young heart and revolted her fastidious sense. It was not pleasant; and Rotha, like most others who have no experience of life, was devoted to what was pleasant. She wondered to see the glee and enjoyment with which Mrs. Mowbray moved about among these poor people; a word, and a word of cheer, for every one; her very looks and presence coming like beams of loving light upon their darkness. She seemed to know them almost all.
"How's rheumatism, aunty?" she asked cheerily of a little, wrinkled, yellow old woman, sitting in a rocking chair and hovering near a fire.
"O missus, it's right smart bad! it is surely."
"Where is it now? in your hands, or your feet?"
"O missus, it is all places! 'Pears there aint no place where it aint. It's in my hands, and in my feet, and in my head, and in my back; and I can't sleep o' nights; and the nights is powerful long! so they be."
"Ah, yes; it makes a long night, to have to lie awake aching! I know that by experience. I had rheumatism once."
"Did you, missus! But it warn't so bad as I be?"
"No, not quite, and I was stronger to bear it. You know who is strong to help you bear it, aunty?"
"Yes, missus," said the poor creature with a long sigh;--"I does love de Lord; sartain, I do. He do help. But I be so tired some times!"
"We'll forget all that when we get to heaven, aunty."
There was a faint gleam in the old eyes, as they looked up to her; a faint smile on the withered lips. The rays of that morning light were catching the clouds already!
"Now, aunty, I've brought you some splendid tea. Shall I make you a cup, right off?"
"You wouldn't have time missus--"
"Yes, I would! Time for everything. Here, Sabrina, bring a kettle of boiling water here and put it on the fire; mind, it must boil."
And while the woman went to obey the order, Mrs. Mowbray went on round the room. There were so many to speak to, Rotha thought she would forget the kettle and the tea; but she did not. From the very door which should have let her into another ward, she turned back The kettle was boiling; she ordered several cups; she made the tea, not out of the old woman's particular private store; and then she poured it out, sugared and creamed and gave her her cup; took one herself, and gave the rest to whosoever came for it. They held quite a little festival there round the fire; for Mrs. Mowbray brought out some cake too.
"Now," she said to Rotha as they hurried away, "they will not forget that for a year to come. I always take a cup of tea with aunty Lois."
They went now among the men, distributing the tobacco. Rotha admired with unending admiration, the grace and sweetness and tact with which Mrs. Mowbray knew how to season her gifts; the enormous amount of pleasure she gave and good she did which were quite independent of them. Bent figures straightened up, and dull faces shone out, as she talked. The very beauty which belonged to her in so rare measure, Rotha saw how it was a mighty talent for good when brought thoroughly into the service of Christ. She was a fair human angel going about among those images of want and suffering and hopelessness; her light lingered on them after she had passed on.
"How do you do, uncle Bacchus?" she said as she approached an old, gray-haired, very black man in a corner. He rose to his feet and shewed a tall, slim figure, not bent at all, though the indications of his face pointed to very advanced age. He bowed profoundly, and with dignity, before the lovely lady who had extended her hand to him, and then he took the hand.
"Nearer home, madam," he said; "a year nearer home."
The hand trembled, and the voice; yet the mental tone of it was very firm.
"You are not in a hurry to leave us?"
"It's better on de oder side, madam."
"Yes, that is true! And it is good to know there _is_ an 'other side,' isn't it? Are you comfortable here, uncle Bacchus?"
'"Comfortable--" he repeated. "I don' know. I'm sittin' at de gates, waitin' till de Lord say open 'em; and 'pears I'm lookin' dat way all de time. Dis yer's a waitin' place. A waitin' place."
"Yes, but I want you to be comfortable while you are waiting. What can I do for you? The dear Lord has sent me to ask you."
He smiled a little, a very sweet smile, though the lips were so withered on which it came.
"Don't want for not'ing, madam. Dis yer'll do to wait in. When I get home, I'll have all I want; but it's up _dere_."
"I thought, uncle Bacchus, you would like a very plain page to read the words in that you love. See, I have brought you this. This will almost do without spectacles, hey?"
She produced a New Testament in four thin volumes, of the very largest and clearest type; presenting a beautiful open page. The old man almost chuckled as he received it.
"Dat ar's good!" he said.
"Better than the old one, hey?"
"Dat ar certainly is good," he repeated. "De old un, de words is so torturous small, if I didn't know what dey was, 'pears dey wouldn't be no use to me."
"Well, then I made no mistake this time. Now, uncle Bacchus, I know you take no comfort in tobacco; so I've brought you something else--something you like. Must have something to make Christmas gay, you know."
She put a paper of French bonbons in the old man's hand. He laughed, half at her and half at the sugarplums, Rotha thought; and he bowed again.
"De Lord give madam sumfin' to make _her_ gay!" he said.
"Himself, uncle Bacchus!"
"Dat's so, madam!" he replied, as she took his hand to bid him good bye.
This was a much longer colloquy than usual; a few words were all there was time for, generally; and Rotha went on wondering and admiring to see how Mrs. Mowbray could make those few words tell for the pleasure and good of her beneficiaries. At last the whole round was made, the last package disposed of, and Mrs. Mowbray and Rotha found themselves in the carriage again. Rotha for her part was glad; she did not like the Home, as I have said; the sight of the people was painful to her, even with all the alleviations of pleasure. She was glad to be driving away from the place. What did they know of Bagster's Bibles and Russia covered travelling bags? Poor creatures! And Rotha's heart was leaping at thought of her own.
They went in silence for a while.
"Aren't you very tired, Mrs. Mowbray?" Rotha ventured at last.
"Tired?" said Mrs. Mowbray brightly, rousing herself. "I don't know! I don't stop to think whether I am tired. There will be plenty of time to rest, by and by."
"That does not hinder one from feeling tired now," said Rotha, who did not enjoy this doctrine.
"No, but it hinders one from minding it," said Mrs. Mowbray. "Do all you can for other people, Rotha; it is the greatest happiness you can find in this life."
"Do you think you had as much pleasure in getting those things for me, Mrs. Mowbray,--my bag and my Bible,--and all my things,--as I had, and have, in receiving them?"
Mrs. Mowbray smiled. "Do they give you pleasure?" she asked.
"More than you can think--more than I can tell. I think I am dreaming!"
"Then that gives _me_ pleasure. What are you going to do with your Bible?"
"I am going to study it--" said Rotha slowly; "and I am going to live by it."
"Are you? Have you decided that point?"
"Yes, ma'am. But I am not good yet, Mrs. Mowbray. I do not forgive aunt Serena. It feels to me as if there was a stone where my heart ought to be."
"Have you found that out?" said Mrs. Mowbray without shewing any surprise. "There is help, my child. Look, when you get home, at the thirty sixth chapter of Ezekiel--I cannot tell you what verse--and you will find it there."
They had no more talk until the carriage stopped at home. And Rotha had no chance then even to open her Bible, but must make herself immediately ready for dinner.
CHAPTER XVIII.
FLINT AND STEEL.
That Christmas dinner remained a point of delight in Rotha's memory for ever. The company was small, several of the young ladies having accepted invitations to dine with some fr
iend or acquaintance. It was most agreeably small, to Rotha's apprehension, for she could see more of Mrs. Mowbray and more informally. Everybody was in gala dress and gala humour, nobody more than the mistress of the house; and she had done everything in her power to make the Christmas dinner a gala meal. Flowers and lights were in plenty; the roast turkey was followed by ices, confections and fruits, all of delicious quality; and Mrs. Mowbray's own kind and gracious ministry made everything doubly sweet. Rotha had besides such joy in her heart, that turkey and ices had