More than Kin. 21
An hour later Lady Lucille came back and read some
chajitcrs from St. John's (iospel, but not before she had
gently sounded the wanderer's religious knowlcilge. She
found her wofully ignorant, her only ideas of Gospel truth
consisting of vague and patchy recollections of the New
Testament as it had been expounded to her by a series of
unsympathetic district visitors, so various in their views as
to be eminently confusing in their teaching, (jently and
briefly Lucille tried to bring before the girl's mind the grand
and gracious image of a Redeemer, before she read those
chapters in which Christ reveals Himself and the fair hope
of a blessed immortality to His disciples.
Bess listened intently, understanding not very mucli
perhaps—the light as yet was but a faint glimmer—but
deejily interested, soothed by the sweet voice of the reader,
dazzled by that idea of a spiritual world which had never
before been adequately presented to her imagination. She
fell asleep with faint echoes of the Saviour's words floating
in her half-awakened mind.
Lucille went to see her protegee early next morning. Bess
was refreshed and strengthened by nourishing food and rest,
and was eager to get up.
' If there was anything I could do for you, lady—' she
' Call me Lady Lucille; that is my name.'
' Lady Lucille—that's a pretty name !—if there was
anything I could do—but. Lord ha' mercy upon me! I'm
such a hignorant creature, except to tramp about with a
basket of flowers in spring and summer time, and to sell
bootlaces or fusees in winter, I ain't good for nothink !'
' We will soon make you good for ever so many things. I
am sure you are not stupid.'
' Well, no. Lady Lu—Lucille, folks mostly says I'm sharp.
I could turn my hand to pretty nigh anything, if I had the
chance. I've sung ballads in front o' the publics sometimes
of a Saturday night: " She wore a Wreath o' Roses," and
" We met," and " The Last Rose o' Summer," and such¬
' My maid shall teach you plain needlework. Are you
clever with your needle ? '
' Lord no. Lady Lucille! I never could lay hold on a
needle proper. It alius slips through my fingers.'
' You will very soon learn. Every woman ought to be
clever at needlework. The taste is born with us, I think.