Left to Ourselves; or, John Headley's Promise.

by Anonymous

  CHAPTER XIX.

  _WORRIED._

  "Agnes, my child, being left in charge does not agree with you."

  "Why, auntie?"

  "Your mother will find but a shadow of the rosy girl she left behindher."

  Agnes sighed, and then got up and looked in the glass.

  "I do not see that I am different," she said, after a moment'scontemplation.

  "No, I daresay you would not notice it in yourself from day to day. Butyou have nothing special to trouble you, my dear, I hope?"

  "Not at all, auntie. But I had no idea the anxiety of a family would beso great."

  Aunt Phyllis smiled a sweet placid smile, which proceeded from a heartat rest after storms.

  "You ought not to be carrying your own burdens though, dear child," shesaid softly.

  Agnes had seated herself at her aunt's feet, on the wide stool whichthe children said was made on purpose for them to share, and now lookedup in her aunt's face with tearful eyes.

  "No," she said; "that is often what grieves me. I am afraid, auntie, Ithought I should be _sure_ to get on, and trusted in my own clevernesstoo much, and then when difficulties come I get downhearted."

  "And do you try the remedy of taking everything to your Lord directly itcomes?"

  "Yes; but things are so difficult to decide, and I am so disappointed inmyself."

  "You thought you were so much stronger than you find yourself?"

  "Yes; and John looks up to me, and I hoped I should be a help to him;and instead I've done nothing but find out that I'm no good at all."

  "I suppose you are rather tired of gazing in the looking-glass, then?"said Aunt Phyllis quaintly.

  "Auntie?"

  "I'd look towards the sky next, if I were you!" she added, smiling, asshe got up to go and fetch some work.

  Agnes was left alone; and she glanced first in the fire, and then at themirror above her head, and then her eyes wandered to the window.

  "I see!" she exclaimed, a light breaking over her downcast face; "I'm tolook off to Jesus; that's what auntie means!"

  That morning Agnes had passed through some of those little difficultieswhich so often arise in daily life.

  First the housemaid had accosted her with the ominous words, "Please,miss, could I speak to you?" and had thereupon given her a month'snotice.

  On her pressing for a reason the maid had said, with many blushes, thatshe was intending to be married directly her time was up.

  "But can you not wait till mother comes home?" pleaded Agnes. "I trustshe will be home in March; that would be only another month. Could younot arrange it so?"

  But the girl persisted that she could not alter; and so Agnes had hadreluctantly to make up her mind to a fresh responsibility, anddetermined to consult her Aunt Phyllis on the subject.

  And while her mind was perturbed with the annoyance of having to installanother servant in her mother's absence, came another small trouble.

  Alice sauntered into the room with a book in her hand, and sat down onthe hearthrug close to the fire.

  "Alice dear," said Agnes looking up, "have you cleaned the bird's cage?It is the day for fresh sand."

  "I did it yesterday," answered Alice absently, bending over her book.

  "I think not," answered Agnes, "in fact I am sure of it; because, don'tyou remember, we all went out with Aunt Phyllis the moment afterbreakfast?"

  "Then it was the day before."

  "So it may have been; but mother likes new sand put every other day,without fail."

  "I'll see to it presently," said Alice, a little frown just settlingitself on her brows.

  Agnes made no further remark, though she felt ruffled, and was sureAlice would forget after all.

  Then John came in. "Agnes, Hugh and I want a fire in our room. As it'sthe last day of the holidays, we are going to have our long-deferredturn-out."

  "Very well; but, John, don't you toss everything out on the landing forme to clear up."

  "Is it likely?" asked he, surprised.

  Agnes did not feel as if she could look up brightly in answer, so sheturned to her desk and began to search for something.

  "Lost something?" asked John, bending down and looking in her face.

  "I don't know," she answered, detecting a significance in his kindlytone.

  He kissed her and went off, and then Hugh walked in.

  "Agnes, I want to know if you could find John and me a curtain tostretch across our large room?"

  "Whatever for?"

  "To divide it. John likes a place to himself; we want to make it intotwo rooms. It has two windows, and so we are going to make ourselvescosy."

  "Oh, Hugh, I do not know of any curtain; I really think it will have towait till mother comes."

  "But we wanted to do it to-day. Don't you think you know of anything?"

  She shook her head.

  "Not an old table-cloth, or a couple of done-with window curtains?"

  "I do not know in the least, and I should not like to search in mother'sstores."

  "She wouldn't mind."

  "She might. Oh, Hugh dear, it must wait."

  "Very well," answered Hugh, looking disappointed.

  "Did John tell you to ask?" said Agnes.

  "No, not exactly; he said he wished you could, but he was afraid it wastoo much bother."

  "I am afraid I can't manage it," she answered regretfully.

  All this time Alice's eyes had been raised from her book, as she wasinterested in the discussion, but as Hugh was turning to leave the roomshe took up her book again.

  "I should think Alice would be glad to begin lessons," he observed,stopping short with his hand on the door.

  There was a mischievous look in his eyes.

  "I shall not," answered Alice.

  "When are you to begin?"

  "I don't know."

  "To-morrow," answered Agnes.

  "To-morrow?" echoed Alice; "I thought we should have holiday till theycame back."

  "What, nearly two months more to roast over the fire and read novels!"laughed Hugh.

  "I don't read novels."

  "Stories then."

  "And I don't roast over the fire."

  "What do you call this?" he asked, advancing to her and passing his handdown her shoulder. "My eye, Alice, you are next door to on fire!"

  "I'm not! I wish you wouldn't come bothering. Hugh."

  Having lodged his bombshell he departed, leaving Alice writhing underthe certainty that now "beginning lessons" was put into Agnes's headnothing would get it out again.

  "I am going in to Aunt Phyllis," said her sister, getting up and puttingaway her desk.

  "I shall come too then," said Alice.

  "Do not come just yet, dear, I want to talk to auntie."

  "You're always talking to auntie, I think," grumbled Alice.

  "_Always?_" asked Agnes, feeling as if that were the last worry, and shecould not bear more.

  "Well, not always; but, Agnes, I hope you will not let her persuade youto begin school with Minnie and me to-morrow because----"

  "Well?" asked Agnes.

  "I don't know exactly why, but it's horrid if you do, because I haven'thad half enough time; and I never _thought_ we should begin when theboys did."

  "I never thought anything else," answered Agnes; and then she had gonein next door with a sense of utter failure.

  * * * * *

  And so Aunt Phyllis was right when she advised her to raise her eyesheavenward.