FROM that day a new life began for Christie, a happy, quiet, usefullife, utterly unlike any of the brilliant futures she had plannedfor herself; yet indescribably pleasant to her now, for pastexperience had taught her its worth, and made her ready to enjoy it.

Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never had such a cropof hopeful thoughts and happy feelings sprung up in her heart asnow; and nowhere was there a brighter face, a blither voice, or morewilling hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.

This was what she needed, the protection of a home, wholesome caresand duties; and, best of all, friends to live and labor for, lovingand beloved. Her whole soul was in her work now, and as healthreturned, much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it, alittle sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever. No task wastoo hard or humble; no day long enough to do all she longed to do;and no sacrifice would have seemed too great for those whom sheregarded with steadily increasing love and gratitude.

Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture ofthe birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune, andgave her Nature's most healing balm. She kept the little house inorder, with Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor sopleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like mother anddaughter, and Christie often said she did not care for any otherwages.

The house-work of this small family was soon done, and then Christiewent to tasks that she liked better. Much out-of-door life was goodfor her, and in garden and green-house there was plenty of lightlabor she could do. So she grubbed contentedly in the wholesomeearth, weeding and potting, learning to prune and bud, and findingMrs. Wilkins was quite right in her opinion of the sanitary virtuesof dirt.

Trips to town to see the good woman and carry country gifts to thelittle folks; afternoon drives with Mrs. Sterling in theold-fashioned chaise, drawn by the Roman-nosed horse, and Sundaypilgrimages to church to be "righted up" by one of Mr. Power'sstirring sermons, were among her new pleasures. But, on the whole,the evenings were her happiest times: for then David read aloudwhile she worked; she sung to the old piano tuned for her use; or,better still, as spring came on, they sat in the porch, and talkedas people only do talk when twilight, veiling the outer world, seemsto lift the curtains of that inner world where minds go exploring,hearts learn to know one another, and souls walk together in thecool of the day.

At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of another Davidthan the busy, cheerful man apparently contented with the humdrumduties of an obscure, laborious life, and the few unexcitingpleasures afforded by books, music, and much silent thought. Shesometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under this composed,commonplace existence another life went on; for, now and then, inthe interest of conversation, or the involuntary yielding to aconfidential impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed anunexpected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter memory thatwould not be ignored.

Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses, and so brief, soindistinct, were they that she half believed her own lively fancycreated them. She longed to know more; but "David's trouble" madehim sacred in her eyes from any prying curiosity, and always afterone of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so like hisunromantic self next day, that she laughed and said:

"I never shall outgrow my foolish way of trying to make people otherthan they are. Gods are gone, heroes hard to find, and one should becontented with good men, even if they do wear old clothes, leadprosaic lives, and have no accomplishments but gardening, playingthe flute, and keeping their temper."

She felt the influences of that friendly place at once; but for atime she wondered at the natural way in which kind things were done,the protective care extended over her, and the confiding air withwhich these people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded noexplanations, seemed unconscious of conferring favors, and took herinto their life so readily that she marvelled, even while sherejoiced, at the good fortune which led her there.

She understood this better when she discovered, what Mr. Power hadnot mentioned, that the little cottage was a sort of refuge for manywomen like herself; a half-way house where they could rest andrecover themselves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness thatcome to such in the battle of life.

With a chivalry older and finer than any Spenser sung, Mr. Powerbefriended these forlorn souls, and David was his faithful squire.Whoever knocked at that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed;comforted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened by thesweet good-will that made charity no burden, and restored to themore desperate and despairing their faith in human nature and God'slove.

There are many such green spots in this world of ours, which oftenseems so bad that a second Deluge could hardly wash it clean again;and these beneficent, unostentatious asylums are the salvation ofmore troubled souls than many a great institution gilded all overwith the rich bequests of men who find themselves too heavily ladento enter in at the narrow gate of heaven.

Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns from thecrowded, dusty highway down the green lane that leads to thesehumble inns, where the sign of the Good Samaritan is written on theface of whomsoever opens to the stranger, and refreshment for souland body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the poor.

Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish left him butlittle time to visit any but the needy. Christie enjoyed these briefvisits heartily, for her new friends soon felt that she was one ofthem, and cordially took her into the large circle of workers andbelievers to which they belonged.

Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan asylum, and every lonelycreature found a welcome there. He could rebuke sin sternly, yetcomfort and uplift the sinner with fatherly compassion; righteouswrath would flash from his eyes at injustice, and contempt sharpenhis voice as he denounced hypocrisy: yet the eyes that lightenedwould dim with pity for a woman's wrong, a child's small sorrow; andthe voice that thundered would whisper consolation like a mother, orgive counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.

He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to lead his peopleout of the bondage of dead superstitions, and go before them througha Red Sea of persecution into the larger liberty and love all soulshunger for, and many are just beginning to find as they comedoubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pioneers as hehave planted in the wilderness.

He was like a tonic to weak natures and wavering wills; and Christiefelt a general revival going on within herself as her knowledge,honor, and affection for him grew. His strength seemed to upholdher; his integrity to rebuke all unworthiness in her own life; andthe magic of his generous, genial spirit to make the hard placessmooth, the bitter things sweet, and the world seem a happier,honester place than she had ever thought it since her father died.

Mr. Power had been interested in her from the first; had watched herthrough other eyes, and tried her by various unsuspected tests. Shestood them well; showed her faults as frankly as her virtues, andtried to deserve their esteem by copying the excellencies sheadmired in them.

"She is made of the right stuff, and we must keep her among us; forshe must not be lost or wasted by being left to drift about theworld with no ties to make her safe and happy. She is doing so wellhere, let her stay till the restless spirit begins to stir again;then she shall come to me and learn contentment by seeing greatertroubles than her own."

Mr. Power said this one day as he rose to go, after sitting an hourwith Mrs. Sterling, and hearing from her a good report of his newprotegee. The young people were out at work, and had not been calledin to see him, for the interview had been a confidential one. But ashe stood at the gate he saw Christie in the strawberry bed, and wenttoward her, glad to see how well and happy she looked.

Her hat was hanging on her shoulders, and the sun giving her cheeksa healthy color; she was humming to herself like a bee as herfingers flew, and once she paused, shaded her eyes with her hand,and took a long look at a figure down in the meadow; then she workedon silent and smiling, - a pleasant creature to see, though her hairwas ruffled by the wind; her gingham gown pinned up; and her fingersdeeply stained with the blood of many berries.

"I wonder if that means anything?" thought Mr. Power, with a keenglance from the distant man to the busy woman close at hand. "Itmight be a helpful, happy thing for both, if poor David only couldforget."

He had time for no more castle-building, for a startled robin flewaway with a shrill chirp, and Christie looked up.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, rising quickly. "I was picking aspecial box for you, and now you can have a feast beside, just asyou like it, fresh from the vines. Sit here, please, and I'll hullfaster than you can eat."

"This is luxury!" and Mr. Power sat down on the three-legged stooloffered him, with a rhubarb leaf on his knee which Christie keptsupplying with delicious mouthfuls.

MR. POWER AND CHRISTIE IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.

"Well, and how goes it? Are we still happy and contented here?" heasked.

"I feel as if I had been born again; as if this was a new heaven anda new earth, and every thing was as it should be," answeredChristie, with a look of perfect satisfaction in her face.

"That's a pleasant hearing. Mrs. Sterling has been praising you, butI wanted to be sure you were as satisfied as she. And how does Davidwear? well, I hope."

"Oh, yes, he is very good to me, and is teaching me to be agardener, so that I needn't kill myself with sewing any more. Muchof this is fine work for women, and so healthy. Don't I look adifferent creature from the ghost that came here three or fourmouths ago?" and she turned her face for inspection like a child.

"Yes, David is a good gardener. I often send my sort of plants here,and he always makes them grow and blossom sooner or later," answeredMr. Power, regarding her like a beneficent genie on a three-leggedstool.

"You are the fresh air, and Mrs. Sterling is the quiet sunshine thatdoes the work, I fancy. David only digs about the roots."

"Thank you for my share of the compliment; but why say 'only digs'?That is a most important part of the work: I'm afraid you don'tappreciate David."

"Oh, yes, I do; but he rather aggravates me sometimes," saidChristie, laughing, as she put a particularly big berry in the greenplate to atone for her frankness.

"How?" asked Mr. Power, interested in these little revelations.

"Well, he won't be ambitious. I try to stir him up, for he hastalents; I've found that out: but he won't seem to care for anything but watching over his mother, reading his old books, andmaking flowers bloom double when they ought to be single."

"There are worse ambitions than those, Christie. I know many a manwho would be far better employed in cherishing a sweet old woman,studying Plato, and doubling the beauty of a flower, than in sellingprinciples for money, building up a cheap reputation that dies withhim, or chasing pleasures that turn to ashes in his mouth."

"Yes, sir; but isn't it natural for a young man to have somepersonal aim or aspiration to live for? If David was a weak or dullman I could understand it; but I seem to feel a power, a possibilityfor something higher and better than any thing I see, and this fretsme. He is so good, I want him to be great also in some way."

"A wise man says, 'The essence of greatness is the perception thatvirtue is enough.' I think David one of the most ambitious men Iever knew, because at thirty he has discovered this truth, and takenit to heart. Many men can be what the world calls great: very fewmen are what God calls good. This is the harder task to choose, yetthe only success that satisfies, the only honor that outlives death.These faithful lives, whether seen of men or hidden in corners, arethe salvation of the world, and few of us fail to acknowledge it inthe hours when we are brought close to the heart of things, and seea little as God sees."

Christie did not speak for a moment: Mr. Power's voice had been sograve, and his words so earnest that she could not answer lightly,but sat turning over the new thoughts in her mind. Presently shesaid, in a penitent but not quite satisfied tone:

"Of course you are right, sir. I'll try not to care for the outwardand visible signs of these hidden virtues; but I'm afraid I stillshall have a hankering for the worldly honors that are so valued bymost people."

"'Success and glory are the children of hard work and God's favor,'according to Æschylus, and you will find he was right. David got aheavy blow some years ago as I told you, I think; and he took ithard, but it did not spoil him: it made a man of him; and, if I amnot much mistaken, he will yet do something to be proud of, thoughthe world may never hear of it."

"I hope so!" and Christie's face brightened at the thought.

"Nevertheless you look as if you doubted it, O you of little faith.Every one has two sides to his nature: David has shown you the leastinteresting one, and you judge accordingly. I think he will show youthe other side some day, - for you are one of the women who winconfidence without trying, - and then you will know the real David.Don't expect too much, or quarrel with the imperfections that makehim human; but take him for what he is worth, and help him if youcan to make his life a brave and good one."

"I will, sir," answered Christie so meekly that Mr. Power laughed;for this confessional in the strawberry bed amused him very much.

"You are a hero-worshipper, my dear; and if people don't come up tothe mark you are so disappointed that you fail to see the finereality which remains when the pretty romance ends. Saints walkabout the world today as much as ever, but instead of haircloth andhalos they now wear" -

"Broadcloth and wide-brimmed hats," added Christie, looking up as ifshe had already found a better St. Thomas than any the church evercanonized.

He thanked her with a smile, and went on with a glance toward themeadow.

"And knights go crusading as gallantly as ever against the giantsand the dragons, though you don't discover it, because, instead ofbanner, lance, and shield they carry" -

"Bushel-baskets, spades, and sweet-flag for their mothers," put inChristie again, as David came up the path with the loam he had beendigging.

Both began to laugh, and he joined in the merriment without knowingwhy, as he put down his load, took off his hat, and shook hands withhis honored guest.

"What's the joke?" he asked, refreshing himself with the handful ofberries Christie offered him.

"Don't tell," she whispered, looking dismayed at the idea of lettinghim know what she had said of him.

But Mr. Power answered tranquilly:

"We were talking about coins, and Christie was expressing heropinion of one I showed her. The face and date she understands; butthe motto puzzles her, and she has not seen the reverse side yet, sodoes not know its value. She will some day; and then she will agreewith me, I think, that it is sterling gold."

The emphasis on the last words enlightened David: his sunburnt cheekreddened, but he only shook his head, saying: "She will find a brassfarthing I'm afraid, sir," and began to crumble a handful of loamabout the roots of a carnation that seemed to have sprung up bychance at the foot of the apple-tree.

"How did that get there?" asked Christie, with sudden interest inthe flower.

"It dropped when I was setting out the others, took root, and lookedso pretty and comfortable that I left it. These waifs sometimes dobetter than the most carefully tended ones: I only dig round them abit and leave them to sun and air."

Mr. Power looked at Christie with so much meaning in his face thatit was her turn to color now. But with feminine perversity she wouldnot own herself mistaken, and answered with eyes as full of meaningas his own:

"I like the single ones best: double-carnations are so untidy, allbursting out of the calyx as if the petals had quarrelled and couldnot live together."

"The single ones are seldom perfect, and look poor and incompletewith little scent or beauty," said unconscious David propping up thethin-leaved flower, that looked like a pale solitary maiden, besidethe great crimson and white carnations near by, filling the air withspicy odor.

"I suspect you will change your mind by and by, Christie, as yourtaste improves, and you will learn to think the double ones thehandsomest," added Mr. Power, wondering in his benevolent heart ifhe would ever be the gardener to mix the colors of the two humanplants before him.

"I must go," and David shouldered his basket as if he felt he mightbe in the way.

"So must I, or they will be waiting for me at the hospital. Give mea handful of flowers, David: they often do the poor souls more goodthan my prayers or preaching."

Then they went away, and left Christie sitting in the strawberrybed, thinking that David looked less than ever like a hero with hisblue shirt, rough straw hat, and big boots; also wondering if hewould ever show her his best side, and if she would like it when shesaw it.