Part 43 (1/2)

Great was his anger when his sister declared she should not keep the gold, but would take care that it pa.s.sed into the hands of those who would know how to use it properly. Louise was firm, and Rembrandt was powerless to do more than toss about in his distress. But gradually, under the gentle admonitions of his sister, the artist's vision seemed to expand, and before his death he was enabled to see where and how he had made s.h.i.+pwreck of his happiness. Thanks to the ministrations of his sister, his end was a peaceful one, and he died blessing her for all her devotion to him.

Louise's own useful and devoted life was now near its close.

After winding up the affairs of her brother, she undertook to pay a visit to her sister, who had fallen ill. It was too much for the good old soul; she died on the journey.

[Sidenote: Hepsie's misdeed led, when she understood it, to a bold act which had very gratifying results.]

Hepsie's Christmas Visit

BY

MAUD MADd.i.c.k

”I say, little mother,” said Hepsie, as she tucked her hand under Mrs.

Erldon's arm, and hurried her along the snowy path from the old church door, ”I say--I've been thinking what a jolly and dear old world this is, and if only the people in it were a little bit nicer, why, there wouldn't be a thing to grumble at, would there?”

Mrs. Erldon turned her rather sad, but sweet face towards her little daughter, and smiled at her.

Somehow folks often _did_ smile at Hepsie. She was such a breezy brisk sort of child, and had a way of looking at life in general that was distinctly interesting.

”Of course, dearie,” she went on, in that protecting little manner Hepsie loved to adopt when talking to her beloved mother, ”you can't imagine I am thinking of people like you. If every one were half--no--a quarter as delightful as _you_, the world would be charming. Oh dear no, I am not flattering at all, I am just speaking the truth; but there aren't many of your kind about, as I find out more and more every day.”

”My dearest of little girls,” interrupted her mother, as they turned into Sunnycoombe Lane, where the snow lay crisply s.h.i.+ning, and the trees were flecked with that dainty tracing of frozen white, ”you look at me through gla.s.ses of love, and _they_ have a knack of painting a person as fair as you wish that one to be. Supposing you give the rest of the world a little of their benefit, Hepsie mine!”

[Sidenote: An Unruly Member]

Hepsie flung back her head, and laughed lightly. ”Oh, you artful little mother! That's your gentle way of telling me, what, of course, I know--that I am a horrid girl for impatience and temper, when I get vexed; but you know, mother darling, I shall never be able to manage my tongue. It was born too long, and though on this very Christmas morning I have been making ever so many good resolutions to keep the tiresome thing in order--you mark my words, little mother, if it doesn't run off in some dreadful way directly it gets the chance--and then you'll be grieved--and I shall be sorry--and some one or other will be _in a rage_!”

Mrs. Erldon drew in her lips. It was hard to keep from laughing at the comical look on the little girl's face, and certainly what she said was true. Some one was very often in a rage with Hepsie's tongue. It was a most outspoken and unruly member, and yet belonged to the best-hearted child in the whole of Sunnycoombe, and the favourite, too, in spite of her temper, which was so quickly over, and her repentance always so sincere and sweet.

She was looking up into Mrs. Erldon's face now with great honest blue eyes in which a faint shadow could be seen.

”I met my grandfather this morning,” she said in a quick, rather nervous voice, ”and I told him he was a wicked old man!”

Her mother turned so white that Hepsie thought she was going to faint, and hung on to her arm in terror and remorse.

”Don't look like that!” she burst forth desperately. ”I know I ought to be shaken, and ought to be ashamed of myself--but it's no use--I'm not either one or the other, only I wish I hadn't done it now, because I've vexed you on Christmas morning!”

Mrs. Erldon walked along, looking straight ahead.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”DO FORGIVE ME, MOTHER DARLING!”]

”I'd rather you did shake me,” said Hepsie, in a quivering tone, ”only you couldn't do such a thing, I know. You're too kind--and I'm always saying something I shouldn't. Do forgive me, mother darling! You can't think what a relief it was to me to speak like that to my grandfather, who thinks he's all the world, and something more, just because he's the Lord of the Manor and got a hateful heap of money, and it'll do him good (when he's got over his rage) to feel that there's his own little granddaughter who isn't afraid of him and tells him the truth----”

”Hepsie!”

Hepsie paused, and stared. Her gentle mother was gazing so strangely and sternly at her.