The End of a Coil

"I should not have minded the walk so much, if I had not had the fright at the end of it. But now the thing is, to get home. Can you tell me which way? for I am completely out of my reckoning."

"You will take a cup of tea first, ma'am," said the woman, ringing the bell. "I had it made on purpose for you. I am sure you'll be the better for it. I am the housekeeper here, ma'am, and my name is Jersey."

"The housekeeper?" said Dolly. "I thought the family were abroad."

"So they are, ma'am; and to be sure that makes me less to do; but enough still to take care of the place. Put the table up by the sofa, Kitty."

The girl had brought in the tea-pot, and Dolly saw some magnificent strawberries on the board. The table was shoved up, a cup of tea poured out, and Mrs. Jersey cut bread and butter.

"How kind you are!" Dolly cried. "You are taking a great deal of trouble for me; a stranger."

"Is it for somebody that loves my Master?" said Mrs. Jersey, looking at her with keen eyes.

Dolly's face dimpled all up at this, which would have completed her conquest of Mrs. Jersey's heart, if there had been by this time any ground in that region not already subjected.

"Your Master?" she said. "You mean – ?"

"Yes, ma'am, I mean that. My Master is the Lord Jesus Christ; no other. One cannot have two masters; and I serve Lord Brierley only under Him."

"And what made you think – how did you know – that I am His servant too?"

"I don't know, ma'am," said the housekeeper, smiling. "I guessed it when I saw you sitting on the grass there. It seems to me, if the Lord don't just yet write His name in their foreheads, He does put a letter or two of it there, so one can tell."

"I am very glad to find I have a friend in the neighbourhood," said Dolly. "I am Dolly Copley; my father is American Consul at London, and a friend of Mr. St. Leger."

"I know Mr. St. Leger, ma'am; by name, that is."

By this time Dolly's tea was poured out. The housekeeper served her, and watched her as she drank it and eat her strawberries, both of which were refreshing to Dolly.

"I think, ma'am, if you'll allow me to say it, you should not try your strength with quite such long walks."

"I did not mean it. I was drawn on; and when I got a sight of the house from the other side of the lawn, I wanted to look at it nearer. I had no notion the distance was so much."

"Ay, ma'am, it's a good bit across the lawn. Perhaps you would like to come another day and see the house inside. I would show it to you with pleasure."

"Oh, may I?" said Dolly. "I should like it; oh, very much! But you are extremely kind, Mrs. Jersey!"

"It is only what I do for a great many indifferent people, ma'am. I would think it a privilege to do it for you. My lord and lady being away, I have plenty of time on my hands."

"I wonder anybody can stay away from so beautiful a home."

"They have no choice, ma'am; at least so the doctors say. Lady Brierley is delicate, and the air of England does not agree with her."

"And she must be banished from her own home!" said Dolly, looking out into the lovely landscape visible from the window. "How sad that is!"

"There's only one home one can always keep, ma'am," said the housekeeper, watching her.

"Heaven, you mean?"

"We are not in heaven yet. I meant what David says, 'Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.'"

"I am not sure I understand it."

"Only love does understand it, ma'am."

"How do you mean, please?"

"Ma'am, it is only love that can live in the life of another; and when that other is God, one lives in a secure and wealthy abode. And then it does not much matter where one's body is. At least, so I find it."

Dolly looked very thoughtful for a minute; then she rose up.

"I am coming again," she said; "I am coming very soon, Mrs. Jersey. Now, will you tell me how I can get home? I must be as quick as I can."

"That is provided for, ma'am," said Mrs. Jersey. "It's a longish way round by the road, farther than even you came this afternoon; and you're not fit for it; far from it, I should say. I have ordered the dog-cart to take you home; and it's ready."

"How could you be so kind to a stranger?" said Dolly, giving her hand. But the housekeeper smiled.

"You're no stranger to me, ma'am," she said, clasping the hand Dolly had given. "It is true I never saw you before; but whenever I see one of my Lord's children, I say to myself, 'Jersey, there is another of the family, and the Lord expects you to do what you can for him, or for her, as the case may be.'"

Dolly laughed and ran away. The adventure was taking beautiful shape. Here she was to have a charming drive home, to end the day; a drive through the pretty country lanes. And they were charming in the evening light. And the dog-cart did not bring her to Brierley Cottage a bit too soon; for Mrs. Copley was already fidgeting about her.

CHAPTER XII

THE HOUSE

Dolly did not tell all her experiences of that afternoon. She told only so much as might serve to quiet and amuse her mother; for Mrs. Copley took all occasions of trouble that came in her way, and invented a few more. Mrs. Jersey had sent along in the dog-cart a basket of strawberries for the sick lady; so Dolly hoped her mother's impressions of this day at least would be favourable.

"Did you ever see such magnificent berries, mother? black and red?"

"Why haven't we berries in our garden?" Mrs. Copley returned.

"Mother, you know the garden has not been kept up; nobody has been living here lately."

"Then why did not your father get some other house, where the garden had been kept up, and we could have our own fruit and vegetables? I think, to be in the country and not have one's own garden and fresh things, is forlorn."

"There is one thing, mother; there are plenty of markets in this country."

"And plenty of high prices for everything in them. Yes, if you have no end to your purse, you can buy things, certainly. But to look at what is around us here, one would think your father didn't mean us to have much of anything!"

"Mother, he means you to have all you want. We thought you just wanted country air."

"And nothing to eat?"

"We are not starving yet," said Dolly, smiling, and arranging the strawberries.

"These are a gift. A gift I shouldn't think your father would like to take, or have us take, which comes to the same thing. We used to have enough for ourselves and our neighbours too, once, when we were at home, in America. We are nobody here."

"We are just ourselves, mother; what we always were. It does not make much difference what people think of us."

"Not much difference," cried Mrs. Copley, "about what people think of you! And then, what is to become of you, I should like to know? Nobody seeing you, and no chance for anything! I wonder if your father means you never to be married?"

"You do not want me married, mother; and not to an Englishman, anyhow."

"Why not? And how are you going to marry anybody else, out here? Can you tell me? But, O Dolly! I am tormented to death!"

"Don't, dear mother. That is what makes you ill. What is the matter? What troubles you?"

Mrs. Copley did not answer at once.

"You are as sweet as a honeysuckle," she said. "And to think that nobody should see you!"

Dolly's dimples came out here strong.

"Are you tormented to death about that?"

Another pause came, and Mrs. Copley finally left the table with the air of one who is thinking what she will not speak. She went to the honeysuckle porch and sat down, resting her head in her hand and surveying the landscape. Twilight was falling over it now, soft and dewy.

"I don't see a sign of anything human, anywhere," she remarked. "Is it because it is so dark?"

"No, mother; there are no houses in sight."

"Nor from the back windows?"

"No, mother."

"Where is the village you talk about?"

"Half a mile away; the woods and rising ground of Brierley Park hide it from us."

"And in this wilderness your father expects me to get well!"

"Why, I think it is charming!" Dolly cried. "My drive home to-night was perfectly lovely, mother."

"I didn't have it."

"No, of course; but the country is exceedingly pretty."

"I can't make your father out."

Dolly was hushed here. She was at a loss likewise on this point.

"He acts just as if he had lost his money."

Dolly did not know what to say. She had had the same impression. To her inexperience, this did not seem the first of evils; but she guessed it would wear another face to her mother.

"And if he has," Mrs. Copley went on, "I am sure I wish we were at home. England is no sort of a place for poor folks."

"Why should you think he has, mother?"

"I don't think he has," Mrs. Copley flamed out. "But if he hasn't, I think he has lost his wits."

"That would be worse," said Dolly, smiling, though she felt anything but merry.

"I don't know about that. Nobody'll ask about your wits, if you've got money; and if you haven't, Dolly, nobody'll care what else you have."

"Mother, I think it is good to have one's treasure where one cannot lose it."

"I thought I had that when I married your father," said Mrs. Copley, beginning to cry. This was a very strange thing to Dolly and very terrible. Her mother's nerves, if irritable, had always been wont to show themselves of the soundest. Dolly saw it was not all nerves; that she was troubled by some unspoken cause of anxiety; and she herself underwent nameless pangs of fear at this corroboration of her own doubts, while she was soothing and caressing and arguing her mother into confidence again. The success was only partial, and both of them carried careful hearts to bed.

A day or two more passed without any variation in the state of things; except that old Peters the gardener made his appearance, and began to reduce the wilderness outside to some order. Dolly spent a good deal of time in the garden with him; tying up rose trees, taking counsel, even pulling up weeds and setting plants. That was outside refreshment; within, things were unchanged. Mr. Copley wrote that he would run down Saturday, or, if he could not, he would send Lawrence. "Why shouldn't he come himself?" said Mrs. Copley; and, Why should he send Lawrence? thought Dolly. She liked it better without him. She was pleasing herself in her garden; finding little ways of activity that delighted her in and out of the house; getting wonted; and she did not care for the constraint of anybody's presence who must be treated as company. One thing she determined upon, however; Lawrence should not make the next visit with her at Brierley House; and to prevent it, she would go at once by herself.

She went that afternoon, and by an easier way of approach to the place. Mrs. Jersey was very glad to see her, and as soon as Dolly was rested a little, entered upon the fulfilment of her promise to show the house. Accordingly she took her visitor round to the principal entrance, in another side of the building from the one Dolly had first seen. Here, before she would go in, she stood to admire and wonder at the rich and noble effect; the beauty of turrets, oriels, mouldings, and arched windows, the wide and lofty pile which stretched away on two sides in such lordly lines. Mrs. Jersey told her who was the first builder; who had made this and that extension and addition; and then they went in. And the first impression here was a contrast.

The place was a great hall of grand proportions. There was nothing splendid here to be seen; neither furniture nor workmanship called for admiration, unless by their simplicity. There were some old paintings on the walls; there were some fine stags' horns, very large and very old; there were some heavy oaken settles and big chairs, on which the family arms were painted; the arms of the first builder; and there were also, what looked very odd to Dolly, a number of leather fire buckets, painted in like manner. Yet simple as the room was, it had a great charm for her. It was lofty, calm, imposing, superb. She was not ready soon to quit it; and Mrs. Jersey, of course, was willing to indulge her.

"It is so unlike anything at home!" Dolly exclaimed.

"That's in America?" said the housekeeper. "Have you no old houses like this there, ma'am?"

"Why, we are not old ourselves," said Dolly. "When this house was first begun to be built, our country was full of red Indians."

"Is it possible! And are there Indians there yet, ma'am?"

"No. Oh, yes, in the country, there are; but they are driven far off, – to the west – what there are of them. – This is very beautiful!"

"I never heard anybody call this old hall beautiful before," said the housekeeper, smiling.

"It is so large, and high, and so simple; and these old time things make it so respectable," said Dolly.

"Respectable! yes, ma'am, it is that. Shall we go on and see something better?"

But her young visitor had fallen to studying the ceiling, which had curious carvings and panellings, and paintings which once had been bright. There was such a flavour of past ages in the place, that Dolly's fancy was all alive and excited. Mrs. Jersey waited, watching her, smiling in a satisfied manner; and then, after a while, when Dolly would let her, she opened the door into another apartment. A great door of carved oak it was, through which Dolly went expectantly, and then stood still with a little cry. The first thing she saw was the great windows, down to the floor, all along one side of a large room, through which a view was given into the park landscape. The grand trees, the beautiful green turf, the sunlight and shadow, caught her eye for a minute; and then it came back to the view within the windows. Opposite this row of windows was an enormous marble chimney-piece; the family arms, which Dolly was getting to know, blazoned upon it in brilliant colours. Right and left of the fireplace hung old family portraits. But when Dolly turned next to give a look at the side of the hall from which she had entered, she found that the whole wall was of a piece with the great carved door; it was filled with carvings, figures in high relief, very richly executed. For a long while Dolly studied these figures. Mrs. Jersey could give her little help in understanding them, but having, as she fancied, got hold of a clue, Dolly pursued it; admiring the life and expression in the figures, and the richly-carved accessories. The whole hall was a study to her. On the further side went up the staircases leading to the next story. Between them opened the entrance into the dining-hall.

Further than these three halls, Mrs. Jersey almost despaired of getting Dolly that day. In the dining-hall was a portrait of Queen Elizabeth; and before it Dolly sat down, and studied it.

"Did she look like that?" she said finally.

"Surely, she must," said the housekeeper. "The picture is thought a deal of. It was painted by a famous painter, I've been told."

"She was very ugly, then!" said Dolly.

"Handsome is that handsome does," said the housekeeper, smiling; "and, to be sure, I never could make out that Her Majesty was altogether handsome in her doings; though perhaps that's the fault of my stupidity."

"She looks cold," said Dolly; "she looks cruel."

"I'm afraid, by all I have read of her, she was a little of both."

"And how she is dressed! – Who is that, the next to her?"

"Mary Stuart; Mary, Queen of Scotland; this lady's rival."

"Rival?" said Dolly. "No, I do not think she was; only Elizabeth chose to think her so. How lovely, how lovely!"

"Yes, and by all accounts the portrait tells truth. They say, so she was to be sure."

"She looks so innocent, so sweet," said Dolly, fixed before the two pictures.

"Do you think she wasn't?"

"One cannot feel quite comfortable about her. The story is ugly, Mrs. Jersey. But how a woman with that face could do anything fearfully wicked, it is hard to imagine. Poor thing!"

"You are very kind, I am sure, to a person of whom you hold such a bad opinion," said the housekeeper, amused.

"I am sorry for them both," said Dolly. "Life wasn't much good to either of them, I should think."

"Queen Elizabeth had power," said Mrs. Jersey; "and Queen Mary had admiration, I understand."

"Yes, but Elizabeth wanted the admiration, and Mary Stuart wanted the power," said Dolly. "Neither of them got what she wanted."

"Few people do in this world, my young lady."

"Do you think so?"

"Young people generally think they will," said the housekeeper; – "and old people know better."

"But why should that be?"

"Does Miss Dolly Copley know already what she wants?" the housekeeper asked.

"No," said Dolly, laughing out; "not at all. I do not know what I want. I do not think I want anything in particular, Mrs. Jersey."

"Keep so, my dear; that is best."

"Why? Because I should be so sure to be disappointed?"

"You might. But it is safe to let God choose for us, Miss Copley; and as soon as we begin to plan, we begin to work for our plans, generally; and if our plan is not His plan, – that makes trouble, you see, and confusion."

"Of course," said Dolly thoughtfully. "Yet it seems to me it would be pleasant to have some particular object that one was striving after. The days go by, one after another, one like another, and seem to accomplish nothing. I should like to have some purpose, some end in life, to be striving for and attaining."

"A servant of Christ need never want that," said the housekeeper.

"I have not anything in special to do," said Dolly, looking at her.

"Every servant has something special to do," the other answered.

"I have to take care of mother. But that is not work; it is not work for Christ, at least, Mrs. Jersey."

"Dear, it may be. Everything you do, you may do for Him; for He has given it to you to do for Him. That is, unless it is something you are choosing for yourself."

Dolly pondered.

"And if there be nothing ready to hand that you call work, there is always preparation for work to be done," Mrs. Jersey went on.

"What sort?"

"The knowledge of the Bible, – and the knowledge of Christ, to seek and win. That surely."

"The knowledge of the Bible? Mrs. Jersey, I know the Bible pretty well."

"And Christ also?"

Dolly mused again, with a very grave face.

"I do not quite know what you mean."

"Then, there is something to be gained yet."

"But, – of course I know what the Bible says about Him."

"That is one sort of knowledge," said the housekeeper; "but it is not the knowledge of Him."

"What then?"

"Only knowing about Him, dear."

"What more can we have?"

"Just Himself, Miss Copley; and till you have that, dear, you don't rightly know what the Bible means."

"I don't think I quite understand you."

"Suppose I told you all I could about my Lady Brierley; would that make you know her as I know her?"

"No, certainly; it would not make me really know her at all."

"That is what I was thinking."

"But for that there must be sight, and intercourse, and the power of understanding."

"All that," said Mrs. Jersey, smiling; "and the more of that power you speak of, the more and the nearer knowledge there will be."

"But in the case you are speaking of, the knowledge of Christ, sight is not possible."

"No, not sight with the bodily eyes. It is not; and if it were, it mightn't do. Did all the people know the Lord that saw Him with the bodily eyes? 'Ye have neither known My Father nor Me,' He said to the Jews. 'Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me, Philip?'"

"You are setting me a regular puzzle, Mrs. Jersey."

"I hope not, my dear. I do not mean it; and it is the last thing I wish."

"But without sight, how is such knowledge to be gained?"

"Do you remember, Miss Copley, it is written, – 'The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him.' And Jesus promised to him that loves Him and keeps His commandments, 'I will manifest Myself to him.' Doubtless we must seek the fulfilment of the promise too."

"How?"

"The same way as with other things. We must ask, and expect, and use the means. And no doubt one must be single-eyed and true-hearted. But dear, there is no knowledge like that, once get it; and no friend to be had, that can equal the Lord Jesus Christ."

Dolly sat still and pondered, gazing at the two portraits.

"It is very hard to think that this world is nothing!" she said at last. "To most people it seems everything. Just look at those two faces! How they struggled and fought; and how little good their life was to them, after all."

"Ay, and folks can struggle and fight for less things than what divided them, and lose all just the same. So the Lord said, 'He that loveth his life, shall lose it;' but He said too, 'He that loseth his life for My sake, shall find it.'"

"You are talking riddles again, Mrs. Jersey," said Dolly, laughing. "I thought I was beginning to understand you; but I do not understand that."

"No, dear; and surely it is a hard saying to many. But I'll give you a key. Just you give your life to the Lord Jesus, and He will show you what the losing it means, and the gaining it, too."

"Thank you. I will," said Dolly.

They went on again after that, through more rooms of the house; but the afternoon did not serve for the whole. Dolly must return to her mother. Mrs. Jersey sent her home again in the dog-cart. The evening was very bright and fair; the hedgerows sweet with flowers; the light glittered on the foliage of trees and copsewood and shrubbery; the sky was clear and calm. Dolly tasted and rejoiced in it all; and yet in the very midst of her pleasure an echo from Mrs. Jersey's words seemed to run through everything. It did not depress; on the contrary, it excited Dolly. With all the beauty and enjoyment of this very beautiful and very enjoyable world, there was something still better to be sought and found; somewhat still more beautiful, far more enjoyable; and the correlative fact that the search and attainment were, or might be, attended with some difficulty and requiring some effort or resolution, was simply an additional stimulus. Dolly breathed the air with intense taste of it. Yes, she thought, I will seek the knowledge Mrs. Jersey spoke of. That must be better than anything else.

CHAPTER XIII

PREACHING AND PRACTICE

"How long you have stayed, Dolly!" was Mrs. Copley's greeting. "I don't see what is to become of me in this lonely place, if you are always trotting about. I shall die!"

Dolly took this cold-water bath upon her pleasure with her usual sweetness.

"Dear mother, I did not know I was so long away. I will not go again, if it is bad for you."

"Of course it is bad for me. It is very bad for me. It is bad for anybody. I just think and think, till I am ready to fly. – What have you been doing?"

"Looking at Brierley House. So beautiful as it is, mother!"

This made a diversion. Mrs. Copley asked and received a detailed account of all Dolly had seen.

"It don't sound as if I should like it," was her comment. "I should never have those old chairs and things sticking about."

"O mother! yes, you would; they are most beautiful, and so old-fashioned; with the arms of the barons of Coppleby carved on them."

"I shouldn't want the arms of the barons of Coppleby on the chairs in my house, if I was the Earl of Brierley."

"But they are everywhere, mother; they are cut and painted over the fireplace in the baron's hall."

"I'd cut 'em out, then, and put up my own. Fire buckets, too! How ridiculous. What ornaments for a house!"

"I like them," said Dolly.

"Oh, you like everything. But, Dolly, what does your father think is to become of us? He in London, and we here! Such a way of living!"

"But you wanted country air, mother."

"I didn't; not in this way. Air isn't everything. Did he say, if he could not come down Saturday, he would send Mr. St. Leger?"

"I do not see why he should," said Dolly gaily. "We don't want him."

"Now, what do you say that for, Dolly?"

"Just because I don't want him, mother. Do you?"

"He's a very good young man."

Dolly was silent.