KATIE always liked what she called Aunt Barbara's play lessons; and both children soon tired of running about all day long doing nothing, and were glad to sit quiet for awhile with their kind friend, imagining, at least, that they were growing very wise and good.
So each morning in the cool summer house under the trees looking towards the sea, Barbara sat with her work, while the little ones together read and spelled from an easy story book with charming pictures, or learned a verse or two of poetry.
Then came the nicest part of all, when she told them one of the pretty stories of which her store seemed boundless and which were a constant source of delight to her young hearers.
It would take me too long to tell you of all these children did while at Silversands; of walks in the pretty lanes near the house, from whence they would return laden with wild flowers; of pleasant visits to the village with Barbara to the sick and poor; of drives with grandmamma in the little pony carriage; and countless long plays and shell hunts on the beach, when each newly-found treasure was brought for Keats and nurse to take care of, as they sat with their work among the rocks.
There was a bathing machine in one corner of the cove, and Katie would often go down with Aunt Barbara to have a dip in the sea, "and learn to swim like the fishes.”
One morning nurse persuaded Geraldine to go with them into the funny wooden house on wheels and be undressed, but when Barbara held out her arms to take her she cried, and said "The water is all soapy, I won't go in, and the sharks will bite me.”
“No, Geraldine, darling," said Katie, laughing, "there are no sharks; do come, do!”
But Geraldine shrank back so terrified that nurse soon dressed her again, and sent her back to Keats on the beach.
The first Sunday was quite a new day to Geraldine.
Mr. Rutherford preached on the words, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
There was something for each one in the sermon; much that the youngest child could understand, yet full of comfort and hope for those who had learned what it was to be indeed heavy laden.
The little Sunday scholars looked at each other in the afternoon when Barbara entered the schoolroom with Katie and Geraldine and took her seat at the head of her class, placing one on each side.
Little Geraldine felt quite ashamed to hear some of the children who were younger than herself answering questions she felt she did not know, but she listened attentively all the time, and Katie answered with the others.
Keats stayed at home and interested the children with Bible stories until bed time.
Barbara returned before they fell asleep and told them what grandpapa had been preaching about, and then kissed them and said goodnight.
Thus the happy days and weeks sped swiftly by and a shade of color became visible in Geraldine's pale cheeks.
Mrs. Rutherford was delighted with the improvement and noticed the increase in her appetite as a sure sign of returning health.
But Barbara, who was more constantly with the child, marked a langour and depression steal over her at times which was not natural, and the short, irritating cough smote sadly on her ear, though she tried hard to banish her fears and believe her really better.
She was going upstairs one evening after the little ones were in bed, and just looked into the nursery to have a peep at them.
Katie was fast asleep, but on drawing aside the curtain of the other cot she saw Geraldine's face buried in the pillow, and heard a suppressed sob.
“What is it, darling?" said Barbara, stooping down and gently lifting back the silken hair.
In another instant the tiny arms were round her neck, and a burning little cheek touched hers. "Oh, I was so cross to Katie to-day," sobbed Geraldine, "because she picked up some shells I wanted; she gave them to me directly, and kissed me, and told me not to cry. Will Jesus make me good? Because I do so want to be one of His own little lambs and go and live with Him.”
A thrill of mingled joy and grief shot through Barbara's heart as she pressed the sweet child to her heart sand sought to comfort her.
She felt the Holy Spirit was indeed working in the heart of the child by showing her the evil there, and knew that He who had begun the good work would continue it.
Barbara had often thought how different the two children were.
Darling, warm-hearted Katie, impulsive and generous, would sometimes give way to a small fit of passion, over in a minute and forgotten the next; while Geraldine, timid and retiring, was so extremely sensitive that her childish sorrows were felt much more keenly; and here was an instance of it.
Barbara's sweet and quiet manner soon soothed away the sobs and restored sunshine to the little heart, and Geraldine, with her arms still round her kind friend, fell asleep.
Barbara gently disengaged herself and stole away to her own room.
There she fell on her knees and prayed, amidst fast falling tears, that if it was God's will, He would restore that little one to health.
And a deep peace stole into her heart as she thought of the words, "He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom." "Living or dying, she is safe there," thought she, as she went downstairs.
A month had already passed, when one morning a letter arrived to say Lady L'Estrange had accepted Mrs. Rutherford's invitation to come down for a few days to see how Geraldine was getting on.
She wished to avail herself of Dr. Gray's escort for the journey down, and Lord L'Estrange had promised afterward to fetch her.
Katie danced about in the highest glee at the thought of seeing her papa again, and both children wished eagerly all day for the arrival of the train.
It came at last, and Geraldine was once more in her mother's arms.
“Well, how is my little patient?" asked Dr. Gray, “Oh, better I see; eh, grand-mamma? I thought Silversands would set her up.”
It was indeed a happy family gathering, and Geraldine had so much to tell her mamma, that it was late before the little ones could be coaxed off to bed.
The next few days were very bright ones.
Lady L'Estrange and Barbara took a mutual fancy to each other, and the quiet of the Farm was a most refreshing change to the former after a round of London gaiety and bustle.
One beautiful moonlight night, as they were standing together on the terrace in front of the house, Lady L'Estrange said, "Geraldine's papa will be delighted to see her looking so well; I really think there is no doubt now of her getting quite well and strong again, but I have not said much to Dr. Gray about her yet. What do you think of her?
Barbara turned away her face, and knew not how to answer.
“She is certainly better now," said she; "but-”
Here the bright moonlight betrayed the tears that were fast gathering in her eyes.
Then for the first time the mother experienced "the nameless agony," and Barbara felt powerless to comfort her.
But an unseen Hand was guiding Lady L'Estrange, and had led her to one who was possessed of hidden strength, and Barbara, the quiet, humble village maiden, was destined to be the mighty instrument in God's hand of showing her the source of that strength.
Dr. Gray's opinion was decidedly hopeful, though he said the child had not gained strength as rapidly as he anticipated, but he begged Lady L'Estrange to leave her for another month at the Farm, as during the hot weather the town would not suit her so well; to which she reluctantly consented.
Lord L'Estrange arrived the following day to fetch his wife, and when he saw Geraldine's pink cheeks, made light of her fears: and with heart-felt expressions of gratitude to their kind host and hostess, the guests departed with Dr. Gray.