Chapter VIII: Thoughts and Revelations

INSTEAD of obeying her angry master and leaving the house, Bridget went down stairs to the parlors, where a scene of confusion met her eye, such as would have carried dismay to the heart of her young mistress. Her resolve was taken at once to bear and forbear, if she might be allowed to stay, for the sake of the desolate child-wife so far away from all her friends.

She ran up to the attic to lay aside her bonnet and shawl, and looked in upon Gertrude to say:

"Be aisy, ma'am; Bridget McCarty's not the girl to lave ye whin ye need a stout arm and a willing heart."

"I tried to go down," faltered the young wife, "but I grew giddy at once."

It was when she was left alone that, supporting herself by a chair, she walked to the window and looked down into the street.

Just passing were two young girls, whom she had often watched during the winter as they merrily wended their way to school; their books under their arms.

She sighed as she reflected, "They are just my age; and I might have been going to school, as happy and free from care as they, if it had not been for my obstinacy and self-will. Now I am far away from all who love me, with not one, but a poor servant girl, to speak a word of sympathy or affection."

A merry burst of laughter from a group of younger children grated harshly on her ear; and she murmured:

"How long it seems since I was merry! Oh, Hannah! Oh, Edward! you're prophecies have come true! I am sorry I did not heed your advice. I deserve to be miserable." With these sad reflections she sank into the lounging chair and burying her face in her hands, sobbed as I have described at the commencement of the last chapter.

In a few minutes her grief had exhausted itself and lying there, with her eyes fixed on the clear, blue sky, her thoughts went backward to Rose Cottage.

Though ignorant and unaccomplished, Hannah had carefully taught her the sacred truths revealed in the word of God. She knew that man alienated from his Maker, could never experience perfect joy. She knew that the love of the Father had provided a way whereby his sinful children might secure, not only temporal, but eternal good. Every Sabbath she had heard of Christ's love to fallen man; again and again she had listened to the words, "'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'" "'For the Son of man is come to seek and save that which was lost.'"

These gracious promises had indeed often fallen on her ear as they were repeated in church by her good pastor; but never till now did they seem so full of meaning. For the first time in her young life she felt the need of an almighty Friend; for the first time, the prayer went up from her heart as well as from her lips:

"O, God, do help me!"

Poor child! in her deep sorrow she was beginning to seek the Lord, "if haply she might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us."

"He is in the heavens," she said softly. "Can he hear me?" If she had but known it, her heavenly Father was by her side; his heart yearning over her with compassion and tenderness. The Holy Spirit was there too, waiting to take the things of Christ and reveal them unto her.

While she was in this softened frame, she heard the ring of the door bell. Instantly all thought was suspended in one absorbing fear that Paul had returned with Bridget's successor;—that he would be terribly angry; and that his harsh words would kill her.

Listening intently she heard low voices talking in the hall, and presently a light footstep mounting the stairs.

"May I come in?" inquired a cheerful voice.

It was Marion Gilbert; and a quick flush of pleasure for one instant brightened Gertrude's pale cheeks. She put out her arms like a wearied child; and then received Marion's tender kiss with a burst of joyful tears.

"I've been sick all the morning, and Bridget has so much to do," she began, apologizing.

"I shall feel like a stranger if you make excuses;" urged the visitor, "and I came to ask you if you want a sister. If you do, I shall take off my bonnet and go to work. There's always so much to do after a party."

"Oh, Marion! you don't know how much I need one. Bridget is the only friend I have in this whole city." She said this without the least intention of reproaching her husband; but her kind friend understood well how disappointed her hopes must be when his name was not excepted.

"Mamma calls me a very energetic girl," she said laughing; "and I mean to prove to you that I am. The first thing is to get you some breakfast, for I suspect you haven't had any."

"Oh, yes, I have!" pointing to the half empty cup.

"Do you like coffee?"

"Very much; but Bridget can't make it nice."

"I'll teach her."

She brought a pillow and laid the weary head tenderly upon it; gave the wondering child a kiss, and ran away saying, "Lie there, and remember there are three persons who love you, papa, mamma and your humble sister."

What power there is in a few kind words. Life looked very different to poor Gertrude, viewing it from the new aspect. She had long ago committed to memory a verse of Scripture. "Ask and ye shall receive." She had with her whole heart asked God to help her, and how speedily relief had come. Her thoughts were not distinct, as I have given them; but there was an indefinite feeling, that her heavenly Father was nearer than she had thought; and was watching over her, together with a resolution to cast her cares, for the future, on him.

Before she had begun to expect Marion back, she heard laughing in the hall. How pleasant it sounded.

"No, I can't take both, my dress is too long. I'll carry the cup; and you may take the waiter."

Before they entered the room the pleasant aroma had revived the sick child; and oh, how good it did taste! Bridget stood by, her face lighted up by such a look of pleasure that it made her almost handsome.

"Now finish clearing off the dishes," said Marion, in that clear, decided tone which servants love to obey. "I'll be down directly and put away all the dainties. Do you think you shall remember about the coffee?"

"That I shall, miss; and I'll always be thanking yees as long as the breath of life is in me."

"You must eat every mouthful of this nice toast and the egg with it. Don't you like dropped egg?"

"It tastes just like home," was the contented reply.

"Bridget has work enough for the whole morning," said Marion; "and I am going to be nursery girl as well as cook." She turned down the bed clothes and threw the bolster near the open window to air, while she picked up the various articles of dress about the chamber. At last she turned to Gertrude and said gayly, "It's for sisters to know each other's ages. I'm twenty next month."

"And I was sixteen the day I left home. Paul wished to be married the August before; but my brother would not consent."

"Of course not." Marion did not add what she thought. "He must be an idiot to consent at all."

"I had such a dear home," Gertrude went on. "I told you last night it was called Rose Cottage. I wish you could see it; and such a good kind Hannah. She is not a common servant. She was mamma's friend; and mamma gave me to her, and to Edward in charge. I don't mind telling you that I acted very badly; and when they begged and plead with me not to leave home till I was two or three years older at least, and had been to school; for really, Marion, I know nothing, I wouldn't listen to them. I just repeated the words Paul told me to use. 'I have given my promise; and unless he wishes to be free, I shall keep my word.' Now I know that I am not fit to be a wife; and have the care of a family. Paul says, I'm a natural fool; and I'm afraid it's true, for I see so many girls of my age, who know a great deal, and can spell every word of a letter without looking in a dictionary."

Marion was obliged to bite her lips to keep her indignation within bounds, at this artless revelation. She had heard the story of the exposed letter; and ever since had found her heart drawn out toward the unprotected child.

Gertrude, greatly revived by the most appetizing meal she had partaken for months, prattled on, revealing every moment traits which drew out the listener's sympathies more closely.

When the room was put in nice order, Marion looked at her watch.

"Oh, how the time flies!" she exclaimed. "I should so love to sit down and talk with you; but I promised Bridget to help her. By the way, she is very fond of you, and though awkward, she is teachable; much better than the average."

"I'm afraid Paul wont let her stay. She broke a glass dish this morning," was the timid answer.

"We'll try to contrive somehow to keep her. Now if I shut the blinds, can you sleep?"

"If you'll promise to wake me as soon as you've done. It's so nice to have you here. I wish Hannah and Edward knew what a friend I have found. Do you know," she added in a reverent tone, "I think God sent you here."

"I am sure he did, my sweet sister." Marion's eyes grew dim as she looked into the wishful face; but not being a sentimental girl she winked the tears out of sight, and added gayly:

"Pleasant dreams to you of home and Edward."