By a Winding Path

Chapter I

" The ills we see, — The mysteries of sorrow deep and long, The dark enigmas of permitted wrong, — Have all one key : This strange sad world is but our Father's school, All chance and change His Love shall grandly over-rule." (Frances R. Havergal). EEP down in the western horizon the sun declined in glowing splendour. Around its immediate circle cloud-land opened gloriously, the high piled fleecy masses tinted a beautifully pale crimson, with here and there a touch of rich gold. Across the sky the expanse of blue seemed to catch and reflect every variety of earth's many colours from an orange purple to the palest water green. Over the wild free moors of Yorkshire the soft lustre fell, brightening the short summer-burnt turf, increasing the effective hues of the early autumn foliage, softening the aggressive bleakness of some wide plateau, and giving to all Nature a garb suggestive of evening peace.

The setting sun gleamed over the town as well as the moors, and its peace-inspiring charms were the same, but the A By a Winding Pa/h. bustling crowded streets lacked the subtile receptiveness of the wild and lonely moorland. The large, busy town of Leeds presented a strange and disturbing contrast to the free, quiet heaths. The streets were crowded with vehicles of numberless variety and people of all classes, and the silent beauty of the glowing sky seemed hardly correspondent with the over strained, pushing throngs below. There was no wind stirring, so that the public thoroughfares were sultry in the extreme, the heat and dust of the town being almost insufferable. As the September day drew to its close, many offices and business houses of the higher class were closing also. The streets seemed full, masters and clerks hustled each other in the rush for train and omnibus, employers and employed were for a few brief moments akin in their hurry and aims, 'so both the day's work was over, and they sought pleasure, rest and home.

But to many, and perhaps the larger portion of the eager, struggling crowd, toil was not yet ended, a brief respite maybe there was to be enjoyed by a few, the remainder and the many had to work and strive until dark night fell upon them. Thirty years ago the working days were longer than they are to-day, though the masses were no richer for the extra toil. And among the crowds who still had hours of work before them, youthful half-timers were much in evidence because school was long since ended for their poor weary heads and bodies. The stream of travellers presented many a sad variety. Childish faces without one gleam of childish brightness were there, half-grown boys and girls who seemed to carry the burden of a life-experience in sin and hardship, men and women, haggard and meagre from long years of pain and starvation, or, worse than all, bearing the impress of a fearful knowledge of the darkest, most sinful phases of human life.

Down the streets came the paper-boys advertising in shrill, harsh tones the latest editions out. There were the advocates of the "Leeds Express," their rivals of the " Evening News," and a few more, each with a different method of procedure, but all unanimous in giving precedence and special vocal power to one paragraph in particular. "A Bank Manager in difficulties !" shrieked number one of the " Express " ; and the cry was taken up and reiterated by all his comrades. "Embezzlement and Suicide in Business Circles," called the chief of the "News" lads with similar results. Popular interest and curiosity were excited. The sale among the newspaper vendors was brisk. Many a reader stopped where the stream of passengers was slightest, and scanned the account which had stimulated his interest. Others read as they passed along, or hurried to their destination to embrace the first opportunity of mastering the contents of the precious news-sheet.

On finding the detailed, pitiful tragedy, the kinder-hearted readers said to each other sympathetically : " Poor Cowan ! Well, I never thought it would come to this with him. Poor unfortunate fellow." But many held their heads the higher that their self satisfied smirk might be seen of all men as in proud phariseeism they said : " I told you so. Reckless fellow that Cowan, nothing in him but mischief. Always knew he was going to the dogs, saw it from the first. Such ingratitude too to the directors and just because they gave him so much help in starting. Bah ! he was never fit to be trusted." And they hastened on to discuss the affair with the next one of their clique. On every hand the crime and death of the well-known manager were discussed, and an indifferent, cruel condemnation was the general verdict.

Yet less than a week before there had been no man among them who would not have been delighted to own Walter Cowan as an acquaintance, if not friend. Generally considered to be in affluent circum stances, and always agreeable and generous, he had been a great favourite and much sought after among his fellows. His comrades knew the weakness of his character, and not withstanding, helped him to his ruin. It was human nature, perhaps, to make an idol of him and his presumed wealth and influence while he lived, and none the less human to discuss him and his follies without mercy now that he was gone. His death was the direct result of his own actions. At the inquest the verdict had been ' suicide from temporary insanity through extreme remorse,' but the world thought little of remorse that had allowed no opportunity for repent ance.

In this case maybe the world was nearer the right than either coroner or jury. The embezzlement at various intervals of some hundreds of pounds from the bank of which Cowan had been the trusted manager was in itself sufficient to set the unfeeling populace astir with gossip and malice. The offer, made by bereaved Mrs. Cowan, to refund the missing money was received almost as a matter of course. Only a few heartily commended the honourable and unusual deed, only a few pitied the widow in her forlorn position or sympathized with her in a truly great trouble, indeed only a few gave her more than a passing thought. As the wife of a suicide convicted of aggravated theft, she shared the general condemnation. Meanwhile, in a house of some pretensions, situated in the prettiest suburb of Leeds, Mrs. Cowan was bravely bearing her burden of widowhood and anguish.

She stood almost alone in the world, and was without visible means of support. Two little boys had been quite recently taken from her by the quiet hand of death ; one baby-girl remained. In the midst of her terrible sorrow Mrs. Cowan felt glad and thankful that two of her children were free from the blight of a disgraced name, and saved the hardships and temptations of life here. But her baby was her one love and hope. The little one would look up with wonder at her mother's sad face, and with a serious intensity of purpose would try to brush away the rolling tear that fell as the mother caressed her child. For her sake Mrs. Cowan braced her failing energies, and endeavoured to fulfil all the duties that remained under existing circumstances, and to make some sort of provision for the future.

The servants, with one exception, were paid and dismissed ; house and furniture were sold and the proceeds repaid the bankers. Mrs. Cowan with her little daughter and one servant left Leeds, but no one except those immediately concerned knew where they went, and the pitiful alone cared. Thus the Cowans passed out of the Leeds world, commercial and social. Their place was soon refilled, and Leeds quickly forgot their very existence. An idle rumour had been set afloat concerning a possible accomplice in the bank difficulties, one Edwin Gilbert, always Walter Cowan's intimate friend and companion. The rumour, such as it was, had a semblance of truth, but it dropped unheeded when the death of Cowan and his friend's dis appearance became known, for the proverbial nine days of wonder soon passed.

No one connected a Manchester news item with Gilbert's disappearance, and the item in itself was of scant interest to the curious public. It merely detailed the accidental death through a heavy fall while in a state of intoxication, of Edwin Brown, billiard marker. There had been little sympathy manifested towards Cowan's widow, there was none shown to the entirely unknown wife of the billard marker. With a heart-bitterness of awful vehemence, Mrs. Edwin Brown remained awhile in Manchester, friendless, desolate, yet bravely trying to bring up her only little son to honourable manhood. For anything like happiness for herself, she dared not hope. Her one aim was to render her boy's life the brightest that circumstances would allow, and she spared no pains to achieve that purpose. B% a Winding path.

Chapter II

' Scorn not the smallness of daily endeavour Let the great meaning ennoble it ever Droop not o'er efforts expended in vain Work, as believing that Labour is gain ! " ( Unknown). a small house forming one of a terrace situated in a quiet, retired part of Plymouth Mrs. Cowan had taken up her residence. Thirteen years of sorrow had wrought a considerable change in her ; and it was a woman in very feeble health who was sitting in the dull back parlour one sunny Spring afternoon. Her work, a girl's apron, rested unheeded on her lap, and her thin white hands were idle. The bright sunbeams brought no answering brightness to her face ; it was shaded by a settled cloud of quiet melancholy. There was no gloom, no despair, no doubt to be read in that expression, only a peaceful but very, very sad resignation.

The thoughtful countenance and half-closed eyes seemed to tell of an inward heart communing ; and the hasty, unannounced opening of the door at hand caused no slight interruption. A tall, rather awkward school girl entered the room, and throwing down her bundle ot books nosily exclaimed : " There Mother, what do you think ! Miss Elliott has actually given me a lot of horridly easy practice sums to work to-night ; and she knows how anxious I am to work up the higher rules so as to get up into the first class. It is too bad ! " The words were uttered in none too sweet a tone ; and the tall girl, with her hasty entrance and eager indignation, seemed too big for the small close room. Little wonder that her manner and first exclamation startled Mrs. Cowan. " Phyllis, how you frighten me ! " she said, not fretfully, but with a pained and reproachful glance.

" Do be a little quieter, please my dear. I could not for the minute tell what had happened, and I really cannot stand the noise." Phyllis was sobered immediately; especially as she noticed her mother's hand clasped her right side. The girl knew that any sudden shock or excitement to those highly strung nerves was a dangerous risk, and the tightened hand showed that the palpitating action of the heart was very painful. Silently she fetched a little strengthening cordial ; and was thankful when her mother revived a little from the brief prostration. " I am very sorry, mother," she said simply, " but the fact is, I have been thinking about those sums all the way home from school. It seems so discouraging to be set down to do such an easy lesson, when one is just longing to get higher and higher."

"Take care, Phyllis, perhaps you are aiming too high. It is needful for us all to know well how to do the little sums and little duties as well as the greater ones." " Perhaps so, but still I do not think one can aim too high. I want to be head of the school, Mother, and if I do my best to be that, surely it is not wrong." Mrs. Cowan sighed. She knew from experience that it was not easy to reason with her high-spirited, ambitious daughter on such a matter. " Not wrong in itself, Phyllis," she answered gravely. " Only we must not in anything or for any purpose, despise the little things which are given us to do, because we think we might do better. Miss Elliott too, must know best what to give you, remember dear." Phyllis gave no answer, but picking up the gloves she had thrown carelessly down, she left the room.

Now that her indignation had passed she felt strangely tired. Possibly the direct cause of her vexation had been the headache against which she had been struggling all the morning ; and which now reasserted itself. Physical pain and weariness, self-reproach for having caused her mother harmful excitement, and a tiresome feeling of disappointment over her lessons — • these all weighted her usually bright spirits with unwonted dolefulness. But a girl's almost infallible remedy for low spirits, a good cry, brought her some relief. When their treasured servant, Mary, called her for dinner, she was quite ready to go down and meet her mother with a faint smile that betokened the passing of the storm. Her eyes were certainly suspiciously red . but her mother and Mary wisely took no notice. The three ate their simple dinner altogether in the tidy kitchen.

The hour was a late one to suit Phyllis, and the afternoon was well advanced before the meal was over. " I shall finish in about an hour, Mother," Phyllis said brightly as she set about the preparation of her home-lessons. " Then if you feel equal to it, we will have a walk on the Hoe. It will be beautiful there this afternoon." But the hour passed, and the lessons were not finished ; despite the easy sums. Somehow Phyllis did not succeed well on this particular afternoon. Impatiently, she jerked her chair from one side to the other, and wrote aimlessly on her blotting-paper or scribbling book. The words in the dictionary seemed anything but definite, as she hurriedly searched for those she required. Blots were her only heritage when she tried to write an especially neat page ; and work as she would, it seemed as if her French composition could not be rendered to her own satisfaction.

Her standard for general work was a high one ; and she was rarely contented with what she did. " I always feel that it might be heaps better," she would sometimes say, referring to a particular essay or piece of translation perhaps. Her mother would smile gravely at the restless, girlish yearning for a Good, always higher, always better than yet attained. " It is well that it should be so," Mrs. Cowan would meditate. " Her aspirations will ennoble her heart and conduct, although they may never be realized. Let her always strive after higher deeds and virtues, and someday she will attain to the Highest on earth or in Heaven, a joint Heir-ship with Christ our Saviour. Phyllis did not remember her father's death, in fact she had no recollection of him at all. From her earliest years she had known that the mention of him always pained her mother, and being herself a reserved, quiet child, she had learnt to refrain from asking curious, painful questions of her elders.

Mary was as impenetrable on the subject as Mrs. Cowan, so it happened that Phyllis grew up entirely ignorant of the sad circumstances which had brought the melancholy to her mother's face, and cast such a gloom over her own childhood. Naturally she had gathered a few fragmentary reminiscences concerning the other old home, somewhere away in the North, she fancied. Her brothers were buried there, and her father also, she presumed, and somehow she always imagined that that home must have been so much happier, and better than any she had known since. She loved to sit and dream away an hour, over pretty fancy pictures of what home might be still, with father and mother living happily together, and her brothers Those dear brothers, they were but tiny boys when they had died ; but if living they would doubtless be tall, fine lads ; and both older than herself.

Five ; what a happy loving family they might be ! and now there were only two left, her dear, patient mother and her awkward, growing self. If her father could see her now, what would he call her ? His Phyllis, perhaps, his girlie. Mary had said once that baby Phyllis had been her father's pet. How lovely ! A deep sigh and perhaps a few tears would bring Phyllis out of her bright reverie, into a disillusioned sense of the present. In the main she was very happy in her own way. The Plymouth life, uneventful and monotonous as it was, suited her very well. If occasionally she became a little discontented with her dreams of what might have been, well, it was but natural after all. She was a day scholar at a very good private school ; and being one of those girls really fond of the school routine, she found her chief pleasure in carefully pursuing her studies.

She was not particularly clever, only industrious and attentive. With her class-mates she was too quiet and reserved to be a favourite ; but she had several friends among the teachers. None of the girls perhaps under stood her; and she was equally unable to enter into their recreations and lively gossip. She could not talk freely to those whose mode of life was so different from her own ; so she would sit aside quietly in the leisure minutes, scanning a lesson, or working a sum. It was at these times that Phyllis would feel her position most keenly, and regret that she was so different from those other girls. They had loving fathers and bright, happy mothers ; they had racy stories to tell of escapades with merry brothers and sisters ; they could talk volubly of numerous pleasure-trips and parties, and well discuss the latest concert with interesting, youthful criticism, while Phyllis would feel momentarily that she had nothing.

She was fatherless and solitary ; for her mother was hardly the bright companion a young girl needed. Lighthearted and affectionate by nature, all the circumstances of her fifteen years of life (her baby-days excepted) had tended to chill and crush her impulsive loving inclinations ; and at the age when childhood merges usually into all the beauty and sweetness of girlhood, she was a strange anomaly of reserve and childish frankness ; of self-control and impetuosity, of humour and old fashioned soberness. Sobersides, indeed, was her school appellation ; but for all that she could be as merry and bright as any when occasion served. At home she appeared at her best ; and was the one gleam of sunshine in Mrs. Cowan's outer life. Their natures were in many respects similar ; and unfortunately the reserve of feeling they both possessed hindered their intercourse with each other.

Mrs. Cowan had always sought to keep from Phyllis all knowledge of their former troubles ; and she was just beginning to perceive what a great barrier was thus raised between two who should have been all in all to each other. Poor parent ! She was trying her utmost to make her girl's life as happy as possible under the circumstances ; and if in some respects she failed, surely it was the result of over-fond care or unalterable situation, rather than her defection. Phyllis respected her mother's silence on all family matters, although she did not understand it ; and if, as she busied herself over her lessons that afternoon, she wondered what had darkened her mother's life so strangelv, or vaguely surmised about her unknown father, at least she kept her thoughts to herself. Occasionally her wandering glance rested on the portraits of two little boys ; the brothers she had never known.

They were quaint glass-pictures, but wonderfully clear. Under neath, just above the coping of the frame, their names were written in a bold, manly hand which she guessed rightly to have been that of her father. Below the names, Walter and Arthur Cowan and their respective ages, a few words were inscribed in another hand : — " He shall gather His lambs to His Bosom." This was Mrs. Cowan's addition. Phyllis delighted in studying every detail of the two bonny little figures who seemed to smile at her so confidingly out of the frame. From her earliest copy-writing days it had been her ambition to mould her writing in the form of her father's, which had been to her the height of perfection with its clear bold strokes and outlines. Hand-writing is often considered to bear a close relation to the character of the penman ; Cowan's was certainly a strong exception to this rule.

Phyllis was smiling to-day at her childish fancy, as she glanced at the lesson-books before her. " There is a resemblance," she thought carelessly. Some how it seemed to reproach her for her lack of interest ; and she set to work at her exercises with renewed energy and power of application. In the evening the proposed walk on the Hoe was taken ; and both mother and daughter were better for the passing contact with the busy, outside world. Phyllis was her animated, lively home-self again at supper-time; even Mrs. Cowan was more than usually cheerful. The school which Phyllis attended was situated at some distance from her home ; but the girl, well used to the daily walk, thought but little of it. The streets through which she had to pass were quiet thoroughfares ; that is to say, quiet for a large town like Plymouth.

One Friday afternoon, about a fortnight after the episode of the despised arithmetic, Phyllis might have been seen hastening homeward, school-hours being ended for the day. Her face was brightly flushed ; and her quick, active steps and hurrying, springing movements, betokened unusual excitement. The cause of her joyful elevation was very satisfactory ; for at last she had gained the promotion for which she had worked so hard and perseveringly. On gaining the house, she remembered her former experience ; and would not startle her mother by abruptly proclaiming her good news. Entering as quietly as possible, she even went so far as to remove her hat and jacket, and prepare for dinner first; so determined was she to "do the thing properly " as she termed it. Mary, who was cleaning her bedroom, heard at once of her good fortune, and was delighted at the girl's success.

It is questionable though, as to whether she understood the school terms Phyllis so excitedly put forth, concerning divisions and classes and numbers and orders. But Mary knew that Phyllis was proud of her promotion ; and could rejoice heartily at whatever gave pleasure to her darling. Mrs. Cowan was pleased aiso, in her quiet way, when she heard of it. She smiled as Phyllis said coyly : " It was those sums that did it, Mother, after all." " Practice makes perfect, you see, Phyllis ; or rather in your case, Practice makes promotion," she answered. They were silent for a few minutes, then Phyllis spoke quickly : " How long shall I be able to stay on at school, mother ? I am fifteen now, well on for sixteen you know. Shall you be able to keep me there very long? I mean, can you afford it?" "Are you anxious to be leaving school, Phyllis?"

" No, mother, not at all ; only I have been thinking about it lately ; and just wondered. If I have to leave soon, I am afraid it will upset all my plans ; although my getting into the first class is a good thing." " It all depends, Phyllis, on circumstances ; and in a great measure, I think, on my health. If that should entirely fail me ." Mrs. Cowan paused, undecided apparently as to the advisability of continuing ; or perhaps scarcely knowing how to complete her sentence. Phyllis went on, purposely ignoring her mother's last words ; it hurt her too much to entertain such an idea in the slightest degree. " I should like to be a teacher, mother, if I get on with my school-work. This is not a new whim, only I have not liked to mention it, until I had a higher position in the school. I am sure I should love teaching; and you know mother, there is a scholarship for two years at the West Devon Ladies' College, open for competition to girls in our first class.

I have often thought it all out, so I know exactly what I want to do. And having been put up to-day, mother, that is in my favour, as I am sure I am the youngest girl in the class. Some of the others are quite grown women, with long dresses, and most of them have their hair fastened up. There are only three or four of us with it over our backs." " I should fancy the age was rather a disadvantage," Mrs. Cowan said, as Phyllis stopped to gather breath. "I see what you mean, mother," she answered more slowly. " But what I was meaning is this ; the teachers, Mrs. Brewis and all, say I have got on so well up to now ; and I think I should stand a good chance of gaining that scholar ship, if I could have a year or so longer at school. The examinations take place every January ; so if I could stay on for about eighteen months more, I could take the exam, next January twelve months ; then I should be just seventeen."

" But could you not take the exam, next year, my dear, just as well ? " " I think not, mother. You see, six months is scarcely long enough to work up for it ; the papers are so stiff. Besides there are at least half-a-dozen girls in our class who will go in next year ; and I should not have a single chance among them. Eighteen months would be splendid time for working ; I could use up all my holidays, and be as busy as possible for it. Then if you could afford to pay the fees, I should like to get one or two certificates from Local Exams., they are a splendid help. If I had the scholarship you see, I could get a situation anywhere, I think, as private governess or in a school. I should like a position just like Miss Storr's ; she takes all our head classes. The Principal just superin tends the departments, but Miss Storr is really head governess.

Teaching pays very well, you know mother, if one is only successful." " A very important consideration, that last if, I should say, Phyllis," Mrs. Cowan said dryly. But the girl rattled on, determined seemingly, to have her plans told right out, now that she had commenced. "Well, it does pay really, mother," she said with a convincing and deprecatory gesture. "The only thing that is a drawback is that it will be such a long time before I could be eligible for any good situation ; and there will be some little expenses at the college while I am in training But then even that would be almost the same anywhere," she went on eagerly. " A shop for instance ; if I served in a business-house as an apprentice like many girls do, I should have no salary I fancy, for three years at least ; it may be five for what I know.

I should hate to be a shop-girl. I have heard that their position in some cases is horrid ; and I am sure I should not like to be in some of the shops around Plymouth, or indeed, in any." " I do not think you will ever be a shop assistant, Phyllis ; so we need not discuss that now. Only remember dear that a shop life, as you call it, is not to be despised more than any other. In itself it is quite as honourable a calling as that of a teacher ; and in some respects the first has advantages the other cannot possess. With regard to your school-life, well, if things go on just as they are now, I hope to be able to keep you with Mrs. Brewis until you are about seventeen. If you can gain the scholarship you mention, you know dear, I shall be very pleased, and will help you all I can ; but that is a matter which time and future circumstances alone can decide.

We cannot make such plans as yours with any degree of certainty, remember Phyllis. Meanwhile you can work on steadily; and success of some kind will assuredly reward you in the end. Only do not overtax your strength. A vigorous mind will often over-run the powers of the body ; and if strained too highly, both mind and body will have to pay the penalty by-and-bye." B

Chapter III

" As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top, So, darkness in the pathway of man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence, By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon ; And what is dark below is light in Heaven." (J. G. Whittier) HYLLIS, in spite of occasional impulsive heedlessness, possessed a practical nature ; as may be gathered from the completeness of her plans. And these very plans, resembling so nearly the proverbial air-castles, revealed her imaginative powers also. Unfortunately her thoughts had been always too self-concentrated ; her imagination had not had sufficient scope. She read considerably, and delighted in romance of poetry or prose. Scott, Shakes peare and Spenser were her favourite authors ; but she fell into the common groove of so many readers, that of fancying herself in the position of every variety of heroine, or even hero ; and in imagination sharing each experience of her favourites.