The Letter of Credit

"do you think I couldn't take care of you just as well? Didn't I, before Mrs. Cord came?"

  "You haven't had quite so much experience, you see," put in the latter.

  "Didn't I, mother?" the girl said passionately.

  Mrs. Carpenter answered only by opening her arms; and Rotha coming into them, sat down lightly upon her mother's lap and hid her head on her bosom. A shadow of, she knew not what, had fallen across her, and she was very still. Mrs. Carpenter folded her arms close about her child; and so they sat for a good while. Mother and daughter, each had her own thoughts; but those of the one were dim and confused as ever thoughts could be. The other's were sharp and clear. Rotha had an uneasy sense that her mother's strength was not gaining but losing; an uneasy impatience of her lassitude and powerlessness, which yet she could not at all read. Mrs. Carpenter read it well.

  She knew of a surety that her days were numbered; and not only so, but that the number of them was running out. Many cares she had not, in view of this fact; but one importunate, overwhelming, intolerable, were it not that the mother's faith was fixed where faith is never disappointed. Even so, she was human; and the question, what would be the fate of her little daughter when she herself was gone, pressed hard and pressed constantly, and found no solution. So the two were sitting, in each other's arms, mute and thoughtful, when Mr. Digby came in.

  Rotha did not stir, and he came up to them, bent down by the side of the chair and took Mrs. Carpenter's hand. If he put the usual question, Mrs. Carpenter did not answer it; her eyes met his silently. There was a power of grateful love and also of grave foreboding in her quiet face; one of those looks which from an habitually self-contained spirit come with so much power on any one capable of understanding them. The young man's eyes fell from her to Rotha; the two faces were very near each other; and for the first time Rotha's defiance gave place to a little bit of liking. She had not seen her mother's look; but she had watched Mr. Digby's eyes as they answered it, in their ear nest, intent expression, and then as the eyes came to her she felt the warm ray of kindness and sympathy which beamed from them. A moment it was, but Rotha was Mr. Digby's opponent no more from that time.

  "You seem to be having a pleasant rest," he remarked in his usual calm way. "I hope you have got all your work done for me?"

  "I never do rest till my work is done," said the girl.

  "That is a very good plan. Will you prove the fact on the present occasion?"

  Rotha unwillingly left her place.

  "Mr. Digby, what sort of a chair is this?"

  "A spring chair."

  "It is a very good thing."

  "I am glad it meets your approbation."

  "It meets mother's too. Do you see how she rests in it?"

  "Does she rest?" asked the young man, rather of Mrs. Carpenter than of her daughter.

  "All the body can," she answered with a faint smile.

  "'Underneath are the everlasting arms'--" he said.

  But that word caused a sudden gush of tears on the sick woman's part; she hid her face; and Mr. Digby called off Rotha at once to her recitations. He kept her very busy at them for some time; Latin and arithmetic and grammar came under review; and then he proceeded to put a pen in her hand and give her a dictation lesson; criticised her handwriting, set her a copy, and fully engrossed Rotha's eyes and mind.

  CHAPTER VI.

  A LEGACY.

  "Mother," said Rotha, when their visiter was again gone and her copy was done and she had returned to her mother's side, "I never knew before to-day that Mr. Digby has handsome eyes."

  "How did you find it out to-day?"

  "I had a good look at them, and they looked at me so."

  "How?"

  "I don't know--as if they meant a good deal, and good. Don't you think he has handsome eyes, mother?"

  "I always knew that. He is a very fine-looking man altogether."

  "Is he? I suppose he is. Only he likes to have his own way."

  "I wonder if somebody else doesn't, that I know?"

  "That's the very thing, mother. If I didn't, I suppose I shouldn't care. But when Mr. Digby says anything, he always looks as if he expected it to be just so, and everybody to mind him."

  Mrs. Carpenter could not help laughing, albeit she was by no means in a laughing mood. Her laugh was followed by a sigh.

  "What makes you draw a long breath, mother?"

  "I wish you could govern that temper of yours, my child."

  "Why, mother? Haven't I as good a right to my own way as Mr. Digby, or anybody?"

  "Few people can have their own way in the world; and a woman least of all."

  "Why?"

  "She generally has to mind the will of somebody else."

  "But that isn't fair."

  "It is the way things are."

  "Mother, it may be the way with some people; but _I_ have got nobody to mind?"

  "Your mother?--"

  "O yes; but that isn't it. You are a woman. There is no man I must mind."

  "If you ever grow up and marry somebody, there will be."

  "I would _never_ marry anybody I had to mind!" said the girl energetically.

  "You are the very person that would do it," said the mother; putting her hand fondly upon Rotha's cheek. "My little daughter!--If only I knew that you were willing to obey the Lord Jesus Christ, I could be easy about you."

  "And aren't, you easy about me?"

  "No," said the mother sadly.

  "Would you be easy if I was a Christian?"

  Mrs. Carpenter nodded. There was a pause.

  "I would like to be a Christian, mother, if it would make you feel easy; but--somehow--I don't want to."

  "I know that."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because you hold off. If you were once willing, the thing would be done."

  There was silence again; till Rotha suddenly broke it by asking,

  "Mother, can I help my will?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why! If I don't want to be a Christian, can I make myself want to?"

  "That seems to me a foolish question," said her mother. "Suppose you do not want to do something I tell you to do; need that hinder your obeying?"

  "But this is different."

  "I do not see how it is different."

  "What is being a Christian, then?"

  "You know, Rotha."

  "But tell me, mother. I don't know if I know."

  "You ought to know. A Christian is one who loves and serves the Lord Jesus."

  "And then he can't do what he has a mind to," said Rotha.

  "Yes, he can; unless it is something wrong."

  "Well, he can't do _what he has a mind to;_ he must always be asking."

  "That is not hard, if one loves the Lord."

  "But I don't love him, mother."

  "No," said Mrs. Carpenter sadly.

  "Can I make myself love him?"

  "No; but that is foolish talk."

  "I don't see why it is foolish, I am sure. I wish I did love him, if it would make you feel better."

  "I should not have a care left!" said Mrs. Carpenter, with a sort of breath of longing.

  "Why not, mother?"

  "Get the Bible and read the 121st psalm,--slowly."

  Rotha obeyed.

  "'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth'"--

  "There! if you were one of the Lord's dear children, you would say that; that would be true of you. Now go on, and see what the Lord says to it; see what would follow."

  Rotha went on.

  "'He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.'--_Israel_, mother."

  "The true Israel are the Lord's true children, of any nation."

  "Are they? Well--'The Lord is thy keeper; the Lord is thy shade upon thy
right hand; the sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil; he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth, and even for evermore. Praise ye the Lord.'"

  "Would anybody be well kept that was kept so?" Mrs. Carpenter broke forth, with the tears running down her face. "O my little Rotha! my little daughter! if I knew you in that care, how blessed I should