Thankful Rest | Page 8

she
could see the meadow and the river, flung herself on the grass beneath
it. There she fell asleep, and Tom found her an hour after. His fine face
looked worried and discontented, and he flung himself beside her,
saying gloomily,--
"How on earth I am to live here, Lucy Hurst, I don't know."
"What is it, Tom?" inquired she, forgetting her own troubles in
sympathy for him.
"Oh, Uncle Josh, that's all. He hasn't any patience with me, and makes
me speak up impertinently to him. And the things they say about
mamma are perfectly shameful. I won't bear it now, I won't."
His sister's gentle hand touched his lips to stem the passionate words.
"You remember, Tom," she said softly, "what mamma said to us. We

were to endure all such little trials, remembering that it is God who
sends them. Think how grieved she would be if she could hear us
grumbling so soon."
"I don't care; I can't help it," said the boy recklessly. "It isn't anything
for you to be good, Lucy; you are just like mamma--a kind of saint, I
think. For me it is just a long battle all day. If a fellow conquered in the
end, it would not matter; but as it is--O Lucy, Lucy! why did mamma
die? It was so easy to be happy and good when we had her to love and
help us. I wish I were dead too."
Poor, proud, passionate Tom! His sister could only put her gentle arm
about his neck and cry too, her heart so sorely re-echoed the painful
longing in his voice.
So the first day at Thankful Rest did not promise very brightly for Tom
and Lucy Hurst.

V.
SUNDAY
Saturday was the busiest day in the week at Thankful Rest. There was
churning to be done, extra cooking for Sunday, mending and darning,
and the weekly polishing of every bit of brass, and copper, and tin in
the establishment. Lucy rubbed at them till her arms ached, without
bringing them to the required height of brightness, and was at last sent
off to pick the few remaining gooseberries for a tart. That was a piece
of work much more to her liking, and she lingered so long out in the
sunshine that Aunt Hepsy came at last, and scolded her long and shrilly;
which took all the enjoyment away. Tom received his lessons from
Uncle Josh outside; and, judging from his face when he came in at
dinner-time, he had not found them particularly agreeable. Tom Hurst
was a dainty youth, in fact, and shrank from soiling his fingers with the
tasks allotted to him: and seeing that grim Uncle Josh had not spared
him, the forenoon had been one long battle; for, try as he might, Tom
could not keep a bridle on his tongue.
"I guess I'll hev a pesky deal o' trouble with that young 'un, Hepsy," his
uncle said that night when the children had gone to bed. "He doesn't
take to farm work; an' he's that peart I durstn't speak to him. Queer
thing if we've got to keep the young upstart in idleness."
"Idleness!" quoth Miss Hepsy wrathfully. "I'd take a rope's end to him

if he didn't keep a civil tongue in his head. The gal's bad enough;
though she never speaks back she looks at me that proud-like wi' them
great eyes o' her'n, I feel as if I'd like to shake her. There'll never be a
day's peace now they've come."
"Tell ye what, though, Hepsy," said Josh. "I'm gwine to pay off Brahm,
an' make Tom do his work. He ain't that much younger, an' he looks
strong enough! Couldn't you do without Keziah, and that would square
expenses?"
"I'll see how the child turns out in a week or so. She's a pinin'
thing--doesn't eat enough to keep a mouse alive."
"It's a thankless thing, any way ye like to take it, Hepsy, hevin' other
folks' youngsters round. I don't see why we should be bothered with
'em;" with which remark Josh went to bed.
Lucy awoke next morning, remembering it was Sunday, with a feeling
of gladness that they might perhaps chance to see their friend Mr.
Goldthwaite at church. The Strongs were regular as clock-work in their
half-day attendance at the meeting-house. The morn'ng was devoted to
feeding cattle, pigs, and poultry, and tidying up the house; and after
dinner the premises were left in charge of Brahm and Keziah, and the
master and mistress turned their footsteps towards Pendlepoint. The
meeting-house was almost close to the parsonage, and was a pretty,
primitive structure, with no attempt at display or decoration, and yet so
pleasant and homelike inside that Lucy felt a sense of rest as her