CHAPTER III.

LUCIA'S QUEEN.

LOYALTY had been born and bred in the family of which Lucia was the eldest child.

Ever since she could remember, "The Queen" was her ideal, and Windsor Castle the place in all the world that she loved to be near.

This cottage almost beneath the shadow of Windsor Castle had belonged to her mother's family all her life, and every year she and her mother, when they were alone together in the old days, had migrated there for a month or two, so that every turret and tree was dear to them, and the Queen and Royal Family seemed to belong to them in a special way.

Thus it came to pass that as soon as Lucia had step-brothers and sisters, she instilled her enthusiasm about the Queen into their susceptible little hearts, and May especially felt that the Royal lady who lived so near the cottage was her Queen—her property—to be loved and reverenced as long as she lived.

The children were never tired of hearing Lucia tell how one day when she was about seven years old, as she was walking near the cottage quite alone, she saw a cloud of dust approaching along the road, and in a moment she guessed it was caused by the outriders surrounding the Queen's carriage, and with beating heart stood upon the path to see her go by.

Would the cavalcade come that way? Or would they sweep round the corner at the end of the road, and so pass out of view?

No; in another moment little Lucia knew she was safe. The outriders wheeled round, and came along her road, and the Queen's carriage was close to her, and the dear Queen sitting almost within reach of her!

Never could Lucia forget that proud moment! For, as with blushing, smiling face the little girl made a deep obeisance to her Sovereign, that gracious lady rose in her carriage, and, all unseen by any other eyes, bowed to the lonely little girl in the lonely country road.

"I wonder if I shall see the Queen?" questioned May that morning, as she carried armful after armful of clothes from the boxes to the drawers.

"Very likely you will," answered Lucia, "if we go into Windsor. It is but a chance thing to see the Queen out here, but of course she does drive every day somewhere when she is at home."

"Is she at home now?" asked May, colouring with anxiety.

"Yes, the flag is flying this morning; I saw it when I was out just now. I used always to feel dreary as a child when there was no flag on the Round Tower."

May did not say any more; but in her heart she formed the resolve that she would watch and watch till she too had seen the Queen.

Meantime, while the boxes were being emptied and the drawers were being filled, the other children were enjoying the first morning in the real country.

They were revelling in wild flowers, moss, stones, and ferns; making imaginary rooms among the furze bushes, and decking "the drawing room" with bunches of wild roses, while they picked endless fronds of bracken to form couches for the bedrooms.

A children's world is a happy world! No cares come to mar it, no anxieties enter in as to "what shall we eat or what shall we drink?" Their father's provision is sure to be right, he will provide dinner when dinner time comes; and here is lunch packed ready in the basket, why need they care?

Lucia put on her hat and went up the road to see how they were getting on, and when she watched them from behind the bushes, for they were too busy to notice her, some such thoughts as these went through her mind—

"I wonder why older people are so anxious," she said to herself, "why they let things worry them so? If we only trusted our heavenly Father as those children in their play-houses trust their earthly father, how different life would be!"

She turned round and retraced her steps, without disturbing the little party; but though she left them behind, she did not leave the thoughts which they had suggested.

She entered the cottage, fetched her easel and her painting materials, and sat down under the elms to sketch, while the bees buzzed dreamily, and the birds sang a ceaseless song.

That quiet morning was a turning-point in Lucia's life.

As her fingers were busily at work, making a sketch for her cousins, her mind went back to her aunt's housekeeper, and then to all her own disappointment and rebellion since.

Had not her Father—her heavenly, loving Father—seen all these things beforehand, and prepared the path for her to walk in, that therein she might glorify Him?

But it was so terribly disappointing to be called away just as her enjoyment had seemed to be at its height.

And yet He knew that! Why was it that He allowed it then?

She put down her brush and leaned her chin on her hand, looking off into the country landscape dreamily. Why did He? echoed again and again. And there was no answer but the ceaseless melody of the birds as they rejoiced in the Father's sunshine.