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CHAPTER IV
TEACHER AMY

It was a pleasant sight for Amy when poor little Edwin Smithers's pale face brightened up, as she opened his door.

He was not like the rough little monkey she had known at the infant school, who had only seemed to want to learn as little, and to play as many tricks, as he could. In the hospital, the attention kind people had paid him had quickened up his understanding, and mended his manners. He had been petted and amused there, and the being left alone in the dull cottage was a sad trial to him. His mother had regular work, and so had his elder brother, but this kept them out all day from eight till five, except that Mrs. Smithers kept Friday to do her own washing in. She was obliged to be away even at dinner time, as her work lay far from home, and she gave her next-door neighbour, Mrs. Rowe, a shilling a week to keep up the fire, look in on the sick boy, and give him his dinner.

She was unlucky in her neighbour. Many women would have gladly given far more kind service for no pay at all, but they were too far off, and Mrs. Rowe made it a rule to "do nothing for nothing."

His brother and sisters came in for a little while at twelve, their dinner time, but they wanted to go out to play, and had no notion of amusing him; indeed he was glad when they went away; Charlie clumped about so, and made such a noise, and little Jenny would take away his picture books or the toys that had been given him in the hospital.

Then Polly would call her a naughty girl, and snatch them from her, and so his little wooden horse lost its head, and his railway train was uncoupled, and one wheel pulled off; and when old Mrs. Rowe found him crying, all she said was, "Dear! dear! don't ye fret now, don't ye!" and when that did not make him stop crying, she said he was a bad boy to make such a work about nothing. When she was a girl, nobody had frail trade like that, all painted and gaudy, to play with; a bit of an oyster-shell or a crab's claw was enow for them. He had got into such a caddle as never was too!

So she began to shake up his couch, not in the least guessing how she was hurting and jarring his poor hip; and when he cried out and tried to drive her away, she thought it was all naughtiness, and declared that he was such a bad boy that she should go away and leave him to himself.

The Lees dined at one, and work did not begin till two; so Amy had a good half-hour to spend on the little boy before she was wanted again.

"Going to see Ted, be ye?" said Mrs. Rowe, as she stood at her door, while Amy opened the wicket. "A proper fractious little to-äd he be, upon my word an' honour! They do spile children in them hospitals, so as one can't do nothing with 'em."

Amy looked at Mrs. Rowe, a very clean woman, but with a face and fists that looked as if they had been cut out of the toughest part of an old pollard ash, and a mouth that shut up like the snap of a gin. "Poor little fellow!" said Amy, and in she went.

She was on her knees at once by the poor little boy, coaxing him and comforting him, and feeding him with some of the stew that Aunt Charlotte had kept warm for him. Then he told how Polly had taken away his horse and his train and broken them. Amy looked about, and presently found the wheel. A little hooking together was all the repair the train wanted, and Edwin was soon happy with it; while, as to the horse, he was past Amy's present mending, but she would take it home, and next time father had out the glue-pot she would put on the head.

Then Amy brought out a little book with the early Bible history in pictures. She showed Edwin one every day when she came, and told him about it whenever he did not know the story before, or helped him to enter a little more into it. She was surprised sometimes to find that he had carried notions away from school even when she had thought him only dull and giddy. Then he was pleased to say over the hymns he had learnt in the infant school, and to talk a little about it. Amy was quite surprised to find how his mind had grown since he had been ill, and how pleased he was to be taught a little verse of prayer to say when he was in pain.

She made him quite comfortable, filled up his mug of water, which the other children had upset, put some primroses in a cup where he could look at them, wrote a copy on his slate, and ruled some lines, caught the cat and put her before him, found the place in his easy story-book, and left him with a kiss, promising to come again to-morrow.

It was very pleasant to be the bright spot in that poor little life; and Amy that afternoon stitched into little Miss Hilda's tucks, to the whirr of her machine, a whole pensive castle in the air about the dear little fellow who was not long for this world, and whose pillow was cheered and his soul trained for Paradise by his dear teacher, who came day by day to lead him in the path to Heaven. The tears came into her eyes at the thought of how beautiful and touching it would all be—how she would lay a wreath of white roses on his coffin, and–

"What are you winking about, Amy? Go nearer the window if you want more light," said Aunt Rose, in a brisk, business-like voice, not at all like her dreams.

Amy was glad to move, feeling a little ashamed of being detected in crying beforehand about her own good works; and as she approached the window, she looked out over the lemon-plant and exclaimed—"There's Miss Manners!"

Miss Manners was really coming into the shop, and her little Skye terrier was already running on into the work-room, for he was great friends with Amy; he sniffed about, sat up, and gave his paw, and let her show off his tricks while his mistress was talking to Aunt Charlotte.

Then she came on, nodded kindly a little greeting to each as they all rose, and said that she had been thinking that it would be a good thing for all the teachers to meet for half an hour before evensong on Fridays and look over their Sunday work together, so as to make it chime together. She said she found it was done at Ellerby, and was very helpful to all; and perhaps, when he had time, Mr. Somers would come in and help them. If they looked over the subjects beforehand, they could note the difficulties, and then she could refer to books, or ask Mr. Somers.

Amy and Jessie both uttered some thanks, and Aunt Rose observed that it was very kind in Miss Dora, and that it would be very nice for the girls. Florence did not speak, but they saw her face and the gesture of her foot, and when Miss Lee walked out with the lady through the garden, Florence broke out—

"Well, how fond some folks are of being put to school, to be sure!"

"'Tisn't school," said Amy, "it is reading with Miss Manners in her drawing-room."

"O yes; she makes you think yourselves ladies just to keep on grinding you at the teaching for ever; but I likes my fun when my work's done. I don't wonder at Amy Lee—she knows nothing better than sitting poked up and prim in Miss Manners's room; but for you, Jessie Hollis, who have seen a bit of the world, I should have thought you'd have more spirit than not even to be let to teach half a dozen dirty children without having your instructions."

Here Miss Lee returned, and Florence applied herself to tacking in the lining again, while Jessie muttered to herself, "If I'm to teach them at all, I'd rather do it properly."

Jessie really wished it. Perhaps the notion of seeing the inside of Miss Manners's drawing-room made it doubly pleasant, for Jessie had eyes that really could not help taking note of everything, though there was no harm in that when she kept them in due control. She had been in the dining-room before, and she hoped much that the class would be in the other room, though she was half ashamed of caring.

Grace came home better satisfied on Tuesday, because her patterns had been much appreciated, though she still said the reading worrited her, and Naomi Norris gave herself airs.

Jessie and Amy, however, went together on Friday, and found Margaret Roller, the pupil teacher, and Miss Pemberton, an elderly farmer's daughter, who always taught the little ones on Sunday, were ready there, and in the drawing-room.

How pretty it was, with fresh delicate soft pink and white cretonne covers, and curtains worked with—was it really a series of old nursery tales? And coloured tiles, with Æsop's fables round the fireplace, pictures, books, and pretty things that all looked as if they had a history. Jessie's bright eyes took note of all in a flash, and then she tried to command them. Miss Manners gave them all their greeting, settled them all comfortably, and then began by reading to them a short paper in a little book upon the spirit of the whole Sunday, asking them in turn to look out and read the texts referred to, which Margaret and Amy did with a rapidity that astonished Jessie.

Once she lost the thread in wondering what was looking out of a half-opened basket; but she caught herself up, and found that there was infinitely more connection and meaning in the passages appointed for the Sunday than she had ever guessed.

Then Miss Manners asked whether they had any questions to ask; Margaret had one or two, which sounded very hard to Jessie, and she would never have thought of. It was the Fifth Sunday in Lent for which they were preparing, and they were respecting the unusually long and difficult Gospel for the day. Margaret wanted to know whether the words "By whom do your sons cast them out?" really meant that devils were actually cast out by the Jews. Miss Manners thought they were, and she looked out, and showed Margaret, a very curious account of the seal and sacred words of exorcism which were supposed to come from Solomon; but she advised the teachers not to dwell much on this branch of the subject, but to draw out most the portion about the strong man armed, and the warning against the return of Satan to the soul whence he had been once driven out.

Then Jessie observed that she had not thought such things happened in these days, and Miss Manners had to explain to her how the possession then permitted was here treated as an allegory to all times, of the evil once cast off returning again if not resolutely excluded by prayer and a strong purpose blessed by the grace of God.

It soon became plain to Jessie that she was ignorant of much which the others knew quite well, and when the Church bell began to chime, and all rose to go, she obtained a moment in which to say, with something like a tear in her eye—

"Indeed, Miss Manners, I ought not to have undertaken it. I see I am not fit to teach."

"I do not think you can tell without a longer trial," was the answer, kindly given.

"But I am so ignorant!" said Jessie. "There is so much in these things that I never thought of, and the others seem to know all about it."

"It has been their regular Sunday school round for years," said Miss Manners, "so it would be strange if they did not. But perhaps you will do all the better for coming to it fresh; and I am sure you are willing to take pains and prepare."

"Yes," said Jessie, slowly, "if–You'll excuse me, Miss Manners, but–"

"Please say it, Jessie," said the lady; "or shall I say it for you? This asking idle children very simple questions does not seem to you to be spiritual enough to be doing much good?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you will excuse me. I thought there was to be more expounding of Scripture."

"We must do what we can to get the children to attend to," said Miss Manners. "Even if we could get them to sit still while we expounded, I am afraid they would not attend or take in what we said. Nothing is of use with such young things but keeping them on the alert with questions, and trying to keep up their attention by being alive with them ourselves. We must try to put into them the sense of God's love to them, of their own duty, and so on; but rather by the tone of our questions about the lessons they learn than by discoursing long to them. You can only fill a little narrow-mouthed pitcher with a few drops at a time put right in. If you pour a great stream over it, most will splash over, and very little go in. I am afraid the children were tiresome last Sunday. It is their nature always to try their strength with a new teacher; but if you are firm and gentle, and show them that you will be minded, and keep them interested, they will soon be manageable. Then, Jessie, there is good hope that you may be sowing good seed, though you and I may not always see the fruit here, and it is nearly sure to be long before we can even trace the green blade."

CHAPTER V
THE TROUSSEAU

Miss Manners's words stayed with Jessie. She had plenty of sense and spirit, as well as a real wish to do right, and a yearning to spread the great Light round her. To be sure, the going to some mission in a dreadfully ignorant and wicked place would have seemed more like a good work than just taking a class who would be taught and cared for even without her help.

But she could see that if she could not keep these tidy little trained children in order, she would not have much chance with the street Arabs she had read of.

She got on much better the next Sunday. She kept the children interested almost all the time, all except the two lowest, who were determined to chatter till she made one stand on each side of her, and then one of them, Emma Lott, chose to howl till Miss Manners came to see what was the matter; but she did not get much by that, for she was only told that she was very naughty not to mind Miss Hollis, and desired to stop crying directly, which she did; and then Miss Manners asked Miss Hollis to be so kind as not to take away her ticket, if she would try to behave well for the rest of the day.

Once more Lily Bell was so kind as to inform "teacher" that Susan said "she didn't care, not for she." To which Jessie coolly answered that she hoped Susan would soon learn to care for being a good girl, taking care not to look the least mortified, so that the information fell very flat. After that she had no more trouble with sauciness from the children; she began to find that Susan was clever and bright, and that Kate May and Lucy Elwood were very nice little maidens, who seemed to care to be good. They brought her flowers, told her funny little bits of news about baby beginning to walk, and mother going to Ellerby, and she found the time spent at school a very pleasant part of her Sunday; while as to the hours of preparation with Miss Manners, she enjoyed them so much that it was quite a blank if that lady had any engagement to prevent her from receiving her little party of teachers.

Jessie found herself learning much more than she taught. Her quick nature could not but look into everything thoroughly, and when she had been once shown how to throw all her mind as well as her soul into the study of the Bible and Prayer-book, she found ever new delight in them. She began to find it helped her to pray with her understanding, as well as with her spirit at Church; to care more for her prayers at home, and to feel more on the times of the Holy Communion. She made her last year's hat serve again with a fresh tulle trimming, that she might buy herself a "Teacher's Bible," and not worry her mother and Grace any more by disturbing the big one, since they thought it honouring such a Bible to let it alone.

Mrs. Hollis did read the Psalms and one Lesson every day. She said she had once promised Amy Lee, aunt to the present Amy, and she had hardly ever missed doing so.

But Grace had not time. Just after Whitsuntide the daughter of a very rich farmer in the neighbourhood was engaged to be married, and wanted a quantity of fine work to be done for her, making underlinen and embroidering marks to handkerchiefs.

She came with her mother to offer the work to Miss Lee, giving six weeks for it, but it was more than Aunt Rose thought right to undertake in the time. She said she could not get it done without disappointing several persons, and that she was very sorry, but that she could only undertake two sets of the things in the time.

Mrs. Robson, the mother, was vexed and half angry. She said she hated common shop-work, and ready-made things, and she had taken a fancy to what she had seen of Miss Lee's work. She even offered to increase the payment, but Rose Lee stood firm. She said there was no one at hand whom she could hire and entrust with such work, and that she could not feel it right to undertake it, as it would only lead to breaking her engagements.

"O, very well; I see you don't care to oblige me," said the lady, twirling off with her very tight skirts, and whisking up a train like a fish's tail. "No, I will not break the set. I am not accustomed to refusals."

And off the two ladies drove, and Jessie told the story at home with a great deal of spirit.

"Now that's just like Rose Lee," said Grace. "She won't make a bit of exertion for her own good!"

"Well," said Jessie, "you know we should have to work awfully hard if she took it in hand."

"I suppose she would have paid you for extra hours," said Grace sharply.

"Miss Rose said it was the way to ruin a girl's health to set her to do such a lot of work," said Jessie.

"And quite right too," put in her mother. "I knew a girl who was apprenticed to a dressmaker, and sat up five nights when they had two black jobs one after the other, and that girl's eyes never was the same again!"

"Besides," added Jessie, "there's so much in hand."

"Well, it might not do to offend Mrs. or Miss Manners, but—"

"O, it is not that! The children's things were sent home yesterday. I wish you could have seen them, they were loves; and Miss Manners has got a new dress from London. She let Miss Lee see it, and take the pattern of the trimming. No, but Mrs. Drew has sent her Swiss cambric to be made up for Miss Alice, and Miss Pemberton has a new carmelite to be finished, and there are some dresses for the maids at the hall, all promised by Midsummer day."

"Pooh! Customers like that can wait."

"I don't see that it is a bit more right to disappoint them than any one else," said Jessie sturdily.

"Old Miss Pemberton, to be compared with a lady like that!" exclaimed Grace.

"It doesn't make much odds as to right or wrong," said Jessie, "but I don't think Mrs. Robson is much of a lady, to judge by the way she gave her orders and flounced off in a huff."

"A lady," said Mrs. Hollis, contemptuously, "I should think not. Why, her father kept the 'White Feathers' at Ellerby; and Robson, he rose up just by speculations, as they call them; but I've seen him a little greengrocer's errand-boy, with a face like a dirty potato."

"They can pay, any way," said Grace. "Folks say Robson could buy out our squire, ay, and my lord himself, if he chose."

"And I'm sure," said Jessie, "she and her daughter had clothes on that must cost forty or fifty pounds apiece. Such a fur cloak, lined with ermine; and the young lady's jacket was sealskin, trimmed ever so deep with sable, and a hummingbird in her hat. They say little Miss Hilda saw her and cried for pity of the poor dear little bird."

"Well, I'll tell you what," said Grace, "I'll set off this minute to Newcome Park, and see if I can't get the work, or at least some of it. You and I can do plain work as well any day as Rose Lee, Jessie."

"Yes," said Jessie, "but I have my time at Miss Lee's all the same."

"Of course, child; but there are the evenings, and I can sit to it while mother minds the shop."

"Don't undertake more than you can manage, Grace," said Mrs. Hollis.

"Trust me for that, mother. You can wash up, Jessie; I can get there before they go to dress for dinner. It is a capital thing! It will just make up for that bad debt of Long's, and help us to get in a real genteel stock of summer goods."

Grace managed the house, and her mother, who durst not say a word when she was set on a thing; and as to Jessie, her sister always treated her as a rather naughty, idle child.

The girl had struggled hotly against this, but it had always ended in getting into such a temper, and saying such fierce and violent things, that she had been much grieved and ashamed of herself, and now felt it better to let Grace have her way than to get into a dispute which was sure to make her do wrong.

But when Grace, as neat as a new pin, had tripped out of the house, Mrs. Hollis and Jessie looked at one another, as if they had a pretty severe task set them.

"Well, I think we could have managed without," said Mrs. Hollis, "but to be sure it is as well to be on the safe side; though I'd rather be without the money than be at all the trouble and hurry this work will be!"

"I am sure I had," said Jessie. "I wish I had said nothing about it. Grace can't bear to hear of anything going that she has not got."

"Any way," said Mrs. Hollis, "you shall not be put upon, Jessie, after all your work at Miss Lee's. You shall not be made to sit at your needle all the evening. It is not good for your health, and so I shall tell Grace."

Jessie thanked her mother, but had little hope that she would be able to hold out against one so determined as her sister. Neither mother nor daughter would have broken her heart if Grace's application had come too late, but no such thing! It had been dark about an hour when she was driven up to the door in a dog-cart, out of which huge rolls of linen were lifted, enough, as it seemed, to stock the shop. Grace shook hands with the smart groom who had driven her, thanked him, and came in in high spirits.

Mrs. Robson had been most gracious! She said she had feared being obliged to put up with mere warehouse work, and that she could not bear; but country people were so lazy and disobliging. It was not what she was used to.

Grace had been taken up into the young lady's own room, and oh! what she had to tell about tall cheval glasses, and ivory-backed brushes, and rose-coloured curtains, and marble-topped washhand-stands, and a bed and wardrobe of inlaid wood, with beautiful birds and flowers, and gold-topped bottles and boxes, and downy chairs! The description was enough to last a week, and indeed it did, for fresh details came out continually. It almost made Jessie jealous for Miss Manners. Once when she had been caught in a sudden shower and arrived wet through she had been taken up to Miss Manners's bed-room to take off her boots and put on slippers.

And there was only a plain little iron bed, uncurtained, and the floor was bare except for rugs at the hearth and bed-side, and the furniture was nothing but white dimity. The chimney ornaments and the washhand-stand looked like those in a nursery—as indeed they well might, for they had belonged to Miss Dora nearly all her life; they all had stories belonging to them, were keepsakes from dear friends, and she would not have given one, no, not the shell cat with an ear off, nor the little picture made of coloured sand, for Miss Robson's finest gilded box, unless indeed that had come in the same way.

And there were two prints on the walls, very grave and beautiful, which made one feel like being in Church, and so did the illuminated texts, though all were not equally well done, some being painted by her little nieces. Jessie had a feeling in her mind that there was something finer and nobler in not making one's own nest so very splendid and luxurious, but she knew Grace would laugh at the notion, so she said nothing of the difference, while her mother said, "Dear, dear!" and "Think of that!" at each new bit of magnificence she heard of.

Grace had her patterns and materials, and the fineness of them, and beauty of the lace provided for the trimming, were quite delightful to look at.