MIDSUMMER holidays were over; Clara Wilson had returned to her home, and Dora and Grace each found ample interest and occupation in home and school duties; when Dora, returning a little later than usual one afternoon, found her mother waiting tea. Traces of recent tears were on the widow's face, and Dora was quick to perceive them and anxious to know their cause. Glancing at the postmark of an open letter that lay on the table, she exclaimed: "Oh, mother, you have had a letter from Uncle Edward, and I am almost sure he is in trouble, I can read it in your face. Is Aunt Lucy very ill, or have my little cousins taken a fever? Please tell me all about it.”
Mrs. Hilton smiled as she answered: "You are looking on the dark side again, Dora; your cousins are, through mercy, quite well, and your aunt Lucy who has, as you know, been in very feeble health for some years, is not any worse than usual; and indeed I do not know," Mrs. Hilton continued, "that I have any real cause for tears; but our life at Myrtle Cottage has been such a calm and happy one, that the thought even of a short parting is painful to me.”
Dora left her seat, and kneeling down at her mother's side, in a voice unsteady with deep feeling, "Oh, mother, dear mother! I do not think I could bear to be parted from you. Surely uncle Edward does not, cannot want you to go and live with him and aunt Lucy at N., and leave me here?”
“No, Dora; the loneliness will be mine, not yours. Your uncle has written to ask if I can spare you to them for a few months. Your aunt feels her need of such help in the management of her house and the care of her children as he thinks you would be able and willing to give.
“The children, though somewhat spoiled and inclined to be self-willed, through being left too much to themselves, are, he writes, very affectionate, and quite ready to love cousin Dora.
“Your position in the family would be that of an elder daughter, and your uncle has kindly offered to make arrangements for you to take lessons in French and drawing.”
“Poor Aunt Lucy, how glad I should be to be of use to her," Dora replied; "and my cousins too. I know all their names—Constance, Harry, and Eva. But do you really think it would be best for me to go, Mother?”
Mrs. Hilton did not answer for a few moments, then said: "Dora, many times since I first knew the Lord Jesus as my trusted Savior I have been uncertain as to what the will of God for me really was in some particular case. But when, with a real desire to do His will, I have taken the whole thing to Him in prayer, sooner or later the light of His word has shone so clearly on my path that I was no longer in doubt as to the next step. To-day, when I laid your uncle's letter before the Lord, praying that in this matter we might both have grace to do what would be most for His glory, the scripture that came to my mind was just one very short verse in the Epistle of Paul to the Romans: ‘For even Christ pleased not himself.' (Romans 15:33For even Christ pleased not himself; but, as it is written, The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me. (Romans 15:3).)
“You are no longer a child, Dora, and I should like the choice as to whether you go to your uncle and aunt, or remain at home, to be really your own. As I do not think of writing to my brother for a day or two, you will have time to think and pray over his proposal before you decide.”
Dora sat quietly thinking for a few moments, then said, "Mother, I cannot remember much about aunt Lucy; though I know uncle Edward so well through his coming to Riversdale, I do not think I have seen her since I was quite a little girl, and you very seldom tell me much about her. Please, mother dear, do not be vexed, but I wish you would tell me if Aunt Lucy is a Christian?”
“I am not vexed or surprised at your question, Dora, and am glad to be able to tell you that I believe your aunt Lucy is really a saved soul—one who is sheltered by the precious blood of Christ. And while I often long to see her shine more brightly for Him, I think sometimes she is much to be pitied. Perhaps if I tell you a little about her early life, it may help you to be more patient and gentle with her if ever you become an inmate of her home.
“Your aunt Lucy was an only child. I think she must have been a very pretty little girl. Her parents petted and indulged her in every possible way, and, as her father, Mr. Norman, who, at the time of which I am telling you, was rich in this world's goods, lived in a large house, and kept several servants, there were many visitors all ready to admire the dark eyes and flowing curls, or to be amused by the clever, witty sayings of the little lady who held her court there, and who ruled her numerous subjects in a somewhat imperious way.
“But Lucy was not really happy. I remember once when talking to me about her girlhood, tears filled her large eyes as she said, 'Oh, Helen, I cannot tell you how unsatisfying it all was. Pleasure and excitement do not, cannot give real happiness. I went to balls and parties, I was admired by many, and some I could not help knowing envied the rich and fashionable Miss Norman, but none ever guessed the secret that I was often very miserable, and I did not know how or where to find rest and peace.'
“I think Lucy was about nineteen, when through God's blessing on some gospel meetings a young friend had induced her to attend, she was led to feel and own her need of salvation.
“Mr. and Mrs. Norman had made no objection to their daughter attending the meetings; but when they found Lucy no longer took any pleasure in the gay scenes they loved so well, they became very angry, and tried in various ways to drive away serious thoughts from her mind. But the love of Christ triumphed, and, in the midst of much opposition, she had grace and strength given to confess Him as her Savior and Lord.
“From the time she first showed an interest in divine things, your uncle Edward had taken a deep interest in her, and when after two or three years he asked Lucy to be his wife, she accepted his offer thankfully, and I have not the shadow of a doubt, entered on the new relationship with a sincere desire to be really and truly a helpmeet to her husband.
“For a time all went on well; but as at the time of his marriage your uncle, who was then only junior clerk in the firm where he is now one of the managers, did not receive a large salary, and your aunt knew very little about how to keep house, you will not be surprised to hear there was not much comfort in their home. You may judge for yourself how she must have felt on one occasion, when her husband had been obliged to be away from home a day or two, she wished on his return to surprise him with an apple-pie, a dish of which she knew he was very fond. After purchasing all the ingredients, she found to her surprise and mortification that the one young servant they kept was as ignorant as herself of the art of pie-making.
“But as Aunt Lucy really loved and wanted to help her husband, she set to work with a will, and with the help of a cookery-book, soon made good progress. I think she would in time have become quite a clever housekeeper, had not a long and serious illness, soon after the birth of her little daughter Constance, left her quite an invalid. The doctor's opinion is that her weak health is caused almost entirely by derangement of the nervous system, and that complete rest and quiet are what she most needs.
“She is often too ill even to see her children for days together, and as your uncle is, as you know, obliged to be away from home very often, the children are left almost entirely to the care of servants.
“All this is very trying to your Aunt, and perhaps the saddest part of all is that she seems at times almost to question the love and wisdom of her heavenly Father in allowing her to be so weak and suffering.
“But we have talked quite long enough for the present. When you have finished your home lessons, I think we shall both enjoy a short walk, and as I want to know how Widow Price's sick child is getting on, we will call at her cottage.”
On the morning after the conversation I have just related took place, Dora drew her mother into the low chair that was her favorite seat, and kissing her fondly, said: “Please, mother, when you answer Uncle Edward's letter, will you tell him that I am quite willing to go to N—, and that I will do my very best to be a real help and comfort to Aunt Lucy. The only thing I don't like about it is that I must leave you. But it won't be for long, and how we shall both look forward to my home-coming.
“But, mother," Dora continued, in a less cheerful tone, "Do you think I shall be of any real use to Aunt Lucy? I must own I am a little afraid, when I remember how young and inexperienced I am.”
“I think I understand just how you feel, Dora," Mrs. Hilton said very gently, then added with a smile, "But you have no reason for being discouraged. We are not to trust ourselves or our own strength. But ‘looking unto Jesus,' we are to lean on Him, remembering He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' (Heb. 13:55Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. (Hebrews 13:5).) You will have more to do, and perhaps more to bear in your new path than you have had in your quiet little home; but I believe the training will do you good by being in the hands of the Lord a means by which your own christian character will be matured and disciplined.”
And so the letter to Dora's Uncle was written, and though unbidden tears would sometimes fill her eyes at the thought of the parting that must soon come, preparations for the journey made the days very busy ones to her mother and herself, and the untried path before her looked too bright and pleasant to leave room for much real sorrow.