CHAPTER XXII."I CANNOT SPARE YOU, MONICA."Tuesday, September 27th, dawned bright and fair, as all birthdays should, and Monica, girl-like, was full of curiosity as to what presents she would have, beyond the one already promised.Several inviting-looking packages were laid beside her plate on the breakfast table, and also some letters. Monica made a dash at them, hoping, not without a good deal of misgiving, that there would be one from her father."There is!" she exclaimed aloud, in her delight, just as Mrs. Beauchamp entered the dining-room, and greeted her with the old-time wish of "many happy returns," and bestowed upon her one of her rare kisses."What is there?" she queried, as she slipped a sealed envelope among the other presents, and took her seat at the head of the table."Why, actually a letter from dad, grannie, come on the very day," she explained, in glee, as she held it up. "And here is one from Miss Herschel, too, but she does not know when my birthday is, so that has only come by chance. Isn't that odd?""Very," agreed Mrs. Beauchamp, as she began to pour out the coffee. "Now eat your breakfast, and then you can look at your packages."Either Monica's usually keen appetite was very small, or her digestion very good, on that particular morning, for in a very few minutes she expressed herself as "quite finished," and then began undoing strings and paper with eager fingers.A dear little pocket Bible "with love from Amethyst and her mother"; a crudely drawn, but wonderfully life-like portrait of Jack, nicely framed, from Olive; a beautifully-worked nightdress-case from Elsa: both inexpensive gifts, for the twins had very little pocket-money. Then there was a very handsome collar for Jack, the united gift of the servants."I can't think who this is from," said Monica, taking up the last parcel and hastily cutting the string. "Oh, grannie, do look!" she cried, holding up a plain leather frame containing the photograph of Robina Herschel and her brother, taken together. In the frame was slipped a scrap of paper, bearing the words: "In memory of happy days at Sandyshore.""Oh, Iamglad to have that!" said Monica, as she gazed upon the pictured features of the two she admired so much, the fair, fragile girl presenting such a contrast to her firm, resolute brother. "I suppose it is in return for the snapshot which Marcus took, that I gave them. But how could they--I mean who could have told them when my birthday was?""Probably the letter will explain," suggested Mrs. Beauchamp, who was not quite sure that she approved of adoublephotograph. But a hasty glance at Monica's innocent face disarmed all suspicion.It soon transpired that Elsa had been the little bird who had been only too ready to tell Miss Herschel when Monica's birthday was; and thus the mystery was quickly cleared up. Robina only wrote a short letter, as they were all very busy getting her brother's things ready for his voyage to Africa. He was to be dismissed, among other missionaries, at a public meeting in London in the course of a few days, and would start for the Soudan almost immediately after. "He sends you his best wishes, not only for your birthday, but for always," the letter concluded, "and says that you will find his good-bye message in Colossians i. 9, 10. We shall miss him terribly, mother and I, but we are quite, quite willing. Perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would spare you to pay us a little visit after Christmas, while your holidays were on. Tell her, mother says we would take the greatest care of you!"Monica read the last two sentences aloud, before she folded up the letter and put it in its envelope."It would be nice, grannie, wouldn't it? I hardly remember going away on a visit to any one.""We must see," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, in not very gushing tones. Strangely enough, the mere thought of parting with this granddaughter of hers, even for a week or two, filled her with dismay; she had grown to be dependent upon her for company, and the bright, cheery, girlish presence would be sadly missed at Carson Rise now.And yet, Monica must go out into the world, and make friends and see many phases of life, of which she was utterly ignorant now. So she stifled a sigh, and added: "It is very kind of Mrs. Herschel to invite you, and it would make a nice little change for you, during the winter."Monica, whose face had fallen somewhat at her grandmother's first remark, brightened up visibly. Shewouldso like to go and stay with the Herschels, and she had been afraid Mrs. Beauchamp meant to refuse her consent, but now the prospect looked more hopeful."Two more letters and then I've done," she said gaily, opening the envelope bearing the old lady's handwriting first. Inside it was a crisp, new five-pound note, wrapped in a half-sheet of notepaper."Oh, thank you so much, grannie dear!" she said, as she fingered the rustling bit of paper which meant so much for the cause she had at heart: her imagination already pictured all sorts of nice things for China which that sum would procure."Are you not sorry now that you did not choose the bicycle?" said her grandmother drily."No, grannie, indeed I am not," was the bright response, for down in Monica's young heart was a deep sense of satisfaction that that battle with self had been fought and won the week before; for however much common sense may say to the contrary, the Bible axiom that "it is more blessed to give than to receive" still holds good."Now for dad's letter." With a hasty glance at the clock, which told her she had only a few minutes to spare, Monica tore open the thin envelope, and with eager fingers unfolded the closely written sheet. For a few seconds no words were spoken, and then she lifted her face, which was full of excitement and bubbling over with joy."Oh, grannie, he's coming home!" she cried; "something quite unexpected has changed all his plans, and instead of the regiment staying out in Simla, it's been ordered home, and when he gets to England, dad's going to retire. Oh, isn't it lovely! Just fancy, grannie, he won't go away from home any more, and he says he will then be able to look after his troublesome child himself, and relieve you of all responsibility. Naughty dad!" she added, while a little thrill of pleasure ran through her at the remembrance of the long letter sent from Sandyshore, which would only just be arriving at Simla then. "I don't think I'm quite so much trouble now, am I, grannie? And I am sure you would miss me just a little bit, wouldn't you?"She looked up roguishly, and was amazed to see her grandmother's eyes were looking suspiciously wet."I cannot spare you, Monica, I could not give you up now," she said tremulously; "your father must make his home here, as long as I live."A sudden impulse prompted Monica to slip out of her place, and give her grandmother a caress, and a moment later they were locked in each other's arms: the first embrace the girl had ever received from the undemonstrative old lady. But it was only the forerunner of many more; the possibility of losing her grandchild had shown Mrs. Beauchamp how intensely she loved her, and the proud reserve of her nature tottered and fell before the flood of love which came rushing in."When does he speak of coming, Monica?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes, and felt if her dainty lace cap was on straight, while Monica returned to her letter."He doesn't quite know yet, grannie dear," she replied, glancing it quickly through, "but it might be in time for him to spend Christmas with us. Oh, isn't it almost too splendid, to think of seeing my darling dad quite two years sooner than I had ever dreamt, and then, not just for a little while, but for always!"And Monica, gathering up all her packages, rushed upstairs to get ready for school in a perfect maze of delight.She was already behind time, so that she could only put all her letters and presents into a half-empty drawer, to be admired more fully upon her return. But she just managed to look out Leslie Herschel's text, and some of the words, which she never remembered having seen before, fastened themselves upon her memory."We ... do not cease to pray for you, and desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will ... that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing.""What a beautiful 'Good-bye' message," she murmured, as she closed her Bible, and began putting on her hat and coat. "I am sorry to think perhaps I shall never see him again, but I will try to become what he would wish, in case we should ever come across each other in years to come. Dear old dad would like the Herschels, I am sure."The Franklyns and Amethyst were quite excited at Monica's news which she told them during recreation, until Olive remembered that Colonel Beauchamp's return to Englandmightmean Monica leaving the neighbourhood and school, too; but she soon reassured them, feeling convinced that her father would fall in with her grandmother's wishes. Then she began talking about their work for China, and told them of the five pounds which Mrs. Beauchamp had given her, and which was to be spent on materials. She did not think it necessary to mention that it was in lieu of any other present, and, curiously enough, it did not occur to the girls to ask what her grandmother's real birthday gift to her, personally, had been."We must have a committee meeting," said Olive importantly. She had made up her mind to enter heart and soul into the project, but her reason for doing so was very different from the others; she thought, poor child, that by working hard she would be able to drown the voice of conscience, which never rested, and was always accusing her. "I suppose we four will be the committee.""Yes, if you like," Monica agreed, laughingly; all this was new ground to her. "Where shall we meet?""Mother says we can have my old playroom to use just as we like," piped Amethyst, "and we can have the working parties there, too.""Lovely! Splendid! Just the place."These, and other similar explanations greeted the proposal, which was unanimously accepted, and arrangements were quickly made for a committee on the following Saturday afternoon, to be followed by an expedition into the town to buy sufficient things to start the work with. Miss Daverel's instructions were expected to arrive at any time, Monica having written to her some days previously.The bell rang before they had finished planning everything; but enough had been arranged for the time being, and the quartette went into school with very light hearts, and the lessons went well that day. Indeed, Miss Churchill had a model class that term, the greater number of her pupils being intent on doing both their teacher and themselves credit. Her only regret was that the girls would probably all do so well in the examinations that there would be a wholesale removal, and she would lose them all next term! Of Monica she had grown particularly fond. The story of her intercession on Lily Howell's behalf had, of course, become known to the teachers, though it had not been allowed to reach the ears of the girls, and Mary Churchill admired the spirit which had prompted such an action. There was a subtle change in Monica Beauchamp, too, an indefinable something which was rounding off the sharp corners of her disposition, and the teacher could not think what it was. Good and upright as Mary Churchill was, she was, as yet, a stranger to Him Who can make all the crooked places in the lives of His children straight, and the rough places smooth, or she would have recognised His handiwork.However, she looked on and wondered, as day succeeded day, and the alteration not only lasted, but actually became intensified. Not that Monica became the least bit "goody-goody," even Olive could never say she was that; she was just as bright and laughter-loving as ever, and fond of every kind of fun that did no one any harm. But her companions soon found that it was useless to get her to join in a joke, or laugh, carried out at some one else's expense, and nothing would persuade her to do behind a teacher's back what she would not do before her face!Lily Howell, watching keenly, noted all these things, and being a quick-witted girl drew her own conclusions. Monica had not proved to be a "libel," and she felt constrained to admire the girl whom she used almost to hate.Sometimes the remembrance that Lily was judging Christianity by its effect upon her daily life prevented Monica from doing, or saying something, in a moment's thoughtlessness, that would have brought discredit on her Master's cause. But far more often it was the realisation of His presence, unseen, but very real, which kept her from doing that which would grieve Him, for she had taken as her motto Leslie Herschel's text, "Walk worthy of the Lord, unto all pleasing."Elsa Franklyn, who had been learning very hard lessons lately in the school of sorrow, was a great help to Monica. Indeed, when things went wrong Monica got into the way of telling Elsa all about it, and the quiet, gentle girl, who was so diffident of any attempt at advising the elder one, yet seemed, somehow, to straighten out the tangles in a wonderful way.Olive, whose unrest made her captious and pettish at times, was sometimes inclined to be jealous of her twin-sister, and angry with Monica for "taking up" with Elsa, instead of being content with her alone, as used to be the case. But when she expostulated with Monica, as she did occasionally, the answer she invariably received, was, "I am just as fond of you as ever, Ollie, you know that quite well; but you see Elsaunderstands, and you don'tyet; that's why I must have a talk with her sometimes."And Olive, angry with herself for falling short of her friend's expectations, but not willing to take the same step as Monica and Elsa had done, felt that the explanation was even worse than the offence!CHAPTER XXIII."IT'S ALL SURPRISES, NOWADAYS!""Now, let's get to business."And the quartette,aliasthe "China Committee," as Amethyst had playfully nicknamed them, gathered round the large table in the vicarage playroom and began to consider ways and means."I've got a box full of patterns, and a long letter from Miss Daverel," began Monica, who had been elected president by virtue of her munificent gift towards the Expenses Fund, and who in consequence, occupied the "chair" at the head of the table. "Let us look at each thing, and I'll read to you how it's made, and then we'll decide whether we can undertake to make some like it, or not."Half an hour was spent in admiring and examining the eighteen or twenty pretty and useful little "gifts," any, or all, of which, Miss Daverel said would be so acceptable to Chinese girls. Simply made children's clothing, a gaily dressed doll, bright knitted cuffs, a bookmarker, a woollen ball, a gay cretonne bag (containing a thimble, cotton, tiny pair of scissors and a pincushion), a knitted comforter, small Scripture pictures mounted on card--these were some of the articles the box contained."Most of them are quite easy to make," said Amethyst, who was keenly interested; "I should like to make a work-bag best, I think.""I like dressing dolls," said Elsa, who was carefully examining the clothes of the sample she held in her hand."Oh, doll's clothes are awfully finicking to make!" was Olive's opinion; "but I think I could paste pictures on cards, like that. What shall you make, Monica?""I don't know, I'm sure. I am not much good at needlework. Perhaps I could knit a scarf, or some cuffs. But we must think about going to market first. Who will make a list of what we want?""I will." And Olive produced a pencil and paper with alacrity, and by dint of many references to Miss Daverel's directions, for quantities, a list of requisites sufficient to start with was eventually drawn up."Now about a working-party, Monica. When shall we begin, and whom shall we ask to join?"It was unanimously decided that they would meet on Saturday afternoons, for a couple of hours, once a month to begin with, and every fortnight afterwards, if they got on well, and Mrs. Drury and Lois Franklyn were to be asked to take it in turns to superintend things. Several girls' names were proposed, and seconded, as suitable for invitation, and then Monica said she would like to ask Lily Howell."Oh, no!" cried Amethyst, in dismay; "we don't want her."And Olive said: "I should think not, indeed!"But Monica, who read approval in Elsa's glance, insisted that there was no reason why she should not join them, and realising that Monica was really the prime mover in the whole concern, the other two were reluctantly compelled to acquiesce; Amethyst comforting Olive and herself by remarking: "It's not the least bit likely that she will come, that's one good thing."But contrary to Amethyst's expectations and wishes, she did. And thus it came to pass, on the following Saturday when the quartette, with very varying feelings, were waiting the arrival of the half-dozen or so of their companions who had promised to come and help them, that Lily Howell was shown into the playroom, the first of any to put in an appearance.Monica, suddenly overwhelmed with a terrible fit of shyness, shook hands stiffly, and could not think of a single thing to say. But Elsa came to the rescue, and soon interested Lily in the work they were going to do, showing and explaining one thing after another, until the newcomer caught the infection, and was very ready to do her share.Indeed, that was the general opinion expressed Mrs. Drury, who, at the girls' earnest request, acted as spokeswoman, explained more fully the object of the little working-party, and with happy tact soon set everybody at their ease, having provided each one with exactly the piece of work which she had a fancy for doing.For at least half an hour the tongues wagged busily, and many were the questions asked, for the work in most cases was quite novel; but eventually all were settled, and then Mrs. Drury read part of a book which Miss Daverel had suggested they should start with--"Children in Blue, and What They Do," one of the most delightful and fascinating books ever written with a view to interesting English girls in their Chinese sisters.By the end of the afternoon every one of the girls had become quite as enthusiastic as even Monica could wish, and when the new missionary box had been handed round, it began to feel quite heavy."What are you going to do with all the things when we have made them?" asked one of the visitors, and Monica replied that they wanted to collect a nice number, and let Miss Daverel have them to take back with her when she returned to China, in about a year; and if they had more than were wanted for her, the missionary had sent the address of a depôt in London, where some ladies would gladly forward any gifts sent to them."Are you going to have a working party every Saturday?" Gipsy Monroe enquired, as they folded up their work. She was making a queer little cotton jacket, and was eager to go on with it."Only once a month, we thought," replied Monica; "we didn't suppose you would want to come oftener."But every one insisted that they should meet every fortnight, at least; and so it was arranged."Ithasbeen nice, hasn't it?"It was Amethyst who actually said the words, as they put away the work and cleared up the room after their visitors had gone, preparatory to going down to the dining-room for tea; but all the others were thinking the same thing. There were three very happy girls that evening, at any rate, out of the four.Amethyst whispered to her mother, in that hour of confidences, when the light is waning outdoors, and the gas has not been lighted within, that she still meant to be a speaker when she grew up, but she was quite, quite sure now that it would have to be about missionary work, instead of temperance; would mumsie mind very much? And Mrs. Drury imprinted a kiss upon the upturned brow, and repressed an inclination to smile at the rapidity with which the alteration in subjects had been made, and said that she thought perhaps there would be plenty of opportunities for her to plead on behalf of both causes, if her little daughter ever became a "platform woman."Olive slipped her arm through her twin-sister's, as they walked home in the dusk, and talked more frankly than she had done for a long time, and Elsa's heart grew light about her. She felt there was no end to what Olive could do, if once she started in the right direction, for she knew there were immense capabilities in her sister, such as she herself would never possess. And Elsa, who, ever since the meeting at Sandyshore, had had a great desire to become a missionary like Miss Daverel, when she grew up, but felt convinced that she would never be thought suitable, began to hope and pray that God would choose Olive instead. How splendid it would be if Olive, as well as Roger, should some day take the Gospel to the heathen!Monica being rapidly driven home in the brougham which had been sent for her, reviewed the afternoon with girlish satisfaction. It was nice of the girls to come, nicer of them to be interested, and nicer still that they should be willing to meet more often than they had expected. But it was nicest of all to know (and the knowledge made her very humble) that she, Monica Beauchamp, was being enabled in a strength not her own, to walk along the pathway of life, in a way that was pleasing to her Master and helpful to others.Mrs. Beauchamp was very interested in hearing all the details of the afternoon's work, and delighted Monica by offering to knit some comforters and cuffs during the long winter evenings that were coming. She would undertake to buy all the wool herself, she said, so that the "Expenses Fund" might last as long as possible."That's very kind, grannie," said Monica, with a smile, "for I can see our money will soon melt. We have spent nearly thirty shillings, already!""Out of your five pounds? Did none of the others contribute anything?" asked the old lady."Oh, yes, seven or eight shillings between them, grannie. But they could not do more: Amethyst has very little pocket-money, I know, and I think the Franklyns are quite poor." Monica dropped her voice to a whisper. Not even to her grandmother could she explain her reasons for thinking so; but first, the barely furnished rooms at the doctor's, and then the very, very simple and inexpensive mourning which was all that could be afforded for the grown-up daughters, as well as for the younger children, told their own tale, which Monica, brought up as she had been in the lap of luxury, thought the essence of poverty."The doctor's practice is not so large as his family," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, with grim humour. "When is Elsa's birthday, Monica?" she added, after a short pause.The girl, who had been thinking deeply, started at the sudden and apparently irrelevant question."Why, next Saturday, grannie, the same day as Olive's, of course." What could have made her grandmother ask?Probably she looked her surprise, for the old lady said: "You need not be afraid I am going to give them five-pound notes to squander on heathen Chinese," but her smile belied her words. "I was wondering how much younger they are than you.""Just over a year: they will be fifteen on their birthday. It will be a very sad day for them; Olive says Elsa can't bear to think of a birthday without their mother.""Poor children," said Mrs. Beauchamp, in tones of pity; then, as if to change the subject, she said: "I suppose Amethyst Drury is younger again?""Oh, yes, she won't be fifteen until next summer, only she is so quick and clever that she is quite as forward at school as those who are older. I am much the oldest in our form," added Monica, with a sigh. Her backwardness in many subjects had been a source of trouble to her lately."I expect you will know enough by the time you leave school, my dear, if you make the most of the next two years," said her grandmother kindly. "I have no fancy for you to become a blue-stocking.""I am afraid there is no fear of that, grannie!" and Monica laughed merrily. "I am far too big a dunce. Little Thistle will do the best of us all, I expect, but Elsa and Olive have to work hard, because they must earn their living when they leave school. Olive wants to go in for art, she says; and she is so clever at drawing I expect she will get on.""H'm! it's a pity she hasn't a fancy for cooking or washing," said the old lady bluntly; "either of those occupations would be more likely to provide her with food and clothing than dabbling about with messy paints. I expect my little Elsa is far more sensible, and means to be a home-bird.""No, grannie, she will have to do something; for Miss Franklyn can manage all the housekeeping. IthinkElsa hopes some day that she might be a nurse in a children's hospital, but she has not said anything about it lately.""Sensible girl. Now get the book, Monica, and we will have some reading."It was not until the twins' birthday that Monica realised what all her grandmother's questions were aiming at, and then she understood!"What time do the girls come, Monica," asked Mrs. Beauchamp, as they sat longer than usual over their breakfast, there being no need to hurry, for Saturday was a whole holiday.Monica looked up in surprise, for it had been all arranged before that the Franklyns should come at eleven, and remain the whole day at Carson Rise, in order that their birthday might not be spent among surroundings which would remind them continually of their loss. Amethyst Drury had been invited, too."At eleven, granny.""Oh, yes, of course. How are you going to amuse yourselves, Monica?""I don't know, I'm sure, grannie; we might get a game of croquet-golf, or tennis, if the grass is dry enough." And Monica looked critically out upon the beautiful lawn, which was the pride of the gardener's heart."I have secured a new 'amusement' for you," said Mrs. Beauchamp, her eyes twinkling with fun. "I was going to say 'game,' but it is hardly that.""What can it be? Not badminton?" queried Monica, all excitement."No, not badminton," repeated her grandmother, with a smile. "I hardly think you will guess, so as soon as you have finished breakfast we will go and see it.""I finished ages ago," said Monica, as she pushed back her chair with alacrity; "I am curious, grannie." And she slipped her arm through the old lady's (a favourite habit nowadays), and they went together to a large summer-house where the croquet and tennis sets were kept."Is it a small game, or whatever you call it, grannie?""Not very small," was the amused reply, "but here we are, and you can judge for yourself."She fitted a key in the lock, and opened the door, and Monica gazed in utter astonishment at what she saw; for, resting on its own stand in the middle of the quaint, octagonal summer-house, was a beautiful, perfectly new bicycle![image]"MONICA GAZED IN UTTER ASTONISHMENT.""Oh, grannie!" Only an exclamation, but who can describe all that was contained in those two words? and Monica almost squeezed the breath out of the old lady's body with the energy with which she hugged her."There, there, that will do, Monica; don't quite strangle me," protested Mrs. Beauchamp; but all the same, she keenly enjoyed her grandchild's unqualified delight. "Do you like it?" she added, as Monica examined and admired the bicycle to her heart's content."I can'tthinkwhy you have given it to me, grannie!" was the answer, if answer it could be called.And Mrs. Beauchamp said she would find the reason inside the little basket fastened to the handle-bars.The old lady turned away, and pretended to look out of one of the little coloured glass windows, while Monica read the few words on a tiny card which she found:--"For an unselfish girl,from her lovingGRANNIE."A lump rose in Monica's throat as she stepped across the little summer-house and bent down and kissed the face which only a few short months ago she had thought so stern and unlovable.Howdifferent everything was nowadays!"I didn't do it for a reward, grannie dear," she whispered. "I never dreamt of such a thing. Iquitegave up all thought of the bicycle when I chose the five pounds.""I know you did, my child," replied the old lady, while she furtively wiped her eyes, which were suspiciously moist, although she was smiling now; "but you see,Ididn't! And as I knew nothing about these things, I took Mr. Bertram into my confidence, and told him to choose just the right kind and size; and I should think he has done his work very well. Now you will have something to amuse your friends with, to-day.""We shall have to take great care not to knock it about," said Monica."Ah! that reminds me: Mr. Bertram advised your learning to ride on an old one first, so I have ordered Brown's to send a man over with one from Osmington this morning, and if you like to spend a little time in having a lesson, he can stay. I daresay the girls would find it amusing.""To see me tumble off, grannie?" cried Monica merrily."Well, don't hurt your ankle again, or anything else," cautioned her grandmother; "I should prefer to hand you over whole to your father when he comes."The next hour passed quickly, and then the Franklyns and Amethyst arrived.Monica, all excitement, took them straight to the summer-house, not noticing, in her eagerness, that her friends seemed quite as excited as herself. But they no sooner saw the bicycle than Olive, who could contain herself no longer, exclaimed: "It'sexactlythe same!" and then it was Monica's turn to look puzzled.However, the mystery was soon cleared up, as she learnt that there had been a great surprise at the doctor's that morning, too; a bicycle, the exact counterpart of Monica's, having been delivered there addressed to, "The Misses Elsa and Olive Franklyn"; and a little note attached to it stated that it was a birthday gift to the twins, with love and best wishes from Mrs. Beauchamp."How splendid of grannie!" cried Monica enthusiastically; "now we shall have some lovely rides together.""Won't it be jolly?" said Olive, who was beside herself with pleasure, and Elsa's quietly happy face was good to see."Poor Thistle, you are the only one left out! Never mind, you shall use mine sometimes," Monica said, suddenly remembering that this new departure would make Amethyst feel rather out of it.She was delighted when Amethyst replied with glee: "But I am going to have one of my own very soon. Father promised me he would get me one this autumn, and he said the other day he had seen one which was just what he liked, only a little too big for me, so he has ordered a smaller-sized one. I meant to have given yousucha surprise.""I think it's all surprises nowadays," said Monica; "how little any of us dreamt last half-term holiday that we should all be riding our own bicycles before the next one arrived!""We wanted to bring ours up to show you," put in Elsa, "but Mrs. Beauchamp, in her note, asked us not to. We were dreadfully afraid that perhaps she didn't want you to know, Monica. But that isn't like her, and it wouldn't have been any pleasure if we couldn't tell you.""I should think not! Dear old grannie, I can guess why she said that. A man from Osmington is coming up this morning to give us some lessons on an old one. Why, there he is, and grannie too!"All four girls crossed the lawn, and while the twins were trying in vain to express to Mrs. Beauchamp the delight that her handsome present had given them, Monica and Amethyst spoke to the man, and inspected the bicycle he had brought, and which Jack was sniffing suspiciously.The greater part of the day, first with the teacher, and afterwards with only each other to hold the machine up, was spent on the wide, straight drive, which was a charming place to practise upon. And if the quartette wereallquite tired out as they bade each other "good-bye," they were all agreed that it was well worth it, to be able to balance themselves and even go a few yards without assistance!CHAPTER XXIV."I THINK MY MONICA DESERVES THE V.C."The autumn term sped swiftly away. In addition to the school work, which required a great deal of persevering effort to do as well as the quartette aimed at doing theirs that term, Elsa had her music, and Olive attended a school of art for extra lessons in drawing and sepia.Amethyst, who, as yet, evinced no great talent for any accomplishments, so-called, had a little more spare time than the others, and was therefore able to go occasionally with her mother to visit some of her poor old, or invalid, folk. These visits were a great interest to Amethyst, who had a kind and pitying little heart for sorrow and suffering, and Mrs. Drury wisely encouraged her little daughter to sing, or repeat a few comforting texts to the sad, or lonely, or suffering, as the case might be. Poor old Mrs. Robbins had long since gone to the "City bright" of which Amethyst had sung to her; but in the crowded and squalid streets of the poorer part of St. Paul's parish there were many more who needed temporal as well as spiritual help.Once, Mrs. Drury took her with her to see Mrs. Hodges, whose cottage was on the Disbrowe estate, and as Amethyst entered the little garden gate, the only occasion on which she had ever been there before recurred vividly to her mind."I wonder whether that little old woman is still here, mumsie," she said."Hardly likely, dear, but you will soon hear."It transpired that Granny Wood was there, circumstances having caused her to make her home with her daughter, and the dear old soul, now quite a prisoner through rheumatism to her chair by the fireside, was delighted to see one of the "little missies," of whom, as her daughter explained, she was never tired of talking."They was angels without wings to me, that day, ma'am," the old granny asserted; "little missy here, and her friend. But them other two--well, there, I won't say all I thinks! My darter says I ain't no business to bear malice, an' me a Christian body, but I owes this last illness o' mine to that there bouncin' h'animal." And the wrinkled old face looked as nearly cross as it was possible for her apple-cheeks and faded blue eyes to manage.Amethyst looked subdued, and Mrs. Drury hastened to explain that she was sure the girls had not meant to be really unkind, and that both of them had learnt since what suffering meant, and she went on to tell of the death of Olive's mother."Dear, dear; poor lamb!" ejaculated Granny Wood, commiseratingly, all her animosity gone; "to think o' that now, and me a-grumblin' at 'er an' all.""And Monica Beauchamp, the other one, you know," put in Amethyst, "she is quite different now. She tries to be kind to everybody, because Jesus was always kind.""Praise the Lord, missy," cried the old woman, in quavering tones; "then I'll never say aught agin' either of 'em again; but I'll just keep on asking the Almighty to bless every one of you, and make you all blessings every day of your lives."Amethyst and her mother walked home rather silently, until they reached the spot where the bicycle accident had happened that memorable afternoon."It must have been just here," said the little girl, as they passed the place. "I remember Olive saying the motor was pulled up by that tree. It was a good thing Mr. Howell went by just then, wasn't it, mumsie?""Yes, dear," agreed Mrs. Drury."Sucha lot has happened since then," continued Amethyst, who was in a retrospective mood. "Everything seemed to begin with that half-term holiday.""What do you mean, girlie?""Why, mumsie, Mrs. Beauchamp used to be so cross, and now she's the nicest old dear possible; and Monica was nasty and uppish, you know, at first. I didn't think I evercouldlike her, and now I think she's almost too good to live, sometimes! And Olive is nicer too, although I shall always like my darling Elsa best." Here Amethyst paused, from sheer want of breath, for her tongue always ran twice as quickly as other people's."Is that all, girlie?" put in Mrs. Drury, who was much amused at the comparisons, but felt they were truthfully if somewhat quaintly made."Oh, no! There's Lily Howell, justthinkhow she's altered. I don't believe any one would know her nowadays who knew her then; she's so well behaved, and speaks quietly, and seldom gets into trouble at school. I'm so glad Mrs. Howell buys plain hats and things for her now," Amethyst ran on. "I don't believe she could help being vulgar when she wore such hideously gaudy hats and dresses.""What has Lily's clothing to do with the bicycle accident? You have wandered a long way from that," remarked her mother, with a smile."Oh, mumsie, I haven't! It's just because Lily wants to copy everything Monica does now, that she is so much more lady-like. I think she nearly worships Monica.""Hush, Amethyst! Don't speak like that, dear," reproved her mother; "I can quite understand that Lily feels she owes a good deal to her. I hope that she will one day be a star in Monica's crown. I am so glad that they have begun to attend St. Paul's.""Mrs. Howell and Lily were both at church twice last Sunday, mumsie, and Mr. Howell was there in the evening. I remember noticing him, because I did think father must have chosen his text on purpose for him, only of course he didn't, because he couldn't possibly have known he would be there."And Mrs. Drury, who had vivid recollections of the intense earnestness with which her husband had preached from Mark viii. 36, on the subject of Eternal Profit and Loss, said, softly, as they turned in at the Vicarage gates: "Father always asks God to give him the right text to preach from, girlie, andHeknew just who would be hearing the sermon."Shrewd little Amethyst had been fairly correct in her rough-and-ready epitome of the happenings of the last six months, which had certainly left their mark on all concerned, and, in every case, for the better, to a greater or smaller degree.The missionary working-party prospered and increased, and, by the time Christmas drew near, the number of members had risen to fourteen; quite a large drawer full of "gifts" had been already neatly and carefully made, and the Expenses Fund was almost exhausted! The committee began to consider how it was to be replenished, and hazy ideas of "collecting" (which they dreaded) or else having a little sale of work during the Christmas holidays, formed in their enthusiastic minds.But they were still only ideas, when, one Saturday afternoon, Lily Howell, who, upon one pretext or another, had waited until all but the quartette had gone, slipped a sealed envelope into Monica's hand, and merely whispering: "Pa told me to give it to you," was gone before the astonished girl could say a word.The excitement of the committee when they found that the envelope contained a cheque for £10, "To be used for your Chinese folks, and ask for more when you want it," was tremendous."How splendid! Now we sha'n't have either to beg, borrow, or steal," cried Olive. "It is a good thing we let Lily come, after all."And Monica, who remembered the opposition which she had met with upon proposing Lily's name, could not refrain from smiling.Those were happy days for Monica: her school life was most interesting, and now that she bicycled into Osmington, instead of being dependent upon the pony-trap, she enjoyed the ride to and fro immensely, especially as either one or two of her friends accompanied her most of the way to Carson Rise, on the days that she remained at school until the afternoon, for music or some other extra.Then the missionary work was a source of great pleasure to her, and her enthusiasm was kept very keen by long letters from Robina Herschel, and an occasional one from Miss Daverel.Sometimes, when Monica was poring over a missionary magazine, or exercising her ingenuity in making something fresh for the girls to copy at the working-party, her grandmother would tease her by saying she was "missionary mad." But Monica would only look up and smile, knowing that in her heart of hearts the old lady was well-content that her grandchild should seek to help forward, even in the simplest way, the spread of the "good news," which had brought light at eventide to her own dark heart.And every day was bringing Colonel Beauchamp nearer. Several letters had come from him, but in none of them had he been able, definitely, to say when he would reach England; he hoped, as he had said at first, to spend Christmas Day at home, but it was uncertain. Monica was counting the days, in true school-girl fashion, by marking off on a little calendar each day at its close; and the number had steadily decreased until very few remained to be crossed off now.She stood before the little calendar on the bedroom wall one night, pencil in hand, and crossed off the twenty-first of December. "Only four more days to Christmas now, and by then, my darling dad will be here. Oh, how I am longing to see him, and tell him everything! I have tried to explain in my letters, but it is so difficult to write just what one feels, and Idowant to feel his hand on my head once more, just as he used to do, and hear his dear voice saying, 'God bless my darling child.'"Here Monica's feelings overcame her, and her eyes brimmed with tears for a moment. But they were soon chased away, and a happy smile played about her lips, as she began to undress, and put the various articles of her attire neatly away. "I do hope he will think I have improved, and that I am growing up a little bit like he wanted me to. If I am, it is all owing to the Herschels," and Monica took up the frame containing the pictured faces of her seaside friends, and gazed thoughtfully at them. "Dear Robina, and--and Leslie, too; what sort of girl should I have been by now, if God had not sent you into my life? I can never, never thank Him enough for all His goodness to me, and so the only thing I can do is to seek to 'walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing,' as my motto says, and do what I can to get others to follow Him, too."Monica never crossed off December the twenty-second on her little calendar; indeed, she forgot all about it, for a telegram the next afternoon informed them that the colonel had already left London, and in less than a couple of hours Monica was in her father's arms."My darling child!""Dearest dad!"What else they said was unintelligible for the next few moments, and then Colonel Beauchamp held his daughter at arm's length, and critically examined her."Shall I pass muster, daddy dear?" she asked, merrily; but there was more behind the words than appeared on the surface.And the proud father, noting the purposeful face, so full of expression, and reading true nobility of character therein, held out his arms, and Monica slipped confidingly into them, while he bent his soldierly head and pressed a long, long kiss upon her broad white brow, murmuring, as he did so, in tones so low as only to reach his daughter's ears: "I think my Monica deserves the V.C., for it is evident she has fought successfully against heavy odds, under fire of the enemy, and won a brilliant victory.""Oh, dad, I don't think I have," whispered the happy girl, her head on his shoulder; "but whatever good there is about me, is all owing to my having enlisted under the banner of Jesus Christ.""His arm hath gotten him the victory," repeated the colonel reverently, and Monica knew that her father understood.
CHAPTER XXII.
"I CANNOT SPARE YOU, MONICA."
Tuesday, September 27th, dawned bright and fair, as all birthdays should, and Monica, girl-like, was full of curiosity as to what presents she would have, beyond the one already promised.
Several inviting-looking packages were laid beside her plate on the breakfast table, and also some letters. Monica made a dash at them, hoping, not without a good deal of misgiving, that there would be one from her father.
"There is!" she exclaimed aloud, in her delight, just as Mrs. Beauchamp entered the dining-room, and greeted her with the old-time wish of "many happy returns," and bestowed upon her one of her rare kisses.
"What is there?" she queried, as she slipped a sealed envelope among the other presents, and took her seat at the head of the table.
"Why, actually a letter from dad, grannie, come on the very day," she explained, in glee, as she held it up. "And here is one from Miss Herschel, too, but she does not know when my birthday is, so that has only come by chance. Isn't that odd?"
"Very," agreed Mrs. Beauchamp, as she began to pour out the coffee. "Now eat your breakfast, and then you can look at your packages."
Either Monica's usually keen appetite was very small, or her digestion very good, on that particular morning, for in a very few minutes she expressed herself as "quite finished," and then began undoing strings and paper with eager fingers.
A dear little pocket Bible "with love from Amethyst and her mother"; a crudely drawn, but wonderfully life-like portrait of Jack, nicely framed, from Olive; a beautifully-worked nightdress-case from Elsa: both inexpensive gifts, for the twins had very little pocket-money. Then there was a very handsome collar for Jack, the united gift of the servants.
"I can't think who this is from," said Monica, taking up the last parcel and hastily cutting the string. "Oh, grannie, do look!" she cried, holding up a plain leather frame containing the photograph of Robina Herschel and her brother, taken together. In the frame was slipped a scrap of paper, bearing the words: "In memory of happy days at Sandyshore."
"Oh, Iamglad to have that!" said Monica, as she gazed upon the pictured features of the two she admired so much, the fair, fragile girl presenting such a contrast to her firm, resolute brother. "I suppose it is in return for the snapshot which Marcus took, that I gave them. But how could they--I mean who could have told them when my birthday was?"
"Probably the letter will explain," suggested Mrs. Beauchamp, who was not quite sure that she approved of adoublephotograph. But a hasty glance at Monica's innocent face disarmed all suspicion.
It soon transpired that Elsa had been the little bird who had been only too ready to tell Miss Herschel when Monica's birthday was; and thus the mystery was quickly cleared up. Robina only wrote a short letter, as they were all very busy getting her brother's things ready for his voyage to Africa. He was to be dismissed, among other missionaries, at a public meeting in London in the course of a few days, and would start for the Soudan almost immediately after. "He sends you his best wishes, not only for your birthday, but for always," the letter concluded, "and says that you will find his good-bye message in Colossians i. 9, 10. We shall miss him terribly, mother and I, but we are quite, quite willing. Perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would spare you to pay us a little visit after Christmas, while your holidays were on. Tell her, mother says we would take the greatest care of you!"
Monica read the last two sentences aloud, before she folded up the letter and put it in its envelope.
"It would be nice, grannie, wouldn't it? I hardly remember going away on a visit to any one."
"We must see," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, in not very gushing tones. Strangely enough, the mere thought of parting with this granddaughter of hers, even for a week or two, filled her with dismay; she had grown to be dependent upon her for company, and the bright, cheery, girlish presence would be sadly missed at Carson Rise now.
And yet, Monica must go out into the world, and make friends and see many phases of life, of which she was utterly ignorant now. So she stifled a sigh, and added: "It is very kind of Mrs. Herschel to invite you, and it would make a nice little change for you, during the winter."
Monica, whose face had fallen somewhat at her grandmother's first remark, brightened up visibly. Shewouldso like to go and stay with the Herschels, and she had been afraid Mrs. Beauchamp meant to refuse her consent, but now the prospect looked more hopeful.
"Two more letters and then I've done," she said gaily, opening the envelope bearing the old lady's handwriting first. Inside it was a crisp, new five-pound note, wrapped in a half-sheet of notepaper.
"Oh, thank you so much, grannie dear!" she said, as she fingered the rustling bit of paper which meant so much for the cause she had at heart: her imagination already pictured all sorts of nice things for China which that sum would procure.
"Are you not sorry now that you did not choose the bicycle?" said her grandmother drily.
"No, grannie, indeed I am not," was the bright response, for down in Monica's young heart was a deep sense of satisfaction that that battle with self had been fought and won the week before; for however much common sense may say to the contrary, the Bible axiom that "it is more blessed to give than to receive" still holds good.
"Now for dad's letter." With a hasty glance at the clock, which told her she had only a few minutes to spare, Monica tore open the thin envelope, and with eager fingers unfolded the closely written sheet. For a few seconds no words were spoken, and then she lifted her face, which was full of excitement and bubbling over with joy.
"Oh, grannie, he's coming home!" she cried; "something quite unexpected has changed all his plans, and instead of the regiment staying out in Simla, it's been ordered home, and when he gets to England, dad's going to retire. Oh, isn't it lovely! Just fancy, grannie, he won't go away from home any more, and he says he will then be able to look after his troublesome child himself, and relieve you of all responsibility. Naughty dad!" she added, while a little thrill of pleasure ran through her at the remembrance of the long letter sent from Sandyshore, which would only just be arriving at Simla then. "I don't think I'm quite so much trouble now, am I, grannie? And I am sure you would miss me just a little bit, wouldn't you?"
She looked up roguishly, and was amazed to see her grandmother's eyes were looking suspiciously wet.
"I cannot spare you, Monica, I could not give you up now," she said tremulously; "your father must make his home here, as long as I live."
A sudden impulse prompted Monica to slip out of her place, and give her grandmother a caress, and a moment later they were locked in each other's arms: the first embrace the girl had ever received from the undemonstrative old lady. But it was only the forerunner of many more; the possibility of losing her grandchild had shown Mrs. Beauchamp how intensely she loved her, and the proud reserve of her nature tottered and fell before the flood of love which came rushing in.
"When does he speak of coming, Monica?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes, and felt if her dainty lace cap was on straight, while Monica returned to her letter.
"He doesn't quite know yet, grannie dear," she replied, glancing it quickly through, "but it might be in time for him to spend Christmas with us. Oh, isn't it almost too splendid, to think of seeing my darling dad quite two years sooner than I had ever dreamt, and then, not just for a little while, but for always!"
And Monica, gathering up all her packages, rushed upstairs to get ready for school in a perfect maze of delight.
She was already behind time, so that she could only put all her letters and presents into a half-empty drawer, to be admired more fully upon her return. But she just managed to look out Leslie Herschel's text, and some of the words, which she never remembered having seen before, fastened themselves upon her memory.
"We ... do not cease to pray for you, and desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will ... that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing."
"What a beautiful 'Good-bye' message," she murmured, as she closed her Bible, and began putting on her hat and coat. "I am sorry to think perhaps I shall never see him again, but I will try to become what he would wish, in case we should ever come across each other in years to come. Dear old dad would like the Herschels, I am sure."
The Franklyns and Amethyst were quite excited at Monica's news which she told them during recreation, until Olive remembered that Colonel Beauchamp's return to Englandmightmean Monica leaving the neighbourhood and school, too; but she soon reassured them, feeling convinced that her father would fall in with her grandmother's wishes. Then she began talking about their work for China, and told them of the five pounds which Mrs. Beauchamp had given her, and which was to be spent on materials. She did not think it necessary to mention that it was in lieu of any other present, and, curiously enough, it did not occur to the girls to ask what her grandmother's real birthday gift to her, personally, had been.
"We must have a committee meeting," said Olive importantly. She had made up her mind to enter heart and soul into the project, but her reason for doing so was very different from the others; she thought, poor child, that by working hard she would be able to drown the voice of conscience, which never rested, and was always accusing her. "I suppose we four will be the committee."
"Yes, if you like," Monica agreed, laughingly; all this was new ground to her. "Where shall we meet?"
"Mother says we can have my old playroom to use just as we like," piped Amethyst, "and we can have the working parties there, too."
"Lovely! Splendid! Just the place."
These, and other similar explanations greeted the proposal, which was unanimously accepted, and arrangements were quickly made for a committee on the following Saturday afternoon, to be followed by an expedition into the town to buy sufficient things to start the work with. Miss Daverel's instructions were expected to arrive at any time, Monica having written to her some days previously.
The bell rang before they had finished planning everything; but enough had been arranged for the time being, and the quartette went into school with very light hearts, and the lessons went well that day. Indeed, Miss Churchill had a model class that term, the greater number of her pupils being intent on doing both their teacher and themselves credit. Her only regret was that the girls would probably all do so well in the examinations that there would be a wholesale removal, and she would lose them all next term! Of Monica she had grown particularly fond. The story of her intercession on Lily Howell's behalf had, of course, become known to the teachers, though it had not been allowed to reach the ears of the girls, and Mary Churchill admired the spirit which had prompted such an action. There was a subtle change in Monica Beauchamp, too, an indefinable something which was rounding off the sharp corners of her disposition, and the teacher could not think what it was. Good and upright as Mary Churchill was, she was, as yet, a stranger to Him Who can make all the crooked places in the lives of His children straight, and the rough places smooth, or she would have recognised His handiwork.
However, she looked on and wondered, as day succeeded day, and the alteration not only lasted, but actually became intensified. Not that Monica became the least bit "goody-goody," even Olive could never say she was that; she was just as bright and laughter-loving as ever, and fond of every kind of fun that did no one any harm. But her companions soon found that it was useless to get her to join in a joke, or laugh, carried out at some one else's expense, and nothing would persuade her to do behind a teacher's back what she would not do before her face!
Lily Howell, watching keenly, noted all these things, and being a quick-witted girl drew her own conclusions. Monica had not proved to be a "libel," and she felt constrained to admire the girl whom she used almost to hate.
Sometimes the remembrance that Lily was judging Christianity by its effect upon her daily life prevented Monica from doing, or saying something, in a moment's thoughtlessness, that would have brought discredit on her Master's cause. But far more often it was the realisation of His presence, unseen, but very real, which kept her from doing that which would grieve Him, for she had taken as her motto Leslie Herschel's text, "Walk worthy of the Lord, unto all pleasing."
Elsa Franklyn, who had been learning very hard lessons lately in the school of sorrow, was a great help to Monica. Indeed, when things went wrong Monica got into the way of telling Elsa all about it, and the quiet, gentle girl, who was so diffident of any attempt at advising the elder one, yet seemed, somehow, to straighten out the tangles in a wonderful way.
Olive, whose unrest made her captious and pettish at times, was sometimes inclined to be jealous of her twin-sister, and angry with Monica for "taking up" with Elsa, instead of being content with her alone, as used to be the case. But when she expostulated with Monica, as she did occasionally, the answer she invariably received, was, "I am just as fond of you as ever, Ollie, you know that quite well; but you see Elsaunderstands, and you don'tyet; that's why I must have a talk with her sometimes."
And Olive, angry with herself for falling short of her friend's expectations, but not willing to take the same step as Monica and Elsa had done, felt that the explanation was even worse than the offence!
CHAPTER XXIII.
"IT'S ALL SURPRISES, NOWADAYS!"
"Now, let's get to business."
And the quartette,aliasthe "China Committee," as Amethyst had playfully nicknamed them, gathered round the large table in the vicarage playroom and began to consider ways and means.
"I've got a box full of patterns, and a long letter from Miss Daverel," began Monica, who had been elected president by virtue of her munificent gift towards the Expenses Fund, and who in consequence, occupied the "chair" at the head of the table. "Let us look at each thing, and I'll read to you how it's made, and then we'll decide whether we can undertake to make some like it, or not."
Half an hour was spent in admiring and examining the eighteen or twenty pretty and useful little "gifts," any, or all, of which, Miss Daverel said would be so acceptable to Chinese girls. Simply made children's clothing, a gaily dressed doll, bright knitted cuffs, a bookmarker, a woollen ball, a gay cretonne bag (containing a thimble, cotton, tiny pair of scissors and a pincushion), a knitted comforter, small Scripture pictures mounted on card--these were some of the articles the box contained.
"Most of them are quite easy to make," said Amethyst, who was keenly interested; "I should like to make a work-bag best, I think."
"I like dressing dolls," said Elsa, who was carefully examining the clothes of the sample she held in her hand.
"Oh, doll's clothes are awfully finicking to make!" was Olive's opinion; "but I think I could paste pictures on cards, like that. What shall you make, Monica?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. I am not much good at needlework. Perhaps I could knit a scarf, or some cuffs. But we must think about going to market first. Who will make a list of what we want?"
"I will." And Olive produced a pencil and paper with alacrity, and by dint of many references to Miss Daverel's directions, for quantities, a list of requisites sufficient to start with was eventually drawn up.
"Now about a working-party, Monica. When shall we begin, and whom shall we ask to join?"
It was unanimously decided that they would meet on Saturday afternoons, for a couple of hours, once a month to begin with, and every fortnight afterwards, if they got on well, and Mrs. Drury and Lois Franklyn were to be asked to take it in turns to superintend things. Several girls' names were proposed, and seconded, as suitable for invitation, and then Monica said she would like to ask Lily Howell.
"Oh, no!" cried Amethyst, in dismay; "we don't want her."
And Olive said: "I should think not, indeed!"
But Monica, who read approval in Elsa's glance, insisted that there was no reason why she should not join them, and realising that Monica was really the prime mover in the whole concern, the other two were reluctantly compelled to acquiesce; Amethyst comforting Olive and herself by remarking: "It's not the least bit likely that she will come, that's one good thing."
But contrary to Amethyst's expectations and wishes, she did. And thus it came to pass, on the following Saturday when the quartette, with very varying feelings, were waiting the arrival of the half-dozen or so of their companions who had promised to come and help them, that Lily Howell was shown into the playroom, the first of any to put in an appearance.
Monica, suddenly overwhelmed with a terrible fit of shyness, shook hands stiffly, and could not think of a single thing to say. But Elsa came to the rescue, and soon interested Lily in the work they were going to do, showing and explaining one thing after another, until the newcomer caught the infection, and was very ready to do her share.
Indeed, that was the general opinion expressed Mrs. Drury, who, at the girls' earnest request, acted as spokeswoman, explained more fully the object of the little working-party, and with happy tact soon set everybody at their ease, having provided each one with exactly the piece of work which she had a fancy for doing.
For at least half an hour the tongues wagged busily, and many were the questions asked, for the work in most cases was quite novel; but eventually all were settled, and then Mrs. Drury read part of a book which Miss Daverel had suggested they should start with--"Children in Blue, and What They Do," one of the most delightful and fascinating books ever written with a view to interesting English girls in their Chinese sisters.
By the end of the afternoon every one of the girls had become quite as enthusiastic as even Monica could wish, and when the new missionary box had been handed round, it began to feel quite heavy.
"What are you going to do with all the things when we have made them?" asked one of the visitors, and Monica replied that they wanted to collect a nice number, and let Miss Daverel have them to take back with her when she returned to China, in about a year; and if they had more than were wanted for her, the missionary had sent the address of a depôt in London, where some ladies would gladly forward any gifts sent to them.
"Are you going to have a working party every Saturday?" Gipsy Monroe enquired, as they folded up their work. She was making a queer little cotton jacket, and was eager to go on with it.
"Only once a month, we thought," replied Monica; "we didn't suppose you would want to come oftener."
But every one insisted that they should meet every fortnight, at least; and so it was arranged.
"Ithasbeen nice, hasn't it?"
It was Amethyst who actually said the words, as they put away the work and cleared up the room after their visitors had gone, preparatory to going down to the dining-room for tea; but all the others were thinking the same thing. There were three very happy girls that evening, at any rate, out of the four.
Amethyst whispered to her mother, in that hour of confidences, when the light is waning outdoors, and the gas has not been lighted within, that she still meant to be a speaker when she grew up, but she was quite, quite sure now that it would have to be about missionary work, instead of temperance; would mumsie mind very much? And Mrs. Drury imprinted a kiss upon the upturned brow, and repressed an inclination to smile at the rapidity with which the alteration in subjects had been made, and said that she thought perhaps there would be plenty of opportunities for her to plead on behalf of both causes, if her little daughter ever became a "platform woman."
Olive slipped her arm through her twin-sister's, as they walked home in the dusk, and talked more frankly than she had done for a long time, and Elsa's heart grew light about her. She felt there was no end to what Olive could do, if once she started in the right direction, for she knew there were immense capabilities in her sister, such as she herself would never possess. And Elsa, who, ever since the meeting at Sandyshore, had had a great desire to become a missionary like Miss Daverel, when she grew up, but felt convinced that she would never be thought suitable, began to hope and pray that God would choose Olive instead. How splendid it would be if Olive, as well as Roger, should some day take the Gospel to the heathen!
Monica being rapidly driven home in the brougham which had been sent for her, reviewed the afternoon with girlish satisfaction. It was nice of the girls to come, nicer of them to be interested, and nicer still that they should be willing to meet more often than they had expected. But it was nicest of all to know (and the knowledge made her very humble) that she, Monica Beauchamp, was being enabled in a strength not her own, to walk along the pathway of life, in a way that was pleasing to her Master and helpful to others.
Mrs. Beauchamp was very interested in hearing all the details of the afternoon's work, and delighted Monica by offering to knit some comforters and cuffs during the long winter evenings that were coming. She would undertake to buy all the wool herself, she said, so that the "Expenses Fund" might last as long as possible.
"That's very kind, grannie," said Monica, with a smile, "for I can see our money will soon melt. We have spent nearly thirty shillings, already!"
"Out of your five pounds? Did none of the others contribute anything?" asked the old lady.
"Oh, yes, seven or eight shillings between them, grannie. But they could not do more: Amethyst has very little pocket-money, I know, and I think the Franklyns are quite poor." Monica dropped her voice to a whisper. Not even to her grandmother could she explain her reasons for thinking so; but first, the barely furnished rooms at the doctor's, and then the very, very simple and inexpensive mourning which was all that could be afforded for the grown-up daughters, as well as for the younger children, told their own tale, which Monica, brought up as she had been in the lap of luxury, thought the essence of poverty.
"The doctor's practice is not so large as his family," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, with grim humour. "When is Elsa's birthday, Monica?" she added, after a short pause.
The girl, who had been thinking deeply, started at the sudden and apparently irrelevant question.
"Why, next Saturday, grannie, the same day as Olive's, of course." What could have made her grandmother ask?
Probably she looked her surprise, for the old lady said: "You need not be afraid I am going to give them five-pound notes to squander on heathen Chinese," but her smile belied her words. "I was wondering how much younger they are than you."
"Just over a year: they will be fifteen on their birthday. It will be a very sad day for them; Olive says Elsa can't bear to think of a birthday without their mother."
"Poor children," said Mrs. Beauchamp, in tones of pity; then, as if to change the subject, she said: "I suppose Amethyst Drury is younger again?"
"Oh, yes, she won't be fifteen until next summer, only she is so quick and clever that she is quite as forward at school as those who are older. I am much the oldest in our form," added Monica, with a sigh. Her backwardness in many subjects had been a source of trouble to her lately.
"I expect you will know enough by the time you leave school, my dear, if you make the most of the next two years," said her grandmother kindly. "I have no fancy for you to become a blue-stocking."
"I am afraid there is no fear of that, grannie!" and Monica laughed merrily. "I am far too big a dunce. Little Thistle will do the best of us all, I expect, but Elsa and Olive have to work hard, because they must earn their living when they leave school. Olive wants to go in for art, she says; and she is so clever at drawing I expect she will get on."
"H'm! it's a pity she hasn't a fancy for cooking or washing," said the old lady bluntly; "either of those occupations would be more likely to provide her with food and clothing than dabbling about with messy paints. I expect my little Elsa is far more sensible, and means to be a home-bird."
"No, grannie, she will have to do something; for Miss Franklyn can manage all the housekeeping. IthinkElsa hopes some day that she might be a nurse in a children's hospital, but she has not said anything about it lately."
"Sensible girl. Now get the book, Monica, and we will have some reading."
It was not until the twins' birthday that Monica realised what all her grandmother's questions were aiming at, and then she understood!
"What time do the girls come, Monica," asked Mrs. Beauchamp, as they sat longer than usual over their breakfast, there being no need to hurry, for Saturday was a whole holiday.
Monica looked up in surprise, for it had been all arranged before that the Franklyns should come at eleven, and remain the whole day at Carson Rise, in order that their birthday might not be spent among surroundings which would remind them continually of their loss. Amethyst Drury had been invited, too.
"At eleven, granny."
"Oh, yes, of course. How are you going to amuse yourselves, Monica?"
"I don't know, I'm sure, grannie; we might get a game of croquet-golf, or tennis, if the grass is dry enough." And Monica looked critically out upon the beautiful lawn, which was the pride of the gardener's heart.
"I have secured a new 'amusement' for you," said Mrs. Beauchamp, her eyes twinkling with fun. "I was going to say 'game,' but it is hardly that."
"What can it be? Not badminton?" queried Monica, all excitement.
"No, not badminton," repeated her grandmother, with a smile. "I hardly think you will guess, so as soon as you have finished breakfast we will go and see it."
"I finished ages ago," said Monica, as she pushed back her chair with alacrity; "I am curious, grannie." And she slipped her arm through the old lady's (a favourite habit nowadays), and they went together to a large summer-house where the croquet and tennis sets were kept.
"Is it a small game, or whatever you call it, grannie?"
"Not very small," was the amused reply, "but here we are, and you can judge for yourself."
She fitted a key in the lock, and opened the door, and Monica gazed in utter astonishment at what she saw; for, resting on its own stand in the middle of the quaint, octagonal summer-house, was a beautiful, perfectly new bicycle!
[image]"MONICA GAZED IN UTTER ASTONISHMENT."
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"MONICA GAZED IN UTTER ASTONISHMENT."
"Oh, grannie!" Only an exclamation, but who can describe all that was contained in those two words? and Monica almost squeezed the breath out of the old lady's body with the energy with which she hugged her.
"There, there, that will do, Monica; don't quite strangle me," protested Mrs. Beauchamp; but all the same, she keenly enjoyed her grandchild's unqualified delight. "Do you like it?" she added, as Monica examined and admired the bicycle to her heart's content.
"I can'tthinkwhy you have given it to me, grannie!" was the answer, if answer it could be called.
And Mrs. Beauchamp said she would find the reason inside the little basket fastened to the handle-bars.
The old lady turned away, and pretended to look out of one of the little coloured glass windows, while Monica read the few words on a tiny card which she found:--
"For an unselfish girl,from her lovingGRANNIE."
A lump rose in Monica's throat as she stepped across the little summer-house and bent down and kissed the face which only a few short months ago she had thought so stern and unlovable.Howdifferent everything was nowadays!
"I didn't do it for a reward, grannie dear," she whispered. "I never dreamt of such a thing. Iquitegave up all thought of the bicycle when I chose the five pounds."
"I know you did, my child," replied the old lady, while she furtively wiped her eyes, which were suspiciously moist, although she was smiling now; "but you see,Ididn't! And as I knew nothing about these things, I took Mr. Bertram into my confidence, and told him to choose just the right kind and size; and I should think he has done his work very well. Now you will have something to amuse your friends with, to-day."
"We shall have to take great care not to knock it about," said Monica.
"Ah! that reminds me: Mr. Bertram advised your learning to ride on an old one first, so I have ordered Brown's to send a man over with one from Osmington this morning, and if you like to spend a little time in having a lesson, he can stay. I daresay the girls would find it amusing."
"To see me tumble off, grannie?" cried Monica merrily.
"Well, don't hurt your ankle again, or anything else," cautioned her grandmother; "I should prefer to hand you over whole to your father when he comes."
The next hour passed quickly, and then the Franklyns and Amethyst arrived.
Monica, all excitement, took them straight to the summer-house, not noticing, in her eagerness, that her friends seemed quite as excited as herself. But they no sooner saw the bicycle than Olive, who could contain herself no longer, exclaimed: "It'sexactlythe same!" and then it was Monica's turn to look puzzled.
However, the mystery was soon cleared up, as she learnt that there had been a great surprise at the doctor's that morning, too; a bicycle, the exact counterpart of Monica's, having been delivered there addressed to, "The Misses Elsa and Olive Franklyn"; and a little note attached to it stated that it was a birthday gift to the twins, with love and best wishes from Mrs. Beauchamp.
"How splendid of grannie!" cried Monica enthusiastically; "now we shall have some lovely rides together."
"Won't it be jolly?" said Olive, who was beside herself with pleasure, and Elsa's quietly happy face was good to see.
"Poor Thistle, you are the only one left out! Never mind, you shall use mine sometimes," Monica said, suddenly remembering that this new departure would make Amethyst feel rather out of it.
She was delighted when Amethyst replied with glee: "But I am going to have one of my own very soon. Father promised me he would get me one this autumn, and he said the other day he had seen one which was just what he liked, only a little too big for me, so he has ordered a smaller-sized one. I meant to have given yousucha surprise."
"I think it's all surprises nowadays," said Monica; "how little any of us dreamt last half-term holiday that we should all be riding our own bicycles before the next one arrived!"
"We wanted to bring ours up to show you," put in Elsa, "but Mrs. Beauchamp, in her note, asked us not to. We were dreadfully afraid that perhaps she didn't want you to know, Monica. But that isn't like her, and it wouldn't have been any pleasure if we couldn't tell you."
"I should think not! Dear old grannie, I can guess why she said that. A man from Osmington is coming up this morning to give us some lessons on an old one. Why, there he is, and grannie too!"
All four girls crossed the lawn, and while the twins were trying in vain to express to Mrs. Beauchamp the delight that her handsome present had given them, Monica and Amethyst spoke to the man, and inspected the bicycle he had brought, and which Jack was sniffing suspiciously.
The greater part of the day, first with the teacher, and afterwards with only each other to hold the machine up, was spent on the wide, straight drive, which was a charming place to practise upon. And if the quartette wereallquite tired out as they bade each other "good-bye," they were all agreed that it was well worth it, to be able to balance themselves and even go a few yards without assistance!
CHAPTER XXIV.
"I THINK MY MONICA DESERVES THE V.C."
The autumn term sped swiftly away. In addition to the school work, which required a great deal of persevering effort to do as well as the quartette aimed at doing theirs that term, Elsa had her music, and Olive attended a school of art for extra lessons in drawing and sepia.
Amethyst, who, as yet, evinced no great talent for any accomplishments, so-called, had a little more spare time than the others, and was therefore able to go occasionally with her mother to visit some of her poor old, or invalid, folk. These visits were a great interest to Amethyst, who had a kind and pitying little heart for sorrow and suffering, and Mrs. Drury wisely encouraged her little daughter to sing, or repeat a few comforting texts to the sad, or lonely, or suffering, as the case might be. Poor old Mrs. Robbins had long since gone to the "City bright" of which Amethyst had sung to her; but in the crowded and squalid streets of the poorer part of St. Paul's parish there were many more who needed temporal as well as spiritual help.
Once, Mrs. Drury took her with her to see Mrs. Hodges, whose cottage was on the Disbrowe estate, and as Amethyst entered the little garden gate, the only occasion on which she had ever been there before recurred vividly to her mind.
"I wonder whether that little old woman is still here, mumsie," she said.
"Hardly likely, dear, but you will soon hear."
It transpired that Granny Wood was there, circumstances having caused her to make her home with her daughter, and the dear old soul, now quite a prisoner through rheumatism to her chair by the fireside, was delighted to see one of the "little missies," of whom, as her daughter explained, she was never tired of talking.
"They was angels without wings to me, that day, ma'am," the old granny asserted; "little missy here, and her friend. But them other two--well, there, I won't say all I thinks! My darter says I ain't no business to bear malice, an' me a Christian body, but I owes this last illness o' mine to that there bouncin' h'animal." And the wrinkled old face looked as nearly cross as it was possible for her apple-cheeks and faded blue eyes to manage.
Amethyst looked subdued, and Mrs. Drury hastened to explain that she was sure the girls had not meant to be really unkind, and that both of them had learnt since what suffering meant, and she went on to tell of the death of Olive's mother.
"Dear, dear; poor lamb!" ejaculated Granny Wood, commiseratingly, all her animosity gone; "to think o' that now, and me a-grumblin' at 'er an' all."
"And Monica Beauchamp, the other one, you know," put in Amethyst, "she is quite different now. She tries to be kind to everybody, because Jesus was always kind."
"Praise the Lord, missy," cried the old woman, in quavering tones; "then I'll never say aught agin' either of 'em again; but I'll just keep on asking the Almighty to bless every one of you, and make you all blessings every day of your lives."
Amethyst and her mother walked home rather silently, until they reached the spot where the bicycle accident had happened that memorable afternoon.
"It must have been just here," said the little girl, as they passed the place. "I remember Olive saying the motor was pulled up by that tree. It was a good thing Mr. Howell went by just then, wasn't it, mumsie?"
"Yes, dear," agreed Mrs. Drury.
"Sucha lot has happened since then," continued Amethyst, who was in a retrospective mood. "Everything seemed to begin with that half-term holiday."
"What do you mean, girlie?"
"Why, mumsie, Mrs. Beauchamp used to be so cross, and now she's the nicest old dear possible; and Monica was nasty and uppish, you know, at first. I didn't think I evercouldlike her, and now I think she's almost too good to live, sometimes! And Olive is nicer too, although I shall always like my darling Elsa best." Here Amethyst paused, from sheer want of breath, for her tongue always ran twice as quickly as other people's.
"Is that all, girlie?" put in Mrs. Drury, who was much amused at the comparisons, but felt they were truthfully if somewhat quaintly made.
"Oh, no! There's Lily Howell, justthinkhow she's altered. I don't believe any one would know her nowadays who knew her then; she's so well behaved, and speaks quietly, and seldom gets into trouble at school. I'm so glad Mrs. Howell buys plain hats and things for her now," Amethyst ran on. "I don't believe she could help being vulgar when she wore such hideously gaudy hats and dresses."
"What has Lily's clothing to do with the bicycle accident? You have wandered a long way from that," remarked her mother, with a smile.
"Oh, mumsie, I haven't! It's just because Lily wants to copy everything Monica does now, that she is so much more lady-like. I think she nearly worships Monica."
"Hush, Amethyst! Don't speak like that, dear," reproved her mother; "I can quite understand that Lily feels she owes a good deal to her. I hope that she will one day be a star in Monica's crown. I am so glad that they have begun to attend St. Paul's."
"Mrs. Howell and Lily were both at church twice last Sunday, mumsie, and Mr. Howell was there in the evening. I remember noticing him, because I did think father must have chosen his text on purpose for him, only of course he didn't, because he couldn't possibly have known he would be there."
And Mrs. Drury, who had vivid recollections of the intense earnestness with which her husband had preached from Mark viii. 36, on the subject of Eternal Profit and Loss, said, softly, as they turned in at the Vicarage gates: "Father always asks God to give him the right text to preach from, girlie, andHeknew just who would be hearing the sermon."
Shrewd little Amethyst had been fairly correct in her rough-and-ready epitome of the happenings of the last six months, which had certainly left their mark on all concerned, and, in every case, for the better, to a greater or smaller degree.
The missionary working-party prospered and increased, and, by the time Christmas drew near, the number of members had risen to fourteen; quite a large drawer full of "gifts" had been already neatly and carefully made, and the Expenses Fund was almost exhausted! The committee began to consider how it was to be replenished, and hazy ideas of "collecting" (which they dreaded) or else having a little sale of work during the Christmas holidays, formed in their enthusiastic minds.
But they were still only ideas, when, one Saturday afternoon, Lily Howell, who, upon one pretext or another, had waited until all but the quartette had gone, slipped a sealed envelope into Monica's hand, and merely whispering: "Pa told me to give it to you," was gone before the astonished girl could say a word.
The excitement of the committee when they found that the envelope contained a cheque for £10, "To be used for your Chinese folks, and ask for more when you want it," was tremendous.
"How splendid! Now we sha'n't have either to beg, borrow, or steal," cried Olive. "It is a good thing we let Lily come, after all."
And Monica, who remembered the opposition which she had met with upon proposing Lily's name, could not refrain from smiling.
Those were happy days for Monica: her school life was most interesting, and now that she bicycled into Osmington, instead of being dependent upon the pony-trap, she enjoyed the ride to and fro immensely, especially as either one or two of her friends accompanied her most of the way to Carson Rise, on the days that she remained at school until the afternoon, for music or some other extra.
Then the missionary work was a source of great pleasure to her, and her enthusiasm was kept very keen by long letters from Robina Herschel, and an occasional one from Miss Daverel.
Sometimes, when Monica was poring over a missionary magazine, or exercising her ingenuity in making something fresh for the girls to copy at the working-party, her grandmother would tease her by saying she was "missionary mad." But Monica would only look up and smile, knowing that in her heart of hearts the old lady was well-content that her grandchild should seek to help forward, even in the simplest way, the spread of the "good news," which had brought light at eventide to her own dark heart.
And every day was bringing Colonel Beauchamp nearer. Several letters had come from him, but in none of them had he been able, definitely, to say when he would reach England; he hoped, as he had said at first, to spend Christmas Day at home, but it was uncertain. Monica was counting the days, in true school-girl fashion, by marking off on a little calendar each day at its close; and the number had steadily decreased until very few remained to be crossed off now.
She stood before the little calendar on the bedroom wall one night, pencil in hand, and crossed off the twenty-first of December. "Only four more days to Christmas now, and by then, my darling dad will be here. Oh, how I am longing to see him, and tell him everything! I have tried to explain in my letters, but it is so difficult to write just what one feels, and Idowant to feel his hand on my head once more, just as he used to do, and hear his dear voice saying, 'God bless my darling child.'"
Here Monica's feelings overcame her, and her eyes brimmed with tears for a moment. But they were soon chased away, and a happy smile played about her lips, as she began to undress, and put the various articles of her attire neatly away. "I do hope he will think I have improved, and that I am growing up a little bit like he wanted me to. If I am, it is all owing to the Herschels," and Monica took up the frame containing the pictured faces of her seaside friends, and gazed thoughtfully at them. "Dear Robina, and--and Leslie, too; what sort of girl should I have been by now, if God had not sent you into my life? I can never, never thank Him enough for all His goodness to me, and so the only thing I can do is to seek to 'walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing,' as my motto says, and do what I can to get others to follow Him, too."
Monica never crossed off December the twenty-second on her little calendar; indeed, she forgot all about it, for a telegram the next afternoon informed them that the colonel had already left London, and in less than a couple of hours Monica was in her father's arms.
"My darling child!"
"Dearest dad!"
What else they said was unintelligible for the next few moments, and then Colonel Beauchamp held his daughter at arm's length, and critically examined her.
"Shall I pass muster, daddy dear?" she asked, merrily; but there was more behind the words than appeared on the surface.
And the proud father, noting the purposeful face, so full of expression, and reading true nobility of character therein, held out his arms, and Monica slipped confidingly into them, while he bent his soldierly head and pressed a long, long kiss upon her broad white brow, murmuring, as he did so, in tones so low as only to reach his daughter's ears: "I think my Monica deserves the V.C., for it is evident she has fought successfully against heavy odds, under fire of the enemy, and won a brilliant victory."
"Oh, dad, I don't think I have," whispered the happy girl, her head on his shoulder; "but whatever good there is about me, is all owing to my having enlisted under the banner of Jesus Christ."
"His arm hath gotten him the victory," repeated the colonel reverently, and Monica knew that her father understood.