The Right Knock

by Helen Van-Anderson

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  "If thou art worn and hard beset, With troubles that thou would'st forget, If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."

  --_H. W. Longfellow._

  Grace was in deep perplexity. She pondered her problem over and over,and though in reality she felt more like flinging pride to the windsthan ever before, she was not able to formulate or even consciously nameher thoughts. A strange, unsettled feeling possessed her. She wonderedat herself that she did not contemptuously throw this letter of LeonCarrington's into the fire, as she had the other two, but for somereason did not do so. All night she was uneasy and slept but little. Thenext morning she announced to Kate that she would spend the day atRosewood, sketching.

  What the trouble was, Kate could only surmise, but wisely held her peacefeeling instinctively that now was no time for questions. She wasrelieved to hear of the prospective recreation, for Grace always cameback from these trips with so much fresh inspiration, and renewedenthusiasm.

  It was a beautiful day, one of those mild, hazy days of October thatseem made to teach humanity some of its most sacred lessons. Nature isthe best of teachers if we know how to read her mystic pages, her manyand varied beauties, her wide diversities of expression, her finesubtlety of language, for she is the handmaid of Truth, inasmuch as sheholds before our admiring eyes pictures of Truth and its wondrous laws.If we can interpret the pictures, we are wiser and better and happier.

  Grace was ever ready to listen to the oracles of nature, but now theyheld a sweeter message than ever before, and she keenly anticipated thepleasure in store for her as she seated herself in the car and disposedof her sketching materials for the half hour's ride to Rosewood, apretty little woodland station near Hampton.

  She generally walked the mile and a half to the farmhouse in the edge ofthe woods, where she had made the acquaintance of a kind hearted oldlady, who loaned her a great Newfoundland dog belonging to the house,for company in her rambles.

  Mrs. Clayland was rejoiced to see her, for it had been several weekssince Grace had called, and she was eager to tell her of the great treeup in the ravine that had been blasted by the lightning, and about thebeautiful little waterfall caused by the Cherry Creek freshet.

  Grace listened patiently as she rested, and asked questions that she hadasked many times before, because it pleased the old lady to tell of allthe beautiful spots and dainty bits of landscape in her vicinity. Thatwas next to being the artist.

  Prince stood by, looking with intelligent eyes, first at the visitorand then at his mistress, wagging his tail wistfully as though eager tobe off, for he seemed to realize that this was his holiday too.

  "Are you ready to go, Prince?" asked Grace, patting the dog on the headas she looked into his great brown eyes.

  Prince licked his mouth and pushed his nose close under her hand whilehis tail wagged violently. "Yes, of course he is. I wish my old limbswould let me go too, but I can't even hobble to-day for the rheumatismhas been dreadful the last week," said Mrs. Clayland, as she wiped herspectacles.

  Grace hardly knew what to say, for here was just the place for a littlesympathy, and yet she must shut her eyes to false beliefs andconditions, so she wisely talked of the beautiful day, the warm air, andwhat not, while secretly resolving that Mrs. Clayland should be herfirst patient if she ever knew how to treat patients according to theChrist method. In the mean time, she would give her some thoughts.

  While Mrs. Clayland volubly rattled on, talking of all her aches andpains, Grace was doing her best to think of the very opposite statement,that she was well.

  At last, however, with Prince trotting gaily in front of her, she beganher rambles in earnest. She knew of a beautiful view from one of thehills near by, and slowly wended her way thitherward. The hush and quietof the place seemed such a relief after the troubled hours of the pastnight, and as she came to the gentle slope of the grassy hill, she threwherself into the soft warm grass, in the shade of a stately elm thatstood there alone, and gave herself up to thinking--thinking of thedeepest and most sacred problems in human experience.

  Prince came and laid himself at her feet. The soft autumn sunshineplayed here and there upon her form and face through the leaves, whilethe occasional note of a bird or hum of an insect were the only soundsthat broke the stillness of the lonely place. What an exquisite pleasureto lie there and breathe in all this wonderful peace, for it was like ataste of heaven. Far away from all perplexities and cares, she couldhave lost herself in sweet forgetfulness but for this one theme thatwould persist in thrusting itself upon her. At last it had resolveditself into the form of a question. Should she or should she not writeto Leon Carrington? Might it not be possible she had been misinformed,and that she was mistaken in her hasty conclusions?

  Life presented a different aspect now from what it had two years ago.She was more lenient in her judgments, more charitable in her opinions,more softened in her pride; changed more than she ever realized untilshe began the self examination on this point. To be sure she had desiredto change in these respects, since she had seen a glimpse of thepossibilities of Christian life. She had denied all qualities ofcharacter in herself that seemed undesirable, and had affirmedcharitableness, patience, wisdom, but that she could ever have changedher mind on this subject seemed incredible and utterly inconsistent.

  And yet, what could she say to him? She had no answer, certainly noencouragement. The only thing she could do would be to tell him franklywhat her thought and judgment had been, without going into details, andlearn the truth of the matter; but that, she would never do. Whateverinjury she had inflicted through her silent, erroneous thoughts shouldbe as silently redressed by her best and most generous ones.

  Over an hour she lay there, no nearer the solution of her problem thanwhen she began. It was getting late, and she rose hurriedly, shook theleaves and grass from her dress, and opening her sketch book, set towork.

  An opening to the left in the woods revealed a view of lovely meadowsand wooded hills, clothed in all the gorgeous robes of autumn, with amisty blue haze enshrouding them, and gleams of a silvery river windingthrough meadow and woodland. She rapidly sketched the outlines, studiedthe beauteous blending of tints, and wondered meanwhile, what particularlesson she could learn or give by this beautiful picture. Again shelooked at the scene before her. Suddenly there came into her mind somelines she had often admired:

  "Oh, the peace at the heart of Nature, Oh, the light that is not of day! Why seek it afar forever, When it can not be lifted away?"

  Ah, here was the key. "The peace of Nature," typical of divine peace,"The Light not of day," divine Light itself. How sweet the thought, howprecious the lesson; and the divine Peace and Light _are_ indeedforever here. Could she throw such a divine message into her prospectivepainting? Could she make every form and color, every hint of light andshadow, tell the sweet story, as this living picture told it? Surely,the heart that overflows with an inbreathing of the divine, must be ableto teach the common heart of humanity, else what is the use ofinspiration?

  On her way back to the house, Grace passed the blasted tree, describedby Mrs. Clayland, but she had no desire to study destruction or death.It was life, living things, that she would portray. Was there not beautyand grandeur everywhere, hinting of Infinity? Even the noisy andmonotonous waterfall now had a message for her as it rushed forcefullyon its course, regardless of any and all obstructions.

  It was quite late when Grace and Prince returned, much later than shesupposed, so that she missed the train and had to wait for the next,several hours later. Mr. Clayland kindly volunteered to take her to thestation, an offer she was very glad to accept.

  The lamps were already lighted when she entered the car. She slippedinto the first vacant seat, but caught a glimpse of a face several seatsin front of her that made her heart beat hurriedly and her breath comequick and fast f
or a few moments.

  She resolutely avoided looking anywhere but out of the window, and atthe end of her journey quietly but quickly disappeared in the surgingcrowd.