One Friday morning Mrs. Waring received a note from Mr. Hugh Black asking her to call, if possible, and see him at his house that morning, as he wished to consult her on important business.

It was next to impossible for her to do so, as two travellers were expected, but, thinking the visit had to do with the hall or meeting, she sent Bessie in her place, and a note to Mr. Black, saying the bearer was her special friend with whom he could safely talk over any point, or trust with any number of messages.

Reaching the house Bessie was shown into a conservatory where Mr. Black was writing some letters. He received her very courteously, and, as politely as he could do so, gave her to understand the business he wished to discuss with Mrs. Waring had nothing to do with the work among the men, but was quite private. He would, however, explain it all in a letter to Mrs. Waring, if Bessie would be kind enough to wait while he wrote it, and he would himself call on Mrs. Waring the next day. On a little table near by was some fruit and biscuits to which he asked her to help herself. But a fit of shyness seemed to have come over Miss Bessie, and though she looked wistfully at the tempting fruit, she only nibbled away at a biscuit while the letter was being written. It was an innocent-looking little missive Bessie carried home, but not nearly so unimportant as it looked. It did not contain exactly a bomb, but it certainly gave Phebe a shock. Both Nanna and Bessie noticed her excitement, but said nothing, as they were both quite sure they would hear all about it in due course.

Mr. Black paid the promised visit, and remained talking a long time, but there was still the same kind of subdued excitement about Phebe when he had gone; indeed, the interview had even deepened it.

At supper-time that day—Saturday—Bessie made a confession. There were some nice pears on the table, which Nanna informed the company were Bessie's gift. "Yes," said Bessie, "but I'd better tell you why I bought them. When I went to Mr. Black's yesterday he asked me to have some fruit. There was a tray with a nice white cloth on it and some plates, and on one plate a silver knife-and-fork and some parings. And on the tray, besides other things, a beautiful dish of pears, and another knife-and-fork. Oh, I did want one of those pears so badly; you can't tell how much I wanted one!"

"Well, bless me," said Nanna, "why didn't you take one, then! Didn't he ask you to take one?"

"You so often ask me to bless you, and I really haven't any blessings to spare. So please excuse me."

"Your very presence is a blessing," put in Phebe.

"That does sound nice, but really if you interrupt me so much I shall never get through my little story. Of course Mr. Black asked me, and that made me want one all the more. But the sight of that knife-and-fork made me feel I could not dream of having one—yes, I did dream of it, but I couldn't really take one! Just fancy me taking a pear with a knife and fork! I should have been as awkward as an elephant in a china-shop."

"What did you do, then?" asked Reynolds.

"Do? Why, I went without, of course. I wasn't going to show off my bad training. So to prevent such a display of self-sacrifice again I bought some pears this morning, and I had a downright good practice in the kitchen with Janie. We can both do it in high style now."

And then everybody round the table, except David Jones, who usually spent week-ends at Hadley, and had arrived just in time to hear Bessie's story, began eating pears with a knife-and-fork, only the knives were steel ones.

After supper David asked Bessie if she would take a little walk with him for a few minutes. It was not the first time he had done so. Both Phebe and Nanna had seen the growing nearness between these two, but had made no remark, for the friendship had certainly been helpful to both.

"I could quite sympathise with you about that pear," said David as they reached a quiet road away from the usual Saturday night scenes. He did not always reach Hadley so early, but had made a special effort this night for a special purpose. There was something on his heart he wanted to say very much, and had hardly known how to introduce it. The story of the coveted pear seemed quite like "a godsend" to him. "Yes, I have felt like that myself."

"Have you?" said Bessie. "Shouldn't have thought it; it isn't like a man to hesitate at a trifle like that."

"Do you think I should have eaten it straight away out of my hand?"

"Something like that."

"Would you have blamed me if I had done so?"

"I shouldn't have blamed you, most certainly not; but smart folks might."

"I don't care for smart folks, do you?"

"Can't say I don't, seeing I should like to be smart myself."

There was a little pause, and then David said: "But you would advise me, if there was something I wanted very much, to take it the best way I could?"

Bessie seemed to hesitate; perhaps she guessed what it was the young fellow wanted! "Certainly," she answered in a low voice.

"Bessie," and he turned eagerly towards her, "it's a flower I want, a flower to wear for ever on my heart."

"I think you're growing sentimental, and it's getting late; we had better turn back."

"No, Bessie, now I've once started you must let me finish. It's you I want." And then he told her the old story which has had so many different endings, yet always beautiful when coming from lips sincere. That same night David told his mistress all about it. "And what did Bessie say?" asked Phebe, greatly interested and pleased at the confidence he showed in her.

"Well, she didn't say much, but I think it will be all right."

"You may rest assured if she had meant to refuse you she would have said so right out. But, David," and here she put her hand on his arm, and her voice took on a low, tender note "have you told her how you came to be in my employ?"

"No, Mrs. Waring," all the joy suddenly dying out of his face; "do you think I need do so?"

"Yes, I do; I think it is your plain duty to do so."

"If I did she would throw me over as she would toss away one of her pears that was bad."

"I don't think so; it is only your fear makes you have that thought."

"But why should I tell her? That is all past and gone."

"You would be starting life together with something withheld from her; there would be no thorough trust in each other. And, suppose some one told her of the occurrence? Such a thing would not be impossible. Better lose her now than lose her respect when you are tied together for life."

There was a tender pleading in her voice which quite broke David down. "I believe you're right. I'll do it," he said in a broken voice.

The next morning he was unusually quiet; during the walk to the meeting in the afternoon he was still as absorbed. Bessie did not know what to make of matters, trying in vain to read the secret of the gloom on his face. "I never knew he was of a sulky turn before," she said to herself; "if this is having a lover it's a mighty queer business. I wonder if it's something I've done wrong! I wonder if he expected I should have gone down on my knees in ecstasy last night!" But wonder as she might there came no answer.

On the journey home David made a desperate effort to get the unpleasant task over.

"Bessie, there's something I want to tell you which I ought to have told you last night, but did not like to."

There was such a ring of pain in the voice that Bessie's heart was touched at once, and for the first time, and of her own accord, she slipped her hand into his arm. The little action was like balm of Gilead to David.

"When Mrs. Waring engaged me, she took me without a character," he went on.

"She did me, too," said Bessie, "so we're in the same boat."

"I had used some of my master's money, and before I could pay him back he found it out. I was going to return it, for I had money in the savings bank."

"Did you pay him back?"

"Yes, every penny; but he would give me no reference, and I was dreadfully afraid mother would find it out. It would have broken her heart."

"Well, that's all done with now, so forget it. You've good character enough now for the two of us."

"And you don't think any the less of me?" he asked, bending anxiously towards her.

"I think all the more of you," she said, looking up frankly into his face and pressing her hand upon his arm more firmly, "only it's made me feel rather queer, for I shall now be obliged to tell you not simply one bad thing I've done, but heaps. In fact, I don't know where to begin."

"That's all nonsense," he said. "I know you are trying to cheer me, and I bless you for it, but there's still another thing I must say, for I want that there should never be a shadow between us. I did not want to tell you of my slip. I don't want you to think I was frank enough to tell you all this of my own accord. It was Mrs. Waring who pressed me to tell you."

"That's just like her; she is a dear."

"So she is; she's been the making of me."

"So she has of me. Leastways," added Bessie in her characteristic manner, "she is making me. The business is not near finished yet."

"It's all right," whispered David to Mrs. Waring as they went into tea.

"I'm so glad," was her reply, "doubly glad."

There was really no need for him to tell her this; his face told the story so plainly—so very plainly—that when tea was over, and they were standing in Sunshine Patch, Mrs. Colston went up to them and said:

"And so you young folks have made each other happy."

"Why, how do you know? Who told you?" exclaimed Bessie.

"Know! Who told me? There was no need for anybody to tell me. Your faces tell the tale. Well, do you think you'll get on together all right?"

"I can get on with anybody," sang out Bessie, "if they only let me have my own way."

"Do you think we shall, Mrs. Colston?" asked David.

"Yes, I've watched you, and I do think you will; but you must neither try to get in front of the other. It must be side by side." Taking a hand of each, she said in a sweet, serious way: "May the Lord bless you both; may you not only be strength to each other but to many besides."

"You dear!" exclaimed Bessie, flinging her arms round her neck, and kissing her, while the tears streamed down her face; "if I'm only half as good as you, I'll do."

"Nay, nay, child, you must not take any measurement by a mortal; Jesus is our measure. But look here, dears, you've both got to go in and tell your story to mother next door. Don't leave her in the cold. But, mark you, you'll have no silver forks to eat your pears with."

"Oh, yes, she shall," exclaimed David as they both went away laughing.

That same evening Phebe and Nanna talked this courtship over, and concluded that things were going on all right. Then Phebe started a fresh subject. "Perhaps you have wondered, Nanna, dear, what Mr. Black came about. I felt I could not tell you about it all in a hurry; it was too exciting, and I have not had a quiet moment till now."

"It's all right, dearie; I knew you would tell me at the proper time."

"Ah, my dear, I wish I always had your calmness."

"I wonder how it is so many folks seem to envy me! I have nothing everybody cannot have as well as me."

"Tell me in a word what you think your secret is, could you?"

"How like I am to Mrs. Marchant!" she thought to herself. "How much we all lean upon one another!"

"Yes, I think I could; but then it's your secret as well as mine."

"Never mind whose else it is, tell it me, there's a dear."

"It's only this—that I know the Lord is always with me, and that in His hands things are sure to come right—could not help but be, He's so clever and good. So why shouldn't I be calm?"

"You say 'in His hand things are sure to be right,' but so often I say to myself, 'How can He make my tangle right?' He cannot make sin come right."

"There's your mistake, dear heart," exclaimed Nanna. "He can! He can! He can make the wrong you've suffered work out splendid things in your character, and help you to do things you would never have force enough to do if you'd had a smooth life. And He's doing it now, now! So rest on that, you poor, tired child. Now tell me about Mr. Black, will you?"

Phebe gave a little sigh of relief. "I had almost forgotten about it. It will almost take away your breath, so be prepared."

"Stop one minute," said Nanna, "let me ask one question. Is it something you approve of?"

"Yes, quite."

"All right, then, nothing whatever can take away my breath now."

"Don't be quite so sure about it. What do you say to him showing me how I can have two thousand pounds paid to me this week?"

"I should simply say he couldn't."

"But he has, and when I tell you how, you will advise me to take it, I am quite sure. Now, doesn't this take away your breath?"

"No, I've still got a few gasps left."

"You know that meadow of mine? It has a long frontage to the main road. Some men have been buying up the land all round the new railway-station. They expect it will be quite a busy centre owing to the junction of rails. Mr. Black knew I owned that meadow. I told him so when I thought the hall might go up there, and he has negotiated with these men for the sale of it. But for him I should have thought I was doing well if I had sold it for five hundred. He is trying to see if he can get a little more when I told him what I should use it for."

"What is that?" a sudden fear again taking possession of Nanna lest money should become a snare to her darling.

"To build or buy a house for a cottage hospital here in Hadley. I have long wanted to do it, and now, without any trouble, God is sending me the money."

"God bless you, my dear one," said Nanna, her heart full of rejoicing.

"And what do you think of this plan?" continued Phebe. "I should like to give the money to Stephen Collins, and let him do all the business, my name never to be mentioned. He need simply say a friend had entrusted him with it. Mr. Black, I know, will keep my secret. I thought two thousand would provide the building, and the town might be willing to pay for its upkeep. I should like it called 'Love's Hospital.'"

"There! Didn't I tell you the Lord would help you to do big things? Can't you see if you'd never gone to the railway-men you would never have known Mr. Black!"

"Yes, I can see it, and if I had never visited Jim Coates, I shouldn't have gone to the railway-men. It is all the Lord's doing. I have got another scheme I want to work out, but have not the money for it yet, and I don't see where it is to come from either. Still, after this wonder I shall not give up hope."

Stephen Collins accepted the task, called together a town's meeting; a committee was appointed, Bessie's old superintendent, Mr. Bell, being one of the number. An old-fashioned house, with a large garden was bought, and in less than twelve months "Love's Hospital" was in working order.

Bessie, Reynolds and David knew Mrs. Waring had sold her meadow at a very good figure. They knew also of the anonymous donor of the hospital, and, as shrewd young people will, put two and two together; but the townsfolk, in spite of a good deal of curiosity, were not so wise.