CHAPTER I.
Mrs. C. M. Livingston.
THERE is no denying that it was very hard for Margaret Moore to give up spending the winter with Aunt Cornelia, and, instead, stay at home and wait on her step-mother through a tedious illness. When once she had made up her mind to it, she thought the battle of life was ended and all would hereafter go smoothly with her. Surely she could meet and conquer anything after that. And who can tell what she might not have done if she had kept close to Jesus? but young disciples—and old ones, too—wander from him and forget that it is he they are to trust, and not their own good resolutions.
Margaret forgot this, and so fell into many snares. In the first place, she began to feel she was very good. Instead of thinking about Jesus, what a wonderful Saviour he was, she thought about herself and wondered if everybody did not think she was a self-denying, noble girl to bear disappointments and perform disagreeable duties so patiently. She felt very strong and was sure she should never be cross or angry again. And indeed for a time everything went well. She was patient when waiting on her step-mother and kind to her brothers. Even Johnnie had not power to put her into a rage, although he put burs in her hair and untied her apron strings. There was one thing Margaret chafed under, and that was having Amelia Barrows, her step-mother’s sister, come to keep house for them. Her good resolutions in no wise extended to that person. She had made her mind up very hard that she should not call her “Aunt Amelia.” “She was not her aunt, and never could be,” and “she should not be under orders to her;” not that she would not treat her well, but she should be dignified and give her to understand that she was not such a very little girl. “Thirteen and a half was nearly fourteen—almost a young lady, she was.”
Amelia Barrows was a young woman with eyes and brows as black as Margaret’s own, and a will quite as positive. So it was to be expected that there would be some jarring.
The hardest part of it all to Margaret was that she was obliged to share her room with Amelia. It was a large old house, but there were not a great number of chambers, because they were all large except the hall bedroom. When the minister came Mrs. Moore gave that to him for his library. So there really was no other place for Amelia. Margaret knew it could not be helped, and yet it was so hard to feel that her room was not her very own private room any more. She prided herself greatly on it, and she really did deserve great credit for its cheerful prettiness.
It was only a plain, square room with white-washed walls and a straw matting on the floor, but there were two pleasant windows with cheap white muslin curtains, and the bed was daintily dressed in white and blue. The rocker was covered with blue cretonne, and there were blue mats on the bureau. A bright home-made rug on the floor, small pictures on the walls, and a set of shelves in the corner filled with books; then, in winter, there was always a pleasant sense of warmth because the stovepipe came through from the sitting-room. Altogether, it was quite a cosey place and Margaret was always glad to flee to it and shut herself in from all annoyances. She thought it the prettiest, pleasantest room in the world, and one reason was because it was always in order. Carefulness, when once learned, becomes a habit, and is easier than carelessness. Young as Margaret was when her mother died, she had been taught by her to sweep and dust her own little room, and to hang her clothes at night on hooks placed within her reach, and always to put a thing in its place after using it. She had, besides, inherited dainty tastes and neat ways from her mother, so it was not such a task for her to be orderly as it was for some others.
And so it was with a pang that she saw Amelia walk into her room and take possession with the air of one who had a right there.
It is not easy work to wait upon a sick person, so you must not suppose that Margaret had nothing to do but sit within call in her step-mother’s room handing her something occasionally. She had to take the place of a nurse, young as she was, in the best way she could, for Amelia had her hands full with the housekeeping. It was hard work, and Margaret was often very tired. There was the room to be put in order every morning, and Mrs. Moore was a very particular housekeeper; not a speck of dust, or spot on window or mirror, escaped her keen glance. There was much running up and down-stairs, too, for hot water and cold water; there was liniment and mustard and draughts to be applied by turns to the aching limbs, and sometimes nothing helped; the pain grew worse instead of better, and the patient was not patient, but let fall sharp words at Margaret’s blunders, whereupon poor Margaret blundered still more, and did not give soft answers. Some days, though, everything went well, and her step-mother felt that Margaret really was very different from what she used to be. She was gentle and patient and tried hard to please. The reason was plain; those were the days when she remembered to get her verse from the Bible and think about it, then asked Jesus to keep her, and remembered, too, when temptation came to call to Him to help her. But some mornings she forgot all about it, or she spent too much time curling her hair, or trifling in some way till it was too late, and she had to hurry down-stairs with all speed. There would be time for it after breakfast, she thought, but then it was put off from hour to hour, and perhaps she ended by not doing it at all. When this happened she was fretful and unhappy; nothing went right with her. God made the body so that it cannot go without food at regular times, and keep in order. He made the soul in the same way. It must get food from the Bible, and by thinking about God and speaking to him, or it cannot be a healthy soul. This poor little Christian knew she must eat her breakfast or she would feel faint and weak by ten o’clock, but she had not learned that she must not starve the other and better part of herself. So it was no wonder that she did not always do right.