Christie Redfern's Troubles

by Margaret M. Robertson

Once she went to her sister’s school, which was three miles from the Nesbitt farm, and once she spent a day with Mrs Nesbitt at old Mrs Grey’s, and they brought little Allie home with them. The little blind girl was a constant wonder and delight. She was as cheerful and happy as were any of the merry Nesbitt boys; and if there was less noise among them when she was one of the circle, there was no less mirth. To say that she was patient under her affliction would not be saying enough; she did not seem to feel her blindness as an affliction, so readily and sweetly did she accept the means of happiness yet within her reach. To Christie, the gentle, merry little creature was a constant rebuke, and all the more that she knew the little one was unconscious of the lesson she was teaching.

There was no service in the kirk the next Sabbath, so, instead of going home as usual, Effie, for Christie’s sake, accepted Mrs Nesbitt’s invitation to spend it at her house. She saw with delight the returning colour on her little sister’s cheek, and noticed the change for the better that had taken place in her health and spirits, and inwardly she rejoiced over the success of her plan. “She shall have another week at this pleasant place, if possible—and more than that.” And she sighed to think how much the poor girl might have to try both health and spirits when these pleasant weeks should be passed. But she did not let Christie hear her sigh. She had only smiles and happy words for her.

It was a very pleasant Sabbath for Christie—the very pleasantest she could remember to have passed. She could not agree with Charlie Nesbitt that it was “a little too long.” She enjoyed every moment of it. She enjoyed the early walk, the reading, the singing, and the walk to John Nesbitt’s Sabbath-class in the afternoon. It was rather far—three miles, nearly—and the walk tired her a little. But all the more for that did she enjoy her rest on the low sofa after tea.

It was a very pleasant place, that parlour of Mrs Nesbitt’s—so neat, so cool, so quiet. There was not much to distinguish it from other parlours in Laidlaw; and, in general, they were prim and plain enough. There was a small figured carpet, crimson and black, upon the floor. It did not quite reach the wall on one side, for Mrs Nesbitt’s Scottish parlour had been smaller than this one; and the deficiency was supplied by a breadth of drugget, of a different shade of colour, which might have marred the effect somewhat to one more fastidious than Christie. For the rest, the chairs were of some common wood and painted brown, the sofa was covered with chintz to match the window-curtains, and there was a pale blue paper on the walls. For ornaments, there were two or three pictures on the walls, and on the mantel-piece a great many curious shells and a quaint old vase or two. There was a bookcase of some dark wood in the corner, which was well filled with books, whose bindings were plain and dark, not to say dingy. There were few of Christie’s favourites among them; so that the charm of the room did not lie there. There was another small cabinet, with a glass door—a perfect treasury of beautiful things, in Christie’s estimation, old china and glass, and an old-fashioned piece or two of plate; but the key was safely kept in Mrs Nesbitt’s pocket.

Perhaps it was the charm of association that made the place so pleasant to Christie. Here, every day, she had been made to rest on the chintz sofa, and every day she had wakened to find a kind face beaming upon her and to hear a kind voice calling her by name. I think almost any place would have been pleasant with Mrs Nesbitt going about so gently and lovingly in it. Some thought of this came into Christie’s mind, as she lay musing there that Sabbath afternoon. The fading light fell on the soft grey hair that showed beneath the widow’s snowy cap, and on the placid face beneath, with a strangely beautifying power. The sweet gravity that was on her silent lips was better worth seeing, Christie thought, than other people’s smiles. Her eyes had no beauty, in the common acceptation of the term. They seemed like eyes that had been washed with many tears. But the sadness which must have looked from them once had given place to patience and gentle kindness now.

“How nice and quiet it is here!” whispered Christie to her sister, who sat beside her, leaning her head upon her hand.

Effie quite started, as she spoke.

“Yes; it is a very peaceful place. I get rid of all vexing thoughts when I come in here.” And she turned her eyes to Mrs Nesbitt’s placid face.

“Vexing thoughts!” repeated Christie. “I dare say Effie has many a one.” And she sighed too; but almost before she had time to ask herself what Effie’s vexing thoughts might be, she was asleep. A voice, not Effie’s nor Mrs Nesbitt’s, soon awoke her. The twilight had deepened, and up and down the darkening room John Nesbitt was walking, with a step quicker than was usual. Christie fancied there was something like impatience in his step. He soon came and leaned on the window, close to the place where Effie sat, and Christie heard him say, in a voice which was not quite steady:

“Is it all over, then, Effie?”