TO pay frequent visits to the village had of late been a great interest to the young people; they had become acquainted with many of the cottagers, and Leila had already begun to have a lively interest in their children. As the party were now to leave Woodlands in a few days, she proposed one morning that, as the weather was uncommonly fine, they should cross the fields, under Charles’s escort, and pay a sort of farewell visit to some of the cottagers. The cold had been so severe in the night, that the grass still felt crisp under their feet, though the sunbeams glanced brightly on the scarlet berries of the holly, and on the slender branches of the forest trees, feathered white by the hoar-frost. At the village they were welcomed by old and young, for the kind, frank manners of the young people had made them general favourites; many of the children ran forward to meet them, but they missed one little girl whom they had in former visits particularly distinguished. Her mother’s cottage stood at the end of the village, and they found Dame Burton standing at her door, looking anxiously in the direction of the road. She invited them as usual to enter, but added, “I am rather out of sorts, young ladies, at this moment, for I am fearing my little Lizzy is getting into idle ways. Not a sight can I see of her, all the other children in the village home from the school, and she still loitering on the road. If I had not had the dinner to get ready, I would have been off to seek her myself, and would have sent her home in a hurry; but her father will be in to his dinner, and she will get it from him I am thinking.”

Leila instantly proposed that they should return by the road; “As Charles is with us, I don’t think papa will be displeased,” she said, “and we can tell him why.” Then turning to Dame Burton, she added, “We shall be sure of meeting your little Lizzy if we go by the road, and we shall send her home to you very quick; but I hope you won’t be angry with her this time, for you know when it is an interesting play sometimes one forgets. I forget very often myself, though I am so much older than Lizzy.”

The young people proceeded on their way, talking and laughing merrily; Charles protesting “that if they met the little truant, the unworthy little Lizzy, he would send her home in a hurry; he would give it her, her father’s anger would be a joke to his.”

Leila looked up in his face in astonishment.

“Never mind him,” Mina exclaimed, observing Leila’s face of perplexity; “never mind him—don’t believe a word of it, he’s only saying it in fun; Charles is not the least bit ill-natured. If we meet Lizzy I know the sort of thing he will do, he will tap her kindly on the back, and say, ‘Now there’s a good girl, run home as quick as you can.’ That’s the sort of way he will scold.”

“Is it, my little wise sister?” Charles replied, laughing. “Well, well, you will soon see the contrary; you don’t know what an angry man I can be; Leila has never yet seen me in one of my right towering passions, it will frighten her out of her wits.”

“How merry we all are,” Mina said, “and how happy we have all been, and now in three more days it will all be over!”

“Oh, Mina!” Louisa exclaimed, “do not speak of it; I have been thinking of it all the time, though I have been trying to laugh. I have never been so happy before, and now I may never see you all again. You will all be meeting often, but I shall be far away. You know in two months we are going abroad. I used to like the thoughts of it so much; now I cannot bear it. And you, Leila, you will be growing up, and so many to love you, you will forget me.”

“Never, Louisa, never; you were my first friend, you will always——” She was interrupted at this moment by the loud screams of a child; they seemed to proceed from a lane, which, a few yards further on, branched off from the road. The screams were continued with increased violence. They caught sight of a little girl struggling to get free from a large dog, which seemed dragging her along by her clothes.

Leila sprang forward. “Don’t be frightened, Lizzy, don’t; we shall protect you.”

At the sound of her voice the dog let go its hold with a joyful bark of recognition, and the next moment was leaping upon Leila with frantic joy.

“Dash, my own Dash!” she cried, as throwing her arms round his neck, she almost stifled the faithful animal with her caresses. “But how is this? Is it my Dash? is it really true? how did it happen? Lizzy, what is the meaning of this? how did he come here? where did you find him? Oh! tell me; but how thin you are, my Dash; how changed—oh, he has been starved! how dreadful! But, Lizzy, run home to your mother; don’t delay a moment longer—she is sorry you have been so long away; and let us get home also as quick as we can, that we may get food for my dear Dash. What joyful news for papa, and for Nurse, and Amy. Poor Peggy! Oh, if Dash could speak!” She turned to regain the road, but Dash would not allow this; he began to pull Leila up the lane by her clothes, in the same way he had been doing to the little girl.

“Don’t oppose him,” Charles said; “there is something under all this, we had better follow as he leads.” They quickened their pace, but saw nothing. Dash now frequently ran on a little way before them, returned again and took hold of Leila’s dress as before, looking up in her face, as if encouraging her to go on. A sudden thought seized her; she darted forwards—she ran on a considerable way—suddenly she saw a figure lying stretched on a bank by the side of the lane; in the next moment she was kneeling by Peggy Dobie’s side!

The others came up. They found Leila clasping Peggy’s hands and sobbing violently.

“Her eyes are shut,” she said; “she does not hear me; oh, Charles, tell me, is she dead? Can we do nothing?”

Dash began at this moment to lick Peggy’s face, she opened her eyes. “Am I dreaming,” she said, in a low faint voice, “and am I still in the land of the living? surely it is the faces of my own dear bairns that I see; but it canna be. Na, na, it is a vision o’ the night, and it will leave me with the light o’ morning as it has ever done afore; but it’s morning now. Where am I? how has all this come about? oh! for a drop o’ water and a morsel o’——” Her eyes closed again—the momentary exertion was too much.

Charles, who had been rubbing her cold hands, sprang to his feet. “It is food she requires,” he said; “she is starving. I see a house near, I will be back in a moment.”

He flew off. He returned, followed by the farmer to whom the house belonged. Charles held a bowl of milk to Peggy’s lips—she seemed unable to swallow.

“No, no, mister, that won’t do; this is a bad job; there has been both cold and hunger here; it’s brandy she must have, and that instantly. Heaven grant it may not be too late; I have my doubts.”

“No,” Leila cried, “don’t say it; we have found her again—she must not die!”

But the farmer was gone. He returned again in a few minutes with the brandy and a thick blanket. With Charles’s assistance he poured a little brandy and water down Peggy’s throat, and wrapped her in the warm blanket. “These poor thin rags,” he said, “are not for such cold as this, the poor creature is half frozen; but she is coming about again, her lips are not just so white; she will do yet; and, by good luck, I see one of my carts coming from the field; we shall have her into it and home in a jiffy. Hollo, there! Joe, my man, here’s a bye-job for you.”

Peggy was lifted into the cart, Selina and Leila also getting in and supporting her in their arms. It was in vain Charles insisted on taking this office on himself, they would not hear of it; it seemed as if it were quite necessary for them to hold Peggy fast, as well as see her, to convince them that the scene before them was not a joyful dream. But Dash also appeared resolved to make one of the party in the cart—he leaped in, stretched himself on Peggy’s feet, and to move him was impossible.

“Let him lie there, he will do much good,” the farmer said; “he is a wise animal, and I am thinking it is to his good offices that there is the breath of life in this poor creature. Where is she bound for, young ladies?”

“To Woodlands,” Leila answered.

The cart proceeded, followed by the others; when they arrived at the lodge, Bill’s astonishment was great, and his joy also, when he heard the wonderful news, for he had taken the greatest interest in Leila’s distress; he called instantly to Susan to accompany them, and taking the key, which was still in his charge, they took their way to Peggy’s cottage, Charles having been sent on to the house to request the attendance of Nurse. “Her papa,” Leila said, “had gone to London with her Aunt Stanley; but Nurse, she was sure, would be of great use, and might bring with her whatever she thought necessary for Peggy,” who still remained in a state of stupor.

The fire was kindled, and Peggy laid upon her bed when Nurse arrived, who, after giving her a small portion of nourishment, stood by the bed-side holding her hand and gazing anxiously upon her.

“How wonderful are the ways of Providence,” she said. “To think of Peggy being restored to us again, she that we mourned as sleeping under the salt wave!”

Peggy opened her eyes. “And wherefore did ye pit me there?” she said, with a faint smile. “Na, na, it was nae just sae bad as that, though it’s been out o’ perils by sea and perils by land that the Lord has delivered me, praise be to His holy name; but, oh! it’s a deliverance past my weak comprehension, I canna make it out; but it’s all His blessed work, and it’s a reality—it’s no’ a dream.”

“No, Peggy, it’s not a dream,” Matilda said, eagerly. “See, we are all around you, and now Cousin Leila will be happy again, and merry as she was before.”

“And did the dear bairn grieve sae for me? Oh! what it is to hear the voices of ye all again, and to see your faces glinting down on me like the blessed sunbeams on my withered heart; it was for this I prayed and for this I toiled, as my puir blistered feet can testify; but it is a strength that I have nought to do with that has brought me to see this day; and now that the life seems in me again, in a measure, I would fain ken where I am. Is it your house, Mistress Nurse, that they have brought me to, and I making sae free, lying in your ain bed, wi’ thae bonnie genty white curtains, and all sae clean and comfortable about me, and never sae much as a word o’ thanks? you will think I hae left my manners in the sea—but we will no speak o’ that awfu’ element.”

“But, Peggy,” Selina whispered, “it’s not Nurse’s house—it is your own; and Cousin Leila told her papa every thing she thought you would like.”

“Yes,” Matilda added, “and there are peats in a box behind the door; and you have not seen the kitchen yet, with the walnut-tree table, and cupboard, and the cuckoo clock—all is for you—it is your own house.”

“My own house,” Peggy repeated, as clasping her hands together in deep emotion, she added, “O what am I, that such blessings should be showered upon me, when He whom I serve ‘had not where to lay His head!’ O my bairns! help me to praise Him, who has brought me out o’ much tribulation, for my mind’s weak and head sair confused. Could you no’ tak’ the book—it’s the Psalms o’ David that could speak weel for me at sic a moment.”

“No, Peggy,” Nurse said; “that must not be: God looks to the heart. He knows all your gratitude to Him—but you are more exhausted than I ever saw mortal being, and it’s peace and quietness you want; you must try to sleep, and the young ladies will be gude bairns, (as you call them,) and go quietly home—they will come to see you again to-morrow, when you will be more able to speak to them of your mercies, for, surely, it has been a great deliverance.”

“And may I not stay with Peggy?” Leila said.

“No, Miss Leila, no; Peggy will be better alone with me; and as she will require a little nourishment now and then, and it will need my experience to know how much, I will watch by her till the evening; I am sure my master will spare me on such an occasion; and you may say, that if it is his pleasure to allow Amy to step down when I leave, and stay this first night with Peggy, I think it is all she will require.”

On the young people getting up to take leave, a painful struggle took place in Dash’s upright mind, and for some moments he stood irresolute. Between the dear young companion of his palmy days and the friend of late misfortunes the line of duty was difficult to discern;—but this friend was no longer perishing with hunger and cold, she was now in the land of plenty and almost smothered with blankets; so Dash wagged his tail to Peggy and darted after Leila. It was not easy to say which was most light of foot, as they bounded along—Dash capering and frisking in renewed health and spirits, and Leila as if she trod on air, so impatient was she to tell all to her papa; but Mr. Howard was already in possession of the joyful intelligence, as immediately on his return from London, he had been informed by Charles of all that had taken place, and of Nurse having been sent for, and they now met both on their way to Peggy’s cottage; but on hearing Leila’s account, Mr. Howard thought it better to delay his visit till the next morning, and retraced his steps with the rest of the party.

As they entered the house, Leila lingered behind for a moment. “Charles,” she whispered, in an agitated voice, “if you had not told us to follow Dash, Peggy would have died. Charles, if you had been a little boy, you would not have said that.” The bright colour which before had animated her face had faded, she was pale and trembling; Charles was alarmed.

“You are ill, Leila!” he exclaimed; “the agitation of all this has been too much for you.”

“No, I am not ill,” she said quickly; “but I must go to papa.” She passed him hastily, and entered the library. Mr. Howard looked up—her appearance alarmed him.

“Has any thing happened?” he inquired; “Leila, my child, why are you so pale?”

Leila threw herself into her papa’s arms. “Nothing more has happened, papa; but I don’t know what is the matter with me; it is joy—but it is too much happiness—how can I ever thank God enough for all that He has done for me!—He has given me so many blessings. He sent me the trial, but He has taken it away from me again, and gives me more than ever joy—tenfold joy, papa—what can I say to Him—what can I do?—surely, I am most ungrateful—my heart is very full, but I feel as if I could do nothing.”

“You can give your heart more entirely, my love, to Him, who has given so much for you; you can think of Him, love Him, walk with Him, and make Him more and more to you an all-sufficient Saviour.”

“But, papa, what frightens me is this; I have more blessings here than I had in the island—friends, and beautiful rooms, and fortune, and every thing I could wish for—but it does not make me give my heart more to God. I used to think of God more in the island, when I saw His beautiful world all around me; here it is beautiful also, but so many pleasures, and so many people to love, take up my heart; perhaps it would be better for me if I had trials.”

“My dear Leila, you must beware of the error of believing, that were your situation different, you would be better than you are now; the fault is in yourself, not in the circumstances which surround you. You think it would be better for you if you had trials; you have a trial at this very moment—the trial of prosperity, and it has often been found more difficult to bear than the heaviest misfortunes. Remember the words of your blessed Saviour, that ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.’ The possession of riches often tends to increase pride and self-indulgence; they expose you to flattery and to many temptations to pleasure, which make the self-denying principles of Christ more difficult to follow; it is not money alone, that is here meant, but all the sinful vanities of a worldly life.”

“Well, papa, and is not this just what frightens me? Would it not be better for me to have no money, and to live in some quiet place like the island, where we should have nothing to tempt us off?”

“No, my dear child, had it been so, we should have been continued there; but the Bible does not tell us to renounce the world, but to overcome the world. We are to live in it, but not to be led by it. If we have the advantages of fortune and station in life, we have also greater responsibilities—we are responsible for the example we set to those who look up to us, and for the use we make of those riches which are intrusted to us, and for which, as faithful servants, we must one day give an account.”

“Then, papa, this is what you mean when you say, this world is a state of trial; for it is not only a trial when we are poor and miserable, but when we are rich and happy—I never thought of that before, but then we can never be at peace, papa, nor enjoy being happy.”

“Yes, my child, we can be so, by endeavouring to bring eternity more constantly before us, and by giving to things present only their proper value: this will not prevent our enjoying them where consistent with duty, but will prevent our feeling as if all were lost when they are taken away; for God has promised to ‘keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Him.’ If we could only keep constantly in mind, that every event, whether happy or mournful, if properly received, will work together for our everlasting good, we should indeed enjoy ‘that peace which passeth all understanding.’ Go then, my dear child, and enjoy the many blessings which surround you, with a grateful heart.”

“Yes, papa, I will go to Charles, and tell him you have made me well again: he thinks I am ill, which will make him sorry, for you don’t know what a kind brother he is to me, and I like him so very much; he is one of my blessings, and I think he will work for good, for he always tells me what is right—good-bye, papa.”