Daisy
as a pyramid. There is a great deal of _a plomb_ there!"
"Who talked about _a plomb_?" said Miss Bentley.
"You have enough of that, at any rate, Faustina," said Lansing.
"Mrs. St. Clair's child ought to have that," said Miss Macy.
"Ah, but it isn't Christian grace, after all," persisted Faustina.
"You want a cross at the top of a pyramid to make it perfect."
"Hush, Faustina!" said Miss Macy.
"It's fair,"--said Miss Bentley.
"You had better not talk about Christian grace, girls. That isn't a
matter of opinion."
"Oh, isn't it!" cried St. Clair, half rising up in her bed. "What is
it, then?"
Nobody answered.
"I say!--Macy, what _is_ Christian grace--if you know! If you _don't_
know, I'll put you in the way to find out."
"How shall I find out?"
"Will you do it, if I show it you?"
"Yes."
"Ask Randolph. That's the first step. Ask her,--yes! just ask her, if
you want to know. I wish Mme. Ricard was here to hear the answer."
"Nonsense!" said Macy.
"Ask her! You said you would. Now ask her."
"What is Christian grace, Daisy?" said Miss Bentley.
I heard, but I would not answer. I hoped the storm would blow over,
after a puff or two. But Blackeyes, without any ill-nature, I think,
which was not in her, had got into the gale. She slipped out of bed
and came to my side, putting her hand on my shoulder and bringing her
laughing mouth down near my ear. A very angry impulse moved me before
she spoke.
"Daisy!"--she said, laughing, in a loud whisper,--"come, wake up!
you're not asleep, you know. Wake up and tell us;--everybody knows
_you_ know;--what _is_ Christian grace? Daisy!--"
She shook me a little.
"If you knew, you would not ask me,"--I said in great displeasure. But
a delighted shout from all my room-mates answered this unlucky speech,
which I had been too excited to make logical.
"Capital!" cried St. Clair. "That's just it--we _don't_ know; and we
only want to find out whether she does. Make her tell, Lansing--prick
a little pin into her--that will bring it out."
I was struggling between anger and sorrow, feeling very hurt, and at the
same time determined not to cry. I kept absolutely still, fighting the
fight of silence with myself. Then Lansing, in a fit of thoughtless
mischief, finding her shakes and questions vain, actually put in practice
St. Clair's suggestion, and attacked me with a pin from the dressing
table. The first prick of it overthrew the last remnant of my patience.
"Miss Lansing!"--I exclaimed, rousing up in bed and confronting her.
They all shouted again.
"Now we'll have it!" cried St. Clair. "Keep cool, Blackeyes; let's
hear--we'll have an exposition now. Theme, Christian grace."
Ah, there rushed through my heart with her words a remembrance of
other words--a fluttering vision of something "gentle and easy to be
entreated"--"first pure, then peaceable"--"gentleness, goodness,
meekness."--But the grip of passion held them all down or kept them
all back. After St. Clair's first burst, the girls were still and
waited for what I would say. I was facing Miss Lansing, who had taken
her hand from my shoulder.
"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" I said; and I remember I thought
how my mother would have spoken to them. "Miss Lansing's good
nature"--I went on slowly,--"Miss Macy's kindness--Miss Bentley's
independence--and Miss St. Clair's good breeding!"--
"_And_ Miss Randolph's religion!" echoed the last-named, with a quiet
distinctness which went into my heart.
"What about my independence?" said Miss Bentley.
"Now we've got enough, girls,--lie down and go to sleep," said Miss
Macy. "There's quite enough of this. There was too much before we
began. Stop where you are."
They did not stop, however, without a good deal of noisy chaffing and
arguing, none of which I heard. Only the words, "Miss Randolph's
religion," rung in my ears. I lay down with them lying like lead on my
heart. I went to sleep under them. I woke up early, while all the rest
were asleep, and began to study them.
"Miss Randolph's religion!" If it had been only that, only mine. But the
religion I professed was the religion of Christ; the name I was called by
was _His_ name, the thing I had brought into discredit was His truth. I
hope in all my life I may never know again the heart-pangs that this
thought cost me. I studied how to undo the mischief I had done. I could
find no way. I had seemed to prove my religion an unsteady, superficial
thing; the evidence I had given I could not withdraw; it must stand. I
lay thinking, with the heartache, until the rousing bell rang, and the
sleepers began to stir from their slumbers. I got up and began to dress
with the rest.
"What was it all that happened last night?" said Miss Lansing.
"Advancement in knowledge,"--said Miss St. Clair.
"Now, girls--don't begin again," said Miss Macy.
"Knowledge is a good thing," said the other, with pins in her mouth.
"I intend to take every opportunity that offers of increasing mine;
especially I mean to study Egyptians and Christians. I haven't any
Christians among my own family or acquaintance--so you see, naturally,
Macy, I am curious; and when a good specimen offers--"
"I am not a good specimen," I said.
"People are not good judges of themselves, it is said," the girl went
on. "Everybody considers Miss Randolph a sample of what that article
ought to be."
"You don't use the word right," remarked Miss Macy. "A _sample_ is
taken from what is,--not from what ought to be."
"I don't care," was St. Clair's reply.
"I did not behave like a Christian last night," I forced myself to
say. "I was impatient."
"Like an impatient Christian then, I suppose," said St Clair.
I felt myself getting impatient again, with all my sorrow and
humiliation of heart. And yet more humbled at the consciousness, I
hastened to get out of the room. It was a miserable day, that day of
my first school triumphs, and so were several more that followed. I
was very busy; I had no time for recollection and prayer; I was in the
midst of gratulations and plaudits from my companions and the
teachers; and I missed, O how I missed the praise of God. I felt like
a traitor. In the heat of the fight I had let my colours come to the
ground. I had dishonoured my Captain. Some would say it was a little
thing; but I felt then and I know now, there are no little things; I
knew I had done harm; how much it was utterly beyond my reach to know.
As soon as I could I seized an opportunity to get to Miss Cardigan. I
found her among her flowers, nipping off here a leaf and there a
flower that had passed its time; so busy, that for a few moments she
did not see that I was different from usual. Then came the question
which I had been looking for.
"Daisy, you are not right to-day?"
"I haven't been right since I got that standish," I burst forth.
Miss Cardigan looked at me again, and then did what I had not
expected; she took my head between her two hands and kissed me. Not
loosing her hold, she looked into my face.
"What is it, my pet?"
"Miss Cardigan," I said, "can any one be a Christian and yet--yet--"
"Do something unworthy a Christian?" she said. "I wot well they can!
But then, they are weak Christians."
I knew that before. But somehow, hearing her say it brought the shame
and the sorrow more fresh to the surface. The tears came. Miss
Cardigan pulled me into the next room and sat down, drawing me into
her arms; and I wept there with her arms about me.
"What then, Daisy?" she asked at length, as if the suspense pained
her.
"I acted so, Miss Cardigan," I said; and I told her all about it.
"So the devil has found a weak spot in your armour," she said. "You
must guard it well, Daisy."
"How can I?"
"How can you? Keep your shield before it, my bairn. What is your
shield for? The Lord has given you a great strong shield, big enough
to cover you from head to foot, if your hands know how to manage it."
"What is that, Miss Cardigan?"
"The shield of _faith_, dear. Only believe. According to your faith be
it unto you."
"Believe what?" I asked, lifting my head at last.
"Believe that if you are a weak little soldier, your Captain knows all
about it; and any fight that you go into for His sake, He will bear
you through. I don't care what. Any fight, Daisy."
"But I got impatient," I said, "at the girls' way of talking."
"And perhaps you were a wee bit set up in your heart because you got
the prize of the day."
"_Proud!_" said I.
"Don't it look like it? Even proud of being a Christian, mayhap."
"Could I!" I said. "Was I?"
"It wouldn't be the first time one with as little cause had got puffed
up a bit. But heavenly charity 'is not puffed up.'"
"I know that," I said and my tears started afresh.
"How shall I help it in future?" I asked after a while, during which
my friend had been silent.
"Help it?" she said cheerfully. "You can't help it--but Jesus can."
"But my impatience, and--my pride," I said, very downcast.
"'Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy; when I fall I shall arise.'
But there is no need you should fall, Daisy. Remember 'the Lord is
able to make him stand'--may be said of every one of the Lord's
people."
"But will He keep me from impatience, and take pride out of my heart?
Why, I did not know it was there, Miss Cardigan."
"Did He say 'Whatsoever you shall ask in my name, I will do it?' And
when He has written 'Whatsoever,' are you going to write it over and
put 'anything not too hard'? Neither you nor me, Daisy?"
"_Whatsoever_, Miss Cardigan," I said slowly.
"He said so. Are you going to write it over again?"
"No," I said. "But then, may one have _anything_ one asks for."
"Anything in the world--if it is not contrary to His will--provided we
ask in faith, nothing doubting. 'For he that wavereth is like a wave
of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man
think that he shall receive anything of the Lord.'"
"But how can we _know_ what is according to His will?"
"_This_ is, at any rate," said Miss Cardigan; "for He has commanded us
to be holy as He is holy."
"But--other things?" I said. "How can one ask for everything 'in
faith, nothing wavering?' How can one be sure?"
"Only just this one way, Daisy, my dear," Miss Cardigan answered; and
I remember to this day the accent of her native land which touched
every word. "If ye're wholly the Lord's--wholly, mind,--ye'll not like
aught but what the Lord likes; ye'll know what to ask for, and ye'll
know the Lord will give it to you:--that is, if ye want it _enough_.
But a 'double-minded man is unstable in all his ways;' and his prayers
can't hit the mark, no more than a gun that's twisted when it's going
off."
"Then,"--I began and stopped, looking at her with my eyes full of
tears.
"Ay," she said,--"just so. There's no need that you nor me should be
under the power of the evil one, for we're _free_. The Lord's words
arn't too good to be true: every one of 'em is as high as heaven; and
there isn't a sin nor an enemy but you and I may be safe from, if we
trust the Lord."
I do not remember any more of the conversation. I only know that the sun
rose on my difficulties, and the shadows melted away. I had a happy
evening with my dear old friend, and went home quite heart-whole.
CHAPTER XIII.
GREY COATS.
I went back to school comforted. I had got strength to face all that
might be coming in the future. And life has been a different thing to
me ever since. Paul's words, "I can do all things through Christ,"--I
have learned are not his words any more than mine.
From that time I grew more and more popular in the school. I cannot
tell why; but popularity is a thing that grows upon its own growth. It