Just in Time.

BY

CATHARINE SHAW

AUTHOR OF

"DICKIE'S ATTIC," "DICKIE'S SECRET," "ALICK'S HERO," ETC. ETC.

NEW EDITION

JOHN F. SHAW AND CO., LTD.

Publishers 3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE MILL

CHAPTER II.

LAURA'S SECRET

CHAPTER III.

A NEW FRIEND

CHAPTER IV.

POLLIE KEEPS HER PROMISE

CHAPTER V.

THE PICNIC

CHAPTER VI.

APOLLYON MEETS POLLIE

CHAPTER VII.

POLLIE'S BATTLE-FIELD

CHAPTER VIII.

HARD THINGS

CHAPTER IX.

SUBMISSION

CHAPTER X.

TELLING FATHER

CHAPTER XI.

HOPE

CHAPTER XII.

OFF TO LONDON

CHAPTER XIII.

POLLIE RECOGNISES A FRIEND

CHAPTER XIV.

"I NEVER THOUGHT OF IT!"

CHAPTER XV.

VISITORS AT SHANKLIN

CHAPTER XVI.

MISSIONARIES AT HOME

JUST IN TIME.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE MILL.

"POLLIE, why have you not cleared up those weeds?" asked Pollie's mother from the mill door.

Pollie was sitting in the fork of the old apple-tree, with her head bending over a book.

She raised it a little, and allowed her voice just to go round the corner of her sun-bonnet and no more, "I forgot, mother."

"I wish you did not forget so often, my dear," said her mother. "Your life is a string of forgets."

Pollie's head went down again, but a frown settled on her pretty face.

She did wish that her mother would let her be, and not always be finding out things she had not done. Her Aunt Elizabeth did not find so much amiss with Laura or Clara; nor, for the matter of that, did her own mother seem to rebuke her brother Jim half as much as she did her.

She wished she could live with Aunt Elizabeth, then she would be able to do just as she liked. Aunt Elizabeth would say, "Pollie, my dear, would you get so-and-so for me?" or, "Pollie, my dear, I want you and Laura to go for a message, will you?"

It was much pleasanter than "Pollie, put on your hat and go down to your Uncle Brown's!"

"I say," called Jim, breaking in on this reverie, "where's the hoe? Father's been looking for it for ever so long, and I said I knew you had had it last."

"I forgot to put it away," said Pollie. "It is by the waterbutt. Just get it for him, Jim."

"Not I," said Jim, walking away down the steep path. "You must go and get it for him."

Pollie got down quickly. If ever she did anything willingly, it was for her father!

"Eh, my little girl," he said, "this is like you. To think you should have wasted ten minutes of my time, and there it was behind the butt all the while!"

He drew it out from its hiding-place with some difficulty; it would stick against the brick wall.

"How did it get here?" he asked patiently.

"It fell down behind, and I didn't stay to pull it out," said Pollie.

"Did you never stop to think that whatsoever your hand findeth to do should be done with your might, eh, Pollie?"

"No, father."

"I have, many's the time," said the miller, "and those sort of hindrances aren't hindrances at all. They bring you into contact with your Lord, and I know nothing better than that for helping you along with your work!"

Pollie did not answer. She did not mind hearing her father talk so, at least, not much. But if it had been her mother, she would have flown off and not have heard half of it.

So she went back to her apple-tree and opened her book once more, but she was not to be left in peace.

"Pollie!" came from the mill door. "Pollie!"

"Yes, mother."

"Come right in and set the tea. I told you that when you heard the wheels of your father's cart you were to come right in, and I was out at the back and didn't notice. Your father's been home this quarter, I do believe, and the tea isn't ready."

"I forgot, mother," said Pollie ungraciously. "I'd have come if you had called me."

Her mother went back to her work, and Pollie hastened in. That her father should be made uncomfortable did not suit her at all. But though she knew her tiresomeness made her mother uncomfortable, she told herself that she certainly could not help that.

She set about getting the tea with a will, however. And as she was a very capable girl, it did not take long before she was standing at the mill door again, clapping her hands as a sign that her father and brother were to come in.

Jim and she were not always the best of friends. Her faults lay in one direction, Jim's in another.

If Pollie forgot too often, Jim did not forget often enough. He was always reminding people of things which were not done, and especially remembered all his sister's delinquencies, and pointed them out ruthlessly.

"How late tea is!" he remarked as they sat down.

His mother looked up and said, "Yes it is; Pollie forgot to come in."

Pollie crimsoned, for she had bustled about so heartily that it was but little after the usual time.

Her father's words, however, brought sudden tears into her eyes, which she would have given something to stop.

"Say instead, Jim, 'how nicely somebody has got our tea for us!'"

"It's Poll's duty," persisted Jim. "I don't see that she deserves any praise."

"How did a son of mine feel just now, when I told him that he had put that hay away very cleverly?"

Jim's eyes went down, and there was silence for a moment.

"I could do all Poll's duties and my own too, if she were not here," he remarked presently.

"Perhaps you'll have to," said his mother a little dryly, though there was a smile in her eyes.

"How?" asked Jim, too astounded to say more.

"You will find that you cannot do quite all. But as the holidays are coming, I am going to spare Pollie to visit her aunt Elizabeth. You will be at home all day to help me, and a change will do Pollie good."

Pollie turned hot and cold. Did her mother really mean it? But her mother was not apt to say things which she did not mean. And if she meant it, why had she not told her quietly by herself, instead of announcing such a piece of news to Jim.

She felt very bitter, and said to herself that the pleasure of going was quite spoilt by the way in which she had been told.

"Should you like it, Mary?" her mother said kindly.

"Yes, mother, very much, if—"

"If what, my dear?"

"If—if you do not want me, and if—" then she burst into tears and sobbing out something about Jim being so unkind, burst from the room.

"What is this, Jim?" asked their mother.

"Nothing at all," said Jim. "I haven't said a word to her but what you heard. She's a stupid cry-baby!"

Their mother could not suppose that Pollie could take to heart the chance words of her brother, quite two years her junior, and looking after her daughter rather soberly, she met her husband's eyes.

"She'll be better for a little change," he said, with that tenderness which all their lives had been 'just father' to the children. "My poor little Pollie wants one thing, and until she has that, her heart cannot be at rest."

"What's that, father?" asked Jim curiously. "I think Pollie has the best of everything—"

"She needs Jesus," he said softly, as he rose and pushed back his chair, "and I am praying every day that she may find Him."

CHAPTER II.

LAURA'S SECRET.

POLLIE was fifteen, and life had flowed along peacefully as to outward circumstances. But beneath the surface, there were currents and rocks and hidden difficulties which no one guessed but herself.

From her earliest days, her strong will had set itself up in opposition to her mother, and though at times her sweetness of disposition conquered, life with her was indeed a hard struggle.

Her father, tender and wise as he was, pleaded with her in vain; or if he succeeded in shewing her her duty for a little while, some difficulty was sure shortly to arise, and then all her good intentions flew to the winds, and Pollie was as far from heartfelt submission as ever.

So she set out to visit her aunt Elizabeth with a clouded heart. Her mother's preparations, kind and thoughtful as they were, gave her but little pleasure, for her heart was sore and hard. If only she could been have taken to her mother's heart with a forgiving hug, she thought she could have gone in rags willingly!

So her father drove to the market-town and put her into the train under care of the guard, to be set down at her aunt's station, nearly a hundred miles off and halfway between her home and Exeter.

"Remember there's always the blessed Lord and Saviour, everywhere," were his last words, whispered as he kissed her in the train.

And Pollie set forth on her journey, and in due time arrived at her destination.

It was three years since she had visited at her aunt's, and she did not know the tall cousin who was standing on the platform waiting for her.

Laura, a pretty girl of eighteen, soon spied her, however, for Pollie had not altered much since she had last seen her. She and Clara stepped forward and claimed their country cousin, who looked quite shy when she saw what fashionable young ladies were come to meet her.

"Here is the trap," said Clara. "Where is your box, Mary?"

Pollie did not know that her uncle had a trap. She began to be afraid they would have got too grand for her.

"How you have grown, Mary," said her aunt as they sat at tea, "but you have the same face. I should know you anywhere. When the girls have smartened you up a bit, you will look quite as old as Clara."

Pollie bit her lips. She had thought her mother had done all that was necessary for her, and in the remembrance of her thoughtful care, she felt more tender towards her than she had ever done. She said to herself that her mother would never have said such a thing as that to a newly-come visitor.

A wave of home-sickness seized her, and she had much ado to keep back her tears.

Tea was over at last, and Pollie made her escape.

"Come upstairs and unpack your things," said Clara. "I do love seeing people's new things!"

Pollie murmured something of not having so very many things, but the girls did not seem to hear. And presently all her clothes were spread out on the bed, and her cousins were looking them over with such remarks as "That will be for mornings—with a nice ribbon for her neck." "That would be pretty fair for afternoons if that trimming were put on better—I daresay we could do that. Well, what else have you got?"

"That is my best dress," said Pollie, hesitating. "Isn't it good enough?"

"That," asked Laura, with an intonation of surprise that made Pollie's cheeks burn. "Oh, I thought perhaps you had another in the tray of your box."

"Never mind," said Clara presently, "they will do all right. Ma said she should get Mary a dress if necessary. You see, Pollie, we go out ever so much, and have to be nice. But these will do for common very well."

Laura had turned away towards the glass, and was putting on a very stylish hat.

"Is that yours?" asked Pollie, glad to leave the topic of her wardrobe for that of her cousins. She wished heartily that she were back at the mill, and could hear her mother's voice, saying in those quick tones, "There's your father, Pollie, run and open the door!"

Instead came Laura's complacent answer—"Yes, of course it is. Do you like it?"

"It is sweetly pretty," said Pollie admiringly, "only it looks almost like a fashion-book."

"Do you think so?" asked Laura, gratified; then added with a giggle to her sister, "That's what H. F. said yesterday."

"Who is H. F.?" asked Pollie.

"Oh, my dear, you don't know of course. H. F. is a new star that has dawned on our horizon. You will see him all in good time—from afar—if you keep your eyes open."

Pollie blushed, she hardly knew why. This seemed so different from the way anyone talked at home.

"Hush!" said Clara. "Here's ma."

"Well, my dears," said Mrs. Brown, "what are you doing?"

"I am going to the Cleavers, ma," said Laura, "and Clara is going to help Mary put away her things, and then they are going to take you out if you care to go."

"I do not know that I do to-night. Clara can come down and read to me while I finish that blouse for her."

"Oh, I don't want to read," said Clara, "it would be so dull. Besides, I am going out, ma, such a lovely evening. If you want to read so particularly, do not trouble about my blouse."

Mrs. Brown looked vexed. "Is that the way you do to your mother, Mary?" she asked, as she listlessly turned over Pollie's dresses.

"I don't know, auntie," hesitated Pollie, "because I haven't anywhere to go you know—"

"Not anywhere to go? Are you buried alive, child? You look rather like it!"

"Ma," said Clara, "don't say that. Come, Pollie, I'll turn up your hair for you, and see if I shan't smarten you up! That will be fun. And then you and I will go out, and ma can read that old novel in peace."

As she spoke, she drew out the bow that tied Pollie's long plait, and rapidly undid her beautiful shining braids.

"What a lot. Look, ma! Would you not give something if we girls had such a head of hair?"

Mrs. Brown did not answer. She gave half a glance at her niece, and then said suddenly, "I tell you what, if Clara is bent on going out, we will go to-night and get you a dress for best, or a couple of dresses. Then they can be made at once, and will be ready in a day or two."

"All right," said Clara, "I shan't be long over this. That is coming splendidly. Now, what dress will you put on to go shopping with ma? This best one is the only one that is fit."

Mrs. Brown had left the room, so had Laura.

"I say, Pollie, I'll tell you a secret, only you must keep as still as still about it. That I know you can do. But if ma were to guess, she would spoil all the fun."

Pollie was silent, debating whether she should receive the confidence or not, and half afraid that stormy times were in front of her. Before she could make any decision, Clara had gone on in a low tone—

"Laura is very much admired, as I daresay you can guess."

"She is very pretty—"

"And where we go they have a lot of folks round, and young men from the town. We are going to have a picnic next week, and then you will see some of them. But there is one above all the rest that Laura favours and there is a little mystery about him which makes him doubly interesting. He's been abroad a great deal, but he told Laura he had never seen anyone to compare with her—"

"Does he come here?" asked Pollie innocently.

"Oh no, my dear. How green you are! Even if ma were to allow it, pa is dreadfully strict, almost as bad as uncle at the mill, and he would think Laura a great deal too young. Oh, no, it's our secret at present. Time enough when—"

Clara paused, and Pollie looked up with an earnest gaze into her cousin's face.

"I'm afraid it isn't right," she said slowly. "I wish you hadn't told me—or, at least, I wish that Laura and you wouldn't do anything like that."

"Like what?" asked Clara, drawing back a little. "Don't be straight-laced, whatever you do, Pollie!"

"I didn't know I was," said Pollie.

"Of course you were! Would you have us bow to any young man we meet, and say we must not speak to him on any account?"

Pollie felt very foolish, and did not know what to answer, while still she felt that her favourite cousin had grown different since the year before, when they had had such a happy time together at the mill.

"There! Now you look lovely," said Clara. "Just peep in the glass. Put on this dress now, Mary, and I'll go and tell ma that we are nearly ready."

So Pollie was left alone.

Oh for her father to tell her what was right and wrong. She felt all mixed up, and so home-sick that she could willingly have packed her box again and set off home that very minute.

She sat down on a chair by the window and swiped away two or three scalding tears.

Why would not her dresses do, and why had her cousins glanced at each other, as they lifted out the hat her mother had trimmed for her with such care?

"Pollie, Pollie, where are you?" called Clara. "Ma is waiting, and she is quite vexed we have been so long."

Mrs. Brown had a cloud on her brow. "Put on your other hat, will you, Mary, my dear? As we are going shopping," she said, as Pollie ran down into the hall.

For a moment Pollie paused, utter refusal in her heart and in her eyes. Then courtesy to her aunt and hostess prevailed, and she turned upstairs again slowly, thinking that this was the very hardest thing she had ever had to do in all her life.

CHAPTER III.

A NEW FRIEND.

"THAT is better, my dear," remarked her aunt, when she re-appeared with her best hat on. "You must not mind, Mary, if I get you a few things: I told your mother I should do so. You see town ways are so different from country ways, and what will do for a village will not do for Chichester."

So two smarter dresses were purchased, and then Pollie was led into the millinery department, where her aunt chose a new hat for her, remarking that Clara had better retrim the one she had on, to make it look more fashionable.

Pollie tried to cheer up, but her heart felt like lead. Ten times better would it have been to bear the heaviest yoke that had ever been given her at home!

The dresses were to be made at the draper's at which they were purchased, and were promised for the next evening; the hat was to be sent home at once, and with a few ribbons and gloves the party returned home, Clara congratulating her cousin with bright smiles, on the pretty new things which she had received.

Thus, Pollie settled down to her visit. No more was said about her clothes, and so long as she put on what they suggested, she was now free to enjoy herself.

Clara was very kind to her, and to a certain extent she did enjoy herself. But the two sisters had a good many secrets from which she was excluded.

Laura was out a great deal, and seldom enlarged on what she had done, and where she had been, to her family circle. She attended classes at the School of Art, and went and came very much as she liked.

But Pollie, who saw a little more of what went on behind the scenes, fancied that her devotion to art was more assumed than real. She could not help noticing that she went early and returned late, and that Clara and she always had secrets when she returned from the lessons.

Flowers, which were put into vases in her bedroom, but never appeared downstairs, became more frequent as the days came and went. And once, meeting her cousin in the hall unexpectedly, Pollie saw her put her hand down by her side as if to conceal something. And when she next went into Laura's room, a glass of lovely fresh roses stood on her dressing-table, which had not been there half an hour before.

Polls felt very uneasy, and once or twice tried to hint a protest to Clara.

"Oh, my dear, what nonsense!" was her light answer. "All is fair in love and war, you know. Ma will know all in good time if there is anything to know, and if not, where is the good? All the girls of our acquaintance have somebody devoted to them, and why should not Laura?"

"I don't know," sighed Pollie. "I wish I knew. It can't be right to be secret over it. I'm not at all nice to mother at home, but I never keep anything from her!"

"That's your way, and this is ours," said Clara, comfortably. "There would be no fun in life if we came and told ma everything."

"I am afraid it isn't right," persisted Pollie, "and I don't believe Laura will be a bit the happier for it. She looks so restless now, and turns so red and white whenever anyone speaks to her."

"Nonsense!" said Clara, looking rather uneasy. "What a stupid little thing you are. We move in a perfectly different circle from you, and you can't judge. Pa's shop is ever so much better a position than your mill, and girls like us do differently of course to what you do. Why we keep two servants, and you haven't one!"

"It is not riches but right," said Pollie, stoutly, though she felt very hurt, and turned to her book resolutely, wishing once again that she were back at her mother's side, helping her with the housework, and doing even the little services which she particularly disliked.

One morning her uncle said to her at breakfast, "Mary, I am going to drive a little way out of town to-day. There's an old lady lives there that your father wished you to call on. I have not had an opportunity yet, but we will go to-day."

Pollie was delighted to go with her kind, genial uncle, especially as she would have him all to herself, and she enjoyed that drive more than anything she had done since she had been at Chichester.