CHAPTER VI.

_APOLLYON MEETS POLLIE._

POLLIE'S return home had been postponed till the picnic was over. Now there remained nothing to do but to pack up.

She longed to wish her father's dear old friend good-bye, but did not like to propose it. Her uncle however settled the matter by offering to drive her out there the last evening.

The old lady received them with open arms, for Mr. Brown had already called upon her and told her their good news, and Pollie never forgot the joy which they had as they sat together and talked of their Saviour's love.

"I've proved Him for fifty years," said Miss Loveday, "and have found Him faithful."

They had not long to stay, however, and just as they were going, the old lady said to Pollie, "My brother is vicar of your village, Pollie. Do you know our niece, Mary, who lives with him?"

"I have often seen her," said Pollie, "but I did not guess she was your niece!"

"Here is a note to her to ask her to persuade your father to let you join her class. You would like that, Pollie?"

Pollie's eyes glistened. "Indeed I should," she answered earnestly.

So it came to pass that before another week was out, Miss Mary Loveday, the vicar's niece, came up to the mill, and made acquaintance with Pollie, and obtained permission for Pollie to attend her class. And there sprang up between them a strong attachment, which bid fair to be lifelong.

Thus, Pollie began her new life. She had written to her father to tell him about that wonderful Thursday, and the first time he had the opportunity, he invited her to drive to market with him.

"So Pollie," he said, when the horse was well on its way, and they had left the village behind, "so you've come home a different girl!"

"Yes, father," said Pollie, with her usual straightforward candour.

"It's a solemn thing to take His name upon us," said her father. "It needs watching as well as praying, Pollie!"

Pollie had not thought of that exactly.

"How do you mean, father?"

"Why you see 'tis like this, Pollie," said the miller, "we read a goodish bit about soldiers and armour and fighting and watching in the Bible, and many of us would as lief as not put on a sword and a helmet and a drum and march along to battle!"

Pollie laughed a soft little laugh at her father's quaint way, in which he often lodged a thought in his children's hearts, which would not have got in perhaps in a long sermon.

"And if Apollyon were to come to meet us, we should be very brave with our drum, and try to frighten him off, or fetch him a cut with our sword, and think to demolish him at a blow, eh, Pollie?"

"I don't suppose the 'drum' would do much good," she answered smiling.

"No; nor do I," said her father, smiling too. "But the fact is, Pollie, Apollyon doesn't come stalking along the road with fire coming out of his mouth! And the battle isn't out of doors on a wide plain, or even in a dark valley! It's at home, my child, in the mill and in the school and in the market, we have to face our foes. They come to some of us the first thing in the morning with—

"'Pollie, mind you clear out "all" the ashes from the kitchen grate,' or 'Pollie, where's my hammer that you had last night?'"

Pollie's head went down; how true that sounded; how like that very morning!

"Or the battle-field may come to some of us like this—it may come in thoughts of worry, in cares for the future, in fretting over the low price flour fetches—half a dozen things—all invisible foes, but as bad as Apollyon nevertheless.

"Or it may come to Jim in his sister's voice like this: 'Jim!' (sharp as a nettle sting) 'Jim! You haven't washed your hands for breakfast! Jim! You said you'd take that note to Miss Loveday, and you haven't!'"

"Oh, father!" said Pollie in a low distressed tone.

"'Tisn't that I want to grieve you, my little girl," continued her father kindly, "but I want you and myself to remember that Satan is very strong and very watchful, and we are very weak and very careless. Let us watch as well as pray, Pollie; let us 'stand fast in the Lord, and in the power of "His" might.'"

"I will try to remember," said Pollie humbly.

"Your greatest enemy is your not being willing to submit to your mother, my child. Apollyon meets you every day there!"

Pollie knew that that was true, and her father's words had been so tender that even her proud little spirit did not take offence.

It was hard work to settle in to the homely duties of the mill after her gay, easy life at Chichester, but now she understood what it was to have strength "renewed," and when she went for it, she received it from her Lord and Master.

So the months rolled on. Occasionally she heard from Clara, but her letters were not satisfactory. They still kept their secret from their mother, and nothing more had been heard of "H. F.," as Clara still called Laura's friend.

Of Laura she said very little, but Pollie gathered that she was restless and sorrowful. She thought how such a secret would prey upon her own mind, and did not wonder.

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