Strong as Lily's confidence was, however, she went about the work of seeking some employment exactly as if everything depended upon her own efforts. Day after day with untiring perseverance she answered advertisements, seeking interviews with this and that one, but "the place was just filled," or they "needed no more help," or they "would consider her case." Nothing definite opened, though, through rain and mud, late and early, in schools, offices and families, she pursued her inquiries for a situation as copyist, teacher, governess—anything; pursued them without avail. "In all God's fair, wide world no corner for me," another might have bitterly murmured, but when he sweetens a spirit, what can make it bitter?
"It is His way for me, it must be the best way," she continually told herself as she plodded on, "walking with God in the dark," knowing that it was "better than to walk alone in the light;" then brought a cheerful face home to her grandfather, made his tea, sung his evening song each time as fresh and sweet and hopeful as if she had just concluded an engagement at a salary of a thousand or two a year. There were times, though, when it required all her fortitude to bear up against impertinent stares or cold rebuffs as she pushed her way into places where she would never have gone but from necessity. She was often obliged to struggle to keep back tears as she withdrew from some place where she had been rudely repulsed.
[CHAPTER II.]
AH! It is pitiful—a woman knocking at iron doors and tugging with feeble fingers at heavy bars, watching eagerly if perchance the great gates may open never so little and let them into a niche—to work for bread. It is not the laborers, at their posts from sun to sun, who need our sympathy, after all. It is the long line of discouraged men and women who cannot get the work to do, who do what is harder than work—wait.
One morning in November, business took Mr. Thornton to one of the banks of the city. While he stood waiting for his account to be balanced, he heard a low, clear voice not far from him that thrilled and interested him at once, because there was trouble in the tones. One needed only to be in misfortune to possess strong attractions for Mr. Thornton.
A young girl stood at the counter below, conversing with one of the bank officers. The interview was not intended to be public, but the tones of one speaker were gruff and loud naturally, and could not easily be softened, while those of the other were clear and penetrating as a flute.
"Mr. Haines," she said, "would you not be so kind as to allow us to remain in our—in your house for the winter? We can pay a small rent, and it will relieve us of much embarrassment and distress if you will."
The voice matched the face, pure, true, and sweet, and the brown eyes looked pleadingly into the dead eyes of the speaker.
Not a muscle of his face changed as he said, "The time cannot possibly be extended beyond what I mentioned—Christmas week."
How could he speak of the glad Christmas-tide, the blossoming out of "peace on earth, good will to men," in that stony way and with that eager face before him!