C
HARLIE arose suddenly and went toward the piano. Things were becoming uncomfortably grave.
"Sis," he said, "can't you give us some new music? Try this new piece; Baker hasn't heard you sing it. I don't think it is remarkable, but it is better than none. We seem to have a very small list of music that will pass the orthodox line for Sunday use."
Both he and Flossy had sighed over the dearth of pretty things that were suited to Sunday. The one in question was one of the worst of its kind—one of that class which Satan seems to have been at work getting up, for the purpose oflulling to rest weak consciences. Sickly, sentimental ideas, expressed in words that are on the very verge of silly; and yet, with just enough solemn sounding phrases in them, thrown in here and there, to allow them to be caught up by a certain class, and pronounced "sacred song." Flossy had herself selected this one, and before her departure for Chautauqua had pronounced it very good. She had not looked at it since she came home. Charlie spread it open for her on the piano, then returned to the sofa to enjoy the music. Flossy's voice was sweet and tender; no power in it, and little change of feeling, but pleasant to listen to, and capable of being tender and pathetic. She looked over the sacred song with a feeling of aversion almost amounting to disgust. The pitiful attempts at religion sounded to her recently impressed heart almost like a caricature. On the piano beside her lay a copy of "Gospel Songs;" open, so it happened (?), at the blessed and solemn hymn, "How much owest thou?" Now a coincidence that seemed remarkable, and at once startled and impressed Flossy, was that Dr. Dennis' text for the evening had been the words, "How much owestthou unto my Lord?" She hesitated just a moment, then she resolutely pushed aside the sheet music, drew the book toward her, and without giving herself time for a prelude, gave herself to the beautiful and well-remembered words:
"How much owest thou?For years of tender, watchful care,A father's faith, a mother's prayer—How much owest thou?"How much owest thou?For calls, and warnings loud and plain,For songs and sermons heard in vain—How much owest thou?"How much owest thou?Thy day of grace is almost o'er,The judgment time is just before—How much owest thou?"How much owest thou?Oh, child of God, and heir of heaven,Thy soul redeemed, thy sins forgiven—How much owest thou?"
Flossy had heard Mr. Bliss, with his grand and glorious voice, ring that out on a certain evening at Chautauqua, where all the associations ofthe hour and place had been solemn and sacred. It might have been in part these memories, and the sense of something missed, that made her have a homesick longing for the place and song again, that gave to her voice an unusually sweet and plaintive sound. Every word was plain and clear, and wonderfully solemn; but when she reached the words,
"Oh, child of God, and heir of heaven,Thy soul redeemed, thy sins forgiven,"
There rang out a note of triumph that filled the room, and made the hearts of her listeners throb with surprise and wonder. Long before the song was closed her father had laid aside theTimes, and, with spectacles pushed above his eyes, was listening intently. Absolute silence reigned for a moment, as Flossy's voice died out in sweetness; then Charlie, clearing his throat said:
"Well, I van! I said I didn't consider the song remarkable. But I take it back; it is certainly remarkable. Did you ever hear anything that had so changed since you last met it?"
Col. Baker did not at once reply. The veryfirst line had struck him, for the reason that above most men, he had reason to remember a "mother's prayer." There were circumstances connected with that mother of his that made the line doubly startling to him. He was agitated by the wonderful directness of the solemn words, and he was vexed that they agitated him; so when he did speak, to conceal his feeling, he made his voiceflippant.
"It is a remarkable production, worthy of camp-meeting, I should say. But, Miss Flossy, allow me to congratulate you. It was sung with striking effect."
Flossy arose suddenly from the piano, and closed the book of hymns.
"Col. Baker," she said, "may I ask you to excuse me this evening? I find I am not in a mood to enjoy conversation; my brother will entertain you, I am sure."
And before Col. Baker could recover from his astonishment sufficiently to make any reply at all, she had given him a courteous bow for good-night, and escaped from the room.
The situation was discussed by the Shipley family at the next morning's breakfast table.Flossy had come down a trifle late, looking pale and somewhat sober, and was rallied by Kitty as to the cause.
"Her conscience is troubling her a little, I fancy," her father said, eyeing her closely from under heavy brows. "Weren't you just a little hard on the colonel, last night, daughter? He is willing to endure considerable from you, I guess; but I wouldn't try him too far."
"What was the trouble, father? What has Flossy done now? I thought she was going to be good at last?"
"Done! You may well ask what, Miss Kitty. Suppose the friend you had shut up in the library had been informed suddenly that you were not in a mood to talk with him, and then you had decamped and left him to the tender mercies of two men?"
"Why, Flossy Shipley! you didn't do that, did you? Really, if I were Col. Baker I would never call on you again."
"I don't see the harm," Flossy said, simply. "Father and Charlie were both there. Surely that was company enough for him. I hadn't invited him to call."
"Oh, undoubtedly he calls on purpose to see father and Charlie! He has not been so attentive to the family during your absence, I can assure you. We haven't so much as had a peep at him since you went away. Flossy, I hadn't an idea you could be so rude. I declare, I think that Wilbur girl is demoralizing you. They say she has no idea of considering people's feelings; but then, one expects it of her class."
Mrs. Shipley came to Flossy's aid:
"Poor child, I don't blame her for slipping away. She was tired. She had been to church twice, and to Sunday-school at noon, without any lunch, too. Flossy, you mustn't indulge in such an absurd freak another Sunday. It is too much for you. I am sure it is not strange that you wanted to get away to rest."
Then the father:
"I dare say you were tired, as your mother says; in fact, though, I must say I think I never saw you looking better than you were last evening. But it was a trifle thoughtless, daughter, and I want you to be more careful in the future. Col. Baker's father was my oldest and most valued friend, and I want his son to be treated withthe utmost consideration, and to feel that he is always welcome. Since he has so special a friendship for you, you must just remember that his position in society is one of the highest, and that you are really decidedly honored. Not that I am rebuking you, Flossy dear, only putting you on your guard; for remember that you carry a very thoughtless little head on your pretty shoulders."
And then he leaned over and patted the thoughtless head, and gave the glowing cheek such a loving, fatherly kiss.
As for poor Flossy, the bit of steak she was trying to swallow seemed to choke her; she struggled bravely to keep back the tears that she felt were all ready to fall. The way looked shadowy to her; she felt like a deceitful coward. Here were they, making excuses for her—tired, thoughtless, and the like. Oh, for courage to say to them that she had not been tired at all, and that she thought about that action of hers longer than she had thought about anything in her life, up to a few weeks ago.
If she could only tell them out boldly and plainly that everything was changed to her,that she looked at life from a different standpoint; and that, standing where she did now, it looked all wrong to spend the last hours of the Sabbath in entertaining company. But her poor little tongue, all unused to being brave, so shrank from this ordeal, and the lump in her throat so nearly choked her, that she made no attempt at words.
So the shadows that had fallen on her heart grew heavier as she went about her pretty room. She foresaw a troubled future. Not only must the explanation come, but she foresaw that her changed plans would lie right athwart the views and plans of her father.
What endless trouble and discomfort would this occasion! Also, there were her pet schemes for Sunday-school, including those boys for whom she had already planned a dozen different things.
Her mother had frankly expressed her opinion, and, although it is not the age when parents say, nor were Flossy's parents of the sort who would ever have said, "Youmustdo thus, and youshallnot do so," still, she foresaw endless discussions; sarcastic raillery from Kittie andCharlie; persuasions from her mother; earnest protests from her father, and a general air of lack of sympathy or interest about them all.
These things were to Flossy almost more than, under some circumstances, the martyr's stake would have been to Marion Wilbur. Then she, too, as she went about doing sundry little things toward making her room more perfect in its order, took up Marion's fashion of pitying herself, and looking longingly at the brightness in some other life.
Not Marion's, for she was all alone, and had great responsibilities, and no one to shield her or help her or comfort her; that was dreadful. Not Ruth's, for her life was so high up among books and paintings and grandeur, that it looked like cold elegance and nothing else.
She wouldn't have lived that life; but there was Eurie Mitchell, in a little home that had always looked sunny and cheerful when she had taken occasional peeps into it—somewhat stirred up, as became a large family and small means, but with a cleanly, cheery sort of stir that was agreeable rather than otherwise.
And there were little children to love and carefor—children who put their arms around one's neck and said, "I love you," a great many times in a day.
Flossy, having never tried it, did not realize that if the fingers had been sticky or greasy or a trifle black, as they were apt to be, it would be an exceeding annoyance to her. She saw what people usually do see about other people's cares and duties, only the pretty, pleasant side. To have felt somewhat of the other side she should have spent that Monday with Eurie.
To Eurie a Monday rain was a positive affliction; it necessitated the marshaling of tubs and pails into the little kitchen, and the endurance of Mrs. Maloney's presence in constant contact with the dinner arrangements—on pleasant days Mrs. Maloney betook herself to the open air.
Then, in the Mitchell family there was that trial to any woman of ordinary patience, a small girl who "helped"—worked for her board mornings and evenings, and played at school the rest of the time.
Sallie Whitcomb, the creature who tried Eurie, was rather duller than the most of her classand had her days or spells when she seemed utterly incapable of understanding the English language. This day was very apt to be Monday; and on the particular Monday of which I write, the spell was on her in full force.
To add to the bewilderments of the day, Dr. Mitchell, after a very hurried breakfast, had departed, taking the household genius with him, to see a patient and friend, who was worse.
"I don't know how you will manage," Mrs. Mitchell had said, as she paid a hasty visit to the kitchen. "There is bread to mix, you know, and that yeast ought to be made to-day; and then the starch you must look after or it will be lumpy; and oh, Eurie, do see that your father's handkerchiefs are all picked up, he leaves them around so. You must keep an eye on the baby, for he is a trifle hoarse this morning; and Robbie mustn't go in the wind—mustn't eat a single apple, for he isn't at all well; you must see to that, Eurie—I wouldn't have you forget him for anything. See here, when the baby takes a nap, see that the lower sash is shut—there is quite a draught through the room. I don't know how you are to get through. You mustkeep Jennie from school to take care of the children, and do the best you can. If Mrs. Craymer hadn't sent for me I wouldn't go this morning, much as I want to see her, but I think I ought to, as it is."
"Of course," Eurie said, cheerily. "Don't worry about us, mother; we'll get through somehow. I'll see to Mrs. Maloney and all the rest."
"Well, be careful about the bread; don't let it get too light, and don't for anything put it in too soon: it was a trifle heavy last week, you know, and your father dislikes it so. Never mind much about dinner; your father will have to go to two or three places when he gets back from the Valley, and I can get up a warm bite for him while he is gone."
And with a little sigh, and a regretful look back into the crowded, steamy kitchen, Mrs. Mitchell answered her husband's hurried call and ran. So Eurie was left mistress of the occasion.
It looked like a mountain to her. The dishes were piled higher than usual, for the Sabbath evening lunch had made many that had not been washed. And Sallie, who should have beendeep into them already, was at that moment hanging on the gate she had gone to shut, and watching the retreating tail of the doctor's horse.
"Sallie!" Eurie called, and Sallie came, looking bewildered and indolent, eating an apple as she walked.
"Now, Sallie, you must hurry with the dishes, see how soon you can get them all out of the way. I have the bread to mix and a dozen other things to do, and I can't help you a bit."
At the same time she had an inward consciousness that the great army of dishes would never marshal into place till she came to their aid.
This was the beginning, not a pleasant one, and the bewilderments of the morning deepened with every passing half hour.
What happened? Dear me, whatdidn't?Inexperienced Eurie, who rarely had the family bread left on her hands, went to mixing it before getting baking tins ready, and Sallie left her dishes to attend to it, and dripped dish-water over them and the molding-board and on Eurie's clean apron, in such an unmistakable manner, that the annoyed young lady washed her handsof dough and dumped the whole pile of tins unceremoniously into the dish-water.
"They are so greasy I can't touch them!" she said in disdain, "and have drops of dish-water all over them, and besides here is the core of an apple in one. I wonder, Sallie, if you eat apples while you are washing the dishes! Put some wood in the stove. Jennie, can't you come here and wipe these dishes? We won't get them out of the way before mother comes home."
Jenny appeared at the door, book in hand.
"How can I leave the baby, Eurie? Robbie says he can't play with him—he feels too sick. I think something ought to be done for Robbie; his cheeks are as red as scarlet."
Whereupon Eurie left dishes and bread and went in to feel of Robbie's pulse, and ask how he felt, and get a pillow for him to lie on the lounge; and the baby cried for her and had to be taken a minute; so the time went—time always goes like lightning in the kitchen on Monday morning. When that bread was finally set to rise, Eurie dismissed Sallie from the dish-pan in disgust, with orders to sweep the room, if she could leave her apple long enough.
T
HE next anxiety was the baby, who contrived to tumble himself over in his high chair, and cried loudly. Eurie ran. Dr. Mitchell was always so troubled about bumps on the head. She bathed this in cold water, and in arnica, and petted, and soothed, and pacified as well as she could a child who thought it a special and unendurable state of things not to have mamma and nobody else. Between the petting she administered wholesome reproof to Jennie.
"If you hadn't been reading, instead of attending to him this would not have happened I wish I had told mother to lock up all the booksbefore she went. You are great help; worth while to stay from school to bury yourself in a book."
"I haven't read a dozen pages this morning," Jennie said, with glowing cheeks. "He was sitting in his high chair, just as he always is, and I had stepped across the room to get a picture-book for Robbie. How could I know that he was going to fall? I don't think you are very kind, anyway, when I am helping all that I can, and losing school besides."
And Miss Jennie put on an air of lofty and injured innocence.
"I believe she is sweeping right on the bread," said Eurie, her thoughts turned into another channel. "Go and see, Jennie."
Jennie went, and returned as full of comfort as any of Job's friends.
"She swept right straight at it; and she left the door open, and the wind blew the cloth off, and a great hunk of dust and dirt lies right on top of one loaf, and the clothes are boiling over on the others. Nice bread you'll have!"
Before this sentence was half finished, Eurie sat the baby on the floor and ran, stopping onlyto give orders that Jennie should not let him go to sleep for anything.
The door-bell was the next sound that tried her nerves. The little parlor where they had lingered late, she and Nellis, last evening, when they had a pleasant talk together, the pleasantest she had ever had with that brother; now she remembered how it looked; how he had said, as he glanced back when they were leaving:
"Eurie, I hope you won't have anyspecialcalls before you get around to this room in the morning; it looks as though there had been an upheaval of books and papers here."
Books, and papers, and dust, and her hat and sack, and Jennie's gloves, and Robbie's play-things; she had forgotten the parlor.
Meantime, Jennie had rushed to the door, and now returned, holding the kitchen door open, and talking loud enough to be heard distinctly in the parlor.
"Eurie, Leonard Brooks is in the parlor. He says he wants to see you for just a minute, and I should think that is about as long as he would care to stay; it looks like sixty in there."
"Oh, dear me!" said Eurie, and she lookeddown at her dress. It had long black streaks running diagonally across it, and dish-water and grease combined on her apron; a few drops of arnica on her sleeves and hands did not improve the general effect.
"Jennie, why in the world didn't you tell him that I was engaged, and couldn't see him this morning?"
"Why, how should I know that you wanted me to say so to people? You didn't tell me. He said he was in a hurry. He isn't alone, either; there is a strange gentleman with him."
Worse and worse.
"I won't go," said Eurie.
"But you willhaveto. I told him you were at home, and would be in in a moment. Go on, what do you care?"
There was no way but to follow this advice; but she did care. She set the starch back on the stove, and washed her hands, and waited while Sallie ran up-stairs and hunted a towel; then she went, flushed and annoyed, to the parlor. Leonard Brooks was an old acquaintance, but who was the stranger?
"Mr. Holden, of New York," Leonard said.
"They would detain her but a moment, as she was doubtless engaged;" and then Leonard looked mischievously down at the streaked dress. He was not used to seeing Eurie look so entirely awry in the matter of her toilet.
Mr. Holden was going to get up a tableau entertainment, and needed home talent to help him; he, Leonard, had volunteered to introduce him to some of the talented ladies of the city, and had put her first on the list. Eurie struggled with her embarrassment, and answered in her usual way:
"He can see at a glance that I merit the compliment. If myself and all my surroundings don't show a marked talent for disorder, I don't know what would."
Mr. Holden was courteous and gallant in the extreme. He took very little notice of the remark; ignored the state of the room utterly; apologized for the unseemly hour of their call, attributing it to his earnest desire to secure her name before there was any other engagement made; "might he depend on her influence and help?"
Eurie was in a hurry. She smelled the starchscorching; Robbie was crying fretfully, and the baby was so quiet she feared he was asleep; the main point was, to get rid of her callers as soon as possible. She asked few questions, and knew as little about the projected entertainment as possible, save that she was pledged to a rehearsal on the coming Wednesday at eight o'clock. Then she bowed them out with a sense of relief; and, merely remarking to Jennie that she wished she could coax Robbie and the baby into the parlor, and clear it up a little before anybody more formidable arrived, she went back to the scorched starch and other trials.
From that time forth a great many people wanted Dr. Mitchell. The bell rang, and rang, and rang. Jennie had to run, and Eurie had to run to baby. Then came noon bringing the boys home from school, hungry and in a hurry; and Eurie had to go to Sallie's help, who was struggling to get the table set, and something on it to eat.
Whereupon the bread suddenly announced itself ready for the oven by spreading over one-half of the bread cloth, with a sticky mass. Then the bell rang again.
"I hope that is some one who will send to the Valley for father right away; then we shall have mother again."
This was Eurie's half aloud admission that she was not equal to the strain. Then she listened for Jennie's report. The parlor door being opened, and somebody being invited thither; and that room not cleared up yet! Then came Jennie with her exasperating news.
"It is Dr. Snowdon, from Morristown, and he wants father for a consultation; says he is going to take him back with him on the two o'clock train, and he wants to know if you could let him have a mouthful of dinner with father? He met father at the crossing half a mile below, and he told him to come right on."
"And where is mother?" said Eurie, pale and almost breathless under this new calamity.
"Why, he didn't say; but I suppose she is with father. He stopped to call at the Newton's. I guess you will have to hurry, won't you?"
Jennie was provokingly cool and composed; no sense of responsibility rested upon her.
"Hurry!" said Eurie. "Why, he can't haveany dinner here. We haven't a thing in the house for a stranger."
"Well," said Jennie, balancing herself on one foot, "shall I go and tell him that he must take himself off to a hotel?"
"Nonsense!" said Eurie; "you know better." Then she whisked into the kitchen. Twenty minutes of one, and the train went at ten minutes of two, and nothing to eat, and Dr. Snowdon (of all particular and gentlemanly mortals, without a wife or a home, or any sense of the drawbacks of Monday) to eat it! Is it hardly to be wondered at that the boys voted Eurie awfully cross?
"Altogether, it was just the most horrid time that ever anybody had." That was the way Eurie closed the account of it, as she sat curled on the foot of Marion's bed, with the three friends, who had been listening and laughing, gathered around her in different attitudes of attention.
"Oh, you can laugh, and so can I, now that it is over," Eurie said. "But I should just like to have seen one of you in my place; it was no laughing matter, I can tell you. It was just thebeginning of vexations, though; the whole week, so far, has been exasperating in every respect. Never anything went less according to planning than my programme for the week has."
Each of her auditors could have echoed that, but they were silent. At last Marion asked:
"But how did you get out of it? Tell us that. Now, a dinner of any kind is something that is beyond me. I can imagine you transfixed with horror. Just tell us what you did."
"Why, you will wonder who came to my rescue; but I tell you, girls, Nellis is the best fellow in the world. If I was half as good a Christian as he is, without any of that to help him, I should be a thankful mortal. I didn't expect him, thought he had gone away for the day; but when he came he took in the situation at a glance. Half a dozen words of explanation set him right. 'Never mind.' he said. 'Tell him we didn't mean to have dinner so early, but we flew around and got them a bite—then let's do it.' 'But what will the bite be?' I asked, and I stood looking up at him like a ninny who had never gotten a meal in her life. 'Why, bread, and butter, and coffee, and a dish of sauce, anda pickle, or something of that sort;' and the things really sounded appetizing as he told them off. 'Come,' he said, 'I'll grind the coffee, and make it; I used to be a dabster at that dish when I was in college. Jennie, you set the table, and Ned will help; he's well enough for that, I know.'
"And in less time than it takes to tell it, he had us all at work, baby and all; and, really, we managed to get up quite a decent meal, out of nothing, you understand; had it ready when father drove up; and he said it was as good a dinner as he had had in a week. But, oh, me! I'm glad such days don't come very often. You see, none of you know anything about it. You girls with your kitchens supplied with first-class cooks, and without any more idea of what goes on in the way of work before you are fed than though you lived in the moon, what do you know about such a day as I have described? Here's Marion, to be sure, who has about as empty a purse as mine; but as for kitchens, and wash days, and picked-up dinners, she is a novice."
"I know all about those last articles, so far as eating them is concerned," Marion said, grimly."I know things about them that you don't, and never will. But I have made up my mind that living a Christian life isn't walking on a feather bed, whether you live in a palace or a fourth-rate board-house, and teach school. I shouldn't wonder if there were such things as vexations everywhere."
"I don't doubt it," Ruth Erskine said, speaking more quickly than was usual to her. The others had been more or less communicative with each other. It wasn't in Ruth's nature to tell how tried, and dissatisfied she had been with herself and her life, and her surroundings all the week. She was not sympathetic by nature. She couldn't tell her inward feeling to any one; but she could indorse heartily the discovery that Marion had made.
"Well, I know one thing," said Eurie, "it requires twice the grace that I supposed it did to get through with kitchen duties and exasperations and keep one's temper. I shall think, after this, that mother is a saint when she gets through the day without boxing our ears three or four times around. Come, let's go to meeting."
It was Wednesday evening, and our four girls had met to talk over the events of the week, and to keep each other countenance during their first prayer-meeting.
"It is almost worse than going to Sunday-school," Eurie said, as they went up the steps, "except that we can help ourselves to seats without waiting for any attentions which would not be shown."
Now the First Church people were not given to going to prayer-meeting. It is somewhat remarkable how many First Churches there are to which that remark will apply. The chapel was large and inviting, looking as though in the days of its planning many had been expected at the social meetings, or else it was built with an eye to festivals and societies. The size of the room only made the few persons who were in it, seem fewer in number than they were.
Flossy had been to prayer-meeting several times before with a cousin who visited them, but none of the others had attended such a meeting since they could remember. To Eurie and Ruth it was a real surprise to see the rows of empty seats. As for Marion she had overheard sarcasticremarks enough in the watchful and critical world in which she had moved to have a shrewd suspicion that such was the case.
"I don't know where to sit," whispered Flossy, shrinking from the gaze of several heads that were turned to see who the new comers were. "Don't you suppose they will seat us?"
"Not they," said Eurie, "Don't you remember Sunday? We must just put the courageous face on and march forward. I'm going directly to the front. I always said if ever I went to prayer-meeting at all, I shouldn't act as though I was ashamed that I came." Saying which she led the way to the second seat from the desk, directly in line with Dr. Dennis' eye.
That gentleman looked down at them with troubled face. Marion looked to see it light up, for she said in her heart:
"Gracie has surely told him my secret."
She knew little about the ways in the busy minister's household. The delightful communion of feeling that she had imagined between father and daughter was almost unknown to them. Very fond and proud of his daughter was Dr. Dennis; very careful of her health andher associations; very grateful that she was a Christian, and so, safe.
But so busy and harassed was his life, so endless were the calls on his time and his patience and his sympathy, that almost without his being aware of it, his own family were the only members of his church who never received any pastoral calls.
Consequently a reserve like unto that in too many households had grown up between himself and his child, utterly unsuspected by the father, never but half owned by the daughter. He thought of her religious life with joy and thanksgiving; when she went astray, was careful and tender in his admonition; yet of the inner workings of her life, of her reaching after higher and better living, of her growth in grace, or her days of disappointment and failure and decline he knew no more than the veriest stranger with whom she never spoke.
For while Grace Dennis loved and reverenced her father more than she did any other earthly being, she acknowledged to herself that she could not have told him even of the little conversation between her teacher and herself. She could,and did, tell him all about the lesson in algebra, but not a word about the lesson in Christian love.
So on this evening his face expressed no satisfaction in the presence of the strangers. He was simply disturbed that they had formed a league to meet here with mischief ahead, as he verily believed.
He arose and read the opening hymn; then looked about him in a disturbed way. Nobody to lead the singing. This was too often the case. The quartette choir rarely indeed found their way to the prayer-meeting; and when the one who was a church-member occasionally came to the weekly meeting, for reasons best known to herself, apparently the power of song for which she received so good a Sabbath-day salary had utterly gone from her, for she never opened her lips.
"I hope," said Dr. Dennis, "that there is some one present who can start this tune; it is simple. A prayer-meeting without singing loses half its spiritual force." Still everyone was dumb. "I am sorry that I cannot sing at all," he said again, after a moment's pause. "If I could, ever solittle, it would be my delight to consecrate my voice to the service of God's house."
Still silence. All this made Marion remember her resolves at Chautauqua.
"What tunes do people sing in prayer-meeting?" she whispered to Eurie.
"I don't know, I am sure," Eurie whispered back. And then the ludicrous side happened to forcibly strike that young lady, just then she shook with laughter and shook the seat. Dr. Dennis looked down at her with grave, rebuking eye.
"Well," he began; "if we cannot sing"—
And then, before he had time to say further, a soft, sweet voice, so tremulous it almost brought the tears to think what a tremendous stretch of courage it had taken, quivered on the air.
I
T was Flossy who had triumphed again over self and a strong natural timidity. Her voice trembled but for an instant, then it was literally absorbed in the rich, full tones which Marion allowed to roll out from her throat—richer, fuller, stronger than they would have been had she not again received this sharp rebuke from the timid baby of their party. But that voice of hers! I wish I could describe it to you. It is not often that one hears such a voice. Such an one had never been heard in that room, and the few occupants were surely justified in twisting their heads to see from whence it came.
It was still a new thing to Marion to sing such words as were in that hymn; and in the beauty of them, and the enjoyment of their richness, she lost sight of self and the attention she was attracting, and sang with all her heart. It so happened that every one of the three friends could help her not a little, so our girls had the singing in their own hands for the evening.
When the next hymn was announced, Marion leaned forward, smiling a little, and covered with her firm, strong hand the trembling little gloved hand of Flossy, and herself gave the key-note in clear, strong tones that neither faltered nor trembled.
"You've taken up your little cross bravely," she whispered afterward. "Shown me my duty and shamed me into it; the very lightest end of it shall not rest on you any more."
Notwithstanding the singing, and finding that it could be well done, Dr. Dennis took care to see that there should be much of it, that meeting dragged. The few who were in the habit of saying anything, waited until the very latest moment, as if hopeful that they might find a way of escape altogether, and yet, when oncestarted, talked on as though they had forgotten how to arrange a suitable closing, and must therefore go on. Then the prayers seemed to our new-comers and new-beginners in prayer very strange and unnatural.
"Do you suppose Mr. Helm really feels such a deep interest in everything under the sun?" queried Eurie. "Or did he pray for all the world in detail because that is the proper way to do? Someway, I don't feel as if I could ever learn to pray in that way. I believe I shall have to ask for just what I want and then stop."
"If you succeed in keeping to the latter part of your determination you will do better than the most of them," Marion said. "I can't help thinking that the worst feature of it is the keeping on, long after the person wants to stop. Now, I tell you, girls, that is not the way they prayed at Chautauqua, is it?"
"Well," said Flossy, "it is not the way Dr. Dennis prays, either; but then, he has a theological education; that makes a difference, I suppose."
"No it doesn't, you mouse, make a speck ofdifference. That old Uncle Billy, as they call him, who sat down by the door in the corner, hasn't a theological education, nor any other sort of education. Did he speak one single sentence according to rule? Yet, didn't you notice his prayer? Different from most of the others. He meant it."
"But you wouldn't say that none of the others meant it?" Ruth said, speaking hesitatingly and questioningly.
"No," Marion answered, slowly. "I suppose not, of course; yet there is something the matter with them. It may be that the ones who make them, may feel them, but they don't succeed in making me feel."
"Well, honestly," said Eurie, "I'm disappointed. I have heard that people who were really Christians liked to go to prayer-meeting better than anywhere else, but I feel awfully wicked about it. But, as true as I live, I have been in places that I thought were ever so much pleasanter than it was there this evening. Now, to tell the plain truth, some of the time I was dreadfully bored. I'm specially disappointed, too, for I had a plan to trying to coax Nellis intogoing with me, but I really don't know whether I want him to go or not."
But this talk was when they were on their way homeward. Before that, as they went down the steps, Eurie said:
"What plans have you for the evening, girls? Won't you go with me?"
And then she went back to that tormenting Monday, and told of Leonard Brooks' call with his friend Mr. Holden, and of the tableau entertainment to which she was pledged. They had all heard more or less of it, and all in some form or other had received petitions for help, but none of them had come in direct contact with it, save Eurie, and it appeared that the rest of them had given the matter very little attention. Still, they were willing to go with Eurie, and see what was to be seen. At least they walked on in that direction.
Dr. Dennis and his daughter were directly behind them. As they neared a brightly-lighted street corner, he came up to Eurie and Marion, who were walking together, with a pleasant good-evening. Something in Marion's manner of singing the hymn had interested him, and alsohe was interested in learning, if he could, what motive had brought them to so unusual a place as the prayer-meeting.
"It is a lovely evening for a walk," he said. "But, Miss Wilbur, you don't propose to take it alone, I hope! Isn't your boarding place at some distance?"
She was not going directly home, Marion explained, not caring to admit the loneliness, and also what evidently seemed to Dr. Dennis the impropriety of having to traverse the street alone so often that it had failed to seem a strange thing to her. Eurie volunteered further information:
"We are going up to Annesley's Hall, to make arrangements for the tableau entertainment."
Now, it so happened that Dr. Dennis knew more about the tableau entertainment than Eurie did, and his few minutes of feeling that perhaps he had misjudged those girls, departed at once; so did his genial manner.
"Indeed!" he said, in the coldest tone imaginable, and almost immediately dropped back with his daughter.
There was a gentleman hurrying down thewalk, evidently for the purpose of overtaking him. At this moment he pronounced the doctor's name.
"Walk on, Grace, I will join you in a moment," the girls heard Dr. Dennis say, and Grace stepped forward alone.
Marion glanced back. But a few weeks ago it would have been nothing to her that Grace Dennis or anyone else walked alone, so that she had no need for their company. But the law of unselfishness, which is the very essence of a true Christian life, was already beginning to work unconsciously in this girl's heart, and it made her turn now and say to Grace, with winning voice:
"Have you lost your companion? Come and walk with us until you can have him again. Miss Mitchell, Miss Dennis."
It was a fact that, though Eurie was of the same church with Grace Dennis, and though she knew Grace by sight, and bowed to her in the daytime, their familiarity with each other was not so sufficient as to insure a gas-light recognition.
"We know each other," Grace said, brightly,"at least we ought to. We do when we see each other plainly enough. I have been meaning to call with papa, Miss Mitchell, but I haven't been able to, yet; I am only a school girl, you know."
Eurie preferred to ignore the calling question; she had little sympathy with that phase of fashionable life; so she plunged at once into another subject.
"Are you going to the hall to-night, Miss Dennis, to help in getting up the tableau entertainment?"
Something in the quick way in which Grace Dennis said, "Oh, no," made Marion anxious to question further.
"Why not?" she asked. "Miss Mitchell says they want all the ladies of talent; I'm sure you and I ought to be there. I can imagine you in a splendid tableau, Gracie; perhaps you would better go and help. To be sure, I haven't been really invited myself, but I guess I can get in somehow. Won't you go with us now?"
"I can't, Miss Wilbur. I should like to go; I enjoy tableaux ever so much; but papa does not approve of making tableaux of Scripturescenes. You know, ministers have to be in advance on all these subjects."
Grace spoke in an apologetic tone, and with a flushed face, as one who had been obliged into saying a rude thing, and must make it sound as best she could.
"Are they to be Scripture scenes?" Eurie asked; and in the same breath added: "Why does he disapprove?"
"I don't think I could give his reasons. He thinks them irreverent, sometimes, I fancy; but I am not sure. I never heard him say very much on the subject; but I know quite well that he would not like me to go. Don't you know, Miss Mitchell, that clergymen always have to stand aloof from so many things, because they are set up as examples for others to follow?"
"But what is the use of it if others don't follow?" said quick-witted Eurie. "We must look into this question. I have never thought of it. It will have to be put down with that long list of subjects on which I have never had any thoughts; that list swells every day."
At this point Dr. Dennis somewhat decidedlysummoned his daughter to his side, and it was after they had turned onto another street that the girls took the prayer-meeting into consideration.
They were still talking of it when they reached the hall. Quite a company were assembled, among them Eurie's brother, who was to meet her there, and Col. Baker, who had come for the purpose of meeting Flossy, much to her discomfiture. Mr. Holden and Leonard Brooks came over to the seat which they had taken, and the former was presented to the rest of the party.
"This is capital!" Nellis Mitchell said. "Holden, I congratulate you. I knew Flossy would help, and possibly Miss Wilbur; but I will confess to not even hoping for you, Miss Erskine."
"If your hopes are necessary to the completion of this scheme, I advise you not to raise them high so far as I am concerned, for they will have a grievous fall. I am the most indifferent of spectators." This from Ruth, in her most formal and haughty tone. Nellis Mitchell was not one of her favorites.
"Oh, you will help us, will you not?" Mr.Holden asked, in a tone so familiar and friendly that Ruth flushed as she answered:
"Thank you, no."
Whereupon Mr. Holden discovered himself to be silenced.
"Never mind," Leonard Brooks said, "we have enough helpers promised to make the thing a grand success. Eurie, let me show you the picture of one which we have planned for you; the scenic effect is really very fine—Oriental, you know; and you will light up splendidly in that picture."
"Thank you," said Eurie, in an absent-minded tone: and she had to be twice recalled from her thoughts before she turned to look at the plate spread before her. On the instant an angry flush arose, spreading itself over her face as she looked. "You do not mean that you are to present this?" she said, at length.
"Why not?" asked Leonard, in astonishment. Mr. Holden hastened to explain:
"It is not often chosen for tableaux, I admit; but on that account is all the more desirable. We want to get away from the ordinary sort. This is magnificent in its working up. I had itin New York last winter, and it was one of the finest presented."
"It will not be presented with my help." Eurie's tone was so cold and haughty that Marion turned toward her in surprise, and for the first time glanced at the plate.
"Why, Miss Mitchell!" Mr. Holden exclaimed, "I am surprised and grieved if I have annoyed you by my selection. I was thinking how well you would light up an Oriental scene. Is it the representation of the Saviour that you dislike? I cannot see why that should be objectionable. It is dealing with him as a mere man, you know. It is simply an Oriental dress of a male figure that we want to represent, and this figure of Christ as he sat at the well is so exceedingly minute and so carefully drawn that it works up finely."
"Christ at the well of Samaria!" read Flossy, now bending over the book, and her eyes and cheeks told the story of her aversion to the idea. "Whowouldbe willing to personate the Saviour?"
Mr. Holden was prompt with his answer:
"I have had not the slightest difficulty in thatmatter. My friend, Col. Baker here, expressed himself as entirely willing to undertake it. Why, my dear young ladies, you see it is nothing but the masculine form of dress that we want to bring out. There is really nothing more irreverent in it than there is in your looking at this picture here to-night."
"Then we will not look longer at the picture," Eurie said, drawing back suddenly, the color on her face deepening into crimson. "It is useless for you to undertake an argument with me. I will be very plain with you, and inform you that, aside from the irreverent nature of the tableau, I consider myself insulted in being chosen to make a public representation of that character. I am certainly absolved from my promise, Mr. Holden; and I beg you to withdraw my name from your list at once."
Mr. Holden turned the leaf on the offending picture. He was amazed and grieved; he had looked at the picture purely in an artistic light; he supposed all people looked thus at tableau pictures; it was certainly a compliment that he meant to pay, and not the shadow of a discourtesy; but since they looked at it in that singularmanner, of course it should be withdrawn from the lists; nothing further should be said about it. Let him show them, just allow him to show them, one plate which was the very finest in scenic effect of anything that he had ever gotten up. The name of it was "The Ancient Feast."
Eurie turned hotly away, but Flossy and Ruth looked. It was a representation of Belshazzar at his impious feast, at the time when he was arrested by the handwriting on the wall. Ruth Erskine curled her handsome lip into something like a sneer.
"Does Col. Baker kindly propose to aid you in representing the hand of God?" she said, in her haughtiest tones. "He is so willing to lend himself to the other piece of sacrilege, that one can hardly expect him to shrink even from this."
Mr. Holden promptly closed his book.
"There is some mistake," he said. "I supposed the ladies and gentlemen gathered here came in for the purpose of helping, not for ridiculing. Of course if we differ so entirely on these topics we can be of very little help to each other."
"So I should judge," Marion said. "And, that being the case, shall we go?"
"What nonsense!" said Leonard Brooks, following after the retreating party, but speaking only in a low tone, and addressing Eurie. "One expects such lofty humbug from Miss Erskine, and even from Miss Wilbur—the tragic is in her line; but I thought you would enter into and enjoy the whole thing. I told Holden that you would be the backbone of the matter."
"Thank you," said Eurie, her voice half choked with indignation and wounded pride. "And I presume you assisted in the selection of the characters that I should personate! As I said, I consider myself insulted. Please allow me to pass."
Much excited, and some of them very much ashamed, they all found themselves on the street again, Nellis Mitchell being the only one of the astonished gentlemen who had bethought himself, or had had sufficient courage to join them.
"Well, what next?" he said.
"Nell," said Eurie, "what do you think of that?"
Nellis shrugged his shoulders.
"It is not according to my way of thinking," he said; "but they told me you had promised, and I thought if you had, with your eyes open, it was none of my business. I congratulate you on being fairly out of it. That Holden is a scamp, I believe."
"And Col. Baker was going to take that character," said Flossy to herself. And Eurie, in her heart, felt grieved and hurt that her friend of long standing, Leonard Brooks, could have said and done just what he had; he could never be to her as though he had not said and done those things. As for Marion, all she said was:
"I begin to have a clearer idea of what Grace Dennis and her father mean."