"She makes me think of a chestnut burr," said Kittie resorting to figurative comparisons. "There's lots of good in her, but she won't let any one get at it. If we try, she shuts up and gets prickly. I never thought much about it, until here lately, and then she was so splendid, and knew how to do everything; and, I begin to think that there is ever so much more to her than we think, even if she is queer, and don't seem to like us much."
"Well, I wouldn't worry so about her," interposed Ernestine, as though the subject wearied her. "She evidently don't like us excessively, or care about being with us, so leave her alone. Bea, come let's try our duet."
Olive had sat perfectly still, and heard all this, quite unconscious that her feet were getting chilly in the cold oven, or that, perhaps, she should have notified them of her presence. She had a vague feeling, as of one trying hard to solve a problem, and pausing suddenly in her vain efforts, to listen to some one solving it for her. But surely they could not be right! Olive left her seat noiselessly, and went up the back stairs to her room. It was bitterly cold there, but she wrapped her shawl about her, and sat down by the window, where the fast falling snow was almost hidden in a heavy wrap of early twilight. Olive did not often pray. To be sure she said her prayers every night, as properly and methodical as clockwork, and was very particular about always kneeling down, as though position could atone for any lacking earnestness; for she was just as apt to be thinking of her account-book, or Mr. Dane's last order, as of anything, in the hurried words that slid over her lips. Yes, she prayed in this way once in every twenty-four hours, but there never came to her any of those sudden, passionate appeals for help or strength, when the whole heart leaps to the lips, or pleads dumbly, in its great need. Notwithstanding all teachings to the point, it never really occurred to her that God had as quick and sympathetic an ear for a little prayer of few words over some trivial worry, given silently in the busy kitchen, or on the crowded street, as He had for those when she knelt down at night, and absently asked for her daily bread, and to forgive as she was forgiven, and then get properly into bed and refrained from speaking again, lest she spoilt the effect. At any rate, the first prayer that had ever sprung to her lips, with the suddenness of utter helplessness, came from them now, as she sat there, trying to think and battle with hasty conclusions that would spring up:
"Oh God, please don't let me try to think it out alone, because I will get it all wrong if I do. If it is my fault, make me feel it and know how to act, and don't let me be so odd, or whatever it is that makes me feel as I do."
With the earnestness of the request, came a quiet feeling that she felt to be her answer, and all the time she sat there, which was until the supper-bell rang, she felt more contented than ever before with her thoughts. Not that God immediately took away her faults, and left her placid and quiet, with nothing to battle against, because He does not do that way; it can never be said to us: "Well done, good and faithful servant," if we've done nothing; and the battling with our faults and worries is just as much our work, as the successful doing of some great deed that may bring both God's pleasure and an earthly halo.
When Mrs. Dering came home on Friday evening, she was quick to note a change of some kind, not but what every one seemed the same at a quick observation, but, there was a something. Now don't think that any thing so unnatural and improbable had happened, as Olive being bereft of all faults, and suddenly clothed in the guise of a household angel, because there hadn't, there never does; but she had thought much, and Olive had a mind capable of more deep reasoning thought than most girls of fifteen; she stopped fighting herself with weapons solely of her own make, but sent many a little wordless prayer for a different feeling, and then she found that it came more easily, and more completely triumphed over its enemy. To-night she had a little ribbon tied in her hair, only a small thing, but something unusual for Olive, and Mrs. Dering noticed that the bow at her throat was just of the same shade, also something unusual. Now over just this little thing, Olive had stood in silence, while two feelings within her held an argument:
"What's the use," said one; "you're as ugly as fate, and the girls will laugh; besides if you go in the sitting-room after supper, they will say you just did it to make them say something."
"No such thing," retorted the other, "You've no right to think such things, when they've given you no reason. Go on right down stairs, you know they want you, they said they did." And so she had gone down immediately,—perhaps she took a little pleasure in defying herself,—and though the girls saw the ribbons the moment she came in, no one said anything, for there came a feeling to each, that she would not want them spoken of.
Mrs. Dering noticed also that when they were gathered in the sitting-room after supper, that instead of sitting off in the far corner of the lounge as usual, she had joined the circle about the table, and was busy on some worsted work.
Ernestine was rocking idly with her pretty feet displayed on the fender, and her prettier hands clasped above her head, in an attitude both graceful and becoming. She was surveying the group about the table, where all hands were busy, and all tongues going merrily, and more than once her eyes went from Olive's ribbon's to Olive's face, so changed under the effect of a smile. They were talking of father now, with their voices lowered a little, and looking up frequently to the large portrait, as if expecting him to answer, and she wondered a little, what could be the matter with Olive, that she talked so much more than usual.