The Little Missis. Charlotte Skinner
luxury of sitting and doing nothing, except having a good think. All day long there had been in her mind old Mrs. Colston's words about the process a Christian has to go through. "I think," she sighed, "instead of the creases getting out of my character, more creases get in. See how I seem to aggravate Ralph. Then to think of Bessie; I thought I might do real missionary work with her, and she's just as naughty as ever, and Janie is just as dull," and the tears began to come.
"Please, ma'am, here's Mrs. Colston." It was Janie's voice, and Mrs. Colston herself immediately appeared. The old lady at once noticed the tear marks, and exclaimed, "I can see you are quite tired out; you must come in and lie down on the couch, and Janie shall get you something—no, I'll get it myself," and after half carrying Phebe indoors, she bustled away to the kitchen.
"Now, Janie, get some milk, a saucepan, and an egg." While she was watching the milk lest it should boil over, she went on talking. "Look here, Janie, you are to look well after your mistress, or she'll slip through your fingers."
"You don't mean to say she's going to die!" exclaimed Janie, in horror. "Oh, dear, what should I do! You don't know how different this place has been since she's been here, and you don't know what she's done for me."
"No, I don't, but I can guess. You mustn't speak so loud or she will hear, and mind you don't go and tell her what I've said. Just shake yourself together a bit, my girl, and look well after her; be sure and feed her well, and see that she rests."
Mrs. Colston having seen to her favourite's bodily wants, sat down to have a talk. "I suppose you've tired yourself with writing lectures and speeches."
"'Lectures and speeches'!" exclaimed Phebe, trying to laugh, "whatever made you think I'd been doing that?"
"You told me yourself you were going to help Ralph write his lectures and speeches."
"Oh no, I do nothing of that sort," and try as she might the tone of disappointment would not be kept down, and the old friend caught it and guessed something of its meaning.
"You've never told me baby's name yet."
"She has two names."
"That's right; that's one for each of you."
"My name, I mean the one I chose for her, is Mary. I did not want to call her Phebe, because I don't see why married women should lose their Christian name, and they always do if they have a daughter called after them. I think no name can be so beautiful as Mary, because it was the name of the mother of Jesus. Ralph chose the other name; he said, simply Mary Waring would sound mean."
"Perhaps so; Phebe Mary go well together, and it was only natural he would like her named after you."
"It is not Phebe. Baby's name is Victoria Mary."
Mrs. Colston had long ago commenced the training of her lips, and for a moment did not speak.
"And may the little dear always have the victory. That's my wish for her."
"And you don't think it sounds ridiculous then?" asked Phebe, raising herself up on her elbow, "I mean for a draper's daughter?"
"Certainly not; why shouldn't a draper's daughter have as good a name as anybody else? I hope she will grow up a real queenie."
"I was thinking, dear Mrs. Colston, as you came into the garden, that the process of Christian-making is slow work with me. Indeed, sometimes I am afraid it has stopped altogether."
"Not it, my dear; not a wee bit of it," stroking her hair. "If you had said, 'I'm getting on fine—shall soon be a saint,' I should have said it was pretty nigh all up with you. But, bless you, my dear, you've got that feeling just now because the Lord's been dealing with you. I watched old Robert in the spring cutting his vine; my, there was a slaughtering! I fancy the poor old vine thought it was almost done for, but you should just see it now!"
As Mrs. Colston stepped out of the shop door that evening she nearly fell into the arms of Neighbour Bessie, as Phebe loved to call her. "How is Mrs. Waring?" Bessie asked anxiously. "Do you think she is all right?"
"Yes, she'll get on with care."
"Oh, she is a dumpling!" said the girl, with all her impulsive enthusiasm.
"Well then, take care and keep her warm, for cold dumplings aren't up to much! She needs a lot of warmth—love, that's what I mean."
"I'll see she has that," exclaimed Bessie, "if my sort is any good."
"All real love is good, my dear, you may be sure of that."
That night as the old mangle started its tune again, these were the words that went along with it. "There, bless me, how that dear Miss Phebe of mine has won those two girls! Why, she'll win them for Jesus yet. I know she will! Yes, I dare say she thinks she's done nothing. How little we can judge of our own work, or, come to that, of anybody else's, either. It's only our dear heavenly Father, who gets such a high view of things, seeing all over and into all the corners, that can really know how we're getting along."
CHAPTER IV
A TESTING TIME
Two years went by, each day filled for Phebe, except the Sundays, with housework, care of the child, and looking after the business. From Monday till Saturday she hardly ever crossed the outer doorstep. "It will not be always like this," she said to her sister, who remonstrated with her. "When Ralph has got the business well established he will be able to afford more help."
She often smiled somewhat bitterly to herself over the old dream of helping Ralph in his high endeavours to influence the souls of his fellows, and how she was to accompany him when he went forth to deliver his messages. "Never mind," she would say to herself. "I sell the people tea instead." She often called to mind the memorial-card of "Sweet Liberty," and saw how clearly it had proved prophetic of something she had truly lost. Long ago she guessed who the sender was, for she had found out what a keen reader of character Neighbour Bessie was, and what keen intuitive powers she possessed. Phebe never referred to the card, but she once said to Bessie, "I think you ought to be called 'Prophet Bessie.'"
"If you spell that word 'p-r-o-f-i-t,'" replied Bessie, "mother would say you were out of your reckoning entirely. She would say it would be nearer the truth to call me 'Dead-loss Bessie.'"
"Nay, nay, that would never do, but 'dear-loved Bessie' might." The girl looked at her with hungry eyes, but did not answer.
To be so shut in, so entirely engrossed with affairs purely selfish, would to an ordinary woman have been both narrowing and depressing. "An old woman once lived in the Isle of Wight who had never seen the sea, and there are women living in Swiss valleys who have never watched a sunset. How little such women can know of what the world is like! How narrow their sympathies, and how small their ideas! I am something like them," thought Phebe, "but I'll do my best to get a wider outlook, somehow." So by her chair in a corner of the shop parlour you might always find some paper, magazine, or book she was interested in. During the early months of their marriage Ralph had read aloud to her in the evenings, or she to him, but lately he was far too much engrossed in other things.
No one guessed the bitter sorrow Phebe suffered in thus burying her dreams. Alas, for the graves that are not found where willows grow within cemetery gates! for the flowerless graves we often weep over in our daily life! Yet deep in Phebe's heart was the hope that from this grave would blossom, some sunny morn, a husband's love such as she had dreamt of in her girlhood dreams. It seemed as if Ralph's love was sleeping, but surely some day it would waken. Oh, that God would teach her how to waken it!
By this time Victoria Mary had a companion in the person of a little brother. "I should like him to be called Ralph," said Phebe.