"It is not well to say,
Our lowly race is run
In far too narrow way,
For great deeds to be done.
"Let fair intention move
The heart to do its best,
And little wrought in love
Is 'good work' great and blest."
ELIZA COOK.
MRS. RUST'S recovery was much hastened by Margie's presence at home, especially as she knew that, through the kindness of her young mistress, the forced holiday would in no way affect her prospects. Still, December was nearly over, and the Old Year, with hoary head and darkened sight, was tottering to his grave, before Margie reappeared as maid-of-all-work at the Lodge.
Lilla needed no thanks. Margie's happy face, as she once more took up her place in the little kitchen, was reward enough.
"And how tidy you've kept everything, Miss Lilla," she said. "I had no idea that ladies could work."
"I only had to get up a little earlier," returned Lilla. "I never quite liked your being capable of something I couldn't do. All I minded was being obliged to neglect my lessons, but Miss St. Ives knew it was not my fault, so she did not scold me."
Poor Margie said nothing, but Lilla had unintentionally made her feel that she was to blame if her young mistress had been kept back on the rto greatness. Yet she herself had never once murmured at having given up all the money which was to have enabled her to make the first start towards "getting on."
Meanwhile, as the old frock grew older and older, it became increasingly difficult to make it look respectable, and when Lilla went into the kitchen on the last day of the old year, which happened to be Saturday, she found Margie patching it, with a very rueful look upon her face.
"You will soon be able to have the new one now, Margie," Lilla said, kindly.
Margie shook her head. "I want new boots, first, Miss Lilla," she said. "I must make this do a bit longer. I had no idea it would be so difficult to get on," she added, with a little sigh as she prepared to fix another patch. "But, then, I mustn't complain, after all your kindness."
"It does seem hard to get on," said Lilla, reflectively. "Mr. Munro said the way was always to do the thing that lay the nearest, but I have been trying to do that ever since last March, and now the year is gone, I don't believe I'm a step nearer being 'great' than I was when I started."
Margie was silent, not knowing what to say, but she understood perfectly well how Lilla felt.
"Mother often tells us we don't know what we can do till we try," she went on to herself when Lilla was gone. "It seems as if we don't know how hard some things are till we try . . . And yet I've learnt a good deal since last spring. A few months ago I couldn't have sewn on these patches without mother fixing them, and I suppose I only found out how to do it by trying. But, after all, being able to patch my frock doesn't make me 'great.'"
Had Margie opened her Bible at the right place, she would have read—"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much." But, probably, she would not have thought the words had much to do with her.
Next day she went to church as usual, only feeling more than ever glad that it was dark, so that the smartly-dressed people who pushed by her in the aisle could not see how shabby she was. She thought about it a good deal more than she ought to have done during the prayers, but at the first sound of the text she started as if Mr. Munro had addressed her by name, and all through the sermon she listened with undivided attention.
The verse which he had given out was Matt. xx. 26: "Whosoever will be 'great' among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant: even as the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many."
There was a great deal in the sermon that she could not understand, but one thing Mr. Munro said plainly: that those who, of their own free will, became the servants of others, were most truly great, because they copied most faithfully the Saviour, who humbled himself for our sakes even to the death upon the cross.
Margie thought of her young mistress.
"Isn't that just like what Miss Lilla did?" she said to herself. "Making herself a servant on purpose to help mother and me?"
Margie was right so far, but not in her next conclusion.
"'I' can never be a servant 'of my own free will,'" she said to herself. "I am obliged to be one to earn my living."
She forgot how she had voluntarily given up her money, to nurse her mother and minister to her brothers and sisters, when she might have gratified her own desires and sought her own pleasure.
Next morning Margie went about her accustomed work as briskly as usual. But as she swept and brushed, this sermon came back to her, and she wished she could be a lady, if only for a single day, so that she might stoop to enter in at the low door of humility which leads to true greatness.
She did not yet know the meaning of the word "servant."
When Lilla came down, she was on her knees, plying her brush vigorously on the carpet. Lilla went straight across to the shelves and took down an armful of . But as she crossed the room to carry them out into the kitchen, she paused.
"You sweep better than I do, Margie," she said. "It makes my wrists ache so."
"I'm used to it, Miss Lilla," replied Margie, looking down at her own stout arms and resting for a moment. "It's not fit for ladies."
"I can't see why ladies should not be able to do what their servants can," said Lilla, thoughtfully. "How can they pretend to be greater, else?"
Margie bent forward again with one palm on the carpet and gave one or two strokes with her brush, as though half a mind to say something.
"Miss Lilla," she asked suddenly, without looking up, "did you listen to the sermon last night?"
"Of course I did," replied Lilla. "Why? I always do; don't you?"
"I don't know," replied Margie, still sweeping gently. "I don't think I do, for I never heard one before that kept in my head so much. Did you notice that it was all about being great?"
"Yes," returned Lilla, with a sigh. "But it didn't make it any plainer to me how I was to be great."
"Didn't it, Miss Lilla?" said Margie. "It seemed to be all about you."
"All about me?" Lilla rested her on the table and began chafing her hands, which were still red and chapped from the effects of the housework she had done.
Margie noticed them.
"Look at your poor hands, Miss Lilla," she said, raising herself up again and resting on her brush, "and all because you became my servant. That's like what Jesus Christ would have done, if He had seen me crying about my mother."
These words of Margie's threw a new light on the question. It had never occurred to Lilla before that greatness could be reached by any other means than diligent study. But it flashed upon her now that Margie's text was the key to the golden gate; that she must not only strive to store her mind with a wealth of knowledge and learning, but that she must endeavour so to copy the beautiful example of her Saviour's life that all her powers of heart, mind, and soul—as well as every moment of her time—might be consecrated to His service.
"At any rate," she said to herself, glancing with a sense of satisfaction at her rough hands, "I have made a beginning. And, now that I have once found out the way, I shall keep a sharp look out for opportunities of doing good. I will not neglect my studies, and I will do all I can to grow strong and robust. But I will be very good to grandmother and Margie. And as soon as ever I am old enough, I will begin teaching poor children and reading the Bible to old women, and making Dorcas' clothes; and perhaps some of these days I shall be a little bit like Mrs. Fry and Florence Nightingale."
This book comes from：m.funovel.com。