CHAPTER IV.

GEORGE and Wilfred were at no pains to conceal from Charity that they had not forgiven her for having drawn upon them their father's displeasure. They had almost ceased to tease Edwin, probably from a fear of arousing it again, but they had now turned their powers to the far from difficult task of "paying Charity out," as they called it. They felt pretty sure that it would be long before she would appeal to her uncle on her own behalf, readily as she had done it for the sake of her brother. In the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Hawke they did not venture to molest her, but at no other time of day was she safe from unkind remarks and jokes.

It was very hard to bear, yet Charity did bear it, and that so patiently that neither her uncle nor her aunt knew anything of what was going on. Lottie by turns grumbled at the boys for being so "tiresome," and wondered at Charity for "taking it all so meekly—" little thinking of the words spoken by our Saviour, "Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth."

But it was not from Lottie that Charity looked for help. It was to the Fountain of Strength that she went for assistance. And she never forgot her aunt's words,—

"There is always time for one glance upwards."

Many a time as she endured the boys' provoking words, with flushed cheek and unsteady lip, yet without a look of anger in return, they little knew of the mental "glance upwards" which was the secret of her gentleness. Few words are needed at such a time:

"Please help me to be patient, for Jesus Christ's sake," was often breathed up from little Charity's heart, and received its answer in the feeling of quiet peace which no unkind words could disturb.

It was not always equally easy. Sometimes they went so far as to make allusions to her home and father, and this always broke her down. Lottie found her on one of these occasions, sobbing afterwards most bitterly, and could not help remarking—

"Well, I do think, Charity, you are going almost too far. Of course one oughtn't to get angry, but if you are so very meek, and never say one word in answer, they will only grow worse and worse."

"Oh no, I hope not," sighed poor Charity. "If only they would not say such things—"

"As what George did—that Edwin had been quite spoiled by uncle, and you not taught to behave properly? Oh, I shouldn't care about that. What does George know about your home? They only say it to provoke you."

"And it does—that makes it worse," said Charity, sadly. "If I did not feel angry, I should not mind so much."

"If that is all, you may be satisfied, I should think," said Lottie. "You certainly bear it wonderfully. It almost provokes me to see you so quiet."

Charity shook her head.

"You don't mean it, Lottie. You know it is wrong to get out of temper. It is not like—"

Charity paused, colouring.

And Lottie looked curious. "Not like what?"

"I was going to say that it was not like the Lord Jesus Christ," said Charity in a low tone. "You know if we love Him, we must pray to be made like Him. Papa often said so."

Lottie looked at her in silence for some minutes.

"I wish I were more like you," she said. "'I' never can keep my temper when I'm provoked."

"But, Lottie, every one may. We only have to pray—and to try—"

"You can, because you are a Christian like mamma," said Lottie, abruptly, and the words sent a thrill of joy through little Charity. "I'm quite different."

"But you may be one too," said Charity, humbly. "You know the Lord Jesus has promised to cast out no one that goes to Him."

A lump seemed to rise in Lottie's throat. "I wish I could," she said. "I know I should be happier."

And then, drawing her hand away, she ran out of the room. But her cousin's words were not forgotten, and before long they bore fruit, though not in the course of a week or a month.

This little conversation was a great help to Charity, in her struggle to "suffer long and be kind," through all the boys' unkind treatment. Her hope and aim were to conquer them by kindness—not to "be overcome of evil," but to "overcome evil with good."

The task was a long one, requiring much patience and many prayers, but Charity did not despair of success, nor would she let Edwin despair. Often the poor little fellow shed tears of distress at the manner in which she was treated, and at his own inability to defend her. But Charity soothed him, and made him promise not to breathe a word of what passed to her uncle or aunt.

"If only I might tell Aunt Lottie," Edwin often said, "I'm sure she would have them punished."

"But I don't want them to be punished for me," said Charity. "I want to make them love me, Edwin, and then they will be kind. They would not dislike me so much if I had not been in such a passion with them, and asked uncle to speak to them."

"They oughtn't to dislike you," cried Edwin, indignantly. "It is very, very wrong of them. Oh, I do wish I were a great strong boy like George."

"I don't," said Charity, smiling. "I would rather keep you, my dear 'little' brother, than have a great strong one. Never mind it all, Edwin. In a little while, I think they will be kinder. You know 'Charity suffereth long,' and I haven't borne it long yet."

"I think you have—very long," said Edwin, sighing. "And you are always kind to them."

"No; I don't feel so, Edwin. I often feel angry, and I know it is wrong. But there is Lottie calling you, so you must run away."

A few days after this, the five children went to spend a long afternoon in a neighbouring wood. Lottie and her brothers had often been there before, but Charity and Edwin had not yet walked so far, and it was a great treat to them. The boys carried a basket full of bread and butter and plain cake. Charity was in better spirits than she had yet been since her arrival, and she walked lightly along by Lottie's side, enjoying the bright sunshine and the cheerful singing of the little birds, while Edwin ran about and shouted with delight. It was not that either of them forgot the past, or ceased to grieve for the dear father they had so lately lost. But they were both very young, and it was not surprising that at times the thought of their sorrow should be for a while banished.

On reaching the wood, a discussion began as to what path they should take. The boys declared for one, and Lottie for another. Charity's bright look was overcast as she listened to the hot argument that followed, and at length she whispered to Lottie—

"Couldn't we go their way, and come back yours?"

"No, we couldn't," said Lottie, pettishly. "It's too bad. The boys always want their own way about everything."

"You don't want yours, of course!" said George, meaningly.

"Not always, as you do. You ought to let Charity decide."

"Catch me doing any such thing," returned George, rudely. "Of course she would go your way just to provoke me."

The colour rushed into Charity's face. "No, I should not," she said, quietly. "Lottie dear, won't you come the boys' way this once, just to please me?"

The boys looked completely silenced, and Lottie annoyed.

"I don't care about the path," she said. "But I don't see why George is always to have his own way."

Charity said no more, but she looked beseechingly, and after a minute's wavering Lottie gave way, with an ungracious—

"Well, do as you like. I suppose we shall have to give up to them in the end," and she walked along the path in silent displeasure.

The boys cared little for the latter fact. They were only vexed at the manner in which they had obtained their will; for after the way in which they had treated Charity, it was not pleasant to feel that they ought to be grateful to her. They managed to keep clear of her until sufficient time had passed, as they thought, for it to be supposed that they had forgotten the matter.

If Charity was disappointed at their conduct, she had at least the comfort of an approving conscience. Lottie's annoyance soon gave way, and she and her two cousins hunted about for flowers, ran races, and played games, so merrily that George and Wilfred were ere long fain to join them, though it cannot be said that their presence added much to the pleasure of the others.

Five o'clock came, and the basket was opened, the contents being arranged upon a small cloth laid on the ground. They had a very cheerful "tea" as they called it, and then began to think of returning home. Another discussion now took place between Lottie and her brothers. This time Charity felt it to be only fair and just that the former should have her turn in choosing the homeward route. She kept her opinion to herself until asked for it, and then gave it very gently, but the boys were not a little vexed with her, as she could plainly see.

They gave way at length, but Charity soon found that her walk home was to be less pleasant than her walk there had been. First, the boys ran so fast that the tired girls could hardly keep up with them. Then they began throwing small pebbles about, and more than one came with a sharp rap against Charity's hat. Whether by accident or no she could not say, but she tried to believe it was, and to keep down the tears which threatened to rise, while Lottie grumbled and scolded in a manner that only made the boys worse.

[Illustration: A DIFFICULTY.]

Presently they arrived at a very high, awkward stile, and the boys did not lose this opportunity of making themselves disagreeable. They went over first, and no sooner had Lottie with some difficulty scrambled to the other side, and assisted Edwin to do the same, than they rushed forward, seized hold of them and drew them away.

"Now we'll see," George exclaimed mockingly. "We are going to look on, while the agile, light-footed Miss Charity Mitchel gets over the stile. She was very anxious to come this way, no doubt to show off her powers, SO she shall make the most of her opportunity."

"I did not know there was any stile this way," said Charity, as she stood on the other side. "Please let Lottie help me, George. I have hardly ever climbed stiles, and I am sure I could not get over this alone."

"Then you'll have to stay there all night," shouted Wilfred. "It's to pay you out for choosing to come this way."

Tears came into Charity's eyes, as she again glanced at the four awkward crooked bars, placed so very far apart, and the long step that must be made on the other side down upon a narrow, unsteady plank of wood. If she missed the latter, she must have a fall of several feet into a deep ditch, and might hurt herself severely. Lottie saw the same, and was struggling angrily with her brother.

"Let me go, George! I tell you she is as likely as not to fall. Don't you know she hardly ever climbed a stile until she came here?"

"Then it's high time she should learn," responded George, holding her tight. "It's of no use you struggling, for you won't go to her till she is on this side. It's to teach her not to be so fond of interfering."

In vain Lottie fought, for George was far the stronger of the two. Edwin was in the same way Wilfred's captive, positively crying with distress at his helplessness. Charity could not bear to look on and feel that it was all on her account.

"Don't, don't, Lottie—don't, Edwin!" she cried. "I'll try to get over, and I daresay I shall manage it. Never mind."

She began to climb at once, though trembling with fear. It was easy to reach the top bar, and get half over it, but there she remained clinging helplessly.

"Step down, Charity," cried Lottie, eagerly. "You are quite safe; only take care to put your foot on the plank."

Charity caught her breath painfully and made the attempt. Whether she missed the plank, or whether she lost her hold of the bars, she never afterwards knew. But the next moment, with a terrified cry, she fell into the ditch.

Lottie screamed, and the boys rushed forward. With some difficulty George climbed down, and half pulled, half lifted her up upon the grass. She looked very white, and lay without speaking, while they all crowded round her, asking if she were hurt.

"I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice failed her. A kind of grey look came over her face, and her eyes closed. Charity had fainted away.

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