Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 37

"'And we know that all things work together for good to them that love G.o.d.'"

"That is all very well," she said; "but that is for one as well as another, for me as well as you. And besides, people don't take all things just as they stand. I am sure all the people I know live as though their life _did_ consist in the abundance of the things they possess."

"Well, I suppose the promise is not good to them," said Christie; "but that does not hinder its being good to others."

"Then one need not trouble one's self about what is to happen, according to that? One may just rest content and let things take their course?"

said Gertrude, incredulously.

"Yes, that is just what one may do, when one is sure of a right to claim the promise."

"But what do you mean by having a right? And why should one have a right more than another?" asked Gertrude, impatiently. But all the time she was saying to herself that the quiet little maid before her was one of those who might be content.

"I don't mean that any one has a right to claim the fulfilment of any promise, except the right that G.o.d gives. You know the verse says it is to them that love G.o.d for whose good all things work together. G.o.d's people, it means--those who love Him, and those whom He loves."

Looking into her earnest face, it was not easy for Gertrude to answer lightly, but in a little while she said:

"Well, Christians ought to be very happy people according to that."

"Surely," said Christie, earnestly, "and so they are."

"Well, I know some of them who don't seem very happy. And they strive for riches and greatness, and all that, just as though their happiness depended upon it."

"But no real child of G.o.d does that," said Christie, eagerly.

"Oh! as to that I can't say. They call themselves Christians."

"Well, we can't always judge people by just seeing them," said Christie.

"There's many a one who seems to be living just as other folk live, and going the round that other folk go, and all the time he may be really very different. I am not good at speaking about these things, but I know that to a child of G.o.d His simple promise is worth more than houses or lands, or anything that this world can give. No; we have nothing to fear. Only we forget and grow desponding."

The last words were spoken rather to herself than to Miss Gertrude. She sighed; but her face was quite untroubled as she rose, and laying down her Bible, began to arrange the things in the room.

"You always say, 'child of G.o.d,'" said Gertrude, wishing still to prolong the conversation. "Does that mean just a Christian, or does it mean something more?"

"Yes. 'As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of G.o.d, even to them that believe on His name.' Yes, it means just the same. You see, it seems to bring us very near to Him, speaking of Him as a Father, and of Christ as an Elder Brother. You know a child will never want for anything that a loving father has to give, if it is for his good; and so surely the children of G.o.d may well rest content with what He appoints for them. The only wonder is that they are ever otherwise than content."

Gertrude made no reply, and there was a long silence.

"'A child of G.o.d.' 'Content with what He sends them.' There is something wonderful in it. She is one of them, I dare say; and that is what makes her so different from almost any one I know. I wish I could understand it. It must be worth a great deal to know that one is a child of G.o.d. I wish she could tell me more about it."

But Christie did not seem inclined to say more on any subject that night. She moved here and there in silence, putting things to rights in the room. Gertrude rose at last.

"That is a hint that it is time for me to go," she said.

Christie laughed.

"Well, yes. You know Mrs Seaton was displeased to find us sitting up the other night when she came home. It is nearly ten."

"Oh, she won't be home to-night till the small hours have struck. Miss Atherton will take care of that. There is no fear of her finding us up to-night."

There was an expression of surprise on Christie's countenance.

"Oh, I know very well what you mean. That makes no difference, you would say. Well, I suppose we must do what she would wish, the same as if she were here, though I don't feel the least sleepy. Good-night."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE CURE FOR A BAD TEMPER.

The first days of winter pa.s.sed away rapidly. Gertrude continued to watch Christie's daily life, and to draw her own conclusions from what she saw. Humble, patient, and self-denying she always saw her, and almost always she was peaceful and happy. Not quite always; for Christie was not very strong, and had her home-sick days, and was now and then despondent. But she was rarely irritable at these times. She was only very quiet, speaking seldom, even to little Claude, till the cloud pa.s.sed away. And when it pa.s.sed it left the sunshine brighter, the peace of her trusting heart greater than before.

It is not to be supposed that Gertrude watched all this with no thought beyond the little nurserymaid. When she had settled in her own mind that it was her religion which made Christie so different from most of the people with whom she had come in contact, she did not fail to bring into comparison with her life the lives and professions of many who wished to be considered Christians. This was not the wisest course she could have taken, but happily she went farther than this. Comparing her own life and conduct with that of Claude's nurse, she did not fail to see how far it fell short.

There was nothing very difficult in Christie's daily duties. She had no opportunities for doing great things, or for bearing great trials. But seeing her always as she saw her, Gertrude came to feel that the earnestness, the patience, the self-forgetfulness, with which all her little duties were done, and all her little disappointments borne, would have made any life beautiful. And seeing and feeling all this, there gradually grew out of her admiration a desire to imitate what seemed so beautiful in the little maid; and many a time when she was disappointed or angry did the remembrance of her humble friend help her to self-restraint. With a vague idea that Christie's power came from a source beyond herself, she groped blindly and only half consciously for the same help. She studied in secret the Bible that seemed to be so precious to her, and she prayed earnestly--or she believed she prayed-- to be made wise and strong and self-denying, and in short, did what might be done to build up a righteousness for herself.

Of course she failed, and then came discouragement and despondency; and while this mood lasted, all the days in the upper nursery were not happy ones. For Gertrude, vexed with herself and her failure, grew impatient and exacting with all the world; and as all the world was not at the young lady's command, a great deal of her discomfort was visited on Christie.

As for Christie, she was very patient and forbearing with her, waiting till her unkind moods were over, not answering her at all, or waiting and watching for an opportunity to win her from an indulgence of her spleen. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes her gentleness served to irritate the wayward girl to sharper words or greater coldness. But save by silence, or a look of grieved surprise, her unkindness was never resented.

A half perception of how it was with the young lady helped her greatly to endure her petulance. She longed to help her, but she did not know how to do so by words. So she prayed for her and had patience with her, saying to herself, if Miss Gertrude was in earnest to do right, G.o.d would guide her to Himself in time.

"Do you know you speak to me just as you speak to Claude when he is fretful and naughty," said Gertrude one day, when she had been more than usually irritable and unhappy.

"Do I?" said Christie, looking up, gravely; but she smiled brightly enough when she saw by Gertrude's face that the cloud was pa.s.sing away for this time.

"Yes. If you would pat me gently, and smooth my hair, and offer to tell me a story, the illusion would be complete. Why don't you tell me to take myself and my books down-stairs? I am sure you must be sick of the sight of me."

Christie laughed, and shook her head.

"Come, now, confess that you were just saying to yourself, How cross and unreasonable she has been all day!"

"No; I was wondering what could be vexing you, and wishing I could help you in some way."

"There is nothing vexing me that you can help. It is just my nature to be cross and disagreeable. I don't suppose there's any help for that."

Christie laughed quite merrily now.

"It's a wonder I never found out that was your nature before."

"Oh, well, you are finding it out now. I only found it out lately myself. I never in all my life tried so hard to be good and patient and self-denying, and I was never so bad in all my life. There are times when I quite hate myself; and I am sure I shouldn't wonder if you were to hate me too."

She had been gazing moodily into the fire, but she turned as she said this, and met the wistful, almost tearful, eyes of Christie fixed upon her.

"I wish you could tell me something to do," she added. "You know so much more about these things than I do."

Christie shook her head with a sigh.

"Oh, no; I know very little; and even what I know I can't speak about as other people can. You must have patience with yourself,"--"and pray,"

she would have added; but Miss Gertrude cut her short.