Monica's Choice

by George Bird Grinnell

  *CHAPTER XXIV.*

  *"I THINK MY MONICA DESERVES THE V.C."*

  The autumn term sped swiftly away. In addition to the school work,which required a great deal of persevering effort to do as well as thequartette aimed at doing theirs that term, Elsa had her music, and Oliveattended a school of art for extra lessons in drawing and sepia.

  Amethyst, who, as yet, evinced no great talent for any accomplishments,so-called, had a little more spare time than the others, and wastherefore able to go occasionally with her mother to visit some of herpoor old, or invalid, folk. These visits were a great interest toAmethyst, who had a kind and pitying little heart for sorrow andsuffering, and Mrs. Drury wisely encouraged her little daughter to sing,or repeat a few comforting texts to the sad, or lonely, or suffering, asthe case might be. Poor old Mrs. Robbins had long since gone to the"City bright" of which Amethyst had sung to her; but in the crowded andsqualid streets of the poorer part of St. Paul's parish there were manymore who needed temporal as well as spiritual help.

  Once, Mrs. Drury took her with her to see Mrs. Hodges, whose cottage wason the Disbrowe estate, and as Amethyst entered the little garden gate,the only occasion on which she had ever been there before recurredvividly to her mind.

  "I wonder whether that little old woman is still here, mumsie," shesaid.

  "Hardly likely, dear, but you will soon hear."

  It transpired that Granny Wood was there, circumstances having causedher to make her home with her daughter, and the dear old soul, now quitea prisoner through rheumatism to her chair by the fireside, wasdelighted to see one of the "little missies," of whom, as her daughterexplained, she was never tired of talking.

  "They was angels without wings to me, that day, ma'am," the old grannyasserted; "little missy here, and her friend. But them other two--well,there, I won't say all I thinks! My darter says I ain't no business tobear malice, an' me a Christian body, but I owes this last illness o'mine to that there bouncin' h'animal." And the wrinkled old face lookedas nearly cross as it was possible for her apple-cheeks and faded blueeyes to manage.

  Amethyst looked subdued, and Mrs. Drury hastened to explain that she wassure the girls had not meant to be really unkind, and that both of themhad learnt since what suffering meant, and she went on to tell of thedeath of Olive's mother.

  "Dear, dear; poor lamb!" ejaculated Granny Wood, commiseratingly, allher animosity gone; "to think o' that now, and me a-grumblin' at 'er an'all."

  "And Monica Beauchamp, the other one, you know," put in Amethyst, "sheis quite different now. She tries to be kind to everybody, because Jesuswas always kind."

  "Praise the Lord, missy," cried the old woman, in quavering tones; "thenI'll never say aught agin' either of 'em again; but I'll just keep onasking the Almighty to bless every one of you, and make you allblessings every day of your lives."

  Amethyst and her mother walked home rather silently, until they reachedthe spot where the bicycle accident had happened that memorableafternoon.

  "It must have been just here," said the little girl, as they passed theplace. "I remember Olive saying the motor was pulled up by that tree.It was a good thing Mr. Howell went by just then, wasn't it, mumsie?"

  "Yes, dear," agreed Mrs. Drury.

  "_Such_ a lot has happened since then," continued Amethyst, who was in aretrospective mood. "Everything seemed to begin with that half-termholiday."

  "What do you mean, girlie?"

  "Why, mumsie, Mrs. Beauchamp used to be so cross, and now she's thenicest old dear possible; and Monica was nasty and uppish, you know, atfirst. I didn't think I ever _could_ like her, and now I think she'salmost too good to live, sometimes! And Olive is nicer too, although Ishall always like my darling Elsa best." Here Amethyst paused, fromsheer want of breath, for her tongue always ran twice as quickly asother people's.

  "Is that all, girlie?" put in Mrs. Drury, who was much amused at thecomparisons, but felt they were truthfully if somewhat quaintly made.

  "Oh, no! There's Lily Howell, just _think_ how she's altered. I don'tbelieve any one would know her nowadays who knew her then; she's so wellbehaved, and speaks quietly, and seldom gets into trouble at school.I'm so glad Mrs. Howell buys plain hats and things for her now,"Amethyst ran on. "I don't believe she could help being vulgar when shewore such hideously gaudy hats and dresses."

  "What has Lily's clothing to do with the bicycle accident? You havewandered a long way from that," remarked her mother, with a smile.

  "Oh, mumsie, I haven't! It's just because Lily wants to copy everythingMonica does now, that she is so much more lady-like. I think she nearlyworships Monica."

  "Hush, Amethyst! Don't speak like that, dear," reproved her mother; "Ican quite understand that Lily feels she owes a good deal to her. Ihope that she will one day be a star in Monica's crown. I am so gladthat they have begun to attend St. Paul's."

  "Mrs. Howell and Lily were both at church twice last Sunday, mumsie, andMr. Howell was there in the evening. I remember noticing him, because Idid think father must have chosen his text on purpose for him, only ofcourse he didn't, because he couldn't possibly have known he would bethere."

  And Mrs. Drury, who had vivid recollections of the intense earnestnesswith which her husband had preached from Mark viii. 36, on the subjectof Eternal Profit and Loss, said, softly, as they turned in at theVicarage gates: "Father always asks God to give him the right text topreach from, girlie, and _He_ knew just who would be hearing thesermon."

  Shrewd little Amethyst had been fairly correct in her rough-and-readyepitome of the happenings of the last six months, which had certainlyleft their mark on all concerned, and, in every case, for the better, toa greater or smaller degree.

  The missionary working-party prospered and increased, and, by the timeChristmas drew near, the number of members had risen to fourteen; quitea large drawer full of "gifts" had been already neatly and carefullymade, and the Expenses Fund was almost exhausted! The committee beganto consider how it was to be replenished, and hazy ideas of "collecting"(which they dreaded) or else having a little sale of work during theChristmas holidays, formed in their enthusiastic minds.

  But they were still only ideas, when, one Saturday afternoon, LilyHowell, who, upon one pretext or another, had waited until all but thequartette had gone, slipped a sealed envelope into Monica's hand, andmerely whispering: "Pa told me to give it to you," was gone before theastonished girl could say a word.

  The excitement of the committee when they found that the envelopecontained a cheque for L10, "To be used for your Chinese folks, and askfor more when you want it," was tremendous.

  "How splendid! Now we sha'n't have either to beg, borrow, or steal,"cried Olive. "It is a good thing we let Lily come, after all."

  And Monica, who remembered the opposition which she had met with uponproposing Lily's name, could not refrain from smiling.

  Those were happy days for Monica: her school life was most interesting,and now that she bicycled into Osmington, instead of being dependentupon the pony-trap, she enjoyed the ride to and fro immensely,especially as either one or two of her friends accompanied her most ofthe way to Carson Rise, on the days that she remained at school untilthe afternoon, for music or some other extra.

  Then the missionary work was a source of great pleasure to her, and herenthusiasm was kept very keen by long letters from Robina Herschel, andan occasional one from Miss Daverel.

  Sometimes, when Monica was poring over a missionary magazine, orexercising her ingenuity in making something fresh for the girls to copyat the working-party, her grandmother would tease her by saying she was"missionary mad." But Monica would only look up and smile, knowing thatin her heart of hearts the old lady was well-content that her grandchildshould seek to help forward, even in the simplest way, the spread of the"good news," which had brought light at eventide to her own dark heart.

  And every day was bringing Colonel Beauchamp nearer. Several lettershad come
from him, but in none of them had he been able, definitely, tosay when he would reach England; he hoped, as he had said at first, tospend Christmas Day at home, but it was uncertain. Monica was countingthe days, in true school-girl fashion, by marking off on a littlecalendar each day at its close; and the number had steadily decreaseduntil very few remained to be crossed off now.

  She stood before the little calendar on the bedroom wall one night,pencil in hand, and crossed off the twenty-first of December. "Onlyfour more days to Christmas now, and by then, my darling dad will behere. Oh, how I am longing to see him, and tell him everything! I havetried to explain in my letters, but it is so difficult to write justwhat one feels, and I _do_ want to feel his hand on my head once more,just as he used to do, and hear his dear voice saying, 'God bless mydarling child.'"

  Here Monica's feelings overcame her, and her eyes brimmed with tears fora moment. But they were soon chased away, and a happy smile playedabout her lips, as she began to undress, and put the various articles ofher attire neatly away. "I do hope he will think I have improved, andthat I am growing up a little bit like he wanted me to. If I am, it isall owing to the Herschels," and Monica took up the frame containing thepictured faces of her seaside friends, and gazed thoughtfully at them."Dear Robina, and--and Leslie, too; what sort of girl should I have beenby now, if God had not sent you into my life? I can never, never thankHim enough for all His goodness to me, and so the only thing I can do isto seek to 'walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing,' as my mottosays, and do what I can to get others to follow Him, too."

  Monica never crossed off December the twenty-second on her littlecalendar; indeed, she forgot all about it, for a telegram the nextafternoon informed them that the colonel had already left London, and inless than a couple of hours Monica was in her father's arms.

  "My darling child!"

  "Dearest dad!"

  What else they said was unintelligible for the next few moments, andthen Colonel Beauchamp held his daughter at arm's length, and criticallyexamined her.

  "Shall I pass muster, daddy dear?" she asked, merrily; but there wasmore behind the words than appeared on the surface.

  And the proud father, noting the purposeful face, so full of expression,and reading true nobility of character therein, held out his arms, andMonica slipped confidingly into them, while he bent his soldierly headand pressed a long, long kiss upon her broad white brow, murmuring, ashe did so, in tones so low as only to reach his daughter's ears: "Ithink my Monica deserves the V.C., for it is evident she has foughtsuccessfully against heavy odds, under fire of the enemy, and won abrilliant victory."

  "Oh, dad, I don't think I have," whispered the happy girl, her head onhis shoulder; "but whatever good there is about me, is all owing to myhaving enlisted under the banner of Jesus Christ."

  "His arm hath gotten him the victory," repeated the colonel reverently,and Monica knew that her father understood.