"I shall have to teach the children altogether now. Ada helped with arithmetic and music. I am so stupid at both, especially arithmetic."
Mr. Atherton saw that Salome was troubled, and yet he did not press her for confidence, but quietly said,—
"Well, we are not all born to be mathematicians or musicians. God gives us all different powers. It is wholesome, however, to grind a little at what we dislike sometimes. The old story of the two roads, you know."
"I don't know," said Salome, her eyes glistening with interest; "unless you mean the narrow and the broad road," she added simply.
"Yes; I was thinking of Lord Bacon's rendering of the same idea. If two roads seem to lie before the Christian—one smooth and pleasant, the other rough and thorny—let him choose the rough one, and in spite of pricks and wounds he will gather flowers there, and fruit too, if he perseveres. Those may not be the precise words, but it is the meaning."
"I don't think I have two roads before me to choose from," Salome said. "When I look back on our dear, happy home at Maplestone, and compare that time with this, it does seem hard enough."
"Do not look back, my dear child, nor onward too much; just take the day, and live it, as far as you can, in the fear of God, taking everything—joy and sorrow—from Him."
"Oh, it's not so much the big things," said Salome. "Even the greatest trouble of all—dear father's death—is not so hard in the way I mean; though I would give—oh, I would give anything to get him back and to see him happy. Still, I can think he is at rest, and that God took him from what would have broken his heart. But I mean little worries—crossness, ill-temper, fidgets about money, and, above all, feeling that I am getting so disagreeable—worse every day."
"You do not think you are alone in these feelings, do you? My dear child, it is a very common experience. Take these little pricking thorns, and the wounds they make, yes, and the poison they sometimes leave behind, to the loving hand of the Great Healer. Would you not think it strange if people only sent to your uncle, Dr. Loftus Wilton, for great and dangerous ailments? His patients go to him with the small ones also, and often by skill the small ones are prevented from growing into large ones. Be patient, and watchful, and hopeful, and cheerful, and leave the rest to God. There is a deep meaning in those words we were using last Sunday: 'Cheerfully accomplish those things that thou wouldest have done.'"
Salome felt in much better spirits when she left the vicarage than when she entered. She raced down the garden to the gate, where Reginald was waiting for her, and then she saw Mrs. Atherton tripping lightly up the road with a basket in her hand.