"Oh, I think we shall not need any _books_, for all the Botany I shall teach you, Jessie; and if we do, we will take the leaves of the flowers for the leaves of the books, and the flowers themselves for the pictures. Do you not think we can make beautiful books that way? Jessie, can you read?"

"_I_ can!" said Rosa, while Jessie hung her curly head.

"And can you _write_, Rosa?"

"No. I can make straight marks," answered Rosa.

"And what can you do, Master Frank?"

"Oh, Frank doesn't know anything?" said Jessie. "He did know his ABC's once, but he's forgot them all."

"Take care, Miss Jessie, that he does not read before you," said Agnes.

"Your papa says we are to take the west wing for our school-room; you must show me where it is, and after a day or to get in order, and to make each other's acquaintance, we will begin school in earnest."

The next morning Agnes took the toilettes of her two little room-mates under her care, and when they appeared at the breakfast-table, the rest of the family hardly knew them, they looked so tidy and sweet. And poor Tiney, who gazed with astonishment at her two little sisters, made her appearance at Agnes' door soon after breakfast, to ask "if she wouldn't make _her_ look nice too."

Agnes found so little to sympathise with, and took so little pleasure in the society of the ladies of the Fairland family, that she longed for her school to begin, that she might have useful occupation for her thoughts and time. On the appointed morning therefore, she was well pleased to meet her little pupils in the pleasant little room in the "west wing," and to begin in earnest her labors as a teacher. Such a pile of soiled, well-thumbed, and dogs-eared books, as the children produced, Agnes had never seen together, and on opening them she found that the young Fairland's had been exercising their taste for the fine arts, by daubing all the pictures from a six-penny paint-box.

"Now, my dear children," said she, "the first thing we shall do every morning, will be to read in the Bible; but I do not see any Bible or Testament among your books; I suppose you each own one, do you not?"

If Agnes had been a little longer in the family of Mr. Fairland, perhaps she would not have asked this question; for she soon found that she had come into a family of as complete heathens, as she would have found if she had gone to be governess among the Hindoos. There was a "family Bible" in the house to be sure, but the only use to which it had ever been applied, was that of registering the births of the family, and the testimony it bore proved so exceedingly disagreeable to the Misses Fairland, that as Rosa has informed us, they took the liberty one day of erasing it.

Agnes told the children to ask their papa if they might each have a Bible of their own, to which he consented, and when the Bibles were brought home, the exclamations of derision from the Misses Fairland, were loud and long.

"A missionary in disguise!" they exclaimed; "a saint in the form of a governess; come to convert us all, and the first thing is an importation of Bibles!" and many were the sneering and sarcastic remarks and allusions which came to the ears of Agnes, but she kept on her way quiet and undisturbed. Agnes was perfectly astonished to find how utterly unacquainted these children were with the contents of the Bible. It was all new to them; and after she had read to them every morning, she would gather them around her, and tell them in simple language the sweet stories from the Bible, while they listened, the younger ones with their bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon her face, as if they could not lose a word; and even poor Tiney loved to lay her head in Agnes' lap, and hear of Him who ever sympathised with the sick and suffering.

It was very strange, and very interesting to Agnes, to hear the remarks these children made, and the many questions they would ask on subjects so new to them; and as they had not yet learned to look at the character of G.o.d, as revealed in his Son, with the reverence which better instructed children feel, they often spoke of Him as they would of any good man of whom they might hear, and in a way which would seem too irreverential, were I to tell you all they said.

Once when Agnes had been telling them of some of the miracles of our Saviour, in curing the sick, and giving sight to the blind, and hearing to the deaf, Rosa with her bright black eyes fixed intently on her face, said with the utmost earnestness:

"Why, He was real _good_, wasn't He?"

"Yes," said Agnes, "always good and kind, and always ready to help the sick and suffering."

"He could cure _anybody_, couldn't He?" continued Rosa.

"Yes; He was _all-powerful_," answered Agnes.

"Could He cure Tiney?" asked Jessie.

"Yes; if Tiney had lived when Christ was on earth, or if He was here now, He could say the word, and make her well."

And then they asked, "Where is He now?" and "How can we talk to Him now?" and "Why will He not cure Tiney now?" And Agnes tried, in the most simple manner, to teach them the nature of the prayer of faith.

Once, when she was talking to them of our Saviour's meekness under injuries, and telling them of His bitter sufferings, and the kindness of His feelings towards His persecutors, the large tears rolled down their cheeks, and Rosa made a practical application of the lesson at once, by saying:

"The next time Tiney pinches me, cousin Agnes, I don't mean to slap her back again."

"Nor I either," said Jessie.

And Tiney whispered, "I will _try_ and not hurt them next time."

Frank, who had been choking down something in his throat, as he sat in his chair, said, in an unsteady voice:

"_Is it all _true_?"

"Every word of it, Franky," said Agnes.

"I've got something in my eye," said Frank, rubbing both eyes very hard with the back of his hands; and then throwing himself on the settee, he cried bitterly for a long time.

Agnes taught them many pretty hymns; and as they all had good voices, and loved music dearly, they were never so happy as in singing, morning and evening, these sweet hymns with Agnes. Even poor Tiney, who was pa.s.sionately fond of music, readily caught the tunes, though it was almost impossible to teach her the words.

The very first Sunday that Agnes pa.s.sed under the roof of Mr. Fairland, was enough to convince her that the Sabbath day with them was pa.s.sed much like all other days. She was shocked to see novels, and other light and trashy works, in the Lands of the Misses Fairland on this holy day, and to hear them _howling_ s.n.a.t.c.hes of opera tunes, as they ran up and down the stairs. These young ladies sometimes went to church in the morning, to be sure, especially if they had lately received new bonnets from the city, which they wished to display for the envy or admiration of their neighbors. Mrs. Fairland was too indolent to take the trouble, even if she possessed the inclination, to appear at church; and Mr.

Fairland looked upon this seventh day of the week literally as a day of rest, in which to recruit the exhausted energies of the body, in preparation for the labors of another week. The day was pa.s.sed by him in looking over the newspapers, or sleeping in his large chair, with his red silk handkerchief over his head; and towards evening, he usually took a stroll over to his mills, or around his grounds, to mark out what was necessary to be done on the coming week.

Agnes felt the importance of exerting in this unG.o.dly family a strictly religious influence; but, except with her own little pupils, she did not attempt, at first, to do so in any other way than by her own quiet, consistent example. Mr. Fairland was much surprised when Agnes requested permission to take the children to church with her he readily granted it, however, as he invariably did the wishes of Agnes; and from that time, Mr. Fairland's pew had at least four or five occupants, on the morning and evening of the Sabbath day. Though not required by her engagement to do so, Agnes kept the children with her on Sunday, reading to them, singing with them, or telling them beautiful Bible stories; and those pleasant Sabbaths spent with her they never forgot, nor did they ever lay aside the habits they acquired under her care.

"What a pleasant day Sunday is!" exclaimed little Rosa; "I never knew it was such a pleasant day before."

"It's cousin Agnes makes it so pleasant," said blue-eyed Jessie.

"It is because you spend it as G.o.d directs, that it is a pleasant day to you, dear children," said Agnes; "and I wish you to remember that it will always be a happy day, if you spend it in His service, 'from the beginning unto the end thereof.'"

Even if I were sufficiently acquainted with them to detail all the plans of Agnes for the education and improvement in manners and habits of her rude and ignorant little pupils, I should not do so here. They required peculiar training and an unfailing stock of patience, and it was long before any very perceptible change was wrought in their almost confirmed habits of carelessness, or any improvement in their rude and unformed manners; but at length a material change was apparent, and even the Misses Fairland could not keep their eyes closed to the visible improvement of the children. They were all much more gentle and quiet; and even poor Tiney softened much, under Agnes' gentle influence, and the light of intelligence began to beam in her heretofore dull eye. For the first time in her life, she was gaining useful ideas; and the consciousness that she was learning something as well as her sisters, seemed to make her happier and more kindly in her feelings.

It was not long before the door would open gently, as the sound of their evening hymn was heard, and Mr. Fairland, who was extravagantly fond of sweet and simple music, would steal into the room, and seat himself in the corner. And when he heard the voices of his children singing the praises of G.o.d, and saw his poor Tiney, hitherto so neglected, joining with eager interest in the singing, the tears would glisten in his eye, and roll unbidden down his cheek. Then he began to find his way to the school-room on Sunday evenings, and Agnes always took the opportunity on such occasions, to question the children on the elements of religious truth, that their young voices might be the means of instructing their father, who was more ignorant even than they, on these all-important subjects. At these times he never said one word, but when he left the room, it was often wiping the tears first, from one cheek and then from the other, and the heavy tread of his feet could be heard far into the night, as he walked the whole length of the two large parlors, with his hands behind him, and his head bent down. Before Agnes had been six months in the family, the good people sitting in the church at Wilston, one Sunday, opened their eyes with astonishment, to see Mr. Fairland walk into church and take his seat in a pew; and still more were they amazed, to see him do the same thing in the afternoon. It was a surprise to Agnes too; for though she had not failed to notice an unusual solemnity about Mr. Fairland, yet no word on the subject of his duty in this matter had ever pa.s.sed between them.

Thus in the strict and conscientious performance of her daily duties, pa.s.sed the summer with Agnes, with one delightful break, of a fortnight's vacation, spent with the dear loving friends at Brook Farm, where she saw much of her dear brother Lewie, who rode over every evening and pa.s.sed the night, returning to his college duties early in the morning. The quick eye of a sister's love soon detected that all was not right with Lewie. He was as affectionate as ever, and if possible handsomer; but the faults of his childhood had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength; his temper seemed more hasty and impetuous than ever, and there was a dashing recklessness about him which gave his sister many a heart-ache; and she had painful, though undefined fears for the future, for her rash and hot-headed brother.

Her kind friends at Brook Farm, who fancied from some things they drew from Agnes, that her home at the Fairlands' was not in all respects a happy one, urged her most earnestly not to return there, but without success. Agnes was convinced that there the path of duty lay, at least for the present, and nothing could make her swerve from it.

"Remember then, my sweet niece," said her uncle, as he kissed her at parting, "this is your home, whenever, for any reason, you will make us so happy as to return to it."

The winter pa.s.sed by very quietly to Agnes, in her accustomed round of duties; indeed she was happier than she had yet found herself under Mr.

Fairland's roof, in consequence of the absence of the two young ladies, who having by some means or other succeeded in securing an invitation out of some acquaintances in the city, to make them a short visit, inflicted themselves upon them for the whole winter, and did not return to Wilston till the spring was far advanced. Their hosts, in order to rid themselves of such persevering and long-abiding guests, began to make their preparations long before the usual time for closing their house and going to the country, and the Misses Fairland, invulnerable as they proved all winter to anything like a _hint_, were obliged to take this intended removal of their friends as a "notice to quit," which they accordingly did.

One bright spot to Agnes this winter, was a visit of a week from Lewie, who took his vacation at the time of the holidays to run up and see his sister.

He had his guitar with him, and his voice, which had gained much in depth and richness, was indescribably sweet. It seemed as if Mr.

Fairland never would tire of hearing the brother and sister sing together. His mills and everything else were forgotten, while he sat silently in his great chair with his eyes closed, listening hour after hour to the blended harmony of their charming voices.

That happy week was soon over, and the brother and sister parted. The next time Agnes heard the sound of her brother's guitar, under what different circ.u.mstances did its tones strike upon her ear!

XV.