THE railway station at N. was a large and busy one, and as the train in which Dora was a passenger drew sufficiently near to allow her to look out of the carriage window, her first impressions were of noise, bustle, and hurry. Passengers coming and going, porters running hither and thither with luggage—all helped to give her a feeling of loneliness, and she could not help wondering if any one would be at leisure to attend to her.
But such thoughts were only for a moment. Uncle Edward had written to say he would meet her, and she felt sure only some very unforeseen event would hinder him from keeping his promise, and almost before the train stopped she caught sight of his tall form on the platform, and in a few moments was affectionately welcomed by Mr. Grange, while a porter at his bidding carried her boxes to a cab just outside the station.
When the first questions about her mother's health and her journey had been asked and answered, Dora said, "How is Aunt Lucy to-day, Uncle?”
There was a shade of sadness on the face of Mr. Grange as he answered, "Your aunt has been, I think, weaker and in more pain than usual for some days past." The warm weather we are having has added to the nervous exhaustion from which she suffers so much. But the children are all, through mercy, quite well and will be delighted at seeing you. For my own part, I can only say I felt it was very kind of you to come so willingly, and I hope you will be very happy with us, though of course you will find many things different from anything you have been accustomed to, and perhaps at first you may find the change rather a trying one.
“Your mother," he continued after a pause, "was, even as a girl, very gentle and patient, and now that she has been for many years a learner in the school of Christ, is in a rare degree a woman of 'a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.' (1 Peter 3:44But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. (1 Peter 3:4).) But I have not forgotten a letter received from yourself nearly two years ago, in which you told me you had accepted the Lord Jesus as your own precious Savior, so it is a comfort and joy to me to feel sure that you will know to whom to go for daily strength, and where you can ‘find grace to help in time of need.' (Heb. 4:1616Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:16).) But here we are at home.”
As the last words were spoken, the cab drew up before a house that seemed to Dora large when compared with the modest size of Myrtle Cottage. A servant opened the door, and at the same moment Constance, Harry and Eva rushed into the hall and gave their cousin a very noisy greeting, while Mr. Grange opened the door of the dining-room, saying as he did so, "You may have Dora all to yourselves after tea, but she is tired now, and besides Mamma is almost as impatient to see her as you were.”
He then led Dora forward to the couch where his wife reclined. Aunt Lucy received Dora kindly, though the young girl felt, she hardly knew why, chilled and repelled by the want of warmth in her manner.
Mrs. Grange told Constance to show her cousin to the room that had been got ready for her. Harry and Eva said they wanted to go too, and as their mamma made no objection, Dora was led away in triumph.
The room that Dora was to call her own during her stay at her uncle's, though small was cheerful, and the furniture more expensive than any at Myrtle Cottage. But Dora could not help noticing, not only in her room, but through the whole house, a general want of brightness and comfort. Before she had been half an hour an inmate of her new home she found herself recalling words that had been used by her mother in speaking of a visit she had once paid to a sick friend at Riversdale: "Poor Mrs. N., I felt so sorry for her. One glance round her home told me that its mistress was too ill to guide it.” Dora found it no easy task to answer all the questions asked her by Constance and Harry.
It was quite a relief to her to be told that tea was waiting in the dining-room.
During the meal Dora had, for the first time, leisure to observe her cousins.
Constance, who, having reached the mature age of ten, considered herself almost grown up, had her mother's dark eyes and rich waving hair, but Dora could not help noticing that her face wore an expression of habitual peevish discontent. Harry was very like his father, and Dora felt at once they would be friends, even though he should prove, as she felt he was, quite capable of being a "regular tease.”
Eva, though almost six years old, was considered almost as a baby by both Mr. and Mrs. Grange. She was really a very pretty child, with large blue eyes and long flaxen hair; and Dora who had often wished for a little sister of her own, thought how pleasant it would be to dress dolls for Eva, tell her stories, and try in many ways to win her love and confidence.
But long before the children's bedtime, Dora felt the task that lay before her would prove far from an easy one. Anxious to do all in her power to please her cousins, she went with them into the nursery, where a young servant, who was, as Dora soon learned, the children's nursemaid Ann, sat darning stockings. She rose and curtsied respectfully as Dora entered the room.
Constance proposed they should show Dora her doll's house. But Harry objected, saying he did not care for dolls or their houses, they were only fit for girls. His silkworms were, he told Dora, "worth looking at." Constance pouted, shrugged her shoulders, and told Harry he was "a nasty, disagreeable boy, and she was sure cousin Dora never would like him;" to which Harry retorted by saying "he would rather be a nasty disagreeable boy than a proud stuck-up girl," while Eva added to the general confusion by beginning to cry.
Poor Dora felt almost ready to cry too, and wondered how Ann could possibly go on with her mending so quietly. Ann, who was on the whole a very well-meaning girl, noticing Dora's distressed face, said kindly: “Don't take any notice, miss; you will soon get used to the noise. I never saw such children as these are for quarreling, and fighting too sometimes, I am sorry to say. And their poor mamma too ill to be worried, even by hearing of their naughty ways, though if I do speak to her," the girl added in a lower tone, "missus only gets cross, and says it is all my fault, and that I don't know how to manage children properly.”
Dora stood for a few moments uncertain what to say or do, then remembering having heard her mother say "that to give children some occupation was one of the very best ways to insure their being happy," she said, "My mother, your aunt Helen, sent each of you a small present. Who will help to unpack my box, then I can give them to you?”
To Dora's great delight, the storm of angry voices was hushed in a moment, and the children were all ready and willing to offer their services; indeed, so eager that it needed all the tact and patience she possessed to prevent the presents being torn before she could remove their paper wrappings.
There was a scrap album with several sheets of scraps for Constance; a box of paints for Harry, and a picture book for Eva. All were pleased, and the remainder of the evening passed on the whole, peaceably.
After the children were in bed a message from Mrs. Grange recalled Dora to the sitting-room, where she was much pleased by hearing her uncle say, "As Dora and her cousins seem on such good terms, I think we may ask her to be of some real use to-morrow. What do you say, Lucy?”
Mrs. Grange replied to her husband's question by saying, "It is such early days, Dora, that I really do not like the idea of setting you to work. But I have been too ill to spare Ann to go for her usual monthly holiday for some time, and as I know she is very anxious to see her father, who is ill, I think, if you are not afraid to take the entire charge of the children for a few hours, of letting her go to-morrow. Harry goes to school, that will be some comfort. But Constance has her holiday later than usual this year, so will be at home.”
Dora crossed the room, and kneeling down by her aunt's couch, said, "I left my mother and Riversdale to be a help and comfort to you, Aunt Lucy, and I think it is very kind of you to let me begin so soon. Need I tell you, I will do my best to fill Ann's place.”
The next morning passed off better than Dora had even dared to hope. Dora had succeeded in keeping Constance busy in helping her to dress a doll for Eva, and all went on smoothly, till some time after Harry's return from school, when Dora, who had been busy in another part of the room, was startled by the sound of a fall, followed by loud cries, and looking up saw Harry had fallen on the sharp edge of the fender, and was bleeding from a cut on his face.
Constance, who stood near to him holding a torn page of her scrap album, said in a loud angry voice, "I am not a bit sorry if you have hurt yourself, you had no right to touch my album.”
The noise brought Mrs. Grange on the scene. Harry and Constance each blamed the other as the cause of the quarrel; Harry saying that the album would not have been torn if Constance had not taken it from him so roughly that he fell down, and Constance declaring that Harry was a naughty boy, and always tore her books.
Mrs. Grange having assured herself that Harry's cut was by no means a deep one, turned to Dora and said in a fretful complaining tone, "Only just what I expected; indeed, I told your uncle that I did not see how a girl who has no young brothers or sisters of her own could be of much use in helping me with the children. I am afraid your coming to us was a mistake, but it can't be helped now.”
Poor Dora! She could not trust herself to say one word in answer. It seemed so unkind to blame her as if she had been the cause of all the trouble, when she had really tried to keep peace. Glad to escape from the room she took refuge in her own, and having locked the door threw herself on the bed, sobbing as if her heart would break. How she wished she had never left her mother and her happy home. Should she tell Uncle Edward that Aunt Lucy thought her coming had been a mistake, and ask his permission to return to Riversdale?
But other thoughts followed quickly. Was it an echo of far-off music or a whisper of peace that seemed to come with wondrous power to soothe and calm the wounded spirit? No, only two lines of a well-known hymn that came into her mind as she lay there, feeling as if all the sunshine had faded out of her life and she could not be happy any more—
“What a privilege to carry
Everything to God in prayer.”
Yes, she knew to Whom to go for the strength and comfort she so much needed, and rising from the bed she knelt down, and though at first tears came faster than words, as she prayed she seemed to grow calm and almost happy.
When she rose from her knees, after trying to wash the tear stains from her face, she returned to the nursery and said, "I am really very sorry for what has happened, but please, Aunt Lucy, do show you are not angry with me by letting me try again.”
Aunt Lucy answered by a kiss, and Dora felt she was sorry for the pain her sharp words had given.