"I am to pour out tea my own self, and Cathy has promised to make some of her delicious cakes," exclaimed Emmie, rapturously. "Langley will not come, though I have begged her over and over again; she says we three will be so much cosier together."
Queenie nodded and smiled as she bade her little sister good-bye, and trudged down the lane. The sun was shining brightly; a rose-laden wind blew freshly in her face; with the morning light courage and hope had returned; she felt half ashamed of her last night's sadness. Queenie was young, and life was strong within her. In youth happiness is a necessity, a second nature. When the heart is young it rebels fiercely against sorrow. To exist is to hope; to hope is to believe.
In youth we believe in miracles; utterly impossible combinations would not surprise us; the sun must stand still in our firmament, the stars in their course fight against Sisera; what has happened to others cannot happen to us.
It is only bitter experience that tears down this fairy glamor, the thin, gossamer film through which we so long looked. How barren and loveless life appears then! Our fairest hopes are shipwrecked; a moral earthquake has shattered our little world. We look up at the heavens, and they are as brass, and the earth under our feet as wrought iron; while beyond, and in the dim horizon, hollow voices seem to whisper a perpetual dirge.
It is a terrible subject, this awful mystery of pain, this dim and inscrutable decree, that man is born to trouble. Ah, well for those who, like that tired wanderer in that far-off land, can discern in their darkness and loneliness the ladder that reaches from earth to heaven, and feel the fanning of invisible wings even in their heaviest stupor.
Queenie's healthy young nature recoiled and shuddered at the first touch of probable pain; it lay folded like a troublesome nightmare far back among her thoughts. It had mastered her last night in the darkness; this morning the sunshine had chased it away.
"How do I know? how does any one know?" she said to herself, somewhat ambiguously, as she sat among her children that morning. "I may be wrong; it may never happen; and if it does, what is, is best, I suppose," and here she sighed. "I am thinking of him, of them both, too much. After all, what is he to me? a dear friend, a very dear friend; but my friendship must not cost me too much. I will be good and reasonable, and not ask more than a fair amount of happiness; it is only children who cry for the moon."
If you want to be happy, be good; it is a very safe maxim. Queenie felt quite bright as she walked through the little town. True, she had a slight qualm as she passed the turning that led to Church-Stile House; but she bravely stifled the feeling, and hummed an air as she opened her own little gate.
How fresh and bright it all looked. The walk was new gravelled, the little lawn looked trim and green; roses and geraniums bloomed under the windows; a honeysuckle was nicely trained round the porch. Emmie met her on the threshold, and dragged her in with both hands.
"Oh, Queen, it is all so lovely; just like a bit out of a story-book. To think of you and me living alone together in our own little cottage; only you and me!"