Chapter II

LEARNING WISE LESSONS.

"WHAT a dear old woman that is," exclaimed Mrs. Powell's younger servant, Sarah, when Ann Crompton had left the house. "It is nice to hear her talk. She makes one want to be good. If my mother had been more of her sort I should have been a better girl to-day."

"I thought you had a good mother," said Elizabeth.

"Well, she was good, in a way. She taught us to clean and scrub, she made us keep ourselves neat and mend our clothes, and such-like, and she scolded and slapped us into the bargain, with no light hand, if we wanted twice telling. We had to mind what she said, I can tell you. But she was very sharp in her words and ways. We got plenty of threats and not many promises, plenty of vinegar and little sugar. She took care we went to Sunday-school too, and, if we were a bit late, she sent us to bed again and kept us there all day. It was being driven to school and punished over it that made me determine I would never go another day after I got away from home. I should have been fond of it but for mother, and I liked my teacher, only I gave up because I liked having my own way better than anything else. It seemed nice to show mother that I was too old to be driven here and there, whether I wanted to go or not. I wish old Ann Crompton was coming to stop here. I believe she would make a better girl of me. She's so kind."

Truly kindness is a wonderful power. This wilful girl, whom her mistress could not trust, though she was cleanly, clever, and keen-witted, well able to do her work, and yet ready to evade orders just because, after a long course of driving, she found it pleasant to rebel—this girl felt that she could place herself like wax in the hands of the old, loving-hearted Christian, to be moulded into something better. She had not been used to think that she needed changing, but it was the seeing Ann Crompton as she was that first put into her mind the notion that her own ways might be improved.

And Mrs. Powell had not heard Ann's story in vain. The first to feel the effects of it on her mistress's mind was Elizabeth.

The girl had been a faithful servant. She was most unwilling to cause her mistress any trouble, but what could she do when the father wrote and begged that she would come to the suffering mother and neglected home?

Elizabeth half hoped that by telling Mrs. Powell why she felt bound to leave her service, the lady would be moved to dispense with the usual notice, and bid her go at once to those who had the first claim upon her. But no; instead of this, Mrs. Powell was annoyed at her wanting to go at all, and spoke little to Elizabeth, who now found it hard to please her.

The mistress was cold and curt; the maid sorrowful at heart, and full of anxious thoughts about her parents. Her looks showed that, for the first time, she found her work a burden, because of the heavy heart she carried as she went about it.

Whilst Ann Crompton was in the kitchen, she managed to speak some encouraging words to poor Elizabeth, and even to turn Sarah's saucy ways and ready jokes to some account.

"Bless you, child," she said, with a benevolent look at the girl's laughing face; "it's a good thing to enjoy a laugh now and then. I'm glad I haven't forgotten how to laugh yet, though I'm an old woman. Still 'Merry and wise' is a good motto. Folks sometimes laugh at wrong things. Mind, my dear, never you laugh if anybody tries to turn God's Word into a joke: put that sort of thing down, and have no friendship with those that do it. And don't you laugh at any joke that makes you feel 'shamed of having listened to it, and sends the hot colour into your cheeks, and forces you to turn away your head. We have to mind what sort of jokes we enjoy."

The warning words were said so pleasantly that they went home to Sarah's heart. Instead of "flying up," as she was wont to do at a sharp word from her mother, or the milder fault-finding of Mrs. Powell, the girl nodded her head assentingly, thanked Ann for her advice, and said, "I'll try to remember your rule. I have often felt vexed at myself for laughing at speeches that were not so very nice, when one came to look into them. I'm only a giddy thing, not like Elizabeth here, but I can bear to be spoken to when folks speak in the right way as you do."

The effect of Ann's story on Mrs. Powell was this: whilst the old woman was letting her humble light shine in the kitchen, the mistress of the house was on her knees seeking light and guidance from God.

She was feeling very much ashamed of herself. She had been calling her faithful servant "selfish," when the girl was giving up her own worldly interests at the call of filial duty. She had been fancying herself a very ill-used person, with more than her share of worries, just because there was a chance that her trip to the seaside might be deferred. She had made the morning meal uncomfortable to her good husband by her frowning face, her fretful words, her magnifying of a little molehill of trouble into a mountain. She had sent him away to meet his business cares, and the work belonging thereto, with the added weight of all her household difficulties as an extra burden.

Until she heard Ann's story she never thought of taking her domestic worries amongst the "all things" to the Throne of Grace. Never thought of asking that one of God's servants might be sent to fill the place that Elizabeth was about to leave.

Now, Mrs. Powell felt a longing to tell out her requests unto God, and the first prayer she offered was that her murmurings, fretful tempers, hasty judgments, and needless fault-finding might be forgiven. Next she prayed for grace to put away the spirit of selfishness that had made her consider only her own convenience, and that she might have a tender heart and the desire to bear the burdens of those around her, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

A little later Elizabeth was summoned by her mistress. She entered the room in some fear, for of late, no matter how much she tried, she had often failed to give satisfaction. But the kind look on Mrs. Powell's face encouraged her, and she could hardly believe her ears when her mistress said, "Elizabeth, I have been thinking about your wish to go home. I can understand how anxious you must be about your mother. Tell me plainly. Do you want to go to her at once?"

The girl burst into tears.

"O ma'am," she said, "you cannot think how grateful I should be if you could set me at liberty. I have been so miserable about poor mother, thinking that she is not getting the care and attention she needs. If she were to die I should never—"

The girl's voice was choked by sobs, and she was unable to finish the sentence, but Mrs. Powell guessed her meaning.

"Dry your tears, Elizabeth," she said, kindly. "You have been a faithful servant, and I do not wish to prove a hard mistress. You shall go home to-morrow."

"I shall be so glad!" cried the girl, her face brightening at the prospect. "Thank you so much, ma'am, for putting yourself to inconvenience for me. I do wish I could see some way whereby I could go without you having any trouble or being obliged to put off your journey; nothing but illness at home would make me think of leaving at such a time. And if I should be free to take a place again, and you could take me back without hurting any one else, I should be thankful to come."

"And I should be glad to have you, Elizabeth. Now I feel it would be wrong for me to stand in your way. Besides, I shall not be left without any one, and I can easily obtain daily assistance. We may have to put off our visit to the seaside, but never mind this. Go and pack your boxes. I hope you may find your mother better than you expect to do."

Elizabeth went quietly out of the room, but she hurried to the kitchen in order to tell her good news.

"I shall be sorry to lose you," said Sarah. "I'm not sure whether I shall—"

"Don't say you mean to give notice," interrupted Elizabeth. "Now don't. This is just the time when you might show what you can do, and be a comfort in the house. You are strong and able, and you know how work should be done, and I have heard the mistress say that if only—"

"If only you could have had patience to hear me out, you would have found that giving notice was one of the things farthest from my thoughts," said Sarah, in her independent way. "I know well enough what mistress has said. I've heard it often, and I don't want it over again. She has astonished me to-day. I had begun to think that she was one of those ladies who fancied servants ought to have no human feelings, no love nor longing after those they have left behind, and that love them, such as your poor mother. I had been saying to myself, 'If it had been the mistress's mother no train would have been quick enough to carry her to her old home. But as it is Elizabeth's, she must wait a month before she goes, get nothing but cross looks, and maybe find her mother dead or given up, when she gets there.'"

"Now don't you say another word," for Elizabeth seemed on the point of speaking. "You have interrupted me once, and I have done the same by you, so we are straight. But taking the words out of one another's mouths isn't good manners, for all that. Mark what I say now, and then go and pack up your things. The mistress has astonished me, and I'm going to astonish her. There! Mind if I don't find a way out of this seaside business that will make all straight." Sarah gave Elizabeth no chance of replying, but whisked out of the kitchen with a merry laugh.

"She might do so well, if only she would always keep right side out," thought Elizabeth, as she went upstairs to prepare for her journey on the morrow.

She understood Sarah better than most did, and felt hopeful about the girl, knowing that beneath her rough and ready manner and careless words, she hid deeper feelings, and might be influenced for good, by the kindness of which as a child she had experienced so small a share.

When Mr. Powell returned home he was agreeably surprised to notice the change that had taken place in his wife's looks during his absence.

No cloud upon the sweet bright face uplifted to his with a welcoming kiss. No trace of the fretful tone which had embittered her morning farewell.

She might know nothing of the little daily troubles which beset the paths both of young and old housekeepers, for she made no allusion to her own.

All through the dinner it was the same. As if to make up for the gloom which had hung over the breakfast-table, Mrs. Powell gave her husband a double portion of sunshine.

Instead of airing household matters, she asked questions about her husband's doings, and listened to all he had to tell with affectionate interest.

It was only when the meal was over, and the two were seated side by side, that Mr. Powell said:

"By the way, did old Ann come to see you? I did not forget your commission."

"Yes, dear, she came, and, without knowing it, taught me a lesson which I trust I shall never forget."

Mrs. Powell then repeated the old woman's story to her husband, and when she came to the end of it added, "I think I never saw myself in the same light before, as I did whilst Ann was speaking. The dear old woman's cheerful submission to what must have been a great disappointment; her patient waiting for the help which she felt sure God would send in answer to her prayer; her simple, childlike faith in His promises, as day by day she looked with confidence for daily bread; her contentment with the little portion of this world's goods which He had been pleased to allot to her; the finding good in whatever He chose to ordain for her, and her gratitude to the earthly friends who had ministered to her wants out of their little means;—all these things showed me how selfish, hard, and unkind I was towards my neighbours, as well as unthankful for the abounding blessings I enjoy. I had been cross and fretful because Elizabeth wanted to go to her sick mother, and had accused her of being selfish, when all the while I deserved the blame and she the praise. She preferred duty to ease and comfort without anxiety. Instead of cheering and encouraging her, I made the poor girl's task harder by my cold looks and fault-finding. Yet Elizabeth really cares for me, and is now grieving at the thought of causing me inconvenience.

"I grumbled because our seaside trip might be put off, and settled in my own mind that if it were we should have no fine weather later on. Thus I met sorrow half way.

"Ann Crompton bore the loss of her one day's trip—think, Edward, the only day's outing in all the year—without a murmur. Yet the morning which should have seen her on her way to the seaside, found her lying alone, helpless and in great pain, with an almost empty purse and cupboard, and with no claim of relationship on any human being near her. Yet in that little bare room she sunned herself in the light of God's presence and faithfulness, and waited for what He should send.

"I, who have so much, murmured and fretted and sent my dear kind husband away with the memory of my complaining words and clouded brow. She lay repeating to herself words of hope and encouragement, and willing to welcome with a smile the first friend who should enter for her relief.

"What do you think of these two pictures, Edward? Do you wonder that I feel ashamed of myself when I contrast my conduct with poor Ann Crompton's?"

"My darling," replied Mr. Powell, "I think I am a very happy husband, for I have a dear wife, who, though she does make mistakes, is not ashamed to learn wise lessons from a very humble teacher. Not ashamed either to own where she has done wrong, but thankful she may carry all her cares to One who careth for her, and will give her pardon, peace, strength, and guidance according to her need. And I think, too, that though I gave the message from you which brought old Ann to talk with you, surely God's Holy Spirit enabled her to speak and you to receive a message which has been as good seed, and has already brought forth good fruit."

Mr. Powell's loving arm had drawn his wife's head to his breast, and he bent and kissed her tenderly. After a little pause he asked what she had done about Elizabeth, and heard, with true pleasure, that the girl was to leave on the following morning.

"Then have you heard of some one to take her place?" asked Mr. Powell.

"Not yet, Edward. If I do not, or whether or no, I must follow Ann's example—pray for the right person and trust. Sarah is capable enough to fill a temporary gap, and I can get help in the daytime. Perhaps I may manage Sarah better if I try."

Mrs. Powell did not know what effect her kindness to Elizabeth had already produced on the more headstrong younger girl, and was a little surprised to notice with what energy she worked on the following morning.

She gave her an encouraging smile, and said, "I think you are trying to do double work, Sarah. I like to see this, because Elizabeth has many little matters to do before she goes, and I should not like her to be harassed and hurried."

"She has been very pleasant to live with, ma'am," replied Sarah, "and I can do anything for those that are kind to me."

Mrs. Powell smiled at the girl's earnestness, and did not forget her words. They were brought home to her mind still more by what Elizabeth said when she came to bid her mistress good-bye.

"If you will excuse me, ma'am, I should like to speak a word for Sarah. I do believe she wants to do right, and has made up her mind to keep her best side out, and deserve to be trusted. But she is a girl that has been too much driven and too seldom led, and she cannot do with driving. I think if you would encourage her and seem as if you trusted her, it would go a great way towards making her deserve your confidence."

"Thank you for the hint. I will not forget it. Now, good-bye, and I do hope you will be able to send me better news of your mother. I shall look for a line to tell me of your safe arrival."

Elizabeth's eyes were full of tears, but they were not all sorrowful ones. She was sorry to leave, but truly glad of the manner of parting with her mistress, for she said to herself, "It would have grieved me to see her look anything but kind and friendly." So cheered by encouraging words and pleasant looks, Sarah did wonders, and deserved the praise which Mrs. Powell was not slow to give.

Elizabeth's place was not filled, as it was most important that a reliable person should be left as joint-housekeeper with Sarah, and the right one had not been found. In three days the Powells ought to go to the seaside, or all their plans would need to be changed.

"You have been such a good trustworthy girl since Elizabeth left that I have no fear of leaving you, but you must have some person in the house with you," said Mrs. Powell to Sarah.

"I could do the work well enough," replied the girl; "and if there was just somebody in the house for company, perhaps we might have Elizabeth back by the time you and master want to come home."

"It is the 'somebody' I wish to find, Sarah," said Mrs. Powell.

"Do you think Ann Crompton would come herself, ma'am?" asked the girl.

There was a wistful look in Sarah's face which surprised her mistress. "Should you like to have Ann? I never thought of asking her, though I should be glad for her to come, because I scarcely thought you and she would get on together."

"I would rather have her than anybody else," said Sarah; and moved by something in Mrs. Powell's manner, the girl told her how she had been impressed by the words and ways of the cheerful old Christian, during the short time she spent in the kitchen.

"I have always thought since that day I should be better for hearing and seeing her, so if it will suit you, ma'am, please let her come."

Sarah little knew that the influence which had been felt by her in the kitchen had produced still greater effect upon her mistress in the parlour.

Ann, however, did come to be Sarah's companion for a month, and with the best results to all concerned. The change did her good, for Mrs. Powell's house being outside the town, the air in its neighbourhood was very different from that which Ann breathed in the little court where she usually passed her days. A month spent within hearing of the song of birds and the sight of fields, trees and flowers! Why, it seemed like heaven to old Ann Crompton.

"I lost a day's outing, and God has given me a whole month instead," she said, as, hour by hour, she thanked Him for His goodness to her.

She and the girl, so unlike her to begin with, became fast friends. Sarah learned her need of a Saviour by God's blessing on this old disciple's teaching, and having found Him in Jesus Christ, she is striving to follow the example of His most holy life. She has to fight many a battle with her headstrong temper and wilful habits, but she is cheered and encouraged by the friend who, though weak in body, is "strong in the Lord and in the power of His might."

And Sarah's hopes about Elizabeth have been fulfilled. The mother has been raised from her sick bed, and is once more able to attend to her family, and Mrs. Powell receives more devoted service than ever from the girl whom she joyfully welcomed back again, when, filial duty done, she could return to her place with a quiet conscience.