The Heart of Una Sackville | Page 2

when father was ill, and when I've been homesick. She's so good,
but not a bit goody, and she makes you long to be good too. She's just
the right person to have a girls' school, for she understands how girls
feel, and that it isn't natural for them to be solemn, unless of course
they are prigs, and they don't count.
I sat down beside her and we talked for an hour. I wish I could
remember all the things she said, and put them down here to be my
rules for life, but it's so difficult to remember.
She said my gaiety and lightness of heart had been a great help to them
all, and like sunshine in the school. Of course, it had led me into
scrapes at times, but they had been innocent and kindly, and so she had
not been hard upon me. But now I was grown up and going out into the
battle of life, and everything was different.
"You know, dear, the gifts which God gives us are our equipments for
that fight, and I feel sure your bright, happy disposition has been given
to you to help you in some special needs of life."
I didn't quite like her saying that! It made me feel creepy, as if horrid
things were going to happen, and I should need my spirit to help me
through. I want to be happy and have a good time. I never can
understand how people can bear troubles, and illnesses, and being poor,
and all those awful things. I should die at once if they happened to me.
She went on to say that I must make up my mind from the first not to
live for myself; that it was often a very trying time when a girl first left
school and found little or nothing to occupy her energies at home, but
that there were so many sad and lonely people in the world that no one
need ever feel any lack of a purpose in life, and she advised me not to
look at charity from a general standpoint, but to narrow it down till it
came within my own grasp.
"Don't think vaguely of the poor all over the world; think of one person

at your own gate, and brighten that life. I once heard a very good man
say that the only way he could reconcile himself to the seeming
injustice between the lots of the poor and the rich was by believing that
each of the latter was deputed by God to look after his poorer brother,
and was responsible for his welfare. Find someone whom you can take
to your heart as your poor sister in God's great family, and help her in
every way you can. It will keep you from growing selfish and worldly.
In your parents' position you will, of course, go a great deal into society
and be admired and made much of, as a bright, pretty girl. It is only
natural that you should enjoy the experience, but don't let it turn your
head. Try to keep your frank, unaffected manners, and be honest in
words and actions. Be especially careful not to be led away by greed of
power and admiration. It is the best thing that can happen to any
woman to win the love of a good, true man, but it is cruel to wreck his
happiness to gratify a foolish vanity. I hope that none of my girls may
be so forgetful of all that is true and womanly."
She looked awfully solemn. I wonder if she flirted when she was young,
and he was furious and went away and left her! We always wondered
why she didn't marry. There's a photograph of a man on her
writing-table, and Florence said she is sure that was him, for he is in
such a lovely frame, and she puts the best flowers beside him like a
shrine.
Florence is awfully clever at making up tales. She used to tell us them
in bed, (like that creature with the name in the Arabian Nights). We
used to say:
"Now then, Florence, go on--tell us Fraulein's love-story!" and she
would clear her throat, and cough, and say--"It was a glorious summer
afternoon in the little village of Eisenach, and the sunshine peering
down through the leaves turned to gold the tresses of young Elsa
Behrend as she sat knitting under the trees."
It was just like a book, and so true too, for Fraulein is always knitting!
The Romance de Mademoiselle was awfully exciting. There was a duel
in it, and one man was killed and the other had to run away, so she got
neither of them, and it was that that soured