"Poor granny!" said Miss Powell. "You must try to be very patient and gentle with her, Nelly. Don't contradict her or try to argue with her. Just let her have her own way."
"I do try," said Nelly; "but sometimes she provokes me, and I answer back, and scold; and then I am always sorry."
"Yes; it is not a good plan. You must learn to have patience, Nelly; and when you find it hard you must ask God to help you."
So Nelly did, and she tried very hard to keep the peace with granny. But she was not happy. She had little comfort at home; and when she thought about going to heaven, as she did whenever things went wrong, she began to find herself oppressed with a new trouble. She did not see how she was ever going to get there. Mrs. Brown had told her that she must be good in order to go to heaven; and Nelly knew very well that she was not good. She began to see new faults in herself every day,—faults that she had never before thought of as faults. She tried very hard to conquer them; but she did not always succeed, and they were constantly coming up again when she thought them vanquished. She always meant to talk the subject over with Miss Powell; but she could not do so without confessing how naughty she was, and her pride (always one of the strong points of her character) forbade her doing that. So she went on with more or less of a load on her mind all the time,—doing her best to conquer herself;—always defeated, soon or late,—and, with the perseverance which she showed in every thing, always trying again.
It was now the middle of November. Nelly had learned to read pretty well,—and also to write a little, by means of Kitty Brown's old copy-books, which her careful mother had preserved. She had not only learned to make tatting, in which she excelled, but also to sew more or less neatly, and to do several different crochet stitches. She seemed to have a natural talent for using her hands; and all she undertook she accomplished with a deft quickness that constantly surprised Miss Powell. Book-learning came a good deal harder; and Nelly was sometimes inclined to give up in despair over her words of three syllables and her first attempts at understanding figures. Nevertheless, she kept on, determined not to be overcome, and encouraged by Miss Powell's assurance that she would find it easier by-and-by. She had made a great deal of tatting, and had kept a rude account of the number of spools of thread she had worked up; and she was already calculating what sort of a warm shawl she should buy for winter,—when something occurred which upset all her fine plans.
One day she came home from the shop in excellent spirits. She had learned some new work,—how to embroider with worsted,—and Miss Kirkland had lent her a simple pattern, with the shades to work it, and a square of canvas. She had asked the price of some pretty woollen shawls, and calculated that she could afford to buy one and still have money to spare for a present for granny. Moreover, Mr. Garland, the pastor of the church Nelly attended, had recognized and shaken hands with her, and had called her Miss Nelly. Nobody need laugh at Nelly. She had a right to be pleased. It was a mark of respect, and showed her that she looked like a lady.
Nelly had another cause of rejoicing that, day. She had at last opened her mind to Miss Powell and told her all her troubles, and she had learned that she was not expected to work her way to heaven,—that a way had been provided, not for saints, but for sinners,—that Jesus had died that she might live, and because He lived she should live also. Nelly had not understood clearly all Miss Powell told her; she had laid up a great deal for thought and future inquiry; but she felt that God was her friend, that he was not a taskmaster, exacting from her so much for so much, but that he was more desirous to have her in heaven than she was to go there; that all her debt was paid and overpaid, and her service was now a labour of love and thankfulness to Him who had bought her with so great a price. Nelly felt as though she could never commit another wilful sin. All the lingering flowers in the gardens she passed, all the gay leaves strewing the side-walks under the maples, every thing, from the clouds over her head to the beautiful soft wools she held in her hand, had a new beauty in her eyes. As she approached the gate, and remembered how utterly miserable she had been the first day she saw Miss Powell, she could hardly believe she was the same person.
As Nelly drew nearer, she was rather surprised to see the gate hanging open, and Crummie with her head almost in at the door, lowing in vain for her mid-day pail of water. Her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. Much startled, Nelly hurried forward, and entered the house. The fire was out, and granny sat on her stool by the side of the cold stove, her pipe on the floor, her head between her hands, and rocking back and forth, now and then giving vent to her feelings in a low wail,—that terrible Irish keene, more harrowing to the nerves than almost any other sound I have ever heard.
It was a long time before Nelly could get at the truth, through her grandmother's passionate words and lamentations, her bitter denunciation of the hard-hearted man who would turn Nelly upon the street and herself into the poor-house, and her recollections of the ancient grandeur and wealth of the Butlers, who would never have demaned themselves to speak to the like of him; but at last all came out.
She learned that Mr. Grayson, of whom her grandmother had bought the place long before, had been to see her that morning. She learned, to her utter amazement and consternation, that the place had never been paid for, that it did not belong to them, and that they were likely at any time to be turned out into the street.