A happy woman
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Sara, gravely. "Trouble comes to us
all. I have twice been rooted up out of a very happy comfortable home,
but I know it must be the very best thing for me, so it doesn't worry
me."
"Why should it be the very best thing for you?" asked Agnes in surprise.
"I don't know why. I suppose I shall see the reason for it some day."
A little silence fell upon them.
Then Agnes said gloomily—
"There's no more light and hope for me some future day than there is
now."
"Oh, isn't there? Don't you look forward to another better life when
this is done? You don't expect to come to an end when you die?"
"I hate death. I don't trouble about it."
"I have learnt that it is a golden gate," said Sara. "I remember
hearing a little story long ago. May I tell it to you?
"It was of three travellers on board ship journeying towards land. One
was a stowaway; he knew he was going to be landed and left to shift for
himself. He looked forward with doubt and uneasiness to the end of his
journey, for he did not know what would become of him. The other was a
criminal who had been detected and discovered since he was on board. He
knew what the end of his journey would mean for him. Trial, punishment,
and most likely death. The third was going home to his father's
house. He had been sent abroad on a mission of some difficulty, and
had suffered a good many hardships in trying to carry it out. But his
mission was done. He had been recalled, and now there was a gladness
in his eye, an eager anticipation in his heart of the welcome he would
receive, of the home that was his. He knew that the end of his journey
would be better than all that had gone before."
Sara paused. Her eyes were far-away and there was a rapt smile about
her lips.
Agnes looked at her. Her daily contact with her father, who was an
educated man, had refined her and made her more thoughtful than most
women in her position would have been.
"I feel like the stowaway," she said. "I don't know what the end of my
journey will be."
"But you can know. I would never rest if I were you till I did know.
The Bible will tell you."
Then Sara got up to go.
"Come and see me soon again," said Agnes. "You are different from other
people."
Sara promised she would; and Agnes stood watching her light quick steps
retreating into the distance. She went back to the hut.
"If the Bible could give me her gladness and sureness, it would be
worth reading," she said. "I'll have a try."
It was an eventful day when, wrapped up warmly, Sara took Mrs. Laird
round the garden. She leant heavily upon the girl's arm, and at first
would hardly notice the flowers that under Sara's care were blossoming
freely. But as the days grew brighter and warmer, the air and sunshine
worked their way with her, and she began to evince more interest in
things about her.
And one sunny morning Sara got Graham to help, and between them they
got the old lady down to the lake, and took her out in a boat.
It was a very successful effort. Mrs. Laird came back to the house with
a light in her eyes which Sara had never seen before.
Graham was intensely pleased, but also cautious.
"Don't go too fast, Miss Darlington," he said. "Don't overtax her
strength. I don't know if it is a good sign or not, but my mother is
altering very much. She is softer and gentler in her ways; the shadow
seems lifting from her. I sometimes wonder whether it is a sign that
her hold on life is lessening, that her strength is going. What do you
think?"
"No," said Sara, slowly, "I think it is something better than that. I
think she is being comforted."
"She has told me more than once what a comfort you are to her."
"Oh, Mr. Laird, I am not doing it. Do you think I personally could
bring her out of the shadows?"
He looked at her in a puzzled sort of way, but said no more.
There were still days when Mrs. Laird relapsed into brooding
melancholy, but these came very seldom now, and if she had been
depressed during the day, she would ask Sara to sing her the hymn that
she had learnt to love.
One evening she had retired early to bed, and Sara ran down into the
garden to water her flowers. She found Colonel Fleming and Graham
pacing the paths together, as they smoked their pipes.
Colonel Fleming gave her a very hearty greeting. "Haven't seen you for
ages! I hear of you from different quarters. Miss Ferris complains she
has asked you over to dine and you won't go. I hoped to meet you there
last week. Why won't you accept her invitations?"
"Because I am otherwise employed," said Sara, with a little laugh. "But
I liked Miss Ferris very much."
"So does every one. Now look here. I'm going to give a party—what do
you ladies call it?—An 'At Home,' isn't it? I shall be at home to my
friends next Thursday. I expect Sir Malcolm and Miss Ferris, I expect
Mrs. Jeffery and her little girl, and I expect you, Miss Darlington.
Laird will drive you over: of course he'll come. I shall have the
parson and his wife, and the doctor and a few local fry. What's
bothering my head is the question of entertainment. My strawberries
will be ripe, but you wouldn't like to be told to pick them, would you?
There will be croquet for a few—but what on earth will the rest do?"
"Talk," said Graham. "My experience of those sorts of gaieties is that
you stand about a damp lawn, and keep your tongues busy; you refresh
yourself with tea, and you go at it again till you've exhausted every
subject under the sun. And then you're glad enough to see the traps
coming round."
"Poor dumb dog," said Colonel Fleming. "Does he never talk to you, Miss
Darlington?"
"Not much," said Sara, laughing.
"No," said Graham; "Miss Darlington and I think more than we speak. If
we have anything particular to say, we say it, otherwise we hold our
tongues."
"Well, am I to expect you?"
"I will see what Mrs. Laird says," said Sara, quietly. "If she cannot
spare me, I shall not come. But I thank you for the invitation."
"You must bring her, Graham. Don't dare to show your face without her!"
He departed.
Sara continued watering her flowers.
"Here!" said Graham, suddenly, after watching her in an absent-minded
way. "You must let me fill those cans for you. Why do you give yourself
such a lot of trouble? Let the flowers take their chance and wait for
the rain."
"If you had sown these, and watched their growth from seedlings, you
couldn't see them flag and wither and die for want of a little effort
on your part."
Graham did not answer. He filled her cans from the garden tap and
carried them backwards and forwards for her. Then, when she expressed
herself satisfied, he said—
"Now we have earned a rest, come and sit down over here where we can
look down upon the lake."
She followed him to a favourite nook of hers in the garden. The trees
and shrubs had been cut away, and from a rustic seat the lake in its
beautiful setting of wooded slopes lay before them. She clasped her
hands idly in her lap, and a smile of keen enjoyment came to her lips
as she gazed over the still blue water.
"I don't think I have ever seen you idle before," said Graham, breaking
a silence of some minutes. "You always have that everlasting knitting
in your hands or some other dull kind of work."
Sara laughed.
"How like a man! Women's work is often dull, but it is very useful
nevertheless!"
"How was it you refused Miss Ferris's invitation? Did my mother know
about it?"
"No. I did not think it necessary to tell her."
"But that was hardly fair. There was no reason why you should not have
gone."
"I had several very good reasons," said Sara, serenely. "The chief one
perhaps was that your mother requires me more towards the end of the
day than any other part of it."
"But I could have taken your place."
"Not altogether. You see what a good opinion I have of my services! I
did not come here to enjoy social gaiety."
"Gaiety! If you only knew what a dull soul is Ferris! His dinners are
heavier to the spirit than to the digestion, and that is saying a good
deal!"
"Then I haven't missed much," said Sara, laughing.
He looked at her without speaking for a moment, then he said—
"You must come to Fleming's to-morrow. We need not stay long. I
can't think how he can consider it worth his while to turn his house
topsy-turvy for such an ineffectual bit of social intercourse. It's
like playing at a game!"
"Playing games is healthy sometimes. Colonel Fleming strikes me as a
very sociable man. He likes his fellow creatures, doesn't he?"
A shadow came into Graham's eyes.
"He used to be one of the most popular officers in the service. I can't
think even now why he stays here. Of course at one time I think I told
you—he had his trouble, but time heals wounds of that sort."
"He is very fond of you."
"It's rather astonishing, isn't it?"
As Sara looked up, she encountered quite a humorous sparkle in Graham's
dark eyes, and she cried impulsively—
"Oh, I'm so glad you've a sense of humour. Why don't you show it more?
It helps through difficult bits of life as nothing else does."
And then she rose from her seat.
"I must go in. Your mother will be expecting me."
She had turned from him before Graham had recovered from his
astonishment.
"A sense of humour!" he muttered. "When one is cramped and deadened,
and crushed into a flattened bit of putty, it's hard to have any sense
at all. But she is revolutionizing us! And what a light she is in our
dark dreary house!"
CHAPTER VIII
A MAN'S DETERMINATION
SARA went to Colonel Fleming's "At Home." Mrs. Laird said she would
like her to do so.
It was a very warm afternoon when she started in the high dog-cart
with Graham. She wore a lavender muslin gown, and a shady straw hat.
He glanced at her, as she stood on the steps waiting for the trap to
come round. There was something peculiarly dainty and fresh in her
appearance in spite of the extreme simplicity of her dress. She caught
his gaze and laughed.
"I hope I am dressed suitably for the occasion."
"You will want a dust-coat or cloak," said Graham, gravely.
She held up one with a smile, and he took it out of her hands and
helped her into it.
Then as they drove off, he said—
"This is rather different weather to when you last drove with me."
"Yes," said Sara; "I shall not soon forget my arrival in these parts.
What a strange, eerie, and interesting time it was to me! Do you
remember the mistake I made about you? I took you for an exceedingly
taciturn groom!"
"I had driven so many ladies backwards and forwards," said Graham
apologetically, "that I felt very depressed that night."
"You did not think me suitable," said Sara, amusement in her tone.
"No, I did not, and I do not now."
"Oh, I am sorry. I hoped I was giving satisfaction."
"It is a false position for you to be in. And candidly, I wonder that
you stay."
"But I am very happy, so why should I not? And I am truly fond of your
mother."
"You are very good and patient with her."
Sara did not speak for a moment, then she said—
"Don't you think it one of the good things in this life to be able
to mitigate even in the least degree the sorrows and discomforts of
others? I do. And when your mother's eyes brighten, and a smile hovers
about her lips, I feel as happy as a sandboy! I want to get her out
more. Do you think we could persuade her to drive with you across the
hills? Couldn't you take her to see the old herb doctor?"
He shook his head.
"She won't see people just yet. I wish she would. Have you been much
with old people, Miss Darlington?"
"No, I don't think I have. But I do love them. A little old Miss
Grafton is one of my greatest friends in town. I love their placid