MRS. D’AUBREY, the kind lady whom I had seen on the downs, did not forget her promise to call on Miss Maynard. After she had gone, Miss Maynard told me that, although she had never seen Mrs. D’Aubrey before, she had often heard of her, and knew her to be a real Christian, and one who was always ready to help in any good work. Miss Maynard said she had given leave for me to spend the next monthly holiday at Mrs. D’Aubrey’s house, for she felt sure it was just the place at which mother would like me to visit.
Oh, how much I looked forward to that Saturday! It would be so pleasant, I thought, to be away from school for a whole day, and to take a walk without having to walk in line, or to talk French.
At last the day came. It was a bright, sunny morning at the end of May. I woke as soon as it was light, and lay awake, listening to the blackbirds and thrushes singing in the trees close to the house, and wondering where Mrs. D’Aubrey lived, and how we should spend the day. I was very glad when the bell rang for us to get up, and still more glad when breakfast was over, and Miss Maynard told me to go upstairs and get ready to go out.
Whilst I was putting on my hat, Alice Marshall came to tell me to be quick, for Mrs. D’Aubrey had come for me.
As I passed the schoolroom door, on my way downstairs, I heard Mademoiselle’s voice, ‘Olive Stewart, are you going out today ? Oh, you are. Will you have the goodness to drop this letter in the post office for me?’
I told her I should be very glad to do so, and put the letter in my pocket. Then I went downstairs, and Mrs. D’Aubrey and I set out together.
Oh, what a happy day that was! We went first through the town et our way to Mrs. D’Aubrey’s house. She had some shopping to do, and she took me into a bookseller’s shop to see a beautiful picture which was being exhibited there.
Then we came to her house. It is such a pretty place. It stands some way from the road, in a small park, and all round the house are different coloured rhododendrons, crimson, pink, lilac, and cream-coloured. These were all in full bloom, and looked very lovely.
Mrs. D’Aubrey’s little girl is just seven years old; her name is Christabel. She is the only child, and Mr. D’Aubrey is away now for some time; he has gone to Egypt and Palestine.
I had a biscuit and a glass of milk when I arrived, and then little Christabel took me all round the garden and the park ; and we paid a visit to her favourite pony, and to the cows and calves, and chickens, and ducks, and turkeys, and geese, and guinea pigs.
Then we had dinner, and after dinner the pony carriage came to the door, and Mrs. D’Aubrey took me a most beautiful drive on the other side of the river, through woods blue with wild hyacinths, and lanes, the hedges of which were full of hawthorn and wild roses.
We came back for tea, and then I went into Mrs. D’Aubrey’s and sat on a low stool beside her, and she put her arm round me just as mother used to do, and talked to me just as mother used to talk, and, before I left, she knelt down with me, and prayed that I might day by day become more like Jesus, and more fit to dwell with Him in His beautiful home above.
Then it was time to go back to school; and, as I went into Christabel’s room to get my hat, I remembered for the first time that I had not posted Mademoiselle’s letter. I had been so pleased and excited when I set out with Mrs. D’Aubrey, that I had forgotten all about it. What would Mademoiselle say? What should I do ?
‘Shall we pass a post office on our way back, Mrs. D’Aubrey?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes, several, dear,’ she said; ‘but I am afraid it is not of much use posting a letter now; the mail has gone.’
‘Oh dear, I am so sorry!’ I said. ‘I ought to have posted this letter this morning, and I quite forgot it.’
‘Well, perhaps we had better put it in the post now,’ said Mrs. D’Aubrey; ‘it is possible that there may be an early morning mail, and that it may get off then.’
So the letter was posted, but I felt very uncomfortable about it. I was afraid Mademoiselle would be very much vexed and annoyed that I had forgotten it. I tried to comfort myself with the hope that the letter was of no great importance, and that one pet would not make so very much difference.
It was nine o’clock when I reached Marlborough Place, and the bread and butter and milk for our supper was on the table.
Mademoiselle and the girls were chatting together of the events of the day when I went in, and they asked me how I had enjoyed myself, and where I had been, and what I had seen. Mademoiselle did not mention the letter ; and, though my conscience told me that 1 ought to confess to her that I had forgotten it in the morning, I said nothing. I was afraid of what she might say, and could not bring myself to do it.
However, as we were lighting our candles to go upstairs, she suddenly remembered it, and, turning round, she said quickly—
‘I hope you posted my letter, Olive Stewart?’
‘Yes, Mademoiselle,’ I said, the colour coming into my face, for I felt that it was only half the truth. And mother has often told me that half the truth is a lie. But again I was afraid.
‘Because it is very important,’ Mademoiselle went on— ‘very important indeed! That is why I ask you.’
I was going to speak; I meant to tell her the truth, but I waited a moment to think what I should say, and in that moment she was gone, She went downstairs to Miss Maynard’s room, and I knew she would not come up again.
I felt very miserable. But I tried to argue with myself that the words I had said were true, quite true. I had posted the letter, I said to myself, and it would not have been true if I said that I had not posted it, and if only Mademoiselle had waited a minute, I would have told her all. Yet, though I tried to persuade myself that there was no great harm in what I had said, I felt very uneasy and uncomfortable about it.
Then I went upstairs, and the first thing I saw as I opened my bedroom door was my motto, staring me in the face—
‘WHAT WOULD JESUS DO ?’