The thought of Rachel always touched her heart; more
now than ever; and, as she leaned back in her chair
with closed eyes and idle hands, these tender memories
made her unconscious face most eloquent. The
eyes peering over the spectacles telegraphed a meaning
message to the other eyes glancing over the paper now
and then; and both these friends in deed as well as
name felt assured that this woman needed all the comfort
they could give her. But the busy needles never
stopped their click, and the sonorous voice read on
without a pause, so Christie never knew what mute confidences
passed between mother and son, or what helpful confessions
her traitorous face had made for her.
The clock struck nine, and these primitive people
prepared for rest; for their day began at dawn, and
much wholesome work made sleep a luxury.
“Davy will tap at thy door as he goes down in
the morning, and I will soon follow to show thee about
matters. Good-night, and good rest, my child.”
So speaking, the little lady gave Christie a maternal
kiss; David shook hands; and then she went away, wondering
why service was so lightened by such little kindnesses.
As she lay in her narrow white bed, with the “pale
light of stars” filling the quiet, cell-like
room, and some one playing softly on a flute overhead,
she felt as if she had left the troublous world behind
her, and shutting out want, solitude, and despair,
had come into some safe, secluded spot full of flowers
and sunshine, kind hearts, and charitable deeds.
In the strawberry bed.
From that day a new life began for Christie,
a happy, quiet, useful life, utterly unlike any of
the brilliant futures she had planned for herself;
yet indescribably pleasant to her now, for past experience
had taught her its worth, and made her ready to enjoy
it.
Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never
had such a crop of hopeful thoughts and happy feelings
sprung up in her heart as now; and nowhere was there
a brighter face, a blither voice, or more willing
hands than Christie’s when the apple blossoms
came.
This was what she needed, the protection of a home,
wholesome cares and duties; and, best of all, friends
to live and labor for, loving and beloved. Her
whole soul was in her work now, and as health returned,
much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it,
a little sobered, but more sweet and earnest than
ever. No task was too hard or humble; no day
long enough to do all she longed to do; and no sacrifice
would have seemed too great for those whom she regarded
with steadily increasing love and gratitude.
Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning
rapture of the birds, the daily miracle of sunrise,
set her heart in tune, and gave her Nature’s
most healing balm. She kept the little house in
order, with Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor
so pleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like
mother and daughter, and Christie often said she did
not care for any other wages.
