It was a pleasant relief to our excitement when uncle and Charlotte came back the following evening, and Susan with them. They were surprised to hear of our adventure, and deeply thankful that we had escaped without further injury. Blurdon had not been found, though search had been made in every direction round the house, and information given to the authorities in Cape Town, but my aunt remarked that a heavy storm of wind had arisen, which must have rendered the pursuit difficult. We were all glad to turn from this painful subject to more ordinary themes of conversation.

While undressing that night, Lotty frankly confessed to Susan that she had been indebted to me, during the whole of our previous stay in the hotel, for as skilful attendance as Susan herself could give. "So I have not missed you a bit, you dear old thing," she concluded with pretended seriousness.

"And who has done for Miss Mechie?" inquired Susan, gravely.

"Mechie? Oh, she does not want any one to do for her," rejoined Charlotte, gayly. "Every one has his own peculiar gift, you know, and Mechie's is a liking and adroitness in waiting upon others; now I have not a bit of ability—to say nothing of fancy—in that way myself, as you know."

"Well," answered Susan, gruffly, "I always find that Miss Mechie requires as much proper attendance as you, or any other young lady, and why should she not? But this I know, that while you are so lazy, Miss Lotty, that you always want to have everything done for you, and do as little as you can in return, Miss Mechie is quite contrariwise to that. And who, pray, minded poor mistress?"

"Oh, I delight in attending to aunty, you know, Susan," I said, "and indeed it was not Charlotte's fault, for I preferred acting as I did for both of them. My only regret was that I could not by any amount of love or labour make dear, darling aunty better and stronger. But, thank God! she is much better."

"Those are very nice feelings, Mechie," observed Lotty, demurely. "You cannot do more amiably than encourage them. I wish I could increase your happiness, dear, by increasing your labour of love. I would set you to dress my hair every morning, only you have such bad taste you would make a perfect figure of me."

"Yes, it is very likely I should or I would," replied I, laughing, "so do not risk it."

"No, that is just what I thought; and—"

"There! don't talk no more nonsense, Miss Charlotte. I can't abide folly, and that you know, miss," interrupted Susan, peremptorily; "I don't object to an innocent cheerfulness, as much as you like, but not—"

"In church?" Charlotte said with pretended surprise, remembering a sharp lecture she had once received from old nurse for irreverent conduct with a young friend during divine service.

"In church!" repeated Susan. "I was not thinking of church; but no! play of any kind would no longer be innocent in God's house: you know that, Miss Lotty, as well as I do. What does the Holy Bible say on that matter?—'Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God, and be more ready to hear than to give the sacrifice of fools, for they consider not that they do evil. Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter anything before God, for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth; therefore let thy words be few.' Now, do you think those few words ought to be words of lightness or wordliness? Do you go there to speak such? 'Be not rash with thy mouth.' What does that mean? If you were come before a great king to make a petition, would you, while standing there and his eye upon you, begin whispering and giggling with your friends? You know you wouldn't. And what is any earthly king to our heavenly King of kings?"

"I can't think what you are so cross with me about, Susy," Charlotte said, half poutingly. "The fact is you don't like coming to this place, and very naturally, and so you are trying to lighten your feeling of annoyance by throwing it upon me. Why don't you make Mechie share it as well?"

"No, I don't object to coming here a bit, miss. I think it a very pleasant place for a while, and, moreover, if I didn't like it, I shouldn't mind so long as it did poor, dear mistress good to be here. But what annoys my feelings, child, is this: there are two weeds growing up in your character, and though as yet they have made no great show, because everybody that cares for your future happiness keeps nipping off their heads and warning you of them, too, that you may try to root them up, they nevertheless go on throwing out their roots into your heart and soul. Now, from every fresh root will, in time, spring up another plant, until your whole mind is at last so overrun with them that they will kill every good and beautiful thing growing there now, and poison the soul for everything else."

"In the name of patience, Susan, what do you mean?" asked Charlotte, with an astonished look in her amused face. "Am I becoming a female Blurdon? Well, I know somebody who will think me a much more interesting personage if I do," gayly glancing at me.

Poor old nurse looked puzzled for an instant, as well she might, but, coming to the conclusion that this was only some of Lotty's usual nonsense, passed it by, continuing with increased seriousness:

"Many a young person, Miss Charlotte, begins life with laughing at what in after years she is forced to weep burning, heartfelt tears over."

"Well, but what are these two weeds, Susy, which, according to your account, are possessed of such life-destroying properties? They must be very small at present, for I declare I have not the remotest conception of their existence, in my heart at least."

"No, child, there's the mischief! More's the pity that you haven't. If you could only see those weeds in your own heart, and were to pull them well up by the roots instead of being proud of their ugly blossoms, as you really are, mistaking them, as you do, for things to be admired, you have no notion how a deal comelier you'd be; ay, that would you."

"What does she mean, Mechie? Can you understand her? I protest I cannot!" And Charlotte laughingly sat down on the bedside, staring at Susan.

"I'll clear it out for you in two words, Miss Lotty," nurse said, standing before her with a stern face, while holding in her hands a dress which she was on the point of folding up. "Selfishness and indolence—they are the weeds—or indolence and selfishness, it doesn't matter which I put first, for either of them is parent to the other, as the case may be."

The offended expression that came into Charlotte's face pleased me much better than its preceding one of levity and indifference.

"Well, I must say I see no just reason why you should accuse me of so bad a fault as selfishness any more than Mechie," she exclaimed, warmly. "I may be indolent, if not liking disagreeable trouble is being so, but selfish I am certainly not; or if I am, so is everybody else, for I see no difference between me and others, excepting, perhaps, that I am more good-natured."

"Now, listen to me, Miss Lotty, and judge for yourself if I am right or wrong. You say you are not selfish, and you question being indolent because you only don't like disagreeable trouble. You are not indolent? Then what is it, in the first place, makes you such a sluggard in your duties to your God that if it were not for others there's scarce a morning you'd be down in time for the Bible and prayers? You know very well, too, that your poor aunt is a deal better in this place from the change than she was before, and yet you have done nothing but grumble and complain, and that because things aren't so straight and pleasant or so gay as at Fern Bank. Isn't that selfish? And hasn't it to do with indolence? You haven't many servants to be attending to you here, and that obliges you to attend to yourself and to wait upon your aunt—at least, you ought to wait upon her, and you can't help feeling and seeing that you ought, whether you choose to do so or not. Then you haven't a carriage to be driving you out in whenever you fancy it, and that obliges you to walk, which you don't like either; and the conclusion of all is, that if you could make us all go home this minute, you would gladly. And if you could avoid doing anything that gives you trouble and get other people to do all for you, you would be quite contented and very good tempered, and think yourself all the while one of the most amiable, obliging young ladies at the Cape. But is that what you have been taught to be, Miss Lotty? Is that the sort of life which is pleasing in God's sight? Oh, child! child! remember what our blessed Saviour's example was while on earth—how he spent the whole of every day in teaching and benefitting poor human beings, pleasing not himself in anything except in doing good."

"Dear me!" sighed Charlotte, wearily, passing her hands over her face after a fashion of her own; "now I do wish that all that is pleasant wasn't wrong, and all that's wrong—Well, no matter; it can't be helped, I suppose. I will try and be better, if only just to please you, dear old nursey; see if I don't!" and, jumping up, she threw her arms round Susan's neck and impetuously kissed her check several times. "There! dear old thing; don't scold any more."

Susan, with whom Charlotte was secretly at heart the favourite, warmly returned her embrace, and her eyes filled with tears as she said earnestly, "If I did not love you two children as though you were my own, I shouldn't grieve over your faults so much, nor scold you so much, maybe; but don't you say that, dear—don't encourage them hard thoughts against the all-wise, all-merciful God, for it is against God we grumble when we murmur at the dispensation of his laws on earth."

"What thoughts, you dear old scold?" and Lotty laid her soft young cheek caressingly against Susan's.

"Why, that everything pleasant is wrong, and—"

"Well, but is it not so, nursey? I declare, I rarely, if ever, do anything pleasant, or wish to do it, that I don't find out that it is in some way wrong, and things I generally dislike you tell me are right;" and Charlotte hid her face on Susan's shoulder.

"It is true, dear, that many besides yourself have that notion about right and wrong, but then they are unthinking, foolish-headed young things like you" (Charlotte did not look particularly flattered by this definition of herself), "or, if they are older, they are no wiser. But come! get into bed, both of you, and I'll just set that error to rights in your mind, then leave you to go to sleep."

We did as she desired, and seating herself beside Charlotte, Susan continued: "In just those very words you used, Miss Lotty, lies right and wrong most times. 'In some way,' you said, if you remember. Well, that's just it. Very often it is not the thing itself that's wrong, but the abuse of it; it's the degree it's given way to that makes it either wrong or right. Can't you see that running through almost everything? God has put us here to learn self-control and moderation and obedience to his will. 'Thus far shalt thou go and no farther,' is the boundary line to many of our enjoyments, if not to every affair and act in life. I can see with half an eye that since you have been here you've given way to all your whimsies and humours to their fullest extent, and how much happier have you really been? And mark, it was the abuse mostly, not the moderate use, of your liberty that spoiled your pleasure. Miss Mechie was wrong to encourage you, and I hope she will not do it again. And now, before I go listen to this text, and keep it always in mind."

"But just tell me this, Susan," interposed Charlotte. "You say that God shows us things are harmful if we abuse their use, but how? I don't understand you."

"You have seen those things they call buoys floating on the water?" questioned Susan.

"Yes."

"What do they put them out there for?"

"For? Oh, to denote danger of some kind and to warn vessels not to come any farther, lest they be lost or seriously injured."

"That's it—that's it exactly. The instant the feeling of wrong, or the appearance of wrong, comes up into any pleasant thing, depend upon it that is, as it were, a buoy floating over some hidden danger to the soul. When amusements or feastings begin to bring uneasy sensations to the body, be sure you are going too far—you are passing the buoy! God has given us all things richly to enjoy, but only in moderation and in the way in which he sees best for our temporal and eternal interests; and when in our obstinacy we choose either to have things different from his will or in greater excess than is good for us, then the pleasantest things become hurtful—become wrong. But I must go to mistress now, so I will just leave you a text or two and then run away."

Taking her Bible, Susan read the following: "Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand." And again: "And every man that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things." And once more: "Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith."