{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26742/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26742","id":"gutenberg_26742","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26742","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Fiction","Conduct of life -- Fiction","Physicians -- Fiction","Sisters -- Fiction","Soldiers -- Fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: \"Dear me! how stiff and proper they both were.\"--Page\n235.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS AT HOME\n\nBY PANSY\n\n    AUTHOR OF \"FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA,\" \"ESTER RIED,\" \"LINKS IN\n        REBECCA'S LIFE,\" \"JULIA RIED,\" \"HOUSEHOLD PUZZLES,\"\n          \"RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES,\" \"THE RANDOLPHS,\" \"WISE\n            AND OTHERWISE,\" \"A NEW GRAFT ON THE FAMILY\n                TREE,\" \"WHAT SHE SAID, AND WHAT SHE\n              MEANT,\" \"THE POCKET MEASURE,\" \"HALL IN\n               THE GROVE,\" \"SOME YOUNG HEROINES,\"\n                 \"FIVE FRIENDS,\" \"MRS. SOLOMON\n                       SMITH LOOKING\n                         ON,\" ETC.\n\n\n                               TORONTO\n               WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING ST. EAST\n          MONTREAL: C. W. COATES      HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                            PAGE\n          CHAPTER I.\n          TREADING ON NEW GROUND               7\n\n          CHAPTER II.\n          FLOSSY \"BEGINS\"                     30\n\n          CHAPTER III.\n          BURDENS                             49\n\n          CHAPTER IV.\n          COL. BAKER'S SABBATH EVENING        72\n\n          CHAPTER V.\n          NEW MUSIC                           87\n\n          CHAPTER VI.\n          DISTURBING ELEMENTS                102\n\n          CHAPTER VII.\n          PRAYER-MEETING AND TABLEAUX        118\n\n          CHAPTER VIII.\n          DR. DENNIS' STUDY                  134\n\n          CHAPTER IX.\n          A WHITE SUNDAY                     150\n\n          CHAPTER X.\n          THE RAINY EVENING                  166\n\n          CHAPTER XI.\n          THE NEXT THING                     181\n\n          CHAPTER XII.\n          SETTLING QUESTIONS                 197\n\n          CHAPTER XIII.\n          LOOKING FOR WORK                   211\n\n          CHAPTER XIV.\n          AN UNARMED SOLDIER                 227\n\n          CHAPTER XV.\n          MARION'S PLAN                      243\n\n          CHAPTER XVI.\n          THEORY VERSUS PRACTICE             258\n\n          CHAPTER XVII.\n          THE DISCUSSION                     275\n\n          CHAPTER XVIII.\n          THE RESULT                         291\n\n          CHAPTER XIX.\n          KEEPING THE PROMISE                307\n\n          CHAPTER XX.\n          HOW IT WAS DONE                    322\n\n          CHAPTER XXI.\n          RUTH AND HAROLD                    337\n\n          CHAPTER XXII.\n          REVIVAL                            355\n\n          CHAPTER XXIII.\n          THE STRANGE STORY                  368\n\n          CHAPTER XXIV.\n          LONELINESS                         385\n\n          CHAPTER XXV.\n          THE ADDED NAME                     401\n\n          CHAPTER XXVI.\n          LEARNERS                           418\n\n          CHAPTER XXVII.\n          FLOSSY'S PARTY                     435\n\n          CHAPTER XXVIII.\n          A PARTING GLANCE                   451\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS AT HOME.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTREADING ON NEW GROUND.\n\n\nTHAT last Sabbath of August was a lovely day; it was the first Sabbath\nthat our girls had spent at home since the revelation of Chautauqua. It\nseemed lovely to them. \"The world looks as though it was made over new\nin the night,\" Eurie had said, as she threw open her blinds, and drew in\nwhiffs of the sweet, soft air. And the church, whither these girls had\nso often betaken themselves on summer mornings, just like this one--how\n_could_ two or three weeks have changed it? They could not feel that it\nwas the same building.\n\nHitherto it had been to them simply the First Church; grander, by\nseveral degrees, than any other church in the city, having the finest\nchoir, and the finest organ, and the most elegant carpets, and making\nthe grandest floral display of all the temples, as became the First\nChurch, of course; but to-day, this glowing, glorious August day, it was\nsomething infinitely above and beyond all this; it was the visible\ntemple of the invisible God, _their_ Saviour, and they were going up to\nworship--aye, really and truly to _worship_. They, in their different\nways, according to their very different natures, felt this and were\nthrilled with it as their feet trod the aisles. People can feel a great\nmany things, and not show them to the casual observer. Sitting in their\nrespective pews, they looked in no sense different from the way they had\nlooked on a hundred different Sabbaths before this.\n\nRuth Erskine, in the corner of her father's pew, attired, as she had\noften been before, in the most delicate and exquisite of summer silks,\nwith exactly the right shade of necktie, gloves and sash, to set off\nthe beauty of the dress, with the soft and delicate laces about her\nwhite throat, for which she was especially noted, looked not one whit\ndifferent from the lady who sat there three weeks before. You wouldn't\nhave known that her heart was singing for joy.\n\nFlossy Shipley, aglow with elegance, as she always was, looked the same\nairy butterfly that had flitted in and out of that church on many a\nsummer day before; and Marion, in her corner in the gallery, was simply\nthe grave, somewhat weary-looking school-teacher at one of the wards--\"a\ngirl with infidel tendencies,\" that is all the great congregation knew\nabout her; in fact, comparatively few of them knew even that.\n\nEurie Mitchell was the doctor's eldest daughter, and had in no sense\nimproved as to her toilet--\"a thing which could hardly be expected,\nsince she had thrown away so much money on that wild scheme of living in\nthe woods;\" that was what some of the congregation thought about her.\n\nDr. Dennis saw all these girls, and looked gloomy over them; he was in\nthe mood to need sympathetic hearers, to long to be in accord with his\naudience, and feel that they could sympathize with him in his reach\nafter a higher type of religion. What could these four girls know about\na higher type, when they had no religion at all, and had been spending\ntwo lawless weeks in looking at the subject, till their hearts were\neither attuned to ridicule or disgusted, according to their several\ntemperaments? That was what the faces of our four girls said to him. Yet\nhow they listened to his sermon.\n\n\"I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness.\" These were the\nwords on which he spoke; and the burden of his thought was that\nsatisfaction was not to be sought for here; nothing less than the\nabsolute _likeness_ should give absolute satisfaction; and this likeness\nwas to be forever eagerly, earnestly, constantly, sought for, striven\nafter, until some day would come that blessed awakening, and the picture\nwould be found to be complete!\n\nWas it the best sermon that had ever been preached? Was it the _only_\nspiritual sermon that the First Church people had ever heard, or was it\nthat four girls had been to Chautauqua, and there learned how to listen?\nTheir cheeks glowed, and their eyes dilated over the wonderful thoughts\nthat the subject presented, the endless possibility for climbing!\n\nMarion Wilbur had been counted ambitious; she had longed for a chance to\nreach high; here was her chance; she felt it, and gloried in it; she\nmeant to try. Every nerve quivered with the determination, and the\nsatisfaction of realizing that she belonged to the great royal family.\nNo more obscurity for her. She was a child of the King, and the kingdom\nwas in view. A crown, aglow with jewels--nothing less must satisfy her\nnow. The sermon over, the hymn sung, and amid the pealing of the organ,\nas it played the worshipers down the aisles, our four girls met.\n\nThey knew each other's determination. The next thing to do was to go to\nSunday-school. But I suppose you have no idea how strangely they felt;\nhow much it seemed to them as if they were children who had come to a\nparty uninvited, and as if they must at this last minute hide their\nheads and run home. The very effort to go up to the Sunday-school room\nseemed too much a cross to undertake.\n\nThere were so many to stare, and look their amazement; there was no one\nto go with; nobody to think of such a thing as asking them to go. It\nwould have been so much less awkward if they could have followed in the\nlead of one who had said, \"Won't you come up and see our Sunday-school?\"\n\nThe superintendent passed them as they stood irresolute; he bowed\ncourteously, and no more thought of asking them to join him than though\nthey had been birds of brilliant plumage flying by. Dr. Dennis passed\nthem; _he_ said good-morning, not gladly, not even graciously; he\ndreaded those girls, and their undoubted influence. They had not the\nleast idea how much mischief they had done him in the way of frittering\naway his influence heretofore. How should they know that he dreaded\nthem? On the other hand how was he to know that they absolutely longed\nfor him to take them by the hand, and say, \"Come?\" They looked at him\ncuriously as he passed, and Eurie said:\n\n\"Doesn't it make your heart beat to think of going to him in his study,\nand having a private talk?\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Flossy, \"I never shall think of such a thing. I couldn't\ndo it any more than I could fly.\"\n\n\"There are harder things than that to do, I suspect; and it will come to\na visit to his study if we are to unite with the church; don't you know\nthat is what he always asks of those?\"\n\nAnd then these girls looked absolutely blank, for to two of them the\nthought of that duty had never occurred before; they did not understand\nit well enough to know that it was a privilege.\n\n\"Well,\" said Eurie, rallying first, of course, \"are we to stand here\ngazing around us all day, because nobody knows enough to invite us to go\nup-stairs? It is clear that we are not to be invited. They are all\ncome--all the Sabbath-school people; and, hark! why, they are singing.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Flossy; \"then it is commenced; I hate to go in when it\nis commenced. How very unfortunate this is!\"\n\n\"Serves us right,\" said Marion. \"We ought to be in a condition to invite\nothers, instead of waiting here to be invited. I'll tell you what,\ngirls, if we ever get to feel that we _do_ belong, let's constitute\nourselves a committee to see after timid strangers, like ourselves, and\ngive them a _chance in_, at least.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ruth, speaking for the first time, \"shall we go home and\nwait till next Sunday, and take a fair start, as Flossy says, it isn't\npleasant to go in after the exercises have fairly opened?\" As she said\nthis, for the first time in her life Miss Ruth Erskine began to have a\ndim idea that possibly she might be a coward; this certainly sounded a\nlittle like it.\n\nEach waited to get a bit of advice from the other. Both Marion and\nEurie, it must be confessed, bold spirits that they were, so dreaded\nthis ordeal, that each hoped the other would advise retreat as the\nwisest thing to be done next. It was Flossy who spoke:\n\n\"I am going up now; it won't be any easier next Sunday, and I want to\nbegin.\"\n\n\"There!\" said Eurie, \"that is just what I needed to shame me into common\nsense. What a company of idiots we are! Marion, what would you think of\na day-scholar who would stand shivering outside your doors for this\nlength of time? Now come on, all of you;\" and she led the way up-stairs.\n\nHow very awkward it was! It was during the opening prayer that they\narrived, and they had to stand by the door and be peeped at by\nirreverent children; then they had to invite themselves to a vacant seat\nnear the door. The superintendent came that way presently, and said:\n\n\"Good-morning, young ladies; so you have come in to visit our school?\nGlad to see you; it is a pleasant place, I think you will find.\"\n\n\"That is extremely doubtful,\" Eurie said, in undertone, as he passed on.\nHow the children did stare!\n\n\"They are certainly unused to visitors,\" Ruth said, growing\nuncomfortable under such prolonged gazing. \"What is the use of all this,\ngirls? We might better be at home.\"\n\n\"If we had grown up here,\" Eurie said, bravely, \"we should probably have\nour place by this time. It all comes of our graceful lives. But I must\nsay they make it very easy for people to stay away. Why on earth don't\nthey invite us to go into Bible classes? What right have they to take\nit for granted that we came out of pure curiosity?\"\n\nThe business of the hour went on, and our girls were still left\nunmolested. As the newness wore somewhat away, the situation began to\ngrow funny. They could see that the pastor and the superintendent were\nengaged in anxious conversation, to judge by the gravity of their faces;\nand as their eyes occasionally roved in that direction, it was natural\nto suppose they were discussing the unexpected visitors.\n\nCould they have heard the anxious talk it would have been a solemn\ncomment on their reputations.\n\n\"That Morris class is vacant again to-day,\" the superintendent was\nsaying; \"I don't know what we are to do with that class; no one is\nwilling to undertake it.\"\n\nThe pastor looked toward his own large class waiting for him, and said,\nwith a weary sigh:\n\n\"I believe I shall have to give up my class to some one and take that. I\ndon't want to; it is a class which requires more nervous energy than I\nhave at command at this hour of the day. But what is to be done with\nthem to-day?\"\n\n\"Would it do to ask one of the young ladies on the visitors' seat?\"\n\nAnd then the eyes of the two men turned toward the girls.\n\n\"They are afraid of us,\" whispered Eurie, her propensity to see the\nludicrous side of things in no whit destroyed by her conversion. \"Look\nat their troubled faces; they think that we are harbingers of mischief.\nOh me! What a reputation to have! But I declare it is funny.\" Whereupon\nshe laughed softly, but unmistakably.\n\nIt was at this moment that Dr. Dennis' eyes rested on her.\n\n\"Oh, they are only here for material to make sport of,\" he said,\ngloomily; \"Miss Erskine might keep the boys quiet for awhile if she\nchose to do so, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Or Miss Wilbur. Some of the boys in that class are in school, in her\nward; they say she has grand order.\"\n\nDr. Dennis' face grew stern.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"don't ask _her_; at least we will not put them in a way\nto learn error, if we can teach them nothing good. Miss Wilbur is an\ninfidel. I don't know what is to be done with that class, as you say.\nPoor Morris, I am afraid, will never be able to take it again; and he\nwas utterly discouraged with them, anyway. They get no good here that I\ncan see; and they certainly do infinite mischief to the rest of the\nschool.\"\n\n\"But at the same time I suppose we cannot send them away?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly not. Well, suppose you try if Miss Erskine will sit\nthere, and try to awe them by her dignity for awhile. And this week we\nmust see what can be done; she won't try it, though, I presume.\"\n\nIt ended in the superintendent coming toward them at last. He didn't\nlike to be too personal in his request, so he took the general way of\nputting a question, resting in the belief that each would refuse, and\nthat then he could press the task on Miss Erskine.\n\n\"We are short of teachers to-day; would one of you be willing to sit\nwith that class at your right, and try to interest them a little? They\nare a sad set; very little can be done with them, but we have to try.\"\n\nI shall have to confess that both Ruth and Marion were appalled. The one\nshrank as much as the other. If it had been a class in mathematics or\nphilosophy Marion would have been confident of her powers; but she felt\nso very ignorant of the Bible. She had come in, hoping and expecting a\nchance to slip into a grand Bible class, where she might learn some of\nthe inner truths of that glorious lesson that she had been trying to\nstudy. But to teach it! This seemed impossible. As for Ruth, no thought\nof such an experience had as yet come to her. They, therefore,\nmaintained a dismayed silence. Eurie was frank.\n\n\"I can't teach,\" she said; \"I don't understand it myself. I shouldn't\nhave the least idea what to say to anyone about the Bible lesson.\" And\nthen they all turned and stared in a maze of surprise and perplexity at\nlittle fair-haired Flossy.\n\n\"I would like to try,\" she said, simply; \"I have thought about the\nlesson all the week; I am not sure that I can _teach_ anything, but I\nshould like to talk the story over with them if they will let me.\"\n\nThere was nothing for it but to lead this exquisite bit of flesh and\nblood, in her dainty summer toilet, before that rough and rollicking\nclass of boys, old enough, some of them, to be called young men, but\nwithout an idea as to the manner of conduct that should honor that name.\nIt would be hard to tell which was the most amazed and embarrassed, the\nsuperintendent or the girls whom Flossy left looking after her. They\nwere quite sobered now; they did not want Flossy to come to grief. A\ntender feeling that was new and sweet had sprung up in the heart of each\nof them toward her.\n\n\"That innocent little kitten knows no more what she has undertaken than\nif she were a dove,\" said Marion, dismay and discomfort struggling in\nher face. \"Why, she might as well be Daniel in the den of lions.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Eurie, speaking gravely, \"he came out all right, you know.\"\nThen she hailed the passing superintendent:\n\n\"Mr. Stuart, isn't there a Bible class that we can go in? We didn't come\nto look on. We want to study the lesson.\"\n\n\"Oh, why, yes, certainly,\" Mr. Stuart said, stammering and looking\nunutterable astonishment. \"Where would they like to go? There were two\nvacant seats in Mr. Pembrook's class, and one in Judge Elmore's.\"\n\nRuth instantly chose Judge Elmore's, and left Marion and Eurie to make\ntheir way to the vacant places in Mr. Pembrook's class.\n\nThe young ladies of the class moved along and made room for the new\ncomers, and the teacher carefully told them what chapter and verse were\nbeing studied. They found their places, and Mr. Pembrook searched\nlaboriously for his. He had lost the spot on his lesson leaf where he\nhad read the last question, and he was all at sea.\n\n\"Let me see,\" he said, \"where _were_ we?\"\n\nNone of them seemed to know; at least they gave him no information. One\nof them tried to button a glove that was too small for her; one yawned\nbehind her Bible, and the most utter indifference in regard to the\nlesson or the school seemed to prevail.\n\n\"Oh,\" said. Mr. Pembrook, \"here is where we were. I was just reading the\nthirtieth verse: 'As he spake these words many believed on him.' Who\nspake them?\"\n\n\"Jesus,\" one answered, speaking the word with a yawn.\n\n\"What did Jesus say next?\"\n\nThe next young lady thus appealed to, hurriedly looked up the place in\nher Bible and read:\n\n\"'Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, if ye continue in\nmy word, then are ye my disciples indeed.'\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Pembrook, after a thoughtful pause, \"there doesn't seem\nto be anything to say on that verse; it is all there. Will _you_ read\nthe next verse?\"\n\nNow the \"you\" whom he timidly addressed was our Marion. She doesn't\nunderstand even now why her heart should have throbbed so strangely; and\nher voice trembled as she read aloud the simple words:\n\n\"'And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'\"\n\n\"Free from what?\" she asked abruptly.\n\nThe class stared. Clearly the art of asking questions was an unknown\naccomplishment in that class. Mr. Pembrook looked at her through his\nglasses; then he pushed his glasses up on his forehead. Finally he took\nthem off, and rubbed them carefully with the skirt of his coat before he\nessayed to answer.\n\n\"Why, my dear young lady, I suppose it means free from sin. The Lord\nJesus Christ was speaking to his people, you know, to Christian people.\"\n\n\"Are Christian people free from sin?\"\n\nThere was no note of cavil in Marion's voice. Her eyes were earnest and\nserious; and she waited, as one waits in honest perplexity, to have a\npuzzle solved. But she was known as one who held dangerous, even infidel\nnotions, and Mr. Pembrook, bewildered as to how to answer her, seemed to\nfeel that probably a rebuke was what she needed.\n\n\"It is not for us to find fault with the words of the Lord Jesus Christ,\nmy dear young lady. He spoke them, and they must mean what they say. We\nare to accept them in all sincerity and humility, remembering that what\nwe know not now we shall know hereafter. That is the _Christian_ way to\ndo.\"\n\nAnd then he cleared his throat and asked the next young lady to read the\nnext verse.\n\nTwo bright spots glowed on Marion's cheeks. She bent her head low over\nher Bible, and it was with difficulty that she kept a rush of tears from\nfilling her eyes. Had she seemed to cavil at the words of her Lord when\nshe simply longed with all her soul to understand? _Did_ the promise\nmean, You shall be free from sin? Had she a right to look forward to and\nhope for the time when sin should have no more dominion? Then that other\nsentence: \"_Continue_ in my work.\" Just what did it mean? Could one who\nwas searching it eagerly and prayerfully, and trying to abide by its\ndirections, be said to be continuing in it?\n\nThere were a dozen questions that she longed to ask. She had sought the\nSabbath-school this morning in search of help. She felt blind and lame,\nunable to take a step in any direction lest in her ignorance she should\nerr, as already she had. Something in her way of speaking of these\nthings must be radically wrong. She had misled this good man. It was no\nuse to ask _him_ questions.\n\nAs the lesson progressed there appeared other reasons why she need not\nquestion him. Clearly the good man knew nothing about his lesson save\nthe questions contained on the bit of paper before him. It was entirely\nevident that he had not looked at the verses, nor thought of them until\nhe came before his class.\n\nIt was equally plain that his scholars were entirely accustomed to this\nstate of things, and were careful to follow his example. He could read a\nquestion at them from his lesson paper, and they could read an answer\nback to him from their Bibles, and this was all that either party\nexpected of the other. Why these young ladies continued to come Sabbath\nafter Sabbath, and go over this weary routine of question and answer was\na mystery to Marion.\n\nShe came away from the school in a most uncomfortable frame of mind.\nThat to which she had looked forward all the week had proved a\ndisappointment and a failure. She was almost inclined to say that she\nwould have no more to do with Sunday-schools; that they really were the\nhumbug that she had always supposed them.\n\n\"Imagine my going to a philosophy class, knowing no more about the\nlesson than that old man did to-day!\" she said to Eurie, as they walked\ndown to the corner of Elm Street together.\n\n\"I know,\" said Eurie, speaking with unusual thoughtfulness; \"but suppose\nyou _were_ dull in the class, if it were known after all that you could\nmake the most brilliant philosophical experiments you would probably be\nlistened to with respect.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Marion bewildered.\n\n\"Why, I mean that Deacon Pembrook can perform the experiments\nsuccessfully. In other words, to come down to your comprehension, he\nsucceeds in living so pure and careful a Christian life that he has the\nrespect and confidence of everybody. What if he can't preach? He can\npractice. However, I am willing to admit that the dear old man would be\nmore edifying if he would study his lesson a little. Wasn't it funny to\nthink of calling that 'teaching?'\" And then this volatile young lady\nlaughed. But her moralizing had done Marion good.\n\nShe said good-morning more cheerily, and went on her way thinking over\nthe many things that she had heard in honor of Deacon Pembrook; so that\nby the time she had reached her boarding-house, although his teaching\nwould certainly make a very poor show, yet his sweet Christian life had\ncome up to plead for him, and Marion was forced to feel that the truth\nhad \"made him free.\"\n\n\"But it is a real pity not to study his lesson,\" she said, as she went\nabout her gloomy-looking room. \"Those girls didn't get a single idea to\nhelp them in any way. Some of them need ideas badly enough. Two or three\nof them are members of the church, I am sure. That Allie March is, but\nshe has no ideas on _any_ subject; you can see that in the grammar\nclass.\"\n\nAnd then Marion remembered that Allie March was in _her_ grammar class;\nand Allie was a professed Christian. Could _she_ help her? It was not\npride in Marion, but she had to smile at the thought of herself being\nhelped by so very third-rate a brain as that which Allie March\npossessed. And then she paused, with her hand on the clothes-press door,\nand her face glowed at the new and surprising thought that just then\ncame to her.\n\n\"Would it not be possible for her, Marion Wilbur, to help Allie March,\neven in her Christian life!\"\n\nAll that afternoon, though, she went about or sat down in her room with\na sense of loneliness. No one to speak to who could understand and would\nbelieve in her, even in the Sunday-school they were afraid of her. How\ncould she help or be helped, while this state of things lasted?\n\nIt was in the early twilight that, as she sat with her hat and sack on,\nwaiting for Eurie, who had engaged to call for her to go to church, she\nstrayed across a verse or two in her new possession, the Bible, that\ntouched the point. It was where Saul \"essayed to join himself to the\ndisciples; but they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was\na disciple.\" Her experience precisely! They were afraid of her\ninfluence; afraid of her tongue; afraid of her example; and, indeed,\nwhat reason had they to feel otherwise? But she read on, that blessed\nverse wherein it says: \"But Barnabas took him, and brought him to the\napostles, and declared unto them how he had seen the Lord in the way,\nand that he had spoken to him.\" She was reading this for the second\ntime, when Eurie came.\n\n\"See here, Eurie, read this,\" she said, as she passed her the Bible and\nmade her final preparations for church. \"Isn't that our experience? I\nmean I think it _is_ to be ours. Judging from to-day as a foretaste,\nthey will be afraid of us and believe not that we are disciples.\"\n\nEurie laughed, a quick little laugh that had an undertone of feeling in\nit, as she said:\n\n\"Well, then, I hope we shall find a Barnabas to vouch for us before\nlong.\"\n\nAnd Marion knew that she, too, felt the loneliness and the sense of\nbelonging to no one. \"We must help each other very much, we girls.\" This\nshe said to herself as they went down the steps together.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFLOSSY \"BEGINS.\"\n\n\nFLOSSY SHIPLEY'S first day at Sabbath-school was different. She went\nover to the class of boys, who were almost young men, with trepidation\nindeed, and yet with an assured sort of feeling that they would be\nquiet. Just how she was going to accomplish this she was not certain.\nShe had studied the words of the lesson most carefully and prayerfully;\nindeed, they had been more in her mind all the week than had anything\nelse. At the same time, she by no means understood how to teach those\nwords and thoughts to the style of young men who were now before her.\n\nStill, there was that in Flossy which always held the attention of the\nyoung men; she knew this to be the case, and, without understanding\nwhat her peculiar power was, she felt that she had it, and believed that\nshe could call it into service for this new work. They stared at her a\nlittle as she took her seat, then they nudged each other, and giggled,\nand looked down at their dusty boots, guiltless of any attempt at being\nblack, and shuffled them in a way to make a disagreeable noise.\n\nThey knew Flossy--that is, they knew what street she lived on, and how\nthe outside of her father's house looked, and what her standing in\nsociety was; they knew nothing of her in the capacity of a Sunday-school\nteacher; and, truth to tell, they did not believe she _could_ teach. She\nwas a doll set up before them for them to admire and pretend to listen\nto; they did not intend to do it; she had nothing in common with them;\nthey had a right to make her uncomfortable if they could, and they were\nsure that they could. This was the mood in which she found them.\n\n\"Good-morning,\" she said, brightly; and they glanced at each other, and\nshuffled their feet louder, and some of them chuckled louder, while one\nof them said:\n\n\"It's rather late in the morning, ain't it? We got up quite a spell\nago.\"\n\nThis passed for a joke, and they laughed aloud. At this point Flossy\ncaught Dr. Dennis' distressed face turned that way. It was not\nreassuring; he evidently expected disastrous times in that corner.\nFlossy ignored the discourteous treatment of her \"good-morning,\" and\nopened her Bible.\n\n\"Do you know,\" she said, with a soft little laugh, \"that I haven't the\nleast idea how to teach a Sunday-school lesson? I never did such a thing\nin my life; so you mustn't expect wisdom from me. The very most I can do\nis to talk the matter over with you, and ask you what you think about\nit.\"\n\nWhereupon they looked at each other again and laughed; but this time it\nwas a puzzled sort of laugh. This was a new experience. They had had\nteachers who knew extremely little about the lesson, and proved it\nconclusively, but never once did they _own_ it. Their plan had rather\nbeen to assume the wisdom of Solomon, and in no particular to be found\nwanting in information. They did not know what answer to make to\nFlossy.\n\n\"Have you Bibles?\" she asked them.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, here are Lesson Leaves. These are pieces of the Bible, I suppose.\nAre they nice? I don't know anything about them. I have never been in\nSunday-school, you see; not since I was a little girl. What are these\ncards for, please?\"\n\nNow, they understood all about the management of the library cards, and\nthe method of giving out books by their means, and Flossy was so\nevidently ignorant, and so puzzled by their attempts at explanation, and\nasked so many questions, and took so long to understand it, that they\nreally became very much interested in making it clear to her, and then\nin helping her carry out the programme which they had explained; and\neveryone of them had a queer sense of relationship to the school that\nthey had not possessed before. They knew more than she did, and she was\nwilling to own it.\n\n\"Now about this lesson,\" she said, at last. \"I really don't see how\npeople teach such lessons.\"\n\n\"They don't,\" said one whom they called \"Rich. Johnson.\" \"They just\npretend to, and they go around it, and through it, and ask baby\nquestions, and pretend that they know a great deal; that's the kind of\nteaching that we are used to.\"\n\nFlossy laughed.\n\n\"You won't get it to-day,\" she said, \"for I certainly don't know a great\ndeal, and I don't know how to pretend that I do. But I like to read\nabout this talk that Christ had with the people; and I should have liked\nof all things to have been there and heard him. I would like to go now\nto the place where he was. Wouldn't you like to go to Jerusalem?\"\n\nWhat an awkward way they had of looking from one to the other, and\nnudging each other. Rich. Johnson seemed to be the speaker for the\nclass. He spoke now in a gruff, unprepossessing voice;\n\n\"I'd enough sight rather go to California.\"\n\nThe others thought this a joke, and laughed accordingly. Flossy caught\nat it.\n\n\"California,\" she said, brightly. \"Oh, I've been there. I don't wonder\nthat you want to go. It is a grand country. I saw some of those great\ntrees that we have heard about.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"Flossy laid her Bible in her lap, and began.\"--Page 35.]\n\nAnd forthwith she launched into an eager description of the mammoth\ntree; and as they leaned forward, and asked now and then an intelligent\nquestion, Flossy blessed the good fortune that had made her her father's\nchosen companion on his hasty trip to California the year before. What\nhad all the trees in California to do with the Sabbath-school lesson?\nNothing, of course; but Flossy saw with a little thrill of satisfaction\nthat the boys were becoming interested in _her_.\n\n\"But for all that,\" she said, coming back suddenly, \"I should like ever\nso much to go to Jerusalem. I felt so more and more, after I went to\nthat meeting at Chautauqua, and saw the city all laid out and a model of\nthe very temple, you know, where Jesus was when he spoke these words.\"\n\nThey did not laugh this time; on the contrary, they looked interested.\nShe could describe a tree, perhaps she had something else worth hearing.\n\n\"What's that?\" said Rich. \"That's something I never heard of.\"\n\nAnd then Flossy laid her Bible in her lap, and began to describe the\nliving picture of the Holy Land, as she had seen and loved it at\nChautauqua. Of course you know that she did _that_ well. Was not her\nheart there? Had she not found a new love, and life, and hope, while she\nwalked those sunny paths that led to Bethany, and to the Mount of\nOlives? Every one of the boys listened, and some of them questioned, and\nRich. said, when she paused:\n\n\"Well, now, that's an idea, I declare. I wouldn't mind seeing it\nmyself.\"\n\nAnd to each one of them came a glimmering feeling that there actually\n_was_ such a city as Jerusalem, and such a person as Jesus Christ did\nreally live, and walk, and talk here on the earth. Then Flossy took up\nher Bible again.\n\n\"But, of course, the next best thing to going to places, and actually\nseeing people, is to read about them, and find out what the people said\nand did. I like these verses especially, because they mean us as well as\nthose to whom they were spoken. Look at this verse. I have been all the\nweek over it, and I don't see but I shall have to stay over it all my\nlife. 'Then said Jesus, If ye _continue_ in my word, then are ye my\ndisciples indeed.' Just think how far that reaches! All through the\nwords of Jesus. So many of them, so many things to do, and so many _not_\nto do; and then not only to begin to follow them, but to _continue_; day\nafter day getting a little farther, and knowing a little more. After\nall, it's very fascinating work, isn't it? If it _is_ hard, like\nclimbing a mountain, one gets nearer the top all the while; and when you\ndo really reach the top, how splendid it is! Or, doing a hard piece of\nwork, it's so nice to get nearer and nearer to the end of it, and feel\nthat you have done it.\"\n\nOne of the boys yawned. It was not so interesting as the description of\nthe miniature Jerusalem. One of them looked sarcastic. This was Rich.\n\n\"Do you suppose there ever was anybody like that?\" he asked, and the\nmost lofty incredulity was in his voice.\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\n\"Why, that followed out that kind of talk. I know enough about the Bible\nto know they are mighty scarce. I'd go to Jerusalem on foot to see a\nreal one. Where's the folks, I'd like to know, that live up to half of\nthe things it says in the Bible? Why, they even say it _can't_ be done,\nand that's why it seems all bosh to me. What was the use of putting it\nin there if it can't be done?\"\n\nHere was one who had evidently thought, and thought seriously about\nthese things. Is there a boy of seventeen in our country who has not?\nFlossy felt timid. How should she answer the sharp, sarcastic words? He\nhad been studying inconsistencies, and had grown bitter. The others\nlooked on curiously; they had a certain kind of pride in Rich. He was\ntheir genius who held all the teachers at bay with his ingenious tongue.\nBut Flossy had been at a morning meeting in Chautauqua where there was\ntalk on this very subject. It came back to her now.\n\n\"As for being _able_ to do it,\" she said, quickly, \"I don't feel sure\nthat we have anything to do with that, until we have convinced ourselves\nthat we have been just as good as we possibly could. Honestly, now, do\nyou think you have been?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Rich., promptly; \"of course not. And, what is more, I never\npretended that I was.\"\n\n\"Well, I know _I_ haven't been; I am perfectly certain that in a hundred\nways I could have done better. Why, there is nothing that I could not\nhave improved upon if I had tried. So by our own confessions what right\nhave you and I to stumble over not being able to be perfect, so long as\nwe have not begun to be as near it as we could?\"\n\nHow was he to answer this?\n\n\"Oh, well,\" he said, \"I haven't made any pretensions; I'm talking about\nthose who have.\"\n\n\"That's exactly like myself; and, as nearly as I can see, we both belong\nto the class who knew our duty, and had nothing to do with it. Now, I\nwant to tell you that I have decided not to stand with that class any\nlonger.\"\n\nFlossy paused an instant, caught her breath, and a rich flush spread\nover her pretty face. This was her first actual \"witnessing\" outside of\nthe narrow limits of her intimate three friends who all sympathized.\n\n\"I gave myself to this Jesus when I was at Chautauqua,\" I said to him;\n\"that I had stood one side, and had nothing to do with his words all my\nlife; just taken his favors in silence and indifference, but that for\nthe future I was to belong to him. Now, of course, I don't know how many\ntimes I shall fail, nor how many things I shall fail in. The most I know\nis, that I mean to 'continue.' After all, don't you see that the verse\ndoesn't say, If you are _perfect_, but simply, 'If you continue.' Now,\nif I am trying to climb a hill, it makes a difference with my progress,\nto be sure, whether I stumble and fall back a few steps now and then.\nBut for all that I may continue to climb; and if I do I shall be sure to\nreach the top. So now my resolution is to 'continue' in his words all\nthe rest of my life.\"\n\nShe did not ask Rich. to do the same. She said not a word to him about\nhimself. She said not a personal word to one of them, but every boy\nthere felt himself asked to join her. More than that, not a boy of them\nbut respected her. It is wonderful, after all, how rarely in this wicked\nworld we meet with other than respect in answer to a frank avowal of our\ndetermination to be on the Lord's side. They were all quiet for an\ninstant; and again Flossy caught a glimpse of Dr. Dennis' face. It\nlooked perplexity and distrust. Was she telling them a fairy story, or\nteaching them a new game of whist?\n\n\"Then there is such a grand promise in this lesson,\" Flossy went on. \"I\nlike it ever so much for that. 'And ye shall know the truth, and the\ntruth shall make you free.'\"\n\n\"Free from what?\" asked Rich., abruptly. The very question that Miss\nMarion Wilbur had asked in such anxiety. But Flossy was in a measure\nprepared for him. It chanced that she had asked Evan Roberts that\nself-same question.\n\n\"Why, free from the power and dominion of Satan; not belonging to him\nany more, and having a strength that is beyond and above anything\nearthly to lean upon, stronger than Satan's power can ever be.\"\n\nRich. gave a scornful little laugh.\n\n\"He is an old fellow that I don't particularly believe in,\" he said,\nloftily, as though that forever settled the question as to the existence\nof such a person. \"I think a fellow is a silly coward who lays the blame\nof his wickedness off on Satan's shoulders; just as if Satan could make\nhim do what he didn't choose to do! always supposing that there is such\na creature.\"\n\nOh wise and wily Flossy! She knew he was wrong. She knew he had\ncontradicted his own logic, used but a few minutes before, but she did\nnot attempt to prove it to him; for, in the first place, she felt\ninstinctively that the most difficult thing in the world is to convince\nan ignorant person that he has been foolish and illogical in his\nargument. You may prove this to an intelligent mind that is accustomed\nto reason, and to weigh the merits of questions, but it is a rare thing\nto find an uncultured brain that can follow you closely enough to be\nconvinced of his own folly.\n\nFlossy did not understand herself well enough to reason this out. It was\nsimply a fine instinct that she had, perhaps it ought to be called\n\"tact,\" that led her to be careful how she tried anything of this sort.\nBesides, there was another reason. She did not know how to set about\ndoing it. It is one thing to see a sophistry, and another to take to\npieces the filmy threads of which it is composed. She waived the whole\nsubject, and jumped to one on which there could be but one opinion.\n\n\"Well, then, suppose you were right, and every one were free to be\nperfect if he would; that only reaches to the end of this life. We\nsurely haven't been perfect, you and I, for instance, so our perfection\ncannot save us from the penalty of sin, and that is death. What a grand\nthing it would be to be free from that! You believe in death, don't you?\nand I suppose, like every other sensible person, you are afraid of\ndeath, unless you have found something that makes you free from its\npower.\"\n\nRich. was still in a scornful mood.\n\n\"Should like to see anybody that is free from that!\" he said,\nsneeringly. \"As near as I can make out, those persons who think they are\ngood are just as likely to die as the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, but it isn't just that little minute of dying that you and I\nare afraid of; it is _afterward_. We are afraid of what will come next.\nYou see, I know all about it, for I was awfully afraid; I had such a\nfear as I suppose you know nothing about. When it thundered I shivered\nas if I had a chill, and it seemed to me as if every flash of lightning\nwas going to kill me; and when I went on a journey I could enjoy nothing\nfor the fear that there might be an accident and I might be killed. But\nI declare to you that I have found something that has taken the fear\naway. I do not mean that I would like to be killed, or that I am tired\nof living, or anything of the sort. I like to live a great deal better\nthan I ever did before; I think the world is twice as nice, and\neverything a great deal pleasanter; but when I was coming home from\nChautauqua I would waken in the night in the sleeping-car, and I found\nto my surprise that, although I thought of the same thing, the\npossibility that there might be an accident that would cost me my life,\nyet I felt that horrible sense of fear and dread was utterly gone. I\ncould feel that though death in itself might be sad and solemn, yet it\nwas, after all, but the step that opened the door to joy. In short\"--and\nhere Flossy's face shone with a rare sweet smile--\"I _know_ that the\ntruth as it is in Jesus has made me free.\"\n\nRich. was utterly silent. What could he reply in the face of this\nsimple, quiet \"I _know_?\" To say, \"I don't believe it,\" would be the\nheight of folly, and he realized it.\n\nAs for the rest, they had listened to this talk with various degrees of\ninterest; the most of them amused that Rich. should be drawn into any\ntalk so serious, and be evidently so earnest.\n\nLet me tell you a little about these young men. They were not from the\nvery lowest depths of society; that is, they had homes and family ties,\nand they had enough to eat and to wear; in fact they earned these\nlatter, each for himself. There were two of them who had the advantage\nof the public schools, and were fair sort of scholars. Rich. Johnson was\none of these, and was therefore somewhat looked up to and respected by\nthose, even, who would not have gone to school another day if they\ncould.\n\nBut they were far enough out of the reach of Flossy Shipley; so far that\nshe had never come in contact with one of them before in her life. She\nhad no idea as to their names, or their homes, or their lives. She had\nno sort of idea of the temptations by which they were surrounded, nor\nwhat they needed. Perhaps this very fact removed all touch of patronage\nfrom her tone; as, when the bell rang, she found, to her great\nsurprise, that the lesson hour was over, she turned back to them for a\nmoment and said with that sparkling little smile of hers:\n\n\"I'm real sorry you hadn't a teacher to-day. I should have been glad to\nhave taught the lesson if I had known how; but you see how it is; I have\nall these things to learn.\"\n\n\"Now, Rich. Johnson rather prided himself on his rudeness; a strange\nthing to pride one's self on, to be sure. But pride takes all sorts of\ncurious forms, and he had actually rather gloried in his ability to say\nrude and cutting things at a moment's notice; words, you know, that the\nboys in his set called 'cute.' But he was at this time actually\nsurprised into being almost gallant.\n\n\"We never had a better teacher,\" he said, quickly. \"If you are only just\nlearning you better try it again on us; we like the style enough sight\nbetter than the finished up kind.\"\n\nAnd then Flossy smiled again, and thanked them, and said she had enjoyed\nit. And then she did an unprecedented thing. She invited them all to\ncall on her, in a pretty, graceful way, precisely as she would have\ninvited a gentleman friend who had seen her home from a concert, the\nquiet, courteous invitation to her father's house, which is a mere\nmatter of form among the young ladies of her set, but which to these\nboys was as astonishing as an invitation to the Garden of Eden.\n\nThey had not the slightest intention of accepting the invitation, but\nthey felt, without realizing what made them feel so, a sudden added\ntouch of self-respect. I almost think they were more careful of their\nwords during the rest of that day than they would have been but for that\ninvitation.\n\n\"Isn't Sunday-school splendid?\" Flossy said to Ruth Erskine, as, with\nher cheeks in a fine glow of glad satisfaction that she had \"begun,\" she\njoined Ruth in the hall.\n\n\"It was very interesting,\" said Ruth, in her more quiet, thoughtful way.\nShe was thoughtful during the entire walk home.\n\nIt was her lot to slip into one of those grand classes where Bible\nteaching means something more than simply reading over the verses. There\nhad been good seed sown with a lavish hand, and there had been careful\nprobing to see if it had taken root. Ruth had some stronger ideas about\nthe importance of \"continuing.\" She had a renewed sense of the\nblessedness of being made \"free.\" She went home with a renewed desire to\nconsecrate herself, and not only to enjoy, but to labor, that others\nmight enter into that rest. Blessed are those teachers whose earnest\nSabbath work produces such fruit as this!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nBURDENS.\n\n\nUNDER the influence of the sermon, and the prayers, and the glorious\nmusic, life grew to be rose-color to Marion before she reached home that\nSabbath evening. She came home with springing step, and with her heart\nfull of plans and possibilities for the future. Not even the dismalness\nof her unattractive room and desolate surroundings had power to drive\nthe song from her heart. She went about humming the grand tune with\nwhich the evening service had closed:\n\n          \"In the cross of Christ I glory,\n          Towering o'er the wrecks of time.\"\n\nAs she sang, her whole soul thrilled with the joy of glorying in such a\ntheme, and her last thought, as she closed her eyes for the night, was\nabout a plan of work that she meant to carry out.\n\nWhat could have happened in the night to so change the face of the world\nfor her! It looked so utterly different in the morning. School was to\nopen, and she shrank from it, dreaded it. The work looked all drudgery,\nand the plans she had formed the night before seemed impossibilities.\nThe face of nature had changed wonderfully. In place of radiant sunshine\nthere was falling a steady, dismal rain; the clouds bent low, and looked\nlike lead; the wind was moaning in a dismal way, that felt like a wail;\nand nothing but umbrellas, and water-proofs, and rubber over-coats, and\ndreariness, were abroad.\n\nThe pretty, summery school dress that Marion had laid out to wear was\nhung sadly back in her wardrobe, and the inevitable black alpaca came to\nthe surface. It seemed to her the symbol of her old life of dreariness,\nwhich she imagined had gone from her. It was not that she felt utterly\ndismal and desolate; it was not that she had forgotten her late\nexperiences; it was not that she did not know that she had the Friend\nwho is \"the same yesterday, to-day, and forever;\" it was simply that she\ncould not feel it, and joy in it as she had done only yesterday; and her\nreligious life was too recent not to be swayed by feeling and impulse.\n\nThe fact that there was a clear sun shining above the clouds, and a\nstrong and firm mountain up in the sunshine, on which it was her\nprivilege to stand, despite what was going on below, she did not\nunderstand. She did not know what effect the weather and the sense of\nfatigue were having on her, and she felt not only mortified, but\nalarmed, that her joy had so soon gone out in cloud and gloom.\n\nIf she could only just run around the corner to see Eurie a minute, or\nup the hill to Flossy's home, how much it would help her; and the\nthought that she was actually looking to Flossy Shipley and Eurie\nMitchell for help of any sort brought the first smile that she had\nindulged in that morning; she was certainly changed when she could look\nto them for comfort or sympathy.\n\nIs there anyone reading this account of an every day life who does not\nunderstand, by past experience, just how trying a first day at school\nis, when teachers and scholars have come out from the influence of a\nlong summer vacation? Next week, or even to-morrow, they will have\nbattled with, and, in a measure, choked the spirit of disgust, or\nhomesickness, or weariness, with which they come back from play to work;\nbut to-day nothing seems quite so hard in all the world as to turn from\nthe hundred things that have interested and delighted them, and settle\ndown to grammar, and philosophy, and algebra.\n\nTeachers and scholars alike are apt to feel the depression of such\ncircumstances; and when you add to the other discomforts, that of a\nsteady, pouring rain, with a sound of fall in every whiff of wind, you\nwill understand that Marion was to have comparatively little help from\noutside influences. She felt the gloom in her heart deepen as the day\nwent on. She was astonished and mortified at herself to find that the\nold feelings of irritability and sharpness still held her in grasp; she\nwas not free from _them_, at least.\n\nHer tongue was as strongly tempted to be sarcastic, and her tone to be\nstern, as ever they had been. None of the scholars helped her. Those of\nthem who were neither gloomy, nor listless, nor inclined to be cross,\nwere simply _silly_; they laughed on every possible occasion, with or\nwithout an excuse; they devised ways and means to draw off the attention\nof these who made faint efforts to be studious; and, in short, were\ndecidedly the most provoking of all the elements of the day. Marion\nfound herself more than once curling her lip in the old sarcastic way at\nthe inconsistencies and improprieties of those among her pupils who bore\nthe name of Christian.\n\nDuring the long recess she tried to go away by herself, in the hope that\nher heart might quiet down, and rest itself on some of the new and solid\nground on which she had so lately learned to tread. But they followed\nher: several of the teachers, in a gayety of mood, that was half\naffected to hide the homesickness of their hearts, and therefore\ninfected no one else with a cheerful spirit. They were armed with a\npackage of examination papers, given in by those scholars who aspired\nto a higher grade. They loudly called on Marion for assistance.\n\n\"You haven't had a single examination class yet; then it is clearly your\nduty to help the afflicted. 'Bear ye one another's burdens,' you know.\"\n\nIt was Miss Banks who said this, and she had barely escaped being\nMarion's intimate friend; as it was, she came nearer being familiar with\nher than with any other. She wondered now how it could have been that\nshe had liked her! Her voice sounded so shrill and unwinning, and the\nquotation that she so glibly uttered was such a jar. However, she turned\nback with a wan attempt at a smile, and said:\n\n\"I shall have enough examination papers of my own before night. How do\nyours range?\" And she took half a dozen that were reached out to her.\n\n\"They range precisely as if we had a parcel of idiots in our care. The\nblunders that these aspiring young ladies and gentlemen make in\northography are enough to set one's teeth on edge.\"\n\n\"Orthography!\" said Marion, with a curling lip. \"They are years too old\nfor any such common-place as that; it must be history, at least. Here is\nAllie March struggling for the advanced history class, and I venture to\nsay she doesn't know who was President four years ago.\"\n\nAnd then Marion suddenly remembered that Allie March was the one whom,\nin her glorified moments of only the day before she had aspired to help\nforward in her Christian life. If she had seen that sneer and heard\nthose sharp words would it have helped her, or inclined her ever to look\nthat way for help? Then Marion and the rest gave themselves to silence\nand to work.\n\n\"What is the prospect for promotion?\" Prof. Easton said, as he came and\nleaned over the desk before which they worked.\n\nMiss Banks looked up with a laugh.\n\n\"It reminds one of one's childhood and Scripture learning days: 'Many\nare called, but few are chosen.' There will be exceedingly few chosen\nfrom this class.\"\n\nWhy did those Bible quotations so jar Marion? It had been one of her\nweak points to quote them aptly, and with stinging sarcasm. Perhaps\nthat was one reason why she so keenly felt their impropriety now; she\nhad been so long among the \"called,\" and so very recently among the\n\"chosen.\"\n\nThe possibility of having spent a lifetime without ever becoming one of\nthose \"chosen\" ones, seemed so fearful to her, and she felt that she had\nso narrowly escaped that end, that she shivered and drew her little\nshawl around her as she glanced up quickly at Prof. Easton.\n\nHe was a Christian man, a member of the First Church--would he have any\nreply to make to this irreverent application of solemn truth? No, he had\nonly a laugh for reply; it might have been at Miss Banks' rueful face\nthat he laughed; but Marion would have liked him better if he had looked\n_grave_. Miss Banks at that moment caught a glimpse of Marion's grave\nface.\n\n\"Miss Wilbur,\" she said, quickly, \"what on earth can have happened to\nyou during vacation? I never in my life saw you look so solemn. Didn't I\nhear something about your going to the woods to camp-meeting? How was\nthat? I verily believe you spent your time on the anxious-seat, and have\ncaught the expression. Did you find anyone to say to you, 'Come unto\nme?' I'm sure you 'labor' hard enough, and look 'heavy laden,' doesn't\nshe, Prof. Easton? I really think we shall have to start a\nprayer-meeting over her.\"\n\nMarion threw down the paper she was correcting with a nervous start, and\nher voice sounded sharper than she meant.\n\n\"How is it possible, Miss Banks, that you can repeat those words in such\na shockingly irreverent way? Surely you profess to have at least a\n_nominal_ respect for the One who first uttered them!\"\n\n\"Really!\" said Miss Banks, with an embarrassed laugh, astonishment and\nconfusion struggling for the mastery on her flushed face. \"'Is Saul also\namong the prophets?' There! I declare, I am quoting again. Is that\nwicked, too? Prof. Easton, how is that? Miss Wilbur has been to\ncamp-meeting, and is not responsible for her words, but you ought to be\ngood authority. Is it wicked for me to quote Scripture? Haven't I as\ngood a right to Bible verses as any of you? Here has Miss Wilbur been\ngiving us lessons in that art for the last two years, and she suddenly\ndeserts and takes to preaching at us. Is that fair, now? If it were not\nwicked I might say to her, 'Physician, heal thyself.'\"\n\nMarion bestowed a quick, searching, almost pleading glance on Prof.\nEaston, and then looked down with a flushed and disappointed face. He\nwas not equal to a bold spreading of his professed colors. He laughed,\nnot easily, or as if he enjoyed the sharp words veiled so thinly by\npleasantry, but as if he were in an awkward position, and did not see\nhis way out.\n\n\"You were just a little hard on Miss Wilbur in your selections, you must\nremember,\" he said at last. \"People can always be excused for more or\nless sombreness on the first day of the term.\"\n\nAnd then he went away hurriedly, as if he desired to avoid anything\nfurther in that strain.\n\nHard on Miss Wilbur? Did he suppose she cared for such vapid nonsense?\nWhat surprised and hurt her was that he so utterly ignored the question\nat issue. Did he, a professed Christian of many years' standing, see no\nimpropriety in this manner of quoting the very words of the Lord\nhimself! or hadn't he sufficient moral courage to rebuke it? Either\nconclusion was distasteful; especially distasteful to her, Marion found,\nbecause the one in question was Prof. Easton. Hitherto she had held him\na little above the ordinary. Was he then so _very_ common after all?\n\nThis little occurrence did not serve to sweeten her day. The more so,\nthat after she had quieted down a little, at noon, she tried to join the\nother teachers as usual, and felt an air of stiffness, or embarrassment,\nor unnaturalness, of some sort, in their manner to her. Twice, as she\ncame toward them, Miss Banks, who was talking volubly, hushed into\nsudden and utter silence.\n\nAfter that, Marion went into the upper hall and ate her lunch by\nherself. Matters grew worse, rather than better, as the afternoon\nsession dragged its slow hours along. The air of the school-room seemed\nclose and unbearable, and the moment a window was raised the driving\nrain rushed in and tormented the victim who sat nearest to it.\n\nPoor Marion, who was as susceptible to the temperature of rooms as a\nthermometer, tried each window in succession during the afternoon, and\ncame to the desperate conclusion that the rain came from all quarters of\nthe leaden sky at once.\n\nThe spirit of unrest that pervaded the room grew into positive\nlawlessness as the day waned, and Marion's tone had taken even unusual\nsharpness; her self-command was giving way. Instead of helping, she had\nbeen positively an injury to Allie March; first by the sharpness of her\nreprimands, and then by sarcastic comments on her extreme dullness.\n\nBut the girl who had tried her the most during the entire day was the\nmost brilliant, and, as a rule, the most studious scholar in her room.\nEvery teacher knows that the good scholar who occasionally makes a\nfailure is the one who exasperates the most; you are so utterly\nunprepared for anything but perfection on that one's part.\n\nNot that Gracie Dennis was perfect; she was by far too noisy and decided\nfor that; but she was, as a rule, lady-like in her manners and words,\nshowing her careful teaching and her own sense of self-respect.\n\nThere had been little sympathy, however, between Marion and herself. She\nwas too much like Marion in a haughty independence of manner to ever\nbecome that lady's favorite. Why, as to that, I am not sure that she\n_had_ a favorite; there were many who liked her, and all respected her,\nbut no one thought of expressing outright affection for Miss Wilbur.\n\nAs for Grace Dennis, she had come nearer to outwitting her teacher than\nhad any other young lady in the room, and she stood less in awe of her.\n\nOn this particular day the spirit of disquiet seemed to have gotten\nentire possession of the girl; she had not given fifteen minutes to\ndownright work, but had dawdled and lounged in a most exasperating\nmanner, and at times exhibited a dullness that was very hard to bear\npatiently, because Marion felt so certain that it was either feigned or\nthe result of willful inattention. Several times had Marion to speak\ndecidedly to the young ladies in her seat, once or twice directly to\nGrace herself, and at last, losing all patience with her, she took\ndecided measures.\n\n\"Miss Dennis, I really have something to do besides watch you all the\ntime. If you please you may bring your book to the desk and take the\nseat beside me; then if you _must_ whisper, I can afford you a special\naudience.\"\n\nWhat an unheard of thing! Grace Dennis actually called to the platform,\nto the post of disgrace! The leading young lady in the school! and Rev.\nDr. Dennis' only daughter! Some of the scholars looked aghast; some of\nthe class who had long envied her were rude and cruel enough to indulge\nin an audible giggle.\n\nAs for Grace herself, hardly any one could have been more amazed. It was\nmany a day since, with all her love of fun, and her dangerous position\nas a leader, she had been obliged to receive a public reprimand; she had\nnever in her life been called to that public seat, which was but one\nremove from being sent to Prof. Easton's private office!\n\nHer great handsome eyes dilated and flashed, and her cheeks glowed like\nfire. She half arose, then sat down again, and the school waited\nbreathlessly, being about equally divided as to whether she would obey\nor rebel. Marion herself was somewhat in doubt, and in her excitement\nover the unwonted scene, concluded to make obedience a necessity.\n\n\"On the second thought, you may have your choice, Miss Dennis; you may\ncome to the desk or repair at once to Prof. Easton's room, and state the\ncause of your appearance.\"\n\nAgain the hateful giggle! There were those who knew why being sent to\nProf. Easton was the worst thing that Gracie Dennis thought could happen\nto her. She arose again, and now she had the advantage of her teacher,\nfor there were dignity and composure in her voice as she said:\n\n\"I believe I have never disobeyed your orders, Miss Wilbur; I certainly\ndo not propose to do so now.\"\n\nThen she came with composed step and took her seat beside Marion: but\nher eyes still glittered, and, as the business of the hour went on more\nquietly than any hour that had preceded it, Marion, as she caught\nglimpses now and then of the face bent over her Latin Grammar, saw that\nit was flushed almost to a purple hue, and that the intense look in\nthose handsome eyes did not quiet. She had roused a dangerous spirit.\n\nTo add to the embarrassment and the keenness of her rebuke, the door\nleading from the recitation room, behind the platform, suddenly opened,\nand Prof. Easton himself came around to speak to Marion. He paused in\nastonishment as he caught sight of the culprit beside her, and for an\ninstant was visibly embarrassed; then he rallied, and, bowing slightly\nand very gravely, passed her by, and addressed Marion in a low voice.\n\nAs for Gracie, she did not once lift her eyes after the first swift\nglance had assured her who the caller was.\n\n\"I have made an enemy,\" thought Marion to herself, as, her own\nexcitement beginning to subside, she had time to reflect on whether she\nhad done wisely. \"She will never forgive me this public insult, as she\nwill choose to call it. I see it in her handsome, dangerous eyes. And,\nyet, I can hardly see how I could have done otherwise? If almost any of\nthe others had given me half the provocation that she has to-day, I\nshould have sent them to Prof. Easton, without question. Why should I\nhesitate in her favor? Oh, me, what a miserable day it has been! and I\nmeant it to be such a good one! I wonder if my Christian life must be\nmarked by such weary and ignominious failures as this? Gracie Dennis is\none of the _Christian (?)_ young ladies. A lovely Christian she has\nshown, and, if I am not mistaken, will continue to show to me! I wonder\nif it amounts to nothing but a name, after all, with the most of them?\"\n\nAnd here Marion stopped this train of thought, because she suddenly\nremembered that she was now numbered among those on whom others were\nlooking and wondering if their religion meant anything but name. Suppose\nthat some had been looking at her in that light this day? How would they\nhave decided?\n\nShe found that she was not willing to be judged by the same rule that\nshe was almost unconsciously applying to Gracie Dennis. Then she went\nback over the day, and tried to discover wherein she had failed, and how\nshe might have done what would have been better. Could she not, after\nall, have gotten along without so severe and public a rebuke to this\nyoung girl at her side?\n\nShe knew her temperament well. Indeed it was--she confessed it to\nherself--a good deal like her own. What would be a trifle to half the\ngirls in the school, what would be forgotten by the best of them in a\nday or two, would burn in this girl's memory, and affect her after life\nand manner, almost in spite of herself--the more so, because of that\nunfortunate call from Prof. Easton.\n\nMarion knew by the swift glance which he gave at this strange situation\nthat it meant something to him. Then it was doubly hard for Gracie. She\nbegan to feel sorry for her; to wish that she might in some way smooth\nover the chasm that she had builded between them.\n\n\"She is very young,\" she said to herself, with a little sigh. \"I ought\nnot to have expected such wonderful things of her. I wish I had managed\ndifferently; it is too late now; I wonder how I shall get out of it all?\nShall I just let her go home without saying anything?\"\n\nAll these troubled thoughts wandered through Marion's brain during the\nintervals of quiet, when nothing was heard save the scratch of pens, for\nthe entire room was engaged in a dictation exercise, which was to\ndetermine their standing in the writing class. At last there was quiet.\n\nThe demon of inattention had seemingly been exorcised or subdued, for\nall were industriously at work, and Marion had a chance to rest from the\nalert watchfulness which had characterized the day.\n\nAll at work but Gracie. She still bent over her Latin grammar. She had\nnot asked permission to join the dictation class, and Marion had not\nvolunteered it. Truth to tell, she hardly dared venture to address her\nat all. The eyes had lost none of their keen flash, and the color seemed\nto be deepening, instead of subsiding on her pretty soft cheeks.\n\nMarion, as her eyes roved over the exercise book in her hand, felt her\nheart arrested by these words among the selections for dictation:\n\n\"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.\"\n\nThey smote her like a blow from an unseen hand. What burdens of\nhomesickness and _ennui_ and weariness might not all these girls have\nhad to bear to-day! Had she helped them? Had her manner been winning and\nhopeful and invigorating? Had her words been gentle and well chosen, as\nwell as firm and decisive? Her answers to these questions stung her.\n\nMoved by a sudden impulse, and not giving herself time to shrink from\nthe determination, she bent forward a little and addressed Gracie:\n\n\"Read that, Gracie. I have not obeyed its direction to-day; have you? Do\nyou think you have helped me to bear _my_ burdens?\"\n\nWould Gracie answer her at all? Would her answer be cold and haughty; as\nnearly rude as she had dared to make it? Marion felt her heart throb\nwhile she waited. And she _had_ to wait, for Gracie was utterly silent.\n\nAt last her teacher stole a glance at her. The great beautiful eyes were\nlifted to her face. The flash was passing out of them. In its place\nthere was a puzzled, wondering, questioning look. And, when at last she\nspoke, her voice was timid, as if she were half frightened at her own\nwords, and yet eager as one who must know:\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, you don't mean--oh, _do_ you mean that _you_ want to\nfulfill the law of Christ; that you own him?\"\n\n\"That I own him and love him,\" Marion said, her cheeks glowing now as\nGracie's did, \"and that I want above all things, to fulfill his law, and\nyet that I have miserably failed, even this first day.\"\n\nAmong Marion's sad thoughts that day had been:\n\n\"There is no one to know, or to care, whether I am different or not. If\nI could only _tell_ some one--some Christian who would be glad--but who\nis there to tell? Prof. Easton is a Christian, but he doesn't care\nenough about the Lord Jesus to rebuke those who profane his name; he has\nlet me do it in his presence, and smiled at my wit. And these girls\"\n(and here Marion's lip had curled), \"they don't know what they mean by\ntheir professions.\"\n\nShe was unprepared for what followed. Gracie Dennis, graceful, queenly\nin her dignity, and haughty, even in her mirth, said, suddenly, in a\nvoice which quivered with gladness:\n\n\"Oh, I am so glad; _so_ glad! Oh, Miss Wilbur, I don't know how to be\nthankful enough!\" And then she raised her head suddenly, and her glowing\nlips just touched Marion's cheek.\n\nIt was so unusual for Marion to be kissed. Her friends at Chautauqua had\nbeen those who rarely indulged in that sort of caress--never, at least,\nwith her. And, while, as I told you, many of them liked, and all of them\nrespected her, it was yet an unheard of thing for the scholars to caress\nMiss Wilbur. And then, too, Gracie Dennis was by no means lavish of her\nkisses. This made the token seem so much more. It felt almost like a\nbenediction.\n\nGracie's next words were humbling to her:\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, will you forgive me? I didn't mean to annoy you. I don't\nknow what has been the matter with me.\"\n\nBut, long before this, the last laggard had finished her line, and was\nstaring in undisguised astonishment at the scene enacted on the\nplatform.\n\nMarion rallied her excited thoughts. \"Dear child,\" she said, \"we have\neach something to forgive. I think I have been too severe with you. We\nwill try to help each other to-morrow.\"\n\nThen she gave the next sentence as calmly as usual. But she went home\nthat night, through the rain, with a quick step and with joy in her\nheart. It was not _all_ profession. It meant something to those girls;\nto Grace Dennis it meant everything. It was enough to make her forget\nher passion, and her wounded pride, and to make her face actually\nradiant with joy.\n\nIt should mean more to _her_. She had failed that day. She had not been,\nin any sense, what she meant to be; what she ought to have been. But\nthere was a blessed verse: \"Who forgiveth _all_ thine iniquities.\"\n\nWhat a salvation! Able to forgive transgression, to cover sin, to\nremember it no more. It all seemed very natural to her to-night; very\nlike an infinite Saviour; one infinitely loving.\n\nShe began to realize that even poor _human_ love could cover a multitude\nof sins. How easy it seemed to her that it would be to overlook the\nmistakes and shortcomings of Gracie Dennis, after this!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCOL. BAKER'S SABBATH EVENING.\n\n\nAMONG Marion Wilbur's gloomy thoughts during that trying Monday were\nthese: \"Some lives are a good deal harder to bear than others. It would\nbe nonsense for some people to talk about crosses. There are Ruth and\nFlossy; what do they know about annoyances or self-denials? Such homes\nas theirs and such occupations as theirs have very little in common with\nhard, uncongenial work such as mine. Eurie Mitchell has less easy times;\nbut then it is home, and father, and mother, and family friends. She\nisn't all alone. None of them can sympathize with me. I don't see how\nFlossy Shipley is ever to grow, if 'crosses are a fruitful condition of\nthe Christian life.' I'm sure she can do as she pleases, and when she\npleases.\"\n\nThus much Marion knew about other lives than hers. The actual truth was\nthat Flossy's shadows began on Sabbath evening, while Marion was yet on\nthe heights.\n\nIt was just as they stepped from the aisle of the church into the wide\nhall that Col. Baker joined her. This was not a new experience. He was\nvery apt to join her. No other gentleman had been a more frequent or\nmore enjoyable guest at her father's house. Indeed, he was so familiar\nthat he was as likely to come on the Sabbath as on any other day, and\nwas often in the habit of calling to accompany Flossy to any evening\nservice where there was to be a little grander style of music than\nusual, or a special floral display.\n\nIn fact he had called this very evening on such an errand, but it was\nafter Flossy had gone to her own church. So her first meeting with him\nsince Chautauqua experiences was in that hall belonging to the First\nChurch.\n\n\"Good-evening,\" he said, joining her without the formality of a\nquestion as to whether it would be agreeable; his friendship was on too\nassured a footing for the need of that formality. \"You are more than\nusually devoted to the First Church, are you not? I saw you in the\nfamily pew this morning. I felt certain of being in time to take you to\nthe South Side to-night. St. Stephen's Church has a grand choral service\nthis evening. I was in at one of the rehearsals, and it promised to be\nan unusually fine thing. I am disappointed that you did not hear it.\"\n\nHere began Flossy's unhappiness. Neither Marion nor Ruth could have\nappreciated it. To either of those it would have been an actual\nsatisfaction to have said to Col. Baker, in a calm and superior tone of\nvoice:\n\n\"Thanks for your kindness, but I have decided to attend my own church\nservice regularly after this, and would therefore not have been able to\naccompany you if I had been at home.\"\n\nBut for Flossy such an explanation was simply dreadful. It was so\nnatural, and would have been _so_ easy, to have murmured a word of\nregret at her absence, and expressed disappointment in having missed the\nchoral.\n\nBut for that address to the children, given under the trees at\nChautauqua, by Dr. Hurlbut, she would have said these smooth,\nsweet-sounding words as sweetly as usual, without a thought of\nconscience. But had not he shown her, as plainly as though he had looked\ndown into her heart and seen it there, that these pleasant, courteous\nphrases which are so winning and so false were among her besetting sins?\nHad he not put her forever on her guard concerning them? Had she not\npromised to wage solemn war against the tendency to so sin with her\ngraceful tongue? Yet how she dreaded the plain speaking!\n\nHow would Marion's lips have curled over the idea of such a small matter\nas that being a cross! And yet Flossy could have been sweet and patient\nand tender to the listless, homesick school-girls, and kissed away half\ntheir gloom, and thought it no cross at all. Verily there is a\ndifference in these crosses, and verily, \"every heart knoweth its own\nbitterness.\"\n\nCol. Baker was loth to leave the subject:\n\n\"Aren't you being unusually devout to-day?\" he asked. \"I heard of you at\nSabbath-school I was certain after that effort, I should find you at\nhome, resting. What spell came over you to give the First Church so much\nof your time?\"\n\n\"One would think, to hear you, that I never went to church on Sabbath\nevening,\" Flossy said. And then to a certain degree conscience\ntriumphed. \"I have not been very often, it is true; but I intend to\nreform in that respect in the future. I mean to go whenever I can, and I\nmean to go always to the First Church.\"\n\nCol. Baker looked at her curiously in the moonlight.\n\n\"Is that an outgrowth of your experience in the woods?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" Flossy said simply and bravely.\n\nHe longed to question further, to quiz her a little, but something in\nthe tone of the monosyllable prevented. So he said:\n\n\"I am at least surprised at part of the decision. I thought part of the\nwork of those gatherings was to teach fellowship and unity. Why should\nyou desert other churches?\"\n\n\"There is no desertion about it. I do not belong to other churches, and\nnobody has reason to expect me at any of them; but my pastor has a right\nto expect me to be in my pew.\"\n\n\"Oh; then it is the accident of the first choice that must determine\none's sitting in church for all future time?\"\n\n\"With me it has been only an accident,\" she said, simply. \"I suppose\nthere are people who had better reasons for selecting their church home.\nBut I am very well satisfied with my place.\" And then Flossy was very\nglad that they were nearing her father's house. The gladness did not\nlast, however. There hung over it another cross. This Col. Baker had\nbeen in the habit of being invited to enter, and of spending an hour or\nmore in cosy chat with the family. Nothing confidential or special in\nthese Sabbath evening calls; they seemed simply to serve to pass away a\ndull hour. They had been pleasant to Flossy. But it so happened that the\nhours of the Sabbath had grown precious to her; none of them were dull;\nevery moment of them was needed.\n\nBesides, in their walk up the hill from the auditorium one evening, Evan\nRoberts had said in answer to a wonderment from her that so little was\naccomplished by the Sabbath services throughout the land:\n\n\"I think one reason is the habit that so many people have of frittering\na way any serious impression or solemn thought they may have had by a\nstream of small talk in which they indulge with their own family or\ntheir intimate friends, after what they call the Sabbath is past. Do you\nknow there are hundreds of people, good, well-meaning--in fact,\nChristians--who seem to think that the old Puritan rules in regard to\nhours hold yet, in part. It begins at eight or nine o'clock, when they\nhave their nap out; and at the very latest it closes with the minister's\nbenediction after the second service; and they laugh and talk on the way\nhome and at home as if the restraints of the day were over at last.\"\n\nHow precisely he had described the Sabbath day of the Shipley family.\nWith what a sense of relief had she often sat and chatted with Col.\nBaker at the close of what had been to her an irksome day, and felt that\nat last the sense of propriety would not be shocked if they laughed and\nbantered each other as usual.\n\nThings were different now. But poor Flossy's face flushed, and her heart\nbeat hard over the trial of _not_ asking Col. Baker to come in. Silly\nchild! Ruth would have said, and her calm, clear voice would not have\nhesitated over the words; \"Col. Baker, I can not ask you in this\nevening, because I have determined to receive no more calls, even from\nintimate friends, on the Sabbath. On any other evening I shall be happy\nto see you.\"\n\nAs for Marion, she would have decidedly enjoyed saying it. But Flossy,\nshe could never have explained it to him. Her voice would have trembled\ntoo much, and her heart beat too hard. The very most that she could do\nwas to keep her lips closed. No invitation from her should pass them,\nand this in itself was five times more of a cross than it would have\nbeen for either of the others to have spoken.\n\nHowever, it did no good. Col. Baker's friendship was on too assured a\nfooting to wait for ceremony. He had received too many invitations of\nthat nature to even notice the omission now. Though Flossy paused and\nturned toward him he did not notice it, but himself opened the door for\nher and passed in at her side, talking still about some matter connected\nwith his plans for the evening, that had been overthrown by her strange\npropensity for church.\n\nShe did not hear him at all; she was both grieved and annoyed. If only\nshe dared go directly to her room! If she had been Ruth Erskine it would\nhave been done in a moment.\n\nThey sat down in the back parlor, and it was made evident to Flossy that\nthe entertainment of Col. Baker would be considered her special duty.\nThe library door was closed, and the sound of subdued voices there told\nthat Kitty Shipley and her suitor were having a confidential talk. Kitty\nwouldn't help, then. Mrs. Shipley had retired, and Mr. Shipley sat at\nthe drop light reading the journal. He glanced up at their entrance,\ngave Col. Baker the courteous and yet familiar greeting that welcomed\nhim as a special friend of the house, and then went on with his reading.\nAs for her brother Charlie, he had not come in, and probably would not\nfor hours to come.\n\nWhat was there for Flossy to do but to take a seat and talk to Col.\nBaker? Yet how she shrank from it! She wanted to be alone, to go over in\nher heart all the sweet and blessed experiences of the day, for this day\nhad helped her much. She wanted to think about those boys in the school,\nand form plans for their future, and try to decide whether it could be\nthat they would really like her for a teacher, and whether Dr. Dennis\nwould let her undertake the class. Why would not Col. Baker go home?\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\" he asked, studying her face curiously,\nand with a doubtful sound in his voice. \"I don't believe that strange\nfreak of yours did you any good.\"\n\n\"It did me more good than anything that ever happened to me in my life,\"\nFlossy said, positively.\n\nIf she could only have explained to him just what the nature of that\ngood was! Possibly she might have tried, only there sat her father. Who\ncould tell when his interest in the _Times_ would cease, and he give\nattention to her? Flossy could not understand why she should be so\nafraid of her father in this matter; but she was very much afraid.\n\nThe talk they had was of that kind known as \"small.\" To Flossy it seemed\nexceedingly small, and she did not know how to make it otherwise. She\nbegan to wonder if she and Col. Baker really had any ideas in common;\nyet Col. Baker could talk with gentlemen, and talk well. It was simply\nthe habit of being frippery with the ladies that made his words seem so\nfoolish to Flossy.\n\nContrary to her expectation, her brother Charlie suddenly appeared on\nthe scene; and for a time she was privileged to slip into the\nbackground. Charlie had been to hear the choral, and Col. Baker was very\nanxious to know as to its success. You would have supposed them to be\ntalking about a prima donna concert. At last Charlie turned to Flossy\nwith the trying question:\n\n\"Sis, why didn't you go to the choral? I thought you were coming for\nher, Baker. Didn't you tell me so?\"\n\n\"I came, but was too late. Miss Flossy had already betaken herself to\nthe First Church.\"\n\n\"So _you_ missed the choral?\"\n\n\"Well, only part of it. I went for an hour; then I left, and went in\nsearch of your sister, to discover if I could what special attractions\nFirst Church had for her to-night.\"\n\nNow this fashion of going to one service until he was tired, and then\nquietly slipping out in search of something more attractive, was\npeculiar to Col. Baker. Flossy had known of his doing it on several\ndifferent occasions. The very most that she had thought about it had\nbeen, that it was making one's self very conspicuous. She didn't believe\nshe would like to do it, even if she were a man. But to-night the action\nhad taken an irreverent shade that it never had before. She discovered\nthat she utterly disapproved of it. There seemed to be many things in\nCol. Baker that met with her disapproval. Meantime the talk went on.\n\n\"Did you find the attraction?\" Charlie asked.\n\nCol. Baker shrugged his handsome shoulders.\n\n\"I confess I couldn't find it in the sermon. It was one of the Doctor's\nsharpest and bluest efforts. That poor man has the dyspepsia, I feel\ncertain. Seems to me he develops an increased ability for making people\nmiserable.\"\n\nNow, Col. Baker fully expected to draw forth by this remark one of\nFlossy's silvery laughs, which, to tell the truth, were becoming sweeter\nto his ears than any choral.\n\nHe was surprised and annoyed at the steady look of thoughtful, not to\nsay distressed gravity that she gave him out of those soft blue eyes of\nhers. He did not know what to make of this Flossy; he was feeling the\nchange in her more decidedly than anyone else had done. He waited for\nFlossy's answer, and she gave it at last, in a grave, rebuking tone of\nvoice:\n\n\"I liked the sermon very much.\"\n\n\"Did you, indeed? I confess I am astonished. I gave you the credit of\npossessing a more tender heart. Frankly, then, I didn't. I must say I\ndon't like to go to church to be made uncomfortable.\"\n\n\"Did you find that sentence in the paper?\" Flossy asked, a little gleam\nof mischief in her eyes. \"Because, if you did, I should have thought you\nwould have considered it answered very well by the comments.\"\n\n\"As a rule, I am not obliged to resort to the papers to find remarks to\nquote,\" Col. Baker said, with an attempt at gayety, which but half\nconcealed the evident annoyance that he felt. \"But I judge the paper\nfound some one suffering in the same way. Pray, what was the answer?\"\n\n\"Why, the writer said that he supposed no one liked to be uncomfortable;\nbut whether it was the sermon that should change, or the life, in order\nto remove the discomfort, was a question for each to decide for\nhimself.\"\n\n\"Sharp!\" said Charlie, laughing; \"you've got hit, Baker.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" he said, \"not at all. Don't you see, the author kindly\naccorded permission for each person to decide the question for himself?\nNow I have it decided so far as I am concerned. I prefer a change in the\nsermon. Oh, Dr. Dennis is a good man; no one doubts it; but he is too\nsevere a sermonizer. His own church officers admit that. He is really\ndriving the young people away from the church. I should not be greatly\nsurprised if there had to be a change in that locality very soon. The\nspirit of the times demands more liberality, and a larger measure of\nChristian charity.\"\n\nCol. Baker was really too well educated a man to have allowed himself to\nuse these terms parrot-like, without knowledge or thought as to their\nmeaning; but the truth was, he cared so little about church and\nChristian charity, and all those phrases, as to have very little idea of\nwhat he meant himself when he used them.\n\nBut pretty little Flossy had never argued with him, never been known to\nargue with anybody. Why should he not occasionally awe her with his high\nsounding words? It is a pity that Ruth or Marion had not been there to\ntake up the theme; and yet it is doubtful if arguments would have had\nany weight with him. The truth was, he did not need to be convinced.\nProbably Flossy's perfect gravity, and dignity, and silence, did more to\nanswer him than any keen words could have done.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nNEW MUSIC.\n\n\nCHARLIE arose suddenly and went toward the piano. Things were becoming\nuncomfortably grave.\n\n\"Sis,\" he said, \"can't you give us some new music? Try this new piece;\nBaker hasn't heard you sing it. I don't think it is remarkable, but it\nis better than none. We seem to have a very small list of music that\nwill pass the orthodox line for Sunday use.\"\n\nBoth he and Flossy had sighed over the dearth of pretty things that were\nsuited to Sunday. The one in question was one of the worst of its\nkind--one of that class which Satan seems to have been at work getting\nup, for the purpose of lulling to rest weak consciences. Sickly,\nsentimental ideas, expressed in words that are on the very verge of\nsilly; and yet, with just enough solemn sounding phrases in them, thrown\nin here and there, to allow them to be caught up by a certain class, and\npronounced \"sacred song.\" Flossy had herself selected this one, and\nbefore her departure for Chautauqua had pronounced it very good. She had\nnot looked at it since she came home. Charlie spread it open for her on\nthe piano, then returned to the sofa to enjoy the music. Flossy's voice\nwas sweet and tender; no power in it, and little change of feeling, but\npleasant to listen to, and capable of being tender and pathetic. She\nlooked over the sacred song with a feeling of aversion almost amounting\nto disgust. The pitiful attempts at religion sounded to her recently\nimpressed heart almost like a caricature. On the piano beside her lay a\ncopy of \"Gospel Songs;\" open, so it happened (?), at the blessed and\nsolemn hymn, \"How much owest thou?\" Now a coincidence that seemed\nremarkable, and at once startled and impressed Flossy, was that Dr.\nDennis' text for the evening had been the words, \"How much owest thou\nunto my Lord?\" She hesitated just a moment, then she resolutely pushed\naside the sheet music, drew the book toward her, and without giving\nherself time for a prelude, gave herself to the beautiful and\nwell-remembered words:\n\n              \"How much owest thou?\n          For years of tender, watchful care,\n          A father's faith, a mother's prayer--\n              How much owest thou?\n\n              \"How much owest thou?\n          For calls, and warnings loud and plain,\n          For songs and sermons heard in vain--\n              How much owest thou?\n\n              \"How much owest thou?\n          Thy day of grace is almost o'er,\n          The judgment time is just before--\n              How much owest thou?\n\n              \"How much owest thou?\n          Oh, child of God, and heir of heaven,\n          Thy soul redeemed, thy sins forgiven--\n              How much owest thou?\"\n\nFlossy had heard Mr. Bliss, with his grand and glorious voice, ring that\nout on a certain evening at Chautauqua, where all the associations of\nthe hour and place had been solemn and sacred. It might have been in\npart these memories, and the sense of something missed, that made her\nhave a homesick longing for the place and song again, that gave to her\nvoice an unusually sweet and plaintive sound. Every word was plain and\nclear, and wonderfully solemn; but when she reached the words,\n\n          \"Oh, child of God, and heir of heaven,\n           Thy soul redeemed, thy sins forgiven,\"\n\nThere rang out a note of triumph that filled the room, and made the\nhearts of her listeners throb with surprise and wonder. Long before the\nsong was closed her father had laid aside the _Times_, and, with\nspectacles pushed above his eyes, was listening intently. Absolute\nsilence reigned for a moment, as Flossy's voice died out in sweetness;\nthen Charlie, clearing his throat said:\n\n\"Well, I van! I said I didn't consider the song remarkable. But I take\nit back; it is certainly remarkable. Did you ever hear anything that had\nso changed since you last met it?\"\n\nCol. Baker did not at once reply. The very first line had struck him,\nfor the reason that above most men, he had reason to remember a\n\"mother's prayer.\" There were circumstances connected with that mother\nof his that made the line doubly startling to him. He was agitated by\nthe wonderful directness of the solemn words, and he was vexed that they\nagitated him; so when he did speak, to conceal his feeling, he made his\nvoice flippant.\n\n\"It is a remarkable production, worthy of camp-meeting, I should say.\nBut, Miss Flossy, allow me to congratulate you. It was sung with\nstriking effect.\"\n\nFlossy arose suddenly from the piano, and closed the book of hymns.\n\n\"Col. Baker,\" she said, \"may I ask you to excuse me this evening? I find\nI am not in a mood to enjoy conversation; my brother will entertain you,\nI am sure.\"\n\nAnd before Col. Baker could recover from his astonishment sufficiently\nto make any reply at all, she had given him a courteous bow for\ngood-night, and escaped from the room.\n\nThe situation was discussed by the Shipley family at the next morning's\nbreakfast table. Flossy had come down a trifle late, looking pale and\nsomewhat sober, and was rallied by Kitty as to the cause.\n\n\"Her conscience is troubling her a little, I fancy,\" her father said,\neyeing her closely from under heavy brows. \"Weren't you just a little\nhard on the colonel, last night, daughter? He is willing to endure\nconsiderable from you, I guess; but I wouldn't try him too far.\"\n\n\"What was the trouble, father? What has Flossy done now? I thought she\nwas going to be good at last?\"\n\n\"Done! You may well ask what, Miss Kitty. Suppose the friend you had\nshut up in the library had been informed suddenly that you were not in a\nmood to talk with him, and then you had decamped and left him to the\ntender mercies of two men?\"\n\n\"Why, Flossy Shipley! you didn't do that, did you? Really, if I were\nCol. Baker I would never call on you again.\"\n\n\"I don't see the harm,\" Flossy said, simply. \"Father and Charlie were\nboth there. Surely that was company enough for him. I hadn't invited him\nto call.\"\n\n\"Oh, undoubtedly he calls on purpose to see father and Charlie! He has\nnot been so attentive to the family during your absence, I can assure\nyou. We haven't so much as had a peep at him since you went away.\nFlossy, I hadn't an idea you could be so rude. I declare, I think that\nWilbur girl is demoralizing you. They say she has no idea of considering\npeople's feelings; but then, one expects it of her class.\"\n\nMrs. Shipley came to Flossy's aid:\n\n\"Poor child, I don't blame her for slipping away. She was tired. She had\nbeen to church twice, and to Sunday-school at noon, without any lunch,\ntoo. Flossy, you mustn't indulge in such an absurd freak another Sunday.\nIt is too much for you. I am sure it is not strange that you wanted to\nget away to rest.\"\n\nThen the father:\n\n\"I dare say you were tired, as your mother says; in fact, though, I must\nsay I think I never saw you looking better than you were last evening.\nBut it was a trifle thoughtless, daughter, and I want you to be more\ncareful in the future. Col. Baker's father was my oldest and most valued\nfriend, and I want his son to be treated with the utmost consideration,\nand to feel that he is always welcome. Since he has so special a\nfriendship for you, you must just remember that his position in society\nis one of the highest, and that you are really decidedly honored. Not\nthat I am rebuking you, Flossy dear, only putting you on your guard; for\nremember that you carry a very thoughtless little head on your pretty\nshoulders.\"\n\nAnd then he leaned over and patted the thoughtless head, and gave the\nglowing cheek such a loving, fatherly kiss.\n\nAs for poor Flossy, the bit of steak she was trying to swallow seemed to\nchoke her; she struggled bravely to keep back the tears that she felt\nwere all ready to fall. The way looked shadowy to her; she felt like a\ndeceitful coward. Here were they, making excuses for her--tired,\nthoughtless, and the like. Oh, for courage to say to them that she had\nnot been tired at all, and that she thought about that action of hers\nlonger than she had thought about anything in her life, up to a few\nweeks ago.\n\nIf she could only tell them out boldly and plainly that everything was\nchanged to her, that she looked at life from a different standpoint;\nand that, standing where she did now, it looked all wrong to spend the\nlast hours of the Sabbath in entertaining company. But her poor little\ntongue, all unused to being brave, so shrank from this ordeal, and the\nlump in her throat so nearly choked her, that she made no attempt at\nwords.\n\nSo the shadows that had fallen on her heart grew heavier as she went\nabout her pretty room. She foresaw a troubled future. Not only must the\nexplanation come, but she foresaw that her changed plans would lie right\nathwart the views and plans of her father.\n\nWhat endless trouble and discomfort would this occasion! Also, there\nwere her pet schemes for Sunday-school, including those boys for whom\nshe had already planned a dozen different things.\n\nHer mother had frankly expressed her opinion, and, although it is not\nthe age when parents say, nor were Flossy's parents of the sort who\nwould ever have said, \"You _must_ do thus, and you _shall_ not do so,\"\nstill, she foresaw endless discussions; sarcastic raillery from Kittie\nand Charlie; persuasions from her mother; earnest protests from her\nfather, and a general air of lack of sympathy or interest about them\nall.\n\nThese things were to Flossy almost more than, under some circumstances,\nthe martyr's stake would have been to Marion Wilbur. Then she, too, as\nshe went about doing sundry little things toward making her room more\nperfect in its order, took up Marion's fashion of pitying herself, and\nlooking longingly at the brightness in some other life.\n\nNot Marion's, for she was all alone, and had great responsibilities, and\nno one to shield her or help her or comfort her; that was dreadful. Not\nRuth's, for her life was so high up among books and paintings and\ngrandeur, that it looked like cold elegance and nothing else.\n\nShe wouldn't have lived that life; but there was Eurie Mitchell, in a\nlittle home that had always looked sunny and cheerful when she had taken\noccasional peeps into it--somewhat stirred up, as became a large family\nand small means, but with a cleanly, cheery sort of stir that was\nagreeable rather than otherwise.\n\nAnd there were little children to love and care for--children who put\ntheir arms around one's neck and said, \"I love you,\" a great many times\nin a day.\n\nFlossy, having never tried it, did not realize that if the fingers had\nbeen sticky or greasy or a trifle black, as they were apt to be, it\nwould be an exceeding annoyance to her. She saw what people usually do\nsee about other people's cares and duties, only the pretty, pleasant\nside. To have felt somewhat of the other side she should have spent that\nMonday with Eurie.\n\nTo Eurie a Monday rain was a positive affliction; it necessitated the\nmarshaling of tubs and pails into the little kitchen, and the endurance\nof Mrs. Maloney's presence in constant contact with the dinner\narrangements--on pleasant days Mrs. Maloney betook herself to the open\nair.\n\nThen, in the Mitchell family there was that trial to any woman of\nordinary patience, a small girl who \"helped\"--worked for her board\nmornings and evenings, and played at school the rest of the time.\n\nSallie Whitcomb, the creature who tried Eurie, was rather duller than\nthe most of her class and had her days or spells when she seemed\nutterly incapable of understanding the English language. This day was\nvery apt to be Monday; and on the particular Monday of which I write,\nthe spell was on her in full force.\n\nTo add to the bewilderments of the day, Dr. Mitchell, after a very\nhurried breakfast, had departed, taking the household genius with him,\nto see a patient and friend, who was worse.\n\n\"I don't know how you will manage,\" Mrs. Mitchell had said, as she paid\na hasty visit to the kitchen. \"There is bread to mix, you know, and that\nyeast ought to be made to-day; and then the starch you must look after\nor it will be lumpy; and oh, Eurie, do see that your father's\nhandkerchiefs are all picked up, he leaves them around so. You must keep\nan eye on the baby, for he is a trifle hoarse this morning; and Robbie\nmustn't go in the wind--mustn't eat a single apple, for he isn't at all\nwell; you must see to that, Eurie--I wouldn't have you forget him for\nanything. See here, when the baby takes a nap, see that the lower sash\nis shut--there is quite a draught through the room. I don't know how you\nare to get through. You must keep Jennie from school to take care of\nthe children, and do the best you can. If Mrs. Craymer hadn't sent for\nme I wouldn't go this morning, much as I want to see her, but I think I\nought to, as it is.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Eurie said, cheerily. \"Don't worry about us, mother; we'll\nget through somehow. I'll see to Mrs. Maloney and all the rest.\"\n\n\"Well, be careful about the bread; don't let it get too light, and don't\nfor anything put it in too soon: it was a trifle heavy last week, you\nknow, and your father dislikes it so. Never mind much about dinner; your\nfather will have to go to two or three places when he gets back from the\nValley, and I can get up a warm bite for him while he is gone.\"\n\nAnd with a little sigh, and a regretful look back into the crowded,\nsteamy kitchen, Mrs. Mitchell answered her husband's hurried call and\nran. So Eurie was left mistress of the occasion.\n\nIt looked like a mountain to her. The dishes were piled higher than\nusual, for the Sabbath evening lunch had made many that had not been\nwashed. And Sallie, who should have been deep into them already, was at\nthat moment hanging on the gate she had gone to shut, and watching the\nretreating tail of the doctor's horse.\n\n\"Sallie!\" Eurie called, and Sallie came, looking bewildered and\nindolent, eating an apple as she walked.\n\n\"Now, Sallie, you must hurry with the dishes, see how soon you can get\nthem all out of the way. I have the bread to mix and a dozen other\nthings to do, and I can't help you a bit.\"\n\nAt the same time she had an inward consciousness that the great army of\ndishes would never marshal into place till she came to their aid.\n\nThis was the beginning, not a pleasant one, and the bewilderments of the\nmorning deepened with every passing half hour.\n\nWhat happened? Dear me, what _didn't_? Inexperienced Eurie, who rarely\nhad the family bread left on her hands, went to mixing it before getting\nbaking tins ready, and Sallie left her dishes to attend to it, and\ndripped dish-water over them and the molding-board and on Eurie's clean\napron, in such an unmistakable manner, that the annoyed young lady\nwashed her hands of dough and dumped the whole pile of tins\nunceremoniously into the dish-water.\n\n\"They are so greasy I can't touch them!\" she said in disdain, \"and have\ndrops of dish-water all over them, and besides here is the core of an\napple in one. I wonder, Sallie, if you eat apples while you are washing\nthe dishes! Put some wood in the stove. Jennie, can't you come here and\nwipe these dishes? We won't get them out of the way before mother comes\nhome.\"\n\nJenny appeared at the door, book in hand.\n\n\"How can I leave the baby, Eurie? Robbie says he can't play with him--he\nfeels too sick. I think something ought to be done for Robbie; his\ncheeks are as red as scarlet.\"\n\nWhereupon Eurie left dishes and bread and went in to feel of Robbie's\npulse, and ask how he felt, and get a pillow for him to lie on the\nlounge; and the baby cried for her and had to be taken a minute; so the\ntime went--time always goes like lightning in the kitchen on Monday\nmorning. When that bread was finally set to rise, Eurie dismissed Sallie\nfrom the dish-pan in disgust, with orders to sweep the room, if she\ncould leave her apple long enough.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nDISTURBING ELEMENTS.\n\n\nTHE next anxiety was the baby, who contrived to tumble himself over in\nhis high chair, and cried loudly. Eurie ran. Dr. Mitchell was always so\ntroubled about bumps on the head. She bathed this in cold water, and in\narnica, and petted, and soothed, and pacified as well as she could a\nchild who thought it a special and unendurable state of things not to\nhave mamma and nobody else. Between the petting she administered\nwholesome reproof to Jennie.\n\n\"If you hadn't been reading, instead of attending to him this would not\nhave happened I wish I had told mother to lock up all the books before\nshe went. You are great help; worth while to stay from school to bury\nyourself in a book.\"\n\n\"I haven't read a dozen pages this morning,\" Jennie said, with glowing\ncheeks. \"He was sitting in his high chair, just as he always is, and I\nhad stepped across the room to get a picture-book for Robbie. How could\nI know that he was going to fall? I don't think you are very kind,\nanyway, when I am helping all that I can, and losing school besides.\"\n\nAnd Miss Jennie put on an air of lofty and injured innocence.\n\n\"I believe she is sweeping right on the bread,\" said Eurie, her thoughts\nturned into another channel. \"Go and see, Jennie.\"\n\nJennie went, and returned as full of comfort as any of Job's friends.\n\n\"She swept right straight at it; and she left the door open, and the\nwind blew the cloth off, and a great hunk of dust and dirt lies right on\ntop of one loaf, and the clothes are boiling over on the others. Nice\nbread you'll have!\"\n\nBefore this sentence was half finished, Eurie sat the baby on the floor\nand ran, stopping only to give orders that Jennie should not let him go\nto sleep for anything.\n\nThe door-bell was the next sound that tried her nerves. The little\nparlor where they had lingered late, she and Nellis, last evening, when\nthey had a pleasant talk together, the pleasantest she had ever had with\nthat brother; now she remembered how it looked; how he had said, as he\nglanced back when they were leaving:\n\n\"Eurie, I hope you won't have any _special_ calls before you get around\nto this room in the morning; it looks as though there had been an\nupheaval of books and papers here.\"\n\nBooks, and papers, and dust, and her hat and sack, and Jennie's gloves,\nand Robbie's play-things; she had forgotten the parlor.\n\nMeantime, Jennie had rushed to the door, and now returned, holding the\nkitchen door open, and talking loud enough to be heard distinctly in the\nparlor.\n\n\"Eurie, Leonard Brooks is in the parlor. He says he wants to see you for\njust a minute, and I should think that is about as long as he would care\nto stay; it looks like sixty in there.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear me!\" said Eurie, and she looked down at her dress. It had\nlong black streaks running diagonally across it, and dish-water and\ngrease combined on her apron; a few drops of arnica on her sleeves and\nhands did not improve the general effect.\n\n\"Jennie, why in the world didn't you tell him that I was engaged, and\ncouldn't see him this morning?\"\n\n\"Why, how should I know that you wanted me to say so to people? You\ndidn't tell me. He said he was in a hurry. He isn't alone, either; there\nis a strange gentleman with him.\"\n\nWorse and worse.\n\n\"I won't go,\" said Eurie.\n\n\"But you will _have_ to. I told him you were at home, and would be in in\na moment. Go on, what do you care?\"\n\nThere was no way but to follow this advice; but she did care. She set\nthe starch back on the stove, and washed her hands, and waited while\nSallie ran up-stairs and hunted a towel; then she went, flushed and\nannoyed, to the parlor. Leonard Brooks was an old acquaintance, but who\nwas the stranger?\n\n\"Mr. Holden, of New York,\" Leonard said.\n\n\"They would detain her but a moment, as she was doubtless engaged;\" and\nthen Leonard looked mischievously down at the streaked dress. He was not\nused to seeing Eurie look so entirely awry in the matter of her toilet.\n\nMr. Holden was going to get up a tableau entertainment, and needed home\ntalent to help him; he, Leonard, had volunteered to introduce him to\nsome of the talented ladies of the city, and had put her first on the\nlist. Eurie struggled with her embarrassment, and answered in her usual\nway:\n\n\"He can see at a glance that I merit the compliment. If myself and all\nmy surroundings don't show a marked talent for disorder, I don't know\nwhat would.\"\n\nMr. Holden was courteous and gallant in the extreme. He took very little\nnotice of the remark; ignored the state of the room utterly; apologized\nfor the unseemly hour of their call, attributing it to his earnest\ndesire to secure her name before there was any other engagement made;\n\"might he depend on her influence and help?\"\n\nEurie was in a hurry. She smelled the starch scorching; Robbie was\ncrying fretfully, and the baby was so quiet she feared he was asleep;\nthe main point was, to get rid of her callers as soon as possible. She\nasked few questions, and knew as little about the projected\nentertainment as possible, save that she was pledged to a rehearsal on\nthe coming Wednesday at eight o'clock. Then she bowed them out with a\nsense of relief; and, merely remarking to Jennie that she wished she\ncould coax Robbie and the baby into the parlor, and clear it up a little\nbefore anybody more formidable arrived, she went back to the scorched\nstarch and other trials.\n\nFrom that time forth a great many people wanted Dr. Mitchell. The bell\nrang, and rang, and rang. Jennie had to run, and Eurie had to run to\nbaby. Then came noon bringing the boys home from school, hungry and in a\nhurry; and Eurie had to go to Sallie's help, who was struggling to get\nthe table set, and something on it to eat.\n\nWhereupon the bread suddenly announced itself ready for the oven by\nspreading over one-half of the bread cloth, with a sticky mass. Then the\nbell rang again.\n\n\"I hope that is some one who will send to the Valley for father right\naway; then we shall have mother again.\"\n\nThis was Eurie's half aloud admission that she was not equal to the\nstrain. Then she listened for Jennie's report. The parlor door being\nopened, and somebody being invited thither; and that room not cleared up\nyet! Then came Jennie with her exasperating news.\n\n\"It is Dr. Snowdon, from Morristown, and he wants father for a\nconsultation; says he is going to take him back with him on the two\no'clock train, and he wants to know if you could let him have a mouthful\nof dinner with father? He met father at the crossing half a mile below,\nand he told him to come right on.\"\n\n\"And where is mother?\" said Eurie, pale and almost breathless under this\nnew calamity.\n\n\"Why, he didn't say; but I suppose she is with father. He stopped to\ncall at the Newton's. I guess you will have to hurry, won't you?\"\n\nJennie was provokingly cool and composed; no sense of responsibility\nrested upon her.\n\n\"Hurry!\" said Eurie. \"Why, he can't have any dinner here. We haven't a\nthing in the house for a stranger.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jennie, balancing herself on one foot, \"shall I go and tell\nhim that he must take himself off to a hotel?\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said Eurie; \"you know better.\" Then she whisked into the\nkitchen. Twenty minutes of one, and the train went at ten minutes of\ntwo, and nothing to eat, and Dr. Snowdon (of all particular and\ngentlemanly mortals, without a wife or a home, or any sense of the\ndrawbacks of Monday) to eat it! Is it hardly to be wondered at that the\nboys voted Eurie awfully cross?\n\n\"Altogether, it was just the most horrid time that ever anybody had.\"\nThat was the way Eurie closed the account of it, as she sat curled on\nthe foot of Marion's bed, with the three friends, who had been listening\nand laughing, gathered around her in different attitudes of attention.\n\n\"Oh, you can laugh, and so can I, now that it is over,\" Eurie said. \"But\nI should just like to have seen one of you in my place; it was no\nlaughing matter, I can tell you. It was just the beginning of\nvexations, though; the whole week, so far, has been exasperating in\nevery respect. Never anything went less according to planning than my\nprogramme for the week has.\"\n\nEach of her auditors could have echoed that, but they were silent. At\nlast Marion asked:\n\n\"But how did you get out of it? Tell us that. Now, a dinner of any kind\nis something that is beyond me. I can imagine you transfixed with\nhorror. Just tell us what you did.\"\n\n\"Why, you will wonder who came to my rescue; but I tell you, girls,\nNellis is the best fellow in the world. If I was half as good a\nChristian as he is, without any of that to help him, I should be a\nthankful mortal. I didn't expect him, thought he had gone away for the\nday; but when he came he took in the situation at a glance. Half a dozen\nwords of explanation set him right. 'Never mind.' he said. 'Tell him we\ndidn't mean to have dinner so early, but we flew around and got them a\nbite--then let's do it.' 'But what will the bite be?' I asked, and I\nstood looking up at him like a ninny who had never gotten a meal in her\nlife. 'Why, bread, and butter, and coffee, and a dish of sauce, and a\npickle, or something of that sort;' and the things really sounded\nappetizing as he told them off. 'Come,' he said, 'I'll grind the coffee,\nand make it; I used to be a dabster at that dish when I was in college.\nJennie, you set the table, and Ned will help; he's well enough for that,\nI know.'\n\n\"And in less time than it takes to tell it, he had us all at work, baby\nand all; and, really, we managed to get up quite a decent meal, out of\nnothing, you understand; had it ready when father drove up; and he said\nit was as good a dinner as he had had in a week. But, oh, me! I'm glad\nsuch days don't come very often. You see, none of you know anything\nabout it. You girls with your kitchens supplied with first-class cooks,\nand without any more idea of what goes on in the way of work before you\nare fed than though you lived in the moon, what do you know about such a\nday as I have described? Here's Marion, to be sure, who has about as\nempty a purse as mine; but as for kitchens, and wash days, and picked-up\ndinners, she is a novice.\"\n\n\"I know all about those last articles, so far as eating them is\nconcerned,\" Marion said, grimly. \"I know things about them that you\ndon't, and never will. But I have made up my mind that living a\nChristian life isn't walking on a feather bed, whether you live in a\npalace or a fourth-rate board-house, and teach school. I shouldn't\nwonder if there were such things as vexations everywhere.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it,\" Ruth Erskine said, speaking more quickly than was\nusual to her. The others had been more or less communicative with each\nother. It wasn't in Ruth's nature to tell how tried, and dissatisfied\nshe had been with herself and her life, and her surroundings all the\nweek. She was not sympathetic by nature. She couldn't tell her inward\nfeeling to any one; but she could indorse heartily the discovery that\nMarion had made.\n\n\"Well, I know one thing,\" said Eurie, \"it requires twice the grace that\nI supposed it did to get through with kitchen duties and exasperations\nand keep one's temper. I shall think, after this, that mother is a saint\nwhen she gets through the day without boxing our ears three or four\ntimes around. Come, let's go to meeting.\"\n\nIt was Wednesday evening, and our four girls had met to talk over the\nevents of the week, and to keep each other countenance during their\nfirst prayer-meeting.\n\n\"It is almost worse than going to Sunday-school,\" Eurie said, as they\nwent up the steps, \"except that we can help ourselves to seats without\nwaiting for any attentions which would not be shown.\"\n\nNow the First Church people were not given to going to prayer-meeting.\nIt is somewhat remarkable how many First Churches there are to which\nthat remark will apply. The chapel was large and inviting, looking as\nthough in the days of its planning many had been expected at the social\nmeetings, or else it was built with an eye to festivals and societies.\nThe size of the room only made the few persons who were in it, seem\nfewer in number than they were.\n\nFlossy had been to prayer-meeting several times before with a cousin who\nvisited them, but none of the others had attended such a meeting since\nthey could remember. To Eurie and Ruth it was a real surprise to see the\nrows of empty seats. As for Marion she had overheard sarcastic remarks\nenough in the watchful and critical world in which she had moved to have\na shrewd suspicion that such was the case.\n\n\"I don't know where to sit,\" whispered Flossy, shrinking from the gaze\nof several heads that were turned to see who the new comers were. \"Don't\nyou suppose they will seat us?\"\n\n\"Not they,\" said Eurie, \"Don't you remember Sunday? We must just put the\ncourageous face on and march forward. I'm going directly to the front. I\nalways said if ever I went to prayer-meeting at all, I shouldn't act as\nthough I was ashamed that I came.\" Saying which she led the way to the\nsecond seat from the desk, directly in line with Dr. Dennis' eye.\n\nThat gentleman looked down at them with troubled face. Marion looked to\nsee it light up, for she said in her heart:\n\n\"Gracie has surely told him my secret.\"\n\nShe knew little about the ways in the busy minister's household. The\ndelightful communion of feeling that she had imagined between father and\ndaughter was almost unknown to them. Very fond and proud of his daughter\nwas Dr. Dennis; very careful of her health and her associations; very\ngrateful that she was a Christian, and so, safe.\n\nBut so busy and harassed was his life, so endless were the calls on his\ntime and his patience and his sympathy, that almost without his being\naware of it, his own family were the only members of his church who\nnever received any pastoral calls.\n\nConsequently a reserve like unto that in too many households had grown\nup between himself and his child, utterly unsuspected by the father,\nnever but half owned by the daughter. He thought of her religious life\nwith joy and thanksgiving; when she went astray, was careful and tender\nin his admonition; yet of the inner workings of her life, of her\nreaching after higher and better living, of her growth in grace, or her\ndays of disappointment and failure and decline he knew no more than the\nveriest stranger with whom she never spoke.\n\nFor while Grace Dennis loved and reverenced her father more than she did\nany other earthly being, she acknowledged to herself that she could not\nhave told him even of the little conversation between her teacher and\nherself. She could, and did, tell him all about the lesson in algebra,\nbut not a word about the lesson in Christian love.\n\nSo on this evening his face expressed no satisfaction in the presence of\nthe strangers. He was simply disturbed that they had formed a league to\nmeet here with mischief ahead, as he verily believed.\n\nHe arose and read the opening hymn; then looked about him in a disturbed\nway. Nobody to lead the singing. This was too often the case. The\nquartette choir rarely indeed found their way to the prayer-meeting; and\nwhen the one who was a church-member occasionally came to the weekly\nmeeting, for reasons best known to herself, apparently the power of song\nfor which she received so good a Sabbath-day salary had utterly gone\nfrom her, for she never opened her lips.\n\n\"I hope,\" said Dr. Dennis, \"that there is some one present who can start\nthis tune; it is simple. A prayer-meeting without singing loses half its\nspiritual force.\" Still everyone was dumb. \"I am sorry that I cannot\nsing at all,\" he said again, after a moment's pause. \"If I could, ever\nso little, it would be my delight to consecrate my voice to the service\nof God's house.\"\n\nStill silence. All this made Marion remember her resolves at Chautauqua.\n\n\"What tunes do people sing in prayer-meeting?\" she whispered to Eurie.\n\n\"I don't know, I am sure,\" Eurie whispered back. And then the ludicrous\nside happened to forcibly strike that young lady, just then she shook\nwith laughter and shook the seat. Dr. Dennis looked down at her with\ngrave, rebuking eye.\n\n\"Well,\" he began; \"if we cannot sing\"--\n\nAnd then, before he had time to say further, a soft, sweet voice, so\ntremulous it almost brought the tears to think what a tremendous stretch\nof courage it had taken, quivered on the air.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nPRAYER-MEETING AND TABLEAUX.\n\n\nIT was Flossy who had triumphed again over self and a strong natural\ntimidity. Her voice trembled but for an instant, then it was literally\nabsorbed in the rich, full tones which Marion allowed to roll out from\nher throat--richer, fuller, stronger than they would have been had she\nnot again received this sharp rebuke from the timid baby of their party.\nBut that voice of hers! I wish I could describe it to you. It is not\noften that one hears such a voice. Such an one had never been heard in\nthat room, and the few occupants were surely justified in twisting their\nheads to see from whence it came.\n\nIt was still a new thing to Marion to sing such words as were in that\nhymn; and in the beauty of them, and the enjoyment of their richness,\nshe lost sight of self and the attention she was attracting, and sang\nwith all her heart. It so happened that every one of the three friends\ncould help her not a little, so our girls had the singing in their own\nhands for the evening.\n\nWhen the next hymn was announced, Marion leaned forward, smiling a\nlittle, and covered with her firm, strong hand the trembling little\ngloved hand of Flossy, and herself gave the key-note in clear, strong\ntones that neither faltered nor trembled.\n\n\"You've taken up your little cross bravely,\" she whispered afterward.\n\"Shown me my duty and shamed me into it; the very lightest end of it\nshall not rest on you any more.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the singing, and finding that it could be well done, Dr.\nDennis took care to see that there should be much of it, that meeting\ndragged. The few who were in the habit of saying anything, waited until\nthe very latest moment, as if hopeful that they might find a way of\nescape altogether, and yet, when once started, talked on as though they\nhad forgotten how to arrange a suitable closing, and must therefore go\non. Then the prayers seemed to our new-comers and new-beginners in\nprayer very strange and unnatural.\n\n\"Do you suppose Mr. Helm really feels such a deep interest in everything\nunder the sun?\" queried Eurie. \"Or did he pray for all the world in\ndetail because that is the proper way to do? Someway, I don't feel as if\nI could ever learn to pray in that way. I believe I shall have to ask\nfor just what I want and then stop.\"\n\n\"If you succeed in keeping to the latter part of your determination you\nwill do better than the most of them,\" Marion said. \"I can't help\nthinking that the worst feature of it is the keeping on, long after the\nperson wants to stop. Now, I tell you, girls, that is not the way they\nprayed at Chautauqua, is it?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Flossy, \"it is not the way Dr. Dennis prays, either; but\nthen, he has a theological education; that makes a difference, I\nsuppose.\"\n\n\"No it doesn't, you mouse, make a speck of difference. That old Uncle\nBilly, as they call him, who sat down by the door in the corner, hasn't\na theological education, nor any other sort of education. Did he speak\none single sentence according to rule? Yet, didn't you notice his\nprayer? Different from most of the others. He meant it.\"\n\n\"But you wouldn't say that none of the others meant it?\" Ruth said,\nspeaking hesitatingly and questioningly.\n\n\"No,\" Marion answered, slowly. \"I suppose not, of course; yet there is\nsomething the matter with them. It may be that the ones who make them,\nmay feel them, but they don't succeed in making me feel.\"\n\n\"Well, honestly,\" said Eurie, \"I'm disappointed. I have heard that\npeople who were really Christians liked to go to prayer-meeting better\nthan anywhere else, but I feel awfully wicked about it. But, as true as\nI live, I have been in places that I thought were ever so much\npleasanter than it was there this evening. Now, to tell the plain truth,\nsome of the time I was dreadfully bored. I'm specially disappointed,\ntoo, for I had a plan to trying to coax Nellis into going with me, but\nI really don't know whether I want him to go or not.\"\n\nBut this talk was when they were on their way homeward. Before that, as\nthey went down the steps, Eurie said:\n\n\"What plans have you for the evening, girls? Won't you go with me?\"\n\nAnd then she went back to that tormenting Monday, and told of Leonard\nBrooks' call with his friend Mr. Holden, and of the tableau\nentertainment to which she was pledged. They had all heard more or less\nof it, and all in some form or other had received petitions for help,\nbut none of them had come in direct contact with it, save Eurie, and it\nappeared that the rest of them had given the matter very little\nattention. Still, they were willing to go with Eurie, and see what was\nto be seen. At least they walked on in that direction.\n\nDr. Dennis and his daughter were directly behind them. As they neared a\nbrightly-lighted street corner, he came up to Eurie and Marion, who were\nwalking together, with a pleasant good-evening. Something in Marion's\nmanner of singing the hymn had interested him, and also he was\ninterested in learning, if he could, what motive had brought them to so\nunusual a place as the prayer-meeting.\n\n\"It is a lovely evening for a walk,\" he said. \"But, Miss Wilbur, you\ndon't propose to take it alone, I hope! Isn't your boarding place at\nsome distance?\"\n\nShe was not going directly home, Marion explained, not caring to admit\nthe loneliness, and also what evidently seemed to Dr. Dennis the\nimpropriety of having to traverse the street alone so often that it had\nfailed to seem a strange thing to her. Eurie volunteered further\ninformation:\n\n\"We are going up to Annesley's Hall, to make arrangements for the\ntableau entertainment.\"\n\nNow, it so happened that Dr. Dennis knew more about the tableau\nentertainment than Eurie did, and his few minutes of feeling that\nperhaps he had misjudged those girls, departed at once; so did his\ngenial manner.\n\n\"Indeed!\" he said, in the coldest tone imaginable, and almost\nimmediately dropped back with his daughter.\n\nThere was a gentleman hurrying down the walk, evidently for the purpose\nof overtaking him. At this moment he pronounced the doctor's name.\n\n\"Walk on, Grace, I will join you in a moment,\" the girls heard Dr.\nDennis say, and Grace stepped forward alone.\n\nMarion glanced back. But a few weeks ago it would have been nothing to\nher that Grace Dennis or anyone else walked alone, so that she had no\nneed for their company. But the law of unselfishness, which is the very\nessence of a true Christian life, was already beginning to work\nunconsciously in this girl's heart, and it made her turn now and say to\nGrace, with winning voice:\n\n\"Have you lost your companion? Come and walk with us until you can have\nhim again. Miss Mitchell, Miss Dennis.\"\n\nIt was a fact that, though Eurie was of the same church with Grace\nDennis, and though she knew Grace by sight, and bowed to her in the\ndaytime, their familiarity with each other was not so sufficient as to\ninsure a gas-light recognition.\n\n\"We know each other,\" Grace said, brightly, \"at least we ought to. We\ndo when we see each other plainly enough. I have been meaning to call\nwith papa, Miss Mitchell, but I haven't been able to, yet; I am only a\nschool girl, you know.\"\n\nEurie preferred to ignore the calling question; she had little sympathy\nwith that phase of fashionable life; so she plunged at once into another\nsubject.\n\n\"Are you going to the hall to-night, Miss Dennis, to help in getting up\nthe tableau entertainment?\"\n\nSomething in the quick way in which Grace Dennis said, \"Oh, no,\" made\nMarion anxious to question further.\n\n\"Why not?\" she asked. \"Miss Mitchell says they want all the ladies of\ntalent; I'm sure you and I ought to be there. I can imagine you in a\nsplendid tableau, Gracie; perhaps you would better go and help. To be\nsure, I haven't been really invited myself, but I guess I can get in\nsomehow. Won't you go with us now?\"\n\n\"I can't, Miss Wilbur. I should like to go; I enjoy tableaux ever so\nmuch; but papa does not approve of making tableaux of Scripture scenes.\nYou know, ministers have to be in advance on all these subjects.\"\n\nGrace spoke in an apologetic tone, and with a flushed face, as one who\nhad been obliged into saying a rude thing, and must make it sound as\nbest she could.\n\n\"Are they to be Scripture scenes?\" Eurie asked; and in the same breath\nadded: \"Why does he disapprove?\"\n\n\"I don't think I could give his reasons. He thinks them irreverent,\nsometimes, I fancy; but I am not sure. I never heard him say very much\non the subject; but I know quite well that he would not like me to go.\nDon't you know, Miss Mitchell, that clergymen always have to stand aloof\nfrom so many things, because they are set up as examples for others to\nfollow?\"\n\n\"But what is the use of it if others don't follow?\" said quick-witted\nEurie. \"We must look into this question. I have never thought of it. It\nwill have to be put down with that long list of subjects on which I have\nnever had any thoughts; that list swells every day.\"\n\nAt this point Dr. Dennis somewhat decidedly summoned his daughter to\nhis side, and it was after they had turned onto another street that the\ngirls took the prayer-meeting into consideration.\n\nThey were still talking of it when they reached the hall. Quite a\ncompany were assembled, among them Eurie's brother, who was to meet her\nthere, and Col. Baker, who had come for the purpose of meeting Flossy,\nmuch to her discomfiture. Mr. Holden and Leonard Brooks came over to the\nseat which they had taken, and the former was presented to the rest of\nthe party.\n\n\"This is capital!\" Nellis Mitchell said. \"Holden, I congratulate you. I\nknew Flossy would help, and possibly Miss Wilbur; but I will confess to\nnot even hoping for you, Miss Erskine.\"\n\n\"If your hopes are necessary to the completion of this scheme, I advise\nyou not to raise them high so far as I am concerned, for they will have\na grievous fall. I am the most indifferent of spectators.\" This from\nRuth, in her most formal and haughty tone. Nellis Mitchell was not one\nof her favorites.\n\n\"Oh, you will help us, will you not?\" Mr. Holden asked, in a tone so\nfamiliar and friendly that Ruth flushed as she answered:\n\n\"Thank you, no.\"\n\nWhereupon Mr. Holden discovered himself to be silenced.\n\n\"Never mind,\" Leonard Brooks said, \"we have enough helpers promised to\nmake the thing a grand success. Eurie, let me show you the picture of\none which we have planned for you; the scenic effect is really very\nfine--Oriental, you know; and you will light up splendidly in that\npicture.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Eurie, in an absent-minded tone: and she had to be\ntwice recalled from her thoughts before she turned to look at the plate\nspread before her. On the instant an angry flush arose, spreading itself\nover her face as she looked. \"You do not mean that you are to present\nthis?\" she said, at length.\n\n\"Why not?\" asked Leonard, in astonishment. Mr. Holden hastened to\nexplain:\n\n\"It is not often chosen for tableaux, I admit; but on that account is\nall the more desirable. We want to get away from the ordinary sort. This\nis magnificent in its working up. I had it in New York last winter, and\nit was one of the finest presented.\"\n\n\"It will not be presented with my help.\" Eurie's tone was so cold and\nhaughty that Marion turned toward her in surprise, and for the first\ntime glanced at the plate.\n\n\"Why, Miss Mitchell!\" Mr. Holden exclaimed, \"I am surprised and grieved\nif I have annoyed you by my selection. I was thinking how well you would\nlight up an Oriental scene. Is it the representation of the Saviour that\nyou dislike? I cannot see why that should be objectionable. It is\ndealing with him as a mere man, you know. It is simply an Oriental dress\nof a male figure that we want to represent, and this figure of Christ as\nhe sat at the well is so exceedingly minute and so carefully drawn that\nit works up finely.\"\n\n\"Christ at the well of Samaria!\" read Flossy, now bending over the book,\nand her eyes and cheeks told the story of her aversion to the idea. \"Who\n_would_ be willing to personate the Saviour?\"\n\nMr. Holden was prompt with his answer:\n\n\"I have had not the slightest difficulty in that matter. My friend,\nCol. Baker here, expressed himself as entirely willing to undertake it.\nWhy, my dear young ladies, you see it is nothing but the masculine form\nof dress that we want to bring out. There is really nothing more\nirreverent in it than there is in your looking at this picture here\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Then we will not look longer at the picture,\" Eurie said, drawing back\nsuddenly, the color on her face deepening into crimson. \"It is useless\nfor you to undertake an argument with me. I will be very plain with you,\nand inform you that, aside from the irreverent nature of the tableau, I\nconsider myself insulted in being chosen to make a public representation\nof that character. I am certainly absolved from my promise, Mr. Holden;\nand I beg you to withdraw my name from your list at once.\"\n\nMr. Holden turned the leaf on the offending picture. He was amazed and\ngrieved; he had looked at the picture purely in an artistic light; he\nsupposed all people looked thus at tableau pictures; it was certainly a\ncompliment that he meant to pay, and not the shadow of a discourtesy;\nbut since they looked at it in that singular manner, of course it\nshould be withdrawn from the lists; nothing further should be said about\nit. Let him show them, just allow him to show them, one plate which was\nthe very finest in scenic effect of anything that he had ever gotten up.\nThe name of it was \"The Ancient Feast.\"\n\nEurie turned hotly away, but Flossy and Ruth looked. It was a\nrepresentation of Belshazzar at his impious feast, at the time when he\nwas arrested by the handwriting on the wall. Ruth Erskine curled her\nhandsome lip into something like a sneer.\n\n\"Does Col. Baker kindly propose to aid you in representing the hand of\nGod?\" she said, in her haughtiest tones. \"He is so willing to lend\nhimself to the other piece of sacrilege, that one can hardly expect him\nto shrink even from this.\"\n\nMr. Holden promptly closed his book.\n\n\"There is some mistake,\" he said. \"I supposed the ladies and gentlemen\ngathered here came in for the purpose of helping, not for ridiculing. Of\ncourse if we differ so entirely on these topics we can be of very little\nhelp to each other.\"\n\n\"So I should judge,\" Marion said. \"And, that being the case, shall we\ngo?\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" said Leonard Brooks, following after the retreating\nparty, but speaking only in a low tone, and addressing Eurie. \"One\nexpects such lofty humbug from Miss Erskine, and even from Miss\nWilbur--the tragic is in her line; but I thought you would enter into\nand enjoy the whole thing. I told Holden that you would be the backbone\nof the matter.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Eurie, her voice half choked with indignation and\nwounded pride. \"And I presume you assisted in the selection of the\ncharacters that I should personate! As I said, I consider myself\ninsulted. Please allow me to pass.\"\n\nMuch excited, and some of them very much ashamed, they all found\nthemselves on the street again, Nellis Mitchell being the only one of\nthe astonished gentlemen who had bethought himself, or had had\nsufficient courage to join them.\n\n\"Well, what next?\" he said.\n\n\"Nell,\" said Eurie, \"what do you think of that?\"\n\nNellis shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"It is not according to my way of thinking,\" he said; \"but they told me\nyou had promised, and I thought if you had, with your eyes open, it was\nnone of my business. I congratulate you on being fairly out of it. That\nHolden is a scamp, I believe.\"\n\n\"And Col. Baker was going to take that character,\" said Flossy to\nherself. And Eurie, in her heart, felt grieved and hurt that her friend\nof long standing, Leonard Brooks, could have said and done just what he\nhad; he could never be to her as though he had not said and done those\nthings. As for Marion, all she said was:\n\n\"I begin to have a clearer idea of what Grace Dennis and her father\nmean.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nDR. DENNIS' STUDY.\n\n\nTHEY walked on in absolute silence for a few minutes, each busy with her\nown thoughts. Eurie was the first to speak:\n\n\"Girls, I propose we go and call on Dr. Dennis.\"\n\nRuth and Marion uttered exclamations of dismay, or it might have been of\nsurprise. Flossy spoke:\n\n\"You don't mean _now_?\"\n\n\"Now, this minute. We have an hour at our disposal, and we are all\ntogether. Why not, and have it over with? I tell you, that man is afraid\nof us! And when you come to think of it, why should he not be? What have\nwe ever done to help his work; and how much we may have done to hinder\nit! I never realized how much, until this present moment. It enrages me\nto think how many enterprises, like this one, I have been engaged in\nwithout giving it a thought. Just imagine how such things must look to\nDr. Dennis!\"\n\n\"But, Eurie, you have never been mixed in with anything like that\nperformance, as it is to be! What do you mean by admitting it?\" It was\nRuth who spoke, in some heat; the association rankled in her heart.\n\n\"Not precisely that sort of thing, I admit; but what must be the\nreputation I have earned, when I can be so coolly picked out for such\nwork? I tell you, girls, I am angry. I suppose I ought to be grateful,\nfor my eyes have certainly been opened to see a good many things that I\nnever saw before; but it was a rough opening. Shall we go to the\nparsonage, or not?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear! I don't feel in the least like it,\" Flossy said, timidly.\n\n\"Do you ever expect to _feel_ like it?\" Eurie asked, still speaking\nhotly. \"For myself, I must say that I do. I am tired of my place; I\nwant to be admitted, and belong, somewhere. It is entirely evident to\nme that I don't belong where I did. I have discovered that a great many\nthings about me are changed. I feel that I shall not assimilate well.\nLet me get in where I can have a chance. I want to belong to that\nSunday-school, for instance; to be recognized as a part of it, and to be\ncounted in a place. So do you, Flossy, I am sure; why not settle the\nmatter?\"\n\nYes, Flossy certainly wanted to belong to that Sunday-school; more than\nthat, she wanted to belong to that class. Her heart had been with it all\nthe week. If there was a hope that she might be permitted to try it for\nawhile, she was willing even to call on Dr. Dennis, though that act\nlooked awfully formidable to her.\n\n\"I suppose it is very silly not to want to go this evening, as well as\nany time,\" she admitted at last.\n\n\"Of course it is,\" Marion said, energetically. \"Let us turn this corner\nat once, and in two minutes more we shall have rung his bell; then that\nwill settle the question. Nothing like going ahead and doing things,\nwithout waiting to get into the mood.\"\n\n\"See here,\" said Nellis Mitchell, speaking for the first time. \"Please\nto take into consideration what you propose to do with me? I take it\nthat you don't want me to make this call with you. My sister has been\nremarkably bewildering in her remarks, but I gather that it is something\nlike a confidential talk that you are seeking with the doctor, into\nwhich I am not to be admitted.\"\n\n\"I forgot that you were along,\" said Eurie, with her usual frankness.\n\"No, Nell, we don't want you to call with us; not this time.\"\n\n\"I might ask for a separate room, and make my call on Miss Grace. At\nleast I might try it; but I doubt her father's permitting such a\ntremendous action: so, really, I don't see quite what you are to do with\nme. I am entirely at your disposal.\"\n\n\"See here, Nell, couldn't you call for us, in half an hour, say? Girls,\n_could_ we stay half an hour, do you suppose? We shall have to do\nsomething of the kind; it won't do for us to go home alone. I see what\nwe can do, Nell. You go to father's office, and wait just a little\nwhile; if we are not there in half an hour, you can call for us at Dr.\nDennis'; and if we find we are not equal to a call of that length, we\nwill come to the office; will that do?\"\n\nThe obliging brother made a low bow of mock ceremony, assured her that\nhe was entirely at her service, that she might command him and he would\nserve to the best of his knowledge and ability, made a careful minute of\nthe present time, in order to be exact at the half hour, and as they\nlaughingly declined his offer to ring the doctor's bell for them, he\nlifted his hat to them, with the lowest of bows, and disappeared around\nthe corner.\n\n\"He is such a dear fellow!\" said Eurie, looking fondly after him.\n\n\"I don't see in what respect,\" muttered Ruth in an aside to Flossy. Ruth\nhad a special aversion to this young man; possibly it might have been\nbecause he treated her with the most good-humored indifference, despite\nall her dignity and coldness.\n\nMeantime, in Dr. Dennis' study, his daughter was hovering around among\nthe books, trying to bring order out of confusion on the shelves and\ntable, and at the same time find a favorite volume she was reading. The\ndoctor turned on a brighter flame of gas, then lowered it, and seemed\nin a disturbed state of mind. At last he spoke:\n\n\"I don't know that my caution is needed, daughter--I have no reason to\nthink that it is, from anything in your conduct at least; but I feel\nlike saying to you that I have less and less liking for those young\nladies, who seem, since their unfortunate freak of attending that\nChautauqua meeting, to have banded themselves together, I can hardly\nimagine why; they are certainly unlike enough. But I distrust them in\nalmost every way. I am sorry that you are at school, under Miss Wilbur's\ninfluence; not that I dread her influence on you, except in a general\nway.\"\n\nAt this point Grace opened her bright lips to speak; there was an eager\nsentence glowing on her tongue, but her father had not finished his:\n\n\"I know all that you can say; that you have nothing to do with her\nreligious, or non-religious, views, and that she is a splendid teacher.\nI don't doubt it; but I repeat to you that I distrust all of them. I\ndon't know why they have seen fit to come to our Sabbath-school, and to\nour meeting this evening, unless it be to gain an unhappy influence over\nsome whom they desire to lead astray. I can hardly think so meanly of\nthem as that, either. I do not say that such was their motive, but\nsimply that I do not understand it, and am afraid of it; and I desire\nyou to have just as little to do with any of them as ordinary civility\nwill admit. Hitherto I have thought of Ruth Erskine as simply a leader\nof fashion, and of Flossy Shipley as the tool of the fashionable world;\nbut I am afraid their dangerous friends are leading them to be more. The\ntableau affair, to-night, I have investigated to a certain degree, and I\nconsider it one of the worst of its kind. I would not have you\nassociated with it for--well, any consideration that I can imagine; and\nyet, if I mistake not, I heard them urging you to join them.\"\n\nAgain Grace essayed to speak, but the pealing of the door bell\ninterrupted her.\n\n\"Who is it, Hannah?\" Dr. Dennis questioned, as that personage peeped her\nhead in at the door.\n\n\"It is four young ladies, Dr. Dennis, and they want to see you.\"\n\nGrace arose to depart.\n\n\"Do you know any of them, Hannah?\" the doctor asked.\n\n\"Well, sir, one of them is the Miss Wilbur who teaches, and I think\nanother is Dr. Mitchell's daughter. I don't know the others.\"\n\n\"Show them in here,\" said Dr. Dennis, promptly. \"And, daughter, you will\nplease remain. They have doubtless come to petition me for your\nassistance in the tableaux, and I have not the least desire to be\nconsidered a household tyrant, or to have them suppose that you are my\nprisoner. I would much rather that you should give them your own\nopinions on the subject like a brave little woman.\"\n\n\"But father,\" Grace said, and there was a gleam of mischief in her eye,\n\"I haven't any opinions on this subject. The most that I can say is,\nthat you don't wish me to have anything to do with them; and so, like a\ndutiful daughter, I decline.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" he said, smiling back on her in a satisfied way, \"show\nthem how gracefully you can play the part of a dutiful daughter. While\nyou are so young, and while I am here to have opinions for you, the\ndutiful part cheerfully done is really all that is necessary.\"\n\nAnd this was the introduction that the four girls had to the pastor's\nstudy. How shy they felt! Ruth could hardly ever remember of feeling so\nvery much embarrassed. As for Eurie, she began to feel that distressing\nsense of the ludicrous creeping over her, and so was horribly afraid\nthat she should laugh. Marion went forward to Grace, and in the warm,\nglad greeting that this young girl gave, felt her heart melted and\nwarmed.\n\nDr. Dennis, confident in the errand that had brought them, decided to\nlead the conversation himself, and give them no chance to approach the\ntopic smoothly.\n\n\"Have you done up the tableaux so promptly?\" he asked. And while he\naddressed his question to Marion, Eurie felt that he _looked_ right at\nher.\n\nMarion's answer was prompt and to the point.\n\n\"Yes, sir, we have. Miss Mitchell was the only one of us who was\npledged; and I believe she was entirely dissatisfied with the character\nof the entertainment, and withdrew her support.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" Dr. Dennis' manner of pronouncing this word was, in effect,\nsaying, \"Is it possible that there can be an entertainment of so\nquestionable a character that Miss Mitchell will withdraw from it?\"\n\nAt least that was the way the word sounded to Eurie, but she had been\nroused to unusual sensitiveness. The effect was to rouse her still\nfurther, to put to flight every trace of embarrassment and every desire\nto laugh. She spoke in a clear, strong voice:\n\n\"Dr. Dennis, we shall be talking at cross purposes if we do not make\nsome explanation of our object in calling this evening. We feel that we\ndo not belong in the society where you are classing us; in fact, we do\nnot belong anywhere. Our views and feelings have greatly changed within\na short time. We want to make a corresponding change in our\nassociations; at least, so far as is desirable. Our special object in\ncalling just now is, that we know it will soon be time for the communion\nin your church, and we have thought that perhaps we ought to make a\npublic profession of our changed views.\"\n\nWas ever a man more bent on misunderstanding plain English than was Dr.\nDennis this evening? He looked at his callers in an astonished and\nembarrassed way for a moment, as if uncertain whether to consider them\nlunatics or not; and then said, addressing himself to Eurie:\n\n\"My dear young lady, I fear you are laboring under a mistake as to the\nobject in uniting with the Church of Christ, and the preparation\nnecessary. You know, as a church, we hold that something more than a\ndesire to change one's social relations should actuate the person to\ntake such a step; that, indeed, there should be a radical change of\nheart.\"\n\nPoor Eurie! She thought she had been _so_ plain in her explanation. She\nflushed, and commenced a stammering sentence; then paused, and looked\nappealingly at Ruth and Marion.\n\nFinally she did what, for Eurie Mitchell to do, was unprecedented, lost\nall self-control, and broke into a sudden and passionate gust of tears.\n\n\"Eurie, don't!\" Marion said; to her it was actual pain to see tears. As\nfor Dr. Dennis, he was very much at his wits' end, and Ruth's\nembarrassment grew upon her every moment. Flossy came to the rescue.\n\n\"Dr. Dennis,\" she said, and he noticed even then that her voice was\nstrangely sweet and winning, \"Eurie means that we love Jesus, and we\nbelieve he has forgiven us and called us by name. We mean we want to be\nhis, and to serve him forever; and we want to acknowledge him publicly,\nbecause we think he has so directed.\"\n\nHow simple and sweet the story was, after all, when one just gave up\nattempting to be proper, and gave the quiet truth. Ruth was struck with\nthe simplicity and the directness of the words; she began to have not\nonly an admiration, but an unfeigned respect for Flossy Shipley. But you\nshould have seen Dr. Dennis' face. It is a pity Eurie could not have\nseen it at that moment; if she had not had hers buried in the sofa\npillow she would have caught the quick glad look of surprise and joy and\nheartfelt thankfulness that spoke in his eyes. He arose suddenly, and,\nholding out his hand to Flossy, said:\n\n\"Let me greet you, and thank you, and ask you to forgive me, in the same\nbreath. I have been very slow to understand, and strangely stupid and\nunsympathetic. I feel very much as I fancy poor doubting Thomas must\nhave done. Forgive me; I am so astonished, and so glad that I don't\nknow how to express the feeling. Do you speak for all your friends here,\nMiss Flossy? And may I ask something about the wonderful experience that\nhas drawn you all into the ark?\"\n\nBut Flossy's courage had forsaken her; it was born of sympathy with\nEurie's tears. She looked down now, tearful herself, and trembling like\na leaf. Ruth found voice to answer for her.\n\n\"Our experience, Dr. Dennis, can be summed up in one word--Chautauqua.\"\n\nDr. Dennis gave a little start; another astonishment.\n\n\"Do you mean that you were converted during that meeting?\"\n\nMarion smiled.\n\n\"We do not know enough about terms, to really be sure that that is the\nright one to use,\" she said; \"at least, I do not. But we do know this,\nthat we met the Lord Jesus there, and that, as Flossy says, we love him,\nand have given our lives into his keeping.\"\n\n\"You cannot say more than that after a hundred years of experience,\" he\nsaid, quickly.\n\n\"Well, dear friends, I cannot, as I said, express to you my gratitude\nand joy. And you are coming into the church, and are ready to take up\nwork for the Master, and live for him? Thank the Lord.\"\n\nLittle need had our girls to talk of Dr. Dennis' coldness and dignity\nafter that. How entirely his heart had melted! What a blessed talk they\nhad! So many questions about Chautauqua, so much to tell that delighted\nhim. They had not the least idea that it was possible to feel so much at\nease with a minister as they grew to feel with him.\n\nThe bell rang and was answered, and yet no one intruded on their quiet,\nand the talk went on, until Marion, with a sudden recollection of Nellis\nMitchell, and their appointment with him, stole a glance at her watch,\nand was astonished into the announcement:\n\n\"Girls, we have been here an hour and a quarter!\"\n\n\"Is it possible!\" Ruth said, rising at once. \"Father will be alarmed, I\nam afraid.\"\n\nDr. Dennis rose also.\n\n\"I did not know I was keeping you so,\" he said. \"Our theme was a\nfascinating one. Will you wait a moment, and let me make ready to see\nyou safely home?\"\n\nBut it appeared, on opening the door, that Nellis Mitchell occupied an\neasy-chair in the parlor, just across the hall.\n\n\"I'm a patient young man, and at your service,\" he said, coming toward\nthem as they emerged. \"Please give me credit for promptness. I was here\nat the half hour.\"\n\nAs they walked home, Nellis with his sister on one arm, and Flossy\nShipley on the other, he said:\n\n\"Now, what am I to understand by this sudden and violent intimacy at the\nparsonage? Miss Flossy, my sister has hitherto made yearly calls of two\nseconds' duration on the doctor's sister when she is not home to receive\nthem.\"\n\n\"A great many things are to be different from what they have hitherto\nbeen,\" Flossy said, with a soft little laugh.\n\n\"So I begin to perceive.\"\n\n\"Nell,\" said Eurie, turning back when she was half way up the stairs,\nhaving said good-night, \"are you going to help them with those\ntableaux?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" said Nellis.\n\nAnd Eurie, as she went on, said:\n\n\"I shouldn't be surprised if Nell felt differently about some things\nfrom what he used to. Oh, I wonder if I can't coax him in?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA WHITE SUNDAY.\n\n\nAMONG other topics that were discussed with great interest during that\ncall at Dr. Dennis' was the Sunday-school, and the place that our girls\nwere to take in it, Flossy was not likely to forget that matter. Her\nheart was too full of plans concerning \"those boys.\"\n\nEarly in the talk she overwhelmed and embarrassed Dr. Dennis with the\nrequest that she might be allowed to try that class. Now if it had been\nRuth or Marion who had made the same request, it would have been\nunhesitatingly granted. The doctor had a high opinion of the\nintellectual abilities of both these young ladies, and now that they\nhad appeared to consecrate those abilities, he was willing to receive\nthem.\n\nBut this little summer butterfly, with her small sweet ways and winning\nsmile! He had no more idea that she could teach than that a humming-bird\ncould; and of all classes in the school, to expect to do anything with\nthose large wild boys! It was preposterous.\n\n\"My dear friend,\" he said, and he could hardly keep from smiling, even\nthough he was embarrassed, \"you have no idea what you are asking! That\nis altogether the most difficult class in the school. Some of our best\nteachers have failed there. The fact is, those boys don't _want_ to be\ninstructed; they are in search of fun. They are a hard set, I am really\nafraid. I wouldn't have you tried and discouraged by them. We are at a\nloss what to do with them, I will admit; for no one who can do it seems\nwilling to try them. In fact, I am not sure that we have anyone who\n_can_. I understand your motive, Miss Flossy, and appreciate your zeal;\nbut you must not crush yourself in that way. Since you have been out of\nthe Sunday-school for so many years, and, I presume, have not made the\nBible a study--unhappily, it is not used as a text book in many of our\nschools--would it not be well for you to join some excellent Bible-class\nfor awhile? I think you would like it better, and grow faster, and we\nreally have some superior teachers among the Bible-classes.\"\n\nAnd while he said this, the wise doctor hoped in his heart that she\nwould not be offended with his plain speaking, and that some good angel\nwould suggest to Marion Wilbur the propriety of trying that class of\nboys.\n\nFlossy was not offended, though Marion Wilbur, spoken to in the same\nway, would have been certain to have felt it. Little Flossy, though\nsorely disappointed, so much so that she could hardly keep the tears\nfrom rising, admitted that she did not know how to teach, and that, of\ncourse, she ought to study the Bible, and would like ever so much to do\nso.\n\nIt so happened that the other girls were more than willing to be\nenrolled as pupils; indeed, had not an idea of taking any other\nposition. So, after a little more talk, it was decided that they all\njoin Dr. Dennis' class, every one of them expressing a prompt\npreference for that class above the others. In his heart Dr. Dennis\nentirely approved of this arrangement, for he wanted the training of\nFlossy and Eurie, and he meant to make teachers of the other two as soon\nas possible.\n\nNow it came to pass that an unlooked-for element came into all this\nplanning--none other than the boys themselves. They had ideas of their\nown, and they belonged to that part of the world which is hard to\ngovern. They would have Miss Flossy Shipley to be their teacher, and\nthey would have no one else; she suited them exactly, and no one else\ndid.\n\n\"But, my dear boys,\" Dr. Dennis said, \"Miss Shipley is new to the work\nof teaching; she is but a learner herself; she feels that her place is\nin the Bible-class, so that she may acquire the best ways of presenting\nlessons.\"\n\n\"Did she say she wouldn't teach us?\" queried Rich. Johnson, with his\nkeen eyes fixed on the doctor's face.\n\nWhat could that embarrassed but truthful man do but slowly shake his\nhead, and say, hesitatingly:\n\n\"No, she didn't say that; but I advised her to join a Bible-class for\nawhile.\"\n\n\"Then we want her,\" Rich. said, stoutly. \"Don't we, boys? She just suits\nus, Dr. Dennis; and she is the first one we ever had that we cared a\nsnap for. We had just about made up our minds to quit it; but, on the\nwhole, if we can have her we will give it another trial.\"\n\nThis strange sentence was uttered in a most matter-of-fact business way,\nand the perplexed doctor, quite unused to dealing with that class of\nbrain and manners, was compelled to beat a retreat, and come to Flossy\nwith his novel report. A gleam of satisfaction, not to say triumph,\nlighted up her pretty face, and aglow with smiles and blushes, she made\nher way with alacrity to her chosen class. Teachers and scholars\nthoroughly suited with each other; surely they could do some work during\nthat hour that would tell on the future. Meantime, the superintendent\nwas having his perplexities over in another corner of the room. He came\nto Dr. Dennis at last for advice.\n\n\"Miss Hart is absent to-day; her class is almost impossible to supply;\nno one is willing to try the little midgets.\"\n\n\"Miss Hart,\" Dr. Dennis repeated, thoughtfully; \"the primary class, eh;\nit is hard to manage; and yet, with all the sub-teachers present, one\nwould think it might be done.\"\n\n\"They are not all present,\" Mr. Stuart said. \"They never are.\"\n\nDr. Dennis ignored this remark.\n\n\"I'll tell you what to do,\" he said, with a sudden lighting up of his\nthoughtful face. \"Get Miss Wilbur to go in there; she is equal to the\nemergency, or I am much mistaken.\"\n\nMr. Stuart started in unqualified astonishment.\n\n\"I thought,\" he said, recovering his voice, \"that you seriously objected\nto her as a teacher in Sabbath-school?\"\n\n\"I have changed my mind,\" Dr. Dennis said, with a happy smile, \"or, the\nLord has changed her heart. Ask her to take the class.\"\n\nSo two of our girls found work.\n\nAnother thing occurred to make that Sabbath a memorable one. The evening\nwas especially lovely, and, there happening to be no other attraction,\na much larger number than usual of the First Church people got out to\nthe second service. Our girls were all present, and, what was unusual,\nother representatives from their families were with them.\n\nAlso, Col. Baker had obliged himself to endure the infliction of another\nsermon from Dr. Dennis, in order that he might have the pleasure of a\nwalk home in the glorious moonlight with Miss Flossy.\n\nThe sermon was one of special solemnity and power. The pastor's recent\ncommunion with new-born souls had quickened his own heart and increased\nthe longing desire for the coming of the Spirit of God into their midst.\nAt the sermon's close, he took what, for the First Church, was a very\nwide and startling departure from the beaten track. After a tender\npersonal appeal, especially addressed to the young people of his flock,\nhe said:\n\n\"Now, impelled by what I cannot but feel is the voice of the Lord Jesus,\nby his Spirit, I want to ask if there are any present who feel so much\nof a desire to be numbered with the Lord's friends, that they are\nwilling to ask us to pray for them, to the end that they may be found\nof him. Is there one in this audience who, by rising and standing for\nbut a moment, will thus simply and quietly indicate to us such a desire\nand willingness?\"\n\nWho ever heard of the First Church pastor doing so strange a thing? His\npeople had voted for festivals, and concerts, and lectures, and picnics,\nand entertainments of all sorts and shades. They had taken rising votes,\nand they had voted by raising the hand; they had made speeches, many of\nthem, on the questions to be presented; they had added their voice to\nthe pastor's explanations; they had urged the wisdom and the propriety\nof the question presented; they had said they earnestly hoped the matter\nwould meet careful attention; and no one in the church had thought such\nproceedings strange. But to ask people to rise in their seats, and thus\nsignify that they were thinking of the question of eternal life, and\nhome, and peace, and unutterable blessedness--what innovation was this?\n\nMuch rustling and coughing took place; then solemn silence prevailed.\nNot a deacon there, or officer of any sort, had the least idea of\naudibly hoping that the pastor's words would receive thoughtful\nattention; not a person arose; the silence was felt to be embarrassing\nand oppressive to the last degree.\n\nDr. Dennis relieved them at last by reading the closing hymn. During the\nreading, when startled thoughts became sufficiently composed to flow in\ntheir accustomed channels, many, almost unconsciously to themselves,\nprepared speeches which they meant to utter the moment their lips were\nunsealed by the pronouncing of the benediction.\n\n\"A very strange thing to do.\"\n\n\"What could Dr. Dennis be thinking of?\"\n\n\"A most unwise effort to force the private lives of people before the\npublic.\"\n\n\"An unfortunate attempt to get up an excitement.\"\n\n\"Well meant, but most ill-timed and mistaken zeal, which would have a\nreaction that would do harm.\"\n\nThese and a dozen other mental comments that roved through people's\nbrains, while they were supposed to be joining in the hymn of praise,\nwere suddenly cut short by the sound of Dr. Dennis' voice again--not in\nbenediction, as surely they had a right to expect by this time, but with\nanother appeal.\n\n\"I am still of the impression that there are those present who are doing\nviolence to their convictions of right, and to good judgment, by not\nresponding to my invitation. Let us remember to pray for all such. Now,\nI want to ask if there are any in this congregation who have lately\nproved the truth of the doctrine that there is a Saviour from sin, and a\npeace that the world cannot give. If there are those present, who have\ndecided this question recently, will they rise for a moment, thus\ntestifying to the truth of the words which have been spoken this\nevening, and thus witnessing that they have chosen the Lord Jesus for\ntheir portion?\"\n\nAnother sensation! Dr. Dennis must have taken leave of his senses! This\nwas more embarrassing than the last. The wise ones were sure that there\nhad been no conversions in a long time. So far as they knew and\nbelieved, entirely other thoughts were occupying the minds of the\npeople.\n\nThen, into the midst of this commotion of thought, there stole that\nsolemn hush, almost of heart-beatings, which betokens a new revelation,\nthat astonishes and thrills and solemnizes.\n\nThere were persons standing. Ladies! One--two--three. Yes, one in the\ngallery. There were four of them! Who were they? Why, that little,\nvolatile Flossy Shipley was one! How strange! And that girl in the\ngallery was the teacher at one of the Ward schools. It had been rumored\nthat she was an infidel!\n\nWho in the world was that beside Judge Erskine? It couldn't be his\ndaughter! Yet it certainly was. And behold, in the doctor's pew stood\nEurie, the young lady who was so free and careless in her manners and\naddress, that, were it not for the fact that she was the doctor's\ndaughter, her very respectability would have stood a chance of being\nquestioned!\n\nAs it was, there were mothers in the church who were quite willing that\ntheir daughters should have as little to do with her as possible. Yet,\nto-night their daughters sat beside them, unable to rise, in any way to\ntestify to the truth of the religion of Jesus Christ; and Eurie\nMitchell, with grave, earnest face, in which decision and determination\nwere plainly written, stood up to testify that the Lord was true to his\npromises.\n\nGradually there dawned upon the minds of many who knew these girls, the\nremembrance that they had been together to that great Sunday-school\nmeeting at Chautauqua. How foolish the scheme had seemed to them when\nthey heard of it; how sneeringly they had commented on the absurdity of\nsuch supposed representatives from the Sunday-school world.\n\nSurely this seeming folly had been the power of God, and the wisdom of\nGod. There were those in the first church, as, indeed, there are many in\nevery church of Christ, who rejoiced with all their souls at the sound\nof this good news.\n\nThere was another thing that occurred that night over which the angels,\nat least, rejoiced. There was another witness. He was only a poor young\nfellow, a day laborer in one of the machine shops, a new-comer to the\ncity. He knew almost nobody in that great church where he had chanced to\nbe a worshipper, and, literally no one knew him.\n\nWhen the invitation was first given, he had shrunken from it. Satan,\nwith ever-ready skill, and with that consummate wisdom which makes him\nas eager after the common day laborers as he is among the wealthy and\ninfluential, had whispered to him that the pastor did not mean such as\nhe; no one knew him, his influence would be nothing. This church was too\nlarge and too grand, and it was not meant that he should make himself so\nconspicuous as to stand alone in that great audience-room, and testify\nthat the Lord Jesus had called him.\n\nSo he sat still; but as one and another of those young ladies arose\nquietly, with true dignity and sweet composure testifying to their love\nfor the Lord, John Warden's earnest soul was moved to shame at his own\nshrinking, and from his obscure seat, back under the gallery, he rose\nup, and Satan, foiled that time, shrunk away.\n\nAs for our girls, they held no parley with their consciences, or with\nthe tempter; they did not even think of it. On the contrary, they were\nglad, every one, that the way was made so plain and so easy to them.\nEach of them had friends whom they especially desired to have know of\nthe recent and great change that had come to their lives. With some of\nthese friends they shrank unaccountably from talking about this matter.\nWith others of them they did not understand how to made the matter\nplain.\n\nBut here it was explained for them, so plainly, so simply, that it\nseemed that every one must understand, and their own future\ndetermination as to life was carefully explained for them. There was\nnothing to do but to rise up, and, by that simple act, subscribe their\nnames to the explanation--so making it theirs.\n\nI declare to you that the thought of its being a cross to do so did not\nonce occur to them. Neither did the thought that they were occupying a\nconspicuous position affect them. They were used to conspicuous\npositions; they had been twice as prominent in that very church when\nother subjects than religion had been under consideration.\n\nAt a certain festival, years before, they had every one taken part in a\nmusical entertainment that brought them most conspicuously before an\naudience three times the size of the evening congregation. So you see\nthey were used to it.\n\nAnd, as for the fancy that it becomes a more conspicuous and unladylike\nmatter to stand up for the Lord Jesus Christ, than it does to stand up\nfor anything else under the sun; Satan was much too wise, and knew his\nmaterial entirely too well, to suggest any such absurdity to them.\n\nFlossy had been the only one of their number in the least likely to be\nswayed by such arguments. But Flossy had set herself with earnest soul\nand solemn purpose to follow the light wherever it should shine, without\nallowing her timid heart time for questioning, and the father of all\nevil finds such people exceedingly hard to manage.\n\n\"How do you do,\" said Dr. Dennis to John Warden, two minutes after the\nbenediction was fully pronounced. \"I was very glad to see you to-night.\nI am not sure that I have ever met you? No? I thought so; a stranger?\nWell, we welcome you. Where do you board?\"\n\nAnd a certain black book came promptly out of the doctor's pocket. John\nWarden's name, and street, and number, and business were written\ntherein, and John Warden felt for the first time in his life as though\nhe had a Christian brother in that great city, and a name and a place\nwith the people of God.\n\nAnother surprise awaited him. Marion and Eurie were right behind him.\nMarion came up boldly and held out her hand:\n\n\"We seem to have started on the road together,\" she said. \"We ought to\nshake hands, and wish each other a safe journey.\"\n\nThen she and Eurie and John Warden shook each other heartily by the\nhand; and Flossy, standing watching, led by this bolder spirit into that\nwhich would not have occurred to her to do, slipped from her place\nbeside Col. Baker, and, holding her lavender kidded little hand out to\nhis broad brown palm, said, with a grace and a sweetness that belonged\nto neither of the others: \"I am one of them.\" Whereupon John Warden was\nnot sure that he had not shaken hands with an angel.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE RAINY EVENING.\n\n\nA COOL, rainy evening, one of those sudden and sharp reminders of autumn\nthat in our variable climate come to us in the midst of summer. The\nheavy clouds had made the day shut down early, and the rain was so\npersistent that it was useless to plan walks or rides, or entertainments\nof that nature. Also it was an evening when none but those who are\nhabitual callers at special homes are expected.\n\nOne of these was Col. Baker. The idea of being detained by rain from\nspending the evening with Flossy Shipley did not occur to him; on the\ncontrary, he rejoiced over the prospect of a long and uninterrupted\ntalk. The more indifferent Flossy grew to these long talks the more\neager was Col. Baker to enjoy them. The further she slipped away from\nhim, the more eagerly he followed after. Perhaps that is human nature;\nat least it was Col. Baker's nature.\n\nIn some of his plans he was disappointed. Mrs. Shipley was gone for a\nthree days' visit to a neighboring city, and Flossy was snugly settled\nin the back parlor entertaining her father.\n\n\"Show him right in here,\" directed her father, as soon as Col. Baker was\nannounced. Then to Flossy: \"Now we can have a game at cards as soon as\nCharlie comes in. Where is he?\"\n\nRainy evenings, when four people could be secured sufficiently\ndisengaged to join in his favorite amusement, was the special delight of\nMr. Shipley. So behold them, half an hour after, deep in a game of\ncards, Col. Baker accepting the situation with as good a grace as he\ncould assume, notwithstanding the fact that playing cards, simply for\namusement, in that quiet way in a back parlor, was a good deal of a bore\nto him; but it would be bad policy to tell Mr. Shipley so. Their game\nwas interrupted by a ring of the door-bell.\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" said Mr. Shipley, \"I hope that is no nuisance on business.\nOne would think nothing but business would call people out on such a\ndisagreeable night.\"\n\n\"As, for instance, myself,\" Col. Baker said, laughingly.\n\n\"Oh, you. Of course, special friends are an exception.\"\n\nAnd Col. Baker was well pleased to be ranked among the exceptions.\nMeantime the ringer was heralded.\n\n\"It is Dr. Dennis, sir. Shall I show him in here?\"\n\n\"I suppose so,\" Mr. Shipley said, gloomily, as one not well pleased; and\nhe added, in under tone, \"What on earth can the man want?\"\n\nMeantime Col. Baker, with a sudden dexterous move, unceremoniously swept\nthe whole pack of cards out of sight under a paper by his side.\n\nIt so happened that Dr. Dennis' call was purely one of business; some\nitem connected with the financial portion of the church, which Dr.\nDennis desired to report in a special sermon that was being prepared.\n\nMr. Shipley, although he was so rarely an attendant at church, and made\nno secret of his indifference to the whole subject of personal religion,\nwas yet a power in the financial world, and as such recognized and\ndeferred to by the First Church.\n\nDr. Dennis was in haste, and beyond a specially cordial greeting for\nFlossy, and an expression of satisfaction at her success with the class\nthe previous Sabbath, he had no more to say, and Mr. Shipley soon had\nthe pleasure of bowing him out, rejoicing in his heart, as he did so,\nthat the clergyman was so prompt a man.\n\n\"He would have made a capital business man,\" he said, returning to his\nseat. \"I never come in contact with him that I don't notice a sort of\nexecutive ability about him that makes me think what a success he might\nhave been.\"\n\nThere was no one to ask whether that remark meant that he was at present\nsupposed to be a failure. There was another subject which presently\nengrossed several of them.\n\n\"Now be so kind as to give an account of yourself,\" Charlie Shipley\nsaid, addressing Col. Baker. \"What on earth did you mean by making a\nmuddle of our game in that way? I was in a fair way for winning. I\nsuppose you won't own that that was your object.\"\n\nCol. Baker laughed.\n\n\"My object was a purely benevolent one. I had a desire to shield your\nsister from the woebegone lecture she would have been sure to receive on\nthe sinfulness of her course. If he had found her playing cards, what\nwould have been the result?\"\n\nMr. Shipley was the first to make answer, in a somewhat testy tone:\n\n\"Your generosity was uncalled for, Colonel. My daughter, when she is in\nher father's house, is answerable to him, and not to Dr. Dennis, or any\nother divine.\"\n\n\"I don't in the least understand what you are talking about,\" said\nmystified Flossy. \"Of what interest could it have been to Dr. Dennis\nwhat I am doing; and why should he have delivered a lecture?\"\n\nCol. Baker and Charlie Shipley exchanged amused glances, and the former\nquoted, significantly:\n\n\"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.\" Then he added, as\nFlossy still waited with questioning gaze: \"Why, Miss Flossy, of course\nyou know that the clergy think cards are synonyms for the deadly sin,\nand that to hold one in one's hand is equivalent to being poisoned, body\nand soul?\"\n\n\"I am sure I did not know it. Why, I knew, of course, that gambling\nhouses were not proper; but what is the harm in a game of cards? What\ncan Dr. Dennis see, for instance, in our playing together here in this\nroom, and simply for amusement?\"\n\nCol. Baker shrugged his handsome shoulders. That shrug meant a great\ndeal, accomplished a great deal. It was nearly certain to silence a\ntimid opposer; there was something so expressively sarcastic about it;\nit hid so much one felt sure Col. Baker _might say_ if he deemed it\nprudent or worth while. It had often silenced Flossy into a conscious\nlittle laugh. To-night she was in earnest; she paid no attention to the\nshrug, but waited, questioningly, for her answer, and as it was her\nturn to play next, it seemed necessary to answer her if one wanted the\ngame to go on.\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" Col. Baker said, at last. \"I have very little\nidea what he would consider the harm; I am not sure that _he_ would be\nable to tell. It is probably a narrow, strait-laced way that the cloth\nhave of looking at this question, in common with all other questions,\nsave prayer-meetings and almsgiving. Their lives are very much narrowed\ndown, Miss Flossy.\"\n\nFlossy was entirely unsatisfied. She had a higher opinion of Dr. Dennis'\n\"breadth\" than she had of Col. Baker's; she thought his life had a very\nmuch higher range; she was very much puzzled and annoyed. Her father\ncame into the conflict:\n\n\"Come, come, Flossy, how long are you going to keep us waiting? It is of\nno particular consequence what Dr. Dennis thinks or does not think. He\nhas a right to his own opinions. It is a free country.\"\n\nAh, but it did make a tremendous difference to Flossy. She had accepted\nDr. Dennis as her pastor; she had determined to look to him for help\nand guidance in this new and strange path on which her feet had so\nlately entered.\n\nShe wondered if Col. Baker could be right. Was it possible that Dr.\nDennis disapproved of cards played at home in this quiet way! If he did,\nwhy did he? And, another puzzling point, how did Col. Baker know it?\nThey two certainly did not come in contact, that they should understand\neach other's ideas.\n\nShe went on with her card-playing, but she played very badly. More than\nonce Col. Baker rallied her with good-humored sarcasm, and her father\nspoke impatiently. Flossy's interest in the game was gone; instead, her\nheart was busy with this new idea. She went back to it again in one of\nher pauses in the game.\n\n\"Col. Baker, don't you really know at all what arguments clergymen have\nagainst card-playing for amusement?\"\n\nAgain that expressive shrug; but it had lost its power over Flossy, and\nits owner saw it, and made haste to answer her waiting eyes.\n\n\"I really am not familiar with their weapons of warfare; probably I\ncould not appreciate them if I were; I only know that the entire class\nfrown upon all such innocent devices for passing a rainy evening. But it\nnever struck me as strange, because the fact is, they frown equally on\nall pastimes and entertainments of any sort; that is, a certain class\ndo--fanatics, I believe, is the name they are known by. They believe, as\nnearly as I am capable of understanding their belief, that life should\nbe spent in psalm-singing and praying.\"\n\nWhereupon Flossy called to mind the witty things she had heard, and the\nmerry laughs which had rung around her at Chautauqua, given by the most\nintense of these fanatics; she even remembered that she had seen two of\nthe most celebrated in that direction playing with a party of young men\nand boys on the croquet ground, and laughing most uproariously over\ntheir defeat. It was all nonsense to try to compass her brain with such\nan argument as that; she shook her head resolutely.\n\n\"They do no such thing; I know some of them very well; I don't know of\nany people who have nicer times. How do you know these things, Col.\nBaker?\"\n\nCol. Baker essayed to be serious:\n\n\"Miss Flossy,\" he said, leaning over and fixing his handsome eyes\nimpressively on her face, \"is it possible you do not know that, as a\nrule, clergymen set their faces like a flint against all amusements of\nevery sort? I do not mean that there are not exceptions, but I do mean\nmost assuredly that Dr. Dennis is not one of them. He is as rigid as it\nis possible for mortal man to be.\n\n\"Herein is where the church does harm. In my own opinion, it is to blame\nfor the most, if not for all, of the excesses of the day; they are the\nnatural rebound of nerves that have been strained too tightly by the\nover-tension of the church.\"\n\nSurely this was a fine sentence. The Flossy of a few weeks ago would\nhave admired the smooth-sounding words and the exquisitely modulated\nvoice as it rolled them forth. How had the present Flossy been quickened\nas to her sense of the fitness of things. She laughed mischievously. She\ncouldn't argue; she did not attempt it. All she said was, simply:\n\n\"Col. Baker, on your honor, as a gentleman of truth and veracity, do you\nthink the excesses of which you speak, occur, as a rule, in those whose\nlives have been very tightly bound by the church, or by anything else,\nsave their own reckless fancies?\"\n\nCharlie Shipley laughed outright at this point. He always enjoyed a\nsharp thing wherever heard, and without regard to whether he felt\nhimself thrust at or not.\n\n\"Baker, you are getting the worst of it,\" he said, gayly. \"Sis, upon my\nword, that two weeks in the woods has made you real keen in argument;\nbut you play abominably.\"\n\n\"There is no pleasure in the game now!\" This the father said, throwing\ndown his cards somewhat testily. \"Flossy, I hope you will not get to be\na girl of one idea--tied to the professional conscience. What is proper\nfor you could hardly be expected to be just the thing for Dr. Dennis;\nand you have nothing to do, as I said before, with what he approves or\ndisapproves.\"\n\n\"But, father,\" Flossy said, speaking somewhat timidly, as she could not\nhelp doing when she talked about these matters to her father, \"if we\ncall clergymen our spiritual guides, and look up to them to set examples\nfor us to follow, what is the use of the example if we don't follow it\nat all, but conclude they are simply doing things for their own\nbenefit?\"\n\n\"I never call them my spiritual guides, and I have not the least desire\nto have my daughter do so. I consider myself capable of guiding my own\nfamily, especially my own children, without any help.\"\n\nThis was said in Mr. Shipley's stiffest tone. He was evidently very much\ntried with this interruption to his evening's entertainment. Whatever\nmight be said of the others, he was certainly very fond of cards. He,\nhowever, threw down the remaining ones, declaring that the spirit of the\ngame was gone.\n\n\"Merged into a theological discussion,\" Charlie said, with a half laugh,\nhalf sneer; \"and of all the people to indulge in one, this particular\ncircle would be supposed to be the last.\"\n\n\"Well, I am certainly very sorry that I was the innocent cause of such\nan upheaval,\" Col. Baker said, in the half serious, half mocking, tone\nthat was becoming especially trying to Flossy. \"It seems that I\nunwittingly burst a bombshell when I overturned those cards. I hadn't\nan idea of it. Miss Flossy, what can I do to atone for making you so\nuneasy? I assure you it was really pure benevolence on my part. What can\nI do to prove it?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" Flossy said, smiling pleasantly. She was very much obliged.\nHe had awakened thought about a matter that had never before occurred to\nher. She began to think there were a good many things in her life that\nhad not been given very much thought. She meant to look into this thing,\nand understand it if she could. Indeed, that was what she wanted of all\nthings to do.\n\nNothing could be simpler and sweeter, and nothing could be more unlike\nthe Flossy of Col. Baker's former acquaintance.\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder a bit if you had roused a hornet's nest about your\nears,\" Charlie Shipley said to his friend. \"Now I tell you, you may not\nbelieve it, but my little sister is just exactly the stuff out of which\nthey made martyrs in those unenlightened days when anybody thought there\nwas enough truth in anything to take the trouble to suffer for it. She\ncan be made by skillful handling into a very queen of martyrs, and if\nyou fall in the ruins, it will be your own fault.\"\n\nBut he did not say this until Flossy had suddenly and unceremoniously\nexcused herself, and the two gentlemen were alone over their cigars.\n\n\"Confound that Chautauqua scheme!\" Col. Baker said, kicking an innocent\nhassock half across the room with his indignant foot. \"That is where all\nthese new ideas started. I wish there was a law against fanaticism.\nThose young women of strong mind and disagreeable manners are getting a\nmost uncomfortable influence over her, too. If I were you, Charlie, I\nwould try to put an end to that intimacy.\"\n\nCharlie whistled softly.\n\n\"Which do you mean?\" he asked at last. \"The Erskine girl, or the Wilbur\none? I tell you, Baker, with all the years of your acquaintance, you\ndon't know that little Flossy as well as you think you do. Let me tell\nyou, my man, there is something about her, or in her, that is capable of\ndevelopment, and that is being developed (or I am mistaken), that will\nmake her the leader, in a quiet way, of a dozen decided and outspoken\ngirls like those two, and of several men like yourself besides, if she\nchooses to lead you.\"\n\n\"Well, confound the development then! I liked her better as she was\nbefore.\"\n\n\"More congenial, I admit; at least I should think so; but not half so\ninteresting to watch. I have real good times now. I am continually\nwondering what she will do next.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE NEXT THING.\n\n\nWHAT she did next that night was to sit with her elbows in her lap, and\nher chin resting on her hands, and stare into vacancy for half an hour.\nShe was very much bewildered. Col. Baker had awakened a train of thought\nthat would never slumber again. He need not hope for such a thing. Her\nbrother Charlie saw deeper into her nature than she did herself. She was\ntenacious of an idea; she had grasped at this one, which, of itself,\nwould perhaps never have occurred to her.\n\nHitherto she had played at cards as she had played on the piano or\nworked at her worsted cats and dogs, or frittered away an evening in\nthe smallest of small talk, or done a hundred other things, without\nthought of results, without so much as realizing that there were such\nthings as results connected with such trifling commonplaces.\n\nAt least, so far as the matter of cards was concerned, she would never\ndo so again. Her quiet had been disturbed. The process of reasoning by\nwhich she found herself disturbed was very simple. She had discovered,\nas if by accident, that her pastor; as she loved to call Dr. Dennis,\nlingering on the word, now that it had such a new meaning for her,\ndisapproved of card-playing, not only for himself, but for her; at least\nthat Col. Baker so supposed.\n\nNow there must be some foundation for this belief of his. Either there\nwas something in the nature of the game which Col. Baker recognized, and\nwhich she did not, that made him understand, as by instinct, that it\nwould be disapproved by Dr. Dennis, or else he had heard him so express\nhimself, or else he was totally mistaken, and was misrepresenting that\ngentleman's character.\n\nShe thought all this over as she sat staring into space, and she went\none step further--she meant to discover which of these three statements\nwas correct. If Dr. Dennis thought it wrong to play cards, then he must\nhave reasons for so thinking. She accepted that at once as a necessity\nto the man. They must also have been carefully weighed reasons, else he\nwould not have given them a place in his creed. This also was a\nnecessity to a nature like his.\n\nClearly there was something here for her to study; but how to set about\nit? Over this she puzzled a good deal; she did not like to go directly\nto Dr. Dennis and ask for herself; she did not know how to set to work\nto discover for herself the truth; she could pray for light, that to be\nsure; but having brought her common sense with her into religious\nmatters, she no more expected light to blaze upon her at the moment of\npraying for it, than she expected the sun to burst into the room despite\nthe closing of blinds and dropping of curtain, merely because she prayed\nthat it might shine.\n\nClearly if she wanted the sun, it was her part to open blinds and draw\nback curtains; clearly if she wanted mental light, it was her part to\nuse the means that God had placed at her disposal. Thus much she\nrealized. But not being a self-reliant girl, it resulted in her saying\nto Eurie Mitchell when she slipped in the next evening to spend an hour:\n\n\"I wish we girls could get together somewhere this evening; I have\nsomething to talk over that puzzles me a great deal.\"\n\nYou are to understand that the expression, \"we girls,\" meant the four\nwho had lived Chautauqua together; from henceforth and forever \"we\ngirls\" who went through the varied experiences of life together that\nwere crowded into those two weeks, would be separated from all other\ngirls, and their intercourse would necessarily be different from any\nother friendships, colored always with that which they had lived\ntogether under the trees.\n\n\"Well,\" said Eurie, quick, as usual, to carry out what another only\nsuggested, \"I'm sure that is easily managed. We can call for Ruth, and\ngo around to Marion's den; she is always in, and she never has any\ncompany.\"\n\n\"But Ruth nearly always has,\" objected Flossy, who had an instant\nvision of herself among the fashionable callers in the Erskine parlor,\nunable to get away without absolute rudeness.\n\n\"I'll risk Ruth if she happens to want to come with us,\" Eurie said,\nnodding her head sagely. \"She will dispose of her callers in some way;\nstrangle them, or what is easier and safer, simply ignore their\nexistence and beg to be excused. Ruth is equal to any amount of\nwell-bred rudeness; all that is necessary is the desire to perform a\ncertain action, and she will do it.\"\n\nThis prophecy of Eurie's proved to be the case. Nellis Mitchell was\ncalled into service to see the girls safely over to the Erskine mansion,\nwhere they found two gentlemen calling on Ruth and her father. No sooner\ndid she hear of their desire to be together, than, feeling instant\nsympathy with it, she said, \"I'll go in five minutes.\" Then they heard\nher quiet voice in the parlor:\n\n\"Father, will you and our friends excuse me for the remainder of the\nevening, and will you enjoy my part of the call and yours too? I have\njust had a summons elsewhere that demands attention.\"\n\n\"Isn't that perfect in its propriety, besides bringing things to the\nexact point where she wants them to be?\" whispered Eurie to Flossy as\nthey waited in the hall. \"Oh, it takes Ruth to manage.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Flossy, with her far-away look, and half-distressed,\nwholly-perplexed curve of the lip--\"I wonder if it is strictly _true_;\nthat is what troubles me a good deal.\"\n\nOh, Dr. Hurlbut your address to the children that summer day under the\ntrees was the germ of this shoot of sensitiveness for the strict truth,\nthat shall bloom into conscientious fruit.\n\nIt was by this process that they were all together in Marion's den, as\nEurie called her stuffed and uninviting little room. Never was mortal\nmore glad to be interrupted than she, as she unceremoniously tossed\naside school-books and papers, and made room for them around the table.\n\n\"You are a blessed trio,\" she said, exultantly. \"What good angel put it\ninto your hearts to come to me just now and here? I am in the dismals;\nhave been down all day in the depths of swamp-land, feeling as if I\nhadn't a friend on earth, and didn't want one; and here you are, you\nblessed three.\"\n\n\"But we didn't come for fun or to comfort you, or anything of that\nsort,\" explained Flossy, earnestly, true to the purpose that had started\nher. \"We came to talk something over.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it. Talk it over then by all means. I'll talk at it with\nall my heart. We generally do talk something over, I have observed, when\nwe get together; at least we do of late years. Which one wants to talk?\"\n\nThus introduced, Flossy explained the nature of her perplexities; her\noccupation the evening before; the interruption from Dr. Dennis; the\nsweeping action of Col. Baker, and the consequent talk.\n\n\"Now do you suppose that is true?\" she said, suddenly breaking off at\nthe point where Col. Baker had assured her that all clergymen looked\nwith utter disfavor on cards.\n\nMarion glanced from one to another of the faces before her with an\namused air; none of them spoke.\n\n\"It is rather queer,\" she said, at last, \"that I have to be authority,\nor that I seem to be the only one posted, when I have but just emerged\nfrom a state of unbelief in the whole subject. But I tell you truly, my\nblessed little innocent, Col. Baker is well posted; not only the clergy,\nbut he will find a large class of the most enlightened Christians, look\nwith disapproval on the whole thing in all its variations.\"\n\n\"Why do they?\" This from Flossy, with a perplexed and troubled tone.\n\n\"Well,\" said Marion, \"now that question is more easily asked than\nanswered. It requires an argument.\"\n\n\"An argument is just what I want; I like to have things explained.\nBefore that, though, one thing that puzzles me is how should Col. Baker\nbe so familiar with the views of clergymen?\"\n\n\"That is a curious fact, my mousie; you will find it, I fancy, in all\nsorts of strange places. People who are not Christians seem to have an\nintuitive perception of the fitness of things. It is like dancing and\ntheatre-going, and a dozen other questions. It is very unusual to meet\npeople who do not sneer at Christians for upholding such amusements;\nthey seem to realize an incongruity between them and the Christian\nprofession. It was just as plain to me, I know, and I have sneered many\na time over card-playing Christians, and here you are, dear little\nFlossy, among them, just for the purpose of teaching me not to judge.\"\n\nRuth, for the first time, took up the subject:\n\n\"If your statement is true, Marion, how is it that so many professed\nChristians indulge in these very things?\"\n\n\"Precisely the question that I just asked myself while I was talking. By\nwhat means they become destitute of that keen insight into consistencies\nand inconsistencies, the moment they enter the lists as Christian\npeople, is more than I can understand, unless it is because they decide\nto succumb to the necessity of doing as other people do, and let any\nspecial thinking alone as inconvenient and unprofitable. I don't know\nhow it is; only you watch this question and think about it, and you will\ndiscover that just so surely as you come in contact with any who are\nactive and alert in Christian work, whose religion you respect as\namounting to something, you are almost sure to see them avoiding all\nthese amusements. Who ever heard of a minister being asked to spend an\nevening in social card-playing! I presume that even Col. Baker himself\nknows that that would be improper, and he would be the first to sneer.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Ruth said, \"ministers were expected to be examples for\nother people to follow.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" Flossy said, her perplexity in no way lessened, \"ought we\nnot to follow?\"\n\nWhereupon Marion clapped her hands.\n\n\"Little Flossy among the logicians!\" she said. \"That is the point, Ruth\nErskine. If the example is for us to follow, why don't we follow? Now,\nwhat do you honestly think about this question yourself?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Ruth, hesitatingly, \"I have always played cards, in select\ncircles, being careful, of course, with whom I played; just as I am\ncareful with whom I associate, and, contrary to your supposition, I have\nalways supposed those people who frowned on such amusements to be a set\nof narrow-minded fanatics. And I didn't know that Christian people did\nfrown on such amusements; though, to be sure, now that I think of it,\nthere are certain ones who never come to card-parties nor\ndancing-parties. I guess the difficulty is that I have never thought\nanything about it.\"\n\nMarion was looking sober.\n\n\"The fact is,\" she said, gravely, \"that with all my loneliness and\npoverty and general forlornness, I have had a different bringing up from\nany of you. My father did not believe in any of these things.\"\n\n\"And he was a Christian man,\" Flossy said, quickly. \"Then he must have\nhad a reason for his belief. That is what I want to get at. What was\nit?\"\n\n\"He found it in an old book,\" said Marion, looking at her, brightly,\nthrough shining eyes. \"He found most of his knowledge and his hope and\njoy in that same book. The Bible was almost the only book he had, and he\nmade much of that.\"\n\n\"And yet you hated the Bible!\" Eurie said this almost involuntarily,\nwith a surprised tone.\n\n\"I hated the way in which people lived it, so different from my father's\nway. I don't think I ever really discarded the book itself. But I was a\nfool; I don't mind owning that.\"\n\nFlossy brought them back to the subject.\n\n\"But about this question,\" she said. \"The Bible was just where I went\nfor help, but I didn't find it; I looked in the Concordance for cards\nand for amusements, and for every word which I could think of, that\nwould cover it, but I couldn't find anything.\"\n\nMarion laughed again. This little morsel's ignorance of the Bible was to\nthis girl, who had been an avowed infidel for more than a dozen years,\nsomething very strange.\n\n\"The Bible is a big book, darling,\" she said, still laughing. \"But,\nafter all, I fancy you will find something about the principle that\ngoverns cards, even if you cannot find the word.\"\n\nMeantime Ruth had been for some minutes regarding Eurie's grave face and\nattentive eyes, with no small astonishment in her gaze. At this point\nshe interrupted:\n\n\"Eurie Mitchell, what can be the matter with you? were you ever known to\nbe so quiet? I haven't heard you speak on this theme, or any other,\nsince you came into the room; yet you look as though you had some\nideas, if you chose to advance them. Where do you stand on this card\nquestion?\"\n\n\"We never play cards at home,\" Eurie said, quickly, \"and we never go\nwhere we know they are to be played.\"\n\nFlossy turned upon her the most surprised eyes. Dr. Mitchell's family\nwas the most decidedly unconventional and free and easy of any\nrepresented there. Flossy had supposed that they, of all others, would\nmake cards a daily pastime.\n\n\"Why not?\" she asked, briefly and earnestly, as one eager to learn.\n\n\"It is on Nell's account,\" Eurie said, still speaking very gravely.\n\"Nell has but one fault, and that is card-playing; he is just\npassionately fond of it; he is tempted everywhere. Father says\nGrandfather Mitchell was just so, and Nell inherits the taste. It is a\ngreat temptation to him, and we do not like to foster it at home.\"\n\n\"But home card-playing is so different; that isn't gambling.\" This from\nFlossy, questioningly.\n\n\"Nell learned to play at home,\" Eurie said, quickly. \"That is, he\nlearned at Grandfather Mitchell's when he was a little boy. We have no\nmeans of knowing whether he would have been led into gambling but for\nthat early education. I know that Robbie shall never learn if we can\nhelp it; we never mean to allow him to go where any sort of cards are\nplayed, so long as we have him under control.\"\n\nAll this was utterly new to Flossy.\n\n\"Then, if your little Robbie should come, with other children, to see\nme, and I should teach them a game of cards to amuse them, I might be\ndoing you a positive injury,\" she said, thoughtfully.\n\n\"I certainly should so consider it,\" Eurie said, with quickness and with\nfeeling. \"Girls, I speak vehemently on this subject always; having one\nserious lesson at home makes people think.\"\n\n\"It is a question whether we have any right to indulge in an amusement\nthat has the power to lead people astray,\" Ruth said, grave and\nthoughtful, \"especially when it is impossible to tell what boy may he\ngrowing up under that influence to whom it will become a snare.\"\n\nMarion added:\n\n\"Flossy, do you begin to see?\"\n\n\"I see in every direction,\" Flossy said. \"There is no telling when we\nmay be doing harm. But, now, let me be personal; I play with father a\ngreat deal; he is an old man, and he has no special temptation,\ncertainly. I have heard him say he never played for anything of more\nvalue than a pin in his life. What harm can there possibly be in my\nspending an evening with him in such an amusement, if it rests and\nentertains him?\"\n\n\"Imagine some of your Sunday-school boys accepting your invitation to\ncall on you, and finding you playing a social game with your father;\nthen imagine them quoting you in support of their game at the billiard\nsaloon that same evening a little later,\" Marion said, quickly. \"You\nsee, my little Flossy, we don't live in nutshells or sealed cans; we are\nat all times liable to be broken in upon by people whom we may influence\nand whom we may harm. I confess I don't want to do anything at home that\nwill have to be pushed out of sight in haste and confusion because some\none happens to come in. I want to be honest, even in my play.\"\n\nOver this Flossy looked absolutely aghast. Those boys of hers, they\nwere getting a strong hold upon her already; she longed to lead them.\nWas it possible that by her very amusements she might lead them astray!\nAnother point was, that Nellis Mitchell could never be invited to join\nthem in a game. She had invited him often, and she winced at the\nthought. Did his sister think she had helped him into temptation?\nFollowing these trains of thought, she was led into another, over which\nshe thought aloud.\n\n\"And suppose any of them should ask me if I ever played cards! I should\nhave to say yes.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Marion. \"And don't you go to thinking that you can\never hide behind that foolish little explanation, 'I play simply for\namusement; I think it is wrong to play for money.' It won't do: it takes\nlogical brains to see the difference, and some even of those _won't_ see\nit; but they can readily see that, having plenty of money, of course you\nhave no temptation to play cards for it, and they see that with them it\nis different.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nSETTLING QUESTIONS.\n\n\n\"THERE is Bible for that doctrine too.\"\n\n\"Where?\" Flossy asked, turning quickly to Marion.\n\n\"In this verse: 'If meat maketh my brother to offend, I will eat no meat\nwhile the world stands.' Don't you see you never can know which brother\nmay be made to offend?\"\n\n\"And it is even about so useful a thing as food,\" said Flossy, looking\nher amazement; she had never heard that verse before in her life. \"About\njust that thing; and nothing so really unnecessary to a complete life as\ncard-playing may be.\"\n\n\"Col. Baker sneers at the inconsistency of people who have nothing to do\nwith cards, and who play croquet,\" Eurie said this with cheeks a little\nheightened in color; she had come in contact with Col. Baker on this\nvery question.\n\nRuth looked up quickly from the paper on which she was scribbling.\n\n\"I think myself,\" she said, \"that if it should seem necessary to me to\ngive up cards entirely, consistency would oblige me to include croquet,\nand all other games of that sort.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't feel obliged to do any such thing,\" Marion said, promptly;\n\"at least, not until I had become convinced that people played croquet\nlate into the night, in rooms smelling of tobacco and liquor, and were\ntempted to drink freely of the latter, and pawn their coats, if\nnecessary, to get money enough to carry out the game. You see, there is\na difference.\"\n\n\"Yet people can gamble in playing croquet,\" Eurie said, thoughtfully.\n\n\"Oh, yes, and people can gamble with pins, or in tossing up pennies. The\npoint is, they are not in the habit of doing it; and pins suggest no\nsuch thing to people in general; neither do croquet balls; while the\nfact remains that the ordinary use of cards, is to gamble with them; and\ncomparatively few of those who use them habitually confine themselves to\nquiet home games. People are in danger of making their brothers offend\nby their use; we all know that.\"\n\n\"If that is true, then just that one verse from the Bible ought to\nsettle the whole question.\" There was no mistaking the quiet meaning in\nFlossy's voice; it was as good as saying that the whole question _was_\nsettled for her. Marion regarded her with evident satisfaction; her\nmanner was all the more fascinating, because she was so entirely\nunconscious that this way of looking at questions, rather than this firm\nmanner of settling questions, was not common, even among Christians.\n\"Can you show me the verse in your Bible?\" she presently asked.\n\n\"I can do that same with the greatest pleasure,\" Marion said, bringing\nforward a new and shining concordance. \"I really meant to have a new\ndress this fall; I say that, Ruthie, for your special comfort; but the\ntruth is, there was an army of Bible verses that I learned in my youth\ntrooping up to me, and I had such a desire to see the connection, and\nfind out what they were all about, that I was actually obliged to\nsacrifice the dress and get a concordance. I have lots of comfort with\nit. Here is the verse, Flossy.\"\n\nFlossy drew the Bible toward her with a little sigh.\n\n\"I wish I knew an army of verses,\" she said. \"Seems to me I don't know\nany at all.\" Then she went to reading.\n\n\"I know verses enough,\" Eurie said, \"but they seem to be in a great\nmuddle in my brain. I can't remember that any of them were ever\nexplained to me; and it isn't very often that I find a place where any\nof them will fit in.\"\n\n\"They do fit in, though, and with astonishing closeness, you will find,\nas you grow used to them. I have been amazed at that feature of the\nBible. Some of the verses that occur in the selections for parsing are\njust wonderful; they seem aimed directly at me. What have you found,\nFlossy?\"\n\n\"Wonderful things,\" said Flossy, flushing and smiling.\n\n\"You are reading backward, aren't you? I know those verses; just you\nlet me read them, substituting the object about which we are talking,\nand see how they will fit. You see, girls, this astonishing man, Paul by\nname--do you happen to know his history?--more wonderful things happened\nto him than to any other mortal I verily believe. Well, he was talking\nabout idols, and advising his Christian friends not to eat the food that\nhad been offered to idols; not that it would hurt them, but\nbecause--well, you'll see the 'because' as I read. I'll just put in our\nword, for an illustration, instead of meat. 'But cards commend us not to\nGod: for neither if we play are we the better; neither if we play not,\nare we the worse. But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours\nbecome a stumbling-block to them that are weak; for if any man see thee\nwhich hast knowledge, sit at cards, shall not the conscience of him\nwhich is weak be emboldened to sit at cards also? And through thy\nknowledge shall the weak brother perish for whom Christ died? But when\nye sin so against the brethren and wound their weak conscience, ye sin\nagainst Christ. Wherefore if cards make my brother to offend, I will\nplay no more cards while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to\noffend.' Doesn't that fit?\"\n\n\"Let me look at that,\" said Eurie, suddenly, drawing the Bible to her.\n\"After all,\" she said, after a moment, \"what right have you to\nsubstitute the word cards? It is talking about another matter.\"\n\n\"Now, Eurie Mitchell, you are too bright to make such a remark as that!\nIf the Bible is for our help as well as for Paul's, we have surely the\nright to substitute the noun that fits our present needs. We have no\nidols nowadays; at least they are not made out of wood and stone; and\nthe logic of the question is as clear as sunlight. We have only to\nunderstand that the matter of playing cards is a snare and a danger to\nsome people, and we see our duty clearly enough, because, how are we\never to be sure that the very person who will be tempted is not within\nthe reach of our influence. What do you think, Flossy? Is the question\nany clearer to you?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" Flossy said, slowly, \"that eighth verse settles it: 'For\nmeat commendeth us not to God, for neither if we eat are we the better,\nneither if we eat not are we the worse.' It certainly can do no one any\nharm if I let cards alone, and it is equally certain that it may do harm\nif I play them. I should think my duty was clear.\"\n\n\"I wonder what Col. Baker will say to that duty?\" queried Eurie,\nthinking aloud rather than speaking to any one. \"He is very much given\nover to the amusement, if I am not mistaken.\"\n\nFlossy raised her eyes and fixed them thoughtfully on Eurie's face,\nwhile a flush spread all over her own pretty one. Was it possible that\nshe had helped to foster this taste in Col. Baker. How _many_ evenings\nshe had spent with him in this way. _Was_ he very much addicted to the\nuse of cards, she wondered; that is, outside of their own parlor? Eurie\nseemed to know something about it.\n\n\"What makes you think so?\" she asked, at last.\n\n\"Because I know so. He has a great deal to do with Nell's infatuation.\nHe was the very first one with whom Nell ever played for anything but\nfun. Flossy Shipley, you surely know that he derives a good deal of his\nincome in that way?\"\n\n\"I certainly did _not_ know it,\" Flossy said, with an increasing glow on\nher cheeks. The glow was caused by wondering how far her own brother,\nCharlie, had been led by this man.\n\n\"Girls,\" said Marion, concluding that a change of subject would be wise,\n\"wouldn't a Bible reading evening be nice?\"\n\n\"What kind of an evening can that be?\"\n\nMarion laughed.\n\n\"Why, a reading together out of the Bible about a certain subject, or\nsubjects, that interested us, and about which we wanted to inform\nourselves? Like this, for instance. I presume there are dozens of texts\nthat bear on this very question. It would be nice to go over them\ntogether and talk them up.\"\n\nFlossy's eyes brightened.\n\n\"I would like that exceedingly,\" she said. \"I need the help of you all.\nI know so very little about the Bible. We have musical evenings, and\nliterary evenings; why not Bible evenings? Let's do it.\"\n\n\"Apropos of the subject in hand, before we take up a new one, what do\nyou think of this by way of illustration?\" Ruth asked, as she threw down\non the table a daintily written epistle. There was an eager grasping\nafter it by this merry trio, and Eurie securing it, read aloud. It was\nan invitation for the next evening to a select gathering of choice\nspirits for the purpose of enjoying a social evening at cards.\n\n\"What do you propose to do with it?\" Marion asked, as Eurie balanced the\nnote on her hand with an amused face; the illustration fitted so\nremarkably into the talk.\n\n\"Decline it,\" Ruth said, briefly. And then added, as an after-thought,\n\"I never gave the subject any attention in my life. I am, perhaps, not\nentirely convinced now, only I see as Flossy does, that I shall\ncertainly do no harm by declining; whereas it seems I may possibly do\nsome by accepting; therefore, of course, the way is clear.\"\n\nShe said it with the utmost composure, and it was evident that the idea\nof such a course being disagreeable to her, or of her considering it a\ncross to decline, had not occurred to her. She cared nothing at all\nabout these matters, and had only been involved in them as a sort of\nnecessity belonging to society. She was more than willing to be \"counted\nout.\"\n\nAs for Flossy, she drew a little sigh of envy. She would have given much\nto have been constituted like Ruth Erskine. She knew that the same like\ninvitation would probably come to her, and she knew that she would\ndecline it; but, aside from loss of the pleasure and excitement of the\npretty toilet and the pleasant evening among her friends, she foresaw\nlong and wearisome discussions with Col. Baker, with Charlie, with her\nfather; sarcastic remarks from Kitty and her lover, and a long train of\nannoyances. She dreaded them all; it was so easy to slip along with the\ncurrent; it was so hard to stem it and insist on going the other way.\n\nAs for Marion Wilbur, she envied them both; a chance for them to dash\nout into a new channel and make some headway, not the everlasting\nhumdrum sameness that filled her life.\n\nFlossy was fascinated with the Bible words, that were so new and fresh\nto her.\n\n\"Those verses cover a great deal of ground,\" she said, slowly reading\nthem over again. \"I can think of a good many things which we call right\nenough, that, measured by that test, would have to be changed or given\nup. But, Marion, you spoke of dancing and theatre-going. I can't quite\nsee what the verses have to do with either of those amusements; I mean\nnot as we, and the people in our set, have to do with such things. Do\nyou think every form of dancing is wicked?\"\n\n\"What wholesale questions you ask, my morsel! And you ask them precisely\nas though I had been made umpire and you must abide by my decisions,\nwhatever they are. Now, do you know I never believed in dancing? I had\nsome queer, perhaps old-fashioned, notions about it all my life. Even\nbefore there was any such thing as a conscientious scruple about it, I\nshould not have danced if I had had a hundred chances to mingle in just\nthe set that you do; so, perhaps, I am not the one of whom to ask that\nquestion.\"\n\n\"I should think you were just the one. If you have examined it, and know\nwhy you think so, you can surely tell me, and give me a chance to see\nwhether I ought to think as you do or not.\"\n\n\"_I_ need posting, decidedly, on that question,\" Eurie said, throwing\noff her earnestness and looking amused. \"If there is any one thing above\nanother that I do thoroughly enjoy, it is dancing; and I give you all\nfair warning, I don't mean to be coaxed out of it very easily. I shall\nfight hard for that bit of fun. Marion don't know anything about it, for\nshe never danced; but the rest of you know just what a delicious\nexercise it is; and I don't believe, when it is indulged in reasonably,\nand at proper places, there is any harm at all in it. If I am to give it\nup, you will have to show me strong reasons why I should.\"\n\n\"All this fits right in with my idea,\" Marion said. \"Nothing could be\nmore suitable for our first Bible reading. Let us take an evening for\nit, and prepare ourselves as well as we can beforehand, and examine into\nthe Bible view of it. Eurie, you will be expected to be armed with all\nthe Scriptural arguments in its favor. I'll try for the other side. Now,\nRuth and Flossy, which side will you choose?\"\n\n\"Neither,\" Ruth said, promptly. \"I am interested in the subject, and\nshall be glad to be informed as to what the Bible says about it, if any\nof you are smart enough to find anything that will bear on the subject;\nbut I believe the Bible left that, as well as some other things, to our\ncommon sense, and that each of us have to decide the matter for\nourselves.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Marion, \"we'll accept you on the non-committal side.\nOnly, remember you are to try to prove from the Bible that it has left\n_us_ to decide this matter for ourselves.\"\n\n\"I shall take every side that I find,\" Flossy said. \"What I want to know\nis, the truth about things.\"\n\n\"Without regard as to whether the truth is so fortunate as to agree with\nyour opinion or not?\" said Marion. \"You will, probably, be quite as\nlikely to find the truth as any of us. Well, I like the plan; there is\nwork in it, and it will amount to something. When shall it be?\"\n\n\"Next Friday,\" said Flossy.\n\n\"No,\" said Ruth; \"Friday is the night of Mrs. Garland's lawn party.\"\n\n\"A dancing party,\" said Eurie. \"Good! Let us come together on Thursday\nevening. If there is a dancing party just ahead, it will make us all the\nmore zealous to prove our sides; I shall be, at least, for I want to go\nto Mrs. Garland's.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nLOOKING FOR WORK.\n\n\nDR. DENNIS had just gone into his study to make ready for the evening\nprayer-meeting, when he heard his door-bell ring. He remembered with a\nshade of anxiety that his daughter was not yet out of school, and that\nhis sister and housekeeper was not at home. It was more than likely that\nhe would be interrupted.\n\n\"What is it, Hannah?\" he asked, as that person appeared at his door.\n\n\"It is Miss Erskine, sir. I told her that Miss Dennis was out of town,\nand Miss Grace was at school, and she said it was of no consequence, she\nwanted to see the minister himself. Will I tell her that you are\nengaged?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dr. Dennis, promptly. The sensation was still very new, this\ndesire on the part of any of the name of Erskine to see him. His\npreparation could afford to wait.\n\nTwo minutes more and Ruth was in the study. It was a place in which she\nfelt as nearly embarrassed as she ever approached to that feeling. She\nhad a specific purpose in calling, and words arranged wherewith to\ncommence her topic; but they fled from her as if she had been a school\ngirl instead of a finished young lady in society; and she answered the\nDoctor's kind enquiries as to the health of her father and herself in an\nabsent and constrained manner. At last this good man concluded to help\nher.\n\n\"Is there any thing special that I can do for you to-day?\" he asked,\nwith a kindly interest in his tone, that suggested the feeling that he\nwas interested in her plans, whatever they were, and would be glad to\nhelp.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, surprised into frankness by his straightforward way of\ndoing things; \"or, at least, I hope you can. Dr. Dennis, ought not every\nChristian to be at work?\"\n\n\"Our great Example said; 'I must work the works of him that sent me\nwhile it is day.'\"\n\n\"I know it; that very verse set me to thinking about it. That is what I\nwant help about. There is no work for me to do; at least, I can't find\nany. I am doing just nothing at all, and I don't in the least know which\nway to turn. I am not satisfied with this state of things; I can't\nsettle back to my books and my music as I did before I went away; I\ndon't enjoy them as I used to; I mean, they don't absorb me; they seem\nto be of no earthly use to anyone but myself, and I don't feel\nabsolutely certain that they are of any use to me; anyway, they are not\nChristian work.\"\n\n\"As to that, you are not to be too certain about it. Wonderful things\ncan be done with music; and when one is given a marked talent for it, as\nI hear has been the case with you, it is not to be hidden in a napkin.\"\n\n\"I don't know what I can do with music, I am sure,\" Ruth said,\nskeptically. \"I suppose I must have a good deal of talent in that\ndirection; I have been told so ever since I can remember; but beyond\nentertaining my friends, I see no other special use for it.\"\n\n\"Do you remember telling me about the songs which Mr. Bliss sang at\nChautauqua, and the effect on the audience?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ruth, speaking heartily, and her cheeks glowing at the\nrecollection \"but he was wonderful!\"\n\n\"The same work can be done in a smaller way,\" Dr. Dennis said, smiling.\n\"I hope to show you something of what you may do to help in that way\nbefore another winter passes; but, in the meantime, mere entertainment\nof friends is not a bad motive for keeping up one's music. Then there is\nthe uncertain future ever before us. What if you should be called upon\nto teach music some day?\"\n\nA vision of herself toiling wearily from house to house in all weathers,\nand at all hours of the day, as she had seen music teachers do, hovered\nover Ruth Erskine's brain, and so utterly improbable and absurd did the\npicture seem, when she imagined it as having any reference to her, that\nshe laughed outright.\n\n\"I don't believe I shall ever teach music,\" she said, positively.\n\n\"Perhaps not; and yet stranger things than that _have_ happened in this\nchangeful life.\"\n\n\"But, Dr. Dennis,\" she said, with sudden energy, and showing a touch of\nannoyance at the turn which the talk was taking, \"my trouble is not an\ninability to employ my time; I do not belong to the class of young\nladies who are afflicted with _ennui_.\" And a sarcastic curve of her\nhandsome lip made Ruth look very like the Miss Erskine that Dr. Dennis\nhad always known. She despised people who had no resources within\nthemselves. \"I can find plenty to do, and I enjoy doing it; but the\npoint is, I seem to be living only for myself, and that doesn't seem\nright. I want Christian work.\"\n\nTo tell the truth Dr. Dennis was puzzled. There was so much work to do,\nhis hands and heart were always so full and running over, that it seemed\nstrange to him for anyone to come looking for Christian work; the world\nwas teeming with it.\n\nOn the other hand he confessed to himself that he was utterly\nunaccustomed to hearing people ask for work; or, if the facts be told,\nto having any one do any work.\n\nYears ago he had tried to set the people of the First Church to work;\nbut they had stared at him and misunderstood him, and he confessed to\nhimself that he had given over trying to get work out of most of them.\nWhile this experience was refreshing, it was new, and left him for the\nmoment bewildered.\n\n\"I understand you,\" he said, rallying. \"There is plenty of Christian\nwork. Do you want to take a class in the Sunday-school? There is a\nvacancy.\"\n\nRuth shook her head with decision.\n\n\"That is not at all my _forte_. I have no faculty for teaching children;\nI am entirely unused to them, and have no special interest in them, and\nno sort of idea how they are to be managed. Some people are specially\nfitted for such work; I know I am not.\"\n\n\"Often we find our work much nearer home than we had planned,\" Dr.\nDennis said, regarding her with a thoughtful air. \"How is it with your\nfather, Miss Erskine?\"\n\n\"My father?\" she repeated; and she could hardly have looked more\nbewildered if her pastor had asked after the welfare of the man in the\nmoon.\n\n\"Are you trying to win him over to the Lord's side?\"\n\nUtter silence and surprise on Miss Erskine's part. At last she said:\n\n\"I hardly ever see my father; we are never alone except when we are on\nour way to dinner, or to pay formal calls on very formal people. Then we\nare always in a hurry. I cannot reach my father, Dr. Dennis; he is\nimmersed in business, and has no time nor heart for such matters. I\nshould not in the least know how to approach him if I had a chance; and,\nindeed, I am sure I could do no good, for he would esteem it an\nimpertinence to be questioned by his daughter as to his thoughts on\nthese matters.\"\n\n\"Yet you have an earnest desire to see him a Christian?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, speaking slowly and hesitatingly; \"of course I have\nthat. To be very frank, Dr. Dennis, it is a hopeless sort of desire; I\ndon't expect it in the least; my father is peculiarly unapproachable; I\nknow he considers himself sufficient unto himself, if you will allow the\nexpression. In thinking of him, I have felt that a great many years from\nnow, when he is old, and when business cares and responsibilities have\nin a measure fallen off, and given him time to think of himself, he\nmight then feel his need of a Friend and be won; but I don't even hope\nfor it before that time.\"\n\n\"My dear friend, you have really no right to set a different time from\nthe one that your Master has set,\" her pastor said, earnestly. \"Don't\nyou know that his time is always _now_? How can you be sure that he will\nchoose to give your father a long life, and leisure in old age to help\nhim to think? Isn't that a terrible risk?\"\n\nRuth Erskine shook her decided head.\n\n\"I feel sure that my work is not in that direction,\" she said. \"I could\nnot do it; you do not know my father as well as I do; he would never\nallow me to approach him. The most I can hope to do will be to hold what\nhe calls my new views so far into the background that he will not\npositively forbid them to me. He is the only person I think of whom I\nstand absolutely in awe. Then I couldn't talk with him. His life is a\npure, spotless one, convincing by its very morality; so he thinks that\nthere is no need of a Saviour. I do pray for him; I mean to as long as\nhe and I live; but I know I can do nothing else; at least not for many a\nyear.\"\n\nHow was Dr. Dennis to set to work a lady who knew so much that she could\nnot work? This was the thought that puzzled him. But he knew how\ndifficult it was for people to work in channels marked out by others. So\nhe said, encouragingly:\n\n\"I can conceive of some of your difficulties in that direction. But you\nhave other friends who are not Christians?\"\n\nThis being said inquiringly, Ruth, after a moment of hesitation,\nanswered it:\n\n\"I have one friend to whom I have tried to talk about this matter, but I\nhave had no success. He is very peculiar in his views and feelings. He\nagrees to every thing that I say, and admits the wisdom and\nreasonableness of it all, but he goes no further.\"\n\n\"There are a great many such people,\" Dr. Dennis said, with a quick\nsigh. He met many of them himself. \"They are the hardest class to reach.\nDoes your friend believe in the power of prayer? I have generally found\nthe safest and shortest way with such to be to use my influence in\ninducing them to begin to pray. If they admit its power and its\nreasonableness, it is such a very simple thing to do for a friend that\nthey can hardly refuse.\"\n\n\"I don't think he ever prays,\" Ruth said, \"and I don't believe he would.\nHe would think it hypocritical. He says as much as that half the praying\nmust be mockery.\"\n\n\"Granting that to be the case, does he think he should therefore not\noffer real prayer? That would be a sad state. Because I have many\nhypocrites in my family whose words to me are mockery, therefore no one\nmust be a true friend.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Ruth, interrupting. \"But I don't know how to reach such\npeople. Perhaps he may be your work, Dr. Dennis, but I don't think he is\nmine. I don't in the least know what to say to him. I refer to Mr.\nWayne.\"\n\n\"I know him,\" Dr. Dennis said, \"but he is not inclined to talk with me.\nI have not the intimacy with him that would lead him to be familiar. I\nshould be very certain, if I were you, that my work did not lie in that\ndirection before I turned from it.\"\n\n\"I am certain,\" Ruth said, with a little laugh.\n\n\"I don't know how to talk to such people. I should feel sure of doing\nmore harm than good.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Miss Erskine, I beg your pardon for the reminder, but\nsince you are thrown much into his society, will it not be necessary for\nyou, as a Christian, to talk more or less about this matter? Should not\nyour talk be shaped in such a way as to influence him if you can?\"\n\n\"I don't think I understand,\" Ruth said, doubtfully. \"Do you mean that\npeople should talk about religion all the time they are together?\"\n\nDuring this question Dr. Dennis had drawn his Bible toward him and been\nturning over the leaves.\n\n\"Just let me read you a word from the Guide-book on this subject: 'Only\nlet your conversation be as becometh the Gospel of Christ.' 'As he which\nhath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation.'\n'Seeing, then, that all these things shall be dissolved, what manner of\nperson ought ye to be, in all holy conversation and godliness?' What\nshould you conclude as to Christian duty in the matter of daily\nconversation?\"\n\nRuth made no answer to this question, but sat with earnest, thoughtful\nlook fixed on her pastor's face.\n\n\"Who follows that pattern?\" she asked, at last.\n\n\"My dear friend, is not our concern rather to decide whether you and I\nshall try to do it in the future?\"\n\nSomeway this brought the talk to a sudden lull. Ruth seemed to have no\nmore to say.\n\n\"There is another way of work that I have been intending to suggest to\nsome of you young ladies,\" Dr. Dennis said, after a thoughtful silence.\n\"It is something very much neglected in our church--that is the social\nquestion. Do you know we have many members who complain that they are\nnever called on, never spoken with, never noticed in any way?\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about the members,\" Ruth said. \"I don't think I\nhave a personal acquaintance with twenty of them--a calling\nacquaintance, I mean.\"\n\n\"That is the case with a great many, and it is a state of things that\nshould not exist. The family ought to know each other. I begin to see\nyour work clearer; it is the young ladies, to a large extent, who must\nremedy this evil. Suppose you take up some of that work, not neglecting\nthe other, of course. 'These ought ye to have done, and not to have left\nthe other undone,' I am afraid will be said to a good many of us. But\nthis is certainly work needing to be done, and work for which you have\nleisure.\"\n\nHe hoped to see her face brighten, but it did not. Instead she said:\n\n\"I hate calling.\"\n\n\"I dare say; calling that is aimless, and in a sense useless. It must be\nhateful work. But if you start out with an object in view, a something\nto accomplish that is worth your while, will it not make a great\ndifference?\"\n\nRuth only sighed.\n\n\"I have so many calls to make with father,\" she said, wearily. \"It is\nthe worst work I do. They are upon fashionable, frivolous people, who\ncannot talk about _anything_. It is worse martyrdom now than it used to\nbe. I think I am peculiarly unfitted for such work, Dr. Dennis.\"\n\n\"But I want you to try a different style of calls. Go alone; not with\nyour father, or with anyone who will trammel your tongue; and go among a\nclass of people who do not expect you, and will be surprised and\npleased, and helped, perhaps. Come, let me give you a list of persons\nwhom I would like to have you call on at your earliest opportunity. This\nis work that I am really longing to see done.\"\n\nA prisoner about to receive sentence could hardly have looked more\ngloomy than did Ruth. She was still for a few minutes, then she said:\n\n\"Dr. Dennis, do you really think it is a person's duty to do that sort\nof work for which he or she feels least qualified, and which is the most\ndistasteful?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dr. Dennis, promptly. \"My dear Miss Erskine, will you be so\nkind as to tell me the work for which you feel qualified, and for which\nyou have no distaste?\"\n\nAgain Ruth hesitated, looked confused, and then laughed. She began to\nsee that she was making a very difficult task for her pastor.\n\n\"I don't feel qualified for anything,\" she said, at last. \"And I feel\nafraid to undertake anything. But at the same time, I think I ought to\nbe at work.\"\n\n\"Now we begin to see the way clearer,\" he said, smiling, and with\nencouragement in his voice. \"It may seem a strange thing to you, but a\nsense of unfitness is sometimes one of the very best qualifications for\nsuch work. If it is strong enough to drive us to the blessed Friend who\nhas promised to make perfect our weakness in this as in all other\nefforts, and if we go out armed in His strength we are sure to conquer.\nTry it. Take this for your motto: 'As ye have opportunity.' And, by the\nway, do you know the rest of that verse? 'Especially to them who are of\nthe household of faith.' It is members of the household that I want you\nto call on, remember.\"\n\nRuth laughed again, and shook her head. But she took her list and went\naway. She had no more that she wanted to say just then; but she felt\nthat she had food for thought.\n\n\"I may try it,\" she said, as she went out, holding up her list, \"but I\nfeel that I shall blunder, and do more harm than good.\"\n\nDr. Dennis looked after her with a face on which there was no smile.\n\"There goes one,\" he said to himself, \"who thinks she is willing to be\nled, but, on the contrary, she wants to lead. She is saved, but not\nsubdued. I wonder what means the great Master will have to use to lead\nher to rest in his hands, knowing no way but his?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nAN UNARMED SOLDIER.\n\n\nMANY things intervened to keep Ruth Erskine from having much to do with\nthat list which her pastor had given her. She read it over indeed, and\nrealized that she was not familiar with a single name.\n\n\"What an idea it will be for me to go blundering through the city,\nhunting up people whom I shall not know when I find.\"\n\nThis she said as she read it over; then she laid it aside, and made\nready to go out to dinner with her father, to meet two judges and their\nwives and daughters who were stopping in town.\n\nDuring that day she thought many times of the sentences that had been\nread to her out of that plain-looking, much-worn Bible on Dr. Dennis'\nstudy-table. The only effect they had on her was to make her smile at\nthe thought of the impossibility of anything like a religious\nconversation in such society as that!\n\n\"How they would stare,\" she said to herself, \"if I should ask them about\na prayer-meeting! I have half a mind to try it. If father were not\nwithin hearing I would, just to see what these finished young ladies\nwould say.\"\n\nBut she did not try it; and the evening passed, as so many evenings had,\nwithout an attempt on her part to carry out any of the thoughts which\ntroubled her. She looked forward to one bit of work which she expected\nto fall to her share, at least she liked to call it work.\n\nThat card-party to which she had been invited; she would be expected to\nattend in company with Mr. Wayne; she meant to decline, and her father\nwould be surprised and a trifle annoyed, for it was at a place where,\nnot liking the people well enough himself to be social, he desired his\ndaughter to atone for his deficiency. But she would steadily refuse. She\ndid not shrink from this effort as Flossy did; on the contrary, she\nhalf enjoyed the thought of being a calm and composed martyr.\n\nBut, quite to her discomfort, the martyrdom was not permitted; at least\nit took a different form. Mr. Wayne was obliged to be out of town, and\nsent profuse regrets, assuming that, of course, it would be a sore\ndisappointment to her.\n\nHer father took sufficient notice of it to make one or two efforts to\nagreeably supply his place, and failing in that, assured his daughter\nthat rather than have her disappointed, he would have planned to\naccompany her himself if he had known of Mr. Wayne's absence in time.\nThe actual cross that it would have been to explain to her father that\nshe did not desire to go, and the reasons therefor, she did not take up;\nbut the occurrence served to annoy her.\n\nTwo days afterward she was busy all the morning with her dressmaker,\ngetting a special dress ready for a wedding among the upper circles. She\nhad been hurried and worried, and was as nearly out of patience as her\ncalmness ever allowed her to be. Still she remembered that it was the\nprayer-meeting evening, that she should see Dr. Dennis, and that he\nwould be likely to ask her about the people on that list. She ought to\ngo that afternoon, and try what she could do.\n\nOnce since her call on Dr. Dennis she had met him as he was going down\nClinton Street, and he had turned and joined her for a few steps, while\nhe said:\n\n\"I have been thinking about another friend of yours, that I should be\nvery glad to see influenced in the right direction. His sister is\ntrying, I presume; but other people's sisters some times have an\ninfluence. Young Mitchell, the doctor's son, is a young man of real\npromise; he ought to be on the Lord's side.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken in supposing him to be a friend of mine,\" Ruth said,\nwith promptness and emphasis. \"We have the most distant speaking\nacquaintance only, and I have a dislike for him amounting to absolute\naversion.\" There was that in Ruth Erskine's voice when she chose to let\nit appear that said, \"My aversion is a very serious and disagreeable\nthing.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the Doctor said, quietly, as one in no degree surprised or\ndisturbed; \"yet he has a soul to be saved, and the Lord Jesus Christ\ndied to save him.\"\n\nThere was no denying this; and certainly it would not look well in her\nto say that she had no desire to have part in his salvation; so she kept\nsilence. But there followed her a disagreeable remembrance of having\nnegatived every proposition whereby the doctor had hoped to set her at\nwork. She decided, disagreeable as it was, to make a vigorous assault on\nthose families, thereby showing him what she could do.\n\nTo this end she arrayed herself in immaculate calling attire--with a\nrustle of silk and a softness of ruffle, and a daintiness of glove that\nnone but the wealthy can assume, and, in short, with that unmistakable\nair about every thing pertaining to her that marks the lady of fashion.\nThese things were as much a part of Ruth Erskine as her hair and eyes\nwere. Once ready, her dress, perhaps, gave her as little thought as her\neyes or hair did. But she looked as though that must have been the sole\nobject of thought and study in order to produce such perfect results.\n\nHer preparation for her new and untried work had been none of the best.\nAs I said, the morning had been given to the cares of the dressmaker and\nthe deceitfulness of trimmings, so much so that her Bible reading even\nhad been omitted, and only the briefest and most hurried of prayers,\nworthy of the days when prayer was nothing to her but a formal bowing of\nthe head, on proper occasions, had marked her need of help from the\nAlmighty Hand. These thoughts troubled her as she went down the Street.\nShe paused irresolutely before one of the principal bookstores.\n\n\"I ought to have some tracts,\" she said, doubtfully, to herself; \"they\nalways take tracts when they go district visiting; I know that from\nhearing Mrs. Whipple talk; what is this but a district visiting; only\nDr. Dennis has put my district all over the city; I wonder if he could\nhave scattered the streets more if he had tried; respectable streets,\nthough, all of them; better than any Mrs. Whipple ever told about.\"\n\nThen she tried to select her tracts; but when one has utter ignorance of\nsuch literature, and a few minutes at a crowded counter in which to make\na selection, it is not likely to be very select. She finally gave up any\nattempt at choice, beyond a few whose titles seemed inviting, chose a\npackage at random, and hastened on her way.\n\n\"Mrs. C. Y. Sullivan\" was the first name on her list, and, following her\ndirections, she came presently to the street and number. A neat brick\nhouse, with a modern air about it and its surroundings; a bird singing\nin a cage before the open window, and pots of flowers blooming behind\ntastefully looped white curtains; not at all the sort of a house that\nRuth had imagined she would see.\n\nIt did not suit her ideas of district visiting, crude though those ideas\nwere. However, she rang the bell. Having commenced the task she was not\none to draw back, though she admitted to herself that she never felt\nmore embarrassed in her life. Nor did the embarrassment lessen when she\nwas shown into the pretty, tasteful parlor, where presently Mrs.\nSullivan joined her.\n\n\"I am Miss Erskine,\" Ruth said, rising as Mrs. Sullivan, a tall woman of\nsome degree of dignity after a slight bow, waited as if she would know\nher errand. Unfortunately Ruth had no errand, save that she had come out\nto do her duty, and make the sort of call that Dr. Dennis expected her\nto make. Her embarrassment was excessive! What _could_ she do or say\nnext? Why did not Mrs. Sullivan take a chair, instead of standing there\nand looking at her like an idiot?\n\n\"Do you get out to church every Sabbath?\" she asked, suddenly, feeling\nthe need of saying something.\n\nMrs. Sullivan looked as though she thought she had suddenly come in\ncontact with a lunatic.\n\n\"Do I get out to church?\" she repeated. \"That depends on whether I\ndecide to go or not. May I ask why you are interested?\"\n\nWhat had become of Ruth's common sense? Why couldn't she have said, in\nas natural a way as she would have talked about going to a concert, that\nshe was interested to know whether she enjoyed such a privilege? Why\ncouldn't she have been herself in talking about these matters, as well\nas at any other time? Does anyone know why such a sense of horrible\nembarrassment creeps over some people when their conversation takes the\nleast tinge of religion--people who are wonderfully self-possessed on\nall other themes?\n\n\"Well,\" said Ruth, in haste and confusion, \"I merely inquired; I mean\nno offence, certainly; will you have a tract?\" And she hastily seized\none from her package, which happened to be entitled, \"Why are you not a\nChristian?\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Mrs. Sullivan said, drawing back, \"I am not in special need\nof reading matter; we keep ourselves supplied with religious literature\nof a kind that suits our tastes. As to tracts, I always keep a package\nby me to distribute when I go among the poor. This one would not be\nparticularly appropriate to me, as I trust I am a Christian.\"\n\nDear me! how stiff and proper they both were! And in their hearts how\nindignant they both felt. What about? Could either of them have told?\n\n\"I wonder what earthly good that call did?\" Ruth asked herself, as with\nglowing cheeks and rapid steps, she made her way down the street. \"What\ncould have been Dr. Dennis' object in sending me there to call? I\nthought I was to call on the poor. He didn't say any thing about whether\nthey were poor or not, now I think of it; but I supposed, of course,\nthat was what he meant. Why need she have been so disagreeable, anyway?\nI am sure I didn't insult her.\"\n\nAnd I tell you truly that Miss Erskine did not know that she had seemed\ndisagreeable in the extreme to Mrs. Sullivan, and that she was at that\nmoment raging over it in her heart.\n\nExtremely disgusted with her first attempt, and almost ready to declare\nthat it should be the last, Ruth still decided to make one more\nventure--that inborn dislike which she had for giving up what had once\nbeen undertaken, coming to her aid in this matter.\n\nAnother pretty little house, white and green blinds, and plant in bloom;\nthe name on the door and on her list was \"Smith.\" That told her very\nlittle. She was ushered into what was evidently the family sitting-room,\nand a pretty enough room it was; occupied just now by three merry girls,\nwho hushed their laugh as she entered, and by a matronly lady, whom one\nof them called \"mother.\"\n\nRuth had never made calls before when she had the least tinge of\nembarrassment. If she could have divested herself of the idea that she\nwas a district visitor out distributing tracts, she would not have felt\nso now; but as it was, the feeling grew upon her every instant. Pretty\nlittle Miss Smith had decidedly the advantage of her, as she said,\npromptly:\n\n\"Good afternoon, Miss Erskine; mother, this is Judge Erskine's\ndaughter;\" and then proceeded to introduce her friends.\n\nNow, if Ruth could have become unprofessional, all might have been well;\nbut she had gone out with a sincere desire to do her duty; so she took\nthe offered seat near Mrs. Smith, and said:\n\n\"I called this afternoon, at Dr. Dennis' request, to see if there was\nanything that I could do for you.\"\n\nMrs. Smith looked politely amazed.\n\n\"I don't think I quite understand,\" she said, slowly; while in the\ndaughter's bright eyes there gleamed mirth and mischief.\n\n\"I do,\" she said, quickly. \"Dr. Dennis is very kind. Miss Erskine, I am\nvery anxious to have a blue silk dress, trimmed in white lace, to wear\nto the party next week; could you manage it for me, do you think?\"\n\n\"Caroline!\" spoke Mrs. Smith, in a surprised and reproving tone, while\nRuth looked her indignant astonishment.\n\n\"Well, mother, she said she called to see if we wanted anything, and I\ncertainly want that.\"\n\n\"There is some mistake,\" Mrs. Smith said, speaking kindly, and evidently\npitying Ruth's dreadful embarrassment. \"You have mistaken the house, I\npresume; our name is such a common one. You are out on an errand of\ncharity, I presume? We are glad to see you, of course, but we are not in\nneed of anything but friends. I believe you attend the same church with\nourselves; we ought to know each other, of course. So we shall profit by\nthe mistake after all. My daughter is a wild little girl, and lets her\nsense of fun get the better of her politeness sometimes; I hope you will\nexcuse her.\"\n\nWhat was to be said? Why could not Ruth get rid of her horrible\nembarrassment and rally to meet this kind and frank greeting? In vain\nshe tried to command her tongue; to think of something to say that would\nbe proper under these strange circumstances. How had she misunderstood\nDr. Dennis! Why should these people be called on? Why should they feel\nthat they were being neglected when they were in need of nothing?\n\nIt was all a mystery to her; and the world is full of people who do not\nunderstand a sense of loneliness, whose lives are so full of\nfriendships, and engagements, and society, that they imagine all other\npeople are like themselves except that class known as the poor, who need\nold clothes, and cold pieces, and tracts!\n\nThat was all that Ruth Erskine knew. She could not recover from her\nastonishment and confusion; she made her stay very short, indeed,\napologizing in what she was conscious was an awkward way for her\nintrusion, and then went directly toward home, resolving in great\nfirmness that she had made her last calls on people selected from that\nhorrible list.\n\nShe was more than embarrassed; she was utterly dismayed and\ndisheartened. Was there, then, nothing for her to do? It had been a real\nhonest desire to be up and doing which had sent her to Dr. Dennis; it\nhad been a real cross, and one keenly felt to take up this work about\nwhich she had started. What an utter failure! What could he have meant?\nHow was she expected to help those people? They needed nothing; they\nwere Christian people; they were pleasantly circumstanced in every way.\nShe had not the least idea how to be of any help to them. There was\nnothing for her to do. She felt humbled and sad.\n\nYet that young lady was joined in a few minutes by Nellis Mitchell, who\ncordially volunteered to shield her dainty summer toilet from certain\ndrops of rain that began to fall, and so walked six entire blocks by her\nside, pleasant and genial as usual, and not a word said she to him about\nthe great topic to which her life was consecrated. He even helped her by\nhimself referring to the evening meeting, and saying that he should have\nto escort Eurie as far as the door if this rain continued, and she did\nnot so much as think to ask him to come farther and enjoy the meeting\nwith them. She did not like Nellis Mitchell, you will remember.\n\nAlso that same evening she spent an hour after prayer-meeting in\nconversation with her friend, Mr. Wayne, and she said not a single word\nto him about this matter. She could not talk with him, she told\nherself; he did not understand her, and it did no good. Some time, when\nhe was in a less complaisant mood, she could do something for him, but\nnot now. She was not very companionable, however; her mind was dwelling\non her afternoon disappointment.\n\n\"It was the most horrid time I ever had in my life!\" she told Marion,\nafter going over an account of the experience. \"I shall not be caught in\nthat way again.\"\n\nAnd Marion, unsympathetic girl that she was, laughed much and long.\n\n\"What a creature you are!\" she said, at last. \"I declare, it is funny\nthat people can live in the world and know so little about their\nfellow-mortals as you and Flossy do. She knows no more about them than a\nkitten does, and you know no more than the moon. You sail right above\nall their feelings and ideas. It served you right, I declare. What\nearthly right had you to go sailing down on people in that majestic\nfashion, and asking questions as if they were Roman Catholics and you\nwere the priest?\"\n\n\"I don't see what in the world you mean!\" Ruth said, feeling exceedingly\nannoyed.\n\n\"Well, my dear young woman, you ought to see; you can't expect to get\nthrough the Christian world even without having a due regard for common\nsense. Just suppose the President's wife should come sweeping into your\nparlor, asking you if you went to church, and if you would have a tract.\nI am afraid you would be tempted to tell her it was none of her\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"The cases are not at all parallel,\" Ruth said, flushing deeply. \"I\nconsider myself on quite an equal footing with the President's wife or\nany other lady.\"\n\nWhereupon Marion laughed with more _abandon_ than before.\n\n\"Now, Ruth Erskine,\" she said, \"don't be a goose. Do use your common\nsense; you have some, I am sure. Wherein are these people whom you went\nto see on a lower footing than yourself? Granting that they have less\nmoney than you do, or even, perhaps, less than I have, are you ready to\nadmit that money is the question that settles positions in society?\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nMARION'S PLAN.\n\n\n\"MISS WILBUR! Miss Wilbur! can't we go in Miss Lily's class to-day, our\nteacher isn't here?\"\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, they are crowding us off the seat; there isn't room for no\nmore in this class.\"\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, sister Nellie can't come to-day; she has the toothache.\nCan I go in Kitty's class?\"\n\nEvery one of these little voices spoke at once; two of the owners\nthereof twitched at her dress, and another of them nudged her elbow. In\nthe midst of this little babel of confusion the door opened softly, and\nDr. Dennis came in. Marion turned toward him and laughed--a perplexed\nlaugh that might mean something besides amusement.\n\n\"What is it?\" he asked, answering the look instead of the laugh.\n\n\"It is everything,\" she said, quickly. \"You mustn't stay a minute, Dr.\nDennis; we are not in company trim to-day at all. Unless you will do the\nwork, we can't have you.\"\n\n\"I came to hear, not to work,\" he said, smiling, and at the same time\nlooking troubled.\n\n\"You will hear very little that will interest you for the next ten\nminutes at least; though I don't know but you would better stay; it\nwould be a good introduction to the talk that I want to have with you\nearly in the week. I am coming to-morrow after school, if I may.\"\n\nDr. Dennis gave the assent promptly, named the hour that he would be at\nleisure, and went away wondering what they were accomplishing in the\nprimary class.\n\nThis was the introduction to Marion's talk in the study with Dr. Dennis.\nShe wasted no time in preliminaries, but had hardly seated herself\nbefore the subject on her mind was brought forward.\n\n\"It is all about that class, Dr. Dennis. I am going to prove a failure.\"\n\n\"Don't,\" he said, smiling at her words, but looking his disturbance; \"we\nhave had failures enough in that class to shipwreck it; it is quite time\nwe had a change for the better. What is the trouble?\"\n\n\"The trouble is, we do nothing. Two-thirds of our time is occupied in\ngetting ready to do; and even then we can't half accomplish it. Then we\ndon't stay ready, and have to begin the work all over again. Yesterday,\nfor instance, there were three absences among the teachers; that means\nconfusion, for each of those teachers have seven children who are thus\nthrown loose on the world. Think how much time we must consume in\ngetting them seated somewhere, and under some one's care; and then\nimagine, if you can, the amount of time that they consume in saying,\n'Our teacher doesn't do so, she does _so_.'\"\n\n\"What is the reason that the teachers in that room are so very\nirregular?\"\n\n\"Why, they are not irregular; that is as Sunday-school teachers rate\nregularity. To be sure, it would never do to be teaching a graded\nschool, for instance, and be as careless as some of them are about\nregularity. But that is a different matter, of course; this is only a\nSunday-school! But for all that, I think they do as well as the average.\nYou see, Dr. Dennis, there are twenty of them, and if each one of them\nis present every Sunday in the year save three, that makes a good deal\nof regularity on their part, and yet averages absences every Sabbath to\nbe looked after. Don't you see?\"\n\n\"I see,\" he said, smiling; \"that is a mathematical way of putting it.\nThere is reason in it, too. How in the world do you manage when there\nare vacancies?\"\n\n\"Which is always,\" Marion said, quickly. \"There has not been a Sabbath\nsince I have had charge when all the teachers were present; and I have\ntaken pains to inquire of the former superintendent, who reports very\nmuch the same. Isn't it so in all schools, Dr. Dennis?\"\n\n\"Of course there must of necessity be some detentions; but not so many,\nprobably, as there actually are, if we were in the habit of being very\nconscientious about these matters; still, I don't know that we are worse\nthan others. But you haven't told me how you manage?\"\n\n\"I manage every way; there is no set way to do it. I stand around in\nmuch the same state of perplexity in which you found me yesterday. The\nchildren each have their special friends who have been put in other\nclasses, and they are on the _qui vive_ to be with them, which adds not\na little to the general confusion. Sometimes we have a regular whirl\nabout of seats, enlarge two or three classes, and crowd some seats most\nuncomfortably, leaving others empty; sometimes we go out to the\nBible-classes for volunteers--and, by the way, it is nearly impossible\nto find any. I wish you would preach a sermon on that subject. It is so\neasy to say, 'Oh, please excuse me;' it requires so little courage to do\nit; and is such a comfortable and unanswerable way of disposing of the\nwhole matter. At the same time there is some degree of excuse for the\nrefusals. Think of the folly of setting a young girl who knows nothing\nabout little children, and has made no preparation to teach them, beside\nhalf a dozen little restless mortals, and bidding her interest them in\nthe lesson for ten minutes. She doesn't know how to interest them, and\nshe knows she doesn't, and the fact embarrasses her. Before she has\nfairly found out what she is expected to do her time is gone; for it\ntakes a wonderful amount of time to get ready to work.\"\n\n\"But these young girls have only to teach certain Scripture verses, and\na prayer or a hymn, or something of that sort have they not? One would\nthink they might be equal to that without preparation.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" Marion asked, a gleam of fun in her keen eyes. \"I\nshould like to see you try it, provided you have no better mental\ncaliber to assist you than some of the volunteers have. Why, there is a\nright and wrong way of teaching even a Bible verse. Do you know, sir,\nthat you may repeat over words to children like a list from a spelling\nlesson, and they will get no more idea from it than if it were a French\nsentence, and will be able to commit it about as readily? If I had\nchildren, I should rebel at their being taught even Bible verses by\nnovices. Why, it isn't allowed in public schools. The days have gone by\nwhen anybody is supposed to be smart enough to teach children to drawl\nthrough the alphabet. We have the best of trained teachers even for that\nwork, why should the Sunday-school not need them even more, infinitely\nmore?\n\n\"Now that reminds me of a difficulty which is present even when the\nteachers are all there. They are not the right sort of teachers, many of\nthem; they do just such work as would not be tolerated on week-days by\nany board of trustees; they whisper to each other; sometimes about the\nmusic which they are practicing, sometimes about the party that is to\ncome off to-morrow. These are the exceptions, I know; but there are such\nexceptions in our school, and human nature is much the same the world\nover. I presume they are everywhere; at any rate, we have to deal just\nnow with _our_ school, and I know they are there.\n\n\"Dr. Dennis, there are at least seven of those twenty teachers in my\nroom who ought to be in good, solid, earnest working Bible classes,\ngetting faith for help every Sunday; getting ideas that shall make them\nof use in the world, instead of frittering their time away on what at\nbest, seems to them but a very mechanical work, teaching some little\nchildren to repeat the Twenty-third Psalm, or to say the Lord's Prayer.\nThe very fact that they do not recognize the dignity of such work unfits\nthem for it; and the fact that they have no lesson to teach, I mean no\nlesson which they have to prepare carefully, excuses them from any\nattempt at Bible study.\"\n\n\"I believe you would make an excellent lecturer, if you were to take the\nfield on a subject that interested you.\" This was Dr. Dennis' most\nirrelevant answer to Marion's eager words. She was not to be thrown off\nher theme.\n\n\"Then I shall try it, perhaps, on this very subject, for it certainly\ninterests me wonderfully. Indeed, I am practicing now, with you for my\naudience.\"\n\n\"Don't think I am not interested, for I am,\" he said, returning to\ngravity and anxiety on the instant. \"I see the subject to be full of\nperplexities; the class has seemed a bewildering one; the idea of\nputting the babies away alone in their own room fitted up for the\npurpose, and feeding them with milk until they are old enough to bear\nstrong meat, has been something of a hobby with me. I like it\ntheoretically, but I confess to you that I have never been able to enjoy\nits practical workings in our school.\"\n\n\"I don't wonder,\" Marion said, with energy. \"It works most\ndistressingly. I am coming to the very pith of my lecture now, which is\nthis: I have been teaching school for more than seven years. I have\ntaught all sorts and sizes of pupils. I had a fancy that I could manage\nalmost anything in that line, believing that I had been through\nexperiences varied enough to serve me in whatever line I could need, but\nI have found myself mistaken; I have found a work now that I can't\naccomplish. Mind you, I don't say that no one can do it; I am not quite\nso egotistic as that. If I do lecture, I have only to say that my\nteaching in that room is a failure, I can't do it, and I mean to give it\nup.\"\n\n\"Don't,\" Dr. Dennis said, nervously. \"You will be the third one in a\nyear's time.\"\n\n\"I don't wonder. I wonder that they are alive.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Wilbur, you are a dark and gloomy lecturer. When you demolish\nair castles, have you nothing to build up in their places? Would you\nsend the babies back into the main room again, to be worn out with quiet\nand lack of motion?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I like the baby-room plan as well as any mortal; and I\nhave a remedy which it seems to me would arrange the whole thing. Of\ncourse it seems so to me; we always like our own ways. The truth is, Dr.\nDennis, I like nurseries, and think they ought to be maintained; but I\ndon't like the idea of too many mothers there.\"\n\n\"Just what, in plain English, would you do, my friend, if you were\ncommander-in-chief of the whole matter, and all we had to do was to obey\nyou?\"\n\n\"It isn't at all modest to tell,\" Marion said, laughing, \"but it is\ntrue. I would banish every one of those twenty teachers, and reign alone\nin my glory. No I wouldn't either. I would pick out the very best one\namong them, and train her for an assistant.\"\n\n\"And manage the whole number yourself!\"\n\n\"Why not? There are only a hundred of them, and I have managed that\nnumber for six hours a day, five days in a week, without difficulty.\"\n\n\"Well, now, let me see just what you think you gain.\"\n\n\"It would take too long to tell. In my own opinion, I gain almost\neverything. But, in the first place, let me suppose a case. We have one\ngood teacher, we will say, in that class, who knows just what she is\nabout, and comes prepared to be about it. She has, say, two assistants,\neach carefully trained to a certain work; each understanding that in the\nevent of the detention of the leader one of them will be called on to\nteach the class, each pledging herself to notify the other of necessary\nabsences. Don't you see that it will rarely, if ever, happen that one of\nthe three cannot be at her post? The very sense of importance and\nresponsibility attached to their office will lessen the chance of\nabsence, while one teacher in twenty is almost sure to be away. Then we\nhave those young girls in their places in the Bible class learning to be\nteachers indeed.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Wilbur, would not such a work be very hard for the leader?\"\n\n\"Why harder than the present system in our school? I think, mind you,\nthat it wouldn't be nearly so hard. But, for the sake of the argument, I\nwill say, Why any harder? Why cannot her one assistant relieve her in\njust the same way that the other twenty are supposed to do now? Is there\nany known reason why a hundred children cannot repeat the Lord's Prayer\ntogether as well as have a lesson taught them together? Children like\nit, I assure you; there is an enthusiasm in numbers; they would much\nrather speak aloud and in beautiful unison, as they can be trained to\ndo, than to speak so low that the recitation loses half its beauty,\nbecause they must not disturb others.\n\n\"Then, I don't know how it is with other teachers, but, theoretically,\nyou may plan out the work of these young teachers as much as you please,\nand, practically, they will do very much as they please; and it is a\ngreat deal harder for me to sit listening to a sort of teaching that I\ndon't like, and know that I am obliged to be still and endure it, than\nit is to do it myself.\n\n\"The idea that one hour of work on the Sabbath is so fearfully wearing,\nis in my humble opinion all nonsense; those who think so, have never\nbeen teachers of graded schools six hours a day, five days in the week,\nI don't believe. However, that is my opinion, you know. I may be quite\nmistaken as to theory; but I know as much as this. I am sure I could do\nthe teaching alone, and I am sure that I can't do it with twenty\nhelpers, so I just want to give it up.\"\n\n\"Don't give up the subject yet, please; I am interested. There is an\nargument on the other side that is very strong, I think. You haven't\ntouched upon it. I have heard a good deal said, and thought it a point\nwell taken, about the personal influence of each teacher. A sense of\nownership that teachers of large classes can hardly call out because of\ntheir inability to visit their scholars, and to be intimate with their\nlittle plans, and with their home life.\"\n\nMarion did a very rude thing at this point--she sat back in her\nrocking-chair and laughed. Then she said:\n\n\"We are dealing, you remember, with our school. Now, you know the young\nladies in that class. What proportion of them, should you imagine,\nwithout knowing anything about the facts, do really visit their pupils\nduring the week and keep themselves posted as to the family life of any\nof them?\"\n\nA faint attempt at a smile hovered over Dr. Dennis' face as he said:\n\n\"Not many I am afraid. Indeed, to be very truthful, I don't believe\nthere are five.\"\n\n\"I know there are not,\" Marion said, decidedly. \"And my supposition is\nthat our school will average as well as others. There are exceptions, of\ncourse, but we are talking about the average. Now, that item sounds real\nwell in a lecture, or on paper, but when you come to the practical part\nthey simply _don't_ do it. Some of them know no more how to do it than\nkittens would, or than Ruth Erskine knows how to call on the second\nstratum of society in her own church.\"\n\nWhereupon both pastor and visitor laughed. Dr. Dennis had heard of\nRuth's attempt in that line.\n\n\"We have to deal with very common-place human beings, instead of with\nangels. I think that is the trouble,\" Marion said, returning to the\ncharge. \"We can make nice rules, and they look well and sound\nbeautifully; then if we can carry them out they are delightful, no\ndoubt. But if we can't, why, what are we going to do about it? If the\nladies in question were salaried teachers in the day-school, a board of\ntrustees could come together and dismiss them if they did not obey the\nlaws. Who thinks of such a thing in the Sunday-school? It is like\ncalling all these teachers together for a teachers' meeting. You can\n_call_ them to your heart's content; I know you can, for I have tried\nit; and if there is not a concert, or a tea-party, or a lecture, or a\ntoothache on the evening in question some of them will come, and the\nothers _won't_.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHEORY VERSUS PRACTICE.\n\n\nDR. DENNIS sat regarding his caller with a thoughtful air, while she sat\nback in the rocker and fanned herself, trying to cool off her eagerness\nsomewhat, and feeling that she was exhibiting herself as a very eager\nperson indeed, and this calm man probably thought her impetuous. She\nresolved that the next remark he called forth should be made very\nquietly, and in as indifferent a manner as possible.\n\n\"Why should not the primary room be classified as well as the main\ndepartment?\" he asked, at last.\n\nTo Marion there was so much that was absurd involved in the question\nthat it put her indifference to flight at once.\n\n\"Why should there be a separate room at all if they are to be so\nclassified? Why not keep them in the regular department, under the\nsuperintendent's eye, and where they can have the benefit of the\npastor's remarks?\"\n\n\"Because while they are so young they need more freedom than can be\ngiven them in the main room. They need to be allowed to talk aloud, and\nto sing frequently, and to repeat in concert.\"\n\n\"Precisely; and they do not need to be set down in corners, to be\nwhispered at for a few minutes. Besides, Dr. Dennis, don't you think\nthat if in the school proper, the scholars were all of nearly the same\nage and the same mental abilities--I mean if they averaged in that\nway--it would be wiser to have very large classes and very few\nteachers?\"\n\n\"There are reasons in favor of that, and reasons against it,\" he said,\nthoughtfully. \"I am inclined, however, to think that the arguments in\nfavor overbalance the objections; still, the serious objection is, that\na faithful teacher wants little personal talks with her pupils, and will\ncontrive to be personal in a way that she cannot do so well in a large\nclass.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" Marion said, as one yields a point that is new to her,\nand that strikes her as being sensible. \"But the same objection cannot\nbe made in the primary classes, because little children are innocent and\nfull of faith and frankness. There is no need of special privacy when\nyou talk with them on religious topics; they would just as soon have all\nthe world know that they want to love and serve Jesus as not; they are\nnot a bit ashamed of it; it is not until they grow older, and the\ninfluences of silent tongues on that subject all around them have had\ntheir effect, that they need to be approached with such caution.\"\n\n\"How is it that you are so much at home in these matters, Miss Wilbur?\nFor one who has been a Christian but a few weeks you amaze me.\"\n\nMarion laughed and flushed, and felt the first tinge of embarrassment\nthat had troubled her since the talk began.\n\n\"Why,\" she said, hesitatingly, \"I suppose, perhaps, I have common sense,\nand see no reason why it should be smothered when one is talking about\nsuch matters. People's brains are not made over when they are converted.\nThe same class of rules apply to them, I suppose, that applied before.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't wonder if a majority of people thought that common sense\nhad nothing to do with religion,\" he said, laughing; \"and that is what\nmakes us silly and sentimental when we try to talk about it. In our\neffort to be solemn, and suit our words to the theme, we are unnatural.\nBut your statement with regard to the little children is true; I have\noften observed it.\"\n\n\"That other point, about visiting, was the one that troubled me,\" Marion\nsaid. \"It doesn't annihilate it to say that teachers don't visit; they\ndon't, to be sure, with here and there a delightful exception. My\nexperience on this matter, as well as on several other matters connected\nwith the subject, reaches beyond these few weeks of personal experience.\nI have had my eyes very wide open; I was alive to inconsistencies\nwherever I found them; the world and the church, and especially the\nSunday-school, seemed to me to be full of professions without any\npractice. I rather enjoyed finding such flaws. Why I thought the thin\nspots in other people's garments would keep me any warmer, I am sure I\ndon't know; but I was fond of bringing them to the surface.\n\n\"Still, because a duty isn't done is no sign that it cannot be. Of\ncourse a teacher with six pupils could visit them frequently, while one\nwith a hundred could do it but rarely; and yet, systematic effort would\naccomplish a great deal in that direction, it seems to me. I don't know\nwhy we should have more than fifty people in our churches; certainly the\npastor could visit them much more frequently, and keep a better\noversight, than when he had eight hundred, as you have; yet we don't\nthink it the best way after all. We recognize the enthusiasm of numbers\nand the necessity for economizing good workers so long as the field for\nwork is so large.\n\n\"But I know a way in which a strong personal influence could be kept\nover even a hundred children; by keeping watch for the sick and\nsorrowing in their homes, and establishing an intimacy there, and by\nmaking a gathering of some sort, say twice a year, or oftener, if a\nperson could, and giving the day to them; and, well, in a hundred\ndifferent ways that I will not take your time to speak of; only we\nteachers of day-schools know that we can make our influence far\nreaching, even when our numbers are large; and we know that there is\nsuch an influence in numbers and in disciplined action, that, other\nthings being equal, we can teach mathematics to a class of fifty better\nthan we can to a class of five; and if mathematics, why not the Lord's\nPrayer?\n\n\"Now I have relieved my mind on this subject,\" she added, laughing, as\nshe arose, \"and I feel a good deal better. Mind, I haven't said at all\nthat the present system cannot be carried out successfully; I only say\nthat I can't do it. I have tried it and failed; it is not according to\nmy way of working.\"\n\n\"But the remedy, my dear friend; in our class, for instance. Suppose we\nwanted to reorganize, what would we do with the teachers in rule at\npresent?\"\n\nMarion dropped back again into her chair with a dismayed little laugh\nand an expressive shrug of her shapely shoulders.\n\n\"Now you have touched a vital difficulty,\" she said. \"I don't pretend to\nbe able to help people out of a scrape like that. Having gotten\nthemselves in, they must get out the best way they can, if there _is_\nany way.\"\n\n\"I am surprised that you do not suggest that they be unceremoniously\ninformed that their services are not needed, and advise them to join a\nBible class,\" Dr. Dennis said, dryly. \"That is the practical and helpful\nway that the subject is often disposed of in our conventions. I often\nwonder if those who so suggest would like to be the pastor of the church\nwhere such advice was adopted, and undertake to heal all the sores that\nwould be the result.\"\n\n\"So long as human nature is made of the queer stuff that it is, I offer\nno such remedy,\" Marion said, decidedly. \"It is very odd that the people\nwho do the least work in this world are the most sensitive as to\nposition, etc. No, I see the trouble in the way. It could be partly\ndisposed of in time, by sending all these sub-classes out into the other\nschool, and organizing a new primary class out of the babies who have\nnot yet come in.\"\n\n\"But there would be an injustice there. It would send out many babies\nwho ought to have the privileges of the primary-room for some time yet.\"\n\n\"And there is another difficulty; it would send out those young girls as\nteachers of the children, and they are not fit to teach; they should be\nstudying.\"\n\n\"After all,\" he said, going back to his own thoughts, instead of\nanswering her last remark, \"wouldn't the style of teaching that you\nsuggest for this one woman and her assistant involve an unusual degree\nof talent, and consecration, and abnegation?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Marion said, quickly and earnestly, \"I think it would; and I\nbelieve that there is no teaching done in our Sabbath-school that is\nworthy of the name that does not involve all of these requirements;\nespecially is it the case in teaching little children divine truths; one\nmight teach them the alphabet without positive mental injury if they\nwere not fully in sympathy, yet I doubt that; but one cannot teach the\nSermon on the Mount in a way to reach the child-heart unless one is\nthoroughly and solemnly in earnest, and loves the souls of the little\nchildren so much that she can give up her very self for them.\n\n\"This is my theory; I want to work toward it. That is one of the strong\nreasons why I think two or three teachers are better for a primary class\nthan twenty; because a church can generally furnish that number of\nreally consecrated workers that she can spare for the primary class,\nwhile to find twenty who can be spared for that room one would need to\ngo to paradise I am afraid. Now I know, Dr. Dennis, that such talk\nsounds as if I were insufferably conceited; but I don't believe I am; I\nsimply know what I am willing to try to do; and, to a certain extent, I\nknow what I _can_ do. Why should I not? I have tried it a long time.\"\n\n\"If you are conceited,\" Dr. Dennis said, smiling, \"it is a real\nrefreshing form for it to appear in. I am almost a convert to your\ntheory; at least so far as I need converting. If I should tell you that\nsomething like your idea has always been mine, you would not consider me\na hypocrite, would you?\"\n\n\"If you think so, why have we the present system in our school?\"\n\n\"My dear friend, I did not manufacture the school; it is as I found it;\nand there are those young ladies, who, however unfaithful they are--and\na few of them are just that--do not reach the only point where they\ncould give positive help, that of resigning, and giving us a chance to\ndo better. Besides, they are, as you say, sensitive; they do not like to\nbe called to account for occasional absences; in fact, they do not like\nbeing controlled in any way.\"\n\n\"That is one of the marked difficulties,\" Marion said, eagerly. \"Now I\nhave heard people talk, who led you to infer that it was the easiest\nthing in life to mold these young teachers into the required shape and\nform; that you had only to sweetly suggest and advise and direct, and\nthey sweetly succumbed. Now, don't their mothers know that young ladies\nnaturally do no such thing? It is very difficult for them to yield their\nopinions to one whose authority they do not recognize; and they are not\nfond of admitting authority even where family life sanctions it. Oh, the\nwhole subject is just teeming with difficulties; put it in any form you\nwill, it seems to me to be a mistake.\n\n\"Where you give these young ladies the lesson to teach, the diverse\nminds that are brought to bear on it make it almost impossible for the\nleader to give an intelligent summing up. How is she to discover what\nspecial point has been taken up by each teacher? As a bit of private\nexperience, I think she will be a fortunate woman if she finds that\n_any_ point at all has been reached in many of the classes.\n\n\"There is only now and then a teacher who believes that little children\nare capable of understanding the application of a story. I can't\nunderstand why, if that is the best method of managing a primary class,\npeople take the trouble to have a separate room and another\nsuperintendent. Why don't they stay in the main department? I always\nthought that one of the special values of a separate room was that the\nlesson may be given in a distinct and natural tone of voice, and with\nillustrations and accompaniments that cannot be used, where many classes\nare together, without disturbing some of them.\n\n\"If, on the other hand, the sub-teachers are not expected to give the\nlesson, but only to teach certain opening recitations, then you have the\nspectacle of employing a dozen or twenty persons to do the work of one.\nThen there's another thing; our room is not suited to the plan of\nsubdivision, and there is only occasionally a room that has been built\nto order, which is--\"\n\n\"On the whole, you do not at all believe in the plan of subdivision,\"\nDr. Dennis said, laughing.\n\nAnd then callers came, and Marion took her leave.\n\n\"I am not quite sure whether I like him or dislike him, or whether I am\nafraid of him just a trifle.\" This she said to the girls as they went\nhome from prayer-meeting. \"He has a queer way of branching off from the\nsubject entirely, just when you suppose that you have interested him.\nSometimes he interrupts with a sentence that sounds wonderfully as if he\nmight be quizzing you. He is a trifle queer anyway. I don't believe I\nlove him with all the zeal that a person should bestow on a pastor. I am\nloyal on that subject theoretically, but practically I stand in awe.\"\n\n\"I don't see how you can think him sarcastic,\" Flossy said. \"There is\nnot the least tinge of that element in his nature, I think; at least I\nhave never seen it. I don't feel afraid of him, either; once I thought I\nshould; but he is so gentle and pleasant, and meets one half way, and\nunderstands what one wants to tell better than they understand\nthemselves. Oh, I like him ever so much. He is not sarcastic to me.\"\n\nMarion looked down upon the fair little girl at her side with a smile\nthat had a sort of almost motherly tenderness in it, as she said,\ngently:\n\n\"One would be a very bear to think of quizzing a humming-bird, you know.\nIt would be very silly in him to be sarcastic to you.\"\n\nEurie interrupted the talk:\n\n\"What is the matter with the prayer-meetings?\" she asked. \"Do any of you\nknow? I do wish we could do something to make them less forlorn. I am\nalmost homesick every time I go. If there were more people there the\nroom wouldn't look so desolate. Why on earth don't the people come?\"\n\n\"Constitutionally opposed to prayer-meetings; or it is too warm, or too\ndamp, or too something, for most of them to go out,\" Marion said.\n\nAnd Ruth added:\n\n\"It is not wonderful that you find sarcastic people in the world,\nMarion. The habit grows on you.\"\n\n\"Does it,\" Marion asked, speaking with sadness. \"I am sorry to hear\nthat. I really thought I was improving.\"\n\n\"The question is, can we do anything to improve matters?\" Eurie said.\n\"Can't we manage to smuggle some more people into that chapel on\nWednesday evenings?\"\n\n\"Invite them to go, do you mean?\" Flossy said, and her eyes brightened.\n\"I never thought of that. We might get our friends to go. Who knows what\ngood might be done in that way? What if we try it?\"\n\nRuth looked gloomy. This way of working was wonderfully distasteful to\nher. She specially disliked what she called thrusting unpopular\nsubjects on people's attention. But she reflected that she had never yet\nfound a way to work which she did like; so she was silent.\n\nFlossy, according to her usual custom, persistently followed up the new\nidea.\n\n\"Let us try it,\" she said. \"Suppose we pledge ourselves each to bring\nanother to the meeting next week.\"\n\n\"If we can,\" Marion said, significantly.\n\n\"Well, of course, some of us can,\" Eurie answered. \"You ought to be able\nto, anyway. There you are in a school-room, surrounded by hundreds of\npeople who ought to go; and in a boarding-house, coming in contact with\ndozens of another stamp, who are in equal need. I should think you had\nopportunities enough.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" Marion said, promptly. \"If I were only situated as you are,\nwith nobody but a father and mother, and a brother and a couple of\nsisters to ask--people who are of no special consequence to you, and\nabout whom it will make no personal difference to you whether they go to\nchurch or not--it would be some excuse for not bringing anybody; but a\nboarding-house full of men and women, and a room full of school\ngirls!--consider your privileges, Marion Wilbur.\"\n\nEurie laughed.\n\n\"Oh, I can get Nell to go,\" she said. \"He nearly always does what I want\nhim to. But I was thinking how many you have to work among.\"\n\n\"Six people are as good to work among as sixty, until you get them all,\"\nMarion answered, quickly.\n\nAs for Ruth, it was only the darkness that hid her curling lip. She\nsomeway could not help disliking people who, like Nellis Mitchell,\nalways did what they were asked to do, just to oblige. Also, she dreaded\nthis new plan. She had no one to ask, no one to influence. So she said\nto herself, gloomily, although (knowing that it was untrue) she did not\nventure to say it aloud. She gave consent, of course, to the proposition\nto try by personal effort to increase the number at prayer-meeting. It\nwould be absurd to object to it. She did not care to own that she shrunk\nfrom personal effort of this sort; it was a grief to her very soul that\nshe did so shrink.\n\n\"Remember, we stand pledged to try for one new face at the\nprayer-meeting,\" Eurie said, as she bade them good night. \"Pledged to\n_try_, you understand, Marion, we can at least do that, even if we don't\nsucceed.\"\n\n\"In the meantime, remember that we have our Bible evening to-morrow,\"\nMarion returned. \"You are to come bristling with texts from your\nstandpoint; it will not do to forget that.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE DISCUSSION.\n\n\nMARION went about her dingy room brushing off a bit of dust here,\nsetting a chair straight there, trying in what ways she might to\nbrighten its homeliness. She was a trifle sore sometimes over the\ncontrast between that room and the homes of her three friends. Sometimes\nshe thought it a wonder that they could endure to leave the brightness\nand cheer that surrounded their home lives and seek her out.\n\nThere were times when she was very much tempted to spend a large portion\nof her not too large salary in bestowing little home-looking things on\nthis corner of the second-rate boarding-house; a rocking-chair; a\ncozy-looking, bright-covered old-fashioned lounge; a tiny centre-table,\ninstead of the square, boxy-looking thing that she had; not very\nextravagant her notions were, just a suggestion of comfort and a touch\nof brightness for her beauty-loving eyes to dwell on; but these home\nthings, and these bright things, cost money, more money than she felt at\nliberty to spend.\n\nWhen her necessary expenses of books and dress, and a dozen apparently\ntrifling incidentals were met, there was little enough left to send to\nthat far-away, struggling uncle and aunt, who needed her help sadly\nenough, and who had shared their little with her in earlier days.\n\nThere was no special love about this offering of hers; it was just a\nmatter of hard duty; they had taken care of her in her orphanhood, a\ngrave, preoccupied sort of care, bestowing little time and no love on\nher that she could discover; at the same time they had never either of\nthem been unkind, and they had fed and clothed her, and never said in\nher presence that they grudged it; they had never asked her for any\nreturn, never seemed to expect any; and they were regularly surprised\nevery half year when the remittance came.\n\nBut so far as that was concerned Marion did not know it; they were a\nvery undemonstrative people. Uncle Reuben had told her once that she\nneed not do it, that they had not expected it of her; and Aunt Hannah\nhad added, \"No more they didn't.\" But Marion had hushed them both by a\ndecided sentence, to the effect that it was nothing more than ordinary\njustice and decency. And she did not know even now that the gratitude\nthey might have expressed was hushed back by her cold, business-like\nwords.\n\nStill, the remittances always went; it had required some special\nscrimping to make the check the same as usual, and yet bring in\nChautauqua; it had been delayed beyond its usual time by these new\ndepartures, and it was on this particular evening that she was getting\nit ready for the mail. For seven years, twice a year, she had regularly\nwritten her note:\n\n          AUNT HANNAH:--I inclose in this letter a check\n          for ----. I hope you are as well as usual.\n                                    In haste,\n                                            M. J. WILBUR.\n\nThis, or a kindred sentence as brief and as much to the point. To-night\nher fingers had played with the pen instead of writing, and at last,\nwith a curious smile hovering around her lip, she wrote the unaccustomed\nwords, \"Dear Aunt.\" It would have taken very little to have made the\nsmile into a quiver; it seemed just then so strange that she should have\nno one to write that word \"dear\" to; that she should use it so rarely\nthat it actually looked like a stranger to her. Then the writing went on\nthus:\n\n\"I hope I have not caused you discomfort by being somewhat later than\nusual with your check. Matters shaped themselves in such a way that I\ncould not send it before. I hope it will be of a little help and comfort\nto you. I wish it were larger. Give my re--love to Uncle Reuben.\"\n\nThe \"re\" was the beginning of the word \"regards,\" but she thought better\nof it and wrote \"love.\" He was her father's brother, and the only\nrelative she had. Then the pen paused again, and the writer gnawed at\nthe painted holder, and mused, and looked sober first, then\nbright-faced, and finally she dashed down this line:\n\n          \"Dear Aunt Hannah, I have found my father's\n          Friend, even the Lord Jesus Christ. He is indeed\n          mighty to save, as father used to say that he was.\n          I have proved it, for he has saved me. I wish you\n          and Uncle Reuben knew him.\n                                  \"Yours truly,    MARION.\"\n\nI suppose Marion would have been very much surprised had she known what\nI know, that Aunt Hannah and Uncle Reuben shed tears over that letter,\nand put it in the family Bible. And, someway, they felt more thankful\nfor the check than they had ever done before.\n\nMarion did not know this, but she knew that her own heart felt lighter\nthan usual as she hurried about her room. The girls came before she was\nfairly through with her preparations--a bright trio, with enough of\nbeauty and grace and elegance about them to fairly make her room glow.\n\n\"Here we are,\" said Eurie. \"We have run the gauntlet of five calls and a\nconcert, and I don't know how many other things in prospective, for the\nsake of getting to you.\"\n\n\"Did you come alone?\"\n\n\"No; my blessed Nell came with us to the door, and most dreadfully did\nhe want to come in. I should have let him in, only I knew by Ruth's face\nshe thought it awful; but he would have enjoyed the evening. Nell does\nenjoy new things.\"\n\n\"There is no special sensation about Bible verses. I presume they would\nhave palled on him before the evening was over.\" This was said in Ruth's\ncoldest tones.\n\n\"You are mistaken in that, my lady Ruth. I have found several verses in\nmy search that have given me a real sensation. Besides which, I have\nproved my side beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, and I am very\nanxious to begin.\"\n\nMarion laughed.\n\n\"I dare say we have each proved our sides to our entire satisfaction,\"\nshe said. \"The question is, which side will bear the test of our\ncombined intellects being brought to bear on it? Did you bring your\nBibles, girls? Oh, yes, you are armed. Flossy, your Bible is splendid;\nwhen the millennium dawns I am going to have just such a one. By the\nway, won't that be a blissful time? Don't you want to live to see it?\nEurie, inasmuch as you are so anxious to begin, you may do so. Let us\n'carry on our investigations in a scientific way,' as Prof. Easton says.\nGive us your 'unanswerable argument,' and I will answer it with my\nunanswerable one on the other side; then if Ruth can prove to us that we\nare both mistaken, and each can follow her own judgment in the matter,\nwe will be quenched, you see, unless Flossy can give a balancing vote.\"\n\n\"Well, in the first place,\" Eurie said, \"I found to my infinite\nastonishment, and, of course, to my delight, that the Bible actually\nstated that there was a time to dance. Now, if there is a time for it,\nof course it is the proper thing to do; that just settles the whole\nquestion. How absurd it would be to put in the Bible a statement that\nthere was a time to dance, and then to tell us that it was wrong to\ndance!\"\n\n\"Eurie, are you in earnest or in sport?\" Marion asked, at last, looking\nat her with a puzzled air, and not sure whether to laugh or be\ndisgusted.\n\n\"A little of both,\" Eurie said, breaking into a laugh. \"But now, to be\nserious, there really is such a verse; did you know it? I am sure I\ndidn't. I was very much astonished; and I think it does prove something.\nIt indicates that dancing is a legitimate amusement, and one that was\nindulged in during those times.\"\n\n\"Do you advocate its use under the same circumstances in which it was\nused in those times?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know. Was there anything peculiar in its use?\"\n\n\"Didn't you follow out the references as to dancing?\"\n\n\"No, indeed, I didn't. I wish I had. Does it give an account of it? That\nwould have been better yet.\"\n\n\"It would have enlightened you somewhat,\" Marion said, laughing. \"If you\nhad been on the other side now, you would have been sure to have\nfollowed out the connection as I did; then you would have found that to\nbe true to your Bible you must dance in prayer-meeting, or in church on\nthe Sabbath, or at some time when you desired to express religious joy.\"\n\n\"Pooh!\" said Eurie, \"Now is that so?\"\n\n\"Of course it's so. Just amuse yourself by looking up the references to\nthe word in the concordance, and I will read them for our\nenlightenment.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Eurie, after several readings, \"I admit that I am rather\nglad that form of worship is done away with. I am fond of dancing, but I\ndon't care to indulge when I go to prayer-meeting. But, after all, that\ndoesn't prove that dancing is wrong.\"\n\n\"Nor right?\" Ruth said, questioningly. \"Doesn't it simply prove nothing\nat all? That is just as I said; we have to decide these questions for\nourselves.\"\n\n\"But, Eurie, did you content yourself with just one text? I thought you\nwere to have an army of them.\"\n\n\"What is the use in that?\" Ruth asked. \"One text is as good as a dozen\nif it proves one's position.\"\n\n\"A multitude of witnesses,\" Marion said, significantly; and added,\n\"girls, Ruth has but one text in support of her position; see if she\nhas.\"\n\n\"Well, I have another,\" said Eurie. \"The wisest man who ever lived said,\n'A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.' Now I am sure that advocates\nbright, cheerful, merry times, just such as one has in dancing; and\nthere are dozens of such verses, indicating that it is a duty we owe to\nsociety to have happy and merry times together; and a simpler way of\ndoing it than any I know is to dance. We are not gossiping, nor saying\ncensorious things, when we are dancing; and we are having a very\npleasant time for our friends.\"\n\n\"'Is any merry, let him sing psalms,'\" quoted Marion. \"Would you like to\nindulge in that entertainment at the same time you were dancing; or do\nyou think the same state of mind could be expressed as well by either\ndancing, or psalm-singing, as one chose?\"\n\n\"Eurie Mitchell, you are just being nonsensical!\" Ruth said, speaking in\na half-annoyed tone. \"You are not absurd enough to suppose that either\nof those verses are arguments in favor of dancing, or against dancing,\nor indeed have anything to do with the subject? What is the use in\ntrying to make people think you are a simpleton, when you aren't.\"\n\n\"Dreadful!\" said Eurie. \"Is that what I'm doing? Now, I thought I was\nproving the subtle nature of my argumentative powers. See here, I will\nbe as sober as a judge. No, I don't think those verses have to do with\nit; at least the latter hasn't. I admit that I thought the fact that a\ntime to dance was mentioned in the Bible was an item in its favor as far\nas it went; but it seems I should rather have said as far as _I_ went,\nfor it went farther, as Marion has made me prove with that dreadful\nconcordance of hers. We don't own such a terrible book as that, and I\nhave to go skimming over the whole Bible in a distracting manner. I just\nhappened on the verse that says 'there is a time to dance,' and I didn't\nknow but there might be a special providence in it. But now, frankly, I\nam on the side that Ruth has taken. It seems to be a question that is\nleft to individual judgment. There is no 'thus saith the Lord' about it,\nany more than there is about having company, and going out to tea, and\na dozen other things. We are to do in these matters what we think is\nright; and that, in my opinion, is all there is about it.\"\n\n\"Then you retire from the lists?\" Marion asked.\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I am just as emphatically of the opinion that there is\nno harm in dancing as I ever was. What I say is, that the Bible is\nsilent on that subject, leaving each to judge for herself.\"\n\n\"'As he thinketh in his heart, so is he,'\" quoted Ruth. \"That is my\nverse, one of them; and I think it is unanswerable. If you, Marion,\nthink it is wicked to dance, then you would be doing a wrong thing to\ndance; but, Eurie, believing it to be right and proper, has a right to\ndance. Each person as he thinks in his heart.\"\n\n\"Then, if I think in my heart that it is right to go skating on Sunday,\nit will be quite right for me to go? Is that the reasoning, Ruth?\"\n\n\"No, of course; because in that instance you have the direct command,\n'Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.'\"\n\n\"But who is going to prove to me in what way I should keep it holy? I\nmay skate with very good thoughts in my heart, and feel that I am\nkeeping the spirit of the command; and, if I think so in my heart, why,\nisn't it so?\"\n\n\"You know it isn't a parallel case,\" Ruth said, slightly nettled.\n\n\"Flossy, would you speak for a dollar?\" Eurie asked, suddenly turning to\nher. She had been utterly grave and silent during all this war of words,\nbut, to judge from her face, by no means uninterested. She shook her\nhead now, with a quiet smile.\n\n\"I know what I think,\" she said, \"but I don't want to speak yet; only I\nwant to know, Ruth, about that verse; I found that, and thought about\nit. I couldn't see that it means what you think it does. I used to think\nin my very heart that joining the church, and trying to do about right,\nwas all there was of religion; but I have found that I was wonderfully\nmistaken. Can't persons be honest, and yet be very much in the dark\nbecause they have not informed themselves?\"\n\n\"Why, dear me!\" said Marion, \"only see, Ruth, where your doctrine would\nlead you! What about the heathen women who think in their hearts that\nthey do a good deed when they give their babies to the crocodiles?\"\n\n\"I found that verse about Paul persecuting all who called on the name of\nJesus, and he says he verily thought he was doing God's service.\" This\nwas Flossy's added word.\n\n\"See here,\" said Eurie, \"we are not getting at it at all. I haven't any\nverses, and you have demolished Ruth's. The way is for you and Flossy to\nopen your batteries on us, and let us prove to you that they don't any\nof them mean a single word they say, or _you_ say; or _something_,\n_anything_, so that we win the argument. What I want to know is, what\nearthly harm do people see in dancing? I don't mean, of course, going to\nballs and mingling with all sorts of people and dancing indecent\nfigures. I mean the way we girls have been in the habit of it, Ruth and\nFlossy and I. We never went to a ball in our lives, and we were never\ninjured by dancing, so far as I can discover, and yet we have done a\ngood deal of it. Now I love to dance; it is the very pleasantest\namusement I can think of; and yet I honestly want to get at the truth of\nthis matter; I want to learn; I don't in the least know why churches\nand Christians think such dancing is wrong. I couldn't find a thing in\nthe Bible that showed me the reason. To be sure I had very little time\nto look, and a very ignorant brain to do it with, and no helps. But I am\nready to be convinced, if anybody has anything that will convince me.\"\n\n\"Just let me ask you a question,\" Marion said: \"Why did you think,\nbefore you were converted, that it was wrong for Christian people to\ndance?\"\n\n\"How do you know I did?\" asked Eurie, flushing and laughing.\n\n\"Never mind how I know; though you must have forgotten some of the\nremarks I have heard you make about others, to ask me. But please tell\nme.\"\n\n\"Honestly, then, I don't know; and it is that thought, or rather that\nremembrance, which disturbs me now. I had a feeling that someway it was\nan inconsistent thing to do, and that if I was converted I should have\nto give it up, and it was a real stumbling-block in my way for some\ndays. But I don't this minute know a single definite reason why I, in\ncommon with the rest of the girls and the young men in our set, felt\namused whenever we saw dancing church-members. I have thought perhaps it\nwas prejudice, or a misunderstanding of the Christian life.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nTHE RESULT.\n\n\n\"NOW, what I want,\" said Marion, \"is to have you people who are posted\nanswer a few questions. You know I am not a dancer; I have only stood\naside and looked on; but I have as high a respect for common sense as\nany of you _can_ have, and I want to use some of it in this matter; so\njust tell me, is it true or not that there is a style of dancing that is\nconsidered improper in the extreme?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, of course there is,\" Eurie said, quickly.\n\n\"Is it the style that is indulged in at our ordinary balls, where all\nsorts of characters are admitted, where, in fact, anyone who can buy a\nticket and dress well is welcome? You know you were particular to state\nthat none of you went to balls; are these some of the reasons?\"\n\n\"_My_ principal reason is,\" Ruth said, with an upward curve of her\nhaughty lip, \"that I do not care to associate with all sorts of people,\neither in the ball-room or anywhere else.\"\n\n\"Besides which, you are reasonably particular, who of your acquaintances\nhave the privilege of frequently clasping your hand and placing an arm\ncaressingly around your waist, to say nothing of almost carrying you\nthrough the room, are you not?\"\n\nRuth turned toward the questioner flashing eyes, while she said:\n\n\"That is very unusual language to address to us, Marion. Possibly we are\nquite as high-toned in our feelings as yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, but now, I appeal to your reason and common sense; you say,\nyourself, that these should be our guide. Isn't it true that you, as a\ndancer, allow familiarity that you would consider positively insulting\nunder other circumstances? Am I mistaken in your opinion as to the\nproper treatment that ladies should receive from gentlemen at all other\ntimes save when they are dancing?\"\n\n\"It's a solemn fact,\" said Eurie, laughing at the folly of her position,\n\"that the man with whom I dance has a privilege that if he should\nundertake to assume at any other time would endanger his being knocked\ndown if my brother Nell was within sight.\"\n\n\"And it is true that there are lengths to which dancers go that you\nwould not permit under any circumstances?\"\n\n\"Undeniable,\" Eurie said again. \"Yet I don't see what that proves. There\nare lengths to which you can carry almost any amusement. The point is,\nwe don't carry them to any such lengths.\"\n\n\"That isn't the whole point, Eurie. There are many amusements which no\none carries to improper lengths. We do not hear of their being so\nperverted; but we do not hear of them in the ball-room. The question is,\nhas dancing such a tendency? Do impure people have dance-houses which it\nis a shame for a person to enter? Are young men and young women, our\nbrothers and sisters led astray in them? We mustn't be too delicate to\nspeak on these things, for they exist; and they are found among people\nfor whom the Lord died, and many of them will be reclaimed and be in\nheaven with us. They are our brethren; _can_ they be led away by the\ninfluences of the dance? If we are all really in earnest in this matter,\nwill you each give your opinion on this one point?\"\n\n\"I suppose it is unquestionable,\" Ruth said, \"that dance-houses are in\nexistence, and that they are patronized by the lowest and vilest of\nhuman beings; but the sort of dance indulged in has no more likeness to\nthe dances of cultivated society than--\"\n\n\"Than the drunkard lying in the gutter bears likeness to the elegant\nyoung man of fashion who takes his social sips from a silver goblet\nlined with gold at his mother's refreshment table,\" Marion said,\ninterrupting her, and speaking with energy. \"Yet you will admit that the\none may be, and awfully often is, the stepping stone to the other.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" Eurie said; \"both are true. I never thought of it before,\nbut there is no denying it.\"\n\nAs for Flossy, she simply bowed her head, as one interested but not\nexcited.\n\n\"Then may I bring in one of my verses, 'Pure religion and undefiled\nbefore God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and the widow\nin their affliction, and to keep himself _unspotted_ from the world.'\nDoes that apply? If the world can carry this amusement to such depths of\ndegradation, and if the elegant parlor dance is or _can_ be in the\nremotest degree the first step thereto, _are_ we keeping ourselves\nunspotted if we have anything to do with it, countenance it in any way?\nDon't you see that the question, after all, is the same in many respects\nas the card-playing one? We have been over this ground before.\n\n\"Suppose we grant, for argument's sake, that not one of you is in danger\nof being led away to any sort of excess, and I should hardly dare to\nadmit it in my own case, because of a verse in this same old book, 'Let\nhim that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;' but if it\n_should_ be so, let me give you another of my selections--rather, let me\nread the entire argument.\"\n\nWhereupon she turned to the tenth chapter of First Corinthians and read\nSt. Paul's argument about eating meat offered to idols, pausing with\nspecial emphasis over the words, \"_Conscience, I say, not thine own, but\nof the other._\" \"Did I understand you to say, Eurie, that it is a very\ngeneral belief among dancers that Christians are inconsistent who\nindulge in this amusement.\"\n\n\"It is a provoking truth that there is. Don't you know, Ruth, how we\nused to be merry over the Symonds girls and that young Winters who were\nchurch-members? Well, they made rather greater pretensions with their\nreligion than some others did, and that made us specially amused over\nthem.\"\n\n\"Then, Eurie, wasn't their influence unfortunate on you?\"\n\n\"I am not on your side, Mistress Wilbur. You should have more conscience\nthan to keep me all the time condemning myself!\"\n\n\"That is answer enough,\" Marion said, smiling. \"I am only asking for\ninformation, you know. I never danced. But in the light of that\nconfession, hear this: 'But if thy brother be grieved with thy meat, now\nwalkest thou not charitably. Destroy not him with thy meat for whom\nChrist died. Let not, _then, your good be evil spoken of_.' Isn't that\nprecisely what you were doing of the good in those church-members,\nEurie? Now a sophist would possibly say that the argument of Paul had\nreference to food offered to idols, and not to dancing; but I think here\nis a chance for us to exercise that judgment and common sense which we\nare so fond of talking about.\n\n\"The main point seems to be not to destroy those for whom Christ died.\nDoes it make any difference whether we do it with our digestive organs\nor with our feet? But what is the sophist going to do with this: 'It is\ngood neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor anything whereby thy\nbrother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak.' You see he may, or\nmay not, be a fool for allowing himself to be led astray. St. Paul says\nnothing about that. He simply directs as to the Christian's duty in the\nmatter.\"\n\nRuth made a movement of impatience.\n\n\"You are arguing, Marion, on the supposition that a great many people\nare led astray by dancing; whereas I don't believe that to be the\ncase.\"\n\n\"Do you believe one soul ever was?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, I suppose so.\"\n\n\"We even know one,\" Eurie said, speaking low, and looking very grave.\n\n\"Do you believe it is possible that another soul may in the next million\nyears?\"\n\n\"Of course it is possible.\"\n\n\"Then the question is, how much is one soul worth? I don't feel prepared\nto estimate it, do you?\" To which question Ruth made no reply \"There is\nanother point,\" Marion said. \"You young ladies talk about being careful\nwith whom you dance. Don't you accept the attentions of strange young\ngentlemen, who have been introduced to you by your fashionable friends?\nTake Mr. Townsend, the young man who came here a stranger, and was\nintroduced in society by the Wagners, because they met him when abroad.\nDidn't you dance with him, Eurie Mitchell?\"\n\n\"Dozens of times,\" said Eurie, promptly.\n\n\"And Flossy, didn't you?\"\n\nFlossy nodded her golden head.\n\n\"Well, now you know, I suppose, that he has proved to be a perfect\nlibertine. Honestly, wouldn't you both feel better if he had never had\nhis arm around you?\"\n\n\"Marion, your way of saying that thing is simply disgusting!\" Ruth said,\nin great heat.\n\n\"Is it my way of saying it, or is it the thing itself?\" Marion asked,\ncoolly. \"I tell you, girls, it is impossible to know whether the man who\ndresses well, and calls on you at stated intervals, looking and talking\nlike a gentleman, is not a very Satan, who will lead away the pretty\nguileless, unsuspecting young girl who is worth his trouble; and the\nleading often and often commences with a dance; and the young girl may\nnever have been allowed to dance with him at all had not stately and\nentirely unexceptionable leaders of society, like our Ruth here, allowed\nit first.\n\n\"It is the same question after all, and it narrows down to a fine point.\nA thing that can possibly lead one to eternal death, a Christian has no\nbusiness to meddle with, even if he knows of but one soul in a million\nyears who has been so wrecked. In all this we have not even glanced at\nthe endless directions to 'redeem the time,' to be 'instant in season\nand out of season, to 'work while the day lasts,' 'to watch and be\nsober.' What do all these verses mean? Are we obeying them when we spend\nhalf the night in a whirl of wild pleasure?\n\n\"The fact remains that a majority of people are not temperate in their\ndancing; they do it night after night; they long after it, and are\nmiserable if the weather, or the cough, keeps them away. I know dozens\nof such young ladies; I have them as my pupils; my heart trembles for\nthem; they are just intoxicated with dancing; and they quote you, Ruth\nErskine, as an example when I try to talk with them; I have heard them.\nWhether it is wrong for other people or not, as true as I sit here I can\ntell you this: I have two girls in my class who are killing themselves\nwith this amusement, carried to its least damaging extreme, for they\nstill think they are very careful with whom they dance; and you are in a\nmeasure, at least, responsible for their folly. You needn't say they are\nsimpletons; I think they are, but what of it? 'Shall the _weak_ brother\nperish for whom Christ died?'\"\n\n\"Nell made a remark that startled me a little, it was so queer.\" Eurie\nsaid this after the startled hush that fell over them at the close of\nMarion's eager sentence had in part subsided. \"We were speaking of a\nparty where we had been one evening and some of the girls had danced\nevery set, till they were completely worn out. Some of them had been\ndancing with rather questionable young men, too; for I shall have to own\nthat all the gentlemen who get admitted into fashionable parlors are not\nangels by any means. I know there are several, who are supposed to be of\nthe first society, that father has forbidden me ever to dance with.\n\n\"We were talking about some of these, and about the extreme manner in\nwhich the dancing was carried on, when Nell said: 'I'll tell you what,\nEurie, I hope my wife wasn't there to-night.' 'Dear me!' I said, 'I\ndidn't know she was in existence. Where do you keep her?' He was as\nsober as a judge. 'She is on the earth somewhere, of course, if I am to\nhave her,' he said; 'and what I say is, I hope she wasn't there. If I\nthought she was among those dancers, I would go and knock the fellow\ndown who insulted her by swinging her around in that fashion. I want my\nwife's hand to be kept for me to hold; I don't thank anybody else for\ndoing that part for me.'\"\n\n\"Precisely!\" Marion said. \"It is considered unladylike, I believe, for\npeople to talk about love and marriage. I never could see why; I'm sure\nneither of them is wicked. But I suppose each of us occasionally thinks\nof the possibility of having a friend as dear even as a husband. How\nwould you like it, girls, to have him spend his evenings dancing with\nfirst one young lady and then another, offering them attentions that,\nunder any other circumstances, would stamp him as a libertine?\n\n\"Whichever way you look at this question it is a disagreeable one to me.\nI may never be married; it is not at all likely that I ever shall; I\nought to have been thinking about it long ago, if I was ever going to\nindulge in that sort of life; but if I _should_, I'm heartily glad of\none thing--and, mind, I mean it--that no man but my husband shall ever\nput his arm around me, nor hold my hand, unless it is to keep me from\nactual danger; falling over a precipice, you know, or some such unusual\nmatter as that.\"\n\n\"Flossy hasn't opened her lips this evening. Why don't you talk, child?\nDoes Marion overwhelm you? I don't wonder. Such a tornado as she has\npoured out upon us! I never heard the like in my life. It isn't all in\nthe Bible; that is one comfort. Though, dear me! I don't know but the\nspirit of it is. What do you think about it all?\"\n\n\"Sure enough,\" Marion said, turning to Flossy, as Eurie paused. \"Little\nFlossy, where are your verses? You were going to give us whatever you\nfound in the Bible. You were the best witness of all, because you\nbrought such an unprejudiced determination to the search. What did you\nfind?\"\n\n\"My search didn't take the form I meant it should,\" Flossy said. \"I\ndidn't look far nor long, and I did not decide the question for anybody\nelse, only for myself. I found only two verses, two pieces of verses; I\nmean, I stopped at those, and thought about them all the rest of the\nweek. These are the ones,\" and Flossy's soft sweet voice repeated them\nwithout turning to the Bible:\n\n\"'Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord\nJesus;' _'Whatsoever_ ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not\nunto men.' Those verses just held me; I thought about dancing, about all\nthe times in which I had danced, and the people with whom I had danced,\nand the words we had said to each other, and I could not see that in any\npossible way it could be done in the name of the Lord Jesus, or that it\ncould be done heartily, as unto the Lord. I settled my own heart with\nthose words; that for me to dance after I knew that whatever in word or\ndeed I did, I was pledged to do _heartily_ for the _Lord_, would be an\nimpossibility.\"\n\nAn absolute hush fell upon them all. Marion looked from one to the other\nof the flushed and eager faces, and then at the sweet drooping face of\ntheir little Flossy.\n\n\"We have spent our strength vainly,\" she said, at last. \"It is our\nprivilege to get up higher; to look at all these things from the mount\nwhereon God will let us stand if we want to climb. I think little Flossy\nhas got there.\"\n\n\"After all,\" Eurie said, \"that verse would cut off a great many things\nthat are considered harmless.\"\n\n\"What does that prove, my beloved Eureka?\" Marion said, quickly. \"'If\nthy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee,' is\nanother Bible verse. These verses of Flossy's mean something, surely.\nWhat _do_ they mean, is the question left for us to decide? After all,\nRuth, I agree with you; it is a question that must be left to our\njudgment and common sense; only we are bound to strengthen our common\nsense and confirm our judgments in the light of the lamp that is\npromised as a guide to our feet.\"\n\nAlmost nothing was said among them after that, except the commonplaces\nof good-nights. The next afternoon, as Marion was working out a\nrefractory example in algebra for Gracie Dennis, she bent lower over her\nslate, and said:\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, did you know that your friends, Miss Erskine, Miss Shipley\nand Miss Mitchell, had all declined Mrs. Garland's invitation, and sent\nher an informal little note signed by them all, to the effect that they\nhad decided not to dance any more?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Marion, the rich blood mounting to her temples, and her face\nbreaking into a smile. \"How did you hear?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Garland told my father; she said she honored them for their\nconsistency, and thought more highly of their new departure than she\never had before. It _is_ rather remarkable so early in their Christian\nlife, don't you think?\"\n\n\"Rather,\" Marion said, with a smile, and she followed it by a soft\nlittle sigh. _She_ had not been invited to Mrs. Garland's. There was no\nopportunity for her to show whether she was consistent or not.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nKEEPING THE PROMISE.\n\n\nIT was curious how our four girls set about enlarging the\nprayer-meeting. That idea had taken hold of them as the next thing to be\ndone.\n\n\"The wonder was,\" Eurie said, \"that Christian people had not worked at\nit before. I am sure,\" she added, \"that if anyone had invited me to\nattend, I should have gone long ago, just to please, if it was one that\nI cared to please.\"\n\nAnd Marion answered with a smile:\n\n\"I am sure you would, too, with your present feelings.\"\n\nStill none of them doubted but that they would have success. They saw\nlittle of each other during the days that intervened, and their plan\nnecessarily involved the going alone, or with what company they could\ngather, instead of meeting and keeping each other company, as they had\ndone in the first days of their prayer-meeting life.\n\nMarion came first, and alone. She went forward to their usual seat with\na very forlorn and desolate air. She had entered upon the work with\nenthusiasm, and with eager desire and expectation of success. To be sure\nshe was a long time deciding whom to ask, and several times changed her\nplans.\n\nAt last her heart settled on Miss Banks, the friend with whom she had\nalmost been intimate before these new intimacies gathered around her.\nLatterly they had said little to each other. Miss Banks had seemed to\navoid Marion since that rainy Monday when they came in contact so\nsharply. She was not exactly rude, nor in the least unkind; she simply\nseemed to feel that the points of congeniality between them were broken,\nand so avoided her.\n\nShe did this so successfully, that, even after Marion's thought to\ninvite her to the meeting had taken decided shape, it was difficult to\nfind the opportunity. Having gotten the idea, however, she was\npersistent in it; and at last, during recess, on the very day of the\nmeeting, she came across her in the library, looking aimlessly over the\nrows of books.\n\n\"In search of wisdom, or recreation?\" Marion asked, stopping beside her,\nand speaking with the familiarity of former days.\n\n\"In search of some tiresome references for my class in philosophy. Some\nof the scholars are provokingly in earnest in the study, and will not be\nsatisfied with the platitudes of the text-book.\"\n\n\"That is a refreshing departure from the ordinary state of things, isn't\nit?\" Marion asked, laughing at the way in which the progress of her\npupils was put. Then, without waiting for an answer, and already feeling\nher resolution beginning to cool, she plunged into the subject that\ninterested her. \"I have been in search of you all the morning.\"\n\n\"That's surprising,\" Miss Banks said, coolly. \"Couldn't I be found? I\nhave been no further away than my school-room?\"\n\n\"Well, I mean looking for you at a time when you were not engaged, or\nperhaps looking forward to seeing you at such a time, would be a more\nproper way of putting it,\" said Marion, trying to smile, and yet feeling\na trifle annoyed.\n\n\"One is apt to be somewhat engaged in a school-room during school-hours,\nespecially if one is a teacher.\"\n\nThey were not getting on at all. Marion decided to speak without trying\nto bring herself gracefully to the point.\n\n\"I want to ask a favor of you. Will you go to meeting with me to-night?\"\n\n\"To meeting,\" Miss Banks repeated, without turning from the book-case.\n\"What meeting is there to-night?\"\n\n\"Why, the prayer-meeting at the First Church. There is always a meeting\nthere on Wednesday nights.\"\n\nMiss Banks turned herself slowly away from the book she was examining\nand fixed her clear, cold gray eyes on Marion:\n\n\"And so there has been every Wednesday evening during the five years\nthat we have been in school together, I presume. To what can I be\nindebted for such an invitation at this late day?\"\n\nIt was very hard for Marion not to get angry. She knew this cold\ncomposure was intended as a rebuke to herself for presuming to have\nwithdrawn from the clique that had hitherto spent much time together.\n\n\"What is the use of this?\" she asked; a shade of impatience in her\nvoice, though she tried to control it. \"You know, Miss Banks, that I\nprofess to have made a discovery during the last few weeks; that I try\nto arrange all my actions with a view to the new revelations of life and\nduty which I have certainly had; in simple language you know that,\nwhereas, I not long ago presumed to scoff at conversion, and at the idea\nof a life abiding in Christ, I believe now that I have been converted,\nand that the Lord Jesus is my Friend and Brother; I want to tell you\nthat I have found rest and peace in him. Is it any wonder that I should\ndesire it for my friends? I do honestly crave for you the same\nexperience that I have enjoyed, and to that end I have asked you to\nattend the meeting with me to-night.\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the changes on Miss Banks' face during this\nsentence. There was a touch of embarrassment, and more than a touch of\nincredulity, and over all a look of great amazement. She continued to\nsurvey Marion from head to foot with those cold, gray eyes, for as much\nas a minute after she had ceased speaking. Then she said, speaking\nslowly, as if she were measuring every word:\n\n\"I am sure I ought to be grateful for the trouble you have taken; the\nmore so as I had not presumed to think that you had any interest in\neither my body or my soul. But as I have had no new and surprising\nrevelations, and know nothing about the Friend and Brother of whom you\nspeak, I may be excused from coveting the like experience with yourself,\nhowever delightful you may have found it. As to the meeting, I went once\nto that church to attend a prayer-meeting, too, and if there can be a\nmore refined and long drawn-out exhibition of dullness than was\npresented to us there, I don't know where to look for it. I wonder why\nthe school-bell doesn't ring? It is three minutes past the time by my\nwatch.\"\n\nMarion, without an attempt at a reply, turned and went swiftly down the\nhall. She was glad that just then the tardy bell pealed forth, and that\nshe was obliged to go at once to the recitation-room and involve herself\nin the intricacies of algebra.\n\nWithout this incentive to self-control, she felt that she would have\ngiven way to the hot disappointed tears that were choking in her throat.\nHow sad her heart was as she sat there alone in the prayer-room. It was\nearly and but few were present. She had never felt so much alone. The\ncompanionship which had been so close and so constant during the few\nweeks past seemed suddenly to have been removed from her, and when she\nessayed to go back to the old friend, she had stood coldly and\nheartlessly--aye, worse than that--mockingly aloof.\n\nShe had overheard her, that very afternoon, detailing to one of the\nunder teachers, fragments of the conversation in the library. Marion's\nheart was wounded to its very depths. Perhaps it is little wonder that\nshe had made no other attempt to secure company for the evening. There\nwere school-girls by the score that she might have asked; doubtless some\none of the number would accept her invitation, but she had not thought\nso. She had shrunken from any other effort, in mortal terror.\n\n\"I am not fitted for such work,\" she said, in bitterness of soul; \"not\neven for _such_ work; what _can_ I do?\" and then, despite the class, she\nhad brushed away a tear. So there she sat alone, till suddenly the door\nopened with more force than usual, and closed with a little bang, and\nEurie Mitchell, with a face on which there glowed traces of excitement,\ncame like a whiff of wind and rustled into a seat beside her, alone like\nherself.\n\n\"You here?\" she said, and there was surprise in her whisper. \"Thought\nyou would be late, and not be alone. I am glad of it--I mean I am almost\nglad. Don't you think, Nell wouldn't come with me! I counted on him as a\nmatter of course, he is so obliging--always willing to take me wherever\nI want to go, and often disarranging his own engagements so that I need\nnot be disappointed. I was just as sure of him I thought as I was of\nmyself, and then I coaxed him harder than I ever did before in my life,\nand he wouldn't come in.\" He came to the door with me, and said I\nneedn't be afraid but that he would be on hand to see me home, and he\nwould see safely home any number of girls that I chose to drum up, but\nas for sitting in here a whole hour waiting for it to be time to go\nhome, that was beyond him--too much for mortal patience!\n\n\"Wasn't it just too bad! I was so sure of it, too. I told him about our\nplans--about our promise, indeed, and how I had counted on him, and all\nhe said was: 'Don't you know the old proverb, sis: \"Never count your\nchickens before they are hatched;\" or, a more elegant phrasing of it,\n\"Never eat your fish till you catch him?\" Now, I'm not caught yet;\nsomeway the right sort of bait hasn't reached me yet.' I was never so\ndisappointed in my life! Didn't you try to get some one to come?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Marion, \"and failed.\" She forced herself to say that much.\nHow _could_ Eurie go through with all these details? \"If her heart had\nached as mine does, she couldn't,\" Marion told herself. She might have\nknown if she had used her judgment that Eurie's heart was not of the\nsort that would ever ache over anything as hers could; and yet Eurie was\nbitterly disappointed.\n\nShe had counted on Nell, and expected him, had high hopes for him; and\nhere they were dashed into nothingness! Who knew that he could be so\nobstinate over a trifle? Surely it was a trifle just to come to\nprayer-meeting once! She knew she would have done it for him, even in\nthe days when it would have been a bore. She did not understand it at\nall.\n\nMeantime, Ruth had been having her experiences. This promise of hers\ntroubled her. Perhaps you cannot imagine what an exceedingly\ndisagreeable thing it seemed to her to go hunting up somebody to go to\nprayer-meeting with her. Where could she turn? There were so few people\nwith whom she came in contact that it would not be absurd to ask.\n\nHer father she put aside at once as entirely out of the question. It was\nsimply an absurdity to think of asking him to go to prayer-meeting! He\nrarely went to church even on the Sabbath; less often now than he used\nto do. It would simply be annoying him and exposing religion to his\ncontempt; so his daughter reasoned. She sighed over it while she\nreasoned; she wished most earnestly that it were not so; she prayed, and\nshe thought it was with all her heart, that God would speak to her\nfather in some way, by some voice that he would heed; and yet she\nallowed herself to be sure that his only and cherished daughter had the\none voice that could not hope to influence him in the least.\n\nWell, there was her friend, Mr. Wayne. I wonder if I can describe to you\nhow impossible it seemed to her to ask him to go? Not that he would not\nhave accompanied her; he would in a minute; he would do almost anything\nshe asked; she felt as sure that she could get him to occupy a seat in\nthe First Church prayer-room that evening as she felt sure of going\nthere herself; but she asked herself, of what earthly use would it be?\n\nHe would go simply to please what he would suppose was a whim of hers;\nhe would listen with an amused smile, slightly tinged with sarcasm, to\nall the words that would be spoken that evening, and he would have\nready a hundred mildly funny things to say about them when the meeting\nclosed; for weeks afterward he would be apt to bring in nicely fitting\nquotations gleaned from that evening of watchfulness, fitting them into\nabsurd places, and making them seem the veriest folly--that would be the\nfruit.\n\nRuth shrank with all her soul from such a result; these things were\nsacred to her; she did not see how it would be possible to endure the\nquizzical turn that would be given to them. I want you to notice that in\nall this reasoning she did not see that she had undertaken not only her\nown work but the Lord's. When one attempts not only to drop the seed,\nbut to _make_ the fruit that shall spring up, no wonder one stands back\nappalled!\n\nYet was she not busying her heart with the results? The end of it was\nthat she decided whatever else she did, to say nothing to Mr. Wayne\nabout the meeting. No, I am mistaken, that was not the end; there\nsuddenly came in with these musings a startling thought:\n\n\"If I cannot endure the foolishness that will result from one evening,\nhow am I to endure companionship for a lifetime?\"\n\nThat was a thought that would not slumber again. But she must find some\none whom she was willing to ask to go to prayer-meeting; there was her\nmiserable promise hedging her in.\n\nWho was she willing to ask? She ran over her list of acquaintances;\nthere wasn't one. How strange it was! She could think of those whom\nFlossy might ask, and there was Eurie surrounded by a large family; and\nas for Marion, her opportunities were unlimited; but for her forlorn\nself, in all the large circle of her acquaintance, there seemed no one\nto ask. The truth was, Ruth was shiveringly afraid of casting pearls\nbefore swine--not that she put it in that way; but she would rather have\nbeen struck than to have been made an object of ridicule. And yet there\nwere times when she wished she had lived in the days of martyrdom! The\nchurch of to-day is full of just such martyr spirits!\n\nThe result was precisely what might have been expected: she dallied with\nher miserable cowardice, which she did not call by that name at all,\nuntil there really was no person within reach to invite to the meeting.\nWho would have supposed all this of Ruth Erskine! No one would have been\nless likely to have done so than herself.\n\nShe went alone to the meeting at a late hour, and with a very miserable,\nsore, sad heart, to which Marion's was nothing in comparison. Yet there\nwas something accomplished, if she had but known it. She was beginning\nto understand herself; she had a much lower opinion of Ruth Erskine as\nshe sat there meeting the wondering gaze of Eurie, and the quick,\ninquiring glance of Marion than she ever had felt in her life.\n\nI said she was late, but Flossy was later. Somebody else must have been\nat work about that meeting, and have been more successful than our\ngirls, for the room was fuller than usual. Marion had begun to grow\nanxious for the little Flossy that had crept so near to their hearts,\nand to make frequent turnings of the head to see if she were not coming.\n\nWhen at last she shimmered down the aisle, a soft, bright rainbow, for\nshe hadn't given over wearing her favorite colors, and she could no\nmore help getting them on becomingly than a bird can help looking\ngraceful in its plumage. (Why should either of them try to help it?) But\nFlossy was not alone; there was a tall portly form, and a splendidly\nbalanced head, resting on firm shoulders, that followed her down to the\nseat where the girls were waiting for her.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nHOW IT WAS DONE.\n\n\nFLOSSY came quite down the broad aisle to the seat which the girls had,\nby tacit understanding, chosen for their own, her face just radiant with\na sort of surprised satisfaction, and the gentleman who followed her\nwith an assured and measured step was none other than Judge Erskine\nhimself. He may have been surprised at his own appearance in that place\nfor prayer, but no surprise of his could compare with the amazement of\nhis daughter Ruth. For once in her life her well-bred composure forsook\nher, and her look could be called nothing less than an absolute stare.\n\nOf the four, Flossy only had succeeded. The way of it was this:\n\nHaving become a realist, in the most emphatic sense of that word, to\nhave promised to bring some one with her to meeting if she possibly\ncould, meant to her just that, and nothing less than that. Of course,\nsuch an understanding of a promise made it impossible to stop with the\nasking of one person, or two, or three, provided her invitations met\nwith only refusals.\n\nShe had started out as confident of success as Eurie; she felt nearly\ncertain of Col. Baker; not because he was any more likely of his own\nwill to choose the prayer-meeting than he had been all his life thus\nfar, but because he was growing every day more anxious to give pleasure\nto Flossy.\n\nHaving some dim sense of this in her heart, Flossy reasoned that it\nwould be right to put this power of hers to the good use of winning him\nto the meeting, for who could tell what words from God's Spirit might\nreach him while there? So she asked him to go.\n\nTo her surprise, and to Col. Baker's real annoyance, he was obliged to\nrefuse her. He was more than willing to go, even to a prayer-meeting,\nif thereby he could take one step forward toward the place in her life\nthat he desired to fill. Therefore his regrets were profuse and sincere.\n\nIt was club night, and, most unluckily, they were to meet with him, and\nhe was to provide the entertainment. Under almost any other\ncircumstances he could have been excused. Had he even had the remotest\nidea that Flossy would have liked his company that evening, he could\nhave made arrangements for a change of evening for the club; that is,\nhad he known of it earlier. But, as it was, she would see how impossible\nit would be for him to get away. Quick-witted Flossy took him at his\nword.\n\n\"Would he remember, then,\" she asked, with her most winning smile, \"that\nof all places where she could possibly like to see him regularly, the\nWednesday evening prayer-meeting at the First Church was the place.\"\n\nWhat a bitter pill an evening prayer-meeting would be to Col. Baker! But\nhe did not tell her so. He was even growing to think that he could do\nthat, for a while at least.\n\nFrom him Flossy turned to her brother; but it was club night to him,\ntoo, and while he had not the excuse that the entertainer of the club\ncertainly had, it served very well as an excuse, though he was frank\nenough to add, \"As for that, I don't believe I should go if I hadn't an\nengagement; I won't be hypocrite enough to go to the prayer-meeting.\"\nSuch strange ideas have some otherwise sensible people on this subject\nof hypocrisy!\n\nIt required a good deal of courage for Flossy to ask her mother, but she\naccomplished it, and received in reply an astonished stare, a\nhalf-embarrassed laugh, and the expression:\n\n\"What an absurd little fanatic you are getting to be, Flossy! I am sure\none wouldn't have looked for it in a child like you! Me? Oh, dear, no! I\ncan't go; I never walk so far you know; at least very rarely, and Kitty\nwill have the carriage in use for Mrs. Waterman's reception. Why don't\nyou go there, child? It really isn't treating Mrs. Waterman well; she is\nsuch an old friend.\"\n\nThese were a few of the many efforts which Flossy made. They met with\nlike results, until at last the evening in question found her somewhat\nbelated and alone, ringing at Judge Erskine's mansion. That important\npersonage being in the hall, in the act of going out to the post-office,\nhe opened the door and met her hurried, almost breathless, question:\n\n\"Judge Erskine, is Ruth gone? Oh, excuse me. Good-evening. I am in such\nhaste that I forgot courtesy. Do you think Ruth is gone?\"\n\nYes, Judge Erskine knew that his daughter was out, for she stepped into\nthe library to leave a message a few moments ago, and she was then\ndressed for the street, and had passed out a moment afterward.\n\nThen did he know whether Katie Flinn, the chamber-maid, was in? \"Of\ncourse you won't know,\" she added, blushing and smiling at the absurdity\nof her question. \"I mean could you find out for me whether she is in,\nand can I speak to her just a minute?\"\n\nHe was fortunately wiser to-night than she gave him credit for being,\nJudge Erskine said, with a courtly bow and smile.\n\nIt so happened that just after his daughter departed, Katie had sought\nhim, asking permission to be out that evening until nine o'clock, a\npermission that she had forgotten to secure of his daughter; therefore,\nas a most unusual circumstance which must have occurred for Flossy's\nspecial benefit, he was posted even as to Katie's whereabouts. He was\nunprepared for the sudden flushing of Flossy's cheeks, and quiver of her\nalmost baby chin.\n\n\"Oh, I am _so_ sorry!\" she said, and there were actual tears in her blue\neyes.\n\nJudge Erskine saw them, and felt as if he were in some way a monster. He\nhastened to be sympathetic. If she was alone and timid it would afford\nhim nothing but pleasure to see her safely to any part of the city she\nchose to mention. He was going out simply for a stroll, with no business\nwhatever.\n\n\"Oh, it isn't that,\" Flossy said, hastily. \"I am such a little way from\nthe chapel, and it is so early I shall not be afraid; but I am so\ndisappointed. You see, Judge Erskine, we girls were each to bring one\nwith us to the meeting to-night, and I have tried so hard, I have asked\nalmost a dozen people, and none of them could go. At last I happened to\nthink of your Katie Flinn: I knew she was in our Sunday-school, and I\nthought perhaps if I asked her she would go with me, if Ruth had not\ndone it before me. She was my last chance, and I am more disappointed\nthan I can tell you.\"\n\nShall I try to describe to you what a strange sensation Judge Erskine\nfelt in the region of his heart as he stood there in the hall with that\npretty blushing girl, who seemed to him only a child, and found that her\nquivering chin and swimming eyes meant simply that she had failed in\nsecuring even his chambermaid to attend the prayer-meeting? He never\nremembered to have had such an astonishing feeling, nor such a queer\nchoking sensation in his throat.\n\nHis own daughter was dignified and stately; the very picture of her\nfather, every one said; he had no idea that she could shed a tear any\nmore than he could himself; but this timid, flushing, trembling little\ngirl seemed made of some other material than just the clay that he\nsupposed himself to be composed of.\n\nHe stood regarding her with a sort of pleased wonder. In common with\nmany other stately gentlemen, he very much admired real, unaffected,\nartless childhood. It seemed to him that a grieved child stood before\nhim. How could he comfort her? If a doll, now, with curling hair and\nblue eyes could do it, how promptly should it be bought and given to\nthis flesh-and-blood doll before him.\n\nBut no, nothing short of some one to accompany her to prayer-meeting\nwould appease this little troubled bit of humanity. In the magnanimity\nof his haughty heart the learned judge took a sudden and almost\noverpowering resolution.\n\nCould _he_ go? he asked her. To be sure, he was not Katie Flinn, but he\nwould do his best to take the place of that personage if she would\nkindly let him go to the said meeting with her.\n\nIt was worth a dozen sittings even in prayer-meeting, Judge Erskine\nthought, to see the sudden clearing of that tearful face; the sudden\nradiant outlook from those wet eyes.\n\n_Would_ he go? Would he _really_ go? Could anything be more _splendid_!\n\nAnd, verily, Judge Erskine thought, as he beheld her shining face, that\nthere hardly could. He felt precisely as you do when you have been\nunselfish toward a pretty child, who, someway, has won a warm spot in\nyour heart.\n\nHe went to the First Church prayer-meeting for the first time with no\nhigher motive than that--never mind, he went. Flossy Shipley certainly\nwas not responsible for the motive of his going; neither did it in any\ndegree affect the honest, earnest, persistent effort she had made that\nday. Her account of it was simple enough, when the girls met afterward\nto talk over their efforts.\n\n\"Why, you know,\" she said, \"I actually _promised_ to bring some one with\nme if I possibly could; so there was nothing for it but to try in every\npossible way up to the very last minute of the time I had. But, after\nall, I brought the one whom I had not the least idea of asking; he asked\nhimself.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Marion said, after a period of amazed silence, \"I have made two\ndiscoveries. One is, that people may possibly have tried before this to\nenlarge the prayer-meeting; possibly we may not, after all, be the\noriginators of that brilliant idea; they may have tried, and failed even\nas we did; for I have learned that it is not so easy a matter as it at\nfirst appears; it needs a power behind the wills of people to get them\nto do even so simple a thing as that. The other important thought is,\nthere are two ways of keeping a promise; one is to make an attempt and\nfail, saying to our contented consciences, 'There! I've done my duty,\nand it is no use you see;' and the other is to persist in attempt after\nattempt, until the very pertinacity of our faith accomplishes the work\nfor us. What if we follow the example of our little Flossy after this,\nand let a promise mean something?\"\n\n\"My example!\" Flossy said, with wide open eyes. \"Why, I only _asked_\npeople, just as I said I would; but they wouldn't come.\"\n\nThere was one young lady who walked home from that eventful\nprayer-meeting with a very unsatisfied conscience. Ruth Erskine could\nnot get away from the feeling that she was a shirker; all the more so,\nbecause the person who had sat very near her was her father! not brought\nthere by any invitation from her; it was not that she had tried and\nfailed; that form of it would have been an infinite relief; she simply\nhad not tried, and she made herself honestly confess to herself that\nthe trouble was, she could not be satisfied with one who was within the\nreach of her asking.\n\nYet conscience, working all alone, is a very uncomfortable and\ndisagreeable companion, and often accomplishes for the time being\nnothing beyond making his victim disagreeable. This was Ruth to the\nfullest extent of her power; she realized it, and in a measure felt\nashamed of herself, and struggled a little for a better state of mind.\n\nIt seemed ill payment for the courtesy which had made Harold Wayne\nforsake the club before supper for the purpose of walking home with her\nfrom church. He was unusually kind, too, and patient. Part of her\ntrouble, be it known, was her determination in her heart not to be\ndriven by that dreadful conscience into saying a single personal word to\nHarold Wayne. Not that she put it in that way; bless you, no! Satan\nrarely blunders enough to speak out plainly; he has a dozen\nsmooth-sounding phrases that mean the same thing.\n\n\"People need to be approached very carefully on very special occasions,\nwhich are not apt to occur; they need to be approached by just such\npersons, and in just such well-chosen words,\" etc. etc.\n\nThough why it should require such infinite tact and care and skill to\nsay to a friend, \"I wish you were going to heaven with me,\" when the\nperson would say without the slightest hesitation, \"I wish you were\ngoing to Europe with me,\" and be accounted an idiot if he made talk\nabout tact and skill and caution, I am sure I don't know.\n\nYet all these things Ruth said to herself. The reason the thought\nruffled her was because her honest conscience knew they were false, and\nthat she had a right to say, \"Harold, I _wish_ you were a Christian;\"\nand had no right at all with the results.\n\nShe simply could not bring herself to say it; she did not really know\nwhy, herself; probably Satan did.\n\nMr. Wayne was unusually quiet and grave; he seemed to be doing what he\ncould to lead Ruth into serious talk; he asked about the meeting,\nwhether there were many out, and whether she enjoyed it.\n\n\"I sort of like Dr. Dennis,\" he said. \"He is tremendously in earnest;\nbut why shouldn't a man be in earnest if he believes what he is talking\nabout. Do you suppose he does, Ruth?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Ruth said, shortly, almost crossly; \"you know he does. Why\ndo you ask such a foolish question?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know; half the time it seems to me as if the religious\npeople were trying to humbug the world; because, you see, they don't act\nas if they were in dead earnest--very few of them do, at least.\"\n\n\"That is a very easy thing to say, and people seem to be fond of saying\nit,\" Ruth said: and then she simply would not talk on that subject or\nany other; she was miserably unhappy; an awakened conscience, toyed\nwith, is a very fruitful source of misery. She was glad when the walk\nwas concluded.\n\n\"Shall I come in?\" Mr. Wayne asked, lingering on the step, half smiling,\nhalf wistful. \"What do you advise, shall I go back to the club or call\non you?\"\n\nNow, Ruth hated that club; she was much afraid of its influence over her\nfriend; she had determined, as soon as she could plan a line of\noperation, to set systematically at work to withdraw him from its\ninfluence; but she was not ready for it yet. And, among other things\nthat she was not ready for, was a call from Mr. Wayne; it seemed to her\nthat in her present miserable, unsettled state it would be simply\nimpossible to carry on a conversation with him. True to her usually\nfrank nature, she answered, promptly:\n\n\"I have certainly no desire for you to go to the club, either on this\nevening or any other; but, to be frank, I would rather be alone this\nevening; I want to think over some matters of importance, and to decide\nthem. You will not think strangely of me for saying that, will you?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" he said, and he smiled kindly on her; yet he was very much\ndisappointed; he showed it in his face.\n\nMany a time afterward, as Ruth sat thinking over this conversation,\nrecalling every little detail of it, recalling the look on his face, and\nthe peculiar sadness in his eyes, she thought within herself, \"If I had\nsaid, 'Harold, I want you to come in; I want to talk with you; I want\nyou to decide now to live for Christ,' I wonder what he _would_ have\nanswered.\"\n\nBut she did not say it. Instead, she turned from him and went into the\nhouse; and--he went directly to his club: an unaccountable gloom hung\nover him; he must have companionship; if not with his chosen and\npromised wife, then with the club. That was just what Ruth was to him;\nand it was one of the questions that tormented her.\n\nThere were reasons why thought about it had forced itself upon her\nduring the last few days. She was pledged to him long before she found\nthis new experience. The question was, Could she fulfil those pledges?\nHad they a thought in common now? Could she live with him the sort of\nlife that she had promised to live, and that she solemnly meant to live?\nIf she _could_, was it right to do so? You see she had enough to torment\nher; only she set about thinking of it in so strange a manner; not at\nall as she would have thought about it if the pledges she had given him\nhad meant to her all that they mean to some, all that they ought to mean\nto any one who makes them. This phase of it also troubled her.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nRUTH AND HAROLD.\n\n\nTHERE had been in Judge Erskine's mind a slight sense of wonderment as\nto how he should meet his daughter the morning after his astounding\nappearance at prayer-meeting. Such a new and singular departure was it,\nthat he even felt a slight shade of embarrassment.\n\nBut, before the hour of meeting her arrived, his thoughts were turned\ninto an entirely new channel. He met her, looking very grave, and with a\ntouch of tenderness about his manner that was new to her. She, on her\npart, was not much more at rest than she had been the evening before.\nShe realized that her heart was in an actual state of rebellion against\nany form of decided Christian work that she could plan. Clearly,\nsomething was wrong with her. If she had been familiar with a certain\nold Christian, she might have borrowed his language to express in part\nher feeling.\n\n\"To will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I\nknow not.\" Not quite that, either, for while she said, \"I _can't_ do\nthis thing, or that thing,\" she was clear-minded enough to see that it\nsimply meant, after all, \"I will not.\" The will was at fault, and she\nknew it. She did not fully comprehend yet that she had set out to be a\nChristian, and at the same time to have her own way in the least little\nthing; but she had a glimmering sense that such was the trouble.\n\nHer father, after taking surreptitious glances at her pale face and\ntroubled eyes, decided finally that what was to be said must be said,\nand asked, abruptly:\n\n\"When did you see Harold, my daughter?\"\n\nRuth started, and the question made the blood rush to her face, she did\nnot know why.\n\n\"I saw him last evening, after prayer-meeting, I believe,\" she\nanswered, speaking in her usual quiet tone, but fixing an inquiring look\non her father.\n\n\"Did he speak of not feeling well?\"\n\n\"No, sir; not at all. Why?\"\n\n\"I hear that he is quite sick this morning; was taken in the night.\nSomething like a fit, I should judge; may be nothing but a slight\nattack, brought on by late suppers. He was at the club last night. I\nthought I would call after breakfast, and learn the extent of the\nillness. If you want to send a message or note, I can deliver it.\"\n\nThat was the beginning of dreary days. Ruth prepared her note--a tender,\ncomforting one; but it was brought back to her; and as her father handed\nit to her he said:\n\n\"He can't read it now, daughter. I dare say it would comfort him if he\ncould; but he is delirious; didn't know me; hasn't known any one since\nhe was taken in the night. Keep the letter till this passes off, then he\nwill be ready for it.\"\n\nVery kind and sympathetic were Ruth's friends. The girls came to see\nher, and kissed her wistfully, with tears in their eyes, but they had\nlittle to say. They knew just how sick her friend was, and they felt as\nthough there was nothing left to say. Her father neglected his business\nto stay at home with her, and in many a little, thoughtful way touched\nher heavy heart, as the hours dragged by.\n\nNot many hours to wait. It was in the early dawn of the third morning\nafter the news had reached her, that the door-bell pealed sharply\nthrough the house. There was but one servant up; she answered the bell.\n\nRuth was up and dressed, and stood in the hall above, listening for what\nthat bell might bring to her. She heard the hurried voice at the door;\nheard the peremptory order:\n\n\"I want to see Judge Erskine right away.\"\n\nShe knew the voice belonged to Nellis Mitchell, and she went down to him\nin the library. He turned swiftly at the opening of the door, then stood\nstill, and a look of blank dismay swept over his face.\n\n\"It was your father that I wanted to see,\" he said, quickly.\n\n\"I know,\" she answered, speaking in her usual tone. \"I heard your\nmessage. My father has not yet risen. He will be down presently.\nMeantime, I thought you might possibly have news of Mr. Wayne's\ncondition. Can you tell me what your father thinks of him this morning?\"\n\nHow very quiet and composed she was! It seemed impossible to realize\nthat she was the promised wife of the man for whom she was asking.\nNellis Mitchell was distressed; he did not know what to say or do. His\ndistress showed itself plainly on his face.\n\n\"You need not be afraid to tell me,\" she said, half smiling, and\nspeaking more gently than she was apt to speak to this young man. It\nalmost seemed that she was trying to sustain him, and help him to tell\nhis story. \"I am not a child you know,\" she added, still with a smile.\n\n\"You do not know what you are talking about,\" he said, hoarsely. \"Ruth,\nwon't you please go up-stairs and tell your father I want him as soon as\npossible?\"\n\nShe turned from him half impatiently.\n\n\"My father will be down as soon as possible,\" she said, coldly. \"He is\nnot accustomed to keep gentlemen waiting beyond what is necessary.\nMeantime, if you know, will you be kind enough to give me news of Mr.\nWayne? I beg you, Mr. Mitchell, to remember that I am not a silly child,\nto whom you need be afraid to give a message, if you have one.\"\n\nHe must answer her now; there was no escape.\n\n\"He is,\" he began, and then he stopped. And her clear, cold, grave eyes\nlooked right at him and waited. His next sentence commenced almost in a\nmoan. \"Oh, Ruth, you _will_ make me tell you! It is all over. He has\ngone.\"\n\n\"Gone!\" she repeated, incredulously, still staring at him. \"Where is he\ngone?\"\n\nWhat an awful question! She realized it herself almost the instant it\npassed her lips. It made her shudder visibly. But she neither screamed\nnor fainted, nor in any way, except that strange one, betrayed emotion.\nInstead, she said:\n\n\"Be seated, Mr. Mitchell, and excuse me; father is coming.\" Then she\nturned and went back up-stairs.\n\nHe heard her firm step on the stairs as she went slowly up; and this\npoor bearer of faithful tidings shut his face into both his hands and\ngroaned aloud for such misery as could not vent itself in any natural\nway. He understood that there was something more than ordinary sorrow in\nRuth's face. It was as if she had been petrified.\n\nThrough the days that followed Ruth passed as one in a dream. Everyone\nwas very kind. Her father showed a talent for patience and gentleness\nthat no one had known he possessed.\n\nThe girls came to see her; but she would not be seen. She shrank from\nthem. They did not wonder at that; they were half relieved that it was\nso. Such a pall seemed to them to have settled suddenly over her life\nthat they felt at a loss what to say, how to meet her. So when she sent\nto them, from her darkened and gloomy room, kind messages of thanks for\ntheir kindness, and asked them to further show their sympathy by\nallowing her to stay utterly alone for awhile, they drew relieved sighs\nand went away. This much they understood. It was not a time for words.\n\nAs for Flossy, she should not have been numbered among them. She did\nnot call at all; she sent by Nellis Mitchell a tiny bouquet of lilies of\nthe valley, lying inside of a cool, broad green lily leaf, and on a slip\nof paper twisted in with it was written:\n\n\"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will\nfear no evil.\" How Ruth blessed her for that word! Verily she felt that\nshe was walking through the very blackest of the shadows! It reminded\nher that she had a friend.\n\nSlowly the hours dragged on. The grand and solemn funeral was planned\nand the plans carried out. Mr. Wayne was among the very wealthy of the\ncity. His father's mansion was shrouded in its appropriate crape, the\nrooms and the halls and the rich, dark solemn coffin glittering with its\nsolid silver screws and handles, were almost hidden in rare and costly\nflowers. Ruth, in the deepest of mourning robes, accompanied by her\nfather, from whose shoulder swept long streamers of crape, sat in the\nErskine carriage and followed directly after the hearse, chief mourner\nin the long and solemn train.\n\nIn every conceivable way that love could devise and wealth carry out,\nwere the last tokens of respect paid to the quiet clay that understood\nnot what was passing around it.\n\nThe music was by the quartette choir of the First Church, and was like a\nwail of angel voices in its wonderful pathos and tenderness.\n\nThe pastor spoke a few words, tenderly, solemnly pointing the mourners\nto One who alone could sustain, earnestly urging those who knew nothing\nof the love of Christ to take refuge _now_ in his open arms and find\nrest there.\n\nBut alas, alas! not a single word could he say about the soul that had\ngone out from that silent body before them; gone to live forever. Was it\npossible for those holding such belief as theirs to have a shadow of\nhope that the end of such a life as his had been could be bright?\n\nNot one of those who understood anything about this matter dared for an\ninstant to hope it. They understood the awful solemn silence of the\nminister. There was nothing for that grave but silence. Hope for the\nliving, and he pointed them earnestly to the source of all hope; but for\nthe dead, silence.\n\nWhat an awfully solemn task to conduct such funeral services. The pastor\nmay not read the comforting words: \"Blessed are the dead who die in the\nLord,\" because before them lies one who did not die in the Lord, and\ncommon sense tells the most thoughtless that if those are blessed who\ndie in the Lord there must be a reverse side to the picture, else no\nsense to the statement. So the verse must be passed by. It is too late\nto help the dead, and it need not tear the hearts of the living. He can\nnot read, \"I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.\"\n\nGod forbid, prays the sad pastor in his heart, that mother or father or\nfriend shall so die as to go to this one, who did not die in the Lord.\nWe can not even hope for that. All the long line of tender, helpful\nverses, glowing with light for the coming morning, shining with\nimmortality and unending union must be passed by; for each and every one\nof them have a clause which shows unmistakably that the immortality is\nglorious only under certain conditions, and in this case they have not\nbeen met.\n\nThere must in these verses, too, be a reverse side, or else they mean\nnothing. What shall the pastor do? Clearly he can only say, \"In the\nmidst of life we are in death.\" That is true; his audience feel it; and\nhe can only pray: \"So teach _us_ to number our days that we may apply\nour hearts unto wisdom.\"\n\nBut, oh, how _can_ the mothers stand by open graves wherein are laid\ntheir sons or daughters, and endure the thought that it is a separation\nthat shall stretch through eternity! How wonderful that any of us are\ncareless or thoughtless for a moment so long as we have a child or a\nfriend unsafe!\n\nDuring all this time of trial Ruth's three friends were hovering around\nher, trying by every possible attention and thoughtfulness to help or\ncomfort her, and yet feeling their powerlessness in such a way that it\nalmost made them shrink from trying.\n\n\"Words are such a mockery,\" Marion said to her one evening, as they sat\ntogether. \"Sometimes I almost hate myself for trying to speak to you at\nall. What can any human being say to one who is shrouded in an awful\nsorrow?\"\n\nRuth shuddered visibly.\n\n\"It _is_ an 'awful' sorrow,\" she said; \"you have used the right word\nwith which to express it; but there is a shade to it that you do not\nunderstand. I don't believe that by experience you ever will; I pray God\nthat you may not. Think of burying a friend in the grave without the\nslightest hope of ever meeting him in peace again!\"\n\n\"You have nothing to do with that, Ruth; God is the judge. I don't think\nyou ought to allow yourself to think of it.\"\n\n\"There I think you are mistaken; I believe I ought to think of it.\nMarion, you know, and _I_ know, that there is simply nothing at all on\nwhich to build a hope of meeting in peace the man we buried last week.\nYou think it almost shocking that I can speak of him in that way; I know\nyou do. People are apt to hide behind the very flimsiest veil of fancied\nhopes when they talk of such things.\n\n\"Perhaps a merciful God permits some to hug a worthless hope when they\nthink of their dead treasures, since it can do no harm to those who are\ngone; but I am not one of that class of people. Besides, I am appearing\nto you, and everybody, in a false light. I am tired of it. Marion, Mr.\nWayne was not to me what he ought to have been, since I was his promised\nwife. You know how I have changed of late; you know there was hardly a\nthought or feeling of mine in which he could sympathize; but the worst\nof it is, he never did sympathize with me in the true sense; he never\nfilled my heart.\n\n\"My promise to him was one of those false steps that people like me, who\nare ruled by society, take because it seems to be the proper thing to do\nnext, or because we feel it might as well be that as anything; perhaps\nbecause it will please one's father in a business point of view, or\nplease one's own sense of importance; satisfy one's desire to be\nforemost in the fashionable world. I am humiliating myself to tell you,\nplainly, that my promise meant not much more than that. I did not\nrealize how empty it was till I found that all my plans, and aims, and\nhopes in life were changed. That, in short, life had come to seem more\nto me than a glittering weariness, that was to be borne with the best\ngrace I could assume. This was nearly all I had found in society, or\nhoped to find.\n\n\"I followed Mr. Wayne to the grave in the position of chief mourner,\nbecause I felt that it was a token of respect that I owed to the memory\nof the man whom I had wronged, and because I felt that the world had no\nbusiness with our private affairs; but he was not to me what people\nthink he was, and I feel as though I wanted you to know it, even though\nit humiliates me beyond measure to make the confession. At the same time\nI have an awful sorrow, too awful to be expressed in words.\n\n\"Marion, I think you will understand what I mean when I say that I\nbelieve I have the blood of a lost soul clinging to my garments. I know\nas well as I sit here to-night that I might have influenced Harold Wayne\ninto the right way. I know his love for me was so sincere, and so\nstrong, that he would have been willing to try to do almost anything\nthat I had asked. I believe in my soul that had I urged the matter of\npersonal salvation on his immediate attention, he would have given it\nthought. But I _never_ did--_never_.\n\n\"Marion, even on that last evening of his life--I mean before he was\nsick--when he himself invited the words, I was silent. I did not mean\nto continue so; I meant, when I got ready, to speak to him about this\nmatter; I meant to do everything right; but I was determined to take my\nown time for it, and I took it, and now he is _gone_! Marion, you know\nnothing about such a sorrow as that! Now, why did I act in this insane\nway?\n\n\"I know the reason, one of them at least; and the awful selfishness and\ncowardice of it only brands me deeper. It was because I was afraid to\nhave him become a Christian man! I knew if he did I should have no\nexcuse for breaking the pledges that had passed between us; in plain\nwords, I would have no excuse for not marrying him; and I did not want\nto do it! I felt that marriage vows would mean to me in the future what\nthey never meant in the past, and that there was really nothing in\ncommon between Mr. Wayne and myself; that I could not assent to the\nmarriage service with him, and be guiltless before God. So to spare\nmyself, to have what looked like a conscientious excuse for breaking\nvows that ought never to have been made, I deliberately sacrificed his\n_soul_! Marion Wilbur, think of that!\"\n\n\"You didn't mean to do that!\" Marion said, in an awe-stricken voice; she\nwas astonished and shocked, and bewildered as to what to say.\n\nRuth answered her almost fiercely:\n\n\"No, I didn't mean to; and as to that, I never meant to do anything that\nwas not just right in my life; but I meant to have just exactly my own\nway of doing things, and I tell you I took it. Now, Marion, while I\nblame myself as no other person ever can, I still blame others. I was\nnever taught as I should have been about the sacredness of human loves,\nand the awfulness of human vows and pledges. I was never taught that for\ngirls to dally with such pledges, to flirt with them, before they knew\nanything about life or about their own hearts was a sin in the sight of\nGod. I ought to have been so taught.\n\n\"Perhaps if I had had a mother to teach me I should have been different;\nbut I am not even sure of that. Mothers seem to me to allow strange\ntrifling with these subjects, even if they do not actually prepare the\nway. But all this does not relieve me. I have sinned; no one but myself\nunderstands how deeply, and no one but me knows the bitterness of it.\n\n\"Now I feel as though the whole of the rest of my life must be given to\natone for this horrible fatal mistake. I wasted the last hour I ever had\nwith a soul, and I have before me the awful consciousness that I might\nhave saved it.\n\n\"It is all done now, and can never be undone; that is the saddest part\nof it. But there is one thing I can do; I need never live through a like\nexperience again; I will give the rest of my life to atone for the past;\nI will never again be guilty of coming in contact with a soul,\nunprepared for death, without urging upon that soul, as often as I have\nopportunity, the necessity for preparation; I see plainly that it is the\nimportant thing in life.\"\n\nThere hovered over Marion's mind, while these last sentences were being\nspoken, words something like these:\n\n\"The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin.\"\n\nShe almost said to Ruth that even for this sin the atonement had been\nmade; she must not try to make another. But the error that only faintly\nglimmered in Ruth's sentence was so mixed with solemn and helpful truth\nthat she felt at a loss as to whether there was error at all, and so\nheld her peace.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nREVIVAL.\n\n\nAS the early autumn months slipped away, and touches of winter began to\nshow around them, it became evident that a new feeling was stirring in\nthe First Church.\n\nNo need now to work for increased numbers at the prayer-meeting; at\nleast there was not the need that formerly existed; the room was full,\nand the meetings solemn and earnest. The Spirit of God was hovering over\nthe place. Drops of the coming shower were already beginning to fall.\n\nWhat was the cause of the quickened hearts? Who knew save the Watcher\non the tower in the eternal city? Was it because of the sudden, and\nsolemn, and hopeless death occurring in the very center of what was\ncalled \"the first circles?\" Was it the spirit developed apparently by\nthis death, showing itself in eager, indefatigable effort wherever Ruth\nErskine went, with whomsoever she came in contact?\n\nWas it Marion Wilbur's new way of teaching, that included not only the\nintellect of her pupils, but looked beyond that, with loving word, for\nthe empty soul? Was it Eurie Mitchell's patient way of taking up home\nwork and care, that had been distasteful to her, and that she had\nshunned in days gone by? Was it Flossy Shipley's way of teaching the\nSabbath-school lessons to \"those boys\" of hers?\n\nWas it the quickened sense which throbbed in the almost discouraged\nheart of the pastor whenever he came in contact with either of these\nfour? Was it the patient, persistent, unassuming work of John Warden as\nhe went about in the shop among his fellow-workmen, dropping an earnest\nword here, a pressing invitation there?\n\nWho shall tell whether either, or all of these influences, combined\nwith hundreds of others, set in motion by like causes, were the\nbeginnings of the solemn and blessed harvest time, that dawned at last\non those who had been sowing in tears?\n\nThe fact was apparent. Even in the First Church, that model of propriety\nand respectability, that church which had so feared excitement or\nunusual efforts of _any_ sort, there was a revival!\n\nAmong those who were coming, and who were growing willing to let others\nknow that they were awakening to a sense of the importance of these\nthings, were Dr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Eurie's father and mother. To\nthemselves they did not hesitate to say that the change in Eurie was so\nmarked and so increasing in its power over her life, that it obliged\nthem to think seriously of this thing.\n\nAmong the interested also were a score or more of girls from Marion's\nroom in the great school; and more came every day. Marion's face was\nshining, and she gathered her brood about her as a mother would the\nchildren of her love and longing.\n\nAmong them were four of Flossy's boys; and half a dozen boys, friends of\ntheirs, who were not Flossy's, and who yet, someway, joined her train\nand managed to be \"counted in.\" Among them was Judge Erskine--I mean\namong those who continued to come to the meetings--coming alone, and\nbeing reverent and thoughtful during the services, but going away with\nbowed head, and making no sign: there was something in the way with\nJudge Erskine that no one understood.\n\nAs for Ruth--how she worked during these days! Not with a glad light in\nher eyes, such as Marion and Flossy had; not with a satisfied face as if\nthe question of something to do that was worth doing, and that helped\nher, had been settled, such as Eurie Mitchell wore; rather with a sad\nfeverish impatience to accomplish _results_; shrinking from nothing,\nwilling to do anything, go anywhere, yet meeting with far less\nencouragement, and seeing far less fruits, than any of the others. She\ndid not realize that she was working with a sort of desperate intention\nof overbalancing the mischief of her mistakes by so much work now, that\nthere would be a sort of even balance at the scales. She would have\nbeen shocked had she understood her own heart.\n\nMeantime, where was Satan? Content to let this reaping time alone? Oh,\nbless you, no! Never busier, never more alert, and watchful, and\ncautious, and _skillful_ than now! It was wonderful, too, how many\nhelpers he found whose names were actually on the roll of the First\nChurch!\n\nThere were those who had had in mind all the fall having little\nentertainments, \"just a few friends, you know, nothing like a party;\nthey were sorry to be obliged to have them just now while there were\nmeetings; but Miss Gilmore was in town, and would be here so short a\ntime, they _must_ invite her; it would not be treating her well to take\nno notice of her visit; and, really, the people whom they proposed to\ninvite were those who did not attend church, so no harm could be done.\"\n\nThese were some of Satan's helpers. There were others who were more\noutspoken. They \"did not believe in special efforts; seasons of\nexcitement; religious dissipations--nothing else. People should be\nreligious at all times, not put it on for special occasions.\"\n\nIt was well enough to have a special season for parties, and a special\nseason for going to the sea-side, and a special season for doing one's\ndressmaking, and a special season for cleaning house, and a special\nseason for everything under the sun but religious meetings; these should\nbe conducted--at all times. Was that what they meant? Oh, dear, no! They\nshould not be conducted at all. Was _that_ what they meant? Who should\ntell what they _did_ mean? One lady said:\n\n\"The idea of the bell ringing every evening for prayer-meeting! It was\ntoo absurd! People must have a little time for recreation; these weeks\njust before the holidays were always by common consent the time for\nfestivities of all sorts; it was downright folly to expect young people\nto give up their pleasures and go every evening to meeting.\"\n\nSo she issued her cards for a party, and gathered as many of the young\npeople about her as she could. And this woman was a member of the First\nChurch! And this woman professed to believe in the verse that read,\n\"Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatever ye do, do all to the\nglory of God!\"\n\nThere were others who went to these parties, hushing their consciences\nmeantime by the explanation that the social duties were important ones,\nand that one whose heart was right could serve God as well having\nreligious conversation at a party, as she could occupying a seat at a\nprayer-meeting. Perhaps they really believed it. What marvel? Satan\nhimself is transformed into an angel of light.\n\nThe trouble about the sincerity was, that those same persons were not\nunaware of certain sneering remarks that were being made, to the effect\nthat if church-members could go to parties when there were meetings at\ntheir own church, _they_ could surely be excused from the meetings; and\nthey could not have been utterly ignorant of the verse that read\nplainly, \"Let not your good be evil spoken of.\"\n\nThere were still others who compromised matters, taking the meetings for\nthe first hour of the evening and a party for the next three; and the\nlookers-on said, sneeringly, that there was a strife going on between\nthe soul, the flesh and the devil, and they wondered which would\nconquer!\n\nSo all these classes flourished and worked in their different ways in\nthe First Church; just as they always _will_ work, until that day when\nthe wheat shall be forever separated from the tares. The wonder is why\nso many blinded eyes _must_ insist that because there are tares, there\nis therefore no wheat. The Lord said, \"Let both grow together until the\nharvest.\"\n\n\"I don't understand it,\" Ruth said one day to Marion, as they talked the\nwork over, and tried to lay plans for future helpfulness. \"Why do you\nsuppose it is that I seem able to do nothing at all? I try with all my\nmight; my heart is surely in it, and I long with a desire that seems\nalmost as if it would consume me, to see some fruit of my work, and yet\nI don't. What _can_ be the difficulty?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Marion said, speaking hesitatingly, as one who would\nlike to say more if she dared. \"I don't feel competent to answer that\nquestion, and yet, sometimes, I have feared that you might be trying to\ncompromise with the Lord.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you; in what way do you mean? I try to do my duty in\nevery place that I can think of. I am not compromising on any subject,\nso far as I know. If I am, I will certainly be grateful to anyone who\nwill point it out to me.\"\n\n\"I am not sure that it is sufficiently clear to my own mind to be able\nto point it out,\" Marion said, still visibly embarrassed. \"But, Ruth, it\nsometimes seems to me as if you had said to yourself, 'Now I will work\nso much and pray so much, and then I ought to have rest from the pain\nthat is goading me on, and I ought to be able to feel that I have atoned\nfor past mistakes, and the account against me is squared.'\"\n\nRuth turned from her impatiently.\n\n\"You are a strange comforter,\" she said, almost indignantly. \"Do you\nmean by that to intimate that you think I ought _never_ to look or hope\nfor rest of mind again because I have made one fearful mistake? Do you\nmean that I ought always to carry with me the sense of the burden?\"\n\n\"I mean no such thing. You cannot think I so estimate the power of the\nsacrifice for sin. Ruth, I mean simply this: Nothing that you or I can\ndo can possibly make one sin white, one mistake as though it had not\nbeen, give one moment of rest to a troubled heart. But the blood of\nJesus Christ can do all this, and it does seem to me that you are\nignoring it, and trying to work out your own rest.\"\n\nRuth was thoughtful; the look of vexation passed from her face.\n\n\"It may be so,\" she said, after a long silence. \"I begin dimly to\nunderstand your meaning; but I don't know how to help it, how to feel\ndifferently. I surely ought to work, and surely I have a right to expect\nresults.\"\n\n\"In one sense, yes, and in another I don't believe we have. I begin to\nfeel more and more that you and I have _got_ in some way to be made to\nunderstand that it is not our way, but the Lord's, that we must be\nwilling to do, or, what is harder, to leave undone, exactly what he\nsays, _do_ or _not_ do. I can't help feeling that you are planning in\nyour own heart just what ought to be done, and then allowing yourself to\nfeel almost indignant and ill-used because the work is not\naccomplished.\"\n\n\"I don't know how you have succeeded in seeing so deeply into my heart,\"\nRuth said, with a wan smile. \"I believe it is so, though I am not sure\nthat I ever saw it before.\"\n\n\"I know why I see it; because it is my temptation as well as yours. You\nand I are both strong-willed; we have both been used to having our own\nway; we want to continue to have it; we want to do the right things\nprovided we can have the choosing of them. Flossy, now, with her\nyielding nature, is willing to _be led_, as you and I are not. I have to\nfight against this tendency to carry out my plans and look for _my_\nresults all the time. The fact is, Ruth, we must learn to work for\n_Christ_, and not set up business for ourselves, and still expect him to\ngive the wages.\"\n\n\"Still,\" said Ruth, \"I don't know. There seems to me to be nothing that\nI am not willing to do. I can't think of anything so hard that I would\nnot unhesitatingly do it. I have changed wonderfully in that respect. A\nlittle while ago I was not willing to do anything. Now I am ready for\nanything that can be done.\"\n\n\"Are you?\" Marion asked, with a visible shiver. \"Ruth, are you _sure_?\nI can't say that; I want to say it, and I pray that I may be able; yet I\ncan think of so many things that I might be called on to do that I\nshrink from. I have given up trying to do them, and fallen back on the\npromise, 'My grace is sufficient,' only praying, 'Lord, give me the\nneeded grace for to-day; I will not reach out for to-morrow.' And, Ruth,\nI feel sure that neither you nor I must try to cover our past errors\nwith present usefulness. Nothing but the blood of Christ can cover _any_\nwrong; we _must_ rest on that, and on that alone.\"\n\n\"I believe I only understand in part what you mean. I don't see how you\never reached so far ahead of me in faith and in understanding. But I\nbelieve you _are_ farther. Still, I can't think of anything that I am\nnot willing and ready to do. I wish I might be tried; I wish He would\ngive me some work, not of my own planning, that He might see how willing\nI am to do anything.\"\n\nThis was Ruth's last remark to her friend that evening. Flossy and Eurie\nboth came in, and they went out to the meeting together, Ruth thinking\nstill of the talk they had, and feeling sure that she could do whatever\nshe found, and yet the Master was planning a way for her that very\nevening, the entrance to which she had never seen, never dreamed of as\npossible. So many ways he has for leading us! Blessed are those who have\ncome to the experience that makes them willing to be led, even in\ndarkness and blindness, trusting to the Sun of Righteousness for light.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nTHE STRANGE STORY.\n\n\nJUDGE ERSKINE was in his library, pacing slowly back and forth, his\nforehead lined with heavy wrinkles, and his face wearing the expression\nof one involved in deep and troubled thought. He had just come home from\nthe evening meeting, the last meeting of the series that had held the\nattention of so many hearts during four weeks of harvest time.\n\nJudge Erskine had been a silent and attentive listener. All through the\nsolemnities of the sermon, that seemed written for his sake, and to\npoint right at him, he had never moved his keen, steady eyes away from\nthe preacher's face. The text of that sermon he was not likely to\nforget. He had looked it up, and read it, with its connections, the\nmoment he reached the privacy of his library.\n\n\"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.\" That\nwas the text. Judge Erskine said it over and over to his own soul. It\nwas true; it fitted his condition as precisely as though it had been\nwritten for him. The harvest that would tell for eternity had been\nreaped all around him. He had looked, and listened, and resolved; and\nstill he stood outside, ungarnered.\n\nMoreover, one portion of the solemn sermon fitted him, also. When Dr.\nDennis spoke of those who had let this season pass, unhelped, because\nthey had an inner life that would not bear the gaze of the public,\nbecause they were not willing to drag out their past and cast it away\nfrom them, Judge Erskine had started and fixed a stern glance on the\npreacher.\n\nDid he know his secret, that had been hidden away with such persistent\ncare? What scoundrel could have enlightened him? This, only for a\nmoment; then he settled back and realized his folly. Dr. Dennis knew\nnothing of himself or his past. Then came that other awfully solemn\nthought--there was One who did? Could it be that his voice had\ninstructed the pastor what special point to make in that sermon, with\nsuch emphasis and power? Was the keen eye of the Eternal God pointing\nhis finger, now, at him, and saying; \"Thou art the man?\"\n\nHe _knew_ all this was true; he knew that the work of the past month had\ngreatly moved him; he knew on the evening when the text had been,\n\"Almost thou persuadest _me_ to be a Christian,\" that he had felt\nhimself _almost_ persuaded; he knew then, as he did now, that but one\nthing stood in the way of his entire persuasion.\n\nAs he walked up and down his library on this evening, he felt fully\npersuaded in his own mind that the time had arrived when he was being\ncalled on persistently for a decision. More than that, he felt that the\ndecision was to be not only for time, but for eternity; that he _must_\nsettle the question of his future then and there. He had locked the door\nafter him, as he came into the library, with a sort of grim\ndetermination to settle the question before he stepped into the outside\nworld again. How would it be settled? He did not know himself. He did\nnot dare to think how it would end; he simply felt that the conflict\nmust end.\n\nMeantime, Ruth was up-stairs on her knees, praying for her father. Her\nheart felt very heavy. She had prayed for this father with all her soul;\nprayed, with what she felt was a degree of faith, that this evening, at\nthe meeting, he might settle the question at issue, and settle it\nforever. She had felt a bitter, and almost an overwhelming,\ndisappointment that the meeting closed and left him just where he had\nstood for a month.\n\nThere seemed nothing left to do. She had not spared her words, her\nentreaties. She had gotten bravely over her fears of approaching her\nfather. But now it seemed to her that there was nothing left to say. She\ncould still pray, and it was with a half-despairing cry that she fell on\nher knees, realizing in her very soul that only the power of God could\nconvert her father. Into the midst of this longing, clinging cry for\nhelp there came a knock.\n\n\"Judge Erskine would like to have you come to the library for a few\nminutes, if you have not retired.\"\n\nThis was Katie Flinn's message. And Ruth, as she swiftly set about\nobeying the summons, said:\n\n\"Oh, Katie, pray for father!\" for among those who, during the last few\nweeks, had learned to pray was Katie Flinn. Poor Katie, with the simple\nchild-like faith and loving heart which she brought to the service, was\ndestined to be a shining light in a dark world; and the glory thereof\nwould sparkle forever in Flossy Shipley's crown.\n\nJudge Erskine turned as his daughter opened the door, and motioned her\nto a seat. Then he continued his walk. Something in his face hushed into\nsilence the words that were on her lips; but presently he stopped before\nher, and his voice startled her with its strangeness.\n\n\"My daughter, I have something to tell you, and something to ask you. I\nshall have to cause you great grief and shame, and I want to begin first\nby asking you to forgive your father.\"\n\nRuth felt her face growing pale. What _could_ he mean? Had she not\nalways looked up to him as above most men, even Christian\nmen?--faultless in his business transactions, blameless in his life? She\nattempted to speak, and yet felt that she did not know what to say.\nApparently he expected no word from her; for he went on hurriedly:\n\n\"You have, during these few weeks past, shown a sort of interest in me,\nthat I never saw manifested before. I have reason to think that you have\nconcluded, lately, that the most earnest desire you can have concerning\nyour father, is to see him a Christian man? I can conscientiously tell\nyou that I have felt the necessity for this experience as I never did\nbefore; that I realize its importance, and that I want it; yet there is\nsomething in the way, something that I must do, and confess, and abide\nby for the future, that I shrink from more on your account than my own.\nMy child, do you want this thing enough to endure disgrace and\nhumiliation, and a cross, heavy and hopeless, all your life?\"\n\n\"Father,\" she said, half rising, and looking at him with a bewildered\nair, a vague doubt of his sanity, and a half fear of his presence,\ncreeping into her heart, \"what can you possibly mean? How can disgrace,\nor cross-bearing, or trouble of any sort, be connected with _you_? I\ncannot understand you.\"\n\n\"I know you can not. You think I am talking wildly, and you are half\nafraid of me; but I am perfectly sane. I wish, with all my soul, that a\ncertain portion of my life could be called a wild dream of a disordered\nbrain; but it is solemnly true. Ruth, if I come out before the world and\navow myself a Christian man, with the determination to abide by the\nteachings of the Lord Jesus Christ, it involves my bringing to this\nhouse a woman who will have to be recognized as my wife, and a girl who\nwill have to share with you as my daughter; a woman whom you will have\nto call mother, and a girl who is your sister. Are you equal to that?\"\n\nEvery trace of blood left Ruth Erskine's face. Her father watched her\nnarrowly, with his hand touching the bell-rope; it seemed as if she must\nfaint; but she motioned his hand away.\n\n\"Don't ring,\" were the first words she said; \"I am not going to faint.\nFather, tell me what you mean.\"\n\nThe actual avowal made, and the fact established that his daughter was\nable to bear it, and to still keep the story between themselves, seemed\nto quiet Judge Erskine. His intense and almost uncontrollable excitement\nsubsided; the wild look in his eyes calmed, and, drawing a chair beside\nhis daughter, he began in a low steady voice to tell her the strange\nstory:\n\n\"Acts that involve a lifetime of trouble can be told in a few words,\nRuth. When your mother died I was almost insane with grief; I can't tell\nyou about that time; I was young and I was gay, and full of plans, and\naims, and intentions, in all of which she had been involved. Then came\nthe sudden blank, and it almost unsettled my reason. There was a young\nwoman boarding at the same house where I went, who was kind to me, who\nbefriended me in various ways, and tried to help me to endure my sorrow.\nShe grew to be almost necessary to my endurance of myself. After a\nlittle I married her. I did not take this step till I found that my\nfriendship with her, or, rather hers with me, was compromising her in\nthe eyes of others. Let me hurry over it, Ruth. We lived together but a\nfew weeks; then I was obliged to go abroad. Away from old scenes and\nassociations, and plunged into business cares, I gradually recovered my\nusual tone of mind. But it was not till I came home again that I\ndiscovered what a fatal blunder I had made. That young woman had not a\nsingle idea in common with my plans and aims in life; she was ignorant,\nuncultured, and, it seemed to me, unendurable. How I ever allowed myself\nto be such a fool I do not know. But up to this time, I had at least,\nnot been a villain. I didn't desert her, Ruth; I made a deliberate\ncompromise with her; she was to take her child and go away, hundreds of\nmiles away, where I would not be likely ever to come in contact with her\nagain, and I was to take your mother's child and go where I pleased. Of\ncourse I was to support her, and I have done so ever since; that was\neighteen years ago; she is still living, and the daughter is living. I\nhave always been careful to keep them supplied with money; I have tried\nto have done for the girl what money could do; but I have never seen\ntheir faces since that time. Now, Ruth, you know the miserable story.\nThere are a hundred details that I could give you, that perhaps would\nlead you to have more pity for your father, if it did not lead you to\ndespise him more for his weakness. It is hard to be despised by one's\nchild. I tell you truly, Ruth, that the bitterest of this bitterness is\nthe thought of you.\"\n\nThe proud man's lip quivered and his voice trembled, just here.\n\nPoor Ruth Erskine! \"I am willing to do _anything_,\" she had said to\nMarion, not two hours before; and here was a thing, the possibility of\nwhich she had never dreamed, staring her in the face, waiting to be\ndone, and she felt that she could not do it. Oh, why was it necessary?\n\"Why not let everything be as it has been?\" said that wily villain\nSatan, whispering in her ears. \"They were false vows; they are better\nbroken than kept. He does not love her, though he said he did. And how\ncan we ever endure it, the shame, the disgrace, the horrid explanations,\nour name, the _Erskine_ name, on everybody's lips, common loafers\nsneering at us? And then to have the family changed; myself to be only a\nback figure; a mother who is not, and never _was_ my mother, taking my\nplace; and the other one-- Oh, it can not be possible that we must\nendure this! There must be some other way. They are doubtless contented,\nwhy could it not remain as it is?\"\n\nAs if to answer her unspoken thoughts, Judge Erskine suddenly said:\n\n\"I have canvassed the entire subject in all its bearings, you may be\nsure of that. I am living a lie. I am saying my wife is dead, when a\nwoman to whom before God I gave that name is living; I am saying that I\nhave but one child, when there is another to whom I am as certainly\nfather as I am to you. I am leaving them, nay, obliging them, to live a\ndaily lie. I have assured myself to a certainty that one sin can never\nbe atoned for by another sin; there is but one atonement; and the Source\nof all help says, 'If we _confess_ our sins, he is faithful and just to\nforgive us our sins; and to cleanse us from _all_ unrighteousness.' I\nknow there is only one way of cleansing, daughter.\"\n\n\"Get thee behind me, Satan.\" The only perfect life gave that sentence\nonce, not alone for Himself; thank God he has many a time since enabled\nhis weak children of the flesh to repeat it in triumph. The grace came\nthen and there to Ruth Erskine. She rose up from her chair, and going\nover to her father did what she had never remembered doing in her life\nbefore. She bent down and wound both arms around his neck and kissed\nhim. Her voice was low and steady:\n\n\"Father, don't let this, or anything earthly, stand between you and\nChrist. You are not a sinner above all others. It is only the\ninterposing hand of God that has kept me from taking sinful vows upon my\nlips. Let us do just what is right. Send for them to come home, and I\nwill try to be a daughter and a sister; and I will stand by you, and\nhelp you in every possible way. There are harder trials than ours will\nbe, after all.\"\n\nIt was his daughter who finally and utterly broke the proud, haughty\nheart. Judge Erskine bowed himself before her and sobbed like a child in\nthe bitterness and the humiliation of his soul.\n\n\"God bless you,\" he said, at last, in broken utterance. \"There is an\nAlmighty Saviour; I need nothing more than your words to convince me of\nthe truth of that. If love to him can lead your heart to such\nforgiveness as this, what must his forgiveness be? Ruth, you have saved\nmy soul; I will give up the struggle; I have tried to fight it out; I\nhave tried to say that I could not; for my own sake, and for my own\nname, it seemed impossible. Then when I got beyond that, and felt that\nfor myself, if I could have rest in the love of Christ, and could feel\nthat he forgave me, I cared for nothing else. Then I said, 'I can not do\nthis, for my child's sake; I can never plunge her into this depth of sin\nand shame.' Then, my daughter, there came to me a message from God, and\nof all those that _could_ come to a miserable man like me, it was this:\n'He that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.' Then\nI saw that I must be willing even to lose your love, to make you despise\nme; and that was the bitterest cup of all. But, thank God, he has spared\nme this. God bless you, my daughter.\"\n\nThere was something almost terrible to Ruth, in seeing her cold, calm\nfather so moved. She had never realized what awfully solemn things\n_tears_ were till she saw them on her father's cheeks, and felt them\nfalling hot on her head, from eyes so unused to weeping. The kisses she\ngave him were very soft and clinging--full of tender, soothing touches.\nThen father and daughter knelt together, and the long, long struggle\nwith sin and pride and _silence_ was concluded.\n\nDo you think this was a lasting victory for Ruth Erskine? You do not\nunderstand the power of \"that old serpent, the Devil,\" if you can not\nthink how he came to her again and again in the silence of her own room,\neven into the midst of her rejoicings over the newly-washed soul, even\nwhile the joy in heaven among the angels was still ringing out over her\nfather, came whispering to her heart to say:\n\n\"Oh, I can't, I can't. Think of it! The Erskines! How _can_ we endure\nit? Is it _possible_ that we must? Perhaps the woman would rather live\nas she is.\"\n\nAs if _that_ had anything to do with the question of right and wrong!\nThe very next instant Ruth curled her lip sneeringly over her own folly.\nShe never forgot that night, nor how the conflict waged. She tried to\nimagine herself saying \"mother\" to one who really had a nominal right to\nthe title. Not that it was an unfamiliar word to her. The old aunt who\nhad occupied the mother's place in the household since Ruth was a wee\ncreature of two years, she had learned almost from the instincts of\nchildhood to call \"mamma.\" And as she grew older and was unused to any\nother name for Mrs. Wheeler, the widowed aunt, she toned it into the\nfamiliar and comfortable word \"mother,\" and had always spoken to and of\nher in that name.\n\nYet she knew very well how little the title meant to her. She had loved\nthis old lady with a sort of pitying, patronizing love, realizing even\nvery early in her life that she, herself, had more self-reliance, more\nexecutive ability, in her little finger, than was spread all over the\nplacid lady who early learned that \"Ruthie\" was to do precisely as she\npleased.\n\nSuch a cipher was this same old lady in the household, that when a long\nlost son appeared on the surface, during Ruth's absence at Chautauqua,\nproving, sturdy old Californian as he was, to have a home and place for\nhis mother, and a heart to take her with him, her departure caused\nscarcely a ripple in the well-ordered household of the Erskines.\n\nShe had been its nominal head for eighteen years, but the real head who\nwas absent at Chautauqua, had three or four perfectly trained servants,\nwho knew their young mistress' will so well, that they could execute it\nin her absence as well as when she was present.\n\nSo when Ruth took, in the eyes of everybody, the position that had\nreally been hers so long, it made no sort of change in her plans or\nways. And beyond a certain lingering tenderness when she spoke of her by\nthat familiar title, \"mother,\" there was no indication that the woman\nwho had had so constant and intimate connection with her life was\nremembered.\n\nBut this name applied to another, and that other, one whom she had never\nseen in her life, and who yet was actually to occupy the position of\nhead of the household--her father's wife, in the eyes of society her\nmother, spoken of as such, herself asked, \"How is your mother?\" or \"What\ndoes your mother think of this?\" Would anyone dare to use that name to\nher? No one had so spoken of her aunt. They all knew she was only her\naunt, though she chose to pet her by the use of that tender name. Could\nshe bear all these things and a hundred others that would come up?\n\n\"Marion,\" she said the next day as she chanced to meet that young lady\non the street, \"I have something to tell you. I want to call on you to\nwitness that I shall never again be guilty of that vainglorious\nabsurdity of saying that I am ready for anything. One can never know\nwhether this is true or not; at least I am sure I never can. What I am\nto say in the future is simply, 'Lord, make me willing to do what there\nis for me to do this day.' Remember that in a few days you will\nunderstand what I mean.\"\n\nThen she went on. Marion pondered over it. She did not understand it at\nall. What trial could have come to Ruth that had brought her the\nknowledge of the weakness of her own heart? She wondered if it had also\nbrought her peace.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nLONELINESS.\n\n\nI SUPPOSE there has never been an earnest worker, an enthusiast on any\nsubject, in this changeful world, but has been a victim at some time to\nthe dismalness of a reaction. The most forlorn little victim that could\nbe imagined was Flossy Shipley on that evening after the meetings, on\nwhich her soul had fed so long, were closed.\n\nEverything in nature and in circumstances conspired to sink her into her\ndesolate mood. In the first place it was raining. Now a rain closing in\nupon a warm and dusty summer day is a positive delight; one can listen\nto the pattering drops with a sense of eager satisfaction but a rain in\nmidwinter, after a day of sunless mist and fog, almost amounting to\nrain, when the streets are that mixture of snow and water that can be\nknown only as \"slush,\" when every opening of a door sends in gusts of\ndamp air that chill to one's very bones, this weather is a trial; at\nleast it seemed such to poor little Flossy.\n\nShe shivered over the fire in the coal grate. It glowed brightly, and\nthe room was warm and bright, yet to Flossy there was a sense of chill\nin everything. She was all alone; and the circumstances connected with\nthat loneliness were not calculated to brighten the evening for her. The\nentire family had gone out to a party, not one of those quiet little\nentertainments which people had been so careful to explain and apologize\nfor during the meetings, but a grand display of toilet and supper, and\nexpenditure of all kinds.\n\nMrs. Westervelt, the hostess, being at all times noted for the display\nof her entertainments, had lavished more than the usual amount of time\nand money on the present ones, and waited for the meetings to close with\nthe most exemplary patience, in order that she might gain a very few\namong her guests from those who felt the impropriety of mixing things\ntoo much.\n\nTo be sure, the society in general which was admitted to Mrs.\nWestervelt's parlors was not from that class who had any scruples as to\nwhat time they attended parties, but there were two or three notable\nexceptions, and those the lady had been anxious to claim.\n\nProminent among them had been the Erskines, it never seeming to occur to\nMrs. Westervelt's brains that there could be other excuse found for not\naccepting her invitation save the meetings that Ruth had taken to\nattending in such a frantic manner. Let me say, in passing, that neither\nRuth Erskine nor her father honored the invitation; they had other\nmatters to attend to.\n\nMeantime, Flossy Shipley, had utterly disgusted her mother, and almost\noffended her father, by giving a peremptory and persistent refusal. Such\na storm of talk as there had been over this matter almost exhausted the\nstrength of poor little Flossy, who did not like argument, and who yet\ncould persist in a most unaccountable firm manner when occasion\nrequired.\n\n\"Such an absurd idea!\" her sister Kitty said, flashing contemptuous\neyes on her. \"I wonder what you think is going to become of you, Flossy?\nDo you mean to mope at home all the rest of the winter? I assure you\nthat Mrs. Westervelt is not the only one who intends to give a party. We\nare going to have an unusually gay season to revive us after so much\nbell-tolling. Don't you mean to appear anywhere? You might as well\nretire into a convent at once, if that is the case.\"\n\n\"People will be saying of me, as they do of Mrs. Treslam, soon, that I\ndo not allow you to appear in society while Kitty is still a young\nlady.\" This Mrs. Shipley said, and her tone, if not as sharp as Kitty's,\nhad a note of grievance in it that was hard to bear.\n\nThen Charlie had taken up the theme: \"What is the use in turning mope,\nSis? I'm sure you can be as good as you like, and go to a party\noccasionally.\"\n\n\"I don't mean to mope, Charlie,\" Flossy said, trying to speak\ncheerfully, but there were tears in her eyes and a tremulous sound in\nher voice. \"I am truly happier at home than I am at those places; I\ndon't like to go. It is not entirely because I feel I ought not; it is\nbecause I don't want to.\"\n\n\"She has risen above such follies,\" Kitty said, and it is impossible to\ntell you what a disagreeable inflection there was to her voice. \"Mother,\nI am sorry that the poor child has to associate with such volatile\ncreatures as you and I. She ought to have some kindred spirit.\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't know where she will find any,\" Mrs. Shipley said,\nwith a sigh, \"outside of that trio of girls, who among them have\ncontrived to make a perfect little slave of you. I am sure I don't know\nwho has any influence over you. I used to think you regarded your\nmother's wishes a trifle, but I find I am mistaken.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother!\" Flossy said, and this time the tears began to fall, \"why\n_will_ you talk so? I am sure I try to please you in every way that I\ncan. I did not know that you cared to have me go to parties, unless I\nwanted to go.\"\n\nEither the tears or something else made her brother indignant. \"What a\nscene about nothing,\" he said, irritably. \"Why can't you let Flossy go\nto parties or not, as she pleases? Parties are not such delightful\ninstitutions that she need be expected to be in love with them. I should\nbe delighted if I never had to appear at another. Why not let people\nhave their fun in this world where they choose to find it? If Flossy has\nlately discovered that hers can only be found in prayer-meeting, I am\nsure it is a harmless enough diversion while the fit lasts.\"\n\nMrs. Shipley laughed. Her son could nearly always put her into good\nhumor. Besides, she didn't like to see tears on her baby's face; that\nwas her pet name for Flossy.\n\n\"Oh, I don't know that it makes any serious difference,\" she said; \"not\nenough to spoil your eyes over, Flossy. I don't want you to go out with\nus unless you want to; only it is rather embarrassing to be constantly\narranging regrets for you. Besides, I don't see what it is all coming\nto. You will be a moping, forsaken creature; old before your time, if\nthis continues.\"\n\nAs for Mr. Shipley, he maintained a haughty silence, neither expressing\nan opinion on that subject nor on any other, which would involve him in\na conversation with Flossy. She knew that he was more seriously\ndispleased with her than were any of the others; not so much about the\nparties as about other and graver matters.\n\nCol. Baker was the son of Mr. Shipley's old friend. For this reason, and\nfor several others, Mr. Shipley was very fond of him. It had long been\nin accordance with his plans, that Flossy should become, at some future\ntime, Mrs. Col. Baker, and that the estates of the two families should\nbe thus united.\n\nWhile he was not at all the sort of man who would have interfered to\npush such an arrangement against the preferences of the parties\nconcerned, he had looked on with great and increasing satisfaction,\nwhile the plans of the young people evidently tended strongly in that\ndirection.\n\nThat his daughter, after an absence from home of only two weeks, should\nhave come in contact with that which seemed to change all her tastes and\nviews and plans, in regard to other matters, but which had actually\ncaused her to turn, with a steady and increasing determination, away\nfrom the friend who had been her acknowledged protector and attendant\never since she was a child, was a matter that he did not understand nor\napprove.\n\n\"I am not a tyrant,\" he would say sullenly, when Mrs. Shipley and\nhimself talked the matter over; when she, with the characteristics of a\nmother, even while her child annoyed and vexed her, yet struggled to\nspeak a word for her when a third person came in to blame. \"I never\nordered Flossy to be so exceedingly intimate with Col. Baker that their\nnames have been coupled together ever since she was a baby. I never\ninsisted on her accepting his attentions on all occasions. It was her\nown free will. I own that I was pleased with the inclination she\ndisplayed, and did what I could to make the way pleasant for her, but\nthe thing is not of my planning. What I am displeased with is this\nsudden change. There is no reason for it and no sense in it. It is just\na mere baby performance, a girlish freak, very unpleasant for him and\nvery disagreeable for us. The child ought not to be upheld in it.\"\n\nSo they did their best not to uphold her, and succeeded among them in\nmaking her life very disagreeable to her.\n\nThe matter had culminated on the evening before the party in question.\nCol. Baker, despite the persistent and patient efforts on Flossy's part\nto show him the folly of his course, had insisted on obliging her to\nspeak a decided negative to his earnestly pressed question. The result\nwas, an unusually unpleasant domestic scene, and a general air of gloom\nand unhappiness.\n\nMr. Shipley had not ordered his daughter to marry Col. Baker. He would\nhave been shocked beyond measure at such a proceeding on the part of a\nfather. But he made her so unhappy, with a sense of his disappointment\nand disapproval, that more than once she sighed wearily, and wished in\nher sad little heart that all this living was over.\n\nFinally, they all went off to Mrs. Westervelt's party, and left her\nalone. She had never felt so much alone in her life. The blessed\nmeetings, which had been such a wealth of delight and helpfulness to her\nheart, were closed. The sweet, and holy, and elevating influences that\nhad surrounded her outer life for so long were withdrawn. She missed\nthem bitterly.\n\nIt almost seemed to her as if everything were withdrawn from her.\nFather, and mother, sister, and even her warm-hearted brother, were all\nmore or less annoyed at her course. Charlie had been betrayed into more\npositive sharpness than this favorite sister had ever felt from him\nbefore. He felt that his friend Col. Baker had been ill-treated.\n\nThere was a very sore spot about this matter for Flossy. The truth was,\nshe could not help seeing that in a sense her father was right; she had\nbrought it on herself; not lately, not since her utter change of views\nand aims, but long before that. With what satisfaction had she allowed\nher name to be coupled familiarly with that of Col. Baker; how much she\nhad enjoyed his exclusive attentions; not that she really and heartily\nliked him, with a liking that made her willing to think of him as\nbelonging to her forever; she had chosen, rather, not to allow herself\nto think of any such time; she had contented herself with saying that\nshe was too young to think of such things; that she was not obliged to\nsettle that question till the time came.\n\nBut, mind you, all the time she chose to allow, and enjoy, and encourage\nby her smiles and her evident pleasure in them, very special\nattentions, that gave other people liberty to speak of them almost as\none. To call it by a very plain name, which Flossy hated, and which made\nher cheek glow as she forced herself to say it of herself, she had been\nflirting with Col. Baker. It isn't a nice word; I don't wonder that she\nhated it. Yet so long as young ladies continue to be guilty of the sort\nof conduct that can only be described by that unpleasant and coarse\nsounding word, I am afraid it will be used.\n\nAll that was over now, at least it was over as much as Flossy could make\nit; but there remained an uncomfortable sense that she had wronged a man\nwho honestly loved her; not intentionally--no decent woman does\nthat--but thoughtlessly; so many silly girls do that. She had lost her\ninfluence over him now; rather, she had been obliged to put herself in a\nposition to lose all influence. She might have been his true, faithful\nfriend now, and helped him up to a higher manhood, only by her former\nfolly she had put it out of her power. These were not pleasant\nreflections. Then there was no denying that she felt very desolate.\n\n\"A forlorn friendless creature,\" her mother had said she would become,\nor words to that effect. The thought lingered with her. She looked over\nher list of friends; there was always those three girls, growing dearer\nby every day of association; yet their lives necessarily ran much apart;\nit would naturally grow more and more so as the future came to them.\nThen, too, she was equally intimate with each of them; they were all\nequally dear to her.\n\nNow a woman can not have three friends who shall all fill that one place\nin her heart which she finds. She thought of her home ties; strong they\ncertainly were; growing stronger every day. There were few things that\nshe did not feel willing to do for her father; but the one thing that he\nwanted just now was that she should marry Col. Baker; she could not do\nthat even to please him.\n\nHe would recover from that state of feeling, of course; but would not\nother kindred states of feeling constantly arise, both with him and with\nher mother? Could she not foresee a constant difference of opinion on\nalmost every imaginable topic? Then there was her sister Kitty. Could\nany two lives run more widely apart than hers and Kitty's were likely\nto? Had they a single taste in common?\n\nAs for Charlie, Flossy turned from that subject; it was too sore and too\ntender a spot to be probed. She trembled for Charlie; he was walking in\nslippery places; the descent was growing easier; she felt that rather\nthan saw it; and, she felt, too, that his friend Col. Baker was the\nleader; and she felt, too, that her intimacy with Col. Baker had greatly\nstrengthened his.\n\nNo wonder that the spot was a sore one. Grouping all these things\ntogether and brooding over them, with no sound breaking the silence save\nthe ceaseless drip, drip of the rain, and the whirls of defiant wind,\nsitting there in her loneliness, the large arm-chair in which she\ncrouched being drawn up before that glowing fire, is it any wonder that\nthe firelight revealed the fact that great silent tears were slowly\nfollowing each other down Flossy's round smooth cheek? She felt like a\npitiful, lonely, forsaken baby.\n\nIt was not that she was utterly miserable; she recognized even then the\nthought that she had an almighty, everlasting, unchanging Friend. She\nrejoiced even then at the thought, not as she might have rejoiced, not\nas it was her privilege to do, but I mean she knew that all these\ntrials, and mistakes, and burdens, were but for a moment. She knew that\nto-morrow, when the sun shone again, she would be able to come out from\nbehind these clouds and grasp some of the brightness of her life, and\nendure with patience the little annoyances that were to be borne;\nremembering that she was still very young, and that there was a chance\nfor a great deal of brightness for her, even on this side.\n\nBut, in the meantime, her intensely human heart craved human\ncompanionship and sympathy; craved it to such a degree, that if it had\nnot been for the rain and the darkness, and the growing lateness of the\nhour, she would have gone out then after one of those three girls to\nshare her mood with her.\n\nInto the midst of this state of dismal journeying into the valley of\ngloom there pealed the sound of the bell. It did not startle her; the\ncallers in their circle would be sure to be engaged at the party, and to\nsuppose that she was. Besides, it was hardly an evening for ordinary\ncallers--something as important as a party was, would be expected to\ncall out people to-night. It was some one with a business message for\nfather, she presumed; and she did not arouse from her curled-up position\namong the cushions of that great chair.\n\nHalf listening, half giving attention to her own thoughts, she was\nconscious that a servant came to answer the bell, that the front door\nopened and shut, that there was a question asked and answered in the\nhall. Then she gave over attending to the matter. If she were needed the\ngirl knew she was in the library. Yes, she was to be summoned for\nsomething, to receive the message probably, for the library door quietly\nunclosed.\n\n\"What is it, Katie?\" she asked, in a sort of muffled undertone, to hide\nthe traces of disturbance in her voice, and not turning her head in that\ndirection; she knew there were tears on her cheeks.\n\n\"Suppose it should not be Katie, may any one else come in and tell you\nwhat it is?\" This was the sentence wherewith she was answered. What a\nsudden springing up there was from that chair! Even the tears were\nforgotten; and what a singular ring there was to Flossy's voice as she\nwhirled round to full view of the intruder, and said, \"Oh, Mr. Roberts!\"\n\nNow, dear friends of this little lonely Flossy, are you so stupid that\nyou need to be told that in less than half an hour from that moment she\nbelieved that there could never again come to her an absolutely lonely\nhour? That whatever might come between them, whether of life or of\ndeath, there would be that for each to remember that would make it\nimpossible ever to be desolate again. For there is no desolation of\nheart to those who part at night to meet again in the morning; there may\nbe loneliness and a reaching out after, and sometimes an unutterable\nlonging for the morning, but to those who are sure, _sure_ beyond the\npossibility of a doubt, that the eternal morning _will_ dawn, and dawn\nfor them, there is never again a desolation.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nTHE ADDED NAME.\n\n\nTHAT same evening was fraught with memorable associations to others\nbeside Flossy Shipley. It began in gloom and unusual depression even to\nbright-faced Marion. The day had been a hard one in school. Those of the\nscholars who had been constant attendants at the meetings felt the\ninevitable sense of loneliness and loss that must follow the close of\nsuch unusual means of help.\n\nI have actually heard some Christian people advance this fact, that\nthere was a reaction of loneliness after such meetings closed, as a good\nreason why they were unwise efforts, demoralizing in their results. It\nis a curious fact, that such reasoners are never found to advocate the\nentire separation of family friends on the plea that a reunion followed\nby a separation is demoralizing in its results because it leaves an\nadded sense of loneliness.\n\nIt is, perhaps, to be questioned whether loneliness is, after all,\ndemoralizing in its effects. Be that as it may, many of the scholars\nfelt it. Then there were some among their number who had persistently\nshunned the meetings and their influences, who, now that the opportunity\nwas passed, felt those stings of conscience that are sure to follow\nenlightened minds, who have persisted in going a wrong road.\n\nAlso there were those who had been almost persuaded, and who yet, so far\nas their salvation was concerned, were no nearer it that day than though\nthey had never thought of the matter, for _almost_ never saves a soul.\nAll these influences combined served to make depression the predominant\nfeeling. Marion struggled with it, and tried to be cheerful before her\npupils, but sank into gravity and unusual sadness at every interval\nbetween the busy hours of the day.\n\nLate in the afternoon she had a conversation with one of the girls\nwhich did not serve to encourage her heart. It was the drawing hour.\nLarge numbers of the young ladies in her room had gone to the studio\nwith the drawing master; those few who remained were engaged in copying\ntheir exercises for the next morning's class. Marion was at leisure, her\nonly duty being to render assistance in the matter of copying wherever a\nraised hand indicated that help was needed.\n\nAnswering one of these calls she found herself at the extreme end of the\nlarge room, quite near to Grace Dennis' desk, and in passing she noticed\nthat Gracie, while her book was before her and her pen in hand, was not\nwriting at all, but that her left hand was shading a face that looked\nsad and pale, and covering eyes that might have tears in them. After\nfulfilling her duty to the needy scholar she turned back to Grace.\n\n\"What is it?\" she said, softly, taking the vacant seat by Grace's side,\nand touching tenderly the crown of hair that covered the drooping head.\nGrace looked up quickly with a gleam of sunshine, through which shone a\ntear.\n\n\"It is a fit of the blues, I am almost afraid. I am very much ashamed\nof myself; I don't feel so very often, Miss Wilbur. I think the feeling\nmust be what the girls call blues; I am not sure.\"\n\n\"Do you feel in any degree sure what has caused such a remarkable\ndisease to attack you?\" Marion asked, in a low, tender, yet cheery and a\nhalf-amused tone.\n\nThe words made Gracie laugh, but the tenderness in the tone seemed to\nstart another tear.\n\n\"You will be amused at me, Miss Wilbur, or ashamed of me, I don't know\nwhich. I am ashamed of myself, but I do feel so forlorn and lonely.\"\n\n\"Lonely!\" Marion echoed, with a little start. She realized that she\nherself knew in its fulness what that feeling was, but for Gracie\nDennis, treasured as she was in an atmosphere of fatherly love, it was\nhard to understand it. \"If I had my dear father I don't think I should\nfeel lonely,\" she said gently.\n\n\"I know,\" Grace answered; \"he is the dearest father a girl ever had, but\nthere is only a little bit of him mine, Miss Wilbur. I don't mean that\neither; I am not selfish. I know he loves me with all his heart, but I\nmean his time is so very much occupied that he can only give me very\nlittle bits now and then. It has to be so; it is not his fault. I would\nnot have him any different, even in this; but then if I had a sister,\ndon't you see how different it would be? or even a brother, or,\" and\nhere Gracie's head dropped low, and her voice quivered. \"Miss Wilbur, if\nI had a mother, one who loved me, and would sympathize with me and help\nme, I think I would be the happiest girl in all the world.\"\n\nThere was every appearance that, with a few more words of tender\nsympathy, this young girl would lose all her self-control and be that\nwhich she so much shrank from, an object of general wonderment and\nconversation. Marion felt that she must bestow her sympathy sparingly.\n\n\"I dare say you would give yourself over to a hearty struggle not to\nhate her outright,\" she said, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. The sobs\nwhich were shaking the young girl beside her were suddenly checked.\nPresently Gracie looked up, a gleam half of mirth, half of defiance in\nher handsome eyes. \"I mean a _real_ mother,\" she said.\n\n\"Haven't you one? Doesn't she love her darling and watch over and wait\nfor her coming?\" The voice had taken on its tenderness again. Then,\nafter a moment, Marion added:\n\n\"It is hard to realize, I know, but I believe it, and I look toward that\nthought with all my soul. You remember, Gracie, that I have nothing but\nthat to feed on, no earthly friend to help me realize it.\"\n\nGrace stole a soft hand into her teacher's. \"I wish you would love me\nvery much,\" she said, brightly. \"I wish you would let me love you. Do\nyou know you help me every time you speak to me? and you do it in such\nstrange ways, not at all in the direction that I am looking for help. I\ndo thank you so much.\"\n\n\"Then suppose you prove it to me, by showing what an immaculate copy of\nyour exercise you can hand in to-morrow. Don't you know it is by just\nsuch common-place matters as that, that people are permitted to show\ntheir love and gratitude and all those delightful things? That is what\nglorifies work.\"\n\nAnother clinging pressure of hands and teacher and pupil went about\ntheir duties. But though Marion had helped Gracie she had not helped\nherself, except that in a tired sort of way she realized that it was a\ngreat pleasure to be able to help anybody--most of all, this favorite\npupil. Still the dreariness did not lessen. It went home with her to her\ndingy boarding-house, followed her to the gloomy dining-room and the\nuninviting supper-table.\n\nThe most that was the trouble with Marion Wilbur was, that she was tired\nin body and brain. If people only realized it, a great many mental\ntroubles and trials result from overworked bodies and nerves. Still, it\nmust be confessed that there were few, if any, outside influences that\nwere calculated to cheer Marion Wilbur's life.\n\nYou are to remember how very much alone she was. There were no letters\nto be watched for in the daily mails, no hopeful looking forward if one\nfailed to come, no cheery saying to one's heart, \"Never mind, it will\nsurely come to-morrow.\" This state is infinitely better than the\nhopeless glance one bestows upon the postman, realizing he is nothing to\nthem.\n\nNo friends--father and mother gone so long ago! That of one there was\nno recollection at all, of the other, tender childhood memories, sweet\nand lasting and incomparably precious, but only memories. No sister, no\nbrother, no cousins that had taken the place to her of sisters; only\nthat old uncle and aunt, who were such staid and common and plodding\npeople, that sometimes the very thought of them tired this girl so full\nof life and energy.\n\nGirl I call her, but she had passed the days of her girlhood. Few knew\nit; it was wonderful how young and fresh her heart had kept. That being\nthe case, of course her face had taken the same impress. It was hard for\nRuth Erskine to realize that her friend Marion was really thirteen years\nolder than herself. There were times when Marion herself felt younger\nthan Ruth did.\n\nBut the years were there, and in her times of depression, Marion\nrealized it. So many of them recorded, and yet no friends to whom she\nhad a right, feeling sure that nothing in human experience this side of\ndeath would be likely to come in and take her away from them. The very\nsupper-table at that boarding-house was sufficient to add to her sense\nof desolation.\n\nIt is a pitiful fact that we are such dependent creatures that even the\ncrooked laying of a cloth, and the coffee-stains and milk-stains and\ngravy-stains thereon, can add to our sense of friendlessness. Then, what\nis there particularly consoling or cheering in a cup of weak tea and a\nbit of bread a trifle sour, spread over by butter more than a trifle\nstrong; even though it is helped down by some very dry bits of chipped\nbeef? This was Marion's supper.\n\nThe boarders were, some of them, cross, some of them simply silent and\nhurried, all of them damp, for they were every one workers out in the\ndamp, dreary world; the most of them, in fact, I may say all of them,\nwere very tired; yet many of them had work to do that very evening.\nMarion ate her supper in silence, too; at least she bit at her bread and\ntried to swallow her simpering tea.\n\nWhen her heart was bright and her plans for the evening definite and\nsatisfactory, she could manage the sour bread and strong butter even,\nwith something like a relish, but there was no use in trying them\nto-night. She even tormented herself with the planning of a dainty\nsupper, accompanied by exquisite table arrangements such as she would\nmanage for a sister, say, if she had one--a sister who had been in\nschool all day and was wet and hungry and tired, if she had the room,\nand the table, and the china, and the materials out of which to\nconstruct the supper. She was reasonable enough to see that there were\nmany ifs in the way, but the picture did not make the present supper\nrelish.\n\nShe struggled to rally her weary powers. She asked the clerk next her if\nit had been a busy day, and she told the sewing-girl at her left about a\nlovely bouquet of flowers that one of the girls brought to school, and\nthat she had meant to bring home to her, if it was presented. To be sure\nit was not. But the intention was the same, and the heart of the\nsewing-girl was cheered.\n\nFinally Marion gave over trying to swallow the supper, and assuring\nherself with the determination to go early to bed, and so escape\nfaintness, she went up three flights of stairs to her room.\n\n\"When I am rich and a woman of leisure, I will build a house that shall\nhave pleasant rooms and good bread and butter, and I will board\nschool-teachers and sewing-girls and clerks for a song.\" This she said\naloud.\n\nThen she set about making a bit of blaze, or a great deal of smoke in\nthe little imp of a stove. The stove was small and cracked and rusty,\nand could smoke like a furnace. What a contrast to the glowing\ncoal-grate where Flossy at this hour toasted her pretty cheeks. Yet\nMarion, in her way, was less dismal than Flossy in hers.\n\nIt was not in Marion's nature to shed any tears; instead, she hummed a\nfew notes of a glorious old tune triumphant in every note, trying this\nto rob herself of gloom and cheat herself into the belief that she was\nnot very lonely, and that her life did not stretch out before her as a\ndesolate thing. She did not mean to give herself up to glooming, though\nshe did hover over the little stove and lean her cheek on her hand and\nlook at nothing in particular for a few minutes. What she said when she\nrallied from the silence was simply:\n\n\"What an abominable smoke you can make to be sure, Marion Wilbur, when\nyou try. Hardly any one can compete with you in that line, at least.\"\n\nThen she drew her school reports toward her, intending to make them out\nfor the week thus far, but she scribbled on the fly-leaf with her pencil\ninstead. She wrote her own name, \"Marion J. Wilbur,\" a pretty enough\nname. She smiled tenderly over the initial of \"J\"--nobody knew what that\nwas for.\n\nSuppose the girls knew that it stood for \"Josiah,\" her father's name;\nthat he had named her, after the mother was buried, Marion--that after\nthe mother, Josiah--that after the father, Wilbur--the dear name that\nbelonged to them both; in this way fancying in his gentle heart that he\nlinked this child to them both in a way that would be dear to her to\nremember.\n\nIt was dear; she loved him for it; she thoroughly understood the\nfeeling, but hardly any one else would. So she thought she had never\ngiven them a chance to smile over the queer name her father had given.\nShe could smile herself, but she wanted no one else to do so.\n\nThen she wrote \"Grace L. Dennis.\" What a pretty name that was. She knew\nwhat the \"L\" was for--Lawrence, the family name--Grace's mother's name.\nHer mother, too, had died when she was a wee baby. Gracie remembered\nher, though, and by that memory so much more did she miss her.\n\nMarion knew how that was by her remembrance of her father. All the same\nshe would not have that blotted out, by so much richer was Gracie than\nherself, and then that living, loving father. Marion smiled over the\nfolly of Grace Dennis considering her life a lonely one. \"Yet, I presume\nshe feels it, poor darling,\" she said aloud, and with a sigh. It was\ntrue that every heart knew its own bitterness.\n\nThen she said, \"I really must go to work at these reports. I wonder what\nthe girls are doing this evening? Eurie is nursing her mother, I\nsuppose. Blessed Eurie! mother and father both within the fold, brought\nthere by Eurie's faithful life. Mrs. Mitchell told me so, herself. What\na sparkle that will make in Eurie's crown. I wonder what Ruth meant this\nmorning? Poor child! she has trouble too; different from mine. Why as to\nthat, I really haven't any. Ruth ought to 'count her marcies,' though,\nas old Dinah says. She has a great deal that I haven't. Yes, indeed, she\nhas! I suppose little Flossy is going through tribulation over that\ntiresome party. I wonder why one-half of the world have to exist by\ntormenting the other half? Now, Marion Wilbur, stop scribbling names and\ngo to work.\"\n\nSteady scratching from the old steel pen a few minutes, then a knock and\na message: \"Dr. Dennis wanted to see her a few minutes, if she had\nleisure.\"\n\n\"Dr. Dennis!\" she said, rising quickly and pushing away her papers. \"Oh,\ndear me! where is that class-book of mine? He wants those names, I dare\nsay, and I haven't them ready. I might have been copying them while I\nwas mooning my time away here.\"\n\nThe first words she said to him as she went down to the stuffy\nboarding-house parlor were, \"I haven't them ready, Dr. Dennis; I'm real\nsorry, and it's my fault, too. I had time to copy them, and I just\ndidn't do it.\"\n\n\"I haven't come for them,\" he said smiling and holding out his hand!\n\"How do you do?\"\n\n\"Oh, quite well. Didn't you come for them? I am glad, for I felt\nashamed. Dr. Dennis, don't you see how well one woman can do the work of\ntwenty? Don't you like the way the primary class is managed? Oh, by the\nway, you want that book, don't you? I meant to send it home by Gracie.\"\n\n\"I don't want it,\" he said, laughing this time. \"Are you resolved that I\nmay not call on you without a good and tangible reason? If that be the\ncase, I certainly have one. I want you to sit down here, while I tell\nyou all about it.\"\n\n\"I'm not in the mood for a scolding,\" she said, trying to speak gayly,\nthough there was a curious little tremble to her voice. \"I have been\naway down in the valley of gloom to-day. I believe I am a little\ndemoralized. Dr. Dennis, I think I need a prayer-meeting every evening;\nI could be happier then, I know.\"\n\n\"A Christian ought to be able to have one,\" he said, quickly. \"Two souls\nought to be able to come together in communion with the Master every\nevening. There is a great deal of wasted happiness in this world. I want\nto talk to you about that very thing.\"\n\nDr. Dennis was not given to making long calls on his parishioners; there\nwere too many of them, and he had too little time; but he made an\nunprecedentedly long one on Marion Wilbur.\n\nWhen she went back to her room that night, the fire was gone out\nutterly; not even a smoke remained. She lighted her smoky little\nlamp--there was no gas in the third story--and looked at her watch with\nan amazed air; she had not imagined that it could be nearly 11 o'clock!\nThen she pushed the reports into a drawer and turned the key; no use to\nattempt reports for that evening. As she picked up her class-book, the\nscribbling on the fly-leaf caught her eye again. She smiled a rare,\nrich, happy smile; then swiftly she drew her pencil and added one more\nname to the line. \"Marion Wilbur--Marion J. Wilbur,\" it read. There was\njust room on the line for another word; then it read--\"Marion J. Wilbur\nDennis!\" To be sure, she took her rubber quickly from her pocket and\nobliterated every trace of that last. But what of it? There are words\nand deeds that can not so easily be obliterated; and Marion, as she laid\nher grateful head on her fluffy little pillow that night, was thankful\nit was so, and felt no desire to erase them.\n\nDesolate? Not she; God was very gracious. The brightness that she felt\nsure she could throw around some lives, she knew would have a reflex\nbrightness for her. Then, queerly enough, the very next thing she\nthought of, was that dainty supper she planned for herself, that she\ncould have prepared for a school-teacher, wet, hungry and tired. Why not\nfor a school-girl? If she had no sister to do it for, why not for a\ndaughter? \"Dear little Gracie!\" she said. Then she went to sleep.\n\nMeantime, during that eventful evening Ruth sat in her room, alone, busy\nwith grave and solemn thoughts. Her father was already many miles away.\nHe had gone to see his wife and daughter. Eurie at that same hour was\nbending anxiously over a sick mother, trying to catch the\nfeebly-whispered direction, with such a heavy, heavy pain at her heart.\nBut the same patient, wise, all-powerful Father was watching over and\ndirecting the ways of each of his four girls.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nLEARNERS.\n\n\nALTHOUGH the sense of desolation was gone from Flossy Shipley, she was\nnot without something to be troubled over. As to that, when one sets out\nto be troubled, one can nearly always find an excuse.\n\nFlossy lay awake over hers for hours that night. Mr. Roberts was given\nto keeping more proper hours than those in which party goers indulge. So\nit happened that the library was vacant when the family returned, the\ngas turned low, and the grate carefully supplied with coal to give them\na warm greeting. But the easy chairs before the bright fire told no\ntales of all the pleasant and helpful words that had been spoken there\nthat evening.\n\nSo far as the family knew, Flossy had spent her evening in solitude. But\nthey would come to know it; would have to be introduced to Mr. Roberts;\nthere would have to be a prompt explanation of their interest in each\nother. Flossy meant to have no delays, nor chances for mistakes, this\ntime.\n\nThe momentous question was, how would her father receive the message,\nwhat word would he have for the stranger? She could almost have wished\nthat his coming had been delayed for a few weeks more, until the sore\nsullen feeling over disappointed plans had had time to quiet. But as it\nwas, since Mr. Roberts was to be in the city and she was to see him, she\nwould have no pretense of his being merely a chance acquaintance of her\nChautauqua life, making friendly calls; at least her father should know\nthat they both meant more than that. Whether he would ignore the claims\nthey made, and choose to treat Mr. Roberts as a stranger, Flossy did not\nknow; it seemed more than likely that he would.\n\nAs to that, she could not help owning to herself that he would have very\nplausible reasons for so doing. What was she supposed to know about Mr.\nEvan Roberts? Closely questioned, she would have to admit that she had\nnever heard of his existence till those golden Chautauqua days; that\nalthough she walked and talked much with him during those two weeks,\nthere had been so much to talk about, such vital interests that pressed\nupon them, so many things for her to learn, that they had spent no time\nat all in talking about each other's past.\n\nShe remembered now, that strangely enough she had no idea even at this\nmoment what his business was, except that from some casual remark she\njudged that he was familiar with mercantile life; he might have some\nmoney or he might be very poor, she had not the least idea which it was;\nhe might be of an old and honored family, or his father might have been\na blacksmith, and his mother even now a washer-woman. She admitted to\nherself that she knew nothing at all about it; and she was obliged also\nto admit that so far as she herself was concerned she did not care.\n\nBut Mr. Shipley was very different. Most assuredly he would care. How\ncould he understand why she should be able to feel such perfect trust\nin this stranger? If she should try to tell him of those wonderful\nprayers she had heard from Mr. Robert's lips, what would such evidence\nbe to him? If she should try to tell him how by this man, she had been\nled into the light of love and trust that glowed brighter and stronger\nwith every day, how little information it would give him! What an utter\nmystery would such language be to him!\n\nAs she thought of all these puzzling things, what wonder that she turned\nher pillow many times in search of a spot to rest, and gave a great many\nlong-drawn sighs?\n\nIt so happened that Mr. Roberts, while he had not troubled himself to\nenlighten Flossy as to his position, and prospects, had by no means\nsupposed that her father would be as indifferent to these small matters\nas she was; he had come armed with credentials, and introductions.\nOverwhelming ones they were to Mr. Shipley. He waited for no\nintroductions nor explanations to come from Flossy.\n\nInstead, the very next morning, at the earliest hour that business\netiquette would allow, he sought Mr. Shipley at his business office,\npresented his card and letters, and made known his desire to transact\nmercantile business with him in the name of his firm. And the rich man,\nMr. Shipley, arose and bowed before him.\n\nWas he not a representative? nay, a junior partner of the firm of\nBostwick, Smythe, Roberts & Co.? Names world-renowned among mercantile\nmen. Could human ambition reach higher than to have flattering offers of\nbusiness from that great House? than to be actually sought out by this\nyoung partner, singled from among all the merchant princes of the city,\nas the one to be taken into business confidence!\n\nMr. Shipley's ambitious dreams reached no more dizzy height than this.\n\nMr. Roberts was invited, urged to accept the hospitalities of his home,\nto make the acquaintance of his family, to command his horses, his\ncarriage, his servants, in short, to become one of their family so long\nas he could be prevailed upon to remain in the city.\n\nBut Mr. Roberts had more communications to make; he frankly announced\nthat he was already acquainted with his family, at least with that\nportion of it, which was of enough importance to include all the rest;\nof course, he did not say this to the father, and yet his manner implied\nit, as he meant it should. Mr. Roberts was frank by nature; he no more\nbelieved in concealments of any sort, than did Flossy.\n\nThen and there, he told the story that the two easy chairs in the\nlibrary knew about. He even apologized earnestly for seeking the\ndaughter first. It had not been his intention; he had meant to call on\nthe family; but they were absent, and he found Miss Flossy alone.\nAnd--well, if Mr. Shipley had been particular, as assuredly he would\nhave been, if Mr. Roberts had not been of the firm of Bostwick, Smythe,\nRoberts & Co. it might have been embarrassing to have explained the very\nprecipitate result of his call.\n\nBut, as it was, Mr. Shipley was so amazed and so bewildered, and so\noverwhelmed, with delighted pride, that he would almost have forgiven\nthe announcement that Mr. Roberts was already his son-in-law, without\nleave or license from him. As it was, all the caution had to be on Mr.\nRobert's side. He asked that letters might be sent to his\nbrother-in-law, Mr. Smythe, to his father, Mr. James Roberts, proving,\nnot his financial standing, the unmistakable knowledge of the private\naffairs of the firm that had established him there, but of his moral\ncharacter, and his standing in the Christian world.\n\nDo you believe that Mr. Shipley felt the necessity? Not he! Had he not\nbeen willing more than that, anxious that his daughter's fortune should\nbe linked with Col. Baker's? Did he not know what was Col. Baker's\nstanding in the moral and Christian world? After all, is it any wonder,\nwhen there are such fathers that many daughters make shipwreck of their\nlives? As for Mr. Roberts, he was almost indignant:\n\n\"The man would actually sell her, if by that means he could be\nrecognized in business by our house.\"\n\nIf it had been any other young man than himself, who was in question,\nhow his indignation would have blazed at such proceedings! But since it\n_was_ himself, he decided to accept the situation.\n\nAs for Flossy, she did not look at the matter in that light; when she\nfound that all the perplexities and clouds had been so suddenly and so\nstrangely smoothed and cleared from before her way, she thought of\nthose hours of wakeful anxiety that she had wasted the night before; and\nof how, finally, she had made her heart settle back on the watchful care\nand love of the Father who was so wise and so powerful, and in the quiet\nof her own room, she smiled, as she said aloud:\n\n\"'Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him, and he shall bring it\nto pass.' How much pleasanter it would have been to have committed it in\nthe first place, before I wearied my heart with worrying over what I\ncould not lift my finger to make different!\"\n\nSo in less time than it has taken me to tell it, the rough places\nsmoothed suddenly before Flossy Shipley's feet. She was free now, to go\nto parties, or to prayer-meetings, or to stay at home according to her\nown fancy, for was she not the promised wife of a partner of the firm of\nBostwick, Smythe, Roberts & Co.?\n\nIt transpired that Mr. Roberts had come to make a somewhat extended stay\nin the city, to look after certain business affairs connected with the\nfirm, and also to look after certain business interests of the great\nMaster, whose work he labored at with untiring persistence, always\nplacing it above all other plans, and working at it with a zeal that\nshowed his heart was there.\n\nFlossy, during these days, took great strides as a learner in Christian\nwork. Among other things, she was let into the mysteries of some of the\ngreat and systematic charities of the city, and found what wonderful\nthings God's wealth could do, placed in the hands of careful and\nconscientious stewards. She had thought at first that it made no\ndifference at all to her, whether Mr. Roberts had to work for his daily\nbread, or whether he had means at his disposal; but very early in her\nacquaintance with him she learned to thank God, that great wealth had\nbeen placed in his hands, and so, was to be at her disposal, and that\nshe was learning how to use it.\n\nSome of her new experiences had their embarrassing side. Mr. Roberts had\nbeen but a few days in the city, when he had certain proteges which\ncircumstance had thrown in his way, in whom he became deeply interested.\nOne of these, he engaged to take Flossy to visit.\n\n\"They are very poor,\" he had said to her, supposing that thereby he\nenlightened her.\n\nNow Flossy had small knowledge in that direction. There was a certain\nold lady living at the extreme east end who had once been a servant in\ntheir family, and Flossy's nurse. In her, Flossy was much interested,\nand had been often to see her. She kept house in a bit of a room that\nwas always shining with cleanliness; her floor was covered with bright\nrag carpeting; her bed was spread with a gay covered quilt, and her\nlittle cook stove glistened, and the bright teakettle sputtered\ncheerily. This was Flossy's idea of poverty.\n\nTherefore, when she arrayed herself for a wintry walk with Mr. Roberts,\nthere was to her mind no incongruity between the rich black silk, the\nvelvet cloak, the elegant laces, and costly furs, and the \"very poor\nfamily\" she was about to visit. Why should there be? She had trailed\nthat same silk over old Auntie Green's bright colored rag carpet a good\nmany times without experiencing any discomfort therefrom.\n\nAs for Mr. Roberts, he regarded her with a half amused smile which she\ndid not observe, and said nothing. Probably he had an idea that she\nwould soon be wiser than she was then.\n\n\"It is too far to walk,\" he said, as they reached a point where street\ncars diverged in many directions; so he hailed a passing car, and during\nthe talk that followed, Flossy was conveyed to a portion of the city she\nnot only had never seen before, but that she did not know existed.\n\nShe looked about her in dismay as she stepped down from the car, and\nduring the short rapid walk that followed, had all she could do to\nrescue her silken robes from contact with awful filth, and to keep her\ndainty handkerchief applied to her poor little nose. Rapidly and\nsilently they made their way to a long, high building, whose filthy\noutside stairs they descended and found themselves in a cellar the like\nof which Flossy had never dreamed of.\n\nA dreadful pile of straw covered over by a tattered and horribly dirty\nrag that had once been a quilt, on this bed lay a child not yet ten\nyears old, whose deathly pale face and glassy eyes told the story of\nhopeless sickness. No pillow on which to lay the poor little head with\nits tangled masses of yellow hair, nothing anywhere that told of care\nbestowed or necessary wants attended to. Over in another corner on\nanother filthy heap of straw and rags, lay the mother, sick too; with\nthe same absence of anything like decency in everything that pertained\nto her.\n\nUtter dismay seized upon Flossy. Could it be possible that human beings,\nbeings with souls, for whose souls her blessed Saviour died, were left\nto such awful desolation of poverty as this! Mr. Roberts promptly turned\nupside down an old tub that was used to doing duty as a chair, and\nseated her thereon, while he went forward to the woman.\n\n\"Have you had your dinner to-day?\" was the first question he asked.\n\n\"Yes, I have; and thank you kindly, too,\" she added gratefully. \"The\nwoman took the money and bought meat as you told her, and made a broth,\nand I and the little girl had some; it was good. The little girl took\nquite a few spoonfuls of it and said it tasted good; it did me more good\nto hear her say that, than it did to eat mine,\" the poor mother said,\nand a wistful motherly look went over to the heap of rags in the corner.\n\n\"I am glad that she could eat it,\" he said simply. Then he further told\nthat he had been arranging for some things to be brought to make both\nof them more comfortable; they would be here soon, could the woman who\nmade the broth come in and attend to them?\n\nThe sick woman shook her head. She was gone for the day: would not be\nback till dark, then would have to get her children's supper, and do her\nwashing that very night. \"She's _awful_ poor,\" the woman added with a\nheavy sigh. \"We are all of us that; if I could get up again, I could do\nsomething for my little girl I most know I could, but, as it is--\" And\nthen there was that hopeless sigh.\n\nMeantime Flossy, after sitting with a distressed and irresolute face for\na few minutes, had suddenly risen from her tub and gone over to the\nlittle girl. Bending beside her they had talked together in a low voice,\nand as Mr. Roberts turned to see if she had endured the scene as long as\nher nerves would admit, she turned towards him and there was more\ndecision in her voice than he had ever heard before.\n\n\"Mr. Roberts, can you find some clean water for this basin, and haven't\nyou a large handkerchief with you? This poor child must have her face\nwashed. She says her head aches very badly; that will help it. And Mr.\nRoberts, can't you go out immediately to the store and get some clothes\nfor this bed, and a pillow, don't they have such things in stores?\"\n\n\"I have seen to that,\" he said; \"there will be some bed clothing here,\nand other necessaries very soon; but how can we manage to have the beds\nmade up? I have ordered bedsteads and mattresses, and bed clothing has\nbeen prepared; but I have failed thus far in getting anyone to help\narrange them?\"\n\n\"Can't you set up a bedstead?\" asked Miss Flossy.\n\n\"Why, I think I could,\" he answered her meekly.\n\n\"Very well, then, I can make the beds. As for the child, she must have a\nbath and a clean dress before she is ready for any bed. I can tell you\njust what to do, Mr. Roberts; you must go down to the east end, No. 217\nSouth Benedict Street and find my old Auntie Green, and tell her that\nshe is needed here just as soon as she can get here; tell her I want\nher; it will be all right then. In the meantime, this child's face must\nbe washed and her hair combed. I see there is a kettle behind that\nstove, could you manage to fill it with water, and then could you make\na better fire? Then, I can stay here and do a good many things while you\nare gone.\"\n\nWhile our little Flossy was talking, she was removing her lavendar kid\ngloves, and pinning up out of sight her lace ruffles. Then she produced\nfrom some one of the bewildering and dainty pockets that trimmed her\ndress, a plain, hemstitched handkerchief, which she unceremoniously\ndropped into the tin basin, and announced herself all ready for the\nwater.\n\n\"But, Flossy,\" said her embarrassed attendant in dismay, \"you can't do\nthese things, you know; wouldn't it be better to come with me, and we\nwill go after this Auntie Green and tell her just what to do, and\nfurnish the means to do it with. You know you are not used to anything\nof this kind.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" she said quietly. \"I never knew there was anything like\nthis in the world; I am bowed in the very dust with shame and dismay.\nThere is very little that I know how to do, but I can wash this poor,\nneglected child's face. Go right away, please; there is no time to lose\nI am sure.\"\n\nWhat swift deft fingers she had to be sure. He could not help stopping\nfor a moment in his bewilderment to watch her; then he went, and meekly\nand swiftly did her bidding. There was much done during that afternoon.\nMr. Roberts quietly sinking into the errand man who was useful, chiefly\nbecause he could promptly do as he was told; and he felt with every\nadditional direction and with every passing moment an increased respect\nfor the executive abilities of the little girl, whom he had looked\nforward to rousing by degrees to a sense of the importance of this work,\nand gradually to a participation in other than the money charities of\nthe day.\n\nWhen they went away from that door, as they ascended the filthy stairs\nagain, she said:\n\n\"What an awful thought that human beings exist in such places as this,\nand that I did not know it and have done nothing for them!\" She was\ncertainly not exhausted, not overcome with the stench and the filth,\nthough there was water dripping at that moment from her rich silk dress.\nShe noticed it, and as she brushed off the drops, she said:\n\n\"Evan, if you knew, I wonder that you did not tell me to wear my\nChautauqua dress. I shall know better next time. I must have that poor\nlittle girl cured; there are ever so many things to do, oh Evan, you\nmust teach me how.\"\n\n\"You need no teacher,\" he said softly, almost reverently, \"other than\nthe divine Teacher whom you have had. I am become a learner.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nFLOSSY'S PARTY.\n\n\nMARION on her way from school, had stopped in to learn, if she could,\nwhat shadow had fallen over Ruth. But before anything like confidence\nhad been reached, Flossy Shipley, came, full of life and eagerness.\n\n\"I am so glad to find two of you together,\" she said, \"it expedites\nmatters so much. Who do you think can be going to give a party next?\"\n\n\"A party!\" said Marion, \"I am sure I don't know. I am prepared for any\nsort of news on that subject; one would think there had been a party\nfamine for years, and lost time was to be made up, to see the manner in\nwhich one entertainment crowds after another, since the meetings\nclosed. It is a mercy that I am never invited, it would take all my\nleisure, and a great deal of note paper to prepare regrets. Who is it?\"\n\n\"I haven't the least idea that you could guess, so I am going to tell\nyou; it's just myself.\"\n\nBoth of her listeners looked incredulous.\n\n\"I am,\" she said, gleefully. \"I am at work on the arrangements now as\nhard as I can be; and Marion Wilbur, you needn't go to talking about\nnote paper and regrets; you are to come. I shall have to give up Eurie,\nand I am sorry too, she would have helped along so much; but of course\nshe cannot leave her mother.\"\n\n\"How is her mother?\" asked both girls at once.\n\n\"Oh, better; Nellis says the doctor feels very hopeful, now; but of\ncourse, Eurie doesn't leave her, and cannot for a long time. Nellis\nMitchell is a splendid fellow. How strange it is that his interest in\nreligious matters should have commenced with that letter which Eurie\nsent him from Chautauqua, before she had much interest herself.\"\n\n\"Nobody supposed that he had, I am sure,\" Ruth said; \"I thought him the\nmost indifferent of mortals.\"\n\n\"So did I, and would never have thought to pray for him at all, if Eurie\nhad not asked me to, specially. Did you know he led the young people's\nmeeting last evening? Did splendidly, Grace Dennis said. By the way,\nisn't Grace Dennis lovely? Marion, don't you think she is the most\ninteresting young lady in your room?\"\n\n\"I think you don't enlighten us much in regard to that party,\" Marion\nsaid, her cheeks growing red under that last question.\n\n\"I ought to be on my way; my tea will be colder than usual if I don't\nhasten; what scheme have you now, Flossy, and what do you want to do\nwith it?\"\n\n\"Ever so many things; you know my boys? Well, they are really young men;\nand anyone can see how they have improved. Some of them have real good\nhomes, to be sure; but the most of them are friendless sort of boys.\nNow, I want to get them acquainted; not with the frippery people who\nwould have nothing to do with them, but with some of our real splendid\nboys and girls who will enjoy helping them. I'm going to have the\nnicest little party I ever had in my life; I mean to have some of the\nvery best people there; then I shall have some of the silly ones, of\ncourse; partly because I can't help it, and partly because I want to\nshow them what a nice time reasonable beings can have together, if they\nchoose. Nellis Mitchell is enlisted to help me in ever so many ways, and\nMr. Roberts will do what he can, but you know he is a stranger. My great\ndependence is on you two. I want you to see to it, that my boys don't\nfeel lonely or out of place one single minute during the entire\nevening.\"\n\n\"But I am afraid I shall feel lonely, and out of place,\" Marion said;\n\"you know I am never invited to parties.\"\n\nFlossy laughed.\n\n\"Wouldn't it be a strange sight to see you feeling out of place?\" she\nasked, gaily. \"Marion, I can't conceive of a place to which you wouldn't\ndo credit.\"\n\nWhereupon Marion arose and made a low courtesy.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, in mock gravity. \"I never had a compliment\nbefore in my life; I shall certainly come; there is nothing like a\nlittle flattery to win people.\"\n\n\"Don't be nonsensical,\" pleaded Flossy; \"I am really in earnest. Ruth, I\nmay depend upon you? I know you are not going to entertainments this\nwinter, but mine is to be a small one, compared with the others; and you\nknow it will be unlike any that we have had at our house.\"\n\nRuth hesitated.\n\n\"When is it to be?\" she asked, her cheeks glowing over her own thoughts.\n\"I shall be engaged on Friday evening of next week.\"\n\n\"It is to be on Wednesday.\"\n\n\"Then I will come. And if I play, Marion, will you sing to entertain the\nunusual guests?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Marion said, promptly. \"I never sang in company in my life;\nbut do you suppose there is anything I will not do for Flossy's guests,\nafter what she has just said? Only, Flossy, I shall have to wear my\nblack cashmere.\"\n\n\"Wear your brown calico, if you choose; you look royal in it,\" Flossy\nsaid, turning a beaming face on Marion. She had heard her sing, she\nknew what a rare musical treat it would be to those boys of hers. So\nthis was Flossy's last departure from the beaten track.\n\nThose who are familiar with the imperative laws and lines which\ncircumscribe the fashionable world will realize just how marked a\ndeparture it was. It was a remarkable party. The very highest and most\nsought after of the fashionable world were there, a few of them, and\nJohn Warden was there in his new business suit of grey, looking and\nfeeling like a man.\n\nFlossy's boys were all present, and those who knew of them and their\nassociations and advantages, marvelled much at their ease of manner and\nperfect propriety of behaviour. How could they have learned so much?\nFlossy did not know, herself, but the boys did.\n\nHer exquisite grace of manner, her perfect observance of all the rules\nand courtesies of polite society in her intercourse with them, had\nproduced its legitimate fruit; had instinctively inclined them to be\nable to treat her with the same sort of grace which she freely and\neverywhere bestowed on them.\n\nHad she not met them on the street, in the very heart of Broadway when\nshe was walking with some of her fashionable friends? Had she not taken\npains to recognize them with a specially cordial bow, and if near\nenough, with a deliberate speaking of their names, being sure to\nslightly emphasize the unusual prefix \"Mr.\"\n\nThese and a hundred other kindred trifles, so small that they are not\nnoted among the qualifications for Sabbath-school teachers, so powerful\nfor good, that they often turn the current of a human life, had been\ncarefully regarded by Flossy, and to-night she was triumphant over her\nsuccess. She had not only helped her boys to be true to their\nconvictions of right and dignity, not only to take on true manliness of\ndecision in regard to the all important question of personal religion,\nshe had helped them to be gentlemen. There is many a faithful teacher to\nwhom, thinking of these minor matters, it might be said:\n\n\"These ought ye to have done, and not to have left the other undone.\"\n\nFrom first to last, Flossy's party was a success. To Ruth and Marion it\nwas a study, developing certain curious features which they never\nforgot. Marion had her own private bit of interest that not another\npresent, save Gracie Dennis knew about. She was not a party goer. Even\nso small a gathering as this, was new to her. She looked upon all these\npeople with a keen interest; many of them she was meeting for the first\ntime. That is, she was being introduced to them, and receiving their\nkindly greetings; for Flossy had succeeded in gathering only those, who\nwhatever they might think of her choice of guests, were much too well\nbred to exhibit other than pleasure while they were her guests.\n\nBut only Marion knew that she was destined to meet these people again,\nand probably often, under different circumstances; the probability was\nthat many of them would be her own guests, would receive and return her\ncalls, would fall into the habit of consulting her in regard to this or\nthat matter of church interest that would come up; not one of them\ndreamed of such a thing; and when she tried to lead them into\nconversation on matters pertaining to the church interests, they looked\ntheir surprise that she should have such intelligent knowledge\nconcerning these matters.\n\nAltogether it was an evening full of private fun on her part. There was\nto be such a curious turn about of position, she realized so fully that\nit would be such unutterable surprise to the people, that it was\nimpossible not to feel amused, and to treasure up certain words and\nphrases that would sound very queerly to the speakers thereof, if they\nremembered them when those said changes became manifest to the eyes of\nthe world.\n\nThere was more than fun to be gotten out of the evening; she watched the\nyoung people with eager interest. She was to be a great deal to these\nyoung people; she must try to understand them, to win them. She wanted\nto be a help, a comfort, a guide. She had wonderful plans and aims. She\nblessed Flossy in her heart for this opportunity to study her lesson\nbefore it should be time to practise it.\n\nThat same Flossy afforded her help in another direction. There was no\nhiding the hold that she had gotten, not only on those young men of her\nclass, but those of their friends that they had brought within her\ninfluence. There was no disguising the fact, that among the young ladies\nshe was a favorite; one whom they liked to have among them, whom they\nliked to please. How had she done it all?\n\n\"I can never be Flossy,\" Marion said to herself, an amused smile\nhovering around her lips meanwhile, at the thought that she should have\na shadow of desire to become their little Flossy. \"But it is worth while\nto steal her secret of success, if I can, and practise it.\"\n\nClose watching revealed a good deal of the secret; as much of it at\nleast as could be put into words. Evidently the little lady had the\npower of making other people's interests her own for the time being; of\nimpressing the one with whom she came in contact, with a sense of his\nown importance, in her eyes; at least she was interested in what he said\nand did, and in what interested him. She could enter into the minute\ndetails of a matter which did not concern her in the least, with such\napparent interest and desire to know all that was to be known about it,\nthat one could hardly help the feeling that certainly the subject was\nworthy of attention.\n\nThen her face spoke for her; it could cloud in an instant in sympathy\nwith any sort of trouble or anxiety, and sparkle with happy smiles in\nthe very next second over some bit of brightness that was mentioned.\n\n\"She is a blessed little hypocrite, and that is the whole of it,\" was\nMarion's mental comment. \"That sort of hypocrisy is worth studying. It\nis as natural to Flossy as that lovely pink on her cheek; but I am\nafraid I should have to acquire it; I don't feel interested in other\npeople's affairs; now, that is a fact. Why should she? In the first\nplace, I know it is natural for her to like to please people; that is\nthe beginning of it; she has that advantage over me, for she was always\nso, and I always _wasn't_ so. But she has something else; she did not\ncare once to please such as these rough boys of hers, at least they were\nrough when she started the refining process; how she had worked for\nthem; I never realized it so much as to-night. It is just this: she has\nsanctified her power of pleasing, and put it to a grand use in fishing\nfor souls. Meantime, I have some degree of power of that kind, though it\ndoesn't show in the same way. But I am not sure I have thought of it,\nwith a view to using it for such work; also, I dare say one can\ncultivate an interest in other people if they try. I mean to try. I\nknow one way in which I can please people, I can sing.\"\n\nWhereupon she immediately sought Ruth and proposed music, herself going\nafter Rich. Johnson to come and sing tenor, and bidding him bring a\nfriend to sing bass. Then such music as they had that evening, was\ncertainly never heard at a party at Mr. Shipley's house before.\n\nThe music room was a little bower of a spot at the left of the parlors.\nIt was not only the music room but the flower room; at least there were\nvines and plants and blooming flowers in the windows, festooning the\ncurtains, hanging from lovely wire baskets, a profusion everywhere.\nThither went Ruth, Marion, and the two young men who went in silence\nfrom very astonishment over this new invitation. In silence and\nembarrassment, believing in their hearts that they could not sing at\nall. As for Marion, she knew better. She had stood near them in\nSunday-school.\n\nRuth swept the piano clear of all sheet music and substituted the Bliss\nand Sankey Gospel hymns, and Marion passed a book to each, naming a\npage, and instantly her full, grand voice joined Ruth's music. Very\nfaint were the tenor and bass accompaniments; but as the first verse\nclosed and they entered upon the second, the melody had gotten\npossession of their hearts, and they let out their voices without\nknowing it, so that when the piece was ended, Marion turned with a\nbright face, and said:\n\n\"I haven't enjoyed a song so much in years. What a splendid tenor you\nsing, Mr. Johnson.\" To herself she said: \"There! I'm improving; I\nhonestly think that. But twenty-four hours ago, I should have kept it to\nmyself. It isn't hypocrisy, after all: it is sincerity.\"\n\nAnother, and another piece was tried, the music room meantime filling;\nfor Flossy had brought in her train others of the boys. And at last, as\nthe last verse of \"Hold the Fort\" rang out, Marion turned from the piano\nto discover that utmost silence prevailed in the rooms where chatter had\nbeen before, and every available place in and about the music room was\nfilled with hushed listeners, while those who could not get in, sat or\nstood outside in silence and wrapt attention. Such music as that at a\nparty they had never heard before.\n\n\"You and I are a success, I think,\" Marion said brightly, as she linked\nher hand in Ruth's arm, when they left the piano.\n\n\"We are doing our duty beautifully.\"\n\n\"Are you complimenting yourself because you are afraid no one will\nperform that office?\" Ruth asked, laughing.\n\n\"No, I'm doing it because I have begun to be sincere. I've made a\ndiscovery to-night. Ruth, it is you and I who are hypocritical, in\nrefusing to say what we think about people, when it would sound real\nnicely, and would doubtless make them feel pleasanter and happier.\"\n\nMeantime, Ruth had her lesson also that she had been learning. What a\ntrial parties had always been to her! How haughtily she had stood aloof\nenduring with annoyed heart, and oftentimes with curling lip,\nsillinesses that she could not avoid, listening to conversations and\njoining in monosyllables when obliged to do so, that drove her to the\nvery verge of patience, not once imagining that there was any help for\nher, any hope of stemming the current, or in any way changing the\naccepted course of things.\n\nShe was learning. Several times during the evening it had been her\nfortune to stand near Evan Roberts and join in the conversation which\nhe was carrying on. Each time she was amazed and thrilled to see with\nwhat consummate skill and tact he turned the current of thought towards\nthe vital question of personal religion. Always with an easy familiarity\nof expression that made one feel and realize that to him it was a matter\nof course, and as natural to be talked about, as the sunshine or the\nmoonlight.\n\nWondering over this peculiarity of his, once as they talked together she\nreferred to it.\n\n\"I can conceive of parties being less of a trial to you than to many of\nus, because of the ability you have of turning the conversation to some\naccount.\"\n\nHe smiled brightly. \"They are not,\" he said. \"I have often looked\nforward to an evening gathering with eager interest and thankfulness,\nbecause of the opportunity for meeting some there whom I could not catch\nelsewhere and saying a word for my Master. But, Miss Erskine, you speak\nof 'ability,' I simply use my tongue on that subject as on any other\nworthy of thought.\"\n\n\"But don't you think it requires a peculiar sort of tact to be able to\nbring in such subjects in a manner calculated to do any good?\"\n\nHe shook his head, \"I should say rather, it required a sincere heart,\nand an earnest desire to interest a soul. We depend too much on tact and\ntoo little on God's spirit. 'Open thy mouth and I will fill it,' is a\npromise that applies to more places than a prayer-meeting, I think. What\nwe need most to overcome is the idea that there is anything wicked in\ntalking about religion in an everyday tone, as we talk about other\ntopics of absorbing interest.\"\n\n\"There are different ways of going to parties,\" Ruth said to herself in\na musing tone as she turned from him, and she wondered if she could ever\nget to feel that she might even go to a party occasionally, with the\nglory of God in view. This started a train of thought that made her turn\nsuddenly back to Mr. Roberts with a question.\n\n\"That doctrine wouldn't lead you to be a constant frequenter of parties,\nwould it?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"By no means. And there are parties many of them, which, as a Christian\nman, I could not attend at all. We must guard against a temptation to do\nevil, that good may come.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nA PARTING GLANCE.\n\n\nDR. DENNIS and his friend, the Rev. Mr. Harrison met again at the street\ncorner; they stopped and shook hands, as they always did, even if they\nchanced to meet three times in one day.\n\n\"Meetings closed?\" questioned Mr. Harrison, after the preliminary words\nhad been spoken. \"What a glorious time you have had! Such a pity that\nour flocks are so far apart! If we could have united with you in regular\nattendance, it would have been a great blessing; as it was, many a drop\ncame to us.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dr. Dennis said, \"we have had a great blessing; and I need not\nuse the past tense, the work is going on yet, although the meetings do\nnot continue. The work will continue forever, I believe; the truth is,\nwe have had a new baptism, the members who came to us early in the fall,\ncame filled with the Spirit, and have worked as no other members of mine\never did.\"\n\n\"You mean your Chautauqua reinforcement, don't you?\"\n\n\"Indeed I do; I thank God for Chautauqua every day of my life. What a\ndreadful blunder I made when I limited the power of God in the way I did\nwhen we talked that matter over! you remember?\"\n\n\"I remember,\" Mr. Harrison said with a peculiar laugh; \"It was a\nwonderful meeting, but then, after all, were they not rather peculiar\nyoung ladies? It isn't every lady who even after she is converted, lives\njust the sort of life that they are living.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Dr. Dennis said; \"Yes, they are unusual, I think; especially\none of them,\" was his mental addition.\n\n\"Especially one of them,\" murmured Mr. Harrison in his heart; and each\ngentleman smiled consciously, neither having the slightest idea what the\nother meant by the smile.\n\nMarion Wilbur came down the street with her hands full of school books.\n\n\"Good-evening,\" said Dr. Dennis; \"How do you do this evening? Mr.\nHarrison, do you know this lady? She is one of my flock.\"\n\nNo, Mr. Harrison did not know her; and introductions followed. After she\npassed by, Mr. Harrison said, \"I think you told me once that she had\nbeen an infidel?\"\n\n\"It was a mistake,\" Dr. Dennis said, hastily. \"She had peculiar views,\nand I think she imagined herself at one time an unbeliever; but she is\nreally wonderfully well grounded in the doctrines of the church; she is\nlike an old Christian.\"\n\nMany of Dr. Dennis' people were abroad; the next passer by was Eurie\nMitchell; the doctor stopped her. \"One minute, Miss Eurie, how is your\nmother to-night? Mr. Harrison, do you know Miss Mitchell, the doctor's\ndaughter?\"\n\nYes, Mr. Harrison had met Miss Mitchell before. In the fast coming dusk,\nDr. Dennis failed to see the flush of embarrassment on his friend's\ncheek, as he acknowledged the introduction.\n\n\"She is a grand girl,\" Dr. Dennis said, looking after her. \"Her\ndevelopment is wonderful; more marked of late, I think, than before.\nWell, as you say, they were unusual girls, but I tell you, we as pastors\nhave reason to say: 'God bless Chautauqua.'\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said Mr. Harrison, and Dr. Dennis thought him unusually earnest\nand intense, especially when he added:\n\n\"I propose we go next year, and take with us as many of our respective\nflocks as we can beguile into it.\"\n\n\"Aye, that we will,\" Dr. Dennis answered; then the two gentlemen went on\ntheir respective ways.\n\nIt was a large city, and they were both busy ministers, and lived far\napart, and met but seldom, except in their ministerial meetings; there\nwas chance for each to have interests that the other knew nothing about.\n\nMarion reached home just in time for supper; the table appointments at\nthat home were not improving; indeed, there were those who said, that\nthe bread grew sourer every week; this week, it had added to its\nsourness, stickiness, that was horrible to one's fingers and throat. The\ndried fruit that had been half stewed, was sweetened with brown sugar,\nand the looking over process, so necessary to dried fruit, had been\nwholly neglected.\n\nBut Marion ate her supper, almost entirely unconscious of these little\ndefects; that is, she accepted them as a matter of course and looked\nserene over it. Things were not as they had been on that rainy evening,\nwhen it had seemed to her that she could never, no _never_ eat another\nsupper in that house; then, it seemed probable that in that house, or\none like unto it, she would have to eat all the suppers that this dreary\nlife had in store for her; but now, the days were growing fewer in which\nthis house would be called her home.\n\nNo one knew it; at least, no one but herself and two others. She looked\naround on her fellow boarders with a pitying smile; that little\nsewing-girl at her left, how _many_ such suppers would she have to eat!\n\n\"She shall have a nice one every now and then, see if she doesn't,\" was\nMarion's mental conclusion, with a nod of her glad head; there were so\nmany nice things to be done! Life was so bright.\n\nHadn't Gracie Dennis whispered to her this very afternoon:\n\n\"Miss Wilbur, one of these days I shall hate to come to school, I shall\nwant to stay at home.\"\n\nAnd she answered softly, surreptitiously kissing the glowing cheek\nmeanwhile:\n\n\"The teacher who reigns here shall be your special friend. And you are\nto bring her home with you to lovely little teas that shall be waiting\nfor you.\"\n\nThis matter of \"teas\" had gotten a strong hold on Marion. Perhaps,\nbecause in no other way had a sense of unhomelike loneliness pressed\nupon her, as at that time when families generally gathered together in\npretty homes.\n\nShe went up, presently, to her dingy room. Just every whit as dingy now,\nas it had been on that rainy evening, but she gave no thought at all to\nit. She lighted her fire, and sat down to her writing; not reports\nto-night. She must write a letter to Aunt Hannah; a brief letter it\nwas, but containing a great deal. This was it:\n\n          \"DEAR AUNT HANNAH:--\n\n          \"Don't you think, I am going to be married! Now,\n          you never expected that of me, did you? Neither\n          did I, but that is the way the matter stands. Now,\n          the question is: May I come home to the wedding?\n          The old farm-house is all the home I have, you\n          know. I hope you will let us come; I am giving you\n          plenty of notice; we shall not want to come until\n          after the spring term; one of us wants to be there\n          by the seventeenth of June, I thought I ought to\n          tell you before the spring house-cleaning. Let me\n          hear from you as soon as you can, so that I may\n          know how to plan.\n\n          \"I could be married in the church, I presume, but\n          I feel, and the other one concerned feels so\n          too,--that I would like to go back to the old\n          farm-house. We won't make much trouble, nor have\n          any fuss, you know.\n\n          \"Dear Aunt Hannah, I am so glad the money gave you\n          comfort. Then I am so _very_ glad that you thought\n          about that other matter of which I wrote; that is\n          the greatest and best thing to have in the world.\n          I think so now, when I am on the eve of other\n          blessings; that one stands before them all. The\n          gentleman whom I am to marry is a minister. He is\n          very good.\n\n          \"Aunt Hannah I shall want your advice about all\n          sorts of sewing when I come home. I shall come in\n          May, that is, if you let me come at all. I hope\n          you will. Give my love to Uncle Reuben. My friend\n          sends his respects to you both.     Lovingly,\n                                         \"Marion J Wilbur.\"\n\n\nShe had a fondness during those days, for writing out that name in full.\n\nA gentle tap at the door being answered, admitted Flossy Shipley.\n\n\"You darling!\" said Marion, brightly, as she gave her eager greeting.\n\"How nice of you to come and see me when you have so much to think of.\nFlossy where is Mr. Roberts? Why don't you bring him to call on me?\"\n\n\"He hasn't time to call on anybody,\" Flossy said, with a mixture of\npride, and a sort of comic pettishness.\n\n\"He has so many poor families on his hands; he and I have been out all\nday. Marion you have no idea at all of the places where we have been! I\ndo think there ought to be an organized system of charity in our church;\nsomething different from the hap-hazard way of doing things that we\nhave. Mr. Roberts says, that in New York, their church is perfectly\norganized to look after certain localities, and that no such thing as\nutter destitution can prevail in their section. Don't you think Dr.\nDennis would be interested in such an effort.\"\n\n\"He will be interested in anything that is good,\" Marion said, with\nunusual energy even for her.\n\nFlossy turned her pretty head towards her, and eyed her curiously.\n\n\"You like him better than you did; don't you, Marion?\"\n\n\"Didn't I always like him,\" Marion asked, with averted face and a laugh\nin her voice.\n\n\"Oh, you used to think him stiff, and said you felt all shut up in his\npresence. Don't you remember our first call at his study?\"\n\n\"I think I do,\" Marion answered, bursting into a merry laugh. \"Ever so\nmany things have happened since then, little Flossy!\"\n\n\"Haven't there!\" said innocent Flossy.\n\n\"It has been such a wonderful year! dating from that day when it rained\nand you _made_ me go, do you remember, Marion? Do you ever get to\nwondering what would have been, if we had just stayed on here at home,\ngoing to our parties and getting up festivals, and all that, and paying\nno attention to the Chautauqua meetings?\"\n\n\"I don't want to think about any such horrid retrospect as that!\" Marion\nsaid, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders, and a genuine shiver.\n\nFlossy laughed.\n\n\"But you know it is only something to think of, to make us more\ngrateful. It can never _be_, _never_. By the way, I suppose it is early\nto begin to make plans for the summer, at least for those who have no\noccasion to talk about summer yet;\"--this last with a conscious little\nlaugh--\"But don't you mean to go to Chautauqua next summer? Mr. Roberts\nand I are going; we would rather give up a journey to Europe than that.\nCan't we all contrive to meet there together?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Marion, \"we--_I_ mean to go.\"\n\n\"Dr. Dennis is going,\" Flossy said, though why that had anything to do\nwith the matter, or why it occurred to her just then, Flossy did not\nknow. \"He told Mr. Roberts that he meant to be there, and to take with\nhim as many of his people as he could. And Eurie told me last night that\nhis friend, Mr. Harrison, of the Fourth church was going. I don't know\nhow Eurie heard that, through Nellis, I suppose.\n\n\"Isn't Nellis splendid nowadays? I shouldn't wonder if quite a large\ncompany went from here. I wonder if Dr. Dennis will take his daughter\nGrace. I think she is just lovely, don't you?\"\n\n\"Very,\" said Marion; and just here Flossy roused to the fact that she\nwas doing most of the talking, and that Marion's answers were often in\nmonosyllables.\n\n\"I dare say I am tiring you,\" she said, rising. \"I forget that you have\nto talk all day in that school-room, Marion. Are you sure you love to\nteach well enough to keep at it, year after year?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Marion, laughing. \"I know I don't; I don't mean to do it; I\nmean to get a situation as somebody's housekeeper.\"\n\n\"Do you understand housekeeping?\" asked innocent little Flossy, with\nwide open eyes.\n\n\"Oh, Marion! are you sure it will be even as pleasant as school\nteaching?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" Marion answered with grave face. \"At least, I mean to try.\nIt depends on whose house you get into, you know.\"\n\nFlossy's sober face cleared in an instant.\n\n\"So it does,\" she said. \"Marion, I have a nice plan, but I shall not\ntell you a bit about it to-night. Good-bye.\"\n\n\"Oh, the dear blessed little goosie!\" Marion said, laughing immoderately\nas the door closed after Flossy. \"Now, I know as well as if she told me,\nthat she is going to beguile Mr. Roberts into offering me a situation in\ntheir dove cote, when they set it up. Blessed little darling!\" and here,\nthe laugh changed into a bright tear. \"I know just what a sweet and\nhappy home she would make for me. If I had only that to look forward to,\nif it had just opened as my escape from this boarding house, how very\nthankful I should be! How glad the dear child will be to know that my\nhome is as nearly in view as her own.\"\n\nAs for Flossy, she went down the walk, saying:\n\n\"What a dismal room that is? It is too bad for our bright Marion to have\nto live in it, I know my plan will work. How nice of her to have put it\nin my head! my head must be for the purpose of carrying out nice things\nthat somebody else proposes. Oh dear! there are so many desolate homes\nhere, on earth!\"\n\nA cloud over the bright face for a minute, then it cleared as she said,\nsoftly: \"In my Father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place\nfor you.\"\n\nAfter all, that was the place for brightness. This was only a way\nstation; never mind the discomforts, so that many were helped to the\nright road that the home be reached at last, in peace.\n\nShe paused at the corner and looked towards Eurie's home, but shook her\nhead resolutely, she must not go there, it was too late; though she\nlonged to tell Eurie that Marion was going to Chautauqua, and ask her if\nshe did not think it possible for them all to meet there.\n\nThen the inconsistent little creature sighed again, for she remembered\nEurie's weary face and the long struggle with sickness, and the long\nstruggle with ways and means to which she was looking forward. There was\nmuch in the world that she would like to brighten.\n\nMeantime, Eurie, in her home around the corner was arranging the pillows\nwith tender touch about her mother's head, and drawing the folds of the\ncrimson shawl carefully about her, as she said:\n\n\"Now, mother, you begin to look like yourself: it makes a wonderful\ndifference to get a touch of color about you.\"\n\nA very tender smile preceded her answer.\n\n\"Dear child! I will be glad to get well enough so that you may have a\nchance to get a touch of color about you. You are looking very pale and\ntired.\"\n\n\"Oh me, mine is the brightest life you can imagine; there is plenty of\ncolor down in my heart so long as I can think of our Nell leading the\nyoung people's meeting, and father to lead at the mission to-morrow, it\nwill rest me. I have to keep 'counting my marcies.' To crown them all,\nhere you are sitting up at this time of night, with a cap and wrapper\non once more, instead of that unbecoming white gown; how pleased father\nwill be!\"\n\n\"We have many mercies,\" the low, feeble voice of the invalid said; \"not\nthe least among them being, our daughter Eurie; but I could wish that I\nsaw a way for you to have less care, and more rest than you will get\nthis summer. I must be willing to be very useless, your father says, and\nthat means hard work for you. When Ruth Erskine was in this afternoon,\nlooking so quiet, and at rest, nothing to weary her or hinder her from\ndoing what she chose, I just coveted some of the peace of her life for\nyou.\"\n\n\"There's no occasion, mother; I am not by any means willing to exchange\nmy life with hers; I like my own much the best. As for rest, don't you\nworry; there'll be a way planned for what rest I need.\"\n\nYes, and there was being a way planned, even then; though mother and\ndaughter knew nothing of it. How queerly people go on, planning their\nlives, as though they had the roads opening out into the future, all\nunder their own care!\n\nIt was at that moment that Ruth Erskine, the young lady who, according\nto Mrs. Mitchell, had so quiet, and settled, and peaceful a life, that\nshe coveted it for her daughter, stood in the great hall that was\nglowing with light and beauty, and caught her breath with an almost\nconvulsive sound, as she rested against a chair for support; her face\ndeathly pale, her eyes bright with a calm that she had forced upon\nherself, in her solemn determination to try to do just the right thing,\nsay just the right words; her ear had caught the sound of a carriage\nthat had drawn up before the door, and the sound of a familiar voice;\nshe knew that she was now to meet--not only her father, but her mother,\nand sister!\n\nLittle they knew about each other even yet, with all their intimacy,\nthose four Chautauqua girls!\n\nBut what mattered it, so long as they had given themselves over, body\nand soul, into the keeping of their Father in heaven, who knew not only\nthe beginning, but the end?\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nThis text uses both Bible-class and Bible class; chamber-maid and\nchambermaid.\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 27, \"grammer\" changed to \"grammar\" (grammar class; and)\n\nPage 39, new paragraph inserted. Text originally read: (who have.\"\n\"That's exactly like myself)\n\nPage 58, \"vailed\" changed to \"veiled\" (sharp words veiled)\n\nPage 91, \"flappant\" changed to \"flippant\" (his voice flippant)\n\nPage 148, \"softly\" changed to \"soft\" (a soft little laugh)\n\nPage 163, \"b ought\" changed to \"brought\" (that brought them most)\n\nPage 186, \"Hurlburt\" changed to \"Hurlbut\" (Oh, Dr. Hurlbut!)\n\nPage 202, \"nowdays\" changed to \"nowadays\" (no idols nowadays)\n\nPage 203, \"quered\" changed to \"queried\" (duty?\" queried Eurie)\n\nPage 203, \"adicted\" changed to \"addicted\" (very much addicted)\n\nPage 262, repeated word \"a\" removed. (while one with a a)\n\nPage 285, \"argumentive\" changed to \"argumentative\" (my argumentative\npowers)\n\nPages 318 and 333 had paragraphs that were not indented in the orginal.\nThese paragraphs began: (Yet was she not) (Mr. Wayne was unusually)\n\nPage 322, \"unstanding\" changed to \"understanding\" (by tacit\nunderstanding)\n\nPage 322, \"radient\" changed to \"radiant\" (face just radiant)\n\nPage 348, \"vail\" changed to \"veil\" (very flimsiest veil of)\n\nPage 374, \"solmnly\" changed to \"solemnly\" (solemnly true. Ruth)\n\nPage 396, \"forsee\" changed to \"foresee\" (she not foresee)\n\nPage 400, \"desoolate\" changed to \"desolate\" (ever to be desolate)\n\nPage 415, \"parishoners\" changed to \"parishioners\" (on his parishioners)\n\nPage 423, \"Smyth\" changed to \"Smythe\" (brother-in-law, Mr. Smythe)\n\nPage 445, \"alwas\" changed to \"always\" (for she was always)\n\nPage 448, \"alwas\" changed to \"always\" (parties had always)","title":"The Chautauqua Girls At Home","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":87224}