"'ILL MANNERS.
"'Diagnosis.Patient objects to saying please, and forgets to say thank you; slams doors; slides down the banisters; interrupts conversation, etc., etc.
"'Remedy.Rx.Of maternal politeness, 1 lb.
"'Of parental ditto, ¾ lb.
"'Of firmness, ½ lb.
"'Of line upon line, 8 oz.
"'Mix intimately, and form into thirty pills, which are to be given according to symptoms.'"
"What a girl you are!" said Mrs. Grey, laughing.
"Who, do you suppose, would buy such a book?"
"I would, for one, if I were not already running over with wisdom. Shall I read any more?"
"Yes, go on."
"'SELFISHNESS.
"'Diagnosis.An acute disease, that, if neglected, will become chronic and incurable; patient begins to show disinclination to wait upon papa and mamma; wants the best seat by the fire; steers for the biggest apple.
"'Rx.Of parental benevolence, 1 lb.
"'Of essence of Bible, 1 gall.
"'Bottle, but do not cork, that the delightful aroma of this liquid may fill the house.'"
"There! I shall not read any more of this nonsense. I have a scheme for another book, which I am quite eager to begin immediately."
"I shall put my veto on all brain-work," said Mrs. Grey, "until I see you looking like yourself. The best thing you can do now is to lie down and take a nap till dinner-time. I believe I shall have to do the same, for I am very tired."
"Whywillyou go about waiting on other people, and wearing yourself out, mamma?"
"Dear Laura, long before you reach my age you will understand. You will see that 'this world's a room of sickness,' and must have its nurses as well as its doctors, and I can truly say,
"'I have often blessed my sorrows,That bring others' griefs so near.'"
"You are the nicest old thing in the world," cried Laura, with a tremendous hug, and several admiring pats on her mother's back. "I mean to have ten children exactly like you. But I am not going to bed in the day-time; you may depend on that. There, lie down on the sofa and let me cover you with the afghan."
Laura looked so refreshed the next day that her mother could not find it in her heart to make an invalid of her, or forbid her visit to the Astor Library. Armed with pencil and paper, therefore, she set gaily forth, and was soon seated at a table with eight or ten volumes before her, out of which she got some amusement, but nothing serviceable. She went back to her mother rather crestfallen.
"I could have saved you all this trouble," said Mrs. Grey, "if you had told me what you wanted;" and going to the nearest book-case she took down several books which exactly met Laura's wishes. The result will be seen by and by. Margaret, meanwhile, had begun a new picture in place of the one defaced by the children, and as the three sat together reading, painting, chatting, they formed a trio almost any one would have enjoyed watching. Laura feeling the relief of her children's convalescence, was particularly happy.
"How nice it is to be at home," she cried. "I shouldn't mind living a hundred years if I could always have things just as they are now."
"Nor I," said Margaret.
"Nor I," said Mrs. Grey, smiling; "but things won't go on a hundred years just so, nor should we live a hundred years if they did. It is better to leave our destiny in wiser hands than our own."
And then a pleasant silence settled down upon the group, each busy in her own way, and each, in her own way, very happy.
The next morning Mrs. Grey settled herself comfortably near the fire, to enjoy one of the luxuries in which she indulged herself—the daily paper. She liked to know what was going on in the world. But as her eye ran leisurely from column to column, it was suddenly arrested, and she seemed turned into stone.
"Oh, mamma darling, what is it?" cried Laura, running to her side, and seizing her hands. "Why, you are as cold as ice!"
Mrs. Grey tried to speak, but could not; she pointed to a paragraph, however, and Laura read:
"It gives us great pain to announce that the President of the —— bank is under arrest on a very grave charge. His books have been seized, and are to be thoroughly examined. We make this statement reluctantly, trusting that Mr. Grey will come triumphantly forth from this ordeal."
"What horrid, shameful stuff and nonsense!" cried Laura, indignantly. "Oh, mamma, you look ten years older than you did."
"I have lived a hundred," faltered Mrs. Grey.
"Why, mamma! you don't mean that you believe any of these lies?" demanded Laura, amazed.
"Oh, I don't know what I believe. I am stunned."
"Frank Grey accused of crime? Frank Grey under arrest? I don't believe a word about it!" cried Laura. "He is utterly incapable of anything wrong!"
"Don't say that, my child. We are all capable ofeverything wrong if left to ourselves. Try to think for me. I am so bewildered. Oh, I have been too proud of that boy. And I have been too cold and unsympathizing towards distracted parents. I needed this blow. When does the next train leave?"
"At 10.40. Yes, of course you must go," said Laura, overawed by her mother's anguish. "And Mary must go too, you are in no state to travel alone."
Mrs. Grey made no remonstrance; for the first time in her life, she became passive in the hands of others, and let them act for her.
"Mamma, you weren't like this when darling Maud died," said Laura.
"When darling Maud died," repeated Mrs. Grey, dreamily. Then after silent reflection she said, "Maud died; yes, but Maud was not accused of crime. To lay away a lovely child in the grave is nothing—nothing, by the side of this horror."
"Such a man as Frank can live down disgrace," said Laura.
"Disgrace!" repeated Mrs. Grey, "what care I for disgrace? It is sin against God that makes me shudder; the bare suspicion that my boy has wounded my Master." And now, as if the mention of that sacred name was a gigantic power, her passing weakness disappeared, and the prompt, resolute, strong woman stood equipped for her journey.
And on the way to her son, her prayers rushed like the engine that bore her to his presence, straight to their end, and she began to reproach herself for her want of faith.
"Am I to fancy that my children can break through the hedge my prayers have built about them?" she asked herself. "Suppose Frank has been sorely tempted, am I to forget that he belongs to a covenant-keeping God?"
Day and night they flew on; at one station they were joined by Cyril Heath.
"Belle thought I should intercept you," he said, cheerily. "I hope this miserable business is not weighing upon you,mother," tenderly using this word for the first time.
"The shock has been terrible," she replied; "I never could have believed I so little knew what trouble meant."
"You do not mean to say that you have the slightest suspicion that these rumors have any foundation in truth? I have none, nor has Belle."
"I am afraid my faith in human nature is not as strong as it was twenty years ago. But I ought to have faith in God as a Hearer of prayer, and thought I had."
"You have the strongest faith of any one I know, except my dear Belle," he said decidedly. "This shock has staggered you, but you will get over it. Ah, here we are! And whose bright face is that in the crowd—if it isn't Frank's? Hurrah!"
In a moment Frank bounded into the train, his face aglow with health and happiness.
"I knew you would come," he said, "and I made a nice calculation as to when. But I did not expect you, Cyril. How are you, old fellow? Come, here's the carriage, and Lily in it, waiting for you."
"What a ridiculous old goose I am," said Mrs. Grey to herself. "The idea of distrusting a man with such a face."
On reaching home Frank could hardly do enough for the travelers, to show his appreciation of their sympathy.
"The charge came upon me like a thunder-clap," he said, "and at first I was inclined to treat it as a joke. It is the work of a clerk, whom I had discharged for dishonesty, and who thirsted for revenge. He was under suspicion for a long time before I could convict him of theft, and then he begged so hard for mercy, and expressed so much penitence, that I forgave him. I had no right to employ him, however, for the money under my control was mine in trust for others, and not to be risked. The injury he has done me is a temporary one; that done to himself is irreparable."
"Has he a family?"
"Yes, a poor old mother and three sisters dependent upon him."
"We must do something for them, poor things."
"Yes, of course. They are in great distress. As to myself, the main question after all is, have I a clear conscience; I am sure, mother, you never doubted that, who trained it with such care?"
"I distrust everything but God," she replied, "and even my faith in Him wavered when I read that terrible paragraph. All my prayers for you, all my instructions and labors, seemed for the time thrown away."
"That is like your mother's usual self-distrust," said Cyril Heath, "not want of faith in you, Frank."
"Thank you for that suggestion," said Mrs. Grey. "Well, we must send dispatches to Laura, and Margaret, and Belle, at once. You ought to have seen Laura's righteous indignation! It isn't a bad thing for people to find out how they love each other, through some emergency like this. How do you suppose a mother feels when she hears that her first-born son is under arrest? Were you really suspected to that degree?"
"Yes; and I am at large now only on bail."
"And how soon do you expect to clear yourself?"
"I don't know; there may be complications I do not foresee. But I shall come out all right in the end."
"Do you stand, with your friends, as you did before these charges?"
"With most of them I do. There were any number of them ready to go bail for me to any amount. Outsiders may look at the matter differently. I have taken a very decided religious stand here, and that has prejudiced some men against me, who are very glad to make a handle of this thing to injure the cause of Christ. I am inclined to think that, sooner or later, every one of His faithful disciples will have to suffer something, not only for, butwithHim; if we do aggressive work for Him, we must expect aggression in return."
"I am glad you have learned that."
"Well—yes, but I have been swallowing a bitter pill. If I was ever proud of anything, it was of being the very soul of honor. If I could commit the most tempting sin on earth, unknown to all humanity, unknown even to God, I wouldn't commit it."
"My dear boy, I believe you. But it won't do to be proud even of sinlessness. Our only true attitude before God is one of absolute, constant self-distrust. I have known of men standing on as apparentlysecure ground as yours, and fancying they could never be moved, fall at last."
"Into ruin?"
"No; a redeemed soul can only fall partially. In the midst of his deepest degradation, he can look on Christ, and say to the Tempter, 'Rejoice not over me, mine enemy; when I fall I shall arise again.'"
The affair proved more annoying than Frank Grey had believed it could be. There are any number of people who respect a man while he is up, who will kick him when he is down. Every detail of his life was paraded out for public inspection; all that was most sacred to him was fingered by soiled hands. But for his mother's presence, and faith and prayers, he would have been overwhelmed, for his wife was unto him in this sea of trouble, just what she would have been if he were struggling in mid-ocean, a drag, a dead weight.
But it does not hurt a true soul to be tested, even by fire. It comes out stronger, surer, safer, better fitted than ever for the true purposes of life.
After a long, hard struggle, Frank Grey came forth from the conflict with as clear a record in his hand, and as pure a light in his eye, as was ever known to mortal man. But there was no unseemly triumph, or blowing of trumpets on his part, or his mother's. Both felt that they had been humbled under the hand of God, and walked softly before Him. And inthis mood she wrote an eloquent letter to Mr. and Mrs. Thayer, owning that the sharp experience of the past weeks had quickened her sympathy with them in their parental cares and trials, and assuring them that they might rely upon her friendly services, should they again be needed.
She was now at leisure to cast a scrutinizing, but kindly eye at the little world she had so suddenly entered, and saw much that needed correction. Some of the children were like their mother, and she got along with them comfortably enough. But she had next to no control over the others, and had to coax, manage, and bribe them into the little proprieties a mother should require. The table was not neatly arranged; the children's clothes were untidy; dust lay everywhere. The most incomprehensible thing about it was, that Frank, who used to be fastidious about all such matters, did not seem to care how things went. The boys helped themselves to what they wanted; the girls had their wardrobes as nearly in common as their different ages permitted.
"Frankie, dear," his mother would drawl out, "aren't you afraid so much mince-pie will make you ill, as it did last week?" And "Frankie, dear, would you mind beating that drum out of doors; it makes my head ache to have it so near." Or,
"Frankie, dear, Cyril says those are his mittens; take them off, do, and let him have them; I can't bear to hear him cry so."
She had got a habit of whining and crooning over them, of which she was unconscious, in fact she was not conscious of any of her defects. Frank had always said his wife must be amiable, and in one sense Lily was so; but she had not strength of character enough to get angry on, and in her ill-ordered household she was beginning to grow, not morose, not crusty, but nervously peevish.
Mrs. Grey kept congratulating herself that she had come to see all these evils, and then kept asking herself what she was going to do about it.
She concluded, at last, to begin on a very small matter.
"Lily, dear, do not let my being here confine you to me. You must be wanting to use this delightful weather for your spring shopping."
"There isn't any hurry about that."
"You know hot weather may be upon us any day. I have written to Laura to do Margaret's shopping for her at once."
"I don't think it will be hot. I hate to have to see to dress-making."
"I'm afraid Frank keeps you low in funds."
"He gives me all I want."
"Wouldn't it be well, then, to dress the children a little better?"
"I thought you believed in dressing them simply."
"I do. But they need not be shabby, dear."
"It is a great deal of trouble to keep them looking nice. Frank and Cyril get holes in their knees the first thing I know; and the girls tear and stain their dresses so that I can't keep them looking decent."
"Well, I shouldn't mind doing the spring shopping for you," said Mrs. Grey, briskly. She hated shopping, cordially; but these ragged children must be taken in hand by somebody.
"Shouldn't you mind it, really?" asked Lily, brightening a little. "It tires me to go out, I go so seldom. And I wish you would take the children in hand, as well as their wardrobes. I can't do anything with them."
"Nor can I do much in the little time I am here. But if you will try not to be hurt, I will make a suggestion to you. These turbulent boys are too much for you, and are wearing your nerves all out. They would be better off away from home, provided you could find just the right place for them. And, if you and Frank think best, I will take Gabrielle home with me, and see what I can make of her."
"Would you, really? What a relief it would be! She and Annabelle torment me and each other. Frank does not see enough of the children to know how they behave. He makes them obey him, and on Sundays does the best he can for them; but somehow our home isn't peaceful and pleasant, though I have such a good disposition, and am never angry with the children."
"Frank is not confined to his business all day; could he not contrive to look after the children more?"
"I don't know. He is on ever so many committees, and is superintendent of the Sunday-school, and our minister wants him here and there and everywhere. He is so energetic and bright, and people think so much of him, that he has no time. Then the letters he has to write! But if the children do anythingverybad, he lets everything go till he has seen to them."
"Frank would not have married this poor, languid, inefficient woman if I had had the faith I ought," thought Mrs. Grey. "But she is not accountable for gifts never afforded her, dear child."
That evening Lily went early to bed with an attack of neuralgia brought on by one of her fruitless attempts to subdue Frank. Mrs. Grey seized the opportunity to talk with the boy's father on the subject of sending him from home.
To her surprise, he at once yielded to her suggestions.
"You understand human nature well enough," he said, "to know that while I may allow that my wife has disappointed me in some things, I can't stand it to hear a word said against her, even by you. I love her; and though I wish she had more energy of character, and kept my house and my children in betterorder, I would not change her for any other woman I know."
"I should hope not!" was the reply. "And I think if the three elder children were off her hands she would have better health, and look after the house more."
"I shouldn't like to send Gabrielle to a boarding school," he said.
"Nor would I have you do it. I propose to take her home with me."
Grateful tears filled Frank's eyes as this unexpected offer fell upon his ear.
"Oh, mother!" he cried, "if you knew how many times I have wished this could be! If our eldest girl could be trained by you, this home of ours would, by and by, be transformed."
"I cannot work miracles," she replied, "but I am more than willing to try to benefit Gabrielle. Now about the boys; have they any vices?"
"No, indeed. They are just two great hearty, healthy, noisy fellows, not at all obstinate when I take them in hand, but too much for their delicate little mother."
"Are they truthful?"
"Yes. Never knew either of them to tell a falsehood."
"Then I think I can kill two birds with one stone. Belle and Cyril have a hard time with his insufficientsalary, and I think they might be induced to take charge of your boys. Cyril needs more books, and Belle needs a good seamstress; you can afford to pay a fair price for advantages money alone could not purchase. I don't think they would, on a mere pecuniary consideration, burden themselves with new cares. But they do not live for what they can get, but for what they can do."
"You have made me almost a boy again," he replied; "you have lifted my greatest cares off my shoulders."
"Well, do write to Cyril to-night, and I will write to Belle; then, if they agree to the plan, the boys can start with me, and be left at Lancaster."
Frank wrote his letter, and Mrs. Grey wrote hers; this was Belle's reply:
Dearest Mamma:—When your letter first reached us, I thought the project almost insane, and so did Cyril. But we prayed over it, and altered our minds. I would not take any other boys in the world; but dear Frank always was my favorite brother, and if I can help him in this emergency I will. Poor little Lily never was made to cope with such embodiments of health and mischief as Frank and Cil; but I am now in excellent health, and will do my best for them. How little I foresaw that my daily prayers for these children were going to bringthem under our roof! Pray for me, darling mamma, that I may win their confidence and love, and be as true to them as to my own precious ones. As to Cyril, you know his doctrine—that it is the mother who should rule the house, and beyond setting them a perfectly beautiful example and frolicking with them, he will do nothing for them. Give a great deal of love to Frank and Lily. Of course you will stop, on your way home, to see our babies. I think we are just about as happy in each other, our children, our work, everything, as we can be. If you don't believe it, come and see!
Your loving, devoted
Belle.
Lily's neuralgia confined her to her room six weeks, during which time she suffered so much that Mrs. Grey had to attend to everything; and she took the opportunity to reconstruct the household. Perfect order and cleanliness reigned supreme; inefficient servants were replaced by reliable ones; the children were made neat and tidy, and Frank took his meals from a bountiful, well-ordered table, with great satisfaction.
All this took more time, thought, patience, and energy than any man can imagine. It is part of woman's lot to do a large amount of unappreciated work. And the sick-room claimed attention, too.Lily had no relatives living to come to care for her when ill, and it was a great relief to be nursed by experienced hands. Mrs. Grey and Mary took the whole charge of her; bore with her faint-heartedness and childishness, prepared her food, kept her in fresh and dainty white dressing-gowns and caps, and at last pulled her through. They were veterans in sick-rooms, and had long worked manfully together.
The three children were highly excited at the idea of leaving home, and, on the whole, delighted. The preparations for their departure were soon completed, and on a pleasant spring morning the party set off. Lily could hardly conceal her relief as she took leave of them; she was not fond of children, though, of course, she loved her own, more or less; and these vivacious young creatures wearied her beyond everything. She hated care and trouble and exertion, if, indeed, she had life enough to hate anything; and when Frank declined to take leave of them on the train because he knew he should disgrace himself by crying, and did cry, like a big school-boy, as he saw them drive off, she gave him up as a problem too hard for her comprehension.
The village in which Cyril Heath was settled was a manufacturing one, and full of activity. His house was a large, old-fashioned, ugly structure; but he and Belle together had made it home-like and pretty within doors, and as no part of it was kept in stateand shut up, it smiled a welcome to every guest. Belle was awaiting her mother with a baby on each arm, and a face all smiles and delight. She let the three children loose into the garden immediately, where they were soon joined by Mr. Heath, who chased them up and down the walks with all the joyousness of a boy.
"It's splendid here," said Frank, Jr. "I never mean to live in a city again."
"Nor I," said Cil.
"Is it as pretty as this at grandma's?" asked Gabrielle.
"It's a thousand times prettier," replied Mr. Heath. "Have you never been there in the summer?"
"No; only at Christmas, and at aunty Maud's funeral."
"Oh! then you have a great pleasure before you. Have you all had gardens?"
"No, no, indeed!"
"You boys must have some at once."
"To dig in ourselves? How jolly!"
"Would you like to see my workshop?" asked their uncle.
Wouldn't they, though?Anything to work off their steam! Taking twenty steps when one only was needed, they scampered at his heels, and arrived, breathless, at a small room in which was a carpenter'sbench in perfect order, a turning-lathe, and other objects, as new to the boys as Paradise was to Adam.
"Now, I sha'n't want you fellows meddling with my tools," said Mr. Heath, as the children began to finger and play with whatever they could lay hands on. "Useful things are not meant for toys. I shall have another bench made adapted to your height, and whenever you give your aunty special pleasure, shall give you a tool, till you acquire all you need."
"Papa hasn't any workshop," said Frank.
"But he's got a bank," said Cil. "Have you a bank, uncle?"
Mr. Heath replied that he had not that article, which greatly relieved the two.
While this was going on, Mrs. Grey was admiring the babies, lovely little creatures as need be, and rejoicing over Mabel.
"You will have a hard time with the boys, I am afraid," she said. "Poor Lily was no more fit to grapple with them than if they were giants."
"I suppose it will be hard, at first. But I already love them with a new kind of love—the love of possession. To all intents and purposes, they are mine now. How nice it was that Laura was at Greylock when you left! You wouldn't have liked to leave Margaret alone so many weeks. To be sure, she could have come here."
"Not very well, because of her lessons."
"True; I had forgotten that. Now come upstairs, please, and look at the boys' room."
"Why, youwitch!" cried Mrs. Grey, "when did you do all this?"
For the room was not only neat and fresh and home-like; it was adorned with illuminations, pretty engravings, and other agreeable objects which had cost, not much in money, but a great deal in time.
"If I am a witch I learned it of you, mamma," said Belle. "Besides, Cyril helped me. He made the bedsteads, and the washstands, and the brackets, and picture frames. And the illuminations I made years ago. Don't you remember the mania I had for that sort of thing at one time?"
"I had forgotten it. How nice these upholstered boxes are."
"Yes, Cyril made those, too; and I had chintz left from a piece you gave me ever so long ago. Come, now, and see my room. It has been altered since you were here."
"What a pleasant room! How has it been altered?"
"Cyril took away the partition between it and the next one, and put up this linen-closet. See, isn't it nice. He did it all with his own hands, and then I painted it."
"Not since the twins came?"
"No, indeed. It was more than a year ago."
"Are these illuminations, also, things of the past, too?"
"Why, yes, mamma. Don't you remember trying to impress those truths on us children, and having these very illuminations hung at the foot of our beds, so that we could see them the first thing in the morning?"
"Yes, I do, now you speak of it."
"How many, many times I have read them!"
"'WRONG LIVING LEADS TO WRONG THINKING.'"'WRONG THINKING LEADS TO WRONG LIVING!'"
"Yes; one whose life is practically wrong will soon form a theory to adjust to it. And one who starts with a false theory will, inevitably, end with evil acts."
"Soon after we came here, Cyril preached two sermons, taking those illuminations for his texts. There were several persons in the congregation who thought it was no matter what they believed, provided they were sincere. And there were others who took the ground that they were just as well off out of the church as in it, and so gradually slipped back into the world they had promised to forsake. But these are only specimens of the errors he has had to contend with—growing out of wrong thinking on theone hand, wrong living on the other. Still, we have some of the very salt of the earth here."
During all this time Mabel had followed them about, keeping close to her mother's side, the perfect image of undemonstrative devotion.
"It is you and Maud over again," said Belle, responding to Mrs. Grey's intelligent glance. "Mabel and I are just in love with each other. The other children will be home soon. Just look into their bureau-drawers. Now I have trained them as nearly alike as I could, and see the difference. Everything in Amy's possession is in apple-pie order; and unless I see to it every day, Alice keeps hers topsy-turvy."
"Never mind. Habit is second nature. Ah, here they come!"
Two smiling little girls came, somewhat shyly, forward; but grandmamma soon made them at ease with her.
"Have you seen the babies?" was one of the first questions.
"Yes, indeed. But they are asleep now."
"Which do you think the prettiest, mamma's baby or Mabel's?" was the next.
"Dear me! I didn't see any difference. They looked exactly alike to me."
"How funny!"
"Run down into the garden, now, my darlings, and find your cousins."
The little ones darted away like gold-fish, and in a few minutes had renewed their acquaintance with each other.
"Don't you think it would be a good plan, mamma," asked Belle, "to let the boys run wild for a week before sending them to school? They are racing in the garden like young colts. Dear me! What is that?"
'That' was the sound of four noisy feet rushing up the stairs, with such a racket as had never been heard in that house. Both babies woke up in a twinkling, and began to cry.
"Now I shall make short work with that sort of thing," said Belle, as soon as she had quieted them. "The boys may make as much noise out of doors as they choose; but such rushing, and tearing, and stamping will never do within."
"Of course not. It does not add to their happiness or comfort to be boisterous like that, one iota; and it destroys the peace of the whole household."
Here came an Indian war-whoop, and bang, bang, bang down-stairs, with a door slammed tremendously as afinale.
"Well, I don't wonder Lily's nerves gave out," said Belle, "if that's the way she lets the boys tear up and down. Why, our boys never went on like that."
"No; I would not allow it. If boys are to becomegentlemen, they must begin in the nursery. I have been astonished at the uproar most of them are allowed to make. One of the first things to teach Frank and Cil, is, that they are to form the habit of regarding the comfort of the household."
"I must go down, now, and see about tea," said Belle. "Poor Frank, how he will miss his boys!"
Shortly after the tea-bell rang, and the three young Greys, their hair flying, their hands soiled, their feet covered with mud, rushed in, hungry and eager.
"I want to sit next to grandma," said Gabrielle.
"No, I am going to sit next her," said Frank.
"Neither of you will sit next me with such hands and faces," said Mrs. Grey. "I thought I convinced you of that before you left home."
The children looked a little crestfallen, and beat a hasty retreat to their rooms, where they made themselves presentable as fast as they could.
After tea they were going to rush out again, but Belle detained them.
"I want to tell you something funny before you go out," she said. "Some years ago—ten, perhaps—I went to visit an institution for the deaf and dumb, and enjoyed everything I saw. But when school was dismissed, and the boys came running down-stairs, I did not know but I should become deaf myself, they made such a noise. I did not know, before, that one set of fellows made more noise than others; but itseems they do, because they have no idea of sound. Now, you two young men are not deaf, and if you choose to listen to yourselves, you will hear what needless racket you make."
The boys looked in her smiling, kindly, but determined face, and saw they had no help for it but to give in.
"Alice said she knew we woke the babies this afternoon," said Frank, "but Cil had got my hat, and run after it, and I tumbled up to take it away; I'm real sorry I woke the babies."
"Oh,that'snot the point. If there wasn't a baby within a mile, I should not approve of your tearing and shrieking like Indians. You may have just as much fun and frolic as you like; the more the better; but I mean to make two little gentlemen of you at the same time. There! be off with you all into the garden, and have as good a time as you can."
This was one of thousands of lessons that Belle had to teach day after day, week after week. She made her little sermons as short as she possibly could, and as quaint; and the mixture of earnestness, and banter, and fun, with which she assailed their bad habits, told upon the lads.
But there was work to do below this surface-work. She had to teach them the life of faith in Christ, a kind of teaching so eminently the province of woman, and to this end had to efface some impressions thathad been falsely made in their nursery days. Long before they comprehended her teachings, her courage and patience were put to their full test. But she was a woman mighty in prayer, and day and night the name of every child in the house was mentioned singly to God.
Thus wisely and kindly Providence provided a remedy for Frank Grey's mistaken choice in his wife; thus He will rectify all such errors of judgment for those who put their trust in Him.
Mrs. Grey knew perfectly well, that the task of training Gabrielle would be a most self-denying one. Those who never felt the sweet pain of putting self down in order to help a human soul to rise, have only touched life on the surface; have never been down into its depths;she had. So it was cheerily she entered upon this new labor of love, throwing her heart into it without a thought as to how her own interests were to be affected by this invasion of her home.
Gabrielle was fourteen years old, and as her mother had never done much thinking for her, had acquired a habit of thinking for herself. During the first few weeks of her stay at Greylock, her grandmother let her drift pretty much as she pleased, studying her, meanwhile, and seeking wisdom from above. The child fancied this state of things was going to last, and was well content. As the spring opened early, and was a very warm one, she adopted a hammock that swung on the piazza as her pet luxury, and thereshe lay during a large part of the day, reading novels. In the pang of parting with her, Frank thoughtlessly gave her more money than any child should be entrusted with, and she, consequently, laid in a stock of unwholesome dainties, which she fed upon while reading. Very soon this effeminate life began to tell. She woke with a headache, was peevish and irritable about nothings, and at times had a "dumb devil," when it was next to impossible to get a word out of her. It was evidently time to take her in hand, which Mrs. Grey did, on this wise.
"My child," she said, kindly, "have I done anything unkind to you since you came here?"
"I don't know's you have."
"Well, you speak to me as if I had. So I think you can't be well. How much exercise did you take yesterday?"
"Not any; I was tired."
"And how much the day before?"
"Not any; I wanted to read."
"But you know I wish you to walk every day."
Gabrielle was silent, and looked sullen.
"There is another thing; I saw a piece of candy on the piano just after you left; was it yours?"
"I suppose so."
"Have you been in the habit of buying candy at your pleasure?"
"I have a right to spend the money papa gives me."
"Yes; but while you are under my charge, it must be spent according to my judgment, not yours. Now I am not trying to plague you; I am trying to find out why you are irritable about everything; and if you have eaten much candy, that, with want of exercise, may be the trouble."
Gabrielle looked down morosely, and made no answer.
"Won't you tell me all about it, dear?"
No answer, only portentous frowns.
"Very well; I see you are not in the mood to listen to me. I will pray that you may be more docile another time. And, mark this: I forbid you eating any more candy without leave."
With a toss of the head that said: "We shall see!" Gabrielle retreated to the hammock. Mrs. Grey, greatly pained, looked after her till she was out of sight, when Laura, who had been concealed by a curtain, came forward.
"It isn't right for you to be treated in this way, at your age, mamma," she said. "If Frank and Lily spoil their children, they ought to reap the fruits, not you. I have been meaning to tell you that old Mary says Gabrielle is nibbling at sweet things all day long, and continually coaxing the cook for more. No wonder she is cross."
Mrs. Grey said nothing; at least nothing heard by human ears; but presently rose and went to Gabrielle'sroom, and examined her bureau-drawers, which she found in confusion, and whence she abstracted a quantity of pernicious articles. Later in the day Gabrielle detected the fact, and came to her defiantly with—
"I am going to write to papa to let me go home."
"Very well, my dear."
The child, expecting a conflict such as she had often had with her mother, was startled by this cool rejoinder, and at last began to cry.
"I am very sorry for you," said Mrs. Grey.
"No you ain't sorry either. And my head aches awfully, and I feel sick. I wish I was at home."
For answer, Mrs. Grey took her by the hand, led her up to her room, applied remedies with tenderness, and sympathy, and skill, and at last helped her to undress and go to bed. She slept better than she had done for weeks; had some beef-tea for her breakfast, and the devil of indigestion was exorcised, for the time.
Laura was going home now; she and the children were now quite well, and Harry could stand his loneliness no longer.
"Mag and I had delightful times together while you were gone," she said, as she took leave, "and if she gets out of the tangle of all those lessons, I shall want her to make me a good long visit. You will have your hands so full with Gabrielle that you won't miss her. Mamma—"
"Well, dear."
"I wish I hadn't been such a bad child."
"You weren't bad. You had fits of ill-humor that I did not understand, and therefore mismanaged; I know now that indigestion often lies at the bottom of what looks like moral delinquency in children. Keep them well, and they'll keep themselves good-humored."
"Oh, I'm careful enough about Pug and Trot, as need be!"
"It's enough to make them ill to call them by such hideous names."
"Well, what could I do? Could I call my husband 'the old Harry' to distinguish him from the young Harry?"
"There, go, you incorrigible child!" cried Mrs. Grey, kissing her good-bye. Laura drove off, laughing, and the children laughed in concert, they knew not why.
Gabrielle was in a much more docile humor now, and Mrs. Grey explained to her the laws of health that made the open air, and exercise, and plain food essential to every one, but especially so to growing children.
"I do not intend to treat you in an arbitrary way," she said, "because I happen to have it in my power to do so. What I do will be for your good, not to gratify my self-will. I took away the dainties fromyour room because, in your condition, they were poison for you; when you are quite well you shall have some of them, from time to time, as a part of your dinner; never between meals."
Not more than a month passed, when Gabrielle had another sick head-ache. It soon became apparent that she had gone back to her old trick of eating, at all hours, on the sly. When she recovered, Mrs. Grey said to her:
"When your father was a boy, there was not a key turned in the house to hinder his helping himself to forbidden sweets. I could trust to his honor. Now, am I to consider you so far his inferior that I must furnish myself with bolts and bars?"
"Mamma did not lock up things, either. It wouldn't have done any good if she had. And we ate whatever we pleased."
"And were continually having ill turns. Now, my child, you are old enough to act like a reasonable being, and you must see that you bring on these sick head-aches by your want of self-control. I want you to do me one favor, of your own accord give up tea and coffee."
"Oh, I can't!"
"With God's help you can."
"No, I can't. He won't help me about anything. Old Mary says she should think He would hate me, I plague you so much."
"Oh, I don't think old Mary said that!"
"Well, maybe she didn't. She said something like it."
"My poor child, He hates nobody on earth. And now, if in spite of all your fractious, disobedient ways, I, only a human being at best, love you, how do you thinkHefeels?"
"I think He can't bear me. And I don't believe you love me, either. But papa did, and I mean to ask him to let me come home."
"So you have said a dozen times. If you think you had better go, and that you will be happier there, and more likely to outgrow your faults, I shall not prevent you."
"You won't ever let me have my own way, and mamma did."
"And were you becoming a model eldest daughter to her?"
"Nobodycouldbe a model in the house with Rosabelle. On the whole, I'd rather stay here than go home. Rosabelle is justhorrid!"
"I can't talk to you any more now. I must pray more and say less."
"I want to go to Ellinor Lathrop's party."
"I have told you, once for all, that you cannot go."
"Then I think you're real mean."
"Gabrielle!"
The girl was startled by the righteous indignation, mingled with dignity, with which she was addressed. Accustomed for fourteen years to look down upon her mother, she fancied she could brow-beat her grandmother also.
"You may go to your room now," said Mrs. Grey. "And let me tell you that if you wean my heart from me, you will lose one of the best friends you ever had."
For once Gabrielle found she had gone too far. There is a limit no child should be allowed to pass, and she found herself confronted by it now. She flew to her room, and began letter after letter to her father, pouring out her grievances into an ear that had always listened to her with sympathy. But what would be the use of complaining to him about his mother, whom he loved and revered? Suddenly she bethought herself of Margaret; wouldn't she take her part, perhaps? There was another rush here and there, and at last she found Margaret in her own room studying.
"Grandma won't let me go to Ellinor Lathrop's party," was her abrupt beginning.
"Why, I know that. You and she discussed it at breakfast."
"Yes, but I have teased her since then, over and over again, to let me go, and she won't."
"Of course not when she had once refused."
"Mamma would let me go."
"Aunty is your mamma now. And I can't imagine what makes you such a naughty girl when she is so kind and good to you."
"Do you call it kind and good to thwart me about everything?"
"Gabrielle, I want to tell you something. You've got a guilty conscience. That's what ails you. You are all the time doing something wrong when you know better, and that keeps you unhappy."
"I am not unhappy."
"Yes, you are; and you grow more and more so every day."
"Grandma is awfully mad with me."
"Now I know that isn't true. And you ought not to talk so. The idea of saying aunty is 'mad!'"
"Gabrielle, why are you here?" asked Mrs. Grey, in a tone of surprise. "Did I not send you to your room?"
Gabrielle made no answer, but moved sullenly away.
"Oh, aunty," said Margaret, "it doesn't seem right for you to be fretted in this way!"
"I am not fretted, dear. I foresaw all these troubles before I came home. The child is trying a series of experiments with me, to see if she can't tame me down. When she once finds that the attempt is useless, we shall get on better."
"Aunty—"
"I know what you wanted to say. You wonder I do not go to the root of the matter, and try to lead her to Christ. I am praying that she may be drawn to Him, but until she learns to submit to me, it is useless to expect her to submit to Him. Her father thinks the same; and I have his full sympathy in every effort I make to do her good."
It must not be supposed that Gabrielle was always unruly and always in disgrace, and that she had no pleasant traits of character. Almost everybody has agreeable little ways that cannot be transferred to a book; and this girl, at times so rude and self-willed, had her gentle, even winning moods, and won love and good-fellowship. Nor was it strange that at an age when young people are apt to be unlovely if they have not been handled aright, she resented the sudden bit and curb of her new surroundings, and fancied herself ill-used. Mrs. Grey did not, in the least, lose heart. She knew she was not working in her own strength, and knew, by long experience, that though for a time the Lord answers never a word, He invariably does answer in His own time, and that that is always the best time. About a number of Gabrielle's faults she said nothing to her; too much fault-finding is almost worse than none; but she deplored them before God, and then tried to meet them with contrary example.
There was no good school in the neighborhood, and as soon as under her care and rule the child's health warranted it, she had a daily governess come from the city to give her lessons; and finding she was fond of music, Maud's long-silent piano was opened, and the air was filled, now by the accomplished hand of the master, now by the unmelodious bang of the pupil. Things went better now; Gabrielle had no time for idling; every hour brought its own occupation, and regular exercise, wholesome diet, and agreeable occupation broke up the habit of picking and pecking at dainties, which had been so pernicious.
She caught, too, some of Margaret's tastes, and instead of thinking about dress as a matter of great import, would content herself to put on a woodland rig, quaint, yet not ugly, and go off with her in quest of the gems Nature is always flinging lavishly about. They came home from their expeditions with baskets running over with ferns, mosses, lichens, grasses, and nobody knows what not, till their rooms looked verdant with beauty. Margaret got up a mossy bank with red berries nestling in it here and there; Gabrielle must have one, like yet not like it, for no two hands work on one and the same line; and Margaret had a rustic basket hanging from every possible point, and Gabrielle hasted to do the same. Mrs. Grey looked on with delight at all this. No utterly spoiled character riots in such simple pursuits, andshe who begins to love Nature, begins to grow cold to all that is artificial. While in that house personal neatness was made a law, dress was never talked about as much more than a necessary evil to be attended to twice a year, and then forgotten. And now that she had taken to ornamenting her room, Gabrielle found she must keep it in order, and learned, too, that she had not a little executive power in the matter of arrangement of furniture and clothing. She began to observe, too, that though grandmamma would not scold, she could and did punish, and that invariably, when infringement of a rule required it. Later on she perceived a regular system of rewards going silently on. After a week of exceptional docility, an invisible good fairy would leave tokens of her presence in her room; now it was a vase for flowers; now a little photograph; now a paper-weight; it was not always possible to tell who this good fairy was; but whoever it was, knew just what she wanted.
So the summer bloomed and budded and bore fruit, and faded into autumn, and autumn froze into winter. There was rarely a conflict now; Gabrielle was too busy to find time for them, and too fond of the deeds of the good fairy to run the risk of one when she could help it. Mrs. Grey was not in the least surprised when, one day, the girl came shyly behind her, put her arms around her neck, and whispered, "Grandmamma, I wish I was a Christian!"
"So do I, my dear child," was the reply. "And why not become one, this minute?"
"I don't know; I've tried ever so many times."
"Tried how?"
"To be good."
"Is it said anywhere in the Bible that being 'good' and being a Christian are synonymous terms?"
"I thought it was."
"We have our Lord's own declaration that there is only one good Being in the universe, 'that is God.' Salvation is not offered to good people, but to bad ones."
"Well—I amsobad that I don't believe it is meant for me."
"The Bible says, 'there is no difference.' Everybody has got to come to Christ on one level."
"Some are worse than others."
"True; but when it comes to our relation to Christ, we all stand shoulder to shoulder. I have spent a large part of my life in believing on and working for Him, but that does not entitle me to one atom of His favor. I must go to Him, every day, just as you must go now, denouncing, renouncing myself, and receive Him, by faith, as my only ground of hope."
Gabrielle looked puzzled, and was about to raise another objection, but they were interrupted, and the conversation was not renewed till the next day.
Gabrielle knelt that night at her bedside, with a latent, but strong, desire to walk, not by faith, but by sight. She wanted to hear an audible voice from heaven to assure her that she might feel sure of salvation. Mrs. Grey had had large experience in dealing with souls, and soon detected and brought this to light when they next met in her dressing-room.
"I wish there was something I coulddoto make God love me," the child began.
"My dear, there is something."
"What is it?" was the eager demand.
"Believe on His Son, Jesus Christ."
Gabrielle's countenance fell.
"I can't believe. I don't know how!" she said.
"My child, if I should tell you that I was going to take you to drive this afternoon, you would believe me, should you not?"
"Yes, indeed."
"That would be having faith in me."
"Yes; but it wouldn't be loving you, and Godsays we must love Him. Even if I can believe in Him, I can't make myself love Him. I am sure I would if I could."
"If it is true that you cannot love Him, then He will not condemn you at the last day."
"It's all perfectlyhorrid!" cried Gabrielle, bewildered and excited.
"Don't say so, my poor child!" said Mrs. Grey, drawing the girl to her and kissing her burning cheeks. "Christ is altogether lovely, and all His paths are peace. He puts no difficulties in your way; you make them yourself. Now let me ask you one question. Have you not asked our Lord to save your soul?"
"Yes; hundreds of times."
"And has He refused hundreds of times?"
"He must have, for I am not saved."
"Will you prove to me that you are not?"
"Why, if I was saved I should be full of joy; and instead of that I am full of misery."
"Well, now, here are two poor men, brothers, and they are homeless, and friendless, and weary, and heavy-laden; but a rich man dies and leaves them each a fortune. One of them learns this to be the case, and is relieved of care and want; the other has not heard of his good luck, and therefore is, to all intents and purposes, as poor as ever."
"You mean that I may have faith and not know it, and so my faith is of no use to me?"
"It brings you no present peace. Of course it would save you in the end; but meanwhile you would lead a dark, joyless life."
"Sometimes I feel as if I had been changed a little," said Gabrielle, thoughtfully. "But my feelings are not alike two hours going."
"Of course not. A thousand things vary our emotions. The Bible says nothing about feeling this way or feeling that, in order to be saved. It says 'believe.'"
"I think, though, that it would be easier to believe if I felt more. I keep hoping that sometime I shall feel so much that God will pity and forgive me."
"In other words, you keep hoping to make yourself agreeable to Him by a great display of emotion. Do not be hurt at my saying this. Human nature is supremely self-righteous, and is not willing to take salvation as a free gift. I beg you to decide for Christ now, with yourwill; having once done that, your heart will follow fast enough."
"But suppose I begin and don't hold out?"
"Begin thus. Say to God: 'Let me not wander from Thy commandments;' and He will reply: 'I will put my fear in your heart that you shall not depart from me.'"
"Then there are so many things to give up if I become a Christian," said Gabrielle, evasively.
"There are no good things to give up, and thereare thousands to gain. I cannot preach to you below the gospel-standard, which says that the friend of the world is the enemy of God."
"Well, He elects some people to save, and rejects others. How can I know that I do not come under the last head?"
"By electing Christ as yours, at this moment, when His Spirit is striving with you to that end. I can't tell you how it pains me to see you tampering with divine truth as if it were a straw. I believe this temporizing, argumentative temper comes from a league between Satan and your own evil heart. If you do not take care you will grieve away the Holy Ghost. For my part, I would rather offend than grieve a friend."
"Do you mean that the Holy Ghost is myfriend?" Gabrielle asked, in great surprise.
"Certainly. Otherwise why should He hover around you as He is doing now, offering you the greatest prizes of life?"
"Why should He love me? Why should He offer me prizes? I have never so much as given Him a thought!"
"I do not know. I can only say: 'Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy sight.'"
"Then I won't hold out against Him another minute, if God will take me, just as I am, a dreadfully naughty girl! He may have me and welcome!Only I wish I hadn't done so many things I am ashamed of."
Some weeks later she came shyly again behind her grandmamma and whispered:
"May I join the church next Sunday?"
"'If thou believest with all thine heart thou mayest,'" was the fervent reply, and Gabrielle slipped timidly away.
Everybody knows that, as a general rule, young people cannot talk to their nearest friends about their souls when they will confide in strangers. It ought not to be so. A warm-hearted mother once said that she began to talk to her children about Christ when they werethree weeks old! by which sweet little exaggeration she only meant that she gave her confidence, and won theirs, at the earliest conceivable age.
Mrs. Grey perfectly understood that, taking Gabrielle at a disadvantage, she could not expect her to sustain to herself the relation of a little child, and that she would be painfully shy should she try to penetrate her hidden life. Indeed there was little to penetrate. The child apprehended dimly the path on which she had entered. All she knew about herself was, that whereas her chief aim once was to have a nice time, and that in her own way, her earnest desire now was to be "good."
Mrs. Grey's life, far more than her instructions, haddropped, as a seed, into soil prepared for it by the hand of Him who hears and answers prayer. Nor did she at once emerge into a saint, with all the holy aspirations and activities of mature life. She was a child still, and needed pruning, grafting, and weeding. But the root of the matter was in her. That tiny spark of grace that sometimes seemed to her and to her friends to have died out, was there; it flickered, and was often invisible to mortal eyes;but it was there, and had her soul been at any moment required of her, that grace, small though it was, would have been her humble passport into the company of the redeemed.
Mrs. Grey's pastor at this time was quite an inexperienced man, and he would not venture to admit any young people to his church till he had seen their parents or guardians. He came now to see her with reference to Gabrielle.
"I think the root of the matter is in the child," she said, "and that she may safely unite with the church. But, if you will allow me to say it, these immature young Christians need a great deal of looking-after. Taking them into the church is like taking plants into shelter. But shelter is not enough.Allthe conditions of growth should be observed, or instead of blossoms and fruit, we shall have stunted or effeminate growth, or what is worse, no growth at all."
"One object I had in calling to-day," he returned, "was to ask you if it would be possible to gather ouryoung people about you once a week for Christian counsel?"
Mrs. Grey cast her eye over her already overcrowded life, and shook her head.
"I think I am playing the school-ma'am quite as much as is good for me," she said, with a smile. "Sometimes I am almost frightened at the multiplicity of things I am undertaking to do. However, the work you propose looks very attractive; I might spare one evening in the week."
"They are almost all confined to their studies in the evening. Perhaps we should have to steal a piece of Sunday."
"Oh, I don't see where."
"Nor I; unless I succeed in carrying out a plan I have in my mind. My theory is that there is too much preaching, and too little doing, of the word. Men of business, for instance, have next to no time for Christian work, and their piety falls to sleep in consequence. If the church would organize some plan for setting everybody at work on Sunday afternoons, pastors and all, I think we might soon begin to expect the coming of our Lord. By the bye, you love to deal with difficult cases; I wish you would take occasion to talk to Mr. Morrison. You have had great experience, and I have had next to none."
"It takes more than experience to reach a polished moralist," she replied. "It needs the Holy Spirit.I doubt if there is anything we can do but pray for him. He is so intrenched in his own virtues that he is farther out of reach than most hardened sinners."
"I know it; but there are his poor wife and those six boys to be thought of."
"You have been among us so little time that you are, perhaps, not aware that he is my brother."
"Indeed, I was not aware of it."
"He is my half-brother; we had different mothers. At the time of his birth, and for many years following, our father was not a Christian; his training was different from mine. Our mothers were as unlike as possible, and I can't begin to tell you how it pains me to look at his perfectly useless—because Christless—life. I think he will be saved at last; too much prayer has been offered for him to permit his being lost; but oh, how much he has thrown away!"
"He is an interesting man; he would be very useful in the church; I wish I could see him identified with it."
"I will make one more attempt to move him. My heart yearns over those dear boys."
A few evenings later saw her closeted with Mr. Morrison, a fine-looking man, with complexion almost as pure as a baby's, clear blue eyes, and a noble head, crowned with waving white hair. They talked a while about his boys, and his plans for their future; then she spoke, naturally, for her heart was full of it, of the special religious work then going on in the church.
"It is mere excitement," he said; "it will not last."
"Time alone can prove that. In my own case the excitement has lasted fifty years, and I see no signs of its passing off. Robert, you can't think how it distresses me to see you coming to church, Sunday after Sunday, with a regularity that might put many a professor to the blush, yet never advancing beyond that point."
"I should like to ask you one question, Emily. Haven't I heard you say you were almost certain of my salvation?"
"Yes, I have said it. But salvation is not the sole end of man; his first end is to glorify God."
"Well, don't I glorify Him? Point out any word or deed of mine that is sinful, if you can. Am I not fair and square in all my dealings? Do not I give, liberally, to the poor? Am I bad-tempered? Am I a backbiter?"
"We have gone all over this ground scores of times," she replied. "If mere morality glorifies God, then I must allow that you are living up to all His claims. But the Bible is our standard, and we learn there that Christ rejected a man who had kept the law from his youth up."