CHAPTER VIII.

SPINDLEWOOD.

It seemed a little like old times to Grace, to be once more going with Rose and John over the pretty romantic road to Spindlewood.

John did not reflect upon how little she now saw of him, and how much of a trial the separation was; but he noticed how bright and almost gay she was, when they were by themselves once more.  He was gay too.

In the congenial atmosphere of sympathy, his confidence in himself, and his own right in the little controversy that had occurred, returned.  Not that he said a word of it; he did not do so, and would not have done so for the world.  Grace and Rose were full of anecdotes of this, that, and the other of their scholars; and all the particulars of some of their new movements were discussed.  The people had, of their own accord, raised a subscription for a library, which was to be presented to John that day, with a request that he would select the books.

“Gracie, that must be your work,” said John; “you know I shall have an important case next week.”

“Oh, yes!  Rose and I will settle it,” said Grace.  “Rose, we’ll get the catalogues from all the book-stores, and mark the things.”

“We’ll want books for the children just beginning to read; and then books for the young men in John’s Bible-class, and all the way between,” said Rose.  “It will be quite a work to select.”

“And then to bargain with the book-stores, and make the money go ’far as possible,’” said Grace.

“And then there’ll be the covering of the books,” said Rose.  “I’ll tell you.  I think I’ll manage to have a lawn tea at our house; and the girls shall all come early, and get the books covered,—­that’ll be charming.”

“I think Lillie would like that,” put in John.

“I should be so glad!” said Rose.  “What a lovely little thing she is!  I hope she’ll like it.  I wanted to get up something pretty for her.  I think, at this time of the year, lawn teas are a little variety.”

“Oh, she’ll like it of course!” said John, with some sinking of heart about the Sunday-school books.

There were so many pressing to shake hands with John, and congratulate him, so many histories to tell, so many cases presented for consultation, that it was quite late before they got away; and tea had been waiting for them more than an hour when they returned.

Lillie looked pensive, and had that indescribable air of patient martyrdom which some women know how to make so very effective.  Lillie had good general knowledge of the science of martyrdom,—­a little spice and flavor of it had been gently infused at times into her demeanor ever since she had been at Springdale.  She could do the uncomplaining sufferer with the happiest effect.  She contrived to insinuate at times how she didn’t complain,—­how dull and slow she found her life, and yet how she endeavored to be cheerful.