QUESTIONS.

SOME years ago there lived in a part of Clapham where the houses are small, but the neighbourhood respectable, a solitary woman whose name was Hannah Rule. She was no longer young; she had no relations living, to the best of her knowledge, and almost no friends—none in her own rank of life. All this sounds rather melancholy, yet Hannah was by no means a melancholy person. She was a Devonshire woman, and had been a servant in very good places. She was a first-rate cook, and so good a laundress that the most delicate and priceless lace was often confided to her, either by ladies who knew something of her, or by ladies' maids who did not care to wash it themselves, and who heard of Mrs. Rule, as she called herself, that she could both mend and wash it, and in some cunning way give it the yellowish tinge which old lace ought to display.

Mrs. Rule had saved money while in service, and had laid out part of her earnings in furnishing her small house in Wellington Row, of which she let the first floor. But she never would let her lodgings to a lady, or to any gentleman who did not engage to dine out every week-day. Ladies, Mrs. Rule said she could not put up with; they were always wanting tea at odd times, and were mostly at home all day under your feet. And if she had to cook a dinner every day for her lodger, how could she be free to go out to cook for people giving dinner-parties, by which she made a pretty penny?

Moreover, to be always at home, cooking chops and potatoes, would soon be the death of her with dulness! On Sunday she did not mind—one wanted the rest; but on other days, she was always open to an engagement, and was known far and near as a splendid cook, who sent up a really good dinner for about half the outlay caused by an incompetent cook. The five shillings which she charged for the day's work was saved over and over again. Experienced matrons would aver, "and then the style of the dinner, my dear! You might fancy you had spent 'pounds' upon it!"

"But," said young Mrs. Atkins, whose husband had decreed that a dinner-party they must give, as they had dined out so frequently since he had brought home his bride—"but she will want me to buy stew-pans and bain-maries, and ever so many things that I could do just as well without for the present."

"No, my dear child," replied the portly lady to whom she had applied for advice, "I don't think Mrs. Rule ever asks for anything of the kind. She brings things with her sometimes; but she takes quite a pride in showing what she can do with an ordinary kitchen range, and such pots and pans as your servant uses."

"Well," said Mrs. Atkins, preparing to depart, "I never could trust poor Mary Jane to cook for eight people—it is hard enough to get a dinner decently cooked for two! So, thank you, very much. I shall take your advice, and go round to Wellington Row to secure Mrs. Rule before I send out our invitations. Perhaps Mary Jane and I may learn something from her—which would be a blessing!" she added, with a laugh.

"Now, my dear, don't expect that. Mary Jane will be turned out of her kitchen for that afternoon; and if you go in to see what is going on, you will see nothing. Mrs. Rule once told a friend of mine that she was there to cook a dinner, not to give cooking lessons. She is perfectly honest, and will do her very best for you, but she is not obliging."

No, she was not obliging; about that there was no doubt. She thoroughly enjoyed contending with difficulties, and saying to herself that when she was cook at Sir Barton Yeo's, she had had a very different kitchen at her command. But she seldom exchanged a word with the servant whose kitchen she occupied for the time being, and no amount of hints ever coaxed her into telling how one of her dainty dishes was prepared. One lady thought she had hit on quite a clever plan. She asked casually—

"Oh, Mrs. Rule, what do you call that 'pretty' dish with the white thing piled up on it? I want to look it up in my cookery-book."

"I don't hold by cookery-books, ma'am," was all the answer she received.

Her neighbours of her own rank in life had the same story to tell. Mrs. Rule would scarcely go to the trouble of knowing them. Fine ladies' maids would come to No. 3, and sit talking for an hour or so to Mrs. Rule. Mrs. Rule would take delicate lace or fine muslin embroidery home to grand houses in town, where she was a welcome visitor, and would be asked to tea in the housekeeper's room, and must then hear news that her less-favoured neighbours would have greatly rejoiced to hear from her. But not a syllable did she ever tell to any one, even to old Mrs. Collins, who truthfully averred that it was not for want of being asked! Mrs. Collins lived at No. 6, and she also let lodgings, which she thought ought to evoke a fellow-feeling in Mrs. Rule, but this fellow-feeling did not make Mrs. Rule "wondrous kind," and poor Mrs. Collins fished for gossip all in vain.

"And she knows what I want, well enough," Mrs. Collins mournfully declared; "but not a word nor a syllabub does she ever say. I doubt she's a selfish piece. And never goes to church—nor even prayer-meeting, if her lodger won't permit of church. Ah, well! Though I am 'not' a first-rate cook, nor yet can darn lace so that you'd never see it, nor wash it to look as good as new, yet I'm a better Christian than Hannah Rule!" Then she wagged her ancient head, and added, "That's my consolation."

For several years Mrs. Rule led this life; people had given up expecting anything more of her. Mrs. Collins had had misfortunes, and been obliged to part with some of her furniture, when she had had her first floor vacant for months together because her lodger had inconsiderately died of an infectious fever. She had been ill herself too, and, not having saved money, was really feeling the pinch of poverty, but she would as soon have thought of going to Windsor Castle and asking the Queen to sympathize with her woes, as of knocking at the door of No. 3 and confiding them to Hannah Rule.

"Not but she knows all about it, and looks down on me now I'm in trouble; for it's my belief she knows everything! I know it by her eye."

It was rather clever of Mrs. Collins to find this out by Mrs. Rule's eye (to guard against mistakes let me state that she had two), but, however Mrs. Collins found it out, it was true. Mrs. Rule had a singular gift, which she called "putting that and that together," and, without asking questions, she generally knew all about her neighbours. She knew most things, too, about the families she worked for. She made no bad use of her knowledge, and never even talked of it; but it afforded her great satisfaction, and constituted at once her study and her recreation.

When Mrs. Collins made that remark about her neighbour's eye, she was sitting dejectedly in the window of her parlour, whence her last lodger had departed a few days previously, and she saw Mrs. Rule in the window of her parlour, which was a bay window, and in which there was a flower-stand, full of geraniums in beautiful bloom. Mrs. Rule watered these carefully, and then stood looking out for a minute or so.

"You and your geraniums," muttered poor Mrs. Collins, "and not a bit do you care that I had no tea for breakfast, very little but dry bread for dinner, and here's six o'clock coming near and I don't see what to have for supper!"

And the poor old soul began to cry; for of late things had gone very badly with her. But now she saw something that made her dry her eyes hastily in order to stare hard. Mrs. Rule's hall door, with the aggressively bright knocker and knob, opened, and out came Mrs. Rule herself, without shawl or bonnet, a sight not previously seen by any one in the row.

"Where on earth—? Goodness! She's coming here! Well, to be sure!"

Mrs. Rule knocked at the door. Mrs. Collins went into the hall and opened it.

"Good afternoon," said Mrs. Rule, in her soft Devonshire drawl. "Will you come to my house and take tea with me?"

"Will I—what did you say?" inquired Mrs. Collins, blinking at her.

Hannah reddened a little; she had a fresh pink and white complexion, even yet; and an altogether comely and pleasant face when she spoke or smiled.

"Will you come to tea with me? I thought, as your rooms are empty, that you could spare the time."

"Empty! So they are, indeed; but I've a lady coming to the parlour to-morrow, and I was thinking of dusting, and settling the fire. But I'll come, with pleasure. Just let me wash my hands."

"Well, I'll run back, and do you come when you are ready; I've something baking," answered Mrs. Rule, as she walked briskly home.

"You might knock me down with a feather," remarked Mrs. Collins to an imaginary listener; "but a cup of tea won't hurt me, anyhow."

In five minutes she had put on a fresh cap and apron, and washed her hands, which would have looked cleaner had she washed them oftener. Ten times, at least, she declared aloud that wonders would never cease, and that you might knock her down with a feather, but she lost no time; for, between hunger and curiosity, she was in a hurry for the promised tea.

Mrs. Rule opened the door, and, with something of an effort, said—

"You're kindly welcome, Mrs. Collins. Just sit here while I go to the kitchen for the tea."

And she led the way into her tidy little parlour, where a small round table was neatly set forth with cups and saucers, and, moreover, as hungry Mrs. Collins did not fail to perceive, with knives, forks, and salt. And there was a very savoury smell. The kitchen was not far off, and in a trice Mrs. Rule returned with a tray. She set on the table a teapot, milk, sugar, bread and butter—finally, a smoking dish.

"I hope you like a relish with your tea," she said, still with that odd air of making an effort: "I do."

"There's nothing I enjoy more," replied Mrs. Collins, trying not to look as hungry as she felt. "What lovely flowers you have in the window! I had some—but they died."

"You forgot to water them," Mrs. Rule said—not offering this as a possible explanation, but mentioning it as an undoubted fact; for she had noticed those poor geraniums.

The tea was good; the mutton pie—Mrs. Rule said it was a mutton pie, but it was like no other of its kind that Mrs. Collins had ever tasted—was excellent. Mrs. Rule ate a little, but helped her guest generously; and though Mrs. Collins would have given a good deal to leave some on her plate, human nature was too strong for her, and she finished the pie. Also, she did well by the bread and butter.

"Take another cup of tea—'tis good still, Mrs. Collins," said Hannah, rousing herself from a brown study into which she had fallen.

"Tea is what I never can refuse," replied Mrs. Collins.

Hannah poured it out, and was silent again until it had disappeared. Then she looked over at her guest, and said quickly—

"I'm wondering can you tell me something?"

"I will tell you anything I have knowledge of," was the genial reply. Mrs. Collins felt very comfortable, and inclined for a chat.

"You're a woman that goes to church and to prayer-meetings. Do you find them do you any good?"

"Why, laws! Mrs. Rule, of course they do. I always did hold by being a good Christian. Besides, it's respectable."

"Well, but 'I'm' respectable, though I don't go, not very often. You see, Mrs. Collins, I'm in a maze. I didn't mean to speak of it, but I can't get away from it, and so I began without thinking. It's along of a book that Mrs. Anstruther gave me. I was in her dressing-room, waiting for her, and it lay on her table, you know; I knew she wouldn't mind, so I took it up, idle-like—though I'm no reader. But the first words I read seemed to give me a slap in the face. 'Twas 'What do you live for?' and it went on to say that no one can live—Stay! Here's the book; I'd better read the bit, or I could not make you understand.

"'Tis called 'Questions that ought to be answered.' Miss Geraldine—that's Mrs. Anstruther, I mean—came back and found me reading, and says she, 'You may have that book if you like, Hannah—I'll give it to you; I never saw you reading before.' Said I, ''Tis full of questions, seemingly—and I should like to see the answers, so if you don t want it, ma'am, I'll take it, and thank you;' so I fetched it home. But the queer thing is, it asks questions, but it don't answer them!"

"You don't say so?" replied Mrs. Collins, comfortably. "But, after all, it's no matter, if they're all like that one. We've 'got' to live, that's certain—and hard work some of us find it."

"Well, but listen now:

"'My friend, what do you live for? I take it for granted that you are decent and respectable, and hardworking; this book is meant for such as you. I want a little talk with you. We all live for something or for some one—some for their children, some for wife or husband, mother, father, sister, or brother. That is all well, to a certain extent. Those whom we love are given us by God, and it is our duty to love and care for them. And this love softens our hearts and makes us more likely to love God. But some live for themselves alone. They work hard, they pay their way honestly, they lay by money,—all for themselves. The Son of God made Himself poor for their sakes, but they never think of Him. They never give a penny to His poor, or to spread the knowledge of His grace. They live altogether for themselves. If this meets the eye of any such person, I ask him or her to consider—"Is this right? How will it look when I come to die?"'"

"Them are heart-searching words," said Mrs. Collins, in a still more comfortable—in fact, a drowsy tone, if the truth must be told. "Ah, we're all miserable sinners, the best of us."

"I never did anything very bad that I know of," answered the other woman, too much in earnest to perceive that she failed to interest her visitor, "but I certainly have done just that—lived, since mother died, and I lost Fanny, for myself alone. And, come to think of it, it can't be right. Another question is, 'Whom do you love?' and I'm not sure I love any one but Miss Geraldine."

"Well, now, you're like myself, I take it; you've none to care for but yourself. I'm a lone widow. My fine boys that might be keeping me in comfort are both dead; but I don't murmur, Mrs. Rule. They were both very wild, and maybe would have brought me to the poorhouse by this."

"And I never married, and am alone now. I always gave mother all I could spare; then when she died, I thought I'd lay by against I was old, as it was plain I had none but myself to look to."

"And I'll be bound you've laid by a nice little sum; for everything seems to prosper with you. 'Tis so, sometimes, with them that are not Christians, just to try them that are! Now, look at me. Scrape as I would, I never could save money beyond a pound or so; and it just melted away when I was ill, and I had to pawn some of my best furniture to get nourishing food that the doctor said I must have, and so I can't let my first floor now, till I can release it. And I must have parted with more to-day, only when the lady came and took my parlours—for 'I' never could afford to live in my parlours—I said to myself,—

"'No, Sally Collins, not if you starve for it shall you part with another stick; and once Miss Hallam is in, she's to pay in advance, and then you'll have enough to get along with.'

"But tight and pinching work 'twill be to live on my parlours, and save enough to keep my good furniture from being sold. See, now, the difference there is between us! But there, the Christian must have trials; while them that live for this world have all they want."

Mrs. Collins was wide awake now, and spoke with much energy. Her inclination for a quiet nap had quite deserted her.

Mrs. Rule looked thoughtful.

"I don't know much about such things, 'tis true," she said presently, "but it seems to me that if you worked as hard, and spent as little as I do, you'd be as well off as I am. I don't see how being a Christian would prevent that. Besides, I am a Christian—at least, I'm nothing else."

"Ah, my dear soul, you're in darkness!" remarked Mrs. Collins, with a long-suffering wag of her head.

"Yes, somehow I feel that; but I need not be always so, I hope."

She turned over the leaves of the little book, and presently began to read again.

"'My friend, have you ever done anything to help or comfort others, just for the sake of the Lord Jesus Christ, who has done so much for you? You have worked for your parents, your children, or others to whom you owed that duty so plainly that you could not help seeing it. But have you ever done anything for the simple love of God? If not, may it not be that you do not love Him at all? Yet He loves you. Consider well. Is this right? How will it look when you come to die?'"

Mrs. Rule sat silent, evidently in deep thought.

Mrs. Collins, who, being now wide awake, had heard more of this quotation than of the last, remarked tartly that it seemed to her that the book was "most discouraging;" for, after all, what could the like of them do for others? Hadn't they hard work to do for themselves?

Mrs. Rule was so deep in thought that she did not hear this, or several self-righteous platitudes that followed. She presently broke in upon her guest's remarks by saying—

"I'll do it. It's best to make a beginning. I can leave off any time. Mrs. Collins, how much would take your furniture out of pawn? If you have the tickets handy, just show them to me, and I'll add them up. I'll lend you the money, and then you can let your first at once, and pay me when you're all right again. 'Tis a pity you should have the rooms empty."

Mrs. Collins stared, and her eyes grew rounder and rounder, and her mouth opened more and more widely, while she almost thought she was taking leave of her senses, or that Mrs. Rule had taken leave of hers. At last she stammered out—

"Mrs. Rule, do you mean it? Do you know what you're saying?"

"I do. You see, you've heard only a word here and there, but there's a deal more in the book that seems worth minding, and the fact is, if God really loves the like of me, and asks me to love Him, and to act like Him, it's a shame not to try. I know all that is in the Bible, for I used to read it to my mother long ago, but it had clean slipped out of my memory. But I have mother's Bible, and I have been looking at it.

"But I'm always for beginning at once. If it's a room to be washed, or a dinner to be cooked, there's no use in talking—just begin at once. So I began by having you up to tea. I didn't mean to talk about the book, but I am just that full of it that I began. However, I'll lend you this money. Have you the tickets here?"

Mrs. Collins belonged to the order of Christians who talk much, and do not get any further. She had many cut-and-dry remarks that would have been much in their right place now, she thought, but perhaps if she convinced Mrs. Rule that her ideas were sadly mistaken ones, that loan might not be forthcoming! So she swallowed her wisdom, and produced the pawn tickets, which of course she had in her pocket; for did any one ever know a woman, who had some of her possessions in pawn, who did not carry the tickets about with her, and frequently look them over in a melancholy manner? The sum she had received amounted to a few pence over four pounds, and Hannah lent her five pounds, saying it was well to have a little in hand.

Then Mrs. Collins said good night, with many expressions of gratitude, which made Hannah get crimson in the face, and in a hurry to be rid of her. So she trotted home with a cheerful countenance, locked up her house, and repaired to her own little attic, where she tied up the money in a piece of calico, hid that in an old shoe, and put the shoe under her pillow. As she completed this arrangement, which she considered an excellent precaution in case of burglars, she said to herself—

"I was in luck for once in my life; for 'tis not to be expected that she'll be in the same mind long. Books are all very well—but, dear me, she's in great darkness, with her beginnings, and her 'doing' something at once! It isn't that sort of thing that makes a Christian."

And she sighed in a superior way. But had any one asked her what "did" make a Christian, she could have given no distinct answer. Only she was sure that lending money to a neighbour in distress had nothing to say to it.

"'That's' not religion; besides, I'll pay her honest, and she knows it. But I 'was' in luck. To think of any one being so excited about a book of questions! It would be long before you'd 'question' five pounds out of 'my' pocket!"