CHAPTER FIVE.
GATTY'S TROUBLES.
"And I come down no more to chilling praise, To sneers, to wearing out of empty days, But rest, rejoicing in the power I've won, To go on learning, though my crying's done."
_Isabella Fyvie Mayo_.
As the two girls turned into the little garden of Number Three, thelatch of the door was lifted, and Mrs Jane came out.
"Good evening!" said she. "Come to see my sister, are you? I and myDeb are doing for her to-day, for her Nell has got a holiday--gone tosee her mother--lazy slut!"
"Which is the lazy slut, Mrs Jane?" asked Rhoda, laughing.
"Heyday! they're all a parcel together," answered Mrs Jane. "Nell andher mother, and her grandmother before them. And Marcella, too, she'sno better. Go in, if you want a string of complaints. You can come outwhen you've had plenty."
"How many complaints are plenty, Mrs Jane?"
"One," said Mrs Jane, marching off. "Plenty for me."
Rhoda lifted the latch, and walked in, Phoebe following her. She tappedat the inner door.
"Oh, come in, whoever it is," said a querulous, plaintive voice. "Well,Mrs Rhoda, I thought you would have been to see me before. A poorlonely creature, that nobody cares for, and never has any comfort norpleasure! And who have you with you? I'm sure she's in a deepconsumption from the looks of her. Coltsfoot, my dear, and horehound,with plenty of sugar, boiled together; and a little mallow won't hurt.But they'll not do you much good, I should say; you're too far gone:still, 'tis a duty to do all one can, and some strange things do happen:like Betty Collins--the doctors all gave her up, and there she is,walking about, as well as anybody. And so may you, my dear, though youdon't look like it. Still, you are young--there's no telling: andcoltsfoot is a very good thing, and makes wonderful cures. Oh, thatcareless Jane, to leave me all alone, just when I wanted my pillowsshaking! And so inconsiderate of Nell to go home just to-day, of alldays, when she knew I was sure to be worse; I always am after afast-day. Fast-days don't suit me at all; they are very bad for sickpeople. They make one's spirits so low, and are sure to give me thevapours. Oh dear, that Jane!"
"What's the matter with that Jane?" demanded the bearer of the name,stalking in, as Phoebe was trying to brace up her courage to the pointof offering to shake the pillows. "Want another dose of castor oil?I've got it."
A faint shriek of deprecation was the answer.
"Oh dear! And you know how I hate it! Jane, do shake up my pillows.They feel as if there were stones instead of flocks in them, or--"
"Nutmegs, no doubt," suggested Mrs Jane. "Shake them up? Oh yes, andyou too--do you both good."
"Oh, don't, Jane! Have you an orange for me?"
"Sit down, my dears," said Mrs Jane, parenthetically. "Can't affordthem, Marcella. Plenty of black currant tea. Better for you."
"I don't like it!" said Mrs Marcella, plaintively.
"Oranges are eightpence a-piece, and currants may be had for thegathering," observed Mrs Jane, sententiously.
"They give me a pain in my side!" moaned the invalid.
"Well, the oranges would give you a pain in your purse. I'd rather haveone in my side, if I were you."
"You don't know what it is to be ill!" said Mrs Marcella, closing hereyes.
"Don't I? I've had both small-pox and spotted fever."
"So long ago!"
"Bless you, child! I'm not Methuselah!" said Mrs Jane.
"Well, I think you might be, Jane, for really, the way in which you cansit up all night, and look as fresh as a daisy in the morning, when youhave not had a wink of sleep, and I am perfectly worn-out withsuffering--just skin and bone, and no more--"
"There's a little tongue left, I reckon!" said Mrs Jane.
"The way she will get up and go to market, my dears, after such a nightas that," pursued Mrs Marcella, who always ran on her own line ofrails, and never shunted to avoid collision; "you never saw anythinglike her--the amount she can bear! She's as tough as a rhinoceros, andas strong as an elephant, and as wanting in feeling as--as--"
"A sensitive plant," popped in Mrs Jane. "Now, Marcella, open yourmouth and shut your eyes, and take this."
"Is it castor oil?" faintly screamed the invalid, endeavouring toprotect herself.
"Stuff! 'Tis good Tent wine. Take it and be thankful."
"Where did you get it, Jane?"
"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," said Mrs Jane. "Itwas honestly come by."
"Well, I think we must be going, Mrs Marcella," said Rhoda, rising.
"Oh, my dear! Must you, really? And so seldom as you come to see apoor thing like me, who hasn't a living creature to care for her--exceptJane, of course, and she doesn't, not one bit! Dear! And to think thatI was once a pretty young maid, with a little fortune of my own; andthere was many a young gentleman, my dear, that would have given hisright hand for no more than a smile from me--"
"Heyday! how this world is given to lying!" interpolated Mrs Jane.
"And we were a large family then--eight of us, my dear; and now they areall dead, and I am left quite alone, except Jane, you know. Oh dear,dear, but to think of it! But there is no thankfulness in the world,nor kindness neither. The people I have been good to! and now that Ihave _come down_ a little, to see how they treat me! Jane doesn't mindit; she has no tender feelings at all; she can stand all things, andnever say a word, I am sure I don't know how she does it. I am allfeeling! These things touch me so keenly. But Jane's just like astone. Well, good evening, my dear, if you must go. I think you mighthave come a little sooner, and you might come oftener, if you would.But that is always my lot, to be neglected and despised--a poor, lonely,ugly old maid, that nobody cares for. And it wasn't my fault, I amsure; I never chose such a fate. I cannot think why such afflictionshave been sent me. I am sure I am no worse than other people. Clarissais a great deal vainer than I am; and Jane is ever so much harder; andas to Dorothy, why, 'tis misery to see her--she is so cheerful and fullof mirth, and she has not a thing to be content with--it quite hurts meto see anyone like that. But people are so wanting in feeling! I amsure--"
"Go, if you want," said Mrs Jane, shortly, holding the door open.
"Oh, yes, go! Of course you want to go!" lamented Mrs Marcella. "Whatpleasure can there be to a bright young maid like you, to sit with apoor, sick, miserable creature like me? Dear, dear! And only tothink--"
Rhoda escaped. Phoebe followed, more slowly. Mrs Jane came out afterthem, and shut the door behind them.
"She's in pain, this evening," said the last-named person in her usualblunt style. "Some folks can bear pain, and some can't. And those thatcan must beat with those that can't. She'll be better of letting it outa bit. Good evening."
"Oh, isn't it dreadful!" said Rhoda, when they were out of the gate. "Ijust hate going to see Mrs Marcella, especially when she takes one ofher complaining fits. If I were Mrs Jane, I should let her have it outby herself. But she is hard, rather--she doesn't care as I should."
But Phoebe thought that a mistake. She had noticed the drawn brow ofthe silent sister, while the sufferer was detailing her string oftroubles, and the sudden quiver of the under lip, when allusion was madeto the eight of whom the family had once consisted: and Phoebe'sdeduction was, not that Jane Talbot bore no burden, but that she kept itout of sight. Perhaps that very characteristic bluntness of her mannerdenoted a tight curb kept upon her spirit.
Rhoda had noticed nothing of all this. Herself a surface character, shecould not see below the surface in another.
The Wednesday evening came, and with it Sir Richard Delawarr's coach,conveying his two younger daughters. They were extremely unlike inperson. Gatty was tall, calm, and deliberate; Molly was ratherdiminutive for her years, and exceedingly lively. While Gatty cameforward in a stately, courteous manner, courtesying to Madam, and kindlyanswering her inquiries after Betty, Molly linked her arm in Rhoda's,with--
"How goes it, old j
ade?"
And when Mr Onslow, who happened to be crossing the hall, stopped andinquired in a rather timid manner if Mrs Betty's health were improving,Molly at once favoured him with a slap on the back, and the counterquery,--
"What's that to you, you old thief?" Phoebe was horrified. If thesewere aristocratic manners, she preferred those of inferior quality. Butnoticing that Gatty's manners were quiet and correct, Phoebe concludedthat Molly must be an exceptional eccentricity. She contemplated theprospect of a month in that young lady's company with unmitigatedrepugnance.
"Well, Mrs Molly, my dear,--as smart as ever!" remarked Madam, turningto Molly with a smile. "All right, old witch!" said Molly. And toPhoebe's astonishment, Madam smiled on, and did not resent theimpertinence.
"Well!--how do you like Gatty and Molly?" said Rhoda to Phoebe, whenthey were safe in their own room.
"Pretty well, Mrs Gatty," replied Phoebe, leaving the question of Mollyundecided.
"Don't you like Molly?" demanded Rhoda, laughing. "Ah! I see. She'srather too clever to please you."
"I ask your pardon, but I don't see any cleverness in downrightrudeness," timidly suggested Phoebe.
"Oh, nobody cares what Molly says," answered Rhoda. "They put up withall that,--she's so smart. You see, she's very, very ingenious, andeverybody thinks so, and she knows people think so. She's a rep., yousee, and she has to keep it up."
"I ask your pardon," said Phoebe again; "a _what_, if you please?"
"A rep., child," answered Rhoda, in her patronising style. "Areputation,--a character for smartness, you know. Don't you see?"
"Well, I would rather have a character for something better," saidPhoebe.
"You may make yourself easy; you'll never get a character forsmartness," responded her cousin with an unpleasant laugh. "Well, Isay, Phoebe, while they are here I shall have Molly in my room, and youmust sleep with Gatty. You can come in and dress me of a morning, youknow, and help me into bed at night; but we can't do with three in oneroom."
Phoebe was inwardly thankful for it. What little she had seen of Gattywas rather negative than positive; but at least it had not, as in thecase of Molly revealed anything actively disagreeable. Rhoda washeartily welcome to Molly's society so far as Phoebe was concerned. Butit surprised and rather perplexed Phoebe to find that Rhoda actuallyliked this very objectionable maiden.
"Panem?" asked Molly, the next morning at breakfast. Her Latin, such asit was, was entirely unburdened with cases and declensions. "Thank you,I will take kakos."
"Fiddle-de-dee! what's that?" said Molly. Rhoda had completelyforgotten what the word meant.
"Oh, 'tis the Greek for biscuit," said she, daringly.
Phoebe contrived to hide a portion of her face in her teacup, but Gattysaw her eyes, and read their meaning.
"The Greek!" cried Molly. "Who has taught you Greek, Ne'er-do-well?"
"A very learned person," said Rhoda, to whom it was delight to mystifyMolly.
"Old Onslow?" demanded irreverent Molly, quite undeterred by theconsideration that the chaplain sat at the table with her.
"You can ask him," said Rhoda.
"Did you, old cassock?" inquired Molly, who appeared to apply thatadjective in a most impartial manner.
"Indeed, Mrs Molly, I did not--I never knew--" stammered the startledchaplain, quite shaken out of his propriety.
"Never knew any Greek? I thought so," responded audacious Molly,thereby evoking laughter all round the table, in which even Madamjoined.
Phoebe, who had recovered herself, sat lost in wonder where thecleverness of all this was to be found. It simply disgusted her. Rhodawas not always pleasant to put up with, but Rhoda was sweetness andgrace, compared with Molly. Gatty sat quietly, neither rebuking hersister's sallies, nor apparently amused by them. And Rhoda _liked_ thisgirl! It was a mystery to Phoebe.
When night came Phoebe found her belongings transferred to Gatty's room.She assisted Rhoda to undress, herself silent, but a perpetual chatterbeing kept up between Rhoda and Molly on subjects not by any meansinteresting to Phoebe.
The latter was at length dismissed, and, with a sense of relief, shewent slowly along the passage to the room in which she and Gatty were tosleep.
Though it was getting very late, the clock being on the stroke of ten,yet Gatty was not in bed. She seemed to have half undressed herself,and then to have thrown a scarf over her shoulders and sat down by thewindow. It was a beautiful night, and a flood of silvery moonlightthrew the trees into deep shadow and lit up the open spaces almost likeday. Phoebe came and stood at the window beside Gatty. Perhaps eachwas a little shy of the other; for some seconds passed in silence, andPhoebe was the first to speak.
"You like it," she said timidly.
"Oh, yes. 'Tis so quiet," was Gatty's answer.
Phoebe was thinking what she should say next, when Gatty rose, took offher scarf, which she folded neatly and put away in the wardrobe,finished her undressing, and got into bed, without another word beyond"Good-night."
For three weeks of the month which the visit was to last this proved tobe the usual state of matters. Gatty and Phoebe regularly exchangedgreetings, night and morning; but beyond this their conversation waslimited to remarks upon the weather, and an occasional request thatPhoebe would inspect the neat and proper condition of some part ofGatty's dress which she could not conveniently see. And Phoebe began tocome to the conclusion that Rhoda had judged rightly,--Gatty had nothingin her.
But one evening, when Molly had been surpassingly "clever," keepingRhoda in peals of laughter, and Phoebe in a state of annoyed disgust,--on reaching their bedroom, Phoebe found Gatty, still dressed, andsitting by the bed, with her face bowed upon her hands.
"I ask your pardon, but are you not well?" said Phoebe, in asympathising tone.
"Oh, yes. Quite well," was Gatty's reply, in a constrained voice; butas she rose and moved her hands from her face, Phoebe saw that she hadbeen crying.
"You are in trouble," said Phoebe, gently. "Don't tell me anything,unless you like; but I know what trouble is; and if I could help you--"
"You can't," said Gatty, shortly.
Phoebe was silent. Her sympathy had been repulsed--it was not wanted.The undressing was, as usual, without a word.
But when the girls had lain down in bed, Phoebe was a little surprisedto hear Gatty say suddenly,--
"Phoebe Latrobe!--does anybody love you?"
"God loves me," said Phoebe, simply. "I am not sure that any one elsedoes."
"I like you," said Gatty. "You let me be. That's what nobody everdoes."
"I am not sure that I understand you," responded Phoebe.
"I'll tell you," replied Gatty, "for I think you can hold your tongue,and not be always chatter, chatter, chatter, like--like some people.You think there's only one Gatty Delawarr; and I'll be bound you thinkher a very dull, stupid creature. Well, you're about right there. Butthere are two: there's me, and there's the thing people want to make me.Now, you haven't seen me,--you've only seen the woman into whom I ambeing pinched and pulled. This is me that talks to you to-night, andperhaps you'll never see me again,--only that other girl,--so you hadbetter make the most of me now that you have me. I'm sure, if youdislike her as much as I do--! You see, Phoebe, there are three of us--Betty, and me, and Molly: and Mother's set her heart on our all making anoise in the world. Well, perhaps we could have managed better if wemight have made our own noise; but we have to make it to order, and wedon't do it well at all. Betty's the best off, because Mother hit onsomething that went with her nature,--she's the notable housewife. Soshe plays her play well. But when she set up Molly for a wit, and mefor a beauty, she made a great blunder. Molly hasn't a bit of wit, soshe falls back on rude speeches, and they go through me just as if sheran a knife into me. You did not think so, did you?"
"No," said Phoebe, wonderingly; "I thought you did not seem to care."
"That's the other Gatty. She does not care. She's bee
n told,--oh, ahundred times over!--to compose herself and keep her features calm, andnot let her voice be ruffled; and move slowly, so that her elbows arenot square, and all on in that way; and she has about learned it by thistime. I know how to sit still and look unconcerned, if my heart bebreaking. And it is breaking, Phoebe."
"Dear Mrs Gatty, what can I do for you?"
"You can't do anything but listen to me. Let me pour it out this once,and don't scold me. I don't mean anything wrong, Phoebe. I don't wishto complain of Mother, or Molly, or any one. I only want to tellsomebody what I have to bear, and then I'll compose myself again to mypart in the world's big theatre, and go away and bear it, like othergirls do. And you are the only person I have acquaintance with, that Ifeel as if I could tell."
"Pray go on, Mrs Gatty; I can feel sorry, if I can do nothing else."
"Well,--at home somebody is at me from morning to night. There's aposture-master comes once a week; and Mother's maid looks to my carriageat all times, 'tis an endless round of--`Gatty, hold your headup,'--`Gatty, put that plate down, and take it up with your armrounded,'--`Gatty, you must not laugh,'--`Gatty, you must notsneeze,'--`Gatty, walk slower,'--come, that's enough. Then there'sMolly on the top of it. And there's Betty on the top of Molly,--whocan't conceive why anybody should ruffle her mind about anything. Andthere's Mother above all, for ever telling me she looks to have me cut adash, and make a good match; and if I had played my cards rightly Iought to have caught a husband ere I was seventeen,--'tis disgracefulthat I should thus throw away my advantages. And, Phoebe, _I_ wantnothing but to creep into some little, far-away corner, and _be me_, andthrow away my patches and love-locks, and powder and pomatum, and neversee that other Gatty any more. That's how it was up to last month."
Gatty paused a moment, and drew a long sigh.
"And then, there came another on the scene, and I suppose the play grewmore entertaining to Mother, and Betty, and Molly, in the boxes. Peopledon't think, you know, when they look down at the prima donna, painted,and smiling, and decked with flowers,--they don't think if she has ahusband who ill-uses her, or a child dying at home. She has come thereto make them sport. Well, there came an old lord,--a man of sixty orseventy,--who has led a wild rakish life all these years, and now hethinks 'tis time to settle down, and he wants me to help him to makepeople think he's become respectable. And they say I shall marry him.Phoebe, they say I must,--there is to be no help for it. And I can'tbear him to look at me. If he touches my glove, I want to fling it intothe fire when it comes off. And this one month, here, at White-Ladies,is my last quiet time. When I go home--if Betty be recovered of herdistemper--I am to be married to this old man in a week's time. I amtied hand and foot, like a captive or a slave; and I have not even thepoor relief of tears. They make my eyes red, and I must not make, myeyes red, if it would save my life. But nothing will save me. Thelambs that used to be led to the altar are not more helpless than I.The rope is round my neck; and I must trot on beside the executioner,and find what comfort I can in the garland of roses on my head."
There was a silence of a few seconds after Gatty finished her miserabletale. And then Phoebe's voice asked softly,--
"Dear Mrs Gatty, have you asked God to save you?"
"What's the use?" answered Gatty, in a hopeless tone.
"Because He would do it," said Phoebe. "I don't know how. It might beby changing my Lady Delawarr's mind, or the old lord's, or yours; ormany another way; I don't know how. But I do know that He has promisedto bring no temptation on those that fear Him, beyond what they shall beable to bear."
"Oh, I don't know!" said Gatty, in that tone which makes the word soundlike a cry of pain.
"Have you tried entreating my Lady Delawarr?"
"Tried! I should think so. And what do you think I get by it? `Gatty,my dear, 'tis so unmodish to be thus warm over anything! Composeyourself, and control your feelings. Love!--no, of course you do notlove my Lord Polesworth, while you are yet a maid; 'twould be highlyindecorous for you to do any such thing. But when you are his wife,you'll be perfectly content; and that is all you can expect. My dear,do compose yourself, or your face will be quite wrinkled; and let mehear no more of this nonsense, I beg of you. Maids cannot look tochoose for themselves, 'tis not reasonable.' That is what I get,Phoebe."
"And your father, Mrs Gatty?"
"My father? Oh! `Really, Gatty, I can't interfere,--'tis your mother'saffair; you must make up your mind to it. We can't have always what welike,'--and then he whistles to his hounds, and goes out a-hunting."
"Well, Mrs Gatty, suppose you try God?"
"Suppose I have done, Phoebe, and got no answer at all?"
"Forgive me, I cannot suppose it."
"Is He so good to _you_, Phoebe?"
The question was asked in a very, very mournful tone.
"Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe, softly, "He has given me Himself. I do notthink He has given me anything else of what my heart longs for. Butthat is enough. In Him I have all things."
"What do you mean?" came in accents of perplexity from the bed in theopposite corner.
"I am afraid," said Phoebe, "I cannot tell you. I mean, I could notmake you understand it."
"`Given you Himself!'" repeated Gatty. "I can fancy how He could rewardyou or make you happy; but, `give you Himself!'"
"Well, I cannot explain it," said Phoebe. "Yes, it means givinghappiness; but it means a great deal more. I can feel it, but I cannotput it in words."
"I don't understand you the least bit!"
"Will you talk awhile with Mrs Dolly Jennings, and see if she canexplain it to you? I do not think any one can, in words; but I guessshe would come nearer to it than I could."
"I like Mrs Dolly," said Gatty, thoughtfully; "she is very kind."
"Very," assented Phoebe.
"I think I should not mind talking to her," said Gatty. "We will walkdown there to-morrow, if we can get leave."
"And now, had we not better go to sleep?" suggested Phoebe.
"Well, we can try," sighed Gatty. "But, Phoebe, 'tis no good telling meto pray, because I have done it. I said over every collect in thePrayer-book--ten a day; and the very morning after I had finished them,that horrid man came, and Mother made--I had to go down and sit half anhour listening to him. Praying does no good."
"I am not sure that you have tried it," said Phoebe.
"Didn't I tell you, this minute, I said every--"
"I ask your pardon for interrupting you, but saying is not praying. Didyou really pray them?"
"Phoebe, I do not understand you! How could I pray them and not saythem?"
"Well, I did not quite mean that," said Phoebe; "but please, Mrs Gatty,did you feel them? Did you really ask God all the collects say, or didyou only repeat the words over? You see, if I felt cold in bed, I mightask Mrs Betty to give me leave to have another blanket; but if I onlykept saying that I was cold, to myself, over and over, and did not tellMrs Betty, I should be long enough before I got the blanket. Did yousay the collects to yourself, Mrs Gatty, or did you say them to theLord?"
There was a pause before Gatty said, in rather an awed voice, "Phoebe,when you pray, is God there?"
"Yes," said Phoebe, readily.
"He is not, with me," replied Gatty. "He feels a long, long way off;and I feel as if my collects might drop and be lost before they can getup to Him. Don't you?"
"Never," answered Phoebe. "But I don't send my prayers up bythemselves; I give them to Jesus Christ to carry. He never drops one,Mrs Gatty."
"'Tis all something I don't understand one bit," said Gatty, wearily."Go to sleep, Phoebe; I won't keep you awake. But we'll go and see MrsDolly."
The next afternoon, when Rhoda and Molly had disappeared on theirprivate affairs, Gatty dropped a courtesy to Madam, and requested herpermission to visit Mrs Dolly Jennings.
"By all means, my dear," answered Madam, affably. "If Rhoda has nooccasion for her, let Phoebe wait on you."
&n
bsp; The second request which had been on Gatty's lips being thusforestalled, the girls set forth--without consulting Rhoda, which Gattywas disinclined to do, and which Phoebe fancied that she had done--andreached the Maidens' Lodge without falling in with any disturbingelement, such as either Rhoda or Molly would unquestionably have been.Mrs Dorothy received them in her usual kindly manner, and gave them teabefore they entered on the subject of which both the young minds werefull. Then Gatty told her story, if very much the same terms as she hadgiven it to Phoebe.
"And I can't understand Phoebe, Mrs Dolly," she ended. "She says Godhas given her Himself; and I cannot make it out. And she says she givesher prayers to Jesus Christ to carry. I don't know what she means. Itsounds good. But I don't understand it--not one bit."
Mrs Dorothy came up to where Gatty was sitting, and took the girl'shead between her small, thin hands. It was not a beautiful face; but itwas pleasant enough to look on, and would have been more so, but for thediscipline which had crushed out of it all natural interest and youthfulanticipation, and had left that strange, strained look of care andforced calm upon the white brow.
"Dear child," she said, gently, "you want rest, don't you?"
Gatty's grey eyes filled with tears.
"That is just what I do want, Mrs Dolly," she said, "somewhere where Icould be quiet, and be let alone, and just be myself and not somebodyelse."
"Ah, my dear!" said Mrs Dorothy, shaking her head, "you never get letalone in this world. Satan won't let you alone, if men do. But to beyourself--that is what God wants of you. At least 'tis one half of whatHe would have; the other half is that you should give yourself to Him."
"'Tis no good praying," said Gatty, as before.
"Did the Lord tell you that, my dear?"
"No!" said Gatty, looking up in surprise.
"Well, I would not say it till He does, child. But what did you prayfor?"
"I said all the collects over."
"Very good things, my dear; but were they what you wanted? I thoughtyou had a special trouble at this time."
"But what could I do?" asked Gatty, apparently rather bewildered.
"Dear child, thou couldst sure ask thy Father to help thee, without moreado. But `bide a wee,' as my old friend, Scots Davie, was wont to say.There is a great deal about prayer in the Word of God. Let us look at alittle of it." Little Mrs Dorothy trotted to her small work-table,which generally stood at her side, and came back with a well-worn brownBible. Gatty watched her with a rather frightened look, as if shethought that something was going to be done to her, and was not surewhether it might hurt her.
"Now hearken: `Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer andsupplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known untoGod.' Again: `Whatsoever ye shall ask in My Name, that will I do.'These are grand words, my dear."
"But they can't mean that Mrs Dorothy! Why, only think--if I were toask for a fortune, should I get it?"
"I must have two questions answered, my dear, ere I can tell that. Whoare the _you_ in these verses?"
"I thought it meant everybody."
"Not so. Listen again: `If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you,ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.' 'Tis noteverybody doth that."
"But I don't know what that means, Mrs Dorothy."
"Then, my dear, you have answered my second question--Are you one ofthese? For if you know not even what the thing is, 'tis but reasonableto conclude you have never known it in your own person."
"I suppose not," said Gatty, sorrowfully.
"You see, my dear, 'tis to certain persons these words are said. If youare not one of these persons, then they are not said to you."
"I am not." And Gatty shook her head sadly. "But, Mrs Dorothy, whatdoes it mean?"
"Dear," said the old lady, "when we do truly abide in Christ, we desirefirst of all that His will be done. We wish for this or that; but wewish more than all that He choose all things for us--that He have Hisown way. Our wills are become His will. It follows as a certainty,that they shall be done. We must have what we wish, when it is what Hewishes who rules all things. `Ye shall ask what ye will.' He guides uswhat to ask, if we beg Him to do so."
"Is any one thus much perfect?" inquired Gatty, doubtfully.
"Many are trying for it," said Mrs Dolly. "There may be but few thathave fully reached it."
"But that makes us like machines, Mrs Dolly, moved about at another'swill."
"What, my dear! Love makes us machines? Never! The very last thingthat could be, child."
"I don't know much about love," said Gatty, drearily.
"About love, or about being loved?" responded Mrs Dolly.
"Both," answered the girl, in the same tone.
"Will you try it, my dear? 'Tis the sweetener of all human life."
Gatty looked up with a surprised expression.
"_I_ can't make people love me," she said.
"Nor can you make yourself love others," added Mrs Dorothy. "But youcan ask the Lord for that fairest of all His gifts, saving JesusChrist."
"Ask God for a beau! O Mrs Dorothy!" exclaimed Gatty in a shockedtone.
"My dear, I never so much as named one," responded Mrs Dorothy, with alittle laugh. "Sure, you are not one of those foolish maids that thinkthey must be loveless and forlorn without they have a husband?"
Gatty had always been taught to think so; and she looked bewildered andmystified. A more eligible husband than old Lord Polesworth was theonly idea that associated itself in her mind with the word love.
"But what else did you mean?" she asked.
"Ay me!" said Mrs Dorothy, as if to herself. "How do men misunderstandGod! Child, wert thou never taught the first and great commandment?`Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thymind, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength?'"
"Oh, of course," said Gatty, as if she were listening to some scientificformula about a matter wherein she was not at all concerned.
"Have you done that, my dear?"
"Done what?" demanded Gatty in a startled tone.
"Have you loved God with all your heart?"
Gatty looked as if she had been suddenly roused from sleep, and wasunable to take in the circumstances.
"I don't know! I--I suppose, so."
"You suppose so! Dear child, how can you love any, and not know it?"
"But that is quite another sort of love!" cried Gatty.
"There is no sort but one, my dear. Love is love."
"Oh, but we can't _love_ God!" said Gatty, as if the idea quite shockedher. "That means--it means reverence, you know, and duty, and so on.It can't mean anything else, Mrs Dorothy."
Mrs Dorothy knitted very fast for a moment. Phoebe saw that her eyeswere filled with tears.
"Poor lost sheep!" she said, in a grieved voice. "Poor straying lamb,whom the wolf hath taught to be frightened of the Shepherd! You did notfind that in the Bible, my dear."
"Oh, but words don't mean the same in the Bible!" urged Gatty. "Surely,Mrs Dorothy, 'twould be quite unreverent to think so."
"Surely, my dear, it were more unreverent to think that God does notmean what He saith. When He saith, `I will punish you seven times foryour sins,' He means it, Mrs Gatty. And when He saith, `I will be aFather unto you,' shall we say He doth not mean it? O my dear, don't doHim such an injury as that!"
"Do God an injury!" said Gatty in an awed whisper.
"Ay, a cruel injury!" was the answer. "Men are always injuring God.Either they try to persuade themselves that He means not what He sayswhen He threatens: or else they shut their hearts up close, and thenfancy that His heart is shut up too. My dear, He did not tarry to offerto be your Father, until you came and asked Him for it. `He _first_loved you.' Child, what dost thou know of the Lord Jesus Christ?"
Ah, what did she know? For Gatty lived in a dreary time, when religionwas at one of its lowest ebb-tides, and had sunk almost to the lev
el ofheathen morality. If Gatty had been required to give definitions of thegreatest words in the language, and had really done it from the bottomof her heart, according to her own honest belief, the list would haverun much in this way:--
"God.--The Great First Cause of all things, who has nothing to do withanything now, but will, at some remote period, punish murderers,thieves, and very wicked people.
"Christ.--A supernaturally good man, who was crucified seventeen hundredyears ago.
"Heaven.--A delightful place, where everybody is happy, to which allrespectable people will go, when they can't help it any longer.
"Bible.--A good book read in church; intensely dry, as good books alwaysare no concern of mine.
"Salvation, peace, holiness, and the like.--Words in the Prayer-Book.
"Faith, hope, love, etcetera.--Duties, which of course we all perform,and therefore don't need to trouble ourselves about them.
"Prayer.--An incantation, to be repeated morning and evening, if youwish to avert ill luck during the day."
These were Gatty's views--if she could be said to have any. Howdifferent from those of Mrs Dorothy Jennings! To her, God was theCreator, from whom, and by whom, and to whom, were all things: theFountain of Mercy, who had so loved the world as to give Hisonly-begotten Son for its salvation: the Father who, having loved herbefore the world was, cared for everything, however insignificant, whichconcerned her welfare. Christ was the Friend who sticketh closer than abrother--the Lamb who had been slain for her, the High Priest who wastouched with every feeling of human infirmity. Heaven was the homewhich her Father had prepared for her. The Bible was the means wherebyher Father talked with her; and prayer the means whereby she talked withHim. Salvation was her condition; holiness, her aim; faith, love,peace, the very breath she drew. While, in Gatty's eyes, all this wasunknown and unreal, to Mrs Dorothy it was the most real thing in allthe world.
Gatty answered her friend's query by a puzzled look.
"It comes in church," she said. "He is in the Creed, and at the end ofthe prayers. I don't know!"
"Child," replied Mrs Dorothy, "you don't know Him. And, Mrs Gatty, mydear, you must know Him, if you are ever to be a happy woman. O poorchild, poor child! To think that the Man who loved you and gave Hislife for you is no more to you than one of a row of figures, a name setto the end of a prayer!"
Gatty was taken by surprise. She looked up with both unwonted emotionand astonishment in her eyes.
"Mrs Dolly," she said, with feeling, "I cannot tell, but I think'twould be pleasant to feel like you. It sounds all real, as if you hada live friend."
"That is just what it is, my dear Mrs Gatty. A Friend that loves meenough to count the very hairs of my head,--to whom nothing is a littlematter that can concern me. And He is just as ready to be your Friendtoo."
"What makes you think so, Mrs Dolly?"
"My dear, He died on purpose to save you."
"The world, not me!" said Gatty.
"If there had been no world but you," was the answer, "He would havethought it worth while."
Gatty's answer was not immediate. When it came, it was--
"What does He want me to do?"
"He wants you to give Him your heart," said the old lady. "Do thatfirst, and you will very soon find out how to give Him your hands andyour head."
"And will He keep away my Lord Polesworth?" asked the girl, earnestly.
"He will keep away everything that can hurt you. Not, maybe, everythingyou don't like. Sometimes 'tis just the contrary. The sweet cake thatyou like might harm you, and the physic you hate might heal you. If so,He will give you the physic. But, child, if you are His own, He willput the cup into your had with a smite which will make it easy to take."
"I should like that," said Gatty, wistfully. "But could it be right towed with my Lord Polesworth, when I could not love nor honour him in myheart at all?"
"It can never be right to lie. Ask God to make you a way of escape, ifso it be."
"What way?"
"Leave that to Him."
Mrs Dorothy's little clock struck four.
"I think, if you please, Mrs Gatty," said Phoebe's hitherto silentvoice, "that Madam will be looking for us."
"Yes, I guess she will," answered Gatty, rising, and courtesying. "Ithank you, Mrs Dolly. You have given me a ray of hope--if 'twill notdie away."
Mrs Dorothy drew the girl to her, and kissed her cheek.
"Christ cannot die, my child," she replied. "And Christ's love isdeathless as Himself. `Death hath no more dominion over Him.' And Hesaith to His own, `Because I live, ye shall live also.'"
"It should be a better life than this," said Gatty, with a sigh.
"This is not the Christian's life, my dear. `His life is hid withChrist in God.' 'Tis not left in his own hands to keep; he would soonlose it, if it were. Farewell, dear child; and may the Lord keep thee!"
Gatty looked up suddenly. "Tell me what to say to Him."
Mrs Dorothy scarcely hesitated a moment.
"`Teach me to do Thy will,'" she answered. "That holds everything. Youcannot do His will unless you are one of His redeemed. He must saveyou, and hold you up, and guide you to glory, if you do His will--notbecause you do it, for the salvation cometh first; but without the one,there cannot be the other. And he that doeth the will of God soonlearns to love it, better than any mortal thing. `Oh, how love I Thylaw!' saith David. `There is nothing on earth that I desire incomparison of Thee.'"
She kissed both the girls again, and they went away.