Ch. 11 - In the Strawberry Bed - Page 2

humdrum
duties of an obscure, laborious life, and the few unexciting
pleasures afforded by books, music, and much silent thought. She
sometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under this composed,
commonplace existence another life went on; for, now and then, in
the interest of conversation, or the involuntary yielding to a
confidential impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed an
unexpected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter memory that
would not be ignored.

Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses, and so brief, so
indistinct, were they that she half believed her own lively fancy
created them. She longed to know more; but "David's trouble" made
him sacred in her eyes from any prying curiosity, and always after
one of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so like his
unromantic self next day, that she laughed and said:

"I never shall outgrow my foolish way of trying to make people other
than they are. Gods are gone, heroes hard to find, and one should be
contented with good men, even if they do wear old clothes, lead
prosaic lives, and have no accomplishments but gardening, playing
the flute, and keeping their temper."

She felt the influences of that friendly place at once; but for a
time she wondered at the natural way in which kind things were done,
the protective care extended over her, and the confiding air with
which these people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded no
explanations, seemed unconscious of conferring favors, and took her
into their life so readily that she marvelled, even while she
rejoiced, at the good fortune which led her there.

She understood this better when she discovered, what Mr. Power had
not mentioned, that the little cottage was a sort of refuge for many
women like herself; a half-way house where they could rest and
recover themselves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness that
come to such in the battle of life.

With a chivalry older and finer than any Spenser sung, Mr. Power
befriended these forlorn souls, and David was his faithful squire.
Whoever knocked at that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed;
comforted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened by the
sweet good-will that made charity no burden, and restored to the
more desperate and despairing their faith in human nature and God's
love.

There are many such green spots in this world of ours, which often
seems so bad that a second Deluge could hardly wash it clean again;
and these beneficent, unostentatious asylums are the salvation of
more troubled souls than many a great institution gilded all over
with the rich bequests of men who find themselves too heavily laden
to enter in at the narrow gate