Ch. 10 - Beginning Again

MRS. STERLING.

IT was an April day when Christie went to her new home. Warm rains
had melted the last trace of snow, and every bank was full of
pricking grass-blades, brave little pioneers and heralds of the
Spring. The budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays screamed
among the apple-trees; and robins chirped shrilly, as if rejoicing
over winter hardships safely passed. Vernal freshness was in the air
despite its chill, and lovely hints of summer time were everywhere.

These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as she walked down the
lane, and, coming to a gate, paused there to look about her. An
old-fashioned cottage stood in the midst of a garden just awakening
from its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over the low roof,
sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every window flowers' bright faces
smiled at the passer-by invitingly.

On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the other stood a
barn, with a sleek cow ruminating in the yard, and an inquiring
horse poking his head out of his stall to view the world. Many
comfortable gray hens were clucking and scratching about the
hay-strewn floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.

A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred its peace, and
the hopeful, healthful spirit of the season seemed to haunt the
spot. Snow-drops and crocuses were up in one secluded nook; a plump
maltese cat sat purring in the porch; and a dignified old dog came
marching down the walk to escort the stranger in. With a brightening
face Christie went up the path, and tapped at the quaint knocker,
hoping that the face she was about to see would be in keeping with
the pleasant place.

She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little Quaker ladies
opened to her, with such an air of peace and good-will that the
veriest ruffian, coming to molest or make afraid, would have found
it impossible to mar the tranquillity of that benign old face, or
disturb one fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her breast.

"I come from Mr. Power, and I have a note for Mrs. Sterling," began
Christie in her gentlest tone, as her last fear vanished at sight of
that mild maternal figure.

"I am she; come in, friend; I am glad to see thee," said the old
lady, smiling placidly, as she led the way into a room whose
principal furniture seemed to be books, flowers, and sunshine.

The look, the tone, the gentle "thee," went straight to Christie's
heart; and, while Mrs. Sterling put on her spectacles and slowly
read the note, she stroked the cat and said to herself: "Surely, I
have fallen among a set of angels. I thought Mrs. Wilkins a sort of
saint, Mr. Power was an improvement even upon that good soul, and