CHAPTER III.

THE DIADEM OF LEAVES.

To the crags all bright, in the golden light, With floral diadems! As fresh and fair, as rich and rare, As any royal gems.

"PATIENCE is a virtue, and perseverance is a virtue, and so is punctuality, and uncle says I possess none of these qualities, and yet I want to be a virtuous woman; so I must try hard to become patient, persevering, and punctual."

So soliloquized little Nora Macintosh the morning after Ronald's departure for school. Just as she had formed these brave resolutions, the prayer-bell rang, and knowing that her habit of coming into the library five minutes late, and so disturbing every one, was one of the causes of her uncle's complaint of her unpunctuality, she at once opened her bed-room door, and for a wonder contrived to join the family group ere they were seated. She was so pleased with this good beginning of carrying out her resolutions that it was some time ere she remembered, with a feeling of dismay, that she had forgotten her quiet morning prayer in her own room.

When she remembered it, she ran upstairs and knelt down, then repeated a form of words without thought, to which we dare not give the name of prayer. It was a bad beginning. Still Nora was now quite content, and confident that she would soon be all her mother had desired.

"Aunt," she said after breakfast was over, "it is such a fine day, mayn't I walk across the moor half-way and meet Miss Stewart? And then we'll come home together."

"Certainly, dear, if you are sure that is the way Miss Stewart will come; only, remember you don't keep her waiting, as you did one day last week."

"Oh no, aunt, I shan't do that; I am never going to keep her waiting again, you'll see;" and so saying she bounded off.

Down the lawn and through the copsewood she tripped, enjoying the crisp morning air, then out upon the moor, the heather of which was turning brown, though patches of purple still lingered here and there.

Miss Stewart, who came for some hours each day to instruct her, was the eldest daughter of a minister who lived at some distance from Benvourd, and in general her shortest way lay across the moor.

Nora, after running through the heather for a minute or two, and startling a covey of grouse, who rose with a whir as she approached, stood still, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked in the direction Miss Stewart should have come; but there was no appearance of her. She lingered a short time, then turned homewards, wondering if her governess could have taken another road. She seldom did, still once or twice she had done so.

Musing thus, she re-entered the copsewood, and stood admiring the gorgeous colours of the low trees. Suddenly a thought struck her—it would be such fun to gather a lot of the bright gold and scarlet leaves, and form them into a diadem at home with ribbon-wire, some of which she had in her work-basket. She knew she could do it, and then she would have a diadem to wear which would look just like gold and rubies. Wouldn't Eric like to see it! Absorbed in the idea, she set to work, and forgot all about Miss Stewart, and the virtue of punctuality. Alas! poor Nora, she was suddenly brought to herself by her uncle's voice—

"Nora, what are you about? Miss Stewart has been waiting for you for half an hour; you really must try to be more punctual—you will get into a habit of being late for everything."

She rose hastily, scattering, as she did so, all her gathered hoard of bright-coloured leaves on the ground. She had not a word to say for herself, and was really grieved at having displeased her kind uncle. She entered the school-room cast down and out of sorts, and quite disposed to feel that it was no use to try to attain the virtue of punctuality.

It was certainly Miss Stewart who required the grace of patience that day, for her little pupil tried her sorely. Lessons repeated with inaccuracy, music played without the least attention, and work done so badly that it had to be taken out and done over again, made up the sum of the morning's occupations; not that the child meant to give trouble, but her thoughts were wandering, now to the beautiful diadem, now to the leaves, then again to Ronald, and from him to her wish at the well, and her morning's resolutions. She became impatient at returned lessons and picked-out work, and gave way to temper more than Miss Stewart ever recollected to have seen her do; and to sum up all, she had to spend the afternoon indoors in disgrace.

It was very humbling, and Nora shed many tears about it—just when she meant to be so very good. How had it all come about? Was there no little voice whispering to her? It was because she was trying to fight a very strong enemy in her own strength. Had she altogether forgotten that it is only through Jesus we can overcome any sin?

If so, she was not long in having a reminder, for after a while a gentle tap came to the school-room door, and her little four-year-old cousin, Minnie (her special pet and plaything) entered. Tears shone in the bright blue eyes.

"No cry, Cousin 'Nona;' Minnie so sorry 'cause you cry. Why do 'ou? Has 'ou been naughty, Cousin 'Nona'?"

The girl stooped to take the child on her lap, saying as she did so, "Yes, Minnie, I am afraid 'Nona' is not good to-day. She can't be, somehow."

The blue eyes were raised in amazement. "But, 'Nona,' Jesus can make 'ou good. Mamma says so. Did 'ou ask him?"

Ere her cousin could answer, the child was called away; but her words lingered, and although Nora did not bend the knee, I think she did ask Jesus to help her; but, like the boy and the runaway knock, she never looked for nor expected an answer. Still her mother's desire and her talks with Ronald were not forgotten, though she made small progress in the heavenward path.

Mrs. Macleod watched her at this time anxiously, and half hoped that she had begun the pilgrimage to the Celestial City, of which she loved so much to read in Bunyan's wonderful allegory; but again she would be disheartened, not at childish failures, but when for days at a time, the girl would seem to give up all battling against her besetting sins, all seeking to walk in the right path.

In all womanly matters Nora received a good training in her Highland home. From her childhood, her aunt showed her many household matters, and instructed her in them; and a very useful little maiden she proved in many ways. It was she who had the knitting and darning of Eric's stockings, the sewing on of buttons to his shirts. She also hemmed both his and her uncle's pocket-handkerchiefs, and was always eager to help her aunt in any work to which she could put her hand.

Unknown to herself, she was learning many of the accomplishments for which the wise king extols the virtuous woman: and in stretching out her hands to the needy, Nora had to make no effort; never did a more loving, tender heart beat in a human breast. No wonder she was loved in the cottages of the poor. It was a sight, to see the bright little child, as she tripped over the hills and through the heather with a flagon full of soup to carry to some poor bedridden old woman.

She was very happy then; and somehow, after Ronald's departure, she seemed to love those messages of mercy more than ever. A thousand welcomes, spoken in the Gaelic tongue, greeted her as she entered the cottages of the poor, and the very look of her large soft eyes cheered their lonely hearts. Her uncle declared she had a God-given gift of nursing: no hand could smooth a pillow so well as Nora's; no one could be more skilful in cooling a burning forehead, and shading the light from aching eyes, than she was; and no foot could tread more gently in a sick-room than hers did; and no voice sounded more sweet than hers as she read aloud a page to the suffering one from God's own Word. No wonder those who knew her best hoped she had become a "ministering child" from love to the One who came to earth not to be "ministered unto, but to minister."

Only the sharp eyes of Widow Cameron read her aright. "Eh, but she's a winsome lassie," she would say to herself; "and wi' as kind a heart as her ain mither had, and weel inclined too. Maybe she's seekin' the right road, but I fear me she hasna got in at the Wicket Gate yet; and for as bonnily as she reads the Book o' Life, she hasna learned in truth to say o' our blessed Lord, 'My God, and my Saviour.'"

These remarks were made to herself, one bright autumn day not long after Ronald's departure, when Nora had hastily entered the cottage to read a bit of Ronald's first letter to the old woman.

Her brown curls were tossed about with the wind, and her cheeks glowing with the exercise of her walk, when she tripped, brimful of life and spirits, into the cottage.

"Good news to-day, nursie!" she said, holding up the letter in her hand. "See, all this from your own laddie, as you call him, and a special bit for yourself, too. Auntie and uncle have a long joint-letter; but this is to me, his baby sister, he writes. Only fancy!" And the long curls were tossed indignantly back as she spoke. "Baby, indeed! And I'll be thirteen in February."

"Is't possible, missie? Dear me, to think o' that. It looks just the ither day sin' we heard o' your birth in the far-awa' land. But now, read to me aboot Maister Ronald, my bonnie lad. How fares he among strange folk?"

"Oh, very well! Here is what he says, after a bit just to myself, you know,—"

"'Tell old nursie I am quite happy here. Dr. Bowles and his wife are very kind (though he is strict too). We have a beautiful play-ground. She can fancy, and you too, the noise fifty boys make there together. Wouldn't Eric enjoy our games? I know nurse will like to hear that I am trying to hold up the banner, and not be ashamed of doing so. Say to her she must pray for me, for I am only a weak school-boy, and do not like to be laughed at; but I know how even an earthly soldier has to endure hardness, and surely Christ's soldiers should not shrink from any reviling they may be called on to endure for his sake. I do hope I may never forget how he wore, for me, the crown of thorns, and how he says to his followers who are faithful to him: "I will give thee a crown of life."'"

"That crown will be better than one of gold and rubies, Nora, will it not?"

The child's voice became silent, a light cloud crossing the fair face.

But the old woman spoke—"The good Lord keep the lad frae a' evil, an' gie him grace to steadily fight under, an' hold up the gospel banner; and one day grant he may wear the golden crown."

Then suddenly she laid her hand kindly on the girl's head, and smoothed back the tangled hair, gently pushing back the straw hat. With a mother's tenderness, she looked into the deep blue eyes, and noted the large fair forehead, but she spoke not.

Nora glanced up amazed. "What is it, nursie?" she said.

"I was wonderin', my lambie, what kind o' crown is to sit on your bonnie brow. Is it to be the crown o' a vain world's folly, or the everlasting ane your mother prayed so earnestly might rest there? Ye canna hae baith, I'm thinkin'. Missie, which is it to be?"

Then Nora raised her head undaunted. "Oh, don't be frightened, nurse; I am going to be all mamma wished me to be. Indeed, indeed I am trying to be that which is 'above rubies.'"

The old woman smiled, but shook her head. "Ay—ay, I'm glad to hear it, missie; but mind you begin at the right end—'God be merciful to me a sinner.' The virtuous woman Solomon alludes to, is the one who has the fear of the Lord in her heart, and whose trust is in him, not in her own power o' doin' right. And the same wise king says, my dear, 'The Lord giveth grace unto the lowly.' Have you sought strength and help frae the Lord Jesus aboot this matter, Miss Nora?"

The girl rose quickly. "Oh, yes," she said; "but I must be going now. The children were to meet me half-way. Good-bye, nurse. Shall I send your love to Ronald when I write?"

"Ay, do, please; and tell him old Peggy'll no forget to pray for her bairn. Fare-ye-weel."

One friendly nod, and Nora was off, down the path through the pass, with as bounding a step as the mountain roe. But through the sound of the autumn wind, she seemed to hear the words:

"Have you sought strength and help from the Lord Jesus in this matter?"

It was almost the same question her little cousin had put to her, expressed in her baby language; and, somehow, Nora felt she did not care to look the question in the face and give it a true answer. So to drown thought, she began to sing, and just then little Minnie ran to meet her, and together they continued their walk.