Eighteen months had gone by since Ralph's death. Nothing of any unusual nature had occurred to Phebe or her household, except the completion of the Garden Scheme and the settling of the dispute between Hugh Black and his men. It had been a true resting-time, without any strain, without any need to study ways and means, and without any attempt to advance in any direction so far as outward things were concerned. And yet Phebe did not feel satisfied; there was something missing, life did not satisfy her in its present outlook. During Ralph's illness all her outside work had been given up, others had stepped in and carried it on, and she had never got back to her old place again entirely. This was not through any unwillingness on her part, it was simply that the way did not open up.

While Ralph was away there had always been a sense of strain and tension which had buoyed her on and on. Now that was removed, and there was no necessity to be on the alert, there had crept over her a weariness and lassitude.

"Nanna," she suddenly said one day, "I am going to leave you."

"Going to leave me!—never!"

"Not for long, you dear; you may rest on that. But I have thought I should like to get right away for three or four weeks. I want to view my life from a distance—that is, if I can. If I get away from my everyday surroundings perhaps I could see it more clearly. I'm not satisfied with it."

"But you would take somebody with you? Your sister?"

"No, not my sister; I should be all the time viewing her life if I did."

"Well, then, take Jack. I should not like you to go alone."

"Yes, I might take Jack."

So the two started on their journey alone, and only Nanna and Aunt Lizzie knew whither they were bound, both of whom were strictly charged to keep the matter secret.

What the mountains are to the Swiss, the sea is to the islander. Phebe and her boy settled down at a watering-place on the east coast, the lad finding endless amusement and instruction among the fishermen, while the mother sat on the green cliffs under the shadowing of blossoming trees, watching the course of the distant river, and the great steamers passing by bound for foreign shores, but intent mostly with the study of the past and future. The steamers made steady progress, but the same could not be said of the personal studies. Day followed day, but no progress was made. She was just where she was when she first came.

"Show me Thy will, O God," she prayed. "Thou knowest my heart is willing for it."

One very warm day she had her sunshade up to keep off a darting sunbeam that would keep dancing on her book, and did not notice a gentleman taking a seat not two yards away from her. When it was nearly time to meet Jack for their evening stroll she suddenly became aware of her neighbour. Both sunshade and book dropped from her hands—only one word escaped her lips, and it was—

"Stephen!"

Not even in a moment's excitement would he have called her "Phebe" unless in some way she had given him permission, but here it was, and eagerly he grasped it. "Phebe!" and their out-stretched hands met in a tight clasp.

"What brought you here?" Phebe was the first to speak.

"I may ask the same," said Stephen. "But sit down again; this is a quiet spot, and I should like to talk to you." So they sat down again, but close together this time. "I came here," continued Stephen, "to have a quiet time to think things over and to know God's will. Not a creature in Hadley knows where I am. I have long wanted to ask you to be my wife, as I did years ago, and during all the years since then no one has taken your place in my heart—no one ever could. Whether you accept my love, or not, you are still, as ever, my queen." His voice had sunk to a whisper. He knew from the pressure of her hand that it was not likely she would refuse it. "I would have spoken to you before this, but I was afraid—I thought you shrank from me. Forgive me, dearest, if I wronged you."

"You have nothing to forgive. I only seemed to shrink from you because I feared"—it seemed so hard to get the words out, but he wanted to hear, so did not help her at all—"I feared lest you might not respond to my love."

"What, after waiting all these years! Never mind, you shall not reproach yourself. I ought to have shown you more of my heart. But, tell me, will you have this grey-haired fellow for your very own?"

They looked into each other's eyes, the answer was there plainly enough. "You know I will," said Phebe, "but I've nothing to give that is worthy such patient love."

"That is my business," he said, with a laugh, "so don't trouble about that."

"Shall I tell you what brought me here? I was so restless, I wanted to quietly review my life and plan something for the future. Only Nanna and Lizzie know where we are. Jack is with me. But I have been just as restless, and I prayed only an hour ago, 'Show me Thy will, O God.' God must have sent you to me."

"I'm sure He did, my Phebe." There was such a glad ring in the voice.

"If only we could be young again!"

"Look at the sky, dearest!" There were bars of light and dark in the western sky, and above these a flock of tiny clouds. Along the edge of the horizon ran a line of rosy light. Presently the bars merged into dark purple clouds, the cloudlets above took on a rosy light, the glory widened from below and from above, till the whole western sky was aflame with radiant beauty. "That is like our life, dearest," Stephen whispered, putting his arm round her as they sat. "All our clouds which memory may bring or the future reveal are going to be made beautiful, covered all over with rosy love."

"But it's evening, Stephen," she whispered, "the darkness is creeping on," and he felt that she was trembling.

"But we are together. Besides, no illustration can be strained too far: it's evening in the heavens but mid-day in our lives."

"Well I never!"—it was Jack's voice. (Was there ever stranger ending to a wooing!) "Are you two chums?" Evidently he was feeling very annoyed. His mother having failed to meet him at the appointed time and place he had come in search of her.

Stephen jumped up at once, seized hold of the lad with loving hands, and compelled him to sit down between them. "Yes, we're chums," said Stephen, in his old bright manner, "and we want to tell you how it came about."

Jack's face looked rather dark, and he muttered: "This is why, then, mummy wanted to come here so much."

"No, it was not," said Stephen firmly, and then he told him of their unexpected meeting, of how God had seemingly led them both on the path, and of his (Stephen's) boyhood love for his mother. And all the time Phebe said never a word, but sat looking at the two with eyes full of love.

"Ah!" said Jack, with a sigh of relief, "I don't mind now. I thought you'd been keeping it dark from me. But, I say, if you take mummy, you'll have to take me as well! Else what will become of me?"

"Of course I shall; the fact is, we'll all be chums together, won't we?"

"Rather!" said Jack. "I call this spiffin," and then their hands seemed to get all mixed up together.

The next day Stephen had a particular request to make. It was that, seeing he had waited for his love so long, they should be married at once, and Phebe felt she could not refuse him.

Nanna, Aunt Lizzie, Bessie, Reynolds and Jones were all communicated with at once, and on a given day the three establishments were closed, all assistants given a holiday, and the above-named individuals summoned to the ceremony. To please Jack he was allowed to give his mother away, and Reynolds was the bridegroom's best man.

Bessie—the Bessie of old!—was delighted. "This is what I call fine! I'm as happy as if I were being married to my dear 'Darling Jones' over again!" Nanna was just as radiant; her old dream after all had come true!

Once more during the honeymoon Phebe referred to the past. "If only we could have started our life together! How was it I was so blind? Why did not my heart respond to your love as it does now? Nanna was not nearly so blind as I was," and then she told Stephen of Mrs. Colston's guesses that afternoon in the old kitchen where the mangle was.

"I cannot answer your questions, dearest; but I am sure you are the richer women to-day for the trials you have had."

"Yes, Nanna said that day, when I told her I was a Christian, that to be a full Christian was a matter of development, that there were many creases in my nature God had to mangle out. I am afraid there are many creases still left."

"Yes, though we may be blameless before God our education is still going on."

"But I have been far from blameless. I have often thought if I had entered more into Ralph's ambitions it would have been better and his end would have been different. What if I should bring defeat into your life too!"

"Dearest! you have brought nothing but inspiration into my life. You are not to have these sad thoughts. I was not brave enough in the past to show my love, or you might have seen it in a plainer manner—and all would have been different. But we neither of us acted from selfishness. You considered at the time you acted rightly by resisting Ralph's restlessness. God will never blame us for not acting up to any light that was hidden from us. If we have made mistakes in the past God has forgiven us, and therefore we should put the past entirely from us."

"So we will," she answered, with a happy smile; "we are both making a new start, and we will let nothing hinder us."

When the time came for their return home, there was great excitement among many of the Hadley people. The honeymoon had been considerably lengthened at Stephen's request, for two reasons—first, to give Phebe as long a rest as possible; and secondly, to give time for the beautifying of the old farmhouse on the hill above the town. Bay-windows and a porch had been built out, the front garden had been relaid, several rooms refurnished, and all had been kept a grand secret from Phebe.

"I tell you what it is," said Jim Coates, "she shall have a welcome like a duchess, that she shall!" So instead of stepping into a cab as she expected she would do when she came out of the station, Phebe found a carriage-and-pair waiting them, and then at a certain bend of the road a whole body of men suddenly made their appearance, took out the horses, attached ropes to the carriage, and drew it along in triumphant style.

Just for a moment Phebe was quite startled; the idea suddenly presented itself that they were being captured by robbers—it was but for an instant—and then the sight of Jim Coates' face, and the triumphant look on Stephen's, made it all clear to her, and partly laughing, partly crying, she managed to exclaim: "It is too much—too much!—don't let them do it, Steve!" But it would have taken more than Steve to hinder that loyal little band of stalwarts, if even he had been willing, which he was not.

Wreaths of evergreens were stretched across the road, flags were fluttering everywhere; close to the house was a long banner, with the words in red letters, "Welcome home to the Little Missis and her husband."

As the men paused at the gate they had still breath enough to exclaim:

"Three cheers for the Little Missis and her husband!" and great hearty "Hip! Hip! Hurrahs!" rang out.

"But, Steve——" exclaimed Phebe, as she looked up at the unfamiliar-looking house, and then a second revelation came to her.

Steve answered her questioning look with a kiss on her cheek—and then there was another cheer.

Bessie and Janie were both standing at the gate, bearing a great basket of roses.

Bessie had decided that because she had not thought of scattering roses on the path at the wedding, she would do so at the home-coming.

"Yes, she shall walk on roses this time," Bessie exclaimed; "the other time she was married she had only cold potatoes. I mean to make up for that."

The idea of any one walking on cold potatoes fairly puzzled poor Janie. "I never heard of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "I'm sure she didn't when she came home. I was there, and ought to know."

"You know well enough," retorted Bessie, "what a cold welcome she got. Didn't I see you lay the supper-table? And didn't I tell you it looked more like a meal for an errand-boy than for a bride? Don't you remember that?"

"Yes," meekly answered the literal Janie, "but there were no cold potatoes messing about."

So the roses were strewed on her path by the two young women, who though so different in character, had both learnt to love her with a wonderful devotion. But before Phebe trod on the roses, she stopped to kiss her friends, and then turning round to the group of men who looked very hot but very happy, she said: "You have done us too much honour, but may God bless you." They could see that her face was wet with tears as well as radiant with smiles and then another cheer went up for "the Little Missis and her husband."

Dear old Nanna was standing on the doorstep with Jack by her side.

"Welcome home, dear heart!" said Nanna, kissing her and giving her a motherly hug.

Jack stood patiently by till he thought Nanna had had her full share, and then gave her a gentle reminder with his hand that it was his turn now.

Did the sight of the loaded table and the gay, bright room bring back to her any thoughts of the past? If they did, no shadow from the past was allowed to linger.

In a month's time they were all fairly settled down. Jack, Mrs. Colston and Janie had all removed to "the house on the hill," and Aunt Lizzie had taken up her residence at the business establishment, there to remain, God willing, till Jack should reach his majority.

"Nanna," said Phebe one day, "do you remember telling me that a Christian is not perfected till death, that we have to be trained and disciplined? And do you remember what discipline I needed?"

"Yes, I remember it well. You see, I'm always thinking about it because I like to watch the process."

"I have been thinking God has ceased to do any training with me—could it be that He is disappointed with me?—that because I have not come up to what He expected, He has put me on one side."

"Why, dearie, what has put that into your head?"

"What discipline have I got now? Peace and joy and prosperity are with me in abundance."

"All God's training is not done by pain. Bless me, the flowers know better than that! The cold winds and rains make them bloom right enough, but the sunshine has a good share in the work as well. Instead of you having no training just now, the sunshine all round you is doing it as fast as it can. And if God sees you can stand the sunshine without getting puffed up, or careless, or proud—I know you will forgive an old woman's plain words—He perhaps has glorious plans of work for you in the future. He can discipline and train you by all this wealth He has given you."

"Trust you," replied Phebe, laughing, "for never giving me the ghost of a chance of being miserable. I never saw anybody like you for ruthlessly stripping away every shred of the blues!"

"Do you want to keep a few of the blue rags, then?"

"No, you know I do not."

"Dear heart," said Nanna tenderly, "there was a time when you had to search round for your bright bits: now you are surrounded with it, take in all you can get—rejoice and exult in it, and don't lose one bit simply because you have got so much."

When Phebe repeated this conversation to her husband, he added: "If God has crowned you with joy, sweetheart—and I hope from my heart He has done so—do not let anybody put a thorn in the crown God did not mean to be there. I would like to crown you every day myself with joy if I could—my queen!—my ray of glory!"

"But, Steve, be serious."

"I never was calmer in my life. You know I mean every word I say—say you do!"

"Yes, you loyal lover mine," linking her arm in his, "but you don't have a monopoly in love for all that," looking up at him with a smile on her sweet face. "Now, I want to ask you a very serious question."

"Ask on, my queen."

"But it is really serious."

"And so am I. What is it, darling?" bending down to kiss her. He never seemed to tire of proving to himself that she actually, after all the weary years of waiting, belonged to him, and he to her.

"If God were to call me home to-night," she said in a low voice, "I should not want to go. That cannot be a right frame of mind to be in, now, is it?"

"Yes, it is; a perfectly right frame of mind. If you were wanting to go home just now, it would seem to show you were not satisfied with what God had provided for you. When the call does come you may feel very different from what you do now. I never think we can be exactly sure what we should do under certain conditions—supposed conditions. It is only the present moment that we need to concern ourselves about, and I think we can both say we are ready this minute to do God's will. Don't you think so, sweetheart?"

"God's will for us just now is so sweet," she answered, "that I somewhat mistrust myself. But I can truly pray, 'Teach me to do Thy will, O my God.'"

"And that is everything," he exclaimed. "It is by our desires God judges us. And, sweetheart," again bending tenderly over her, "when the call does come, whether to you or to me, we'll clasp hands, if we can, to the last moment, and then we'll wait patiently till we clasp them again in the Sunny Land."

"The Little Missis" had been toe well trained for the sunshine to spoil her—it did but bring out still fairer beauties in her character; and no end of work came to her, or she went to it, whichever way you prefer to have it.

The Great Gardener had kept this flower for long years in an exposed position, where winds and frosts had worked their will; and many a time had He bent over it, with loving look but with firm hand, to shape it into more perfect form and fairer beauty.

And then He said: "I will put it into a sunny place."

He did so.

And there in that place of sunlight, by its very beauty it brought praise to His Name, and the winds which once had been so rough with it, bore its fragrance afar.