I
T was an unusually warm day in June, and Ruth had dismissed her scholars early on that account. She stood by the window plucking the dried leaves off the climbing rose, and thinking how delightful the approaching vacation would be, when a little hand touched her. Looking down she found Philip by her side.
"And what will mamma say at having no little boy at home?" she asked, drawing him nearer, and smoothing back his wavy hair.
"O, mamma knows. She only said I must not trouble you. I guess I wouldn't do that, though, because I love you too much."
Here the little hand tried to give Ruth's a great squeeze, while such an effort brought color to the pale cheeks. Not only that, but it brought something he wanted very much, a kiss.
"You always kiss me for telling you that, Miss Ruth, and so does mamma. What do you do it for? Do you like little boys to love you?"
"You have not told me how much you love me," was the laughing reply. "I cannot answer questions till I know all about them."
"O, I love you more than all the world, except my mamma;—isn't thateverso much?"
"Yes, that is a great deal. Then you don't love any one but your mamma and me?"
"I love God," and the earnest eyes were fixed on the blue clouds. "Would you liketo be up there, Miss Ruth? Mamma reads about it for me. I should like to go up there and see it. I should like to see God, too, but I would come back again, you know. Mamma always cries and hugs me when I say that; just as if I would stay away from mamma and you. I guess I wouldn't. But I would see all the beautiful things the Bible says are there, and then I would draw pretty pictures. Mamma says there is a house up there for us all, and some day we will go and stay there. Do you want to go, Miss Ruth?"
"Yes, some day," she replied; but there was no kindling of the eye, no joy of soul at the thought, for Ruth knew that her earthly love was stronger and more absorbing than the heavenly. "There, now, we will go and see about Miss Agnes's dinner," she added, glad to divert his thoughts.
"Miss Agnes has not come, Martha?" she inquired.
"No, ma'am. I have been watching for her. She will be awful hot, I think."
"You are Miss Agnes's little girl, and I am Miss Ruth's little boy, aren't we?" asked the child.
"I am Miss Ruth's, too," said Martha, decidedly.
"Yes, but you love Miss Agnes best."
"I love both just the same—only different; but Miss Agnes was my teacher."
Ruth gave such a quick look, that the child drew back frightened, thinking she was angry; but she smiled at her, and Martha's fear left her. How much a smile will do, and what a very little word or act will bring that smile. So when Agnes came home "awful hot," as Martha said, she was met by smiling faces, and waited on by loving hands, and finally it ended in a "real party," for they all had strawberries and cream, to keep Miss Agnes company.
"Isn't he a darling," whispered Agnes, glancing toward Philip, who was intent on his strawberries.
"Yes, he is a remarkable child; his mother must be very fond of him. I have been planning something to-day, Agnes, for all hands," looking round at the children, as she spoke.
"What?" asked her sister, brightening.
"I can't tell you until we are alone. But it will bring the roses to somebody's cheeks, and be very nice for all the somebodies."
"Don't let us do any thing this afternoon, but talk or read," proposed Agnes; and hearing this, Philip hurried to the school-room for his own little chair, so that he might lay his head on Ruth's lap and listen. ButChristus Consolatorwas too profound, and lulled by the sound of Agnes's sweet voice, and Ruth's caressing touch, he slept.
"When the sun goes down it is time forlittle birds to be in their nests," said Ruth, and Philip now wide awake and knowing what was to follow, ran to tell Martha to get her hat. The first time he had staid, Ruth sent word to his mother that she would take him home, and ever since it had been understood.
"One on one side, and one on the other," he said, as he placed himself between Ruth and Agnes, offering a hand to each. But Ruth asked what was to become of poor Martha, and soon the two children were talking as gravely, and looking as demurely side by side, as if they had been grandfather and grandmother.
On their way home, while Martha walked before, Ruth developed her idea, which was that they should have a pic-nic, perhaps several of them during vacation, "as it would be so expensive to go away for a length of time you know. Just a family affair,"she continued, "and we will take the children along to enliven us."
Agnes fell in with the plan very readily, and pictures of ferns, mosses and lichens at once rose before her delighted vision.
There were trying days still to be passed in the school-room, days on which Ruth felt it would be a relief to scream out or do something desperate. But when she looked at the little ones under her care, trying to be good and obedient while under control, she chided herself for her impatience, at the same time relaxing her discipline. But the days went by and the holidays came, and Miss Ruth's joy at her freedom was not one bit less than her pupils'; though she didn't run screaming to tell every one that "school was broken up." "We might as well go soon, Ruth. I feel as if I could scarcely breathe here," said Agnes, a few days after school had closed.
"A day won't help you much if you are in that state. What shall you do all the other warm days?"
"Imagine I am in the woods," was the laughing reply.
"Then you had better bring your imagination to bear upon it now. Guy will have to dine down town that day. I fancy he will not like it very well, for he is so fastidious. Guy was certainly meant to be rich."
"Why not ask him to go with us?" suggested Agnes.
"If you want to be laughed at you will. Imagine our Guy going with two women, two children, and a lot of baskets, to spend a day in the woods!"
"I should think he might enjoy the change quite as much as we. But men are queer, they look upon women's pleasures as childish, I really believe."
The day before the pic-nic every one wasbusy; even Philip insisted upon helping. When Guy came to dinner there was such an air of commotion that he at once inquired the cause.
"What's up, girls? house-cleaning? If that's the case, I'm off; no soap-suds and white-wash for me."
"Hear him; house-cleaning in July!" exclaimed Agnes.
"I do believe, Guy, you men would never do a bit of cleaning all your lives, if you were house keepers."
"You may bet on that," was the reply. "That is just where we would show our good sense."
"Your filthy habits, you mean."
"Well, either, whichever suits you. But you haven't said what was in the wind."
"None came this way to-day, we could not tell."
"We are going to close the house to-morrow,Guy, so you need not come home to dinner. We intend going to the woods to find fresh air."
But Guy didn't like the idea; it sounded common, he thought. Every day he met a lot of women and their babies, with a parcel of brats following them, going over the river or somewhere. "Why can't you take a week each of you, and go to the country like other people?"
That, "like other people," was too much for Ruth, and she said, sharply: "We can't be what we are not. Beggars must not be choosers."
Guy replied in as sharp a tone that "some people liked to make a parade of their poverty," and finished his dinner in silence. This unfortunate affair threw a damper over the girls, but the children did not come within the shadow of the cloud. Ruth had a sudden angry impulse not to go at all,scarcely knowing why, as it would not spite her brother. But she could not yield to such a thought when the happiness of Agnes and the children was to be considered.
Agnes spoke very little after the occurrence, knowing what state of mind Ruth was in, but she sang in a low voice some of her sister's favorite hymns, and in a little while the cloud rolled away, the sun came out, and the storm was all over. By tea-time Guy and Ruth were as if nothing unpleasant had happened, but there was no allusion made to the pic-nic.
"I wonder how people feel who are going on an extended tour," said Agnes, as they filled their lunch baskets.
"That depends very much upon the people themselves," replied Ruth. "This little trip is giving us more real pleasure than some people would know in travelling all over the globe."
"Yes, I suppose so; it is the appreciation that is needed, and without that there can be no enjoyments."
Fortunately, for Guy, he did not see the party set out the next morning, or the shock might so completely have overcome him as to unfit him for any business whatever. But they waited until he had gone, and then they started with their baskets, trowel, and garden-fork.
"People will take us for herb-gatherers, and think these are our children," said Agnes, gaily.
"Shocking!" exclaimed Ruth, with mock earnestness.
They took the boat for several miles down the river, to the great delight of the children, especially Philip, whose keen eyes took in the smallest white speck of a sail, and then when they had climbed a very little hill, and gone down a big one, they were in the woods.
"What a delightful perfume! Isn't it charming!" exclaimed Agnes, delightedly, as she sat down by a tree to "enjoy herself." But the children who had been scampering about, declared there was a much nicer place not far off, and so Miss Agnes, who could imagine no scene more charming, very reluctantly consented to tear herself away.
The spot chosen by the children was indeed lovely. Perfectly level ground covered with the richest moss, out of which rose broad flat rocks, and along side of which, not many yards distant, ran a clear little stream on whose banks the feathery fern grew, and into which it dipped its graceful frond. On the other side of the stream the wood was more dense, but through it a broad path led to a bend in the river.
"We need go no farther," exclaimed bothRuth and Agnes. "Nothing could exceed this for loveliness and shade.
"By the river of Babylon there we sat down," and Agnes once more settled herself.
"There we hung our harps upon the willows," added Ruth, throwing her shawl on a branch overhead. "Now, Agnes, let us take it easy and make the most of the day, for such days will be like angel's visits."
"Well, suppose we rest first. Methinks I could forget myself in sleep."
Presently Ruth was accosted with, "I think I know now what I should do if I were rich."
"What?" she asked.
"Take sick people into the country. That is, if I could afford to keep a carriage. I have been thinking about it since yesterday."
Ruth knew what had brought it to hermind. Guy's picture of the women and their babies; sick, of course.
"Yes," she said. "Many of those who die every year might become strong and well again, if they could be taken from the close, stifling air of their wretched homes into that which is pure and fresh."
"Nothing could give greater pleasure than to have these poor, emaciated babies and wan-faced women look up at you with a smile, as if saying, 'O how this cheers us.' I wonder if it will ever be?"
"'Tis hard to tell," was the reply. "But suppose you had a carriage, your husband might object to your using it in this way."
"Then I should not use it at all." Here Agnes looked as if at that time rejecting its use.
Ruth laughed. "Wait, my dear, until you get it," she said. "Or before you give yourself away, it would be well to ask thegentleman, if, in case you owned such a thing, you could use it for such purposes."
"Not I indeed. No man ever finds me asking him such a question; what washiswould be mine. But I shall know, when I see the man, what manner of spirit he is of."
This occasioned another laugh, in which Agnes joined, and the two, banishing the thoughts of sick babies and pale-faced women, had a gay time. In the meantime, the children had scrambled over rocks to gather lichen, and dug holes deep enough to bury a kitten in, in their efforts to get moss; they had sailed little nut-shell boats down the stream, and in the many ways that children have enjoyed themselves. Everybody was hungry of course, so by the time Agnes was ready for her ferns, there were empty baskets in which to place them. But they read and talked before that, and walkedthrough the woods on the other side out to the river, finding several beautiful plants on their way. Then at the last the ferns were gathered, and Agnes did wish they could have had more baskets. But Ruth informed her she might have gone home by herself if she had.
"Now that is my idea of enjoying oneself," said Agnes, as tired but very happy, she laid her head on her pillow.
"Yes, that is rational, sensible enjoyment," replied Ruth. "I wish sensible people would have the moral courage to act sensibly in this matter of rest and recreation. But it would shock a great many quite as much as it did Guy. Now I think it is well and often necessary for persons to have a more decided change, when their health requires it, and their means will allow. But this thing of going to fashionable resorts, for the sake of appearance,spending hundreds of dollars in mere dissipation; coming home envious and dissatisfied at the greater show made by others, instead of seeking change for the good of it, at the same time having their hearts drawn out after those less fortunate, is to me one of the greatest evils of the day."
W
E had better engage Ann Smithers," said Ruth, after several old dresses had been cut down and made over for Martha. "She knows so well how to manage, and has patterns of the styles. With our help she can accomplish a great deal in a few days."
"Do you think we can get new dresses this Fall? We have worn these faithfully, you know?" inquired Agnes, as she examined and re-examined her suites.
"Not for some time, I fear; it takes a great deal to keep up a house these times.But it does not seem fair that you should give your money to me, Agnes. In future you had better keep what remains after paying for your board. It is not right to have you work hard and get so few clothes."
"Do you get any more, and haven't I as good a right to do without things as you?"
"No, it is different. I keep the house, and perhaps things are not managed well. I don't know. I get bewildered at times to know which is the best way. But now that we have Martha and she understands her work so well, I intend to give music lessons this Fall. That will be a great help."
"And yet, when you thinkyouought to do this, you wantmeto keep money from the house, so that I may have new dresses when I choose. O, Ruth, could you think me so selfish!"
"It would not be selfish, it would be right," urged her sister. But she could notbear to tell Agnes that if it were not for Guy they might both dress differently. He had come to her repeatedly for money to help him out of difficulty, and now he said there was no manner of use in attempting to do business up three flights of stairs; he must have a ground floor, and of course that would involve greater expense.
"If you could only manage to start me in this, Ruth," he had said, "there is no reason why I should not succeed. These one-horse affairs are always failures. I will pay you back again when money comes in you may be sure, as there is no doubt it will."
Then Ruth, who could not resist such pleading, told him to make the change and she would help him out with his rent, resolving then and there to do extra work in order to meet the demands upon her. She reasoned in this way, that if she chose to make sacrifices for Guy, Agnes need not sharethem, and if she told her she surely would insist upon it. And that was the reason she thought it best for Agnes to keep part of her own money.
"How little she suspects," she thought as Agnes sat down to rip her dresses, looking quite satisfied at having to do with her old clothes. "What a sweet spirit our Agnes has."
Agnes worked and thought. She did not have the least idea how the money went, but she knew a little more would not be amiss, so she said: "If there was any other way in which I could help you, Ruth."
"Never mind that," was the reply, "you can direct Martha, and see to things when I am out, that will be a great help; for although Martha does remarkably well for a child of her age, there are many things to be attended to, requiring a more mature judgment."
"Quarter day" came, and when Agneshanded Ruth her money, it was returned except the sum kept out for her board. "You know it was decided that in future you should have your own money, Agnes."
"But, Ruth, I don't understand. Why should I when yours all goes for the house?"
"If it were not best, I should not urge it," was the reply, and Ruth seemed so positive that Agnes yielded. Weeks rolled on and to every inquiry made by Agnes as to the time when Ruth meant to buy herself a dress for winter, there was some trifling excuse made. Finally she told Agnes there was no necessity for her waiting, it would be better if she bought hers now before school commenced, and she could get her own whenever she was ready.
"What kind would you get if you were in my place?" asked Agnes, a new light breaking in upon her.
"A poplin by all means, they will be worn altogether."
"That is the very thing," thought Agnes. "I am sure now that she does not mean to get any dress this winter, and she is so fond of good clothes. Our Ruth is the most self-sacrificing woman, I ever knew. Now it would be different if it were I, for I do not care for dress in the same way as she; but I am so glad I thought of it, she shall have one after all."
Full of this thought she set out to make her purchases. After looking over several pieces, she came to one that was just what she wanted for Ruth, a rich brown of beautiful quality. But the price perplexed her, she could not get two and pay so much for them.
"Have you any others of this shade?" she asked.
"They are much coarser," was the reply, as the salesman handed down several pieces of inferior quality. After a great deal ofthinking and calculating, Agnes ordered a dress of the fine material and one of the coarser. "Will you oblige me by laying the fine dress pattern aside for a few days until I send for it?" she asked. "I will pay for both now however." Then giving Miss Smithers' address for the other, she left the store and was soon at Miss Smithers' door.
Everything was explained. How that Ruth never would think of herself, and it was time some one should think for her, and then Agnes arranged the time for having them made.
"When mine is cut so that it cannot possibly do for Ruth, I shall have hers sent. I can hardly wait for the day," she said, with the delight of a child. "Please cut my skirt before then, Miss Smithers, for Ruth will think it coarse and insist upon my sending it back, unless it is cut. But it will make up quite prettily, and in winter no onenotices the quality of your dress." Guy would have been amused at her business capacity then, had he heard her.
Such a time as she had when she went home. Ruth could not understand why the dress was sent to Miss Smithers', instead of there. "Just as like as not you have been cheated," she remarked, "and then when the skirt is cut there is no help for it. To be sure it will be an assistance to have some of the cutting done."
Then came Miss Smithers and the dress. With assumed calmness Agnes showed it to her sister, but not without many secret misgivings.
"There, isn't it pretty, Ruth?"
"Yes, very, but it is extremely coarse, Agnes. Why didn't you get agooddress? You have enough second-best ones for this winter."
"This will answer nicely now, I like it.Besides, I did not want to spend all my money on a dress."
"Well, if you like it, and as long as it is cut, there is no use in making you dislike it. It is all well enough if it were not such a poor quality."
Late in the afternoon, when there was little more to be done by the sisters, the rest being Miss Smithers' special work, Agnes asked Ruth if she could spare Martha to go on an errand for her. Handing her a note and telling her to take it to the address and wait for an answer, Agnes sat down to await thedenouement.
"O dear, I wish it was over," she thought. "I am almost afraid to show it to her. I feel as badly as if Ihaddone something wrong. Is it ever right to deceive? Of course this does not harm any one, and I did not see any other way in which I could manage it; but after all it was taking advantage ofRuth, and it may give her pain instead of the pleasure I intended." These and many other questions passed through her mind as she sat waiting for Martha. Presently she appeared with the parcel.
"Open it, Ruth, it is yours," said Agnes, determined now to face it at once. "I bought it and mine at the same time, but I kept it purposely until to-day."
Ruth was so touched by this thoughtfulness on her sister's part, that she was a long time in untying the cord. She did not want to look up just then, for her eyes were full of tears.
"Let me," said Agnes, and she drew it away from Ruth. "It is almost the same shade as mine," she said, holding it up to Miss Smithers.
"Well, now, so it is," replied that lady, laying down her work and taking the new dress pattern. "They are as nearly alike astwo peas. If people did not know you so well, they would take you for twins."
"O, Agnes, it is ever so much finer," exclaimed Ruth. "What did you do that for?" She spoke as if it pained her, and Agnes laughingly replied: "Because, big sisters should always have the best things. Now don't look so doleful, Ruth, one would think you were going to be beheaded. I declare, Miss Smithers and I would be bowing and smiling like Frenchmen or Frenchwomen, rather if we were having a dress presented to us."
Ruth laughed and bowed, and then Miss Smithers made one of her characteristic speeches and so, "it was over," at last as far as Agnes was concerned.
Not so with Ruth. She could scarcely command herself for the rest of the day, she was so deeply moved by this thoughtful act of her sister. "And to think of her wearinga common dress just for the sake of getting me a handsome one," she said.
"Dear Agnes, if she only knew what thoughts I have had about having to do without things sometimes, she could never love me enough to make this sacrifice. I suppose it was providential; God had a hand in it. But that is the strange part, that He should reward me after all my complaining."
These were soul-expanding thoughts, and had Ruth but taken them to God, praying that they might be made the means of drawing her into a closer union with Him, what a wonderful change would have passed over her. As it was, they gave such a softness to her tone, and such gentleness to her manner, that Martha, quite encouraged, ventured to express her admiration of the dress, of the giver, and of the receiver, in such a mixed up way, that Ruth was forced to laugh outright.
"I got a beautiful idea the other day, Agnes," said Ruth, as she sat stitching her dress. "One who had been speaking of her Christian life, said, 'in looking back she saw some triumphs achieved, some enemies slain.' While a friend replied that, 'in place of every foe that had fallen some grace sprang up.' I had not looked at it so before; it is a beautiful thought."
"And comforting as well as beautiful," said Miss Smithers, with moistened eyes. "But Agnes, here, don't know so much about this thing of fighting as we, Ruth."
"If I don't, then I am not living a Christian life," replied Agnes, earnestly. "For the Bible says we must war a good warfare, and if I am not doing it then I must be in sympathy with Satan. Miss Smithers, Christians make great mistakes about each other, often. Because we do not see each other's struggles, we think there can be none. Nowwhen I have the most to contend with, I do not talk most about it, for no one can help me but God."
"Yes, to be sure that is true. But it is a most wonderful relief to me to speak. When I have anything on my mind it has to come out. But you are so gentle and placid like. I really thought you were not like other people."
"Well, now you will know, in future, that I am like other people in my struggles, faults, and—"
"Bless me, not faults. I never saw a fault in you, all the time I have known you."
"There is a great deal in living with one to know them. Ruth can tell you that."
"Everything," said Ruth, emphatically as she left the room.
In matters of dress, the girls seldom approached their brother. Perhaps becausethey so seldom had anything new. Then he liked showy dress, and theirs was always moderate. But at night, after Miss Smithers had gone, Ruth could not help exhibiting her poplin, and telling what Agnes had done.
"Now that is what I call pretty," he said, when Ruth threw it over her shoulder. But when she told him it was a gift from Agnes, a deep crimson overspread his face. In a few minutes it was gone, and looking at Agnes steadily, he said in a peculiar tone, "How much you women are capable of doing."
Neither of them understood him, but there was something in his face and voice that deterred them from questioning him, and Agnes replied with a smile, "I am glad you like it, Guy. I treated myself to one at the same time, and it is made up ready to wear."
R
UTH and Agnes had joined the Young People's Association, and now there was to be a grand excursion. Such an excursion as had never been seen in Ripley. Guy had become acquainted with the Rev. John Jay, through his sisters, and as that gentleman had united his entreaties with theirs that Guy should accompany them, he was at last prevailed upon. It happened to be the very hottest day of the season, although the latter part of August, and although Guy had several times declared to himself that he would "back out" of the affair, the extreme heatdecided him. "He would go with a pack of monkeys to the moon, or anywhere, for a breath of pure air." Of all the gay parties that ever set out from Ripley this was the gayest. Scarcely a breath of air stirred. People were astir because their business compelled them to make some exertion, but they moved about listlessly, as if the mere act of living were a labor rather than a pleasure.
The excursion was to start from the church, where already there was quite an array of omnibusses drawn up as much in the shade as possible. So when six young people came up breathless, their faces flushed and eyes sparkling, hoping they were not too late to get a seat, they didsowant to get among the green fields, out of that stifling place, the horses pricked up their ears, and the sleepy drivers brightened up, having come in contact with the freshness and charm of those glad gay natures.
"We can't make very good time to-day, no how," said the driver of the coach they were about entering. "It's going to be as hot as blazes."
"All right, driver; we're in no particular hurry. Any time this week will do," said one of the young men as he clambered in.
"Isn't it delightful, none but ourselves," was the exclamation. But just then Guy, Agnes and Ruth appeared, and took their seats. By this time the other coaches had been filled, the word was given, and the party started off amidst cheers and waving of handkerchiefs. It was for the time as if a fresh breeze had suddenly sprung up, giving new life to the town through which they passed.
"Can't you turn into a by-road soon," said one; and "O, please do, it is excruciating going over these cobble-stones," said others. But the heat had not quite driedup the driver's fun, or else the street was in very bad condition, for just as this was said, they were bounced up like so many rubber balls, and the driver, with a twinkle in his eye, remarked that there could not be more than a mile or so of that kind of road.
"Are there any undertakers along this road?" asked Guy, seriously.
"Undertakers! what do you mean, Guy?" said Agnes, quite shocked at his levity. The whole party set up a laugh in which the driver heartily joined, knowing what had called forth the remark.
"I merely thought we would require the services of one, if not more, at the rate we are going, especially as there is a mile more of such road."
In the midst of another laugh which followed this speech, the coach turned off into a shady lane where the trees on either side almost met, forming a delightful shelter fromthe sun, which was now pouring down its rays most lavishly.
Through sun and shade the horses kept up their trot, the driver being called to repeatedly to be kind to them, until the joyful announcement, "The woods, the grand old woods!" was made. Just at the entrance to the woods stood a hotel. And the arrival of the coaches made quite a stir at the "Cross Keys," as it was called. The proprietor was aroused from his slumbers under the old chestnut tree at the end of the house, where he had been vainly endeavoring to fix in his mind some of the previous week's news; judging from the paper which lay on the grass, and the spectacles which, just resting on the tip of his nose, seemed ready to follow the news,—by the barking of the dogs and the scampering of servants.
"Bless me," he gasped, "if there ain't a load. Pretty plucky whoever they are totravel this sort of weather." And gathering up himself and his glasses, he made as great speed towards the front of the house as his roly-poly figure and the heat would admit.
By the time he reached it, black Pete, whose business was to attend to the stables and do a little of anything needed about the house, stood cap in hand, grinning and bowing to the party who were alighting.
"Nice kind of a day this, friend," said one of the young men, as Pete took his station near the horses heads. "No heat to speak of up this way, I suppose."
"Just a little, sah!" and Pete's grin was broader than ever, while he rolled his eyes in the direction of the girls. "It feels a good sight breezin' since you come sah, de young ladies, I mean." Here there was another bow, and the whole thing, the bow and the compliment was so overwhelming,that the girls ran laughing up the steps, almost upsetting the worthy landlord.
Presently they were followed by the young men who had staid behind to have another word with Pete, and then those who had not brought dinner, among whom of course were Guy and his sisters, made arrangements with the landlord for that meal, urging him to bring out everything his larder contained, in view of the fact that a party of ravenous wolves were to be fed.
"This weather don't appear to set very hard on you at that rate," he replied, his fat sides shaking with merriment as he went off to obey orders.
Then Guy and a few others began to search for a cool place, in which to eat dinner. First they tried the house, but it was so dark they could not see, and when the shutters were opened the flies swarmed in; next they tried the porch, but the glare wastoo great. Some were beginning to be cross and unamiable, when Pete's head again appeared.
"If de ladies and gen'lemen wants a nice cool place, there's one over yonder in de arbor."
"O, yes, come and take tea in the arbor," sang the girls, as they bounded down the steps and followed Pete, whose delight appeared to equal theirs, for although the sun could not penetrate the closely interwoven vines, which covered it, neither could the air, had there been a breathstirring. But it was "romantic" all thought, and Pete agreed with them; though I question whether if he had gone to the stake for it, he could have told what the word meant. There was one thing hedidknow, however, and that was, that if they remained out of doors, he could enjoy their society, and it was not every day such a rare treat was his. Sowhile the party sought the woods until the time for dinner, Pete went to bring out "de table and cheers," thinking of the good time he was to have, "listenin' to de grand talk of dem town folks."
At the appointed hour the "wolves" sought their prey.
"I guess dat here will do to begin with," remarked Pete, drolly, as he deposited on the table two large dishes of chicken, and a plate of tongue.
"Yes, that will do for the first bite," was the reply, of one of the young men. Pete showed his ivories and darted off again. But on the return trip he had an assistant, and between the two the board was amply spread.
"I'll just be rusticatin' round here, Susan, so you needn't stay," he said, as Susan announced her readiness to "fetch them anything else that was needed."
The girl looked at Pete, then at the party. Her look of inquiry was met with: "O, no, there is no need of you waiting, if we require anything he can get it."
Pete made a bow, and Susan, glad to be relieved, thanked them and retired. Pete would have acted in full the part of waiter; already he had installed himself behind the prettiest young girl's chair, but he was requested to seat himself outside and keep his ears open in case of being needed.
Seating himself on the top step of the summer-house, and leaning his back against the lattice-work, he obeyed orders by listening intently to all the conversation. He evidently favored the ladies, from the nods of approval and looks of delight which he gave at their remarks.
It certainly could not have been from the conversation that he was reminded of angels; perhaps the bright, fair faces of the girls andtheir light attire suggested it, but he began, during a little lull in the talking, to hum:—
"O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly away, to fly away,—"
before he had gone farther, there was an exclamation of delight; "Don't stop, sing it all, it is splendid!"
Pete chuckled and after wriggling round to where he could see without being seen, and clearing his throat several times, took up the strain again; this time in a louder key, and with the swaying of the whole body, where before it had only been the movement of the head.
"O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly away, to fly away,O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly to my heabenly home.Thar thar ain't any sorrow nor sighin',Thar thar ain't any sickness nor dyin',But de Lord will himself wipe de tears from our eyes,When we fly to our heabenly home.O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly away, to fly away;O, gib me de wings of de angelsTo fly to my heabenly home;Thar we'll all be dressed up in white raiment,And keep walkin' along de gold pavement,And we'll each hab a crown and a harp in our hand,When we fly to our heabenly home.O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly away, to fly away;O, gib me de wings of de angels,To fly to my heabenly home.Thar we'll sing hallelujah foreber,And keep wavin' our palms all together,And the Saviour will say, 'Come sit down by my side,'When we fly to our heabenly home."
By the time Pete had finished he was in a state of rapture, swaying from side to side as though in fancy he were mounting upwards on angel's wings. But he was brought out of his ecstasy by the shouts of
"Bravo! well done for you, Pete."
"Where did you learn it?" eagerly inquired Agnes.
"At de camp, Miss," was the reply.
"Why, were you in the army, or were you a slave?" another asked.
Pete rolled his eyes until nothing but the whites could be seen, as he said, "At de Camp-Meetin', you know. No, ladies, I never was a slave only to old Satan. Dat was enough of slavery for dis here darkey."
"Say, now, tell us how he treated you, that's a good fellow," said Guy, handing him some loose change out of his pocket. "This is for singing, now go on."
Poor Pete's face grew very grave. "It ain't very pleasin' to tell of, and ef it's jest de same, I won't scare de ladies with talkin' about it."
"But we wish it," they said, and as there was no help for him, Pete began.