CHAPTER VII.

THE REWARD OF DILIGENCE.

"One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each; Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach." A. A. PROCTER.

SPRING passed and summer came, giving Lilla more time than ever for her books.

Every morning she was up with the lark. Whilst Margie bustled about the housework, she was busy in her flower-garden. Then, as the sun grew hot, she took her books into the little arbour and studied with unflagging assiduity, until Margie came to call her to breakfast. All through the day she continued learning, translating, drawing and practising, only allowing herself an occasional few minutes' respite. Then, in the cool of the evening, she would go for a stroll in the lane with her grandmother, or water the flowers with Margie until the stars came out, when she would stand gazing up at the sky, telling her their names, or trying to explain the solar system, until, when Mrs. Eden called them in, they were so dazed that they could hardly see their way.

Thus a firm friendship sprung up between them, and they came to tell each other their thoughts and to exchange confidences about their hopes and aspirations. And in this way, Lilla at last discovered that the young servant girl, like herself, had felt dissatisfied with living for nothing but eating and drinking, and earning money. And that she, too, longed to be something greater and worthier.

"But it's of no use," Margie said, sadly, as they turned to go in, after one of these talks. "And it won't do to stand still thinking about it, because I've got my living to earn. I suppose I must just go on sweeping and scrubbing, and perhaps it'll all come right some day."

"It would, if there were really such things as fairies," replied Lilla, "but they only exist in children's stories."

Yet there had been One all through the days of that spring and summer watching their every action and listening to their every thought, guiding and keeping them, and waiting until their ears were ready to listen to that gentle voice which said to John and Peter of old—"Follow Me."

With the end of August the days began to grow perceptibly shorter, and as September brought to a close the golden harvest time, Lilla's routine had gradually to change; afternoon walks were resumed, and lessons after tea took the place of gardening and star-gazing. But a reward for the past six months' diligence was awaiting her.

One day Mrs. Eden informed her that she had engaged a young lady to come every morning and superintend her studies.

"I had intended you to have masters for French and music," she said, "but that would leave out drawing for the present, besides which, I heard you express a wish to learn German, so I thought I could not do better than come to terms with this young lady, who teaches all these branches, and appears highly accomplished."

Lilla was very pleased, though somewhat excited, at the prospect of having to take lessons of a perfect stranger. The name of "governess" frequently suggests to young girls, the idea of a prim, stiff-backed sort of person, very clever, and extremely severe. Probably, Lilla shared the common notion. Therefore, although in her anxiety to get on she determined to brave all these terrors, she was very much relieved to find Miss St. Ives the exact opposite of all that she had pictured. She had the gentlest face and manners and such a beautiful way of explaining things that it was impossible not to understand. In short, from the very first, Lilla felt compelled to love her. There was a reason for this.

Miss St. Ives had been brought up in the school of trouble, which usually does one of two things for its pupils: either it puts hard lines on their faces and renders them fretful and discontented, because the world is not the fairyland of pleasure they once imagined it, or it makes them gentle and patient, always ready to help those who need encouragement. This was the case with Miss St. Ives, for she was a true follower of Christ. So when her father died, leaving them with a very slender income to depend upon, she had determined to forget how sad her own heart was in striving to be the stay and sunshine of her home. She had bravely undertaken the education of her two little sisters, and set herself to learn how to make her own dresses.

And when at last this opportunity of earning a little money had presented itself, she had thankfully accepted it in addition to her other work, in order that her mother—whose health had been much shattered by nursing and night watches—might have extra ease and comfort. And she was reaping a rich reward in the building up of a character which everybody loved and trusted.

Lilla soon found herself talking to her as freely as if she had known her for years, and even Margie would watch for the chance of getting to the door first for the sake of a smile and "thank you" when she admitted her. Mrs. Eden, herself, never allowed a morning to pass without coming to exchange a few words with her, and in doing so the old lady was not merely fulfilling the demands of common courtesy—she was attracted to the young governess by the irresistible charm of her Christ-like spirit.

Mrs. Eden was glad to have secured for Lilla a teacher whose influence over her was likely to be so good, especially as she, herself, was growing less and less fit to be her companion. The old lady was obliged to give up her long rambles now, so Lilla frequently walked home with Miss St. Ives after lessons, or accompanied her and her sisters in their strolls.

It was well for Lilla that she did not understand the many signs of failing health which were throwing their shadows over her grandmother. It would have saddened her young heart too much had she realised how the beloved companion and protector of her early days was fading away. The early morning no longer found the old lady briskly stirring, and she had even delegated to Lilla the duty of making the coffee. Her step had grown heavier of late, too, and she often heaved a weary sigh over her work. And, as the autumn evenings closed in, she loved to sit in the twilight, gazing into the fire, and talking of old times.

This was a sore trial for Lilla. There were tasks waiting to be learned, and she longed to be at them. Her ambition was to lose no moment of her time, and to waste half-an-hour listening to tales which she had known from time immemorial was a severe test of patience. But she never once allowed her grandmother to feel that she was weary of her forced idleness.

[Illustration: MISS ST. IVES.]

[Illustration]