Chapter 14: Dorothea’s Letter

“I HAVE been very nearly a year at home now,” wrote Dorothea Tracy to her friend, Mrs. Kirkpatrick, one dull December afternoon.

“Nearly a whole year! What a long time a year is! I feel ages older than when I saw you last. Quite middle-aged and experienced.”

“It has not been an unhappy year. Need one ever be unhappy, I wonder, merely because things are not exactly as one would choose? Or rather, —no, I don’t wonder, because I am perfectly sure one need not.”

“I want to tell you that I really have tried hard to follow the advice you gave me that last evening, —you will remember it, though perhaps not as clearly as I do. Trying to do doesn’t always mean doing; but indeed I have tried.”

“You said that I must always live steadily by rule, not let myself be a victim to impulses; and above all, that I was not to be indulgent to self in little matters, because that always means self-indulgence in greater matters too. And I was always to hold myself ready to do whatever might come to hand, and yet not to be discontented if very little came to hand. So you see I have not forgotten.”

“It was a hard battle at first not to be discontented. Everything was so different from what I had fancied beforehand. And for a time there seemed really nothing to do, except to run up or down stairs for my father, and to be kind to little Minnie. But one thing after another turned up; and I have found, as you said I should, that one always may be busy and useful, if only one will.”

“As for self-discipline, I shouldn’t think one ever need be in any difficulty.”

“At first, of course, I was in the swing of school habits; and I kept on doing as you had taught me, half in a mechanical way. But there came a time when I began to realise that I was free to please myself in little things, and that there was nobody to control me, and somehow I began to give in.”

“I wonder whether you ever did that, and found out how dreadfully self-indulgent one can grow in a very little while.”

“I didn’t see it at all at first. The change wasn’t slow, but it was so gliding. I never had an idea before how easily one can slip and slide into a sort of small slavery to one’s body, if once one relaxes guard! You won’t believe it, perhaps, but I was getting quite lazy—always lounging about in easy-chairs, and lying in bed too late in the morning, and indulging myself in story reading when I ought to have been doing some other thing, and fancying myself tired when I only wanted rousing, and even getting fanciful and fussy about food—which you know was an old trouble, but I really did think I had quite got over it.”

“My father got vexed one morning, when I was down rather late for breakfast, and he told me I was indolent. That helped me to see, first. And then Lent came; and on the first Sunday evening we had a sermon from Mr. Mordan, on ‘bringing the body into subjection,’ and ‘using such abstinence,’—in the Collect, you know.”

“He did speak plainly! He warned us to take care of just those very things that I had been growing careless about. He mentioned a good many ways in which one might fail; and amongst them were too much lying in bed, and daintiness in eating, and self-indulgence in reading. And he advised us to make particular use of Lent by going right in the face of any habits that were getting a mastery over us—for yielding in one thing would be yielding in all, and every time one is beaten, one gets weaker. ‘But mind,’ he said, ‘you must not think that when Lent is over, you are free to revert to your bad habits.’ That did so remind me of you, and how you used to say, ‘Don’t slacken because Lent is ended.’”

“It was a hard fight after that, but I did begin to get up earlier, and not to let myself lounge about or read stories in the morning, and to make myself sometimes eat things I didn’t like. After a while it grew easier; and then I felt how much I had owed to you. But somehow I never felt inclined to write this all until now.”

“Soon after I came home, my father subscribed to a library near for me, and that has been a great delight. Mr. and Mrs. Mordan lend me books too, now and then. I make it a rule to have some volume of solid reading always in hand, and a good sensible story besides for the evening—not a trashy sort.”

“And only think! My father goes to Church with me now, at least once every Sunday. Isn’t that a change? I could so seldom persuade him at first.”

“One thing has disappointed me. For a time he was so much brighter and more chatty. He used to tell stories of his Army life, and he really seemed to like me to chat to him. But that is over now. He has been getting more and more silent through the autumn—even gloomy. Some days, he hardly speaks at all, and when he does, he speaks sharply. I feel almost sure that some trouble or worry is weighing on his mind; and I have an idea that it has to do with money.”