CHAPTER XVII.

THE SECRET OF PEACE.

ERTRUDE could not find her book. All that

Christie could tell her about it was that she

had seen it in Mr. Sherwood's hand in the.cedar walk, and that he did not leave it when he went away. She looked for it in the library and in the drawing-room, but it was nowhere to be seen. She had a great objection to asking him for it. Mr. Sherwood sometimes condescended to jest with the young lady on some subjects about which they did not agree; and she did not like his jests. So time passed on, till the third day.

"I'll ask him for it at dinner," she said to herself. "He is never so provoking when father is there."

But a good opportunity occurred before dinner. Mr. Sherwood was standing in the hall, waiting for Mrs. Seaton, whom he was to take into town, when Miss Gertrude passed him on her way upstairs.

"Mr. Sherwood," she said, "you picked up a book in the garden the other day. It was very careless in me to leave it there. Will you give it to me now ?"

"I ought to apologise to you for having kept it so

long," he answered, gravely. "I will get it for moment."

you this

Miss Gertrude looked up to see whether there was not a smile upon his face. She had no idea that her new "whim" for serious reading was to be allowed to pass without remark. But his look was quite grave as he turned into the library.

"Do you like this?" he asked, when he came out with the book in his hand.

"I don't know. I have not read much of it," she answered, quickly, moving towards him to take the book. He gave it to her without speaking.

A glance at his face induced her to say, Are well to-day, Cousin Charles ?"

you not It was one of Miss Gertrude's "whims" always to address him formally as "Mr. Sherwood;" and in his agreeable surprise at her familiarity, he smiled brightly. But his face grew grave again as he said:

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'Yes; I am quite well-only, perhaps, a little more indolent and self-indulgent than usual."

About this time there came a letter from Effie, in which there was one sentence that cost Christie many a wondering and anxious thought.

"My dear little sister, let your light shine, and who knows but you may be the means of blessing to this household also ?"

"Effie doesn't know," said Christie to herself. "She thinks I have grown good and wise, but she is much mistaken. I am sure if I did any good to Mrs. Lee I don't know how it happened. And besides, she was ill and in trouble, and had need of the little help and comfort I could give her. But Miss Gertrude! She is the only one I come very near to here; and she is so quick and beautiful and

strong-so much above me in every way. Oh, if Effie were to see her, she would never think of my being able to influence her. Everybody admires Miss Gertrude; and I am but a nursemaid, and hardly that."

And yet the humble little maid did influence Gertrude as the days and months passed on: but Mrs. Seaton and her gay friends in the drawing-room were not more unconscious of the influence for good she was exerting over the wayward young lady than was the little maid herself.

Gertrude only vaguely realized that she was beginning to see and estimate things differently from what she used to do-half thinking, as her mother did, that it was because she was growing older and more sensible. She found herself thinking, now and then, that her standard of right was not exactly what it used to be before she had compared opinions with Christie. In her intercourse with her own family, and with others also, she often found herself measuring their opinions and actions by Christie's rule. But she by no means realized that her own opinions and actions were gradually adjusting themselves to the same rule. Yet so it was.

She liked to watch Christie. She was never weary of admiring the patience with which she bore the changing moods of her little charge, when illness made him fretful or exacting. Gertrude saw that she was learning to love the little boy dearly; but she also saw that it was not merely her love for him that made her so faithful in doing her duty to him, nor was it to please the mother and sister or win their confidence, for she was equally faithful in matters that could never come to Mrs. Seaton's knowledge, and Gertrude knew by experience that her pleasure was never suffered to interfere where Claude's interest or comfort was concerned.

No; Christie lived that useful, patient life from higher motives than these. "She does what is right because it is right," said Gertrude to herself. She saw her quite cheerful and contented from day to day, doing the same things over and over again, with few pleasures-with none, indeed, unless the hour or two of reading which they managed almost daily to get could be called such.

And yet, by a thousand tokens, Gertrude knew that she would have enjoyed keenly many pleasures that were quite beyond her hopes-leisure, and books, and going to school, and the power to give gifts and confer favours. To be able to live at home, with no heavy cares pressing on the family, would be real happiness for her. All this Gertrude gathered from the conversations they sometimes had, from occasional remarks, and from her intense delight when letters from home came.

And yet she did not repine in the absence of these things. She was happy in the performance of her duties, whether they were easy or not, and enjoyed the few simple pleasures that came in her way.

"It is not because she is stupid, or that she does not know anything else," said Gertrude to herself. "She enjoys reading and learning as well as I do, and makes a far better use of the chance she has; and yet she lives on from day to day, wearying herself with little Claude, and stitching away, as though she cared for nothing beyond. Wouldn't she enjoy being rich, and sending things to her family! Why, the delight she had over that common grey plaid that she sent to her aunt was quite absurdand quite touching, too. It cost her two months' wages at the very least, but she did not seem to think of that. The only thing that marred her happiness at all that day was the want of a few pence that would have enabled her to

buy a warm pair of slippers to go with the shawl. She doesn't seem to think of herself. I wonder why ?"

And Gertrude watched her still, thinking her often needlessly particular in the performance of small duties, and losing patience, now and then, when these things interfered with her wishes. But the more she watched her daily life the more sure she felt that Christie had some secret of sweet peace which she had not yet found. She knew that her strength and cheerfulness daily renewed came from none of the helps to which one in her circumstances might naturally look. It was not the knowledge that she was valued, nor the feeling that little Claude was beginning to love her dearly, that sustained her; though Gertrude could see that these were pleasant and precious to the little maid. It was not even the thought of home, or Effie's letters, or the pleasant word they brought of how she was missed and how they wished her with them. It was not the hope of the time when they should all be together again. To these ardent young people this reunion seemed by no means impossible, or even distant. With Gertrude's help, Christie often built castles in the air, about a farm which was to be the wonder of the country-side, where they were all to live together, and where Gertrude herself was to pass many a pleasant day.

But it was not this, nor all of these, that brought the look of sweet contentment to that pale face, when she thought herself quite unobserved. It was there sometimes when she was wearied. She was not naturally hopeful or cheerful. She had none of that happy self-confidence which makes burdens light and causes difficulties to disappear. The source of her courage and patience was out of herself. Her gentle cheerfulness, flowing evenly through

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