The Little Missis Part 1

The Little Missis.

by Charlotte Skinner.

CHAPTER I

HIS PURPOSE

Creak--creak--creak! went the old mangle--one of the box sort, weighted with stones.

"Are you dreadfully busy, Mrs. Colston?" called out a clear, young voice.

"Bless me, is that you, Miss Phebe?" and the mangle was suddenly silent.

"No, I'm not dreadfully busy, and in two minutes I was going to make myself some tea; and if you----"

"Oh, won't I, rather! I should just think I will, you dearie; and I'll get it ready, too, while you play your last tune on your old organ."

Creak, creak, went the mangle, clatter went the cups, and in less than ten minutes the two were seated at a little round three-legged table enjoying tea and talk.

"Can't think what's the matter with you to-day, Miss Phebe. Have you got a new dress on, or have you been doing something to your complexion, or what is it?" asked Mrs. Colston, looking very intently across the table.

"I have got my old dress on, and have not even washed my face in dew."

"Well, then, what is it?--Ah, I know! you've fallen in love."

"Yes, I fell in love with you a long time ago," answered her visitor demurely; "but I see you've guessed my secret, you are so clever. The fact is, I have got two secrets to tell you. I wonder which I should bring out first!"

The old mangle woman got up from her arm-chair, and, going to where the girl was sitting, took the fair young face into her hands and kissed the right cheek, saying, as the tears started to her eyes: "There, my dear; that's in place of your mother's kiss, and," kissing the other cheek, "that's for myself."

Resuming her seat there was silence for a minute or two, and then Mrs.

Colston, said: "I think I can guess both your secrets. The first is, you have given yourself to Jesus; and the second is, you have promised to marry Stephen Collins."

"Oh, dear, no," exclaimed the girl, rising from her seat. "Why, he has never asked me. Besides--no, I have promised to marry Ralph Waring."

"Ralph Waring!" repeated the old woman, and then there was an awkward silence.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Colston, you do not think I have done wrong, do you?"

exclaimed the girl, sinking on her knees in front of her old friend, "say you do not!"

"No, no, dearie; I don't exactly, but it's took me by surprise," and putting both her arms round her neck she kissed her again. "No, dearie, don't think that. Ralph is a very good young man, but I know very well how much Steve loves you."

"It is strange," mused the girl; "Ralph asked me if I loved him more than I did Stephen, and I said of course I did." Then, rising to her feet, she said with a ring of pride in her voice, "You know Ralph is so clever; you should hear him give some of his lectures! He is a great favourite at several men's meetings. His great ambition is to be a Member of Parliament. He is sure to be mayor some day."

"He does a good business, doesn't he?"

"Just fancy, now, you thinking about that; I see, after all, you have an eye to money. I never thought it of you," and then Miss Phebe laughed quite naturally, and the little cloud which seemed to have risen between them cleared away and the sun shone again.

"Why shouldn't I? We can't live without it--but bless me, your cup is empty: what can I be thinking of?"

Phebe commenced drinking her second cup, never noticing that her companion had not touched the first one yet. "Now tell me all about the other secret: that's more interesting to me, you know, for it's so long since I fell in love I forget what it's like."

"But it is a long time since you first loved Jesus, and you don't forget what that is like."

"Ah! that's different, you see. He never changes; men and women do. But never you mind about my love affairs: tell me yours."

Phebe rose and went and stood in front of the window, looking into the little bricked yard through which she had entered the house. There were some scarlet geraniums in the window doing duty in place of a curtain, and her cheeks seemed to have caught the hue of the blossoms.

"You know for a long time I have wanted to be a Christian."

"Yes;" and Mrs. Colston poked the fire during the pause. It was strange for Miss Phebe to continue the conversation while her back was towards her friend; many people can speak openly about earthly love matters, but are shy when the Great Lover is concerned.

"All at once I seemed to understand wis.h.i.+ng was not sufficient, that a definite act was needed. So the night before last I got out of bed and knelt down by my old easy-chair, and told Jesus I gave myself entirely to Him, that He should be my dear Master, and that I would be willing to do all He wished."

How well the old friend could see the scene! She knew the room so well.

The old chair was covered with brown leather, and it was the chair the girl's mother had died in. By its side stood a little writing-table, and on the wall above were portraits--mostly cut from newspapers and magazines--of some eminent men and women whom the girl regarded as heroes and heroines. An old apple-tree grew close by the window, and in the summer-time little could be seen of the outside world but its green leaves and greener fruit. When the wind blew the boughs tapped, tapped at the window-panes, but Phebe would not have them cut. "I like to think," said she, "they are messengers come to tell me the old tree's secrets."

"Since then," the girl continued, "I have been so happy; and is it not funny," turning now towards the fire, "that the very next day Ralph should ask me to be his wife? So I have given myself away twice since I last saw you."

"I wonder if there is anything left of you for me?" Mrs. Colston asked, with a twinkling smile.

"Yes; I'm still yours. I could never forget how you loved me when I was a little crying mite. You gave me two kisses; I'll give you two--one for being good to me when I was a troublesome juvenile, and one for being good to me now I am a proper grown-up. But I have not finished my story, and if you interrupt me again I shall turn the mangle instead of talking to you. I think I told you a long time ago how much I wanted to write a book--indeed, I have tried, and sent little chapters of it to editors in London, but they have always been returned with thanks. Now you see Jesus has opened up my way to serve Him. I am going to help Ralph with his lectures and speeches--he says I shall--and I shall go with him to all his engagements. He says those who ask him must ask me, too; and, after all, to live a life for Jesus is better than writing a book for Him."

"Comes to about the same thing, I should think."

"I am sure you will be happy now I am a Christian"--this with a coaxing voice.

"But you are a very young Christian."

"A young Christian! Whatever do you mean?"

"My dear child, you have only just started. Why, even the daisies don't come up all at once: flowers and fruits that do, don't come to much."

"If that is what you mean," Phebe replied, with a sigh of relief, "I don't mind."

"Why, you think of my work," the old woman continued; "I often do. The clothes are not finished when the dirt's out, and you are not a finished Christian as soon as your sin's forgiven. The clothes have to be bleached and dried, and then there comes the getting out of the creases, and so I mangle them and mangle them."

"But look here," said Phebe, laughing, "you don't mean to say I have got to be mangled?"

"You need not laugh, my dear, for I am quite sure if Jesus was to speak just now He'd use my old mangle for a text. I know He would; and why shouldn't He, just as well as using the woman's candle and yeast, and the man's fis.h.i.+ng-net and pruning-knife."

"I should not like to think I had to be mangled."

"It's more than mangling, Miss Phebe, for if we want to put a nice polish on the clothes we use a hot iron to them. You are used to the thought of being like gold in the fire, and a lump of clay in the potter's hand: why not think of yourself as under my roller? I often and often think, as I smoothes out the marks, and stretches the corners, and turns, and turns, that is just how Jesus is doing with me."

"H'm," mused Phebe, "I suppose it's another way of describing tribulation. But do you suppose everybody has tribulation?"