Part 26 (1/2)

Laura Raeburn it was who entered Miss L----'s, her heart overflowing with satisfaction, and so the never-shaken friends.h.i.+p between Wis.h.i.+ng-Brae and the Manse was made stronger still, as by cements and rivets.

CHAPTER VI.

THE TOWER ROOM.

As time went on, Grace surely did not have to share a third part of her sisters' room, did she? For nothing is so much prized by most girls as a room of their very own, and a middle daughter, particularly such a middle daughter as Grace Wainwright, has a claim to a foothold--a wee bit place, as the Scotch say--where she can shut herself in, and read her Bible, and say her prayers, and write her letters, and dream her dreams, with n.o.body by to see. Mrs. Wainwright had been a good deal disturbed about there being no room for Grace when she came back to Highland, and one would have been fitted up had there been an extra cent in the family exchequer. Grace didn't mind, or if she did, she made light of her sacrifice; but her sisters felt that they ought to help her to privacy.

Eva and Miriam came over to the Manse to consult us in the early days.

I suggested screens.

”You can do almost anything with screens and portieres,” I said. ”One of the loveliest rooms I ever saw in my life is in a cottage in the Catskills, where one large room is separated into drawing-room, library, and dining-room, and sometimes into a spare chamber, as well, by the judicious use of screens.”

”Could we buy them at any price we could pay?” said Miriam.

”Buy them, child? What are you talking about? You can make them. You need only two or three clothes-horses for frames, some chintz, or even wall-paper or calico, a few small tacks, a little braid, a hammer and patience.”

After Grace was fairly launched on her career as teacher, mother suggested one day that the tower-room at Wis.h.i.+ng-Brae could be transformed into a maiden's bower without the spending of much money, and that it would make an ideal girl's room, ”just the nest for Grace, to fold her wings in and sing her songs--a nest with an outlook over the tree-tops and a field of stars above it.”

”Mother dear, you are too poetical and romantic for anything, but I believe,” said Amy, ”that it could be done, and if it could it ought.”

The tower at Wis.h.i.+ng-Brae was then a large, light garret-room, used for trunks and boxes. Many a day have I spent there writing stories when I was a child, and oh! what a prospect there was and is from those windows--prospect of moors and mountains, of ribbons of rivers and white roads leading out to the great world. You could see all Highland from the tower windows. In sunny days and in storms it was a delight beyond common just to climb the steep stairs and hide one's self there.

We put our heads together, all of us. We resolved at last that the tower-room should be our birthday gift to Grace. It was quite easy to contrive and work when she was absent, but not so easy to keep from talking about the thing in her presence. Once or twice we almost let it out, but she suspected nothing, and we glided over the danger as over ice, and hugged ourselves that we had escaped. We meant it for a surprise.

First of all, of course, the place had to be thoroughly cleaned, then whitewashed as to the ceiling, and scoured over and over as to the unpainted wood. Archie Vanderhoven and all the brothers of both families helped manfully with this, and the two dear old doctors both climbed up stairs every day, and gave us their criticism. When the cleanness and the sweetness were like the world after the deluge, we began to furnish.

The floor was stained a deep dark cherry red; Mrs. Raeburn presented the room with a large rug, called an art-square; Mrs. Vanderhoven made lovely ecru curtains of cheese-cloth, full and flowing, for the windows and these were caught back by cherry ribbons.

We had a regular controversy over the bed, half of us declaring for a folding bed, that could be shut up by day and be an armoire or a book-case, the others wanting a white enameled bed with bra.s.s k.n.o.bs and bars. The last party carried the day.

The boys hung some shelves, and on these we arranged Grace's favorite books. Under the books in the window were her writing-table and her chair and foot-stool. The Vanderhovens sent a pair of bra.s.s andirons for the fireplace, and the little Hastings children, who were taken into the secret, contributed a pair of solid silver candlesticks.

Never was there a prettier room than that which we stood and surveyed one soft April morning when it was p.r.o.nounced finished. Our one regret was that dear Mrs. Wainwright could not see it. But the oldest of the Raeburn boys brought over his camera and took a picture of the room, and this was afterwards enlarged and framed for one of Mrs. Wainwright's own birthdays.

”Mother dear,” said Grace one evening, as they sat together for a twilight talk, ”do you believe G.o.d always answers prayers?”

”Always, my child.”

”Do you think we can always see the answers, feel sure He has heard us?”

”The answers do not always come at once, Grace, nor are they always what we expect, but G.o.d sends us what is best for us, and He gives us strength to help answer the prayers we make. Sometimes prayers are answered before they leave our lips. Don't you know that in every 'Oh, my Father,' is the answer, 'Here, my child?'”

”I used to long, years ago,” said Grace, ”when I was as happy as I could be with dear uncle and auntie, just to fly to you and my father. It seemed sometimes as if I would die just to get home to Highland again, and be one of the children. Uncle and auntie want me to go abroad with them this summer, just for a visit, and they are so good they will take one of my sisters and one of the Raeburns; but I hate to think of the ocean between you and me again even for a few weeks.”

”You must go, dearie,” said Mrs. Wainwright. ”The dear uncle is part owner of you, darling, and he's very generous; but he can never have you back to keep.”

”No, indeed.”