Chapter VII: Settling Down

IT was quite a week before Hope grasped the reins of home government, and as she feared, she made many mistakes. If she taught Anne a few lessons in method and cleanliness, Anne taught her some in economy, for as yet Hope had little idea of the value of money. Mr. St. Clair was curiously punctilious in all business matters; he told his daughter he had never been in debt during the whole of his rough colonial life, and Brian informed her that this trait had made him quite conspicuous amongst his happy-go-lucky neighbours. He insisted now upon having weekly books from the tradesmen; and putting aside a certain sum for housekeeping, would not exceed it by a penny.

Hope was aghast at the end of her first week to find that she had exceeded it by a couple of pounds. She promptly supplied the deficit from her own purse, but determined not to err in like manner again. Her days were very full. She found her mending-basket never empty. Her father made great demands on her time and attention, and she was not sure of half an hour to herself throughout the day. The first Sunday had been pouring wet, and none of the family had gone to church, but one afternoon in the following week, she found that she could attend the cathedral service.

The stillness and coolness of the atmosphere struck her more forcibly than ever, but she was able now to join in the service with all her heart, and her soul was refreshed and strengthened by communion with One whom she had learnt to love.

Coming out, Mrs. Dane stopped her, and as she shook hands, there was something in her firm genial grasp that brought at once a sense of strength and sympathy.

"Are you back again?" she asked. "I am so glad to see you. How is your aunt?"

"She is not with me," said Hope, adding impulsively. "May I walk a part of the way home with you?"

In a few minutes, she made Mrs. Dane aware of her altered circumstances. She touched lightly upon them, but the elder woman looked upon her with quickened interest as she talked.

"Do you remember saying to me that you wanted to turn from a butterfly into a bee?" she asked presently.

"Yes. I was in a kind of transition state then, or wanting to be. But in town I learnt a good deal. I see life so differently now Mrs. Dane."

The tone more than the words conveyed all that Hope wished her friend to know; and Mrs. Dane was quick at comprehension.

"I expect you are having a very uphill time, are you not?"

"Yes, I am. The thing I mind most is that I have so little time to myself. Quiet seems at an end. And quiet peace is what I have longed for so much. The thought of the possibility of it quite reconciled me to leaving all my gaiety."

"But," said Mrs. Dane thoughtfully, "however busy we are, we can carry the sense of peace about with us. Do you know that hymn—

"'Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties press'd?
To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.'"

Hope's face brightened visibly.

"How strange!" she said. "It was the first verse of that hymn that haunted me so when I came here in the early spring, and now you have given me another verse of it."

"A very beautiful one, as I know from experience. When we realise our thronging duties are all opportunities for carrying out our Lord's will, that it is service for Him as well as for our fellow-creatures, we have rest at once in the midst of them."

"Oh," said Hope; "it will make my days so easy if I remember it."

She said little more, and they soon came to the corner where they had to part.

"May I come and see you?" Mrs. Dane asked.

Hope hesitated for a moment, remembering Brian's words, and then replied:

"Thank you, very much. It will be very kind of you, but if it is one of my father's bad days, and I am with him, you will understand if I do not appear."

"Certainly I will. Shall we waive ceremony, and will you come to tea with me the first day you can manage it?"

"I shall be delighted."

When Hope entered her home, she carried such a radiant face that her father even remarked upon it.

"I suppose it is your good health that makes you so happy," he remarked. "I used to be called at school 'Jolly George.' When I think of myself in those days, and contrast them with myself now, I can hardly believe I am the same being!"

"No, it is something more than health," said Hope, but she could not tell her father all that she was feeling.

She only knew as the days went on, that in the midst of many uncongenial duties, and more real hard work and anxious thought than she had ever before experienced, she had a deep feeling of peace in her heart. The realisation that every bit of her day was just carrying out the will of God for her, brought her more than ease of mind, it brought her keen enjoyment.

And soon the household wheels began to run smoothly. Brian, coming home tired at the end of his day, was conscious of home comforts and brightness. The flowers about the house, the daintiness of the meals, and the sparkling personality of Hope herself, all marked a strong contrast to the struggles and failures of the time before. Hope was naturally of a buoyant nature, and though at first the irksomeness of her duties appalled her, when she realised that even cooking appetising dishes for her father, mending her small brothers' clothes, and dusting and tidying rooms were all distinctly service to the Master she was longing to serve, those very duties became a delight to her. She was not perfect; there were times when impatience and loss of temper gained the day, but she gradually won the affection of all the household, and her reign was a happy one.

One afternoon when her father was lying down with a bad headache, and did not wish to be disturbed, she went over to call upon Mrs. Dane. She found her sitting under the trees in her garden, and whilst she worked, her son Lancelot was reading aloud to her.

"I am so glad to see you, my dear. We are enjoying an idle hour. Do you know my son Lancelot? He is with me again for a short time."

"We have never met, Miss St. Clair, but I feel that I know all about you," Lancelot said, speaking in fresh keen tones. "I think I may say I began to know you when you first came into the cathedral that early spring evening; do you remember?"

"Yes," said Hope, blushing slightly. "I noticed you. I liked your attention to your mother."

They laughed. Mrs. Dane put her hand lightly on her son's broad shoulder.

"I believe," she said, with a humorous twinkle in her eyes, "that his attention to his old mother has sometimes prevented his attention to young people. He is considered a very unsociable being in these parts."

"I am not a society man," Lancelot responded, drawing a lounge chair forward for Hope to occupy.

"Do you know, Miss St. Clair, I fancy I am acquainted with your father. Was he not in Canada some years ago?"

"Yes, he has only just returned home," Hope said. "Did you meet him out there? I thought India was your country."

"There are not many countries that I have not visited," Lancelot replied. "I was then secretary to the Premier over there. But I did not meet your father officially. Ask him if he remembers the buffalo at the Red River."

"I will. He is in such bad health now, so different from what he was."

"Lancelot, will you tell them we will have tea out here?"

Then, as he moved towards the house, Mrs. Dane turned to her young guest.

"My boys are laughed at for their love of home, but I will say in excuse for Lancelot, that he has been away from me for fifteen long years, and he will be going out to India again in the autumn."

"Is he stationed there?" Hope asked.

"Yes, he has a very good Government appointment in Calcutta. Sir Hugh Mowbray got it for him. He was his secretary, as he told you, when he was in Canada. But Lancelot has not had good health lately, and I wish for many reasons that he was not going back. Well, I will not talk only of myself and my family. How are you getting on, dear? I have been thinking a good deal about you lately."

"Things are going better," said Hope cheerfully. "I am daily finding out what an ignoramus I am, and am struggling hard with cookery-books at present. Why do they always leave out the vital point, Mrs. Dane? They tell you that you are to mix ingredients, but never 'how!' I've been stirring things with a spoon instead of my fingers, and 'vice versâ.' But I turned out a delicious pudding yesterday. The only pity was that the boys ate it up so soon!"

Her merry laugh rang out as Lancelot returned.

Mrs. Dane, remembering the past life that she had been leading, could only wonder at her quick adaptability to her altered circumstances, and then conversation took a graver turn. Lancelot began to discuss the book he had been reading to his mother. It was extracts from some of the modern thinkers of the day.

Hope listened with interest. The problem of universal suffering was the topic, that mystery of the human race which to some souls seems the key to all that is noblest and best, to others the knell of bitterness and despair.

"We have been reading that the laws of compensation are not sufficiently grasped," said Lancelot, sitting down and fastening his keen bright eyes on Hope as he spoke. "What do you say, Miss St. Clair? Do you ever think of these things?"

"Yes," said Hope softly, "sometimes. But I would rather hear your opinions than give my own. I take life too lightly, I believe. I have not yet looked much beyond my own immediate circle."

"It is easy to sit down comfortably and theorise upon such a subject," said Lancelot gravely. "To a certain extent I know that a capacity to enjoy as well as to suffer is given to every class and race. The lower races, we know, are not so highly strung as the more civilised. They suffer less in consequence, but I think it is encouraging self-indulgence to wipe out our neighbours' heavy burdens with the reflection that they do not feel them. What do you say, mother?"

"I believe if we all shared each other's burdens, as we should, four-fifths of the misery in the world would be saved."

"But how can you share them?" asked Hope. "I can't go and live in a drunkard's home, for instance, and share the misery and anxieties of a drunkard's wife."

"No, but you can offer her your sympathy and help, and be as anxious and earnest about the reformation of her husband as if he belonged to you," said Mrs. Dane.

"I have never had anything to do with the poor," said Hope, after a moment's silence, "and my time is too full now to take a district."

Then she gave a little laugh.

"You see that I cannot talk broadly on these things; I narrow them down to my own experience."

"Some people think that if they want to help their neighbours, they must begin with the poor," said Lancelot smiling. "I have found in my travels that there are quite as many burdens borne by our own class in life as in any other."

"Yes," said Mrs. Dane, "but how many keep their purses in their pockets, using that plea, 'Charity begins at home.'"

They were interrupted here by the arrival of two visitors, Hester and Minnie Chesney, and Hope was not pleased at the interruption. Minnie pounced upon her at once.

"You little wretch! What do you mean by keeping us in ignorance of your whereabouts? We only heard yesterday that you were in this part again. We have just come home, you know. Now, you must come to our tennis-party to-morrow without fail."

Hope shook her head.

"I can't, Minnie, thank you. I am not with my aunt now."

"Aren't you? But what difference does that make? We heard from May Fosberry that your father had come home and that you were with him."

"Yes, I am. He is in very bad health, and my time is much occupied at home."

"Rubbish! You can come over to Mrs. Dane, and we are only a few miles farther out. We shall take no excuses. Tell your father you must have some recreation. Are you at Wistaria Lodge?"

"Yes, but we are living very economically, and I am cooking and mending and housekeeping all day long."

"I don't believe you!"

Both girls laughed, but Hester regarded Hope with serious eyes.

"You are looking quite thin," she remarked. "What have you been doing to yourself?"

"And, Hope, have you heard May's last fad? She says she is going to give up society and do something with her life. Don't you hate that phrase? She's what the Dissenters would call 'converted,' I believe! Now, Mrs. Dane, don't look at me with shocked eyes. I'm awfully fond of you, but I'm not fond of your religion."

"I wish," said Hope, slowly and emphatically, "that I was as good as May is."

"May is all right," Hester said abruptly; then she turned to talk to Lancelot.

Conversation became general, but Hope soon rose to leave. She cheerfully but decidedly told Minnie that she could not accept her invitation, whereupon that young lady declared that she would swoop down upon her very soon and carry her off by force.

"And have you not a brother? What is he doing? He is sure to like tennis, if you don't. You must bring him with you."

"He is at work."

"What is he doing?"

"I really don't know," and as she spoke, Hope hesitated.

"Something in the City, I expect. That's what most young men say about here," said Minnie, laughing.

As she walked home, Hope began to ponder over Brian. She wondered if he ever wanted relaxation like most young men, or if he were perfectly content to work all day, and come home at night to attend to the wants of his household, and soothe and cheer an irritable sick man.

"I really must make him tell me what he does. He seems so secretive about it. I wonder if the boys know."

Strangely enough, that very evening Jerry mentioned his brother to Hope.

"Toby and me saw Brian in the town to-day. He has a grand time riding about like a gentleman. I wish father would give us a pony."

"But," said Hope, "Brian works very hard. He was only in the town on business, I expect."

Jerry laughed derisively.

"Nice business! He was following an awfully smart young woman on horseback, and enjoying himself, you bet!"

"Hush!" said Hope. "That isn't the way to speak of Brian."

But the boy's words surprised her.

That evening her father retired to bed early. Sitting out with some work in the garden, she told Brian of her visit to Mrs. Dane's. His brows contracted sternly when he heard about the Chesneys.

"You need not include me in any of their parties," he said somewhat bitterly, "for I am not going near them."

"Well, I don't think I shall go," said Hope; "I have not time. But, Brian, I have been thinking about you to-day. I don't think your life is natural or right. You have told me so little of what you are doing that I do not know if you are hardworked or not, but I do know that you never take a holiday, and even on Sunday you are away from us morning and evening. You ought to have some relaxation in the week. Don't you feel the need of it?"

Brian did not answer for a moment; then he said abruptly:

"Have you come to stay, Hope? Because if you have, I almost think I could go back to Canada. I don't believe father would miss me. And you seem to be getting on all right."

Hope's heart sank within her. She hardly knew herself how much she leant upon her younger brother for help and advice, but now the thought of living in Kayminster without him filled her with dismay.

"I'm glad you think I'm getting on all right," she said with her bright laugh, "but I hide up a lot of my delinquencies from you, remember! Are you very anxious to get back to Canada?"

"I would stay, of course, if father really wanted me, but I'd have a chance of getting on if I went back. You must remember Canada is more my home than England—I know the ways of it better."

"And do you dislike your work here very much? Brian, won't you tell me what it is? Trust me. I will let it go no further. I know it is honest work; you have told me so. I imagine it is horse-breeding, is it not, with some big farmer?"

Brian gave a short laugh. He was on his knees weeding a flower-bed. Now he stood up and squared his shoulders, looking at his sister rather defiantly.

"It is for your sake that I have said nothing about it. I am not ashamed of it, but you may be, having your grand friends all round this part. Would you like me to tell you?"

"Yes," said Hope quietly, "I should."

"Then here it is. I am groom in Lord Cotes's stables."

For one moment Hope was petrified. She had met Lord Cotes in town, and though she had not happened to meet him when she had last been in Kayminster, the Chesneys knew him well, and were often over at the Hall. He lived about three miles out of Kayminster.

"Why—why did you not tell me before?" she asked falteringly.

"Because I did not want to see the look on your face that you have at this moment. You, need not be afraid. I have left out the 'Saint' in my name, and he does not associate Brian Clair, the second groom, with Miss Hope St. Clair, a Society beauty!"

"Oh, Brian, don't be so bitter! I am not—not ashamed—but I'm sorry for you, that you should be in such a position. What made you do it?"

"Necessity, and perhaps inclination. I am fond of horses and really understand them. I got the job, remember, before you came to us."

"And you want to give it up?"

"You won't be so loth to let me go now that you know what my billet is!"

"I don't care what it is!" Hope cried impulsively. "I shall miss you immensely, but if it is for your good, I will, of course, try to get on without you. Why, Brian!"—her eyes brightened as she turned them on him—"I admire you intensely for your pluck and unselfishness. I only wish I were half as plucky myself!"

Brian heaved a sigh. He seemed relieved at having made a clean breast of it.

"I could not dangle round doing nothing!" he said. "And father does not know. I don't believe he would mind if he did. But I've been afraid of being recognised by you when I've been riding about. I know what you feel. And, of course, I'm making nothing by my job—only just supporting myself."

"I don't know about that," said Hope. "You have given me a good bit towards the housekeeping."

After further talk, she promised to discuss his leaving for Canada with her father; but when she was alone in her room that night, her courage almost failed her.

Brian did not know the struggle and strain of her daily life. Her very unfitness for it, owing to her lack of training in economy and usefulness, made it much more laborious than it need have been. Brian, returning after the day's work had been done, did not realise how exhausting it was to both mind and body, and Hope prided herself upon not enlightening him.

Yet as she leant out of her window as usual to hear the midnight chimes of the cathedral, she repeated to herself the verse that was her comfort through it all:

"'Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties press'd?
To do the will of Jesus, this is rest.'"