Left to Ourselves Part 28

"How cold they'll be," she said pitifully.

"Not they," said Hugh.

"I should be," answered Minnie.

"Oh, _you_! but these poor little mites are used to be in the streets all day."

"So they are. But I wonder if Agnes will let me bring them in?"

"Not yet," answered John, who came in at that moment, "wait till it strikes five; as Hugh says, they are used to it."

Before the hand was on the hour, twelve or fourteen children crowded up the steps, and one of them, the boldest of the party, ventured to give a single 'dab' at the door, which brought Hugh to open it; and then began the disrobing, which orderly John had promised to superintend.

They were ushered into the dining-room, where tea was laid all ready, and it did not take them long to sit down and begin.

After all were satisfied, the table was pushed back into a corner, and in a few moments John and Hugh packed the children round the room so that all could see well, Minnie squeezing herself into a little corner by the sheet, where she would not have at all a good view, remarking, "Of course it does not matter a bit about _me_."

John smiled, but did not see where he could put her better, and, after all, was it not her little offering of love to her Master?

When it was all over, and the views had been seen, and the story told, and the oranges eaten, and the happy children gone, Hugh said:

"I _have_ enjoyed it."

"So did everyone, I think," remarked Alice.

"In spite of its having been a secret," he went on, smiling; "but another time (though I oughtn't to have been cross over it), if you want to give a fellow pleasure, don't surprise him."

"We will not," said Agnes, glad to see the twinkle in Hugh's eye.

And then tired-out they hastily ate some supper and hurried off to bed, too fatigued to fulfil their intention of sitting up to see the year out.

"I'll set the alarum and wake you all," said John.

So the alarum was set, and they went to bed in peaceful antic.i.p.ations of waking just in time.

By-and-by it went off with a peal which always startled him in spite of his determination, and out John sprang and struck a match.

"Hugh, get up," he called, "it is ten minutes to--why it is ten minutes _past_ twelve, and no good at all!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XIX.

_WORRIED._

"Agnes, my child, being left in charge does not agree with you."

"Why, auntie?"

"Your mother will find but a shadow of the rosy girl she left behind her."

Agnes sighed, and then got up and looked in the gla.s.s.

"I do not see that I am different," she said, after a moment's contemplation.

"No, I daresay you would not notice it in yourself from day to day. But you have nothing special to trouble you, my dear, I hope?"

"Not at all, auntie. But I had no idea the anxiety of a family would be so great."

Aunt Phyllis smiled a sweet placid smile, which proceeded from a heart at rest after storms.

"You ought not to be carrying your own burdens though, dear child," she said softly.

Agnes had seated herself at her aunt's feet, on the wide stool which the children said was made on purpose for them to share, and now looked up in her aunt's face with tearful eyes.

"No," she said; "that is often what grieves me. I am afraid, auntie, I thought I should be _sure_ to get on, and trusted in my own cleverness too much, and then when difficulties come I get downhearted."

"And do you try the remedy of taking everything to your Lord directly it comes?"

"Yes; but things are so difficult to decide, and I am so disappointed in myself."

"You thought you were so much stronger than you find yourself?"

"Yes; and John looks up to me, and I hoped I should be a help to him; and instead I've done nothing but find out that I'm no good at all."

"I suppose you are rather tired of gazing in the looking-gla.s.s, then?"

said Aunt Phyllis quaintly.

"Auntie?"

"I'd look towards the sky next, if I were you!" she added, smiling, as she got up to go and fetch some work.

Agnes was left alone; and she glanced first in the fire, and then at the mirror above her head, and then her eyes wandered to the window.

"I see!" she exclaimed, a light breaking over her downcast face; "I'm to look off to Jesus; that's what auntie means!"

That morning Agnes had pa.s.sed through some of those little difficulties which so often arise in daily life.

First the housemaid had accosted her with the ominous words, "Please, miss, could I speak to you?" and had thereupon given her a month's notice.

On her pressing for a reason the maid had said, with many blushes, that she was intending to be married directly her time was up.

"But can you not wait till mother comes home?" pleaded Agnes. "I trust she will be home in March; that would be only another month. Could you not arrange it so?"