Part 16

"There is!" she exclaimed aloud, in her delight, just as Mrs. Beauchamp entered the dining-room, and greeted her with the old-time wish of "many happy returns," and bestowed upon her one of her rare kisses.

"What is there?" she queried, as she slipped a sealed envelope among the other presents, and took her seat at the head of the table.

"Why, actually a letter from dad, grannie, come on the very day," she explained, in glee, as she held it up. "And here is one from Miss Herschel, too, but she does not know when my birthday is, so that has only come by chance. Isn't that odd?"

"Very," agreed Mrs. Beauchamp, as she began to pour out the coffee. "Now eat your breakfast, and then you can look at your packages."

Either Monica's usually keen appetite was very small, or her digestion very good, on that particular morning, for in a very few minutes she expressed herself as "quite finished," and then began undoing strings and paper with eager fingers.

A dear little pocket Bible "with love from Amethyst and her mother"; a crudely drawn, but wonderfully life-like portrait of Jack, nicely framed, from Olive; a beautifully-worked nightdress-case from Elsa: both inexpensive gifts, for the twins had very little pocket-money. Then there was a very handsome collar for Jack, the united gift of the servants.

"I can't think who this is from," said Monica, taking up the last parcel and hastily cutting the string. "Oh, grannie, do look!" she cried, holding up a plain leather frame containing the photograph of Robina Herschel and her brother, taken together. In the frame was slipped a scrap of paper, bearing the words: "In memory of happy days at Sandyshore."

"Oh, I _am_ glad to have that!" said Monica, as she gazed upon the pictured features of the two she admired so much, the fair, fragile girl presenting such a contrast to her firm, resolute brother. "I suppose it is in return for the snapshot which Marcus took, that I gave them. But how could they--I mean who could have told them when my birthday was?"

"Probably the letter will explain," suggested Mrs. Beauchamp, who was not quite sure that she approved of a _double_ photograph. But a hasty glance at Monica's innocent face disarmed all suspicion.

It soon transpired that Elsa had been the little bird who had been only too ready to tell Miss Herschel when Monica's birthday was; and thus the mystery was quickly cleared up. Robina only wrote a short letter, as they were all very busy getting her brother's things ready for his voyage to Africa. He was to be dismissed, among other missionaries, at a public meeting in London in the course of a few days, and would start for the Soudan almost immediately after. "He sends you his best wishes, not only for your birthday, but for always," the letter concluded, "and says that you will find his good-bye message in Colossians i. 9, 10. We shall miss him terribly, mother and I, but we are quite, quite willing. Perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would spare you to pay us a little visit after Christmas, while your holidays were on. Tell her, mother says we would take the greatest care of you!"

Monica read the last two sentences aloud, before she folded up the letter and put it in its envelope.

"It would be nice, grannie, wouldn't it? I hardly remember going away on a visit to any one."

"We must see," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, in not very gushing tones. Strangely enough, the mere thought of parting with this granddaughter of hers, even for a week or two, filled her with dismay; she had grown to be dependent upon her for company, and the bright, cheery, girlish presence would be sadly missed at Carson Rise now.

And yet, Monica must go out into the world, and make friends and see many phases of life, of which she was utterly ignorant now. So she stifled a sigh, and added: "It is very kind of Mrs. Herschel to invite you, and it would make a nice little change for you, during the winter."

Monica, whose face had fallen somewhat at her grandmother's first remark, brightened up visibly. She _would_ so like to go and stay with the Herschels, and she had been afraid Mrs. Beauchamp meant to refuse her consent, but now the prospect looked more hopeful.

"Two more letters and then I've done," she said gaily, opening the envelope bearing the old lady's handwriting first. Inside it was a crisp, new five-pound note, wrapped in a half-sheet of notepaper.

"Oh, thank you so much, grannie dear!" she said, as she fingered the rustling bit of paper which meant so much for the cause she had at heart: her imagination already pictured all sorts of nice things for China which that sum would procure.

"Are you not sorry now that you did not choose the bicycle?" said her grandmother drily.

"No, grannie, indeed I am not," was the bright response, for down in Monica's young heart was a deep sense of satisfaction that that battle with self had been fought and won the week before; for however much common sense may say to the contrary, the Bible axiom that "it is more blessed to give than to receive" still holds good.

"Now for dad's letter." With a hasty glance at the clock, which told her she had only a few minutes to spare, Monica tore open the thin envelope, and with eager fingers unfolded the closely written sheet. For a few seconds no words were spoken, and then she lifted her face, which was full of excitement and bubbling over with joy.

"Oh, grannie, he's coming home!" she cried; "something quite unexpected has changed all his plans, and instead of the regiment staying out in Simla, it's been ordered home, and when he gets to England, dad's going to retire. Oh, isn't it lovely! Just fancy, grannie, he won't go away from home any more, and he says he will then be able to look after his troublesome child himself, and relieve you of all responsibility. Naughty dad!" she added, while a little thrill of pleasure ran through her at the remembrance of the long letter sent from Sandyshore, which would only just be arriving at Simla then. "I don't think I'm quite so much trouble now, am I, grannie? And I am sure you would miss me just a little bit, wouldn't you?"

She looked up roguishly, and was amazed to see her grandmother's eyes were looking suspiciously wet.

"I cannot spare you, Monica, I could not give you up now," she said tremulously; "your father must make his home here, as long as I live."

A sudden impulse prompted Monica to slip out of her place, and give her grandmother a caress, and a moment later they were locked in each other's arms: the first embrace the girl had ever received from the undemonstrative old lady. But it was only the forerunner of many more; the possibility of losing her grandchild had shown Mrs. Beauchamp how intensely she loved her, and the proud reserve of her nature tottered and fell before the flood of love which came rushing in.

"When does he speak of coming, Monica?" she asked, as she wiped her eyes, and felt if her dainty lace cap was on straight, while Monica returned to her letter.

"He doesn't quite know yet, grannie dear," she replied, glancing it quickly through, "but it might be in time for him to spend Christmas with us. Oh, isn't it almost too splendid, to think of seeing my darling dad quite two years sooner than I had ever dreamt, and then, not just for a little while, but for always!"

And Monica, gathering up all her packages, rushed upstairs to get ready for school in a perfect maze of delight.

She was already behind time, so that she could only put all her letters and presents into a half-empty drawer, to be admired more fully upon her return. But she just managed to look out Leslie Herschel's text, and some of the words, which she never remembered having seen before, fastened themselves upon her memory.

"We ... do not cease to pray for you, and desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of His will ... that ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing."

"What a beautiful 'Good-bye' message," she murmured, as she closed her Bible, and began putting on her hat and coat. "I am sorry to think perhaps I shall never see him again, but I will try to become what he would wish, in case we should ever come across each other in years to come. Dear old dad would like the Herschels, I am sure."

The Franklyns and Amethyst were quite excited at Monica's news which she told them during recreation, until Olive remembered that Colonel Beauchamp's return to England _might_ mean Monica leaving the neighbourhood and school, too; but she soon reassured them, feeling convinced that her father would fall in with her grandmother's wishes. Then she began talking about their work for China, and told them of the five pounds which Mrs. Beauchamp had given her, and which was to be spent on materials. She did not think it necessary to mention that it was in lieu of any other present, and, curiously enough, it did not occur to the girls to ask what her grandmother's real birthday gift to her, personally, had been.

"We must have a committee meeting," said Olive importantly. She had made up her mind to enter heart and soul into the project, but her reason for doing so was very different from the others; she thought, poor child, that by working hard she would be able to drown the voice of conscience, which never rested, and was always accusing her. "I suppose we four will be the committee."

"Yes, if you like," Monica agreed, laughingly; all this was new ground to her. "Where shall we meet?"

"Mother says we can have my old playroom to use just as we like," piped Amethyst, "and we can have the working parties there, too."

"Lovely! Splendid! Just the place."

These, and other similar explanations greeted the proposal, which was unanimously accepted, and arrangements were quickly made for a committee on the following Saturday afternoon, to be followed by an expedition into the town to buy sufficient things to start the work with. Miss Daverel's instructions were expected to arrive at any time, Monica having written to her some days previously.

The bell rang before they had finished planning everything; but enough had been arranged for the time being, and the quartette went into school with very light hearts, and the lessons went well that day. Indeed, Miss Churchill had a model class that term, the greater number of her pupils being intent on doing both their teacher and themselves credit. Her only regret was that the girls would probably all do so well in the examinations that there would be a wholesale removal, and she would lose them all next term! Of Monica she had grown particularly fond. The story of her intercession on Lily Howell's behalf had, of course, become known to the teachers, though it had not been allowed to reach the ears of the girls, and Mary Churchill admired the spirit which had prompted such an action. There was a subtle change in Monica Beauchamp, too, an indefinable something which was rounding off the sharp corners of her disposition, and the teacher could not think what it was. Good and upright as Mary Churchill was, she was, as yet, a stranger to Him Who can make all the crooked places in the lives of His children straight, and the rough places smooth, or she would have recognised His handiwork.

However, she looked on and wondered, as day succeeded day, and the alteration not only lasted, but actually became intensified. Not that Monica became the least bit "goody-goody," even Olive could never say she was that; she was just as bright and laughter-loving as ever, and fond of every kind of fun that did no one any harm. But her companions soon found that it was useless to get her to join in a joke, or laugh, carried out at some one else's expense, and nothing would persuade her to do behind a teacher's back what she would not do before her face!

Lily Howell, watching keenly, noted all these things, and being a quick-witted girl drew her own conclusions. Monica had not proved to be a "libel," and she felt constrained to admire the girl whom she used almost to hate.

Sometimes the remembrance that Lily was judging Christianity by its effect upon her daily life prevented Monica from doing, or saying something, in a moment's thoughtlessness, that would have brought discredit on her Master's cause. But far more often it was the realisation of His presence, unseen, but very real, which kept her from doing that which would grieve Him, for she had taken as her motto Leslie Herschel's text, "Walk worthy of the Lord, unto all pleasing."

Elsa Franklyn, who had been learning very hard lessons lately in the school of sorrow, was a great help to Monica. Indeed, when things went wrong Monica got into the way of telling Elsa all about it, and the quiet, gentle girl, who was so diffident of any attempt at advising the elder one, yet seemed, somehow, to straighten out the tangles in a wonderful way.

Olive, whose unrest made her captious and pettish at times, was sometimes inclined to be jealous of her twin-sister, and angry with Monica for "taking up" with Elsa, instead of being content with her alone, as used to be the case. But when she expostulated with Monica, as she did occasionally, the answer she invariably received, was, "I am just as fond of you as ever, Ollie, you know that quite well; but you see Elsa _understands_, and you don't _yet_; that's why I must have a talk with her sometimes."

And Olive, angry with herself for falling short of her friend's expectations, but not willing to take the same step as Monica and Elsa had done, felt that the explanation was even worse than the offence!

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*"IT'S ALL SURPRISES, NOWADAYS!"*

"Now, let's get to business."

And the quartette, _alias_ the "China Committee," as Amethyst had playfully nicknamed them, gathered round the large table in the vicarage playroom and began to consider ways and means.

"I've got a box full of patterns, and a long letter from Miss Daverel," began Monica, who had been elected president by virtue of her munificent gift towards the Expenses Fund, and who in consequence, occupied the "chair" at the head of the table. "Let us look at each thing, and I'll read to you how it's made, and then we'll decide whether we can undertake to make some like it, or not."

Half an hour was spent in admiring and examining the eighteen or twenty pretty and useful little "gifts," any, or all, of which, Miss Daverel said would be so acceptable to Chinese girls. Simply made children's clothing, a gaily dressed doll, bright knitted cuffs, a bookmarker, a woollen ball, a gay cretonne bag (containing a thimble, cotton, tiny pair of scissors and a pincushion), a knitted comforter, small Scripture pictures mounted on card--these were some of the articles the box contained.

"Most of them are quite easy to make," said Amethyst, who was keenly interested; "I should like to make a work-bag best, I think."

"I like dressing dolls," said Elsa, who was carefully examining the clothes of the sample she held in her hand.

"Oh, doll's clothes are awfully finicking to make!" was Olive's opinion; "but I think I could paste pictures on cards, like that. What shall you make, Monica?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. I am not much good at needlework. Perhaps I could knit a scarf, or some cuffs. But we must think about going to market first. Who will make a list of what we want?"

"I will." And Olive produced a pencil and paper with alacrity, and by dint of many references to Miss Daverel's directions, for quantities, a list of requisites sufficient to start with was eventually drawn up.

"Now about a working-party, Monica. When shall we begin, and whom shall we ask to join?"

It was unanimously decided that they would meet on Saturday afternoons, for a couple of hours, once a month to begin with, and every fortnight afterwards, if they got on well, and Mrs. Drury and Lois Franklyn were to be asked to take it in turns to superintend things. Several girls' names were proposed, and seconded, as suitable for invitation, and then Monica said she would like to ask Lily Howell.

"Oh, no!" cried Amethyst, in dismay; "we don't want her."

And Olive said: "I should think not, indeed!"

But Monica, who read approval in Elsa's glance, insisted that there was no reason why she should not join them, and realising that Monica was really the prime mover in the whole concern, the other two were reluctantly compelled to acquiesce; Amethyst comforting Olive and herself by remarking: "It's not the least bit likely that she will come, that's one good thing."

But contrary to Amethyst's expectations and wishes, she did. And thus it came to pass, on the following Saturday when the quartette, with very varying feelings, were waiting the arrival of the half-dozen or so of their companions who had promised to come and help them, that Lily Howell was shown into the playroom, the first of any to put in an appearance.

Monica, suddenly overwhelmed with a terrible fit of shyness, shook hands stiffly, and could not think of a single thing to say. But Elsa came to the rescue, and soon interested Lily in the work they were going to do, showing and explaining one thing after another, until the newcomer caught the infection, and was very ready to do her share.

Indeed, that was the general opinion expressed Mrs. Drury, who, at the girls' earnest request, acted as spokeswoman, explained more fully the object of the little working-party, and with happy tact soon set everybody at their ease, having provided each one with exactly the piece of work which she had a fancy for doing.

For at least half an hour the tongues wagged busily, and many were the questions asked, for the work in most cases was quite novel; but eventually all were settled, and then Mrs. Drury read part of a book which Miss Daverel had suggested they should start with--"Children in Blue, and What They Do," one of the most delightful and fascinating books ever written with a view to interesting English girls in their Chinese sisters.

By the end of the afternoon every one of the girls had become quite as enthusiastic as even Monica could wish, and when the new missionary box had been handed round, it began to feel quite heavy.

"What are you going to do with all the things when we have made them?" asked one of the visitors, and Monica replied that they wanted to collect a nice number, and let Miss Daverel have them to take back with her when she returned to China, in about a year; and if they had more than were wanted for her, the missionary had sent the address of a depot in London, where some ladies would gladly forward any gifts sent to them.

"Are you going to have a working party every Saturday?" Gipsy Monroe enquired, as they folded up their work. She was making a queer little cotton jacket, and was eager to go on with it.

"Only once a month, we thought," replied Monica; "we didn't suppose you would want to come oftener."

But every one insisted that they should meet every fortnight, at least; and so it was arranged.

"It _has_ been nice, hasn't it?"

It was Amethyst who actually said the words, as they put away the work and cleared up the room after their visitors had gone, preparatory to going down to the dining-room for tea; but all the others were thinking the same thing. There were three very happy girls that evening, at any rate, out of the four.

Amethyst whispered to her mother, in that hour of confidences, when the light is waning outdoors, and the gas has not been lighted within, that she still meant to be a speaker when she grew up, but she was quite, quite sure now that it would have to be about missionary work, instead of temperance; would mumsie mind very much? And Mrs. Drury imprinted a kiss upon the upturned brow, and repressed an inclination to smile at the rapidity with which the alteration in subjects had been made, and said that she thought perhaps there would be plenty of opportunities for her to plead on behalf of both causes, if her little daughter ever became a "platform woman."

Olive slipped her arm through her twin-sister's, as they walked home in the dusk, and talked more frankly than she had done for a long time, and Elsa's heart grew light about her. She felt there was no end to what Olive could do, if once she started in the right direction, for she knew there were immense capabilities in her sister, such as she herself would never possess. And Elsa, who, ever since the meeting at Sandyshore, had had a great desire to become a missionary like Miss Daverel, when she grew up, but felt convinced that she would never be thought suitable, began to hope and pray that God would choose Olive instead. How splendid it would be if Olive, as well as Roger, should some day take the Gospel to the heathen!

Monica being rapidly driven home in the brougham which had been sent for her, reviewed the afternoon with girlish satisfaction. It was nice of the girls to come, nicer of them to be interested, and nicer still that they should be willing to meet more often than they had expected. But it was nicest of all to know (and the knowledge made her very humble) that she, Monica Beauchamp, was being enabled in a strength not her own, to walk along the pathway of life, in a way that was pleasing to her Master and helpful to others.

Mrs. Beauchamp was very interested in hearing all the details of the afternoon's work, and delighted Monica by offering to knit some comforters and cuffs during the long winter evenings that were coming. She would undertake to buy all the wool herself, she said, so that the "Expenses Fund" might last as long as possible.

"That's very kind, grannie," said Monica, with a smile, "for I can see our money will soon melt. We have spent nearly thirty shillings, already!"

"Out of your five pounds? Did none of the others contribute anything?" asked the old lady.

"Oh, yes, seven or eight shillings between them, grannie. But they could not do more: Amethyst has very little pocket-money, I know, and I think the Franklyns are quite poor." Monica dropped her voice to a whisper. Not even to her grandmother could she explain her reasons for thinking so; but first, the barely furnished rooms at the doctor's, and then the very, very simple and inexpensive mourning which was all that could be afforded for the grown-up daughters, as well as for the younger children, told their own tale, which Monica, brought up as she had been in the lap of luxury, thought the essence of poverty.

"The doctor's practice is not so large as his family," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp, with grim humour. "When is Elsa's birthday, Monica?" she added, after a short pause.

The girl, who had been thinking deeply, started at the sudden and apparently irrelevant question.

"Why, next Saturday, grannie, the same day as Olive's, of course." What could have made her grandmother ask?

Probably she looked her surprise, for the old lady said: "You need not be afraid I am going to give them five-pound notes to squander on heathen Chinese," but her smile belied her words. "I was wondering how much younger they are than you."

"Just over a year: they will be fifteen on their birthday. It will be a very sad day for them; Olive says Elsa can't bear to think of a birthday without their mother."

"Poor children," said Mrs. Beauchamp, in tones of pity; then, as if to change the subject, she said: "I suppose Amethyst Drury is younger again?"

"Oh, yes, she won't be fifteen until next summer, only she is so quick and clever that she is quite as forward at school as those who are older. I am much the oldest in our form," added Monica, with a sigh. Her backwardness in many subjects had been a source of trouble to her lately.

"I expect you will know enough by the time you leave school, my dear, if you make the most of the next two years," said her grandmother kindly. "I have no fancy for you to become a blue-stocking."