Ch. 8 - A Cure For Despair

LISHA WILKINS.

WHEN Christie opened the eyes that had closed so wearily, afternoon
sunshine streamed across the room, and seemed the herald of happier
days. Refreshed by sleep, and comforted by grateful recollections of
her kindly welcome, she lay tranquilly enjoying the friendly
atmosphere about her, with so strong a feeling that a skilful hand
had taken the rudder, that she felt very little anxiety or curiosity
about the haven which was to receive her boat after this narrow
escape from shipwreck.

Her eye wandered to and fro, and brightened as it went; for though a
poor, plain room it was as neat as hands could make it, and so
glorified with sunshine that she thought it a lovely place, in spite
of the yellow paper with green cabbage roses on it, the gorgeous
plaster statuary on the mantel-piece, and the fragrance of
dough-nuts which pervaded the air. Every thing suggested home life,
humble but happy, and Christie's solitary heart warmed at the sights
and sounds about her.

A half open closet-door gave her glimpses of little frocks and
jackets, stubby little shoes, and go-to-meeting hats all in a row.
From below came up the sound of childish voices chattering, childish
feet trotting to and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetly
through the Sabbath stillness of the place. From a room near by,
came the soothing creak of a rocking-chair, the rustle of a
newspaper, and now and then a scrap of conversation common-place
enough, but pleasant to hear, because so full of domestic love and
confidence; and, as she listened, Christie pictured Mrs. Wilkins and
her husband taking their rest together after the week's hard work
was done.

"I wish I could stay here; it's so comfortable and home-like. I
wonder if they wouldn't let me have this room, and help me to find
some better work than sewing? I'll get up and ask them," thought
Christie, feeling an irresistible desire to stay, and strong
repugnance to returning to the room she had left, for, as Rachel
truly said, it was haunted for her.

When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins bounced out of her
rocking-chair and hurried to meet her with a smiling face, saying
all in one breath:

"Good mornin', dear! Rested well, I hope? I'm proper glad to hear
it. Now come right down and have your dinner. I kep it hot, for I
couldn't bear to wake you up, you was sleepin' so beautiful."

"I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like a new
creature. It was so kind of you to take me in, and I'm so grateful I
don't know how to show it," said Christie, warmly, as her hostess
ponderously descended the complaining stairs and ushered her into
the tidy kitchen from which tubs and flat-irons