Chapter XXXIII: This Glorious World!

"OH, it is a glorious world!" Magda exclaimed.

At six o'clock she had roused up, wide awake. Breakfast would not be until past nine. To waste two more long hours in bed, waiting for an "early" cup of tea was out of the question. The radiant sunshine, the dew-besprinkled lawn, the great cedar of Lebanon with its flat outspread branches, the distant blue hills, all enticed her. So she sprang up and dressed with speed; and after a short time given to her devotions, she ran softly down the wide staircase, meeting no one by the way, and slipped out at a side-door which she noiselessly unbolted.

Everybody else was resting or asleep, unless perhaps in kitchen regions. Only she out here, with sunshine and dew, birds and insects, enjoying herself. Why did not others do the same? If Ned should come, that would mean perfection!

Even without him it was very near perfection. Such a lovely place—such masses of flowers—such luxuriant trees with branches sweeping the ground—such velvet lawns! She set off at full speed, going from one part to another with ever-increasing delight, till she reached a little "view-spot" on the top of a hillock, where creepers had been trained as a background to a sheltered rustic seat, and a wide extent of country broke upon the sight. She stood drinking it eagerly in; and—

"Oh, it is a glorious world!" escaped her lips.

"Yes, it is," a voice said. To her surprise, there stood Mr. Miles.

"Isn't it lovely?" she exclaimed. "And you are up too! I thought I was the only one. It seems a shame to lie in bed and lose this!"

He pointed out to her some of the main features in the landscapes, naming two or three distant hills. Then they sat down, and somehow—Magda could not afterwards recall what had led to it—she found herself talking about the use she had made of life in this same wonderful world. Mr. Miles certainly asked a question or two—but she forgot what the questions had been.

"I did mean once to study hard," she said. "When I first left school, I mean. There was plenty of time—then—and Rob said I ought, so as to prepare for future work. But somehow—I never kept it up. And now Pen is married, I am much less free. I'm supposed to do heaps of stupid little fidgets, and I never know when I shall be wanted. And—is it right? Ought I to be always doing such things, instead of finding time for more important work?"

"It seems that when you had the time you did not use it. What sort of 'things' are they? And what is the more important work that you propose to do?"

"I don't know. I've wanted for ever so long to find some work really worth doing. And the little things are—oh, just what Pen used to do. Things for the house; and going out with mother; and writing notes; and tidying up."

"Home duties, in short. Now that you are the eldest daughter, they must come first."

"Merryl could do them!"

"But if they fall to your lot, you must not shirk them. Think! Now is your chance to do all you can to brighten the lives of your father and mother. The opportunity will not last for ever!" Magda gave one startled glance, as if the suggestion had gone home. "And the duties which lie ready to our hands are generally the important ones in life—for us."

"They seem so poor—just frittering away the hours."

"If they are given you to do, it is no question of frittering away. It becomes a matter simply of obedience."

She repeated the word—"Obedience?"

Magda almost thought he had not heard, for he seemed lost in thought. Soon he aroused himself.

"Once upon a time," he said, "a carpet was being woven by hand in an eastern land. Many men were employed upon it; and to each his separate task was given. If he failed—either the whole would be spoilt, or his share would be given to another. To a visitor from far-off, who stood looking as they worked, it appeared a mere jumble of shapeless figures and ill-assorted colours, with no definite plan, not worth the trouble expended on it. But long after, when that same traveller saw the carpet in its completed state, he found it to be a thing of wonderful richness and beauty, of fine design and splendid colouring. For he saw it then on its right side—whereas he had seen it before on its wrong side. And those men, as they worked, could see little beyond the small portion under their own eyes. They could not judge of the effect of the whole, till the day when it should be finished."

Silence again; and Magda said, "You mean—?"

"A world-wide carpet is being woven through the ages. And only the Divine Master-Mind, having designed its pattern, can foresee what it will be like in the end. Many, many, are at work upon it. One little square inch of the weaving is given to me as my life-task, and another little square inch is given to you. Neither of us can see much beyond our own tiny share. What we have to do may seem to us out of harmony with the rest, or not worth the trouble of doing. Sometimes our whole work looks like failure. But we cannot judge. It is impossible for us in this life to see which task is the more important—still less, to decide which is the better done. We only know that it is in the faithful working out of our own appointed task, great or small—in doing it for our dear Master and by His help—that we may hope to win by-and-by His loving—'Well done!'"

"Only it's so awfully difficult to find out what one really has to do."

"Granted, in certain cases, such a difficulty! There is always the promise that he who wills to do God's Will, shall be shown that Will. He may have to wait; but in time it will be made clear."

"And till then—?"

"Till then—there are always the little homely duties ready to hand; small kindnesses, small self-denials. The one thing that we are never called to is—careless drifting. Never despise the tiniest deed which may add a feather's weight to anybody's happiness; or which may aid in the right shaping of our own characters."

"I suppose one ought to think about that."

"Certainly. We are put into this earthly school—this glorious world, Magda!—for the express purpose that our characters may be formed for the great Future. And while we are here, our God graciously uses us, if we are willing, to do some of His work. The more fully we submit to His training, and the more we strive with His help to make ourselves ready, the more likely it is that, at some crucial moment, He will find in us just what He needs."

Magda thought of her recent lost opportunity. Was Mr. Miles thinking of it too?

"And—if we fail—"

"Then we are losers. One thing is certain—that failure after failure in ordinary temptations must lead to failure when extraordinary temptations come. Each hour that we live helps to shape future hours."

"But I suppose—other chances do come, in time."

"Yes, my child. Don't be discouraged by past failures. Go on in hope and courage!" Magda glanced up into the kind face. "If Christ our dear Lord is your Master and Friend, there's no need to despond. Trust in Him more fully—lean upon Him more utterly—and that will lead to victory. That alone can. Without Him we are powerless."

"Is everybody called to—something particular?" Magda asked after a pause.

"Yes. God has need of us all—each for some particular task. We have each to live our lives, to do our work. And life is short; it comes only once. There are hundreds of people, kind-hearted well-meaning people, who let the years slide by, just pleasing themselves, and doing practically nothing for God. Don't be betrayed into that. Home duties come first, and ought to come first. But there are great needs, all over the world, for workers; and it is not necessary that three or four girls should give themselves to that which one could easily do alone. The chorus of outside calls must also be heard."

"And if—if one should want to go—and if—one's father should say No?"

"Then just put it all into the Hands of God and wait for His guidance. Wait!—But be ready to act, the moment the way becomes clear. And meanwhile, do your very best to make ready for an opening when it comes. Time given to preparation is never wasted."

Magda was musing gravely. It might be, in time, though Pen was married, that Merryl would suffice for the home needs, and that she herself would be free to go elsewhere.

Time was getting on; and Mr. Miles stood up. As they turned towards the house, he repeated aloud—

"'Birds by being glad their Maker bless,
By simply shining, Sun and Star;
And we whose law is Love, serve less
By what we do than what we are.'"

"Not that the 'doing' is not needful; but that, to be, is what matters above all. Simple shining is often a great deal harder than active work. Still—there the work is, needing to be done; and it must not be neglected."

In the front flower-garden they came across two other early risers; Patricia and Robert. Both were smiling. Rob touched Magda's arm.

"I want your congratulations," he said.

She looked puzzled. "What for?"

"Patricia will go to Canada with me!"

"Oh, Rob! I am glad!" cried Magda. She was honestly glad, honestly delighted, both for him and for Patricia. But this involved no "opportunity," no contest with her own desires. Life with Rob had ceased to be the one thing wanted. She did not now even wish to keep house for him, since that would involve leaving England. A more absorbing attraction existed here.

Another and a very real test awaited her not far ahead. And, as often happens, it was to come from a quarter least expected.

Was she by this time better fitted to meet it? She had learnt to know herself more; she had found her own weakness; she had begun to look upward for help in the battle. Victory in small skirmishes of late might make all the difference in her next hard fight.