Part 10

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I really did it for the best. I told Miss Grant to go to you, but Miss Falkner says I oughtn't to have anything to do with husbands and wives. She says Miss Grant will be made uncomfortable and so will you; and I wouldn't make you uncomfortable for _worlds_!"

Mr. Arnold looked at first as if he did not know what she was talking about; then he began to laugh, and his laugh was so infectious that Miss Falkner could not help joining him.

Jill eagerly continued to explain--

"Hasn't she been to you? Then perhaps it is all right. I'll never try to find a wife for you again. Miss Falkner says wives can't be found like we thought, and she says God is the only one that can find one for you."

Mr. Arnold looked perfectly coolly into Miss Falkner's face.

"Thank you," he said. "I believe in that too. My little friends were too anxious on my behalf. And as to Miss Grant, I wish her a more suitable partner than myself, Jill. Is your sister in? I want to ask her about a parish matter."

He left them, and crossed the pine wood to reach the house, but he never got there, for he saw Mona leaning against the new wooden fence looking with dreamy, wistful eyes at the children's "Bethel," and he went straight to her.

The scent of the pines, the pale blue sky behind them, and the quiet sacredness of the spot rested and soothed Mona's soul. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, but never changed her position; when he looked into her face he found her eyes were full of tears.

"I come here when life is difficult," she said, trying to speak lightly. "I have been thinking over Christ's words, 'How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.' I long sometimes to ease myself of the burden and responsibility of my money, by casting it to the winds. Can you advise me? I want to be a faithful steward. What shall I do?"

Cecil Arnold's opportunity had come.

It was some days before the children knew the result of that interview. They were all three tidying up their "Bethel," which Miss Webb said now reminded her of a small church-yard, when they saw their sister and Mr. Arnold slowly approach them.

They were close to the fence before they noticed the children, then Mona started, a rich colour came into her cheeks and she tried to withdraw her hand from Mr. Arnold's arm. He held it fast, and said to her with a twinkle in his eye--

"Allow me to receive my congratulations. I must enlighten them."

"Two trespassers again, Jill!" he called out. "May we come inside your gate?"

"Yes," said Jill, stopping in her feat of brushing dead leaves away; "you and Mona aren't trespassers, for you belong to our Tenth Society, and you don't laugh at our 'Bethel.'"

"Laugh at it?" said Mona tremulously. "I shall bless it all my days!"

Then Mr. Arnold spoke, and his voice was hushed and reverent, though there was a glad light in his eye.

"I thought you children would like to know whom God has graciously given to me as a wife."

"Why it's Mona!"

Surprise and delight were in the children's faces.

Jill exclaimed--"I never should have thought of Mona. She doesn't seem like a clergyman's wife, but it's awfully nice."

"Why don't I please you?" Mona asked. "Not good enough, I know."

"Well, I think you're too smiling and--and too young."

Mr. Arnold laughed.

"And I am too old and grave. But, Jill, as a boy and girl we promised to marry each other, so we are only keeping our promise."

"Why have you been so long before you did it?" asked Jill with interest.

That question remained unanswered.

Jack and Jill were full of excitement and curiosity. Bumps was the only one who seemed disappointed.

"We can't never find a wife for him now, he hath found hithelf one!" she lamented.

She and Jill were standing by their lodge gate next day when they saw Miss Grant coming along. For one moment Jill thought of flight, then she bravely stood her ground. They had been bowling their hoops along, and were a little breathless with their run. Miss Grant looked at them severely, then came across the road to them.

"Jill," she said, "what do you mean by writing me such a letter? Who told you to do it? I am surprised that a little girl of your age should act so forwardly!"

Jill got crimson at once.

"It was all a mistake, please," she said, "and I'm sorry you got it. We were trying hard to find Mr. Arnold a wife."

"Who put you up to it?" demanded Miss Grant. "I consider it a grave insult, and I was thinking of seeing your sister about the matter. She and your governess don't know how to keep you in order."

"No one put me up to it," replied Jill eagerly. "I made a mistake, and it's a good thing you didn't go to him. Please forget it."

"Yeth," put in Bumps with an emphatic nod of the head, "he didn't want you after all, becauth he has got Mona."

Miss Grant beat a hasty retreat. She never mentioned the subject again.

On the following Sunday Jill went to the vestry to hand in her bag. She had not been the only one who had responded to the vicar's invitation, for several of the villagers had appeared, and though their offerings were small, they were willing ones. She stood waiting whilst the village shopkeeper and a farmer's wife were taking their tenth out of their well-worn purses. Then a voice behind her startled her. It was Sam's father.

"Eh, Miss Jill, here I be after you and your bag agen!"

"Oh, Mr. Stone, what have you got? I'm so glad you haven't given up!"

"I did have a mind to, as 'ee knows, but parson here do seem so set on it that I've been lookin' through some savin's o' mine."

Mr. Arnold said good-night to the two women, and turned to the old man.

"Are you bringing your money to me, Stone?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir, that I be--'ee do talk so convinceable that I be quite worried till I have done it."

"You must take it back again. I am only here to take my Master's money."

Old Mr. Stone rubbed his head.

"I see yer meanin'. In course I bring it to the A'mighty. 'Twas a mere mistake in speech."

The old man counted out of a canvas bag, to the astonishment of Jill and his vicar, five pounds in silver.

He moved a step nearer and spoke in a low, mysterious tone--

"Fifty pun have I laid by for death and burial, and the rest to Sam, but never a penny have I laid by for the God that brought me into the world, and that be soon going to take me out. The little lass hammered away till I gave her my cabbages, then I said 'No more,' for I kep' thinkin' o' these savin's, that no mortal body do know on. But, parson, your words be hot and uncomfortable, and las' night I lay thinkin' o' this here vestry an' Miss Jill's red bag. 'Twasn't the sermon, nor yet the bag, nor you and Miss Jill put together, but 'twas God that spoked to me in the night.

"'I have loved 'ee,' He kep' sayin', 'I have loved 'ee, Tummas, I have loved 'ee.' An' then came that there tex' 'ee preached on last Sunday, 'Lovest thou Me?' and I were fair broken down. I knowed what the Lord did want. The tenth o' my savin's! And bless God, I knows He loves me, and 'tis that has brought me!"

"Thank God," breathed Mr. Arnold, stretching out his hand and taking Thomas Stone's hard, horny one in his. "I take this gladly, and thank you in my Master's name."

When the old man had gone Jill drew near. She held out her bag a little sorrowfully--

"It has only three shillings and a half-penny in it," she said; "and two shillings are from Sam, and threepence from Annie. I'm afraid our money is very, very little."

"Never mind," said Mr. Arnold cheerfully, seeing her downcast face, "God does not expect more from you at present."

Jill sighed.

"And my bag is wearing out," she said mournfully, "and Miss Falkner has no more red flannel; she thinks a bag can be made of anything, but I like my old one. It has great holes, and as fast as I mend them they tear out again."

"Poor little bag!" said Mr. Arnold, taking it in his hand. "It is worn out in a good service. Will you let me have it, Jill? I should like to hang it up in the vestry here, so that I can look at it sometimes. What is this tape on it? Something written on it."

"I did that," said Jill, her face in a glow of delight at Mr. Arnold's words.

He read out slowly--

"Of Thine own have we given Thee."

The letters were crooked and uneven. He smiled at Jill, then hung the little bag up on a nail.

She looked at it proudly. All sorrow for its uselessness had gone.

"It looks lovely up there!" she said. "And I don't mind now having a new one."

"But don't have a new motto, Jill. Keep that to the end of your life--'Of Thine own have we given Thee.'"

Jill nodded, and then she ran away home.