"Your Father knoweth."
"Yes, He does," said Lucia beneath her breath, "and I will trust and obey. I will not struggle any more, but take my Father's will as entirely best."
When she had reached that point, there came a flood of sunshine to illumine what had looked so dark before.
The care of the five little brothers and sisters was no longer a burden too great for her shoulders; the broken visit with its hardly understood charms ceased to cause her such a heartache whenever she thought of it; for she had resigned the one and the other to His will, who surely loved her, and instead of fret and pain came a peace that passed all understanding.
She took up her brush once more, but that drawing never got to its destination. Into that pond and waterlilies, into those daisies and clover, were painted a yielded heart; and to her eyes ever after the very colours told a tale that she could not give to others or part with for the world.
"For Christ henceforth," she said, as she heard the sound of the little voices coming through the intervening trees, and sounding silvery over the pond, and she put away her drawing and rose to meet the children with a happy smile, such as had not been on her face since she heard that bad news in the North. Then the little green gate swung open, and the children ran over the grass to her side.
"Oh, Lucia, it is so lovely!" exclaimed Evan. "I never saw such a place; and, do you know, there are nests and all sorts of things for Ivor and me?"
Barbara offered a kiss, and Queenie threw her arms round her neck. "I'se so d'lad to get back," she said, "and I do want my lickle dinner so!"
Lucia could laugh as light-heartedly as any of them now, and she wondered that she could ever have thought the children so disagreeable.
At the rose-covered porch May stood waiting.