Ch. 11 - In the Strawberry Bed

FROM that day a new life began for Christie, a happy, quiet, useful
life, utterly unlike any of the brilliant futures she had planned
for herself; yet indescribably pleasant to her now, for past
experience had taught her its worth, and made her ready to enjoy it.

Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never had such a crop
of hopeful thoughts and happy feelings sprung up in her heart as
now; and nowhere was there a brighter face, a blither voice, or more
willing hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.

This was what she needed, the protection of a home, wholesome cares
and duties; and, best of all, friends to live and labor for, loving
and beloved. Her whole soul was in her work now, and as health
returned, much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it, a
little sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever. No task was
too hard or humble; no day long enough to do all she longed to do;
and no sacrifice would have seemed too great for those whom she
regarded with steadily increasing love and gratitude.

Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture of
the birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune, and
gave her Nature's most healing balm. She kept the little house in
order, with Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor so
pleasantly, that mistress and maid soon felt like mother and
daughter, and Christie often said she did not care for any other
wages.

The house-work of this small family was soon done, and then Christie
went to tasks that she liked better. Much out-of-door life was good
for her, and in garden and green-house there was plenty of light
labor she could do. So she grubbed contentedly in the wholesome
earth, weeding and potting, learning to prune and bud, and finding
Mrs. Wilkins was quite right in her opinion of the sanitary virtues
of dirt.

Trips to town to see the good woman and carry country gifts to the
little folks; afternoon drives with Mrs. Sterling in the
old-fashioned chaise, drawn by the Roman-nosed horse, and Sunday
pilgrimages to church to be "righted up" by one of Mr. Power's
stirring sermons, were among her new pleasures. But, on the whole,
the evenings were her happiest times: for then David read aloud
while she worked; she sung to the old piano tuned for her use; or,
better still, as spring came on, they sat in the porch, and talked
as people only do talk when twilight, veiling the outer world, seems
to lift the curtains of that inner world where minds go exploring,
hearts learn to know one another, and souls walk together in the
cool of the day.

At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of another David
than the busy, cheerful man apparently contented with the