CHAPTER I.

THE NEW SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

"The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask-- Room to deny ourselves, a road To bring us daily nearer God."--_Keble._

"In a month from this time you will enter on your new duties as mistress of the Hepshaw girls' school."

Queenie gave a little start and cry of suppressed pleasure, and then the color rushed over her face. With sudden impulse, as involuntary as it was graceful, she held out her hand to Garth.

"Oh, Mr. Clayton! how kind you are to me! Once or twice I was half afraid you had forgotten; and all the time you were quietly arranging it."

Garth was quite equal to the occasion. He looked down at the girl's radiant face, so expressive of joy and gratitude, with warm kindliness shining in his eyes. When the slim hand was stretched out to him he held it for a moment as though it had been Cathy's. "Oh, if he were only my brother!" sighed the girl to herself, with a little outburst of natural yearning as she felt the strong clasp.

Garth's handsome face looked almost as bright as hers. His position contented him; it was novel as well as interesting. It pleased him to throw the shield of his protection and tenderness round these young strangers, who had, in a way, appealed to his generosity. If Queenie had been old and plain he would have been just as gentle and chivalrous in his manner to her. No woman would ever have had a rough word from Garth; but a little of the zest and flavor would have been wanting.

To read gratitude in a pair of wonderful brown eyes, that seem to have no bottom to their depth, and to feel a soft, girlish hand touch his own timidly, were new revelations to the young man, who was a philosopher, but no stoic. He remembered their expression long afterwards, and the peculiar feel of the fluttering fingers, with an odd sensation that tingled through him. "What a contrast she is to Dora!" he thought again.

"You are very, very good to me," continued Queenie; but he interrupted her.

"I don't deserve half these thanks; I have done very little, after all. So you thought I had forgotten you? When you know me better," went on Garth with good-humored reproach, "you will find out that I am a man of my word. When I say I will do a thing you may be sure that if it be in my power it will be done."

"I was not so unjust as to doubt you," returned Queenie, humbly, "only as the days went on I lost hope. I thought you had failed in persuading Mr. Logan, and did not like to tell me."

"I hope I never shrink from any duty, however unpleasant; procrastination is only for cowards. I should certainly have told you at once, Miss Marriott. But now for these miserable details," continued Garth, changing his grave tone into a lighter one. "So you will persist in thinking it a matter of congratulation that you are to be our future school-mistress?"

"Certainly."

"It is not a very desirable post; indeed, it is quite beneath your acceptance. You cannot think how strongly Mr. Logan and I feel on that point. As the Vicar's churchwarden I had a right to take my own ground in the matter, and we have arranged that your future stipend shall be fifty pounds a-year. More than this is out of our power," continued Garth, stammering a little, and for the first time becoming slightly embarrassed. "There is not even a dwelling-house or lodging attached to the salary; but the Vicar wishes, that is--" corrected Garth, feeling himself on the edge of a very decided fib, and slightly daunted by the look in Queenie's eyes.

"You are not going to offer me more than my fair salary?" returned the girl, drawing up her head with a sudden gesture of pride he had never seen in her before, and her voice sounded clear and decided. "You told Mr. Logan, of course, that this was impossible? I will work; but I will not be beholden to him or any other man for a penny more than I have honestly earned. Forty, not fifty, pounds was the sum you named to me in the quarry."

"Don't be contumacious, Miss Marriott," returned Garth, with an amused look; but on the whole he rather liked the girl's independence than otherwise; it accorded with his own notions. He had held these sentiments all his life, and it was his chief pride that he had never been beholden to his fellows for anything that he could not justly claim. "Pride, independence, were necessary adjuncts to manhood," so Garth thought; "but in a woman, perhaps, they might be made to yield under the pressure of emergency."

"I will only take what belongs to me," she continued obstinately.

"Then that will be fifty pounds a-year. Listen to me, please," as she again attempted to speak. "I am the Vicar's warden, and have a right to use my authority in this affair. I have always considered that our mistresses are underpaid; I intend to fix the salary from this time at the sum I named. Mr. Logan and Captain Fawcett, our remaining trustee, agree to this; so," finished Garth, with a persuasive smile, "it is signed, sealed, and delivered, and only wants your consent."

Queenie bowed her head gravely, and with a little dignity. She was sharp-witted enough to see that Garth had not said all he intended, that something perilous to her pride lay folded on the edge of that fib; something that, with the kindest intentions in the world, would have wounded her susceptibility and hurt her.

"Then there is nothing more to say?" rather stiffly.

"Do these details weary you! They are very necessary," he returned, with a frank kindness that disarmed her at once. "If you fill this position it is better to understand everything thoroughly. You still think that, with the little you have, and the chance of giving lessons in the evening, you will be able to live upon the proceeds of so small a salary? There is your little sister remember, Miss Marriott."

"We have learned to do without things, and to be content with very little; it will be enough, thank you," returned the girl, quietly.

"Then in that case I can only wish you success on your undertaking. Your duties will not be so very arduous. The hours are from nine to twelve in the morning, and from two to four in the afternoon. The school-house is a miserable sort of place, a compromise between a barn and a small dissenting chapel. You are not so fortunate as Mr. Miles; the boys' school-house is a much handsomer and more commodious building."

"I have seen him, have I not?" asked Queenie, somewhat curiously.

"Perhaps, but it is holiday time, and he always goes down to his brother in Wales. He is a very pleasant sort of fellow, though rather an oddity; is slightly lame, plays on the violin, and is an inveterate smoker. He is a man of good education, and has been usher in two or three first-class schools. He had fair hopes of rising in the world until he met with his accident. For the misanthrope he professes to be he is one of the cheeriest sort possible. He lodges over the postoffice; Mrs. Dawes thinks a great deal of him."

"Have you no doctor here?" inquired Queenie, with a sudden remembrance of Miss Charity.

Garth shook his head gravely. "Ah! poor Dr. Morgan is dead; he died the week before you came. He is a loss to us all, poor old fellow! He lived in the corner house, next Mrs. Morris; and," with a smile breaking round the corners of his mouth, "remained a bachelor all his life in spite of her. But a truce to this sort of gossip; that would just suit Cathy. I have spoken to Captain Fawcett about letting Briarwood Cottage to you, and he is perfectly willing to do so. The rent is fifteen pounds a-year; but, as he justly says, it is quite unfit for human habitation at the present--the floors want mending, and there is some papering and whitewashing to be done."

"The cottage is really to be mine?" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"It is yours from this present moment if you like, though you will not enter into legal possession for six weeks. You must put up with our society for that time. I shall take the liberty of sending Nathan over to trim the grass and weeds, unless you are particularly partial to docks, Miss Marriott."

"Thank you, you are very good; but," hesitating, and looking up in his face in some perplexity, "I shall have to go over to Carlisle, I must speak to Mr. Runciman, about the furniture, you know; we shall want very little, Emmie and I, at least, only a few chairs and a table. Do you think ten pounds will go far? one must buy a few things, but I am so ignorant of prices," cried poor Queenie, feeling all at once very helpless and womanish, and hoping that he would not laugh at her ignorance.

Garth could not help feeling amused at the girl's _naïveté_, but he was quite ready for the emergency, having already settled it all with Langley. "If she be very independent we can manage it best in this way," he had said to his sister.

"One must have chairs and tables; well, and a few other things. There must be blankets for winter, and cooking utensils," continued Garth, with charming frankness. "Langley knows better than I about such matters, and by-and-bye we will get her to draw up a list. Langley has a splendid head for details. There is a second-hand lot of things going off in a few days' time; you can leave Langley and me to manage it."

"Yes; but the money; there will only be about ten or twelve pounds that Miss Titheridge sent me back at the last. She said she owed it to us, but it was only her conscience that pricked her, I know."

"You must keep that for present expenses, as you cannot draw your salary beforehand," he returned promptly. "I will tell you what we will do: Langley shall invest in these few articles for you,--we shall pick them up cheaply, you know,--and you shall repay her by instalments, just a small sum quarterly as you can spare it. Langley shall have a regular debtor and creditor account. Nothing need offend your independence, Miss Marriott."

"No; but it is too kind, much, much too kind," she returned, hesitating. "And how do I know when I may be able to repay it?"

"In two years' time at the farthest," he returned cheerfully. "I only look upon it as a safe investment for Langley's money."

"Owe no man anything, but to love one another," suddenly came into Queenie's mind. Was she fastening a load of debt round her neck? would she ever be able to pay it back? was not this another kindly ruse to afford her help?

She looked up quickly, almost suspiciously, but the grey eyes that watched her were honest and straightforward. He would not press benefits on her that he felt would be repugnant. No; she was sure of that.

Garth answered her unspoken thought, flushing slightly, as though her mute appeal touched him.

"I am sure you will be able to repay us; we will do all in our power to help you to do so." Then, after a moment's hesitation: "I feel just as you do about these sort of things. I like to help myself, and not to be dependent on other people. Believe me, Miss Marriott, I think far too highly of your independence, and respect you too much to offer you any help that you could not accept."

"Then I will trust you," returned Queenie in a low tone. She spoke upon impulse. It cost her a momentary pang, as though she felt some cold weight suddenly settling down on her; and after all, what could she do? Caleb could not help them, at least not much. Emmie and she could not dwell between four bare walls. What was there for her but to accept the kindly advance so gracefully hidden under Langley's name--Langley and Cathy, who had not a six-pence of their own, as Cathy once somewhat triumphantly informed her? "It is Garth who buys everything for us, dear old fellow, and pays all our bills, after grumbling over them," she said once.

"I assure you, you will never repent the trust," he answered, so gravely that Queenie feared he was hurt by her reluctance, until the old bright smile came back to re-assure her. "Then this grand matter is settled, and we will go and talk to Langley."

Emmie was almost wild with joy when she heard the news. The sensitive little creature burst into a perfect passion of tears, as she clung to her sister's neck, trembling with such excitement that Queenie was frightened.

"Oh, Queenie, is it really, really true that we are going to live in that little cottage, you and I together, like the sisters in story books?" she exclaimed over and over again.

"Yes, yes; once upon a time there were two sisters--one of them was handsome and the other ugly," interrupted Cathy briskly.

"The handsome one was my Queen then, she drops diamonds and roses every time she speaks; I am the little ugly duckling they called me at Miss Titheridge's."

"Nonsense," returned Cathy abruptly, kissing the little pale face, as she spoke somewhat hurriedly. There was still a weird, unchildlike look about Emmie--the blue eyes were still too bright and large, the cheeks too thin and hollow, but the little rings of yellow hair were beginning to curl prettily over the temples. "Remember the ugly duckling turned into the beautiful swan at last."

"Oh, I don't want beauty; Queenie is welcome to it all. I shall have it some day in heaven, there is no ugliness there you know," moralized the child in her strange old-fashioned way. A sudden mist rose to her sister's eyes as she spoke, the graceful fancies of the old fairy tale dissolved, and in its place came an overwhelming vision of a white-robed multitude, beatific with youth, and endowed with angelic beauty.

There is no ugliness there; no, little Emmie, no ugliness because no sin, no weariness of a diseased and worn-out body, no gloom of an over-tempted and troubled mind; for in the new heavens and the new earth God will see that everything there also is good.

They were sitting together on the low window-seat of the room that the sisters occupied; and Cathy had come in, with her long black hair floating over her shoulders, to chat over her friend's new prospect. It was one of those quiet, calm summer nights, when a "peace be still" seems whispered to God's universe; a white crescent moon hung in the dark blue sky, bright facets of gold glimmered here and there, the dark sycamores hardly stirred in the faint breeze, the tombstones shone in the pure white light; below them the church stood in dark shadow.

"I like this better than our old garret," whispered Emmie. "I am so fond of that churchyard, Cathy; I like it better than Mrs. Fawcett's garden. I like to lie in bed and think of the real people who are buried there, and wonder what they were like when they walked and talked as we are doing. The world seems so full of dead and living people somehow."

"Talking of churchyards always makes me shiver," returned Cathy, exchanging a meaning glance with her friend. Emmie was not always quite canny, she thought. "I would rather talk about Queenie's new cottage, and all the fun we mean to have there. I shall come to tea nearly every night, and in the winter you and I will toast muffins, Emmie, and roast chestnuts. I think I must give you one of my Persian kittens, since you have left yours at Carlisle; no cottage is complete without a cat on the hearth."

"But, Cathy," remonstrated her friend, "I am afraid there will be little time for fun of any sort. There will be French lessons to give on two or three evenings in the week; and by-and-bye there will be Emmie to teach, and our clothes to mend, and then, as we can only afford a girl to clean up and do the rough work, I shall have to teach myself cooking. And, oh dear, the day will never be long enough for all I shall have to do," sighed poor Queenie, all at once oppressed by a sense of her future work.

"Do you suppose that I shall sit down with folded hands and see you slave yourself to death in that fashion?" returned Cathy in an aggrieved voice, "is that your notion of friendship, you disagreeable old Queen? You will have teaching enough with the village children and Mrs. Morris's seven little hopes; you may make up your mind just to leave Emmie to me."

"But that is nonsense. What would Langley say to such a proposal?"

"Langley is charmed at the notion; we settled it between us this morning. Emmie is to come and do her lessons with me every morning, and her music with Langley. I shall make a first-rate governess, my dear Madam Dignity; and," mimicking Langley's soft serious voice, "think what a grand thing it will be not to let my acquirements rust, but to turn them to solid account!" Then with a burst of her old vivacity, "think what a blessing you and Emmie will be to me! you will give me occupation, and prevent my dying of ennui in this mill-pond of existence, as Ted calls it."

Queenie's eyes looked unutterable things, but she only said, "Oh Cathy, Cathy, how can I ever repay all your goodness?"

"Goodness to myself, you mean. I will tell you what we will do, Queen: we will coax Langley to let us go into the kitchen and take regular lessons from Susan; it will be rather hot work this weather, but we will go through the furnace of affliction together. You are beginning house-keeping on rather a small scale, my poor dear; but to live we must eat, and to eat I fear we require a certain amount of ingredients, concerning the price and the cooking of which I fear we are profoundly ignorant."

"Yes, indeed," returned her friend ruefully, "This must be rectified at once. What a blessing you are to me. I was sighing for new worlds to conquer, and now frying-pans and mending open a new scope for my feminine talents. How I used to envy those Israelitish women when I was at school."

"You used to be very cross on darning afternoons," put in Emmie.

"I am afraid I was. Think of one's clothes never wearing out for forty years! it was enough to reconcile them to the wilderness. I should not be surprised if I rather liked it now. Suppose we take lessons in patching from Miss Faith?"

"I must help too," broke in the child eagerly. "I can mend quite neatly now, Cathy; and I will weed the garden, and grow radishes, and mustard, and cress, and sweep up the hearth, and put on the kettle for Queenie when she comes home tired. Oh I wish Caleb and Molly would come and live with us, and that we could all be happy together."

"Caleb would not like to leave Carlisle, or Molly either; you must be content with me, and only me."

"My dears," interrupted Langley's quiet voice from the door, "it is past eleven, and these night dews are not wholesome for the child; let me beg you to close the window, and leave off talking;" and thus admonished, the little party broke up somewhat hurriedly.

Queenie had interviews with Mr. Logan and Captain Fawcett the next day.

"Well, Miss Marriott, so you are to be my tenant for Briarwood cottage," he said, stopping to speak to her, as they encountered each other in the lane. "My wife was so glad to get the little lassie for a neighbor, that you might almost have made your own terms with us."

"You are very kind not to put difficulties in my way. The rent is so small that I thought we could afford it. It will be quieter than lodgings, and more to ourselves; but it sounds rather ambitious, a home of our own," returned the girl, with a little thrill of excitement. Poor as it was it would be home.

"Suppose we go and have a look at it," proposed Captain Fawcett in his curt, business-like way. "It is in miserable need of repairs, I know; that last tenant of mine let it go to rack and ruin. I will go over to Hargrave's and get the key. Oh, there's the Vicar crossing over to speak to you; I can safely leave him with you a minute."

"I must shake hands with my new school-mistress," said Mr. Logan, beaming on her through his spectacles. "So you have talked us all over, and got your own way; well, well, everything is for the best, of course; but to have a young lady, a clergyman's daughter too, teaching in that crazy little building yonder is a strange sight to me."

"I shall not be above my work; you will have no reason to repent your decision," returned the girl firmly, but modestly.

"Well said, my dear young lady, 'who sweeps a room.' You know what our excellent Herbert says, 'It is the motive that ennobles the work.' I am glad to see you remember that."

"I mean my work to ennoble me," replied Queenie, her face glowing with the thought. "It does not matter that the building is poor, and the children some of them rough and uncultivated; it is a grand work to teach young minds, and to watch their progress, and get interested in their lives. It may tire one a little at times," she continued candidly, "but it is not mere drudgery and nothing else. Oh, Mr. Logan, say you are pleased to have me; it will give me heart and courage to hear you say so."

"Pleased! I am more glad than I can say," returned the Vicar, with a look that Queenie did not quite read, but which touched her greatly, it was at once so keen and gentle. "God bless both the work and worker. Oh, here comes the Captain; perhaps when you have looked over your new abode you may like to see the inside of the school-house?"

"We will all walk down together," interposed the Captain. "Come along, Miss Marriott; don't keep the Vicar waiting."

Queenie followed the two gentlemen silently. A strange sensation woke in her as she crossed the threshold. She had closed the first chapter of her existence. Here was a new life waiting for her to take up; it would be lived out underneath this humble roof. The past lay shrouded away, hidden like a dead hand out of sight. What would the future hold for her and Emmie?

She followed them silently from room to room, as Captain Fawcett made his brief, business-like comments. The damp oozed from the corners, long lengths of soiled paper trailed from the walls, the boards creaked under their foot-fall, the scurry of tiny feet and the squeak of mice sounded behind the wainscot, docks and nettles peeped in at the begrimed windows. Queenie shivered slightly.

"We will alter all this," exclaimed Captain Fawcett, turning briskly round on her, and pulling at his grey moustache. "This damp mouldiness is enough to make any one shiver; a little paint and a few coats of white-wash, and a fresh paper or two, will make a different thing of it."

"I was not thinking of the damp," returned Queenie in a low voice; and then she went and stood by herself at the window, looking up the ridge of ragged grass that lay like a steep little wilderness behind the house. It was the newness and the strangeness of her surroundings that oppressed her. "To have a house of one's own, that is the strangest part of all," she thought.

She was still silent as she walked down the village street. One or two of the women at the cottage doors stood and looked after them curiously; but at the sight of the quaint edifice, with its half-moon windows, Queenie's youthful energy revived.

She walked in, head erect, as the gentlemen made way for her, and stood before the old wooden desks, and looked at the half-dozen forms before her. It was a small square room, well, but not cheerfully, lighted; the windows set so high in the walls that no signs of the outer world could distract the attention of the little students.

"This small inner room is for the infants," explained Mr. Logan, coming round to her side; "it is a very humble affair, you see."

"Yes; but it is my work," returned Queenie, facing round on them with a quiver of excitement. "My work, and my life, and no other's, and I mean to do the best with both of them that I can."

Some one stooping his high head at the door cried softly "Amen" to himself.

It was Garth Clayton.