FROM that day a new life began for Christie, a happy, quiet, useful life, utterly¹ unlike any of the brilliant futures² she had planned for herself; yet indescribably pleasant to her now, for past experience had taught her its worth, and made her ready to enjoy it.

 

Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never had such a crop of hopeful thoughts and happy feelings sprung up in her heart as now; and nowhere was there a brighter face, a blither voice, or more willing hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.

 

This was what she needed, the protection of a home, wholesome³ cares and duties; and, best of all, friends to live and labor⁴ for, loving and beloved. Her whole soul was in her work now, and as health returned, much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it, a little sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever. No task was too hard or humble⁵; no day long enough to do all she longed to do; and no sacrifice would have seemed too great for those whom she regarded with steadily⁶ increasing love and gratitude⁷.

 

Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture⁸ of the birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune⁹, and gave her Nature's most healing balm. She kept the little house in order, with Mrs. Sterling¹⁰ to direct and share the labor so pleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like mother and daughter, and Christie often said she did not care for any other wages.

 

The house-work of this small family was soon done, and then Christie went to tasks that she liked better. Much out-of-door life was good for her, and in garden and green-house there was plenty of light labor she could do. So she grubbed contentedly¹² in the wholesome earth, weeding and potting, learning to prune¹³ and bud, and finding Mrs. Wilkins was quite right in her opinion of the sanitary¹⁴ virtues¹⁶ of dirt.

 

Trips to town to see the good woman and carry country gifts to the little folks; afternoon drives with Mrs. Sterling in the old-fashioned chaise, drawn¹⁷ by the Roman-nosed horse, and Sunday pilgrimages to church to be "righted up" by one of Mr. Power's stirring sermons, were among her new pleasures. But, on the whole, the evenings were her happiest times: for then David read aloud while she worked; she sung to the old piano tuned¹⁸ for her use; or, better still, as spring came on, they sat in the porch, and talked as people only do talk when twilight¹⁹, veiling the outer world, seems to lift the curtains of that inner world where minds go exploring, hearts learn to know one another, and souls walk together in the cool of the day.

 

At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of another David than the busy, cheerful man apparently²⁰ contented¹¹ with the humdrum²¹ duties of an obscure, laborious²² life, and the few unexciting pleasures afforded by books, music, and much silent thought. She sometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under this composed, commonplace existence another life went on; for, now and then, in the interest of conversation, or the involuntary yielding to a confidential²³ impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed an unexpected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter memory that would not be ignored.

 

Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses, and so brief, so indistinct, were they that she half believed her own lively fancy created them. She longed to know more; but "David's trouble" made him sacred in her eyes from any prying²⁴ curiosity, and always after one of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so like his unromantic self next day, that she laughed and said:

 

"I never shall outgrow²⁵ my foolish way of trying to make people other than they are. Gods are gone, heroes hard to find, and one should be contented with good men, even if they do wear old clothes, lead prosaic²⁶ lives, and have no accomplishments²⁷ but gardening, playing the flute²⁸, and keeping their temper."

 

She felt the influences of that friendly place at once; but for a time she wondered at the natural way in which kind things were done, the protective care extended over her, and the confiding²⁹ air with which these people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded no explanations, seemed unconscious of conferring favors, and took her into their life so readily that she marvelled³⁰, even while she rejoiced, at the good fortune which led her there.

 

She understood this better when she discovered, what Mr. Power had not mentioned, that the little cottage was a sort of refuge for many women like herself; a half-way house where they could rest and recover themselves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness that come to such in the battle of life.

 

With a chivalry³¹ older and finer than any Spenser sung, Mr. Power befriended these forlorn souls, and David was his faithful squire³². Whoever knocked at that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed; comforted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened by the sweet good-will that made charity no burden, and restored to the more desperate and despairing their faith in human nature and God's love.

 

There are many such green spots in this world of ours, which often seems so bad that a second Deluge³³ could hardly wash it clean again; and these beneficent, unostentatious asylums³⁵ are the salvation³⁶ of more troubled souls than many a great institution gilded³⁷ all over with the rich bequests³⁸ of men who find themselves too heavily laden³⁹ to enter in at the narrow gate of heaven.

 

Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns from the crowded, dusty highway down the green lane that leads to these humble inns, where the sign of the Good Samaritan is written on the face of whomsoever opens to the stranger, and refreshment⁴⁰ for soul and body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the poor.

 

Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish left him but little time to visit any but the needy⁴¹. Christie enjoyed these brief visits heartily⁴², for her new friends soon felt that she was one of them, and cordially took her into the large circle of workers and believers to which they belonged.

 

Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan⁴³ asylum³⁴, and every lonely creature found a welcome there. He could rebuke⁴⁴ sin sternly, yet comfort and uplift the sinner with fatherly compassion⁴⁵; righteous wrath⁴⁶ would flash from his eyes at injustice⁴⁷, and contempt sharpen his voice as he denounced hypocrisy⁴⁸: yet the eyes that lightened would dim with pity for a woman's wrong, a child's small sorrow; and the voice that thundered would whisper consolation⁴⁹ like a mother, or give counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.

 

He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to lead his people out of the bondage⁵⁰ of dead superstitions⁵¹, and go before them through a Red Sea of persecution⁵² into the larger liberty and love all souls hunger for, and many are just beginning to find as they come doubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pioneers as he have planted in the wilderness⁵³.

 

He was like a tonic⁵⁴ to weak natures and wavering wills; and Christie felt a general revival⁵⁵ going on within herself as her knowledge, honor, and affection for him grew. His strength seemed to uphold her; his integrity to rebuke all unworthiness in her own life; and the magic of his generous, genial⁵⁶ spirit to make the hard places smooth, the bitter things sweet, and the world seem a happier, honester place than she had ever thought it since her father died.

 

Mr. Power had been interested in her from the first; had watched her through other eyes, and tried her by various unsuspected tests. She stood them well; showed her faults as frankly⁵⁷ as her virtues, and tried to deserve their esteem⁵⁸ by copying the excellencies she admired in them.

 

"She is made of the right stuff, and we must keep her among us; for she must not be lost or wasted by being left to drift about the world with no ties to make her safe and happy. She is doing so well here, let her stay till the restless spirit begins to stir again; then she shall come to me and learn contentment by seeing greater troubles than her own."

 

Mr. Power said this one day as he rose to go, after sitting an hour with Mrs. Sterling, and hearing from her a good report of his new protegee. The young people were out at work, and had not been called in to see him, for the interview had been a confidential one. But as he stood at the gate he saw Christie in the strawberry bed, and went toward her, glad to see how well and happy she looked.

 

Her hat was hanging on her shoulders, and the sun giving her cheeks a healthy color; she was humming to herself like a bee as her fingers flew, and once she paused, shaded her eyes with her hand, and took a long look at a figure down in the meadow; then she worked on silent and smiling, - a pleasant creature to see, though her hair was ruffled⁵⁹ by the wind; her gingham gown pinned up; and her fingers deeply stained with the blood of many berries.

 

"I wonder if that means anything?" thought Mr. Power, with a keen glance from the distant man to the busy woman close at hand. "It might be a helpful, happy thing for both, if poor David only could forget."

 

He had time for no more castle-building, for a startled robin⁶⁰ flew away with a shrill⁶¹ chirp⁶², and Christie looked up.

 

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, rising quickly. "I was picking a special box for you, and now you can have a feast beside, just as you like it, fresh from the vines. Sit here, please, and I'll hull⁶³ faster than you can eat."

 

"This is luxury!" and Mr. Power sat down on the three-legged stool offered him, with a rhubarb leaf on his knee which Christie kept supplying with delicious mouthfuls.

 

MR. POWER AND CHRISTIE IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.

 

"Well, and how goes it? Are we still happy and contented here?" he asked.

 

"I feel as if I had been born again; as if this was a new heaven and a new earth, and every thing was as it should be," answered Christie, with a look of perfect satisfaction in her face.

 

"That's a pleasant hearing. Mrs. Sterling has been praising you, but I wanted to be sure you were as satisfied as she. And how does David wear? well, I hope."

 

"Oh, yes, he is very good to me, and is teaching me to be a gardener, so that I needn't kill myself with sewing any more. Much of this is fine work for women, and so healthy. Don't I look a different creature from the ghost that came here three or four mouths ago?" and she turned her face for inspection⁶⁴ like a child.

 

"Yes, David is a good gardener. I often send my sort of plants here, and he always makes them grow and blossom sooner or later," answered Mr. Power, regarding her like a beneficent genie⁶⁵ on a three-legged stool.

 

"You are the fresh air, and Mrs. Sterling is the quiet sunshine that does the work, I fancy. David only digs about the roots."

 

"Thank you for my share of the compliment; but why say 'only digs'? That is a most important part of the work: I'm afraid you don't appreciate David."

 

"Oh, yes, I do; but he rather aggravates⁶⁶ me sometimes," said Christie, laughing, as she put a particularly big berry in the green plate to atone⁶⁷ for her frankness.

 

"How?" asked Mr. Power, interested in these little revelations.

 

"Well, he won't be ambitious. I try to stir him up, for he has talents; I've found that out: but he won't seem to care for any thing but watching over his mother, reading his old books, and making flowers bloom double when they ought to be single."

 

"There are worse ambitions than those, Christie. I know many a man who would be far better employed in cherishing a sweet old woman, studying Plato, and doubling the beauty of a flower, than in selling principles for money, building up a cheap reputation that dies with him, or chasing pleasures that turn to ashes in his mouth."

 

"Yes, sir; but isn't it natural for a young man to have some personal aim or aspiration⁶⁸ to live for? If David was a weak or dull man I could understand it; but I seem to feel a power, a possibility for something higher and better than any thing I see, and this frets⁶⁹ me. He is so good, I want him to be great also in some way."

 

"A wise man says, 'The essence of greatness is the perception that virtue¹⁵ is enough.' I think David one of the most ambitious men I ever knew, because at thirty he has discovered this truth, and taken it to heart. Many men can be what the world calls great: very few men are what God calls good. This is the harder task to choose, yet the only success that satisfies, the only honor that outlives death. These faithful lives, whether seen of men or hidden in corners, are the salvation of the world, and few of us fail to acknowledge it in the hours when we are brought close to the heart of things, and see a little as God sees."

 

Christie did not speak for a moment: Mr. Power's voice had been so grave, and his words so earnest that she could not answer lightly, but sat turning over the new thoughts in her mind. Presently she said, in a penitent⁷⁰ but not quite satisfied tone:

 

"Of course you are right, sir. I'll try not to care for the outward and visible signs of these hidden virtues; but I'm afraid I still shall have a hankering for the worldly honors that are so valued by most people."

 

"'Success and glory are the children of hard work and God's favor,' according to Æschylus, and you will find he was right. David got a heavy blow some years ago as I told you, I think; and he took it hard, but it did not spoil him: it made a man of him; and, if I am not much mistaken, he will yet do something to be proud of, though the world may never hear of it."

 

"I hope so!" and Christie's face brightened at the thought.

 

"Nevertheless you look as if you doubted it, O you of little faith. Every one has two sides to his nature: David has shown you the least interesting one, and you judge accordingly. I think he will show you the other side some day, - for you are one of the women who win confidence without trying, - and then you will know the real David. Don't expect too much, or quarrel with the imperfections that make him human; but take him for what he is worth, and help him if you can to make his life a brave and good one."

 

"I will, sir," answered Christie so meekly⁷¹ that Mr. Power laughed; for this confessional in the strawberry bed amused him very much.

 

"You are a hero-worshipper, my dear; and if people don't come up to the mark you are so disappointed that you fail to see the fine reality which remains⁷² when the pretty romance ends. Saints walk about the world today as much as ever, but instead of haircloth and halos they now wear" -

 

"Broadcloth and wide-brimmed hats," added Christie, looking up as if she had already found a better St. Thomas than any the church ever canonized.

 

He thanked her with a smile, and went on with a glance toward the meadow.

 

"And knights⁷³ go crusading as gallantly⁷⁴ as ever against the giants and the dragons, though you don't discover it, because, instead of banner, lance, and shield they carry" -

 

"Bushel-baskets, spades, and sweet-flag for their mothers," put in Christie again, as David came up the path with the loam⁷⁵ he had been digging.

 

Both began to laugh, and he joined in the merriment without knowing why, as he put down his load, took off his hat, and shook hands with his honored guest.

 

"What's the joke?" he asked, refreshing⁷⁶ himself with the handful of berries Christie offered him.

 

"Don't tell," she whispered, looking dismayed at the idea of letting him know what she had said of him.

 

But Mr. Power answered tranquilly⁷⁷:

 

"We were talking about coins, and Christie was expressing her opinion of one I showed her. The face and date she understands; but the motto puzzles her, and she has not seen the reverse side yet, so does not know its value. She will some day; and then she will agree with me, I think, that it is sterling gold."

 

The emphasis on the last words enlightened David: his sunburnt cheek reddened, but he only shook his head, saying: "She will find a brass⁷⁸ farthing I'm afraid, sir," and began to crumble⁷⁹ a handful of loam about the roots of a carnation⁸⁰ that seemed to have sprung up by chance at the foot of the apple-tree.

 

"How did that get there?" asked Christie, with sudden interest in the flower.

 

"It dropped when I was setting out the others, took root, and looked so pretty and comfortable that I left it. These waifs sometimes do better than the most carefully tended ones: I only dig round them a bit and leave them to sun and air."

 

Mr. Power looked at Christie with so much meaning in his face that it was her turn to color now. But with feminine perversity⁸¹ she would not own herself mistaken, and answered with eyes as full of meaning as his own:

 

"I like the single ones best: double-carnations⁸² are so untidy, all bursting out of the calyx as if the petals⁸³ had quarrelled and could not live together."

 

"The single ones are seldom perfect, and look poor and incomplete with little scent⁸⁴ or beauty," said unconscious David propping⁸⁵ up the thin-leaved flower, that looked like a pale solitary⁸⁶ maiden⁸⁷, beside the great crimson⁸⁸ and white carnations near by, filling the air with spicy⁸⁹ odor.

 

"I suspect you will change your mind by and by, Christie, as your taste improves, and you will learn to think the double ones the handsomest," added Mr. Power, wondering in his benevolent⁹⁰ heart if he would ever be the gardener to mix the colors of the two human plants before him.

 

"I must go," and David shouldered his basket as if he felt he might be in the way.

 

"So must I, or they will be waiting for me at the hospital. Give me a handful of flowers, David: they often do the poor souls more good than my prayers or preaching."

 

Then they went away, and left Christie sitting in the strawberry bed, thinking that David looked less than ever like a hero with his blue shirt, rough straw hat, and big boots; also wondering if he would ever show her his best side, and if she would like it when she saw it.

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