"'Thy way, not mine, O Lord,However dark it be;Lead me by Thine own Hand,Choose out the path for me.'"
"'Thy way, not mine, O Lord,However dark it be;Lead me by Thine own Hand,Choose out the path for me.'"
"'Thy way, not mine, O Lord,However dark it be;Lead me by Thine own Hand,Choose out the path for me.'"
"'Thy way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be;
Lead me by Thine own Hand,
Choose out the path for me.'"
There was a short impressive silence after Mrs. Knight had ceased speaking, broken at length by Stella.
"I want to ask you something very particular, please, aunt—at least I want you to ask uncle for something for me."
"What is that something?" with an encouraging smile.
"Money. I want some money."
"Have you not everything you require?" in accents of surprise.
"Oh, yes! I have plenty of pocket-money for myself; it is for some one else."
"You are going to make a present? Will you not tell me about it?"
"Will you promise not to tell any one except uncle?" Stella asked cautiously.
"Yes, I will promise that!"
"Well, I want some money for Dora," and Stella repeated the conversation she had had with her cousin that morning.
Mrs. Knight listened in silence, but when Stella had finished her tale she drew the child towards her, and kissed her affectionately.
"How kind of you!" she exclaimed. "But, my dear little girl, you must not give any of your money to Dora. Indeed, my husband would not allow it; you must put such a thought out of your mind altogether. Your uncle is your guardian and the guardian of your money; only a certain amount will be spent for you every year, and the rest will accumulate till you are of age. When you are twenty-one you will be able to do as you like."
"When I am twenty-one! Not for eleven years!"
"Not for eleven years," Mrs. Knight answered, smiling.
"Dora would so like some money. There are so many things she wants to buy."
"What things?—Never mind if you would rather not say. I daresay it is a secret."
Stella looked very crestfallen and disappointed. She glanced around the somewhat shabby room, and sighed; then the shadow passed from her face, and she smiled brightly.
"Never mind!" she cried. "I don't suppose you would be happier in a grand room with new furniture, would you? I think Sarah must have been right, for she said it did not matter if one was rich or poor so long as one's heart was in the right place!"
"What did she mean?" Mrs. Knight asked.
"I think she meant nothing mattered so long as people loved each other. Aunt Mary, I do love you."
"I hope you will love us all, Stella."
"Yes, but I don't know about the twins!"
IT was Saturday, and, alas! a wet Saturday. The rain fell incessantly, and there was no break anywhere in the leaden sky. The twins were alone in the school-room, grumbling and squabbling by turns. They were not usually ill-tempered boys, but the dull November day was depressing, and they were at their wits' end for amusement.
"What shall we do?" asked George at length, looking disconsolately around the room. "Where are the girls, I wonder?"
"Looking over Stella's treasures, I expect," David replied. "What a vain little thing she is! She cannot bear to be untidy!"
"Who?—Stella? Yes."
"What a wax she was in with you, George, last night, when you pulled the ribbon out of her hair," David continued. "To be sure, she did not say much, but did you notice how her eyes flashed? I thought she was going to box your ears!"
"Not likely, she wouldn't attempt that! She's too big a coward. Oh, what a coward she is!"
"Rather! She hasn't an ounce of pluck! How she shrieked when the cat let the mouse go in the dining-room! One would have thought the house was on fire. A town mouse ought not to be afraid of a country mouse."
"And how white she went! Dora's not so easily frightened."
"No, nor Nellie either, and she's only six, and Stella's ten!"
"Mother says if Stella had had brothers and sisters of her own she would understand us better. You see, she's been brought up alone, and that makes a difference."
"I suppose so. Anyway, mother takes her part, and is very fond of her; and father says we are not to tease her. Isn't it nonsense? It does girls lots of good to tease them. Dora never minds; but then it's no fun teasing her!"
A short silence; then George glanced doubtfully at his brother, and said hesitatingly, "I say David, wouldn't it be fun to play a joke on Stella, eh?"
"A joke! What sort of a joke?" cautiously.
"Why, I might dress up as a guy and give her a bit of a fright; or, better still, do you remember Dora told us that Stella used to be afraid of ghosts?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Well, I'll put a sheet over my head, stand in the dark corner on the landing, and when the girls come out of Stella's room begin to groan. Won't that be a lark?"
"Oh, George, I don't think you must do that! I'm sure father would not like it if he knew; he hates practical jokes, he says they're so cowardly."
"Nonsense! There's no harm in it, because I shall drop the sheet immediately they began to scream, and they'll feel such little sillies when they see who it really is!"
"I'm sure father would not like it," David repeated, "or mother either."
"Rubbish! Mother won't know anything about it—she'll only think we're having a game; and father's out. Don't be stupid, David. What harm can there possibly be in a joke?"
"Stella will be frightened! Don't do it, George!"
"I shall, and you won't stop me!"
"I shall tell Miss Clarke; she's in her room writing letters, and she—"
"If you go near her I'll—" George paused irresolutely, and looked at his brother with scornful eyes. The twins were generally together in mischief, but George was usually the leader, being by far the more daring spirit of the two. On this occasion David resisted his brother's will because he knew his father would be angry at a practical joke, and also because he thought it was a shame to frighten Stella, though he did not mind teasing her.
"It's not as though she was like our Dora and Nellie," he remonstrated. "They won't mind a bit, they'll know in a minute it isn't really a ghost, but Stella—"
"Oh, look here, David, if you mean to side against me when I'm only going to have a little joke with the girls, you can stay here by yourself, and not interfere. Only, no sneaking, you know!" and George bounded angrily out of the school-room, slamming the door after him.
David sat down by the fire irresolutely, not knowing what to do. If he told Miss Clarke, and thus prevented George from carrying out his plan, he knew his brother would be revenged on him later on.
It was almost five o'clock, and the dull November day was drawing to a close. David, looking nervously around, saw it was nearly dark. He heard the clear merry voices of the little girls upstairs, and presently a door opened, and he knew they had come out on the landing. There was silence for a moment, then a little scuffling sound, a slight scream, and Nellie's voice exclaimed, "Oh, George, don't!" followed by a loud, hearty laugh of enjoyment from George.
David drew a breath of relief. No harm had come of the practical joke, but even as the thought was crossing his mind the door was thrown hastily open, and Dora rushed in with a countenance expressive of the greatest alarm.
"Oh, David!" she cried, half sobbing, "Stella's dead!"
"Dead!" David echoed, his face turning pale.
"Yes, yes! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
"She can't be dead, Dora! Was she very frightened?"
"I don't know, yes, I suppose so. She never said anything, but just dropped down on the floor; and when I told her it was only George she never spoke a word. She looks dreadful, her face is as white as a sheet, and her eyes are wide-open, and staring dreadfully."
"You had better call Miss Clarke, Dora—she's in her bedroom; and I'll see if father is in the surgery, but I'm almost sure he's out."
As David thought, Dr. Knight was away, but Mr. Gray happened to come in at that moment, and the boy rushed to him excitedly, and clutched him by the arm.
"Oh, Mr. Gray, do come! We're afraid Stella's dead!"
The assistant gave one look at the boy's face, and then silently followed him upstairs. Miss Clarke had come upon the scene, and had carried Stella into her room, and laid her on her bed. The governess was bathing the poor child's face and hands with cold water, whilst the children stood around crying, excepting George, who seemed perfectly dazed at the result of his joke.
"What has happened?" Mr. Gray asked as he bent over Stella, and looked into her wide-open, horror-stricken eyes. Miss Clarke briefly explained, and the assistant listened in silence. Then he turned the children out of the room, bidding them go into the school-room and wait there. They obeyed silently, whilst Anna, who had come from her mistress's room to find out the meaning of the commotion, went back to try and reassure Mrs. Knight by telling her that Master George had been dressing up for fun, and had frightened Miss Stella. Poor Mrs. Knight, feeling nervous and alarmed, lay back on her pillows to wait as patiently as she could for further news; whilst down in the school-room the children, with the exception of George, who kept in a dark corner, clustered around the fire weeping bitterly.
"I know she is dead!" Dora sobbed. "Oh, George, how could you do it! Poor, poor Stella!"
"Poor, poor Stella!" echoed Nellie, whilst David looked at his brother reproachfully. But George remained silent, uttering no word, the fact being that he was too shocked and frightened to speak.
Presently the children heard their father come in, and his voice inquiring where they all were. Some one answered, and he went straight upstairs. They listened breathlessly, but half-an-hour passed —an hour—and still no one came to them. At length, when their anxiety was becoming actual agony, the door opened, and Dr. Knight entered. Never had they seen him look so angry before. It was Nellie who ran to him, and asked the question the others were afraid to put.
"Oh, father! is Stella dead?"
"No, Nellie, but she is very ill. George, come to me!"
The boy came slowly towards his father, and lifted his eyes to the usually kind face, which was now stern and severe.
"George, I am ashamed of you! I can hardly believe that a son of mine could be guilty of such a cruel, cowardly trick! Go to your room at once, and do not let me see you again to-night!"
"Father, won't you please forgive me?"
"Forgive you! Unhappy boy! Think of the poor little soul you have nearly killed, my only brother's child, entrusted to my care. Did I not bid you to be loving and kind to her? You are not to be trusted, George. It is only a coward who would try to terrify a timid girl. Go, sir, go!"
George shrank from his father's just wrath, and slunk out of the room, his heart brimful of shame and sorrow. He who prided himself on his pluck and bravery had been called a coward, and had been told he was not to be trusted; and worse than all, his innocent victim was very ill—perhaps she might die after all.
Shut up in the room he shared with his brother, George gave vent to a storm of passionate tears that left him exhausted and worn out. He tried to pray, but could not collect his thoughts, and no words came; only his heart was lifted up in agonized petition to Him who is always ready to hear and answer even the voiceless petition that has never found utterance from the lips.
There was anxiety in the doctor's household that night, for the child who had endeared herself to all by her gentle ways lay unconscious; Mrs. Knight was ill from anxiety and suspense; and the little girls sobbed themselves to sleep.
When David was sent to bed he found his brother crouched on the floor, and essayed to comfort him. But George refused to be comforted, or to touch the supper that his father had sent up to him.
"She will die!" he moaned, "and I shall have killed her!"
His anxiety was heart-felt and deep, and his repentance sincere; but sorrow for evil doing cannot wipe out the consequences of the sin; and the suffering he endured that night was a life-long lesson to the thoughtless boy.
SILENCE reigned in the room where Stella lay perfectly still, with distended eyes and rigid limbs. The doctor and his assistant watched by her side, and Miss Clarke sat in an easy-chair close by.
It was nearly midnight, and still the child showed no signs of consciousness, when Anna came to the door and asked if Dr. Knight would come and see his wife for a few minutes, a request with which he immediately complied.
Mr. Gray was holding Stella's hand in his when he felt her fingers twitch, the strained look died out of her eyes, her face relaxed, and he saw she was regaining consciousness. A look brought Miss Clarke to the bedside, and she bent anxiously over the child.
"Stella!" she whispered, "Stella, darling!"
With returning consciousness came memory, and in a few minutes Stella was sobbing hysterically.
"Let her cry as much as she will," Mr. Gray whispered, as Miss Clarke tried in vain to soothe her.
"Where is it? What was it?" gasped Stella.
"It was only that naughty boy George, who dressed up to frighten you, my dear," Miss Clarke answered, understanding the questions. "He did not mean to hurt you, or do you any harm."
Stella sobbed louder than before. The stories that had been told her years ago, the fears and terrors she had suffered came back to her mind, and it was not till Dr. Knight returned, and lifting her in his arms, carried her into his wife's room, and placed her in bed by the invalid's side, that the poor child could be quieted.
An hour later Stella was asleep with her head pillowed on her aunt's breast, and Dr. Knight, coming in to see the meaning of the lull after the storm, found that his wife, worn out with anxiety, was sleeping too.
The next day, Sunday, was beautifully fine. When Stella awoke she found her aunt already dressed, and was surprised to find it was so late. Anna brought in her breakfast, and told her Miss Clarke had gone to church with the children, excepting George, who was with his mother in the next room.
Though Stella felt weak and dizzy she insisted upon getting up, so Anna fetched her clothes, and assisted her in dressing, exclaiming at her pale face—
"You do look poorly, Miss Stella! Why, what a silly little girl you were to be frightened by Master George!"
Stella blushed, and hung her head; now, in the daylight, it did seem silly, but, last night!—she shuddered, and Anna hastened to add reassuringly—
"But there, he'll never do it again, I can promise you! Such a state he's been in, poor boy; and I never saw the doctor so angry with one of his children before. It'll be long before he'll forgive the boy!"
Anna brushed out Stella's beautiful hair, and watched the little troubled face reflected in the glass in front of her. She saw the sensitive lips quiver, and the dark eyes fill with tears.
"I am sorry uncle is so angry with George," Stella said gently. "I am sure he did not mean to frighten me—at least so much."
"You're a kind-hearted little soul," Anna answered, as she bent down and kissed the child's pale face. "Now run into the next room to your aunt; she wants you, I daresay, and will be glad to see you're well enough to be up."
Stella obeyed, and found George seated by his mother's side. He was in the midst of reading the fifty-first psalm aloud—
"Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin."
"For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me."
At this point he looked up, and saw his cousin standing hesitatingly on the threshold of the room. His face, which was already swollen and red with weeping, grew redder still. He had meant to ask her forgiveness, but when he saw her pale cheeks and the tell-tale dark rims of suffering around her eyes, words failed him.
"Oh, Stella!" he gasped, and then paused in confusion.
But she ran to him, and putting her arms around his neck, kissed him affectionately.
"Oh, George!" she cried, "don't, don't be sorry any more. I was very, very silly to mind!"
"No, no," blubbered the boy. "It was wicked and cowardly of me to frighten you; but I never thought you would care so much. You will forgive me, Stella, won't you?"
"Oh, yes, yes."
"I'll never do it again, and I'll always stick up for you. You're a brick—a regular brick!"
Stella flushed with pleasure, and turned to kiss her aunt. Mrs. Knight looked pale and tired, and Stella saw she had been weeping too.
"I have made a great fuss, and given every one a lot of trouble," the little girl remarked sadly.
"Father will hardly speak to me, he's so angry," George said. "I wish you would ask him to forgive me, Stella."
"I will."
She went downstairs to the surgery where her uncle was preparing to go out. He caught her in his arms, and asked her how she felt.
"Oh, I'm quite well, thank you, uncle."
"Are you, little mouse? Why, you're as white as a snow-flake, and no wonder. We must take better care of you, Stella."
"Oh, uncle, I was very silly; of course I ought to have known it was only George. Won't you forgive him, please? He's ever so sorry, and he'll never do it again."
"I should hope not!"
"You will forgive him, won't you?"
"If I find he is thoroughly repentant I will, certainly."
"Shall I tell him to come down and see you now before you go out?" Stella asked coaxingly.
"I suppose he sent you to me," Dr. Knight said, laughing, "I know his way. Yes, tell him I want a few words with him, my dear."
So peace reigned once more in the doctor's household, and from that time Stella got on better with the twins. She learned to laugh when they teased her, and not to be vexed and cross, so that they soon found there was no fun in worrying her at all, and let her alone.
She grew to love her aunt more and more, taking all her childish troubles to her like the other children, listening to her gentle counsel, and receiving from her lips the teaching that she no longer found difficult to understand.
Another knowledge was coming to Stella—the knowledge of the real worth of the money that she had been early tutored to think of first importance. She began to see that riches alone could not bring happiness, and to understand that there is a greater blessing in life than money and the power it brings. "The blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it."
The little heiress was seeking that blessing, and unconsciously fitting herself for the responsibilities wealth brings in its train, choosing that good part which, as the Saviour said of her who meekly sat at His feet, "shall not be taken away from her."
And so the winter months slipped peacefully away, and spring was come with a wealth of golden daffodils in the meadows, and clumps of shy primroses in the hedgerows. With the advent of the flowers and the sunshine a change took place in the doctor's household. Mr. Gray purchased a share of a practice in London, and the children learnt, to their great astonishment, that their governess was shortly to be married to their father's assistant.
"But what shall we do without Miss Clarke?" Nellie asked her mother in bewilderment.
"Your father thinks of sending you all to school," Mrs. Knight answered, smiling at the little girl's rueful face.
"To school! Not to boarding-school?" cried the children in chorus.
"No, no, certainly not. He never thought of such a thing, I'm sure."
"I shall not mind going to school every day if I come home to sleep," Nellie remarked. "Shall you, Dora?"
"No, I think it will be rather fun!"
"School is nice in some ways," Stella said; "you know I used to go to a day-school in London. There were a lot of girls, and a few of them used to be friendly with me, but most of them were too big to notice me at all—except one, and she used to borrow all my money, and never return it!"
"Oh, Stella!" Dora exclaimed in horror. "How dishonest of her!"
"It was very dishonest," Mrs. Knight said gravely; "I don't like the idea of one child borrowing from another. I should be very angry if either of the twins did such a thing! If children want money they should go to their parents, not to strangers; you are all allowed so much a week pocket-money, and you must each learn to live within your income, whatever it is. I think you will like school on the whole, and I believe it will be much better for the boys."
"Oh, yes," Dora agreed, "for George especially; he's so conceited."
"Oh, indeed, miss!" cried George wrathfully, making a rush at his sister, who fled from the room shrieking with merriment, her brother after her.
George, a great tease always, could, never bear to have the laugh turned against himself, and he and Dora were perpetually sparring with each other, and making it up again.
At Easter Miss Clarke went home to be married, and the short vacation over, the children were sent to school: the boys to the grammar school of the town, where they soon settled down quietly enough, and the girls to a private school about ten minutes' walk from their home.
"A YEAR ago to-day!" said Stella to her aunt, lifting her head from the exercise she was preparing for her French teacher. "A year ago to-day, Aunt Mary!"
"So the little town mouse has been with us so long as that, has she?"
"Such a silly, frivolous little town mouse as I was a year ago!" with a merry laugh. "Do you know, aunt, I can hardly realize I am the same girl I was then!"
"Why not, my dear?"
"I don't know if I can quite explain what I mean, but I'll try." Stella smiled, her eyes shone brightly and her cheeks flushed. "I don't seem to care for the same things now that I did then. I used to love fine clothes and grand houses and being thought pretty," with a deep blush. "It seems such a vain thing to say, but it's true. All mother's visitors used to say I was a lovely child, and they used to praise the way mother dressed me, till I grew conceited and proud. Then when poor mother died and I came here, I thought—forgive me, Aunt Mary—I thought the house and furniture looked so shabby and old-fashioned, and Dora and Nellie so plainly dressed. You are not angry, you are sure you are not angry, Aunt Mary?"
"Not in the least; I have often guessed what your thoughts must have been," Mrs. Knight answered, smiling encouragingly. "Go on—the house and the furniture are the same now as they were a year ago!"
"Yes, but I'm different, that's what I mean. And I think it's mostly owing to you, Aunt Mary; you've been so good to me, so patient, never laughing at my silly ways, or scolding me for my faults. Oh, I wish I was your own little girl! I don't want to be rich, I'd rather have no money at all than—"
"My dear Stella," her aunt interposed gravely, "do not make the mistake of thinking that riches and happiness cannot go together. All good gifts come from God, and surely wealth may be a good gift. It is a great blessing in competent hands. In itself it is nothing, but it works good or evil according to the character of its owner. It is my hope and prayer, Stella, that with God's help your money may be a good gift to you. The world will perhaps honour you because you possess wealth, but you know, my little adopted daughter, the world's standard is not yours. Remember how our Lord prayed for those who had received His teaching: 'I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil. They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world.'"
"Oh, Aunt Mary, I know; but I would so much rather be poor!"
"What, Stella! Rather be without the great gift God has given you to use for Him! Do you shrink from the responsibility of wealth? God has said, 'I will instruct thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with Mine eye.' You cannot tell what blessings He may mean to work by your weak hands!"
The child sighed and looked thoughtful. In a few minutes she spoke again.
"At home when mother was alive the servants used to speak of me as an heiress, and I thought it so grand, but they did not love me— nobody loved me really but Sarah, and she did not think much of money."
"She loved you for yourself, Stella."
"As you and uncle do, Aunt Mary!"
"Even so. You are as one of our own children; we could not love you better if we had known you all your life. But had you not better go on with your exercise, or you will not get it done to-night!"
Stella dipped her pen into the ink and started her work afresh, whilst her aunt watched her thoughtfully, praying for strength from above to aid her to bring up the child fittingly for the responsibilities that would be hers in the years to come. Presently Dora came in, and when Stella had concluded her work she went downstairs into the sitting-room where Nellie and the boys, having finished their lessons, were enjoying a boisterous, romping game. Soon Stella was proving herself as noisy as the others, when the doctor came in, and they paused. Nellie flew to her father and clung to his neck, whilst the rest drew around him as he sank into an easy-chair, laughing.
"Don't throttle me, Nell! Where's Dora?"
"Upstairs with mother. Oh! here she comes," as the door opened. "Dora, father wants you!"
"Not particularly. I was going to tell you you must all dine at school to-morrow, because I wish the house to be quiet, as a doctor from London is coming to see your mother."
"She is not worse?" the children cried apprehensively.
"No, thank God. I am beginning to hope she is better," and the doctor's face was bright and hopeful as he spoke.
For a minute the children were too astonished to utter a word; then Nellie clapped her hands gleefully, and Dora exclaimed, "She will get well!"
"Not in the sense you mean, Dora, but it may be she will be able in time to move about from room to room by herself, and not be quite so helpless as she is now. I shall be able to tell you more to-morrow, and meanwhile, not a word to your mother. It would be nothing short of cruelty to raise a hope that may not be realized."
After the children had gone to bed that night one little black-gowned figure stole noiselessly downstairs again in search of the doctor. It was Stella. She found her uncle reading the newspaper, which he laid aside as she entered the room.
"Well, Stella," he said with a smile.
The child stood in front of him with clasped hands, her face serious, her grave dark eyes shining like stars.
"I want to ask you—that is—" she began incoherently. "Oh, uncle, if you want money to pay the great London doctor, or anything, anything for Aunt Mary, to make her well, you will take mine, will you not? Do, do!"
"Dear little Stella!" Dr. Knight answered, "I shall not require money. The great London doctor, as you call him, will not wish to be paid. He will come because he is a great friend of mine, and I know he will not take any money."
"It seems to me no one wants my money," Stella said regretfully, "and I do so want it to do some good."
Dr. Knight was silent for a few minutes, then he drew Stella down on his knee and kissed her affectionately.
"You dear little mouse!" he exclaimed.
"Oh!" she cried, pouting. "A mouse is such a silly useless thing!"
"Oh! is it indeed? Perhaps you never heard of the mouse that liberated the lion?" Stella laughed, for she knew the fable well. "Seriously, my dear, your money has done good already, and I will tell you how. Your mother made a provision in her will that if I consented to become your guardian, and you made your home with us, a certain sum was to be paid to me every year. Now this money has been a great help to us, because, you know, I am not rich, and it has considerably lightened the burden on my shoulders, and eased your aunt's mind of a great deal of anxiety and worry. I believe that it is because she has had fewer cares this last year that her condition is improving, as I have little doubt it is. So you see, Stella, your money has begun to do good already. The little town mouse brought a blessing with her."
"Oh, uncle, really?"
"Really and truly! Bear in mind you are not such an insignificant little animal after all."
Stella laughed merrily, and after kissing her uncle good-night went to bed one of the happiest children in the world; and when on the morrow the London doctor agreed with Dr. Knight that his wife was certainly better, her joy knew no bounds.
To the invalid the knowledge that it was possible she might some day be able to stand and even walk a few steps came as a shock of joyful surprise. Her husband broke the news to her before the children returned from school, and when they came trooping in her glad tears of thankfulness had been shed, and she was ready to greet them with her own bright smile.
But it was many months before Mrs. Knight could stand, and then many weeks before she could move a few steps across the room. At length the day came when, with her husband's strong arm to support her, she walked downstairs once more, and had tea with the family in the sitting-room. The children had decked the apartment with autumn flowers, for it was October again, and two years since Stella had come to them.
Mrs. Knight sat at the head of the table, looking very frail and white, but pretty and smiling. Her blue eyes shone with glad tears as she listened to the merry chatter of the young people. The doctor was content to sit at his wife's right hand, and watch her dear face as it turned from one to the other of the little group.
"Children," Mrs. Knight said presently, "do you know that I have had a letter from Mrs. Gray this morning, and she has a little baby boy! She and Mr. Gray are going to have a holiday soon, and they hope to come and see us."
"Oh, I am glad!" cried Nellie, whilst the others looked delighted. "Will they bring the baby, do you think, mother?"
"I think it is very likely they will."
"Stella had a letter just now," Dora announced.
"Yes," said Stella, "from Sarah. You remember my telling you about Sarah, Aunt Mary?"
"Yes, certainly."
"She is in a situation at Margate as maid to an old lady, who is very kind to her. She says she is perfectly happy, and she sent me a present. I will run upstairs after tea and bring it down to show you."
"It is so pretty," said Nellie; "a shell-box with 'A present from Margate' on it, and a little looking-glass fastened in the lid inside."
"I was so glad to hear from Sarah," Stella said softly; "she was the first real friend I ever had. She asks," with a vivid blush, and lowering her voice so that the words only reached her aunt's ear, "if I am still nervous at night and afraid of ghosts. I shall be able to tell her I have overcome my old fears."
"See what a bright colour Stella has!" Dr. Knight exclaimed. "I am sure, Mary, it's time to stop calling her a town mouse; I don't believe those roses could ever have grown in London!"
"But she's so gentle and quiet," Dora interposed, "and she has such bright, dark eyes and sleek brown hair."
"Just like a mouse, I suppose you mean," the doctor conducted, laughing; and they all joined in the merriment.
So Stella was happy and contented with her cousins, and grew up with them, sharing their interests, loved by all, and returning their affection with the warmth of a naturally loving and grateful heart. In that quiet household we will leave her to pass from childhood to womanhood, in the fear of the Lord and in the wisdom that cometh from above, in readiness for the future, with its responsibilities of wealth, to be employed, by the help of God, for good.
THE END
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED.
BUNGAY. SUFFOLK.