The Rectory Children Part 23

'If you please, miss,' he said, 'a young lady is in the library waiting to see you. My mistress is out. The lady asked for both you and Miss Bridget.'

'Who can it be?' said Rosalys.

'How tiresome!' said Biddy.

But they were accustomed to see visitors that had to be seen when their mother was out, and they went together to the library.

Alie went in first, but she stood perplexed and a little confused as a slight tall figure rose from a chair and came forward to meet her.

'I am afraid,' the stranger began, but before she could say another word, or before Alie had time to do more than think to herself, much more quickly than it takes to tell it, that surely she _should_ know that sweet pale face and bright though gentle eyes, Biddy had darted forward and was throwing her arms round the young girl's neck. 'Don't you know her, Alie?' she cried. '_I_ do. It's dear little Celestina, grown up, and oh, how nice and pretty and good you look! And we've been speaking of you all this morning. It's Alie's birthday; she's twenty-one, just fancy! And where have you been, and where's your mother, and----'

Her breathlessness gave Rosalys time to come forward and warmly kiss Celestina in her turn. Then they made her sit down; she was looking rather tired, for she had had a long walk in the sun--and by degrees she told them all her news. There was a good deal to tell. The last four years had been spent by her mother and herself in France, not far from Madame d'Ermont, whom Celestina described as having been more than kind.

'She paid for all my schooling and lessons,' the girl said simply, 'so that mother could afford to stay with me all the time. Mother gave some English lessons herself too. And I was able to learn French _quite_ well, which will be such an advantage to me. The last two years I taught English at the school, so the expenses were not so great. And we spent the summer holidays at Madame d'Ermont's chateau. Oh, she was _so_ kind!'

'But why have you not written to us all this time?' asked her friends.

'We have--two or three times, but the address must have been wrong, for one letter was returned to us. I remember I put all rightly except the county, for I did not think that necessary; and now--the other day, I mean--when, we had answered the advertis.e.m.e.nt and were inquiring about Calton, we found that there are actually three or four places of the name in England. And oh, we were so delighted when we found on getting there that Laneverel Rectory was only two miles off.'

'Are you living at Calton then? What do you mean about an advertis.e.m.e.nt?

Is your mother at Calton?'

Celestina laughed and blushed at her own confused way of explaining.

'I am so pleased at seeing you that I am losing my head,' she said.

'Yes, we have come to live at Calton. We have got the dearest little house there. And I am French teacher at the large girls' school just outside the town. I get sixty pounds a year--is it not delightful? So we are quite rich. If only--you don't know how I wish poor father could have enjoyed it too--if he could but have had a few years of the pleasant life and rest.'

She smiled through the tears in her eyes. Biddy stroked her hand gently.

'But you yourself--it isn't all rest for you?' said Alie, thinking as she spoke that it was 'Celestina all over,' never giving a thought to herself.

'Oh no, I have to work of course. But I like it. And some of my pupils are very nice and intelligent. Besides--I should be miserable if I were idle,' she added brightly.

'Yes, indeed,' both the girls heartily agreed. 'We are very busy too, Celestina. We have lots and lots of things to do at home to help papa and mamma, and all the village people to look after, and the schools and the choir and the church. You must see the church, Celestina.'

'It is just--almost, at least--perfect,' added Biddy enthusiastically, 'compared with poor old Seacove! Oh, do you remember the high pews with curtains round, and the old clerk, and the pulpit like a Queen Elizabeth bedstead.'

'Only _without_ curtains,' said Celestina, at which they all laughed.

They were so happy they would have laughed at anything!

Then Celestina had to be told about Rough, and how well he was getting on, though so far away, alas! And _then_ she had to be taken out into the garden to see its beauties, and have promises of unlimited cuttings and seeds and I don't know all what for her own little garden. There was poor old s.m.u.ttie's grave to show her too, in one corner, for s.m.u.t had lived to enjoy a year or two of peaceful and slumberous old age on the sunny doorstep in summer and the library hearthrug in winter at Laneverel Rectory. And _then_ came the sounds of wheels, and the pony carriage turned in at the gate with Mr. and Mrs. Vane, and all the story of the joyful surprise had to be told over again.

The rector and his wife welcomed their old young friend as heartily as their daughters had done, you may be sure. They pressed her to stay to dinner, promising to drive her home in the cool of the evening, but this, Celestina, unselfish as ever, would not do, for 'mother' might be uneasy. So they had a very delightful 'afternoon tea' in the garden, for afternoon teas were just coming into fashion, and Rosalys and Bride walked half-way home with Celestina, parting with invitations and promises on both sides. Celestina was to spend at least _half_ of her half-holidays at the Rectory, and Alie was to drive to Calton to fetch Mrs. Fairchild the very next Sat.u.r.day, and the sisters were to pay Celestina a long visit the following week, to see the dear little house and all her treasures.

'You shall have tea in the sweet little French tea-cups Madame d'Ermont gave me,' said she joyfully. 'They are a _little_ bigger than my doll ones long ago.'

'Oh dear,' said Biddy, 'that reminds me of the time I invited myself to tea to your house, and Alie was so shocked at me. I _was_ a horrid little girl.'

'No, you _weren't_', said both the others. 'And any way,' added Alie fondly, 'isn't she nice now, Celestina?'

'I've never had any friends, if I may call you so,' was Celestina's indirect reply, 'that I have cared for as for you two,' and there was a dewy look in her gentle eyes which said even more than her words.

A _real_ friendship--a friendship to last through the changes that _must_ come; a friendship too firmly based to be influenced by the fact that none of us, not even the sweetest and truest, are 'perfect,' that we _must_ 'bear and forbear,' and gently judge each other while in this world--such friendships are very rare. We are not _bound_ to our friends, not obliged to make the best of them, as with relations, and so, too often, we throw each other off hastily, take offence in some foolish way, and the dear old friendship is a thing of the past, one of those 'used to be's' that are so sad to come across in our memory. But it is not always so. Some friendships wear well, sending down their roots ever deeper and more firmly as the years go on, spreading out their gracious branches ever more widely overhead for us to find shelter and rest beneath them in the stormy as in the sunny days of life. And oh, dear children, such friendship is something to thank G.o.d for!

My little girls, whose friendship began in the old back parlour at Seacove, are not even young women now--they are getting down into the afternoon of life--but they are still friends, true and tried. Friends whom sorrow and trials only join together still more closely; whose love for and trust in each other even death cannot destroy.

THE END