IT was a fair scene on which Mrs. Hilton's eyes rested as she lingered for a few moments at the open window of her small but pleasant sitting-room. The neatly-kept garden in front of Myrtle Cottage was rich in sweet flowers. The perfume of June roses floated softly on the cool breeze that had sprung up scarcely an hour before the time of which I am writing.
The evening shadows were already gathering over the pine woods that formed the eastern boundary of Mead Park, though the gold and crimson of a glorious sunset still lingered in the western sky.
All through the long summer's day Mrs. Hilton had been busy with household cares, and the rest and quiet of that brief respite from pressing duties seemed to her, grateful and soothing to both mind and body.
Gifted with a quick perception of the beautiful in form and color, I think she would have found much to admire in the beauty of the prospect before her, even if her gladness had been only admiration for the wonders and beauties of creation.
But Mrs. Hilton was a Christian, one who, even in her girlhood, had, through the teaching of the Holy Spirit, been made wise unto salvation; one who, through living faith in a living Savior, had learned to call God, Abba Father. She had known sorrow; one look at her pale face, as well as the plain black dress and widow's cap she wore, and you might be sure of that. But Mrs. Hilton had known comfort too, the comfort with which God comforts those who trust in His never changing love.
And in that still hour, very truly it might have been said of her, that she was leaning on Him whom having not seen she loved. Softly, and in almost a whisper, she was singing—
“The toils of the day are over,
The heart and hand are free,
And so with a child's glad trusting,
I turn to my rest in Thee.”
When the garden gate opened, and a smile of rare sweetness lit up the mother's face, as her daughter Dora, a tall, fair girl of fourteen, came with a quick, light step up the gravel path, bordered, on either side, by rows of red and white daisies.
A few moments more and Dora was in her favorite seat, a low footstool near her mother. Mrs. Hilton kissed her affectionately, saying, as her hand rested fondly on Dora's waves of dark hair, "I think you have had a pleasant visit, Dora.”
“Oh, yes, mother, really a good time. It was kind of you to let me go, I only hope you are not very tired doing all the work yourself," and Dora gave one anxious, questioning look to the pale face of her mother.
Perhaps it was only the deepening shadows of the twilight, but Dora thought it looked a shade thinner and paler than usual. But without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Now I am going to tell you all about it. Grace Bell came to meet me at the end of Meadow Lane, and we went through the fields into Mead Park. The Park is lovely, mother, I wished you could have been with us. We sat down to rest under the shade of a grand old elm-tree. The birds were singing overhead. Such a cunning little squirrel cracked his nuts among the branches, and more than once a whole herd of deer came very near us; I could not help thinking of a verse of the psalm we read together this morning, ‘O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.' (Psa. 104:2424O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches. (Psalm 104:24).)
“Grace put her arm round me and told me all her secrets just as if we had been friends for years, though we have only known each other three weeks. She is a dear girl, mother; I loved her the very first time I saw her at Miss Lang's Bible Class; I am glad she has come to live at Riversdale. You know her father is steward to Lord W. Grace told me all about it. Her father has been steward to his lordship for several years, ever since Grace was quite a little girl. But he used to have the care of some property belonging to Lord W. in one of the mining districts, where even the trees looked as if they were always covered with coal dust, and at night the glow of furnaces shone out brightly against the dark sky.
“A fever broke out among the miners; Grace's little brother Henry took it and died, and her mother, who has never been strong, was so worn out with the fatigue of nursing him, that she was ill for many weeks, and when she began to get better, the doctor said she ought to have entire change of air and scene; so Mr. Bell wrote to Lord W., telling him that on account of his wife's health, he wished to resign his situation.
“But his lordship sent Mr. Bell such a kind letter, saying that as he did not wish to part with a steward who had served him so long and faithfully he had made arrangements for him to manage his estates at Riversdale. And Lady W. added a note to Mrs. Bell, telling her she hoped that with the blessing of the Lord on the pure air and pleasant scenes among which her new home was to be, she would soon get strong and well again.
“When we went into the house, Mr. and Mrs. Bell were very kind to me. Mr. Bell is a tall, grave man, I think I should have been almost afraid of him, only he has such a pleasant smile, and his voice made me think of my own dear papa.
“And Grace's mother is such a sweet, gentle little creature, I felt I longed to put my arms round her and kiss her, as soon as I saw her, and they said they were glad Grace had met with a companion about her own age, and hoped we should be true friends, and help each other in the right way.
“After tea, Grace took me into her father's office. It is quite a large room, with bookshelves on three sides of it, but a glass case is fixed in a recess near the window, and Mr. Bell opened it and showed me quite a fine collection of fossils. Some of them were found in blocks of coal deep down in the mine, and Mr. Bell explained everything so clearly that it did not seem so hard to understand as when I read about it. How the coalfields were once waving forests, where tall trees grew, and graceful ferns uncurled their feathery fronds. But I have not told you one thing that surprised me a little; Grace said that some time ago, her father was obliged to leave home, as Lord W. wished him to attend to some business in Scotland.
“Mr. Bell was away almost three months, and during the whole time Mrs. Bell kept his books, wrote his letters, and managed everything so nicely, that on his return he had to do little more than take up his every-day work, just as if he had not been absent so long.
“Now I am sure it was very clever of her, and must have been a great help to her husband. But it seems strange for a woman to be a steward. Don't you think so, mother? Why, you are smiling at my question. I am sure of it, for the moonlight is on your face, though it is quite dark in the corners of the room. Please do tell me what you are thinking," and Dora nestled closer to her mother's side.
“Before I reply, Dora, I should like you to tell me what you mean by the word steward.”
“It is too dark to look for its meaning in my English Dictionary just at present, but I think it means 'One who is put in trust with the property of another.' You know Lord and Lady W. have been abroad for more than a year; but his lordship wishes the estate to be managed and the cottages of the poor people kept in repair, just as if they were living at Mead Hall. Mr. Bell writes to him very often, but when he returns he will go over all the accounts with him, and so know exactly how his money has been spent. Is that what you mean, mother?”
“Yes, Dora, I find you have a right idea of the duties and responsibilities of stewardship. While you were talking, my mind went over some ways in which most, perhaps it would not be too much to say all, women are stewards, put in trust by God, with certain things for which they must one day give account.”
“I don't think I quite understand yet, mother. Please tell me more about it?”
“Think a moment, Dora, and I am almost sure you will remember how most of the little children and sick people in the world are nursed and cared for by women.”
“Yes, mother, but I suppose it is really mothers and nurses who have to take care of them, and I am only a school-girl yet, you know.”
“You are only a school-girl now, dear, but don't forget the nurses and mothers to whom you are so willing to leave the care of the sick and the young, were school-girls themselves, some of them not very long ago, and the circle of caretakers is far wider than you seem to have any idea, for
“'Mid the haunts of savage men,
In the forest's leafy glen,
On every league of peopled ground,
Little children may be found.”
And if we even try to count the number of women and girls, who, as sisters, teachers, nursemaids, toy-makers, or writers of children's books, are helping the mothers, I think we should be surprised. Loving hands and wise, thoughtful heads, as well as patient hearts, are sorely needed by the sick, and every woman ought to learn how to be of real use in the sick-room; she is almost sure to have an opportunity sooner or later of turning her knowledge to account.
“But there is one other kind of stewardship of which I should like to remind you. Almost all the food products of the world pass through the hands of women, who are responsible for their proper use, and must be careful not to waste or spoil them by improper cooking.”
“Oh, mother, Miss Allan said something very like that, when she gave us a few lessons on the 'Chemistry of Food.' I thought it was quite an interesting subject, indeed, I think most of the girls liked it, all but Augusta Lee, who said 'she did not know we went to school to learn cooking.’”
“Poor Augusta, I am always so sorry for her; you know, Dora, her mother died when Augusta was very young, and though she has been indulged and petted, I fear she has not been rightly trained, and is growing up without any knowledge of how honorable, as well as important, it is, that a christian woman should know how to guide the house.
“But it is getting late, and I think we must not talk any more now. Do you expect Grace will be at the Bible Class to-morrow?”
“Yes, mother, I asked her to call here for me, because I want you to know her, then I am sure you will love her almost as much as I do. But I will go now and lay the cloth for supper.”