1. Good-Bye, Grannie
"Oh, Grannie, how sweet it all is here! How can I ever go!" cries Betty.
Betty's bag stands by the gate. Betty herself roams restlessly about the little garden, while Betty's Grannie shades her gentle old eyes from the morning sunshine, and peers down the road.
Betty's bag is stout and bulgy; stuffed full of Grannie's home-made goodies, including a big plum-cake, and pots of delicious jam.
Betty herself is not stout at all; indeed, she is rather thin. She came to Grannie's country home, five weeks ago, to grow strong again after a bad illness; but though the moorland breezes have brought colour back to her cheeks, and strength to her long limbs, they have given no plumpness to either.
Betty's Grannie--well, she is Grannie, a true Army Grannie, with a heart large enough to take in everybody's troubles, and a spirit wise enough to find a cure for most of them.
"The carrier's cart is a little later than usual," remarks Grannie, still peering down the road; "but don't worry, you've plenty of time to do the ten miles to the station; and Bob the carrier will see you safe into the express. Of course, your father will meet you when the train arrives, so you've nothing to trouble about, dear."
"Nothing to trouble about!" Betty turns round quickly. "Oh, Grannie, it's leaving you that troubles me so dreadfully--how can I go--how can I, when I'm only just beginning to understand?"
During these five weeks Betty has grown to love her dear good Grannie as she never loved anyone before, for, week by week, day by day, Grannie has been bringing her nearer and nearer to God.
"Last night, dear child, you gave your heart into the Lord's keeping," says Grannie softly, laying a loving hand on the girl's shoulder, "and He is with those who trust Him always, wherever they may go."
"Yes, I know, Grannie; and while I'm with you it seems so easy to do right--and though you are so wise and good, you never get cross with me when I make mistakes, or answer too sharply--but, Oh, it is so different--so very different at home! Whatever shall I do without you?"
And Betty flings her arms round the old woman's neck, and clings to her as though she would never let her go.
"Your home is God's gift to you, Betty," says Grannie, gravely.
"My home? Grannie, it's horrid at home sometimes! The rooms are so stuffy, and dark, and untidy, and I hate untidy rooms! The children are always quarrelling, and they shout and stamp until my head aches and aches, and mother never seems to care. If only it were pretty and clean and fresh like this place--if only mother were like you!"
But Grannie's face grows graver still.
"Hush, hush, Betty! Indeed, you must not allow yourself to run on in this way. Remember, you have given yourself to God now, and you must do the work He puts into your hands bravely and well.
"Of course, it is easier to be cheerful and good when there is nothing to try us. Of course, it is easier to carry a light burden than a heavy one. Your father is poor, and there are many little ones. Your mother has struggled through long years of weary work and anxiety. It is your part to be their help and comfort, Betty."
"I will try, indeed, I will; and I'll try to remember all you've told me, all the dear beautiful talks we've had together, and--and last night, Gran."
"That's my own darling!"
"Yes, I'm really going to be good now, and patient, and unselfish, and I'll help mother, and teach the children, and make our home as sweet as your home is. But, Oh, dear Grannie, if you could only see our home--it makes me so cross, for nobody even tries to help, and they are all so careless, and snap one up so."
Betty stops short, there is a queer little twinkle in Grannie's eye that is almost like a question.
"Oh, yes, I know. I am snappy sometimes; but they are all so unjust. When I try to put things straight a bit, Bob is sure to say I've lost some of his books; and, Grannie, it isn't 'interfering' is it to tell people of a thing when you know it's wrong?"
"It may be 'interfering' even to put things straight, dear, unless you are very careful to let love do the seeing, and speaking, and doing.
"Courage, Betty! You were very weak and listless when you came five weeks ago; and your heart was heavy and sad. Now you are my own strong Betty again. And the Lord has come to dwell in your heart and take its sadness away.
"Let Him reign in your heart, Betty; give Him the whole of it. In His strength you will learn to check the 'snappy' words when they rise to your lips; to conquer the discontented thoughts and careless habits. You will learn to be happy and bright, and to make all those around you happy too."
But Betty thinks, "Clearly Grannie doesn't know how horrid things are at home sometimes; if mother would only let me manage altogether it wouldn't be half so difficult."
"The carrier's cart, my child!"
Betty lifts her head from Grannie's shoulder and hastily wipes her eyes.
The cart stops; the bulgy bag, the paper parcel, and big bunch of sweet-smelling, old-fashioned flowers are lifted in. Betty turns to Grannie for the final kiss.
"Remember, dear, the little crosses of daily life, borne bravely and cheerfully for Jesus' sake, will make you a true Soldier, and win a crown of glory by and by," whispers Grannie, as she presses her grandchild in her kind arms.
Betty nods, and then turns her head away very quickly; she dare not trust herself to speak.
The cart moves away. Yes, now, indeed, her holiday is over!
The blue sky, the golden gorse, the fresh, sweet air of the moors, they are still around her, but they belong to her no more.
Through a mist of tears she looks back at the little cottage where she has been so happy; Grannie still stands by the gate--round that turn in the road beyond is the village, and the little Salvation Army Hall, where Grannie goes every Sunday.
It was at the close of the Meeting last night that she gave her heart to God. Then afterwards, in her dear little bedroom, with her head buried in Grannie's lap, she felt so strong, so sure--and now?
"Oh, dear; Oh, dear," she sobs, "it is all so different at home!"