CHAPTER II.

Off to the Station.

"YES, she is going away, I told you that she was! There's Giles carrying out the big black box, with the cords tied about it, to put it up by the coachman!" exclaimed Tom Fairley in a tone of fierce passion, as he stood on a chair by the window, grasping the bars with his hands, and looking down on the carriage which was waiting at the door to take his stepmother to the station.

Master Tom had been ordered to keep his bed during that day, but Tom cared little for orders. He was a spoilt, passionate boy, whom his gentle new mamma had never been able to manage. He loved Mrs. Fairley a little perhaps, but he had never learned to obey her.

"Perhaps mamma is only going for a drive," said Jessy, a pale little girl with large dark eyes, who was seated on a foot-stool nursing the doll that had been her stepmother's gift.

"Going to take a drive with a big corded box, you stupid!" exclaimed Tom. "I tell you she is going to London. Giles is bringing more packages out—one—two—three—and there's a hamper besides! There's nursie coming out with baby wrapped up in the large India shawl. She has got into the carriage, and here comes mamma in her pink bonnet. She is going to London without us—when she promised long ago to take us there with her!"

"Mamma won't go without bidding us good-bye!" exclaimed Jessy, starting up from her seat and running to the window with her doll in her arms. She clambered up on the chair beside her brother, and flattening her nose against the pane, glanced down as eagerly as Tom at the departure.

"She will go without bidding us good-bye, she's in the carriage, she'll soon be off!" And Tom stamped so violently with his shoeless foot on the chair, that he almost pushed off his sister.

The boy was only half-dressed, for he had lately escaped from his bed; he had neither jacket on his back, nor shoes on his feet; his hair was a wild mop round a face which looked as red as scarlet, but quite as much from passion as from fever.

"She's cruel, she's very, very unkind!" cried Jessy. "Betsy told us quite true, she doesn't care for us, not one pin, 'cause she is not our own mamma!"

The last nursery-maid had done great wrong both to her mistress and the children by trying to make the latter think that their stepmother did not love them as if they were her own. More from folly than from a wish to do mischief, Betsy had been sowing evil in the minds of those committed to her care.

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God." * But oh! How unblessed must they be who help to destroy peace in families, whose tongues, like Satan's own darts, kindle malice, distrust, and jealousy in the hearts of those around them! Well had it been for the little Fairleys that Betsy had been dismissed from her place.

* Matthew v. 9.

"Mamma is looking up at the window, she is kissing her hand!" cried Tom. "But I won't kiss my hand to her," he sulkily added. "Why does she go and leave us! There—she's driving away—away to the station!"

The boy jumped down from the chair, and flung himself on his chest on the carpet, kicking with passion. He could not bear to watch the carriage disappearing behind the trees.

"I'll never, never again believe that mamma loves me!" exclaimed Jessy, bursting into tears as she got down more slowly.

"Oh I never say that, Miss Jessy!" cried the mild voice of Susan, who had just entered the room. She was a bright, cheerful-looking girl of sixteen, very neatly dressed, with hair smooth as satin beneath her simple little white cap.

"I'll say what I choose," sobbed Jessy; "it was very unkind to go without us, and never even to come to bid us good-bye."

"Mistress is as much vexed as you are about it," said Susan. "Yes, indeed," she continued, without appearing to notice a volley of angry kicks on the floor, by which Tom expressed his utter disbelief, "mistress dared not come near you after the doctor had told her what was the matter with you both, lest she should carry infection to the baby."

"She cares for no one but the baby!" growled Tom. "It's unfair, it's horridly unfair."

"Now, Master Tom, will you listen to reason?" said Susan, turning towards the boy in a cheerful, good-humoured manner. "Suppose that you had to decide whether your mamma should come and give you a good-bye kiss, at the risk of carrying back illness to your own little brother, would you ask her—would you wish her to come to you at such risk?"

"She did not want to come—she did not choose to come!" muttered Tom, who was not inclined to listen to reason.

"She never thought about us at all," cried Jessy.

"Nay, Miss Jessy, I can answer for it that mistress has been thinking a great deal about both of you," said the young maid. "She has been giving me such particular directions about your comfort, and the tears were in her eyes when she spoke of going to London and leaving you behind."

"Were they?" asked Tom, in a softened tone. He raised himself to a sitting posture on the floor, and looked up at Susan through the rough tumbled hair which was hanging over his eyes.

Some people have an art of putting things in the brightest, fairest light, of smoothing down angry tempers, and raising kindly feelings in the hearts of others. Susan was one who had learned this art in the school of the Gospel. She shewed so clearly that it was no unkindness that had taken the young stepmother away, she made the children realise so vividly what sad consequences would be likely to follow should their baby brother take the infection of scarlet fever, that all the storm of anger was lulled. When Susan gave to Jessy and her brother the two bright crown pieces sent to them by Mrs. Fairley, even the words "How kind!" came from the lips of the girl.

Susan had, however, a great deal of trouble in coaxing Tom to obey the doctor's orders by returning to his crib. She had no authority to punish, and it was very hard to persuade. Susan promised the boy to sit beside him, and read to him, so that the time should not seem dull.

"I'm tired of every one of my books, they're so stupid," cried Tom. "I've read Blue Beard ever so often, and I don't care for any of the rest."

"I've a little book of my own, which will be quite new to you, I daresay," said Susan. "It is in my box; I will go for it directly. And I wonder," she added, playfully, "whether, when I come back, I shall find Master Tommy in bed."

As soon as the door was closed behind Susan, Tom scrambled back into his crib in just as much haste as he had left it, and pulled the bed-clothes almost over his rough little head, "to give Susan a surprise," as he said. Tom was, perhaps, a little tired and weak, for though the attack of scarlatina had been but slight, the fever had not quite left him.

Susan had a soft pleasant voice, and as she read one after another of "Anecdotes of Christian Graces," choosing such as would be most likely to interest her young charges, Jessy drew near and sat close beside her, resting her doll upon Susan's knee, while Tom lay quietly listening till his eyelids grew heavy and drooped, and long breathing soon told that the little boy had fallen asleep.

Susan was very young, and she felt that hers was an anxious and responsible charge, left as the two children were entirely under her care during the absence of their parents. The burden upon the nursery-maid was all the more heavy as the training of the young Fairleys had been in some points neglected, and in others mismanaged; they did not submit, they would not obey, nor had they learned to look up with fear and love to a Father in heaven.

Jessy, indeed, before she went to rest, knelt down before a chest of drawers, put her little hands together, and gabbled over something which was meant for a prayer, her wandering eyes and careless tone showing that she gave not a thought to the solemn act of addressing the High and Holy One whose Name she was taking in vain every time that it passed her lips.

Susan saw all this, and it grieved her, but she felt that she must have patience and ask for grace, that she might be a humble means of leading to God the precious souls of these two children. Very different from Jessy's careless "saying prayers" was the young servant girl's earnest pleading when she knelt down by her sleeping charges that night. She entreated forgiveness for all her past sins, as one who knows how hateful in the sight of God is all sin; she asked for the grace of the Holy Spirit to make her heart pure, and to guide all her thoughts, words, and actions. Susan also prayed, and prayed heartily for her young charges—asking God to enable her to do her duty towards them, both in caring for their health and comfort, and in watching over their souls.

"Bless me, and make me a blessing to others," had been Susan's earnest prayer since she had first learned to feel that she was not her own, but "bought with a price," * that she and all her powers should be devoted to her Lord. It was a great comfort to the young nursery-maid to be able to go straight to God for the guidance and help that she needed, looking unto Him in all her troubles and cares, and doing her work as unto Him.

* 1 Cor. vi. 20.

There was no human being to watch whether Susan faithfully did her duty towards her absent mistress; there was no one to find fault if—as too many girls would have done—she cared first for her own comfort and ease. But Susan had not read in vain the Word of the Lord: "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of heart; not with eye-service, as men-pleasers, but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart." *

* Eph. vi. 5, 6.

Three times during the night did the anxious young maid rise to see if her charges were resting quietly. She gently replaced the coverlet which Tom had tossed off in his sleep. The night-light placed on the saucer was burning very feebly indeed; it was flickering, dying; in a few moments more it would go out, and leave the nursery in darkness. Susan took another from the box, lit it, and stood for a little space watching the tiny spark.

"I am a poor weak girl," thought Susan. "I can do very little, indeed, to show my love for my Lord, but there was one command which He gave to all His servants, and so to me amongst the rest: 'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.' † I cannot serve God as clergymen and missionaries do, learned and holy men who shine as great lights in the world; but may not even I be as this tiny night-light, shut up in a quiet nursery, where no one cares to look at it, yet throwing its feeble light around, useful according to its power, shining as well as it can, though it seems little more than a spark? Even I, in my humble way, may spend and be spent for my Lord, and help to cheer and enlighten others, though they be but two little children."

† Matt. v. 16.

The thought was a sweet one to Susan, and she fell asleep with the prayer on her lips, "Oh, bless me, and make me a blessing!"