Working in the Shade Part 2

"Of course it does," broke in the elder lady; "you mean that it is not free from self-consciousness and, more or less, of parade."

"I fear so, dear aunt. I cannot help thinking that, as some one has said of faith, so it may be said of true unselfishness, that 'it is colourless like water,'--it makes no show nor a.s.sertion of itself. But dear Grace Willerly is a sterling character for all that."

"So then," said the colonel, after a pause, "I must give up in despair, must I? No, that will never do. Now, I am wanting a quiet worker in the shade for poor Bridgepath,--some young lady friend who has a little leisure time, and will go now and then and read in the cottages there the Word of G.o.d, and give some loving counsel to those who need it so much. I have the good vicar's full consent and approbation; he will gladly welcome any such helper as I may find for the post. It will be a true labour of love; and, without any more words I am come to ask Miss Stansfield if she will spare her niece for the good work, and Miss Mary if she will be willing to undertake it."

The reply of the two ladies, who were equally taken by surprise, was in each case made in a single word, and that word very characteristic.

"Impossible!" cried the old lady. "Me!" exclaimed the younger one.

"Nay, not impossible, dear friend," said the colonel gently. "I want this service of love only once a week for an hour or two, and I am sure you can spare my young friend for that time.--And as for yourself, Miss Mary, I believe, from what I have seen of you, that you are just fitted for the work; and I am sure that you are too sincere to excuse yourself on the ground of an unfitness which you do not really feel."

"And what am I to do?" asked the old lady bitterly.

"Exercise a little of this true unselfishness, dear friend. You see there are many ways in which you too can show true unselfishness in the cause of that Master whom I know you truly love, though he has laid you aside from much active work for him."

Miss Stansfield did not answer for a time; she looked pained, but the bitterness had pa.s.sed away from her countenance. Evading an immediate reply, she said, "I don't understand these many ways in which I can show unselfishness, Colonel Dawson."

"Do you not? May I mention some?"

"Yes, do," she replied earnestly.

"Well, bear with me then, while I make one or two suggestions which our late conversations have been leading up to. I will imagine myself in your place, and looking out to see where I may best put the stamp of the Cross on my life. I am wishing to do good, I am trying to do good: but may it not be that my benevolence is sometimes rendered so ungraciously that it gives more pain than pleasure to those who receive it? Ah, then, I will put the stamp of the Cross here. I will try, not only to do good, but to do it graciously. Perhaps, again, I am looking upon suffering and natural infirmity of temper as an excuse for harshness and hard judgment, and not as a call to exercise charity, patience, and forbearance. Then let me put the stamp of the Cross here also. Or, once more, perhaps I am in the habit of looking for the weeds rather than the flowers, for the shadows rather than the sunshine, in my lot.

Well, then, here again I may place the stamp of the Cross, by exercising quiet, unostentatious self-denial and unselfishness before the loving eyes of him who has made us for himself, and redeemed us that we might in all things glorify him. Might I not thus, dear friend, exhibit true unselfishness, and at the same time brighten my own heart, and also the hearts of others?"

No one spoke for a few moments, but the old lady bowed her head upon her hands and wept silently. Then she stretched out a hand to the colonel, without raising her head, and said in a half-stifled whisper, "Thank you, thank you, faithful friend. Mary shall undertake the post if she will."

Ah yes! Light had shone into that clouded spirit; the shadows were pa.s.sing away. Mary Stansfield knelt her down by the old lady's side, and in one loving, tearful embrace, such as they had never known before, the icy barrier that had so long chilled that young and loving heart was melted, and there was peace.

The colonel was more than satisfied. He knew, as he quietly stole out of the room without a further word, that he had been privileged to gain that morning two like-minded workers in the shade, instead of one.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE STAMP OF THE CROSS.

A few days after Colonel Dawson's happy interview with Miss Stansfield and her niece, a _fete_ was given by the Wilders at their residence, Holly House, partly for the entertainment of the children who belonged to the Sunday-school cla.s.ses taught by the Misses Wilder, and partly also as a means of gathering together as many neighbouring friends and acquaintances as might be at leisure to come.

Colonel Dawson and his nephew had received a pressing invitation; and also Lady Willerly and her daughter, though the latter was hardly expected, as it was known how many engagements she had to tie her at home. The invitation, however, decided Grace Willerly to write at once and say that, although she had a very pressing engagement, she would arrange to put it off, as she felt that a good game of play with the dear children on the lawn at Holly House would be just the very thing she wanted to do her good and freshen her up.

So a large party a.s.sembled on the day appointed, and among them the colonel and his nephew--the former because he wished to keep on friendly terms with his neighbours, though he antic.i.p.ated but little pleasure from this particular gathering. Besides this, he was a little anxious to see to what extent the intimacy between the young Wilders and his nephew had gone; for he had something of a misgiving that the young man might be getting entangled in the attractions of one of the young ladies, and this was the last thing he would have desired for him. As for Horace Jackson himself, his impression concerning the younger members of the Wilder family was that they were decidedly "jolly." He had not yet consciously arrived at a warmer stage of feeling in regard to any one of them, and his estimate was tolerably correct. Somebody had characterised the young ladies of Holly House as "dashing girls,"

and such they certainly were.

The eldest was now about one and twenty, a fine _manly_ young woman, with a loud voice, and very demonstrative manners, who seemed inclined to do good in the spirit of a prize-fighter, by attacking the evils which she sought to remedy with a masculine vigour, such as would drive them in terror off the field. The second daughter, Clara, was of a rather less commanding appearance than her elder sister, but dressed and talked pretty much in the same fashion. The third, Millicent, would naturally have been quiet and retiring, but had constrained herself to imitate her sisters. She had, however, only so far succeeded as to acquire an abrupt and off-hand style of speaking, which was calculated to shut up old-fashioned people, who had been brought up under the impression that young ladies should belong to the feminine gender.

Indeed, when the three Misses Wilder were met on the public road in their walking attire, with natty little hats on their heads, ulsters down to their feet, turn-down collars round their necks, and riding- whips or walking-sticks in their hands, it would have been very difficult for an unpractised observer to determine to what particular s.e.x they belonged.

Their brother was proud of his sisters, and matched them admirably. He was a kind-hearted, outspoken, generous young man, up to anything, from a midnight spree to a special religious service; hating everything like cant as decidedly "low," and going in for sincerity, truth, and free- thought. Moreover, he spent his money, or, more strictly speaking, his father's money as well as his own, on horses, dogs, and guns, and left sundry little bills to stand over till the poor creditors had lost both hope and patience.

It was now four o'clock, and the children were a.s.sembling for tea, after a series of games, in which they had been joined by Grace Willerly with an unflagging energy, and been occasionally encouraged by a kind word from Mr and Mrs Wilder and their daughters.

"What a charming sight, isn't it?" said Mrs Wilder to Colonel Dawson, as they strolled up to the tea-tables, which had been set out under the shade of some huge elms. "How happy the dear children seem!"

"Yes," replied her guest; "it is indeed a pleasant sight, and I am sure we may well learn a lesson of contentment with simple pleasures from the hearty enjoyment of these young ones. What a pity that the world and its attractions should ever get a place in the hearts of these or of any of us, since G.o.d has made us for purer and higher things!"

"Ah! Very true, colonel;--but won't you come into the house? I see our friends are gathering in the drawing-room. We shall find tea there; and Clara and Millicent, with Grace Willerly, will see that their little friends want for nothing. Oh! Here is your nephew.--Pray, Mr Jackson, come in with us; I am sure you will be glad of a little refreshment."

So the elder guests a.s.sembled in the drawing-room, and got through an hour of miscellaneous gossip very creditably; at the end of which all adjourned to the garden again, and strolled about in twos and threes till the school children were dismissed and it was time for the visitors to take their leave.

"What a relief!" exclaimed the colonel to his nephew, as they trotted on side by side on their ride homewards.

"Well, it was dull work, uncle, I allow," said the young man, laughing.

"But these gatherings are, I suppose, useful and necessary, if people are to keep up friendly acquaintance with one another, and do what is civil and neighbourly."

"Yes, perhaps so," replied his uncle; "but such an afternoon is little better than bondage and lost time--at any rate to a man of my colonial habits. However, it has given me an opportunity of seeing more of the young ladies at Holly House."

"And I am afraid, uncle, that you do not find them improve upon acquaintance."

"Just so, Horace; they don't suit my taste at all."

"And yet, dear uncle, with all their dash, and _brusquerie_, and fastness, they really are most kind-hearted and unselfish girls."

"Kind-hearted, I allow, but I doubt their unselfishness."

"But why, uncle? What would you have more? They certainly don't spare themselves. They are here, there, and everywhere, when any good is to be done, and think nothing of spending any amount of time and money in making other people happy."

"True, Horace, but there is a pleasurable excitement in all this which more than overbalances any trouble it may cost, especially when the world's applause for their good deeds is thrown into the same scale."

"But," remonstrated the young man, in rather a disturbed and anxious tone, "is not this dealing them a little hard measure? Where shall we find anything that will deserve the name of unselfishness, if we weigh people's actions too rigorously?"

"Ah! You think me severe and uncharitable, Horace. But now, it just comes to this. What do the Misses Wilder and their brother (for I suppose we must take him into consideration too), really forsake or give up in order to do good? I don't pretend to know the private affairs of the family generally, but certainly there are strong rumours afloat that the maxim, 'Be just before you are generous,' is not acted upon by the young people in their money concerns. I allowed just now that they are good-natured, but good-nature is a very different thing from unselfishness. What personal gratification do they surrender in order to do good? What worldly pleasure or amus.e.m.e.nt do they deny themselves?

What extravagance do they curtail?"

"I can't say much for them in that respect, certainly," replied the young man thoughtfully; "indeed, I must frankly confess that I have heard more than once from the eldest Miss Wilder the expression of her hope and conviction that the united good deeds of the family would be accepted, by the world at any rate, as a sort of atonement for follies and excesses which clearly could not be justified in themselves."

"I can well believe it, my dear nephew: but I have something much weightier to say on the subject, and it is this. There is manifestly one great want in all the doings of these kind-hearted people at Holly House, which would make me at once deny the character of unselfishness to their best deeds."

"And what is that, dear uncle?"

"The stamp of the Cross, Horace. I know that there are plenty of crosses about them,--crosses on their prayer-books, crosses round their necks, crosses on their writing-cases and on their furniture; but _the_ Cross is wanting. In a word, they are not denying self, and seeking to do good to others from love to that Saviour who gave up so much for them. I know that they are not without religion in the eyes of the world; but I cannot, I dare not believe that they are really actuated by love to the great Master in what they may do to make others happy. Am I wrong, Horace?"

"No, uncle, I cannot say that you are. Much as I like the girls on many accounts, I should not be speaking my honest sentiments were I to say that I believed them to be doing good to others from real Christian motives. And yet--"

"Ah, my dear nephew, I know what you would say. I know that the world would embrace such as these within its elastic band as among genuine unselfish workers, though avowedly on a lower level than that adopted by the true Christian. But, after all, can G.o.d, the searcher of hearts, approve of anything as being truly unselfish which does not bear the stamp of the Cross? And can anything of which he does not approve be a reality?"

"I suppose not," said the other reluctantly. "Still, it is difficult not to be dazzled by what looks like a reflection from the true Light; and difficult, too, to detect a sham where we are willing to see a reality."

"Very difficult," replied Colonel Dawson: "and yet the world abounds in shams, and cant, and hypocrisy. The world commonly lays these things at the door of religious professors; but the truth all the while is that the sham, and the cant, and the hypocrisy are really in those who take or gain credit for a character--unselfishness, for example--which is only to be found in true Christians, and hold themselves back from that genuine devotion, and self-sacrifice, and coming out to Christ, without which their boasted and lauded excellences are nothing better than a delusion and an empty name."

The young man did not reply, and the subject was dropped for the remainder of the ride home.