Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 4

"Christie," said her sister, laying her hand on her shoulder, "why are you crying in that way? Surely you have had tears enough for once?

What ails you, child? Speak to me, Christie."

"Oh, you _might_ have brought it!" she exclaimed, through her sobs.

"You almost promised."

"No, Christie, I didna promise. I didna forget it. But I am afraid-- indeed, I am sure--that the reading of the book would do you no good, but harm; and so I didna bring it to you. You are wrong to be so vexed about it."

"Is it a bad book?" asked Christie.

"I am not sure that it is a _bad_ book. But I think it might do you harm to read it. I am afraid your imagination is too full of such things already."

This had been said to her in far sharper words many a time before; and Christie made no answer.

"You know yourself, Christie, when you get a book that interests you, you are apt to neglect other things for the pleasure of reading it.

Almost always Aunt Elsie has to find fault with you for it."

"Aunt Elsie always finds fault with me!" sighed Christie.

"But you give her reason to find fault with you when you neglect your duties for such reading, as you must confess you do; even to-day, you know."

"I believe it grieves Aunt Elsie's heart to see me taking pleasure in anything," said Christie, turning round pa.s.sionately. "She never heeds when Annie or Sarah takes a book; but if I look the way of one, she's at me. I believe she would be glad if there was no such thing as a book in the house."

"Hush, Christie! You are wrong to speak in that way. It is not true what you are saying. Aunt Elsie is fond of reading; and if she doesna object to Annie and Sarah taking a book, it is because they don't very often do so. They never neglect their work for reading, as you too often do."

All this was true, as Christie's conscience told her; but she was by no means willing to confess as much; so she turned away her face, and said, pettishly:

"Oh, well, I hear all that often enough. There's no use in saying anything more about it."

Effie rose, and went to the other side of the room. When she returned, she carried something wrapped in paper in her hand.

"Look, Christie; I brought you a book--a better book than 'The Scottish Chiefs.' Turn round and look at it."

Slowly Christie raised herself up and turned round. She was ashamed of her petulance by this time. Something shone in the light of the candle which Effie held.

"What is it?" she asked; and her sister placed it in her hand.

It was a Bible, a very beautiful one, bound in purple morocco, with clasps and gilt edges. It was small, but not too small even for Christie's eyes.

"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Christie, forgetting everything in her delight. "It is the very thing I have been wis.h.i.+ng for!"

Effie said nothing, but watched her, well pleased.

"But, Effie," said Christie, suddenly, "this must have been very dear.

A plainer one would have done just as well. Did it cost much?"

"Not very much," said Effie, sitting down beside her again. "A Bible is for one's whole lifetime, and so I got a good one, and a pretty one, too; you are so fond of pretty things. If I had known that the book-man was coming here I might have waited and let you choose it for yourself.

We might have changed it now, but see, I have written your name in it."

She turned to the fly-leaf, and read "Christina Redfern," with the date, in Effie's pretty handwriting. She gave a sigh of pleasure as she turned it over.

"No, I don't believe there is a nicer one there. It's far prettier than yours, Effie. Wouldna you have liked it? Your old one would have done for me."

"Oh, no, indeed! I would far rather have my own old Bible than the prettiest new one," said Effie, hastily.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Christie. "Mother gave it to you."

"Yes; and, besides, I have got used to it. I know just where to find the places I want, almost without thinking of the chapter."

"It is a perfect beauty of a Bible; and such clear print! But I am afraid it cost a great deal--as much as a pair of shoes, perhaps?" she continued, looking at her sister.

Effie laughed.

"But what comparison is there between a Bible and a pair of shoes? You must read it every day, dear; and then you'll be sure to think of me."

"I do that many times every day," said Christie, sighing.

"I'm glad you like it, dear. Mr Craig ask me if it was for myself; and I told him no, it was for my little sister at home."

Christie started. This, then, was one of the Bibles that the book-man had said he asked G.o.d to bless for the good of at least one soul. And he seemed so sure that his prayer would be heard. And, then, had not her prayer been heard?--not just as she had hoped, but in a better way.

The thought filled her with a strange glad wonder. Could it be possible? Her eye fell on the open page, and her hand trembled as she read:

"Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full."

"Effie," she said, softly, "I thank you very much. Lay it in my little box; and good-night."

The tears that wet her pillow were very different from the drops that had fallen on it a little while before.

"Nothing will be so bad again," she murmured. "Nothing--nothing.

Whatever happens, I can always pray!"

CHAPTER THREE.

ABOUT THE SERMON.

The next two days pa.s.sed pleasantly enough; as the days always did, Christie thought, when Effie was at home. There was plenty to do, more than usual; but the elder sister was strong and willing, and, above all, cheerful, and work seemed play in her hands. Even Aunt Elsie forgot to scold when any little misfortune happened through neglect or carelessness, and Effie's cheerful "Never mind. It canna be helped now.

Let us do the best we can," came between her and the culprit.

Effie was not so merry as she used sometimes to be, Christie thought; and very grave indeed she looked while discussing ways and means with Aunt Elsie. There was a good deal to be discussed, for the winter was approaching, and the little ones were in need of clothes and other things, and Aunt Elsie did Effie the honour to declare that her judgment on these matters was better worth having than that of all the rest of them put together. Certainly, never were old garments examined and considered with greater attention than was bestowed on the motley pile brought from "the blue chest" for her inspection. No wonder that she looked grave over the rents and holes and threadbare places, sure as she was that, however shabby they had become, they must in some way or other be made to serve for a long time yet. It looked like a hopeless task, the attempt to transform by darning and turning, by patching and eking, the poor remnants of last winter's frocks and petticoats into garments suitable for home and school wear.

"Surely no children ever grew so fast as ours!" said Effie, after turning her little sister Ellen round and round, in the vain hope of persuading her aunt and herself that the little linsey-woolsey frock was not much too short and scant for the child. "Katie will need to have it, after all. But what can we do for Nellie?" And Effie looked sorely perplexed.

"It's no' often that folk look on the growing of bairns as a misfortune," said Aunt Elsie, echoing her sigh. "If it werena that we want that green tartan for a kilt for wee Willie, we might manage to get Nellie a frock out of that."

Effie considered deeply.

"Oh, Effie," whispered Christie, when her aunt's back was turned, "never mind that heap of trash just now. You promised to come down to the burn-side with me; and it will soon be time for the milking."