Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 18

"Oh, he meant that I was not brave and cheerful, like Effie; and I am not."

"It is pleasant to have these tokens of your friend, any way," said Mrs Lee, musingly.

"There are other of his marks:--'Under the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast,'--and another about rejoicing under the shadow of His wings."

It was a troubled, tearful face that Christie laid down on her hands as she said this. Mrs Lee was still turning over the leaves, and took no notice of the sigh that escaped the little nurse.

"You read it to please your sister and your friend, do you? Or do you really love to read it? I have heard of those who find their chief happiness in believing what the Bible teaches. Do you?"

There was a pause, during which Christie slowly raised her face from her hands and turned it towards Mrs Lee. Then she said, with some hesitation:

"I don't know. I wouldn't be without the Bible for all the world; and yet I know I don't find all the comfort in it that some people do. I suppose it is because I am not sure that I am a Christian."

"A Christian?" repeated Mrs Lee.

"Yes; a child of G.o.d," said Christie, with a sigh. "If I were sure that I am a child of G.o.d, then all the promises in His Holy Word would be mine."

"I suppose you mean if you were always good and never committed any sin?" said Mrs Lee, inquiringly.

"No; not that, exactly. Even G.o.d's people fall into sin sometimes."

"What do you mean by being a child of G.o.d, then? We are all His children in a certain sense, are we not?"

Christie glanced doubtfully at Mrs Lee.

"I mean one who loves G.o.d supremely--one who is at peace with G.o.d, who has no will but His--one whose sins are forgiven for Jesus Christ's sake."

"And you think you are not one of these?" said Mrs Lee.

"I don't know. Sometimes I hope; but I am afraid not. I am sure I wish to be."

Mrs Lee looked as though she did not quite understand her; but she said nothing more. She laid down the book and rocked the baby gently on her knee. Her thoughts were not very happy, Christie fancied, if she might judge by her face, which grew grave and sad as she gazed on the child.

One of the little boys made a sudden movement. Christie rose to replace the coverlet on him.

"How peacefully they sleep!" said their mother. "Ah me!" she added; "if they could always be as free from care! If I could get but one glimpse into their future! And yet perhaps it is better as it is."

"It is better to trust than to know, I once heard Effie say." Christie spoke shyly, and with hesitation, as though she were not quite sure that she should speak at all.

Mrs Lee smiled, and said, kindly:

"I see you are very fond of your sister Effie."

Christie's face spoke; but she did not trust her voice.

"I suppose she is the eldest of your family?"

"Yes. She's twenty-two. Oh, I wish you could see Effie! She is very different from what you would think from seeing me--or Annie, even."

"How so?" asked Mrs Lee, greatly amused at the eagerness of one usually so quiet and self-restrained.

"Oh, I can hardly tell you. She looks so different--from me, I mean.

Annie's more like her. But it's not so much her looks. She is so brave and cheerful and strong. She is not afraid. And yet she is gentle, and has patience with us all."

"Is she one of those you were speaking about just now--a child of G.o.d?"

"Yes; she is," said Christie, gravely. "She doesn't say much about it; but I do believe it is that which makes the difference. No wonder that she is strong and brave and cheerful always, when she is quite sure that _all things_ will work together for her good."

Christie spoke the last words rather to herself than to Mrs Lee. The lady listened with much interest, however. She had long ago learned to value her little nurse for her faithfulness and her desire to do right; but this glimpse she was getting of her inner life was something new.

"It's no wonder I love Effie," continued Christie, whose heart was opened. "When my mother died, I was sickly, and different from the rest; and she gave me to Effie as her special care. I think I should have died if it hadn't been for her. Oh, if I could only see her, just for one minute!"

Christie was in danger of forgetting all else for the moment. But she checked herself by a great effort, and said:

"I don't mean that I am discontented here, or that I would go home if I could. I know it is best I should be here."

"What do you mean by all things working together for good?" said Mrs Lee, by and by. "I suppose Christians have trials and sorrows as well as others?"

"Oh, yes! I don't mean that. But a Christian may be sure that even his trials are sent for the best. That is what John Nesbitt said to Effie and me once. He said, if we had a friend of whose love we could be sure, a friend who was wise and powerful and who had promised to bring us safely through our troubles, we should have no cause to fret and despond, though we might not understand all that happened by the way.

We might be sure that in the end all would be well."

"If one could only have such a friend!" said Mrs Lee, with an audible sigh.

"Well, I suppose Jesus Christ is such a friend to those who love Him,"

said Christie, softly. "He's loving and powerful, and He has promised; and He cannot break His promise, we know. If we would but trust Him!"

Mrs Lee said nothing. The look of care that Christie had seen on her face many times since she came, and oftener than ever within the last few weeks, was settling on it now. She leaned her head on her hand, and sighed many times, as she sat gazing on the face of her baby, who had fallen asleep on her knee. Christie took up her book; but she could not help stealing a glance, now and then, at the mother and child.

Thinking of Mrs Lee's troubles, Christie for a time forgot her own; and it was not so difficult to wait till the next week to see her sister as she supposed it would be. She had to wait longer than that before their arrangements were made. Annie wrote to Effie; but as only a weekly mail reached them, and as even that one might fail, it was some time before they could expect to hear from her. The days pa.s.sed very slowly.

Effie's letter seemed a long time in coming.

In the meanwhile April came in, and as the days grew longer and milder, Christie's anxiety to hear grew more intense. It seemed to her that she must get away from the town and run home for a little while. The longing never left her. Her stories to the children were all about the buds that were beginning to show themselves, and the flowers and birds that would be coming soon. She told them how all living creatures were rejoicing in the return of spring, how glad the calves and the young lambs would be to find themselves in the pastures, that were now becoming green. She told them how the icy bands that had bound the little brooks through all the winter-time were broken now by the bright suns.h.i.+ne, and how by this time the water must have reached the hollow at the foot of the birch-tree and covered the turf seat there. She told them how the waters rushed and murmured when they rose so high that the green buds of the birch-tree dipped into them, and how the wind swayed the young willows, till she seemed to hear the sound, and grew faint with her longing to be there.

The letter came at last. Annie was to do as she thought best, Effie said. She could judge what was wisest, and what she would like, better than they could, who were so far-away; but as for Christie, she was to come home. Not to exchange with Sarah, however. Whether one of them would go back, or whether both were to stay at home, was to be decided afterwards; but in the meantime Christie was to come home.

"Think of it!" Effie said; "six long months away! Aunt Elsie, Mrs Nesbitt, old Mrs Grey--everybody said she must come home."

How the poor girl's heart leaped to meet the welcome that awaited her!

Yes, she must go home, for a little while at least. Mrs Lee was grieved at the prospect of parting with her. Christie was almost vexed with herself that the thought of leaving her and the children should not be more painful to her. But there was too much joy in her heart to leave room for more sorrow.

"I didna think I should be so glad to go," she said to Annie many times during their last walk from church. Annie laughed.

"You have forgotten Aunt Elsie and all other vexations. Wait till you get home. It won't be all suns.h.i.+ne there, I can tell you."

But even the thought of Aunt Elsie had not the power of making Christie anything but glad. She was afraid of nothing, except that something might happen to hinder her going home.

"You foolish child!" said Annie, laughing. "What could happen?"