Lady Rosamond's book

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"You can easily make matters right," said I. "Go and beg my mother's pardon and Grace's also, and all will be well."

"If it were anything but that," said she. "But to beg pardon of a servant!"

I could hardly control my smiles, remembering the state wherein we had found her not two weeks agone, but I said gravely:

"As to that, Joyce, Grace's father was as good as your own, and if he had been a hind, 'twould make no odds. 'Tis obedience my mother requires, and she is right. Besides, you have no right to despise servants. Don't you know that our Lord Himself came not to be ministered to, but to minister, and He says Himself, 'if any man will be great among you, let him be your servant.' Let me read you something about that in a book that tells all about Him."

So I fetched my Testament and read to her about our Lord's washing the apostles' feet. She was impressed, I could see, but her pride rose.

"If it were anything else," she said. "I would fast all day, or lie on the floor, or—"

"Or do anything else that you wished to do, but not your plain duty," said I, interrupting, for I began to be vexed with her. "What does my mother care for your fastings, or lying on the floor? Or what boots all these tears, so long as you are proud, and wilful, and disobedient to the friend who has rescued you from misery—perhaps from such a dreadful death as my Lady Carey threatened you with? One simple, honest act of obedience is worth all the tears, and fastings, and penances in the world."

And with that I left her. I think my words had their effect, for an hour after she came weeping to my mother, and knelt by her very humbly, saying that she had begged Grace's pardon and received it. My mother, on that, gave the child her hand to kiss, and bade her bring her work and sit on the stool beside her. So all was sunshine once more, and I think the lesson has done Joyce good.

I have been making acquaintance with the village folk, specially the women and children. They are very cordial to me, and make much of me wherever I go, but I can understand very little unless I have Grace or Cousin Joslyn as interpreter. I am trying to learn something of their language. Some of the younger people, and most of our own servants speak English, after a sort, but they are all much delighted whenever I muster confidence enough to air my few Cornish phrases. They seem a good, kindly, simpleminded set, very fond of Cousin Joslyn, who is their physician and counsellor in all their trouble, looking up to the priest with religious awe, and having as few vices as one could reasonably expect.

They seem fond of the memory of their old Lady, though one of the younger women whom I visited without Grace, and who speaks English fairly, told me her Lady was "mortal tiresome and meddlesome about cleaning and rearing of babies." I hope I shall not be mortal tiresome, but if ever I come here to live, 'tis a wonder if I don't have my say about the rearing of these same babes.