The fresh country air soon told favourably upon poor little Corrie, and it was indeed a new life for her. She revelled in the rural sights and sounds around her, and flowers were her perpetual delight. The fretted wistful expression that pain and weakness had stamped so early on her face began to wear away, and a bright contented look to come instead.
In summer she liked to lie among the fragrant swaths of hay, while Clarice and Milly played beside her; and when the days were very hot they would take her to the shady wood, to gather wild strawberries or fill her basket with flowers. The sick child was a source of continual interest to the little ladies of Oaklands, and scarcely a day passed without their paying a visit to Forest Lodge. They taught her by degrees and with much patience how to read and write, and sew and knit, that she might, as well as the stronger ones, enter into the life of busy occupation, and know how to work for others.
And whenever there was any special treat or pleasure, the crippled child was always remembered. So, although she never got quite well, Corrie's childhood grew brighter and brighter; and in her happy home, those earlier years in the dark street faded away into a dim and uncertain remembrance.
And when Robin's work was done, and he would sit beside her of an evening to tell the favourite stories, he often said, "Ah, Corrie, our happy days all began that winter when you had your first Christmas tree. Do you remember it?"
[CHAPTER XII]
CONCLUSION
THE setting sun shone through the windows of Forest Lodge, and rested lovingly upon Corrie Campbell lying on her couch. It was Sunday evening in early spring, and she had been quietly thinking as she watched the bright gleams dancing on the wall.
Some long years had passed since she quitted the dark street for her bright home in the country. That time was a new starting-point in her shaded and uneventful life; and though suffering had formed part of the daily training in the growth of years, much fruit had abounded to the glory of God. The doctor was right. She could never get well; yet her life was a constant lesson of quiet patience to her young friends at the big house, to whom she grew dearer each year, as in continual self-forgetfulness, they ministered to her wants and pleasures.
Old Jonathan was sitting by the fireside thinking too, and it was evident that time had not stood still with him either. His silver locks were few now upon his furrowed brow, and the wrinkled hand that grasped his stick shook visibly as he leant upon it. It seemed but the other day he had given his welcome to the new tenants; he often wondered now how he ever got on without them. Their coming wrought a marvellous change in his lonely life, and had been the cheer and comfort of his failing years.
His kind master saw the shadows of age and infirmity creeping over the faithful old servant, and made due provision for it. How tenderly was he nursed and cared for through long months of illness, which entirely robbed him of his strength! Gradually they coaxed him in to spend the greater part of his days by their cheerful fireside; and the plea that Corrie wanted him was always sufficient. He would come in and out to bring her woodland treasures, or to lay a freshly-gathered flower beside her. He always found out exactly what she was longing for, and if possible gratified the wish.