At Esther's age nature does her work of recuperation well and fast. It was early yet, and the dawn just breaking into day, when she woke; and, calling to mind her purposes formed last night, she immediately got up. The business of the toilet performed as speedily as possible, she stole down-stairs and roused Mrs. Barker; and while waiting for her to be ready, went to the back door and opened it. A fresh cool air blew in her face; clouds were chasing over the sky before a brisk wind, and below her rolled the broad Hudson, its surface all in commotion; while the early light lay bright on the pretty Jersey shore. Esther stood in a spell of pleasure. This was a change indeed from her Seaforth view, where the eye could go little further than the garden and the road. Here was a new scene opening, and a new chapter in life beginning; Esther's heart swelled. There was a glad mental impulse towards growth and developement, which readily connected itself with this outward change, and with this outward stir also. The movement of wind and water met a movement of the animal spirits, which consorted well with it; the cool air breathed vigour into her resolves; she turned to Mrs. Barker with a very bright face.

'Oh, Barker, how lovely it is!'

'If you please, which is it, Miss Esther?'

'Look at that beautiful river. And the light. And the air, Barker. It is delicious!'

'I can't see it, mum. All I can see is that there ain't an indiwiddle cheer standin' on its own legs in all the house; and whatever'll the colonel do when he comes down? and what to begin at first, I'm sure I don't know.'

'We'll arrange all that. Where is Christopher? We want him to open the boxes. We'll get one room in some sort of order first, and then papa can stay in it. Where is Christopher?'

They had to wait a few minutes for Christopher, and meanwhile Esther took a rapid review of the rooms; decided which should be the dining-room, and which the one where her father should have his sofa and all his belongings. Then she surveyed the packing-cases, to be certain which was which, and what ought to be opened first; examining her ground with the eye of a young general. Then, when the lagging Mr. Bounder made his appearance, there was a systematic course of action entered upon, in which packing-cases were knocked apart and cleared away; chairs, and a table or two, were released from durance and set on their legs; a rug was found and spread down before the fireplace; the colonel's sofa was got at, and unboxed, and brought into position; and finally a fire was made. Esther stood still to take a moment's complacent review of her morning's work.

'It looks quite comfortable,' she said, 'now the fire is burning up. We have done pretty well, Barker, for a beginning?'

'Never see a better two hours' job,' said Christopher. ''Tain't much more. That's Miss Esther. Sarah there, she wouldn't ha' knowed which was her head and which was her heels, and other things according, if she hadn't another head to help her. What o'clock is it now, Miss Esther?'

'It is some time after eight. Papa may be down any minute. Now, Barker, the next thing is breakfast.'

'Breakfast, Miss Esther?' said the housekeeper, standing still to look at her.

'Yes. Aren't you hungry? I think we must all want it.'

'And how are we goin' to get it? The kitchen's all cluttered full o' boxes and baggage and that; and I don' know where an indiwiddle thing is, this minute.'

'I saw the tea-kettle down-stairs.'

'Yes 'm, but that's the sole solitary article. I don' know where there's a pan, nor a gridiron; and there's no fire, Miss Esther; and it'll take patience to get that grate agoin'.'

The housekeeper, usually so efficient, now looked helpless. It was true, the system by means of which so much had been done that morning, had proceeded from Esther's head solely. She was not daunted now.

'I know the barrel in which the cooking things were packed stands there; in the hall, I think. Christopher, will you unpack it? But first, fill the kettle and bring it here.'

'Here, Miss Esther?' cried the housekeeper.

'Yes; it will soon boil here. And, Barker, the hampers with the china are in the other room; if you will unpack them, I think you can find the tea-pot and some cups.'

'They'll all want washin', Miss Esther.'

'Very well; we shall have warm water here by that time. And then I can give papa his tea and toast, and boil some eggs, and that will do very well; everything else we want is in the basket, and plenty, as we did not eat it last night.'

It was all done, – it took time, to be sure, but it was done; and when Colonel Gainsborough came down, hesitating and somewhat forlorn, he found a fire burning in the grate, Mrs. Barker watching over a skillet in one corner, and Esther over a tea-kettle in the other. The room was filled with the morning light, which certainly showed the bare floor and the packing-boxes standing around; but also shone upon an unpacked table, cups, plates, bread and butter. Esther had thought it was very comfortable. Her father seemed not to take that view.

'What are you doing there?' he said. 'Is this to be the kitchen?'

'Only for this morning, papa,' said Esther cheerfully. 'This is just the kettle for your tea, and Barker is boiling an egg for you; at least she will as soon as the water boils.'

'All this should have been done elsewhere, my dear.'

'It was not possible, papa. The kitchen is absolutely full of boxes – it will take a while to clear it; and I wanted first to get a corner for you to be comfortable in. We will get things in order as fast as we can. Now the kettle boils, Barker, don't it? You may put in the eggs.'

'My dear, I do not think this is the place for the sofa.'

'Oh no, papa, I do not mean it; the room looking towards the water is the prettiest, and will be the pleasantest; that will be the sitting-room, I think; but we could only do one thing at a time. Now, you shall have your tea and toast in two minutes.'

'There is no doing anything well without system,' said the colonel. 'Arrange your work always, and then take it in order, the first thing first, and so on. Now I should have said, the first thing here was the kitchen fire.'

Esther knew it was not, and that her doings had been with admirable system; she was a little disappointed that they met with no recognition. She had counted upon her father's being pleased, and even a little surprised that so much had been done. Silently she made his tea, and toasted him with much difficulty a slice of bread. Mrs. Barker disappeared with her skillet. But the colonel was in the state of mind that comes over many ease-loving men when their ease is temporarily disturbed.

'How long is it going to take two people to get these things unboxed and in their places?' he inquired, as his eye roved disconsolately over the room and its packing-cases. 'This is pretty uncomfortable!'

'Three people, papa. I shall do the very best I can. You would like the sitting-room put in order first, where your sofa and you can be quiet?'

'You are going to school.'

'Oh, papa! but I must see to the house first. Barker cannot get along without me.'

'It is her business,' said the colonel. 'You are going to school.'

'But, papa, please, let me wait a few days. After I once begin to go to school I shall be so busy with study.'

'Time you were. That's what we are come here for. The season is late now.'

'But your comfort, and the house, papa?'

'My comfort must take its chance. I wish you to go to Miss Fairbairn on

Monday. Then Barker and Christopher can take the house between them.'

There was no gainsaying her father when once an order was given, Esther knew; and she was terribly disappointed. Her heart was quite set on this business of righting and arranging the new home; nobody could do it as it should be done, she knew, except by her order; and her own hand longed to be in the work. A sudden cloud came over the brightness of her spirit. She had been very bright through all the strain and rush of the morning; now she suddenly felt tired and dispirited.

'What is Christopher doing?'

'Papa, I do not know; he has been opening boxes.'

'Let him put the kitchen in order.'

'Yes, papa.' Esther knew it was impossible, however.

'And let Barker get the rooms up-stairs arranged.'

'Papa, don't you want your sitting-room prepared first? – just so that you may have a corner of comfort?'

'I do not expect to see comfort, my dear, for many a day – to judge by what I have around me.'

Esther swallowed a choking feeling in her throat, commanded back some tears which had a mind to force their way, and presided over the rest of the meal with a manner of sweet womanly dignity, which had a lovely unconscious charm. The colonel did even become a little conscious of it.

'You are doing the best you know, my dear,' he condescended kindly. 'I do not grudge any loss of comfort for your sake.'

'Papa, I think you shall not lose any,' Esther said eagerly; but then she confined her energies to doing. And with nerves all strung up again, she went after breakfast at the work of bringing order out of disorder.

'The first thing for you to do, Barker,' she said, 'is to get papa's sleeping-room comfortable. He will have the one looking to the west, I think; that is the prettiest. The blue carpet, that was on his room at Seaforth, will just do. Christopher will undo the roll of carpet for you.'

'Miss Esther, I can't do nothing till I get the kitchen free. There'll be the dinner.'

'Christopher will manage the kitchen.'

'He can't, mum. He don't know one thing that's to be done, no more'n one of his spades. It's just not possible, Miss Esther.'

'I will oversee what he does. Trust me. I will not make any bad mistakes, Barker. You put papa's room in order. He wishes it.'

What the colonel desired had to be done, Barker knew; so with a wondering look at Esther's sweet, determined face, she gave in. And that day and the next day, and the third, were days very full of business, and in which a vast deal was accomplished. The house was really very pretty, as Esther soon saw; and before Saturday night closed in, those parts of it at least which the colonel had most to do with were stroked into order, and afforded him all his wonted ease and luxury. Esther had worked every hour of those days, to the admiration of her subordinates; the informing spirit and regulating will of every step that was taken. She never lost her head, or her patience, or her sweet quiet; though she was herself as busy as a bee and at the same time constantly directing the activity of the others. Wise, and quick-witted, and quick to remember, her presence of mind and readiness of resource seemed unfailing. So, as I said, before Saturday night came, an immense deal of work was accomplished, and done in a style that needed not to be done over again. All which, however, was not finished without some trace of the strain to which the human instrument had been put.

The sun had just set, and Esther was standing at the window of her father's room, looking out to the west. She had been unpacking his clothes and laying them in the drawers of his bureau and press.

'Miss Esther, you're tired, bad!' said the housekeeper wistfully, coming up beside her. 'There's all black rings under your eyes; and your cheeks is pale. You have worked too hard, indeed.'

'Never mind,' said Esther cheerfully; 'that will pass. How pretty it is, Barker! Look out at that sky.'

'Yes 'm, it's just the colour from that sky that keeps your cheeks from showin' how white they be. Miss Esther, you've just done too much.'

'Never mind,' said the girl again. 'I wanted to have papa comfortable before I went to school. I am going to school Monday morning, Barker. Now I think he'll do very nicely.' She looked round the room, which was a pattern of neatness and of comfort that was both simple and elegant. But the housekeeper's face was grave with disapproval and puckered with lines of care. The wistful expression of anxiety upon it touched Esther.

'Barker,' she said kindly, 'you do not look happy.'

'Me! No, Miss Esther, it is which I do not expect to look.'

'Why not?'

'Mum, things is not accordin' in this world.'

'I think you are mistaken. Do you know who the happy people are?'

'Indeed, Miss Esther, I think they're the blessed ones that has gone clean away from the earth.'

'Oh no! I mean, people that are happy now and happy here, Barker.'

'I am sure and I don't know, Miss Esther; if it wouldn't be little children, – which is, them that is too young to know what the world is like. I do suppose they are happy.'

'Don't you know, the Bible says some other people are happy?'

'The Bible!'

Mrs. Barker stared, open-mouthed, at the face before her. Esther had sat down by the window, where the glow from the west was upon it, like a glory round the head of a young saint; and the evening sky was not more serene, nor reflected more surely a hidden light than did the beautiful eyes. Mrs. Barker gazed, and could not bring out another word.

'You read your Bible, don't you?'

'Yes 'm, in course; which it isn't very often; but in course I reads it.'

'Don't you know what it says about happy people?'

'In Paradise,' gasped the housekeeper.

'No, not in Paradise. Listen; let me tell you. "Blessed is the man whose iniquities are forgiven, whose sins are covered."'

Mrs. Barker met the look in Esther's eyes, and was absolutely dumb.

'Don't you know that?'

'I've heerd it, mum.'

'Well, you understand it?'

'If you please, Miss Esther, I think a body could be that knowed it; that same, I mean.'

'How can anybody be happy that does not know it?'

'True enough, mum; but how is anybody to know it for sure, Miss Esther?'

'I know it, Barker.'

'You, Miss Esther! Yes, mum, that's easy, when you never did nothin' wrong in your life. 'Tain't the way with the likes o' us.'

'It is not the way with anybody. Nothing but the blood of Christ can make any one clean. But that will. And don't you see, Barker, that is being happy?'

There was indeed no dissent in the good woman's eyes, but she said nothing. Esther presently went on.

'Now I will tell you another word. Listen. "Blessed is the man whose strength the Lord is." Don't you think so, Barker? Don't you see? Hecan never be weak.'

'Miss Esther, you do speak beautiful!' came out at last the housekeeper.

'Don't you think that is being happy?'

'It do sound so, mum.'

'I can tell you it feels so, Barker. "Blessed are all they that put their trust in Him." And that is, they are happy. And I trust in Him; and I love Him; and I know my sins are forgiven and covered; and my strength is in Him – all my strength. But that makes me strong.'

She went away with that from the window and the room, leaving the housekeeper exceedingly confounded; much as if a passing angel's wings had thrown down a white light upon her brown pathway. And from this time, it may be said Mrs. Barker regarded her young lady with something like secret worship. She had always been careful and tender of her charge; now in spirit she bowed down before her to the ground. For a while after Esther had left the room she stood very still, like one upon whom a spell had fallen. She was comparing things; remembering the look Mrs. Gainsborough had used to wear – sweet, dignified, but shadowed; then the face that at one time was Esther's face, also sweet and dignified, but uneasy and troubled and dark; and now – what was her countenance like? The housekeeper was no poet, nor in any way fanciful; otherwise she might have likened it to some of the fairest things in nature; and still the comparison would have fallen short. Sweet as a white rose; untroubled as the stars; full of hope as the flush of the morning. Only, in the human creature there was the added element oflife, which in all these dead things was wanting. Mrs. Barker probably thought of none of these images for her young mistress; nevertheless, the truth that is in them came down upon her very heart; and from that time she was Esther's devoted slave. There was no open demonstration of feeling; but Esther's wishes were laws to her, and Esther's welfare lay nearest her heart of all things in the world.

CHAPTER XX
SCHOOL

After much consideration the colonel had determined that Esther should be a sort of half boarder at Miss Fairbairn's school; that is, she should stay there from Monday morning to Saturday night. Esther combated this determination as far as she dared.

'Papa, will not that make me a great deal more expense to you than I need be?'

'Not much difference, my dear, as to that. If you came back every night

I should have to keep a horse; now that will not be necessary, and

Christopher will have more time to attend to other things.'

'But, papa, it will leave you all the week alone!'

'That must be, my child. I must be alone all the days, at any rate.'

'Papa, you will miss me at tea, and in the evenings.'

'I must bear that.'

It troubles me, papa.'

'And that you must bear. My dear, I do not grudge the price I pay. See you only that I get what I pay for.'

'Yes, papa,' Esther said meekly. She could go no further.

Miss Fairbairn was a tall woman, but not imposing either in manner or looks. Her face was sensible, with a mixture of the sweet and the practical which was at least peculiar; and the same mixture was in her manner. This was calm and gentle in the utmost degree; also cool and self-possessed equally; and it gave Esther the impression of one who always knew her own mind and was accustomed to make it the rule for all around her. A long talk with this lady was the introduction to Esther's school experience. It was a very varied talk; it roved over a great many fields and took looks into others; it was not inquisitive or prying, and yet Esther felt as if her interlocutor were probing her through and through, and finding out all she knew and all she did not know. In the latter category, it seemed to Esther, lay almost everything she ought to have known. Perhaps Miss Fairbairn did not think so; at any rate her face expressed no disappointment and no disapproval.

'In what way have you carried on your study of history, my dear?' she finally asked.

'I hardly can tell; in a box of coins, I believe,' Esther answered.

'Ah? I think I will get me a box of coins.'

Which meant, Esther could not tell what. She found herself at last, to her surprise, put with the highest classes in the English branches and in Latin.

Her work was immediately delightful. Esther was so buried in it that she gave little thought or care to anything else, and did not know or ask what place she took in the esteem of her companions or of her teachers. As the reader may be more curious, one little occurrence that happened that week shall serve to illustrate her position; did illustrate it, in the consciousness of all the school family, only not of Esther herself.

It was at dinner one day. There was a long table set, which reached nearly from the front of the house to the back, through two rooms, leaving just comfortable space for the servants to move about around it. Dinner was half through. Miss Fairbairn was speaking of something in the newspaper of that morning which had interested her, and she thought would interest the girls.

'I will read it to you,' she said. 'Miss Gainsborough, may I ask you to do me a favour? Go and fetch me the paper, my dear; it lies on my table in the schoolroom; the paper, and the book that is with it.'

There went a covert smile round the room, which Esther did not see; indeed, it was too covert to be plain even to the keen eyes of Miss Fairbairn, and glances were exchanged; and perhaps it was as well for Esther that she did not know how everybody's attention for the moment was concentrated on her movements. She went and came in happy ignorance.

Miss Fairbairn received her paper, thanked her, and went on then to read to the girls an elaborate account of a wonderful wedding which had lately been celebrated in Washington. The bride's dress was detailed, her trousseau described, and the subsequent movements of the bridal party chronicled. All was listened to with eager attention.

'What do you think of it, Miss Dyckman?' the lady asked after she had finished reading.

'I think she was a happy girl, Miss Fairbairn.'

'Humph! What do you say, Miss Delavan?'

'Uncommonly happy, I should say, ma'am.'

'Is that your opinion, Miss Essing?'

'Certainly, ma'am. There could be but one opinion, I should think.'

'What could make a girl happy, if all that would not?' asked another.

'Humph! Miss Gainsborough, you are the next; what are your views on the subject?'

Esther's mouth opened, and closed. The answer that came first to her lips was sent back. She had a fine feeling that it was not fit for the company, a feeling that is expressed in the admonition not to cast pearls before swine, though that admonition did not occur to her at the time. She had been about to appeal to the Bible; but her answer as it was given referred only to herself.

'I believe I should not call "happiness" anything that would not last,' she said.

There was a moment's silence. What Miss Fairbairn thought was not to be read from her face; in other faces Esther read distaste or disapprobation.

'Why, Miss Fairbairn, nothing lasts, if you come to that,' cried a young lady from near the other end of the table.

'Some things more than others,' the mistress of the house opined.

'Not what you call "happiness," ma'am.'

'That's a very sober view of things to take at your age, Miss Disbrow.'

'Yes, ma'am,' said the young lady, tittering. 'It is true.'

'Do you think it is true, Miss Jennings?'

There was a little hesitation. Miss Jennings said she did not know.

Miss Lawton was appealed to.

'Is there no happiness that is lasting, Miss Lawton?'

'Well, Miss Fairbairn, what we call happiness. One can't be married but once,' the young lady hazarded.

That called forth a storm of laughter. Laughter well modulated and kept within bounds, be it understood; no other was tolerated in Miss Fairbairn's presence.

'I have heard of people who had that happiness two or three times,' the lady said demurely. 'Is there, then, no happiness short of being married?'

'Oh, Miss Fairbairn! you know I do not mean that, but all the things you read to us of: the diamonds, and the beautiful dresses, and the lace, and the presents; and then the travelling, and doing whatever she liked.'

'Very few people do whatever they like,' murmured Miss Fairbairn.

'I mean all that. And that does not last – only for a while. The diamonds last, of course' —

'But the pleasure of wearing them might not. True. Quite right, Miss Lawton. But I come back to my question. Is there no happiness on earth that lasts?'

There was silence.

'We are in a bad way, if that is our case. Miss Gainsborough, what do you say? I come back to you again. Is there any such thing on earth as happiness, according to your terms? – something that lasts?'

Esther was in doubt again how to answer.

'I think there is, ma'am,' she said, with a look up at her questioner.

'Pray what is it?'

Did she know? or did she not know? Esther was not certain; was not certain that her words would find either understanding or sympathy in all that tableful. Nevertheless, the time had come when they must be spoken. Which words? for several Bible sayings were in her mind.

'"Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord: that walketh in His ways. For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt them be, and it shall be well with thee."'

The most profound silence followed this utterance. It had been made in a steady and clear voice, heard well throughout the rooms, and then there was silence. Esther fancied she discerned a little sympathetic moisture in the eyes of Miss Fairbairn, but also that lady at first said nothing. At last one voice in the distance was understood to declare that its owner 'did not care about eating the labour of her hands.'

'No, my dear, you would surely starve,' replied Miss Fairbairn. 'Is that what the words mean, do you think, Miss Gainsborough?'

'I think not, ma'am.'

'What then? won't you explain?'

'There is a reference, ma'am, which I thought explained it. "Say ye to the righteous that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the fruit of their doings." And another word perhaps explains it. "Oh fear the Lord, ye His saints; for there is no want to them that fear Him."'

'No want to them, hey?' repeated Miss Fairbairn. 'That sounds very much like happiness, I confess. What do you say, Miss Lawton? – Miss Disbrow? People that have no want unsatisfied must be happy, I should say.'

Silence. Then one young lady was heard to suggest that there were no such people in the world.

'The Bible says so, Miss Baines. What can you do against that?'

'Miss Fairbairn, there is an old woman that lives near us in the country – very poor; she is an old Christian, – at least so they say, – and she is very poor. She has lost all her children and grandchildren; she cannot work any more, and she lives upon charity. That is, if you call it living. I know she often has very little indeed to live upon, and that very poor, and she is quite alone; nobody to take the least care for her, or of her.'

'So you think she does want some things. Miss Gainsborough, what have you to say to that?'

'What does she think about it?' Esther asked.

She looked as she spoke at the young lady who had given the instance, but the latter took no notice, until Miss Fairbairn said,

'Miss Baines, a question was put to you.'

'I am sure I don't know,' Miss Baines replied. 'They say she is a very happy old woman.'

'You doubt it?'

'I should not be happy in her place, ma'am. I don't see, for my part, how it is possible. And it seems to me certainly she wants a great many things.'

'What do you think, Miss Gainsborough.'

'I think the Bible must be true, ma'am.'

'That is Faith's answer.'

'And then, the word is, "Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord;" it is true of nobody else, I suppose.'

'My dear, is that the answer of Experience?'

'I do not know, ma'am.' But Esther's smile gave a very convincing affirmative. 'But the promise is, "No good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly."'

'There you have it. "No good thing;" and, "from them that walk uprightly." Miss Disbrow, when you were getting well of that fever, did your mother let you eat everything?'

'Oh no, ma'am; not at all.'

'What did she keep from you?'

'Nearly everything I liked, ma'am.'

'Was it cruelty, or kindness?'

'Kindness, of course. What I liked would have killed me.'

'Then she withheld from you "no good thing," hey? while she kept from you nearly everything you liked.'

There was silence all round the table. Then Miss Baines spoke again.

'But, ma'am, that old woman has not a fever, and she don't get any nice things to eat.'

'It is quite likely she enjoys her meals more than you do yours. But granting she does not, are you the physician to know what is good for her?'

'She does not want any physician, ma'am.'

A laugh ran round the table, and Miss Fairbairn let the subject drop.

When dinner was nearly over, however, she remarked:

'You want light for your practising. I will excuse you, Miss

Gainsborough, if you wish to go.'

Esther went, very willingly. Then Miss Fairbairn held one of her little discourses, with which now and then she endeavoured to edify her pupils.

'Young ladies, I am going to ask you to take pattern by Miss Gainsborough. Did you notice her movements when she went to do that little errand for me?'

Silence. Then murmurs of assent were heard, not very loud, nor enthusiastic. Miss Fairbairn did not expect that, nor care. What she wanted was to give her lesson.

'Did you observe how she moved? She went like a swan' —

'On land' her keen ears heard somebody say under breath.

'No, not on the land; like a swan on the water; with that smooth, gliding, noiseless movement which is the very way a true lady goes. There was the cat lying directly in her way; Miss Gainsborough went round her gracefully, without stopping or stumbling. The servant came right against her with a tray full; Miss Gainsborough stood still and waited composedly till the obstacle was removed. You could not hear her open or shut the door; you could not hear her foot on the stairs, and yet she went quick. And when she came back, she did not rustle and bustle with her newspaper, but laid it nicely folded beside me, and went back to her seat as quietly as she had left it. Young ladies, that is good breeding in motion.'