Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never had such a cropof hopeful thoughts and happy feelings sprung up in her heart asnow; and nowhere was there a brighter face, a blither voice, or morewilling hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.

 

　　This was what she needed, the protection of a home, wholesome caresand duties; and, best of all, friends to live and labor for, lovingand beloved. Her whole soul was in her work now, and as healthreturned, much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it, alittle sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever. No task wastoo hard or humble; no day long enough to do all she longed to do;and no sacrifice would have seemed too great for those whom sheregarded with steadily increasing love and gratitude.

 

　　Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture ofthe birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune, andgave her Nature's most healing balm. She kept the little house inorder, with Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor sopleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like mother anddaughter, and Christie often said she did not care for any otherwages.

 

　　The house-work of this small family was soon done, and then Christiewent to tasks that she liked better. Much out-of-door life was goodfor her, and in garden and green-house there was plenty of lightlabor she could do. So she grubbed contentedly in the wholesomeearth, weeding and potting, learning to prune and bud, and findingMrs. Wilkins was quite right in her opinion of the sanitary virtuesof dirt.

 

　　Trips to town to see the good woman and carry country gifts to thelittle folks; afternoon drives with Mrs. Sterling in theold-fashioned chaise, drawn by the Roman-nosed horse, and Sundaypilgrimages to church to be "righted up" by one of Mr. Power'sstirring sermons, were among her new pleasures. But, on the whole,the evenings were her happiest times: for then David read aloudwhile she worked; she sung to the old piano tuned for her use; or,better still, as spring came on, they sat in the porch, and talkedas people only do talk when twilight, veiling the outer world, seemsto lift the curtains of that inner world where minds go exploring,hearts learn to know one another, and souls walk together in thecool of the day.

 

　　At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of another Davidthan the busy, cheerful man apparently contented with the humdrumduties of an obscure, laborious life, and the few unexcitingpleasures afforded by books, music, and much silent thought. Shesometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under this composed,commonplace existence another life went on; for, now and then, inthe interest of conversation, or the involuntary yielding to aconfidential impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed anunexpected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter memory thatwould not be ignored.

 

　　Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses, and so brief, soindistinct, were they that she half believed her own lively fancycreated them. She longed to know more; but "David's trouble" madehim sacred in her eyes from any prying curiosity, and always afterone of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so like hisunromantic self next day, that she laughed and said:

 

　　"I never shall outgrow my foolish way of trying to make people otherthan they are. Gods are gone, heroes hard to find, and one should becontented with good men, even if they do wear old clothes, leadprosaic lives, and have no accomplishments but gardening, playingthe flute, and keeping their temper."She felt the influences of that friendly place at once; but for atime she wondered at the natural way in which kind things were done,the protective care extended over her, and the confiding air withwhich these people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded noexplanations, seemed unconscious of conferring favors, and took herinto their life so readily that she marvelled, even while sherejoiced, at the good fortune which led her there.

 

　　She understood this better when she discovered, what Mr. Power hadnot mentioned, that the little cottage was a sort of refuge for manywomen like herself; a half-way house where they could rest andrecover themselves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness thatcome to such in the battle of life.

 

　　With a chivalry older and finer than any Spenser sung, Mr. Powerbefriended these forlorn souls, and David was his faithful squire.

 

　　Whoever knocked at that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed;comforted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened by thesweet good-will that made charity no burden, and restored to themore desperate and despairing their faith in human nature and God'slove.

 

　　There are many such green spots in this world of ours, which oftenseems so bad that a second Deluge could hardly wash it clean again;and these beneficent, unostentatious asylums are the salvation ofmore troubled souls than many a great institution gilded all overwith the rich bequests of men who find themselves too heavily ladento enter in at the narrow gate of heaven.

 

　　Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns from thecrowded, dusty highway down the green lane that leads to thesehumble inns, where the sign of the Good Samaritan is written on theface of whomsoever opens to the stranger, and refreshment for souland body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the poor.

 

　　Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish left him butlittle time to visit any but the needy. Christie enjoyed these briefvisits heartily, for her new friends soon felt that she was one ofthem, and cordially took her into the large circle of workers andbelievers to which they belonged.

 

　　Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan asylum, and every lonelycreature found a welcome there. He could rebuke sin sternly, yetcomfort and uplift the sinner with fatherly compassion; righteouswrath would flash from his eyes at injustice, and contempt sharpenhis voice as he denounced hypocrisy: yet the eyes that lightenedwould dim with pity for a woman's wrong, a child's small sorrow; andthe voice that thundered would whisper consolation like a mother, orgive counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.

 

　　He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to lead his peopleout of the bondage of dead superstitions, and go before them througha Red Sea of persecution into the larger liberty and love all soulshunger for, and many are just beginning to find as they comedoubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pioneers as hehave planted in the wilderness.

 

　　He was like a tonic to weak natures and wavering wills; and Christiefelt a general revival going on within herself as her knowledge,honor, and affection for him grew. His strength seemed to upholdher; his integrity to rebuke all unworthiness in her own life; andthe magic of his generous, genial spirit to make the hard placessmooth, the bitter things sweet, and the world seem a happier,honester place than she had ever thought it since her father died.

 

　　Mr. Power had been interested in her from the first; had watched herthrough other eyes, and tried her by various unsuspected tests. Shestood them well; showed her faults as frankly as her virtues, andtried to deserve their esteem by copying the excellencies sheadmired in them.

 

　　"She is made of the right stuff, and we must keep her among us; forshe must not be lost or wasted by being left to drift about theworld with no ties to make her safe and happy. She is doing so wellhere, let her stay till the restless spirit begins to stir again;then she shall come to me and learn contentment by seeing greatertroubles than her own."Mr. Power said this one day as he rose to go, after sitting an hourwith Mrs. Sterling, and hearing from her a good report of his newprotegee. The young people were out at work, and had not been calledin to see him, for the interview had been a confidential one. But ashe stood at the gate he saw Christie in the strawberry bed, and wenttoward her, glad to see how well and happy she looked.

 

　　Her hat was hanging on her shoulders, and the sun giving her cheeksa healthy color; she was humming to herself like a bee as herfingers flew, and once she paused, shaded her eyes with her hand,and took a long look at a figure down in the meadow; then she workedon silent and smiling,--a pleasant creature to see, though her hairwas ruffled by the wind; her gingham gown pinned up; and her fingersdeeply stained with the blood of many berries.

 

　　"I wonder if that means anything?" thought Mr. Power, with a keenglance from the distant man to the busy woman close at hand. "Itmight be a helpful, happy thing for both, if poor David only couldforget."He had time for no more castle-building, for a startled robin flewaway with a shrill chirp, and Christie looked up.

 

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