IT was an April day when Christie went to her new home. Warm rainshad melted the last trace of snow, and every bank was full ofpricking grass-blades, brave little pioneers and heralds of theSpring. The budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays screamedamong the apple-trees; and robins chirped shrilly, as if rejoicingover winter hardships safely passed. Vernal freshness was in the airdespite its chill, and lovely hints of summer time were everywhere.

 

　　These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as she walked down thelane, and, coming to a gate, paused there to look about her. Anold-fashioned cottage stood in the midst of a garden just awakeningfrom its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over the low roof,sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every window flowers' bright facessmiled at the passer-by invitingly.

 

　　On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the other stood abarn, with a sleek cow ruminating in the yard, and an inquiringhorse poking his head out of his stall to view the world. Manycomfortable gray hens were clucking and scratching about thehay-strewn floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.

 

　　A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred its peace, andthe hopeful, healthful spirit of the season seemed to haunt thespot. Snow-drops and crocuses were up in one secluded nook; a plumpmaltese cat sat purring in the porch; and a dignified old dog camemarching down the walk to escort the stranger in. With a brighteningface Christie went up the path, and tapped at the quaint knocker,hoping that the face she was about to see would be in keeping withthe pleasant place.

 

　　She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little Quaker ladiesopened to her, with such an air of peace and good-will that theveriest ruffian, coming to molest or make afraid, would have foundit impossible to mar the tranquillity of that benign old face, ordisturb one fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her breast.

 

　　"I come from Mr. Power, and I have a note for Mrs. Sterling," beganChristie in her gentlest tone, as her last fear vanished at sight ofthat mild maternal figure.

 

　　"I am she; come in, friend; I am glad to see thee," said the oldlady, smiling placidly, as she led the way into a room whoseprincipal furniture seemed to be books, flowers, and sunshine.

 

　　The look, the tone, the gentle "thee," went straight to Christie'sheart; and, while Mrs. Sterling put on her spectacles and slowlyread the note, she stroked the cat and said to herself: "Surely, Ihave fallen among a set of angels. I thought Mrs. Wilkins a sort ofsaint, Mr. Power was an improvement even upon that good soul, and ifI am not mistaken this sweet little lady is the best and dearest ofall. I do hope she will like me.""It is quite right, my dear, and I am most glad to see thee; for weneed help at this season of the year, and have had none for severalweeks. Step up to the room at the head of the stairs, and lay offthy things. Then, if thee is not tired, I will give thee a littlejob with me in the kitchen," said the old lady with a kindlydirectness which left no room for awkwardness on the new-comer'spart.

 

　　Up went Christie, and after a hasty look round a room as plain andwhite and still as a nun's cell, she whisked on a working-apron andran down again, feeling, as she fancied the children did in thefairy tale, when they first arrived at the house of the little oldwoman who lived in the wood.

 

　　Mrs. Wilkins's kitchen was as neat as a room could be, wherein sixchildren came and went, but this kitchen was tidy with theimmaculate order of which Shakers and Quakers alone seem to possessthe secret,--a fragrant, shining cleanliness, that made even blackkettles ornamental and dish-pans objects of interest. Nothing burnedor boiled over, though the stove was full of dinner-pots andskillets. There was no litter or hurry, though the baking of cakeand pies was going on, and when Mrs. Sterling put a pan of apples,and a knife into her new assistant's hands, saying in a tone thatmade the request a favor, "Will thee kindly pare these for me?"Christie wondered what would happen if she dropped a seed upon thefloor, or did not cut the apples into four exact quarters.

 

　　"I never shall suit this dear prim soul," she thought, as her eyewent from Puss, sedately perched on one small mat, to the dog dozingupon another, and neither offering to stir from their own dominions.

 

　　This dainty nicety amused her at first, but she liked it, and verysoon her thoughts went back to the old times when she worked withAunt Betsey, and learned the good old-fashioned arts which now wereto prove her fitness for this pleasant place.

 

　　Mrs. Sterling saw the shadow that crept into Christie's face, andled the chat to cheerful things, not saying much herself, butbeguiling the other to talk, and listening with an interest thatmade it easy to go on.

 

　　Mr. Power and the Wilkinses made them friends very soon; and in anhour or two Christie was moving about the kitchen as if she hadalready taken possession of her new kingdom.

 

　　"Thee likes housework I think," said Mrs. Sterling, as she watchedher hang up a towel to dry, and rinse her dish-cloth when thecleaning up was done.

 

　　"Oh, yes! if I need not do it with a shiftless Irish girl to driveme distracted by pretending to help. I have lived out, and did notfind it hard while I had my good Hepsey. I was second girl, and canset a table in style. Shall I try now?" she asked, as the old ladywent into a little dining-room with fresh napkins in her hand.

 

　　"Yes, but we have no style here. I will show thee once, andhereafter it will be thy work, as thy feet are younger than mine."A nice old-fashioned table was soon spread, and Christie keptsmiling at the contrast between this and Mrs. Stuart's. Chubbylittle pitchers appeared, delicate old glass, queer china, and tinytea-spoons; linen as smooth as satin, and a quaint tankard thatmight have come over in the "May-flower.""Now, will thee take that pitcher of water to David's room? It is atthe top of the house, and may need a little dusting. I have not beenable to attend to it as I would like since I have been alone," saidMrs. Sterling.

 

　　Rooms usually betray something of the character and tastes of theiroccupants, and Christie paused a moment as she entered David's, tolook about her with feminine interest.

 

　　It was the attic, and extended the whole length of the house. Oneend was curtained off as a bedroom, and she smiled at its austeresimplicity.

 

　　A gable in the middle made a sunny recess, where were stored bagsand boxes of seed, bunches of herbs, and shelves full of those tinypots in which baby plants are born and nursed till they can growalone.

 

　　The west end was evidently the study, and here Christie took a goodlook as she dusted tidily. The furniture was nothing, only an oldsofa, with the horsehair sticking out in tufts here and there; anantique secretary; and a table covered with books. As she whiskedthe duster down the front of the ancient piece of furniture, one ofthe doors in the upper half swung open, and Christie saw threeobjects that irresistibly riveted her eyes for a moment. A brokenfan, a bundle of letters tied up with a black ribbon, and a littlework-basket in which lay a fanciful needle-book with "Letty"embroidered on it in faded silk.

 

　　"Poor David, that is his little shrine, and I have no right to seeit," thought Christie, shutting the door with self-reproachfulhaste.

 

　　At the table she paused again, for books always attracted her, andhere she saw a goodly array whose names were like the faces of oldfriends, because she remembered them in her father's library.

 

　　Faust was full of ferns, Shakspeare, of rough sketches of the menand women whom he has made immortal. Saintly Herbert lay side byside with Saint Augustine's confessions. Milton and Montaigne stoodsocially together, and Andersen's lovely "M?rchen" fluttered itspictured leaves in the middle of an open Plato; while several booksin unknown tongues were half-hidden by volumes of Browning, Keats,and Coleridge.

 

　　In the middle of this fine society, slender and transparent as thespirit of a shape, stood a little vase holding one half-opened rose,fresh and fragrant as if just gathered.

 

　　Christie smiled as she saw it, and wondered if the dear, dead, orfalse woman had been fond of roses.

 

　　Then her eye went to the mantel-piece, just above the table, and shelaughed; for, on it stood three busts, idols evidently, but veryshabby ones; for G?the's nose was broken, Schiller's head crackedvisibly, and the dust of ages seemed to have settled upon Linn?us inthe middle. On the wall above them hung a curious old picture of amonk kneeling in a devout ecstasy, while the face of an angel isdimly seen through the radiance that floods the cell with divinelight. Portraits of Mr. Power and Martin Luther stared thoughtfullyat one another from either side, as if making up their minds toshake hands in spite of time and space.

 

　　"Melancholy, learned, and sentimental," said Christie to herself, asshe settled David's character after these discoveries.

 

　　The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more curious than ever tosee if this belief was true.

 

　　"Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son. Sometimes he doesnot hear the bell when he is busy. Thee will find my garden-hood andshawl behind the door," said Mrs. Sterling, presently; forpunctuality was a great virtue in the old lady's eyes.

 

　　Christie demurely tied on the little pumpkin-hood, wrapped the grayshawl about her, and set out to find her "master," as she had afancy to call this unknown David.

 

　　From the hints dropped by Mr. Power, and her late discoveries, shehad made a hero for herself; a sort of melancholy Jaques; sad andpale and stern; retired from the world to nurse his wounds insolitude. She rather liked this picture; for romance dies hard in awoman, and, spite of her experiences, Christie still indulged indreams and fancies. "It will be so interesting to see how he bearshis secret sorrow. I am fond of woe; but I do hope he won't be toolackadaisical, for I never could abide that sort of blighted being."Thinking thus, she peeped here and there, but saw no one in yard orbarn, except a workman scraping the mould off his boots near theconservatory.

 

　　"This David is among the flowers, I fancy; I will just ask, and notbolt in, as he does not know me. "Where is Mr. Sterling?" addedChristie aloud, as she approached.

 

　　The man looked up, and a smile came into his eyes, as he glancedfrom the old hood to the young face inside. Then he took off hishat, and held out his hand, saying with just his mother's simpledirectness:

 

　　"I am David; and this is Christie Devon, I know. How do you do?""Yes; dinner's ready," was all she could reply, for the discoverythat this was the "master," nearly took her breath away. Not thefaintest trace of the melancholy Jaques about him; nothinginteresting, romantic, pensive, or even stern. Only abroad-shouldered, brown-bearded man, with an old hat and coat,trousers tucked into his boots, fresh mould on the hand he had givenher to shake, and the cheeriest voice she had ever heard.

 

　　What a blow it was to be sure! Christie actually felt vexed with himfor disappointing her so, and could not recover herself, but stoodred and awkward, till, with a last scrape of his boots, David saidwith placid brevity:

 

　　"Well, shall we go in?"Christie walked rapidly into the house, and by the time she gotthere the absurdity of her fancy struck her, and she stifled a laughin the depths of the little pumpkin-hood, as she hung it up. Then,assuming her gravest air, she went to give the finishing touches todinner.

 

　　Ten minutes later she received another surprise; for David appearedwashed, brushed, and in a suit of gray,--a personable gentleman,quite unlike the workman in the yard.

 

　　Christie gave one look, met a pair of keen yet kind eyes with asuppressed laugh in them, and dropped her own, to be no more liftedup till dinner was done.

 

　　It was a very quiet meal, for no one said much; and it was evidentlythe custom of the house to eat silently, only now and then saying afew friendly words, to show that the hearts were social if thetongues were not.

 

　　On the present occasion this suited Christie; and she ate her dinnerwithout making any more discoveries, except that the earth-stainedhands were very clean now, and skilfully supplied her wants beforeshe could make them known.

 

　　As they rose from table, Mrs. Sterling said: "Davy, does thee wantany help this afternoon?""I shall be very glad of some in about an hour if thee can spare it,mother.""I can, dear.""Do you care for flowers?" asked David, turning to Christie,"because if you do not, this will be a very trying place for you.""I used to love them dearly; but I have not had any for so long Ihardly remember how they look," answered Christie with a sigh, asshe recalled Rachel's roses, dead long ago. "Shy, sick, and sad;poor soul, we must lend a hand and cheer her up a bit" thoughtDavid, as he watched her eyes turn toward the green tilings in thewindows with a bright, soft look, he liked to see.

 

　　"Come to the conservatory in an hour, and I'll show you the bestpart of a 'German,'" he said, with a nod and a smile, as he wentaway, beginning to whistle like a boy when the door was shut behindhim.

 

　　"What did he mean?" thought Christie, as she helped clear the table,and put every thing in Pimlico order.

 

　　She was curious to know, and when Mrs. Sterling said: "Now, my dear,I am going to take my nap, and thee can help David if thee likes,"she was quite ready to try the new work.

 

　　She would have been more than woman if she had not first slippedupstairs to smooth her hair, put on a fresh collar, and a black silkapron with certain effective frills and pockets, while a scarletrigolette replaced the hood, and lent a little color to her palecheeks.

 

　　"I am a poor ghost of what I was," she thought; "but that's nomatter: few can be pretty, any one can be neat, and that is morethan ever necessary here."Then she went away to the conservatory, feeling rather oppressedwith the pity and sympathy, for which there was no call, andfervently wishing that David would not be so comfortable, for he atea hearty dinner, laughed four times, and whistled as no heart-brokenman would dream of doing.

 

　　No one was visible as she went in, and walking slowly down the greenaisle, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely place. Thedamp, sweet air made summer there, and a group of slender, orientaltrees whispered in the breath of wind that blew in from an opensash. Strange vines and flowers hung overhead; banks of azaleas,ruddy, white, and purple, bloomed in one place; roses of every hueturned their lovely faces to the sun; ranks of delicate ferns, andheaths with their waxen bells, were close by; glowing geraniums andstately lilies side by side; savage-looking scarlet flowers withpurple hearts, or orange spikes rising from leaves mottled withstrange colors; dusky passion-flowers, and gay nasturtiums climbingto the roof. All manner of beautiful and curious plants were there;and Christie walked among them, as happy as a child who finds itsplaymates again.

 

　　Coming to a bed of pansies she sat down on a rustic chair, and,leaning forward, feasted her eyes on these her favorites. Her facegrew young as she looked, her hands touched them with a lingeringtenderness as if to her they were half human, and her own eyes wereso busy enjoying the gold and purple spread before her, that she didnot see another pair peering at her over an unneighborly old cactus,all prickles, and queer knobs. Presently a voice said at her elbow:

 

　　"You look as if you saw something beside pansies there."David spoke so quietly that it did not startle her, and she answeredbefore she had time to feel ashamed of her fancy.

 

　　"I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a little facewhen I look at this flower. Sometimes it is a sad one, sometimesit's merry, often roguish, but always a dear little face; and when Isee so many together, it's like a flock of children, all nodding andsmiling at me at once.""So it is!" and David nodded, and smiled himself, as he handed hertwo or three of the finest, as if it was as natural a thing as toput a sprig of mignonette in his own button-hole.

 

　　Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remembering that she camethere to work, not to dream. He seemed to understand, and went intoa little room near by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gayflowers on the table:

 

　　"These are to be made into little bouquets for a 'German' to-night.

 

　　It is pretty work, and better fitted for a woman's fingers than aman's. This is all you have to do, and you can vise your taste as tocolors."While he spoke David laid a red and white carnation on a bit ofsmilax, tied them together, twisted a morsel of silver foil aboutthe stems, and laid it before Christie as a sample.

 

　　"Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much," she said, buryingher nose in the mass of sweetness before her, and feeling as if hernew situation grew pleasanter every minute.

 

　　"Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk will soon bespoilt, for the flowers are wet," and David gravely offered her alarge checked pinafore.

 

　　Christie could not help laughing as she put it on: all this was sodifferent from the imaginary picture she had made. She wasdisappointed, and yet she began to feel as if the simple truth wasbetter than the sentimental fiction; and glanced up at Davidinvoluntarily to see if there were any traces of interesting woeabout him.

 

　　But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-forward lookwhich she liked so much, yet could not meet just yet; and all shesaw was that he was smiling also with an indulgent expression as ifshe was a little girl whom he was trying ............