Chapter XIX: Ada's Story

DR. ARUNDEL used to go in each morning and evening to see Ada, but the visits were not very satisfactory to either of them.

She was afraid of adding to his grief by showing her own, and generally answered his questions as briefly as possible, keeping a composed face, which was truly much more painful to him than tears would have been.

On his part, he felt obliged to keep up the same self-control. Such grief as his could only be borne by putting it in the background, and living a life apart from it.

One evening, however, before Ada had yet ventured from her room, her father tapped at the door and entered.

She was still in bed, but looking better. Just now her eyes were red with weeping, and Dr. Arundel sat down by her side, and took her hand in silence.

Ada tried to rouse herself; and quietly wiped away her tears. Her father bent down and kissed her, saying kindly, "Is anything special troubling you, my dear?"

"It is, papa, that she can never know—"

"I think she will, dear; and I have been thinking, too, of the best way of being sure she will know."

"How?" asked Ada, checking her sobs.

"By helping to bring all whom she loved to be stars in her Saviour's crown."

"Oh, papa, I feel as if I should never do anything again! Life is worth nothing without her."

Dr. Arundel paused; he seemed unable to answer, and a heavy, heavy sigh escaped him; but after a minute he said:

"Ada, I am afraid that is a very rebellious thought. Shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"

"Oh, I can't, papa," said Ada bitterly.

"You cannot make yourself, my dear; but He can make you. Ada, submit. Oh, my child, it must come sooner or later! You are His, and He sends it in love. It is so, though we cannot see it now; but I can, and do trust Him that it is so."

Ada lay silently looking in the face which seemed almost grey with sorrow. She pressed his hand earnestly, with filling eyes.

"Think of it, my dear, and ask Him to enable you to do His will, not only by submitting, but by acquiescing."

"Papa!"

"I mean it, dear. Being willing to carry out His perfect will."

Ada felt, as he wished her good-night, that this would never, never, be possible.

But before she fell asleep that night, she had taken the first and the most difficult step in the ladder of self-surrender.

She had prayed to be made willing.

The next morning, when Nellie came in to take away her breakfast tray, she was already half dressed.

"Ada!" exclaimed her sister, astonished. "Can you, dear? Are you well enough?"

"Yes, Nellie, I am getting on very well; you go about your business. When I am dressed, I shall go into the nursery. I'm afraid I've been very selfish."

"They will be so glad to have you," said Nellie, thankful that her sister was so far recovering.

They were very glad to have her, though greatly surprised to see her sitting there when they returned from their early walk.

How tall and slim she looked in her new black dress. Ada had felt at first as if she could not put it on; but when she had taken down her usual frock, she put it hastily back again, glad that Nellie's thoughtfulness had placed the other where she could get it without asking.

The little ones gathered round her, and many were the inquiries as to whether she was "better." They looked with somewhat of awe in their faces; for Ada had not been able to bear their presence in her room, and she felt quite a stranger to them.

They showed her their work, and she was ready to admire and praise, while Dolly's performance was duly inspected.

No one touched on the tender ground of their sorrow. The little girls felt instinctively that Ada would not be able to bear it, and they therefore did their best to comfort her in their own loving little way.

Ada shrank from going down to the empty rooms, and told Mary she should have meals with them till she felt stronger. Mary gladly consented, and was herself cheered with the prospect of someone to talk to.

"Where is Tom?" asked Ada.

"He is downstairs now," said Isabel, slightly grumbling; "he is always there; we do miss him so."

"Yes," said Netta; "but Nellie said she thought he would miss —;" she paused, and then remembering her father's words, she went on gently, "miss dear mamma less if he were downstairs with her, and Christina, and Arthur."

"It is quite right," said Ada; "dear little Tom."

"We don't have any school," Isabel observed rather dolefully. "Nellie has been so busy, and all; but the days do seem so long."

Ada looked up. "Perhaps to-morrow I might give you lessons, till I go back to school myself."

"We've nothing to do to-day," said Netta.

"I suppose you're not well enough to tell us a tiny story, are you, Ada?" asked Dolly, looking coaxingly up in her face.

"I will try," answered Ada, "because I've been thinking of one, and perhaps it will do you good, like it did me. Get your work, children."

Mary took out her basket, and sat down to listen; the little girls ran to the cupboard to fetch theirs, and soon they settled down to quietness.

"Come, Cecil," said Ada to the baby, patting her knee invitingly, "you must be my boy now."

She took him up on her lap, and made him lean against her. Something in her eyes must have won him, for he did not generally condescend to notice her; but to-day, whether from a certain unexplainable void in his own little heart, or because his sister looked so very lovingly at him, she could not tell, but he nestled his little head against her so confidingly, that Ada felt it very difficult to go on with her story. At last she said, looking up at them:

"But you will think I am never going to begin.

"It is a story I once read. I do not know that I can tell it you in the same words, nor do I know where I read it, but I am sure you will like it," she said.

"There was once a large vessel. She was making a long voyage, and there were a great many people on board.

"She had been driven out of her course by long stress of bad weather, and, unable to reach the port where they usually took in water, the people began to be very short of it.

"At first they were reduced to a very small quantity, but as the days passed on they had less and less, and at last every drop of fresh water was gone.

"Oh, how desolate and sad were those poor forlorn people! Oh, the terrible pangs which that thirst gave them!

"They stood on deck straining their eyes for the sight of land, or for a friendly ship which might give them a little, till they should reach the port.

"Worse and worse got that thirst, and as the sun's rays poured down upon them, they would many of them have exchanged their misery for death, if they could have chosen.

"At last a sail came in sight. They made signals of distress, and then waited in agony to see if they would be attended to.

"Yes; the steamer altered her course and came slowly—oh, so slowly it seemed!—towards them.

"The captain had signalled that they were short of water; but as the steamer came nearer, what was the dismay of the despairing crew to find that she was not intending to stop, or put down a boat!

"The captain of the distressed ship took a trumpet and shouted, 'Water! Water! We are dying. For mercy's sake give us some water!'

"And the captain of the steamer answered back through his trumpet the mocking reply, 'Dip down your buckets and drink!'

"On sped the steamer on her way, with her flag gaily flying, while the dying, thirsting people bemoaned themselves in bitter wailing.

"Yet thoughts of the captain of the steamer having taken the trouble to come miles out of his way to tell them what he did, came over them. No one would have taken so much trouble were he ever so cruel, they thought.

"'Let us try his advice,' said one.

"When they drew up the bucket of sparkling water, it was found to be fresh, and clear, and life-giving!

"Then the captain knew that they were sailing calmly in the mouth of the great river Amazon, and that while they had been almost dying for want of fresh water, it had surrounded them all the time!"

* * * * * * *

"And I have been thinking, children, that this is just like Jesus.

"We, like those sailors, sorrowful, and helpless, and thirsty, are longing to get to port, that we may be satisfied and lose our misery; and there, all the while, is the life-giving water close to us, only waiting for us to let down the bucket of our faith, and drink, and find that He satisfies every need."