CHAPTER IV
INFLUENCE
Sunday dawned fair and sweet. A sharp shower during the night had freshened the garden and watered the parched ground, which had drunk the moisture up greedily, carrying it down to the roots of the grass and already bringing back the resurrection colour to the brown dried blades in the meadows.
Breakfast passed away without incident. Beyond the usual morning greeting, the young people remained very quiet, and gave only monosyllabic answers to Margaret's attempts at conversation.
Ellice was doubtful as to the consequences of last night's escapade; it was one sign of triumph for the new governess that the child was already growing uneasy, uncertain of herself. She had an affectionate nature really, and it cost her something to steel her heart so persistently against this certainly interesting looking girl who had come to teach her. If Ellice had spoken the truth, she could have owned what she would not admit to herself, that she was longing to make friends, and to get a chance of hearing more stories; but having vaunted the fact to James and Betsy that she never meant to have a governess, the cost to her pride prevented her from giving in.
Miss Woodford guessed her attitude of mind, and was determined to wait patiently, although she had been tempted more than once to resign the post; but—and there was always that but—if this was the chosen work to which she was called, there must be no truckling with a faint heart. No looking back after once having put her hand to the plough, however heavy the furrows might prove, or long and dreary the appointed task.
Bob ate his breakfast in the greatest discomfort; he was really burning with a sense of shame, and making up his mind to an unpleasant duty.
The meal over, Margaret left the house and wandered out into the garden. It was a dear old-fashioned place, with grassy paths bowered with pergolas of roses. Great hedges of tangerine and amethyst pea-blooms filled the air with sweetness. Hollyhocks leaned their tall stems against the ancient garden wall, the old brickwork—a dream of subdued colour—forming a rich background to the brilliant hues of the flowers.
Margaret drank it all in with a breath of delight. The place was rife with roses raising their heads in the sunshine, cooled by the dew-drops glistening on their petals. Zinneas in all shades, and geraniums in massed pinks and scarlet, lined the borders, with gleams of orange eschscholtzia and dainty violas all stretching upward to the golden glory of the sky, while around them fluttered the butterflies, and to Margaret's ears came the sweet hot sound of the song of the humming bees and the murmur of insects talking in the grass.
The girl herself gave just the needed touch of human life to intensify the charm of the scene as she stood looking down at the wealth of flowers. One thought filled her mind with a thrill of praise to the Giver of all good, "How can anyone see these wonders of creation, and catch the sweet fragrance of roses, and doubt God's love, I wonder? Every flower that blooms proves that."
Unconsciously the thought filling her heart had been spoken aloud, and Bob, coming softly down the grassy path, approaching her unheard, caught the words and paused a moment, his attention drawn for the first time in his life to the beauty of nature, and the love message it brings.