to her in all things, and the fretful violence that used to excite fever and exhaust his strength seldom appeared now. The green room was Christie's acknowledged domain. The "masterful" Clement was taught that he was only admitted there on condition of good behaviour; and really, considering all things, he was very good. He was encouraged to be much in the green room during those rainy days, for his merry ways and pleasant childish talk did his little brother a great deal of good.

As for Miss Gertrude, I am sorry to say she did not recover her good-humour so soon as she ought to have done. She did not resent what she called Christie's reproof about the book half so much as she did her slowness in responding to her offered sympathy about the letter. She fancied that the little nurse ought to have been very much flattered by the interest she had tried to show in her affairs, and was displeased at the silence with which her advances had been received.

Poor Christie had offended very unconsciously. With her mind full of her letter and all the a.s.sociations it had awakened, she had been quite unmindful of Miss Gertrude and her attempts to make up the little falling-out of the morning. She only began to realise that the young lady must have been offended, when the days pa.s.sed over with only a brief visit to Claude. Even then she believed that her vexation rose from what had pa.s.sed about the book.

But Miss Gertrude was very much out of sorts with herself too. If it had not been a rainy day, she would have availed herself of her Aunt Barbara's invitation to spend the day with her. But a rainy day at Aunt Barbara's was not to be thought of. She took a long time to write a short letter to Mrs Seaton, in Scotland. Then she took a fit of practising her music, which, she said to herself, she had sadly neglected of late. Then she read a little. Then she went into the kitchen and superintended the making of a pudding after a new recipe which some one had given to her.

Then she dressed for dinner. But the time is very long from nine in the morning till six at night, when it is rainy without and gloomy within.

It wanted full an hour of the usual time for her father's return when she was quite ready to receive him. She wandered into the dining-room.

There were no signs of the dinner-table being laid. She wandered into the drawing-room, and pa.s.sed her fingers over the keys of the piano once or twice. But she could not settle to steady playing, or, indeed, to anything else.

"I wonder what has become of Master Clement all this time? It is time Martha was in the dining-room. I will go and see."

She went into the nursery; but it was deserted. She called, but received no answer. A sound of voices from the green room drew her there, and the door opened on as merry a game as one could wish to see.

Claude sat in his usual place in the arm-chair, and scattered on the carpet before him were a number of pictured and lettered blocks which his father had brought home. These Master Clement was examining with much pretended gravity. He was looking for the letter C, which Christie had pointed out to him. Whenever he made a mistake and pointed out the wrong letter, he punished himself by creeping on his hands and knees under Claude's crib; and whenever Christie's nod and smile proclaimed that he was right, he vaulted over the crib, with such laughter and grimaces, and such a shaking of his tangled curls over his face, that Claude laughed and clapped his hands from sympathy.

Miss Gertrude leaned over the chair and watched the play.

"How noisy you are, Clement!" she said, at last.

"Yes; but it is nice noise. I'm very good to-day, Tudie."

"Are you? I am very glad to hear it, and very much surprised too."

"Are you cross to-day?"

"Why? What makes you ask?"

"Oh, because you haven't been here."

"I have been busy writing a letter to your mother."

"Did you tell her that I am a good boy? I am a very good boy; and so is Claudie."

A leap and a grimace more astonishing than any he had yet accomplished sent Claude into fits of laughter.

"I declare," said Miss Gertrude, looking down upon him, "I don't believe your mother would know you if she were to see you now! Why, there is quite a colour in his lips. He really seems better, doesn't he?"

"Yes, and he has been very good and easily amused all day, though he has not been able to go out."

There was silence for a time. Both girls stood watching the game that was going on. But soon Christie said: