Working in the Shade | Page 9

can readily understand that
they might be unwilling to work in the shade, where there would be
nothing to repay them except the smile of Him who will not let even
the cup of cold water rightly given go unrewarded. What do you say to
Lady Willerly's daughter? I have heard great things of her. They tell me
she is one of the most unselfish creatures under the sun."
"Ay," said the old lady dryly, "when the sun shines on her; but you
want workers in the shade. Grace Willerly will not do for that."
"You think not? Well, let me tell you what I have heard of her. Those
who know her well say that she never seems so happy as when she is
doing good and making others happy. Her mother calls her `my
sunbeam.' She seems to take a pleasure in thwarting herself in order to
gratify others. If she wants to go out for a walk, and some tiresome
visitor comes in, she will laugh, and say, `I was just wanting some one
to come and keep me in, for I dare say I should have caught cold if I
had gone out just now.' Or it may be quite the other way. She is just
sitting down to draw or play, and some one calls and asks her to take a
walk, and she at once leaves her occupation, jumps up, and says, `Ah,
how nice this is! I ought to take exercise, but felt disinclined; and
you've come at the very right time, to entice me out.' In fact, her
greatest pleasure seems to be to cross her own will and inclinations,
that she may do what will give pleasure to others. Such is the picture
that intimate friends have drawn of her; and certainly it is a very
charming one. What say you to it, Miss Mary?"
"It is very beautiful, Colonel Dawson--" and she hesitated.
"Ah, then, too highly coloured, I suppose you would say. Give me your
candid opinion."

"It is very difficult to say what I feel," replied Mary Stansfield,
"without seeming to lay myself open to the charge of censoriousness or
captiousness; and yet I cannot help seeing a shade of unreality, and
even insincerity, on that bright and beautiful character,--that it wants, in
fact, one essential element of genuine unselfishness."
"Of course it does," broke in the elder lady; "you mean that it is not free
from self-consciousness and, more or less, of parade."
"I fear so, dear aunt. I cannot help thinking that, as some one has said
of faith, so it may be said of true unselfishness, that `it is colourless like
water,'--it makes no show nor assertion of itself. But dear Grace
Willerly is a sterling character for all that."
"So then," said the colonel, after a pause, "I must give up in despair,
must I? No, that will never do. Now, I am wanting a quiet worker in the
shade for poor Bridgepath,--some young lady friend who has a little
leisure time, and will go now and then and read in the cottages there the
Word of God, and give some loving counsel to those who need it so
much. I have the good vicar's full consent and approbation; he will
gladly welcome any such helper as I may find for the post. It will be a
true labour of love; and, without any more words I am come to ask
Miss Stansfield if she will spare her niece for the good work, and Miss
Mary if she will be willing to undertake it."
The reply of the two ladies, who were equally taken by surprise, was in
each case made in a single word, and that word very characteristic.
"Impossible!" cried the old lady. "Me!" exclaimed the younger one.
"Nay, not impossible, dear friend," said the colonel gently. "I want this
service of love only once a week for an hour or two, and I am sure you
can spare my young friend for that time.--And as for yourself, Miss
Mary, I believe, from what I have seen of you, that you are just fitted
for the work; and I am sure that you are too sincere to excuse yourself
on the ground of an unfitness which you do not really feel."
"And what am I to do?" asked the old lady bitterly.

"Exercise a little of this true unselfishness, dear friend. You see there
are many ways in which you too can show true unselfishness in the
cause of that Master whom I know you truly love, though he has laid
you aside from much active work for him."
Miss Stansfield did not answer for a time; she looked pained, but the
bitterness had passed away from her countenance. Evading an
immediate reply, she