CHAPTER II. A WET DAY, AND "WHAT THE RAINDROPS DID."

THE morning brought disappointment with it: it rained, so there was no chance of going into the fields for that day at least. The children stood at the window watching the falling drops, and regretting the change in the weather.

At last Bernard said: "It is of no use watching, Marian, for even if the rain were to cease, the ground would be too wet for walking; so I shall read."

Assisted by his uncle, Bernard hunted out a large book on botany, of which the boy was very fond, and went off with it into the green-house; then Uncle Paul undertook to provide Kate with amusement, and the two were soon deep in pictures of gay-coloured birds and insects.

Uncle Paul asked Marian if she would like a book also, but she said: "No, thank you, uncle;" and continued to watch, in an Idle listless way, the falling raindrops, and to listen to their pattering upon the leaves and windowpanes.

Marian was one of those people who, if disappointed in a little matter, take a long time to forget it and make up their minds to do some thing else. The very fact of not being able to obtain her wish, made her only wish the more.

Uncle Paul did not interfere with his elder niece, but amused himself with Kate and her picture-books, to the intense delight of the child, who was in perfect raptures at the tales he told her about real birds and beasts which he had seen in far-away lands. He glanced now and then at Marian, and after a while closed the book, saying:

"Now, Kate, you shall have another story about—"

"WHAT THE RAINDROPS DID."

"Very early one morning, all the raindrops in a big cloud held a consultation to consider what answer should be returned to a petition they had just received. This petition was from the flowers, who begged that the raindrops would favour them with their company as soon as possible, for if they delayed visiting them much longer, they—the petitioners—would soon disappear from the face of the garden altogether.

"One of the raindrops was for refusing the invitation. 'No doubt,' it said, 'the flowers will be much the better for our visit, but "we" shall not; beside, the sun will have to fetch us back again by degrees, and we trouble him so often. I should prefer remaining where I am.'

"'But the flowers will die!' said a considerate little raindrop, just ready to flutter off by itself on an errand of mercy.

"'That would not affect us!' said the first speaker, who thought only of its own convenience, and did not care a straw for the flowers.

"'But think again, how grateful the flowers are! They distil their sweetest scents as a token of welcome, and put on their gayest dresses in our honour. Beside, think that it will do them good, and it is always a true pleasure to confer a benefit on grateful people.'

"Here a third raindrop began to speak. '"I" am doubtful whether, after all, we shall not do more harm than good. There is the hay, which does not want us, to say nothing of the haymakers and the children who are longing to be in the fields. If we once start, we cannot stop ourselves, but must fall on more than the flowers, or I should be quite willing to visit "them."'

"'Oh, the sun will put the hay to rights again!' said the cheerful little raindrop. And away it went, and dropped plump on the very nose of a poor widow woman, who was just off to the hayfield, instead of falling, as it intended to do, on the rose-bush under the cottage window.

"'O dear, dear, what a pity!' said the poor woman. 'I do believe it is going to rain. If it should begin, what will the children do? We have bread for the week—thanks to him who does not forget the fatherless and the widow; but I thought to get clothes with my earnings, for without new ones, the poor things will soon be naked. Oh, if the rain had but come two or three days later, I should have earned the stuff to make these clothes of! Then a wet day would not have troubled me, for I could have sewed at home, instead of losing my time, as I shall to-day.'

"'I wish I had not come,' thought the raindrop; 'for here, instead of doing good, I am likely to do harm. However, I did it for the best, and perhaps none of my companions will follow me.'

"They did though, patter, patter, one after another, as hard as they could pelt; and after giving the poor widow woman a hint that they wished to visit the plants, and not herself, she was fain to go back into her cottage and shut the door. No chance for haymakers that day.

"It is all very well to watch the raindrops when people might do something else, if they liked; but it is not quite so pleasant when they are wishing to work, but cannot, for want of materials. However, the poor widow was one who tried to make the best of things, and she considered that there would be plenty of work after the rain was over, for everybody would be anxious about the hay. And even while she sat mending her children's poor bits of ragged clothing as well as she could, she was unselfish enough to think of those other children who would be disappointed of their ramble amongst the new-mown hay, though, to be sure, it had inconvenienced her far more than it had them.

"The raindrop that had first objected to coming down to the ground held out as long as it could; but as the others rushed that way, it was borne onwards with them, and fell just under a window, where a young girl was standing, regretting that she was kept a prisoner by the rain. She was not quite like the poor widow; for instead of making the best of things, and employing herself in some pleasant occupation, she continued to yearn after what was out of her reach. The raindrop noticed this, and said: 'You see I was right after all; we should have stayed where we were, and then the children might have had a merry day in the hayfield.'"

When Uncle Paul had reached this part of his story, he looked at Marian, and observed that she was no longer watching the raindrops, but listening to his words. He made a slight pause, and the young girl, with a blushing face, left her place by the window, saying: "Uncle Paul, you are telling that story about me!"

"That you are!" cried Kate. "'I' knew that ever so long since."

"Why, I never mentioned a single name," said Uncle Paul, pretending to look indignant, and, completely failing in the attempt. "I have no doubt there are plenty of little girls watching the rain beside Marian. Come, let me finish my story."

"May I finish it for you, uncle?" said Marian smiling.

"To think of that, now!" replied he. "Do you hear this chit, mamma? Actually going to take my business out of my hands the very day after her arrival at Hay-Lodge!"

"Dear uncle," said Marian, "I beg your pardon; I did not mean to take the words out of your mouth: only I thought—"

But Uncle Paul laughed; and she saw he was not really offended, though he did pull her ear, and declare that he would not finish the story on any account, and therefore she must.

"Well," said Marian, "I should tell that by the time the unwilling raindrop had expressed his regret for having come down at all, the girl had found out that it was selfish in her to think only of her own pleasure and convenience; and she made up her mind that, instead of wasting the rest of her morning in useless longings after what she could not obtain, she would spend it in a more profitable manner."

Marian paused, and Kate said: "Was that anything like the ending you would have made, Uncle Paul?"

"Do you suppose I shall tell how I should have concluded the tale, pussy? But after all," he added, with an approving glance at Marian, "I like the way your sister has finished it, and hope the 'girl' will adhere to her resolution, for Time, my little woman, is a talent too precious to be wasted on useless repinings and vain regrets."

"I should be glad if you will answer me a question, uncle," said Marian. "Is the poor widow a real person?"

"I never said my story was true, my dear," replied her uncle; "but I certainly 'do' know a poor widow who has two very ragged children; and I fancy if we had gone into my hayfield to-day, we should have seen the whole family there."

After this, the young girl held a whispered conversation with her mother, and later in the day, she might have been seen stitching very rapidly at a small garment, which, from the homely materials of which it was composed, could scarcely be intended for dainty little Kate.

Uncle Paul asked no questions, though his niece continued her work until bedtime, and would not be persuaded to take a run round the garden after the rain was over. The next morning, Marian's busy needle went as rapidly as before, and she could hardly be induced to take time for her meals. Even the hayfield seemed to have almost lost its attraction for that day, though, when the children came back after a visit to it, Marian resumed her work, and Uncle Paul was taken into her confidence, and told what it was for.

The little garment at which the girl was sewing was destined for one of the widow's children; and Marian declared she should not rest until she had made, with her own hands, a complete suit of under-clothing for each of them. Uncle Paul thought this was a very good idea; but both he and Mrs. Ingram advised Marian to be moderate even in her work, yet careful to finish what she had begun.

Marian looked quite confident in her own powers, and soon had the pleasure of taking two little articles of clothing to the poor widow, and of receiving her grateful thanks, which the young girl found quite as delightful as the perfume that the flowers gave in gratitude for the visit of the raindrops.

In the first flush of her pleasure, she told the widow what more she intended to do, and of the pile of small garments which lay ready cut out at home. The widow's eyes filled with tears of gratitude; again and again she thanked Marian; and the girl returned to Hay-Lodge, very happy in the thought that she had made another so by means of a little industry and self-denial.

But there are a great many stitches in two complete suits of under-clothing, even though the garments be of small size, and more than a "little" self-denial would be requisite in order to finish them. In the first warmth of a good resolution, Marian worked very hard indeed—almost too hard, thought both her mother and Uncle Paul, though neither of them interfered with her movements. So when Marian had presented the two first finished articles to Widow Jones, she decided on taking a rest before she commenced any more; and it happened that she spent an hour or two amongst the plants with Bernard, and a similar time with Kate and the chickens. Then Uncle Paul took Mrs. Ingram and the children to see a lovely little waterfall in the neighbourhood; so that, what with one thing and another, the whole day slipped away without a single stitch being taken by Marian.

The following morning was as fine as possible, and Marian said: "I don't think I shall sew to-day, mamma, for all the birds and flowers are inviting me out of doors. And how deliciously the hay smells! The scent comes in at the window like a nosegay."

"Your uncle has arranged for a picnic to Hareby Wood to-morrow, Marian," replied Mrs. Ingram, "and the day is therefore already condemned. Would it not be better for you to work for an hour or two this morning? Remember you have promised, of your own accord, to help in clothing those fatherless children."

"And surely, mother, you do not think I shall break my promise?" said Marian, looking rather hurt at the idea.

"I am sure you do not intend to break it, Marian."

"And you will see it fulfilled, mother, if I live; but you know we all came to Hay-Lode for a holiday, and I cannot always be at work."

"Well, my dear, you shall do as you please. You undertook this labour of your own or I should not have advised you to promise so much, because I well knew how many things would combine to tempt you to lay it aside."

Marian turned away, feeling scarcely satisfied with herself; and thinking that perhaps it would be better to devote an hour or two to work, in fulfilment of her promise. But Kate came at the moment to coax Marian into the fields; and Marian persuaded herself that it would be unkind to refuse her little sister.

To be sure, if she could have read her own thoughts clearly, she would have found, as Uncle Paul would say, that they were "speaking one word for Kate, and two for herself." No wonder that, with such a pleader as Inclination to second her words, Kate trudged off triumphantly, with Marian by her side, to join Bernard and Uncle Paul in a fishing-excursion.

No wonder, either, that it was late in the evening when they returned, for, unknown to the children, that provident uncle had contrived that they should find an ample lunch in the basket which he carried. And, lo! at tea-time, they arrived at a pretty cottage on the bank, and found there not only a very superior meal, but mamma herself, ready to make tea for them. So they were quite tired when they reached Hay-Lodge, and went off to bed to get a long sleep before to-morrow's picnic.