Harold met with a smile the smile on the fair young face upturned towards his, yet felt that he must put some sober tints into Alicia’s bright picture.
“You must remember, my love,” he observed, “that the work in Talwandi is rather that of clearing and breaking up ground than that of reaping a harvest. You must be prepared for some difficulties in a new station like ours, which has been worked for scarcely a year. When my father was moved to the Panjab he had a new language to learn, and not one of his native helpers beside him. He has had at Talwandi very uphill and rather discouraging work.”
“Was not your father grieved to leave his old station and friends?” asked Alicia.
“Much grieved; for there were many converts, most of whom he himself had baptized. But there were circumstances which made the move advisable; and my father, without a murmur, though not without a sigh, gave up his long-cherished hope of spending his last days in his old home and amongst his own people, and being buried in the same grave as my mother.”
“I think that it was very hard to send your father away against his will!” exclaimed Alicia.
“Missionaries must have submissive wills, my love, and think nothing hard that is right.”
“Oh, it will take me a long time to learn that lesson,” cried Alicia. “Papa always let me have my own way—perhaps more than was quite good for me. Do you know,” Alicia added in a more lively tone, “when I asked Robin—playfully of course—whether I should not make a capital missionary, he was bear enough to shrug his broad shoulders and say, ‘Time will show’?”
“Robin could not flatter to save his life,” remarked Harold; “but with all his bluntness you will like him, Alicia. He has the kindest, the truest of hearts.”
“Oh, I like him amazingly!” cried the bride. “We were hand and glove from the first—only the glove is not a kid one. Robin will help to make our house the daintiest little home to be found in all the Panjab. I have quantities of pretty things, you know—pictures and beautifully-bound books. We will have a flower-garden too, and creepers all over the house. I mean it to look like a bower.”
Harold did not like to speak again of difficulties; he only remarked with a smile, “Missionaries cannot always contrive to have very elegant homes, my Alicia.”