II.GROWING IN GRACE.
Dorothy had finished her lessons and was sitting in the deep window seat in the nursery, looking out upon the water, and listening to the voices of the waves as they dashed against the shore.
She was on friendly terms with all her world, the flowers, the trees, and every dancing sunbeam held a language for her.
Horses, dogs and birds, every living thing that came into her life became her friends.
Her loving confidence in her fellow beings won from each the best he had to give.
So carefully had she been kept from all self-pity and the tearful sympathy of unwise friends that she was in every way a wholesome, happy, winsome little lassie.
There was no room in all the house that Dorothy loved quite so well as her own dear nursery. Here she always came to dream her dreams, or study out her weighty problems.
This was the room that mother dear had thought out for her, before ever she was born. Every detail spoke silently, but eloquently, to the child’s mind of harmony and purity, of true uplifting ideals.
The artistic coloring of walls and rugs, the few pictures chosen for their real value and lastingimpressions; the wide outlook on sea and sky and garden, together with everything that could make for health and comfort, voiced the wise and loving care of the mother whose tender eyes looked down from above the mantel at the little dreamer in the window seat.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Lois, a child about a year younger than Dorothy, bounded in, while just behind and fairly tumbling over her came a great white dog, a Scotch collie called Rings, because of a buff-colored ring of hair around his tail.
In a moment, quiet had taken flight, and a game of hide and seek was in full swing. Rings had played this game since puppy days, he knew all the best hiding places, and he knew just how long to search before discoveries were in order. Gravely he walked about poking his nose into possible covers and then away he dashed to the goal amid peals of laughter. Jeanie dropped her sewing to enjoy the sport.
Father, entering the house with the doctor remarked: “We are evidently just in time for the fun.” They joined the players in the upper hall and away they all streamed to the play room with Rings in hot pursuit.
Racing through the school-room, they swept the little German music master off his feet. But he had not forgotten his boy days and, dropping hat and gloves, was after them. Timothy, guide, philosopher and friend, and incidentally manager of the estate, coming in from the greenhouse with flowers,deposited his precious burden in the arms of a maid, and took the stairs in leaps. Timothy had assisted in the merriment ever since Dorothy could ride on his shoulder, holding fast to his curly hair. The frolic spread all over the house.
Lois was found hiding behind a stately footman. The doctor was dragged by Rings from under the dining-room table. Father stowed himself on the top shelf of the linen press, nearly causing Rings to turn himself inside out in his effort to get at him. Timothy lost himself in a cubby-hole in the attic and had to be rescued, for the door had no inside latch. The fun was brought to a breathless climax, when Bridgie, the cook, hid Dorothy in a great boiler and no one could find her. * * *
The doctor looked wistfully after Jeanie as she went up the wide stairs with a dancing child clinging to either hand. “That is a pretty picture,” he said to Mr. Douglas; “you should be a happy man, for you have caused some sorrowing ones to rejoice. Jeanie, now—it is ten years, is it not? I thought that night you called me to come quickly, I had never seen a face so sad. Jeanie is all that is noble, God bless her!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Douglas, “think what she has been to us. My wife, Stella, talked to her by the hour before Dorothy was born, told her all her plans, hopes and fears. It was Stella who insisted that the old tradition of the Christmas Candle had a great significance, ‘the light could guide no ill to us.’”
“Yes, we have been privileged to dry some of thetears, open the blinds for a few so that the sunlight might come in. But think of the blessing brought to us. Look at Timothy, and Bridgie; could money buy the influence that is thrown about Dorothy? When I think of all they do for me and mine, I feel that I have done very little.”
“How about that little Lois?” asked the doctor.
“She is another blessing. Jeanie came upon the child in the city (living with a Mrs. MacDonald, who did fine sewing) and in time learned her story. It seems that Mrs. MacDonald’s brother, who was a sailor on the steamship M—— (lost about six years ago, you remember), rescued this child. The passengers were picked up by several vessels and widely separated. This sailor took the child at first to a sister in Scotland and afterwards to America in his search for her parents. He made every effort to find them, but grew discouraged as time went on and he found no clue. Mrs. MacDonald felt that the child should have advantages they could not give, and they were sorely troubled.
“They called her Lois, because of the initials L. O. I. S. on a handkerchief bound around the little wrist. It was the only mark about her, except the beautiful clothing.
“Well—you know the rest. It was something I could do, so here she is, and royally welcome. If we never find her parents, we will try and make good her loss.
“Dorothy is right. She says it is ridiculous for one little girl to have as much as she does, and ‘Mother dear would want us to share.’
“By the way, doctor, Christmas plans are in the air; stay and hear about them.
“I will indeed,” said the doctor, as they turned toward the library door. “Do you know,” the doctor continued, “that of all lonesome things on the face of the earth a bachelor’s lot at Christmas time seems the very essence of dreariness?”
The words were spoken jestingly, but there was an undercurrent of intense pathos in them, that made Mr. Douglas lay his hand lovingly on his shoulder as he said, gravely: “I believe you are right, my friend; I am a rich and happy man, not only in the possession of present blessings, but in the precious memories of past joys. I think this is going to be the very best Christmas of all my life, because I am learning a little of true gratitude.”
“It is going to be a rough night,” said Mr. Douglas, as he turned to the window and looked out into the gathering darkness and noted the white flakes falling on the window-ledge outside. “The gray clouds have been settling down all day, the wind is rising rapidly, and there is every indication of a heavy storm. There promises to be plenty of snow for the Christmas frolic.”
Then, drawing the shades, he drew two comfortable easy chairs before the fire, just as the children came tripping in.