Mabel Quiller Couch - The Story of Jessie

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"Yes, thank you," answered Jessie gravely, putting her hand down and
feeling it in her pocket.

"Good-night!" they all said to each other as they parted, which
Jessie thought was very polite and friendly of them. Then she and
her granny stepped out into the road, and walked quickly through the
fast-deepening twilight to the little cottage where the light was
already glowing a welcome to them from the kitchen window, and
grandfather was waiting supper for them.

CHAPTER IV.

A GARDEN SUNDAY-SCHOOL.

Springbrook village lay near Springbrook station. It was a very
small village, but those who lived in it thought it a very pretty
one. It consisted of the church, the vicarage, the doctor's house,
three or four small private houses and a number of picturesque
cottages.

The church stood at one end of the village in the middle of a
beautiful churchyard and burying-ground, surrounded by fine trees--
flowering chestnuts and sweet-scented limes, while every here and
there blossomed beautiful red May-trees, lilacs, laburnums, syringas
and roses. From this, the one street--lined on either side by little
cottages, with here and there a small shop--led to the green, around
which stood in irregular fashion pretty houses and large cottages
with gardens before their doors. The doctor lived in one of these
houses, and the curate, Mr. Harburton, in another, and Miss Barley
and Miss Grace Barley in a third, and all the houses looked out on
the green and the road and across at each other, but all those who
dwelt in them were so neighbourly and friendly, this did not matter
at all.

Jessie thought the houses by the green were perfectly lovely, they
had creepers and roses growing over them, and window-boxes full of
flowers. She thought the green was lovely too, and almost wished
that she lived by it that she might be able to see the donkeys and
the ducks which were usually standing about cropping the grass, or
poking about in the little stream which ran along one side of the
green. She thought the ivy-covered church, with the trees and the
hawthorns all about it, one of the most beautiful sights in the
world, and nothing she loved better than to walk with granp along the
sweet-scented roads along by the green and through the village street
to church.

Mrs. Dawson did not go in the morning, as a rule. "Grandfather must
have a nice hot dinner once a week," she declared, so she stayed at
home to cook it; but they all went together to the evening service,
and Jessie dearly loved the walk to church in the quiet summer's
evening, with granp and granny on either side of her, and home again
through the gathering twilight, sweet with the scent from the gardens
and hedges.

Sometimes, when they got home, granny would give them their supper in
the garden, if the weather was very warm, and Jessie loved this.
While granny was helping her on with her big print overall,
grandfather would carry out two big arm-chairs, and a little one for
Jessie, and there they would sit, with their plates on their laps and
their mugs beside them, and eat and talk until darkness or the
falling dew drove them in.

Sometimes they repeated hymns, verse and verse, first grandfather,
then granny, and by and by, as she came to know them, Jessie herself
would take her turn too. Sometimes they would repeat a psalm or two
in the same way, or a chapter, and before very long they had taught
Jessie some of these also, so that, to her great delight, she could
join in with them.

Then came bedtime, when she knelt in her little white nightgown
beside her bed and repeated--

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child,
Pity my simplicity,
Suffer me to come to Thee
Fain I would to Thee be brought;
Dearest God, forbid it not;
But in the kingdom of Thy grace
Grant a little child her place.

"Pray God bless dear father and mother, grandfather and grandmother,
and all kind friends and relations, and help me to be a good girl,
for Christ's sake. Amen."

Then, with one look at her rose to see if there were any more buds on
it, and a glance into the garden to see if grandfather was still
there, she lay down in her little white bed, and with a kiss from
granny and a last good-night she would be asleep almost before granny
had reached the foot of the stairs.

Then when morning came Jessie was just as glad to open her eyes and
spring out of bed as she had been to spring into it, for life was
full of all sorts of delights, indeed she would have liked nothing
better than for it to go on and on always in the same happy way.
With Mrs. Dawson, though, things were different. Granny began to
grow very troubled about Jessie's education.

"It is time she was learning," she said anxiously, many a time.
"I know she ought to go to Sunday-school regularly, but I don't know
how it is to be managed. She can't walk there and back three times a
day, I am sure. If she walked there and back in the morning, and
there and back in the afternoon, she wouldn't be fit to go with us in
the evening too. She would be tired out. We couldn't go to church
in the evening either, for one of us would have to stay with her."

Grandfather sat for a few moments meditating deeply over this
problem, then, "_I_ can teach her myself for a bit on Sundays," he
exclaimed triumphantly, his dear old face lighting up at the thought
of it. "I know enough about the Bible and Prayer-book for that.
It would do me good too."

"But there's her other schooling. What can we do about that?"

"I s'pose she'll have to do as the other children do," said
grandfather gravely, "and walk there and back twice every day.
Some of the bigger ones would let her walk with them, then she would
be safe enough. We will begin our Sunday-school next Sunday"--his
blue eyes lighting up with pleasure at the thought of it.
The day-school was quite a secondary matter to him, with the idea of
that other filling his mind. "We can sit in the garden while the
fine weather lasts. It would be lovely there, and good for the
little maid too."

So, when Sunday came, grandfather's big chair and Jessie's little one
were carried out into the garden, and placed side by side, near the
porch, and a little table was carried out, too, for grandfather's
Bible and Prayer and hymn-books, and then, looking very pleased but
serious, the pair seated themselves. The dear old man was a little
bit shy and embarrassed, and very nervous when it actually came to
the point, and for a moment he looked more like a new shy pupil than
the teacher. Jessie was much the more composed of the two.

"When are you going to begin, granp?" she demanded anxiously.

"Now. I think we will begin with learning you the Lord's prayer," he
said huskily, feeling that something was expected of him, and he must
not fail. "Now, 'Our Father--'"

"I know that already," said Jessie reproachfully; "but why is it
called the 'Lord's Prayer,' granp? Did the Lord have to say it when
He was little?"

"No. He told it for all little children to say, all the world over,
and big children too, and men and women."

Jessie looked awed and puzzled. "How did everybody all over the
world know about it, granp? They couldn't all hear Him say it," she
asked.

"No, and they don't all know it yet, though it's nearly one thousand
nine hundred years ago since the Lord spoke it. But they will in
time," said the old man softly, as though speaking to himself.
"He left word with His people that they were to teach each other, and
they did. You see there wasn't such a great many heard Him, but
those that did went about and taught others, and then those they
taught taught others again, and--"

"And then some one taught you, and," her face growing suddenly
bright, "I'll have to teach somebody. Who shall I teach, granp?
Granny knows it, doesn't she?"

Her grandfather smiled. "She knew it before she was your age,
child," he said gently.

"Then I'll teach mother."

"Your mother knew it too before she was so old as you are."

"Did she?" said Jessie, surprised. "She never said anything to me
about it, then."

"Well, hadn't we best be getting on with the lesson?" asked
grandfather; "time is passing, and we haven't hardly begun yet."

Jessie settled back in her chair, and leaning her head against her
grandfather, listened quietly while the old man talked reverently to
her of her Father in heaven.

"Is He mother's 'our Father,' too, granp?" she asked at last.

"Yes, child, mother's and father's."

"Then He'll take care of her, won't He, and see that she doesn't cry
too much for me?"

"Yes. He soothes all the sorrows and wipes away all the tears of
them that love and trust Him. Now shall we read a hymn?
I like the hymns dearly, don't you, little maid?"

"Oh yes, I love them," said Jessie, sitting up and clasping her hands
eagerly. "Let's sing it, granp, shall we?"

"Go on, then. You take the lead."

"What's the lead, granp?" she asked anxiously.

"You start the tune. You begin and I'll join in."

But Jessie grew suddenly shy. "No, I--I can't," she said nervously,
sliding her soft little hand into her grandfather's rough one as it
lay on his knee. "You begin, granp, please--no, let's begin
together, and we'll sing 'Safe in the arms of Jesus,' shall we?
I know all of that."

So together rose the old voice and the young one, the first quavering
and thin, the other tremulous and childlike, and floated out on the
still warm summer air. Mrs. Dawson, reluctant to disturb them,
waited in the kitchen with the tea-tray until they had ended, and the
tears stood in her eyes as she listened.

"Bless them!" she murmured tenderly, "bless them both."

When the last notes had died away, and grandfather had closed the
books and laid them one on top of the other, and their first
Sunday-school might fairly be said to be closed, Jessie, looking up,
saw her grandmother standing in the doorway, holding a snowy
tablecloth in her hand.

"Tea-time!" cried Jessie delightedly, springing to her feet.
"I'll carry away the books, granp, and help granny to bring out the
tea-things. Now don't you move, you sit there and rest, we will do
it all by ourselves."

So the old man, well pleased, sat on and watched his little
granddaughter. There was nothing she loved better than to be busy,
helping some one.

Such a tea it was, too, that she helped to bring out. First came
granny with the tray, with the old-fashioned blue and white tea-set,
Jessie's mug and a jug of milk, then followed Jessie with a plate of
bread and butter. When all this was arranged, back they went again,
soon to reappear, Mrs. Dawson with a delicious-looking apple-pie and
a bowl of sugar, while to Jessie was entrusted, what she considered
the most precious burthen of all--a dish of cream. And there, amidst
the scents of the mignonette and stocks, the roses and jessamine, the
Sunday twitter of the birds and hum of the bees, they sat and slowly
enjoyed their Sunday meal, lingering over it in the full enjoyment of
the peace and calm of the hour and the scene. And oh, how good the
tea tasted, and the apple-pie and cream, and the bread and butter,
all with the open-air flavour about them, which is better than any
other.

Then, having eaten and drunk all they wanted, they sat back in their
chairs and talked and listened to the birds and the bees, and gazed
about them at the flowers close by and the hills in the distance,
looking so far away and still and mysterious in the fading afternoon
light. And as they sat there, little dreaming of what was about to
happen, a graceful woman's figure came slowly along the sunny road to
their gate and there paused.

"Why, it's Miss Grace Barley, I do declare!" cried Mrs. Dawson,
rising hurriedly to her feet. "Go and open the gate for her, father,
do. Why, whatever is she doing here, at this time of day? Sunday,
too, and all. It is very kind of her, I am sure."

Patience began hurriedly gathering together the tea-things and
carrying them into the house, Jessie helping her.

"Wouldn't Miss--the lady like some tart, granny?" she asked, as she
saw her grandmother beginning to pick it up. To her it seemed that
every one must hunger for anything so delicious. Somehow, too, it
did not seem very kind to carry it all away from under their
visitor's very eyes.

"Well, now, I declare, I never thought of that," said granny pausing
and replacing the pie on the table, "at any rate, I can but ask her.
I'll put the kettle on, in case she hasn't had any tea."

Meanwhile Thomas had let their visitor in and welcomed her warmly,
and they came slowly up the path together, looking at the flowers as
they passed. Jessie stood by her little chair, watching the lady.
She knew she was the Miss Grace Barley who lived in one of the pretty
houses by the green, and she thought she looked as pretty as the
house and just right to live in it.

When they came close Miss Grace smiled at her, then stooped and
kissed her. "You are Jessie, I know," she said kindly. "I have seen
you in church with your granny and grandfather."

"Yes, miss," said Jessie shyly, not quite knowing what to say, but
feeling that something was expected of her, "and I have seen you
there."

Mrs. Dawson came out of the house, and Miss Grace shook hands with
her. "You must wonder to see me here at this time of day, Mrs.
Dawson," she said brightly. "The organist at Hanford is ill, and I
have been out there to play the organ at the morning and afternoon
services; I was on my way home when I caught sight of you all in your
pretty garden, and I couldn't resist coming in to join you."

"I'm sure we're very glad you did, miss," said Patience warmly.
"And you haven't had any tea yet, Miss Grace, I'll be bound now."

Miss Barley smiled and shook her head. "No, I have not, I am really
on my way to it, but I would rather sit here for a few moments first,
though, and talk to you."

"You can do both, miss, if you will," said Patience hospitably.
"I was about to clear the tea-things away, thinking they looked
untidy, when Jessie stopped me. She was sure you would like a piece
of apple-pie and cream, and I was sure you'd like a cup of tea with
it; so the kettle is on and I'll have a cup ready in a minute if
you'll excuse my leaving you. Thomas, give Miss Grace a chair," and
Patience bustled away into the house delighted.

Mr. Dawson brought out another chair, and he and Jessie seated
themselves one on each side of their visitor. Miss Barley withdrew
her admiring gaze from the distant view.

"Don't you love Sunday, Jessie?" she asked, laying her hand gently on
the little girl's shoulder. "A Sunday like this, when even the birds
and the cattle, and even the flowers seem to be more glad and happy
and peaceful than usual."

"Oh yes," said Jessie, losing all her shyness at once, "speshally now
when granp and me have Sunday-school out here. We are going to have
it every Sunday, ain't we, granp? We shall have it out here when it
is fine, but when winter comes we shall go in by the fire."

Miss Grace looked at Mr. Dawson inquiringly. "What a lovely plan,"
she cried enthusiastically. "Whose idea was it, yours, Mr. Dawson?"
and Thomas, blushing a little, told her all about it.

Just as they had finished, granny came out with the tea-tray, and
spreading the table again with a tempting meal, drew it up before
their visitor, and while Miss Grace ate and drank, they sat and
talked to her, and presently Mrs. Dawson poured into her sympathetic
ear all their difficulties about the school for Jessie. Miss Grace
listened with the greatest attention, the matter seemed to interest
her immensely, far more, in fact, than it did Jessie, indeed Jessie
wished very much that they would talk of something else, for Miss
Grace grew quite quiet and thoughtful, and ceased to notice the
pretty things about her, or to talk of things that were interesting
to Jessie, and Jessie was sorry. She became interested enough,
though, presently, when Miss Grace, having finished her tea and risen
to go, suddenly said--

"Well, Mrs. Dawson, I think you will have to let me solve the
difficulty of Jessie's education for you, and there is nothing I
should like better. You see, our home is quite twenty minutes' walk
nearer you than the school-house, and if you will let Jessie come to
me, instead of going to school, I will teach her to the best of my
ability, and enjoy doing so. At any rate, while she is a little
thing. You see, she would not have to come and go twice a day, in
fact, she need hardly come every day--but we can arrange the details
later, if you agree to it. Now think it over well, and we will talk
about it again in a few days' time. And don't say 'no,' because you
think it will be too much for me to do, for I should love to educate
and train a little girl in the way _I_ think she should be trained.
It will be for me a most interesting experience. Now, Jessie, what
do you say? Would you like to come to school with me?"

"Like it!" Neither Jessie nor her grandparents could find words to
say how much they would like it, nor how grateful they were to Miss
Barley; but at the same time they did feel it was too much for them
to accept of her. Before, though, they had found words to express
their feeling, or had stammered out half their thanks, the sound of
the church bells came floating up across the fields, a signal to them
all to part.

"I must fly," cried Miss Grace. "Do you think I can _run_ through
the lanes without shocking any one? I must go home before I go to
church, or my sister will be quite alarmed," and away she hurried as
fast as she could.

Patience had only time to carry in the tea-things, and leave them to
wash on her return, for she had herself and Jessie to dress and get
ready.

They were in time though, after all, for their feet kept pace with
their happy thoughts and busy tongues, and there was no lingering on
the way that evening.

CHAPTER V.

HAPPY DAYS.

Granp and granny did not hold out very long against Miss Grace
Barley's plan, and in a short time all arrangements were made, and it
was settled that Jessie was to go to Miss Barley's pretty house by
the green every morning at ten, and to leave it at twelve, so that
she might meet her grandfather as he went home to his dinner.

Thomas Dawson was head gardener at "The Grange," Sir Henry Weston's
beautiful country-house, which lay a little distance beyond
Springbrook station. Just outside the station were four cross-roads
with a signpost in the middle of them to tell you where each one led.
If you stood close to the signpost and faced the station, the road
exactly behind you led down to Springbrook green and village, while
the one on your right led along a wide flat road to "The Grange," and
on, past that, through villages and towns until at last it reached
the sea; and the road on your left led past "Sunnyside Cottage," and
then on to Norton. This was the road that Jessie knew best, the one
she had first walked with her grandfather on her way home that first
evening.

From Miss Barley's house to the signpost was a very short distance,
and here it was that Jessie and her grandfather were to meet every
day and walk home together. Yet not every day, for Saturday, being a
busy day for most people, was to be a whole holiday from lessons.

Miss Grace Barley had to gather flowers for the church and arrange
them in the vases on Saturday mornings, and Miss Barley had extra
things to do in the house and to go to Norton by train to do her
shopping, and Jessie had to help her grandmother clean up the cottage
and make all bright and neat for Sunday; so that it was nice and
convenient for every one that Saturday should be a holiday from
lessons.

On that first morning, when Jessie stood at Miss Barley's door and
knocked, she felt very glad indeed to think that the day after
to-morrow was Saturday and a whole holiday, for she felt very shy and
rather frightened, and she longed to be back at home again with her
granny and grandfather. In fact, she was just edging towards the
gate, with her mind almost made up to run home, when the door opened,
and Miss Grace herself appeared. Miss Grace had on a hat and a large
pair of gardening gloves, and in her hand she held a basket and the
biggest pair of scissors Jessie had ever seen.

"Oh, Jessie!" she said, "you are just in time. I am going out to
gather some flowers, and you will be able to help me. Come in,
dear--no, we will not go in yet, we will go first and get the
flowers, or the sun will be on them."

Jessie's frightened little face grew quite cheerful again.
She thought this a delightful way of doing lessons, and marched along
happily enough at Miss Grace's side, soon forgetting all her shyness
in helping her to pick out the handsomest stocks and the finest
roses. When the basket was full Miss Grace led the way to a window
which opened down to the ground.

"This is my very own sitting-room," she said, as she stepped through
the open window; "don't you think I ought to be very happy here?"

"Oh yes!" sighed Jessie, as she looked about her at the flowers, the
pictures, and all the pretty things. "I shouldn't ever want to go
away from it if it was mine."

Miss Grace laughed. "Well, we are going to do our lessons here, and
perhaps when twelve o'clock comes you won't be the least little bit
sorry to go away from it. But first of all I want you to help me
arrange these flowers a little, and then go with me to carry them to
a poor lady who is ill. Do you know the different kinds of roses by
name, Jessie?"

Jessie did not. "Well, I will tell you some of them, and then you
will be able to surprise grandfather. A gardener's granddaughter
should know all these things. That lovely spray of little pink roses
you are holding is called 'Dorothy Perkins.' You will remember that,
won't you? And this deep orange-tinted bud is 'William Allen
Richardson.'"

"'William Allen Richardson,'" repeated Jessie. "I think Miss Perkins
is much prettier than Mr. Richardson."

Miss Grace laughed. "You are a very polite little girl, Jessie.
Look at this one; this is called 'Homer,' but you need not call it
Mr. or Mrs., but just plain 'Homer.'"

"I think it ought to be called 'pretty Homer,'" said Jessie, smiling.

By the time they had arranged all the flowers in the basket, she knew
quite a lot about the different kinds and their names. Miss Grace
made everything so attractive, and it was wonderful what a lot of
interesting things she saw as she went about, even when she walked
only across the green to Mrs. Parker's to leave the flowers.

Jessie did not see the poor dirty grey toad lying panting and
frightened on the pathway, but Miss Grace did, and stooped and picked
the poor thing up, and carrying it into her garden, placed it in a
nice cool shady corner, underneath some bushes.

"Won't it bite you, or sting?" asked Jessie, her eyes wide with
alarm, but Miss Grace reassured her. "That poor gentle little
frightened thing hurt me!" she cried; "it could not if it wanted to,
and I am sure it does not want to. It will help to take care of my
flowers for me. You are not afraid to stroke it, Jessie, are you?
Just look how fast its poor little heart is beating with fright!
Isn't it cruel that any living creature should be as terrified as
that!"

Jessie was ashamed for Miss Grace to know that she was almost as
terrified of the toad as the toad was of her, so she stroked it,
though very reluctantly, and the coldness of it made her jump so at
first, that she thought she could never, never touch it again; but
she tried not to be foolish, and she stroked its little head, and
after that she did not mind it a bit, though she was glad Miss Grace
did not ask her to carry it.

When they got back to the house they found two glasses of milk and a
plate of biscuits in Miss Grace's room awaiting them, and after they
had taken them, Miss Grace took down a book and read to Jessie, and
Jessie, who already knew her letters and some of the easiest words,
read a little to Miss Grace, and before she thought that half of the
morning was gone, twelve o'clock had struck, and it was time to dress
and run off to meet her grandfather at the four cross-roads.

When Jessie got to her place by the signpost, her grandfather was
just coming along the road towards her. In his hand he held a big
bunch of white roses and beautiful dark-green leaves. "Oh, how
lovely!" gasped Jessie, when she caught sight of them.

"They'm 'Seven Sisters,'" said her grandfather; "they had overgrown
the other things so much that I had to cut them back, and her
ladyship told me to bring them home to you."

"Oh, thank you!" said Jessie delightedly. "What are the seven
sisters called, granp? What is their real name? Of course they must
have names."

Her grandfather did not understand her for the moment. "What are
they called! Why, Rose, of course; but 'Seven Sisters' is what
they're always known by."

"There couldn't be seven all called 'Rose,' could there?" asked
Jessie gravely. "They _must_ have a name each. Let me see, one
could be 'White Rosie,' another 'Pink Rosie,' then there could be
'Red Rosie,' and 'Rosamund '; that's four."

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