LITMIR.BIZ

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sunlight on the shimmering waters, and far across, where one of the wooded headlands looked down into the sea, the green trees made such a picture on the water that, in watching this perfect bit of landscape, I found myself forgetting the solemn occasion, and the sorrowing heart of the solitary mourner, while I planned to come there the very next day with my sketch book, and secure this gem to send to my favorite teacher as a specimen of my new surroundings. And then fancy got painting her own pictures as to what my work in this new life with its greatly altered meaning should be, and before we had reached the grave's edge I had mapped out my ongoings for a long stretch of the future, and that in such eager, worldly fashion that I almost forgot that at the end of all this bright-hued future there lay for me, as well as for Daniel Blake's wife, an open grave. My busy thoughts were recalled by hearing the penetrating voice of the preacher saying "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," with the remainder of the beautiful formula used by many of the churches in planting the human germ. A glance around revealed Daniel Blake leaning in the very abandonment of grief on a tombstone at the grave's side, and looking down into the coffin that was rapidly disappearing under the shovelfuls of clay. A keen sense of my own heartlessness in feeling so happy within touch of such woe came over me, while a vague wonder seized me, if some other careless-hearted creatures might not be planning their joys some day in presence of my breaking heart.

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

A NEW ACCOMPLISHMENT LEARNED.

       Table of Contents

      I was rapidly attaining the comfortable home feeling at Oaklands, which makes life in castle or hut a rapture. There were so many sources of enjoyment open to me. I had a more than usual love for painting, and had for years prosecuted the art more from love than duty. My last teacher, an old German Professor, exacting and very thorough, had been as particular with my instruction as if my bread depended on my proficiency. I thanked him now in my heart when I found myself shut out from other opportunities for improvement than what, unaided, I could secure. There were special bits of landscape I loved to sketch over and over again; these I would take to Mrs. Flaxman, or Reynolds, the housekeeper, to see if they could recognize the original of my drawing; but even Samuel, the stable-boy, could name the spot at sight. His joy was unbounded, but scarcely excelled my own when I succeeded in making a water-color sketch of himself, the hair a shade or two less flame-colored than was natural, and which even Hubert pronounced a very fair likeness. Then in the large, stately drawing-room, some of whose furnishing dated back a century or more, stood a fine, grand piano. Here I studied over again my school lessons, or tried new ventures from some of the masters. What dreams I had in that dim room in the pauses of my music; peopling that place again with the vanished ones who had loved and suffered there my own dead parents among the rest, whose faces looked down at me, I thought tenderly, from the walls where their portraits hung in heavy carved frames, of a fashion a generation old. There was about my mother's face a haunting expression, as of a well known face which long afterward looked out at me one day from my own reflection in the mirror and then, to my joy, I discovered I was like her in feature and expression. In the library too, whose key Mr. Winthrop had left with Mrs. Flaxman for my use, I found an unexplored wonderland. My literature had chiefly consisted of the text book variety, and if I had possessed wider range, my time was so fully occupied with lessons I could not have availed myself of the privilege; but now, with what relish I went from shelf to shelf, dipping into a book here and another there, taking by turns poetry, history, fiction, and biography, Shakespeare and Milton had so often perplexed me in Grammar and analysis, that I left them for the most part severely alone; but there were others, fresh and new to me as a June morning, and quite as refreshing: Hubert used sometimes to join me, but we generally disagreed. I had little patience with his practical criticisms of my choicest readings, while he assured me my enthusiasm over my favorite authors was a clear waste of sentiment. Mrs. Flaxman was, in addition to all this, adding to my fund of knowledge the very useful one of needlework, and was getting me interested not only in the mysteries of plain sewing, but brought some of her carefully hoarded tapestries for me to imitate—beautiful Scriptural scenes that sent me to the Bible with a critical interest to see if the designs were in harmony with its spirit. Then too I used to spend happy hours exploring garden, field and forest, for Oaklands embraced a wide area, making acquaintance with the gentle Alderneys, and Jerseys, who brought us so generously their daily offering, as well as the many other meek, dumb creatures whom I was getting to care for with a quite human interest. The seashore too had its constantly renewed fascinations which drew me there, to watch its tireless ebb and flow, or the busy craft disappearing out of sight towards their many havens around the earth. Stories I had for the seashore, and others for the woodland and gardens which I carried on in long chapters, day after day, until sorrowfully I came to the end, as we must always do to everything in this world.

      My heroes and heroines were all singularly busy people, carrying on their loves and intrigues amid restless activities, and living in the main to help others in the way of life rather than, like myself, living to themselves alone. Altogether I did not find a moment of my sixteen hours of working life each day any too long, and opened my eyes on each morning's light as if it were a fresh creation.

      Then, in addition to all these, there were solemn, stately tea drinkings among the upper ten of Cavendish society, but usually I found them a task—the music was poor, the conversation almost wholly confined to local affairs, and the only refection of a first-class nature was the food provided. Cavendish ladies were notable housewives, and could converse eloquently on pickling, preserving, baking and the many details of domestic economy, while as regarded the fashions, I verily believe they could have enlightened Worth himself on some important particulars. I used to feel sadly out of place, and sat very often silent and constrained, thinking of my dearer, and more satisfying companionships of books, and sea, and flowers, and the fair face of nature generally, and wondering if I could ever get, like them, absorbed in such humble things, getting for instance my pickles nicely greened, and of a proper degree of crispness, and my preserves, and jellies prepared with equal perfection for diseased and fastidious palates. "Why can't they talk of their minds, and the food these must relish, and assimilate, instead of all the time being devoted to the body; how it must be fed and clothed?" I asked, with perhaps too evident contempt, of Mrs. Flaxman, one evening as we drove home under the midnight stars, after one of these entertainments.

      "My child, it is natural that people should talk on subjects that most interest them. Not every one has vision clear enough to penetrate beyond the tangible and visible."

      "Then, in what are the Cavendish aristocracy better than Mrs. Blake, and that class? Even she talks sometimes to me about God and the soul. She says she and Daniel think a great deal about these of late."

      "God only knows; they may be far better in His sight than any of us," Mrs. Flaxman said, wearily.

      "Not any better than you, dear friend," I said, clasping the little, thin hand in mine.

      "Yes, better, if they are doing more for others than I, sacrificing their own ease and pleasure, which, alas, I am not doing."

      "How can you say that, when you are making home, and me so happy? I want to grow to be just such a woman as you."

      "Alas, child, you must take a higher ideal than I am to pattern after, if your life is to be a success."

      "Mrs. Blake tells me of a good man living on the Mill Road, who is blind and thinks a great deal. He says none of us can tell what our lives seem like to the angels, and that many a one will get an overwhelming surprise after death; some who think they are no good in the world, mere cumberers of the ground, will find such blessed surprises as they wander through the Heavenly places."

      "That is very comforting, dear, if we could only hope to be among those meek ones."

      "He told Mrs. Blake she might be one of God's blessed ones if she wished—that any sincere soul was welcomed by Him."

      "Surely you did

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