"Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever:
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever
One grand, sweet song."
KINGSLEY.
LILLA found her new resolve harder to carry out than she had expected. She was constantly planning what she could do to serve others, and in her quiet home-life there seemed so little opportunity for heroic deeds of self-sacrifice that she speedily grew disheartened. And whilst she was dreaming of all that she would do when she was grown up—how she would brave the fire of the enemy like the good nurses who tended the soldiers on the battle-field, how she would move to and fro among the beds in the hospital wards followed by the fervent blessings of every patient, or how she would even sail away from her dear, native land, to sit, Bible in hand, under a palm-tree, telling the dark-skinned heathen of the love of Christ—all her real opportunities, "the things that lay the nearest," slipped by. And she was left vexed, and often peevish, because she had done no more. Thus the weeks slipped away, and Easter drew nigh, and still she seemed no nearer her goal.
Then her grandmother fell ill, and studies had to be neglected for poulticing. And the poor child's hands became very full, preparing beef-tea and jellies.
What she would have done without the help of Miss St. Ives in this new trouble, it is impossible to say. For she knew very little about making delicacies. But Miss St. Ives had gained considerable experience in such work, and would often come in for an hour to help her out of her difficulties, or stay with the old lady whilst Lilla went out for some fresh air.
Of course, as long as Mrs. Eden continued seriously ill, there was so much to engage Lilla's attention that her good resolutions and her ambition to be great had a holiday. But when the old lady became fairly convalescent, and things slipped back into their old routine, she began to review the past month and think how little advance she had made.
"I waste so much time," she said to Miss St. Ives one day, as they talked by the firelight whilst Mrs. Eden took her customary nap upstairs, "and then Mr. Munro preaches one of his beautiful sermons and reminds me how all my resolutions have vanished into mist; and I end by being very unhappy."
Lilla had been opening her heart to her friend, and the latter, helped by her own experience, had seen even deeper into its recesses than Lilla knew.
"What do you do when you hear a sermon?" she asked.
"I don't know what to do," replied the girl.
"Don't know what to do?"
Had Miss St. Ives' question been less gently asked, it might have sounded like a harsh censure on Lilla's helplessness. As it was, it had the effect which Miss St. Ives intended—it made Lilla explain to herself the reason why all her good thoughts ended in such a hopeless tangle.
"I think I will do a good many things," she said, looking up quickly, "and then I wonder which I had better begin with, and whether it will be at all possible to do any of them. And it always ends where it began—in thinking."
"Suppose you were to think of one thing only."
"If I knew which one to pick out, I would," answered Lilla, sadly.
"Let me see if I can help you in the choice," said Miss St. Ives. "Give me a list."
Lilla hesitated a moment, and then complied, detailing at length all her plans for devoting her life to the service of God and the good of her fellow creatures.
Miss St. Ives shook her head.
"Not one of them, Lilla," she said.
Lilla looked surprised.
"You are beginning in the wrong place," continued her friend, "because when you have done one, all the rest remain to be done."
Lilla looked yet more hopelessly bewildered, and Miss St. Ives went on: "You never heard of a fruit-tree which 'began' by bearing fruit. All the good works in your list are 'fruits,' but they cannot come unless the tree is 'rooted and grounded in love.' 'As the branch cannot bear fruit, . . . except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in Me,' said Christ."
"What am I to do, then?"
"What does the tree do?"
Lilla rested her chin in her palm, and gazed into the fire. "It grows," she answered, slowly, "but I don't know how it grows."
"No more than how you, yourself, grow."
"Am I growing?"
"Undoubtedly. You are like a seed, struggling upward towards the light."
"But the tree grows without thinking. So many thoughts come into my head about 'how' I am to do it; and that is what puzzles me."
"They are only the signs of life in your soul. If you were to place a seedling where it could barely see the light, what would it do? 'It would grow towards the light.' It would bend and twist itself anyhow in order to escape from under the shade that hid it. And that is what you are doing—struggling to get into the light, because it is the nature of every man and woman whom God has made in His own image to long after His light."
"What am I to do, then?" again asked Lilla, with a sigh.
"You are heavy laden, Lilla," said her friend; "and Christ is calling you to take His yoke upon you. You are like those disciples journeying to Emmaus on that first Easter-even. Your heart burns within you, though you have not recognised His voice."
"But I am trying to serve God," said Lilla, looking up with tears in her eyes.
"I know, Lilla," replied her friend, "but you have been trying with your hands and your head. Give your heart to Christ, and head and hands will follow. For if you truly love Him 'who gave Himself' for you, you will keep His commandments."
"And that will make me truly great," said Lilla, looking up eagerly.
"Not in the eyes of the world," replied Miss St. Ives, gently. "Perhaps 'never' in this world, for the 'narrow way' is no 'Royal R' and those who travel it are often footsore and weary. But they have peace in their hearts, for the Master has trodden it before them. And when it is hardest, they can say, 'He knoweth the way that I take.'"
Lilla sat silent for some minutes, gazing thoughtfully into the blaze. Then she said slowly:
"Is 'following Christ' doing 'the thing that lies the nearest'—however humble it may be—because He has given it me to do, and because I love Him?"
"That is all, Lilla; and that is why it is a way of perfect peace. For we have not to search out great and hard things to do, but just to go on faithfully fulfilling each duty as it comes—for His dear sake."
"High and low, rich and poor, one with another," repeated Lilla, thoughtfully, as her friend, having finished buttoning her gloves, rose to go. "I must tell Margie that."
* * * * * *
Two years have passed since the Easter when Lilla chose "that better part, which shall not be taken away from her," and she has made good progress upon the way that "leadeth unto life."
It has not all been sunshine for her. The dear old face she loved so well is laid to sleep in the churchyard on the hill, and "The Lodge" is no longer Lilla's home. Instead of looking out upon the familiar plantation, with its babbling brook and its chorus of song-birds, her window now faces the backs of the houses in the next street of the suburb where she lives with one of her aunts.
But she has "drunk of the brook by the way," and it has become a fountain of water in her heart, springing up unto everlasting life. And amid all her troubles, she has the knowledge that an all-wise Hand is guiding her, and that her trust is in One who is able to guard and keep her unto the end.
So, although she often longs for a sight of the old place, she is happy in living where God has placed her, and in trying to do her duty faithfully and well. She is building up a strong and useful womanhood which will leave the world the better for its influence.
As for Margie, she has found a home in Mr. Munro's family, glad to remain so near her mother, though deeply sorry to be separated from the young mistress by whose help she came to see that a servant-maid may be as truly great as any lady to whose daily wants she ministers.
She, too, is walking worthy of her high calling, and daily growing in all those Christian graces which beautify the most common lot.
What the future has in store for her we cannot tell. It may be that in years to come she will strengthen the hands of some honest working man, and make his home the happy haven which every English hearth should be. Or it may be she will stay in service all her days, comforting her parents' old age with her savings, and laying up a little store against the time when grey hairs and wrinkles come to her. But either way, her life will be a useful and contented one, if still lived unto Him whose "Well done" is the promised reward of all faithful work.
Meanwhile, although Lilla and Margie do not often meet now, they often write to each other. And Margie will never forget how Lilla helped her to find the way, which—although it is no royal ris yet the path our Saviour trod of old when He bade His disciples "Follow Me."
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