Nobody. Warner Susan
Lord!" said Mrs. Armadale.
"You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Charity retorted. "I don'tbelieve it one bit, all such talk. It ain't nature, nor reasonable.Folks say that just when somethin's gone the wrong way, and they wantto comfort themselves with makin' believe they don't care about it.Wait till the chance comes, and see if they don't care! That's what Isay."
"I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," remarked the oldgrandmother.
"Everybody has a right to his views," returned Miss Charity. "That'swhat I always say."
"You must leave her her views, grandma," said Lois pleasantly. "Shewill have to change them, some day."
"What will make me change them?"
"Coming to know the truth."
"You think nobody but you knows the truth. Now, Lois, I'll ask you.Ain't you sorry to be back and out of 'this world's vain store' – out ofall the magnificence, and back in your garden work again?"
"No."
"You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin' that outlandish rig you puton for the garden?"
"I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The dress I admire no more thanyou do."
"And you've got everythin' you want in the world?"
"Charity, Charity, that ain't fair," Madge put in. "Nobody has that; you haven't, and I haven't; why should Lois?"
"'Cos she says she's found 'a city where true joys abound;' now let'shear if she has."
"Quite true," said Lois, smiling.
"And you've got all you want?"
"No, I would like a good many things I haven't got, if it's the Lord'spleasure to give them."
"Suppose it ain't?"
"Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking up with so clear andbright a face that her carping sister was for the moment silenced. AndI suppose Charity watched; but she never could find reason to thinkthat Lois had not spoken the truth. Lois was the life of the house.Madge was a handsome and quiet girl; could follow but rarely led in theconversation. Charity talked, but was hardly enlivening to the spiritsof the company. Mrs. Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman; couldtalk indeed, and well, and much; however, these occasions were mostlywhen she had one auditor, and was in thorough sympathy with that one.Amidst these different elements of the household life Lois played thepart of the flux in a furnace; she was the happy accommodating mediumthrough which all the others came into best play and found their fullrelations to one another. Lois's brightness and spirit were neverdulled; her sympathies were never wearied; her intelligence was neverat fault. And her work was never neglected. Nobody had ever to remindLois that it was time for her to attend to this or that thing which itwas her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very often ready tohelp somebody else not quite so "forehanded." The garden took on fastits dressed and ordered look; the strawberries were uncovered; and theraspberries tied up, and the currant bushes trimmed; and pea-sticks andbean-poles bristled here and there promisingly. And then the greengrowths for which Lois had worked began to reward her labour. Radisheswere on the tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another thing;" androws of springing beets and carrots looked like plenty in the future.Potatoes were up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and cornbegan to appear. One thing after another, till Lois got the garden allplanted; and then she was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, weall know, do thrive as unaccountably in the natural as in the spiritualworld. It cost Lois hard work to keep them under; but she did it.Nothing would have tempted her to bear the reproach of them among hervegetables and fruits. And so the latter had a good chance, and throve.There was not much time or much space for flowers; yet Lois had a few.Red poppies found growing room between the currant bushes; here andthere at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand and rear its statelyhead. Rose-bushes were set wherever a rose-bush could be; and therewere some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, and marigolds.Not many; however, they served to refresh Lois's soul when she went topick vegetables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for the tablein the hall, or in the sitting-room, when the hot weather drove thefamily out of the kitchen.
Before that came June and strawberries. Lois picked the fruit always.She had been a good while one very warm afternoon bending down amongthe strawberry beds, and had brought in a great bowl full of fruit. Sheand Madge came together to their room to wash hands and get in orderfor tea.
"I have worked over all that butter," said Madge, "and skimmed a lot ofmilk. I must churn again to-morrow. There is no end to work!"
"No end to it," Lois assented. "Did you see my strawberries?"
"No."
"They are splendid. Those Black Princes are doing finely too. If wehave rain they will be superb."
"How many did you get to-day?"
"Two quarts, and more."
"And cherries to preserve to-morrow. Lois, I get tired once in a while!"
"O, so do I; but I always get rested again."
"I don't mean that. I mean it is all work, work; day in and day out, and from one year's end to another. There is no let up to it. I gettired of that."
"What would you have?"
"I'd like a little play."
"Yes, but in a certain sense I think it is all play."
"In a nonsensical sense," said Madge. "How can work be play?"
"That's according to how you look at it," Lois returned cheerfully. "Ifyou take it as I think you can take it, it is much better than play."
"I wish you'd make me understand you," said Madge discontentedly. "Ifthere is any meaning to your words, that is."
Lois hesitated.
"I like work anyhow better than play," she said. "But then, if you lookat it in a certain way, it becomes much better than play. Don't youknow, Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by the Lord todo; – to do for him; – and I do it so; and that makes every bit of it allpleasant."
"But you can't!" said Madge pettishly. She was not a pettish person, only just now something in her sister's words had the effect ofirritation.
"Can't what?"
"Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, for instance; or cherrysweetmeats. Ridiculous! And nonsense."
"I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I do my garden work and mysewing."
"What do you mean, Lois? The garden work is for our eating, and thesewing is for your own back, or grandma's. I understand religion, but Idon't understand cant."
"Madge, it's not cant; it's the plain truth."
"Only that it is impossible."
"No. You do not understand religion, or you would know how it is. Allthese things are things given us to do; we must make the clothes andpreserve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, and then pickstrawberries, and all the rest. God has given me these things to do, and I do them for him."
"You do them for yourself, or for grandma, and for the rest of us."
"Yes, but first for Him. Yes, Madge, I do. I do every bit of all thesethings in the way that I think will please and honour him best – as faras I know how."
"Making your dresses!"
"Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may look, as near as I can, asa servant of Christ in my place ought to look. And taking things inthat way, Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor how allsorts of little worries fall off. I wish you knew, Madge! If I am hotand tired in a strawberry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant Iam, and that he has made the sun shine and put me to work in it, – thenit's all right in a minute, and I don't mind any longer."
Madge looked at her, with eyes that were half scornful, half admiring.
"There is just one thing that does tempt me," Lois went on, her eyegoing forth to the world outside the window, or to a world more distantand in tangible, that she looked at without seeing, – "I do sometimeswish I had time to read and learn."
"Learn!"