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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8430bad --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54078 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54078) diff --git a/old/54078-0.txt b/old/54078-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d4e802a..0000000 --- a/old/54078-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8760 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Ruth Erskine's Cross, by Isabella Alden and Pansy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Ruth Erskine's Cross - -Author: Isabella Alden - Pansy - -Release Date: January 31, 2017 [EBook #54078] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MFR, Google Print and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - -[Illustration: “He has made everything beautiful in his time.” p. 112.] - - - - -RUTH ERSKINE’S CROSSES - - BY - PANSY - Author of “Ester Ried,” “Julia Ried,” “Four Girls at Chautauqua,” - “Chautauqua Girls at Home,” etc. - -[Illustration] - - BOSTON - LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1879, - BY - D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - PANSY - TRADE-MARK REGISTERED JUNE 4, 1895. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE. - CHAPTER I. - HER CROSS SEEMS HEAVY 7 - - CHAPTER II. - SIDE ISSUES 24 - - CHAPTER III. - A CROSS OF LEAD 40 - - CHAPTER IV. - BITTER HERBS 56 - - CHAPTER V. - SEEKING HELP 72 - - CHAPTER VI. - FROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS 88 - - CHAPTER VII. - ONE DROP OF OIL 104 - - CHAPTER VIII. - FINDING ONE’S CALLING 121 - - CHAPTER IX. - A SOCIETY CROSS 136 - - CHAPTER X. - OTHER PEOPLE’S CROSSES 151 - - CHAPTER XI. - A NEWLY-SHAPED CROSS 167 - - CHAPTER XII. - THE CROSS OF HELPLESSNESS 182 - - CHAPTER XIII. - LOOKING FOR AN EASY YOKE 197 - - CHAPTER XIV. - “THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY” 212 - - CHAPTER XV. - RESTS 227 - - CHAPTER XVI. - SHADOWED JOYS 243 - - CHAPTER XVII. - DUTY’S BURDEN 258 - - CHAPTER XVIII. - EMBARRASSMENT AND MERRIMENT 274 - - CHAPTER XIX. - MY DAUGHTERS 290 - CHAPTER XX. - A SISTER NEEDED 306 - - CHAPTER XXI. - TRYING QUESTIONS 321 - - CHAPTER XXII. - “THAT WHICH SATISFIETH NOT” 337 - - CHAPTER XXIII. - WHEREFORE? 350 - - CHAPTER XXIV. - “HEARKEN UNTO ME” 364 - - CHAPTER XXV. - “BITTER-SWEET” 379 - - CHAPTER XXVI. - “THESE BE THY GODS” 393 - - CHAPTER XXVII. - THE BAPTISM OF SUFFERING 408 - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - “THE OIL OF JOY” 420 - - - - -RUTH ERSKINE’S CROSSES. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -HER CROSS SEEMS HEAVY. - - -SHE stood in the hall, waiting. She heard the thud of trunks and -valises on the pavement outside. She heard her father’s voice giving -orders to driver and porter. She wondered why she did not step forward -and open the door. How would other girls greet their mothers? She -tried to think. Some of them she had seen—school-girls, with whom she -had gone home, in her earlier life, who were wont to rush into their -mother’s arms, and, with broken exclamations of delight, smother her -with kisses How strange it would be if she should do any such thing as -that! She did not know how to welcome a mother! How should she? She had -never learned. - -Then there was that other one, almost harder to meet than a mother; -because her father, after all, had the most responsibility about -the mother; it was really his place to look after her needs and her -comfort. But this sister would naturally look to her for exclusive -attention. A sister! She, Ruth Erskine, with a grown-up sister, only a -few years younger than herself! And yet one whom she had not only never -seen, but, until the other day, of whose existence she had never heard! -How perfectly unnatural it all was! - -Oh, if father had only, _only_ done differently! This cry she had -groaned out from the depths of her soul a hundred times, during the -two weeks of the father’s absence. After she had turned away from -the useless wail, “Oh, that all this had never been!” and resolutely -resolved not to be weak and worthless, and desert her father in -his need, and give herself up to vain regrets, she found that the -regretting only took another form. Since it was, and must be, and -could not honorably be gotten away from, why had he not faced the -necessity long ago, when she was a child? Why had they not grown up -together, feeling and understanding that they were sisters, and owed -to each other a sister’s forbearance?—she could not bring herself to -say _love_. If her father had only settled it years and years ago, -and brought the woman home, and made her position assured; and if the -people had long and long ago settled down to understanding it all, what -a blessed thing it would have been! Over and over, in various forms, -had this argument been held with Ruth and her rebellious heart, and it -had not helped her. It served to make her heart throb wildly, as she -stood there waiting. It served to make the few minutes that she waited -seem to her like avenging hours. It served to make her feel that her -lot was fearfully, exceptionally, hopelessly hard. - -There had been daughters before, who were called on to meet new -mothers. Yes, but this was an old, old mother—so old that, in the -nature of things, she ought, years ago, to have been reconciled to -the event, and to have accepted it as a matter of course. But what -daughter, before this, had been called upon suddenly to greet, and to -receive in social equality an own sister? The more she thought of it, -the more unnerved she felt. - -And so the door was opened at last by Judge Erskine himself. His -daughter had decreed that no servant should be in attendance. She -wanted as few lookers-on as possible. - -“Well, daughter,” he said; and, even in that swift moment, she wondered -if he ever spoke that quiet-toned, “well, daughter,” to that other -one. Then she did come forward and hold out her hand, and receive her -father’s lingering kiss. Something in that, and in the look of his -eyes, as he put her back from him, and gazed for an instant into hers, -steadied her pulses, and made her turn with a welcome to the strangers. -There was an almost pleading look in those eyes of his. - -“How do you do?” she said, simply, and not coldly; and she held out her -hand to the small, faded-looking woman, who shrank back, and seemed -bewildered, if not frightened. “Do you feel very tired with the long -journey?” - -“Susan,” said her father, to the third figure, who was still over by -the door, engaged in counting the shawl-straps and satchels. “This is -my daughter Ruth.” - -There was an air of ownership about this sentence, which was infinitely -helpful to Ruth. What if he had said, “This is your sister Ruth?” She -gave her hand. A cold hand it was, and she felt it tremble; but, even -in that supreme moment, she noticed that Susan’s hair was what, in -outspoken language, would be called red; and that she was taller than -accorded with grace, and her wrap, falling back from its confinings, -showed her dress to be short-waisted, and otherwise ill-fitting. Long -afterward Ruth smiled, as she thought of taking in such details at such -a moment. - -It transpired that there was still another stranger awaiting -introduction—a gentleman, tall and grave, and with keen gray eyes, that -seemed looking through this family group, and drawing conclusions. - -“My daughter, Judge Burnham.” This was Judge Erskine’s manner of -introduction. For the time, at least, he ignored the fact that he had -any other daughter. Very little attention did the daughter bestow -on Judge Burnham; eyes and wits were on the alert elsewhere. Here -were these new people to be gotten to their rooms, and then gotten -down again; and there was that awful supper-table to endure! She gave -herself to the business of planning an exit. - -“Father, you want to go directly to your rooms, I suppose? I have rung -for Thomas, to attend to Judge Burnham, and I will do the honors of the -house for Susan.” - -Very carefully trained were face and tone. Beyond a certain curious -poise of head, which those who knew her understood betokened a strong -pressure of self-control, there was nothing unusual. Really, the worst -for her was to come. If she could but have made herself feel that -to send a servant with this new sister would be the proper thing to -do, it would have been so much easier. But for the watchful eyes and -commenting tongue of that same servant she would have done it. But she -sternly resolved that everything which, to the servant’s eyes, would -look like formality, or like hospitality extended simply to guests, -should be dispensed with. It would do to ring for Thomas, to attend -Judge Burnham; but a daughter of the house must have no other escort -than herself. On the way up-stairs she wondered what she should say -when the room door closed on them both. Here, in the hall, it was only -necessary to ask which satchel should go up immediately, and which -trunk went to which room. But, when all the business was settled, what -then? - -She began the minute the attending servant deposited the satchels, and -departed: - -“Do you need to make any change in dress before tea, and can I assist -you in any way?” - -For answer, the young girl thus addressed turned toward her earnest -gray eyes—eyes that were full of some strong feeling that she was -holding back—and said, with eager, heartful tones: - -“I am just as sorry for you as I can be. If there is any way in which I -can help to make the cross less heavy, I wish you would tell me what it -is.” - -Now, this was the last sentence that Ruth Erskine had expected to hear. -She had studied over possible conversations, and schooled herself to -almost every form, but not this. - -“What do you mean?” she asked, returning the earnest gaze with one -full of bewilderment. - -“Why, I mean that I have some dim conception of how hard, how _awfully_ -hard all this is! Two strangers to come into your home and claim, not -the attention accorded to guests, but the position belonging to home! -It is dreadful! I have felt so sorry for you, and for myself, all day, -that I could not keep the tears from my eyes. I want to make myself as -endurable as possible. If you will only show me how I will try very -hard.” - -What was Ruth Erskine to reply to this? It _was_ hard; she felt too -truthful to disclaim it. Just now it seemed to her almost impossible to -endure it. She tried to turn it off lightly. - -“Oh, we shall live through it,” she said, and the attempt to make her -voice unconstrained startled even herself. Susan abated not one whit -the earnestness in her voice. - -“I know we shall,” she said. “Because it must be done—because it is -right—and because we each have an Almighty Helper. I asked your father, -and mine, as soon as ever I saw him, whether you were a Christian. It -seemed to me it would be an impossible ordeal if you were not. He _is_ -my father, Ruth. I know it is hard for you to hear me use that name, -which you have supposed for so many years belonged exclusively to you. -If it had been right, I could almost have made myself promise never to -use it. But it wouldn’t be the right way to manage, I am sure. Ruth, -you and I shall both breathe freer, and understand each other better, -if we admit from the first, that father has done wrong in this thing. -Now I know that is dreadful to say. But remember, he is my father. I -am not to blame because he loved your mother better than he ever could -mine. I am not to blame for a bit of the tragedy any more than you are. -And I have been a sufferer, just as you are. All my life I have been -without a father’s love and care. All my life I have had to imagine -what the name ‘father’ must mean. I am not blaming him; I am simply -looking at facts. We shall do better to face this thing. I really had -something to forgive. He admitted it. I have forgiven him utterly, and -my heart just bleeds for him and for you. But then we shall, as you -say, get through all the embarrassments, and come off conquerors in -the end.” - -Utter silence on Ruth’s part. How shall I confess to you that this -conversation disappointed and angered her? She was nerved to bear -heavy crosses. If this new sister had been arrogant, or cringing, or -insufferably rude and exacting, I think Ruth would have borne it well. -But this simple, quiet facing of difficulties like a general—this -grave announcement that she, too, had been a sufferer—even the steady -tone in which she pronounced that word “father,” gave Ruth a shiver -of horror. The worst of it was—yes, the very _worst_ of it was—this -girl had spoken truth. She _was_ a sufferer, and through no fault of -her own, through Judge Erskine’s pride and self-will. Here was the -sting—it was her father’s fault—this father who had been one of her -strongest sources of pride during all her proud days of life. “It is -true enough,” she told herself, bitterly. “But she need not have spoken -it—I don’t want to hear it.” And then she turned away and went out of -the room—went down-stairs, and paused in the hall again, resting her -arm on that chair and trying to still the tumult in her angry heart. - -As for the sister, looking after her with sad eyes, she turned the key -on her at last, and then went over to the great, beautiful bed—more -beautiful than any on which she had ever slept—and bowed before it -on her knees. What if Ruth Erskine had had to contend with a sister -who never got down on her knees! Yet she positively did not think of -that. It seemed to her that nothing could make the cross more bitter -than it was. She opened the door at last, quietly enough, and went -forward to where her father was standing, waiting for her, or for some -one—_something_ to come to him and help him in his bewilderment. He -looked ten years older than when she saw him two weeks ago, and there -was that appealing glance in his eyes that touched his daughter. A -moment before she had felt bitter toward him. It was gone now. - -“I brought Judge Burnham home with me,” he said, speaking quickly, as -if to forestall any words from her. “He is an old friend. He was a pet -of your mother’s, Ruth, in his boyhood, and he knew all about her, and -about——this. I thought it would be better than to be quite alone at -first.” - -“Yes,” Ruth said, in a tone that might be assenting, or it might simply -be answering. In her heart she did not believe that it would be better -for them to have Judge Burnham in their family circle, and she wished -him away. Was not the ordeal hard enough without having an outsider to -look on and comment? - -“When will you be ready for supper?” she asked, and, though she tried -to make her voice sound naturally, she knew it was cold and hard. - -“Why, as soon as Judge Burnham and——they come down,” he said, -hesitatingly. What were they all going to call each other? Should he -say “your mother,” or should he say “Mrs. Erskine?” He could not tell -which of the two seemed most objectionable to him, so he concluded to -make that foolish compromise and say “they.” - -“Where did you leave Susan?” he questioned. - -“In her room.” - -Ruth’s tone was colder than before. Judge Erskine essayed to help her. - -“She is the only alleviating drop in this bitter cup,” he said, looking -anxiously at Ruth for an assuring word. “It has been a comfort to me to -think that she seemed kind and thoughtful, and in every way disposed to -do right. She will be a comfort to you, I hope, daughter.” - -Poor Ruth! If her father had said, “She is perfectly unendurable to -me; you must contrive in some way that I shall not have to see her or -hear her name,” it would have been an absolute relief to his daughter’s -hard-strained, quivering nerves. It was almost like an insult to have -him talk about her being a help and a comfort! She turned from him -abruptly, and felt the relief which the opening door and the entrance -of Judge Burnham gave. - -The supper-bell pealed its summons through the house, and Judge Erskine -went in search of his wife; but Ruth called Irish Kate to “tell Miss -Erskine that tea was ready,” flushing to the roots of her hair over -the name “Miss Erskine,” and feeling vexed and mortified when she -found that Judge Burnham’s grave eyes were on her. Mrs. Erskine was -a dumpy little woman, who wore a breakfast-shawl of bright blue and -dingy brown shades, over a green dress, the green being of the shade -that fought, not only with the wearer’s complexion, but with the blue -of the breakfast-shawl. The whole effect was simply dreadful! Ruth, -looking at it, and at her, taking her in mentally from head to foot, -shuddered visibly. What a contrast to the grandeur of the man beside -her! And yet, what a pitiful thing human nature was, that it could be -so affected by adverse shades of blue and green, meeting on a sallow -skin! Before the tea was concluded, it transpired that there were worse -things than ill-fitting blues and greens. Mrs. Judge Erskine murdered -the most common phrases of the king’s English! She said, “Susan and -me was dreadful tired!” And she said, “There was enough for him and -I!” She even said his’n and your’n, those most detestable of all -provincialisms! - -And Ruth Erskine sat opposite her, and realized that this woman must be -introduced into society as Mrs. Judge Erskine, her father’s wife! There -had been an awkward pause about the getting seated at the table. Ruth -had held back in doubt and confusion, and Mrs. Erskine had not seemed -to know what her proper place should be; and Judge Erskine had said, in -pleading tone: “Daughter, take your old place, this evening.” And then -Ruth had gone forward, with burning cheeks, and taken the seat opposite -her father, as usual, leaving Mrs. Erskine to sit at his right, where -she had arranged her own sitting. And this circumstance, added to all -the others, had held her thoughts captive, so that she heard not a word -of her father’s low, reverent blessing. Perhaps, if she had heard, it -might have helped her through the horrors of that evening. There was -one thing that helped her. It was the pallor of her father’s face. She -almost forgot herself and her own embarrassment in trying to realize -the misery of his position. Her voice took a gentle, filial tone when -she addressed him, that, if she had but known it, was like drops of oil -poured on the inflamed wounds which bled in his heart. - -Altogether, that evening stood out in Ruth Erskine’s memory, years -afterward, as the most trying one of her life. There came days that -were more serious in their results—days that left deeper scars—days of -solemn sorrow, and bold, outspoken trouble. But for troubles, so petty -that they irritated by their very smallness, while still they stung, -this evening held foremost rank. - -“I wonder,” she said, in inward irritation, as she watched Mrs. -Erskine’s awkward transit across the room, on her father’s arm, and -observed that her dress was too short for grace, and too low in the -neck, and hung in swinging plaits in front—“I wonder if there are -no dressmakers where they came from?” And then her lip curled in -indignation with herself to think that such petty details should -intrude upon her now. Another thing utterly dismayed her. She had -thought so much about this evening, she had prayed so earnestly, she -had almost expected to sail high above it, serene and safe, and do -honor to the religion which she professed by the quietness of her -surrender of home and happiness; for it truly seemed to her that she -was surrendering both. But it was apparent to herself that she had -failed, that she had dishonored her profession. And when this dreadful -evening was finally over, she shut the door on the outer world with a -groan, as she said, aloud and bitterly: - -“Oh, I don’t know anything to prevent our home from being a place of -perfect torment! Poor father! and poor me!” - -If she could have heard Judge Burnham’s comment, made aloud also, in -the privacy of his room, it might still have helped her. - -“That girl has it in her power to make riot and ruin of this -ill-assorted household, or to bring peace out of it all. I wonder which -she will do?” - -And yet, both Judge Burnham and Ruth Erskine were mistaken. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -SIDE ISSUES. - - -HOW did they ever get into such a dreadful snarl as this, anyway? - -It was Eurie Mitchel who asked this question. She had seated her -guests—Flossy Shipley and Marion Wilbur—in the two chairs her small -sleeping-room contained, and then curled herself, boarding-school -fashion, on the foot of her bed. To be sure it is against the rule, -at this present time, for girls in boarding-schools to make sofas of -their beds. So I have no doubt it was, when Eurie was a school-girl; -nevertheless, she did it. - -“Where should I sit?” she asked her mother, one day, when that good -lady remonstrated. “On the floor?” - -And her mother, looking around the room, and noting the scarcity of -chairs, and remembering that there were none to spare from any other -portion of the scantily-furnished house, said, “Sure enough!” and -laughed off the manifest poverty revealed in the answer, instead of -sighing over it. And Eurie went on, making a comfortable seat of her -bed, whenever occasion required. - -On this particular evening they had been discussing affairs at the -Erskine mansion, and Eurie had broken in with her exclamation, and -waited for Marion to answer. - -“Why,” said Marion, “I know very little about it. There are all sorts -of stories in town, just as is always the case; but you needn’t believe -any of them; there is not enough truth sprinkled in to save them. Ruth -says her father married at a time when he was weak, both in body and -mind—just getting up from a long and very serious illness, during which -this woman had nursed him with patience and skill, and, the doctors -said, saved his life. He discovered, in some way—I don’t know whether -she told him so or not, but somehow he made the discovery—that she lost -possession of her heart during the process, and that he had gotten it, -without any such intention on his part, and, in a fit of gratitude, he -married her in haste, and repented at leisure.” - -“How perfectly absurd!” said Eurie, in indignation. “The idea that he -had no way of showing his gratitude but by standing up with her, and -assenting to half a dozen solemn statements, none of which were true, -and making promises that he couldn’t keep! I have no patience with that -sort of thing.” - -“Well, but,” said Flossy, coming in with gentle tone and alleviating -words, just as she always did come into the talk of these two. -“The woman was a poor, friendless girl then, living a dreadful -boarding-house life, entirely dependent on her needle for her daily -bread. Think how sorry he must have been for her!” - -Eurie’s lip curled. - -“He might have been as sorry for me as he pleased, and I dare say I -shouldn’t have cared if he had expressed his sorrow in dollars and -cents; but to go and marry me, promise to love and cherish, and all -that sort of thing, and not to mean a word of it, was simply awful.” - -“Have you been studying the marriage service lately?” Marion asked, -with a light laugh and a vivid blush. “You seem strangely familiar with -it.” - -“Why, I have heard it several times in my life,” Eurie answered, -quickly, her cheeks answering the other’s blushes. “And I must say it -seems to me a ceremony not to be trifled with.” - -“Oh, I think so too!” Flossy said, in great seriousness and sweet -earnestness. “But what I mean is, Judge Erskine, of course, did not -realize what he was promising. It was only a little after Ruth’s mother -died, you know, and he—well, I think he could not have known what he -was about.” - -“I should think not!” said Eurie. “And then to deliberately desert -her afterward! living a lie all these years! I must say I think Judge -Erskine has behaved as badly as a man could.” - -“No,” said Marion; “he has repented. He might have gone on with his -lie to the end of life, and she would have made no sign, it seems. -The _woman_ can keep a promise, whether he can or not. But think what -it must have cost him to have told all this to Ruth! Why, I would -rather tell my faults to the President than to Ruth Erskine! Oh, I -think he has shown that there is nobility in his nature, and sincerity -in his recent profession. It would have been so easy to have consoled -his conscience with the plea that it was too late to make amends. -Still, I confess I think as you do, Eurie. Marriage is a very solemn -covenant—not to be entered into lightly, I should think; and, when its -vows are taken, they are to be lived by. I don’t feel very gracious -toward Judge Erskine.” - -“Still, if the Lord Jesus and his own daughter can forgive him, I think -we ought to be able to do so.” - -It was Flossy’s voice again—low and quiet, but with that curious -suggestion of power behind it that Flossy’s voice had taken of late. It -served to quiet the two girls for a minute, then Marion said: - -“Flossy Shipley, I’m not sure but you have our share of _brains_, as -well as heart. To be sure, in one sense it is none of our business. I -don’t believe he cares much whether we ever forgive him or not. But I -believe I shall, and feel sorry for him, too. What a precious muddle he -has made of life! How are they ever going to endure that woman?” - -“Is she so very dreadful?” - -This was Eurie’s insinuating question. - -“Father and Nellis called, but I could not bring myself to go with -them. I was sure I shouldn’t know what to say to Ruth. I tried to have -them describe her, but father said she must be seen to be appreciated, -and Nell would do nothing but shrug his shoulders and whistle.” - -“She is simply terrible!” Marion said, with emphasis. “I didn’t stay -fifteen minutes, and I heard more bad grammar and bad taste in the use -of language than I hear in school in a week. And her style of dressing -is—well,” said Marion, pausing to consider a strong way of putting -it—“is enough, I should think, to drive Ruth Erskine wild. You know I -am not remarkable for nervousness in that direction, and not supposed -to be posted as to styles; but really, it would try my sense of the -fitness of things considerably to have to tolerate such combinations -as she gets up. Then she is fussy and garrulous and ignorant, and, in -every way, disagreeable. I really don’t know how I am ever to—” - -And at that point Marion Wilbur suddenly stopped. - -“What about the daughter?” Eurie asked. - -“Well,” said Marion, “I hardly know; she impresses you strangely. She -is homely; that is, at first sight you would consider her very homely -indeed; red hair—though why that shouldn’t be as much the orthodox -color as brown, is a matter of fashion I presume—but she is large -featured, and angular, and has the air and bearing that would be called -exceedingly plain; for all that, there is something very interesting -about her; I studied her for half an hour, and couldn’t decide what it -was. It isn’t her smile, for she was extremely grave, hardly smiled at -all. And I’m not sure that it is her conversation—I dare say that might -be called commonplace—but I came away having a feeling of respect for -her, a sort of liking that I couldn’t define, and couldn’t get away -from.” - -“Nellis liked her,” said Eurie. “He was quite decided in his opinion; -said she was worth a dozen frippery girls with banged hair, and trains, -and all that sort of thing, but he couldn’t give a definite reason, any -more than you can, why he ‘approved of’ her, as he called it.” - -“I don’t know what her tastes can be,” continued Marion. “She doesn’t -play at all, she told me, and she doesn’t sing, nor daub in paints; -that is one comfort for Ruth; she won’t have to endure the piano, nor -help hang mussy-looking pictures in ‘true lights’—whatever lights they -may be. But I should imagine she read some things that were worth -reading. She didn’t parade her knowledge, however, if she has any. In -short, she is a mystery, rather; I should like you to see her.” - -“Perhaps she is fond of fancy-work,” suggested Flossy, somewhat -timidly; whereupon Marion laughed. - -“I don’t fancy you are to find a kindred spirit in that direction, my -dear little Kittie!” she said, lightly. “No one to glance at Susan -Erskine would think of fancy-work, for the whole evening. There is -nothing in her face or manner, or about her attire, that would suggest -the possibility of her knowing anything about fancy matters of any -sort. I tell you her face is a strange one. I found myself quoting to -my ‘inner consciousness’ the sentence: ‘Life is real, life is earnest,’ -every time I looked at the lines about her mouth. Whatever else she -can or can not do, I am morally certain that she can’t crochet. Girls, -think of that name—Susan Erskine! Doesn’t it sound strangely? How do -you suppose it sounds to Ruth? I tell you this whole thing is dreadful! -I can’t feel reconciled to it. Do you suppose she will have to call -that woman mother?” - -“What does she call her now?” - -“Well, principally she doesn’t call her at all. She says ‘you’ at -rare intervals when she has to speak to her, and she said ‘she,’ -when she spoke of her to me; not speaking disagreeably you know, but -hesitatingly, as if she did not know what to say, or what would be -expected of her. Oh, Ruth does well; infinitely better than I should, -in her circumstances, I feel sure. I said as much to that disagreeable -Judge Burnham who keeps staying there, for no earthly reason, that -I can see, except to complicate Ruth’s trials. ‘How does your friend -bear up under it?’ he asked me, with an insinuating air, as though -he expected me to reveal volumes. ‘She bears it royally, just as she -always does everything,’ I said, and I was dreadfully tempted to add: -‘Don’t you see how patiently she endures your presence here?’ Just as -though I would tell him anything about it, if she tore around like a -lunatic!” - -“Oh, well, now,” said Eurie, oracularly, “there are worse crosses in -life, I dare say, than Ruth’s having to call that woman mother.” - -“Of course there are; nobody doubts it; the difficulty is that -particular type of cross has just now come to her, and while she -doesn’t have to bear those others which are worse, she _does_ have to -bear that; and it is a cross, and she needs grace to help her—just -exactly as much grace as though there wasn’t anyone on earth called on -to bear a harder trial. I never could understand why my burnt finger -should pain me any the less because somebody else had burned her entire -arm.” - -At this point Flossy interrupted the conversation with one of those -innocent, earnest questions which she was always in these days asking, -to the no small confusion of some classes of people. - -“Are these two women Christians?” - -“That I don’t know,” Marion answered, after staring at the questioner -a moment in a half dazed way. “I wondered it, too, I remember. Flossy -Shipley, I thought of you while I sat there, and I said to myself, ‘She -would be certain to make the discovery in less time than I have spent -talking with them.’ But I don’t know how you do those things. What way -was there for me to tell? I couldn’t sit down beside them and say, ‘Are -you a Christian?’ could I? How is it to be done?” - -Flossy looked bewildered. - -“Why,” she said, hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I never thought there was -anything strange about it. Why shouldn’t those things be talked of as -well as any others? You discovered whether the young lady was fond of -music and painting. I can’t see why it wouldn’t have been just as easy -to have found out about her interests in more important matters.” - -“But how would you have done it? Just suppose yourself to have been in -Judge Erskine’s parlor, surrounded by all those people who were there -last evening, how would you have introduced the subject which is of the -most importance?” - -“Why,” said Flossy, looking puzzled, “how do I know? How can I tell -unless I had been there and talked it over? You might as well ask me -how I should have introduced the question whether—well, for instance, -whether they knew Mr. Roberts, supposing they had come from the same -city, and I had reason to think it possible—perhaps probable—that -they were his friends. It seems to me I should have referred to it -very naturally, and that I should have been apt to do it early in our -conversation. Now, you know it is quite possible—if not probable—that -they are intimate friends of the Lord Jesus. Why couldn’t I have asked -them about him?” - -Marion and Eurie looked at each other in a sort of puzzled amusement, -then Marion said: - -“Still I am not sure that you have answered my question about how to -begin on such a subject. You know you could have said, ‘Did you meet -Mr. Roberts in Boston?’ supposing them to have been in Boston. But you -could hardly say, ‘Did you meet the Lord Jesus there?’ I am not sure -but that sounds irreverent to you. I don’t mean it to be; I really want -to understand how those subjects present themselves to your mind.” - -“I don’t believe I can tell you,” Flossy said, simply. “They have no -special way of presenting themselves. It is all so new to me that I -suppose I haven’t gotten used to it yet. I am always thinking about it, -and wondering whether any new people can tell me anything new. Now I am -interested in what you told me about that Susan, and I feel as though I -should like to ask her whether there were any very earnest Christians -where she used to live and whether they had any new ways of reading the -Bible, and whether the young ladies had a prayer-meeting, and all those -things, you know.” - -Again Marion and Eurie exchanged glances. This didn’t sound abrupt, -or out of place, or in any sense offensive to ideas of propriety. Yet -who talked in that way among their acquaintances? And _how had_ Flossy -gotten ahead of them in all these things? It was a standing subject of -wonderment among those girls how Flossy had outstripped them. - -They were silent for a few minutes. Then Eurie suddenly changed the -current of thought: “How strange that these changes should have come -to Ruth and we know nothing about it until a mother and sister were -actually domiciled! We are all so intimate, too. It seems that there -are matters about which we have not learned to talk together.” - -“Ruth was always more reserved than the rest of us,” Flossy said. “I -am not so surprised at not knowing about _her_ affairs; we are more -communicative, I think. At least I have told you all about the changes -that are to come to me, and I think you would tell me if you had -anything startling, wouldn’t you?” - -Marion rose up and went over to Flossy, and, bending, kissed her fair -cheek. - -“You little pink blossom,” she said, with feeling, “I’ll tell you all -the nice things I can think of, one of these days. In the meantime I -must go home; and remember, Eurie, you are not to do anything dreadful -of any sort without telling Flossy and me beforehand.” - -“I won’t,” said Eurie, with a conscious laugh, and the trio separated. - -Two hours later Marion Wilbur was the recipient of the following note: - - “DEAR MARION:— - - “I promised to tell you—though I don’t intimate that - this comes under your prescribed limit of things - ‘awful.’ Still, I want to tell you. I am almost sorry - that I have not been like little Flossy, and talked it - all over freely with you. Someway I couldn’t seem to. - The truth is, I am to be married, in six week’s time, - to Mr. Harrison. Think of my being a minister’s wife! - But he is going away from here and perhaps I can learn. - There! the ice is broken; now I can tell you about it. - Come as soon as you can, and, as Flossy says, ‘Have a - quiet little confidence.’ Lovingly, - - “EURIE.” - -It was about this very hour that Eurie opened and looked at, in a maze -of astonishment and bewilderment, a dainty envelope, of special size -and design, from which there fell Marion Wilbur’s wedding-cards! - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A CROSS OF LEAD. - - -I DO not know that I need even try to tell you about the succession -of petty trials and embarrassments that haunted Ruth Erskine’s way -during the next few days. They belonged to that class of trials hard to -endure—so hard, indeed, that at times the spirit shrinks away in mortal -terror, and feels that it can bear no more; and yet in the telling to -a listener they dwindle in importance. As for Ruth, she did not _tell_ -them—she lived them. - -Everything was so new; nothing in or about the house could go on -according to the old fashion; and yet there was no new fashion shaped. -She saw many a thing which she must not do, and but few things that -seemed to bear doing. She must stop in the act of ordering dinner, and -remember in confusion that it was not her business to order dinners -in this house any more. And yet she must remember that the nominal -mistress seemed to know no more about ordering dinners for a family of -eight than she knew about ten thousand other things that were waiting -for her attention. Poor Ruth struggled and groaned and wondered, -and rarely cried, but grew paler, if possible, than before, and her -forehead was continually drawn, either with lines of pain or of intense -self-suppression. She congratulated herself that her father escaped -some of the misery. He went early to his office, shutting the door -on the incongruous elements in his household with a sense of relief, -and going out into the business world, where everything and everybody -were as usual, and returning late, giving as little time to the home -puzzle as possible. Yet it wore on him. Ruth could see that, and it but -increased her burden to feel that the struggle she made to help was so -manifest a _struggle_, and was, in some sense, a failure. - -He detained her one morning in the library, with that special word of -detention which as yet he had never applied to any one but her. - -“My daughter, let me see you a moment before I go out. Do you think we -ought to try to have some friends come in, in a social way?” - -At this question Ruth stood aghast. Her father’s friends had hitherto -not been hard for her to entertain—lawyers, judges, professional men -of different degrees of prominence, often without their wives, and -when the ladies were included they were of an age, as a rule, to -expect little in the way of entertainment from Ruth, except a gracious -attention to their comfort; so that, beyond very careful directions -issued to very competent servants, and a general outlook on the -perfected arrangements, little had been expected of her. But now it was -different; other than professional people would expect invitations; -and besides, the hostess was no hostess at all—would not know what to -do—and, what was infinitely more painful, what _not_ to do. - -No wonder that Ruth was appalled over this new duty looming before her. -Yet of course it was a _duty_; she flushed over the thought that her -father had been obliged to suggest it. Of course people were expecting -introductions; of course they would call—hosts of them. How much better -it would be to have a gathering of a few friends before the great world -pounced in upon them, so they might feel that at least with a few the -ordeal of introduction was over. - -“I don’t mean a large party,” her father hastened to explain. “Just -a few friends—not professional ones, you know, but some of your new -acquaintances in the church, perhaps. I thought you might like to have -a gathering somewhat like that which you told me of at our little -friend, Flossy Shipley’s.” - -If he had not been looking down at the grate, just then, instead of -into his daughter’s face, he would have seen her start, and almost -catch her breath over this suggestion. It was not that she was jealous -of little Flossy, for whom her father had shown very special and tender -regard ever since the prayer-meeting which he attended in her company, -but it came to her with a sudden sense of the change that had fallen -upon them. To think that they—the _Erskines_—should be making an -attempt to have a social gathering like unto one that Flossy Shipley -had planned! - -“We couldn’t do the things that she did,” Ruth said, quickly. -“The elements which we would have to bring together would be too -incongruous.” - -“No,” he answered, “not exactly like hers, of course, but something -simple and informal. I thought your three friends would come, and -Dr. Dennis, you know, and people of that stamp, who understand and -will help us. Wouldn’t it be well to try to do something of the kind, -daughter, or doesn’t the idea meet with your approval?” - -“Oh, yes,” she said, drawing in her breath. “Yes, father, we must do -something. I will try. But I hardly know how to commence. You know I am -not mistress of the house now; it makes it difficult for me.” - -“I know,” he said, and the expression of his face led his daughter -instantly to regret that she had made such a remark. It was the life -she lived at this time—saying words, and regretting that she had done -so. They went on, however, perfecting the arrangements for the social -gathering. There had occurred to Ruth an instant trouble in the way, -which was that ever-present one in the American woman’s life—_clothes_. - -“We can not hasten this thing,” she said. “There will need to be some -shopping done, and some dress-making—that is, I should think there -would need to be.” - -She corrected herself, and the embarrassment involved in the fact that -she was not the mistress of the new comers presented itself. Suppose -they chose to think they had clothes enough, and proposed to appear in -any of the ill-made, badly-selected materials which seemed to compose -their wardrobe! If they were only two children, that she might shut up, -in a back room up-stairs, and turn the key on outsiders until such time -as they could be made presentable, what a relief it would be! - -Evidently her father appreciated that embarrassment. - -“I tried to arrange that matter before I came home,” he said. “I -furnished money and suggested as well as I could; but it didn’t work. I -hardly know what was the trouble. They didn’t understand, or something. -Ruth, what can you do about it? Is there any way of managing?” - -Ruth tried to consider, while her cheeks flushed, and her heart beat -hard, in what way she could suggest to her father to manage his wife -and daughter. - -“_Susan_ would listen to suggestions, I think,” she said, slowly. “But -I don’t know whether”— - -And then she broke off, and recurred to another of the endless trials -of this time. If she and her father were to be compelled to hold -conversations concerning this woman, it was absolutely necessary that -they come to an understanding as to what to call her. - -“Father,” she said, plunging desperately into the depths of the -question. “What am I to call her? Does she—or, do _you_—desire that I -should say mother?” - -“No,” he said, quickly. “Surely not, unless”— - -“Well, then,” Ruth said, after waiting in vain for him to conclude. “Am -I to say ‘Mrs. Erskine?’” - -“Oh, I don’t know.” - -He spoke in visible agitation, and commenced a nerve-distracting walk -up and down the room. - -“I don’t know anything about any of this miserable business. Sometimes -I am very sorely tempted to wish that I had left everything as it was, -and gone on in my old life, and endured the results.” - -“Don’t,” said Ruth, aghast at this evidence of desperate feeling, and -roused, for a moment, from minor considerations into a higher plane. -“Don’t feel in this way, father; we will do the best we can, and it -will all come out right; at least, we will try to do what is right.” - -He came over to her then, standing before her, looking into her eyes, -and there was that half-appealing look in his which had touched her -before. - -“Ruth, if we could—if there was any way that we could—manage to _like_ -them a little, it would make the whole thing so much better, both for -them and us.” - -What an amazing thing to say! what an almost ludicrous thing, when one -reflected that he was talking about his _wife_! Yet none knew better -than did Ruth that _names_ implying love did not make love! How pitiful -this appealing sentence was! How could her father ever hope to learn -to like this woman, who was his wife? For herself, she had not even -thought of such a thing as trying. The most she had planned for was -to endure, to tolerate—certainly not to like, most certainly never to -_love_! She stood dumbly before her father, having no word of help for -him. And presently he turned from her with a sigh; and, when he spoke -again, it was in a business-like tone: - -“Well, daughter, do the best you can. Manage everything exactly as you -have been in the habit of doing. About the dress question, talk with -Susan, if you can; tell her what will be proper—what you want done. -I will see that her mother follows her directions. For the rest, we -will manage some way; we shall have to depend on the kindness of our -friends. Judge Burnham will help us in any way he can. He understands -matters.” - -This suggested to Ruth to inquire in regard to him. - -“What is Judge Burnham staying in town for? Where _is_ he staying, -anyway?” - -“Why, he lives in town. He is practicing here. Didn’t you know it? He -has been absent a long time on professional business. I hardly know -how it has happened that you have never met him until now. He has a -country-seat ten miles or so away from the city. He is there a good -deal, I presume; but he boards now at the Leighton House. He was about -changing boarding places when we came home. It was for that reason, -among others, that I invited him to stop with us for a few days. You -like him, don’t you, Ruth?” - -This last with a sudden change of tone, and almost anxiety expressed in -his manner. - -“Oh, yes,” said Ruth, half in impatience, as one to whom the subject -was too unimportant to stop over. And she was conscious of a flitting -determination that, whatever other person she might be called upon to -like, she would never trouble herself to make any effort of that sort -for _him_. - -And then she went away to plan for a party in which she was to -be the real head, while appearing before the world only as the -dutiful daughter; to plan, also, for the new mother and sister’s -toilets—whether they would, or not, trusting to her father’s authority -to make them submissive to her schemes. - -A little more talk about that matter of liking people, Ruth was -destined to hear; and it developed ideas that bewildered her. It -chanced that Flossy Shipley came in for a little chat with Ruth, -over the recent astounding news connected with their mutual friend, -Marion. It chanced, also, that the new-comers were both up stairs for -the evening, Mrs. Erskine being one of those persons who indulge in -frequent sick-headaches, during which time her daughter Susan was her -devoted slave. So Judge Erskine sat with his daughter, book in hand, -because conversation between them was now of necessity on such trying -subjects that they mutually avoided it; but he rarely turned a leaf; -and he greeted Flossy Shipley with a smile of pleasure, and asked, -almost pleadingly, if he might stay and listen to their gossip. Very -glad assent, Flossy gave, and emphasized it by talking to Ruth with as -much apparent freedom as though he were absent. - -“I like it,” she said, speaking of Marion. “I think she will make such -a perfectly splendid minister’s wife.” - -Flossy still dealt largely in superlatives, and paid very little -attention to the grammatical position of her adjectives. “I am almost -sorry that I am not going to live here, so I could have the benefit of -her; she will be just as full of helpful plans for people! And when she -gets in a position to influence them you will see how much good she can -do. Ruth, were you very much surprised?” - -“Greatly so. I imagined that she did not even admire Dr. Dennis very -much. I don’t know that she ever gave me reason to think so, except by -being silent sometimes, when I expected her to speak; but of course -that is accounted for now. Isn’t the marriage sudden?” - -“More sudden than they had planned,” Flossy said. “Dr. Dennis found it -necessary to be absent just then on a matter of business, and to go -West, just in the direction they had proposed to go together, and he -was obliged to be absent for some time, which would give him little -chance for vacation later in the season, and, in short,” said Flossy, -with a bright smile, “I think if they would own it, they were very -lonely, and very anxious to enjoy each other’s society, and thought -they were wasting time, and set about finding reasons why they should -change their plans. You know reasons can almost always be found for -things, when we are very anxious to find them!” - -“Is that so!” Judge Erskine asked, looking up from his book, and -speaking in so earnest a tone that both girls turned toward him -inquiringly. “Do you mean to say that if one were anxious to -change—well, say his opinion of a person, he could bring himself to do -it on reasonable grounds?” - -It was a curious question, and to Ruth it was a very embarrassing one. -Her cheeks flushed painfully, and her eyes drooped to the bit of fancy -work which lay idly in her lap. - -“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking about,” Flossy said, gently and -seriously, as one who realized that his question reached deeper than he -meant her to understand. “But I do truly think, sir, that if we feel -as though we _ought_ to change our opinion of a person, we can set -seriously about doing it and accomplish it.” - -“In that case, you would not believe it necessary to have any enemies -in this world, would you?” - -“Not real enemies, I think, though I wouldn’t want to be friends, of -course, with everybody. But—well, Judge Erskine, I can’t explain to -you what I mean. I don’t know how to reason, you see. All I can do is -to tell you what really occurred. There is a person whom I disliked; -he was very trying to me, and I had to be thrown in his society very -often, and I knew I ought to feel differently toward him, because, you -know, I couldn’t hope to be of the least help to him, unless I felt -differently. So I set myself earnestly to trying, and I succeeded. I -have the kindest possible feelings toward him, and I think I am gaining -a little influence.” - -During this recital Flossy’s fair, peach-blossom cheek had taken a -deeper shade, and her eyes drooped low. She was giving what Judge -Erskine felt was a bit of heart-history, and he did not know that she -realized any personal application. How should the innocent little mouse -know anything about his affairs? - -“Do you mind telling me how you set to work to accomplish this change?” -he asked, and his daughter knew that his voice was almost husky. - -“First,” said Flossy, simply and gravely, “I prayed for him; I gave all -my soul to a desire for his conversion; I prayed to be shown how to -help him—how to act toward him; then I prayed for grace to like him, -to be interested in him, and to overlook his faults, or his failings; -and then—why, I am not sure there is any ‘then’ to it. It is all told -in that word ‘prayer.’ The Lord Jesus helped me, Judge Erskine; that is -the whole of it.” - -“Do you really think we have a right to pray about the matter of our -likes and dislikes?” There was no mistaking the earnestness in Judge -Erskine’s voice this time. - -Flossy turned wondering eyes on him, as she said, “Oh, yes, indeed! -The direction is, ‘Casting all your care upon him,’ and that is a -real care, you know.” Ah! _didn’t_ Judge Erskine know? “And then He -says, ‘In _everything_ by prayer and supplication, let your requests -be made known.’ I couldn’t doubt my right. Indeed it seemed to me to -be a duty, not only to pray, but actually to supplicate, to coax, you -know, just as I was so tempted to do when a child. It seemed blessed to -me to think that the Lord Jesus took such minute notice of our human -nature that he knew it would help us to be allowed to keep a subject -constantly before him, and to keep coaxing about it. Don’t you think -that is wonderful, Judge Erskine?” - -“Wonderful!” repeated Judge Erskine, in a moved tone, and he arose and -began that pacing up and down the room, which always with him indicated -deep feeling. Ruth and Flossy presently continued their talk in a lower -tone, until Judge Erskine came toward them again and said, “I will bid -you good-night, I think, and thank you, my dear young lady. Your words -are strong and helpful; don’t forget them in any future experience of -life that you may have; perhaps they will help you through deep waters, -some day.” - -Then he went to the library. As for Ruth, she sought her room with two -thoughts following her: one, that Flossy had been to her father what -_she_ had failed in being—a helper; and the other, that possibly she -might pray herself into a different state of feeling toward this woman -and this girl, who were to her now only heavy, _heavy_ crosses. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -BITTER HERBS. - - -THE morning of the night which had closed in gloom, opened to Ruth -Erskine with a faint promise of better things. Not so much that, -either; rather, she resolved on heroism. The sun shone, and the air -was fresh with the breath of coming spring. The outlook seemed more -hopeful. Ruth resolved upon trying Flossy’s way. She would pray about -this matter; she would nerve herself for duty and trial: she would -bear whatever of disagreeableness came athwart her plans. No matter -how obstinate or offensive this new woman proved herself to be on -the question of wardrobe, she would bravely face the ordeal, and do -what she could. No amount of offensiveness should cause her to lose -self-control. It was childish and useless to yield in this way, and -let inevitable trials crush one. She did not mean to do it. Her father -should see that she could be as strong over _real_ trials, as Flossy -Shipley could be over imaginary ones; for what had that little kitten -ever had to try her? This Ruth said, with a curl of her handsome upper -lip. - -She went about her morning duties with something like the briskness -of her old life, and settled herself to Bible-reading, resolved on -finding something to help her. She had not yet learned the best ways -of reading in the Bible; indeed, she had not given that subject the -attention which Flossy had. To begin a chapter, and read directly and -seriously through it, getting what information she could, was the most -that she, as yet, knew about the matter. And the chapter occurring next -to the one that she read yesterday was the fifth of Romans: “Therefore -being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus -Christ: by whom also we have access by faith into this grace wherein -we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God. And not only so, -but we glory in tribulations also; knowing that tribulation worketh -patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope.” Thus on, -through the solemn and wonderful chapter, heeding the words indeed; -getting some sort of idea of St. Paul’s meaning, and yet not making his -experience personal, in the least; not realizing that the sentence, -“We have peace with God,” included Ruth Erskine; not seeing, at least, -that it was a present promise, referring to present experience; not -realizing anything, save a desire to be armed for unpleasant and -continuous duties, and a dim idea that reading the Bible was one of the -preparations which were given her to make. In much the same spirit, she -knelt to pray. She was humble, she was reverent, she was in earnest, -she prayed for strength, for wisdom, for patience; and the words were -strictly proper, and in accordance with the desires. The prayer, to a -listener, would have breathed the spirit of confidence and faith; yet -it must be confessed that Ruth Erskine arose from her knees without any -sense of having really communed with Christ, without any realization -of his presence, and without any very definite expectation of receiving -actual, practical benefit from the exercise. She did not realize the -feeling, and yet she possessed somewhat of the same spirit of the child -who prayed: “Dear Jesus, help me to be good to-day. I know I can be -good if I try, and I intend to try; but you can help me if you want -to!” Remember, I do not say that she realized it; but that does not -alter the fact that she went out from her room, to meet the trials of -the day, strong in the strength of her own resolves. She repaired at -once to Mrs. Judge Erskine’s room, determined to be very composed and -patient, and to combat whatever disagreeable or dissenting thing might -be said with forbearance and kindness. - -Mrs. Erskine’s objection to new and fine clothing must be overcome, -but it should be done wisely. She resolved to say nothing to Susan -beforehand. She would not admit, even to herself, that her father’s -evident confidence in Susan’s powers was a trial to her; but, all the -same, she determined to show him that she, too, had powers, and that -she could manage matters without Susan’s help. - -Alas for Ruth! Mrs. Erskine was not in the least averse to -fine feathers. She was not lofty, nor angry, nor hurt; she was -good-naturedly and ungrammatically and exasperatingly loquacious. It -would have been much easier for Ruth to endure ill-temper. She was -nerved for that. Unconsciously she had planned for and prayed for -self-control, to enable her to endure, not what she would meet in Mrs. -Erskine, but what she would have had to contend with in herself, had -she been in Mrs. Erskine’s place; and as, given the same circumstances, -the two would act in a totally different manner, failure was inevitable. - -“Come in,” said Mrs. Erskine, heartily, in answer to Ruth’s low knock. -“Land alive! come right in, don’t stop to rap. What’s the use of being -so particular with one’s folks? I been a wishin’ you would run in and -have a chat. I was tellin’ your pa, only last night, how chirk and -nice we could all be here, if you would be sort of sociable, you know, -and not so stiff and proud-like. Not that you mean to be proud, I -s’pose; Susan says you don’t. She says it’s natural for some folks to -be haughty. I s’pose it is. But, land alive! I’m glad I’m not one of -them kind. Haughty folks always did shrivel me right up. Set down here -by the fire. I think these grates is real comfortable. I told your -pa, last night, that I wouldn’t have shivered over an old barn of a -wood-stove, all these years, if I’d known what comfortable things there -was in the world. How dreadful pale you look! Is it natural for you to -look so like a ghost all the time?” - -“I am not accustomed to having a great deal of color in my face, I -believe,” Ruth answered, sitting squarely and stiffly in the most -uncomfortable chair she could find in the room, and feeling, just then, -that to be an actual ghost would be a positive relief. - -“Well, now, I don’t believe it’s nature for any human being to be so -like a sheet as that. If I was your pa, I’d have you through a course -of medicine in less than no time. You need strengthenin’ up. You ought -to have some Peruvian bark, or some quassia chips, or some kind of -bitter stuff steeped up for you to drink. It would do you a power of -good, I know it would. You jest let me fix you up a mess, like I do -Susan, and see what it’ll do for you. S’prise your pa with the change -in you, I dare say.” - -Poor Ruth! She felt as though stuff that was bitter enough had been -mixed and steeped, and held to her lips, and that she was being obliged -to drink it to the very dregs. _Did_ she need it? Was it possible that -the Divine Physician saw her need of such bitter herbs as these which -had fallen to her lot? She started, and even flushed a little over the -sudden thought. _She_ did not believe it. This was her _father’s_ sin, -not hers. It had only fallen upon her because of the old, solemn law: -“The iniquities of the fathers shall be visited upon the children.” She -hurried her thoughts away from it. It would not do to sit in that room, -with that woman staring at her, and indulge in questionings like these. - -“I came in to see if I could be of any assistance to you in the way of -shopping. You will need something new, I suppose, before the gathering -of friends which my father proposes to have.” - -Ruth had decided to take it as a matter of course that new garments -were to be bought, and thus forestall, if she could, haughty -objections. She need not have been thus careful. Mrs. Erskine had -stated truly that she was not one of the “haughty” sort. She had no -objection to any number of new dresses, and to their being made as -elaborately as possible. - -“Now you speak of it, I dare say I do,” she said, leaning back -complacently in her comfortable little rocker. “In fact, your pa spoke -of that very thing this morning. He said like enough you would ’tend -to it, and he filled my pocket-book up handsome. There ain’t a stingy -streak about your pa. I knew that, years and years ago, when he was -a young man. It was the very first thing that drawed me to him—the -free kind of way in which he threw around his money. It seemed so -noble-like, specially when I was drivin’ every nerve to keep soul and -body together, and lived among folks that didn’t dare to say their -bodies was their own, for fear they would have ’em seized on for debt, -and took to jail. I tell you that was livin’! You don’t know nothing -about it, and I hope to the land that you never will.” - -What could Ruth do but groan inwardly, and wish that her father had -been, in his youth, the veriest miser that ever walked the earth! -Anything, so that this terrible woman would not have been “drawed” to -him. She tried to hurry the question: - -“What have you thought of getting?” she asked, nervously twisting -and untwisting the tassels of the tidy against which she leaned, and -feeling disagreeably conscious that a glow of color had mounted to her -very temples in her efforts at self-control. - -“Land alive, I don’t know. I’ve thought of a dozen different dresses -since your pa told me this morning what he wanted. He wants things to -be awful nice, I can see that; and why shouldn’t he? A man that’s got -money and is free with it has a right to say what he will have, I’m -sure. I think it ought to be something bright, like something—well, -_bridie_, you know.” - -This last with such a distressing little simper that it was almost more -than Ruth could do to keep from rushing from that awful room, and -declaring to her father that she would have no more to do with this -thing. He should fight his dreadful battles alone. But outwardly she -held still, and the shrill, uncultured little voice went on: - -“You see I _am_ almost like a bride, meeting your pa’s friends so for -the first time, though land knows it is long enough ago that I planned -what to wear when I should meet ’em. It took longer to get ready than I -expected.” - -There was not even a spice of bitterness in this sentence. If there had -been—if there had been a suggestion that this woman felt somewhat of -her own wrongs, Ruth thought that she could have borne it better. But -the tone was simply contemplative, as of one who was astonished, in a -mild way, over the tragedy that life had managed to get up for her. - -“You see,” she continued, “I hadn’t a chance for much dressin’ or -thinkin’ about it; your pa was so weak that I had about all I could -do to fix bitters and things, and manage to keep the breath of life -in his body. And many’s the time when I thought he’d beat, and die -right before my face and eyes in spite of me. Then he went off on -that journey afore he was able, and I’ve always believed, and always -shall, that he didn’t rightly know what he was about after that, for -quite a spell. So now I think more than likely it would please him to -have things kind of gay and lively. I ain’t said anything about it -to Susan—she ha’n’t no special interest in dressing up, anyway, and -she and I don’t always agree about what looks nice, but I think your -pa would like it if I had a green silk—bright, rich green, you know, -nothing dull and fady. I saw one when I was a girl—fact is, I sewed on -it—and it was for a bride, too, and I said to myself then, says I, ‘If -_I’m_ ever a bride, I’ll have a dress as much like this as two peas.’ -I’ve been a good while about it, but that’s neither here nor there. -I’ve got a beautiful red bow; that wide, rich-looking kind of ribbon; -a woman give it to me for tending up to her poor girl afore she died. -She had the consumption, and I took care of her off and on a good share -of the fall, and she give me this ribbon. It’s real nice, though land -knows I didn’t want pay for doing things for her poor girl. ’Twan’t -_pay_, neither, for the matter of that; it was just to show they felt -grateful, you know, and I’ve always set store by that ribbon. I’ve -never wore it, because Susan she thought it wan’t suited to our way of -livin’ and no more it wan’t, though we lived nice enough in a small -way. Your pa never skimped us on money, though, land alive! I didn’t -dream of his havin’ things about him like he has, and I was always for -tryin’ to lay up, ’cause I didn’t know how much money he had, and I -didn’t know but he’d come to poverty some day. Rich folks do, and I was -for savin’, and Susan didn’t object. Susan is a good girl as ever was. -And so the red bow is just as nice as ever it was—not a mite soiled nor -nothing, and I think it would go lovely with a green silk dress, don’t -you?” - -“No,” said Ruth, severely and solemnly. Not another word could she have -forced her white lips to say, and I don’t know how to explain to you -what awful torture this talk was to her. The truth is, to those of you -who do not, because of a fine subtle, inner sympathy, understand it -already, it is utterly unexplainable. - -“Land alive!” said Mrs. Erskine, startled by the brief, explosive -answer, and by the white, set lips, “don’t you? Now, I thought you -would. You dress so like a picture yourself, I thought you would know -all about it, and your pa said you knew what was what as well as the -next one.” - -Think of Judge Erskine’s aristocratic lips delivering such a sentence -as that! - -“Now, I had a geranium once, when I was a girl. It was the only pretty -thing I had in the world, and I set store by it, for more reasons -than one. It was give to me by my own aunt on my father’s side. It -was pretty nigh all she had to give, poor thing! They was dreadful -poor like the rest of us, and she give me this the very winter she -died. I had it up in my room, and it kept a blowing and blowing all -winter long—I never see the like of that thing to blow! And I used to -stand and look at it, just between daylight and dark. It stood right -by my one window, where the last streak of daylight come in, and I -used to squeeze in there between the table and the wall to make my -button-holes, and when it got so dark I jest couldn’t take another -stitch, I’d stand and look at the thing all in blow, and I thought I -never see anything so pretty in all my life, and I made up my mind then -and there, that a green silk dress, about the color of them leaves, and -a red ribbon about the color of them blossoms, would be the prettiest -thing to wear in the world. I got the bow a good many years ago, and I -was always kind of savin’ on it up, waiting for the dress.” Just here -there was the faintest little breath of a sigh. “But, then, if you -don’t think it would be the thing, why I’m willing to leave it to you. -Your pa said you’d see that everything was ship-shape.” - -“I think,” said Ruth, and her voice was hollow, even to herself, “I -think that my father’s taste would be a plain, black silk, with white -lace at the throat. If you desire to please him, I am sure you will -make that choice.” - -“Why!” exclaimed Mrs. Judge Erskine, and she couldn’t help looking a -bit dismayed. “Land alive! do you think so? Black! why it will make -folks think of a funeral, won’t it?” - -“No,” said Ruth, “black is worn on all occasions by persons who know -enough to wear it.” Then she arose. She had reached the utmost limit -of endurance. Another sentence from this woman she felt would have -driven her wild. Yet she was doomed to hear one more before she closed -the door after herself. - -“Well, now, if you honestly think it will be best, I s’pose I’ll agree -to it, as your pa seemed to think things must go your way. But I don’t -quite like it, jest because it seems kind of bad luck. I don’t believe -them notions about black clothes at merry-makings, you know, though -when I was a girl folks honestly thought so, and it seems kind of -pokerish to run right into ’em. I never would begin to clean house of a -Friday—some bad luck was sure to come; and as for seein’ the moon over -my left shoulder, I won’t do it, _now_—not if I can help it. But black -silk ain’t so funeral as bombazine and such, and I s’pose—” - -Here Ruth slammed the door, and put both trembling hands to her ears, -and ran across the hall to the refuge of her own room, and closed, and -locked, and _bolted_ her door. - -As for Mrs. Erskine, she relapsed of necessity into silence, and for -the space of five minutes ceased her rocking and looked meditatively -into the glowing grate. Then she arose, and for the second time that -morning her speech was heralded by the breath of a sigh, as she said -aloud, “I ain’t no ways certain that I can ever make head or tail to -that girl.” Then she went to her new and elegant dressing-bureau, and -opened a drawer, and drew from under a pile of snowy clothing a little -box, and took therefrom, wrapped in several folds of tissue paper, the -treasured bow. She had kept it choicely for fourteen years, always with -a dim sense of feeling that the time might come when life would so have -opened to her that she would be able to add to it the green silk dress, -and appear in triumph. Besides, it represented to her so much gratitude -and affection, and there was actually on her small, worn, withered -face, the suspicion of a tear, as she carefully folded and replaced it. -Her audible comment was: “A black silk dress and a white lace bow! land -alive!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -SEEKING HELP. - - -FOR the rest of the day Ruth was in gloom; indeed, I might almost say -she was in despair. In a dim, dreary sort of way, she felt that her -refuge had failed her. If it really was not going to help her to read -in the Bible and pray, what _was_ she to do? Now, I do not mean that -she suddenly lost faith in the Bible, or in prayer, but simply that -despairing thoughts, like these, ran riot through her brain, and she -gave them attention; also, she felt as though any effort to help, -or any attempt to like these people—nay, even to tolerate them—was -impossible. Mrs. Erskine’s good-natured coarseness of tone and speech, -her horrible arrangement of words and phrases, her frequent allusions -to “your pa,” in the free, careless tone which indicated a partnership -of interest between them, were all so many horrors to the refined, -reserved, low-voiced daughter. - -“I will just shut myself into my room,” she said, pacing back and forth -like a caged lion. “I will not try to associate with them; it can never -be done; they can not be improved; there is no hope in that direction: -there is nothing to build on. I must just take care of myself, and see -to it that I do not sink to their level.” - -Carrying out this plan, or, rather, allowing herself to glide along -with it, she turned away with almost a shiver from her father’s -question, that evening, addressed to her in a low tone, as the family -were leaving the dining-room: - -“Daughter, shall we try to go to prayer-meeting to-night?” - -The first prayer-meeting since this invasion into their home! Ruth had -not forgotten it; instead, she had been looking forward all day to -that meeting, as a refuge for her storm-tossed soul. Without giving -really definite thought to it, she yet felt that there, at least, -would be help and comfort; and not once had it occurred to her that the -new-comers must be invited to attend. She realized, now, with a throb -of pain, that it was this sense of fleeing from their presence which -had helped to give pleasantness to the thought of the meeting. Was it -possible that “_they_” must be taken? - -“Father, I can’t,” she said, turning and facing him with glowing face -and defiant eyes. “I have tried to-day to help, and have been an awful -failure. I just feel as though I could not endure it. No, I say, let us -stay at home with our misery, and not parade it before a gaping world. -No, I am not going to prayer-meeting to-night.” - -Her father turned from her, and walked, without another word, to the -library, whither, according to the new rules of the house, they went -directly after tea, for prayer. Ruth could not help noticing that her -father’s tall, handsome form stooped, as though he were bowed with -suddenly-added years. The moment those words were spoken, she felt that -she would have given worlds to have unsaid them; but to take back what -has been said in haste and folly is oftentimes an impossible task. -She chose the darkest corner of the library, and felt that, if she -could have crouched in it, out of sight forever, it would have been -happiness. Her father’s voice, as he read the psalm for the evening, -was low and tremulous. He had by no means gotten used to these new -duties—had not felt their comfort, nor recognized in them a help. As -yet he was in the realm of hard _duty_. His prayer touched Ruth as -no prayer had ever done before. It opened the fountains of tears. On -rising from her knees, she turned quickly to the window, to hide her -disturbed face, and to determine whether she should follow her father -from the room, and apologizing for the hard, unhelpful words which she -had spoken, say that, of course, they must go to prayer-meeting. He did -not wait for her tardy resolution, but turned at once to his wife: - -“Will you and Susan accompany me to our weekly meeting? I feel that we -need all the help we can get, and that is one of the sources of supply.” - -Susan answered promptly, and with a glad ring in her voice that he -could not have failed to notice. She was so glad to hear that this was -the evening for the meeting. She had been thinking about it to-day, and -wondering whether it were, and whether she could go. As for the mother, -she said, hesitatingly: - -“Why, yes,” she supposed so. There was nothing to hinder, that she knew -of. She was no great hand for going out evenings, though, to be sure, -going out in a city, where the walks were good and the streets as light -as day, was a different affair from blundering along in the dark, as -_she_ had been obliged to do. Susan always went to prayer-meeting; but -she hadn’t never went in her life, as she knew of; but then, of course, -if _he_ wanted to go, she would go along. - -It was not possible, apparently, for Mrs. Erskine to answer a -question briefly. She was full of reminiscences. They went to -prayer-meeting—“father and mother and daughter.” Ruth said this -sentence over after they were all gone—said it as she listened to the -sound of their retreating footsteps—her father, and all the mother -she had ever known, and their daughter. She was left out! Her father -had not given her opportunity to change her mind. He had simply said, -as they passed out, “I am sorry, daughter, that you do not feel like -accompanying us.” If he had but said, “Daughter, won’t you go?” she -would have choked down the tears and answered, “Yes.” But she could not -bring her pride, or her grief, to make this concession. She honestly -did not know whether to call it pride or grief. - -Bitterly sorry was she to miss the prayer-meeting. She began to feel -that, even with those two present, it might have helped her. So sorry -was she that, had she dared to traverse the streets alone, she would -have made ready and followed. While she still stood, looking out -drearily, too sad now even for tears, the bell sounded through the -quiet house, and, giving little heed to it, she was presently startled -by the advent of Judge Burnham. - -“Thomas thought no one was in,” he said, coming toward her, after an -instant’s surprised pause, “and I ventured to avail myself of your -father’s cordial invitations, and come in to consult a book which he -has, and I haven’t.” - -It was well for Judge Burnham’s peace of mind that he had not come in -expecting to see Ruth. She was in the mood to resent such an intrusion, -but since it was only books that he wanted, he was welcome. She -motioned toward the rows and rows of solemn-looking volumes, as she -said: - -“Help yourself, Judge Burnham, and make yourself as comfortable as you -can. My father’s friends are always welcome to his library.” - -Then Judge Burnham said a strange and unexpected word. Standing -there, looking at her with those keen, grave eyes of his, thinking, -apparently, not of books at all, he said: - -“I wish I could help _you_.” - -Something in the tone and something in the emphasis caused a vivid -blush to spread over Ruth’s face. She commenced a haughty sentence: - -“Thank you; I am sure it is kind; but—” She was about to say, “but, I -do not feel in need of help.” - -She was stopped by the swift realization that this was not true. She -felt, in one sense, in deeper need of help than she had ever done -before. Her voice faltered over the words, and finally she stopped, her -eyes drooping as they were not wont to droop before others, and those -traitorous tears shone in them again. The tearful mood was as foreign -to her usual self as possible, and she felt afraid to trust herself to -speak further. Besides, what could she say? - -Judge Burnham spoke again, earnestly, respectfully: - -“I hope you will forgive my intrusion of sympathy, but I do feel -for you—perhaps in a way that you can hardly appreciate. There are -circumstances in my own hard life that serve to make me in deep -sympathy with your present trial. Besides, your father has confided in -me fully, and I knew _your_ mother. When I was a boy of fourteen she -was a woman, young and beautiful and good. She helped me in a hundred -of those nameless ways in which a woman can help a motherless boy. If -there was any way in which I could serve her daughter it would give me -sincerest pleasure to do so.” - -He was so frank and sincere and grave that Ruth could hardly help being -sincere also. - -“I need help,” she said, raising her eyes for an instant to his, “but -I do not imagine that you, or any human being, can give it me. I shall -have to get a victory over my own heart before anything can help me. -I am ashamed of myself, and disheartened. Things that I mean to do I -utterly fail in, and things that above all others I don’t intend to do -I drop into, almost of necessity, it seems to me.” - -What a pity that this man, who wanted to help, had not been familiar -with the old-time cry of the sin-sick soul, “For the good that I would -I do not, but the evil which I would not that I do.” But he was not -familiar with that book of the law of the human heart. Still he essayed -to comfort. - -“I think you are too hard on yourself. I told you that your father had -made a confidant of me, and among other things he has repeatedly told -me what a help and strengthener you were to him. He said that he never -would have been able to carry this hard matter through but for your -strong, unselfish words. It was of you he thought most, and when you -were unselfish he felt that he could be.” - -Ruth needed this crumb of comfort and yet it had its bitter side, and -brought another rush of tears. - -“He will never speak such words again,” she said, and her voice -trembled. “I have failed him utterly. To-night he asked me to go to the -prayer-meeting, and I refused. I said I could never go out with them -anywhere, and that we ought to stay at home and hide our shame.” - -And having broken through the wall of reserve to this degree poor Ruth -gave way utterly, and dropped into a chair, weeping bitterly. Presently -she said: - -“I would give the world to be able to take it back again; but I can’t. -I should have gone to the meeting to-night—there was no excuse. I have -dishonored my Saviour as well as my father.” - -Judge Burnham looked down at her in perplexed dismay. No definite -purpose had been in his mind, beyond a very strange sympathy for her, -and a desire to show it. But he did not in the least know how to deal -with tears, nor with trouble which reached to so deep and solemn a -place in the heart as this. He was one of those reverent, correct -moralists, professing to honor the Bible as a very wise and a very -good book, professing to respect religion and honor the name of God; -and knowing no more about any of these subjects than that profession -indicates when it goes no farther. How was he to comfort one whose -bitterest tears were being shed because she had dishonored the Lord? He -waited irresolute for a moment, then, as if a sudden and very brilliant -thought had struck him, his face brightened. - -“If that prayer-meeting would really be a source of help to you, Miss -Erskine,” and he tried not to have his tone appear incredulous, though -at that very moment he was occupied in wondering what it could possibly -do for her, “why not reconsider your decision and attend it? I will see -you safely there with pleasure, and I presume your coming would gratify -your father in his present mood.” - -For, to this man, the religion of his old friend Judge Erskine was -simply a “mood,” which he expected to be exchanged presently for some -other fancy. - -Ruth looked up quickly. Was there possibly an escape from this torture -of self-reproach? Was there a chance to show her father that she was -bitterly ashamed of herself? - -“Isn’t it too late?” she asked, and the eagerness in her voice was -apparent. - -“Oh, no, I should think not,” and Judge Burnham drew his watch. “I am -not very well versed in the ways of these gatherings, but if it were a -lecture, or concert, it is not enough past the hour to cause remark. I -am quite willing to brave criticism in that respect, if you say so.” - -Had Ruth been less engrossed with the affairs of her own troubled -heart she would have taken in the strangeness of this offer on Judge -Burnham’s part to accompany her to a prayer-meeting. Truth to tell he -could have echoed Mrs. Erskine’s statement, that “she hadn’t never went -in her life as she knew of.” He smiled now over the newness of his -position, and yet he cared very little about it. There _were_ matters -in which Judge Burnham had moral courage enough to face the whole -world. To appear in a social meeting with Judge Erskine’s daughter -was one of them. As for Ruth, true to her nature, she thought nothing -about it, but made ready with a speed and an eagerness that would have -amazed her attendant, could he have seen her. - -So it came to pass that the First Church prayer-meeting again had a -sensation. The prayer-room was quite full. Since the revival there had -been none of those distressing meetings composed of a handful of the -most staid members of the church, but on this particular evening there -were more present than usual. There were some who were not in the habit -of being seen there, even of late. Shall I venture to tell the reason? -The simple truth is, that Dr. Dennis and Marion Wilbur’s wedding-cards -were out. As Eurie Mitchell has before told you, many things had -conspired to make their change of plans advisable, and so, instead -of being married in the front-room of the old western farm-house, -according to Marion’s fancy, the ceremony was to take place in the -First Church on the following evening, and every member of that church, -young and old, large and small, had received a special invitation to be -present. - -Now, it is a mistake to suppose that general gossip is confined to -small villages and towns, where everybody knows everybody’s business -better than he knows it himself. I think the experience of others will -testify to the truth of the statement that gossip runs riot everywhere. -In the larger towns or cities, it runs in eddies, or circles. This -clique, or this set, or this grade of society, is, to a man and woman, -as deeply interested in what the particular circle are to _do_, or -_wear_, or _be_, next, as though they lived in a place measuring three -square miles. So, while there were those in this nameless city of -which we write, who said, when they heard of the coming ceremony: “Dr. -Dennis! Why he is pastor of the First Church, isn’t he? or is it the -Central Church? Who is Marion Wilbur? does anybody know?” And while -there were those who rushed to and fro through the streets of the city, -passing under the shadow of the great First Church, who did not know -that there was to be a wedding there, who could not tell you the name -of the pastor of the church, nor even whether it had a pastor or not, -and who had never heard of Marion Wilbur in their lives, and never -would, till those lives were ended, though some of them brushed past -her occasionally, there were undeniably those who hurried through -their duties this evening, or shook off their weariness, or _ennui_, or -deferred other engagements and made it convenient to go to the First -Church prayer-meeting, for no better reasons than a curious desire to -see whether Dr. Dennis would appear any different from usual on the -night before his marriage, and whether Marion would be out, and whether -she _could_ look as unconscious and unconcerned as she always had, and -also what she _would wear_! whether she would cling to that old brown -dress to the very last! and whether Grace Dennis would be present, and -whether she would sit with Marion as they remembered she had, several -times, or where? These, and a dozen other matters of equal importance -and interest, had actually contributed to the filling of the seats in -the First Church chapel! Well, there are worse absorptions than even -these. I am not certain that there was a disagreeable word or thought -connected with these queries, and yet how sad a thing to think that the -Lord of the vineyard is actually indebted to such trivialities for the -ingathering of the workers in his vineyard to consult with him as to -the work? Alas! alas! many of them were not workers at all, but drones. - -After all, since a higher motive could not touch these people, shall we -not be glad that any motive, so long as it was not actually a _sinful_ -one, brought them within the sound of prayer and praise? They were -there anyway, and the service was commenced, and the hymn that followed -the pastor’s prayer was being sung, when the opening door revealed to -the surprised gazers the forms of Ruth Erskine and Judge Burnham! Now -Judge Burnham was one who would, on no account, have exerted himself -to see how Dr. Dennis would appear, or how Marion Wilbur would dress, -since none of these motives moved him. The question was, What had? - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -FROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS. - - -ALTHOUGH the First Church prayer meeting had gone several steps onward, -gotten beyond the region of distressing pauses, wherein the embarrassed -people looked at each other and wished something would happen, it was -by no means the free, social, enjoyable gathering that a prayer-meeting -ought to be. A life-long education of too rigid propriety—in other -words, false propriety—is not to be overcome in an hour. Therefore, -after those who were more accustomed to occupying the time had filled -their space there came a lull, not long, not distressing. Those -Chautauqua girls were all present, and any one of them would have led -in a hymn rather than let the pause stretch out. But it was long enough -for people to wonder whether the hour was not almost gone, and whether -there were any others who would get their lips open that evening; and -then they heard a strange voice: clear, steady, well-managed, as one -accustomed to the sound of her own voice, even in public places, and it -belonged to the stranger sitting beside Judge Erskine—none other than -his daughter Susan. The words she uttered were these: “Therefore being -justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus -Christ.” - -Now, if it is your fortune to be a regular attendant at a -prayer-meeting where a woman’s voice is never heard, you can appreciate -the fact that the mere recitation of a Bible verse, by a “sister” in -the church, was a startling, almost a bewildering innovation. Only a -few months before, I am not sure but some of the good people would have -been utterly overwhelmed by such a proceeding. But they had received -many shocks of late. The Spirit of God coming into their midst had -swept away many of their former ideas, and therefore they bore this -better. - -But the voice went on, clear, steady, as well sustained as though -it belonged to a deacon in the church. “I have been all day,” it -said, “dwelling under the shadow of that verse, ‘Peace with God!’ It -expresses _so_ much! Peace is greater than joy, or comfort, or rest. -I think the words come to perplexed lives with such power. When we do -not see the way clearly; when we are beset with difficulties; when -disappointments thicken around us, we can still look up to God and -say, ‘Up there, where Father is, it is peace.’ He sees the way plainly -and He will lead us right through the thickets to the sunlight of -His eternal presence. I felt this verse specially one day. Something -occurred in which I had to bear a prominent part. For a time I was -perplexed—was not sure what was right—and, afterward, my friends -thought that I did not make the right decision, and I felt afraid that -perhaps I had not, and it troubled me. Then I rested my heart on this -word: ‘_justified_.’ Not because I have done right; not because my -judgment is correct; not because of any act of mine in any direction -save that one of trusting in my Lord, justified by _faith_! I am so -glad that however much we may disappoint and try our friends, and our -own hearts, in the sight of the great and wise and pure God, we are -justified through Jesus Christ.” - -Simple words were these, simply and quietly spoken. The speaker -had spent all her life in one place and all her Christian life in -one church. In that church it had been her custom to give her word -of testimony. Sometimes it was a verse of a hymn that she recited, -sometimes it was a text of Scripture, sometimes it was a touch of her -own experience. She had grown up with the custom. She did not realize -that there were any who had not. It did not occur to her that to the -ears of the First Church people this might be a strange sound. So -there had been no flutter or embarrassment, no self-consciousness of -any sort; simply out of the fullness of her heart she had spoken. The -effect on those about her was obvious and various. Judge Erskine’s -hand, that rested on the knob of his gold-headed cane, trembled -visibly; Mrs. Senator Seymour, who sat behind him, looked indignant, -and felt that Judge Erskine had had enough to endure before this, but -this was really too much! Marion Wilbur, who was present, and who _did_ -wear her old brown dress, “sticking to it to the very last,” sat erect, -with glowing cheeks and eyes that were bright with excitement. To fully -understand her excitement I shall have to tell you about a little -conversation she had just before starting for church. - -“Marion,” Dr. Dennis had said, as he waited in the stuffy parlor -for her to draw on her gloves, “I wish you were a very brave young -woman, and liked innovations, and were willing to make a startling one -to-night.” - -“Which you believe I am not, and will not, I conclude,” she had -replied, laughing; and stopping before him with a mock bow, added: - -“Thank you; I believe you are correct about part of it, at least. I -certainly feel very meek and quiet to-night, whatever I may have been -in the past. What do you want done?” - -“I want to get rid of a horrible stiffness that is creeping over our -meeting. We have been thawed, but not sufficiently; that is—well, -Marion, the prayer-meeting doesn’t and _never did_, meet my ideal. It -is not social enough—friendly and familiar enough. I would like to -have it a place where we meet together to talk over religious subjects, -in exactly the same way that we talk of other matters of interest. I -would like, for instance, to ask you as to your opinion of a passage of -Scripture, or a hymn; and I should like you to answer as freely as you -would if we were sitting with other friends in—say _your_ parlor, for -instance.” - -The emphasis in this latter sentence brought a vivid blush to Marion’s -face, and a little exclamation, not exactly of dismay: - -“I think _you_ are in a very startling mood. What would your good -pillars in the church say to such innovations, do you suppose? It takes -my breath away even to think of such a thing! I would almost as soon -arise in the desk, and undertake to preach a sermon.” - -“Which is a very different thing,” Dr. Dennis said, stoutly. “But, now, -just look at it, Marion. Isn’t that the reasonable way to do? Imagine -a party of us meeting to discuss a prospective journey to Europe, or -to the Holy Land; and, supposing me to be the leader, imagine all the -ladies sitting perfectly mum, and the gentlemen only speaking when I -called them by name, as if, instead of a social meeting, where all the -people were on the same level, it was a catechetical class, met for -examination, with myself for examiner! I don’t believe we have the true -idea of prayer-meetings.” - -“Perhaps not. But, if I should suddenly say to you, when we are fairly -seated in the chapel, ‘Dr. Dennis, what do you think is the meaning of -the sentence—Called to be _saints_?’ what would you think?” - -“I should be delighted—positively delighted; and I should proceed to -answer you as well as I could; and should like to say, ‘Judge Erskine, -isn’t that your idea?’ or, ‘Mrs. Chester, what do you think about it?’ -and thus from one to another, freely, familiarly as we would if we -were gathered to converse about anything else that was worthy of our -attention. That is my idea of a social prayer-meeting.” - -“Well,” said Marion, “I don’t believe you will ever realize your -idea. For myself, I should just as soon think of attempting to fly. -The minute you get seated behind that great walnut box, with those -solemn-looking cushions towering before you, I feel as far removed -from you as though miles of space divided us.” - -“That is just it,” Dr. Dennis said, growing eager. “I tell you, this -sense of distance and dignity, and unwise solemnity, are all wrong. The -barriers ought to be broken down. How I wish, Marion, that you felt -it in your heart to help me. I wish you would open your mouth in that -meeting to-night. It would do you and me, and everybody good. We should -have made a beginning toward getting nearer to the people. I don’t mean -anything formidable, you know. Suppose you should just recite a verse -of Scripture—something appropriate to the subject before us? I don’t -believe you have an idea of the effect it would have.” - -“Oh, yes I have,” Marion said, with an emphatic nod of her head. “_I_ -can realize that the effect would be tremendous. I don’t believe _you_ -have the slightest idea of it! What effect will it have, if you and I -reach the meeting ten minutes past the time?” - -Whereupon they went to church. Of course Marion was interested in Susan -Erskine’s verse, and Susan Erskine’s comments; not so interested -that she felt moved to join her, and contribute of her experience to -that meeting—such things need thinking about and praying over—but so -interested that her face flushed at the thought that this girl, who was -from the country, had more moral courage than she, and was in sympathy -with Dr. Dennis’ advanced ideas in regard to prayer-meetings. - -As for Ruth Erskine, her head went down on the seat before her, and she -kept it bowed during the remainder of the service. - -Judge Burnham’s nerves were in turmoil. He could not remember that -he had ever in his life before felt such sympathy for the trials of -others. This particular form of the trial seemed dreadful to him. -The idea that a girl of Ruth Erskine’s refinement, and a man of her -father’s position, should be brought thus rudely and offensively before -the public, jarred upon him, as he had not supposed that anything -outside of himself and his own trials could. He blamed himself for -being the unwitting cause of part of the trouble. If he had not -suggested to Ruth the possibility of coming to this obnoxious place, -she would have been spared this embarrassment. Filling his mind with -these thoughts—to the exclusion of anything else that was said—and -trying to determine how he should best express his sympathy to this -tried girl by his side, he was presently relieved to discover that the -people were rising for the benediction, and this—to him—long drawn out -trial was over. He had not, however, sufficiently composed his thoughts -to venture on any form of address, when Ruth suddenly broke the silence -in which they were walking: - -“Judge Burnham, I owe you thanks. Your suggestion about the -prayer-meeting to-night, and your kind attendance upon me, have helped. -That meeting came to my heart like balm. I cannot venture to attempt -telling you what it has done for me. Perhaps it would be difficult -to make you understand how heavy my heart was; but one sentence -spoken there has been repeated to me as a revelation! I am so glad -to feel that, for _me_, there can be peace with God! I have felt so -storm-tossed, so bewildered, so anxious to do right, and so sure that I -was doing wrong, it has been, at times, difficult for me to determine -right _from_ wrong, and, in some things, I have felt so condemned that -I was miserable. Now I know what I need—God’s peace—such as only he can -give—such as is not interfered with by any outward circumstances. To -be justified _before him_ is surely enough. I need not ask for further -justification.” - -Now, indeed, was Judge Burnham silent from very amazement. Here was -this girl, to whom he thought had come an added and excessively -embarrassing trial, thanking him for bringing her into it, and actually -calling it a help and a joy! He had not the least conception of what -she could mean. A strong desire to make her explain herself, if she -could, prompted his words: - -“Then you were not disturbed with your—with the lady’s prominence this -evening?” - -“With my sister’s, Judge Burnham. You were right in the first place.” - -Whether Ruth was willing to accept the situation for herself or not, -she could dignifiedly insist upon others doing it. Whoever her father -introduced as his daughter should be received by _outsiders_ as _her_ -sister, whether _she_ so received her or not. - -“I beg pardon,” said Judge Burnham. “You were not disturbed, then, by -the position which your sister took?” - -“I didn’t think anything about _position_. She recited that Bible verse -most exquisitely, I thought, and the words which she spoke afterward -were strong and helpful; they helped me, and I am glad in my very soul -that I heard them. That is the most that I can tell you about it.” - -Silence seemed to be the wisest course for Judge Burnham. He was thrown -out of his bearings. Since she did not need comfort, and refused to -receive, why should he attempt to give it? But he didn’t in the least -understand her. He wondered curiously whether his sympathy had been -equally thrown away on his friend, Judge Erskine, or whether he, with -his refined and sensitive tastes, had really received a blow from -which it would be hard to rally. The more he thought about it the more -probable this seemed. As he thought he waxed indignant. - -“If I were he I would forbid her appearance in public, until she learns -what is due to her position. It isn’t likely that he can rise to the -fanatical heights where his daughter has managed to climb. Probably she -will have made a descent by to-morrow morning. I mean to go in and see -the Judge.” - -Acting upon this mental conclusion, he ascended the Erskine steps, and -followed Ruth without waiting for a formal invitation. Her father had -just entered, and was still in the hall. He turned toward his friend. - -“Come in, Burnham. I was very glad to see you where I did to-night. -I hope it will not be the last time. I am sure you must have enjoyed -the meeting. Come to the library and let us talk it over.” And Judge -Erskine threw open the library door, while the others of his family -turned toward the parlor. - -“Well,” he said, as the door closed after them, “what did you think of -the meeting?” - -“I confess to being considerably surprised,” Judge Burnham answered. -Truth to tell, he hadn’t the least idea what it would be wise to say. - -“Weren’t you!” said Judge Erskine, with energy. “I never was more so. I -didn’t know she was of that stamp; and yet I might have known it. She -has given me several glimpses of her spirit during the little time in -which I have known anything about her.” - -“What are you going to do?” - -“Do? How? I am not sure that I understand the question.” - -“Why, I mean as to the position which she assumed to-night.” - -“Oh, as to that, there is nothing to do. I dare say I may express the -gratitude which I feel for the help that she gave me, but I don’t even -know whether I can bring myself to do _that_. I can’t get over the -sense of strangeness and embarrassment. But weren’t those grand words -that she quoted to-night? I declare such a truth as that ought to take -us through anything! It lifts me out of myself for the time-being and I -feel as though I could live my life patiently and earnestly. I’ll tell -you, Judge, what I thought as I sat in that seat to-night and looked -over at you. I wished with all my soul that you might be induced to -look into this matter for yourself, and see the reasonableness of it -all. Did you ever give it special attention, my friend? In fact, I -know you didn’t, because a man of your discernment could have come to -but one conclusion, had you thought closely about it.” - -“That is a compliment to my discernment, and I appreciate it,” Judge -Burnham said, with a faint attempt at a smile. “I am not sure that I -ever gave the subject what you call ‘special attention.’ And yet I -think I have a reasonable degree of respect for religion and the Bible. -You have often heard me express my opinion of the literary merits of -that book, I think.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Judge Erskine, with a little sigh. “‘Literary merits!’ -Yes, I know you respect the Bible and admire it, and all that sort of -thing; but that is very different from living by it. I respected it -myself for forty years. The thing is to stand ‘justified’ in God’s -sight. Think of that! People like you and me, who have made mistakes -all our lives—mistakes that seem past all rectifying—and yet, in God’s -sight, they are as if they had not been, through the atoning blood! -Isn’t that a glorious thought?” - -“Mistakes are not _sins_, Judge,” his friend added, and he spoke the -words somewhat haughtily. In his heart he added: “They are a couple -of fanatics, he and his daughter. I don’t understand either of them.” -In truth, he was staggered. It might do to attribute fanaticism, or -undue exaltation of mood, to Miss Erskine, possibly; but he had known -the cool-headed Judge long and well. Was it likely that anything which -would not bear close and logical looking into could get possession of -him to a degree that it had—even to a degree that was transforming his -life? - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -ONE DROP OF OIL - - -NOW you know that some of you are anxious to hear all about that -marriage which took place in the First Church, the next evening. You -want to be told how the bride was dressed, and whether she had any -bridesmaids, and whether Dr. Dennis appeared well, and how Grace Dennis -was dressed, and how she acted, and who performed the ceremony, and -whether it was a lengthy one, and every little detail of the whole -matter; also, you are desirous of knowing how the “little gathering” -that the Erskines gave, soon after, was managed—whether Mrs. Erskine -became reconciled to the “black silk” and the “lace bow;” whether -Susan proved to be yielding, or obstinate, and how Ruth bore up under -the numerous petty embarrassments, which you plainly foresee the -evening had in store for her. But, then, there are those discerning and -sympathetic beings—the critics—standing all ready to pronounce on us, -and say, that we are “prolix” and “commonplace” and “tedious;” that -we spend too much time in telling about trivialities, and do not give -the startling points fast enough, as if that were not exactly what we -and they are doing all the time! Who lives exclamation points every -day? There comes occasionally one into most lives (and assuredly Ruth -Erskine believed that hers had come to her); but, for the most part, -lives are made up of commas and interrogations and dashes. There is -this comfort about professional critics—those that live behind the -scenes know that when they are particularly hard on a book, one of two -things is the case—either they have been touched in a sensitive spot -by some of the characters delineated or opinions expressed, or else -they have an attack of indigestion, and the first subject that comes -under their dissecting-knives must bear the savage consequences. -Very well, let us give them a touch of “trivialities.” The bride’s -dress was a soft sheeny grey, just the sort of dress for enduring a -long, westward-bound journey, and yet rich enough, and soft enough, -and delicate enough to look appropriate in the church. As for Dr. -Dennis. There is this satisfaction about a man’s dress, it is easy of -description. When you have said it was black, and neat-fitting, what is -there left to say? Some gentlemen look exceedingly well dressed, and -some look ungainly; and every one of them may have on black clothes, -that look to the uninitiated as though they were well-fitted. What -makes the difference? What lady can tell? - -The bright-eyed, fair-faced daughter of the house of Dennis was -really the beauty of that evening; and, if the truth were known, the -bride-elect had expended more thought and care upon the details of -this young girl’s attire than she had on her own. Eurie Mitchell and -Mr. Harrison were bridesmaid and groomsman. There were those in the -church who wondered at that, and thought that Mr. Harrison would have -liked some one better than “that Mitchell girl” with him, under the -circumstances. But Eurie herself, and you and I, know better. We know -he has chosen her, from all others, to stand by him forever. - -After all, I can tell you nothing but the commonplaces. Is there ever -anything else told about weddings? Who is able to put on paper the -heart-throbs and the solemnities of such an hour? It is like all other -things in life—that which is told is the least important of all the -story. - -Old Dr. Armington, whose hair was white with the snows of more than -seventy winters, spoke the solemn words that made them man and wife.... -For half a century he had been, from time to time, repeating that -solemn sentence. - -“You are the two hundred and ninety-seventh couple that I have, in the -name of my Master, joined for life. God bless you.” - -This was his low-spoken word to Dr. and Mrs. Dennis, as he took their -hands in after greeting. Someway, it made Marion feel more solemn than -before. Two hundred and ninety-six brides! She seemed to see the long -procession filing past. She wondered where they all were, and what had -been their life-histories. Later in the evening, she could not resist -the temptation to ask him, further: - -“How many of the two hundred and ninety-six have you buried, Dr. -Armington?” - -And the old man’s lip trembled, and his voice was husky, as he said: - -“Don’t ask me, child. A long array of names, among them two of my own -daughters. But I shall sit down with a great many of them soon, at ‘the -marriage supper of the Lamb.’ I hope none of them will wear starless -crowns.” - -And Marion turned from him quickly, feeling that she had gotten her -word to live by. - -About that party. They lived through it, and, in a sense, it was a -success. There were, of course, many mortifications; but by dint of -shutting her eyes and her ears as far as possible, and keeping on the -alert in every direction, and remembering her recent resolutions, -very solemnly renewed, Ruth bore the ordeal reasonably well. She had -more help than she knew of. Susan Erskine had inherited more of her -father’s nature than her mother’s. It was not easy for her to yield, -and she did not enjoy being managed. She could sacrifice her will, or -her plans, or her comfort, if she saw a _need-be_ for it, or if, in -any sense, the strong, and, to her, solemn word, “Duty,” could be put -in as a plea; but to be controlled in the mere matter of her dress—and -that, after she had determined that to spend time and money, other -than was absolutely necessary, on the adorning of the perishing body, -was a moral wrong—was something that could not be expected of her. She -was not conscious of any other feeling than that of duty; but, in her -heart, she was grieved, not to say insulted. Here had they—her mother -and herself—been ignored for eighteen years, allowed to dress as they -pleased, and go where they pleased, or not go at all; and, now that -their tardy rights were being in a degree recognized, it was the paltry -question of _dress_ that must absorb them! She was willing to make many -concessions to Ruth. There were times when she pitied her. In fact, she -had constant and sincere sympathy for her in this invasion of home and -name. She realized that the blame was in no sense Ruth’s, and to shield -her, as much as possible, from the inevitable suffering, was Susan’s -natural feeling. But, when it came to strictly personal questions—what -colors she should wear, and what material, and how it should be made -up—she rebelled. Surely those were matters which she had a right to -decide for herself. Mother might be easily managed, if she would; -perhaps it was well that she could be. But, for herself, Susan felt -that it would be impossible, and hoped most earnestly that no attempt -would be made in that direction. - -As for Ruth, she thought of the matter in a troubled way, and -shrank from entering into detail. The most she had done was to ask, -hesitatingly, what she—Susan—would wear, on the evening in question. -And Susan had answered her, coldly, that she “had not given the matter -a thought, as yet.” She supposed it would be time enough to think about -that when the hour for dressing arrived. In her heart she knew that -she had but one thing to wear; and Ruth knew it too, and knew that it -was ill-chosen and ill-made, and in every way inappropriate. Yet she -actually turned away, feeling unable to cope with the coldness and the -evident reserve of this young woman over whom she could not hope to -have influence. - -Curiously enough, it was gentle little Flossy who stepped into these -troubled waters, and poured her noiseless drop of oil. She came in -the morning, waiting for Ruth to go with her to make a farewell call -on Marion Wilbur, the morning before the wedding; and in the library, -among the plants, giving them loving little touches here and there, was -Susan. - -“What is Marion to wear for travelling, do you know?” Flossy had asked -of Ruth, as some word about the journey suggested the thought. And Ruth -had answered briefly, almost savagely: - -“I don’t know. It is a blessed thing that no one will have to give it a -thought. Marion will be sure to choose the most appropriate thing, and -to have every detail in exquisite keeping with it. It is only lately -that I have realized what a gift she had in that direction.” - -Then Ruth had gone away to make ready, and wise little Flossy, looking -after her with the far-away, thoughtful look in her soft eyes, began to -see one of her annoyances plainly, and to wonder if there were any way -of helping. Then she went down the long room to Susan, busy among the -plants. - -“How pretty they are!” she said, sweetly. “What gorgeous coloring, and -delicate tracery in the leaves! Does it ever occur to you to wonder -that such great skill should have been expended in just making them -look pretty to please our eyes?” - -“No,” said Susan, earnest and honest, “I don’t think I ever thought of -it.” - -“I do often. Just think of that ivy, it would have grown as rapidly and -been quite as healthy if the leaves had been square, and all of them an -intense green, instead of being shaded into that lovely dark, scolloped -border all around the outer edge. ‘He has made every thing beautiful -in his time.’ I found that verse one day last week, and I liked it _so -much_. Since then I seem to be noticing everybody and everything, to -see whether the beauty remains. I find it everywhere.” - -All this was wonderfully new to Susan Erskine. She was silent and -thoughtful. Presently she said, “It doesn’t apply to human beings—at -least to many it doesn’t. I know good men and women who are not -beautiful at all.” - -“Wouldn’t that depend a little on what one meant by beauty?” Flossy -said, timidly. Argument was not her forte. “And then, you know, -He _made_ the plants and flowers—created their beauty for them, I -mean, because they are soulless things—I think he left to us who are -immortal, a great deal of the fashioning to do for ourselves.” - -“Oh, of course, there is a moral beauty which we find in the faces of -the most ordinary, but I was speaking of physical beauty.” - -“So was I,” said Flossy, with an emphatic nod of her pretty little -head. “I didn’t mean anything deep and wise, at all. I don’t know -anything about what they call ‘esthetics,’ or any of those scientific -phrases. I mean just pretty things. Now, to show you how simple my -thought was, that ivy leaf made me think of a pretty dress, well made -and shapely, you know, and fitted to the face and form of the wearer. -I thought the One who made such lovely plants, and finished them so -exquisitely, must be pleased to see us study enough of His works to -make ourselves look pleasing to the eyes of others.” - -Susan Erskine turned quite away from the plants and stared at her guest -with wide, open, amazed eyes, for a full minute. “Don’t you think,” -she asked at last, and her tone was of that stamp which indicates -suppressed force—“don’t you think that a great deal of time, and a -great deal of money, and a great deal of force, which might do wonders -elsewhere, are wasted on dress?” - -“Yes,” said Flossy, simply and sweetly, “I know that is so. After I -was converted, for a little while it troubled me very much. I had been -in the habit of spending a great deal of time and not a little money -in that way, and I knew it must be wrong, and I was greatly in danger -of going to the other extreme. I think for a few days I made myself -positively ugly to my father and mother, by the unbecoming way in which -I thought I ought to dress. But after awhile it came to me, that it -really took very little more time to look _well_ than it did to look -ill-dressed; and that if certain colors became the form and complexion -that God had given me, and certain others did not, there could be no -religion in wearing those not fitted to me. God made them all, and he -must have meant some of them specially for me, just as he specially -thought about me in other matters. Oh, I haven’t gone into the question -very deeply; I want to understand it better. I am going to ask Mr. -Roberts about it the very next time he comes. But, meantime, I feel -sure that the Lord Jesus wants me to please my parents and my sister in -every reasonable way. Sister Kitty is really uncomfortable if colors -don’t assimilate, and what right have I to make her uncomfortable, so -long as the very rose leaves are tinted with just the color of all -others that seemed fitted to them?” - -Susan mused. - -“What would you do,” she asked presently, “if you had been made with -that sense of the fitness of things left out? I mean, suppose you -hadn’t the least idea whether you ought to wear green, or yellow, or -what. Some people are so constituted that they don’t know what you -mean when you tell them that certain colors don’t assimilate; what are -_they_ to do?” - -“Yes,” said Flossy, gently and sweetly, “I know what you mean, because -people are made very differently about these things. I am trying to -learn how to make bread. I don’t know in the least. I can make cake, -and desserts, and all those things, but Mr. Roberts likes the bread -that our cook makes, and as I don’t know how to make that kind, nor any -other, I thought I ought to learn. It isn’t a bit natural to me. I have -to be very particular to remember all the tiresome things about it; I -hadn’t an idea there were so many. And I say to the cook, ‘Now, Katy, -what am I to do next? this doesn’t look right at all.’ And she comes -and looks over my shoulder, and says, ‘Why, child, you need more flour; -always put in flour till you get rid of that dreadful stickiness.’ Then -I say to myself, ‘That dreadful stickiness is to be gotten rid of, and -flour will rid me of it, it seems,’ and I determine in my own mind that -I will remember that item for future use. I don’t really like the work -at all. It almost seems as though bread ought to be made without such -an expenditure of time and strength. But it isn’t, you know, and so I -try; and when I think of how Mr. Roberts likes it, I feel glad that I -am taking time and pains to learn. You know there are so many things -to remember about it, from the first spoonful of yeast, down to the -dampening of the crust and tucking up the loaves when they come out -of the oven, that it really takes a good deal of memory. I asked Mr. -Roberts once if he thought there would be any impropriety in my asking -for ability to take in all the details that I was trying to learn. He -laughed at me a little—he often does—but he said there could be no -impropriety in praying about anything that it was proper to do.” - -“Thank you,” said Susan Erskine, promptly. Then she did what was an -unusual thing for her to do. She came over to the daintily dressed -little blossom on the sofa, and bending her tall form, kissed the -delicately flushed cheek, lightly and tenderly. - -“Ruth,” said little Flossy, as they made their way toward the -street-car. “I think I like your new sister very much, indeed. I am not -sure but she is going to be a splendid woman. I think she has it in her -to be grandly good.” - -“When did you become such a discerner of character, little girlie?” was -Ruth’s answer, but she felt grateful to Flossy. The words had helped -her. - -As for Susan, she went back to the plants, and hovered over them -quite as lovingly, but more thoughtfully than before. She studied the -delicately-veined leaves and delicately-tinted blossoms all the while, -with a new light in her eyes. This small sweet-faced girl, who had -looked to the plainly-attired, narrow-visioned Susan, like a carefully -prepared edition of a late fashion-plate, had given her some entirely -new ideas in regard to this question of dress. It seemed that there -was a _duty_ side to it that she had not canvassed. “What right have I -to make her uncomfortable?” gentle Flossy had asked, speaking of her -sister Kitty. Susan repeated the sentence to herself, substituting -Ruth’s name for Kitty’s. Presently she went to her own room. - -“Ruth,” she said, later in the day, when they were for a moment alone -together “would you like to have me get a new dress for the tea-party?” - -Tea-party was a new name for the social gathering, but it was what -Susan had heard such gatherings called. Ruth hesitated, looked at the -questioner doubtfully a moment, then realizing that here was one with -whom she could be straightforward, said frankly, “Yes, I would, very -much.” - -“What would you like me to get?” - -“I think you would look well in one of those dark greens that are -almost like an ivy-leaf in tint. Do you know what I mean?” - -Susan laughed. She did not take in the question; she was thinking that -it was a singular and a rather pleasant coincidence that she should be -advised to dress after the fashion of the ivy-leaf which had served for -illustration in the morning. - -“I don’t suppose I ever looked well in my life,” she said at last, -smiling brightly. “Perhaps it would be well to try the sensation. If -you will be so kind, I should like you to select and purchase a dress -for me that shall be according to your taste, only remembering that I -dress as plainly as is consistent with circumstances, from principle.” - -When she was alone again, she said, with an amused smile curving her -lip, “I must get rid of that dreadful stickiness, and flour will do -it!” That is what the dear little thing said. “Dark green will do it -for me, it seems. If I find that to be the case I must remember it.” - -Ruth dressed for shopping with a relieved heart. She was one of those -to whom shopping was an artistic pleasure, besides she had never had -anyone, save herself, on which to exhibit taste. She was not sure that -it would be at all disagreeable. - -“She begins to comprehend the necessities of the position a little, I -believe,” she said, meaning Susan. And _she_ didn’t know that Flossy -Shipley’s gentle little voice, and carefully chosen words, had laid -down a solid plank of _duty_ for her uncompromising sister to tread -upon. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -FINDING ONE’S CALLING. - - -DURING the days which preceded that social gathering, Ruth found her -mind often busy with the wonders of the verse which had been quoted at -prayer-meeting. She recognized it as from the chapter which she had -read in the morning, and she re-read it, filled with a new sense of its -meaning. She sought after and earnestly desired to realize peace with -God. How wonderful would it be to be able to say, “And not only so, but -we glory in tribulation!” Poor Ruth believed that she understood the -meaning of that word, “tribulation.” Would it be possible for her ever -to “glory” in it? As she read those verses and thought about them, she -seemed to hear again the peculiar ring of triumph that there was in -Susan’s voice, as she repeated the words, “_She_ feels it.” Ruth said -to herself, “I believe she knows more about these things than I do; I -wonder how she came to get the thought in the first place? I read the -verse and didn’t take it in. Perhaps she has taken in other things, -about which I know nothing, and which would help me?” - -Thinking these thoughts, dwelling on them, they culminated in a sudden -resolution, which led her to tap at the door of Susan’s room. She was -cordially invited to enter. Susan was engaged in dusting the row of -books, in dull and somewhat shabby binding, that ornamented the pretty -table under the gaslight. - -“Have a seat,” she said; “I can’t think how the dust gets at my books -so often; I put them in order this morning. They are my good old -friends, and I like to take special care of them, but they are fading.” - -She fingered the bindings with loving hands, and Ruth, curious to see -what they were, drew near enough to read some of the titles, “Cruden’s -Concordance,” “A Bible Text-Book,” “Barnes Notes on the Gospels,” and -“Bushnell’s Moral Uses of Dark Things.” The others were old and, some -of them, obsolete school text-books. - -“I haven’t many,” Susan said, in a tender tone, “but they are very -useful. They have been my best friends for so long that I think I -should be a real mourner over the loss of one of them.” - -The new dark-green dress lay on the bed, and some soft, rare laces, a -gift to Susan that day from her father, lay beside it. Ruth glanced -that way, “Have you tried on the dress since it was finished?” - -“No, I thought it would be time enough in the morning, and I had a -little reading that I was anxious to do this evening.” - -“What are you reading? something that you like?” - -“Yes, very much,” Susan said, with a rare smile lighting her pale face; -“I only began it the other night. I didn’t know it was so rich. It is -the first chapter of Colossians, but I only read to the fifth verse.” - -Ruth looked her amazement. “Why, you must have been interrupted very -constantly.” - -Susan shook her head. “No, on the contrary, I spent very nearly an -hour over those four verses; the longer I studied on them the more -remarkable they became, and I found myself held.” - -“Is the meaning so very obscure?” - -“Not at all; the meaning is there on the surface; the only thing is, -there is so much, and it leads one’s thoughts in so many different -ways. Do you remember the second verse?” - -“I don’t remember it at all; very likely I never read it.” - -“Well, the second verse is addressed, ‘To the saints and faithful -brethren in Christ, which are at Colosse.’ That sentence arrested my -thoughts completely. Suppose I had been living at Colosse in those -days, could I have claimed that letter to the _saints_? I stopped over -the word and wondered over it, and queried just what it meant, and it -meant so much that I should really have gotten no farther than that -sentence if I had not deliberately left it and gone on to the ‘Grace -be unto you and peace.’ I found my heart craving peace: I think I was -somewhat like the child who claims the reward, or reaches out after -it, without waiting to be sure whether he has met the conditions.” - -“But I don’t understand you very well. What about saints? they were -holy men, were they not, set apart for special work at that special -time? How _could_ their experience touch yours?” - -“I don’t think so. I think they were just men and women who loved the -Lord Jesus Christ, and were called by his name, just as you and I are.” - -“But _we_ are not saints; at least I am not.” - -“But you are called to be?” - -“I don’t understand you.” - -“_Don’t_ you? Think of that verse of Paul’s, ‘Unto the Church of God, -which is at Corinth, to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, -_called to be saints_.’ Now, you know _we_ are sanctified in Christ -Jesus, so are we not called to be saints?” - -“I don’t know what ‘sanctified’ means very well; and, besides, I can’t -help thinking that the letter was written to the Church at Corinth. _I_ -don’t live in Corinth; how do I know that the address fits me? If I -should find a letter addressed to the people who live on Twenty-third -Street, wouldn’t I be likely to say, ‘Well, I have nothing to do with -that; I live on Fifth Avenue?’” - -“Ah! but suppose the very next sentence read, ‘And to all that love the -Lord Jesus Christ,’ wouldn’t you claim the letter?” - -“Yes,” said Ruth, with a flash of joy in her face, “I think I could.” - -“Well, don’t you know the next words are, ‘With all that in every place -call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, both theirs and ours.’” - -“I never thought of it,” said Ruth. Then, after a little, “Did you find -out what a saint was?” - -“Why I found some characteristics of them, and tried to see if they -answered my description. Have you ever looked the matter up?” - -“No,” said Ruth, “I did not so much as know that I was expected to be a -saint; tell me what you found.” - -“Why,” said Susan, drawing her chair and opening her Bible, “see here, -I found a promise, ‘He will keep the feet of his saints.’ It made me -all the more eager to learn as to my claim. Was I his saint? would he -keep me? In that same verse there is a contrast, ‘He will keep the -feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be silent in darkness.’ Now, -if there are only two classes of people, saints and the wicked, which -am I? In God’s sight who are the wicked? I looked for a description -of them and found this statement: ‘The Lord preserveth all them that -love him, but all the wicked will he destroy.’ Now, I _know_ I love -the Lord, and I know that he will not destroy me, for I have in my -heart the assurance of his promise. If that is so, _I_ must be one of -his saints. Then I found the promise, ‘He shall give his angels charge -over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.’ Keep who? And looking back -a little I found, ‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most -High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.’ But he promises -to keep only those who are _his saints_. Then I found the promise, -‘He maketh intercession for the _saints_.’ Now, I said, if there is -no one interceding between a just God and me, what will become of me? -But I found the inspired statement of St. Paul, ‘Wherefore he is -able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing -he ever liveth to make intercession for _them_.’ That puts me at once -among those for whom he intercedes, and his special work in heaven -is to make intercession for the saints. By this time I was ready to -claim the name, and you may know I was anxious to find what it meant. -I went to the dictionary; the first definition I found was, ‘A person -sanctified.’ That startled me. Could it be that I was sanctified? Why, -I feel so sinful, and so weak, and so small! Well, I said, What does -‘sanctified’ mean? and I found that it was defined as set apart to a -holy or religious use. It recalled to my mind the statement of Paul. -‘But ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the -name of the Lord Jesus.’ A great deal ought to be expected of us, after -that.” - -Ruth drew a long sigh. “I don’t know anything about it, I believe,” -she said, sadly; “I never read the Bible in that way. Half the time it -doesn’t seem to have anything in it really for me.” - -“Don’t you think that some of our trouble is in being content with -simply _reading_, not _studying_ the Bible? I thought the other night -that if I had spent an hour on geometry, and then begun to understand -it somewhat, I should feel as though I were repaid. But sometimes I -read a Bible verse over two or three times, and then, because its -meaning is obscure, I feel half discouraged. I was speaking of it to—to -father last evening, and he said he thought the trouble was largely in -that direction.” Susan had not yet gotten so that she could speak the -unfamiliar name without hesitation. As for Ruth, her brow clouded; it -did not seem to her that she could ever share that name with anyone. -But she was interested—and deeply so—in the train of thought which had -been started. - -“What next?” she asked, curious to see whither Susan’s thoughts had led -her. “You said you read no farther than the fourth verse. What stopped -you there? I don’t see much in it;” and she leaned forward and re-read -the verse from Susan’s open Bible. - -“Oh, why _don’t_ you? ‘Since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus, -and of the love which ye have to all the saints.’ That verse stopped -me longer than any other, especially the sentence: ‘Since we heard of -your faith in Christ Jesus’—it is such a common form of expression. I -thought of it last evening while listening to the talk in the parlor. -‘I heard that the Wheelers were going abroad,’ some one said; and -another, ‘I heard that Dr. Thomas was soon to bring a wife home.’ Two -of the young ladies talked in low tones, and nearly all I could catch -was the expression: ‘I heard he was,’ or ‘she was,’ or ‘they were.’ It -was evident that a great deal had been heard about a great many people. -I said over the verse: ‘We heard of your faith in Christ Jesus.’ Who -hears of such things? How many people have such marked and abiding -faith in Christ Jesus, that when we talk of them we say, ‘I heard that -Miss So and So had the most implicit faith in the power of Christ to -keep her.’ Now wouldn’t that be a strange thing to say?” - -“I should think it would,” said Ruth, amazed at this train of thought. -“After all, I suppose many people have the _faith_; only it is not the -custom in society to talk about such things.” - -“I don’t,” answered Susan, positively. “Of course many people have -it in a degree; but not to such an extent that it arouses interest, -and excites remark. I think it is the custom in society to talk about -that which interests people—which has been suggested to their minds -by passing events. I have heard that it is a very common thing in -localities where Mr. Moody has been holding meetings, to discuss his -remarkable faith and love. Don’t you suppose, if my Christian life -were so marked a force that all who came in contact with me, felt its -influence, it would be natural to speak of it, when my friends chanced -to mention my name?” - -“I suppose so,” Ruth said, slowly. “At least I don’t see why it should -not be; and, indeed, it is very common for people to talk about the -change in Flossy Shipley.” - -Susan’s voice was very earnest. “I wish I could bear such testimony as -that. I believe it would be right to be ambitious in that direction; -to live so that when people spoke of me at all, the most marked thing -they could say about me would be, not, how I dressed, or appeared, -or talked, but how strong my faith in the Lord Jesus was, and how it -colored all my words and acts. Wouldn’t that be a grand ambition?” - -“And of the love which ye have to all the saints,” Ruth repeated, half -aloud, half to herself; her eye had caught the words again. Suddenly -she started, and the blood flowed in ready waves into her cheeks. She -had caught a new and personal meaning to the words—“love to _all_ the -saints.” Suppose this usurper of home and name, who sat near her—this -objectionable sister—suppose _she_ were one of the saints!—and I verily -believe she is, Ruth said to her beating heart—then, would it be -possible so to live, that people would ever say, “She loves that sister -of hers, because she recognizes in her one of the Lord’s own saints?” -Nothing looked less probable than this! She could not bring her heart -to feel that she could _ever_ love her. A sort of kindly interest, she -might grow to feel, an endurance that would become passive, and, in a -sense, tolerable, but could she ever help paling, or flushing, when she -heard this new voice say “father,” and realized that she had a right to -the name, even as she herself had? She had been the only Miss Erskine -so long; and she had been so proud of the old aristocratic name, -and she had felt so deeply the blot upon its honor, that it seemed -to her she could never come to look with anything like _love_ upon -one connected with the bitterness. Yet, it did flash over her, with a -strange new sense of power, that Susan Erskine held nearer relation to -her than even these human ties. If _she_ was indeed a daughter of the -Most High, if the Lord Jesus Christ was her Elder Brother, then was -this girl her sister, a daughter of royal blood, and perhaps—she almost -believed it—holding high position up there, where souls are looked at, -instead of bodies. - -A dozen times, during the evening which followed this conversation, -did the words of this Bible verse, and the thoughts connected there -with, flash over Ruth. It was the evening of the social gathering. Now, -that Susan had called her attention to it, she was astonished over the -number of times that those words: “I heard,” were on people’s lips. -They had heard of contemplated journeys, and changes in business, and -changes in name, and reverses, and good fortunes, and contemplated -arrangements for amusement, or entertainment, or instruction; -_everything_ they had heard about their friends or their acquaintances. -Yet, no one said, during the whole evening—so far as she knew—that they -had heard anything very marked about the religious life of anyone. -In fact, religious life was one of the things that was not talked of -at all; so Ruth thought. If she had stood near Judge Burnham and her -sister, at one time, she would have heard him saying: - -“He is a man of mark in town; one prominent on every good occasion; -noted for his philanthropy and generosity, and is one of the few men -whom everybody seems to trust, without ever having their confidence -jarred. I have heard it said, that his word would be taken in any -business transaction as quickly as his bond would be.” - -“Is he a Christian man?” Susan had asked; and a half-amused, -half-puzzled look had shadowed Judge Burnham’s face, as he answered: -“As to that, I really don’t know. I have never heard that he made -any professions in that direction, though it is possible that he may -be connected with some church. Why, Miss Erskine, do you think it -impossible for a man to be honest and honorable and philanthropic, -unless he has made some profession of it in a church?” - -Then Susan had looked at the questioner steadily and thoughtfully a -moment before she answered: “I was not thinking of possible morality; -I was simply wondering whether the man who was building so fair and -strong a house had looked to it, that it was founded upon a rock, or -whether he really were so strangely improvident as to build upon the -sand. You know _I_ think, that, ‘other foundation can no man lay than -that which is laid, Jesus Christ being the chief corner-stone.’” - -So there was some religious conversation at the Erskines’ party, and it -sent Judge Burnham home thinking. And now, though the fruits of that -evening’s gathering will go on growing and ripening and being gathered -in, from human lives, so far as we personally are concerned, we are -done with that party. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A SOCIETY CROSS. - - -THE next thing that occurred to mar the peace of this much-tried young -lady—she went out calling with her step-mother. This duty was passed -over just as long as it would do to ignore the claims of society, she -being finally driven to it by realizing that more talk was being made -by _not_ going than would be likely to result from going. Then, with -foreboding heart, she made ready. She planned at first to escape it all -and have her father the victim. But there were two difficulties. He had -rarely made other than professional calls, or most ceremonious ones on -persons high in the profession, and, therefore this whole matter would -be so new to him that to tide the bewildered wife through it would be -well-nigh impossible. And, besides, Ruth felt the necessity of being -present, to know the very worst that could be said or done, and to -attempt going as a trio was not to be thought of for a moment. There -was one bright spot in her annoyances: It was pleasant to remember the -look of relief which gleamed over her father’s face when she told him -he could be excused from attendance on them if he chose. “I can save -him so much, at least,” she told herself, and it helped her to make -ready. “If she would _only_ keep perfectly quiet!” she murmured again -to herself, as she waited at the door of her mother’s room for the last -glove to be drawn on, and marked what an effect the rich black silk, -with its perfect fitting seams, and perfectly draped folds had on the -dumpy figure. “If she only _could_ get along without talking she would -do very well.” - -Great attention had been paid by Ruth to the details of this toilet. -The soft laces at throat and wrist, the rich mantle, the shapely hat -with the unmistakable air of “style” about it, even to the gloves of -exactly the right shade and size, had each been objects of separate -study; and Mrs. Erskine, though occasionally she had fond memories -of the green silk dress, and the red bow—which she began to be dimly -conscious were never destined to shine together—yet took in so much -of the general effect as filled her with surprise and reconciled -her to the position of lay figure in Ruth’s hands, looking upon her -step-daughter with the same degree of surprised awe that a statue -might, could it be gifted with life and behold itself getting draped -for the tableau. - -The calls started nicely, Flossy Shipley’s being the first home at -which they halted. Flossy, in her sweet, winning, indescribable way, -decoyed Mrs. Erskine into a corner easy chair, and engaged her in -low-toned, earnest, even absorbed conversation, while Ruth tried to -unbend from her dignity and chat with Flossy’s cheery, social mother. -Glancing from time to time toward the elder woman and the fair young -girl, and noting the fact that both were unmistakably interested in -their subject for conversation, Ruth found herself wondering what it -_could_ be. Whatever it was she was grateful, and gave Flossy a most -informal and tender kiss at parting, by way of expressing her relief. - -Then, too, Dr. and Mrs. Dennis were at home, and were joyfully glad to -see them, and Dr. Dennis held Mrs. Erskine’s attention, leaving Ruth -free to talk with, and look at, and wonder over Marion, she seemed so -fresh and bright and glad; full of eagerness, full of plans, full of -heartiness, for any and everything that might be mentioned. “She is at -least ten years younger than I ever knew her to be,” was Ruth’s mental -conclusion as she watched the expressive face. There was no restraint -in their talk. Ruth felt, that for the time-being, she could throw off -the burden of responsibility and have a good time. She did not know -what Dr. Dennis was saying to her step-mother, and she did not care, it -was so pleasant to feel that she could trust him, that he was a friend, -and would neither repeat to others the mistakes of the uncultured woman -with whom he talked, nor laugh about them with Marion when she was -gone. Ruth not only respected and liked, but thoroughly trusted her -pastor. - -“I am glad she married him,” she told herself, glancing from one to the -other, and feeling, rather than noticing, that they were both evidently -heartily glad about the same thing. “They are just exactly suited -to each other, and that is saying a good deal for them both. What a -blessed change the brightness of this room must be when she compares it -with that little den of hers, up the third flight of stairs!” Yes, and -there was another side to that. What a nameless charm, as of home, she -had thrown over the propriety of the parsonage parlor! Before, it had -been a _room_—pleasant and proper, and well-cared for, as became the -parsonage parlor—now, it was _home_! Presently, too, came Gracie, with -her beautiful face and gracious manner, free and cordial and at ease. -“Mamma,” she said as naturally as though it had been a name constantly -on her lips; and, indeed, it was plain that she enjoyed the name. -There were no sad contrasts to dim her eyes, or quicken the beatings -of her heart, the real mother having only had time to give her darling -one clinging kiss before God called her home. “She may well be proud -of such a mother as her father has brought to _her_,” Ruth thought, -looking from one to the other, and noting the glance of sympathy which -passed between them. And then she sighed, being drawn back to her -heavier lot. Marion’s dreary life had blossomed into brightness, while -all that was ever bright had gone out of hers; at least so it seemed to -her. Then she arose, realizing that nothing of this afternoon’s crosses -would be borne if she whiled the time on Flossy Shipley and Marion -Dennis. - -From the moment that the two were seated in Mrs. Schuyler Colman’s -parlor peace left Ruth’s heart. Here was responsibility, solemn and -overwhelming—how to tide this uncultured woman through the shoals and -breakers of this aristocratic atmosphere. No sooner was Mrs. Erskine -fairly seated than she broke the proprieties of the occasion with the -exclamation: - -“Why, my patience! if there isn’t Dr. Mason Kent, staring right -straight at me! What a splendid likeness! I declare I most feel as -though he ought to speak to me.” - -“Was Dr. Kent an acquaintance of yours?” - -Nothing could be colder, more lofty, more in keeping with the -proprieties, than the tone in which Mrs. Schuyler Colman asked the -question. - -“An acquaintance! why I guess he was. I sewed in his house nigh on -two months before his oldest daughter was married. They had a regular -seamstress in the house, one who belonged to the family, you know. O! -they were high up in the world, I tell you. But she needed extra help -when the rush came, and there was always lots of plain sewing to do, -anyway, and the woman I sewed for last recommended me, and I got in. It -was a nice place. They gave good pay; better than I ever got anywhere -else, and I always remembered Dr. Kent; he was as kind as he could be.” - -Shall I try to describe to you the glow on Ruth Erskine’s face? What -had become of her haughty indifference to other people’s opinions? -What had become of her loftily expressed scorn of persons who indulged -in pride of station, or pride of birth? Ah! little this young woman -knew about her own heart. Gradually she was discovering that _she_ had -plenty of pride of birth and station and name. The thing which had -seemed plebeian to her was to _exhibit_ such pride in a marked way -before others. - -Mrs. Colman seemed to consider it necessary to make some reply: - -“Dr. Kent is an uncle of mine,” she said, and her voice was freezing in -its dignity. - -“You don’t say! Where is he now? How I should like to see the dear old -man! I wonder, Ruth, that your pa didn’t tell me his relatives lived -here. It was at his house that I first saw your pa. I shall never -forget that night, if I live to be a hundred. They had a party, or a -dinner, or—well, I forget what the name of it was; but it was after -the wedding, you know, and crowds of fashionables was there. I was in -a back passage, helping sort out the rubbers and things that had got -mixed up; and I peeked out to see them march to dinner; and I see them -all as plain as day. I said then—says I, to Mirandy Bates, the girl -that I was helping: ‘That tall man with the long whiskers and pale face -is the stylishest one amongst ’em, I think.’ And who do you suppose it -was but your pa! Land alive! I had just as much idea of marrying him, -_then_, as I had of flying and no more.” - -“I should suppose so,” said Mrs. Schuyler Colman. She could not resist -the temptation of saying it, though Ruth darted a lightning glance at -her from eyes that were gleaming in a face that had become very pale. -She arose suddenly, remarking that they were making a very lengthy -call; and Mrs. Erskine, to whom the call seemed very short, began to -be uncomfortably conscious that she had been talking a great deal, and -perhaps not to Ruth’s liking. She relapsed into an embarrassed silence, -and made her adieu in the most awkward manner possible. Had Ruth taken -counsel of her own nerves, she would have felt it impossible to endure -more, and have beaten a retreat; but to sustain her was the memory of -the fact that certain calls _must_ be made, and, that if she did not -make them, her father must. When it came to the martyr spirit, and she -could realize that she was being martyrized in her father’s place, she -could endure. But, oh, if she could _only_ manage to give this dreadful -woman a hint as to the proprieties! And yet, suppose she stopped that -dreadful tide of reminiscences, what _would_ the woman talk about? -Still, at all hazards, it must be risked: - -“I do not think,” she began, in a tone so constrained that the very -sound of it frightened her step-mother. “I do not think that my father -would like to have you refer to your past life, among his friends.” - -“My patience!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine. “Why not? I never done anything -to be ashamed of—never in my life. I was an honest, respectable girl. -There ain’t one who knew me but could tell you that; and, as to being -poor, why, I couldn’t help that, you know; and I ain’t been rich such a -dreadful long time that I’ve forgot how it felt, neither. Not that your -pa kept me close; he never did that. But I kept myself close, you see, -because I had no kind of a notion that he was so rich.” - -This was worse than the former strain. Ruth was almost desperate: - -“It makes no difference to me how poor you were, Madam, but it is not -the custom in society to tell all about one’s private affairs.” - -And then, in the next breath, she wondered what Judge Erskine would -have said, could he have heard her address his wife in that tone, -and with those words. At least she had frightened her into silence. -And they rang at Mrs. Huntington’s and were admitted—an angry -woman, with flashing eyes, and a cowed woman, who wished she was at -home, and didn’t know what to say. Poor Ruth was sorry that she had -interfered. Perhaps any sort of talk would have been less observable -than this awkward, half frightened silence; also, Judge Burnham was -in the room, at the other end of the parlor, among the books, as one -familiar there. Mrs. Huntington belonged to the profession. Was it more -or less embarrassing because of his presence? Ruth could not bring -herself to being sure which it was. Mrs. Huntington was a genial woman, -though an exceedingly stylish one; but she knew as little how to put -a frightened, constrained person at ease, as it was possible to know -about anything; and yet her heart was good enough. - -“I suppose you attended the concert, last evening, Mrs. Erskine?” she -said, addressing that lady with a smile, and in a winning tone of -voice. But Mrs. Erskine looked over at Ruth, in the absurd fashion of a -naughty child, who, having been punished for some misdemeanor, glances -at you, to be sure that he is not offending in the same way again. -Ruth was selecting a card from her case to leave for Miss Almina -Huntington, and apparently gave no notice to her mother. Left thus to -her own resources, what could she do but answer, as best she knew how? - -“Well, no, I didn’t. Judge Erskine got tickets, and said he would take -me if I wanted to go; but I didn’t want to go. The fact is, I suppose, -it is want of education, or something; but I ain’t a might of taste for -those concerts. I like singing, too. I used to go to singing-school, -when I was a girl, and I was reckoned to have a good voice, and I -used to like it first-rate—sang in the choir, you know, and all that; -but these fiddle-dee-dee, screech-owl performances that they get off -nowadays, and call music, I can’t stand, nohow. I went to one of ’em. -I thought I’d like to please Judge Erskine, you know, and I went; and -they said it was fine, and perfectly glorious, and all that; but I -didn’t think so, and that’s the whole of it. I gaped and gaped the -whole blessed evening. I was ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t help it. -I tried to listen, too, and get the best of it, but it was just yelp -and howl, and I couldn’t make out a word, no more than if it had been -in Dutch; and I dunno but it was. I don’t like ’em, and I can’t help -it.” - -Mrs. Erskine was growing independent and indignant. Silence was not -her forte, and, in the few minutes which she had spent thus, she had -resolved not to pretend to be what she wasn’t. - -“I don’t like them yelping, half-dressed women, nor them roaring men,” -she said, swiftly, to herself, “and I mean to say so. Why shouldn’t I?” - -Poor Ruth! It was not that she enjoyed or admired operatic singing, -or the usual style of modern concert singing. In a calm, dignified, -haughty way, she had been heard to say that she thought music had -degenerated, and was being put to very unintellectual uses in these -days, in comparison with what had been its place. But that was such -a very different thing from talking about “fiddle-dee-dee,” and -“screeching,” and “howling,” and, above all, “_gaping_!” What _could_ -be said? Mrs. Huntington was not equal to the occasion. She was no -more capable of appreciating what there was of beauty in the singing -than her caller was, but she was aware that society expected her to -appreciate it; so she did it! Judge Burnham came to the rescue: - -“You are precisely of my mind, Mrs Erskine,” he said, appearing from -the recesses of the back parlor, and bowing to Ruth, while he advanced -to offer his hand to her step-mother. “You have characterized the -recent concerts in the exact language that they deserve. Such singing -is not music; it is simply ‘fiddle-dee-dee!’” - -“Why, Judge Burnham!” - -This, in an expostulating tone, from Mrs. Huntington. - -“Fact, my dear Madam. It was simply screeching, last evening; nothing -else in the world. I was a victim, and I defy anyone, with a cultured -taste, to have enjoyed it. It was almost an impossibility to endure. -Mrs. Erskine, I want to show you a picture, which I think you will -like, if you will step this way with me.” - -And he escorted the gratified little woman down the length of the -parlor, and devoted himself carefully to her, during the rest of the -very brief call which Ruth made. He came, also, to the very door-steps -with her, talking still to the mother, covering with dextrous -gallantry her awkwardness of manner and movement. - -“Thank you,” said Ruth, in a low tone, as he turned to her with a -parting bow. She could not help it, and she did not fail to notice the -gleam of pleasure which lighted his grave face at her words. - -“Aren’t you tired?” she asked her mother, as they moved away from the -Huntington mansion. Her martyr spirit had passed from her. She felt -utterly worn, as if it were impossible for her to endure more. “Don’t -you want to go home?” - -“Bless you, yes. I’m clear tuckered out. I didn’t dream that it was -such awful hard work to make calls. I don’t wonder your pa didn’t want -to go. Yes, let’s go home, for the land’s sake!” - -And they went home. When Ruth thought of Judge Burnham at all, during -the next few days, it was with a sense of gratitude, which was new, and -not unpleasant. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -OTHER PEOPLE’S CROSSES. - - -ONE could not live long in this world without realizing the -forcefulness of the sentence: “Every heart knoweth his own bitterness.” -Behind the sunniest, apparently most enviable life the bitterness -hides. It will not be supposed that Marion Dennis’ life, which, to -Ruth’s narrow vision, had blossomed into perfect coloring, was an -exception to the general rule. - -As she stands in her pretty dining-room, waiting for the coming of her -husband, and gazes out of the window at the play of light and shade in -the western sky—gazes with that far-away, thoughtful, half-sad look, -which betokens that the gazer’s thoughts are not upon the picture which -her eyes behold—it is plain, to the most careless glance, that a tinge -of somber hue has already shaded the picture of her life. She had been -through an ordeal of calls, that afternoon; not calls from intimate -and congenial friends, who came because they desired the pleasure of a -visit with her, but from some of those who came, as in custom bound, -to pay a ceremonious visit to the new wife of their pastor. They had -not been helpful callers. Without offending any of the set rules which -are supposed to govern polite society, they had yet contrived to make -Marion feel that they were keen-sighted, keen-scented society spies, -with eyes all about them, and ears alert to hear, or to fancy what they -could. Also, they had been people—some of them—who delighted in what -they termed plain speaking, which is ofttimes decorous insult, if that -expression is not a misnomer. There are people not quite coarse enough -to express adverse criticism directly to a man’s face, and such are apt -to resort to the more refined coarseness of making their criticism -into the form of a joke, and aiming it at the face of his wife! With -one or two such persons had Marion come in contact. - -“I hope you have Dr. Dennis in good subjection,” Mrs. Easterly had -said, with a peculiar little laugh that was meant to be merry, and that -jarred, without one’s being able to define why. “There is nothing like -beginning right, you know. I told Mr. Easterly, last evening, I was -afraid you would be too lenient with him; he is positively in danger of -keeping us in prayer-meeting until it is time to be thinking about the -next morning’s breakfast! Mr. Easterly said, when he got him a wife, -home would be more attractive to him; but my dear Mrs. Dennis, you must -have observed that there was no improvement last evening.” - -“I observed that he was five minutes past the hour,” Marion said; and, -if Mrs. Easterly had been familiar with her voice, she would have -discovered that it was haughty in the extreme. “Dr. Dennis is very -particular to close promptly, and, when I questioned him, he said the -people were tardy about getting in, and so delayed the opening.” - -“_Possible_ that it was only five minutes! I could have been positive -it was fifteen!” Mrs. Easterly said, ignoring the explanation, and the -statement about general punctuality. Such people always ignore remarks -that are not easy to be answered. Then the smooth voice went on: “I -think a clergyman should try to cultivate habits of punctuality about -_closing_, as well as opening meetings, so many people are over-wearied -by long drawn out exercises.” - -“As, for instance, lectures by infidels, and the like,” remarks Marion, -still with the dryness of tone that those familiar to her understand, -and calling to mind the fact that she had heard of Mrs. Easterly as -a delighted listener, for an hour and three quarters, to the popular -infidel orator, two evenings before. - -“Oh, _lectures_! Why, of course, they have a set time; every one knows -they must be lengthy. They have abstruse themes to handle, and many -classes of hearers to please.” - -“But the mere commonplaces of a prayer-meeting can be compressed into -small compass, as well as not, the theme of personal salvation not -being supposed to be of much importance, nor very abstruse, I suppose.” - -Mrs. Easterly arched her eyebrows; said nothing, because she didn’t -know what to say; made the rest of her stay brief, and remarked, when -she had gotten out of Marion’s hearing, that she had heard _that_ -Miss Wilbur spoken of as peculiar—having infidel tendencies, indeed. -Perhaps there was a shade of truth in it. For her part, she wondered -that Dr. Dennis should have been so imprudent as to have selected that -sort of a wife. It was imprudent in Marion to have answered her caller -in those words, or in that spirit. Sarcasm was lost on her, for she -hadn’t the right sort of brains to understand it. It is a curious fact -that certain people, who can be very sarcastic in themselves, can not -understand or appreciate it in others. - -And so trivial a matter as this troubled Marion? Well, yes, it did. She -had not been long in her position, you will remember. It was really her -first rude awakening from the dream that all Christian people regarded -their pastor with a certain reverent courtesy; not in a cringing or -servile spirit, not in a spirit in any sense at variance with true -independence of thought and action, but in the chivalrous spirit of the -olden time, reverencing the office, rather than the man, and according -all possible courtesy to the man, _because_ of the position he held, -as ambassador from the King’s court. Marion’s early childhood had -been spent among simple, earnest Christians—Christians whose reverent -spirit had been an outgrowth of Puritan New England; and, while her -later years had passed among a very different class of people, she -yet had clung to the fancy that _Christians_ everywhere cherished the -bond of relationship—the tie stronger than that of blood—and spoke -wisely and with respect of those who belonged, like themselves, to the -royal family. Mrs. Easterly’s words had jarred, not only because Dr. -Dennis was her husband, but because he was a clergyman, and because he -was Mrs. Easterly’s pastor. Much had she to learn, you will observe! -She was more than likely to meet often with people to whom the word -“pastor” meant less than any other title—meant, if they took time to -analyze their own feelings, one to whom they could be rude, or free, or -insultingly inquisitive, without fear of rousing him to resentment, -because resentment is not a becoming trait in the ministry! - -Dr. Dennis would have smiled could he have known the turmoil in his -wife’s heart. He had so long ago passed beyond that—had so long ago -decided that people must be ranked in classes—so many from this strip -of humanity, who did not know the difference between frankness and -rudeness—so many in this strip, who, because of their lack of early -education, must not be expected to know certain things—so many in -this strip, to whom he could talk, freely, familiarly, as brother to -brother, and friend to friend—classified Christians, belonging to the -family, indeed, but having such different degrees of likeness to the -family name that, what was a matter of course from one, was a sting -from another. All these things Dr. Dennis knew; all these things his -wife had still to learn. She was willing to learn, and she was not so -foolish as to suppose that her road was strewn with roses; but, all the -name, the tiny thorn pricked her. - -There were other and graver troubles than this. Do you remember how -she pleased her fancy, while yet she was an inhabitant of that -dingy third-story room, as to the dainty little teas she would get -for that young daughter of hers? Here it was, the very perfection -of a tea-table, exquisite and delicate and fascinating in all its -appointments; laid for three, yet, presently, when Dr. Dennis came from -his round of calls, and seated himself opposite his wife, and waited, -and then finally sent a messenger to Gracie’s room, who returned with -the message, “Miss Grace says will you please excuse her this evening, -she doesn’t care for any tea,” his face clouded, as though the answer -brought trouble to his heart. - -“Have you had further talk with Grace?” he asked his wife, when the -door had closed on the servant. - -“A little. There have been callers most of the time, but I talked with -her a few minutes.” - -“What did she say?” - -Marion would rather he had not asked the question. She hesitated a -little, then said, with an effort to speak lightly: - -“She said what was natural enough—that she thought _I_ knew almost too -much about the matter, and might have been content to leave it to you.” - -“I will not have her speaking in that manner to you,” he said, his face -growing graver, and his forehead settling into a frown. “She ought to -know better.” - -“I know it,” answered Marion, a little dash of brightness in her -voice. “She ought to be perfect, of course, and not give way in this -undignified manner. It is only such old saints as you and I who have -any right to get out of tone, when things do not go just to suit us.” - -He laughed a little, then he said: - -“Now, Marion, you know she has tried you very much, and without cause.” - -“As to that, I suppose if you and I could see into her heart, she -thinks she has sore cause. I would not make too much of it, if I were -you; and I would make nothing at all of the part which has to do with -me. She will feel differently before very long. She is young.” - -Then Dr. Dennis’ thoughts went back to his daughter. He sighed heavily: - -“I ought to have shielded her better; I was trying, I thought. I am so -astonished about that man! He has been a professor of religion ever -since he was a child.” - -“To profess a thing is not always to possess it,” Marion said, and -then she sighed to think that even in religion this was so true; and -she sighed again to realize that in her hard life she had come more in -contact with people who _professed_ without possessing than her husband -had. - -The trouble about Gracie was not so light as she had tried to make it -appear to the father. Neither had her attempt to reason the obstinate -young daughter into something like graceful yielding been so free from -self-pain as she would have him think. It was all about Prof. Ellis, -a man who, as Marion expressed it to her husband, was good enough for -a teacher, but not at all the sort of man for one so young and so -impressible as Gracie to ride away with to an evening entertainment. - -“He is the only one I have been in the habit of allowing her to ride -with,” the father had said, aghast, and then had followed, on Marion’s -part, a startled exclamation to the effect that she would have trusted -her sooner with a dozen of “the boys” with whom she had not been -allowed to associate. - -“They are better than he,” she said, earnestly, and then had followed a -long, confidential talk, which had ended in the peremptory, and by no -means wisely put, negative to Gracie’s plans; and then had followed, on -her part, questionings and surmises until at last she understood that -this new mother, who had been but a little while ago a stranger to them -both, had come between her father and herself, and then had followed, -as anyone of sense might have known there would, a scene which was by -no means complimentary to Gracie or comforting to the new mother. She -had tried to be wise. - -“Gracie,” she had said, in her gentlest tone, “you know I am a good -many years older than you, and I have known Prof. Ellis very well, and -I am sure if you realized just the sort of a man he is you would not -care to be his familiar friend.” - -“I don’t want to be his familiar friend,” Gracie had said, haughtily. -“I want to take a ride out to Katie’s with him when I have promised -to do so.” And then her eyes had fallen under the calm of Marion’s -searching gaze, and her tones had faltered. “At least I do not see that -riding out with him is a proof of very great friendship. It is no more -than I have done several times with my father’s permission.” - -“But your father was deceived in him, Gracie; he had no means of -knowing the sort of man he is, save by his professions, which have been -nothing _but_ professions for years. Gracie, I know that of him which -should make every young girl unwilling to be seen in his society or -considered his friend.” - -Whereupon Gracie’s eyes had flashed indignation for a second, then -settled into sullenness, while she answered, coldly: - -“I should think my father ought to have been capable of judging -character a little; he has had something to do with men and life. I do -not know why I should not be able to trust myself to _his_ judgment.” - -Marion smiled. It was hard to be patient with this girl. The haughty -way in which she retired behind her dignity and said, “_My_ father,” -seemed designed to shut Marion out from ownership in him, and impress -her with the sense of the newness of her acquaintance with and -entrance into the family. - -“Gracie,” she said again, after a thoughtful pause, “it may not be -known to you that there have been recent developments about Prof. Ellis -that make him an undesirable friend for you. I know that, as your -teacher, you have learned to look up to and respect him, but he is in -some respects unworthy.” - -There was for a few minutes no response from the sullen-browed girl, -with her head bent low over the slate, as if during the intervals of -this conversation she had eyes and thought only for the intricate -problem before her. Presently she said, in exactly the same tone of -repressed indignation which she had used before: - -“I repeat that in my judgment _my_ father is just as capable of -deciding as to what gentlemen are suited to be my friends as a stranger -can be.” - -Marion drew back quickly; she caught her breath hard; this was a trying -spot; what should she do or say? What would Ruth Erskine have done in -her place? At the same time there was a sense of relief in believing -that this young girl’s pride only was touched, not her heart. She was -simply rebellious that “a stranger,” as she chose to call her, should -presume to interfere with her friendships. - -“I am not a stranger, Gracie,” she said, trying to speak in all -gentleness. “I am your father’s wife, and have at his request assumed -responsibilities concerning you, for which I am answerable, not only -to him, but to God. When I tell you, therefore, what your father has -had no means of knowing, until lately, that Prof. Ellis is the sort -of man whom a young lady should shun, you ought to believe me, and to -understand that my sole motive is your welfare.” - -Then was Marion Dennis treated to a brilliant flashing of the handsome -eyes of her daughter. The slate and book slid to the floor with an -unheeded crash, as Gracie, rising and drawing up her tall form till it -equalled her mother’s, said, in tones of suppressed passion: - -“Marion Wilbur, you have no _right_ to speak in that manner of Prof. -Ellis, and I will not bear it!” - -Then Marion Dennis drew back grieved and frightened, not at her own -thrust—that was but the ill-temper of an angry girl—but because she -began to fear that this man—this wolf in sheep’s clothing, whose chief -entertainment hitherto had been to see how well he could play with -human hearts—had dared to try his powers on Gracie Dennis. “I hope he -will suffer for this,” she said, under her breath. - -In the meantime what was to be said to the angry girl, whose passion -had culminated in this outburst, and who then had thrown herself back -into the chair, not weeping, not crushed and bleeding, but excitedly -_angry_. And yet, feeling that she had said a very unwise and dangerous -thing, and must answer for it—_and yet_ not caring just now in what way -she might be called upon to answer. Being still in the mood to be glad -that she had said it she expected severity, and waited for it. - -“Gracie,” said Marion, bending toward her, and I do not know that her -voice had ever been gentler or her manner more quiet, “you do not mean -to hurt _me_; I know you do not. We are too nearly related; we are -sisters, _and the Lord Jesus Christ is our Elder Brother_. It is to him -that I ask you to listen; it is to his judgment, not mine, that I ask -you to defer. Will you lay this matter before him, and wait on your -knees for his answer, and abide by it, never minding me? If you will -the whole matter will be righted.” - -Then she turned from her and went down to receive those calls, and get -those little thrusts and pin-pricks which pricked so much deeper and -left a keener sting because in general they were leveled at her husband -instead of herself. Then she went out to that pretty table laid for -three, and saw the grave-faced father, and heard his self-reproaches, -and held back that which would have made him indignant in the extreme; -and held back her own little sigh, and realized that life was not all -sweetness, even while Ruth sat at home and envied _her_ the brightness -of her lot. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A NEWLY-SHAPED CROSS. - - -RUTH Erskine, meantime, was keeping up her struggle, having intervals -when she seemed to be making headway, and felt as though she had -reached higher ground, only to be dropped suddenly down again, into the -depths of despair by some unfortunate encounter with the new-comers. No -more definite comment on the existing state of things could be made, -than is shadowed in that expression, “New-comers.” They still continued -to be thought of as such in the house. They did not drift into the -family ways or customs—they did not assimilate. Everything was so new -to them, so unlike their entire former education, that much of the -time they stood one side and looked on, instead of mingling and having -their individuality lost in the union. So far as Mrs. Erskine was -concerned, she did not look on _quietly_. It had been no part of her -discipline to learn quietness. She talked everywhere, under the most -trying circumstances, and she seemed always to chance upon the things -to say that were particularly unfortunate just then and there. This -being the case, it is perhaps not strange that the rasping processes -were so numerous that there was not time between them for healings. -Judge Erskine, on his part, made nearly as little progress. Being a man -of faultless grace and bearing, and being noted for fastidiousness, -made him pre-eminently susceptible to wounds in these directions. -Generally, he and Ruth maintained the strictest silence toward each -other concerning their trials, they having, by tacit consent, agreed -upon that as the safest course; but, occasionally, they were rasped -into comparing notes. In the hall one morning, where many of their -confidential conversations were held, during these days, her father -stopped her, with an almost petitioning question: - -“Daughter, was it very trying, yesterday, when Mrs. Blakesley called?” - -“As trying as it could be, sir,” Ruth answered, still smarting so much -under that recent infliction that she could not bring her voice to a -sympathetic tone. “Mrs. Blakesley, being a woman who hasn’t an ounce -of brains herself, has, as you may imagine, none to spare for other -people. Indeed, father, I sometimes feel as though this matter of -making and receiving calls was going to be too complicated a thing for -me. I never was fond of such duties, as you may remember, and now it is -absolute torture, long drawn out.” - -“I know it,” he said, wincing, and growing paler under each stabbing -word from his daughter’s lips. “It was all folly, I am afraid. I -thought we would try to do just right; but I do not know but we would -have felt it less, and they been just as happy, if we had resolutely -closed our doors on society altogether, and borne this thing among -ourselves.” - -What these two people needed was some strong voice to remind them how -many, and how much harder troubles life had, than they had been called -upon to bear. Despite Marion Dennis’ opinion, this is—or it should be—a -help. By comparison with other’s trials, we ought to be led to feel the -lesser nature of our own. Failing in that, it sometimes happens to us -to decide as to which of our _own_ trials has the heaviest hand. - -“I don’t think that would have been possible,” Ruth answered, her tone -somewhat subdued, as it always was, by a realization of her father’s -deeper wound. “But, I wish with all my heart, I saw a way to escape -from some of this calling. There are hundreds, almost, yet to make, and -some of them more formidable than any that we have attempted; and the -list continues to swell every day.” - -The father had no answer; he saw no way out. And yet a way was coming, -swiftly—one which would help them both out of this dilemma, at least. -It was the very next morning that Judge Erskine failed to appear -at the breakfast-table and his wife brought word that he was most -uncommon restless all night, and pretty fevery, and resisted all her -suggestions to give him a good sweat, or to drink any boneset-tea, or -even to soak his feet in mustard-water. Consequence was, he didn’t feel -able to raise his head from his pillow, and wouldn’t so much as let her -speak of any breakfast, though she _did_ tell over several things to -him, that she thought he might relish. - -Ruth groaned inwardly, not so much at anxiety for her father—his -sicknesses were slight affairs soon over, and his most sovereign remedy -had hitherto been to be let alone. How, then, had he borne this fearful -infliction of sympathy and fertile suggestion? - -But the sickness, whatever it was, did not pass away, as others had -done. Ruth visiting him, and seeing the fevered face and anxious -eyes, felt a nameless dread, and entreated that Dr. Bacon might at -once be summoned, being even more alarmed at the fact that her father -immediately acquiesced. Dr. Bacon was slow in coming, being a man much -sought after in his profession. But he was also unprecedentedly slow -in leaving, making a call, the length of which amazed Ruth and at -which she did not know whether to be alarmed or relieved. During its -continuance Judge Burnham stopped to inquire as to some law papers, and -also apparently to make a call, for he tarried after he found that he -could not accomplish his original errand, and was in the hall, in the -act of leaving, when the doctor came, with slow and thoughtful tread, -down-stairs. That gentleman caught at his familiar face, as if it were -a relief. - -“Ah, good morning, Judge,” he said. “This is opportune. May I have a -word with you?” - -And then he unceremoniously pushed open the library door, and both -gentlemen retired within, leaving Ruth perplexed, and perhaps a little -annoyed. The door closed upon them. Dr. Bacon was not long in making -known his thoughts: - -“Judge, are you an intimate friend of this family?” - -“Why,” said Judge Burnham, hesitating, and flushing a little over the -question, “I hardly know whether I may claim exceeding intimacy; the -Judge is not apt to have very intimate friends. Perhaps I come as near -it as anybody. Yes, I think I may say I am considered a friend—by -_him_, at least. Why, may I ask?” - -“Because they need a friend—one who is not afraid of himself or his -feelings, and can help them plan, and perhaps execute.” - -“What on earth do you mean? Is the Judge so very sick?” - -“Well, as to that, he is likely to be sick enough—sicker, indeed, than -I care to have his daughter realize, just at present. But the _nature_ -of the sickness is the trouble. It is a very marked case of a very -undesirable type of small-pox! Now, don’t back out of the nearest door, -and leave me in the lurch, for I depend on you.” - -This last, as Judge Burnham uttered an exclamation of dismay, and -stepped backward. The sentence recalled his self-possession. - -“Don’t be disturbed,” he said, and his tones were somewhat haughty. “I -have not the slightest intention of fleeing. I shall be glad to serve -him and his—his family, to the best of my ability. But what is there -for me to do? Is he aware of the situation?” - -“Most decidedly so. I didn’t mince matters with him; he is not one -that will bear it; he knows all that I do, and is as clear-headed as -usual; he knows certain things that must _not_ be done. For instance, -his daughter Ruth is, on no account, to be allowed to put her head -inside the door. He was peremptory about that and must be obeyed, -though there is no earthly fear of infection for some days yet; but I -have given my word of honor that it shall be as he says. The trouble -is, they will be left in the lurch. There isn’t a small-pox nurse in -the city that I know of. I would have given fifty dollars an hour, -almost, for a good one last night, and, besides, the servants must be -informed, and they will leave to a man, or a woman. In books you are -always reading of heroic servants who are willing to take their lives -in their hands and stand by their mistresses through anything. I wish -I could find a few of them! I would promise them high wages. Well, -now, what you can do first, is to explain the state of affairs to Miss -Erskine. I would sooner try to explain to an iceberg, or a volcano—I am -never quite sure which she is. And then, if you have any wits, set them -to work to establish communication between this house and the outer -world. In other words, do what you can for them, _if_ you can. You know -better than I do whether you are on sufficient terms of intimacy to do -anything with her. The old lady must be told, I suppose, though Judge -Erskine didn’t mention her at all. Perhaps she will want to get out of -the house, somewhere, and very likely you can manage that. At least the -first thing of importance is to tell Miss Ruth. Will you do it?” - -“Y-e-s,” said Judge Burnham, speaking slowly and hesitatingly. It was -by no means the sort of communication that he desired to make to her, -yet he felt an instant desire to stand by her, and, if disagreeable -tidings must be given, bear them himself, in whatever alleviating way -he might. - -“Very well,” answered the doctor, promptly. He was spending a great -deal of time, on this case, and was getting in haste. “I ought to have -been off fifteen minutes ago, but Judge Erskine wanted all the affairs -of the nation arranged before I left. He knows what he wants, and, so -far as it is within the compass of human possibility, he intends to -have it. Will you see Miss Ruth at once, and do what planning you -can? Meantime, I will make one more dash for a nurse. No one is to go -up to Judge Erskine until I see him again. I fancy he wants to do some -thinking for himself. That is his peremptory order, and it will be -well enough to obey it. There is no sort of danger of infection now, -you understand, but he is quite as well off alone, for a little. Now, -I positively must go. I will look in on my way down the square, and -report further.” - -And then the great doctor took himself off leaving Judge Burnham with -the worst case on his hands that had ever fallen to his professional -life. He walked slowly toward the door, but before he could pass out it -was pushed open by Ruth, her face white and frightened. “Judge Burnham -what has happened? what is the matter? is my father so very sick? and -why am I not to be allowed to go to him?” - -“One thing at a time, dear friend,” he said, and his voice had a touch -of sympathy that could not have escaped her. “Your father is not -alarmingly sick, but the sickness is of such a nature that he will not -have you exposed to it even for a moment. It was his first thought.” -And then he pushed a chair forward and gently placed her in it, and sat -down beside her, telling her briefly, rapidly, in a half professional -manner, all he knew himself. He was a good student of human nature; his -success in his profession would have proved that, and he knew it was -the surest way to hold her self-controlled and ready for intelligent -thought. He had not misjudged her character. She neither cried out -nor fainted; she had been pale enough before, but her face whitened a -little and she covered her eyes with her hands for an instant. It was a -curious revelation to her of the strangeness of these human hearts of -ours, when she remembered afterward that, flashing along with the other -crowding thoughts as to what, and how, there came the swift memory of -the yesterday’s talk, and the instant realization of the fact that -they would have neither to make nor receive any more of those dreadful -calls, for some time, at least. Just a moment of hiding behind those -hands and then she was ready for action. “Judge Burnham, have you -thought what ought to be done first, and if you have, will you help -me? It makes it harder because my father will not let me come to him. -If we could talk together, if he would let me be his nurse, I could—” -and then she hesitated, and her lip began to quiver. She remembered -that her father was the one person whom she had to love. - -“There is no use in talking about that,” Judge Burnham said, hastily; -“the doctor said he ought, by all means, to be humored in this matter; -that it would help to keep him calm, and thus hold the disease in -check; you should not have a thought of going to him. Some nurse can -surely be found; people will do anything for money. I suppose, Miss -Erskine, it will be necessary to tell the other members of the family?” - -“Of course,” Ruth said, and she tried not to shiver, visibly, as she -thought of what Mrs. Erskine might say, and wondered whether she was -one of those women who were ignorantly and wildly afraid of infection, -and whether there would be a scene with her, and what Susan would -do, or say. Then she thought of the servants. “Hannah and Thomas and -the rest ought to be told, ought they not, Judge Burnham?” Then she -suddenly roused from her half-suppressed, appealing tones, and rising, -said, “How foolishly I am talking! This thing has startled me so. Of -course they must be told; and it should be done at once; I will take no -unfair advantage of them in any way. Yes, I will tell Mrs. Erskine and -my sister. Thank you, Judge Burnham.” - -And that gentleman began to consider himself as almost dismissed from -her presence. - -“What can I do for you, first?” he asked her, eagerly; “I am not one -of those who are afraid of anything, Miss Erskine; in mortal guise, -at least. I am going up to see your father, and since you can not go -yourself, you might make me your messenger, to say anything that you -would say, that you are willing to have me repeat.” - -Her eyes brightened. “Thank you,” she said, “it is very pleasant to -feel that you do not want to desert us. But I will not trouble papa, -until I can tell him that we are arranged somehow, and that he need not -worry.” - -She went down first to the kitchen regions and summoned the working -force, telling them in brief, clear language, what had fallen upon -the house, and offering them each two weeks’ wages in advance and good -characters. She was young and had not been put to many such tests. They -were not “servants in a book,” it appeared, for they every one, eagerly -caught at their liberty and were nervously anxious to get out of the -plague-stricken house, not even desiring to wait until Ruth could get -her pocket-book and make good her word. _They_ were young and ignorant, -and in the great outside world they had friends; life was dear to them. -Who shall blame them? And yet, I desire to say, just here, that it is -_not_ in books only that noble, self-sacrificing exceptions to this -form of selfishness are found; I have known kitchens that ought to have -glowed with the beauty of the strong, unselfish hearts beating there, -through danger, and trial, and harassing toil. It only happened that -Ruth Erskine had none of those about her, and, within half an hour -after the first word had reached them, she stood alone in her deserted -kitchen, trying to get her nerves quiet for the next, and, to her, -more trying ordeal. What would those new elements in the household -say? Was Mrs. Erskine given to hysteria, and would these startling -developments produce an attack? Would they want to get away from the -house? Could they be gotten away, quietly, to some safe place? Would -Susan be willing to go? How would _she_ take the news? Ruth puzzled -her brain some weary minutes in trying to decide just how they would -act, and whether she had courage to tell them, and whether it were not -altogether possible that Mrs. Erskine might be moved to make such an -outcry as should disturb the sick man, up-stairs. At last she gave over -the attempt to arrange their actions for them, and went to summon them -to the library, with an air of forced calmness and a determination to -have this worst feature of the side issues over, as soon as possible. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE CROSS OF HELPLESSNESS. - - -“MY land alive!” - -That was what Mrs. Erskine said, when Ruth told her the news. You may -have observed that those three words constituted a favorite expression -of hers—one which she was apt to use on all occasions, greatly to her -stepdaughter’s discomfiture. She winced under it now, it seemed so -ridiculously inappropriate to the disaster that had come into their -midst. While she was trying to impress the situation on the mother and -Susan, Dr. Bacon returned. He came directly into the library, as one -who had laid aside all the ceremonies of private life, and adopted -the business style. He hurried into the midst of the difficulties, -being one who, while capable of feeling the most intense and practical -sympathy for others, had never learned the art of expressing it other -than by actions. - -“Miss Ruth, I am afraid it is going to be almost impossible to get a -proper nurse for your father. There is a good deal of this abominable -disease in the city, now, and the nurses are taxed to the utmost. -Ordinary nurses, you know, will not come, and would not do, anyway. So -we shall have to manage as well as we can, for a little, until I can -look around me and get somebody.” - -Then Mrs. Erskine came to the front. - -“What are you talking about—_nurses_? Who wants one of ’em? miserable, -half-awake creatures; not but what I’ve seen some good ones in my day, -but I could beat any of ’em, when it come to a real up-and-down case of -sickness; and I can nurse my own husband, you’ll find, better than the -best of ’em. I brought him back from death’s door once, and I will try -hard to do it again. A _nurse_ is the last kind of a creature that I -want to help me.” - -“But, Mrs. Erskine, I ought not to conceal from you that this is going -to be a very decided case of small-pox. The chances of infection, to -one who nurses him, will be very great.” - -“I can’t help _that_, you know,” she said, determinedly; “_I’ve_ got to -be with him, of course. Who would, if his wife wasn’t? I don’t believe -I’ll take it. I never was one of them kind that always took things. -I have the sick-headache, and that’s every blessed thing I do have, -except a touch of the rheumatism, now and then; but I never did have -a bit of headache, nor nothing, when there was any real sickness on -my hands. All the time Susan had the fever I sot up nights, or stood -up—a good deal of the time she was that sick that I didn’t set down; -I jest kept on the trot all night, doing one thing and another. But, -all the while, I never had an ache nor a pain about me; and, if I do -take it, I might as well as the next one. I ain’t a mite afraid of it; -not that I’d run into it any quicker than you would, but, when it runs -into your own house, and gets hold of your own flesh and blood, or your -husband—which is the next thing to that—why, then, I’m one of them -kind that has to be on hand. There’s no use talkin’—_I’m a going to -nurse him_, and all the doctor’s in the city can’t stop me.” - -“I assure you, Mrs. Erskine, I haven’t the least desire to do so. On -the contrary, I appreciate your devotion.” - -The doctor’s tone was earnest—his manner respectful. Mrs. Judge Erskine -had evidently risen several degrees in his esteem. She was not a piece -of putty, to be gotten out of the way in the least troublesome manner; -but a live and very energetic factor in this business. A woman who not -only was not afraid of small-pox, but could calmly insist on her right -to attend a very bad case of it, was deserving of all respect from -him; and he did not, in the least, care how many grammatical errors -she made in expressing her determination. In less time than it takes -me to tell you of it, the question of attendant on the sick man was -settled, and Mrs. Erskine installed as nurse by the relieved doctor, -to the satisfaction of all but Ruth. She thought, in dismay, of the -misery which her father would be called to endure. How was he, sick and -nervous—and she knew he could be fearfully nervous, when only a little -ill—to bear the strain of that woman’s tongue, when, in health, it was -more than he could endure? What would he say to the plan? Would he feel -that she might have shielded him from it? Yet how could _she_ help it? -and, indeed, what else could be done? She had been very nervous over -his being left alone. It had seemed to her that she must disregard his -positive command and go to him; and it had been such a source of relief -and comfort when Judge Burnham announced his intention of going, that -she felt she could never forget it. Certainly it would not do to leave -him without an attendant. Yet she could not be grateful to the wife for -proposing it. - -“He can never endure it!” she murmured; and she looked her distress so -completely that the doctor was moved to soothe her, when he came back -from installing Mrs. Erskine, and giving her directions. - -“It will do for a few days, my dear girl; or, at least, for a few -hours, until we can look about us, and secure professional assistance. -There is not the slightest danger of her taking the disease _now_, you -know; indeed, you might be with him yourself, only he is so nervous -about you that he will not listen to reason. But she will take good -care of him. I really think she understands how to do it.” - -Ruth made no reply; she could not. She wanted to ask what her father -said, and whether he was likely to bear up under such an added weight -of misery as this last. But, reflecting that it would not do to say -anything of the kind, she took refuge in silence. And the work of -rearranging this disorganized and disordered household went on. - -In an incredibly short space of time, considering all that had to -be planned and arranged, the doctor had done his share of it, given -explicit and peremptory directions as to what should, and what should -_not_ be done, and was gone. As for Judge Burnham, he had gone directly -from the sick-room to Judge Erskine’s office, on a matter of business -for the latter. So the two sisters were left alone in the library, to -stare at each other, or out into the street, as they chose. - -Susan Erskine had been a very silent looker-on at this morning’s -confusion. Ruth could not tell what she thought. Beyond the first -exclamation of surprise, she had expressed no dismay. A little touch -of some feeling (what was it?) she had shown once, when her mother was -planning, and announcing that she did not intend to take the disease, -and, if she did, _she_ might as well as anyone. - -“Oh, mother!” Susan had said, in a low, distressed tone—a tone full -of suppressed feeling of some sort—and her mother had turned on her -sharply, with a— - -“Well, child, what?” - -“Nothing,” Susan said, as one who had checked her sentence and was -holding herself silent. And thereafter she made no sign. - -And so at last these two sisters were stranded in that deserted -library. Ruth, on her part, gazing blankly out of the window, watching -the hurrying passers-by with a curious sense of wonderment as to what -they would think could they know what was transpiring inside. Suddenly -she turned from the window with an exclamation of dismay—a thought, -which until now had dropped into the background, returned to her. - -“There isn’t a servant in the house!” - -“Why, what has become of them?” - -“They fled at the very first mention of the trouble. Never was anything -accomplished more rapidly. I thought they had hardly time to reach -their rooms when they disappeared around the corner.” - -“Is it possible!” Susan said, after a moment’s silent contemplation. -She was both surprised and disappointed. There was nothing in her -nature that could respond to that method of bearing one another’s -burdens, and she did not understand human nature well enough to expect -developments in others which were foreign to her own. - -“What shall we do about dinner?” Ruth asked, after another interval of -silence. - -“Why, get it,” Susan answered, lightly. She could not comprehend what -an impossible thing this was in Ruth’s estimation. - -“But I—why, I know nothing about it,” Ruth said, stammering and aghast. - -“I do. There is nothing about a dinner that I do not understand, I -believe—that is, a reasonable and respectable dinner. In fact, I -know how to do several things that are unreasonable. I’ll go right -down-stairs and take a view of the situation.” - -“I will go with you,” Ruth said, heroically. “I don’t know anything -about such matters, but I can at least show you through the house.” - -Is it your fortune to know, by experience, just what a deserted look -a kitchen can take on in a brief space of time, when the regular -inhabitants thereof have made a sudden exit? Just let the fire in the -range go down, with unswept ashes littering the hearth, and unwashed -dishes filling the tables, and a general smell of departed cookery -pervading the air, and you need no better picture of dismalness. -Especially is this the case if you survey the scene as Ruth did, -without being able to conceive how it was possible ever again to bring -order out of this confusion. - -“Why, dear me!” said Susan, “things look as though they had stirred -them up to the best of their abilities before they left. Where is the -hearth-brush kept, Ruth?” - -“I am sure I don’t know,” Ruth said, and she looked helpless and -bewildered. - -“Well, then, I’ll look for it. We must have a fire the first thing. I -wonder where the kindlings are?” - -Then she began to open little doors and crannies, in a wise sort of -way, Ruth looking on, not knowing that there were such places to search -into. Both hearth-brush and kindlings were found, and Susan attacked -the range, while Ruth took up a china cup and set it down again, moved -a pile of plates to the side of the table and moved them back again, -looking utterly dazed and useless. - -“I wonder if this damper turns up or down?” - -This from Susan, and her sister turned and surveyed the damper with a -grave, puzzled air before she spoke. - -“It is no sort of use to ask me. I never even examined the range. I -know no more about the dampers than the people on the street do.” - -“Never mind,” said Susan, “the smoke does. It puffs out with one -arrangement, and goes up the chimney, as it should, with the other.” - -“I don’t know how we are ever to do it,” Ruth said. - -“What, make the fire? Why, it is made already! Don’t you hear it roar? -This is a splendid range; I should think it would be fun to cook with -it. Our stove was cracked, and one door-hinge was broken, and besides -it wouldn’t bake on the bottom. The _stove_ wouldn’t, you know—not the -broken hinge.” - -Susan rarely—indeed, I might say never—indulged in reminiscence, and -therefore Ruth was touched. - -“Why did you keep yourselves so poorly provided for?” she asked, a -flush rising on her pale cheek. “I have heard your mother say that you -were well supplied with money.” - -“We were. It was one of my mother’s whims, if you choose to call it -so. She was continually troubled with the feeling that some day she or -I, or—more often, I think—_father_, might need all the money she could -save; and I never combated the feeling, except when it intrenched too -closely on her own needs. She seemed fairly haunted with the thought.” - -“How absurd!” said Ruth, and her lip curled. - -As for Susan, _her_ lips opened, and then closed partly, and whatever -she would have uttered remains in oblivion. She closed the damper -energetically, and said: - -“There, that is conquered! Now, what are we to have for dinner?” - -“Why, I ordered roast lamb and its accompaniments,” Ruth said, -recalling her minute directions given to the skillful cook (she knew -how to _order_ dinners,) “but, of course, that is out of the question.” - -“Why, not at all, if you would like it. I know exactly how to roast -lamb. But, then, who would eat it?” - -“Why, Prof. Stevens and his friend are to dine with us. Oh, they must -be sent word not to come! How _can_ we send? Who is there to go?” - -And Ruth, the complications of her situation pressing upon her in these -minor details, looked utterly dismayed. - -“Why, Judge Burnham will be our errand-boy—he said so. I met him as -he came down-stairs, and he told me to say that he would call as soon -as he had attended to father’s commission, and serve us in any way -that we desired. We will have him first recall the invitation to our -guests, and then we will send him to the ‘butcher’s, the baker’s, and -the candlestick-maker’s.’ I shouldn’t be surprised if he proved a very -useful member of society.” - -Susan was bent on being cheerful. “Things are not so bad but they might -have been worse,” she had said, almost as soon as she was told of the -trouble. - -“Mother says he might have been taken sick down town, and if they had -known what the disease was they wouldn’t have allowed him to come home. -Think of that! But about the roast lamb,” she said. “Do you think you -and I could compass it, or shall we compel the errand-boy to stay and -divide the work with us?” - -Then these two girls did what was perhaps the wisest thing for them to -do, under the circumstances. They laughed—a real _laugh_. - -“Why not?” said Susan. “He is not very sick. The doctor said he didn’t -think he would be, because he would be well taken care of at the very -outset; and he will, you may be sure of that. Mother knows how, and her -heart is in it. You may trust her, Ruth, in a time of sickness. And -we shall manage nicely. This disconsolate kitchen shall take on new -features presently. If I were you I would go right up-stairs and be -ready to give Judge Burnham his orders when he comes. He is real good -and kind. I like him. He will help us in every way. And when you come -down again I will have things in train for a first-class dinner.” - -A new anxiety occurred to Ruth. - -“Do you know how to prepare food for sick people?” she asked. - -“Indeed I do! The most appetizing little dishes that you can imagine. -I’ve always thought I had a special talent in that direction. We will -waylay the doctor the very next time he comes, and find out what he -will allow, and then I’ll cook it; and you must arrange it daintily -with silver, and china, and flowers, you know. They will let us have -all sorts of nice things up there for a while, and I think that is -the real secret of serving an invalid, having everything arranged -tastefully and gracefully.” - -Ruth turned toward her sister with a very tender smile on her face. -She realized that there had been an effort to make her feel that she -was in a position to do an important service for her father, and the -thoughtfulness of the effort touched her. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -LOOKING FOR AN EASY YOKE. - - -WEARY days now in store for Ruth Erskine—far more weary and dispiriting -than she had imagined were possible to endure. It was such a strange -experience to stand at the window and watch passers-by, hurrying out -of the neighborhood of the plague-spotted house; crossing the street -at most inconvenient points, to avoid a nearer contact. It was so -strange to have day after day pass, and never hear the sound of the -door-bell—never see the face of a caller—never receive an invitation. -In short, it was a sudden shutting out of the world in which she had -always lived, and a shutting down into one narrow circle, which -repeated itself almost exactly every twenty-four hours. She and Susan -must needs be companions now, whether they would or not. They must sit -down together three times a day, at table, and go through the forms -of eating—not so repulsive a proceeding, by the way, as it had seemed -to Ruth it must of necessity be, with no one to serve. Susan had -reduced the matter to a system, and produced, as if by magic, the most -appetizing dishes, served in faultless style; and, when the strangeness -of sitting opposite each other, and having no one to look at or talk -to but themselves, began to wear away, they found it a not unpleasant -break in the day’s monotony to talk together while they waited on each -other. - -Then there was the sick man’s food to prepare, and Susan exhausted -her skill, and Ruth contributed of her taste, in graceful adornings. -Judge Erskine still adhered to his resolution not to allow his daughter -to visit him; so all that could be done for his comfort must be -second-handed, but this little was a great relief to heart and brain. - -Then there was Judge Burnham, a source of continual comfort. He seemed -to be the only one, of all the large circle of friends, who failed to -shun the stricken house. He was entirely free from fear, and came and -went at all hours, and on all possible errands—market-man, post-man, -errand-man in general, and unfailing friend. Not a day passed in which -he did not make half a dozen calls, and every evening found him an -inmate of the quiet parlor, with a new book, or poem, or, perhaps, only -a fresh bouquet of sweet-smelling blossoms, for the sisters. Apparently -his tokens of friendship and care were bestowed jointly on _the -sisters_—he not choosing between them by a hair-breadth. - -Still despite all the alleviating circumstances, the way was weary, -and the time hung with increased heaviness on their hands—long hours -of daylight, in which there seemed to be nothing to settle to, and in -which there was as effectually nowhere to go, as if they were held in -by bolts and bars. - -“If we were, either of us, fond of fancy work, I believe it would be -some relief,” Ruth said, wearily, one afternoon, as she closed her -book, after pronouncing it hopelessly dull. “Flossy Shipley could spend -days in making cunning little worsted dogs, with curly tails, and, if -there really were nothing else that she felt she ought to do, I believe -she could be quite happy in that!” - -Susan laughed. - -“One of us ought to have developed that talent, perhaps,” she said, -brightly. “I don’t know why you didn’t. As for myself, I never had the -time, and, if I had, the materials would have been beyond my purse. But -I like pretty things. I have really often wished that I knew how to -make some. You don’t know how to teach me, I suppose?” - -“No, indeed; and, if I did, I’m afraid I shouldn’t do it. Nothing ever -seemed more utterly insipid to me, though, of course, I never planned -any such life as we are having now.” - -“Look here,” Susan said, turning suddenly toward her sister, and -dropping the paper which she had been reading. “I have a pleasant -thought. We are almost tired of all sorts of books; but there is one -Book which never wears out. What if this time of absolute and enforced -leisure should have been given us in which to get better acquainted -with what it says? What if you and I should begin to study the Bible -together?” - -Ruth looked gloomy. - -“I don’t know much about the Bible,” she said; “and I don’t know how to -study it. I read a chapter every day, and, of course, I get some help -out of it; but I see so much that I don’t understand, and—well, to be -frank, so much that it seems to me strange should have been put into -the book at all, when necessarily a great deal that we would like to -know was left out, that it worries and disappoints me.” - -She half expected to shock Susan, and looked toward her with determined -eyes, ready to sustain her position, in case an argument was produced. -But Susan only answered, with a quiet— - -“I know; I used to feel very much in the same way, until I had a light -given me to go by, which shone upon some of the verses that had been so -dark before.” - -There was no lighting up of Ruth’s face. - -“I know what you mean,” she said, gravely “You mean that the Bible -was a new book to you after you were converted. I have heard a great -many people say that, but it doesn’t help me as much as you might -suppose it would. Of course it made a new book for _me_, because the -Bible was never anything to me at all, until I was converted. I have -passed years without looking into it; indeed, I may say I _never_ read -it. When I was a school-girl, I used to find extracts from it in my -parsing-book, and some of them seemed to me very lofty sentiments, and -several of them I committed to memory, because of the beauty of their -construction; but that was the extent of my acquaintance with the -book. One of the first things I noticed a Christian say, after I was -converted, was about the Bible—what a wonderful book it was to him, and -how, every time he read a verse, it opened a new idea. I thought it -would be that way with me; but it hasn’t been. I love the Bible; that -is, I love certain things which I find in it; but it doesn’t seem to me -as I thought it would. I can’t say that I love to study it; or, rather, -perhaps I might say I don’t know how to study it. I can memorize -verses, of course, and I do, somewhat, when I find one that pleases -me; but—well, I never told anyone about it, but it has disappointed me -a little.” - -_Now_ she had shocked Susan; anyway, she felt sure of it. She had -lived long enough, even now, with this plain, quiet sister, to have -discovered that the Bible was a great fountain of help to her. She -would not be able to understand why it was not the same to Ruth. -Neither did Ruth understand it; and, though perhaps she did not realize -even this, it was an undertone of longing to get at the secret of -the difference between them which prompted her words. But Susan only -smiled, in a quiet, unsurprised way, and said: - -“I understand you perfectly; I have been over the same ground.” - -“But you are not there, now?” - -“Oh, no, I am not.” - -“And you learned to love the Bible by studying it?” - -“Well, that was the means, of course; but my real help was the -revelation which God gave me of himself through the Spirit.” - -No face could look blanker and gloomier than Ruth’s. She was silent -for a few minutes, then she commenced again, her voice having taken on -a certain dogged resoluteness of tone as one who thought, “I _will_ say -it.” - -“I don’t know why I am talking in this way to you; it is not natural -for me to be communicative to any person; but I may as well tell you -that my religion has been a disappointment to me. It is not what I -thought it was. I expected to live such a different life from any -that I had lived before. I expected to be earnest, and successful, -and happy; and it seems to me that no way was ever more beset with -difficulties than mine has been. When I really wanted to do right, -and tried, I was apparently as powerless as though I didn’t care. I -expected to be unselfish, and I am just as selfish, so far as I can -see, as I ever was. I struggle with the feeling, and pray over it, but -it is there just the same. If for one half hour I succeed in overcoming -it, I find it present with me the next hour in stronger force than -before. It is all a disappointment. I knew the Christian life was a -warfare, but someway I expected more to it than there is; I expected -peace out of it, and I haven’t got it. I have had my seasons of -thinking the whole thing a delusion, so far as I was concerned; but I -can not believe that, because in some respects I feel a decided change. -I believe I belong to Christ; but I do so shrink from the struggles -and trials and disappointments of this world! I feel just as though I -wanted to shirk them all. Sometimes I think if He _only would_ take me -to heaven, where I could rest, I would be _so_ grateful and happy.” - -The hardness had gone out of her face now, and the tears were dropping -silently on her closed book. - -“Poor girl!” said Susan, tenderly. “Poor, tired heart. Don’t you think -that the Lord Jesus can rest you anywhere except by the way of the -grave? That is such a mistake, and I made it for so long that I know -all about it. Don’t you hear his voice calling to you to come and rest -in him this minute?” - -“I don’t understand you. I _am_ resting in him. That is, I feel sure at -times. I feel sure now that he has prepared a place in heaven for me, -and will take me there as he says. But I am so tired of the road; I -want to drop out from it now and be at rest.” - -“Haven’t you found his yoke easy and his burden light, then?” - -“No, I haven’t. I know it is my own fault; but that doesn’t alter the -fact or relieve the weariness.” - -“Then do you believe that he made a mistake when he said the yoke was -easy?” - -Ruth arrested her tears to look up in wonder. - -“Of course not,” she said, quickly. “I know it is owing to myself, but -I don’t know how to remedy it. There are those who find the statement -meets their experience, I don’t doubt, but it seems not to be for me.” - -“But, if that is so, don’t you think he ought to have said, ‘Some of -you will find the burden light, but others of you will have to struggle -and flounder in the dark?’ You know he hasn’t qualified it at all. He -said, ‘Come unto me and I will give you rest; take my yoke upon you, -for it is light.’ And he said it to all who are ‘heavy laden.’” - -“Well,” said Ruth, after a thoughtful pause, “I suppose that means his -promise to save the soul eternally. I believe he has done that for me.” - -“But is that all he is able or willing to do? If he can save the soul -eternally can not he give it peace and rest here?” - -“Why, of course he could, if it were his will; but I don’t know that he -has ever promised to do so.” - -“Don’t you? Do you suppose he who hates sin has made us so that we can -not keep from constantly grieving him by falling into sin, and has -promised us no help from the burden until we get to heaven? I don’t -think that would be entire salvation.” - -“What _do_ you mean?” Ruth asked, turning a full, wondering gaze on -her sister. “You surely don’t believe that people are perfect in this -world?” - -“Pass that thought, just now, will you? Let me illustrate what I mean. -I found my besetting sin to be to yield to constant fits of ill-temper. -It took almost nothing to rouse me, and the more I struggled and tossed -about in my effort to _grow_ better the worse it seemed to me I became. -If I was to depend on progressive goodness, as I supposed, when was I -to begin to grow _toward_ a better state; and when I succeeded should -I not really have accomplished my own rescue from sin? It troubled and -tormented me, and I did not gain until I discovered that there were -certain promises which, with conditions, meant me. For instance, there -was one person who, when I came in contact with her, invariably made -me angry. For months I never held a conversation with her that I did -not say words which seemed to me afterward to be very sinful, and which -angered her. This after I had prayed and struggled for self-control. -One day I came across the promise, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’ -Sufficient for what? I asked, and I stopped before the words as if they -had just been revealed. I found it to be unlimited as to quantity or -time. It did not say, ‘After you have done the best you can—struggled -for years and gained a little—then my grace shall be sufficient.’ -It did not say, ‘My grace is sufficient for the great and trying -experiences of this life, but not for the little every-day annoyances -and trials which tempt you—you must look out for yourself.’ It was -just an unlimited promise—‘My grace is sufficient—not for my saints, -for those who have been faithful and successful, but for _thee_.’ -Having made that discovery, and felt my need, I assure you I was not -long in claiming my rights. Now, I want to ask you what that promise -means?” - -“‘My grace is sufficient for thee,’” Ruth repeated, slowly, -thoughtfully. Then she paused, while Susan waited for the answer, which -came presently, low-toned and wondering. - -“I’m sure I don’t know. I read the verse only yesterday, but it didn’t -occur to me that it had any reference to _me_. I don’t know what I -thought about it.” - -“But what does it seem to you that it says? Christ meant something by -it, of course. What was it?” - -“I don’t know,” she said again, thoughtfully. “That is, why it _can’t_ -mean what it appears to, for then there would be nothing left to -struggle about.” - -“Well, has Christ ever told you to struggle? On the contrary, hasn’t he -told you to rest?” - -“It seems to me,” said Ruth, after revolving that thought, or some -other, in silence for several minutes—“it seems to me that one who -thought as you do about these things would be claiming perfection; and -if there is one doctrine above another that I despise it is just that. -I know one woman who is always talking about it, and claiming that she -hasn’t sinned in so many months, and all that nonsense; and really she -is the most disagreeable woman I ever met in my life.” - -“Look here,” said Susan. “Do you rely on the Lord Jesus for salvation? -That is, do you believe you are a sinner, and could do nothing for -yourself, and he just had to come and do it for you, and present your -claim to Heaven through himself?” - -“Why, of course there is no other way. I _know_ that I am a sinner; and -I know it is wonderful in him to have been willing to save me; but he -has.” - -“Well, now, aren’t you afraid to claim that, for fear people will think -that you saved yourself?” - -“I don’t understand,” Ruth said, gravely. - -“Don’t you? Why, you fear to claim Christ’s promise to you—that his -grace is _now_ sufficient for every demand that you choose to make on -it—for fear people will think you consider yourself perfect. Why should -they not, just as readily, think that because you relied on Christ for -final salvation therefore you relied on yourself?” - -“That is a foolish contradiction.” - -“Yes; isn’t the other?” - -“I never heard anybody talk as you do,” was Ruth’s answer. - -“I haven’t a different Bible from yours,” Susan said, smiling. “You -admit to me that the promise about which we are talking is in yours, -and you read it yesterday. What I wonder is, what you think it means.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -“THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY.” - - -THE last was but the beginning of many talks which those two sisters -held together concerning the meaning of the promises which Christ had -made to his children. During the time Ruth received and accepted some -new ideas; but it must be admitted that it was her intellect which -accepted them, rather than her heart. She acknowledged that the Lord -had plainly said his grace was sufficient for them, and that, having -been tempted, he was able to succor those who were tempted; and that -there should no temptation take his children except such as they were -able to bear, because the faithful God would provide a way of escape. -All these, I say, she admitted; they were plainly written in his word -and _must_ mean what they said. Still she went on, being tempted and -yielding to the temptation, struggling against the gloom and unrest -of her lot—struggling fiercely against the providence which had come -between her and the Father, whom she began to realize she had worshiped -rather than loved—struggling, fighting, baffled, wounded, defeated—only -to rise up and struggle afresh, all the while admitting with her clear -brain-power that he said: “As thy day, so shall thy strength be.” Why -did she not have the strength? She dimly questioned with herself, -occasionally, the why; she even deemed herself ill-treated because none -of the promised strength came to her; but she passed over the searching -question of the Lord to his waiting suppliant: “_Believe_ ye that I am -able to do this?” Had the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to Ruth in bodily -presence and asked her this question she realized afterward that she -would have been obliged to answer: “Oh, no, I don’t. You say you are -able, and you say you are willing, and I believe that the words are -yours, and that you have all power in heaven and earth, and yet—and -yet—I _don’t_ believe that you will do it for me.” To such strange and -unaccountable depths of absurdity does unbelief lead us! - -At last there came a day when Susan and she could not talk calmly -about these things or any other—could not talk at all—could only weep, -and wait, and kneel and dumbly pray, and then wait again, while life -and death struggled fiercely together for the victim up-stairs, and -it seemed that death would be the victor. Many days passed, and the -dead-weight of enforced endurance still held Ruth a prisoner, and still -she rebelled against the providence that had hemmed her in and shut -her away from her father; still she rebelled at the thought of the -nurse who bent over him in tireless watch, long before all attempts at -securing outside help had been abandoned, Dr. Bacon having expressed -himself more than satisfied. - -“Never a better nurse took hold of a case,” he said, emphatically, to -Ruth. “If your father recovers, and I can not help feeling hopeful, he -will owe it more to her care than to any other human effort. She seems -to know by instinct what and when and how, and I believe the woman -never sleeps at all. She is just as alert and active and determined -to-day as she was the first hour she went into his room, and the -vigil has been long and sharp. I tell you what, Miss Ruth, you begin -to understand, don’t you what this woman was raised up for? She was -planned for just such a time as this. No money would have bought such -nursing, and it has been a case in which nursing was two-thirds of it. -She ought to be a _professional_ nurse this minute. Shall I find a -place for her when her services are not needed here in that capacity -any longer? She could command grand wages.” - -The well-meaning doctor had essayed to bring a smile to Ruth’s wan -face; but it was made evident to him that he understood disease better -than he did human nature—at least the sort of human nature of which she -was composed. She drew herself up proudly, and her tone was unusually -and unnecessarily haughty as she said: - -“You forget, Dr. Bacon, that you are speaking of _Mrs. Erskine_.” - -Then the doctor shrugged his shoulders, and, with a half-muttered “I -beg pardon,” turned away. - -“More of an iceberg than ever,” he muttered, a little louder, as he -went down the hall. “I don’t know what Burnham is about, I am sure. I -hope it is the other one he means.” - -And then he slammed the door a little. He had left Ruth in a rage -with him and with events and with her own heart. She resented his -familiarity with the name which that woman bore, and she resented -the fact that she bore the name. She was bitterly jealous of Mrs. -Erskine’s position by that sick-bed. She did not believe in her nursing -abilities. She knew she was fussy and officious and ignorant, three -things that were horrible in a nurse. She knew her father must be a -daily sufferer because of this. She by no means saw “what that woman -was raised up for,” or why she should have been permitted to come in -contact with _her_. Every day she chafed more under it, and the process -made her grow hard and cold and silent to the woman’s daughter. So by -degrees the burden grew heavier, and Susan, feeling that no word of -hers could help, maintained at last a tender, patient silence, that to -Ruth’s sore, angered heart was in itself almost an added sting. - -It was in this spirit that they drew near to the hour when the question -of life and death would be determined. Ruth’s heart seemed like to -burst with the conflict raging in it—sorrow, anxiety, despair—she knew -not what to call the burden, but she knew it was a _burden_. She spent -hours in her own room, resenting all interruptions, resenting every -call from Susan to come down and take a little nourishment; even almost -disposed to resent the bulletins for which she waited breathlessly -as they were from time to time spoken through the keyhole in Susan’s -low-toned voice. “He is no worse than he was half an hour ago, Ruth;” -or, “The doctor thinks there must be a change before night;” or, “Dear -Ruth, he murmured your name a little while ago the doctor said.” - -Presently Ruth came out of her room and down to the library—came toward -Susan sitting in the little rocker with her Bible in her lap, and said, -speaking in a low tone so full of pent-up energy that in itself it was -startling: - -“Susan, if you know how to pray at all, kneel down now and pray for -_him_—I can’t. I have been trying for hours, and have forgotten how to -pray.” - -Without a word of reply Susan arose quickly and dropped on her knees, -Ruth kneeling beside her, and then the words of prayer which filled -that room indicated that one heart, at least, knew how to pray, and -felt the presence of the Comforter pervading her soul. Long they knelt -there, unwilling, it seemed, to rise, even after the audible prayer -ceased. And it was thus that Judge Burnham found them, as with light, -quick steps he crossed the hall in search of them, saying, as he -entered: - -“Courage, dear friends, the doctor believes that there is strong reason -now for hope.” - -The crisis passed, Judge Erskine rallied rapidly, much more rapidly -than those who had watched over him in the violence of his sickness had -deemed possible. And it came to pass that, after a few more tedious -days of waiting, his room was opened once more to the presence of his -daughter. Fully as she had supposed that she realized his illness, she -was unprepared for the change which it had wrought, and could hardly -suppress a cry of dismay as she bent over him. Long afterward she -wondered at herself as she recalled the fact that her first startled -rebellious thought had been that there was not such a striking contrast -now between him and his wife. - -There was another disappointment in store for her. She had looked -forward to the time when she might reign in that sick-room—might become -her father’s sole nurse in his convalescence, and succeed in banishing -from his presence that which must have become so unendurable. She -discovered that it was a difficult thing to banish a wife from her -husband’s sick-room. Mrs. Erskine was, apparently, serenely unconscious -that her presence was undesired by Ruth. She came and went freely; was -cheery and loquacious, as usual; discoursed on the dangers through -which Judge Erskine had passed, and reiterated the fact that it was a -mercy she didn’t take the disease, until, actually, Ruth was unable -to feel that even this was a mercy! There was a bitterer side to it. -Her father had changed in more ways than one. It appeared that his -daughter’s unavailing grief for him, in becoming the victim of such -a nurse, was all wasted pity. He had not felt it an infliction. His -voice had taken a gentle tone, in which there was almost tenderness, -when he spoke to her. His eyes followed her movements with an -unmistakable air of restfulness. He smiled on his daughter; but he -asked his wife to raise his head and arrange his pillow. How was this -to be accounted for? How could a few short weeks so change his feelings -and tastes? - -“She _is_ a born nurse,” Ruth admitted, looking on, and watching the -cheery skill with which she made all things comfortable. “Who would -have supposed that she could be other than fussy? Well, all persons -have their mission. If she could have filled the place of a good, -cheerful, hospital nurse, how I should have liked her, and how grateful -I should feel to her now!” And then she shuddered over the feeling -that she did not now feel toward her an atom of gratitude! She looked -forward to a moment when she could be left alone with her father. Of -course he was grateful to this woman. His nature was higher than hers. -Beside, he knew what she had done, and borne for him, here in this -sick-room. Of course he felt it, and was so thoroughly a gentleman -that he would show her, by look and action, that he appreciated it; -but, could his daughter once have him to herself for a little while, -what a relief and comfort it would doubtless be to him. Even over this -thought she chafed. If this woman _only_ held the position in the house -which would make it proper for her to say, “You may leave us alone -now, for awhile. My father and I wish to talk; I will ring when you -are needed”—with what gracious and grateful smiles she could have said -those words! As it was, she planned. - -“Don’t you think it would be well for you to go to another room, and -try to get some rest?” - -“Yes,” said Judge Erskine, turning his head, and looking earnestly at -her; “if any human being ever needed rest, away from this scene of -confusion, I think you must.” - -“Bless your heart, child” (with a good-natured little laugh)! “I’ve -rested ever so much. When you get used to it, you can sleep standing -up, with a bowl of gruel in one hand, and a bottle of hot water in -the other, ready for action. Just as soon as the anxiety was off, I -got rest; and, while I was anxious, you know, I lived on that—does -about as well as sleep for keeping up strength; I guess you tried it -yourself, by the looks of your white cheeks and great big eyes! Land -alive! I never see them look so big; did you, Judge? But Susan says -you behaved like a soldier. Well, I knew you would. I says, to myself, -says I, ‘She is made of the stuff that will bear it, and do her best;’ -and it give me strength to do my best for your pa, ’cause I knew you -was depending on me. Says I, ‘I’ve got two sides to this responsibility -now; there’s the Judge, lying helpless, and knowing that every single -thing that’s done for him, for the next month or so, must come through -me; and there’s his daughter down-stairs, trusting to me to bring him -through;’ and I did my level best.” - -And then Ruth shuddered. It was impossible for her to feel anything but -repulsion. - -At last Susan—wise-hearted Susan—came to her rescue. She had imperative -need for “mother” in the kitchen, for a few minutes. Ruth watched -eagerly, as she waddled away, until the door closed after her, then -turned with hungry eyes toward her father, ready to pour out her -pent-up soul, as she never had done before. His eyes were turned toward -the door, and he said, as the retreating footsteps were lost to them: - -“If you have joy in your heart, daughter—as I know you have—for the -restoration of your father, you owe it, under God, to that woman. I -never even imagined anything like the utter self-abnegation that she -showed. Disease, in its most repulsive, most loathsome form, held me -in its grasp, until I know well I looked less like a human being than -I did like some hideous wild animal. Why, I have seen even the doctor -start back, overcome, for a moment, by the sight! But she never started -back, nor faltered, in her patient, persistent, tender care, through it -all. We both owe her our gratitude and our love, my daughter.” - -Do you know Ruth well enough to understand that she poured out no -pent-up tide of tenderness upon her father, after that? She retired -into her old silent self, to such a degree that the father looked at -her wonderingly, at first, then half wearily, and turned his head and -closed his eyes, that he might rest, since she had nothing to say to -him. - -It was two or three days afterward that she tried again. In the -meantime, she had chided herself sharply for her folly. Why had she -allowed herself to be so cold—so apparently heartless—when her heart -was so full of love? Was she really so demoralized, she asked herself, -that she would have her father other than grateful for the care which -had been bestowed? Of _course_ he was grateful, and of course he -desired to show it, as any noble nature should. After all, what had he -said but that they both owed her a debt of gratitude and love? - -“So we do,” said Ruth, sturdily. “I should love a dog who had been kind -to him.” And then she suppressed an almost groan over the startling -thought that, if this woman had been _only a dog_, she could have loved! - -But she was left alone with her father again. He had advanced to the -sitting-up stage, and she was to sit with him and amuse him, while Mrs. -Erskine attended to some outside matter, Ruth neither knew nor cared -what, so that she went away. She was tender and thoughtful, shading -her father’s weakened eyes from the light, picking up his dropped -handkerchief, doing a dozen little nothings for him, and occasionally -speaking some tender word. He was not disposed to talk much beyond -asking a few general questions as to what had transpired during his -absence from the world. Then, presently, he broke an interval of -silence, during which he had sat with closed eyes, by asking: - -“Where is Susan?” - -“Susan!” his daughter repeated, half startled. “Why, she is in the -kitchen, I presume; she generally is, at this hour of the morning. She -has had to be housekeeper and cook and I hardly know what not, during -these queer days. She has filled all the posts splendidly! I don’t know -what you would have eaten but for her.” - -Here Ruth paused a moment, to be gratified over her own advance in -goodness. At least she could speak freely, and in praise of Susan. Then -she said: - -“Do you want anything, father, that Susan can get for you?” - -He unclosed his eyes, and looked at her with a full, meaning smile, as -he said, slowly: - -“I was not thinking of _that_ Susan, my dear; I meant my wife. You may -call her, if you will; I feel somewhat tired, and she knows just how to -fix me for rest.” - -Imagine Ruth Erskine going down the hall, down the stairs, through -the library, out through the back hall, away to the linen-closet, and -saying, to Mrs. Judge Erskine, in a low tone: - -“Father wants you, ma’am!” - -“Bless his heart!” said Mrs. Erskine, dropping the pile of fresh linen -she was fumbling in. “I hope he hasn’t been fretty ’cause I staid so -long!” - -Then she fled up the stairs. - -Well, you are not very well versed in the knowledge of the depths of -the human heart, if you need to be told that this last experience was -the bitterest drop in Ruth’s cup of trouble. Hitherto it had been her -father and herself, bearing together a common trial. Now she felt -that, someway, she had lost her father, and gained nothing—rather, -_lost_—that she had sunken in her own estimation, and that she was -alone! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -RESTS. - - -IT took some time for the Erskines to find their way back into the -world—rather it took the world many weeks to be willing to receive -them. What was reasonable caution at first became not only annoying -but ludicrous, as the weeks went by, and common-sense suggested that -all possibility of danger from contact with them was past; there were -those who _could not_ believe that it would ever be safe to call on -them again. Ruth, on her part did not worry over this, but suggested, -coldly, that it would be an almost infinite relief if two-thirds of -their calling acquaintances would continue frightened for the rest of -their lives. - -In the domestic world it made more trouble. Servants—an army of -them—who were marshaled to and from intelligence offices, looked -askance at the doors and windows, as if they half expected the demon of -small-pox to take visible shape and pounce upon them, and it was found -to be only the worst and most hopeless characters who had ventured into -doubtful quarters, so that for days Susan was engaged in well-managed -skirmishes between girls who professed everything and knew nothing. - -Ruth had long before retired, vanquished from this portion of the -field, and agreed that her forte did not lie in that direction. “I -haven’t the least idea where it lies,” she said aloud, and gloomily. -But she was in her own room, and the door was locked, and there was -no other listener than the window-light, against which her brown head -wearily leaned. She had not yet reached the point where she was willing -to confess her disappointment at life to anybody else, but in truth -it seemed that the world was too small for her. She was not needed -at home, nor elsewhere, so far as she could see. Her father, as he -relapsed into old duties, did not seek his former confidential footing -with her; indeed, he seemed rather to avoid it, as one who might fear -lest his own peace would be shaken. So Ruth thought at first, but one -little private talk with him had dispelled the probability of that. - -“I want to tell you something, daughter,” he had said to her when -they were left alone in the library, the first day of his return to -office-life. “At least I owe it to you to tell you something. I waited -until I had really gotten back into the work-a-day world again, because -of a half recognized fear which I see now was cowardly and faithless, -that old scenes would recall old feelings. I had an experience, my -daughter, during those first few days when the Lord shut me out from -you all. My Christian faith did not sustain me as it ought to have -done. I mean by that, that it was not the sort of faith which it ought -to have been. I rebelled at the fierceness of the fire in which I -had been placed. I felt that I could not bear it; that it was cruel -and bitter. Most of all, I rebelled at the presence of my wife. I -felt that it was too much to be shut away from everything that life -holds dear, and to be shut up with that which had hitherto made life -miserable. I can not tell you of the struggle, of the hopeless beatings -of my bruised head against the bars of its cage. It almost unmans me -even to think of those hours.” And Judge Erskine paused and wiped the -perspiration from his forehead. “I will just hurry over the details,” -he said at last. “There came an hour when I began to dimly comprehend -that my Redeemer was only answering some of the agonizing prayers that -I had of late been constantly putting up to him. I had prayed, Ruth, -for strength to do my whole duty, and in order to do it I plainly -saw that I must feel differently from what I had been feeling; that -I must get over this shrinking from a relation which I deliberately -brought upon myself, and one which I was bound, by solemn covenant, to -sustain. I must have help; I must submit, not only, but I must learn -to be pitiful toward, and patient with, and yet how _could_ I? Christ -showed me how. He let me see such a revelation of my own selfishness, -and hardness, and pride, as made me abhor myself in ‘dust and ashes,’ -and then he let me see such a revelation of human patience, and -tenderness, and self-abnegation, as filled me with gratitude and -respect. Ruth, he has given me much more than I asked. I prayed for -patience and tenderness and he gave me not only those, but such a -feeling of respect for one who could so entirely forget herself, and do -for another what my wife did for me, that I feel able to cherish her -all the rest of my life. In short, daughter, I feel that I could take -even the vows of the marriage-covenant upon my lips now, and mean them -in all simplicity and singleness of heart. And having taken them long -ago I ratify them now, and mean to live by them as long as life lasts -to us both, so help me God. In all this I do not forget the sin, nor -the suffering which that sin has entailed upon you, my dear, precious -daughter, but I feel that I must do what I can to atone for it, and -that shirking my duty, as I have been doing in the past, does not help -you to bear your part. I know you have forgiven me, Ruth, and I know -that God has. He has done more than that. In his infinite love and -compassion he has made the cross a comfort. And now, daughter, I never -wish to speak of this matter again. You asked me, once, if I wished -you to call her mother. I have no desire to force your lips to what -they do not mean, nor to oblige you to bear any more cross for your -father, than the sin has, in itself, laid upon you, but if, at any time -in your future life, you feel that you care to say, ‘Mother,’ it will -be a pleasant sound to my ears.” - -Ruth reflected, afterward, with a sense of thankfulness, that she had -grace enough left to bend forward and kiss her father’s white forehead, -and pass her hand tenderly over the moist locks of gray hair above his -temples. Then she went out and went away. She could have spoken no word -just then. She was struggling with two conflicting feelings. In her -soul she was glad for her father; that he had got help, and that his -heavy cross was growing into peace. But all the same—she felt now, and -felt with a dull aching at her heart which refused to be comforted, -that she herself had not found peace in it; that it was, if anything, -more bitter than ever, and that she had lost her father. Is it any -wonder that life to her stretched out gloomily? - -Many changes had taken place during their enforced exile from the -world. Eurie Mitchell had married and gone, and Flossy Shipley had -married and gone, both of them to new homes and new friends, and both -of them had, by their departure, made great gulfs in Ruth’s life. They -had written her characteristic notes along with their wedding cards. -Eurie’s ran thus: - - “_Dear Ruth_—I fancy you bearing it like a martyr, - as I know you can. I always said you would make - a magnificent martyr, but I am so sorry that the - experiment has come in such a shape that we can’t look - on and watch its becomingness. Also, I am very sorry - that you can not be present to see me ‘stand up in the - great big church without any bonnet!’ which is the way - in which our baby characterizes the ceremony. In fact, - I am almost as sorry about that as I am that father - should have been out of town during the first few days - of Judge Erskine’s illness, and so given that Dr. - Bacon a chance to be installed. Father doesn’t happen - to agree with him on some points, and the care of - small-pox patients is one thing in which they totally - differ. However, your father is going on finely, so - far, I hear, and you know, my dear, that Dr. Bacon - _is very_ celebrated; so be as brave as you can and it - will all come out right, I dare say. In fact we _know_ - it will. Isn’t that a comfort? There are ever so many - things that I might say if I could, but you know I was - never able to put my heart on paper. So imagine some - of the heart-thoughts which beat for you, while I sign - myself for the last time, - - “EURIE MITCHELL.” - -Ruth laughed over this note. “It is so exactly like her,” she murmured. -“I wonder if she will ever tone down?” - -Flossy’s was smaller, daintier, delicately perfumed with the faintest -touch of violets, and read: - - “_Dear, Precious Friend_—‘The eternal God is thy - refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.’ How - safe you are! ‘Oh, thou afflicted, tossed with tempest - and not comforted! Behold, I will lay thy stones with - fair colors; with everlasting kindness will I have - mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thy Redeemer.’ Blessed - Jesus, do for Ruth ‘As thou hast said.’ This is Flossy - Shipley’s prayer for her dear friend, whom she will - love and cherish forever.” - -Over this note Ruth shed hot tears. She was touched and comforted and -saddened; she realized more than ever before what a spiritual loss -Flossy’s going was to be to her, and she did not come closer to the One -who would have made amends for all losses. - -Perhaps she had never felt the dreariness of her existence more than -she did on a certain evening, some weeks after the household had -settled into its accustomed routine of life, which was like and yet -utterly unlike what that life had been before the invasion of disease. - -It was dark outside, and the rain was falling heavily; there was little -chance of relief from monotony by the arrival of guests. Ruth wandered -aimlessly through the library in search of a book that she felt willing -to read, and, finding none, turned at last to the sitting-room, where -Judge Erskine and his wife were sitting. Secure in the prospect of -rain, and therefore seclusion, he had arrayed himself in dressing-gown -and slippers, and was resting his scarred, seamed face among the -cushions of the easy-chair, enjoying a luxury, which was none other -than that of having his gray hair carefully and steadily brushed, the -brush passing with the regularity of a sentinel on its slow, soothing -track, guided by his wife’s hand, while Judge Erskine’s face bore -unmistakable signs of reposeful rest. There was that in the scene which -irritated Ruth almost beyond control. She passed quickly through the -room, into the most remote corner of the alcove, which was curtained -off from the main room, and afforded a retreat for the piano, and a -pretext for any one who desired to use it and be alone. It was not -that _she_ had ever waited thus upon her father; she had never thought -of approaching him in this familiar way. Even had she dared to do so, -their make-up was, after all, so utterly dissimilar that, what was -evidently a sedative to him, would have driven his daughter fairly -wild. To have any one, however dear and familiar, touch her hair, -draw a brush through it, would have irritated her nerves in her best -days. She thought of it then, as she sat down in the first seat that -she reached, after the friendly crimson curtains hid her from those -two—sat with her chin resting in her two listless hands, and tried to -wonder what she should do if she were forced to lie among the cushions -of that easy-chair in there, and have _that_ woman brush her hair. - -“I should choke her, I know I should!” she said, with sudden -fierceness; and then, with scarcely less fierceness of tone and manner -added: “I hope it will never be my awful fate to have to be taken care -of by her, or to have to endure the sight of her presence about any one -I love. Oh, what is the matter with me! I grow wicked every hour. What -_will_ become of me?” - -After all, there were those who were not afraid of the rain, and were -not to be kept from their purposes by it. Ruth listened indifferently -at first, then with a touch of eagerness, to the sound of the bell, -and the tones in the hall, and then to the sound of Judge Burnham’s -step as he was being shown to the sitting-room. The new help had been -in the house just long enough to discover that he was a privileged and -unceremonious guest. - -“Ah!” he said, pausing in the doorway “Am I disturbing? Sick to-night, -Judge?” - -“Come in,” said Judge Erskine’s hearty voice. “No, I am not sick, only -dreadfully lazy and being petted. When I was a boy, and mother used -to brush my hair, nothing soothed and rested me so much, and I find I -haven’t lost the old habit. Have a chair, and tell us the evening news. -I haven’t been out of the house since dinner.” - -“Nothing specially new,” said Judge Burnham, dropping into an -easy-chair and looking around him inquiringly. “Where are the ladies?” - -“Why,” said Mrs. Erskine, brushing away steadily, “Susan is in the -kitchen; she mostly is these days. Such a time as we are having with -servants; I wonder she don’t get sick of the whole set and tell them -to tramp. Just now, though, she has got hold of one who seems willing -enough to learn; and Susan heard her pa say this noon that he believed -he would like some muffins once more, so she is down there trying to -teach Mollie about setting muffins, and beating of it into her to let -them alone in the morning till _she_ gets down to ’tend to them.” - -“Why,” said Judge Erskine, in a tone of tenderness that jarred Ruth’s -ears, “I wonder if she is attending to that? What a child she is! She -will wear herself out waiting on me.” - -“There ain’t a selfish streak about her,” Mrs. Erskine said, -complacently “nor never was. But la! you needn’t fret about her, -Judge; she loves to do it. She went down in the first place to ’tend -to that, but she has got another string to her bow now; she found out -that Mollie didn’t know how to read writing, and had a letter from her -mother that she couldn’t make out, so Susan read it to her, and the -next thing was to write her an answer, and she is at that now.” - -“And where is Miss Ruth?” questioned Judge Burnham, the instant this -long sentence was concluded. - -“Why, she is moping—that’s the best name I know for it. She is back -there in the alcove. I thought she went to play, but she hasn’t played -a note. That child needs a change. I’m just that worried about her that -her white face haunts me nights when I’m trying to sleep. She has -had an awful hard siege; her pa so sick, and she obliged to keep away -from him, and not being sure whether I knew more than a turnip about -taking care of him—I wonder how she stood it. And I’m just afraid she -will break down yet. She needs something to rest her up and give her -some color in her cheeks. I keep telling her pa that he ought to do -something.” - -“Suppose I go and help her mope,” Judge Burnham said, rising in the -midst of a flow of words, and speedily making his way behind the red -curtains. - -He came over to Ruth, holding out both hands to greet her. - -“How do you do?” he said, and there was tender inquiry in the tone. -“You didn’t know I was in town, did you? I came two days sooner than I -had hoped.” - -“I didn’t know you were out of town,” said Ruth. “I thought you had -deserted us like the rest of our friends.” - -“So you didn’t get my note?” he asked, looking blank. “Well, never -mind; it was merely an explanation of an absence which I hoped you -might notice. Mrs. Erskine says you are moping, Ruth. Is it true? She -says you need a change and something to rest you up. I wish you would -let me give you a change. Don’t you think you could?” - -“A change!” Ruth repeated, with a little laugh, and there was color -enough in her cheeks just then. - -“Why should _I_ need a change? What do you mean?” - -“I mean a great deal. I want to give you such a change as will affect -all your future life and mine. I would like to have you change name -and home. Oh, Ruth, I would like to devote my life to the business of -‘resting you up.’ Don’t you believe I can do it?” - -Now, I am sure there is no need for me to give you Ruth Erskine’s -answer. You probably understand what it was. Unless I am mistaken, you -understand her better than she did herself. Up to this very moment she -actually had not realized what made up the bulk of her unrest this -week. No, not the bulk either; there were graver questions even than -this one which might well disturb her, but she had not understood her -own footing with Judge Burnham, nor had scarcely a conception of his -feelings toward her. - -The low murmur of talk went on, after a little, behind the red -curtains, and continued long after Judge Erskine and his wife went -up-stairs. Just as he was turning out the gas in their dressing-room, -that gentleman said: - -“Unless I am mistaken, Judge Burnham would like to give Ruth a decided -change.” - -“Land alive!” said Mrs. Erskine, taking in his meaning, after a little, -“I declare, now you speak of it, I shouldn’t wonder if he did.” Then -she added, kindly, genuinely: “And I’m sure I hope it’s true; I tell -you that child needs resting up.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -SHADOWED JOYS. - - -ONE of the first experiences connected with Ruth’s new life was a -surprise and a trial. She did not act in the matter as almost any other -young lady would have done. Indeed, perhaps, you do not need to be -told that it was not her _nature_ to act as most others would in like -circumstances. She kept the story an entire secret with her own heart. -Not even her father suspected that matters were settled; perhaps, -though, this last is to be accounted for by the fact that Judge Burnham -went away, again on business, by the early train the morning after -he had arranged for Ruth’s change of home and name, and did not -return again for a week. During that week, as I say, Ruth hugged her -new joy and kept her own counsel. Yet it was _joy_. Her heart was in -this matter. Strangely enough it had been a surprise to her. She had -understood Judge Burnham much less than others, looking on, had done, -and so gradual and subtle had been the change in her own feeling from -almost dislike to simple indifference, and from thence to quickened -pulse and added interest in life at his approach, that she had not in -the remotest sense realized the place which he held in her heart until -his own words revealed it to her. That she liked him better than any -other person, she began to know; but when she thought about it at all -it seemed a most natural thing that she should. It was not saying a -great deal, she told herself, for she really liked very few persons, -and there had never been one so exceptionally kind and unselfish and -patient. What should she do but like him? Sure enough! And yet, when -he asked her to be his wife, it was as complete a surprise as human -experiences could ever have for her. Desolate, afflicted, deserted, as -she felt, it is no wonder that the revelation of another’s absorbed -interest in her filled her heart. - -As I say, then, she lived it alone for one delightful week. It was the -afternoon of the day on which she expected Judge Burnham’s return, and -she knew that his first step would be an interview with her father. -She determined to be herself the bearer of the news to Susan. During -this last week, whenever she thought of her sister, it had been a -tender feeling of gratitude for all the quiet, unobtrusive help and -kindness that she had shown since she first came into the family. -Ruth determined to show that she reposed confidence in her, and for -this purpose sought her room, ostensibly on some trivial errand, then -lingered and looked at a book that lay open, face downward, as if to -keep the place, on Susan’s little table. Susan herself was arranging -her hair over at the dressing bureau. Ruth never forgot any of the -details of this afternoon scene. She took up the little book and read -the title, “The Rest of Faith.” It had a pleasant sound. _Rest_ of any -sort sounded pleasantly to Ruth. She saw that it was a religious book, -and she dimly resolved that some other time, when she felt quieter, -had less important plans to carry out, she would read this book, look -more closely into this matter, and find, if she could, what it was -that made the difference between Susan’s experience and her own. That -there was a difference was _so_ evident; and yet, without realizing it, -Ruth’s happiness of the last few days was making her satisfied with her -present attainments spiritually. No, not exactly satisfied, but willing -to put the matter aside for a more convenient season. - -“I have something to tell you that I think you will be interested to -hear,” she said, at last, still turning the leaves of the little book, -and feeling more embarrassed than she had supposed it possible for -_her_ to feel. - -“Have you?” said Susan, brightly. “Good! I like to hear new things, -especially when they have to do with my friends.” And there was that in -her tone which made her sister understand that she desired to convey -the thought that she felt close to Ruth, and wanted to be held in dear -relations. For the first time in her life Ruth was conscious of being -willing. - -“Judge Burnham is to return to-day.” - -“Yes, I heard you speaking of it.” - -There was wonderment in Susan’s tone, almost as well as words could -have done. It said: “What is there specially interesting in that?” - -“Do you feel ready to receive him in a new relation?” Ruth asked, and -she was vexed to feel the blood surging into her cheeks. “I think he -has a desire to be very brotherly.” - -“Oh, Ruth!” - -There was no mistaking Susan’s tone this time. She had turned from -the mirror and was surveying her sister with unmistakably mournful -eyes, and there was astonished sorrow in her tones. What could be the -trouble! Whatever it was Ruth resented it. - -“Well,” she said haughtily, “I seem to have disturbed as well as -surprised you. I was not aware that the news would be disagreeable.” - -“I beg your pardon, Ruth. I _am_ very much surprised. I had not -supposed such a thing possible.” - -“Why, pray?” - -“Why, Ruth, dear, he is not a Christian?” - -It would be impossible to describe to you the consternation in Susan’s -face and voice, and the astonishment in Ruth’s. - -“Well,” she said again, “it is surely not the first time you were -conscious of that fact. He will be in no more danger in that respect -with me for a wife. At least I trust he will not.” - -Susan had no answer to make to this strange sentence. She stood, brush -in hand, gazing bewilderingly at Ruth’s face for a moment. Then, -recollecting herself, turned toward the mirror again, with the simple -repeatal: - -“I beg your pardon. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.” - -As for Ruth, it would have been difficult for her to analyze her -feelings. _Were_ they hurt? Was she angry? If so, at what or whom? Her -heart felt in a tumult. - -Now, I want you to understand that, strange as it may appear, this -was a new question to her. That Judge Burnham was not a Christian man -she knew, and regretted. But, that it should affect her answer to his -question was a thought which had not once presented itself. She turned -and went out from that room without another word, and feeling that she -never wanted to say any more words to that girl. - -“It is no use,” she said, aloud and angrily. “We can never be anything -to each other, and it is folly to try. We are set in different molds. -I no sooner try to make a friend and confidant of her than some of her -tiresome notions crop out and destroy it all.” - -She knew that all this was nonsense. She knew it was the working of -conscience on her own heart that was at this moment making her angry; -and yet she found the same relief which possibly you and I have felt in -blaming somebody for something, aloud, even while our hearts gainsayed -our words. - -It is not my purpose to linger over this part of Ruth Erskine’s -history. The time has come to go on to other scenes. But in this -chapter I want to bridge the way, by a word or two of explanation, -so that you may the better understand Ruth’s mood, and the governing -principle of her actions, in the days that followed. - -By degrees she came to a quieter state of mind—not, however, until the -formalities of the new relation were arranged, and Judge Burnham had -become practically almost one of the family. She grew to realizing that -it was a strange, perhaps an unaccountable thing that she, a Christian, -should have chosen for her life-long friend and hourly companion -one who was really hardly a believer in the Christ to whom she had -given herself. She grew to feeling that if this thought had come -first, before that promise was made, perhaps she ought to have made a -different answer. But I shall have to confess that she drew in with -this thought a long breath of relief as she told herself it was settled -_now_. There was no escape from promises as solemn as those which had -passed between them; that such covenants were, doubtless, in God’s -sight, as sacred as the marriage relation itself, and she was glad, to -the depths of her soul, that she believed this reasoning to be correct. - -At the same time there was a curious sensation of aversion toward the -one who had, as it seemed to her, rudely disturbed the first flush of -her happiness. The glamour was gone from it all. Henceforth a dull -pain, a sense of want, a questioning as to whether she was just where -she should be, came in with all the enjoyment and she struggled -with the temptation to feel vindictive toward this disturber of her -peace. Besides this, she confided to Judge Burnham the fact that Susan -thought she was doing wrong in engaging herself to a man who was not a -Christian; and, while he affected to laugh over it good-naturedly, as a -bit of fanaticism which would harm no one, and which was the result of -her narrow-minded life hitherto, it meant more than that to him—jarred -upon him—and Ruth could see that it did. It affected, perhaps -insensibly, his manner toward the offending party. He was not as -“brotherly” as he had designed being; and altogether, Susan, since the -change was to come, did not regret that Judge Burnham’s disposition was -to hurry it with all possible speed. Life was less pleasant to her now -than it had been any time since her entrance into this distinguished -family. The pleasant little blossom of tenderness which had seemed -to be about to make itself fragrant for her sister and herself had -received a rude blast, and was likely to die outright. - -During the weeks that followed there were other developments which -served to startle Ruth as hardly anything had done hitherto. They can -best be explained by giving you the substance of a conversation between -Judge Burnham and herself. - -“I ought to tell you something,” he said, and the brief sentence was -preceded and followed by a pause of such length, and by such evident -embarrassment, that Ruth’s laugh had a tinge of wonder in it, as she -said, “Then, by all means I hope you will do so.” - -“I suppose it is not altogether new to you?” he said, inquiringly. -“Your father has doubtless told you somewhat of my past life.” - -She shook her head. “Absolutely nothing, save that you were, like -himself, a lawyer, resident in the city during term-time, and having -a country-seat somewhere. He didn’t seem to be very clear as to that. -Where is it? I think I shall be glad to live in the country. I never -tried it, but I have an idea that it must be delightful to get away -from the tumult of the city. Do you enjoy it?” - -Judge Burnham’s unaccountable embarrassment increased. “You wouldn’t -like _my_ country-seat,” he said decidedly. “I never mean you to see -it, if it can be helped. There is a long story connected with it, and -with that part of my life. I am sorry that it is entirely new to you; -the affair will be more difficult for you to comprehend. May I ask you -if you mean you are _utterly_ ignorant of my early life? Is it unknown -to you that I have once been a married man?” - -There was no mistaking the start and the flush of surprise, if it was -no deeper feeling, that Ruth exhibited. But she answered quietly enough: - -“I am entirely ignorant of your past history, viewed in any phase.” - -Judge Burnham drew a heavy sigh. - -“I said the story was a long one, but I can make it very brief.” He -began: “You know that a life-time of joy, or misery can be expressed -in one sentence. Well, I married when I was a boy; married in haste -and repented at leisure, as many a boy has. My wife died when we had -been living together for five years, and I have two daughters. They are -almost women, I suppose, now. The oldest is seventeen, and they live at -the place which you call my country-seat. Now, these are the headlines -of the story. Perhaps you could imagine the rest better than I can tell -you. The filling out would take hours, and would be disagreeable both -to you and to me. I trust you will let me relieve you from the trial -of hearing. There is one thing I specially desire to say to you before -this conversation proceeds further: that is, I supposed, of course, you -were familiar with these outlines, at least so far as my marriage is -concerned, else I should have told you long ago. I have not meant to -take any unfair advantage of you. I had not an idea that I was doing -so.” - -“Does my father know that you have daughters?” This was Ruth’s -question, and her voice, low and constrained, sounded so strangely to -herself that she remembered noticing it even then. - -“I do not know. It is more than probable that he does not. Indeed, -I am not sure that any acquaintance of mine in the city knows this -part of my history. My married life was isolated from them all. I -have not attempted to conceal it, and, at the same time, I have made -no effort to tell it. I am painfully conscious of how all this must -look to you, yet I know you will believe that I intended no deception. -With regard to the—to my daughters, my professional life has kept me -from them almost constantly, so that no idea of _our_ home—yours and -mine—is associated with them. I have no intention of burying you in the -country, and indeed my errand here at this hour was to talk with you in -regard to the merits of two hotels, at either of which we can secure -desirable rooms.” - -He hurried over this part of his sentence in a nervous way, as one -who was trying, by a rapid change of subject, to turn the current of -thought. Ruth brought him back to it with a question which stabbed him. - -“But, Judge Burnham, what sort of a father can you have been all these -years?” He flushed and paled under it, and under the steadiness of her -gaze. - -“I—I have hardly deserved the name of father, I suppose, and yet in -some respects I have tried to do what it seemed to me I could. Ruth, -you don’t understand the situation. You think you do, and it looks -badly to you, but there are circumstances which make it a peculiarly -trying one. However, they are not circumstances which need to touch -_you_. I meant and I mean to shield you from all these trials. I asked -you to be, not my housekeeper, not a care-taker of two girls who would -be utterly uncongenial to you, but my _wife_, and—” - -She interrupted him. “And do you suppose, Judge Burnham, that you and I -can settle down to a life together of selfish enjoyment in each others’ -society, ignoring the claims which your children have on you, and -which, assuredly, if I become your wife, they _will have_ on me? Could -you respect me if I were willing to do so?” - -It was clear that Judge Burnham was utterly confounded. He arose and -stood confronting her, for she had risen to draw aside a fire-screen, -and had not, in speaking, resumed her seat. “You do not understand,” -he muttered, at last. “I have meant nothing wrong. I provide for them, -and am willing to do so. I see that they are taken care of; I do not -propose to desert them, but it would be simply preposterous to think of -burying you up there in the country with that sort of companionship! -You do not know what you are talking about. I have never for a moment, -thought of such a thing.” - -“Then it is clearly time to think. If I do not understand _you_, Judge -Burnham, neither do you understand me. My life has been anything but -a perfect one, or a happy one. I have gone so far wrong myself that -it ill becomes me to find fault with others. But there is one thing I -will never do. I will never come between a father and his children, -separating them from the place which they ought to have beside him. -_Never!_” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -DUTY’S BURDEN. - - -BY degrees Judge Burnham began to understand the woman whom he had -chosen for his wife. Hitherto he had been in the habit of being -governed by his own will, of bending forces to his strong purposes. -Those occasional characters with whom he came in contact, who refused -to be molded by him, he had good-naturedly let alone, crossing their -path as little as possible, and teaching himself to believe that they -were not worth managing, which was the sole reason why he did not -manage them. But Ruth Erskine was a new experience—she _would do_ what -she believed to be the right thing; and she _would not_ yield her -convictions to be governed by his judgment. He could not manage _her_, -and he had no wish to desert her. Clearly one of them must yield. The -entire affair served to keep him in a perturbed state of mind. - -Ruth grew more settled. Weeks went by, and her decisions were made, her -plans formed, and she walked steadily toward their accomplishment. Not -realizing it herself, she was yet engaged in making a compromise with -her conscience. She believed herself, perhaps, to have done wrong in -promising to become the wife of a man who ignored the principle which -governed her life. She would not give back that promise, but she would -make the life one of self-abnegation, instead of—what for one brief -week it had seemed to her—a resting place, full of light. She would be -his wife, but she would also be the mother of his daughters; she would -live with them, for them; give up her plans, her tastes, her pursuits, -for their sake. In short, she would assume the martyr’s garb in good -earnest now, and wear it for a lifetime. The more repulsive this course -seemed to her—and it grew very repulsive indeed—the more steadily she -clung to it; and it was not obstinacy, you are to understand. It will -do for such as Judge Burnham to call such resolves by that name; but -you should know that Ruth Erskine was all the time governed by a solemn -sense of duty. It was _cross_, hard, cold, unlightened by any gleams of -peace; but for all that it started in a sense of _duty_. - -By degrees the “long story,” much of it, came to light—rather was -dragged to light—by a persistent method of cross-questioning which -drove Judge Burnham to the very verge of desperation. - -“Judge Burnham,” she would begin, “how have your daughters been cared -for all these years?” - -“Why,” he said, wriggling and trying to get away from his own sense of -degradation, “they had good care; at least I supposed it was. During -their childhood their mother’s sister lived there, and took the sole -charge of them. She was a kind-hearted woman enough, and did her duty -by them.” - -“But she died, you told me, when they were still children.” - -“Yes, that was when I was abroad. You see when I went I expected to -return in a year at most, but I staid on, following one perplexing -tangle after another in connection with my business affairs, until -four or five years slipped away. Meantime their aunt died, and the old -housekeeper, who had lived with their family since the last century -sometime, took her place, and managed for them as well as she could. I -didn’t realize how things were going. I imagined everything would come -out right, you know.” - -“I don’t see how they could,” Ruth said, coldly, and Judge Burnham -answered nothing. - -“Didn’t they attend school?” - -“Why, yes, they went to the country school out there, you know, when -there was one. It is too near the city to secure good advantages, and -yet too far away for convenience. I meant, you see, to have them in -town, when I came home, at the best schools, and boarding with me, but -I found it utterly impracticable—utterly so. You have no conception of -what five years of absence will do for people.” - -“I can imagine something of what five years of neglect would do.” - -Ruth said it icily—as she _could_ speak. Then he would say, “Oh, Ruth!” -in a tone which was entreating and almost pitiful. And he would start -up and pace back and forth through the room for a moment, until brought -back by one of her stabbing questions. - -“How have they lived since your return?” - -“Why, right there, just where they always have lived. It is the only -home they have ever known.” - -“And they are entirely alone?” - -“Why, no. The housekeeper, of whom I told you, had a daughter, a -trustworthy woman, and when her mother died this daughter moved to the -house, with her family, and has taken care of them.” - -“And so, Judge Burnham, your two daughters have grown to young -ladyhood, isolated from companionship, and from education, and from -refinements of every sort, even from their own father, and have been -the companions of ignorant hirelings!” - -“I tell you, Ruth, you must see them before you can understand this -thing,” he would exclaim, in almost despair. - -“I assuredly mean to,” would be her quiet answer, which answer drove -him nearer to desperation than he was before. At last he came and stood -before her. - -“You force me to speak plainly,” he said. “I would have shielded you -forever, and you will not let me. These girls are not like your class -of girls. They have no interest in refined pursuits. They have no -refinement of feeling or manner. They have no desire for education. -They do not even care to keep their persons in ordinarily tasteful -attire. They care nothing for the refinements of home. They belong to a -lower order of being. It is simply impossible to conceive of them as my -children; and it is utterly preposterous to think of your associating -with them in any way.” - -She was stilled at last—stunned, it would seem—for she sat in utter -silence for minutes that seemed to him hours, while he stood before her -and waited. When at last she spoke, her voice was not so cold as it had -been, but it was controlled and intensely grave. - -“And yet, Judge Burnham, they _are_ your children, and you are bound -to them by the most solemn and sacred vows which it is possible for -a man to take on his lips. How can you ever hope to escape a just -reward for ignoring them? Now, I must tell you what I feel and mean. I -do not intend to be hard or harsh, and yet I intend to be true. I am -not sure that I am acting or talking as other girls would, under like -circumstances; but that is a question which has never troubled me. I am -acting in what I believe to be the right way. You have asked me to be -your wife, and I have promised in good faith. It was before I knew any -of this story, which, in a sense, alters the ground on which we stood. -I will tell you plainly what I believe I ought to do, and what, with -my present views, I _must_ do. I will give my life to helping you in -this matter. I will go up to that home of yours and hide myself with -those girls, and we will both do what we can to retrieve the mistakes -of a lifetime. I will struggle and plan and endure for them. I am -somewhat versed in the duties which this sort of living involves, as -you know, and in the crosses which it brings. Perhaps it was for this -reason they were sent to me. I have chafed under them, and been weak -and worthless, God knows; and yet I feel that perhaps he is giving me -another chance. I will try to do better work for him, in your home, -than I have in my own. At any rate, I _must try_. If I fail, it shall -be after the most solemn and earnest efforts that I can make. But, -as I said, it _must be_ tried. This is not all self-sacrifice, Judge -Burnham. I mean that I could not do it, would not see that I had any -right to do it, if I had not given my heart to _you_; and if for the -love of you I could not trust myself to help you in _your_ duty. But -you must fully understand that it seems unquestionably to be your duty. -You must not shirk it; I must never help you to shirk it; I should not -dare. I will go with you to that home, and be with you a member of -that family. But I can never make with you another home that does not -include the _family_. I _must never do it_.” - -Judge Burnham hoped to turn her away from this decision, which was, to -him, simply an awful one! Do you imagine that he accomplished it? I -believe you know her better. It is necessary for you to remember that -he did not understand the underlying motive by which she was governed. -When she said, “I _must_ not do it,” he did not understand that she -meant her vows to Christ would not let her. He believed, simply, that -she set her judgment above his, in this matter, and determined that -she _would_ not yield it. The struggle was a severe one. At times he -felt as though he would say to her, if she “_must_ not” share with him -the home he had so lovingly and tenderly planned for her, why, then, -_he_ must give her up. The only reason that he did not say this, was -because he did not dare to try it. He had not the slightest intention -of giving her up; and he was afraid she would take him at his word, as -assuredly she would have done. She was dearer to him, in her obstinacy, -than anything in life—and nothing must be risked. Therefore was he sore -beset; and, as often as he renewed the struggle, he came off worsted. -How could it be otherwise, when Ruth could constantly flee back to that -unanswerable position—“Judge Burnham, it is _wrong_; I _must_ not do -it?” What if _he_ didn’t understand her? He saw that she understood -herself, and meant what she said. - -So it came to pass that, as the days went by, and the hour for the -marriage drew nearer and nearer, Judge Burnham felt the plans, so dear -to his heart, slipping away from under his control. Ruth would be -_married_. Well, that was a great point gained. But she would not go -away for a wedding journey; she would not go to the Grand Hotel, where -he desired to take rooms—no, not for a day, or hour. She would not have -the trial of contrast between the few, first bright days of each other, -and the dismal days following, when they had each other, with something -constantly coming between. She would go directly to that country home, -and nowhere else She would go to it just as it was. He was not to alter -the surroundings or the outward life, in one single respect. She meant -to see the home influence which had molded those girls exactly as it -had breathed about them, without any outside hand to change it. She -proposed to do the changing herself. One little bit of compromise her -stern conscience admitted—her future husband might fit up one room for -her use—her private retreat—according to his individual taste, and she -would accept it from him as hers. But the outer life, that was to be -lived as a family, he must not touch. - -“But Ruth,” he said, “you do not understand. Things have utterly gone -to decay. There was no one to care, or appreciate; there was no one to -_take_ care of anything, and I let everything go.” - -“Very well,” she said; “then we will see what our united tastes can do, -toward setting everything right, when we come to feel what is wanted.” - -“Then couldn’t you go with me and see the place, a few weeks before we -go there, and give directions, such as you would like to see carried -out?—just a few, you know, such as you can take in at a glance, to make -it a little more like home?” - -She shook her head decidedly. No, indeed. She was not going there to -spy out the desolation of the land. She was going to it as a _home_; -and if, as a home, it was defective, together they—he, his daughters -and herself—would see what was needed, and remodel it. - -How dismally he shook his head over that! He knew his daughters, and -she did not. He tried again: - -“But, Ruth, it is five miles from the railroad. How will it be possible -to ride ten miles by train, and five by carriage, night and morning, -and attend to business?” - -“Easily,” she said, quietly; “except in term-time. The busiest season -that my father ever had we were in the country, and he came out nearly -every evening. In term-time we must _all_ come into town and board, I -suppose.” - -He winced over this, and was silent, and felt himself giving up his -last hope of holding this thing in check, and began to realize that he -loved this future wife of his very much indeed, else he could never -submit to such a state of things. He believed it would last for but -a little while—just long enough for her to see the hopelessness of -things. But this “seeing,” with her, into all its hopelessness, was -what he shrank from. - -So the days went by; not much joy in them for any one concerned. -Away from Ruth’s influence, Judge Burnham was annoyed, to such a -degree, that he could hardly make a civil answer to the most ordinary -question; and his office clerks grumbled among themselves that, if -it made such a bear of a man to know that in three weeks he was to -have a wife, they hoped their turn would never come. Away from his -presence, Ruth was grave to a degree that threw an added shadow over -the home-life. Susan felt herself to be in disgrace with her sister, -and had been unable thus far, to rise above it, and be helpful, as -she would have liked to be. Judge Erskine, hearing more details from -his friend than from his daughter, sympathized with her strong sense -of duty, honored her, rejoiced in her strength of purpose, and was -_sorry_ for her, realizing, more than before, what a continuous chain -of trial her life had been of late. Therefore, his tone was tender and -sympathizing, when he spoke to her, but sad, as one who felt _too_ -deeply, and was not able to impart strength. - -As for Mrs. Erskine, she had so much to say about the strangeness of it -all—wondering how Judge Burnham could have managed to keep things so -secret, and how the girls looked, whether they favored him, or their -ma, and whether they would be comfortable sort of persons to get along -with—that Ruth was driven to the very verge of distraction, and felt, -at times, that, to get out of that house, into any other on earth, -would be a relief. - -There was much ado, also, about that wedding. Mrs. Erskine wanted -marvelous things—an illumination, and a feast, and a crowd, and all -the resources of the rain-bow, as to bridal toilet. But here, as in -other matters, Ruth held steadily to her own way, and brought it to -pass—a strictly private wedding, in the front parlor of her father’s -house; not a person, outside of the Erskine family circle, to witness -the ceremony, save Marion Dennis; she, by virtue of being Dr. Dennis’ -wife, gained admission. But Marion Dennis’ tears fell fast behind -the raised handkerchief, which shielded her face during the solemn -prayer. She knew, in detail, some of Ruth’s plans. She knew, better -than Ruth did—so _she_ thought—that plans are sometimes hard to carry -out. How many _she_ had indulged and, at this moment, there sat at -home, her haughty daughter, Grace, entirely unforgiving, because of -_her_ “meddling”—so she styled the earnest attempts to shield her from -danger. To Marion, Ruth’s future had never looked less hopeful than it -did on this marriage morning. - -It may be that her own disappointments caused some of the flowing -tears; but her _heart_ ached for Ruth. What should _she_ do without a -Christian husband—a husband entirely in sympathy with every effort, and -entirely tender with every failure of hers! What was Ruth to do, with -Judge Burnham for a husband, instead of Dr. Dennis! How were the trials -of life to be borne with any man living except this _one_! - -Thus reasoned silly Marion—unconsciously, indeed; but that was as it -seemed to her. - -Well for Ruth, that even at this moment, she could look into the face -of the man whom she had chosen, and feel: “It is after all, for _him_. -There is no other person for whom I could begin this life.” - -Said a friend, the other day, in sympathetic tones, as she spoke of a -young bride going far from her home and her mother: “I feel _so_ sorry -for her. It is such a trying experience, all alone, away from all her -early friends.” - -“But,” I said, “after all, she doesn’t go as far as you told me you -did, when you were married.” - -The answer was quick: - -“Oh, no; but then I had _my husband_, you know; and she—” - -And then she stopped to laugh. - -So it was a blessed thing that Ruth Burnham, going out from the home -which had sheltered her, felt that she went _with her husband_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -EMBARRASSMENT AND MERRIMENT. - - -I SUPPOSE there was never a bride going out from her home, with her -husband, who was more silent than was our Ruth. It was the silence of -constraint, too. It was such a little journey! ten miles or so, by -train, then five by carriage, and then—what _were_ they coming to? If -only it had been her husband’s happy home, where treasures were waiting -to greet him, and be clasped to his heart, Ruth felt that it would have -been _so_ much easier. - -Yet I think, very likely, she did not understand her own heart. -Probably the easiest excuse that we can make for ourselves, or for our -shrinking from duties, is, “If it were _only_ something else, I could -do it.” I think it quite likely that had Ruth been going to just such -a home as she imagined would make her cross lighter, she would have -been jealous of those clasping hands and tender kisses. The human heart -is a strange instrument, played upon in all sorts of discords, even -when we think there is going to be music. As it was, the certainty of -her husband’s disapproval, the sense of strangeness, and the sense of -shrinking from the new trials, and the questioning as to whether, after -all, she had done right, all served to depress Ruth’s heart and hush -her voice, to such a degree that she felt speech was impossible. I want -to linger a minute over one sentence—the questioning as to whether, -after all, she had done right. There is no more miserable state of -mind than this. It is such dreadful ground for the _Christian_ to -occupy! Yet, practically, half the Christians in the world are there. -Theoretically, we believe ourselves to be led, even in the common -affairs of life, by the All-wise Spirit of God; theoretically, we -believe that _He_ can make no mistake; theoretically, we believe that -it is just as easy to get an answer from that Spirit—“a word behind -thee,” as the Bible phrases it, directing us which way to go—as it is -to hear our human friend answer to our call. But, practically, what -_do_ we believe? What is the reason that so much of our life is given -up to mourning over _possible_ mistakes? Is it because we choose to -decide some questions for ourselves without bringing them to the test -of prayer? or because, having asked for direction, we failed to watch -for the answer, or expect it, and so lost the “still small voice?” -Or is it, sometimes, because having heard the voice, we regret its -direction and turn from it, and choose our own? - -Ruth Burnham was conscious of none of these states. She had prayed -over this matter; indeed, it seemed to her that she had done little -else than pray, of late; and, in some points, she was strong, feeling -that her feet had been set upon a rock. But in others there was, at -this too late moment, a sense of faltering. “Might she not,” asked her -conscience of her, “have yielded somewhat? Would it have worked any ill -for them both to have gone away from everybody for a few weeks, as -Judge Burnham so desired to do, and have learned to know and help each -other, and have learned to talk freely together about this new home, -and have grown stronger together, before facing this manifest duty?” - -I do not tell you she might have done all this. Perhaps her first -position, that it would have been unwise and unhelpful, was the right -one. I think we do, sometimes, put added touches of our own to the -cross that the Father lays upon us, making it shade in gloom, when he -would have tinted it with the sunlight. But I do not say that Ruth had -done this. I don’t know which was wise. What I _am_ sure of is, that -she, having left it to Christ; having asked for his direction, and -having received it (for unless she thought she had been shown the step -to take, assured she ought not to have stepped,) she had no right to -unrest herself and strap on to her heart the burden of that wearying -question, “_Did_ I, after all, do right?” - -Judge Burnham could match her in quietness. He had her beside him at -last. She was his wife; she bore his name; henceforth their interests -were one. Thus much of what he had months ago set himself steadily to -accomplish had been accomplished. But not a touch of the details was -according to his plans. The situation in which he found himself was so -new and so bewildering, that while he meant, for her sake, to make the -best of it until such time as she should see that she was wrong and he -right, yet, truth to tell, he hardly knew how to set about making the -best of it. - -He did what he could. No topic for conversation that suggested -itself to his mind seemed entirely safe. And, beside, what use to -try to converse for so short a journey? So he contented himself with -opening her car-window, and dropping her blind, and arranging her -travelling-shawl comfortably for a shoulder-support, and in other -nameless, thoughtful ways making this bit of a journey bright with -care-taking tenderness. It served to show Ruth how royally he would -have cared for her in the longer journey which he wanted, and which she -wouldn’t have. Whereupon she immediately said to her heart “Perhaps it -would have been better if I had yielded.” And that made her miserable. -There was no time to yield now. The station was called out, and there -was bustle and haste and no little nervousness in getting off in time, -for the train seemed, before it fairly halted, to have been sorry -for that attempt at accommodation, and began to show signs of going -on again that were nerve-distracting. It annoyed Judge Burnham to -the degree that he said, savagely, to the conductor, “It was hardly -worth while to stop, if you can’t do it more comfortably.” He would -have liked so much to have been leisurely and comfortable; to have -done everything in a composed, travelled manner; he understood so -thoroughly all the details of travelled life. Why _could_ he not show -Ruth some of the comforts of it? That little station! It was in itself -a curiosity to Ruth. She had not supposed, that ten miles away from a -city, anything could be so diminutive. A long, low, unpainted building, -with benches for seats, and loungers spitting tobacco-juice for -furniture. There was evidently something unusual to stare at. This was -the presence of a quiet, tasteful carriage, with handsome horses, and -a driver who indicated, by the very flourish of his whip, that this -was a new locality to him. He and his horses and his carriage belonged, -unmistakably, to city-life, and had rarely reached so far out. - -“Is this your carriage?” Ruth asked, surveying it with a touch of -satisfaction as Judge Burnham made her comfortable among the cushions. - -“No, it is from town. There are no carriages belonging to this -enlightened region.” - -“How do your family reach the station, then?” - -“They never reach it,” he answered, composedly. He had resolved upon -not trying to smooth over anything. - -“But how did you get to and from the cars when you were stopping here?” - -“On the rare occasions when I was so unfortunate as to stop here I -sometimes caught the wagon which brings the mail and takes unfortunate -passengers; or, if I were too early for that, there were certain -milk-carts and vegetable-carts which gave me the privilege of a ride, -with a little persuasion in the shape of money.” - -Nothing could be more studiedly polite than Judge Burnham’s tone; but -there was a covert sarcasm in every word he said. He seemed to Ruth to -be thinking, “I hope you realize the uncomfortable position into which -your obstinacy has forced me.” - -Evidently not a touch of help was to be had from him. What were they -to talk about during that five miles of travel over a rough road? Ruth -studied her brains to try to develop a subject that would not make them -even more uncomfortable than they now felt. She was unfortunate in -selection, but it seemed impossible to get away from the thoughts which -were just now so prominently before them. She suddenly remembered a -fact which surprised her, and to which she gave instant expression. - -“Judge Burnham, what are your daughter’s names?” - -The gentleman thus addressed wrinkled his forehead into a dozen -frowns, and shook himself, as though he would like to shake away all -remembrance of the subject, before he said: - -“Their very names are a source of mortification to me. The elder is -Seraphina and the other Araminta. What do you think of them?” - -Ruth was silent and dismayed. This apparently trivial circumstance -served to show her what a strange state of things existed in the home -whither she was going. She didn’t know how to answer her husband’s -question. She was sorry that she had asked any. There seemed no way out -but to ask another, which, in truth, pressed upon her. - -“How do you soften such names? What do you call them when you address -them?” - -“I call them nothing. I know of no way of smoothing such hopeless -cognomens, and I take refuge in silence, or bewildering pronouns.” - -Ruth pondered over this answer long enough to have her courage rise and -to grow almost indignant. Then she spoke again: - -“But, Judge Burnham, I do not see how you could have allowed so strange -a selection for girls in this age of the world. Why didn’t you save -them from such a life-long infliction? Or, was there some reason for -the use of these names that dignifies them—that makes them sacred?” - -“There is this sole reason for the names, and for many things which you -will find yourself unable to understand. Their mother was a hopeless -victim to fourth-rate sensation novels, and named her daughters from -that standpoint. I was in reality powerless to interfere. You may have -discovered before this that I am not always able to follow out the -dictates of my own judgment, and others, as well as myself, have to -suffer in consequence.” - -What could Ruth answer to this? She felt its covert meaning; and so -sure was she beginning to feel that she had followed her own ideas, -instead of the leadings of any higher voice, that she had not the heart -to be offended with the plainness of the insinuation. But she realized -that it was a strange conversation for a newly-made husband and wife. -She took refuge again in silence. Judge Burnham tried to talk. He asked -if the seat she occupied was entirely comfortable, and if she enjoyed -riding, and if she had tried the saddle, or thought she would enjoy -such exercise, and presently he said: - -“These are abominable roads. I am sorry to have you so roughly treated -in the very beginning of our journey together. I did not want roughness -to come to you, Ruth. I thought that you had endured enough.” - -She was sorry that he said this. Her tears were never nearer the -surface than at this moment, and she did not want to shed them. She -began to talk rapidly to him about the beauty of the far-away hills -which stretched bluely before them, and he tried to help her effort and -appreciate them. Still it was too apparent just then neither cared much -for hills; and it was almost a relief when the carriage at last drew up -under a row of elms. These, at least, were beautiful. So was the long, -irregular, grassy yard that stretched away up the hill, and was shaded -by noble old trees. It required but a moment to dismiss the carriage, -and then her husband gave her his arm, and together they toiled up the -straggling walk toward the long, low building, which was in dire need -of paint. - -“This yard is lovely,” Ruth said, and she wondered if her voice -trembled very much. - -“I used to like the yard, a hundred years or so ago,” he answered -sadly. “It really seems to me almost as long ago as that since I had -any pleasant recollections of anything connected with it.” - -“Was it your mother’s home?” - -“Yes,” he said, and his face grew tender. “And she was a good mother, -Ruth; I loved the old house once for her sake.” - -“I think I can make you love it again for mine.” Ruth said the words -gently, with a tender intonation that was very pleasant to hear, and -that not many people heard from her. Judge Burnham was aware of it, and -his grave face brightened a little. He reached after her hand, and held -it within his own, and the pressure he gave it said what he could not -speak. So they went up the steps of that low porch with lighter hearts, -after all, than had seemed possible. - -The door at the end of that porch opened directly into the front room, -or “keeping room,” as, in the parlance of that region of country, it -was called, though Ruth did not know it. The opening of that door was -a revelation to her. She had never been in a real country room before. -There were green paper shades to the windows, worn with years, and -faded; and little twinkling rays of the summer sunshine pushed in -through innumerable tiny holes, which holes, curiously enough, Ruth -saw and remembered, and associated forever after with that hour and -moment. There was a rag carpet on the floor, of dingy colors and uneven -weaving. Ruth did not even know the name of that style of carpet, but -she knew it was peculiar. There were cane-seated chairs, standing in -solemn rows at proper intervals. There was a square table or “stand,” -if she had but known the proper name for it, covered with a red cotton -cloth having a gay border and fringed edges. There was a wooden chair -or two, shrinking back from contact with the “smarter” cane-seated -ones; and there was a large, old-fashioned, high-backed wooden rocker, -covered back and arms and sides, with a gay patch-work cover, aglow -with red and green and yellow, and it seemed, to poor Ruth, a hundred -other dazzling colors, and the whole effect reminded her forcibly of -Mrs. Judge Erskine! - -Now, you have a list of every article of furniture which this large -room contained. No, I forget the mantle-piece, though Ruth did not. -It was long and deep and high, and was adorned with a curious picture -or two, which would bear studying before you could be sure what they -were, and with two large, bright, brass candlesticks, and a tray and -snuffers. Also, in the center, a fair-sized kerosene lamp, which looked -depraved enough to smoke like a furnace, without even waiting to be -lighted! Also, there were some oriental paintings in wooden frames -on the wall. Are you so fortunate as not to understand what oriental -paintings are? Then you will be unable to comprehend a description -of Ruth’s face as her eye rested on them! Judge Burnham was looking -at her as her eye roved swiftly and silently over this scene, not -excepting the curious paper, with which the walls were hung in a -pattern long gone by. He stood a little at one side, affecting to -raise an unmanageable window sash. They were all unmanageable; but in -reality he was watching her, and I must confess to you that this scene, -contrasted in his mind with the elegant home which his wife had left, -was fast taking a ludicrous side to him. The embarrassments were great, -and he knew that they would thicken upon him, and yet the desire to -laugh overcame all other emotions. His eyes danced, and he bit his lips -to restrain their mirth. But at last, when Ruth turned and looked at -him, the expression in her face overcame him, and he burst forth into -laughter. - -It was a blessed thing for Ruth that she was able to join him. - -“Sit down,” he said, wheeling the gay rocker toward her. “I am sure -you never occupied so elegant a seat before. There is a great gray cat -belonging to the establishment who usually sits in state here, but she -has evidently vacated in your favor to-day.” - -Ruth sank into the chair, unable to speak; the strangeness of it all, -and the conflicting emotions stirring in her heart fairly took away the -power of speech. Judge Burnham came and stood beside her. - -“We have entered into this thing, Ruth,” he said, and his voice was not -so hard as it had been, “and there are embarrassments enough certainly -connected with it, and yet it is a home, and it is _our_ home—yours and -mine—and we are _together forever_. This, of itself, is joy enough to -atone for almost anything.” - -She was about to answer him, and there was a smile on her face, in the -midst of tears in her eyes; but they were interrupted. The door opened -suddenly, and an apparition in the shape of a child, perhaps five -years old, appeared to them—a tow-headed child with staring blue eyes -and wide-open mouth—a child in a very pink dress, not over-clean and -rather short,—a child with bare feet, and with her arms full of a great -gray cat. She stared amazingly at them for a moment, then turned and -vanished. - -“_That_ is not mine, at least,” Judge Burnham said, and the tone in -which he said it was irresistible. - -His eyes met Ruth’s at that moment, and all traces of tears had -disappeared, also all signs of sentiment. There was but one thing to -do, and they did it; and the old house rang with peal after peal of -uncontrollable laughter. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -MY DAUGHTERS. - - -THE room to which Judge Burnham presently escorted his bride was very -unlike that parlor. As she looked about her, on the exquisite air of -beauty which prevailed, and the evidences of refined and cultured -taste, scattered with lavish hand, she was touched with the thought -that her tastes had been understood and remembered, in each minute -detail. - -“How very lovely this is!” she said, as her foot rested on the soft -velvet carpet, with its wildwood vines trailing in rich colors over the -floor. - -“I knew you would like it,” Judge Burnham said, with a gratified -smile. “It reminded me of you, and, indeed, the entire room has seemed -to me to be full of your presence. I enjoyed arranging it. I think I -could have gratified your tastes in regard to the rest of the house, -Ruth, if you had let me.” - -“Oh, I know you could,” she answered, earnestly. “It was not that I -did not trust your taste—and perhaps I made a mistake; but I meant it -right, and you must help me to bring right out of it.” - -She did not realize it, but this little concession to his possible -better judgment helped her husband wonderfully. - -“We will make it come right,” he said, decidedly. “And now I will leave -you to rest a little, while I go down and discover whether this house -is inhabited to-day.” - -With the door closing after him seemed to go much of Ruth’s courage. -This exquisite room was a rest to her beauty-loving eyes and heart. -But it contrasted most strangely with the life below stairs; and, when -she thought of that room below, it reminded her of all there was yet -to meet and endure, and of the newness of the way, and the untried -experiments which were to be made, and of her own weakness—and her -heart trembled, and almost failed her. Yet it must not fail her; she -_must_ get strength. - -Well for Ruth that she knew in what place to seek it. Instead of taking -a seat in the delicately-carved and gracefully-upholstered easy-chair, -which invited her into its depths, she turned and knelt before it. -Perhaps, after all, there are more dangerous experiences than those -which, in coming to a new home, to take up new responsibilities, lead -us to feel our utter weakness, and bring us on our knees, crying to the -strong for strength. - -Judge Burnham’s entrance, nearly an hour afterward, found Ruth resting -quietly in that easy chair, such a calm on her face, and such a light -in her eyes, that he stopped on the threshold, and regarded her with a -half-pleased, half-awed expression, as he said: - -“You look wonderfully rested! I think my easy chair must be a success. -Will you come down now, to a farm-house supper? Please don’t see any -more of the strange things than you can help. I tried to get the girls -to come up, and so avoid some of the horrors of a meeting below -stairs; but they are too thoroughly alarmed to have any sense at all, -and I had to abandon that plan.” - -“Poor things!” said Ruth, compassionately. “Am I so very formidable? -It must be dreadful to feel frightened at people. I can’t imagine the -feeling.” - -He surveyed her critically, then laughed. He had some conception of -what a vision she would be to the people down-stairs. She had not -changed her travelling dress, which was of rich dark silk, fitted -exquisitely to her shapely form, and the soft laces at throat and -wrist, brightened only by a knot of ribbon of the most delicate tint -of blue, completed what, to Judge Burnham’s cultured taste, seemed the -very perfection of a toilet. - -“You do not frighten me,” he said. “I can manage to look at you -without being overwhelmed. I shall not answer for anybody else. Ruth, -I have obeyed you to the very letter. In a fit of something very like -vexation, I resolved not to lift a finger to change the customs of the -house, leaving you to see them, according to your desire, as they -were. The result is we haven’t even a table to ourselves, to-night. The -whole of that insufferable family, cat and all, are ready to gather, -with us, around their hospitable board. I am sorry, now, that I was so -very literal in my obedience.” - -“I am not,” Ruth said, and her tone was quiet, and had a sound in it -which was not there when he left her. It served to make him regard her -again, curiously. - -Then they went down-stairs to the kitchen! Ruth was presently seated -at the long table, alarmingly near to the stove which had cooked the -potatoes that graced the evening meal—boiled potatoes, served in -their original coats! to be eaten with two-tined steel forks, the -same forks expected to do duty in the mastication of a huge piece of -peach-pie!—unless, indeed, she did as her husband’s daughters were -evidently accustomed to doing, and ate it with her knife. There were, -at that table, Farmer Ferris, in his shirt-sleeves, himself redolent -of the barn and the cow-house; his wife, in a new, stiff, blue and -red plaid calico, most manifestly donned to do honor to the occasion; -two boys, belonging to the Ferris household, in different degrees of -shock-headed, out-at-the-elbow disorder, and the aforesaid apparition -in pink calico, the gray cat still hugged to her heart, and eating milk -from the same saucer, at intervals; and, lastly, the two daughters of -the House of Burnham. - -Those daughters! The strongest emotion which Ruth found it in her -heart to have for them, on this first evening, was pity. She had never -imagined anything like the painful embarrassment which they felt. They -sat on the edges of their chairs, and, when engaged in trying to eat, -tilted the chairs forward to reach their plates, and rested their -elbows on the table to stare, when they dared to raise their frightened -eyes to do so. Their father had performed the ceremony of introduction -in a way which was likely to increase their painful self-consciousness. -“Girls,” he had said, and his voice sounded as if he were summoning -them to a trial by jury; “this is Mrs. Burnham.” And they had stood up, -and essayed to make little bobbing courtesies, after the fashion of -fifty years ago, until further pressed by Mrs. Ferris, who had said, -with a conscious laugh: - -“For the land’s sake, girls! do go and shake hands with her. Why, she -is your ma now.” - -But Judge Burnham’s haughty voice had come to the rescue: - -“If you please, we will excuse them from that ceremony, Mrs. Ferris,” -he had said. “Mrs. Burnham, please be seated.” And he had drawn back -her chair with the courtesy of a gentleman and the inward fury of a -lion. In truth, Judge Burnham was ashamed of and angry with himself, -and I am glad of it; he deserved to be. Instead of asserting his -authority, and making this meeting and this first meal together -strictly a family matter, and managing a dozen other little details -which he could have managed, and which would have helped wonderfully, -he had angrily resolved to let everything utterly alone, and bring Ruth -thus sooner and more decisively to seeing the folly, and the utter -untenableness of her position. But something in the absolute calm of -her face, this evening—a calm which had come to her since he left her -in their room alone—made him feel it to be more than probable that she -would not easily, nor soon, abandon the position which she had assumed. - -The ordeal of supper was gotten through with easier than Ruth had -supposed possible—though truth to tell, the things which would have -affected most persons the least, were the hardest for her to bear. She -had not entirely risen above the views concerning refinement which she -had expressed during the early days of Chautauqua life; and to eat with -a knife when a fork should be used, and to have a two-tined steel fork, -instead of a silver one, and to have no napkin at all, were to her -positive and vivid sources of discomfort—sources from which she could -not altogether turn away, even at this time. I am not sure, however, -that, in the trivialities, she did not lose some of the real trials -which the occasion certainly presented. - -Directly after the supper was concluded, with but a very poor attempt -at eating on Ruth’s part, Judge Burnham led the way to that dreadful -parlor, interposing his stern voice between the evident intention of -the daughters to remain in the kitchen: - -“I desire that you will come immediately to the parlor.” - -As for Ruth and himself, they did not retreat promptly enough to -escape Mrs. Ferris’ stage-whisper: - -“For the land’s sake, girls! do go quick; I’m afraid he will bite you -next time. I wonder if she is as awful cross as he is? She looks it, -and more too.” - -In the midst of all the tumult of thought which there might have been, -Ruth found herself trying to determine which was the most objectional -expression of the two, Mrs. Judge Erskine’s favorite “Land alive!” -or Mrs. Ferris’ “For the land’s sake!” Where do Americans get their -favorite expletives, anyway? - -She had not much time to query, for here were these girls, sitting each -on the edge of one of the solemn cane-seated chairs, and looking as -thoroughly miserable as the most hard-hearted could have desired. What -was she to say to them, or would it be more merciful to say nothing -at all? Ruth felt an unutterable pity for them. How miserably afraid -they were of their father! How entirely unnatural it seemed! And it -could not be that he had ever been actually unkind to them? It was just -a system of severe letting alone, combined with the unwisdom of the -Ferris tongue which had developed such results. Between the intervals -of trying to say a few words to them, words which they answered with -solemn “Yes, ma’ams,” Ruth tried to study their personal appearance. -It was far from prepossessing; yet, remembering Susan, and the -marvelous changes which the “ivy-green dress,” fitted to her form, had -accomplished, wondered how much of their painful awkwardness was due to -the utter unsuitability of their attire, and the uncouth arrangement of -their _coiffures_. - -The elder of the two was tall and gaunt, with pale, reddish, yellow -hair—an abundance of it, which she seemed to think served no purpose -but to annoy her, and was to be stretched back out of the way as far -and as tightly as possible. Her shoulders were bent and stooping; her -pale, blue eyes looked as though, when they were not full of dismayed -embarrassment, they were listless, and her whole manner betokened that -of a person who was a trial to herself, and to every one with whom she -came in contact. - -People, with such forms and faces, almost invariably manage to -fit themselves out in clothing which shows every imperfection to -advantage. This girl was no exception; indeed, she seemed to have -succeeded in making an exceptional fright of herself. Her dress was -of the color and material which seemed to increase her height, and -bore the marks of a novice in dress-making about every part of it. -To increase the effect it was much too short for her, and showed to -immense disadvantage a pair of strong, thick country boots, which might -have been excellent for tramping over plowed ground in wet weather. -The younger sister was a complete contrast in every respect. Her -form can only be described by that expressive and not very elegant -word “chunky.” From her thick, short hair, down to her thickly-shod -feet, she seemed to be almost equally shapeless and graceless; fat, -red cheeks; small, round eyes shining out from layers of fat; large, -ill-shaped hands; remarkably large feet, apparently, or else her shoes -were, and arrayed in a large plaided dress of red and green, which was -much too low in the neck and much too short-waisted, and was absolutely -uncouth! Swiftly, silently, Ruth took in all these details. And she -took in, also, what her husband had never known—that a large portion -of this uncouthness was due to the outward adornings or disguisings, -which is what persons devoid of taste sometimes succeed in making of -their dress. - -In the midst of her musings there came to her a new idea. It dawned -upon her in the form of a question. Why should she, a lady of fashion -and of leisure, and of such cultured taste that she was an acknowledged -authority among her friends, on all matters pertaining to the esthetic, -be in so marked a manner, for the second time in her short life, -brought face to face with that form of ill-breeding which troubled her -the most? Not only face to face with it, but put in such a position -that it was her duty to endure it patiently and show kindly interest in -the victims? Was it possible? And this thought flashed upon her like -a revelation—that she had been wont to make too much of this matter; -that she had allowed the lack of culture in these directions to press -her too sorely. Now, do you know that this was the first time such a -possibility had dawned on Ruth Burnham? So insensible had been her -yielding to the temptation which wealth and leisure brings, to give -too much thought and too high a place to these questions of dress and -taste, that, as I say, she had not been conscious of any sin in that -direction, while those who looked on at her life had been able to see -it plainly, and in exaggerated form! - -I suspect, dear friend, that you, at this moment, are the victim of -some inconsistency which your next-door neighbor sees plainly, and -which, possibly, injures your influence over her, and you are not -conscious of its development. Now, that is a solemn thought, as well -as a perplexing one, for what is to be done about it? “Cleanse thou me -from secret faults,” prayed the inspired writer. May he not have meant -those faults so secret that it takes the voice of God to reveal them to -our hearts? - -At least to Ruth Burnham, sitting there in that high-backed rocker, -looking at her husband’s daughters, the thought came like the voice of -God’s Spirit in her heart. She had come very near to that revealing -Spirit during the last two hours—rather he had made his presence known -to her. She was in a hushed mood, desiring to be led, and she plainly -saw that even this exhibition of uncouthness could be a discipline to -her soul, if she would but allow its voice. You are not to understand -that she, therefore, concluded uncouthness and utter disregard of -refined tastes to be necessary outgrowths of Christian experience, or -to be in the least necessary to a higher development of Christian life. -She merely had a glimpse of what it meant, to be in a state of using -this world as not abusing it. The thought quickened her resolutions -in regard to those neglected girls thus thrown under her care, and, -I have no doubt, that it toned her voice when she spoke to them. I -believe it not irreverent to say that the very subject upon which she -first addressed them was chosen for her, all unconsciously to herself, -by that Ever-present Spirit, to whom nothing that an immortal soul can -say, appears trivial, because he sees the waves of influence which are -stirred years ahead by the quiet words. - -Just what the two frightened girls expected from her would have been, -perhaps, difficult for even themselves to explain. For years all their -intercourse with their father had consisted in a series of irritated -lectures, delivered in a sharp key, on his part, and received in a -frightened silence by them. He had been utterly disappointed with -them in every respect, and he had not failed to show it, and they -had not failed to seek for sympathy by pouring the story of their -grievances into Mrs. Ferris’ willing ears. The result was that she -had but increased their terror in and doubt of their father. Added to -this, she had all the ignorant superstition of her class in regard to -step-mothers, if, indeed the views of this sort of people shall be -called by no harsher name than superstition. The new-comer had been, -during the last week, most freely discussed in the Ferris household, -and the result had been what might have been expected. Therefore, it -was with unfeigned amazement and with the demonstrations of prolonged -stares, that Ruth’s first suddenly spoken sentence broke the silence -which the others were feeling keenly. - -“Your hair looks as though it would curl, naturally; did you ever try -it?” - -This to the elder girl, whose whole face reddened under the -astonishment produced by the query, and who, as I said, could only -stare for a moment. Then she said: - -“Yes, ma’am, I did once; long time ago.” - -“And didn’t you like the appearance?” - -A more vivid blush and a conscious laugh was the answer. Then she added: - -“Why, yes, well enough; but it was such a bother, and nobody to care.” - -“Oh, it is very little trouble.” Mrs. Burnham answered, lightly, -“when you understand just how to manage it. I think natural curls are -beautiful.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -A SISTER NEEDED. - - -SOME vigorous planning was done that night which followed Ruth -Burnham’s introduction to her new home. It was not restless planning; -neither could it be said to be about new things, for these things Ruth -had studied every day since the first week of her engagement, and the -summer, which was in its spring-time then, was fading now, so she had -_thought_ before. But something had given her thoughts new strength -and force. Ruth believed it to be that hour which she had spent alone -on her knees. She had spent many an hour before that alone on her -knees, but never had the power of the unseen presence taken such hold -upon her as at that time. She had felt her own powerlessness as _Ruth -Erskine_ had not been given to feeling it, and you know it is “man’s -extremity that is God’s opportunity.” - -It was before the hour of breakfast that she commenced the process of -developing some of her plans to her husband. - -“How long will it take to dispose of the Ferris family?” she asked -him, and her voice was so calm, so full of strength, and conscious -determination that it rested him. - -“It can be done just as soon as your genius, combined with my executive -ability, can bring it to pass,” he answered, laughing, “and I sincerely -hope and trust that you will be brilliant and rapid in your display of -genius.” - -“But, Judge Burnham, ought they to have warning, as we do with -servants?” - -“A week’s warning? I trust not! I should not promise to endure a -week of it. Oh, they are prepared. I broadly hinted to them that the -mistress would want the house to herself. If they had not felt the -necessity of being here to welcome you it could have been managed -before this. They have their plans formed, I believe, and as soon as -you want to manage without them, I will make it for their interest to -be in haste.” - -Ruth turned toward him with a relieved smile and an eager air. “Could -you manage, then, to make it to their interest to go before breakfast, -or shall we have to wait until that meal is over?” - -He laughed, gayly. “Your energy is refreshing,” he said, “especially -when it is bestowed in such a worthy cause. No, I think we will have -to wait until after breakfast. But, Ruth, are you really in earnest? -Do you actually mean to settle down here, in this house, as it is? And -what are you going to do about help, and about—well, everything?” - -Before she answered she came over and stood beside him, slipping -her hand through his arm and speaking in tender earnestness. “Judge -Burnham, I want you to understand me; I feel that I may have seemed -hard, and cold, and selfish. Perhaps I have been selfish in pushing my -plan; I think I have been, but I did not intend it for selfishness. I -was, and am, led by what seems to be _our_ duty—yours and mine. Those -girls of yours have been neglected. I can see how you, being a man, -would not know what to do; at the same time I can see how I, being a -woman, can at least _try_ to do many things, and I am very eager to -try. You may call it an experiment if you will, and if it is, in your -estimation in six months from now an utter failure, I will give it up -and do exactly as you propose.” - -There was a gleam of assurance in her eyes, and he could see that she -did not believe he would ever be called upon to follow _his_ plans. But -something tender and pleading in her tone touched him, and he said, -with feeling: - -“I begin to realize forcibly, what has only come upon me in touches -heretofore—that I have not done my duty by the girls. I did not know -what to do. I used to study the question and try to plan it, but I can -not tell you how utterly hopeless it seemed to me. Finally, I gave it -up. I determined that nothing could ever be done but to support them -and live away from them, and long before I knew you I determined on -that as my line of action. So your resolution was a surprise to me—an -overwhelming one. But, perhaps, you are right. At least I will help -you in whatever way I can to carry out _your_ plans, however wild they -are, and I begin to realize that you may possibly have some very wild -ones, but I promise allegiance.” - -“Good!” said Ruth, with sparkling eyes, “I ask nothing better than -that. Then we will proceed at once to business; there is so much to be -done that I don’t feel like taking a wedding journey just now. We can -enjoy it so much more when we get our house in order. There are certain -things that I need to know at once. First, how much or how little is -there to be done to this house, and—and to everything? In other words, -how much money am I to spend?” - -“Oh,” he said looking relieved, “I thought you were going to ask me -what ought to be done to make the place habitable, and, really, I -hardly know where to commence. I shall be charmed to leave it in your -hands. As to money, I think I may safely promise you what you need -unless your ideas are on a more magnificent scale than I think. I will -give you my check this morning for a thousand dollars, and when that -is used you may come to me for as much more. Is that an answer to your -question?” - -“An entirely satisfactory one.” She answered him with shining eyes, -and they went down to breakfast with a sense of satisfaction which, -considering the surroundings and the marvelous calicoes in which the -daughters of the house appeared, was surprising. - -“I don’t see the way clear to results,” Judge Burnham said, -perplexedly, as he and his wife walked on the piazza after breakfast -and continued the discussion of ways and means. “If the Ferris tribe -vacate to-day, as I have just intimated to the head of the family is -extremely desirable, what are you to do for help until such time as -something competent in that line can be secured, always supposing that -there _is_ such a thing in existence? I remember what an experience you -have been having in your father’s house in the line of help.” - -“Oh, well,” said Ruth, brightly, “we had the small-pox, you know; -that makes a difference. They have excellent servants there now, and, -indeed, we generally have had. My housekeeping troubles did not lie in -that direction. I have a plan; I don’t know what you will think of it. -I am afraid you will be very much surprised?” - -“No, I shall not,” he interrupted her to say, “I have gotten beyond the -condition of surprise at anything which you may do or propose.” - -Then she went on with her story. - -“I thought it all over last night, and if she will do it, I think I see -my way clear, and I am almost sure she will, for, really, I never knew -a more unselfish girl in my life.” - -“I dare say,” her husband said, regarding her with an amused air. -“Perhaps I might agree with you if you will enlighten me as to which of -the patterns of domestic unselfishness you have in mind. Did she reign -in your household since my knowledge of it began?” - -“Oh, I am not speaking of _hired_ help,” Ruth said, and a vivid flush -brightened her cheeks. “I was thinking of my sister. It is her help I -have in mind.” - -“Susan!” he exclaimed, and then was suddenly silent. His face showed -that, after all, she had surprised him. - -There was much talk about it after that, and the discussion finally -ended in their taking passage in the mail-wagon, about which Judge -Burnham had spoken the day before, and jogging together to the train. -There was so much to be done that Ruth had not the patience to wait -until another day, besides their departure would give the Ferris -family a chance to hasten _their_ movements. On the way to the cars -Judge Burnham mentally resolved that his first leisure moments should -be spent in selecting horses and a driver, since he was to become a -country gentleman. Whether he would or not, it became him to look out -for conveniences. - -Seated again in the train, and made comfortable by her watchful -husband, Ruth took time to smile over the variety of experiences -through which she had gone during the less than twenty-four hours since -she sat there before. It seemed to her that she had lived a little -life-time, and learned a great deal, and it seemed a wonderful thing -that she was actually going to Susan Erskine with a petition for help. -Who could have supposed that _she_, Ruth Erskine, would ever have -reached such a period in her history that she would turn to her as -the only a available source of supply and comfort. A great deal of -thinking can be done in one night, and Ruth had lain awake and gone -over her ground with steady gaze and a determined heart. It surprised -her that things had not looked plainer to her before. “Why couldn’t I -have seen this way, yesterday, before I left home?” she asked herself, -but the wonder was that she had seen it thus early. - -Very much surprised were the Erskine household to see their bride of -less than twenty-four hours’ standing appear while they still lingered -over their breakfast-table! - -“We live in the country, you know,” was Ruth’s composed explanation of -the early advent. “Country people are up hours before town people have -stirred; I always knew that.” - -“Land alive!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine, and then for a whole minute she -was silent. She confided to Ruth, long afterward, that for about five -minutes her “heart was in her mouth,” for she surely thought they had -quarrelled and parted! - -“Though I thought at the time,” she explained, “that if you _had_ got -sick of it a’ready you wouldn’t have come back together, and have -walked into the dining-room in that friendly fashion. But, then, I -remembered that you never did things like anybody else in this world, -and if you had made up your mind to come back home again, and leave -your husband, you would be sure to pick out a way of doing it that no -other mortal would ever have thought of!” - -“I am going to my room,” Ruth said presently. “Judge Burnham, I will -hasten, and be ready to go down town with you in a very little while. -Susan, will you come with me, please? I want to talk to you.” - -And Susan arose with alacrity, a pleasant smile lighting her plain -face. There was a sound of sisterliness in the tone, which she had -watched and waited for, but rarely heard. - -“I have come on the strangest errand,” Ruth said, dropping into her own -favorite chair, as the door of her old room closed after them. “I feel -as if I were at least a year older than I was yesterday. I have thought -so much. First of all, Susan, I want to tell you something. I have -found something. I have come close to Jesus—I mean he has come close to -me. He has almost shown me himself. I don’t know how to tell you about -it, and indeed I am not sure that there is anything to _tell_. But -it is a great deal to have experienced. I seem to have heard him say, -‘Come to _me_. Why do you struggle and plan and toss yourself about? -Haven’t I promised you _rest_?’ And, Susan, I do believe he spoke to my -heart; why not?” - -“Why not, indeed!” said Susan, “when he has repeated the message so -many times. Ruth, I am _so_ glad!” - -Then Ruth ran rapidly from that subject to less important ones, giving -her sister a picture, in brief, of the new home, closing with the -sentence: - -“Now I am in a dilemma. I can’t keep any of the Ferris family for an -hour, and I can’t introduce new servants until things are in different -shape, and I can’t get them into different shape until I have help. Do -you see what I am to do?” - -“Yes,” said Susan, with a bright smile, “you need a sister; one who -knows how to help in all household matters, and yet who knows how to -keep her tongue reasonably quiet as to what she found. I know how -servants gossip, some of them. That Rosie we had for a week tried to -tell me things about Mrs. Dr. Blakeman’s kitchen that would make her -feel like fainting if she knew it. A sister is just exactly what you -need in this emergency. Will you let her step into the gap and show you -how nicely she can fill it?” - -“_Will_ you?” Ruth asked, eagerly. “That is just exactly what I -wanted to say, though I didn’t like to say it, for fear you would -misunderstand, not realize, you know, that it is because we don’t want -to go out of the _family_ for assistance just now that we needed you so -much.” - -Recognized at last in _words_ as a member of the family! An -unpremeditated sentence, evidently from the heart. It was what Susan -Erskine had been patiently biding her time and waiting for. It had come -sooner than she expected. It made her cheeks glow. - -“I will go home with you at once,” she said, in a business-like way. -“There is nothing to hinder. The machinery of this house is in running -order again. That new second girl is a treasure, Ruth, and, by the way, -she has a sister who might develop into a treasure for you. Now let me -see if I understand things. What do you want to do first?” - -“First,” said Ruth, smiling, “I need to go shopping. It is my _forte_, -you know. I like to buy things, and at last there is certainly occasion -for my buying. Susan, you have no idea how much is wanted. Everything -in every line is necessary, and Judge Burnham has left all to me. We -need paper-hangers and painters, and all that sort of thing, but of -course he will attend to those things. Our plan is to return to-night -with a load of necessities. Judge Burnham is going to hire a team at -once, and have it loaded. But what _are_ the first necessities? Where -shall I begin?” - -“Begin with a pencil and paper,” said Susan, seizing upon them and -seating herself. “Now, let us be methodical. My teacher in mathematics -once told me that I was nothing if I was not methodical. Kitchen -first—no, dining-room, because we shall have to eat even before we get -the house in order. What is a necessity to that table before you can -have a comfortable meal?” - -Then they plunged into business. Two women, thoroughly in earnest, -pencil and paper in hand, bank check in pocket, organization well -developed in both of them, and the need of speed apparent, can -accomplish surprising things in the way of plans in an hour of time, -especially when one is persistently methodical. - -When Mrs. Burnham arose and drew her wrap around her preparatory -to joining the husband, who was waiting below, she felt as though -a week’s work had been accomplished. Besides, they had been cheery -together, these two—been in a different mood toward each other from -what had ever appeared before. Susan was so sensible, so quick-witted, -so clear-sighted as to what needed doing first, and as to ways of -doing the soonest, and withal her matter-of-course way of saying “we” -when she spoke of the work to arrange, made her appear such a tower -of strength to Ruth, who knew so well her own delinquencies in the -direction of housework, and who had thoroughly tested Susan’s practical -knowledge. - -“Land alive!” ejaculated Mrs. Erskine, when, after Ruth’s departure, -the new arrangements were presented to her for approval. “Who would -have thought she would have to come after you, in less than a day -after she set out to do for herself. So capable as she is, too, though -I don’t suppose she knows much more than a kitten about housework. How -should she? Well, I’m glad I had you learn all them things. What we’d -have done this winter if I hadn’t is more than _I_ can see through. -Well, well, child, I don’t know how we are going to get along without -you. Your pa sets great store by you; I can see it every day; and what -if I should have another turn of sick headache while you’re gone! -Though, for that matter, I don’t believe I will. I guess going through -the small-pox cured them headaches. I ain’t had one since. And so she -needs you right off? Well, poor thing! I don’t know what she _would_ do -without you, I’m sure. Them girls ain’t efficient, I dare say; girls -never are. You learn ’em how, Susan; you can do it, if anybody can, and -that’ll be doing ’em a good turn.” - -Susan discreetly kept her own counsel about “them girls,” and quietly -and swiftly packed her satchel, not without an exultant song at her -heart. This beautiful sister, whose love she had craved, seemed very -near to her this morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -TRYING QUESTIONS. - - -YOU are to imagine much that was done inside that long, low house on -the hill during the next three weeks. A great deal can be done in three -weeks’ time. What _was_ actually accomplished would fill a good-sized -volume; so it is well that you are to imagine instead of read about it. -A great many wheels of progress were started during that very first -day—Ruth among the stores, Judge Burnham among the paper-hangers, -painters and draymen, Susan in the Erskine attic, sorting out and -packing many things that, according to Judge Erskine’s orders, were -Ruth’s exclusive property. By the time the five o’clock train received -the three, they were tired and satisfied. - -Tired though they were, it was as late as midnight before all the -household settled into rest. Susan dropped into her place as naturally -as though it had been waiting for her all these years. The Ferris -family were departed bag and baggage, and the two Burnhams left behind -were red-eyed and disconsolate. Why not? The Ferrises were the only -friends they had ever known. Susan put a sympathetic arm around one -and kissed the other before she had been in the house five minutes, -and Ruth remembered with dismay that she had not thought of doing such -a thing. And, indeed, if I must tell you the truth concerning her, it -seemed almost an impossible thing to do! She had been for so many years -in the habit of bestowing her kisses rarely and to such an exceedingly -limited number of persons. Then they betook themselves, Susan and -Seraphina, to the kitchen. Confusion reigned. So it did all over the -house, except in the locked-up purity of Ruth’s two rooms. But before -midnight there was a comfortable place for Susan to sleep and most -satisfactory preparations in line for a breakfast the next morning. - -It was that next morning which gave the two Burnham girls their first -touch of a cultured home. There was a little room, conveniently -situated as regarded the kitchen, which the instinct of taste had made -Ruth select at the first glance as a dining-room. Thither she and Susan -repaired early in the evening to make a survey. - -“It needs painting,” said Susan, scanning the wood-work critically, -“and papering; and then, with a pretty carpet, it will be just -the thing. But, in the meantime, it is clean, and we can set the -breakfast-table here to-morrow morning, can’t we?” - -“If we can get it in here to set,” Ruth answered, in a dubious tone. -“It is a long, horribly-shaped table, and none of _our_ furniture will -be here, you know.” - -“Oh, I see my way out of that. There is a little table in that pantry, -or milk-room, or whatever is the name of it, that will do nicely for -a dining-table until we get settled; and, Ruth, shall we have some of -my muffins for breakfast? You remember Judge Burnham used to like -them when we gave them to him occasionally for tea. Oh, girls! I can -make delicious muffins, and if you are both down here by six o’clock -to-morrow morning I will teach you how, the first thing I do.” - -This last to the two bewildered girls, who stood waiting to see what -astonishing thing would happen next. As for Ruth, she went up-stairs -to that gem of a room, smiling over the strangeness of the thought -that Susan was down-stairs in their kitchen, hers and Judge Burnham’s, -planning with his daughters to have muffins for breakfast! Also, she -thought, with a sense of satisfaction, of the great trunk packed with -silver, rare old pieces of her mother’s own, which had been held sacred -for her during all these years, and of the smaller and newer trunk -containing table drapery, which was a marvel of fineness and whiteness. -Both trunks had journeyed hither several days ago, and had this night -been opened to secure certain things which Susan’s morning plans had -called for. - -So it was to the little room that the family came the next morning, -with its south window, into which the September sun slanted its rays -cheerily. The room itself was carpetless, and the chairs were wooden, -and there was no other attempt at furniture. But the table, laid -in snowy whiteness, and the napkins large and fine and of delicate -pattern, and the silver service gleaming before Ruth’s place, and the -silver forks and solid silver spoons, and the glittering goblets and -delicate china—for Susan had actually unpacked and washed and arranged -Ruth’s mother’s china—to say nothing of the aroma of coffee floating -in the air, and mingling not unpleasantly with the whiff of a vase of -autumn roses which blushed before Ruth’s plate. - -All these things were a lesson in home refinements such as a week of -talking would never have accomplished, and which the Burnham girls sat -down to for the first time in their lives. It was curious to notice the -effect on them. Their conspicuous calicoes and stretched-back hair and -ungainly shoes were still painfully visible. But, for the first time, -apparently, it dawned upon them that things didn’t match. They surveyed -the table, which was as a picture to them, and then, with instinctive -movements, essayed to hide their awkward shoes under their too short -dresses, and blushed painfully over the impossibility of doing so. Ruth -noticed it, and smiled. They would be ready for her hand, she fancied, -when she came to an hour of leisure to arrange for them. - -That breakfast scene was a cheery one. So much of home had already -entered into its elements that Judge Burnham cordially pronounced Susan -a fairy, and she as genially responded that she was a most substantial -one, and had had two substantial helpers, with a meaning glance toward -the girls. - -“Indeed!” he said, in kindly tone, and then he glanced toward them. - -That was a very pleasant way of showing good-will. The contrast between -this breakfast and the one to which they sat down but the morning -before was certainly very striking And, though the girls blushed -painfully, the tone in which he had spoken, and the glance which -accompanied his remark, did more for those daughters than all their -father’s lectures had accomplished. - -Directly the muffins and the broiled steak and the amber coffee were -discussed, and, the meal concluded, business in that house commenced. -Thereafter it was a scene of organized disorder. The girls, under -Susan’s lead, proved, notwithstanding Mrs. Judge Erskine’s surmise, -very “efficient” helpers. They could not enter a room properly, they -could not use the King’s English very well, and they knew nothing -about the multitude of little accomplishments with which the girls of -their age usually consume time. But it transpired that they could wash -windows, and “paints,” and sweep walls, and even nail carpets. They -were both quick-witted and skillful over many of these employments, -and the hearty laugh which occasionally rung out from their vicinity, -when Susan was with them, showed plainly that they had lost their fear -of her; but their embarrassment, where either their father or Ruth was -concerned, did not decrease. And, indeed, in the whirl of plans which -had recently come upon them, these two had little leisure to cultivate -the daughters’ acquaintance. Ruth, after a few attempts at helping, -discreetly left the ordering of the hired helpers to Susan’s skillful -hands, and accompanied her husband on daily shopping excursions, where -her good taste and good sense were equally called into action. - -In the course of time, and when there is a full purse to command -skillful helpers, the time need not be so very long drawn out. There -came a morning when it would have done your comfort-loving heart -good to have walked with Judge Burnham and his wife through the -reconstructed house! Nothing showy; nothing really expensive, as that -term is used in the fashionable world, had been attempted. Ruth’s -tastes were too well cultured for that. She knew, perfectly, that what -was quite in keeping with the lofty ceilings and massive windows of her -father’s house would be ridiculously out of place here. As you passed -with her from room to room you would have realized that nothing looked -out of place. Perhaps in the girl’s room as much thought had been -expended as in any place in that house. - -Ruth had been amazed, not to say horrified, on the occasion of her -first visit to their room, to find that it was carpetless, curtainless, -and, I had almost said, furnitureless! An old-fashioned, high-post -bedstead, destitute of any pretense of beauty, and a plain-painted -stand, holding a tin basin and a broken-nosed milk pitcher! To Ruth, -whose one experience of life had to do with her father’s carefully -furnished house, where the servants’ rooms were well supplied with -the comforts, to say nothing of the luxuries of the toilet, this -looked simply barbarous. Judge Burnham, too, was shocked and subdued. -It had been years since he had been a caller in his daughters’ room, -and he had seemed to think that magic of some sort must have supplied -their wants. “I furnished money whenever it was asked for,” he said, -regarding Ruth with a sort of appealing air. “Now, that I think of it, -they were never extravagant in their demands; but I supposed I gave -them enough. At least, when I thought about it at all, I assured myself -that the Ferrises would certainly not be afraid to ask for more, if -more was needed.” - -“The difficulty with the Ferris family was, that they had no tastes to -expend money for,” Ruth said, quietly, “but you can not wonder that -the girls are not just what we would like to see them. They certainly -have had no surroundings of any sort that would educate them in your -direction.” - -After this talk he entered with heartiness into the plans for that -room, and when the delicate blue and pale gold carpet was laid—and -it reminded one of a sunset in a pure sky—and the white drapery was -looped with blue ribbons, rural fashion, and the gold-banded china was -gracefully disposed on the toilet case, and the dressing-bureau was -adorned with all the little daintinesses which Ruth understood so well -how to scatter, even to a blue and gold vase full of sweet-scented -blossoms, and the pretty cottage bedstead was luxuriously draped in -spotless white, plump pillows, ruffled pillow shams, all complete, -Ruth stood back and surveyed the entire effect with the most intense -satisfaction. What said the girls? Well, they _said_ nothing. But -their blazing cheeks and suspiciously wet eyes looked volumes, and for -several days they stepped about that room in a tiptoe fashion which -would have amused Ruth, had she seen it. They could not rally from the -feeling that everything about them was so delicate and pure that to -breathe upon, or touch, would be to mar a work of art. - -Meantime, other matters had been progressing. Ruth had lain awake -half of one night and studied the immortal question of dress. She had -met and battled with, and conquered half a dozen forms of pride, and -then had boldly announced at the next morning’s breakfast-table, the -following: - -“Judge Burnham, the girls and I want to go to the city to attend to -some dress-making. Shall we go in that mail-wagon, or how?” - -Before this, I should have explained to you that Judge Burnham had -been, for some days, in an active state of trying horses, examining -carriages, and interviewing professional drivers. Also, several horses -and carriages had waited on them for trial, so that Ruth had taken -several rides to the cars on trial, and had once suggested that perhaps -it would be as economical a way of keeping a carriage as any, this -spending the season in making a choice. Therefore Judge Burnham laughed -as he answered: - -“Why, no, there is to be a trial span here in time for the ten o’clock -train. I was about to propose a ride in honor of that occasion. Are -you going into town for the day?” - -Ruth laughed. - -“For the week, I am afraid. We shall probably be detained at the -dressmaker’s for some time, and, after that, I have many errands to do.” - -Now the form in which her pride had met her last, was the shrinking -from going to town, and above all, going to the fashionable -dress-making and millinery establishments with those strange-looking -companions, for a critical survey of their wardrobe revealed the fact -that they had nothing which she considered decent. This was not the -first time that she had taken the subject into consideration. On the -contrary, it had been present with her during her shopping excursions, -and she had blessed the instinct which enabled her to see at a glance -just what shade or tint would suit the opposite complexions of the two -girls. - -She had visited her dressmaker and made arrangements with her for -service. But the question had been, whether she could not smuggle them -off in some way to a quieter street among the less fashionable workers, -and secure for them a respectable outfit in which to appear at Madame -Delfort’s. It was over these and kindred plans that she had lain awake, -and finally abandoned them all, and resolved upon outright unconcern -in regard to what others might say or think. Nevertheless she winced -when the two girls came down arrayed in their best, bright plaids—for -Mrs. Ferris’ taste had run entirely in that direction—cheap hat adorned -with cheap flowers and brilliant ribbons, both flowers and ribbons more -or less soiled, and with no gloves at all. Seraphina reported that she -_had lost_ hers, and Araminta, that she _couldn’t find hers_. Between -those two states there is a distinction, though it may not appear at -first sight. - -The trial carriage had arrived, and Judge Burnham seated his party, -himself wearing a disturbed face. He did not like the appearance of the -company with which he was to go to town. Ruth had thought of this, and -had tried to plan differently, but with a man’s obtuseness he had _not_ -thought of it, and could not, or would not understand why he should go -in on the ten o’clock train, and the rest wait until twelve, especially -when his wife admitted herself to be in haste and they might all go -together. Fairly seated opposite his daughters, he saw a reason for -having gone earlier, and even looked about him, nervously, as the -carriage neared the depot, wishing there was yet some chance of escape. - -A way opened. “Ah, good-morning, Judge! this is fortunate. I am in -search of you.” This was the greeting which he received from the depot -door. And he left Ruth standing on the steps and went forward to shake -hands with a tall, gray-haired man, in the prime of life. He came back -after a few moments, speaking rapidly. “Ruth, that is Parsons, the -famous criminal lawyer; he wants to consult me in regard to a case, and -is going farther on by the next train in search of a clue. I guess, -after all, I shall have to wait here for the twelve o’clock, and have a -talk with him; that is, if you do not object.” - -“Oh, not at all!” Ruth said, breathing more freely. Her husband’s -daughters were less of a cross to her without him than with him. Every -man he met on the train knew and came to talk with him, while she was -a stranger. The famous criminal lawyer moved toward them, looking -interested, and Judge Burnham could hardly escape the ceremony of -introduction. - -“Ah!” he said, bowing low to Mrs. Burnham, “very happy to meet you, -madam. I have known your husband for several years. I hear you are just -getting settled at your country-seat. Terrible task, isn’t it? But -pays, I suppose, when one gets fairly settled. I didn’t know until the -other day that you were rural in your tastes, Judge Burnham?” - -All these sentences, spoken in the man-of-the-world tone, which -indicates that the person is talking for the sake of filling the time, -and all the while his practiced eye was taking in the group—Judge -Burnham with a slightly embarrassed manner and somewhat flushed -face; his elegant, high-bred wife, who was a trifle pale as she was -wont to be under strong feeling of any sort; and the two girls, in -_outre_ attire, standing a little apart, with wide eyes and flaming -cheeks, staring painfully. The criminal lawyer seemed to think that -the position demanded more words from him. “You are the victims of -the usual American nuisance, I see,” with the slightest possible -inclination of his head toward the two. “The inefficiency of hired -help is really the social puzzle of this country, I think. Foreigners -have immensely the advantage of us. Just returning a relay of the -condemned sort I suppose?” - -There was the rising inflection to his sentence which marks a question, -and yet he rattled on, precisely like a man who expects no answer. Was -it because the train sounded its warning-whistle just then, that Judge -Burnham, though his face flushed and his eyes flashed, did not correct -the criminal lawyer’s mistake? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -“THAT WHICH SATISFIETH NOT.” - - -FAIRLY seated in the train, Ruth Burnham gave herself up to gloominess -over her own planning. The episode with the famous criminal lawyer not -having served to sweeten her way, she speedily determined on making -as little a cross of the rest of it as she could, too fully realizing -that, plan as she would, the way was a _cross_. She still shrank from -the fashionable “Madame’s,” and her fashionable corps of workers. -Perhaps the worriment was what she deserved for being so fashionable -in her desires that she could not bring herself to look up an obscure -back street with a modest sign, and thus help along the large army of -workers, who can not be fashionable—though really, there are two sides -to even that question. She understood that as a rule, the work done -from that back street would be a continual source of mortification to -her—a constant strain on her temper, so long as the garments lasted. -After all, it is not so much the desire to be in the height of the -fashion that sends women to the extravagantly high-priced _modistes_, -as a knowledge of the fact that as a rule, the low-priced ones do not -understand their business, and will succeed in making a bungle of any -work which they undertake. When there shall arise a class of women who -have carefully learned how to cut and make ordinary garments, in the -best manner, the cry of hard times, among such workers, will be less -frequently heard. - -Ruth concluded not to risk contact with chance acquaintances in -street-cars; but, directly she reached the city, took a carriage to a -store where she was a stranger, and did some rapid transforming work. -Two stylish wraps, selected with due reference to their qualifications -for covering much objectionable toilet underneath—selected, too, -with careful reference to the height and shape and complexion of the -wearers; then gloves that were strong and neat-fitting and shapely; -then hats of easily-donned stamp, gracefully, yet slightly trimmed; -and, really, Judge Burnham would hardly have recognized his daughters. -Ruth surveyed them with satisfaction; and, if they could have been -fitted at the “Madame’s,” without removing those stylish mantles, she -would have drawn a sigh of relief. As it was, she still had that to -dread, and a real ordeal it was. Those who condemn her for exhibiting -much false pride and foolish lack of independence have probably never -been tried in the same way. You have, of course, observed that people’s -own peculiar trials are the ones for which they have sympathy. They are -harder, too, to bear, than any other person’s. - -Ruth was not one whit behind the multitude, in her way of thinking -about herself. As she stood in the “Madame’s” apartments and endured -the well-bred stares and the well-bred impudence—for there really is -such a thing as what might be called well-bred impudence—she set her -teeth hard, and ruled that the color _should not_ rush into her face, -and, also, that the “Madame” should have no more of her custom, from -this time forth. And yet, when she came to cooler moments, she tried to -reason within herself, as to how the woman was to blame. What had she -said, or looked, that was not, under the circumstances, most natural? - -All these questions Ruth held, for the time being, at bay, and arranged -and directed and criticised with her usual calm superiority of manner, -and with the assurance of one who knew exactly what she wanted, and -intended not to stop short of entire satisfaction. And she didn’t. She -was more critical and troublesome, even, than usual; and the “Madame” -would have told you that that was unnecessary. And, at last, after many -delays, and changes of plan and trimmings, and changes of patterns, -involving vexatious delays on “Madame’s” part, they were free of her -for the day, and could pursue their round of shopping more at leisure. -But Ruth was in no mood for shopping, other than the necessary things -that must be ordered to the “Madame’s” without delay. She was tired -and fretted; she wanted something to cool and quiet her. - -She dispatched the necessary shopping with great care, indeed, but with -unusual speed, leaving the girls, meantime, seated in the carriage, -instead of in the great store, where they would have delighted to be. - -The business of lunching had been dispatched some time before—as -soon, indeed, as they had left the dress-making establishment. Ruth -had chosen an obscure place for refreshment, not choosing to risk the -danger of fashionable acquaintances, at the places with which she -was familiar. Consequently, she had been able to do little else than -gather her skirts about her, to protect them from careless and hurried -waiters, and to curl her aristocratic nose behind her handkerchief, at -the unwonted smells combining around her; while the girls, famished by -the drain on their nerves, and having, by reason of the excitement of -the morning, been unable to indulge in much breakfast, made a hearty -meal, not at all disturbed by the sights and sounds and odors which -made eating an impossibility to Ruth. This little matter served to add -to her discomfort and her sense of gloom; for, when people are hungry, -they are much more ready to yield to gloom. All the shopping done that -she could bring herself to give attention to, she consulted her watch, -and learned with dismay, that there was an hour and a half before -train-time. What was to be done with it? - -She thought of her husband’s office; but suppose the criminal lawyer -should be there? In any case, there would be those dreadful students -to stare, and nudge each other and giggle. Ruth dreaded a giggle more -than she did a bullet. Assuredly, she would not go there! Neither was -her city home to be thought of. She was not in a mood to present her -husband’s daughters to Mrs. Judge Erskine; neither did she intend -that those daughters, in their present attire, or with their present -attainments, should come in contact with her. So, as the gloomy-faced -woman rode listlessly along, on an up-town car, while the two -girls were bobbing their heads swiftly from one window to another, -endeavoring to take in all the strange sights, she was engaged in -trying to decide what to do with time. A blackboard bulletin, before -one of the public halls, caught her notice, and her quick eye took in -the large lettering: “_Bible Reading! Harry Morehouse! Here, at Four -O’clock! Come!_” Before she had reached the inviting word, she had -signaled the car, and the bewildered girls were following her whither -she would. - -“There is an hour or more before we can go home,” she said in -explanation. “Let us go to this meeting. Perhaps it will be -interesting.” - -They were entirely willing; in fact, they were in a state of maze. -Anything that this remarkable woman—who knew her way so composedly -through this great whirling city—suggested, they were willing to -help carry out. So they mounted the steps to the large, light, -social-looking room, where people were already thronging in. No -acquaintances to be feared here. Ruth did not now know many who -frequented such meetings, or were to be found in this part of the -city. In the distance she caught a glimpse Marion, but she shrank -back, unwilling to be recognized even by her; for Marion had her -beautiful daughter beside her, and the contrast would be too strikingly -painful. Presently the meeting opened. Ruth looked about her for -Harry Morehouse, a name with which she was not unfamiliar. But she -almost curled her lip in disappointment, she was so amazed at the -insignificance of this little, boyish man! “As if _he_ could help -anybody!” her heart said, in scorn. “What exaggerated reports do get -into the papers about people!” And then, presently, she did just what -many another person has done, who has listened to Harry Morehouse’s -rendering of Scripture—forgot to think of the man, and gave earnest -heed to the words which he was reading; words which, someway, had a -sound—strangely familiar though they were—as if she had never heard -them before. - -“Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your -labor for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, -and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in -fatness.” What was there in the familiar verse that thrilled so -through Ruth Burnham’s soul? “That which satisfieth not.” She needed -only her own experience to show her that one who understood the human -heart spoke those words! How freely she had been giving labor! and -how strangely unsatisfying it all seemed to her to-day! She fairly -hungered and thirsted after a higher grasp of the Infinite Arm, reached -down. A great longing came over her to hide herself away in him. She -was so tired and so tried, and a long line of petty trials stared her -in the face. She felt like turning away from them all; and yet she -mustn’t. Well, then, she felt like reaching higher ground—getting -up where the air was purer—where these endless details of dress and -position would trouble her less—where such women as “Madame,” the -dressmaker, would have no power to flush her cheek and set her heart -to angry beatings by a high-bred stare. Suddenly a new thought flashed -across her heart. These girls—what had she been doing for them? -How had she been trying to satisfy them? In the days that they had -spent together, she remembered that she had not once alluded, even -in the most remote manner, to anything higher, or better, or more -satisfying, than these new things, which, at best, were to perish -with the using. Had she not, by her example, left the impress of her -first influence upon them to the effect that well-furnished rooms and -carefully-adorned bodies were _the_ important things on which to spend -one’s strength? - -“Well,” she said within her disturbed self, “I have no time.” - -“No time?” inquired that other inner self, which is forever at war with -its fellow. “Is it because you have been employed on _more_ important -matters?” - -This almost angered Ruth; it flushed her face, and she said: - -“There is a proper time for all things.” - -“Yes,” said the other one, “and is the proper time to attend to this -most important concern with which we have to do in life _after_ all the -lesser matters are disposed of?” - -Then Ruth roused, and gave her heart some searching into. Was it -possible that she had really been teaching those girls that she -considered the matter of their outward adorning more important than -anything else connected with them! If actions speak even louder than -words, and if she had acted the one, and not so much as _spoken about_ -the other, what else _could_ they think? - -“I am glad,” she told herself, “that I brought them into this meeting. -At least they will get a different idea here.” - -Then she turned and looked at them. _Would_ they get different ideas, -or had the first taken root, leaving at least no _present_ room for -other growths? - -Miss Seraphina was spreading her hand carefully out on her lap, and -contemplating with eyes of unmistakable admiration the color and -texture and fit of her new gloves! It was altogether probable that -she had never worn well-fitting gloves before, and she felt their -importance. The other sister was evidently as totally absorbed in -the trimness of her neatly-fitting kid boot, the advent of which had -made her foot a stranger to herself, with which she was trying to get -acquainted, as though Harry Morehouse and his wonderful new Bible had -been in London at that moment! A strange pang thrilled the heart of -the woman who was trying in her youth to be a mother to these two, as -she looked at their absorbed faces and followed the direction of their -eyes. Was that simply the necessary result of new refinements? Would -these all sink into their proper and subordinate places directly the -newness and strangeness had worn off, or was this really a wave of her -own influence which was going to increase in power as surely as it was -fed? - -Now, this thought did not rest her; and while it was desirable in -itself that she should be thus early roused to the sense of danger -there might be in flooding these young creatures with this world’s -vanities, that wise old enemy, Satan, was on the alert to make the -whole matter into thorns with which to prick Ruth’s tired heart, and in -obliging her thoughts to revolve around this center, never widening it -nor seeing her way out of the maze, yet effectually shutting her off -from the practical help which awaited her through the channel of Harry -Morehouse’s Bible. - -Somebody has said that, whoever else stays away from a religious -meeting, Satan never does. Was there ever a truer statement? If he -would only appear in his natural character, instead of, as in this -instance, transforming himself into a goad, and pressing hard against -the nerves that were already strained to their utmost! - -On the whole, Mrs. Judge Burnham went home on the five o’clock train -thoroughly wearied in body and mind, and with a haunting sense of -disappointment pressing down her spirits. She had accomplished that -which she had in the morning started to do. She had been successful -in all her undertakings, and could feel that things were now in train -for making transformation in the outward appearance of these hitherto -neglected girls. A laudable undertaking, certainly, so it was held in -its place, but she could not get her heart away from the sentence: “And -your labor for that which satisfieth not.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -WHEREFORE? - - -NOW, I am afraid you will laugh over the matter which appeared next -to Ruth Burnham in the shape of a trial. Yet, if you have not lived -long enough in this world to be in sympathy with the _little_ trials, -which, in certain states of mind, look large, either your experience -is not extensive or your _sympathies_ not large. It was no greater -matter than the hair which belonged to Judge Burnham’s daughters. But -really if you _could_ have seen the trying way in which they managed -to disfigure their heads with this part of their adorning, you would -have felt that some action was demanded. Ruth knew exactly how each -head ought to be dressed; she could almost see the effect that would -be produced by a skillful and easily attainable arrangement. Then -where the trial? Why, perhaps, if you are not made up of that cruelly -sensitive type of women—and I am sure I hope you are not—it will be -difficult to make plain to you how Ruth shrank from touching that hair! -Human hair, other than her own was a thing which she desired to keep -at a respectful distance. She could admire it, when well cared for, -and she did most heartily. But to _care_ for it, to comb and brush and -fondle over _any_ person’s hair, was to Ruth, or would have been had -she ever been called upon to suffer in that line, a positive martyrdom. -Now add to this the fact that this shrinking from the work increased -tenfold when it had to do with any person who was not _very_ dear and -precious, and possibly you can comprehend why she wore so troubled a -face that Saturday evening, and gazed at those hopeless heads opposite -her, and wondered how a transformation was to be brought about. She was -hopeless as regarded teaching the intricacies of any becoming twist or -curl. In time, with patience and with often taking hold and obliging -the refractory hairs to lie in their place, it might be accomplished; -and here poor Ruth shivered over the horrors of a possible future -experience. But to get them ready to appear at church the next morning, -without a personal encounter, was not to be hoped for. - -This Saturday evening, although the family had been three weeks in -their new home, was the first in which they were planning for church. -The little church in the village had been closed for a longer space of -time than that, undergoing repairs, and the first Sabbath after their -marriage Ruth had contrived to plan and work herself into an exhaustive -headache that had to be succumbed to and petted all day. The next they -had been forced to spend in the city, by reason of having missed the -last train out on Saturday. Now here they were on the eve of the third, -and Ruth at least had been planning toward the little stone church -around the corner. Everything was in readiness. The new dresses and -the new bonnets and the new gloves, and all the new and bewildering -paraphernalia of the toilet had arrived from the city, the last -package only the evening before, and but for that dreadful hair Ruth -would have been happy over the thought of the effect to be produced by -the next morning’s toilet. - -It was Susan who at last, and in an unexpected manner, came to the -rescue, just as she had stepped in and rescued Ruth from a hundred -trials, both seen and unseen, during the experiences of the last three -weeks. She did her part so naturally, too, as one who simply happened -along at the right moment, without having understood any special need -for it. Perhaps there is no rarer or more perfect way of bearing one -another’s burdens than this apparently unconscious one. - -They sat in the cheery sitting-room—Ruth would not have it called a -parlor—and in no part of the house had the transformation been more -complete than in that square, rag-carpeted, paper-curtained, and -unhome-like room. Judge Burnham was reading certain business letters -that seemed to perplex him. The girls were wishing that they could -invent some excuse for escaping early from the room to their own, that -they might have another look at all the beauties of their wardrobe, -and Ruth was gazing at them with a distressed air and manner, and -thinking of hair! Susan, glancing up from her glove-mending, followed -the direction of Ruth’s eyes for a moment, then she spoke her thoughts. - -“I just _long_ to get hold of your hair.” - -The remark seemed to be addressed to the two girls, and was so in -keeping with Ruth’s thoughts that she started and flushed, wondering -for an instant whether it were possible for Susan to know what they -were. The girls laughed, and looked pleased at her interest. - -“Your hair would curl beautifully,” Susan added, addressing the elder -sister. “And those wide braids in which heavy hair is arranged now -would just fit Minta’s face. Don’t you think so, Ruth?” - -“Yes,” said Ruth, promptly, “I am sure of it. But I don’t know that she -could get them looped right.” - -“Oh yes, she could. It is very easy after one knows how. Girls, I am an -excellent barber. Suppose we go up-stairs and try my skill? I can show -you so that you can arrange that part of your toilet in the morning in -less time than it usually takes.” - -This plan was immediately carried out, the three going up-stairs with -merry voices, Susan’s cheery one being heard to say: - -“Oh, you don’t understand half my accomplishments yet; there are ever -so many things I can do.” - -“That is a fact,” said Judge Burnham, with emphasis. “She is a very -treasure in the house. I used to pity you, Ruth, but, upon my word, -so far as she is concerned, I am not sure that there was any room for -pity.” - -“There was not,” Ruth said, heartily. “It took me a long time to -realize it, but she has been from the first day of her coming to our -home a blessing to me.” - -And so strange are these hearts of ours, touched oftentimes by words -or deeds apparently so slight, Ruth felt the little episode of the -hair-dressing as something that called forth very tender feeling for -her sister. She began to have a dim idea of what a blessing might be -hidden in a simple, quiet life, constantly unselfish in so-called -_little_ things. - -So it came to pass that, on a lovely Sabbath morning, the Burnham -family were one and all making ready to appear as a family in the -little stone church. The girls had been there, more or less, on -Sabbaths, during their lives. Years ago Judge Burnham used to go -occasionally, when he felt like it. But it had been many a year since -he had been seen inside the unpretending little building. Ruth, of -course, had never been, and the circumstances surrounding them all were -so new and strange that it was almost like a company of strangers being -introduced into home-life together. - -The two girls came down a trifle earlier than the others, and were -in the hall near the doorway, where the soft, yellow sunlight rested -on them, when Judge Burnham descended the stairs. Half-way down he -paused, with a surprised, irresolute air, as his eyes rested on the two -apparent strangers, and then, as one of them turned suddenly, and he -caught a glimpse of her face, the surprise deepened into bewilderment. -Who _were_ these young ladies who were so at home in his house in the -privacy of a Sabbath morning? This was the first thought. And the -second, “It is not—can it be _possible_ that they are my daughters!” -Then, it is almost surprising that he did not at once feel humiliated -over the fact that outward adornings had power so to transform! - -It was certainly a transformation! Rich, quiet-toned silks, just -the right tint to accord well with skin and eyes, made in that -indescribable manner which marks the finished workman, to those -eyes skilled in translating it, and to other eyes it simply -says, “The effect is perfect.” Wraps, and hats, and gloves, -and handkerchiefs—everything in keeping. And, in place of the -stretched-back hair, were soft, smooth, rolling auburn curls, -completely changing the expression of the wearer’s face. Also, that -unbecoming mass of shortish hair which had hung in such untidy -uncouthness, was gone, and in its place wide, smooth braids, tastefully -looped here and there with knots of ribbon of just the right shade. - -Ruth should have been there at that moment to see the two, and to see -Judge Burnham as he looked at them. She would have felt rewarded for -her work. It certainly _was_ strange what a different manner the -hitherto awkward girls now assumed. A sense of conscious becomingness, -if it were nothing more, had fallen upon them, and in the effort to do -justice to their new selves they almost unconsciously drew the stooping -shoulders straight and stood with heads erect. - -“Well, upon my word!” said Judge Burnham, recovering himself at last, -and advancing toward them, “I didn’t know you. I wondered what strange -ladies we had here. Your fall suits are certainly very becoming.” - -He chose to ignore the fact that fall suits were new experiences to -them. Perhaps he really did not yet understand to what a new world they -had been introduced. The two laughed, not unpleasantly, and the flush -on their cheeks, toned, as it was, by the billows of soft ruchings -about the throat, was certainly not unbecoming. They had taken long -looks at themselves in their mirror, that morning, and it was not -unpleasant to them to think that their father did not recognize them. -They had already reached the place where they had no desire to have -their past recognized. Some seed takes root promptly and grows rapidly. - -You may imagine that the entrance of the Burnham party to the little -stone church was an event in the eyes of the congregation. They had -known the Burnham girls all their lives; but these “young ladies” they -never saw before. It would have been curious to a student of human -nature to have studied the effect which their changed appearance made -on the different characters present. Certain ones looked unaffected -and unconcealed amazement; others gazed up at them, and returned their -nods of recognition with respectful bows, seeming to look upon them as -people who had moved to an immense distance from themselves; and there -were those who resented the removal, and tossed their heads and said, -with their eyes, and the shape of their mouths, that they “considered -themselves quite as good as those Burnham girls, if they were all -decked out like peacocks!” - -As for Judge Burnham, the shade of satisfied pride, in place of the -mortification which he had schooled himself to feel, repaid his wife -for her three weeks of effort. - -Then she tried to turn away from the question of personal appearance, -and give herself to the service; but she was both surprised and -pained to find that, in her well-meant efforts to place these girls -in their proper position before others, she had, someway, lost ground -spiritually. It was all very well to resolve to turn her thoughts away -from the girls, and their dresses, and their bonnets, and their hair, -and their manners, but it was another thing to accomplish it. She found -what, possibly, we have each discovered by experience, that it was not -easy to get away on Sabbath, in church, from that which had absorbed us -during the week, and indeed, a fair share of the early Sabbath itself. -Try as she would to join in hymn, or Bible-reading, or even prayers, -she found her mind wandering to such trivial questions as whether, -after all, a shade lighter of the silk would have fitted Minta’s -peculiar complexion better, or whether those gloves were not a trifle -large. These thoughts were very hateful to her. She struggled hard to -get away from them, and was amazed and distressed beyond measure to -find that they held her captive. She waited eagerly for the sermon, -hoping that it would be such an one as would hold her attention for -her, since she was not able to control it herself; and behold, the -text announced was one which, indeed, helped her wandering thoughts, -but threw her back into the very midst of the gloom which had pressed -her heart the last time she heard those words: “Wherefore do ye spend -money for that which is not bread? and your labor for that which -satisfieth not?” Again her answering conscience said that was what she -had been doing. Money and time and strength freely given for that which -was not bread! - -It had not fed her soul; on the contrary, it, or something else, had -starved her. Well, what was the trouble? She had surely done that which -was her duty? Yes, but did a revealing spirit whisper the words in her -ear, just then?—“These ought ye to have done, and not to have left the -other undone.” She had been _absorbed_ in her labor; she had put these -things first. She had risen and gone about the day, too hurried for -other than a word of prayer—too hurried for any private reading. She -had retired at night, too wearied in mind and body for any prayer at -all! She was starved! much time gone, and no bread for her hungry soul! -Also, having not fed herself, how could she have been expected to feed -others? Even yet she had said almost nothing, to these daughters of -hers, about the all-important matter. She had talked with them, often -and long. All the details of the toilet had been gone over carefully, -exhaustively, and she and they, and Judge Burnham himself, were -satisfied with the results of her words in that direction. What about -the direction which “_satisfieth_?” - -How was Ruth to get away from her heart? - -No, I must do her justice; that was not her cry. She did not want -to get away from the awakening voice. She was distressed, she was -humiliated, she was unhappy; but she wanted to find rest only through -the love and patience of Jesus. She felt like a sheep who had wandered -outside, even while doing work that she surely thought was set for -her—as, indeed, it was; but her eyes were just opening to the fact -that one can do work that the Master has set, so vigorously as to -forget the resting-places which he has marked for the soul to pause and -commune with him, and gather strength. She had been _working_, but not -_resting_. And then, again, it was most painfully true that, because -of her lack of spiritual strength, she had done but half her work. The -important human side she had held to its important place, and worked -faithfully for it. But the forever-more important spiritual side she -had allowed to sink almost out of sight of her vision; and even, when -roused by His Spirit, as He had spoken to her through that very verse, -but a little time before, she had allowed her roused heart to slip back -and absorb itself in the cares of this world and the adornments of -fleshly bodies, while the souls waited. - -Truth to tell, Ruth was not troubled any more that morning, by -wandering thoughts; neither did she hear much of the earnest sermon -which was preached; but, if the preacher had but known how the Holy -Spirit took his text and preached to one soul for him, he would have -gone home to his closet, on his knees, and thanked God for using his -lips that day, in reading to that soul that questioning word. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -“HEARKEN UNTO ME.” - - -“IT passes my comprehension how a man with no more development of -brain-power than that one possesses made the mistake of thinking he was -called to preach!” - -This was what Judge Burnham said, as he walked with his wife home from -the morning service. - -“Did you ever hear an effort more devoid of ideas? What possible good -can he think he has accomplished, if that is his motive? Or how can -he have sufficient vanity to imagine that it is other than a bore to -listen to him?” - -Ruth hesitated for her answer. It was not that she had been so -impressed with the sermon, it was rather the text that had been -preached to her; and she did not feel personally sensitive in regard -to Judge Burnham’s opinion of this particular minister. I think the -reason that the words struck sharply on her heart was because they -revealed her husband’s utter lack of sympathy with the subject matter -of the sermon. He was speaking solely from a critical, intellectual -standpoint, without, apparently, a conception of any spiritual power -connected with the “foolishness of preaching.” The sentence revealed to -Ruth, as with a flash of light—such as reveals darkness—the fact that -her husband had no sympathy with Christ or his servants, as such. Of -course, she had known this before; but to know a thing and to _feel_ it -are two very different matters. - -“I was not thinking of the _newness_ of the truth,” she said, after a -little, speaking hesitatingly. “It impressed me, however. A thing does -not need to be new in order to be helpful; it may be as old as the -earth, and we never have given it attention.” - -“Possibly,” he said lightly. “There are things so old and so tiresome -that we do not care to give them special attention; I am entirely -willing to class that sermon among such, if you say so. I declare I had -not realized that a sermon could be such a trial to me. I don’t quite -see what is to be done; I suppose your orthodoxy will not permit of -your staying at home on Sabbath, and I’m sure we can not tolerate that -sort of preaching—I suppose he calls it preaching. How shall we manage?” - -Still Ruth had no answer ready. Every word that he spoke served to -increase the heavy weight at her heart; and, despite her shivering -effort to get away from it, there rang the question, “How can two walk -together except they be agreed?” Yet she realized only too well that -the time for settling that question was long past; that she had taken -solemn and irrevocable vows upon her, and must abide by them. The -question now was, How was she so to walk with him as not to dishonor -Christ? - -“I have no fault to find with the man’s preaching,” she said, coldly; -and her husband laughed good-naturedly, and told her he appreciated her -well-meant efforts to make the best of everything, but, unfortunately, -she had too much brain to allow him for a moment to believe that such -weak attempts at oratory satisfied her. Then he changed the subject, -talking of matters as foreign to Ruth’s thoughts as possible, and yet -serving, by their very distance from her heart, to press the weight of -pain deeper. Her eyes once widely opened, it seemed that everything -which occurred that day served to show her more plainly the gulf which -lay between her ideas, and plans, and hopes, and those of her husband. - -“What a glorious day this is!” he had said, as they turned from the -dinner table. “I declare I believe the country _is_ ahead of the city! -on such days as these, any way. Ruth, what do you say to a ride? It -would be a good time to explore that winding road which seemed to -stretch away into nowhere.” - -While he waited, he watched with surprise the flush which deepened -and spread on his wife’s face. It so happened that the question of -Sabbath riding for pleasure was one which had come up incidentally -for discussion one evening at Flossy Shipley’s, during Mr. Roberts’ -visit, and Ruth, who had taken the popular view of innocent Sabbath -recreation, had discussed the matter with keen relish, finding Mr. -Roberts able to meet her at every point. She had been first annoyed -to find her position open to so much objection, then interested -to study the question in all its bearings, and ended, as such a -frank, intelligent and thoroughly sincere nature as hersmust end, -in abandoning a position which she saw was untenable, and coming -strongly over to the other side; since which time the observance of -the Sabbath had been one of her strong points. Judge Burnham had -respected her scruples, so far as he knew them, but, truth to tell, -he did not understand them very well. Having no personal principle in -the matter by which to judge, he was in danger of erring in unthought -of directions, and every new phase of the same question demanded a new -line of reasoning. It had not so much as occurred to him that his wife -would see any impropriety in riding out in her own carriage, on the -Sabbath day, with her husband, on a quiet, unfrequented country road. - -While she hesitated he watched her curiously. - -“Well,” he said, laughing, at last, “what is the trouble? You look -as though I had broken all the commands in the Decalogue. Am I on -forbidden ground now?” - -“Not _all_ the commands,” Ruth said, trying to smile; “but you seem to -have forgotten the Fourth.” - -“I am not sure that I know it. I am not thoroughly posted as to the -commandments—the position in which they stand at least. What is wrong, -Ruth?” - -“Judge Burnham, I don’t like to ride out for pleasure on Sabbath.” - -“What! not with me? Is it wicked to have a pleasant time on Sabbath? -I didn’t know that. I fail to see why we can’t be as good sitting -together in the carriage as we are sitting together in the parlor. -Or should we spend this day apart, enjoying the luxury of melancholy -reflection?” - -“I think you know what I mean. You are much too well versed in argument -to be entirely ignorant of people’s views in regard to this day.” - -“Upon my word, Ruth, I was never more innocent. I might be able to see -some force in a young lady’s objection to riding out with a young -gentleman, especially in a city, or in a crowded thoroughfare, though -even such things may be carried to excess; but when it comes to one’s -husband, and a country road where we shall not meet three people in an -hour, I confess I am befogged. Susan, do you see the bearings of this -case?” - -“Why, I see a good many bearings which you would not admit, and -possibly you could bring to bear a good many arguments which _I_ would -not admit. We start from different standpoints. It all resolves itself -into whether we believe the word of God or not, and I accept it as our -rule of life.” - -“Why, no, it doesn’t. I believe the word of God; in a measure at least. -I have respect for the Sabbath as an institution, and believe in its -sacredness. I have no sort of fault to find with ‘Remember the Sabbath -day, to keep it holy.’ I believe it was a good, sensible law. But we -should very likely quarrel over the word ‘holy.’ I should object to -the narrowness which made it so falsely holy that I could not enjoy a -ride with my wife after church, and I should have serious doubts as to -whether you could prove your side of the question from the Bible.” - -“Listen to one Bible argument, then,” Susan said, quietly, “and tell -me what you think it means. ‘If thou turn away thy foot from doing thy -pleasure on my holy day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of -the Lord, honorable, and shalt honor Him, not doing thine own ways, nor -finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words.’ What do you -think of that argument for my side, Judge Burnham?” - -The gentleman addressed looked his embarrassment and annoyance. The -verse quoted sounded strangely new and solemn to him. His inner -consciousness was made certain that he was not ready to gauge his -Sabbath employments by that rule. - -“Oh, well,” he said, restlessly, “that verse would have to affect other -things besides riding out in the country; it has to do with home-life, -and words, and acts, as well.” - -“It certainly has,” Susan answered. And she spoke as if she thought it -in no degree lessened the force of the argument, because the obligation -reached in many directions. - -“I suppose,” Ruth said, “there is no question but that the Sabbath is -very poorly observed; still that is hardly an argument for increasing -the ways for dishonoring it, is it?” - -Then Judge Burnham turned on his heel and went off to the piazza, -deigning no reply to the general question that his wife had put. As for -herself, she struggled with the sense of pain that kept increasing, -and wondered how she should shape her life. Apparently, Judge Burnham -became ashamed of his rudeness, for he returned presently to the -parlor, whither Ruth had gone to wait for him, and seating himself near -her, with some pleasant remark as far removed from the recent subject -as he could make it, took up a book and seemed to lose himself in it. -Ruth followed his example, the book she took being the elegantly bound -Bible that her father had sent to grace the table. Instinctively she -turned to the chapter from which the haunting verse came, and slowly, -carefully, read it over. Presently what had been a pretense with Judge -Burnham became reality. He was interested in his book, which interest -he evidenced by a burst of laughter. - -“This is really rich,” he said. “Listen to this sarcasm, Ruth; see -if you ever heard anything touch deeper.” And then he read from the -sparkling, satirical, popular writer, a dozen sentences of brilliant -sarcasm concerning one of the scientific questions of the day—keen, -sharp, sparkling with wit and strength, but having to do with a subject -for which Ruth had no sympathy at any time, and which especially jarred -upon her this Sabbath afternoon. Her husband looked up from his reading -to meet the answering flash of the eyes which he liked so well to -see kindle, and met the objection on her face, and felt the lack of -sympathy with his enjoyment. “I beg your pardon,” he said, abruptly, “I -had forgotten your Puritan ideas. Possibly I am infringing again on the -sacredness of your Sabbath.” - -“I certainly think that the sentiments of that book are not in -accordance with the Bible idea of the sacredness of the day.” If Ruth -could only have kept her voice from sounding as cold as an iceberg, she -might have had some influence. - -As it was, he arose with a decided frown on his fine face. “I see, -Ruth,” he said, speaking as coldly as she had herself, “that we -assuredly have nothing in common for this day of the week, whatever -may be said of us on other days. It is a pity that the ‘sacredness of -the Sabbath’ should be the only element of discord between husband and -wife. As I am in continual danger of erring unconsciously, I will have -the grace to leave you in solitude and religious enjoyment,” and with a -courtly bow he left her to herself, and her large, open Bible, and her -sad heart. - -A little later Susan came in, and stopping beside her looked down the -page of the Bible. Ruth laid her finger on the words of the morning -text: “It is all true, Susan,” she said gravely. “I don’t believe there -is any person living who realizes it more fully than I do. ‘That which -satisfieth not.’ One may do one’s best, and succeed in accomplishing, -and it is unsatisfying.” - -“Have you answered the question, Ruth, dear?” - -“Whose question?” - -“The Holy Spirit’s—Wherefore, do ye? That is what he asks. Do you -understand why we try to satisfy our souls on husks, instead of wheat?” - -“Well,” Ruth said, thoughtfully, “things have to be done.” - -“Of course; but why should we stop among the _things_ expecting -satisfaction, or allow them to take other than the subordinate place -they were meant to occupy? Ruth, I think the trouble with you is, you -do not read the whole verse. You feel that you have proved the truth -of the first part of it, in your own experience Why don’t you try the -rest?” - -“Just what do you mean?” - -“Why, listen; ‘Hearken unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let -your soul delight itself in fatness.’ Don’t you see what an assurance -that is, that the feast is spread? There is prepared that which will -satisfy; why not hearken to the voice of the Master of the feast?” - -Ruth lifted to her sister’s face earnest eyes, that filled with tears. - -“I _have_ tried to ‘hearken,’” she said, in a voice that was husky -with feeling. “I have heard his voice and have tried to follow him -and, at times, as I have told you before, he has seemed very near, but -the feeling does not stay. I am up on the Mount one day, more than -satisfied, and the next day I have dropped down and lost my comfort.” - -“Yes, I know that story in all its details. I have lived it. In my own -case it was because I ceased ‘hearkening’ for his voice. I placed other -things first. I thought first of what _I_ was going to do, or have, or -be, instead of putting Christ first.” - -“Ruth, don’t you know He says: ‘For I the Lord thy God am a _jealous -God_?’ How often I have thought of that! He _will not abide_ with a -divided heart; he must be _first_; and, for myself, I did not for years -keep him first. God was not in _all_ my thoughts.” - -“I don’t know,” Ruth said, speaking slowly after a long silence, and -she spoke with a long drawn sigh. - -“I don’t know that I can ever get back to where I was, even three weeks -ago. Something has dropped like a pall upon my joy in religion. I never -had much joy in anything. Really, it isn’t my nature to be joyful. -Perhaps I should not expect it.” - -Susan, smiling, shook her head. “That won’t do, you know. Joy is one of -the fruits that you are commanded to bear. It is not optional with you. -‘The fruit of the Spirit is love’—_joy_—you remember. It is not the joy -of nature that you and I are to look for, but the joy of grace. Ruth, -if I were you, I would not try to go back to three weeks ago, I would -try to go back to Christ and ask him to hold you, and lead you, and -speak for you, and in this, your time of special need, not to let you -drop for one moment away from him.” - -But who shall account for the perversity of the human heart? Something -in the simple, earnest words were translated by Satan to mean to Ruth a -reflection against her husband. She lifted her head haughtily and the -tremor went out of her voice. “I don’t know what you mean by my ‘time -of special need;’ I do not know that one’s life, humanly speaking, -could be more carefully shielded than mine. I have no anxiety as to -Judge Burnham’s position in regard to these questions; he will respect -my wishes and follow my plans.” - -To this Susan had no answer. Had she spoken at all, she feared she -would have shown Ruth that her own words were not strictly true. She -believed her at this moment to be weighed down with a sense of her -husband’s influence over her. - -When the bell tolled for evening service, Susan and the two daughters -of the house came down attired for church. - -“Going again?” queried Judge Burnham, with uplifted eyebrows. “Ruth -and I have had enough for to-day.” And Ruth, sitting back in the easy -chair, with a footstool at her feet, and a sofa pillow at her head, and -a volume of sacred poems in her hand, neither raised her eyes nor spoke. - -“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” This sentence stayed -persistently with Susan Erskine. What had it to do with Judge Burnham -and his wife that they, too, should remind her of it? - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -“BITTER-SWEET.” - - -A QUESTION which began to press heavily on Ruth’s mind as the days went -by was: What should she do when Susan went home? - -It began to be apparent that all the details connected with the -reconstructed house were completed; and also, that a skillful set of -hired helpers were in their places. But it was equally apparent to her -heart that she shrank from the thought of seeing Susan pack her trunk -and go back to the Erskine homestead; she fitted so perfectly into -the family life; she had already acquired such a remarkable degree of -influence over the girls. They copied her ways and her words, and it -had some time ago become apparent to Ruth that this sister of hers was -in every respect worthy of being copied. Even her dress—taking its -hints from Flossy Shipley’s sweetly-spoken words, about which Ruth knew -nothing—had taken such quietness of tone that, if it was not marked for -its beauty, had perhaps higher praise in that it was not noticed at -all, but had sunken into the minor place it was expected to fill. Ruth, -in thinking the past all over, was amazed at the wholesale way in which -she had finally adopted her sister. Just _when_ she began to like her, -so well that it was a pleasure to have her company and a trial to think -of her absence, she did not know. It seemed to her now as though she -had always felt so; and yet she knew that somewhere along the line of -her life there must have been a decided change of feeling. - -“She is just splendid, anyway!” This was the final verdict. “I don’t -care when I began to know it; I know it now. I wish I could have her -with me always. If she and father could live out here with us, how -nice it would be! Father would like the country; it would rest and -strengthen him. But, oh! _that woman!_” Which two words, spoken with an -intensity of emphasis that she allowed only the four walls of her room -to hear, always referred to Mrs. Judge Erskine. She was quite as much -of a trial as ever. Ruth could not conceive of a possibility of there -ever being a time when she should want to see _her_. So she studied -over the problem of how to keep Susan, and, like many another student, -found, after a few days, that it was worked out for her, in a way that -she would not have chosen. - -The news burst like a bomb-shell into their midst, without note or -warning. Judge Erskine had lost his fortune! Large though it had been, -it slipped out of his grasp almost in an hour. - -“The trouble has to do with small-pox and religion!” Judge Burnham -said, with something very like a sneer on his handsome face. “I don’t -know which development should be blamed the most. During his exile -from the office his clerks made some very foolish moves, as regarded -investments, etc. And, then, the other disease reached such a form that -he was beguiled into putting his name to two or three pieces of paper -for others, on the score of friendship—a piece of idiocy that during -all his sane years he had warned me, and every other business man who -came to him for advice, from being beguiled into; and the result is, -financial ruin.” - -“There are worse ruins than that!” Ruth said it haughtily; her -husband’s criticism of her father jarred. - -“Oh, that is true enough. There are dishonorable ruins; this one is the -soul of honor, and of philanthropy, for that matter. He has _so_ much -to sustain him, but he can’t live on it. And, Ruth, if you had ever -known what it was to live on nothing, you could sympathize better with -that sort of ruin. The hard part for me to bear would be that it is -all so unnecessary; if he had but lived up to the wisdom and business -keenness which characterized all the earlier years of his life! He -has taken to giving some very strange advice to his clients since he -subscribed to his new views—advice which has taken thousands of dollars -out of his business. ‘Had to do it,’ he told me; his ‘conscience -wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.’ If that is true, I am really -afraid that I couldn’t afford to have a conscience; it is too expensive -in article.” - -How much of this was sincere, and how much was a sort of sarcastic -pleasantry? Ruth wished she knew. It was a new and rather startling -thought that possibly the money which sustained her now had to do with -the fact that her husband couldn’t afford a sensitive conscience! - -She put the thought away, as far from her as possible. At least, she -could do nothing with it now; the time for it was past. She tried not -to think what ground she had for expecting a high type of conscience -from one who lived in cool dishonor of the claims of the Lord Jesus -Christ. - -The immediate questions were: What would her father do? Also, what was -there that she could do for him? - -“Oh, he will give everything up,” Judge Burnham said; “every penny; -house, and landed property, and household goods, down to his very dog. -Even his clothing is in danger. I saw it in his eyes. It is the disease -which has pervaded his system. This new conscience of his won’t let him -do anything sensible.” - -“Judge Burnham,” said Ruth, having endured all that she could—she -was not skilled in endurance—“I wish you would remember that you are -speaking of my father, and refrain from sneers. If his code of honor is -higher than yours, he can not help it, I suppose. At least, you should -be able to respect it; or, failing in that, please respect my feelings.” - -“I beg your pardon,” said Judge Burnham, quickly startled by the -repressed fierceness of the tones. - -“I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Ruth, but you do not understand -business, and your father is really being very absurd with his strained -ideas of equity.” - -“I understand conscience, somewhat,” Ruth said, quickly, and she was -stung with the thought that perhaps in the days gone by she had stifled -hers. Now all this was certainly very sad talk to come between husband -and wife not six weeks after their marriage. Ruth felt it and deplored -it and wept over it, and wondered how it would be possible to avoid -subjects on which they did not think and feel alike. - -Meantime she ought to go and see her father. From this she shrank. How -could she talk with him from any other standpoint than that in which -she had always known him? A man of wealth and power in the business -world, she felt that he must be utterly bowed down. He had always, in a -lofty, aristocratic way, attached full importance to wealth. How was he -going to endure being suddenly thrown to the bottom of the ladder, when -he had for so many years rested securely on the top round? - -However, it was folly for her to avoid such an evident duty. She chose -an hour when Mrs. Erskine would be undoubtedly engaged down-stairs, and -slipped away to the train, having said nothing of her intention to her -husband when he went to town an hour before, and without having as yet -succeeded in arranging a single sentence that she felt would be helpful -to her father, she suddenly and silently presented herself before him, -in the little room off the library which was sacred to his private use. -He sat at the table, writing, his face pale, indeed, but quiet, not -exactly cheerful, yet certainly peaceful. - -He glanced up as the door opened, and then arose quickly. “Well, -daughter,” he said, “you have come to see father in his trouble. That -is right. Come in, dear, and have a seat.” And with the old-time -courtesy he drew an easy chair for her and waited while she seated -herself. Then he sat down again, in his large arm-chair, before her. - -“Yes,” he said, “I must begin again. I shall not get to where I was -before. On your account I regret it. I wanted to leave you a fortune -to do good with, but your husband has enough, and it is all right. The -Lord can choose what money he will have spent for him.” - -“You certainly need not think of me, father. As you say, Judge Burnham -has enough.” And even at this moment there was a pang in Ruth’s heart -that she would not have had her father see for worlds, as she wondered -how much power she could have over _his_ wealth to turn it into sources -for good. - -“My chief anxiety is, What are you going to do?” - -“Well,” he said, and there was a gleam of a smile on his face, “I am -going to climb up again with my wife’s help. It isn’t poverty, you -know, thanks to her. Isn’t it marvelous how she can have saved so much -out of the paltry yearly sums? Haven’t you heard about it? Why, she -actually has at interest about fourteen thousand dollars; invested in -my name, too. Isn’t that a reward for the indignities I heaped upon -her?” His voice broke, and the tears started in his eyes. “I tell you,” -he said, tremulously, “I bore it all better than that. I knew I was not -to blame for the financial downfall, but to find that the woman whom I -had wronged had been all these years heaping coals of fire on my head -just unmanned me,” and he wiped the great tears from his cheeks, while -Ruth moved restlessly in her seat. She did not like to hear about his -having wronged “that woman,” neither did she like to have her father -beholden to _her_ for support. - -“It is fortunate that she saved it,” she said, and her voice was most -unsympathetic. “But, after all, father, it is your money.” - -“No, daughter, no; not a penny of it. Ten times that sum ought to -belong to her. Think of trying to make _money_ repair the injury which -I was doing her! But it is most comforting to feel that I am to be -beholden to her, rather than to any other human being.” - -Ruth did not think so. - -“I have been wonderfully sustained, Ruth,” her father continued. “I -said last night that it was almost worth losing a fortune to see how -calmly the Lord Jesus could hold me. I haven’t had a doubt nor an -anxiety as to its being the right way from the first hour that I knew -of the loss. Of course I don’t see _why_ it should come, and really, -I don’t believe I care to know. Why should I, when I can so entirely -trust to His wisdom and love? There is another thing, daughter—the -sweet came with the bitter, and was so much more important that it -over-balanced. Did you know that your mother had come into the sunlight -of His love? She told me about it that very evening, and she says she -owes her knowledge of the way to me. Isn’t that a wonderful boon for -the Lord to bestow on such as I?” - -Ruth turned almost away from him, with an unaccountable irritability -tugging at her heart. “Your mother!” he had never used those words to -her before. They had slipped out now, unconsciously. He had grown used -to their sound in speaking to Susan; he did not see how they jarred. -It frightened his daughter to realize how little she seemed to care -whether a soul had been new-born or not; she could not take in its -importance. - -“I am sure I am very glad,” she said, but her voice bore not the -slightest trace of gladness. Then she went home, feeling that her -spirit was not in accord with the tone of that house. “He doesn’t need -_my_ comfort,” she told herself, and she said it almost bitterly. -It was true enough, he didn’t. Not that he did not appreciate human -sympathy and human love, but a greater than human strength had laid -hold upon his weakness, and he was upborne. This, too, Ruth recognized, -and even while she rejoiced in it, there mingled with the joy a strange -pain. - -Following the money downfall came plans that were quite in accord with -her wishes. They sprang into being apparently through a chance remark. -It began with Ruth, in a heavy sigh, as she said, she and Susan being -alone: - -“I don’t know how to take the next step for those girls. It is absurd -to think of sending them to school. At their age, and with their -limited knowledge, they would be simply objects of ridicule. We must -find a resident governess for them. But where to look for one who will -have to teach young ladies what, in these days, quite little children -are supposed to know, and yet remember that they are young ladies, and -treat them as such, is a puzzle. I am sure I don’t know where to look, -nor how to describe what we need, the circumstances are so peculiar.” - -Then she waited for Susan to answer; and so accustomed had she grown -to being helped by that young lady’s suggestions, that she waited -hopefully, though without having the least conception of how a -comparative stranger in the city could help in this emergency. - -“There are plenty to get,” Susan said. “At least I suppose the world is -full of teachers, if you only knew just where to look for them.” - -“Oh, _teachers_. Yes, there are plenty of them, if a teacher was all -that was needed. But, you know, Susan, the case is a very unusual one. -We really need a woman who knows a good deal about every thing, and who -is as wise as a serpent. There is a chance to ruin the girls, and make -trouble for Judge Burnham and misery for me, if we do not get just the -right sort of person; and I am in doubt as to whether there _is_ any -right sort to be had.” - -Whereupon Susan laughed, and blushed a little, as she said: - -“After such an alarming statement of the requirements, I am not sure -that I have the courage to propose a friend of mine. She doesn’t lay -claim to any of the gifts which you suggest.” - -Ruth looked up, relieved and smiling. - -“Do you really know a teacher, Susan, whom you can recommend? I forgot -that your acquaintance was extensive among scholars. You need not -hesitate to suggest, for I assure you that your recommendation would -go further with Judge Burnham and myself than any one we know, for -you understand the situation, and your judgment is to be relied upon. -Of whom are you thinking, and where is she to be found? I can almost -promise her a situation.” - -Whereupon Susan laughed outright. - -“Really,” she said, “you make it very embarrassing work for me. I not -only have to recommend myself, but actually force myself upon your -observation. But, since I intend to teach in the future, as I have done -in the past, why not try me for awhile, since I am here? I think I -would do until the girls were ready for somebody who could do better.” - -If she had been watching her sister’s face she would have seen the -puzzled look change to one of radiant delight. Then that sister did -what, to one of her undemonstrative nature, was a strange thing to -do—she crossed to Susan’s side, and bending down, kissed her eagerly on -either cheek. - -“I believe I am an idiot!” she said. “Though I used to think I was -capable of planning as well as most persons, but I never once thought -of it! And I knew you meant to teach, too. It is the very thing. -Nothing could be more delightful! Judge Burnham will think so, too. Oh, -Susan, you are one of my greatest comforts!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -“THESE BE THY GODS.” - - -AT last in Ruth Burnham’s home, life settled into routine. Everything -was as she had planned it. She had tried two ways of life. For a -season almost everything had gone contrary to her desires and plans. -Then there came this period wherein she was permitted to carry out, in -detail, all the schemes which seemed to her wise. In the earlier days -of her Christian experience she had felt, if she did not say, that if -she could but have the control of her own affairs, humanly speaking, -she could make things work together in a different and more helpful -manner for herself and her friends. It was as if the Lord had taken -her at her word and opened the door for her to plan and carry out -according to her will. The question was, Did she find it a success? -Was she now, at last, a happy, growing Christian—one whose influence -was felt in all the departments of her life? Oh, I am afraid that Ruth -hated to admit, even to her own heart, how far from success she felt! -Painful though the admission was, she had to make it to her conscience -that she was neither a growing nor a happy Christian. - -What was the trouble? Why, in her heart and in her life there was -conflict. She knew the right, and too often she did it not. Give me -such an experience as that, and you may be sure that you have given the -record of an unhappy and an unfruitful life. There were so many ways in -which Ruth could see that she had erred. She meant to commence in just -the right way; she had taken great credit to herself for her sacrifice -of personal ease and pleasure, for the taking up of hard crosses in -connection with Judge Burnham’s duties; yet now she saw that there were -crosses far more important which she had not taken up at all. - -Almost as often as she knelt alone in her own room to pray she knelt -in tears. First, because she was always alone; her husband never bowed -with her, never read the Bible with her. Was this, in part, her fault? -What if, in those first days when everything was new, and when he was -on the alert to be her comfort, she had asked him to read with her, to -kneel with her, and hear her pray? Was it not possible that he might -have done so? Well, those first days were not so long gone by. Was it -not just possible that he might join her now? - -Alas for Ruth! Though the days of her married life had been so few, -she could look back upon them and see inconsistencies in word and -manner and action which went far toward sealing her lips. Not that -they should, but is it not the painful experience of each one of us -that they so often do? If Ruth had but commenced right! It is so hard -to make a beginning, in the middle of a life. Besides, there had been -many words spoken by Judge Burnham which would serve to make it harder -for him to yield to any innovations. If she had but beguiled him before -these words were spoken! Then, indeed, it is possible that some of -them at least would never have been uttered. Only a few weeks a wife, -and for how many of her husband’s sins was she already in a measure -responsible? - -Then the girls were a source of pain to Ruth’s conscience. Not that -they had not learned well her first lessons. It surprised, at times -it almost alarmed her, to see with what eagerness they caught at the -ribbons and ruffles, and all the outside adornments of life. They -were entirely willing to give these, each and all, important place in -their thoughts. She had given them intoxicating glimpses of the world -of fashion before their heads or hearts were poised enough not to be -over-balanced. They had caught at the glimpse and made a fairyland of -beauty out of it, and had resolved with all their young, strong might -to “belong” to that fairyland, and they looked up to and reverenced -Ruth as the queen who had the power of opening these enchanted doors -to them. You are to remember that, though backward, they were by no -means brainless. Having been kept in such marked seclusion all their -lives, until this sudden opening of the outer doors upon them, and this -sudden flinging them into the very midst of the whirl of “what to wear -and how to make it,” hearing little else during these first bewildering -days than the questions concerning this shade and that tint, and -the comparative merits of ruffles or plaits, and the comparative -qualities of silks and velvets, and the absolute necessity of perfect -fitting boots and gloves and hats, what wonder that they jumped to the -conclusion, that these things were the marks of power in the world, and -were second in importance to nothing? - -Having plunged into her work with the same energy which characterized -all Ruth’s movements, how was she now to teach the lesson that these -things were absolutely as nothings compared with a hundred other -questions having to do with their lives? - -She worked at this problem, and saw no more how to do it than she saw -how to take back the first few weeks of married life and personal -influence over her husband and live them over again. There was no -solace in trying to talk her difficulties over with Susan, because -she, while intensely sympathetic in regard to every-day matters, -was gravely silent when Ruth wondered why the girls were so suddenly -absorbed in the trivialities of life to the exclusion of more important -things. And Ruth felt that her sister recognized _her_ share in the -matter and deplored it. - -About her husband she chose to be entirely silent herself. If pride -had not kept her so, the sense of wifely vows would have sealed her -lips. At least she had high and sacred ideas of marriage vows. Alas for -Ruth, there were other disquieting elements. She realized her husband’s -influence on herself. Try as she would, resolve as she might, steadily -she slipped away from her former moorings. Little things, so called, -were the occasions of the lapses, but they were not little in their -effect on her spiritual life. - -“How is it possible that you can desire to go to that stuffy little -room and meet a dozen illiterate men and women or, is it a mistaken -sense of duty which impels you?” - -This was her husband’s question regarding the suggestion of Ruth that -they go to the weekly prayer-meeting. His tone was not unkind, but -there was just a touch of raillery in it, which was at all times harder -for Ruth to bear than positive coldness. - -“You must be content to tolerate my tastes,” she said, “since you can -not sympathize with them. Endurance is the most that I can expect.” - -He laughed good-naturedly. - -“Now, Ruth, dear, don’t be cross. I haven’t the least idea of being -so, and I propose to humor your whims to the last degree. I will -even escort you to that most uninviting room and call for you again, -enduring, meantime, with what grace I can the sorrows of my country -solitude. What more can you expect? But in return for such magnanimity -you might enlighten my curiosity. Why do you go? How can I help being -curious? In town, now, it was different. While I might even there -question your choice of entertainments, at least you met people of -culture, with whom you had certain ideas in common. But really and -truly, my dear wife, I am at home in this region of country, so far -as knowledge of the mental caliber of the people is concerned, and -I assure you you will look in vain for a man or woman of brains. -Outside of the minister—who is well enough, I suppose, though he is -a perfect bore to me—there is a general and most alarming paucity of -ideas. Besides which, there is no gas in the church, you know, and -kerosene lamps are fearful at their best, and these, I judge, are at -their worst. So, taking the subject in all its bearings, I think I am -justified in asking what can be your motive?” - -Is it any wonder that there were tears in Ruth’s eyes, as she -turned them toward her husband? How explain to one who would not -understand the meaning of her terms why she sought the little country -prayer-meeting? - -“Judge Burnham,” she said, speaking slowly, and trying to choose the -words with care, “is it unknown to you that I profess to expect to meet -there with the Lord Jesus Christ?” - -“Oh, that indeed!” he said, and the lightness of his tone so jarred on -her that she shivered. “I believe that is an article in your creed. I -don’t discredit it in its intellectual and spiritual sense, but what -does it prove? I suppose you meet him equally in this room, and I -suppose the surroundings of this room are as conducive to communion -with the Unseen Presence as are those of that forlorn little square box -of a church. Isn’t that the most doleful building for a church that -it was ever your misery to see? It is abominably ventilated; for that -matter churches nearly always are. I wonder if there is any thing in -church creeds that conscientiously holds people from observing the laws -of health and comfort? I don’t believe there is an opera-house in the -United States that would be tolerated for a season, if the question of -light and heat and ventilation had been ignored in it as entirely as -they are in churches.” - -What was there to be said to such as he? Perhaps Ruth said the best -thing under the circumstances. “Well, come, don’t let us discuss the -subject further; there is the bell; please take me down to the poor -little church, for I really want to go.” - -“Certainly,” he said, rising promptly, and making ready with a -good-natured air. He attended her to the very door and was on its -threshold in waiting when the hour of prayer was over, and was gracious -and attentive in the extreme during the rest of the evening, making no -allusion to the prayer-meeting, after the first few mischievous and -pointed questions as to the exercises, questions which tried Ruth’s -nerves to the utmost, for the reason that the little meeting had been -so utterly devoid of anything like life and earnestness that it was a -trial rather than a help to her. - -Conversations not unlike these were common on prayer-meeting evening, -always conducted on Judge Burnham’s part, in the most gracious spirit, -ending by accompanying her to the church door. She ceased to ask him to -enter, for the reason that she was not sure but it would be a positive -injury to him to do so. One Wednesday evening he followed her to the -parlor with a petition: - -“Now, wifie, I have been most patiently good every ‘meeting’ evening, -since I had you all to myself, having given you up, if not willingly, -at least uncomplainingly, to the companionship of those who are neither -elevating nor inspiriting. Now it is your turn to show yourself -unselfish. I’m a victim to one of my old-fashioned headaches, to-night, -and want you to take care of me.” - -To which proposition Ruth instantly agreed—the pang of conscience which -she felt being not on account of the wife’s obvious duty to care for -a sick husband, but because of the instant throb of relief of which -she was conscious in having a legitimate reason for escaping the -prayer-meeting. It was too painfully apparent, even to her own heart, -that she had not enjoyed the hour of religious communion; that she had -sighed inwardly when the door closed after her retreating husband, and -she had gone back eagerly to his companionship, directly after the -hour of separation was over. It transpired that, on this occasion, -his headache was not so severe, but that it admitted of his being -entertained by his wife’s voice reading aloud, and he was presently so -far recovered as to sit up and join in her reading, giving her a lesson -in the true rendering of Shakespeare, which was most enjoyable to both. -On the following Wednesday there was a concert of unusual interest -in the city, and Ruth obeyed her husband’s summons by telegraph to -come down on the six o’clock train and attend. Of course it would not -do to have him wait in the city for her and disappoint him. Another -Wednesday, and she went again to the little meeting; but it had in -the interim grown more distasteful to her; and, indeed, there was this -excuse for poor Ruth, that the meeting was one of the dullest of its -kind; there were no outside influences helping her. It was a matter -of hard duty between her and her conscience. Perhaps when we consider -that human nature is what it is, we should not think it strange that -six weeks after the concert found Ruth accepting an invitation to a -select party in town, forgetting utterly, until, in her estimation, the -acceptance was beyond recall, that it was Wednesday evening. When she -remembered it, she told her long-suffering conscience somewhat roughly, -that “wives certainly had duties which they owed to their husbands.” I -have given you now only a specimen out of many influences which slowly -and surely drew Ruth down stream. Susan, looking on, feeling for the -present powerless, except as that ever-present resource—prayer—was left -her, felt oftener perhaps than any other command, the force of that one -sentence: “Thou shall have no other gods _before me_.” - -Yet was not Ruth Burnham happy. Perhaps she had never, in her most -discontented hours, been further from happiness. Her conscience -was too enlightened, and had, in the last two years, been too well -cultivated for her not to know that she was going contrary very often -to her former ideas of right. - -Too surely she felt that her husband’s views, her husband’s tastes, her -husband’s plans of life were at variance with hers. It was all very -well to talk about his yielding, and being led; he could yield to the -inevitable; and there is a way of appearing to yield, gracefully, too, -which develops itself as only a master-stroke to the end that one may -gain one’s own way. This method Judge Burnham understood in all its -details. - -His wife early in their married life began to realize it. She began to -understand that he was, in a quiet, persistent way, actually _jealous_ -of the demands which her religion made upon her time and heart. It was -not that he deliberately meant to overthrow this power which held her; -rather he sought in a patient way to undermine it. Perhaps if Ruth had -realized this, she might have been more on her guard. But Satan had -succeeded in blinding her eyes by that most specious of all reasonings -that she must, by her concession to his tastes and plans, win him over -to her ways of thinking. In other words, she must, by doing wrong, -convince him of the beauty that there is in a consistent Christian -life, and win him to the right way! In matters pertaining to this life -Ruth’s lip would have curled in scorn over such logic. Why was it that -she could not see plainly the ground whereon she trod? - -Is there, then, no rest in the Christian life? Is the promise, “Come -unto me, and I will give you rest,” utterly void and worthless? Has not -God called his children to “peace?” Is there no “peace which passeth -understanding,” such as the world can neither give nor take away? - -Why did not Ruth Burnham, with her educated mind and clear brain, -ponder these things, and determine whether, when she told herself, that -of course one must expect conflict and heart-wars in this life, she was -not thereby making the eternal God false to his covenants? - -What was the trouble? Why, the same thing which comes in so continually -with its weary distractions—a divided heart. “Whosoever therefore will -be a friend of the world is the enemy of God!” That old solemn truth -remains to-day, after eighteen hundred years of experience, a _truth_ -which many a world-tossed soul has proved; and Ruth Burnham had need to -learn that it matters not whether the world be represented by a general -glitter, or by a loving husband, so that the object of special choice -was placed “_before_” _Him_, solemn effect must follow. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE BAPTISM OF SUFFERING. - - -IN the course of time it became to Susan Erskine, who was watching -with eager interest the story of her sister’s life, a question of -painful moment as to how the watchful Christ would come to the rescue -of his straying sheep. For, as the days passed, it grew most painfully -apparent that Ruth _was_ straying. She did not gain in the least. -This being the case, it is of course equivalent to saying that she -lost. Steadily her husband proved the fact that his was the stronger -nature, and that he was leading, not being led. Yet his wife did not -get entirely out of the way—not far enough out indeed, to claim the -few pitiful returns that the world has for service. She staid always -in that wretched middle state, not belonging to the world fully, nor -yet fully to Christ; hence, continuous soreness of heart, developing -alternately in gloom and irritability. - -There came at last a messenger to her home and heart—a little, tender, -helpless one, just helpless enough and clinging enough to gather all -the tendrils of the heart around and bind them closely. How that -baby was loved! There have been babies loved before—many a heart has -bowed before the shrine of such an idol; but perhaps never baby, from -grandfather down to the little hired nurse, whose duty it was in the -course of time to keep said baby amused, had such patient, persistent, -willing slaves as had this young heir of the house of Burnham. As -for Ruth, she found that she had never even _dreamed_ of the depth -of mother-love. A sort of general interest in healthy, cleanly, -well-dressed children had been one of her pastimes. She had imagined -herself somewhat fond of certain types of childhood, while aware that -she shrank in horror from certain other types. But this new, strange -rush of emotions which filled her heart almost to bursting was an -experience of which she had had no conception. From that hour those -who watched Ruth anxiously to see whether the sweet young life which -was a part of herself would win her back to her covenant vows, saw -with ever-deepening pain that this new-born soul was only another and -a stronger idol. With all the fierceness of her strong nature, with -all the unrest of her dissatisfied heart, did the mother bow before -this tiny soul and bring it worship. She discovered at last that -self-sacrifice was easy; that sleepless nights, and restless days, -and the pressure of many cares and responsibilities were as nothing, -provided baby’s comfort demanded any or all of these. - -Now she withdrew entirely from the prayer-meetings, and ceased her -fitful attempts at being identified with the Sabbath-school. She was -even most rare in her attendance on the regular Sabbath service. Did -not baby require a mother’s care? This was her trust—God-given surely, -if anything ever was—and therefore she was to consider it as a work -from him. - -There is no error so fatal as a _half_ truth. To be sure, this -theory was not carried out in all respects. The mother found time for -social life. She was seen frequently at concerts and lectures, and -entertainments of various sorts, but this, she said, was a duty she -owed to her husband. And it really seemed as though there were no voice -left in her heart to remind her that the duties she owed to Christ were -being neglected. And Susan, watching and waiting, began to ask her -heart half fearfully, “How will he speak to her next?” That he _would_ -speak to her, and that effectually, she fully believed, for Ruth was -surely one of his own. How strange that she _would_ wander and make -it necessary for the Shepherd to seek her with bleeding feet, “over -the mountains, wild and bare,” instead of resting securely and sweetly -within the fold! - -Meantime the domestic machinery of the Burnham household worked more -smoothly than it is always wont to do under the peculiar family -relations. - -Ruth, whatever her faults, was fully alive to the special cause of -comfort in her household. She never ceased to realize that one of the -greatest blessings of her lot in life was the sudden descent upon her -of a sister. Such a faithful, thoughtful, self-sacrificing sister!—one -who really seemed to be as “wise as a serpent, and as harmless as a -dove.” Even Ruth, though she had an idea that she fully appreciated -her, did not see the extent of her influence over those untutored -girls. Daily her power over them increased; the development in them -mentally was something of which their father was unceasingly proud; -not the less, perhaps, did it give him satisfaction because there -was coupled with it a development of refinement of tone and manner, -a growing sense of the fitness of things, and an evident and hearty -relish for the advantages which his wealth was able to afford them. - -Over one thing Susan pondered and prayed, and watched with no little -anxiety: the girls were willing to be her pupils in any other study -save that of personal religion; they were in a degree interested in -Bible study; they by no means shrank from it; they respected her views, -they talked freely with her as to creeds and doctrines; but when it -came to pressing their personal need of Christ as a Saviour from sin, -they were strangely apathetic. - -“Had they inherited their father’s distaste for all the personalities -of religion?” Susan questioned, “or had their first delicious glimpse -of this new world, given under the new mother’s tutelage, so stamped -their ambitions that they had no room for deeper thoughts?” From this -last solution she shrank; it made such an awfully solemn matter of -personal responsibility; yet when she saw the almost reverence in which -they held this new mother’s views of whatever pertained to outside -life, she could not but feel that there had been stamped upon their -hearts the belief that she who had reigned so long in the fashionable -world knew all about the important things, and _had shown them what -they were_! At least, Susan felt sure that, could Ruth have realized -the influences she possessed over the unformed minds of her two -daughters, she would have shrunken from using it for trivialities. - -As for Ruth, the girls had become secondary matters to her. She had -carried her point; she had proved that dress and attention to the many -refinements of life would make a vast difference in these two; she had -shown their father that it was through sheer neglect that they grew to -be the painful trials which they were; she had proved to him that her -course was the right one. There was no skeleton in their country home -now, to be avoided painfully. The girls were not perfect in deportment, -it is true; but so rapid had been their advancement in certain ways, -and so skillful was the brain which planned their outward adornings, -that they might safely endure introductions as Judge Burnham’s -daughters, in any circle where it was desirable to present them. Ruth -felt, watching them, that even the famous criminal lawyer himself -would never have recognized in them the two distressing specimens -which he had characterized as “discarded American help.” She had shown -her husband, also, that country life was not only endurable, but, in -many respects, desirable; indeed, so satisfied had he become with his -lovely rural home, that, when it was announced as important for baby’s -health that the entire season should be spent there, he offered no -objection, and agreed with alacrity to Ruth’s plan that Susan should -take the girls for a peep at life at Long Branch, and leave them to the -solitude of home. “Very well,” he had said, “provided you will, on -their return, leave Susan in charge of his lordship, and run away with -me to the mountains for a few days.” And Ruth had laughed, and shrugged -her handsome shoulders, and exclaimed over the folly of trying to coax -a mother from her six-months-old baby, for any mountains in the world; -and then she had looked proudly over toward the lace-curtained crib, -and rejoiced in the fact that the hero sleeping there had power enough -to hold father as well as mother a meek worshipper at his shrine; for, -if Judge Burnham really _was_ an idolater, his only son was the supreme -idol in his inmost heart. - -So the summer plans were carried out. Ruth serenely discussed seaside -outfits, and decided, with the tone of one who realized that her word -was law, as to whether Minta would look better in a salmon-colored -evening dress, and whether Seraph was too young for a satin-trimmed -one. Long ago Susan, apparently without thought on the subject, -had started the habit of softening the objectional name into this -euphonious one; and Ruth remarked to her husband that perhaps time -would develop the fact that there was almost a prophecy in the name, -if Sereph’s voice continued to develop in strength and sweetness, under -culture. On the whole, there was serene satisfaction in the survey -of her handiwork where these girls were concerned; they bade fair to -do justice to her discernment, and afford food for pride. Still, as -I said, they were secondary. So that they were always well dressed, -and sat properly at table, and entered a room properly, and bowed -gracefully to her callers, and treated her with unfailing respect, -she was at rest concerning them. _Almost_, she had so trodden her -conscience under foot that in these days had she really very little -trouble in the thought that her _best_ for them had ignored the _best_ -which life had for any soul. - -Susan packed, and arranged, and listened to her numerous directions, -and went off to take her first summering away from cares, which of -one sort or another had held her for a lifetime—went with a shade of -anxiety on her face which was not for herself, nor yet because of her -responsibility in regard to these two unfledged worldlings, but for the -Christian mother hovering over the lace-curtained crib in the rose-hued -nursery; and her heart went murmuring, “How will He speak to her next?” - -Not many days after, the next call of the Shepherd came. You are -prepared to hear what it was—that little, sheltered, watched-over -baby fell sick; not very sick; not so but that the doctor went and -came with a cheery air, and told the anxious mother that they would -have her darling as chirk as ever in a day or two, and Judge Burnham -believed him, and laughed at the mother’s dreary face, and made light -of her fears; but poor Ruth did _not_ believe him, and went about her -mother cares and hung over her sick darling with an ever-increasing, -deadening weight at her heart. He was not the family physician of the -Erskines—Dr. Mitchell—Judge Burnham didn’t believe in _him_, so the -coming and going doctor was the one associated with the dark days -wherein they had waited and watched over Ruth’s father. - -Whether it was that association, or whatever it was, Ruth shrank -a little from Dr. Bacon, and was not able to give him her full -confidence. Dark days were these, and they dragged their slow lengths -along, and brought regularly the longer and darker nights, for it is -at night that we hang most hopelessly over our sick, and the silence -and quietness of the home grew oppressive to Ruth. She wished for -Susan, she would gladly have had the girls coming and going, yet it -seemed foolish to send for them; there was a skillful nurse, and there -were neighbors, who, though they had been almost ignored by the fine -family at the Hill, yet directly they heard that there was sickness, -came and went with their thoughtful offers of assistance. Why, even -Mrs. Ferris, with her loud voice and her uncouth ways, came and was -welcomed by Ruth, because of the humble work which she did in the -kitchen that tended to baby’s comfort. - -And still the doctor came and went with his story that the baby would -be all right in a few days; but the days of mending did not come, and -the shadow deepened and darkened, though as yet it seemed to be seen -only by the mother’s heart, and in that heart a war was being waged -which in fierceness and length of conflict so far transcended all -Ruth’s other struggles with life as to make them pale into nothingness -before her. And the struggle was such that no human heart could -intermeddle, for it was between Ruth and God! She realized in those -days that she had actually had many a struggle with the great God -before, without recognizing it as such, or at least calling it by its -right name. - -At first there was wild, fierce rebellion; she clung to her baby, held -him, indeed, so fiercely that he wailed feebly, and looked up into her -face almost in terror, and she cried out that she could not—indeed, -_would not_—give him up; no, not even to the Giver! And the little -face grew daily more wasted, and the little hands more feeble, and the -moments of wakeful recognition shorter, and the hours of half stupor -longer, and the doctor grew less cheery when he came, and Judge Burnham -grew restless and nervous—went later every day to town and returned -earlier, and was, in his silent, restrained, yet passionate way, fully -as rebellious as his wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -“THE OIL OF JOY.” - - -EVEN yet the doctor had said no word of discouragement. And Judge -Burnham had, though he had ceased laughing at Ruth fears, sharply -controverted them. And she?—she felt she would have stricken down any -one who had breathed a word of danger. It was fearful enough to feel -it; let no one dare to _speak_ it. Once when Judge Burnham—filled with -pity for her loneliness during the hours when he was obliged to be -away—suggested recalling the travellers, she turned toward him fiercely: - -“Why?” she asked him; “what do you mean? Are you keeping something from -me? Does the Doctor tell you what he does not me? Judge Burnham, I -will never forgive you if you deceive me.” - -“Why, no,” he said, “Ruth, no; why will you be so unreasonable? The -Doctor says he sees no ground as yet for special anxiety. He says to me -just what he says to you. No one thinks of deception. I only felt that -it would be less lonely with the girls at home; and Susan would be a -comfort.” - -“Comfort!” she said, still speaking sharply. “Why have I need of -comfort? I have my baby, and I can take care of him; and as for -loneliness, the house is full from morning till night. One would think -people never heard of a sick child before. They are always sick when -teething. Why should we be so unreasonably frightened?” - -And Judge Burnham turned away sighing, patient with his wife, for he -saw that she was too wildly frightened to talk or act like a reasonable -being. - -Among all the comers and goers there was one who did not come. That -was Mrs. Judge Erskine. Not that she would not have willingly been -there both day and night; but poor Ruth, who had never recovered in the -least from her early discomfort concerning the woman, in this time of -her frenzy felt the dislike increasing to almost hatred. She tortured -herself at times with imagining the exclamations that the odious -grandmother would make over the change in her darling, until at last -it grew to be almost an insanity to her; and she fiercely ordered that -no word of any sort should be taken to her home. “Father shall not be -needlessly troubled,” was outward reason enough, for Judge Erskine was -not strong this season; so, beyond the knowledge that the child was not -very well, was teething, and kept Ruth closely at home, the two people -left in the old Erskine homestead together knew nothing. - -Slowly yet surely, the Shepherd was reaching after his stray sheep. By -degrees her mood and her prayers changed; they lost their fierceness, -but not one whit of their will-power. She began to feel herself in the -hands of God. She gave up her defiance, and came to him as a suppliant. -She sat alone in the shadows of a long night of watching, and looked -over her life, and saw plainly her mistakes, her wanderings, her sins. -Then she fell on her knees beside that crib, one watching eye and -listening ear intent on every change of expression or breathing in the -darling, and then and there she proceeded to make terms with God. If -he would only give her back her darling, her boy, she would live, oh -_such_ a different life!—a life of entire consecration. All she had, -and was, and hoped to be, her husband, her baby—everything should be -consecrated, be held second to his love. Long she knelt there praying, -but no answering voice spoke peace to her heart. And the struggle, -though changed in its form, went on and on by degrees, and Ruth with -her long preoccupied heart was very slow to learn the lesson. She was -made to understand that God had never promised to compromise with his -own, never promised to hear a prayer which began with an “if.” Entire -consecration meant all the ifs thrown down at the feet of the Lord, -for him to control as he would. Solemnly his voice spoke to her heart, -spoke as plainly as though the sound of it had echoed in the silent -room: “And _if_ I take your darling into my arms of infinite love, and -shield him for you in heaven, what then?” And Ruth realized with a -shudder that then, her heart said it would only be infinite mercy that -could keep her from hating God! But when she realized this solemn, -this _awful_ truth, which proved rebellion in the heart that had long -professed allegiance, God be thanked that she did not get up from her -kneeling and go away again with the burden. She knelt still, and, with -the solemn light of the All-seeing Eye flashing down into her soul, she -confessed it all—her rebellion, her selfish determination to hold her -treasure whether God would or not, her selfish desire to compromise, -her cowardly, pitiful subterfuge of promising him that which was -already his by right, _if_ he would submit to her plans. The long, sad, -sinful story was laid bare before him, and then her torn heart said: -“Oh, Christ, I can not help it; I hold to my darling, and I _can not_ -give him up, even when I would. Oh, thou Saviour of human souls, even -in their sinfulness, what shall I do?” Did ever such heart-cry go up to -the Saviour of souls in vain? - -You do not need me to tell you that before the dawn of the coming -morning filled the room a voice of power had spoken peace. The plans, -and the subterfuges, and the rebellings, and the “ifs,” all were gone. -“As thou wilt,” was the only voice left in that thoroughly bared and -bleeding heart. - -It was even then that the shadow fell the darkest. When the doctor came -next morning, for the first time he shook his head. - -“Things do not look so hopeful as they did, here,” he said. - -And Judge Burnham, turning quickly toward his wife, looking to see her -faint or lose her reason (he hardly knew which phase of despair to -expect), saw the pale, changed face. - -“Is there no hope, Doctor?” and her voice though low, was certainly -calmer than it had been for days. - -“Well,” said the Doctor, relieved at her method of receiving his -warning, “I never like to say that. While there is life there is hope, -you know; but the fact is, I am disappointed in the turn that the -trouble has taken. I am a good deal afraid of results.” - -Had Ruth spoken her thoughts, she would have said: “I have been awfully -afraid of results for a week; but a voice of greater power than yours -has spoken to me now. It rests with Him, not you; and I think he wants -my darling.” What she _did_ say was: - -“Ought the girls to be summoned?” - -“Well,” said Dr. Bacon, regarding her curiously, “if it is important -that they should be here, I think I should telegraph.” - -Then, presuming upon long acquaintance with Judge Burnham, he said, as -they passed down the hall together: - -“Upon my word, Burnham, you have the most unaccountable wife in the -world.” - -“Comments are unnecessary, Doctor,” Judge Burnham said, in his -haughtiest tones, and the next instant the front door closed with a -bang, and the father had shut himself and his pain into the little -room at the end of the hall. What was _he_ to do? which way turn? -how live? He had never until this moment had other than a passing -anxiety. Now the whole crushing weight of the coming blow seemed to -fall on him, and he had not the force of habit, nor the knowledge of -past experiences, to drive him to his knees for a refuge. Instead, his -fierce heart raved. If Ruth had been in danger of hating God, he felt, -yes, actually realized, that his heart was filled at this moment with -a fierce and bitter hatred. Can you imagine what the trials of that -day were to Ruth? Have you any knowledge of what a shock it is to a -torn and bleeding heart, which yet feels that the Almighty Father, the -Everlasting Saviour, holds her and her treasure in the hollow of his -hand, to come in contact with one who fiercely, blasphemously tramples -on that trust? In this moment of supreme pain, it was given to Ruth’s -conscience to remember that she had chosen for her closest friend one -who made no profession of loyalty to her Redeemer—the _Lover_ of her -child. Why should she expect to rest on him now? - -This day, like all the other dark ones, drew toward its closing; the -Doctor watched and waited for, and dispatched for, did not come, and -the night drew about them; and it so happened that, save the nurse and -the household servants, the father and mother were alone with their -baby. Early in the afternoon, a sudden remembrance had come to Ruth, -and she had turned from the crib long enough to say, “Let father -know.” And the messenger had gone, but even from him there was no -response. - -So they watched and waited. Judge Burnham, in feverish madness of -anxiety, paced the floor, and alternately raged at the absent Doctor -for not coming, and then wished he might never look upon his face -again. Ruth staid on her knees beside that crib, from which for hours -she had not moved, and her lips continually formed that inaudible -prayer, “Thy will be done.” And really and truly the awful bitterness -of the agony was gone out of her heart. There was a sound of wheels -crunching the graveled drive—a bustle outside; somebody had come. -Ruth glanced up, half fearfully. What was coming to break the solemn -holiness of the hour? Not the Doctor, surely, with such bustle of -noise. The door opened quickly, and they pressed in—her father, a tall -stranger just beside him, and Mrs. Judge Erskine! _She_ pushed past -them both. - -“Dear heart,” she said, bending down to the crib, but her words were -for Ruth, not the baby. “We just got the word. I brought Dr. Parmelee; -I couldn’t help it, child; I’ve seen him do such wonderful things. -Your pa don’t believe in his medicines—little bits of pills, you -know—and he said your husband didn’t but, la! what difference does that -make? Men never do. They believe in getting ’em well, though. Come -here, Dr. Parmelee. His pulse is real strong, and he looks to me as -though he might—” - -And here Mrs. Erskine paused for breath. She had been, in the meantime, -throwing off her wraps, touching the baby’s hand with skillful fingers, -touching the hot head, and rising at last to motion the Doctor -forward—the tall stranger. He came hesitatingly, looking toward the -father; but Judge Burnham caught at his name. - -“Anything, Doctor—anything!” he said, hoarsely. “Dr. Bacon has proved -himself an idiot. It is too late now; but, in heaven’s name, do -something.” - -Did it ever occur to you as strange that such men as Judge Burnham, in -their hours of great mental pain, are very apt to call for blessings in -“heaven’s name?” - -It was a strange hour! Ruth, who had been hushed into silence and -solemnity by the presence of the Death Angel, found herself whirled -into the very midst of the struggle for life. Dr. Parmelee declared, -with Mrs. Erskine, that there was still a good deal of strength, -and he hoped. And then he stopped talking and went to work—quietly, -skillfully, without commotion of any sort, yet issuing his orders with -such swiftness and skill that mother and nurse, especially the former, -were set to work to _do_ instead of think. Especially was Mrs. Erskine -alert, seeming to know by a sort of instinct, such as is noticeable -in nurses who have a special calling for their work, what the Doctor -wanted done, and how to do it. Far into the night they obeyed and -watched. At last the Doctor rose up from a careful examination of his -little patient. - -“I believe,” he said, speaking quietly, “I believe there has been a -change in the symptoms in the past two hours. If I mistake not, the -crisis is past. I think your little one will recover.” - -At the sound of these words, Judge Burnham strode over from his station -at the head of the crib, and, grasping the Doctor’s hand, essayed to -speak words, but his voice choked, and the self-possessed, polished -gentleman lost every vestige of control, and broke into a passion of -tears. - -“He is in God’s hands, my friend,” the new Doctor said gently; “he will -do right; and I think he has given the little life back to you.” - -As for Ruth, she turned one look away from her baby’s face toward the -Doctor’s; and he said as he went out from the home: “I declare that -woman’s eyes paid me to-night.” - -There was little talk and much watching during the rest of the night -and the day that followed. Mrs. Erskine kept her post, keeping up that -sort of alert _doing_ which the skillful nurse understands so well, -and which thrills the heart of a watcher with eager hope. One of Judge -Burnham’s first morning duties was to send a curt and courteous note—if -both terms are admissible—to Dr. Bacon, asking for his bill. Then his -own carriage waited at the train for the coming of Dr. Parmelee. - -“Now, look here, child,” said Mrs. Erskine, as, toward the midnight of -the following night, Ruth turned for a moment from the crib and pressed -her hand to her eyes, “you are just to go to bed and get a night’s -sleep. We’ll have _you_ on our hands, if you don’t, as sure as the -world; and that will be a nice mess for baby, bless his heart. Judge -Burnham, you just take her and put her to bed. I’m going to sit by my -little boy, here, the whole blessed night; I won’t even wink; and when -I undertake to watch, why I _watch_, and know how, though I do say it -that shouldn’t.” - -So, through much protesting from Ruth, and overruling by her father -and husband, she was carried off to the room adjoining. In the gray -dawn of another morning, she, having slept for four hours the sleep of -utter exhaustion, started with a sudden, affrighted waking, wherein -all the agony of the past days flashed over her, and, without waiting -to remember the after-scene of joy, rushed to her nursery. There was -the little crib, with its sleeping treasure; there on the couch, lay -the tired nurse, sleeping quietly; there, at the crib’s side, sat Mrs. -Erskine, keeping her faithful, tireless vigil. She looked up with a -reassuring smile as Ruth came in. - -“What did you wake up for? He’s as nice as a robin in a nest of down. -He breathes just as easy! and the skin feels moist and natural. See -how his little hair curls with the dampness! Anybody can see with half -an eye that he is a great deal better. He’ll get on now real fast, Dr. -Parmelee says so. I never did see the like of them little pills! Ain’t -bigger than pin-heads, neither.” - -Ruth bent low over the crib. The bounding pulse was quiet and steady -at last; the breath came in slow, soft respirations, with no horrible -gratings; the beautiful little hand, resting on the pillow, was doubled -up as in the grace in which he held it when in health. Suddenly there -rushed over Ruth all the probabilities of that solemn night, and all -the blessings of this hour. After she had given him up utterly to God; -after she had said, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust;” after she -had said, “I am thine forever, Lord, _entirely_, though with empty -arms,” then he had given her back her trust—offered her one more chance -to train the soul for him. With the thought came also the remembrance -of the door through which he had opened this blessed paradise of hope, -and she turned suddenly, and, burying her head in Mrs. Erskine’s ample -lap, cried out: “Oh, mother, mother! God bless you forever!” And the -first tears that her tired eyes had felt for a week fell thick and fast. - -“Land alive!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine. “Poor, dear heart! You are all -tuckered out! You just go right straight back to bed. I won’t turn my -eyes away from him, and he’s all right anyhow. I know the signs. Bless -your heart, I nursed Mrs. Stevens’ baby only last week, and this very -Dr. Parmelee was there; and I saw what them little pills and powders -could do when the Lord chose to use ’em. You just go back, dearie, this -minute. You can sleep all day as well as not. Grandma’ll take care of -her blessed little darling, so she will.” - -And Ruth went back to the bedside, and to her knees; and among the -sentences of her prayer that morning was this, from a full heart: - -“O God! I thank thee, that, despite all the blindness and rebellion of -my heart, thou didst send to me a _mother_. Thou hast given me ‘the -oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of -heaviness.’” - - THE END. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Sometimes easy-chair contains a -hyphen, sometimes not. This was retained as printed. - -Page 102, “Esrkine” changed to “Erskine” (Judge Erskine, with a) - -Page 146, “that” changed to “than” (observable than this awkward) - -Page 272, “unconsiously” changed to “unconsciously” (silly -Marion—unconsciously) - -Page 295, “futher” changed to “further” (until further pressed) - -Page 297, “gotton” changed to “gotten” (supper was gotten through) - -Page 312, “gotton” changed to “gotten” (have gotten beyond the) - -Page 322, “symyathetic” changed to “sympathetic” (put a sympathetic arm) - -Page 367, “occured” changed to “occurred” (which occurred that day) - -Page 418, “oppresive” changed to “oppressive” (home grew oppressive) - -Page 418, “assistence” changed to “assistance” (thoughtful offers of -assistance) - -Page 430, “skillfuly” changed to “skillfully” (skillfully, without -commotion) - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ruth Erskine's Cross, by Isabella Alden and Pansy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 54078-0.txt or 54078-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/7/54078/ - -Produced by Emmy, MFR, Google Print and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Ruth Erskine's Cross - -Author: Isabella Alden - Pansy - -Release Date: January 31, 2017 [EBook #54078] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSS *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MFR, Google Print and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<h1 class="faux">RUTH ERSKINE’S CROSSES</h1> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 515px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="515" height="800" alt="This cover was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 449px;"> -<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="449" height="654" alt="two women in garden" /> -<div class="caption">“He has made everything beautiful in his time.” <a href="#Page_112">p. 112</a>.</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="maintitle">RUTH ERSKINE’S CROSSES</div> - -<div class="center"><br /><br /><br /> -BY<br /> -<span class="author">PANSY</span><br /> -<span class="authorof">Author of “Ester Ried,” “Julia Ried,” “Four Girls at Chautauqua,”<br /> -“Chautauqua Girls at Home,” etc.</span><br /> -<br /><br /></div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 25px;"> -<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="25" height="21" alt="emblem" /> -</div> - -<div class="center"><br /><br /><br /> -BOSTON<br /> -LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY<br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="copyright"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1879,<br /> -by<br /> -D. Lothrop and Company.</span><br /> -————<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<b>PANSY</b><br /> -<span class="smcap"><b>Trade-Mark Registered June 4, 1895.</b></span><br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - - - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -<td align="right"><span class="smcap">Page.</span></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER I.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">HER CROSS SEEMS HEAVY</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER II.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">SIDE ISSUES</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">A CROSS OF LEAD</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER IV.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">BITTER HERBS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER V.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">SEEKING HELP</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VI.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">FROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">ONE DROP OF OIL</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VIII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>FINDING ONE’S CALLING </td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER IX.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">A SOCIETY CROSS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER X.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">OTHER PEOPLE’S CROSSES</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XI.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">A NEWLY-SHAPED CROSS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">THE CROSS OF HELPLESSNESS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XIII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">LOOKING FOR AN EASY YOKE</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XIV.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XV.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">RESTS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XVI.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">SHADOWED JOYS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XVII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">DUTY’S BURDEN</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XVIII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">EMBARRASSMENT AND MERRIMENT </td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_274">274</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XIX.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>MY DAUGHTERS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XX.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">A SISTER NEEDED</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXI.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">TRYING QUESTIONS</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“THAT WHICH SATISFIETH NOT” </td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXIII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">WHEREFORE?</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_350">350</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXIV.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“HEARKEN UNTO ME”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_364">364</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXV.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“BITTER-SWEET”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXVI.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“THESE BE THY GODS”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXVII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">THE BAPTISM OF SUFFERING</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER XXVIII.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">“THE OIL OF JOY”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_420">420</a></td> -</tr> - -</table> -</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a><br /><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="maintitle">RUTH ERSKINE’S CROSSES.</div> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER I.<br /> - -<small>HER CROSS SEEMS HEAVY.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-s1.jpg" alt="S" width="86" height="33" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-s2.jpg" alt="S" width="57" height="75" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">SHE stood in the hall, waiting. She heard -the thud of trunks and valises on the -pavement outside. She heard her father’s voice -giving orders to driver and porter. She wondered -why she did not step forward and open -the door. How would other girls greet their -mothers? She tried to think. Some of them -she had seen—school-girls, with whom she had -gone home, in her earlier life, who were wont to -rush into their mother’s arms, and, with broken -exclamations of delight, smother her with kisses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -How strange it would be if she should do any -such thing as that! She did not know how to -welcome a mother! How should she? She had -never learned.</p> - -<p>Then there was that other one, almost harder -to meet than a mother; because her father, after -all, had the most responsibility about the mother; -it was really his place to look after her needs and -her comfort. But this sister would naturally -look to her for exclusive attention. A sister! -She, Ruth Erskine, with a grown-up sister, only -a few years younger than herself! And yet one -whom she had not only never seen, but, until -the other day, of whose existence she had never -heard! How perfectly unnatural it all was!</p> - -<p>Oh, if father had only, <i>only</i> done differently! -This cry she had groaned out from the depths of -her soul a hundred times, during the two weeks -of the father’s absence. After she had turned -away from the useless wail, “Oh, that all this -had never been!” and resolutely resolved not to -be weak and worthless, and desert her father in -his need, and give herself up to vain regrets, she -found that the regretting only took another form. -Since it was, and must be, and could not honorably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -be gotten away from, why had he not faced -the necessity long ago, when she was a child? -Why had they not grown up together, feeling -and understanding that they were sisters, and -owed to each other a sister’s forbearance?—she -could not bring herself to say <i>love</i>. If her father -had only settled it years and years ago, and -brought the woman home, and made her position -assured; and if the people had long and long ago -settled down to understanding it all, what a -blessed thing it would have been! Over and -over, in various forms, had this argument been -held with Ruth and her rebellious heart, and it -had not helped her. It served to make her heart -throb wildly, as she stood there waiting. It -served to make the few minutes that she waited -seem to her like avenging hours. It served to -make her feel that her lot was fearfully, exceptionally, -hopelessly hard.</p> - -<p>There had been daughters before, who were -called on to meet new mothers. Yes, but this -was an old, old mother—so old that, in the nature -of things, she ought, years ago, to have been -reconciled to the event, and to have accepted it as -a matter of course. But what daughter, before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -this, had been called upon suddenly to greet, and -to receive in social equality an own sister? The -more she thought of it, the more unnerved she -felt.</p> - -<p>And so the door was opened at last by Judge -Erskine himself. His daughter had decreed that -no servant should be in attendance. She wanted -as few lookers-on as possible.</p> - -<p>“Well, daughter,” he said; and, even in that -swift moment, she wondered if he ever spoke -that quiet-toned, “well, daughter,” to that other -one. Then she did come forward and hold out -her hand, and receive her father’s lingering kiss. -Something in that, and in the look of his eyes, -as he put her back from him, and gazed for an -instant into hers, steadied her pulses, and made -her turn with a welcome to the strangers. There -was an almost pleading look in those eyes of his.</p> - -<p>“How do you do?” she said, simply, and not -coldly; and she held out her hand to the small, -faded-looking woman, who shrank back, and -seemed bewildered, if not frightened. “Do you -feel very tired with the long journey?”</p> - -<p>“Susan,” said her father, to the third figure, -who was still over by the door, engaged in counting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -the shawl-straps and satchels. “This is my -daughter Ruth.”</p> - -<p>There was an air of ownership about this sentence, -which was infinitely helpful to Ruth. -What if he had said, “This is your sister Ruth?” -She gave her hand. A cold hand it was, and she -felt it tremble; but, even in that supreme moment, -she noticed that Susan’s hair was what, in -outspoken language, would be called red; and -that she was taller than accorded with grace, and -her wrap, falling back from its confinings, showed -her dress to be short-waisted, and otherwise ill-fitting. -Long afterward Ruth smiled, as she -thought of taking in such details at such a -moment.</p> - -<p>It transpired that there was still another -stranger awaiting introduction—a gentleman, -tall and grave, and with keen gray eyes, that -seemed looking through this family group, and -drawing conclusions.</p> - -<p>“My daughter, Judge Burnham.” This was -Judge Erskine’s manner of introduction. For -the time, at least, he ignored the fact that he had -any other daughter. Very little attention did -the daughter bestow on Judge Burnham; eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -and wits were on the alert elsewhere. Here -were these new people to be gotten to their -rooms, and then gotten down again; and there -was that awful supper-table to endure! She gave -herself to the business of planning an exit.</p> - -<p>“Father, you want to go directly to your -rooms, I suppose? I have rung for Thomas, to -attend to Judge Burnham, and I will do the -honors of the house for Susan.”</p> - -<p>Very carefully trained were face and tone. -Beyond a certain curious poise of head, which -those who knew her understood betokened a -strong pressure of self-control, there was nothing -unusual. Really, the worst for her was to come. -If she could but have made herself feel that to -send a servant with this new sister would be the -proper thing to do, it would have been so much -easier. But for the watchful eyes and commenting -tongue of that same servant she would have -done it. But she sternly resolved that everything -which, to the servant’s eyes, would look -like formality, or like hospitality extended simply -to guests, should be dispensed with. It -would do to ring for Thomas, to attend Judge -Burnham; but a daughter of the house must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -have no other escort than herself. On the way -up-stairs she wondered what she should say when -the room door closed on them both. Here, in -the hall, it was only necessary to ask which -satchel should go up immediately, and which -trunk went to which room. But, when all the -business was settled, what then?</p> - -<p>She began the minute the attending servant -deposited the satchels, and departed:</p> - -<p>“Do you need to make any change in dress -before tea, and can I assist you in any way?”</p> - -<p>For answer, the young girl thus addressed -turned toward her earnest gray eyes—eyes that -were full of some strong feeling that she was -holding back—and said, with eager, heartful -tones:</p> - -<p>“I am just as sorry for you as I can be. If -there is any way in which I can help to make -the cross less heavy, I wish you would tell me -what it is.”</p> - -<p>Now, this was the last sentence that Ruth -Erskine had expected to hear. She had studied -over possible conversations, and schooled herself -to almost every form, but not this.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” she asked, returning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -the earnest gaze with one full of bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“Why, I mean that I have some dim conception -of how hard, how <i>awfully</i> hard all this is! -Two strangers to come into your home and -claim, not the attention accorded to guests, but -the position belonging to home! It is dreadful! -I have felt so sorry for you, and for myself, all -day, that I could not keep the tears from my -eyes. I want to make myself as endurable as -possible. If you will only show me how I will -try very hard.”</p> - -<p>What was Ruth Erskine to reply to this? It -<i>was</i> hard; she felt too truthful to disclaim it. -Just now it seemed to her almost impossible to -endure it. She tried to turn it off lightly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we shall live through it,” she said, and -the attempt to make her voice unconstrained -startled even herself. Susan abated not one whit -the earnestness in her voice.</p> - -<p>“I know we shall,” she said. “Because it -must be done—because it is right—and because -we each have an Almighty Helper. I -asked your father, and mine, as soon as ever I -saw him, whether you were a Christian. It -seemed to me it would be an impossible ordeal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -if you were not. He <i>is</i> my father, Ruth. I -know it is hard for you to hear me use that -name, which you have supposed for so many -years belonged exclusively to you. If it had -been right, I could almost have made myself -promise never to use it. But it wouldn’t be -the right way to manage, I am sure. Ruth, you -and I shall both breathe freer, and understand -each other better, if we admit from the first, that -father has done wrong in this thing. Now I -know that is dreadful to say. But remember, -he is my father. I am not to blame because he -loved your mother better than he ever could -mine. I am not to blame for a bit of the tragedy -any more than you are. And I have been a sufferer, -just as you are. All my life I have been -without a father’s love and care. All my life I -have had to imagine what the name ‘father’ -must mean. I am not blaming him; I am simply -looking at facts. We shall do better to face this -thing. I really had something to forgive. He -admitted it. I have forgiven him utterly, and -my heart just bleeds for him and for you. But -then we shall, as you say, get through all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -embarrassments, and come off conquerors in the -end.”</p> - -<p>Utter silence on Ruth’s part. How shall I -confess to you that this conversation disappointed -and angered her? She was nerved to bear heavy -crosses. If this new sister had been arrogant, or -cringing, or insufferably rude and exacting, I -think Ruth would have borne it well. But this -simple, quiet facing of difficulties like a general—this -grave announcement that she, too, -had been a sufferer—even the steady tone in -which she pronounced that word “father,” gave -Ruth a shiver of horror. The worst of it was—yes, -the very <i>worst</i> of it was—this girl had -spoken truth. She <i>was</i> a sufferer, and through -no fault of her own, through Judge Erskine’s -pride and self-will. Here was the sting—it was -her father’s fault—this father who had been one -of her strongest sources of pride during all her -proud days of life. “It is true enough,” she -told herself, bitterly. “But she need not have -spoken it—I don’t want to hear it.” And then -she turned away and went out of the room—went -down-stairs, and paused in the hall again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -resting her arm on that chair and trying to still -the tumult in her angry heart.</p> - -<p>As for the sister, looking after her with sad -eyes, she turned the key on her at last, and then -went over to the great, beautiful bed—more -beautiful than any on which she had ever slept—and -bowed before it on her knees. What if -Ruth Erskine had had to contend with a sister -who never got down on her knees! Yet she positively -did not think of that. It seemed to her -that nothing could make the cross more bitter -than it was. She opened the door at last, quietly -enough, and went forward to where her father -was standing, waiting for her, or for some one—<i>something</i> -to come to him and help him in his -bewilderment. He looked ten years older than -when she saw him two weeks ago, and there was -that appealing glance in his eyes that touched -his daughter. A moment before she had felt -bitter toward him. It was gone now.</p> - -<p>“I brought Judge Burnham home with me,” -he said, speaking quickly, as if to forestall any -words from her. “He is an old friend. He was -a pet of your mother’s, Ruth, in his boyhood, -and he knew all about her, and about——this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -I thought it would be better than to be quite -alone at first.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Ruth said, in a tone that might be -assenting, or it might simply be answering. In -her heart she did not believe that it would be -better for them to have Judge Burnham in their -family circle, and she wished him away. Was -not the ordeal hard enough without having an -outsider to look on and comment?</p> - -<p>“When will you be ready for supper?” she -asked, and, though she tried to make her voice -sound naturally, she knew it was cold and hard.</p> - -<p>“Why, as soon as Judge Burnham and——they -come down,” he said, hesitatingly. What -were they all going to call each other? Should -he say “your mother,” or should he say “Mrs. -Erskine?” He could not tell which of the two -seemed most objectionable to him, so he concluded -to make that foolish compromise and say -“they.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you leave Susan?” he questioned.</p> - -<p>“In her room.”</p> - -<p>Ruth’s tone was colder than before. Judge -Erskine essayed to help her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>“She is the only alleviating drop in this bitter -cup,” he said, looking anxiously at Ruth for an -assuring word. “It has been a comfort to me -to think that she seemed kind and thoughtful, -and in every way disposed to do right. She will -be a comfort to you, I hope, daughter.”</p> - -<p>Poor Ruth! If her father had said, “She is -perfectly unendurable to me; you must contrive -in some way that I shall not have to see her or -hear her name,” it would have been an absolute -relief to his daughter’s hard-strained, quivering -nerves. It was almost like an insult to have him -talk about her being a help and a comfort! She -turned from him abruptly, and felt the relief -which the opening door and the entrance of -Judge Burnham gave.</p> - -<p>The supper-bell pealed its summons through -the house, and Judge Erskine went in search of -his wife; but Ruth called Irish Kate to “tell -Miss Erskine that tea was ready,” flushing to the -roots of her hair over the name “Miss Erskine,” -and feeling vexed and mortified when she found -that Judge Burnham’s grave eyes were on her. -Mrs. Erskine was a dumpy little woman, who -wore a breakfast-shawl of bright blue and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -dingy brown shades, over a green dress, the -green being of the shade that fought, not only -with the wearer’s complexion, but with the blue -of the breakfast-shawl. The whole effect was -simply dreadful! Ruth, looking at it, and at -her, taking her in mentally from head to foot, -shuddered visibly. What a contrast to the grandeur -of the man beside her! And yet, what a -pitiful thing human nature was, that it could be -so affected by adverse shades of blue and green, -meeting on a sallow skin! Before the tea was -concluded, it transpired that there were worse -things than ill-fitting blues and greens. Mrs. -Judge Erskine murdered the most common -phrases of the king’s English! She said, “Susan -and me was dreadful tired!” And she said, -“There was enough for him and I!” She even -said his’n and your’n, those most detestable of all -provincialisms!</p> - -<p>And Ruth Erskine sat opposite her, and realized -that this woman must be introduced into -society as Mrs. Judge Erskine, her father’s wife! -There had been an awkward pause about the -getting seated at the table. Ruth had held back -in doubt and confusion, and Mrs. Erskine had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -not seemed to know what her proper place -should be; and Judge Erskine had said, in pleading -tone: “Daughter, take your old place, this -evening.” And then Ruth had gone forward, -with burning cheeks, and taken the seat opposite -her father, as usual, leaving Mrs. Erskine to sit -at his right, where she had arranged her own -sitting. And this circumstance, added to all the -others, had held her thoughts captive, so that -she heard not a word of her father’s low, reverent -blessing. Perhaps, if she had heard, it might -have helped her through the horrors of that -evening. There was one thing that helped her. -It was the pallor of her father’s face. She almost -forgot herself and her own embarrassment in trying -to realize the misery of his position. Her -voice took a gentle, filial tone when she addressed -him, that, if she had but known it, was like -drops of oil poured on the inflamed wounds -which bled in his heart.</p> - -<p>Altogether, that evening stood out in Ruth -Erskine’s memory, years afterward, as the most -trying one of her life. There came days that -were more serious in their results—days that -left deeper scars—days of solemn sorrow, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -bold, outspoken trouble. But for troubles, so -petty that they irritated by their very smallness, -while still they stung, this evening held foremost -rank.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” she said, in inward irritation, as -she watched Mrs. Erskine’s awkward transit -across the room, on her father’s arm, and observed -that her dress was too short for grace, -and too low in the neck, and hung in swinging -plaits in front—“I wonder if there are no dressmakers -where they came from?” And then her -lip curled in indignation with herself to think -that such petty details should intrude upon her -now. Another thing utterly dismayed her. She -had thought so much about this evening, she had -prayed so earnestly, she had almost expected to -sail high above it, serene and safe, and do honor -to the religion which she professed by the quietness -of her surrender of home and happiness; -for it truly seemed to her that she was surrendering -both. But it was apparent to herself that -she had failed, that she had dishonored her profession. -And when this dreadful evening was -finally over, she shut the door on the outer world -with a groan, as she said, aloud and bitterly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know anything to prevent our -home from being a place of perfect torment! -Poor father! and poor me!”</p> - -<p>If she could have heard Judge Burnham’s -comment, made aloud also, in the privacy of his -room, it might still have helped her.</p> - -<p>“That girl has it in her power to make riot -and ruin of this ill-assorted household, or to -bring peace out of it all. I wonder which she -will do?”</p> - -<p>And yet, both Judge Burnham and Ruth -Erskine were mistaken.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER II.<br /> - -<small>SIDE ISSUES.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-h1.jpg" alt="H" width="92" height="36" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-h2.jpg" alt="H" width="74" height="79" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">HOW did they ever get into such a dreadful -snarl as this, anyway?</p> - -<p>It was Eurie Mitchel who asked this question. -She had seated her guests—Flossy Shipley and -Marion Wilbur—in the two chairs her small -sleeping-room contained, and then curled herself, -boarding-school fashion, on the foot of her bed. -To be sure it is against the rule, at this present -time, for girls in boarding-schools to make sofas -of their beds. So I have no doubt it was, when -Eurie was a school-girl; nevertheless, she did it.</p> - -<p>“Where should I sit?” she asked her mother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -one day, when that good lady remonstrated. -“On the floor?”</p> - -<p>And her mother, looking around the room, -and noting the scarcity of chairs, and remembering -that there were none to spare from any -other portion of the scantily-furnished house, -said, “Sure enough!” and laughed off the manifest -poverty revealed in the answer, instead of -sighing over it. And Eurie went on, making a -comfortable seat of her bed, whenever occasion -required.</p> - -<p>On this particular evening they had been discussing -affairs at the Erskine mansion, and -Eurie had broken in with her exclamation, and -waited for Marion to answer.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Marion, “I know very little -about it. There are all sorts of stories in town, -just as is always the case; but you needn’t -believe any of them; there is not enough truth -sprinkled in to save them. Ruth says her father -married at a time when he was weak, both in -body and mind—just getting up from a long -and very serious illness, during which this -woman had nursed him with patience and skill, -and, the doctors said, saved his life. He discovered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -in some way—I don’t know whether she -told him so or not, but somehow he made the -discovery—that she lost possession of her heart -during the process, and that he had gotten it, -without any such intention on his part, and, in a -fit of gratitude, he married her in haste, and -repented at leisure.”</p> - -<p>“How perfectly absurd!” said Eurie, in -indignation. “The idea that he had no way of -showing his gratitude but by standing up with -her, and assenting to half a dozen solemn statements, -none of which were true, and making -promises that he couldn’t keep! I have no -patience with that sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but,” said Flossy, coming in with -gentle tone and alleviating words, just as she -always did come into the talk of these two. -“The woman was a poor, friendless girl then, -living a dreadful boarding-house life, entirely -dependent on her needle for her daily bread. -Think how sorry he must have been for her!”</p> - -<p>Eurie’s lip curled.</p> - -<p>“He might have been as sorry for me as he -pleased, and I dare say I shouldn’t have cared if -he had expressed his sorrow in dollars and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -cents; but to go and marry me, promise to love -and cherish, and all that sort of thing, and not -to mean a word of it, was simply awful.”</p> - -<p>“Have you been studying the marriage service -lately?” Marion asked, with a light laugh -and a vivid blush. “You seem strangely familiar -with it.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I have heard it several times in my -life,” Eurie answered, quickly, her cheeks answering -the other’s blushes. “And I must say -it seems to me a ceremony not to be trifled -with.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I think so too!” Flossy said, in great -seriousness and sweet earnestness. “But what -I mean is, Judge Erskine, of course, did not -realize what he was promising. It was only a -little after Ruth’s mother died, you know, and -he—well, I think he could not have known -what he was about.”</p> - -<p>“I should think not!” said Eurie. “And -then to deliberately desert her afterward! living -a lie all these years! I must say I think Judge -Erskine has behaved as badly as a man could.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Marion; “he has repented. He -might have gone on with his lie to the end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -life, and she would have made no sign, it seems. -The <i>woman</i> can keep a promise, whether he can -or not. But think what it must have cost him -to have told all this to Ruth! Why, I would -rather tell my faults to the President than to -Ruth Erskine! Oh, I think he has shown that -there is nobility in his nature, and sincerity in -his recent profession. It would have been so -easy to have consoled his conscience with the -plea that it was too late to make amends. Still, -I confess I think as you do, Eurie. Marriage is -a very solemn covenant—not to be entered into -lightly, I should think; and, when its vows are -taken, they are to be lived by. I don’t feel very -gracious toward Judge Erskine.”</p> - -<p>“Still, if the Lord Jesus and his own daughter -can forgive him, I think we ought to be able -to do so.”</p> - -<p>It was Flossy’s voice again—low and quiet, -but with that curious suggestion of power -behind it that Flossy’s voice had taken of late. -It served to quiet the two girls for a minute, -then Marion said:</p> - -<p>“Flossy Shipley, I’m not sure but you have -our share of <i>brains</i>, as well as heart. To be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -sure, in one sense it is none of our business. I -don’t believe he cares much whether we ever -forgive him or not. But I believe I shall, and -feel sorry for him, too. What a precious muddle -he has made of life! How are they ever -going to endure that woman?”</p> - -<p>“Is she so very dreadful?”</p> - -<p>This was Eurie’s insinuating question.</p> - -<p>“Father and Nellis called, but I could not -bring myself to go with them. I was sure I -shouldn’t know what to say to Ruth. I tried to -have them describe her, but father said she must -be seen to be appreciated, and Nell would do -nothing but shrug his shoulders and whistle.”</p> - -<p>“She is simply terrible!” Marion said, with -emphasis. “I didn’t stay fifteen minutes, and I -heard more bad grammar and bad taste in the -use of language than I hear in school in a week. -And her style of dressing is—well,” said -Marion, pausing to consider a strong way of -putting it—“is enough, I should think, to -drive Ruth Erskine wild. You know I am not -remarkable for nervousness in that direction, -and not supposed to be posted as to styles; but -really, it would try my sense of the fitness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -things considerably to have to tolerate such -combinations as she gets up. Then she is fussy -and garrulous and ignorant, and, in every way, -disagreeable. I really don’t know how I am -ever to—”</p> - -<p>And at that point Marion Wilbur suddenly -stopped.</p> - -<p>“What about the daughter?” Eurie asked.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Marion, “I hardly know; she -impresses you strangely. She is homely; that -is, at first sight you would consider her very -homely indeed; red hair—though why that -shouldn’t be as much the orthodox color as -brown, is a matter of fashion I presume—but -she is large featured, and angular, and has the -air and bearing that would be called exceedingly -plain; for all that, there is something very -interesting about her; I studied her for half an -hour, and couldn’t decide what it was. It isn’t -her smile, for she was extremely grave, hardly -smiled at all. And I’m not sure that it is her -conversation—I dare say that might be called -commonplace—but I came away having a feeling -of respect for her, a sort of liking that I -couldn’t define, and couldn’t get away from.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Nellis liked her,” said Eurie. “He was -quite decided in his opinion; said she was worth -a dozen frippery girls with banged hair, and -trains, and all that sort of thing, but he couldn’t -give a definite reason, any more than you can, -why he ‘approved of’ her, as he called it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what her tastes can be,” continued -Marion. “She doesn’t play at all, she -told me, and she doesn’t sing, nor daub in -paints; that is one comfort for Ruth; she won’t -have to endure the piano, nor help hang mussy-looking -pictures in ‘true lights’—whatever -lights they may be. But I should imagine she -read some things that were worth reading. She -didn’t parade her knowledge, however, if she -has any. In short, she is a mystery, rather; I -should like you to see her.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps she is fond of fancy-work,” suggested -Flossy, somewhat timidly; whereupon -Marion laughed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t fancy you are to find a kindred spirit -in that direction, my dear little Kittie!” she -said, lightly. “No one to glance at Susan -Erskine would think of fancy-work, for the -whole evening. There is nothing in her face or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -manner, or about her attire, that would suggest -the possibility of her knowing anything about -fancy matters of any sort. I tell you her face -is a strange one. I found myself quoting to my -‘inner consciousness’ the sentence: ‘Life is real, -life is earnest,’ every time I looked at the lines -about her mouth. Whatever else she can or can -not do, I am morally certain that she can’t -crochet. Girls, think of that name—Susan -Erskine! Doesn’t it sound strangely? How -do you suppose it sounds to Ruth? I tell you -this whole thing is dreadful! I can’t feel reconciled -to it. Do you suppose she will have to -call that woman mother?”</p> - -<p>“What does she call her now?”</p> - -<p>“Well, principally she doesn’t call her at all. -She says ‘you’ at rare intervals when she has to -speak to her, and she said ‘she,’ when she spoke -of her to me; not speaking disagreeably you -know, but hesitatingly, as if she did not know -what to say, or what would be expected of her. -Oh, Ruth does well; infinitely better than I -should, in her circumstances, I feel sure. I said -as much to that disagreeable Judge Burnham -who keeps staying there, for no earthly reason,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -that I can see, except to complicate Ruth’s trials. -‘How does your friend bear up under it?’ he -asked me, with an insinuating air, as though he -expected me to reveal volumes. ‘She bears it -royally, just as she always does everything,’ I said, -and I was dreadfully tempted to add: ‘Don’t -you see how patiently she endures your presence -here?’ Just as though I would tell him anything -about it, if she tore around like a lunatic!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, now,” said Eurie, oracularly, -“there are worse crosses in life, I dare say, than -Ruth’s having to call that woman mother.”</p> - -<p>“Of course there are; nobody doubts it; the -difficulty is that particular type of cross has just -now come to her, and while she doesn’t have to -bear those others which are worse, she <i>does</i> have -to bear that; and it is a cross, and she needs -grace to help her—just exactly as much grace -as though there wasn’t anyone on earth called -on to bear a harder trial. I never could understand -why my burnt finger should pain me any -the less because somebody else had burned her -entire arm.”</p> - -<p>At this point Flossy interrupted the conversation -with one of those innocent, earnest questions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -which she was always in these days asking, -to the no small confusion of some classes of -people.</p> - -<p>“Are these two women Christians?”</p> - -<p>“That I don’t know,” Marion answered, after -staring at the questioner a moment in a half -dazed way. “I wondered it, too, I remember. -Flossy Shipley, I thought of you while I sat -there, and I said to myself, ‘She would be certain -to make the discovery in less time than I -have spent talking with them.’ But I don’t -know how you do those things. What way was -there for me to tell? I couldn’t sit down beside -them and say, ‘Are you a Christian?’ could I? -How is it to be done?”</p> - -<p>Flossy looked bewildered.</p> - -<p>“Why,” she said, hesitatingly, “I don’t know. -I never thought there was anything strange -about it. Why shouldn’t those things be talked -of as well as any others? You discovered -whether the young lady was fond of music and -painting. I can’t see why it wouldn’t have been -just as easy to have found out about her interests -in more important matters.”</p> - -<p>“But how would you have done it? Just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -suppose yourself to have been in Judge Erskine’s -parlor, surrounded by all those people who were -there last evening, how would you have introduced -the subject which is of the most importance?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Flossy, looking puzzled, “how -do I know? How can I tell unless I had been -there and talked it over? You might as well -ask me how I should have introduced the question -whether—well, for instance, whether they -knew Mr. Roberts, supposing they had come -from the same city, and I had reason to think it -possible—perhaps probable—that they were -his friends. It seems to me I should have -referred to it very naturally, and that I should -have been apt to do it early in our conversation. -Now, you know it is quite possible—if not -probable—that they are intimate friends of the -Lord Jesus. Why couldn’t I have asked them -about him?”</p> - -<p>Marion and Eurie looked at each other in a -sort of puzzled amusement, then Marion said:</p> - -<p>“Still I am not sure that you have answered -my question about how to begin on such a subject. -You know you could have said, ‘Did you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -meet Mr. Roberts in Boston?’ supposing them -to have been in Boston. But you could hardly -say, ‘Did you meet the Lord Jesus there?’ I -am not sure but that sounds irreverent to you. -I don’t mean it to be; I really want to understand -how those subjects present themselves to -your mind.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe I can tell you,” Flossy said, -simply. “They have no special way of presenting -themselves. It is all so new to me that I -suppose I haven’t gotten used to it yet. I am -always thinking about it, and wondering whether -any new people can tell me anything new. -Now I am interested in what you told me about -that Susan, and I feel as though I should like to -ask her whether there were any very earnest -Christians where she used to live and whether -they had any new ways of reading the Bible, -and whether the young ladies had a prayer-meeting, -and all those things, you know.”</p> - -<p>Again Marion and Eurie exchanged glances. -This didn’t sound abrupt, or out of place, or in -any sense offensive to ideas of propriety. Yet -who talked in that way among their acquaintances? -And <i>how had</i> Flossy gotten ahead of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -them in all these things? It was a standing -subject of wonderment among those girls how -Flossy had outstripped them.</p> - -<p>They were silent for a few minutes. Then -Eurie suddenly changed the current of thought: -“How strange that these changes should have -come to Ruth and we know nothing about it -until a mother and sister were actually domiciled! -We are all so intimate, too. It seems -that there are matters about which we have not -learned to talk together.”</p> - -<p>“Ruth was always more reserved than the -rest of us,” Flossy said. “I am not so surprised -at not knowing about <i>her</i> affairs; we are more -communicative, I think. At least I have told -you all about the changes that are to come to -me, and I think you would tell me if you had -anything startling, wouldn’t you?”</p> - -<p>Marion rose up and went over to Flossy, and, -bending, kissed her fair cheek.</p> - -<p>“You little pink blossom,” she said, with feeling, -“I’ll tell you all the nice things I can think -of, one of these days. In the meantime I must -go home; and remember, Eurie, you are not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -do anything dreadful of any sort without telling -Flossy and me beforehand.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t,” said Eurie, with a conscious laugh, -and the trio separated.</p> - -<p>Two hours later Marion Wilbur was the recipient -of the following note:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<div class="unindent">“<span class="smcap">Dear Marion</span>:—</div> - -<p>“I promised to tell you—though I don’t intimate -that this comes under your prescribed limit -of things ‘awful.’ Still, I want to tell you. I -am almost sorry that I have not been like little -Flossy, and talked it all over freely with you. -Someway I couldn’t seem to. The truth is, I -am to be married, in six week’s time, to Mr. -Harrison. Think of my being a minister’s wife! -But he is going away from here and perhaps I -can learn. There! the ice is broken; now I -can tell you about it. Come as soon as you can, -and, as Flossy says, ‘Have a quiet little confidence.’ -Lovingly,</p> - -<div class="sig"> -“<span class="smcap">Eurie</span>.”<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>It was about this very hour that Eurie opened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -and looked at, in a maze of astonishment and -bewilderment, a dainty envelope, of special size -and design, from which there fell Marion Wilbur’s -wedding-cards!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER III.<br /> - -<small>A CROSS OF LEAD.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-i1.jpg" alt="I" width="97" height="31" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-i2.jpg" alt="I" width="66" height="86" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">I DO not know that I need even try to tell -you about the succession of petty trials -and embarrassments that haunted Ruth Erskine’s -way during the next few days. They belonged -to that class of trials hard to endure—so hard, -indeed, that at times the spirit shrinks away in -mortal terror, and feels that it can bear no more; -and yet in the telling to a listener they dwindle -in importance. As for Ruth, she did not <i>tell</i> -them—she lived them.</p> - -<p>Everything was so new; nothing in or about -the house could go on according to the old fashion; -and yet there was no new fashion shaped.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -She saw many a thing which she must not do, -and but few things that seemed to bear doing. -She must stop in the act of ordering dinner, and -remember in confusion that it was not her business -to order dinners in this house any more. -And yet she must remember that the nominal -mistress seemed to know no more about ordering -dinners for a family of eight than she knew -about ten thousand other things that were waiting -for her attention. Poor Ruth struggled -and groaned and wondered, and rarely cried, but -grew paler, if possible, than before, and her forehead -was continually drawn, either with lines of -pain or of intense self-suppression. She congratulated -herself that her father escaped some -of the misery. He went early to his office, shutting -the door on the incongruous elements in his -household with a sense of relief, and going out -into the business world, where everything and -everybody were as usual, and returning late, giving -as little time to the home puzzle as possible. -Yet it wore on him. Ruth could see that, and it -but increased her burden to feel that the struggle -she made to help was so manifest a <i>struggle</i>, and -was, in some sense, a failure.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> - -<p>He detained her one morning in the library, -with that special word of detention which as yet -he had never applied to any one but her.</p> - -<p>“My daughter, let me see you a moment before -I go out. Do you think we ought to try to -have some friends come in, in a social way?”</p> - -<p>At this question Ruth stood aghast. Her -father’s friends had hitherto not been hard for -her to entertain—lawyers, judges, professional -men of different degrees of prominence, often -without their wives, and when the ladies were included -they were of an age, as a rule, to expect -little in the way of entertainment from Ruth, except -a gracious attention to their comfort; so -that, beyond very careful directions issued to -very competent servants, and a general outlook -on the perfected arrangements, little had been -expected of her. But now it was different; -other than professional people would expect invitations; -and besides, the hostess was no hostess -at all—would not know what to do—and, what -was infinitely more painful, what <i>not</i> to do.</p> - -<p>No wonder that Ruth was appalled over this -new duty looming before her. Yet of course it -was a <i>duty;</i> she flushed over the thought that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -her father had been obliged to suggest it. Of -course people were expecting introductions; of -course they would call—hosts of them. How -much better it would be to have a gathering of a -few friends before the great world pounced in -upon them, so they might feel that at least with -a few the ordeal of introduction was over.</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean a large party,” her father hastened -to explain. “Just a few friends—not -professional ones, you know, but some of your -new acquaintances in the church, perhaps. I -thought you might like to have a gathering -somewhat like that which you told me of at our -little friend, Flossy Shipley’s.”</p> - -<p>If he had not been looking down at the grate, -just then, instead of into his daughter’s face, he -would have seen her start, and almost catch her -breath over this suggestion. It was not that she -was jealous of little Flossy, for whom her father -had shown very special and tender regard ever -since the prayer-meeting which he attended in -her company, but it came to her with a sudden -sense of the change that had fallen upon them. -To think that they—the <i>Erskines</i>—should be -making an attempt to have a social gathering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -like unto one that Flossy Shipley had planned!</p> - -<p>“We couldn’t do the things that she did,” -Ruth said, quickly. “The elements which we -would have to bring together would be too incongruous.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he answered, “not exactly like hers, of -course, but something simple and informal. I -thought your three friends would come, and Dr. -Dennis, you know, and people of that stamp, -who understand and will help us. Wouldn’t it -be well to try to do something of the kind, -daughter, or doesn’t the idea meet with your approval?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” she said, drawing in her breath. -“Yes, father, we must do something. I will try. -But I hardly know how to commence. You -know I am not mistress of the house now; it -makes it difficult for me.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” he said, and the expression of his -face led his daughter instantly to regret that she -had made such a remark. It was the life she -lived at this time—saying words, and regretting -that she had done so. They went on, however, -perfecting the arrangements for the social gathering. -There had occurred to Ruth an instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -trouble in the way, which was that ever-present -one in the American woman’s life—<i>clothes</i>.</p> - -<p>“We can not hasten this thing,” she said. -“There will need to be some shopping done, and -some dress-making—that is, I should think there -would need to be.”</p> - -<p>She corrected herself, and the embarrassment -involved in the fact that she was not the mistress -of the new comers presented itself. Suppose -they chose to think they had clothes enough, and -proposed to appear in any of the ill-made, badly-selected -materials which seemed to compose their -wardrobe! If they were only two children, that -she might shut up, in a back room up-stairs, -and turn the key on outsiders until such time as -they could be made presentable, what a relief it -would be!</p> - -<p>Evidently her father appreciated that embarrassment.</p> - -<p>“I tried to arrange that matter before I came -home,” he said. “I furnished money and suggested -as well as I could; but it didn’t work. I -hardly know what was the trouble. They didn’t -understand, or something. Ruth, what can you -do about it? Is there any way of managing?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ruth tried to consider, while her cheeks -flushed, and her heart beat hard, in what way -she could suggest to her father to manage his -wife and daughter.</p> - -<p>“<i>Susan</i> would listen to suggestions, I think,” -she said, slowly. “But I don’t know whether”—</p> - -<p>And then she broke off, and recurred to -another of the endless trials of this time. If she -and her father were to be compelled to hold conversations -concerning this woman, it was absolutely -necessary that they come to an understanding -as to what to call her.</p> - -<p>“Father,” she said, plunging desperately into -the depths of the question. “What am I to call -her? Does she—or, do <i>you</i>—desire that I -should say mother?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, quickly. “Surely not, unless”—</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” Ruth said, after waiting in vain -for him to conclude. “Am I to say ‘Mrs. -Erskine?’”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>He spoke in visible agitation, and commenced -a nerve-distracting walk up and down the room.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about any of this miserable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -business. Sometimes I am very sorely -tempted to wish that I had left everything as it -was, and gone on in my old life, and endured -the results.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t,” said Ruth, aghast at this evidence of -desperate feeling, and roused, for a moment, -from minor considerations into a higher plane. -“Don’t feel in this way, father; we will do the -best we can, and it will all come out right; at -least, we will try to do what is right.”</p> - -<p>He came over to her then, standing before her, -looking into her eyes, and there was that half-appealing -look in his which had touched her before.</p> - -<p>“Ruth, if we could—if there was any way -that we could—manage to <i>like</i> them a little, it -would make the whole thing so much better, -both for them and us.”</p> - -<p>What an amazing thing to say! what an almost -ludicrous thing, when one reflected that he -was talking about his <i>wife!</i> Yet none knew better -than did Ruth that <i>names</i> implying love did -not make love! How pitiful this appealing sentence -was! How could her father ever hope to -learn to like this woman, who was his wife? For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -herself, she had not even thought of such a thing -as trying. The most she had planned for was to -endure, to tolerate—certainly not to like, most -certainly never to <i>love!</i> She stood dumbly before -her father, having no word of help for him. -And presently he turned from her with a sigh; -and, when he spoke again, it was in a business-like -tone:</p> - -<p>“Well, daughter, do the best you can. Manage -everything exactly as you have been in the -habit of doing. About the dress question, talk -with Susan, if you can; tell her what will be -proper—what you want done. I will see that -her mother follows her directions. For the rest, -we will manage some way; we shall have to depend -on the kindness of our friends. Judge -Burnham will help us in any way he can. He -understands matters.”</p> - -<p>This suggested to Ruth to inquire in regard to -him.</p> - -<p>“What is Judge Burnham staying in town -for? Where <i>is</i> he staying, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“Why, he lives in town. He is practicing -here. Didn’t you know it? He has been absent -a long time on professional business. I hardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -know how it has happened that you have never -met him until now. He has a country-seat ten -miles or so away from the city. He is there a -good deal, I presume; but he boards now at the -Leighton House. He was about changing boarding -places when we came home. It was for that -reason, among others, that I invited him to stop -with us for a few days. You like him, don’t -you, Ruth?”</p> - -<p>This last with a sudden change of tone, and -almost anxiety expressed in his manner.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Ruth, half in impatience, as -one to whom the subject was too unimportant to -stop over. And she was conscious of a flitting -determination that, whatever other person she -might be called upon to like, she would never -trouble herself to make any effort of that sort -for <i>him</i>.</p> - -<p>And then she went away to plan for a party -in which she was to be the real head, while appearing -before the world only as the dutiful -daughter; to plan, also, for the new mother and -sister’s toilets—whether they would, or not, -trusting to her father’s authority to make them -submissive to her schemes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>A little more talk about that matter of liking -people, Ruth was destined to hear; and it developed -ideas that bewildered her. It chanced that -Flossy Shipley came in for a little chat with -Ruth, over the recent astounding news connected -with their mutual friend, Marion. It chanced, -also, that the new-comers were both up stairs for -the evening, Mrs. Erskine being one of those -persons who indulge in frequent sick-headaches, -during which time her daughter Susan was her -devoted slave. So Judge Erskine sat with his -daughter, book in hand, because conversation between -them was now of necessity on such trying -subjects that they mutually avoided it; but he -rarely turned a leaf; and he greeted Flossy -Shipley with a smile of pleasure, and asked, almost -pleadingly, if he might stay and listen to -their gossip. Very glad assent, Flossy gave, and -emphasized it by talking to Ruth with as much -apparent freedom as though he were absent.</p> - -<p>“I like it,” she said, speaking of Marion. “I -think she will make such a perfectly splendid -minister’s wife.”</p> - -<p>Flossy still dealt largely in superlatives, and -paid very little attention to the grammatical position<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -of her adjectives. “I am almost sorry -that I am not going to live here, so I could have -the benefit of her; she will be just as full of -helpful plans for people! And when she gets in -a position to influence them you will see how -much good she can do. Ruth, were you very -much surprised?”</p> - -<p>“Greatly so. I imagined that she did not even -admire Dr. Dennis very much. I don’t know -that she ever gave me reason to think so, except -by being silent sometimes, when I expected her -to speak; but of course that is accounted for -now. Isn’t the marriage sudden?”</p> - -<p>“More sudden than they had planned,” Flossy -said. “Dr. Dennis found it necessary to be absent -just then on a matter of business, and to go -West, just in the direction they had proposed to -go together, and he was obliged to be absent for -some time, which would give him little chance -for vacation later in the season, and, in short,” -said Flossy, with a bright smile, “I think if they -would own it, they were very lonely, and very -anxious to enjoy each other’s society, and -thought they were wasting time, and set about -finding reasons why they should change their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -plans. You know reasons can almost always be -found for things, when we are very anxious to -find them!”</p> - -<p>“Is that so!” Judge Erskine asked, looking -up from his book, and speaking in so earnest a -tone that both girls turned toward him inquiringly. -“Do you mean to say that if one were -anxious to change—well, say his opinion of a -person, he could bring himself to do it on reasonable -grounds?”</p> - -<p>It was a curious question, and to Ruth it was -a very embarrassing one. Her cheeks flushed -painfully, and her eyes drooped to the bit of -fancy work which lay idly in her lap.</p> - -<p>“That wasn’t quite what I was thinking -about,” Flossy said, gently and seriously, as one -who realized that his question reached deeper -than he meant her to understand. “But I do -truly think, sir, that if we feel as though we -<i>ought</i> to change our opinion of a person, we can -set seriously about doing it and accomplish it.”</p> - -<p>“In that case, you would not believe it necessary -to have any enemies in this world, would -you?”</p> - -<p>“Not real enemies, I think, though I wouldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -want to be friends, of course, with everybody. -But—well, Judge Erskine, I can’t explain to -you what I mean. I don’t know how to reason, -you see. All I can do is to tell you what really -occurred. There is a person whom I disliked; -he was very trying to me, and I had to be thrown -in his society very often, and I knew I ought to -feel differently toward him, because, you know, -I couldn’t hope to be of the least help to him, -unless I felt differently. So I set myself earnestly -to trying, and I succeeded. I have the -kindest possible feelings toward him, and I think -I am gaining a little influence.”</p> - -<p>During this recital Flossy’s fair, peach-blossom -cheek had taken a deeper shade, and her eyes -drooped low. She was giving what Judge -Erskine felt was a bit of heart-history, and he -did not know that she realized any personal application. -How should the innocent little mouse -know anything about his affairs?</p> - -<p>“Do you mind telling me how you set to work -to accomplish this change?” he asked, and his -daughter knew that his voice was almost husky.</p> - -<p>“First,” said Flossy, simply and gravely, “I -prayed for him; I gave all my soul to a desire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -for his conversion; I prayed to be shown how to -help him—how to act toward him; then I -prayed for grace to like him, to be interested in -him, and to overlook his faults, or his failings; -and then—why, I am not sure there is any -‘then’ to it. It is all told in that word ‘prayer.’ -The Lord Jesus helped me, Judge Erskine; that -is the whole of it.”</p> - -<p>“Do you really think we have a right to pray -about the matter of our likes and dislikes?” -There was no mistaking the earnestness in -Judge Erskine’s voice this time.</p> - -<p>Flossy turned wondering eyes on him, as she -said, “Oh, yes, indeed! The direction is, ‘Casting -all your care upon him,’ and that is a real -care, you know.” Ah! <i>didn’t</i> Judge Erskine -know? “And then He says, ‘In <i>everything</i> by -prayer and supplication, let your requests be -made known.’ I couldn’t doubt my right. Indeed -it seemed to me to be a duty, not only to -pray, but actually to supplicate, to coax, you -know, just as I was so tempted to do when a -child. It seemed blessed to me to think that the -Lord Jesus took such minute notice of our human -nature that he knew it would help us to be allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -to keep a subject constantly before him, -and to keep coaxing about it. Don’t you think -that is wonderful, Judge Erskine?”</p> - -<p>“Wonderful!” repeated Judge Erskine, in a -moved tone, and he arose and began that pacing -up and down the room, which always with him -indicated deep feeling. Ruth and Flossy presently -continued their talk in a lower tone, until -Judge Erskine came toward them again and -said, “I will bid you good-night, I think, and -thank you, my dear young lady. Your words -are strong and helpful; don’t forget them in any -future experience of life that you may have; -perhaps they will help you through deep waters, -some day.”</p> - -<p>Then he went to the library. As for Ruth, -she sought her room with two thoughts following -her: one, that Flossy had been to her father -what <i>she</i> had failed in being—a helper; and the -other, that possibly she might pray herself into -a different state of feeling toward this woman -and this girl, who were to her now only heavy, -<i>heavy</i> crosses.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER IV.<br /> - -<small>BITTER HERBS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-t1.jpg" alt="T" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-t2.jpg" alt="T" width="70" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">THE morning of the night which had closed -in gloom, opened to Ruth Erskine with a -faint promise of better things. Not so much that, -either; rather, she resolved on heroism. The -sun shone, and the air was fresh with the breath -of coming spring. The outlook seemed more -hopeful. Ruth resolved upon trying Flossy’s -way. She would pray about this matter; she -would nerve herself for duty and trial: she -would bear whatever of disagreeableness came -athwart her plans. No matter how obstinate or -offensive this new woman proved herself to be -on the question of wardrobe, she would bravely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -face the ordeal, and do what she could. No -amount of offensiveness should cause her to lose -self-control. It was childish and useless to yield -in this way, and let inevitable trials crush one. -She did not mean to do it. Her father should -see that she could be as strong over <i>real</i> trials, -as Flossy Shipley could be over imaginary ones; -for what had that little kitten ever had to try -her? This Ruth said, with a curl of her handsome -upper lip.</p> - -<p>She went about her morning duties with something -like the briskness of her old life, and settled -herself to Bible-reading, resolved on finding -something to help her. She had not yet learned -the best ways of reading in the Bible; indeed, -she had not given that subject the attention -which Flossy had. To begin a chapter, and -read directly and seriously through it, getting -what information she could, was the most that -she, as yet, knew about the matter. And the -chapter occurring next to the one that she read -yesterday was the fifth of Romans: “Therefore -being justified by faith, we have peace with God -through our Lord Jesus Christ: by whom also -we have access by faith into this grace wherein<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of -God. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations -also; knowing that tribulation worketh -patience; and patience, experience; and experience, -hope.” Thus on, through the solemn and -wonderful chapter, heeding the words indeed; -getting some sort of idea of St. Paul’s meaning, -and yet not making his experience personal, -in the least; not realizing that the -sentence, “We have peace with God,” included -Ruth Erskine; not seeing, at least, that it was a -present promise, referring to present experience; -not realizing anything, save a desire to be armed -for unpleasant and continuous duties, and a dim -idea that reading the Bible was one of the -preparations which were given her to make. In -much the same spirit, she knelt to pray. She -was humble, she was reverent, she was in -earnest, she prayed for strength, for wisdom, -for patience; and the words were strictly proper, -and in accordance with the desires. The prayer, -to a listener, would have breathed the spirit of -confidence and faith; yet it must be confessed -that Ruth Erskine arose from her knees without -any sense of having really communed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -Christ, without any realization of his presence, -and without any very definite expectation of -receiving actual, practical benefit from the exercise. -She did not realize the feeling, and yet -she possessed somewhat of the same spirit of -the child who prayed: “Dear Jesus, help me to -be good to-day. I know I can be good if I try, -and I intend to try; but you can help me if you -want to!” Remember, I do not say that she -realized it; but that does not alter the fact that -she went out from her room, to meet the trials -of the day, strong in the strength of her own -resolves. She repaired at once to Mrs. Judge -Erskine’s room, determined to be very composed -and patient, and to combat whatever disagreeable -or dissenting thing might be said with forbearance -and kindness.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Erskine’s objection to new and fine -clothing must be overcome, but it should be -done wisely. She resolved to say nothing -to Susan beforehand. She would not admit, -even to herself, that her father’s evident confidence -in Susan’s powers was a trial to her; but, -all the same, she determined to show him that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -she, too, had powers, and that she could manage -matters without Susan’s help.</p> - -<p>Alas for Ruth! Mrs. Erskine was not in the -least averse to fine feathers. She was not lofty, -nor angry, nor hurt; she was good-naturedly -and ungrammatically and exasperatingly loquacious. -It would have been much easier for -Ruth to endure ill-temper. She was nerved for -that. Unconsciously she had planned for and -prayed for self-control, to enable her to endure, -not what she would meet in Mrs. Erskine, but -what she would have had to contend with in -herself, had she been in Mrs. Erskine’s place; -and as, given the same circumstances, the two -would act in a totally different manner, failure -was inevitable.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” said Mrs. Erskine, heartily, in -answer to Ruth’s low knock. “Land alive! -come right in, don’t stop to rap. What’s the -use of being so particular with one’s folks? I -been a wishin’ you would run in and have a -chat. I was tellin’ your pa, only last night, how -chirk and nice we could all be here, if you -would be sort of sociable, you know, and not so -stiff and proud-like. Not that you mean to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -proud, I s’pose; Susan says you don’t. She -says it’s natural for some folks to be haughty. -I s’pose it is. But, land alive! I’m glad I’m not -one of them kind. Haughty folks always did -shrivel me right up. Set down here by the fire. -I think these grates is real comfortable. I told -your pa, last night, that I wouldn’t have shivered -over an old barn of a wood-stove, all these -years, if I’d known what comfortable things -there was in the world. How dreadful pale you -look! Is it natural for you to look so like a -ghost all the time?”</p> - -<p>“I am not accustomed to having a great deal -of color in my face, I believe,” Ruth answered, -sitting squarely and stiffly in the most uncomfortable -chair she could find in the room, and -feeling, just then, that to be an actual ghost -would be a positive relief.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, I don’t believe it’s nature for -any human being to be so like a sheet as that. -If I was your pa, I’d have you through a course -of medicine in less than no time. You need -strengthenin’ up. You ought to have some -Peruvian bark, or some quassia chips, or some -kind of bitter stuff steeped up for you to drink.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -It would do you a power of good, I know it -would. You jest let me fix you up a mess, like -I do Susan, and see what it’ll do for you. -S’prise your pa with the change in you, I dare -say.”</p> - -<p>Poor Ruth! She felt as though stuff that -was bitter enough had been mixed and steeped, -and held to her lips, and that she was being -obliged to drink it to the very dregs. <i>Did</i> she -need it? Was it possible that the Divine Physician -saw her need of such bitter herbs as these -which had fallen to her lot? She started, and -even flushed a little over the sudden thought. -<i>She</i> did not believe it. This was her <i>father’s</i> -sin, not hers. It had only fallen upon her -because of the old, solemn law: “The iniquities -of the fathers shall be visited upon the children.” -She hurried her thoughts away from it. -It would not do to sit in that room, with that -woman staring at her, and indulge in questionings -like these.</p> - -<p>“I came in to see if I could be of any assistance -to you in the way of shopping. You will -need something new, I suppose, before the gathering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -of friends which my father proposes to -have.”</p> - -<p>Ruth had decided to take it as a matter of -course that new garments were to be bought, -and thus forestall, if she could, haughty objections. -She need not have been thus careful. -Mrs. Erskine had stated truly that she was not -one of the “haughty” sort. She had no objection -to any number of new dresses, and to their -being made as elaborately as possible.</p> - -<p>“Now you speak of it, I dare say I do,” she -said, leaning back complacently in her comfortable -little rocker. “In fact, your pa spoke of -that very thing this morning. He said like -enough you would ’tend to it, and he filled my -pocket-book up handsome. There ain’t a stingy -streak about your pa. I knew that, years and -years ago, when he was a young man. It was -the very first thing that drawed me to him—the -free kind of way in which he threw around -his money. It seemed so noble-like, specially -when I was drivin’ every nerve to keep soul and -body together, and lived among folks that didn’t -dare to say their bodies was their own, for fear -they would have ’em seized on for debt, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -took to jail. I tell you that was livin’! You -don’t know nothing about it, and I hope to the -land that you never will.”</p> - -<p>What could Ruth do but groan inwardly, and -wish that her father had been, in his youth, the -veriest miser that ever walked the earth! Anything, -so that this terrible woman would not -have been “drawed” to him. She tried to -hurry the question:</p> - -<p>“What have you thought of getting?” she -asked, nervously twisting and untwisting the -tassels of the tidy against which she leaned, and -feeling disagreeably conscious that a glow of -color had mounted to her very temples in her -efforts at self-control.</p> - -<p>“Land alive, I don’t know. I’ve thought of a -dozen different dresses since your pa told me -this morning what he wanted. He wants things -to be awful nice, I can see that; and why -shouldn’t he? A man that’s got money and is -free with it has a right to say what he will have, -I’m sure. I think it ought to be something -bright, like something—well, <i>bridie</i>, you know.”</p> - -<p>This last with such a distressing little simper -that it was almost more than Ruth could do to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -keep from rushing from that awful room, and -declaring to her father that she would have no -more to do with this thing. He should fight his -dreadful battles alone. But outwardly she held -still, and the shrill, uncultured little voice -went on:</p> - -<p>“You see I <i>am</i> almost like a bride, meeting -your pa’s friends so for the first time, though -land knows it is long enough ago that I planned -what to wear when I should meet ’em. It took -longer to get ready than I expected.”</p> - -<p>There was not even a spice of bitterness in -this sentence. If there had been—if there had -been a suggestion that this woman felt somewhat -of her own wrongs, Ruth thought that she -could have borne it better. But the tone was -simply contemplative, as of one who was astonished, -in a mild way, over the tragedy that life -had managed to get up for her.</p> - -<p>“You see,” she continued, “I hadn’t a chance -for much dressin’ or thinkin’ about it; your pa -was so weak that I had about all I could do to -fix bitters and things, and manage to keep the -breath of life in his body. And many’s the -time when I thought he’d beat, and die right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -before my face and eyes in spite of me. Then -he went off on that journey afore he was able, -and I’ve always believed, and always shall, that -he didn’t rightly know what he was about after -that, for quite a spell. So now I think more -than likely it would please him to have things -kind of gay and lively. I ain’t said anything -about it to Susan—she ha’n’t no special interest -in dressing up, anyway, and she and I don’t -always agree about what looks nice, but I think -your pa would like it if I had a green silk—bright, -rich green, you know, nothing dull and -fady. I saw one when I was a girl—fact is, I -sewed on it—and it was for a bride, too, and I -said to myself then, says I, ‘If <i>I’m</i> ever a bride, -I’ll have a dress as much like this as two peas.’ -I’ve been a good while about it, but that’s -neither here nor there. I’ve got a beautiful red -bow; that wide, rich-looking kind of ribbon; a -woman give it to me for tending up to her poor -girl afore she died. She had the consumption, -and I took care of her off and on a good share -of the fall, and she give me this ribbon. It’s -real nice, though land knows I didn’t want pay -for doing things for her poor girl. ’Twan’t <i>pay</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -neither, for the matter of that; it was just to -show they felt grateful, you know, and I’ve -always set store by that ribbon. I’ve never -wore it, because Susan she thought it wan’t -suited to our way of livin’ and no more it wan’t, -though we lived nice enough in a small way. -Your pa never skimped us on money, though, -land alive! I didn’t dream of his havin’ things -about him like he has, and I was always for -tryin’ to lay up, ’cause I didn’t know how much -money he had, and I didn’t know but he’d come -to poverty some day. Rich folks do, and I was -for savin’, and Susan didn’t object. Susan is a -good girl as ever was. And so the red bow is -just as nice as ever it was—not a mite soiled -nor nothing, and I think it would go lovely with -a green silk dress, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ruth, severely and solemnly. -Not another word could she have forced her -white lips to say, and I don’t know how to -explain to you what awful torture this talk was -to her. The truth is, to those of you who do -not, because of a fine subtle, inner sympathy, -understand it already, it is utterly unexplainable.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Land alive!” said Mrs. Erskine, startled by -the brief, explosive answer, and by the white, -set lips, “don’t you? Now, I thought you -would. You dress so like a picture yourself, I -thought you would know all about it, and your -pa said you knew what was what as well as the -next one.”</p> - -<p>Think of Judge Erskine’s aristocratic lips -delivering such a sentence as that!</p> - -<p>“Now, I had a geranium once, when I was a -girl. It was the only pretty thing I had in the -world, and I set store by it, for more reasons -than one. It was give to me by my own aunt -on my father’s side. It was pretty nigh all she -had to give, poor thing! They was dreadful -poor like the rest of us, and she give me this the -very winter she died. I had it up in my room, -and it kept a blowing and blowing all winter -long—I never see the like of that thing to -blow! And I used to stand and look at it, just -between daylight and dark. It stood right by -my one window, where the last streak of daylight -come in, and I used to squeeze in there -between the table and the wall to make my -button-holes, and when it got so dark I jest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -couldn’t take another stitch, I’d stand and look -at the thing all in blow, and I thought I never -see anything so pretty in all my life, and I made -up my mind then and there, that a green silk -dress, about the color of them leaves, and a red ribbon -about the color of them blossoms, would be -the prettiest thing to wear in the world. I got -the bow a good many years ago, and I was -always kind of savin’ on it up, waiting for the -dress.” Just here there was the faintest little -breath of a sigh. “But, then, if you don’t -think it would be the thing, why I’m willing to -leave it to you. Your pa said you’d see that -everything was ship-shape.”</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Ruth, and her voice was hollow, -even to herself, “I think that my father’s -taste would be a plain, black silk, with white -lace at the throat. If you desire to please him, -I am sure you will make that choice.”</p> - -<p>“Why!” exclaimed Mrs. Judge Erskine, and -she couldn’t help looking a bit dismayed. -“Land alive! do you think so? Black! why it -will make folks think of a funeral, won’t it?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ruth, “black is worn on all occasions -by persons who know enough to wear it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -Then she arose. She had reached the utmost -limit of endurance. Another sentence from this -woman she felt would have driven her wild. -Yet she was doomed to hear one more before she -closed the door after herself.</p> - -<p>“Well, now, if you honestly think it will be -best, I s’pose I’ll agree to it, as your pa seemed -to think things must go your way. But I don’t -quite like it, jest because it seems kind of bad -luck. I don’t believe them notions about black -clothes at merry-makings, you know, though -when I was a girl folks honestly thought so, and -it seems kind of pokerish to run right into ’em. -I never would begin to clean house of a Friday—some -bad luck was sure to come; and as for -seein’ the moon over my left shoulder, I won’t -do it, <i>now</i>—not if I can help it. But black -silk ain’t so funeral as bombazine and such, and -I s’pose—”</p> - -<p>Here Ruth slammed the door, and put both -trembling hands to her ears, and ran across the -hall to the refuge of her own room, and closed, -and locked, and <i>bolted</i> her door.</p> - -<p>As for Mrs. Erskine, she relapsed of necessity -into silence, and for the space of five minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -ceased her rocking and looked meditatively into -the glowing grate. Then she arose, and for the -second time that morning her speech was heralded -by the breath of a sigh, as she said aloud, -“I ain’t no ways certain that I can ever make -head or tail to that girl.” Then she went to her -new and elegant dressing-bureau, and opened a -drawer, and drew from under a pile of snowy -clothing a little box, and took therefrom, wrapped -in several folds of tissue paper, the treasured -bow. She had kept it choicely for fourteen -years, always with a dim sense of feeling that -the time might come when life would so have -opened to her that she would be able to add to -it the green silk dress, and appear in triumph. -Besides, it represented to her so much gratitude -and affection, and there was actually on her -small, worn, withered face, the suspicion of a -tear, as she carefully folded and replaced it. -Her audible comment was: “A black silk dress -and a white lace bow! land alive!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER V.<br /> - -<small>SEEKING HELP.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-f1.jpg" alt="F" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-f2.jpg" alt="F" width="68" height="82" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">FOR the rest of the day Ruth was in -gloom; indeed, I might almost say she -was in despair. In a dim, dreary sort of way, -she felt that her refuge had failed her. If -it really was not going to help her to read in the -Bible and pray, what <i>was</i> she to do? Now, I do -not mean that she suddenly lost faith in the -Bible, or in prayer, but simply that despairing -thoughts, like these, ran riot through her brain, -and she gave them attention; also, she felt as -though any effort to help, or any attempt to like -these people—nay, even to tolerate them—was -impossible. Mrs. Erskine’s good-natured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -coarseness of tone and speech, her horrible -arrangement of words and phrases, her frequent -allusions to “your pa,” in the free, careless tone -which indicated a partnership of interest between -them, were all so many horrors to the refined, -reserved, low-voiced daughter.</p> - -<p>“I will just shut myself into my room,” she -said, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. -“I will not try to associate with them; it can -never be done; they can not be improved; there -is no hope in that direction: there is nothing to -build on. I must just take care of myself, and -see to it that I do not sink to their level.”</p> - -<p>Carrying out this plan, or, rather, allowing -herself to glide along with it, she turned away -with almost a shiver from her father’s question, -that evening, addressed to her in a low tone, as -the family were leaving the dining-room:</p> - -<p>“Daughter, shall we try to go to prayer-meeting -to-night?”</p> - -<p>The first prayer-meeting since this invasion -into their home! Ruth had not forgotten it; -instead, she had been looking forward all day to -that meeting, as a refuge for her storm-tossed -soul. Without giving really definite thought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -it, she yet felt that there, at least, would be help -and comfort; and not once had it occurred to -her that the new-comers must be invited to -attend. She realized, now, with a throb of pain, -that it was this sense of fleeing from their presence -which had helped to give pleasantness to -the thought of the meeting. Was it possible -that “<i>they</i>” must be taken?</p> - -<p>“Father, I can’t,” she said, turning and facing -him with glowing face and defiant eyes. “I -have tried to-day to help, and have been an -awful failure. I just feel as though I could not -endure it. No, I say, let us stay at home with -our misery, and not parade it before a gaping -world. No, I am not going to prayer-meeting -to-night.”</p> - -<p>Her father turned from her, and walked, without -another word, to the library, whither, according -to the new rules of the house, they went -directly after tea, for prayer. Ruth could not -help noticing that her father’s tall, handsome -form stooped, as though he were bowed with -suddenly-added years. The moment those words -were spoken, she felt that she would have given -worlds to have unsaid them; but to take back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -what has been said in haste and folly is oftentimes -an impossible task. She chose the darkest -corner of the library, and felt that, if she could -have crouched in it, out of sight forever, it -would have been happiness. Her father’s voice, -as he read the psalm for the evening, was low -and tremulous. He had by no means gotten -used to these new duties—had not felt their -comfort, nor recognized in them a help. As yet -he was in the realm of hard <i>duty</i>. His prayer -touched Ruth as no prayer had ever done before. -It opened the fountains of tears. On rising -from her knees, she turned quickly to the window, -to hide her disturbed face, and to determine -whether she should follow her father from -the room, and apologizing for the hard, unhelpful -words which she had spoken, say that, of -course, they must go to prayer-meeting. He did -not wait for her tardy resolution, but turned at -once to his wife:</p> - -<p>“Will you and Susan accompany me to our -weekly meeting? I feel that we need all the -help we can get, and that is one of the sources -of supply.”</p> - -<p>Susan answered promptly, and with a glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -ring in her voice that he could not have failed to -notice. She was so glad to hear that this was -the evening for the meeting. She had been -thinking about it to-day, and wondering whether -it were, and whether she could go. As for the -mother, she said, hesitatingly:</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” she supposed so. There was -nothing to hinder, that she knew of. She was -no great hand for going out evenings, though, to -be sure, going out in a city, where the walks -were good and the streets as light as day, was a -different affair from blundering along in the -dark, as <i>she</i> had been obliged to do. Susan -always went to prayer-meeting; but she hadn’t -never went in her life, as she knew of; but then, -of course, if <i>he</i> wanted to go, she would go -along.</p> - -<p>It was not possible, apparently, for Mrs. Erskine -to answer a question briefly. She was full -of reminiscences. They went to prayer-meeting—“father -and mother and daughter.” Ruth -said this sentence over after they were all gone—said -it as she listened to the sound of their -retreating footsteps—her father, and all the -mother she had ever known, and their daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>. -She was left out! Her father had not given her -opportunity to change her mind. He had -simply said, as they passed out, “I am sorry, -daughter, that you do not feel like accompanying -us.” If he had but said, “Daughter, won’t -you go?” she would have choked down the -tears and answered, “Yes.” But she could not -bring her pride, or her grief, to make this concession. -She honestly did not know whether to -call it pride or grief.</p> - -<p>Bitterly sorry was she to miss the prayer-meeting. -She began to feel that, even with -those two present, it might have helped her. So -sorry was she that, had she dared to traverse the -streets alone, she would have made ready and -followed. While she still stood, looking out -drearily, too sad now even for tears, the bell -sounded through the quiet house, and, giving -little heed to it, she was presently startled by -the advent of Judge Burnham.</p> - -<p>“Thomas thought no one was in,” he said, -coming toward her, after an instant’s surprised -pause, “and I ventured to avail myself of your -father’s cordial invitations, and come in to consult -a book which he has, and I haven’t.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was well for Judge Burnham’s peace of -mind that he had not come in expecting to see -Ruth. She was in the mood to resent such an -intrusion, but since it was only books that he -wanted, he was welcome. She motioned toward -the rows and rows of solemn-looking volumes, -as she said:</p> - -<p>“Help yourself, Judge Burnham, and make -yourself as comfortable as you can. My father’s -friends are always welcome to his library.”</p> - -<p>Then Judge Burnham said a strange and -unexpected word. Standing there, looking at -her with those keen, grave eyes of his, thinking, -apparently, not of books at all, he said:</p> - -<p>“I wish I could help <i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>Something in the tone and something in the -emphasis caused a vivid blush to spread over -Ruth’s face. She commenced a haughty sentence:</p> - -<p>“Thank you; I am sure it is kind; but—” -She was about to say, “but, I do not feel in need -of help.”</p> - -<p>She was stopped by the swift realization that -this was not true. She felt, in one sense, in -deeper need of help than she had ever done<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -before. Her voice faltered over the words, and -finally she stopped, her eyes drooping as they -were not wont to droop before others, and those -traitorous tears shone in them again. The tearful -mood was as foreign to her usual self as possible, -and she felt afraid to trust herself to speak -further. Besides, what could she say?</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham spoke again, earnestly, respectfully:</p> - -<p>“I hope you will forgive my intrusion of sympathy, -but I do feel for you—perhaps in a way -that you can hardly appreciate. There are circumstances -in my own hard life that serve to -make me in deep sympathy with your present -trial. Besides, your father has confided in me -fully, and I knew <i>your</i> mother. When I was a -boy of fourteen she was a woman, young and -beautiful and good. She helped me in a hundred -of those nameless ways in which a woman -can help a motherless boy. If there was any -way in which I could serve her daughter it -would give me sincerest pleasure to do so.”</p> - -<p>He was so frank and sincere and grave that -Ruth could hardly help being sincere also.</p> - -<p>“I need help,” she said, raising her eyes for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -an instant to his, “but I do not imagine that -you, or any human being, can give it me. I -shall have to get a victory over my own heart -before anything can help me. I am ashamed of -myself, and disheartened. Things that I mean -to do I utterly fail in, and things that above all -others I don’t intend to do I drop into, almost of -necessity, it seems to me.”</p> - -<p>What a pity that this man, who wanted to -help, had not been familiar with the old-time cry -of the sin-sick soul, “For the good that I would -I do not, but the evil which I would not that I -do.” But he was not familiar with that book of -the law of the human heart. Still he essayed to -comfort.</p> - -<p>“I think you are too hard on yourself. I told -you that your father had made a confidant of -me, and among other things he has repeatedly -told me what a help and strengthener you were -to him. He said that he never would have been -able to carry this hard matter through but for -your strong, unselfish words. It was of you he -thought most, and when you were unselfish he -felt that he could be.”</p> - -<p>Ruth needed this crumb of comfort and yet it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -had its bitter side, and brought another rush of -tears.</p> - -<p>“He will never speak such words again,” she -said, and her voice trembled. “I have failed -him utterly. To-night he asked me to go to the -prayer-meeting, and I refused. I said I could -never go out with them anywhere, and that we -ought to stay at home and hide our shame.”</p> - -<p>And having broken through the wall of -reserve to this degree poor Ruth gave way -utterly, and dropped into a chair, weeping bitterly. -Presently she said:</p> - -<p>“I would give the world to be able to take it -back again; but I can’t. I should have gone to -the meeting to-night—there was no excuse. I -have dishonored my Saviour as well as my -father.”</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham looked down at her in perplexed -dismay. No definite purpose had been in -his mind, beyond a very strange sympathy for -her, and a desire to show it. But he did not in -the least know how to deal with tears, nor with -trouble which reached to so deep and solemn a -place in the heart as this. He was one of those -reverent, correct moralists, professing to honor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -the Bible as a very wise and a very good book, -professing to respect religion and honor the -name of God; and knowing no more about any -of these subjects than that profession indicates -when it goes no farther. How was he to comfort -one whose bitterest tears were being shed -because she had dishonored the Lord? He -waited irresolute for a moment, then, as if a sudden -and very brilliant thought had struck him, -his face brightened.</p> - -<p>“If that prayer-meeting would really be a -source of help to you, Miss Erskine,” and he -tried not to have his tone appear incredulous, -though at that very moment he was occupied in -wondering what it could possibly do for her, -“why not reconsider your decision and attend -it? I will see you safely there with pleasure, -and I presume your coming would gratify your -father in his present mood.”</p> - -<p>For, to this man, the religion of his old friend -Judge Erskine was simply a “mood,” which he -expected to be exchanged presently for some -other fancy.</p> - -<p>Ruth looked up quickly. Was there possibly -an escape from this torture of self-reproach? Was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -there a chance to show her father that she was -bitterly ashamed of herself?</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it too late?” she asked, and the eagerness -in her voice was apparent.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, I should think not,” and Judge -Burnham drew his watch. “I am not very well -versed in the ways of these gatherings, but if it -were a lecture, or concert, it is not enough past -the hour to cause remark. I am quite willing to -brave criticism in that respect, if you say so.”</p> - -<p>Had Ruth been less engrossed with the affairs -of her own troubled heart she would have taken -in the strangeness of this offer on Judge Burnham’s -part to accompany her to a prayer-meeting. -Truth to tell he could have echoed -Mrs. Erskine’s statement, that “she hadn’t -never went in her life as she knew of.” He -smiled now over the newness of his position, -and yet he cared very little about it. There -<i>were</i> matters in which Judge Burnham had -moral courage enough to face the whole world. -To appear in a social meeting with Judge -Erskine’s daughter was one of them. As for -Ruth, true to her nature, she thought nothing -about it, but made ready with a speed and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -eagerness that would have amazed her attendant, -could he have seen her.</p> - -<p>So it came to pass that the First Church -prayer-meeting again had a sensation. The -prayer-room was quite full. Since the revival -there had been none of those distressing meetings -composed of a handful of the most staid -members of the church, but on this particular -evening there were more present than usual. -There were some who were not in the habit of -being seen there, even of late. Shall I venture -to tell the reason? The simple truth is, that Dr. -Dennis and Marion Wilbur’s wedding-cards were -out. As Eurie Mitchell has before told you, -many things had conspired to make their change -of plans advisable, and so, instead of being married -in the front-room of the old western farm-house, -according to Marion’s fancy, the ceremony -was to take place in the First Church on -the following evening, and every member of that -church, young and old, large and small, had -received a special invitation to be present.</p> - -<p>Now, it is a mistake to suppose that general -gossip is confined to small villages and towns, -where everybody knows everybody’s business<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -better than he knows it himself. I think the -experience of others will testify to the truth of -the statement that gossip runs riot everywhere. -In the larger towns or cities, it runs in eddies, -or circles. This clique, or this set, or this grade -of society, is, to a man and woman, as deeply -interested in what the particular circle are to <i>do</i>, -or <i>wear</i>, or <i>be</i>, next, as though they lived in a -place measuring three square miles. So, while -there were those in this nameless city of which -we write, who said, when they heard of the -coming ceremony: “Dr. Dennis! Why he is -pastor of the First Church, isn’t he? or is it the -Central Church? Who is Marion Wilbur? does -anybody know?” And while there were those -who rushed to and fro through the streets of -the city, passing under the shadow of the great -First Church, who did not know that there was -to be a wedding there, who could not tell you -the name of the pastor of the church, nor even -whether it had a pastor or not, and who had -never heard of Marion Wilbur in their lives, -and never would, till those lives were ended, -though some of them brushed past her occasionally, -there were undeniably those who hurried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -through their duties this evening, or shook off -their weariness, or <i>ennui</i>, or deferred other engagements -and made it convenient to go to the -First Church prayer-meeting, for no better reasons -than a curious desire to see whether Dr. -Dennis would appear any different from usual -on the night before his marriage, and whether -Marion would be out, and whether she <i>could</i> -look as unconscious and unconcerned as she -always had, and also what she <i>would wear!</i> -whether she would cling to that old brown dress -to the very last! and whether Grace Dennis -would be present, and whether she would sit -with Marion as they remembered she had, several -times, or where? These, and a dozen other -matters of equal importance and interest, had -actually contributed to the filling of the seats in -the First Church chapel! Well, there are worse -absorptions than even these. I am not certain -that there was a disagreeable word or thought -connected with these queries, and yet how sad -a thing to think that the Lord of the vineyard -is actually indebted to such trivialities for the -ingathering of the workers in his vineyard to -consult with him as to the work? Alas! alas!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -many of them were not workers at all, but -drones.</p> - -<p>After all, since a higher motive could not -touch these people, shall we not be glad that -any motive, so long as it was not actually a <i>sinful</i> -one, brought them within the sound of -prayer and praise? They were there anyway, -and the service was commenced, and the hymn -that followed the pastor’s prayer was being sung, -when the opening door revealed to the surprised -gazers the forms of Ruth Erskine and Judge -Burnham! Now Judge Burnham was one who -would, on no account, have exerted himself to -see how Dr. Dennis would appear, or how -Marion Wilbur would dress, since none of these -motives moved him. The question was, What -had?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VI.<br /> - -<small>FROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-a1.jpg" alt="A" width="87" height="29" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-a2.jpg" alt="A" width="68" height="83" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">ALTHOUGH the First Church prayer -meeting had gone several steps onward, -gotten beyond the region of distressing pauses, -wherein the embarrassed people looked at each -other and wished something would happen, it -was by no means the free, social, enjoyable gathering -that a prayer-meeting ought to be. A life-long -education of too rigid propriety—in other -words, false propriety—is not to be overcome in -an hour. Therefore, after those who were more -accustomed to occupying the time had filled -their space there came a lull, not long, not distressing. -Those Chautauqua girls were all present,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -and any one of them would have led in a -hymn rather than let the pause stretch out. -But it was long enough for people to wonder -whether the hour was not almost gone, and -whether there were any others who would get -their lips open that evening; and then they -heard a strange voice: clear, steady, well-managed, -as one accustomed to the sound of her -own voice, even in public places, and it belonged -to the stranger sitting beside Judge Erskine—none -other than his daughter Susan. The -words she uttered were these: “Therefore being -justified by faith, we have peace with God, -through our Lord Jesus Christ.”</p> - -<p>Now, if it is your fortune to be a regular -attendant at a prayer-meeting where a woman’s -voice is never heard, you can appreciate the fact -that the mere recitation of a Bible verse, by a -“sister” in the church, was a startling, almost a -bewildering innovation. Only a few months -before, I am not sure but some of the good people -would have been utterly overwhelmed by -such a proceeding. But they had received many -shocks of late. The Spirit of God coming into -their midst had swept away many of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -former ideas, and therefore they bore this better.</p> - -<p>But the voice went on, clear, steady, as well -sustained as though it belonged to a deacon in -the church. “I have been all day,” it said, -“dwelling under the shadow of that verse, -‘Peace with God!’ It expresses <i>so</i> much! Peace -is greater than joy, or comfort, or rest. I think -the words come to perplexed lives with such -power. When we do not see the way clearly; -when we are beset with difficulties; when disappointments -thicken around us, we can still look -up to God and say, ‘Up there, where Father is, -it is peace.’ He sees the way plainly and He -will lead us right through the thickets to the -sunlight of His eternal presence. I felt this -verse specially one day. Something occurred in -which I had to bear a prominent part. For a -time I was perplexed—was not sure what was -right—and, afterward, my friends thought that -I did not make the right decision, and I felt -afraid that perhaps I had not, and it troubled -me. Then I rested my heart on this word: -‘<i>justified</i>.’ Not because I have done right; not -because my judgment is correct; not because of -any act of mine in any direction save that one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -of trusting in my Lord, justified by <i>faith!</i> I am -so glad that however much we may disappoint -and try our friends, and our own hearts, in the -sight of the great and wise and pure God, we -are justified through Jesus Christ.”</p> - -<p>Simple words were these, simply and quietly -spoken. The speaker had spent all her life in -one place and all her Christian life in one -church. In that church it had been her custom -to give her word of testimony. Sometimes it -was a verse of a hymn that she recited, sometimes -it was a text of Scripture, sometimes it -was a touch of her own experience. She had -grown up with the custom. She did not realize -that there were any who had not. It did not -occur to her that to the ears of the First Church -people this might be a strange sound. So there -had been no flutter or embarrassment, no self-consciousness -of any sort; simply out of the -fullness of her heart she had spoken. The -effect on those about her was obvious and various. -Judge Erskine’s hand, that rested on the -knob of his gold-headed cane, trembled visibly; -Mrs. Senator Seymour, who sat behind him, -looked indignant, and felt that Judge Erskine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -had had enough to endure before this, but this -was really too much! Marion Wilbur, who was -present, and who <i>did</i> wear her old brown dress, -“sticking to it to the very last,” sat erect, with -glowing cheeks and eyes that were bright with -excitement. To fully understand her excitement -I shall have to tell you about a little conversation -she had just before starting for church.</p> - -<p>“Marion,” Dr. Dennis had said, as he waited -in the stuffy parlor for her to draw on her -gloves, “I wish you were a very brave young -woman, and liked innovations, and were willing -to make a startling one to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Which you believe I am not, and will not, I -conclude,” she had replied, laughing; and stopping -before him with a mock bow, added:</p> - -<p>“Thank you; I believe you are correct about -part of it, at least. I certainly feel very meek -and quiet to-night, whatever I may have been in -the past. What do you want done?”</p> - -<p>“I want to get rid of a horrible stiffness that -is creeping over our meeting. We have been -thawed, but not sufficiently; that is—well, -Marion, the prayer-meeting doesn’t and <i>never -did</i>, meet my ideal. It is not social enough—friendly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -and familiar enough. I would like to -have it a place where we meet together to talk -over religious subjects, in exactly the same way -that we talk of other matters of interest. I -would like, for instance, to ask you as to your -opinion of a passage of Scripture, or a hymn; -and I should like you to answer as freely as you -would if we were sitting with other friends in—say -<i>your</i> parlor, for instance.”</p> - -<p>The emphasis in this latter sentence brought a -vivid blush to Marion’s face, and a little exclamation, -not exactly of dismay:</p> - -<p>“I think <i>you</i> are in a very startling mood. -What would your good pillars in the church say -to such innovations, do you suppose? It takes -my breath away even to think of such a thing! -I would almost as soon arise in the desk, and -undertake to preach a sermon.”</p> - -<p>“Which is a very different thing,” Dr. Dennis -said, stoutly. “But, now, just look at it, -Marion. Isn’t that the reasonable way to do? -Imagine a party of us meeting to discuss a prospective -journey to Europe, or to the Holy -Land; and, supposing me to be the leader, imagine -all the ladies sitting perfectly mum, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -gentlemen only speaking when I called them by -name, as if, instead of a social meeting, where -all the people were on the same level, it was a -catechetical class, met for examination, with -myself for examiner! I don’t believe we have -the true idea of prayer-meetings.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not. But, if I should suddenly say -to you, when we are fairly seated in the chapel, -‘Dr. Dennis, what do you think is the meaning -of the sentence—Called to be <i>saints?</i>’ what -would you think?”</p> - -<p>“I should be delighted—positively delighted; -and I should proceed to answer you as well as I -could; and should like to say, ‘Judge Erskine, -isn’t that your idea?’ or, ‘Mrs. Chester, what -do you think about it?’ and thus from one to -another, freely, familiarly as we would if we -were gathered to converse about anything else -that was worthy of our attention. That is my -idea of a social prayer-meeting.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Marion, “I don’t believe you -will ever realize your idea. For myself, I should -just as soon think of attempting to fly. The -minute you get seated behind that great walnut -box, with those solemn-looking cushions towering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -before you, I feel as far removed from you as -though miles of space divided us.”</p> - -<p>“That is just it,” Dr. Dennis said, growing -eager. “I tell you, this sense of distance and -dignity, and unwise solemnity, are all wrong. -The barriers ought to be broken down. How I -wish, Marion, that you felt it in your heart to -help me. I wish you would open your mouth in -that meeting to-night. It would do you and me, -and everybody good. We should have made a -beginning toward getting nearer to the people. -I don’t mean anything formidable, you know. -Suppose you should just recite a verse of Scripture—something -appropriate to the subject before -us? I don’t believe you have an idea of the -effect it would have.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes I have,” Marion said, with an emphatic -nod of her head. “<i>I</i> can realize that the -effect would be tremendous. I don’t believe -<i>you</i> have the slightest idea of it! What effect -will it have, if you and I reach the meeting ten -minutes past the time?”</p> - -<p>Whereupon they went to church. Of course -Marion was interested in Susan Erskine’s verse, -and Susan Erskine’s comments; not so interested<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -that she felt moved to join her, and contribute of -her experience to that meeting—such things -need thinking about and praying over—but so -interested that her face flushed at the thought -that this girl, who was from the country, had -more moral courage than she, and was in sympathy -with Dr. Dennis’ advanced ideas in regard -to prayer-meetings.</p> - -<p>As for Ruth Erskine, her head went down on -the seat before her, and she kept it bowed during -the remainder of the service.</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham’s nerves were in turmoil. -He could not remember that he had ever in his -life before felt such sympathy for the trials of -others. This particular form of the trial seemed -dreadful to him. The idea that a girl of Ruth -Erskine’s refinement, and a man of her father’s -position, should be brought thus rudely and -offensively before the public, jarred upon him, as -he had not supposed that anything outside of -himself and his own trials could. He blamed -himself for being the unwitting cause of part of -the trouble. If he had not suggested to Ruth -the possibility of coming to this obnoxious place, -she would have been spared this embarrassment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>. -Filling his mind with these thoughts—to the -exclusion of anything else that was said—and -trying to determine how he should best express -his sympathy to this tried girl by his side, he -was presently relieved to discover that the people -were rising for the benediction, and this—to -him—long drawn out trial was over. He had -not, however, sufficiently composed his thoughts -to venture on any form of address, when Ruth -suddenly broke the silence in which they were -walking:</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham, I owe you thanks. Your -suggestion about the prayer-meeting to-night, -and your kind attendance upon me, have helped. -That meeting came to my heart like balm. I -cannot venture to attempt telling you what it -has done for me. Perhaps it would be difficult -to make you understand how heavy my heart -was; but one sentence spoken there has been -repeated to me as a revelation! I am so glad to -feel that, for <i>me</i>, there can be peace with God! -I have felt so storm-tossed, so bewildered, so -anxious to do right, and so sure that I was doing -wrong, it has been, at times, difficult for me to -determine right <i>from</i> wrong, and, in some things,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -I have felt so condemned that I was miserable. -Now I know what I need—God’s peace—such -as only he can give—such as is not interfered -with by any outward circumstances. To be -justified <i>before him</i> is surely enough. I need not -ask for further justification.”</p> - -<p>Now, indeed, was Judge Burnham silent from -very amazement. Here was this girl, to whom -he thought had come an added and excessively -embarrassing trial, thanking him for bringing -her into it, and actually calling it a help and a -joy! He had not the least conception of what -she could mean. A strong desire to make her -explain herself, if she could, prompted his -words:</p> - -<p>“Then you were not disturbed with your—with -the lady’s prominence this evening?”</p> - -<p>“With my sister’s, Judge Burnham. You -were right in the first place.”</p> - -<p>Whether Ruth was willing to accept the situation -for herself or not, she could dignifiedly -insist upon others doing it. Whoever her father -introduced as his daughter should be received by -<i>outsiders</i> as <i>her</i> sister, whether <i>she</i> so received -her or not.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I beg pardon,” said Judge Burnham. “You -were not disturbed, then, by the position which -your sister took?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think anything about <i>position</i>. She -recited that Bible verse most exquisitely, I -thought, and the words which she spoke afterward -were strong and helpful; they helped me, -and I am glad in my very soul that I heard -them. That is the most that I can tell you -about it.”</p> - -<p>Silence seemed to be the wisest course for -Judge Burnham. He was thrown out of his -bearings. Since she did not need comfort, and -refused to receive, why should he attempt to -give it? But he didn’t in the least understand -her. He wondered curiously whether his sympathy -had been equally thrown away on his -friend, Judge Erskine, or whether he, with his -refined and sensitive tastes, had really received -a blow from which it would be hard to rally. -The more he thought about it the more probable -this seemed. As he thought he waxed indignant.</p> - -<p>“If I were he I would forbid her appearance -in public, until she learns what is due to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -position. It isn’t likely that he can rise to the -fanatical heights where his daughter has managed -to climb. Probably she will have made a -descent by to-morrow morning. I mean to go in -and see the Judge.”</p> - -<p>Acting upon this mental conclusion, he -ascended the Erskine steps, and followed Ruth -without waiting for a formal invitation. Her -father had just entered, and was still in the hall. -He turned toward his friend.</p> - -<p>“Come in, Burnham. I was very glad to see -you where I did to-night. I hope it will not be -the last time. I am sure you must have enjoyed -the meeting. Come to the library and let us -talk it over.” And Judge Erskine threw open -the library door, while the others of his family -turned toward the parlor.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, as the door closed after -them, “what did you think of the meeting?”</p> - -<p>“I confess to being considerably surprised,” -Judge Burnham answered. Truth to tell, he -hadn’t the least idea what it would be wise to -say.</p> - -<p>“Weren’t you!” said Judge Erskine, with -energy. “I never was more so. I didn’t know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -she was of that stamp; and yet I might have -known it. She has given me several glimpses of -her spirit during the little time in which I have -known anything about her.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Do? How? I am not sure that I understand -the question.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I mean as to the position which she -assumed to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, as to that, there is nothing to do. I -dare say I may express the gratitude which I -feel for the help that she gave me, but I don’t -even know whether I can bring myself to do -<i>that</i>. I can’t get over the sense of strangeness -and embarrassment. But weren’t those grand -words that she quoted to-night? I declare such -a truth as that ought to take us through anything! -It lifts me out of myself for the time-being -and I feel as though I could live my life -patiently and earnestly. I’ll tell you, Judge, -what I thought as I sat in that seat to-night and -looked over at you. I wished with all my soul -that you might be induced to look into this matter -for yourself, and see the reasonableness of it -all. Did you ever give it special attention, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -friend? In fact, I know you didn’t, because a -man of your discernment could have come to but -one conclusion, had you thought closely about -it.”</p> - -<p>“That is a compliment to my discernment, -and I appreciate it,” Judge Burnham said, with -a faint attempt at a smile. “I am not sure that I -ever gave the subject what you call ‘special attention.’ -And yet I think I have a reasonable degree -of respect for religion and the Bible. You -have often heard me express my opinion of the -literary merits of that book, I think.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Judge Erskine, with a little -sigh. “‘Literary merits!’ Yes, I know you -respect the Bible and admire it, and all that sort -of thing; but that is very different from living -by it. I respected it myself for forty years. -The thing is to stand ‘justified’ in God’s sight. -Think of that! People like you and me, who -have made mistakes all our lives—mistakes that -seem past all rectifying—and yet, in God’s -sight, they are as if they had not been, through the -atoning blood! Isn’t that a glorious thought?”</p> - -<p>“Mistakes are not <i>sins</i>, Judge,” his friend -added, and he spoke the words somewhat haughtily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -In his heart he added: “They are a couple -of fanatics, he and his daughter. I don’t understand -either of them.” In truth, he was staggered. -It might do to attribute fanaticism, or -undue exaltation of mood, to Miss Erskine, possibly; -but he had known the cool-headed Judge -long and well. Was it likely that anything -which would not bear close and logical looking -into could get possession of him to a degree that it -had—even to a degree that was transforming -his life?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VII.<br /> - -<small>ONE DROP OF OIL</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-n1.jpg" alt="N" width="92" height="42" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-n2.jpg" alt="N" width="65" height="76" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">NOW you know that some of you are anxious -to hear all about that marriage -which took place in the First Church, the next -evening. You want to be told how the bride -was dressed, and whether she had any bridesmaids, -and whether Dr. Dennis appeared well, -and how Grace Dennis was dressed, and how she -acted, and who performed the ceremony, and -whether it was a lengthy one, and every little -detail of the whole matter; also, you are desirous -of knowing how the “little gathering” that -the Erskines gave, soon after, was managed—whether -Mrs. Erskine became reconciled to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -“black silk” and the “lace bow;” whether Susan -proved to be yielding, or obstinate, and how -Ruth bore up under the numerous petty embarrassments, -which you plainly foresee the evening -had in store for her. But, then, there are those -discerning and sympathetic beings—the critics—standing -all ready to pronounce on us, and say, -that we are “prolix” and “commonplace” and -“tedious;” that we spend too much time in telling -about trivialities, and do not give the startling -points fast enough, as if that were not -exactly what we and they are doing all the time! -Who lives exclamation points every day? There -comes occasionally one into most lives (and assuredly -Ruth Erskine believed that hers had -come to her); but, for the most part, lives are -made up of commas and interrogations and dashes. -There is this comfort about professional critics—those -that live behind the scenes know that -when they are particularly hard on a book, one -of two things is the case—either they have -been touched in a sensitive spot by some of the -characters delineated or opinions expressed, or -else they have an attack of indigestion, and the -first subject that comes under their dissecting-knives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -must bear the savage consequences. Very -well, let us give them a touch of “trivialities.” -The bride’s dress was a soft sheeny grey, just the -sort of dress for enduring a long, westward-bound -journey, and yet rich enough, and soft enough, -and delicate enough to look appropriate in the -church. As for Dr. Dennis. There is this satisfaction -about a man’s dress, it is easy of description. -When you have said it was black, and -neat-fitting, what is there left to say? Some gentlemen -look exceedingly well dressed, and some -look ungainly; and every one of them may have -on black clothes, that look to the uninitiated as -though they were well-fitted. What makes the -difference? What lady can tell?</p> - -<p>The bright-eyed, fair-faced daughter of the -house of Dennis was really the beauty of that -evening; and, if the truth were known, the -bride-elect had expended more thought and care -upon the details of this young girl’s attire than -she had on her own. Eurie Mitchell and Mr. Harrison -were bridesmaid and groomsman. There -were those in the church who wondered at that, -and thought that Mr. Harrison would have liked -some one better than “that Mitchell girl” with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -him, under the circumstances. But Eurie herself, -and you and I, know better. We know he -has chosen her, from all others, to stand by him -forever.</p> - -<p>After all, I can tell you nothing but the commonplaces. -Is there ever anything else told -about weddings? Who is able to put on paper -the heart-throbs and the solemnities of such an -hour? It is like all other things in life—that -which is told is the least important of all the -story.</p> - -<p>Old Dr. Armington, whose hair was white -with the snows of more than seventy winters, -spoke the solemn words that made them man -and wife. . . . For half a century he had been, -from time to time, repeating that solemn sentence.</p> - -<p>“You are the two hundred and ninety-seventh -couple that I have, in the name of my Master, -joined for life. God bless you.”</p> - -<p>This was his low-spoken word to Dr. and Mrs. -Dennis, as he took their hands in after greeting. -Someway, it made Marion feel more solemn than -before. Two hundred and ninety-six brides! -She seemed to see the long procession filing past.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -She wondered where they all were, and what had -been their life-histories. Later in the evening, -she could not resist the temptation to ask him, -further:</p> - -<p>“How many of the two hundred and ninety-six -have you buried, Dr. Armington?”</p> - -<p>And the old man’s lip trembled, and his voice -was husky, as he said:</p> - -<p>“Don’t ask me, child. A long array of names, -among them two of my own daughters. But I -shall sit down with a great many of them soon, -at ‘the marriage supper of the Lamb.’ I hope -none of them will wear starless crowns.”</p> - -<p>And Marion turned from him quickly, feeling -that she had gotten her word to live by.</p> - -<p>About that party. They lived through it, -and, in a sense, it was a success. There were, -of course, many mortifications; but by dint of -shutting her eyes and her ears as far as possible, -and keeping on the alert in every direction, and -remembering her recent resolutions, very solemnly -renewed, Ruth bore the ordeal reasonably -well. She had more help than she knew of. -Susan Erskine had inherited more of her father’s -nature than her mother’s. It was not easy for her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -to yield, and she did not enjoy being managed. -She could sacrifice her will, or her plans, or her -comfort, if she saw a <i>need-be</i> for it, or if, in any -sense, the strong, and, to her, solemn word, -“Duty,” could be put in as a plea; but to be controlled -in the mere matter of her dress—and -that, after she had determined that to spend time -and money, other than was absolutely necessary, -on the adorning of the perishing body, was a -moral wrong—was something that could not be -expected of her. She was not conscious of any -other feeling than that of duty; but, in her -heart, she was grieved, not to say insulted. Here -had they—her mother and herself—been ignored -for eighteen years, allowed to dress as they -pleased, and go where they pleased, or not go at -all; and, now that their tardy rights were being -in a degree recognized, it was the paltry question -of <i>dress</i> that must absorb them! She was willing -to make many concessions to Ruth. There -were times when she pitied her. In fact, she -had constant and sincere sympathy for her in -this invasion of home and name. She realized -that the blame was in no sense Ruth’s, and to -shield her, as much as possible, from the inevitable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -suffering, was Susan’s natural feeling. But, -when it came to strictly personal questions—what -colors she should wear, and what material, -and how it should be made up—she rebelled. -Surely those were matters which she had a right -to decide for herself. Mother might be easily -managed, if she would; perhaps it was well that -she could be. But, for herself, Susan felt that -it would be impossible, and hoped most earnestly -that no attempt would be made in that direction.</p> - -<p>As for Ruth, she thought of the matter in a -troubled way, and shrank from entering into -detail. The most she had done was to ask, hesitatingly, -what she—Susan—would wear, on -the evening in question. And Susan had answered -her, coldly, that she “had not given the -matter a thought, as yet.” She supposed it -would be time enough to think about that when -the hour for dressing arrived. In her heart she -knew that she had but one thing to wear; and -Ruth knew it too, and knew that it was ill-chosen -and ill-made, and in every way inappropriate. -Yet she actually turned away, feeling unable to -cope with the coldness and the evident reserve of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -this young woman over whom she could not hope -to have influence.</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, it was gentle little Flossy -who stepped into these troubled waters, and -poured her noiseless drop of oil. She came in -the morning, waiting for Ruth to go with her to -make a farewell call on Marion Wilbur, the -morning before the wedding; and in the library, -among the plants, giving them loving little -touches here and there, was Susan.</p> - -<p>“What is Marion to wear for travelling, do -you know?” Flossy had asked of Ruth, as -some word about the journey suggested the -thought. And Ruth had answered briefly, almost -savagely:</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. It is a blessed thing that no -one will have to give it a thought. Marion will -be sure to choose the most appropriate thing, and -to have every detail in exquisite keeping with it. -It is only lately that I have realized what a gift -she had in that direction.”</p> - -<p>Then Ruth had gone away to make ready, and -wise little Flossy, looking after her with the far-away, -thoughtful look in her soft eyes, began to -see one of her annoyances plainly, and to wonder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -if there were any way of helping. Then she -went down the long room to Susan, busy among -the plants.</p> - -<p>“How pretty they are!” she said, sweetly. -“What gorgeous coloring, and delicate tracery -in the leaves! Does it ever occur to you to -wonder that such great skill should have been -expended in just making them look pretty to -please our eyes?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Susan, earnest and honest, “I don’t -think I ever thought of it.”</p> - -<p>“I do often. Just think of that ivy, it would -have grown as rapidly and been quite as healthy -if the leaves had been square, and all of them an -intense green, instead of being shaded into that -lovely dark, scolloped border all around the -outer edge. ‘He has made every thing beautiful -in his time.’ I found that verse one day last -week, and I liked it <i>so much</i>. Since then I seem -to be noticing everybody and everything, to see -whether the beauty remains. I find it everywhere.”</p> - -<p>All this was wonderfully new to Susan Erskine. -She was silent and thoughtful. Presently she -said, “It doesn’t apply to human beings—at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -least to many it doesn’t. I know good men and -women who are not beautiful at all.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t that depend a little on what one -meant by beauty?” Flossy said, timidly. Argument -was not her forte. “And then, you -know, He <i>made</i> the plants and flowers—created -their beauty for them, I mean, because they are -soulless things—I think he left to us who are -immortal, a great deal of the fashioning to do for -ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course, there is a moral beauty which -we find in the faces of the most ordinary, but -I was speaking of physical beauty.”</p> - -<p>“So was I,” said Flossy, with an emphatic -nod of her pretty little head. “I didn’t mean -anything deep and wise, at all. I don’t know -anything about what they call ‘esthetics,’ or any -of those scientific phrases. I mean just pretty -things. Now, to show you how simple my -thought was, that ivy leaf made me think of a -pretty dress, well made and shapely, you know, -and fitted to the face and form of the wearer. -I thought the One who made such lovely plants, -and finished them so exquisitely, must be pleased<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -to see us study enough of His works to make -ourselves look pleasing to the eyes of others.”</p> - -<p>Susan Erskine turned quite away from the -plants and stared at her guest with wide, open, -amazed eyes, for a full minute. “Don’t you think,” -she asked at last, and her tone was of that stamp -which indicates suppressed force—“don’t you -think that a great deal of time, and a great deal -of money, and a great deal of force, which might -do wonders elsewhere, are wasted on dress?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Flossy, simply and sweetly, “I -know that is so. After I was converted, for a -little while it troubled me very much. I had -been in the habit of spending a great deal of -time and not a little money in that way, and I -knew it must be wrong, and I was greatly in -danger of going to the other extreme. I think -for a few days I made myself positively ugly to -my father and mother, by the unbecoming way -in which I thought I ought to dress. But after -awhile it came to me, that it really took very -little more time to look <i>well</i> than it did to look -ill-dressed; and that if certain colors became the -form and complexion that God had given me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -and certain others did not, there could be no religion -in wearing those not fitted to me. God -made them all, and he must have meant some -of them specially for me, just as he specially -thought about me in other matters. Oh, I haven’t -gone into the question very deeply; I want to -understand it better. I am going to ask Mr. -Roberts about it the very next time he comes. -But, meantime, I feel sure that the Lord Jesus -wants me to please my parents and my sister in -every reasonable way. Sister Kitty is really uncomfortable -if colors don’t assimilate, and what -right have I to make her uncomfortable, so long -as the very rose leaves are tinted with just the -color of all others that seemed fitted to them?”</p> - -<p>Susan mused.</p> - -<p>“What would you do,” she asked presently, -“if you had been made with that sense of the -fitness of things left out? I mean, suppose you -hadn’t the least idea whether you ought to wear -green, or yellow, or what. Some people are so -constituted that they don’t know what you mean -when you tell them that certain colors don’t assimilate; -what are <i>they</i> to do?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Flossy, gently and sweetly, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -know what you mean, because people are made -very differently about these things. I am trying -to learn how to make bread. I don’t know in -the least. I can make cake, and desserts, and all -those things, but Mr. Roberts likes the bread -that our cook makes, and as I don’t know how to -make that kind, nor any other, I thought I ought -to learn. It isn’t a bit natural to me. I have -to be very particular to remember all the tiresome -things about it; I hadn’t an idea there were -so many. And I say to the cook, ‘Now, Katy, -what am I to do next? this doesn’t look right at -all.’ And she comes and looks over my shoulder, -and says, ‘Why, child, you need more flour; -always put in flour till you get rid of that dreadful -stickiness.’ Then I say to myself, ‘That -dreadful stickiness is to be gotten rid of, and -flour will rid me of it, it seems,’ and I determine -in my own mind that I will remember that -item for future use. I don’t really like the -work at all. It almost seems as though bread -ought to be made without such an expenditure -of time and strength. But it isn’t, you know, -and so I try; and when I think of how Mr. Roberts -likes it, I feel glad that I am taking time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -and pains to learn. You know there are so -many things to remember about it, from the first -spoonful of yeast, down to the dampening of -the crust and tucking up the loaves when they -come out of the oven, that it really takes a good -deal of memory. I asked Mr. Roberts once if -he thought there would be any impropriety in -my asking for ability to take in all the details -that I was trying to learn. He laughed at me a -little—he often does—but he said there could -be no impropriety in praying about anything -that it was proper to do.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Susan Erskine, promptly. -Then she did what was an unusual thing for her -to do. She came over to the daintily dressed -little blossom on the sofa, and bending her tall -form, kissed the delicately flushed cheek, lightly -and tenderly.</p> - -<p>“Ruth,” said little Flossy, as they made their -way toward the street-car. “I think I like your -new sister very much, indeed. I am not sure -but she is going to be a splendid woman. I think -she has it in her to be grandly good.”</p> - -<p>“When did you become such a discerner of -character, little girlie?” was Ruth’s answer, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -she felt grateful to Flossy. The words had -helped her.</p> - -<p>As for Susan, she went back to the plants, -and hovered over them quite as lovingly, but -more thoughtfully than before. She studied -the delicately-veined leaves and delicately-tinted -blossoms all the while, with a new light in her -eyes. This small sweet-faced girl, who had looked -to the plainly-attired, narrow-visioned Susan, -like a carefully prepared edition of a late fashion-plate, -had given her some entirely new ideas in -regard to this question of dress. It seemed that -there was a <i>duty</i> side to it that she had not canvassed. -“What right have I to make her uncomfortable?” -gentle Flossy had asked, speaking -of her sister Kitty. Susan repeated the sentence -to herself, substituting Ruth’s name for Kitty’s. -Presently she went to her own room.</p> - -<p>“Ruth,” she said, later in the day, when they -were for a moment alone together “would you -like to have me get a new dress for the tea-party?”</p> - -<p>Tea-party was a new name for the social gathering, -but it was what Susan had heard such -gatherings called. Ruth hesitated, looked at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -questioner doubtfully a moment, then realizing -that here was one with whom she could be -straightforward, said frankly, “Yes, I would, -very much.”</p> - -<p>“What would you like me to get?”</p> - -<p>“I think you would look well in one of those -dark greens that are almost like an ivy-leaf in -tint. Do you know what I mean?”</p> - -<p>Susan laughed. She did not take in the question; -she was thinking that it was a singular -and a rather pleasant coincidence that she should -be advised to dress after the fashion of the ivy-leaf -which had served for illustration in the -morning.</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose I ever looked well in my -life,” she said at last, smiling brightly. “Perhaps -it would be well to try the sensation. If -you will be so kind, I should like you to select -and purchase a dress for me that shall be according -to your taste, only remembering that I dress -as plainly as is consistent with circumstances, -from principle.”</p> - -<p>When she was alone again, she said, with an -amused smile curving her lip, “I must get rid of -that dreadful stickiness, and flour will do it!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -That is what the dear little thing said. “Dark -green will do it for me, it seems. If I find that -to be the case I must remember it.”</p> - -<p>Ruth dressed for shopping with a relieved -heart. She was one of those to whom shopping -was an artistic pleasure, besides she had never -had anyone, save herself, on which to exhibit -taste. She was not sure that it would be at all -disagreeable.</p> - -<p>“She begins to comprehend the necessities of -the position a little, I believe,” she said, meaning -Susan. And <i>she</i> didn’t know that Flossy Shipley’s -gentle little voice, and carefully chosen -words, had laid down a solid plank of <i>duty</i> for -her uncompromising sister to tread upon.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> - -<small>FINDING ONE’S CALLING.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-d1.jpg" alt="D" width="88" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-d2.jpg" alt="D" width="70" height="71" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">DURING the days which preceded that -social gathering, Ruth found her mind -often busy with the wonders of the verse which -had been quoted at prayer-meeting. She recognized -it as from the chapter which she had read -in the morning, and she re-read it, filled with a -new sense of its meaning. She sought after and -earnestly desired to realize peace with God. -How wonderful would it be to be able to say, -“And not only so, but we glory in tribulation!” -Poor Ruth believed that she understood the -meaning of that word, “tribulation.” Would it -be possible for her ever to “glory” in it? As<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -she read those verses and thought about them, -she seemed to hear again the peculiar ring of -triumph that there was in Susan’s voice, as she -repeated the words, “<i>She</i> feels it.” Ruth said -to herself, “I believe she knows more about -these things than I do; I wonder how she came -to get the thought in the first place? I read the -verse and didn’t take it in. Perhaps she has -taken in other things, about which I know nothing, -and which would help me?”</p> - -<p>Thinking these thoughts, dwelling on them, -they culminated in a sudden resolution, which -led her to tap at the door of Susan’s room. She -was cordially invited to enter. Susan was engaged -in dusting the row of books, in dull and -somewhat shabby binding, that ornamented the -pretty table under the gaslight.</p> - -<p>“Have a seat,” she said; “I can’t think how -the dust gets at my books so often; I put them -in order this morning. They are my good old -friends, and I like to take special care of them, -but they are fading.”</p> - -<p>She fingered the bindings with loving hands, -and Ruth, curious to see what they were, drew -near enough to read some of the titles, “Cruden’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -Concordance,” “A Bible Text-Book,” “Barnes -Notes on the Gospels,” and “Bushnell’s Moral -Uses of Dark Things.” The others were old -and, some of them, obsolete school text-books.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t many,” Susan said, in a tender -tone, “but they are very useful. They have -been my best friends for so long that I think I -should be a real mourner over the loss of one of -them.”</p> - -<p>The new dark-green dress lay on the bed, and -some soft, rare laces, a gift to Susan that day -from her father, lay beside it. Ruth glanced -that way, “Have you tried on the dress since it -was finished?”</p> - -<p>“No, I thought it would be time enough in -the morning, and I had a little reading that I -was anxious to do this evening.”</p> - -<p>“What are you reading? something that you -like?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, very much,” Susan said, with a rare -smile lighting her pale face; “I only began it -the other night. I didn’t know it was so rich. -It is the first chapter of Colossians, but I only -read to the fifth verse.”</p> - -<p>Ruth looked her amazement. “Why, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -must have been interrupted very constantly.”</p> - -<p>Susan shook her head. “No, on the contrary, -I spent very nearly an hour over those four -verses; the longer I studied on them the more -remarkable they became, and I found myself -held.”</p> - -<p>“Is the meaning so very obscure?”</p> - -<p>“Not at all; the meaning is there on the surface; -the only thing is, there is so much, and it -leads one’s thoughts in so many different ways. -Do you remember the second verse?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember it at all; very likely I -never read it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, the second verse is addressed, ‘To the -saints and faithful brethren in Christ, which are -at Colosse.’ That sentence arrested my thoughts -completely. Suppose I had been living at -Colosse in those days, could I have claimed that -letter to the <i>saints?</i> I stopped over the word -and wondered over it, and queried just what it -meant, and it meant so much that I should really -have gotten no farther than that sentence if I -had not deliberately left it and gone on to the -‘Grace be unto you and peace.’ I found my -heart craving peace: I think I was somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -like the child who claims the reward, or reaches -out after it, without waiting to be sure whether -he has met the conditions.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t understand you very well. -What about saints? they were holy men, were -they not, set apart for special work at that special -time? How <i>could</i> their experience touch -yours?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so. I think they were just -men and women who loved the Lord Jesus -Christ, and were called by his name, just as you -and I are.”</p> - -<p>“But <i>we</i> are not saints; at least I am not.”</p> - -<p>“But you are called to be?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand you.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Don’t</i> you? Think of that verse of Paul’s, -‘Unto the Church of God, which is at Corinth, -to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, -<i>called to be saints</i>.’ Now, you know <i>we</i> are -sanctified in Christ Jesus, so are we not called -to be saints?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what ‘sanctified’ means very -well; and, besides, I can’t help thinking that -the letter was written to the Church at Corinth. -<i>I</i> don’t live in Corinth; how do I know that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -address fits me? If I should find a letter addressed -to the people who live on Twenty-third -Street, wouldn’t I be likely to say, ‘Well, I -have nothing to do with that; I live on Fifth -Avenue?’”</p> - -<p>“Ah! but suppose the very next sentence -read, ‘And to all that love the Lord Jesus -Christ,’ wouldn’t you claim the letter?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ruth, with a flash of joy in her -face, “I think I could.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t you know the next words are, -‘With all that in every place call upon the name -of Jesus Christ our Lord, both theirs and ours.’”</p> - -<p>“I never thought of it,” said Ruth. Then, -after a little, “Did you find out what a saint -was?”</p> - -<p>“Why I found some characteristics of them, -and tried to see if they answered my description. -Have you ever looked the matter up?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ruth, “I did not so much as -know that I was expected to be a saint; tell me -what you found.”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Susan, drawing her chair and -opening her Bible, “see here, I found a promise, -‘He will keep the feet of his saints.’ It made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -me all the more eager to learn as to my claim. -Was I his saint? would he keep me? In that -same verse there is a contrast, ‘He will keep -the feet of his saints, and the wicked shall be -silent in darkness.’ Now, if there are only two -classes of people, saints and the wicked, which -am I? In God’s sight who are the wicked? I -looked for a description of them and found this -statement: ‘The Lord preserveth all them that -love him, but all the wicked will he destroy.’ -Now, I <i>know</i> I love the Lord, and I know that -he will not destroy me, for I have in my heart -the assurance of his promise. If that is so, <i>I</i> -must be one of his saints. Then I found the -promise, ‘He shall give his angels charge over -thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.’ Keep who? -And looking back a little I found, ‘He that -dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High -shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.’ -But he promises to keep only those who are <i>his -saints</i>. Then I found the promise, ‘He maketh -intercession for the <i>saints</i>.’ Now, I said, if -there is no one interceding between a just God -and me, what will become of me? But I found -the inspired statement of St. Paul, ‘Wherefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -he is able to save them to the uttermost that -come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to -make intercession for <i>them</i>.’ That puts me at -once among those for whom he intercedes, and -his special work in heaven is to make intercession -for the saints. By this time I was ready to -claim the name, and you may know I was anxious -to find what it meant. I went to the dictionary; -the first definition I found was, ‘A person -sanctified.’ That startled me. Could it be -that I was sanctified? Why, I feel so sinful, -and so weak, and so small! Well, I said, What -does ‘sanctified’ mean? and I found that it was -defined as set apart to a holy or religious use. -It recalled to my mind the statement of Paul. -‘But ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but -ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus.’ -A great deal ought to be expected of us, after -that.”</p> - -<p>Ruth drew a long sigh. “I don’t know anything -about it, I believe,” she said, sadly; “I -never read the Bible in that way. Half the -time it doesn’t seem to have anything in it really -for me.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think that some of our trouble is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -in being content with simply <i>reading</i>, not <i>studying</i> -the Bible? I thought the other night that if -I had spent an hour on geometry, and then -begun to understand it somewhat, I should feel -as though I were repaid. But sometimes I read -a Bible verse over two or three times, and then, -because its meaning is obscure, I feel half discouraged. -I was speaking of it to—to father -last evening, and he said he thought the trouble -was largely in that direction.” Susan had not -yet gotten so that she could speak the unfamiliar -name without hesitation. As for Ruth, her -brow clouded; it did not seem to her that she -could ever share that name with anyone. But -she was interested—and deeply so—in the -train of thought which had been started.</p> - -<p>“What next?” she asked, curious to see -whither Susan’s thoughts had led her. “You -said you read no farther than the fourth verse. -What stopped you there? I don’t see much in -it;” and she leaned forward and re-read the -verse from Susan’s open Bible.</p> - -<p>“Oh, why <i>don’t</i> you? ‘Since we heard of -your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love -which ye have to all the saints.’ That verse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -stopped me longer than any other, especially the -sentence: ‘Since we heard of your faith in -Christ Jesus’—it is such a common form of -expression. I thought of it last evening while -listening to the talk in the parlor. ‘I heard -that the Wheelers were going abroad,’ some one -said; and another, ‘I heard that Dr. Thomas -was soon to bring a wife home.’ Two of the -young ladies talked in low tones, and nearly all -I could catch was the expression: ‘I heard he -was,’ or ‘she was,’ or ‘they were.’ It was evident -that a great deal had been heard about a -great many people. I said over the verse: ‘We -heard of your faith in Christ Jesus.’ Who hears -of such things? How many people have such -marked and abiding faith in Christ Jesus, that -when we talk of them we say, ‘I heard that -Miss So and So had the most implicit faith in -the power of Christ to keep her.’ Now wouldn’t -that be a strange thing to say?”</p> - -<p>“I should think it would,” said Ruth, amazed -at this train of thought. “After all, I suppose -many people have the <i>faith;</i> only it is not the -custom in society to talk about such things.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t,” answered Susan, positively. “Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -course many people have it in a degree; but not -to such an extent that it arouses interest, and -excites remark. I think it is the custom in society -to talk about that which interests people—which -has been suggested to their minds by -passing events. I have heard that it is a very -common thing in localities where Mr. Moody has -been holding meetings, to discuss his remarkable -faith and love. Don’t you suppose, if my -Christian life were so marked a force that all -who came in contact with me, felt its influence, -it would be natural to speak of it, when my -friends chanced to mention my name?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” Ruth said, slowly. “At least -I don’t see why it should not be; and, indeed, -it is very common for people to talk about the -change in Flossy Shipley.”</p> - -<p>Susan’s voice was very earnest. “I wish I -could bear such testimony as that. I believe it -would be right to be ambitious in that direction; -to live so that when people spoke of me at all, -the most marked thing they could say about me -would be, not, how I dressed, or appeared, or -talked, but how strong my faith in the Lord -Jesus was, and how it colored all my words and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -acts. Wouldn’t that be a grand ambition?”</p> - -<p>“And of the love which ye have to all the -saints,” Ruth repeated, half aloud, half to herself; -her eye had caught the words again. Suddenly -she started, and the blood flowed in ready -waves into her cheeks. She had caught a new -and personal meaning to the words—“love to -<i>all</i> the saints.” Suppose this usurper of home -and name, who sat near her—this objectionable -sister—suppose <i>she</i> were one of the saints!—and -I verily believe she is, Ruth said to her -beating heart—then, would it be possible so to -live, that people would ever say, “She loves that -sister of hers, because she recognizes in her one -of the Lord’s own saints?” Nothing looked -less probable than this! She could not bring her -heart to feel that she could <i>ever</i> love her. A -sort of kindly interest, she might grow to feel, -an endurance that would become passive, and, -in a sense, tolerable, but could she ever help paling, -or flushing, when she heard this new voice -say “father,” and realized that she had a right -to the name, even as she herself had? She had -been the only Miss Erskine so long; and she -had been so proud of the old aristocratic name,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -and she had felt so deeply the blot upon its -honor, that it seemed to her she could never -come to look with anything like <i>love</i> upon one -connected with the bitterness. Yet, it did flash -over her, with a strange new sense of power, -that Susan Erskine held nearer relation to her -than even these human ties. If <i>she</i> was indeed -a daughter of the Most High, if the Lord Jesus -Christ was her Elder Brother, then was this girl -her sister, a daughter of royal blood, and perhaps—she -almost believed it—holding high -position up there, where souls are looked at, -instead of bodies.</p> - -<p>A dozen times, during the evening which followed -this conversation, did the words of this -Bible verse, and the thoughts connected there -with, flash over Ruth. It was the evening of -the social gathering. Now, that Susan had -called her attention to it, she was astonished -over the number of times that those words: “I -heard,” were on people’s lips. They had heard -of contemplated journeys, and changes in business, -and changes in name, and reverses, and -good fortunes, and contemplated arrangements -for amusement, or entertainment, or instruction;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -<i>everything</i> they had heard about their -friends or their acquaintances. Yet, no one -said, during the whole evening—so far as she -knew—that they had heard anything very -marked about the religious life of anyone. In -fact, religious life was one of the things that -was not talked of at all; so Ruth thought. If -she had stood near Judge Burnham and her sister, -at one time, she would have heard him saying:</p> - -<p>“He is a man of mark in town; one prominent -on every good occasion; noted for his philanthropy -and generosity, and is one of the few -men whom everybody seems to trust, without -ever having their confidence jarred. I have -heard it said, that his word would be taken in -any business transaction as quickly as his bond -would be.”</p> - -<p>“Is he a Christian man?” Susan had asked; -and a half-amused, half-puzzled look had shadowed -Judge Burnham’s face, as he answered: -“As to that, I really don’t know. I have never -heard that he made any professions in that direction, -though it is possible that he may be connected -with some church. Why, Miss Erskine,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -do you think it impossible for a man to be honest -and honorable and philanthropic, unless he -has made some profession of it in a church?”</p> - -<p>Then Susan had looked at the questioner -steadily and thoughtfully a moment before she -answered: “I was not thinking of possible -morality; I was simply wondering whether the -man who was building so fair and strong a house -had looked to it, that it was founded upon a -rock, or whether he really were so strangely improvident -as to build upon the sand. You know -<i>I</i> think, that, ‘other foundation can no man lay -than that which is laid, Jesus Christ being the -chief corner-stone.’”</p> - -<p>So there was some religious conversation at -the Erskines’ party, and it sent Judge Burnham -home thinking. And now, though the fruits of -that evening’s gathering will go on growing and -ripening and being gathered in, from human -lives, so far as we personally are concerned, we -are done with that party.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER IX.<br /> - -<small>A SOCIETY CROSS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-t1.jpg" alt="T" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-t2.jpg" alt="T" width="70" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">THE next thing that occurred to mar the -peace of this much-tried young lady—she -went out calling with her step-mother. This -duty was passed over just as long as it would do -to ignore the claims of society, she being finally -driven to it by realizing that more talk was being -made by <i>not</i> going than would be likely to -result from going. Then, with foreboding heart, -she made ready. She planned at first to escape -it all and have her father the victim. But there -were two difficulties. He had rarely made other -than professional calls, or most ceremonious ones<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -on persons high in the profession, and, therefore -this whole matter would be so new to him that -to tide the bewildered wife through it would be -well-nigh impossible. And, besides, Ruth felt -the necessity of being present, to know the very -worst that could be said or done, and to attempt -going as a trio was not to be thought of for a -moment. There was one bright spot in her annoyances: -It was pleasant to remember the look -of relief which gleamed over her father’s face -when she told him he could be excused from attendance -on them if he chose. “I can save him -so much, at least,” she told herself, and it helped -her to make ready. “If she would <i>only</i> keep -perfectly quiet!” she murmured again to herself, -as she waited at the door of her mother’s room -for the last glove to be drawn on, and marked -what an effect the rich black silk, with its -perfect fitting seams, and perfectly draped folds -had on the dumpy figure. “If she only <i>could</i> get -along without talking she would do very well.”</p> - -<p>Great attention had been paid by Ruth to the -details of this toilet. The soft laces at throat -and wrist, the rich mantle, the shapely hat with -the unmistakable air of “style” about it, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -to the gloves of exactly the right shade and -size, had each been objects of separate study; -and Mrs. Erskine, though occasionally she had -fond memories of the green silk dress, and the -red bow—which she began to be dimly conscious -were never destined to shine together—yet -took in so much of the general effect as filled -her with surprise and reconciled her to the position -of lay figure in Ruth’s hands, looking upon -her step-daughter with the same degree of surprised -awe that a statue might, could it be -gifted with life and behold itself getting draped -for the tableau.</p> - -<p>The calls started nicely, Flossy Shipley’s being -the first home at which they halted. Flossy, -in her sweet, winning, indescribable way, decoyed -Mrs. Erskine into a corner easy chair, -and engaged her in low-toned, earnest, even -absorbed conversation, while Ruth tried to unbend -from her dignity and chat with Flossy’s -cheery, social mother. Glancing from time to -time toward the elder woman and the fair young -girl, and noting the fact that both were unmistakably -interested in their subject for conversation, -Ruth found herself wondering what it <i>could</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -be. Whatever it was she was grateful, and gave -Flossy a most informal and tender kiss at parting, -by way of expressing her relief.</p> - -<p>Then, too, Dr. and Mrs. Dennis were at home, -and were joyfully glad to see them, and Dr. Dennis -held Mrs. Erskine’s attention, leaving Ruth -free to talk with, and look at, and wonder over -Marion, she seemed so fresh and bright and glad; -full of eagerness, full of plans, full of heartiness, -for any and everything that might be mentioned. -“She is at least ten years younger -than I ever knew her to be,” was Ruth’s mental -conclusion as she watched the expressive face. -There was no restraint in their talk. Ruth felt, -that for the time-being, she could throw off the -burden of responsibility and have a good time. -She did not know what Dr. Dennis was saying -to her step-mother, and she did not care, it was -so pleasant to feel that she could trust him, that -he was a friend, and would neither repeat to -others the mistakes of the uncultured woman -with whom he talked, nor laugh about them -with Marion when she was gone. Ruth not only -respected and liked, but thoroughly trusted her -pastor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am glad she married him,” she told herself, -glancing from one to the other, and feeling, -rather than noticing, that they were both evidently -heartily glad about the same thing. -“They are just exactly suited to each other, -and that is saying a good deal for them both. -What a blessed change the brightness of this -room must be when she compares it with that -little den of hers, up the third flight of stairs!” -Yes, and there was another side to that. What -a nameless charm, as of home, she had thrown -over the propriety of the parsonage parlor! Before, -it had been a <i>room</i>—pleasant and proper, -and well-cared for, as became the parsonage parlor—now, -it was <i>home!</i> Presently, too, came -Gracie, with her beautiful face and gracious manner, -free and cordial and at ease. “Mamma,” -she said as naturally as though it had been a -name constantly on her lips; and, indeed, it -was plain that she enjoyed the name. There -were no sad contrasts to dim her eyes, or quicken -the beatings of her heart, the real mother having -only had time to give her darling one clinging -kiss before God called her home. “She may -well be proud of such a mother as her father has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -brought to <i>her</i>,” Ruth thought, looking from one -to the other, and noting the glance of sympathy -which passed between them. And then she -sighed, being drawn back to her heavier lot. -Marion’s dreary life had blossomed into brightness, -while all that was ever bright had gone out -of hers; at least so it seemed to her. Then she -arose, realizing that nothing of this afternoon’s -crosses would be borne if she whiled the time on -Flossy Shipley and Marion Dennis.</p> - -<p>From the moment that the two were seated in -Mrs. Schuyler Colman’s parlor peace left Ruth’s -heart. Here was responsibility, solemn and -overwhelming—how to tide this uncultured -woman through the shoals and breakers of this -aristocratic atmosphere. No sooner was Mrs. -Erskine fairly seated than she broke the proprieties -of the occasion with the exclamation:</p> - -<p>“Why, my patience! if there isn’t Dr. Mason -Kent, staring right straight at me! What a -splendid likeness! I declare I most feel as -though he ought to speak to me.”</p> - -<p>“Was Dr. Kent an acquaintance of yours?”</p> - -<p>Nothing could be colder, more lofty, more in -keeping with the proprieties, than the tone in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -which Mrs. Schuyler Colman asked the question.</p> - -<p>“An acquaintance! why I guess he was. I -sewed in his house nigh on two months before -his oldest daughter was married. They had a -regular seamstress in the house, one who belonged -to the family, you know. O! they were -high up in the world, I tell you. But she needed -extra help when the rush came, and there -was always lots of plain sewing to do, anyway, -and the woman I sewed for last recommended -me, and I got in. It was a nice place. They -gave good pay; better than I ever got anywhere -else, and I always remembered Dr. Kent; he -was as kind as he could be.”</p> - -<p>Shall I try to describe to you the glow on Ruth -Erskine’s face? What had become of her haughty -indifference to other people’s opinions? What -had become of her loftily expressed scorn of -persons who indulged in pride of station, or pride -of birth? Ah! little this young woman knew -about her own heart. Gradually she was discovering -that <i>she</i> had plenty of pride of birth and -station and name. The thing which had seemed -plebeian to her was to <i>exhibit</i> such pride in a -marked way before others.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Colman seemed to consider it necessary -to make some reply:</p> - -<p>“Dr. Kent is an uncle of mine,” she said, and -her voice was freezing in its dignity.</p> - -<p>“You don’t say! Where is he now? How -I should like to see the dear old man! I wonder, -Ruth, that your pa didn’t tell me his relatives -lived here. It was at his house that I first -saw your pa. I shall never forget that night, if -I live to be a hundred. They had a party, or a -dinner, or—well, I forget what the name of it -was; but it was after the wedding, you know, -and crowds of fashionables was there. I was in -a back passage, helping sort out the rubbers -and things that had got mixed up; and I peeked -out to see them march to dinner; and I see -them all as plain as day. I said then—says I, -to Mirandy Bates, the girl that I was helping: -‘That tall man with the long whiskers and pale -face is the stylishest one amongst ’em, I think.’ -And who do you suppose it was but your pa! -Land alive! I had just as much idea of marrying -him, <i>then</i>, as I had of flying and no more.”</p> - -<p>“I should suppose so,” said Mrs. Schuyler Colman. -She could not resist the temptation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -saying it, though Ruth darted a lightning glance -at her from eyes that were gleaming in a face -that had become very pale. She arose suddenly, -remarking that they were making a very lengthy -call; and Mrs. Erskine, to whom the call seemed -very short, began to be uncomfortably conscious -that she had been talking a great deal, and perhaps -not to Ruth’s liking. She relapsed into an -embarrassed silence, and made her adieu in the -most awkward manner possible. Had Ruth -taken counsel of her own nerves, she would have -felt it impossible to endure more, and have beaten -a retreat; but to sustain her was the memory -of the fact that certain calls <i>must</i> be made, and, -that if she did not make them, her father must. -When it came to the martyr spirit, and she -could realize that she was being martyrized in her -father’s place, she could endure. But, oh, if she -could <i>only</i> manage to give this dreadful woman a -hint as to the proprieties! And yet, suppose -she stopped that dreadful tide of reminiscences, -what <i>would</i> the woman talk about? Still, at all -hazards, it must be risked:</p> - -<p>“I do not think,” she began, in a tone so constrained -that the very sound of it frightened her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -step-mother. “I do not think that my father -would like to have you refer to your past life, -among his friends.”</p> - -<p>“My patience!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine. -“Why not? I never done anything to be -ashamed of—never in my life. I was an honest, -respectable girl. There ain’t one who knew me -but could tell you that; and, as to being poor, -why, I couldn’t help that, you know; and I ain’t -been rich such a dreadful long time that I’ve forgot -how it felt, neither. Not that your pa kept -me close; he never did that. But I kept myself -close, you see, because I had no kind of a -notion that he was so rich.”</p> - -<p>This was worse than the former strain. Ruth -was almost desperate:</p> - -<p>“It makes no difference to me how poor you -were, Madam, but it is not the custom in society -to tell all about one’s private affairs.”</p> - -<p>And then, in the next breath, she wondered -what Judge Erskine would have said, could he -have heard her address his wife in that tone, and -with those words. At least she had frightened -her into silence. And they rang at Mrs. -Huntington’s and were admitted—an angry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -woman, with flashing eyes, and a cowed woman, -who wished she was at home, and didn’t know -what to say. Poor Ruth was sorry that she had -interfered. Perhaps any sort of talk would have -been less observable than this awkward, half -frightened silence; also, Judge Burnham was in -the room, at the other end of the parlor, among -the books, as one familiar there. Mrs. Huntington -belonged to the profession. Was it more or -less embarrassing because of his presence? -Ruth could not bring herself to being sure -which it was. Mrs. Huntington was a genial -woman, though an exceedingly stylish one; but -she knew as little how to put a frightened, constrained -person at ease, as it was possible to -know about anything; and yet her heart was -good enough.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you attended the concert, last -evening, Mrs. Erskine?” she said, addressing -that lady with a smile, and in a winning tone of -voice. But Mrs. Erskine looked over at Ruth, -in the absurd fashion of a naughty child, who, -having been punished for some misdemeanor, -glances at you, to be sure that he is not offending -in the same way again. Ruth was selecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -a card from her case to leave for Miss Almina -Huntington, and apparently gave no notice to -her mother. Left thus to her own resources, -what could she do but answer, as best she knew -how?</p> - -<p>“Well, no, I didn’t. Judge Erskine got tickets, -and said he would take me if I wanted to -go; but I didn’t want to go. The fact is, I suppose, -it is want of education, or something; but -I ain’t a might of taste for those concerts. I -like singing, too. I used to go to singing-school, -when I was a girl, and I was reckoned to have a -good voice, and I used to like it first-rate—sang -in the choir, you know, and all that; but these -fiddle-dee-dee, screech-owl performances that -they get off nowadays, and call music, I can’t -stand, nohow. I went to one of ’em. I thought -I’d like to please Judge Erskine, you know, and -I went; and they said it was fine, and perfectly -glorious, and all that; but I didn’t think so, and -that’s the whole of it. I gaped and gaped the -whole blessed evening. I was ashamed of myself, -but I couldn’t help it. I tried to listen, -too, and get the best of it, but it was just yelp -and howl, and I couldn’t make out a word, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -more than if it had been in Dutch; and I dunno -but it was. I don’t like ’em, and I can’t help it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Erskine was growing independent and -indignant. Silence was not her forte, and, in the -few minutes which she had spent thus, she had -resolved not to pretend to be what she wasn’t.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like them yelping, half-dressed -women, nor them roaring men,” she said, -swiftly, to herself, “and I mean to say so. Why -shouldn’t I?”</p> - -<p>Poor Ruth! It was not that she enjoyed or -admired operatic singing, or the usual style of -modern concert singing. In a calm, dignified, -haughty way, she had been heard to say that she -thought music had degenerated, and was being -put to very unintellectual uses in these days, in -comparison with what had been its place. But -that was such a very different thing from talking -about “fiddle-dee-dee,” and “screeching,” -and “howling,” and, above all, “<i>gaping!</i>” -What <i>could</i> be said? Mrs. Huntington was not -equal to the occasion. She was no more capable -of appreciating what there was of beauty in -the singing than her caller was, but she was -aware that society expected her to appreciate it;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -so she did it! Judge Burnham came to the rescue:</p> - -<p>“You are precisely of my mind, Mrs Erskine,” -he said, appearing from the recesses of the back -parlor, and bowing to Ruth, while he advanced -to offer his hand to her step-mother. “You -have characterized the recent concerts in the -exact language that they deserve. Such singing -is not music; it is simply ‘fiddle-dee-dee!’”</p> - -<p>“Why, Judge Burnham!”</p> - -<p>This, in an expostulating tone, from Mrs. -Huntington.</p> - -<p>“Fact, my dear Madam. It was simply -screeching, last evening; nothing else in the -world. I was a victim, and I defy anyone, with -a cultured taste, to have enjoyed it. It was -almost an impossibility to endure. Mrs. Erskine, -I want to show you a picture, which I -think you will like, if you will step this way -with me.”</p> - -<p>And he escorted the gratified little woman -down the length of the parlor, and devoted himself -carefully to her, during the rest of the very -brief call which Ruth made. He came, also, to -the very door-steps with her, talking still to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -mother, covering with dextrous gallantry her -awkwardness of manner and movement.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Ruth, in a low tone, as he -turned to her with a parting bow. She could -not help it, and she did not fail to notice the -gleam of pleasure which lighted his grave face -at her words.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you tired?” she asked her mother, -as they moved away from the Huntington mansion. -Her martyr spirit had passed from her. -She felt utterly worn, as if it were impossible -for her to endure more. “Don’t you want to go -home?”</p> - -<p>“Bless you, yes. I’m clear tuckered out. I -didn’t dream that it was such awful hard work -to make calls. I don’t wonder your pa didn’t -want to go. Yes, let’s go home, for the land’s -sake!”</p> - -<p>And they went home. When Ruth thought -of Judge Burnham at all, during the next few -days, it was with a sense of gratitude, which -was new, and not unpleasant.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER X.<br /> - -<small>OTHER PEOPLE’S CROSSES.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-o1.jpg" alt="O" width="88" height="42" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-o2.jpg" alt="O" width="67" height="73" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">ONE could not live long in this world -without realizing the forcefulness of -the sentence: “Every heart knoweth his own -bitterness.” Behind the sunniest, apparently -most enviable life the bitterness hides. It will -not be supposed that Marion Dennis’ life, which, -to Ruth’s narrow vision, had blossomed into perfect -coloring, was an exception to the general -rule.</p> - -<p>As she stands in her pretty dining-room, waiting -for the coming of her husband, and gazes -out of the window at the play of light and -shade in the western sky—gazes with that far-away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -thoughtful, half-sad look, which betokens -that the gazer’s thoughts are not upon the picture -which her eyes behold—it is plain, to the -most careless glance, that a tinge of somber hue -has already shaded the picture of her life. She -had been through an ordeal of calls, that afternoon; -not calls from intimate and congenial -friends, who came because they desired the -pleasure of a visit with her, but from some of -those who came, as in custom bound, to pay a -ceremonious visit to the new wife of their pastor. -They had not been helpful callers. Without -offending any of the set rules which are -supposed to govern polite society, they had yet -contrived to make Marion feel that they were -keen-sighted, keen-scented society spies, with -eyes all about them, and ears alert to hear, or to -fancy what they could. Also, they had been -people—some of them—who delighted in what -they termed plain speaking, which is ofttimes -decorous insult, if that expression is not a misnomer. -There are people not quite coarse -enough to express adverse criticism directly to a -man’s face, and such are apt to resort to the -more refined coarseness of making their criticism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -into the form of a joke, and aiming it at the -face of his wife! With one or two such persons -had Marion come in contact.</p> - -<p>“I hope you have Dr. Dennis in good subjection,” -Mrs. Easterly had said, with a peculiar little -laugh that was meant to be merry, and that -jarred, without one’s being able to define why. -“There is nothing like beginning right, you -know. I told Mr. Easterly, last evening, I was -afraid you would be too lenient with him; he is -positively in danger of keeping us in prayer-meeting -until it is time to be thinking about the -next morning’s breakfast! Mr. Easterly said, -when he got him a wife, home would be more -attractive to him; but my dear Mrs. Dennis, -you must have observed that there was no improvement -last evening.”</p> - -<p>“I observed that he was five minutes past the -hour,” Marion said; and, if Mrs. Easterly had -been familiar with her voice, she would have discovered -that it was haughty in the extreme. -“Dr. Dennis is very particular to close promptly, -and, when I questioned him, he said the people -were tardy about getting in, and so delayed the -opening.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Possible</i> that it was only five minutes! I -could have been positive it was fifteen!” Mrs. -Easterly said, ignoring the explanation, and the -statement about general punctuality. Such people -always ignore remarks that are not easy to -be answered. Then the smooth voice went on: -“I think a clergyman should try to cultivate -habits of punctuality about <i>closing</i>, as well as -opening meetings, so many people are over-wearied -by long drawn out exercises.”</p> - -<p>“As, for instance, lectures by infidels, and -the like,” remarks Marion, still with the dryness -of tone that those familiar to her understand, -and calling to mind the fact that she had heard -of Mrs. Easterly as a delighted listener, for an -hour and three quarters, to the popular infidel -orator, two evenings before.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>lectures!</i> Why, of course, they have a -set time; every one knows they must be -lengthy. They have abstruse themes to handle, -and many classes of hearers to please.”</p> - -<p>“But the mere commonplaces of a prayer-meeting -can be compressed into small compass, -as well as not, the theme of personal salvation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -not being supposed to be of much importance, -nor very abstruse, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Easterly arched her eyebrows; said nothing, -because she didn’t know what to say; made -the rest of her stay brief, and remarked, when -she had gotten out of Marion’s hearing, that -she had heard <i>that</i> Miss Wilbur spoken of as -peculiar—having infidel tendencies, indeed. -Perhaps there was a shade of truth in it. For -her part, she wondered that Dr. Dennis should -have been so imprudent as to have selected that -sort of a wife. It was imprudent in Marion to -have answered her caller in those words, or in -that spirit. Sarcasm was lost on her, for she -hadn’t the right sort of brains to understand it. -It is a curious fact that certain people, who can -be very sarcastic in themselves, can not understand -or appreciate it in others.</p> - -<p>And so trivial a matter as this troubled -Marion? Well, yes, it did. She had not been -long in her position, you will remember. It was -really her first rude awakening from the dream -that all Christian people regarded their pastor -with a certain reverent courtesy; not in a cringing -or servile spirit, not in a spirit in any sense<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -at variance with true independence of thought -and action, but in the chivalrous spirit of the -olden time, reverencing the office, rather than -the man, and according all possible courtesy to -the man, <i>because</i> of the position he held, as -ambassador from the King’s court. Marion’s -early childhood had been spent among simple, -earnest Christians—Christians whose reverent -spirit had been an outgrowth of Puritan New -England; and, while her later years had passed -among a very different class of people, she yet -had clung to the fancy that <i>Christians</i> everywhere -cherished the bond of relationship—the -tie stronger than that of blood—and spoke -wisely and with respect of those who belonged, -like themselves, to the royal family. Mrs. Easterly’s -words had jarred, not only because Dr. -Dennis was her husband, but because he was a -clergyman, and because he was Mrs. Easterly’s -pastor. Much had she to learn, you will -observe! She was more than likely to meet -often with people to whom the word “pastor” -meant less than any other title—meant, if they -took time to analyze their own feelings, one to -whom they could be rude, or free, or insultingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -inquisitive, without fear of rousing him to resentment, -because resentment is not a becoming -trait in the ministry!</p> - -<p>Dr. Dennis would have smiled could he have -known the turmoil in his wife’s heart. He had -so long ago passed beyond that—had so long -ago decided that people must be ranked in -classes—so many from this strip of humanity, -who did not know the difference between frankness -and rudeness—so many in this strip, who, -because of their lack of early education, must -not be expected to know certain things—so -many in this strip, to whom he could talk, freely, -familiarly, as brother to brother, and friend to -friend—classified Christians, belonging to the -family, indeed, but having such different degrees -of likeness to the family name that, what was a -matter of course from one, was a sting from -another. All these things Dr. Dennis knew; all -these things his wife had still to learn. She was -willing to learn, and she was not so foolish as to -suppose that her road was strewn with roses; -but, all the name, the tiny thorn pricked her.</p> - -<p>There were other and graver troubles than -this. Do you remember how she pleased her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -fancy, while yet she was an inhabitant of that -dingy third-story room, as to the dainty little -teas she would get for that young daughter of -hers? Here it was, the very perfection of a tea-table, -exquisite and delicate and fascinating in all -its appointments; laid for three, yet, presently, -when Dr. Dennis came from his round of calls, -and seated himself opposite his wife, and waited, -and then finally sent a messenger to Gracie’s -room, who returned with the message, “Miss -Grace says will you please excuse her this evening, -she doesn’t care for any tea,” his face -clouded, as though the answer brought trouble -to his heart.</p> - -<p>“Have you had further talk with Grace?” -he asked his wife, when the door had closed on -the servant.</p> - -<p>“A little. There have been callers most of -the time, but I talked with her a few minutes.”</p> - -<p>“What did she say?”</p> - -<p>Marion would rather he had not asked the -question. She hesitated a little, then said, with -an effort to speak lightly:</p> - -<p>“She said what was natural enough—that -she thought <i>I</i> knew almost too much about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -matter, and might have been content to leave it -to you.”</p> - -<p>“I will not have her speaking in that manner -to you,” he said, his face growing graver, and -his forehead settling into a frown. “She ought -to know better.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” answered Marion, a little dash -of brightness in her voice. “She ought to be -perfect, of course, and not give way in this -undignified manner. It is only such old saints -as you and I who have any right to get out of -tone, when things do not go just to suit us.”</p> - -<p>He laughed a little, then he said:</p> - -<p>“Now, Marion, you know she has tried you -very much, and without cause.”</p> - -<p>“As to that, I suppose if you and I could see -into her heart, she thinks she has sore cause. I -would not make too much of it, if I were you; -and I would make nothing at all of the part -which has to do with me. She will feel differently -before very long. She is young.”</p> - -<p>Then Dr. Dennis’ thoughts went back to his -daughter. He sighed heavily:</p> - -<p>“I ought to have shielded her better; I was -trying, I thought. I am so astonished about that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -man! He has been a professor of religion ever -since he was a child.”</p> - -<p>“To profess a thing is not always to possess -it,” Marion said, and then she sighed to think -that even in religion this was so true; and she -sighed again to realize that in her hard life she -had come more in contact with people who <i>professed</i> -without possessing than her husband had.</p> - -<p>The trouble about Gracie was not so light as -she had tried to make it appear to the father. -Neither had her attempt to reason the obstinate -young daughter into something like graceful -yielding been so free from self-pain as she would -have him think. It was all about Prof. Ellis, -a man who, as Marion expressed it to her husband, -was good enough for a teacher, but not at -all the sort of man for one so young and so -impressible as Gracie to ride away with to an -evening entertainment.</p> - -<p>“He is the only one I have been in the habit -of allowing her to ride with,” the father had -said, aghast, and then had followed, on Marion’s -part, a startled exclamation to the effect that -she would have trusted her sooner with a dozen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -of “the boys” with whom she had not been -allowed to associate.</p> - -<p>“They are better than he,” she said, earnestly, -and then had followed a long, confidential talk, -which had ended in the peremptory, and by no -means wisely put, negative to Gracie’s plans; -and then had followed, on her part, questionings -and surmises until at last she understood that -this new mother, who had been but a little while -ago a stranger to them both, had come between -her father and herself, and then had followed, as -anyone of sense might have known there would, -a scene which was by no means complimentary -to Gracie or comforting to the new mother. -She had tried to be wise.</p> - -<p>“Gracie,” she had said, in her gentlest tone, -“you know I am a good many years older -than you, and I have known Prof. Ellis very -well, and I am sure if you realized just the sort -of a man he is you would not care to be his -familiar friend.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be his familiar friend,” -Gracie had said, haughtily. “I want to take a -ride out to Katie’s with him when I have promised -to do so.” And then her eyes had fallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -under the calm of Marion’s searching gaze, and -her tones had faltered. “At least I do not see -that riding out with him is a proof of very great -friendship. It is no more than I have done -several times with my father’s permission.”</p> - -<p>“But your father was deceived in him, Gracie; -he had no means of knowing the sort of man he -is, save by his professions, which have been nothing -<i>but</i> professions for years. Gracie, I know -that of him which should make every young girl -unwilling to be seen in his society or considered -his friend.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Gracie’s eyes had flashed indignation -for a second, then settled into sullenness, -while she answered, coldly:</p> - -<p>“I should think my father ought to have been -capable of judging character a little; he has had -something to do with men and life. I do not -know why I should not be able to trust myself -to <i>his</i> judgment.”</p> - -<p>Marion smiled. It was hard to be patient -with this girl. The haughty way in which she -retired behind her dignity and said, “<i>My</i> -father,” seemed designed to shut Marion out -from ownership in him, and impress her with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -the sense of the newness of her acquaintance -with and entrance into the family.</p> - -<p>“Gracie,” she said again, after a thoughtful -pause, “it may not be known to you that there -have been recent developments about Prof. Ellis -that make him an undesirable friend for you. I -know that, as your teacher, you have learned to -look up to and respect him, but he is in some -respects unworthy.”</p> - -<p>There was for a few minutes no response from -the sullen-browed girl, with her head bent low -over the slate, as if during the intervals of this -conversation she had eyes and thought only for -the intricate problem before her. Presently she -said, in exactly the same tone of repressed indignation -which she had used before:</p> - -<p>“I repeat that in my judgment <i>my</i> father is -just as capable of deciding as to what gentlemen -are suited to be my friends as a stranger can be.”</p> - -<p>Marion drew back quickly; she caught her -breath hard; this was a trying spot; what -should she do or say? What would Ruth Erskine -have done in her place? At the same time -there was a sense of relief in believing that this -young girl’s pride only was touched, not her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -heart. She was simply rebellious that “a -stranger,” as she chose to call her, should presume -to interfere with her friendships.</p> - -<p>“I am not a stranger, Gracie,” she said, trying -to speak in all gentleness. “I am your father’s -wife, and have at his request assumed responsibilities -concerning you, for which I am answerable, -not only to him, but to God. When I tell -you, therefore, what your father has had no -means of knowing, until lately, that Prof. Ellis -is the sort of man whom a young lady should -shun, you ought to believe me, and to understand -that my sole motive is your welfare.”</p> - -<p>Then was Marion Dennis treated to a brilliant -flashing of the handsome eyes of her daughter. -The slate and book slid to the floor with an unheeded -crash, as Gracie, rising and drawing up -her tall form till it equalled her mother’s, said, in -tones of suppressed passion:</p> - -<p>“Marion Wilbur, you have no <i>right</i> to speak -in that manner of Prof. Ellis, and I will not -bear it!”</p> - -<p>Then Marion Dennis drew back grieved and -frightened, not at her own thrust—that was -but the ill-temper of an angry girl—but because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -she began to fear that this man—this wolf in -sheep’s clothing, whose chief entertainment -hitherto had been to see how well he could play -with human hearts—had dared to try his powers -on Gracie Dennis. “I hope he will suffer -for this,” she said, under her breath.</p> - -<p>In the meantime what was to be said to the -angry girl, whose passion had culminated in this -outburst, and who then had thrown herself back -into the chair, not weeping, not crushed and -bleeding, but excitedly <i>angry</i>. And yet, feeling -that she had said a very unwise and dangerous -thing, and must answer for it—<i>and yet</i> not caring -just now in what way she might be called -upon to answer. Being still in the mood to be -glad that she had said it she expected severity, -and waited for it.</p> - -<p>“Gracie,” said Marion, bending toward her, -and I do not know that her voice had ever been -gentler or her manner more quiet, “you do not -mean to hurt <i>me;</i> I know you do not. We are -too nearly related; we are sisters, <i>and the Lord -Jesus Christ is our Elder Brother</i>. It is to him -that I ask you to listen; it is to his judgment, -not mine, that I ask you to defer. Will you lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -this matter before him, and wait on your knees -for his answer, and abide by it, never minding -me? If you will the whole matter will be -righted.”</p> - -<p>Then she turned from her and went down to -receive those calls, and get those little thrusts -and pin-pricks which pricked so much deeper -and left a keener sting because in general they -were leveled at her husband instead of herself. -Then she went out to that pretty table laid for -three, and saw the grave-faced father, and heard -his self-reproaches, and held back that which -would have made him indignant in the extreme; -and held back her own little sigh, and realized -that life was not all sweetness, even while Ruth -sat at home and envied <i>her</i> the brightness of -her lot.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XI.<br /> - -<small>A NEWLY-SHAPED CROSS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-r1.jpg" alt="R" width="87" height="30" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-r2.jpg" alt="R" width="70" height="81" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">RUTH Erskine, meantime, was keeping up -her struggle, having intervals when she -seemed to be making headway, and felt as -though she had reached higher ground, only to -be dropped suddenly down again, into the depths -of despair by some unfortunate encounter with -the new-comers. No more definite comment on -the existing state of things could be made, than -is shadowed in that expression, “New-comers.” -They still continued to be thought of as such in -the house. They did not drift into the family -ways or customs—they did not assimilate. -Everything was so new to them, so unlike their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -entire former education, that much of the time -they stood one side and looked on, instead of -mingling and having their individuality lost in -the union. So far as Mrs. Erskine was concerned, -she did not look on <i>quietly</i>. It had been -no part of her discipline to learn quietness. -She talked everywhere, under the most trying -circumstances, and she seemed always to chance -upon the things to say that were particularly -unfortunate just then and there. This being the -case, it is perhaps not strange that the rasping -processes were so numerous that there was not -time between them for healings. Judge Erskine, -on his part, made nearly as little progress. -Being a man of faultless grace and bearing, and -being noted for fastidiousness, made him pre-eminently -susceptible to wounds in these directions. -Generally, he and Ruth maintained the -strictest silence toward each other concerning -their trials, they having, by tacit consent, agreed -upon that as the safest course; but, occasionally, -they were rasped into comparing notes. In -the hall one morning, where many of their confidential -conversations were held, during these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -days, her father stopped her, with an almost -petitioning question:</p> - -<p>“Daughter, was it very trying, yesterday, -when Mrs. Blakesley called?”</p> - -<p>“As trying as it could be, sir,” Ruth answered, -still smarting so much under that recent -infliction that she could not bring her voice to a -sympathetic tone. “Mrs. Blakesley, being a -woman who hasn’t an ounce of brains herself, -has, as you may imagine, none to spare for other -people. Indeed, father, I sometimes feel as -though this matter of making and receiving calls -was going to be too complicated a thing for me. -I never was fond of such duties, as you may -remember, and now it is absolute torture, long -drawn out.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” he said, wincing, and growing -paler under each stabbing word from his daughter’s -lips. “It was all folly, I am afraid. I -thought we would try to do just right; but I do -not know but we would have felt it less, and -they been just as happy, if we had resolutely -closed our doors on society altogether, and borne -this thing among ourselves.”</p> - -<p>What these two people needed was some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -strong voice to remind them how many, and how -much harder troubles life had, than they had -been called upon to bear. Despite Marion Dennis’ -opinion, this is—or it should be—a help. -By comparison with other’s trials, we ought to -be led to feel the lesser nature of our own. Failing -in that, it sometimes happens to us to decide -as to which of our <i>own</i> trials has the heaviest -hand.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think that would have been possible,” -Ruth answered, her tone somewhat subdued, -as it always was, by a realization of her -father’s deeper wound. “But, I wish with all -my heart, I saw a way to escape from some of -this calling. There are hundreds, almost, yet to -make, and some of them more formidable than -any that we have attempted; and the list continues -to swell every day.”</p> - -<p>The father had no answer; he saw no way -out. And yet a way was coming, swiftly—one -which would help them both out of this dilemma, -at least. It was the very next morning that -Judge Erskine failed to appear at the breakfast-table -and his wife brought word that he was -most uncommon restless all night, and pretty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -fevery, and resisted all her suggestions to give -him a good sweat, or to drink any boneset-tea, -or even to soak his feet in mustard-water. Consequence -was, he didn’t feel able to raise his -head from his pillow, and wouldn’t so much as -let her speak of any breakfast, though she <i>did</i> -tell over several things to him, that she thought -he might relish.</p> - -<p>Ruth groaned inwardly, not so much at anxiety -for her father—his sicknesses were slight -affairs soon over, and his most sovereign remedy -had hitherto been to be let alone. How, then, -had he borne this fearful infliction of sympathy -and fertile suggestion?</p> - -<p>But the sickness, whatever it was, did not -pass away, as others had done. Ruth visiting -him, and seeing the fevered face and anxious -eyes, felt a nameless dread, and entreated that -Dr. Bacon might at once be summoned, being -even more alarmed at the fact that her father -immediately acquiesced. Dr. Bacon was slow in -coming, being a man much sought after in his -profession. But he was also unprecedentedly -slow in leaving, making a call, the length of -which amazed Ruth and at which she did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -know whether to be alarmed or relieved. During -its continuance Judge Burnham stopped to -inquire as to some law papers, and also apparently -to make a call, for he tarried after he -found that he could not accomplish his original -errand, and was in the hall, in the act of leaving, -when the doctor came, with slow and -thoughtful tread, down-stairs. That gentleman -caught at his familiar face, as if it were a relief.</p> - -<p>“Ah, good morning, Judge,” he said. “This -is opportune. May I have a word with you?”</p> - -<p>And then he unceremoniously pushed open -the library door, and both gentlemen retired -within, leaving Ruth perplexed, and perhaps a -little annoyed. The door closed upon them. -Dr. Bacon was not long in making known his -thoughts:</p> - -<p>“Judge, are you an intimate friend of this -family?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Judge Burnham, hesitating, and -flushing a little over the question, “I hardly -know whether I may claim exceeding intimacy; -the Judge is not apt to have very intimate -friends. Perhaps I come as near it as anybody.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -Yes, I think I may say I am considered a friend—by -<i>him</i>, at least. Why, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>“Because they need a friend—one who is -not afraid of himself or his feelings, and can -help them plan, and perhaps execute.”</p> - -<p>“What on earth do you mean? Is the Judge -so very sick?”</p> - -<p>“Well, as to that, he is likely to be sick -enough—sicker, indeed, than I care to have his -daughter realize, just at present. But the <i>nature</i> -of the sickness is the trouble. It is a very -marked case of a very undesirable type of small-pox! -Now, don’t back out of the nearest door, -and leave me in the lurch, for I depend on -you.”</p> - -<p>This last, as Judge Burnham uttered an exclamation -of dismay, and stepped backward. -The sentence recalled his self-possession.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be disturbed,” he said, and his tones -were somewhat haughty. “I have not the -slightest intention of fleeing. I shall be glad to -serve him and his—his family, to the best of -my ability. But what is there for me to do? -Is he aware of the situation?”</p> - -<p>“Most decidedly so. I didn’t mince matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -with him; he is not one that will bear it; he -knows all that I do, and is as clear-headed as -usual; he knows certain things that must <i>not</i> be -done. For instance, his daughter Ruth is, on no -account, to be allowed to put her head inside -the door. He was peremptory about that and -must be obeyed, though there is no earthly fear -of infection for some days yet; but I have given -my word of honor that it shall be as he says. -The trouble is, they will be left in the lurch. -There isn’t a small-pox nurse in the city that -I know of. I would have given fifty dollars an -hour, almost, for a good one last night, and, -besides, the servants must be informed, and they -will leave to a man, or a woman. In books you -are always reading of heroic servants who are -willing to take their lives in their hands and -stand by their mistresses through anything. I -wish I could find a few of them! I would -promise them high wages. Well, now, what -you can do first, is to explain the state of affairs -to Miss Erskine. I would sooner try to explain -to an iceberg, or a volcano—I am never quite -sure which she is. And then, if you have any -wits, set them to work to establish communication<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -between this house and the outer world. -In other words, do what you can for them, <i>if</i> -you can. You know better than I do whether -you are on sufficient terms of intimacy to do -anything with her. The old lady must be told, -I suppose, though Judge Erskine didn’t mention -her at all. Perhaps she will want to get out of -the house, somewhere, and very likely you can -manage that. At least the first thing of importance -is to tell Miss Ruth. Will you do it?”</p> - -<p>“Y-e-s,” said Judge Burnham, speaking slowly -and hesitatingly. It was by no means the sort -of communication that he desired to make to -her, yet he felt an instant desire to stand by her, -and, if disagreeable tidings must be given, bear -them himself, in whatever alleviating way he -might.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” answered the doctor, promptly. -He was spending a great deal of time, on this -case, and was getting in haste. “I ought to -have been off fifteen minutes ago, but Judge -Erskine wanted all the affairs of the nation -arranged before I left. He knows what he -wants, and, so far as it is within the compass of -human possibility, he intends to have it. Will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -you see Miss Ruth at once, and do what planning -you can? Meantime, I will make one -more dash for a nurse. No one is to go up to -Judge Erskine until I see him again. I fancy -he wants to do some thinking for himself. -That is his peremptory order, and it will be well -enough to obey it. There is no sort of danger -of infection now, you understand, but he is -quite as well off alone, for a little. Now, I positively -must go. I will look in on my way -down the square, and report further.”</p> - -<p>And then the great doctor took himself off -leaving Judge Burnham with the worst case on -his hands that had ever fallen to his professional -life. He walked slowly toward the door, but -before he could pass out it was pushed open by -Ruth, her face white and frightened. “Judge -Burnham what has happened? what is the matter? -is my father so very sick? and why am I -not to be allowed to go to him?”</p> - -<p>“One thing at a time, dear friend,” he said, -and his voice had a touch of sympathy that -could not have escaped her. “Your father is -not alarmingly sick, but the sickness is of such -a nature that he will not have you exposed to it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -even for a moment. It was his first thought.” -And then he pushed a chair forward and gently -placed her in it, and sat down beside her, telling -her briefly, rapidly, in a half professional manner, -all he knew himself. He was a good student of -human nature; his success in his profession -would have proved that, and he knew it was the -surest way to hold her self-controlled and ready -for intelligent thought. He had not misjudged -her character. She neither cried out nor fainted; -she had been pale enough before, but her face -whitened a little and she covered her eyes with -her hands for an instant. It was a curious revelation -to her of the strangeness of these human -hearts of ours, when she remembered afterward -that, flashing along with the other crowding -thoughts as to what, and how, there came the -swift memory of the yesterday’s talk, and the -instant realization of the fact that they would -have neither to make nor receive any more of -those dreadful calls, for some time, at least. -Just a moment of hiding behind those hands -and then she was ready for action. “Judge -Burnham, have you thought what ought to be -done first, and if you have, will you help me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -It makes it harder because my father will not let -me come to him. If we could talk together, if -he would let me be his nurse, I could—” and -then she hesitated, and her lip began to quiver. -She remembered that her father was the one person -whom she had to love.</p> - -<p>“There is no use in talking about that,” -Judge Burnham said, hastily; “the doctor said -he ought, by all means, to be humored in this -matter; that it would help to keep him calm, -and thus hold the disease in check; you should -not have a thought of going to him. Some -nurse can surely be found; people will do anything -for money. I suppose, Miss Erskine, it -will be necessary to tell the other members of -the family?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Ruth said, and she tried not to -shiver, visibly, as she thought of what Mrs. -Erskine might say, and wondered whether she -was one of those women who were ignorantly -and wildly afraid of infection, and whether -there would be a scene with her, and what -Susan would do, or say. Then she thought of -the servants. “Hannah and Thomas and the -rest ought to be told, ought they not, Judge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -Burnham?” Then she suddenly roused from -her half-suppressed, appealing tones, and rising, -said, “How foolishly I am talking! This thing -has startled me so. Of course they must be -told; and it should be done at once; I will take -no unfair advantage of them in any way. Yes, -I will tell Mrs. Erskine and my sister. Thank -you, Judge Burnham.”</p> - -<p>And that gentleman began to consider himself -as almost dismissed from her presence.</p> - -<p>“What can I do for you, first?” he asked -her, eagerly; “I am not one of those who are -afraid of anything, Miss Erskine; in mortal -guise, at least. I am going up to see your -father, and since you can not go yourself, you -might make me your messenger, to say anything -that you would say, that you are willing to have -me repeat.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes brightened. “Thank you,” she -said, “it is very pleasant to feel that you do not -want to desert us. But I will not trouble papa, -until I can tell him that we are arranged somehow, -and that he need not worry.”</p> - -<p>She went down first to the kitchen regions -and summoned the working force, telling them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -in brief, clear language, what had fallen upon -the house, and offering them each two weeks’ -wages in advance and good characters. She -was young and had not been put to many such -tests. They were not “servants in a book,” it -appeared, for they every one, eagerly caught at -their liberty and were nervously anxious to get -out of the plague-stricken house, not even desiring -to wait until Ruth could get her pocket-book -and make good her word. <i>They</i> were young -and ignorant, and in the great outside world -they had friends; life was dear to them. Who -shall blame them? And yet, I desire to say, -just here, that it is <i>not</i> in books only that noble, -self-sacrificing exceptions to this form of selfishness -are found; I have known kitchens that -ought to have glowed with the beauty of the -strong, unselfish hearts beating there, through -danger, and trial, and harassing toil. It only -happened that Ruth Erskine had none of those -about her, and, within half an hour after the first -word had reached them, she stood alone in her -deserted kitchen, trying to get her nerves quiet -for the next, and, to her, more trying ordeal. -What would those new elements in the household<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -say? Was Mrs. Erskine given to hysteria, -and would these startling developments produce -an attack? Would they want to get away from -the house? Could they be gotten away, quietly, -to some safe place? Would Susan be willing to -go? How would <i>she</i> take the news? Ruth -puzzled her brain some weary minutes in trying -to decide just how they would act, and whether -she had courage to tell them, and whether it -were not altogether possible that Mrs. Erskine -might be moved to make such an outcry as -should disturb the sick man, up-stairs. At last -she gave over the attempt to arrange their -actions for them, and went to summon them to -the library, with an air of forced calmness and a -determination to have this worst feature of the -side issues over, as soon as possible.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XII.<br /> - -<small>THE CROSS OF HELPLESSNESS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-m1.jpg" alt="M" width="95" height="44" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-m2.jpg" alt="M" width="72" height="73" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">“MY land alive!”</p> - -<p>That was what Mrs. Erskine said, when -Ruth told her the news. You may have observed -that those three words constituted a -favorite expression of hers—one which she was -apt to use on all occasions, greatly to her stepdaughter’s -discomfiture. She winced under it -now, it seemed so ridiculously inappropriate to -the disaster that had come into their midst. -While she was trying to impress the situation on -the mother and Susan, Dr. Bacon returned. -He came directly into the library, as one who -had laid aside all the ceremonies of private life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -and adopted the business style. He hurried -into the midst of the difficulties, being one who, -while capable of feeling the most intense and -practical sympathy for others, had never learned -the art of expressing it other than by actions.</p> - -<p>“Miss Ruth, I am afraid it is going to be -almost impossible to get a proper nurse for your -father. There is a good deal of this abominable -disease in the city, now, and the nurses are -taxed to the utmost. Ordinary nurses, you -know, will not come, and would not do, anyway. -So we shall have to manage as well as we can, -for a little, until I can look around me and get -somebody.”</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Erskine came to the front.</p> - -<p>“What are you talking about—<i>nurses?</i> -Who wants one of ’em? miserable, half-awake -creatures; not but what I’ve seen some good -ones in my day, but I could beat any of ’em, -when it come to a real up-and-down case of sickness; -and I can nurse my own husband, you’ll -find, better than the best of ’em. I brought him -back from death’s door once, and I will try hard -to do it again. A <i>nurse</i> is the last kind of a -creature that I want to help me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But, Mrs. Erskine, I ought not to conceal -from you that this is going to be a very decided -case of small-pox. The chances of infection, to -one who nurses him, will be very great.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help <i>that</i>, you know,” she said, determinedly; -“<i>I’ve</i> got to be with him, of course. -Who would, if his wife wasn’t? I don’t believe -I’ll take it. I never was one of them kind that -always took things. I have the sick-headache, -and that’s every blessed thing I do have, except -a touch of the rheumatism, now and then; but -I never did have a bit of headache, nor nothing, -when there was any real sickness on my hands. -All the time Susan had the fever I sot up -nights, or stood up—a good deal of the time -she was that sick that I didn’t set down; I jest -kept on the trot all night, doing one thing and -another. But, all the while, I never had an -ache nor a pain about me; and, if I do take it, -I might as well as the next one. I ain’t a mite -afraid of it; not that I’d run into it any quicker -than you would, but, when it runs into your -own house, and gets hold of your own flesh and -blood, or your husband—which is the next -thing to that—why, then, I’m one of them kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -that has to be on hand. There’s no use talkin’—<i>I’m -a going to nurse him</i>, and all the doctor’s -in the city can’t stop me.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you, Mrs. Erskine, I haven’t the -least desire to do so. On the contrary, I appreciate -your devotion.”</p> - -<p>The doctor’s tone was earnest—his manner -respectful. Mrs. Judge Erskine had evidently -risen several degrees in his esteem. She was -not a piece of putty, to be gotten out of the way -in the least troublesome manner; but a live and -very energetic factor in this business. A woman -who not only was not afraid of small-pox, but -could calmly insist on her right to attend a very -bad case of it, was deserving of all respect from -him; and he did not, in the least, care how -many grammatical errors she made in expressing -her determination. In less time than it takes -me to tell you of it, the question of attendant -on the sick man was settled, and Mrs. Erskine -installed as nurse by the relieved doctor, to the -satisfaction of all but Ruth. She thought, in -dismay, of the misery which her father would -be called to endure. How was he, sick and -nervous—and she knew he could be fearfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -nervous, when only a little ill—to bear the -strain of that woman’s tongue, when, in health, -it was more than he could endure? What -would he say to the plan? Would he feel that -she might have shielded him from it? Yet how -could <i>she</i> help it? and, indeed, what else could -be done? She had been very nervous over his -being left alone. It had seemed to her that she -must disregard his positive command and go to -him; and it had been such a source of relief -and comfort when Judge Burnham announced -his intention of going, that she felt she could -never forget it. Certainly it would not do to -leave him without an attendant. Yet she could -not be grateful to the wife for proposing it.</p> - -<p>“He can never endure it!” she murmured; -and she looked her distress so completely that -the doctor was moved to soothe her, when he -came back from installing Mrs. Erskine, and -giving her directions.</p> - -<p>“It will do for a few days, my dear girl; or, -at least, for a few hours, until we can look about -us, and secure professional assistance. There is -not the slightest danger of her taking the disease -<i>now</i>, you know; indeed, you might be with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -him yourself, only he is so nervous about you -that he will not listen to reason. But she will -take good care of him. I really think she -understands how to do it.”</p> - -<p>Ruth made no reply; she could not. She -wanted to ask what her father said, and whether -he was likely to bear up under such an added -weight of misery as this last. But, reflecting -that it would not do to say anything of the -kind, she took refuge in silence. And the work -of rearranging this disorganized and disordered -household went on.</p> - -<p>In an incredibly short space of time, considering -all that had to be planned and arranged, the -doctor had done his share of it, given explicit -and peremptory directions as to what should, -and what should <i>not</i> be done, and was gone. -As for Judge Burnham, he had gone directly -from the sick-room to Judge Erskine’s office, on -a matter of business for the latter. So the two -sisters were left alone in the library, to stare at -each other, or out into the street, as they chose.</p> - -<p>Susan Erskine had been a very silent looker-on -at this morning’s confusion. Ruth could not -tell what she thought. Beyond the first exclamation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -of surprise, she had expressed no dismay. -A little touch of some feeling (what was it?) -she had shown once, when her mother was planning, -and announcing that she did not intend to -take the disease, and, if she did, <i>she</i> might as -well as anyone.</p> - -<p>“Oh, mother!” Susan had said, in a low, distressed -tone—a tone full of suppressed feeling -of some sort—and her mother had turned on -her sharply, with a—</p> - -<p>“Well, child, what?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” Susan said, as one who had -checked her sentence and was holding herself -silent. And thereafter she made no sign.</p> - -<p>And so at last these two sisters were stranded -in that deserted library. Ruth, on her part, -gazing blankly out of the window, watching the -hurrying passers-by with a curious sense of -wonderment as to what they would think could -they know what was transpiring inside. Suddenly -she turned from the window with an exclamation -of dismay—a thought, which until -now had dropped into the background, returned -to her.</p> - -<p>“There isn’t a servant in the house!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, what has become of them?”</p> - -<p>“They fled at the very first mention of the -trouble. Never was anything accomplished -more rapidly. I thought they had hardly time -to reach their rooms when they disappeared -around the corner.”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible!” Susan said, after a moment’s -silent contemplation. She was both surprised -and disappointed. There was nothing in her -nature that could respond to that method of -bearing one another’s burdens, and she did not -understand human nature well enough to expect -developments in others which were foreign to -her own.</p> - -<p>“What shall we do about dinner?” Ruth -asked, after another interval of silence.</p> - -<p>“Why, get it,” Susan answered, lightly. She -could not comprehend what an impossible thing -this was in Ruth’s estimation.</p> - -<p>“But I—why, I know nothing about it,” -Ruth said, stammering and aghast.</p> - -<p>“I do. There is nothing about a dinner that -I do not understand, I believe—that is, a reasonable -and respectable dinner. In fact, I know -how to do several things that are unreasonable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -I’ll go right down-stairs and take a view of the -situation.”</p> - -<p>“I will go with you,” Ruth said, heroically. -“I don’t know anything about such matters, but -I can at least show you through the house.”</p> - -<p>Is it your fortune to know, by experience, just -what a deserted look a kitchen can take on in a -brief space of time, when the regular inhabitants -thereof have made a sudden exit? Just -let the fire in the range go down, with unswept -ashes littering the hearth, and unwashed dishes -filling the tables, and a general smell of departed -cookery pervading the air, and you need no better -picture of dismalness. Especially is this the -case if you survey the scene as Ruth did, without -being able to conceive how it was possible -ever again to bring order out of this confusion.</p> - -<p>“Why, dear me!” said Susan, “things look -as though they had stirred them up to the best -of their abilities before they left. Where is the -hearth-brush kept, Ruth?”</p> - -<p>“I am sure I don’t know,” Ruth said, and she -looked helpless and bewildered.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I’ll look for it. We must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -a fire the first thing. I wonder where the -kindlings are?”</p> - -<p>Then she began to open little doors and crannies, -in a wise sort of way, Ruth looking on, not -knowing that there were such places to search -into. Both hearth-brush and kindlings were -found, and Susan attacked the range, while -Ruth took up a china cup and set it down again, -moved a pile of plates to the side of the table -and moved them back again, looking utterly -dazed and useless.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if this damper turns up or -down?”</p> - -<p>This from Susan, and her sister turned and -surveyed the damper with a grave, puzzled air -before she spoke.</p> - -<p>“It is no sort of use to ask me. I never even -examined the range. I know no more about -the dampers than the people on the street do.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Susan, “the smoke does. -It puffs out with one arrangement, and goes up -the chimney, as it should, with the other.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how we are ever to do it,” -Ruth said.</p> - -<p>“What, make the fire? Why, it is made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -already! Don’t you hear it roar? This is a -splendid range; I should think it would be fun -to cook with it. Our stove was cracked, and -one door-hinge was broken, and besides it -wouldn’t bake on the bottom. The <i>stove</i> -wouldn’t, you know—not the broken hinge.”</p> - -<p>Susan rarely—indeed, I might say never—indulged -in reminiscence, and therefore Ruth -was touched.</p> - -<p>“Why did you keep yourselves so poorly provided -for?” she asked, a flush rising on her pale -cheek. “I have heard your mother say that -you were well supplied with money.”</p> - -<p>“We were. It was one of my mother’s -whims, if you choose to call it so. She was -continually troubled with the feeling that some -day she or I, or—more often, I think—<i>father</i>, -might need all the money she could save; and I -never combated the feeling, except when it intrenched -too closely on her own needs. She -seemed fairly haunted with the thought.”</p> - -<p>“How absurd!” said Ruth, and her lip -curled.</p> - -<p>As for Susan, <i>her</i> lips opened, and then closed -partly, and whatever she would have uttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -remains in oblivion. She closed the damper -energetically, and said:</p> - -<p>“There, that is conquered! Now, what are -we to have for dinner?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I ordered roast lamb and its accompaniments,” -Ruth said, recalling her minute directions -given to the skillful cook (she knew how -to <i>order</i> dinners,) “but, of course, that is out of -the question.”</p> - -<p>“Why, not at all, if you would like it. I -know exactly how to roast lamb. But, then, -who would eat it?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Prof. Stevens and his friend are to -dine with us. Oh, they must be sent word not -to come! How <i>can</i> we send? Who is there to -go?”</p> - -<p>And Ruth, the complications of her situation -pressing upon her in these minor details, looked -utterly dismayed.</p> - -<p>“Why, Judge Burnham will be our errand-boy—he -said so. I met him as he came down-stairs, -and he told me to say that he would call -as soon as he had attended to father’s commission, -and serve us in any way that we desired. -We will have him first recall the invitation to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -our guests, and then we will send him to the -‘butcher’s, the baker’s, and the candlestick-maker’s.’ -I shouldn’t be surprised if he proved -a very useful member of society.”</p> - -<p>Susan was bent on being cheerful. “Things -are not so bad but they might have been worse,” -she had said, almost as soon as she was told of -the trouble.</p> - -<p>“Mother says he might have been taken sick -down town, and if they had known what the -disease was they wouldn’t have allowed him to -come home. Think of that! But about the -roast lamb,” she said. “Do you think you and -I could compass it, or shall we compel the -errand-boy to stay and divide the work with -us?”</p> - -<p>Then these two girls did what was perhaps -the wisest thing for them to do, under the circumstances. -They laughed—a real <i>laugh</i>.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” said Susan. “He is not very -sick. The doctor said he didn’t think he would -be, because he would be well taken care of at -the very outset; and he will, you may be sure -of that. Mother knows how, and her heart is -in it. You may trust her, Ruth, in a time of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -sickness. And we shall manage nicely. This -disconsolate kitchen shall take on new features -presently. If I were you I would go right up-stairs -and be ready to give Judge Burnham his -orders when he comes. He is real good and -kind. I like him. He will help us in every -way. And when you come down again I will -have things in train for a first-class dinner.”</p> - -<p>A new anxiety occurred to Ruth.</p> - -<p>“Do you know how to prepare food for sick -people?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do! The most appetizing little -dishes that you can imagine. I’ve always thought -I had a special talent in that direction. We will -waylay the doctor the very next time he comes, -and find out what he will allow, and then I’ll -cook it; and you must arrange it daintily with -silver, and china, and flowers, you know. They -will let us have all sorts of nice things up there -for a while, and I think that is the real secret of -serving an invalid, having everything arranged -tastefully and gracefully.”</p> - -<p>Ruth turned toward her sister with a very -tender smile on her face. She realized that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -there had been an effort to make her feel that -she was in a position to do an important service -for her father, and the thoughtfulness of -the effort touched her.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> - -<small>LOOKING FOR AN EASY YOKE.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-w1.jpg" alt="W" width="91" height="41" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-w2.jpg" alt="W" width="69" height="74" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">WEARY days now in store for Ruth Erskine—far -more weary and dispiriting -than she had imagined were possible to endure. -It was such a strange experience to stand at the -window and watch passers-by, hurrying out of -the neighborhood of the plague-spotted house; -crossing the street at most inconvenient points, -to avoid a nearer contact. It was so strange to -have day after day pass, and never hear the -sound of the door-bell—never see the face of a -caller—never receive an invitation. In short, -it was a sudden shutting out of the world in -which she had always lived, and a shutting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -down into one narrow circle, which repeated -itself almost exactly every twenty-four hours. -She and Susan must needs be companions now, -whether they would or not. They must sit -down together three times a day, at table, and -go through the forms of eating—not so repulsive -a proceeding, by the way, as it had seemed -to Ruth it must of necessity be, with no one to -serve. Susan had reduced the matter to a system, -and produced, as if by magic, the most -appetizing dishes, served in faultless style; and, -when the strangeness of sitting opposite each -other, and having no one to look at or talk to -but themselves, began to wear away, they found -it a not unpleasant break in the day’s monotony -to talk together while they waited on each -other.</p> - -<p>Then there was the sick man’s food to prepare, -and Susan exhausted her skill, and Ruth -contributed of her taste, in graceful adornings. -Judge Erskine still adhered to his resolution not -to allow his daughter to visit him; so all that -could be done for his comfort must be second-handed, -but this little was a great relief to heart -and brain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then there was Judge Burnham, a source of -continual comfort. He seemed to be the only -one, of all the large circle of friends, who failed -to shun the stricken house. He was entirely -free from fear, and came and went at all hours, -and on all possible errands—market-man, post-man, -errand-man in general, and unfailing friend. -Not a day passed in which he did not make half -a dozen calls, and every evening found him an -inmate of the quiet parlor, with a new book, or -poem, or, perhaps, only a fresh bouquet of sweet-smelling -blossoms, for the sisters. Apparently -his tokens of friendship and care were bestowed -jointly on <i>the sisters</i>—he not choosing between -them by a hair-breadth.</p> - -<p>Still despite all the alleviating circumstances, -the way was weary, and the time hung with increased -heaviness on their hands—long hours -of daylight, in which there seemed to be nothing -to settle to, and in which there was as effectually -nowhere to go, as if they were held in by -bolts and bars.</p> - -<p>“If we were, either of us, fond of fancy -work, I believe it would be some relief,” Ruth -said, wearily, one afternoon, as she closed her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -book, after pronouncing it hopelessly dull. -“Flossy Shipley could spend days in making -cunning little worsted dogs, with curly tails, -and, if there really were nothing else that she -felt she ought to do, I believe she could be quite -happy in that!”</p> - -<p>Susan laughed.</p> - -<p>“One of us ought to have developed that talent, -perhaps,” she said, brightly. “I don’t -know why you didn’t. As for myself, I never -had the time, and, if I had, the materials would -have been beyond my purse. But I like pretty -things. I have really often wished that I knew -how to make some. You don’t know how to -teach me, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed; and, if I did, I’m afraid I -shouldn’t do it. Nothing ever seemed more -utterly insipid to me, though, of course, I never -planned any such life as we are having now.”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” Susan said, turning suddenly -toward her sister, and dropping the paper which -she had been reading. “I have a pleasant -thought. We are almost tired of all sorts of -books; but there is one Book which never wears -out. What if this time of absolute and enforced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -leisure should have been given us in -which to get better acquainted with what it -says? What if you and I should begin to study -the Bible together?”</p> - -<p>Ruth looked gloomy.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know much about the Bible,” she -said; “and I don’t know how to study it. I -read a chapter every day, and, of course, I get -some help out of it; but I see so much that I -don’t understand, and—well, to be frank, so -much that it seems to me strange should have -been put into the book at all, when necessarily a -great deal that we would like to know was left -out, that it worries and disappoints me.”</p> - -<p>She half expected to shock Susan, and looked -toward her with determined eyes, ready to sustain -her position, in case an argument was produced. -But Susan only answered, with a -quiet—</p> - -<p>“I know; I used to feel very much in the -same way, until I had a light given me to go by, -which shone upon some of the verses that had -been so dark before.”</p> - -<p>There was no lighting up of Ruth’s face.</p> - -<p>“I know what you mean,” she said, gravely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -“You mean that the Bible was a new book to -you after you were converted. I have heard a -great many people say that, but it doesn’t help -me as much as you might suppose it would. Of -course it made a new book for <i>me</i>, because the -Bible was never anything to me at all, until I -was converted. I have passed years without -looking into it; indeed, I may say I <i>never</i> read -it. When I was a school-girl, I used to find extracts -from it in my parsing-book, and some of -them seemed to me very lofty sentiments, and -several of them I committed to memory, because -of the beauty of their construction; but that -was the extent of my acquaintance with the -book. One of the first things I noticed a Christian -say, after I was converted, was about the -Bible—what a wonderful book it was to him, -and how, every time he read a verse, it opened a -new idea. I thought it would be that way with -me; but it hasn’t been. I love the Bible; that -is, I love certain things which I find in it; but -it doesn’t seem to me as I thought it would. I -can’t say that I love to study it; or, rather, perhaps -I might say I don’t know how to study it. -I can memorize verses, of course, and I do,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -somewhat, when I find one that pleases me; but—well, -I never told anyone about it, but it has -disappointed me a little.”</p> - -<p><i>Now</i> she had shocked Susan; anyway, she felt -sure of it. She had lived long enough, even -now, with this plain, quiet sister, to have discovered -that the Bible was a great fountain of -help to her. She would not be able to understand -why it was not the same to Ruth. Neither -did Ruth understand it; and, though perhaps -she did not realize even this, it was an undertone -of longing to get at the secret of the difference -between them which prompted her -words. But Susan only smiled, in a quiet, unsurprised -way, and said:</p> - -<p>“I understand you perfectly; I have been -over the same ground.”</p> - -<p>“But you are not there, now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, I am not.”</p> - -<p>“And you learned to love the Bible by studying -it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, that was the means, of course; but -my real help was the revelation which God gave -me of himself through the Spirit.”</p> - -<p>No face could look blanker and gloomier than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -Ruth’s. She was silent for a few minutes, then -she commenced again, her voice having taken -on a certain dogged resoluteness of tone as one -who thought, “I <i>will</i> say it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why I am talking in this way -to you; it is not natural for me to be communicative -to any person; but I may as well tell you -that my religion has been a disappointment to -me. It is not what I thought it was. I expected -to live such a different life from any that -I had lived before. I expected to be earnest, -and successful, and happy; and it seems to me -that no way was ever more beset with difficulties -than mine has been. When I really wanted -to do right, and tried, I was apparently as powerless -as though I didn’t care. I expected to be -unselfish, and I am just as selfish, so far as I can -see, as I ever was. I struggle with the feeling, -and pray over it, but it is there just the same. -If for one half hour I succeed in overcoming it, -I find it present with me the next hour in -stronger force than before. It is all a disappointment. -I knew the Christian life was a -warfare, but someway I expected more to it -than there is; I expected peace out of it, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -haven’t got it. I have had my seasons of thinking -the whole thing a delusion, so far as I was -concerned; but I can not believe that, because -in some respects I feel a decided change. I -believe I belong to Christ; but I do so shrink -from the struggles and trials and disappointments -of this world! I feel just as though I -wanted to shirk them all. Sometimes I think if -He <i>only would</i> take me to heaven, where I could -rest, I would be <i>so</i> grateful and happy.”</p> - -<p>The hardness had gone out of her face now, -and the tears were dropping silently on her -closed book.</p> - -<p>“Poor girl!” said Susan, tenderly. “Poor, -tired heart. Don’t you think that the Lord -Jesus can rest you anywhere except by the way -of the grave? That is such a mistake, and I made -it for so long that I know all about it. Don’t you -hear his voice calling to you to come and rest in -him this minute?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand you. I <i>am</i> resting in -him. That is, I feel sure at times. I feel sure -now that he has prepared a place in heaven for -me, and will take me there as he says. But I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -am so tired of the road; I want to drop out -from it now and be at rest.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you found his yoke easy and his -burden light, then?”</p> - -<p>“No, I haven’t. I know it is my own fault; -but that doesn’t alter the fact or relieve the -weariness.”</p> - -<p>“Then do you believe that he made a mistake -when he said the yoke was easy?”</p> - -<p>Ruth arrested her tears to look up in wonder.</p> - -<p>“Of course not,” she said, quickly. “I know -it is owing to myself, but I don’t know how to -remedy it. There are those who find the statement -meets their experience, I don’t doubt, but -it seems not to be for me.”</p> - -<p>“But, if that is so, don’t you think he ought -to have said, ‘Some of you will find the burden -light, but others of you will have to struggle -and flounder in the dark?’ You know he hasn’t -qualified it at all. He said, ‘Come unto me and -I will give you rest; take my yoke upon you, -for it is light.’ And he said it to all who are -‘heavy laden.’”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Ruth, after a thoughtful pause, -“I suppose that means his promise to save the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -soul eternally. I believe he has done that for -me.”</p> - -<p>“But is that all he is able or willing to do? -If he can save the soul eternally can not he give -it peace and rest here?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course he could, if it were his will; -but I don’t know that he has ever promised to -do so.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you? Do you suppose he who hates -sin has made us so that we can not keep from -constantly grieving him by falling into sin, and -has promised us no help from the burden until -we get to heaven? I don’t think that would be -entire salvation.”</p> - -<p>“What <i>do</i> you mean?” Ruth asked, turning -a full, wondering gaze on her sister. “You -surely don’t believe that people are perfect in -this world?”</p> - -<p>“Pass that thought, just now, will you? Let -me illustrate what I mean. I found my besetting -sin to be to yield to constant fits of ill-temper. -It took almost nothing to rouse me, -and the more I struggled and tossed about in -my effort to <i>grow</i> better the worse it seemed to -me I became. If I was to depend on progressive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -goodness, as I supposed, when was I to -begin to grow <i>toward</i> a better state; and when -I succeeded should I not really have accomplished -my own rescue from sin? It troubled -and tormented me, and I did not gain until I discovered -that there were certain promises which, -with conditions, meant me. For instance, there -was one person who, when I came in contact -with her, invariably made me angry. For -months I never held a conversation with her -that I did not say words which seemed to me -afterward to be very sinful, and which angered -her. This after I had prayed and struggled for -self-control. One day I came across the promise, -‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’ Sufficient -for what? I asked, and I stopped before the -words as if they had just been revealed. I -found it to be unlimited as to quantity or time. -It did not say, ‘After you have done the best -you can—struggled for years and gained a little—then -my grace shall be sufficient.’ It did -not say, ‘My grace is sufficient for the great and -trying experiences of this life, but not for the -little every-day annoyances and trials which -tempt you—you must look out for yourself.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -It was just an unlimited promise—‘My grace is -sufficient—not for my saints, for those who -have been faithful and successful, but for <i>thee</i>.’ -Having made that discovery, and felt my need, -I assure you I was not long in claiming my -rights. Now, I want to ask you what that -promise means?”</p> - -<p>“‘My grace is sufficient for thee,’” Ruth repeated, -slowly, thoughtfully. Then she paused, -while Susan waited for the answer, which came -presently, low-toned and wondering.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know. I read the verse -only yesterday, but it didn’t occur to me that it -had any reference to <i>me</i>. I don’t know what I -thought about it.”</p> - -<p>“But what does it seem to you that it says? -Christ meant something by it, of course. What -was it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” she said again, thoughtfully. -“That is, why it <i>can’t</i> mean what it appears to, -for then there would be nothing left to struggle -about.”</p> - -<p>“Well, has Christ ever told you to struggle? -On the contrary, hasn’t he told you to rest?”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” said Ruth, after revolving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -that thought, or some other, in silence for several -minutes—“it seems to me that one who -thought as you do about these things would be -claiming perfection; and if there is one doctrine -above another that I despise it is just that. I -know one woman who is always talking about -it, and claiming that she hasn’t sinned in so -many months, and all that nonsense; and really -she is the most disagreeable woman I ever met in -my life.”</p> - -<p>“Look here,” said Susan. “Do you rely on -the Lord Jesus for salvation? That is, do you -believe you are a sinner, and could do nothing -for yourself, and he just had to come and do it -for you, and present your claim to Heaven -through himself?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course there is no other way. I -<i>know</i> that I am a sinner; and I know it is wonderful -in him to have been willing to save me; -but he has.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, aren’t you afraid to claim that, -for fear people will think that you saved yourself?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand,” Ruth said, gravely.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you? Why, you fear to claim Christ’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -promise to you—that his grace is <i>now</i> sufficient -for every demand that you choose to make on it—for -fear people will think you consider yourself -perfect. Why should they not, just as -readily, think that because you relied on Christ -for final salvation therefore you relied on yourself?”</p> - -<p>“That is a foolish contradiction.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; isn’t the other?”</p> - -<p>“I never heard anybody talk as you do,” was -Ruth’s answer.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t a different Bible from yours,” -Susan said, smiling. “You admit to me that -the promise about which we are talking is in -yours, and you read it yesterday. What I -wonder is, what you think it means.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> - -<small>“THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-t1.jpg" alt="T" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-t2.jpg" alt="T" width="70" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">THE last was but the beginning of many -talks which those two sisters held together -concerning the meaning of the promises -which Christ had made to his children. During -the time Ruth received and accepted some new -ideas; but it must be admitted that it was her -intellect which accepted them, rather than her -heart. She acknowledged that the Lord had -plainly said his grace was sufficient for them, -and that, having been tempted, he was able to -succor those who were tempted; and that there -should no temptation take his children except -such as they were able to bear, because the faithful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -God would provide a way of escape. All -these, I say, she admitted; they were plainly -written in his word and <i>must</i> mean what they -said. Still she went on, being tempted and -yielding to the temptation, struggling against -the gloom and unrest of her lot—struggling -fiercely against the providence which had come -between her and the Father, whom she began to -realize she had worshiped rather than loved—struggling, -fighting, baffled, wounded, defeated—only -to rise up and struggle afresh, all the -while admitting with her clear brain-power that -he said: “As thy day, so shall thy strength be.” -Why did she not have the strength? She dimly -questioned with herself, occasionally, the why; -she even deemed herself ill-treated because none -of the promised strength came to her; but she -passed over the searching question of the Lord -to his waiting suppliant: “<i>Believe</i> ye that I am -able to do this?” Had the Lord Jesus Christ -appeared to Ruth in bodily presence and asked -her this question she realized afterward that she -would have been obliged to answer: “Oh, no, I -don’t. You say you are able, and you say you -are willing, and I believe that the words are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -yours, and that you have all power in heaven -and earth, and yet—and yet—I <i>don’t</i> believe -that you will do it for me.” To such strange -and unaccountable depths of absurdity does -unbelief lead us!</p> - -<p>At last there came a day when Susan and she -could not talk calmly about these things or any -other—could not talk at all—could only weep, -and wait, and kneel and dumbly pray, and then -wait again, while life and death struggled fiercely -together for the victim up-stairs, and it seemed -that death would be the victor. Many days -passed, and the dead-weight of enforced endurance -still held Ruth a prisoner, and still she -rebelled against the providence that had hemmed -her in and shut her away from her father; still -she rebelled at the thought of the nurse who -bent over him in tireless watch, long before all -attempts at securing outside help had been -abandoned, Dr. Bacon having expressed himself -more than satisfied.</p> - -<p>“Never a better nurse took hold of a case,” -he said, emphatically, to Ruth. “If your father -recovers, and I can not help feeling hopeful, he -will owe it more to her care than to any other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -human effort. She seems to know by instinct -what and when and how, and I believe the -woman never sleeps at all. She is just as alert -and active and determined to-day as she was -the first hour she went into his room, and the -vigil has been long and sharp. I tell you what, -Miss Ruth, you begin to understand, don’t you -what this woman was raised up for? She was -planned for just such a time as this. No money -would have bought such nursing, and it has -been a case in which nursing was two-thirds of -it. She ought to be a <i>professional</i> nurse this -minute. Shall I find a place for her when her -services are not needed here in that capacity -any longer? She could command grand wages.”</p> - -<p>The well-meaning doctor had essayed to bring -a smile to Ruth’s wan face; but it was made -evident to him that he understood disease better -than he did human nature—at least the sort of -human nature of which she was composed. She -drew herself up proudly, and her tone was unusually -and unnecessarily haughty as she said:</p> - -<p>“You forget, Dr. Bacon, that you are speaking -of <i>Mrs. Erskine</i>.”</p> - -<p>Then the doctor shrugged his shoulders, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -with a half-muttered “I beg pardon,” turned -away.</p> - -<p>“More of an iceberg than ever,” he muttered, -a little louder, as he went down the hall. “I -don’t know what Burnham is about, I am sure. -I hope it is the other one he means.”</p> - -<p>And then he slammed the door a little. He -had left Ruth in a rage with him and with -events and with her own heart. She resented -his familiarity with the name which that woman -bore, and she resented the fact that she bore the -name. She was bitterly jealous of Mrs. Erskine’s -position by that sick-bed. She did not -believe in her nursing abilities. She knew she -was fussy and officious and ignorant, three -things that were horrible in a nurse. She knew -her father must be a daily sufferer because of -this. She by no means saw “what that woman -was raised up for,” or why she should have been -permitted to come in contact with <i>her</i>. Every -day she chafed more under it, and the process -made her grow hard and cold and silent to the -woman’s daughter. So by degrees the burden -grew heavier, and Susan, feeling that no word of -hers could help, maintained at last a tender,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -patient silence, that to Ruth’s sore, angered -heart was in itself almost an added sting.</p> - -<p>It was in this spirit that they drew near to -the hour when the question of life and death -would be determined. Ruth’s heart seemed like -to burst with the conflict raging in it—sorrow, -anxiety, despair—she knew not what to call the -burden, but she knew it was a <i>burden</i>. She -spent hours in her own room, resenting all interruptions, -resenting every call from Susan to -come down and take a little nourishment; even -almost disposed to resent the bulletins for which -she waited breathlessly as they were from time -to time spoken through the keyhole in Susan’s -low-toned voice. “He is no worse than he was -half an hour ago, Ruth;” or, “The doctor -thinks there must be a change before night;” -or, “Dear Ruth, he murmured your name a little -while ago the doctor said.”</p> - -<p>Presently Ruth came out of her room and -down to the library—came toward Susan sitting -in the little rocker with her Bible in her lap, -and said, speaking in a low tone so full of pent-up -energy that in itself it was startling:</p> - -<p>“Susan, if you know how to pray at all, kneel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -down now and pray for <i>him</i>—I can’t. I have been -trying for hours, and have forgotten how to pray.”</p> - -<p>Without a word of reply Susan arose quickly -and dropped on her knees, Ruth kneeling beside -her, and then the words of prayer which filled -that room indicated that one heart, at least, -knew how to pray, and felt the presence of the -Comforter pervading her soul. Long they knelt -there, unwilling, it seemed, to rise, even after -the audible prayer ceased. And it was thus -that Judge Burnham found them, as with light, -quick steps he crossed the hall in search of -them, saying, as he entered:</p> - -<p>“Courage, dear friends, the doctor believes -that there is strong reason now for hope.”</p> - -<p>The crisis passed, Judge Erskine rallied rapidly, -much more rapidly than those who had -watched over him in the violence of his sickness -had deemed possible. And it came to pass that, -after a few more tedious days of waiting, his -room was opened once more to the presence of -his daughter. Fully as she had supposed that -she realized his illness, she was unprepared for -the change which it had wrought, and could -hardly suppress a cry of dismay as she bent over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -him. Long afterward she wondered at herself -as she recalled the fact that her first startled -rebellious thought had been that there was not -such a striking contrast now between him and -his wife.</p> - -<p>There was another disappointment in store for -her. She had looked forward to the time when -she might reign in that sick-room—might become -her father’s sole nurse in his convalescence, -and succeed in banishing from his presence that -which must have become so unendurable. She -discovered that it was a difficult thing to banish -a wife from her husband’s sick-room. Mrs. -Erskine was, apparently, serenely unconscious -that her presence was undesired by Ruth. She -came and went freely; was cheery and loquacious, -as usual; discoursed on the dangers -through which Judge Erskine had passed, and -reiterated the fact that it was a mercy she didn’t -take the disease, until, actually, Ruth was unable -to feel that even this was a mercy! There was a -bitterer side to it. Her father had changed in -more ways than one. It appeared that his -daughter’s unavailing grief for him, in becoming -the victim of such a nurse, was all wasted pity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>. -He had not felt it an infliction. His voice had -taken a gentle tone, in which there was almost -tenderness, when he spoke to her. His eyes followed -her movements with an unmistakable air -of restfulness. He smiled on his daughter; but -he asked his wife to raise his head and arrange -his pillow. How was this to be accounted for? -How could a few short weeks so change his feelings -and tastes?</p> - -<p>“She <i>is</i> a born nurse,” Ruth admitted, looking -on, and watching the cheery skill with which -she made all things comfortable. “Who would -have supposed that she could be other than -fussy? Well, all persons have their mission. -If she could have filled the place of a good, -cheerful, hospital nurse, how I should have liked -her, and how grateful I should feel to her now!” -And then she shuddered over the feeling that -she did not now feel toward her an atom of -gratitude! She looked forward to a moment -when she could be left alone with her father. -Of course he was grateful to this woman. His -nature was higher than hers. Beside, he knew -what she had done, and borne for him, here in -this sick-room. Of course he felt it, and was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -thoroughly a gentleman that he would show her, -by look and action, that he appreciated it; but, -could his daughter once have him to herself for -a little while, what a relief and comfort it would -doubtless be to him. Even over this thought -she chafed. If this woman <i>only</i> held the position -in the house which would make it proper -for her to say, “You may leave us alone now, -for awhile. My father and I wish to talk; I -will ring when you are needed”—with what -gracious and grateful smiles she could have said -those words! As it was, she planned.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it would be well for you to -go to another room, and try to get some rest?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Judge Erskine, turning his head, -and looking earnestly at her; “if any human -being ever needed rest, away from this scene of -confusion, I think you must.”</p> - -<p>“Bless your heart, child” (with a good-natured -little laugh)! “I’ve rested ever so -much. When you get used to it, you can sleep -standing up, with a bowl of gruel in one hand, -and a bottle of hot water in the other, ready for -action. Just as soon as the anxiety was off, I -got rest; and, while I was anxious, you know, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -lived on that—does about as well as sleep for -keeping up strength; I guess you tried it yourself, -by the looks of your white cheeks and -great big eyes! Land alive! I never see them -look so big; did you, Judge? But Susan says -you behaved like a soldier. Well, I knew you -would. I says, to myself, says I, ‘She is made -of the stuff that will bear it, and do her best;’ -and it give me strength to do my best for your -pa, ’cause I knew you was depending on me. -Says I, ‘I’ve got two sides to this responsibility -now; there’s the Judge, lying helpless, and -knowing that every single thing that’s done for -him, for the next month or so, must come -through me; and there’s his daughter down-stairs, -trusting to me to bring him through;’ -and I did my level best.”</p> - -<p>And then Ruth shuddered. It was impossible -for her to feel anything but repulsion.</p> - -<p>At last Susan—wise-hearted Susan—came -to her rescue. She had imperative need for -“mother” in the kitchen, for a few minutes. -Ruth watched eagerly, as she waddled away, -until the door closed after her, then turned with -hungry eyes toward her father, ready to pour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -out her pent-up soul, as she never had done -before. His eyes were turned toward the door, -and he said, as the retreating footsteps were lost -to them:</p> - -<p>“If you have joy in your heart, daughter—as -I know you have—for the restoration of -your father, you owe it, under God, to that -woman. I never even imagined anything like -the utter self-abnegation that she showed. Disease, -in its most repulsive, most loathsome form, -held me in its grasp, until I know well I looked -less like a human being than I did like some -hideous wild animal. Why, I have seen even -the doctor start back, overcome, for a moment, -by the sight! But she never started back, nor -faltered, in her patient, persistent, tender care, -through it all. We both owe her our gratitude -and our love, my daughter.”</p> - -<p>Do you know Ruth well enough to understand -that she poured out no pent-up tide of -tenderness upon her father, after that? She retired -into her old silent self, to such a degree -that the father looked at her wonderingly, at -first, then half wearily, and turned his head and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -closed his eyes, that he might rest, since she had -nothing to say to him.</p> - -<p>It was two or three days afterward that she -tried again. In the meantime, she had chided -herself sharply for her folly. Why had she -allowed herself to be so cold—so apparently -heartless—when her heart was so full of love? -Was she really so demoralized, she asked herself, -that she would have her father other than grateful -for the care which had been bestowed? Of -<i>course</i> he was grateful, and of course he desired -to show it, as any noble nature should. After -all, what had he said but that they both owed -her a debt of gratitude and love?</p> - -<p>“So we do,” said Ruth, sturdily. “I should -love a dog who had been kind to him.” And -then she suppressed an almost groan over the -startling thought that, if this woman had been -<i>only a dog</i>, she could have loved!</p> - -<p>But she was left alone with her father again. -He had advanced to the sitting-up stage, and -she was to sit with him and amuse him, while -Mrs. Erskine attended to some outside matter, -Ruth neither knew nor cared what, so that she -went away. She was tender and thoughtful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -shading her father’s weakened eyes from the -light, picking up his dropped handkerchief, -doing a dozen little nothings for him, and occasionally -speaking some tender word. He was -not disposed to talk much beyond asking a few -general questions as to what had transpired -during his absence from the world. Then, presently, -he broke an interval of silence, during -which he had sat with closed eyes, by asking:</p> - -<p>“Where is Susan?”</p> - -<p>“Susan!” his daughter repeated, half startled. -“Why, she is in the kitchen, I presume; she -generally is, at this hour of the morning. She -has had to be housekeeper and cook and I -hardly know what not, during these queer days. -She has filled all the posts splendidly! I don’t -know what you would have eaten but for her.”</p> - -<p>Here Ruth paused a moment, to be gratified -over her own advance in goodness. At least -she could speak freely, and in praise of Susan. -Then she said:</p> - -<p>“Do you want anything, father, that Susan -can get for you?”</p> - -<p>He unclosed his eyes, and looked at her with -a full, meaning smile, as he said, slowly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I was not thinking of <i>that</i> Susan, my dear; -I meant my wife. You may call her, if you -will; I feel somewhat tired, and she knows just -how to fix me for rest.”</p> - -<p>Imagine Ruth Erskine going down the hall, -down the stairs, through the library, out -through the back hall, away to the linen-closet, -and saying, to Mrs. Judge Erskine, in a low -tone:</p> - -<p>“Father wants you, ma’am!”</p> - -<p>“Bless his heart!” said Mrs. Erskine, dropping -the pile of fresh linen she was fumbling in. -“I hope he hasn’t been fretty ’cause I staid so -long!”</p> - -<p>Then she fled up the stairs.</p> - -<p>Well, you are not very well versed in the -knowledge of the depths of the human heart, if -you need to be told that this last experience was -the bitterest drop in Ruth’s cup of trouble. -Hitherto it had been her father and herself, -bearing together a common trial. Now she felt -that, someway, she had lost her father, and -gained nothing—rather, <i>lost</i>—that she had -sunken in her own estimation, and that she was -alone!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XV.<br /> - -<small>RESTS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-i1.jpg" alt="I" width="97" height="31" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-i2.jpg" alt="I" width="66" height="86" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">IT took some time for the Erskines to find -their way back into the world—rather -it took the world many weeks to be willing to -receive them. What was reasonable caution -at first became not only annoying but ludicrous, -as the weeks went by, and common-sense suggested -that all possibility of danger from contact -with them was past; there were those who -<i>could not</i> believe that it would ever be safe to -call on them again. Ruth, on her part did not -worry over this, but suggested, coldly, that -it would be an almost infinite relief if two-thirds -of their calling acquaintances would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -continue frightened for the rest of their lives.</p> - -<p>In the domestic world it made more trouble. -Servants—an army of them—who were marshaled -to and from intelligence offices, looked -askance at the doors and windows, as if they half -expected the demon of small-pox to take visible -shape and pounce upon them, and it was found -to be only the worst and most hopeless characters -who had ventured into doubtful quarters, so that -for days Susan was engaged in well-managed -skirmishes between girls who professed everything -and knew nothing.</p> - -<p>Ruth had long before retired, vanquished from -this portion of the field, and agreed that her -forte did not lie in that direction. “I haven’t -the least idea where it lies,” she said aloud, and -gloomily. But she was in her own room, and -the door was locked, and there was no other -listener than the window-light, against which -her brown head wearily leaned. She had not -yet reached the point where she was willing to -confess her disappointment at life to anybody -else, but in truth it seemed that the world was -too small for her. She was not needed at home, -nor elsewhere, so far as she could see. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -father, as he relapsed into old duties, did not -seek his former confidential footing with her; -indeed, he seemed rather to avoid it, as one who -might fear lest his own peace would be shaken. -So Ruth thought at first, but one little private -talk with him had dispelled the probability of -that.</p> - -<p>“I want to tell you something, daughter,” he -had said to her when they were left alone in the -library, the first day of his return to office-life. -“At least I owe it to you to tell you something. -I waited until I had really gotten back into the -work-a-day world again, because of a half recognized -fear which I see now was cowardly and -faithless, that old scenes would recall old feelings. -I had an experience, my daughter, during -those first few days when the Lord shut me out -from you all. My Christian faith did not sustain -me as it ought to have done. I mean by that, that -it was not the sort of faith which it ought to -have been. I rebelled at the fierceness of the -fire in which I had been placed. I felt that I -could not bear it; that it was cruel and bitter. -Most of all, I rebelled at the presence of my -wife. I felt that it was too much to be shut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -away from everything that life holds dear, -and to be shut up with that which had hitherto -made life miserable. I can not tell you of the -struggle, of the hopeless beatings of my bruised -head against the bars of its cage. It almost unmans -me even to think of those hours.” And -Judge Erskine paused and wiped the perspiration -from his forehead. “I will just hurry over -the details,” he said at last. “There came an -hour when I began to dimly comprehend that -my Redeemer was only answering some of the -agonizing prayers that I had of late been constantly -putting up to him. I had prayed, Ruth, -for strength to do my whole duty, and in order -to do it I plainly saw that I must feel differently -from what I had been feeling; that I must get -over this shrinking from a relation which I deliberately -brought upon myself, and one which -I was bound, by solemn covenant, to sustain. I -must have help; I must submit, not only, but I -must learn to be pitiful toward, and patient -with, and yet how <i>could</i> I? Christ showed me -how. He let me see such a revelation of my own -selfishness, and hardness, and pride, as made me -abhor myself in ‘dust and ashes,’ and then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -let me see such a revelation of human patience, -and tenderness, and self-abnegation, as filled me -with gratitude and respect. Ruth, he has given -me much more than I asked. I prayed for patience -and tenderness and he gave me not only -those, but such a feeling of respect for one who -could so entirely forget herself, and do for another -what my wife did for me, that I feel able -to cherish her all the rest of my life. In short, -daughter, I feel that I could take even the vows -of the marriage-covenant upon my lips now, and -mean them in all simplicity and singleness of -heart. And having taken them long ago I ratify -them now, and mean to live by them as long as -life lasts to us both, so help me God. In all -this I do not forget the sin, nor the suffering -which that sin has entailed upon you, my dear, -precious daughter, but I feel that I must do -what I can to atone for it, and that shirking my -duty, as I have been doing in the past, does not -help you to bear your part. I know you have -forgiven me, Ruth, and I know that God has. -He has done more than that. In his infinite -love and compassion he has made the cross a -comfort. And now, daughter, I never wish to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -speak of this matter again. You asked me, once, -if I wished you to call her mother. I have no -desire to force your lips to what they do not -mean, nor to oblige you to bear any more cross -for your father, than the sin has, in itself, laid -upon you, but if, at any time in your future -life, you feel that you care to say, ‘Mother,’ -it will be a pleasant sound to my ears.”</p> - -<p>Ruth reflected, afterward, with a sense of -thankfulness, that she had grace enough left to -bend forward and kiss her father’s white forehead, -and pass her hand tenderly over the moist -locks of gray hair above his temples. Then she -went out and went away. She could have -spoken no word just then. She was struggling -with two conflicting feelings. In her soul she -was glad for her father; that he had got help, -and that his heavy cross was growing into peace. -But all the same—she felt now, and felt with a -dull aching at her heart which refused to be -comforted, that she herself had not found peace -in it; that it was, if anything, more bitter than -ever, and that she had lost her father. Is it any -wonder that life to her stretched out gloomily?</p> - -<p>Many changes had taken place during their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -enforced exile from the world. Eurie Mitchell -had married and gone, and Flossy Shipley had -married and gone, both of them to new homes -and new friends, and both of them had, by their -departure, made great gulfs in Ruth’s life. They -had written her characteristic notes along with -their wedding cards. Eurie’s ran thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>Dear Ruth</i>—I fancy you bearing it like a -martyr, as I know you can. I always said you -would make a magnificent martyr, but I am so -sorry that the experiment has come in such a -shape that we can’t look on and watch its becomingness. -Also, I am very sorry that you can not -be present to see me ‘stand up in the great big -church without any bonnet!’ which is the way -in which our baby characterizes the ceremony. -In fact, I am almost as sorry about that as I am -that father should have been out of town during -the first few days of Judge Erskine’s illness, and -so given that Dr. Bacon a chance to be installed. -Father doesn’t happen to agree with him on -some points, and the care of small-pox patients -is one thing in which they totally differ. However, -your father is going on finely, so far, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>I -hear, and you know, my dear, that Dr. Bacon -<i>is very</i> celebrated; so be as brave as you can -and it will all come out right, I dare say. In -fact we <i>know</i> it will. Isn’t that a comfort? -There are ever so many things that I might say -if I could, but you know I was never able to put -my heart on paper. So imagine some of the -heart-thoughts which beat for you, while I sign -myself for the last time,</p> - -<div class="sig"> -“<span class="smcap">Eurie Mitchell</span>.”<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>Ruth laughed over this note. “It is so exactly -like her,” she murmured. “I wonder if she will -ever tone down?”</p> - -<p>Flossy’s was smaller, daintier, delicately perfumed -with the faintest touch of violets, and -read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<i>Dear, Precious Friend</i>—‘The eternal God -is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting -arms.’ How safe you are! ‘Oh, thou afflicted, -tossed with tempest and not comforted! Behold, -I will lay thy stones with fair colors; with -everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, -saith the Lord, thy Redeemer.’ Blessed Jesus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -do for Ruth ‘As thou hast said.’ This is -Flossy Shipley’s prayer for her dear friend, -whom she will love and cherish forever.”</p></div> - -<p>Over this note Ruth shed hot tears. She was -touched and comforted and saddened; she realized -more than ever before what a spiritual loss -Flossy’s going was to be to her, and she did not -come closer to the One who would have made -amends for all losses.</p> - -<p>Perhaps she had never felt the dreariness of -her existence more than she did on a certain -evening, some weeks after the household had -settled into its accustomed routine of life, which -was like and yet utterly unlike what that life -had been before the invasion of disease.</p> - -<p>It was dark outside, and the rain was falling -heavily; there was little chance of relief from -monotony by the arrival of guests. Ruth wandered -aimlessly through the library in search of -a book that she felt willing to read, and, finding -none, turned at last to the sitting-room, where -Judge Erskine and his wife were sitting. Secure -in the prospect of rain, and therefore seclusion, -he had arrayed himself in dressing-gown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -and slippers, and was resting his scarred, seamed -face among the cushions of the easy-chair, enjoying -a luxury, which was none other than that of -having his gray hair carefully and steadily -brushed, the brush passing with the regularity -of a sentinel on its slow, soothing track, guided -by his wife’s hand, while Judge Erskine’s face -bore unmistakable signs of reposeful rest. There -was that in the scene which irritated Ruth almost -beyond control. She passed quickly through -the room, into the most remote corner of the -alcove, which was curtained off from the main -room, and afforded a retreat for the piano, and -a pretext for any one who desired to use it and -be alone. It was not that <i>she</i> had ever waited -thus upon her father; she had never thought of -approaching him in this familiar way. Even -had she dared to do so, their make-up was, after -all, so utterly dissimilar that, what was evidently -a sedative to him, would have driven his -daughter fairly wild. To have any one, however -dear and familiar, touch her hair, draw a brush -through it, would have irritated her nerves in -her best days. She thought of it then, as she -sat down in the first seat that she reached, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -the friendly crimson curtains hid her from those -two—sat with her chin resting in her two listless -hands, and tried to wonder what she should -do if she were forced to lie among the cushions -of that easy-chair in there, and have <i>that</i> woman -brush her hair.</p> - -<p>“I should choke her, I know I should!” she -said, with sudden fierceness; and then, with -scarcely less fierceness of tone and manner added: -“I hope it will never be my awful fate to have -to be taken care of by her, or to have to endure -the sight of her presence about any one I love. -Oh, what is the matter with me! I grow -wicked every hour. What <i>will</i> become of me?”</p> - -<p>After all, there were those who were not -afraid of the rain, and were not to be kept from -their purposes by it. Ruth listened indifferently -at first, then with a touch of eagerness, to the -sound of the bell, and the tones in the hall, and -then to the sound of Judge Burnham’s step as -he was being shown to the sitting-room. The -new help had been in the house just long enough -to discover that he was a privileged and unceremonious -guest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah!” he said, pausing in the doorway -“Am I disturbing? Sick to-night, Judge?”</p> - -<p>“Come in,” said Judge Erskine’s hearty -voice. “No, I am not sick, only dreadfully -lazy and being petted. When I was a boy, and -mother used to brush my hair, nothing soothed -and rested me so much, and I find I haven’t -lost the old habit. Have a chair, and tell us the -evening news. I haven’t been out of the house -since dinner.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing specially new,” said Judge Burnham, -dropping into an easy-chair and looking -around him inquiringly. “Where are the -ladies?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Mrs. Erskine, brushing away -steadily, “Susan is in the kitchen; she mostly -is these days. Such a time as we are having -with servants; I wonder she don’t get sick of -the whole set and tell them to tramp. Just now, -though, she has got hold of one who seems willing -enough to learn; and Susan heard her pa -say this noon that he believed he would like -some muffins once more, so she is down there -trying to teach Mollie about setting muffins, -and beating of it into her to let them alone in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -the morning till <i>she</i> gets down to ’tend to them.”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Judge Erskine, in a tone of tenderness -that jarred Ruth’s ears, “I wonder if -she is attending to that? What a child she is! -She will wear herself out waiting on me.”</p> - -<p>“There ain’t a selfish streak about her,” Mrs. -Erskine said, complacently “nor never was. -But la! you needn’t fret about her, Judge; she -loves to do it. She went down in the first -place to ’tend to that, but she has got another -string to her bow now; she found out that Mollie -didn’t know how to read writing, and had a -letter from her mother that she couldn’t make -out, so Susan read it to her, and the next thing -was to write her an answer, and she is at that -now.”</p> - -<p>“And where is Miss Ruth?” questioned -Judge Burnham, the instant this long sentence -was concluded.</p> - -<p>“Why, she is moping—that’s the best name I -know for it. She is back there in the alcove. -I thought she went to play, but she hasn’t played -a note. That child needs a change. I’m just -that worried about her that her white face haunts -me nights when I’m trying to sleep. She has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -had an awful hard siege; her pa so sick, and -she obliged to keep away from him, and not -being sure whether I knew more than a turnip -about taking care of him—I wonder how she -stood it. And I’m just afraid she will break -down yet. She needs something to rest her up -and give her some color in her cheeks. I keep -telling her pa that he ought to do something.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I go and help her mope,” Judge -Burnham said, rising in the midst of a flow of -words, and speedily making his way behind the -red curtains.</p> - -<p>He came over to Ruth, holding out both -hands to greet her.</p> - -<p>“How do you do?” he said, and there was -tender inquiry in the tone. “You didn’t know -I was in town, did you? I came two days -sooner than I had hoped.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know you were out of town,” said -Ruth. “I thought you had deserted us like the -rest of our friends.”</p> - -<p>“So you didn’t get my note?” he asked, looking -blank. “Well, never mind; it was merely -an explanation of an absence which I hoped -you might notice. Mrs. Erskine says you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -moping, Ruth. Is it true? She says you need -a change and something to rest you up. I wish -you would let me give you a change. Don’t you -think you could?”</p> - -<p>“A change!” Ruth repeated, with a little -laugh, and there was color enough in her cheeks -just then.</p> - -<p>“Why should <i>I</i> need a change? What do -you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I mean a great deal. I want to give you -such a change as will affect all your future life -and mine. I would like to have you change -name and home. Oh, Ruth, I would like to -devote my life to the business of ‘resting you -up.’ Don’t you believe I can do it?”</p> - -<p>Now, I am sure there is no need for me to -give you Ruth Erskine’s answer. You probably -understand what it was. Unless I am mistaken, -you understand her better than she did herself. -Up to this very moment she actually had not -realized what made up the bulk of her unrest -this week. No, not the bulk either; there were -graver questions even than this one which might -well disturb her, but she had not understood her -own footing with Judge Burnham, nor had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -scarcely a conception of his feelings toward her.</p> - -<p>The low murmur of talk went on, after a little, -behind the red curtains, and continued long -after Judge Erskine and his wife went up-stairs. -Just as he was turning out the gas in their dressing-room, -that gentleman said:</p> - -<p>“Unless I am mistaken, Judge Burnham would -like to give Ruth a decided change.”</p> - -<p>“Land alive!” said Mrs. Erskine, taking in -his meaning, after a little, “I declare, now you -speak of it, I shouldn’t wonder if he did.” -Then she added, kindly, genuinely: “And I’m -sure I hope it’s true; I tell you that child needs -resting up.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> - -<small>SHADOWED JOYS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-o1.jpg" alt="O" width="88" height="42" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-o2.jpg" alt="O" width="67" height="73" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">ONE of the first experiences connected -with Ruth’s new life was a surprise and -a trial. She did not act in the matter as almost -any other young lady would have done. Indeed, -perhaps, you do not need to be told that it was -not her <i>nature</i> to act as most others would in -like circumstances. She kept the story an entire -secret with her own heart. Not even her -father suspected that matters were settled; perhaps, -though, this last is to be accounted for by -the fact that Judge Burnham went away, again -on business, by the early train the morning after -he had arranged for Ruth’s change of home and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -name, and did not return again for a week. -During that week, as I say, Ruth hugged her -new joy and kept her own counsel. Yet it was -<i>joy</i>. Her heart was in this matter. Strangely -enough it had been a surprise to her. She had -understood Judge Burnham much less than -others, looking on, had done, and so gradual and -subtle had been the change in her own feeling -from almost dislike to simple indifference, and -from thence to quickened pulse and added interest -in life at his approach, that she had not in -the remotest sense realized the place which he -held in her heart until his own words revealed it -to her. That she liked him better than any -other person, she began to know; but when she -thought about it at all it seemed a most natural -thing that she should. It was not saying a great -deal, she told herself, for she really liked very -few persons, and there had never been one so -exceptionally kind and unselfish and patient. -What should she do but like him? Sure -enough! And yet, when he asked her to be his -wife, it was as complete a surprise as human experiences -could ever have for her. Desolate, -afflicted, deserted, as she felt, it is no wonder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -that the revelation of another’s absorbed interest -in her filled her heart.</p> - -<p>As I say, then, she lived it alone for one delightful -week. It was the afternoon of the day -on which she expected Judge Burnham’s return, -and she knew that his first step would be an interview -with her father. She determined to be -herself the bearer of the news to Susan. During -this last week, whenever she thought of her sister, -it had been a tender feeling of gratitude for -all the quiet, unobtrusive help and kindness that -she had shown since she first came into the family. -Ruth determined to show that she reposed -confidence in her, and for this purpose sought -her room, ostensibly on some trivial errand, then -lingered and looked at a book that lay open, face -downward, as if to keep the place, on Susan’s -little table. Susan herself was arranging her -hair over at the dressing bureau. Ruth never -forgot any of the details of this afternoon scene. -She took up the little book and read the title, -“The Rest of Faith.” It had a pleasant sound. -<i>Rest</i> of any sort sounded pleasantly to Ruth. -She saw that it was a religious book, and she -dimly resolved that some other time, when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -felt quieter, had less important plans to carry -out, she would read this book, look more closely -into this matter, and find, if she could, what it -was that made the difference between Susan’s -experience and her own. That there was a difference -was <i>so</i> evident; and yet, without realizing -it, Ruth’s happiness of the last few days was -making her satisfied with her present attainments -spiritually. No, not exactly satisfied, but willing -to put the matter aside for a more convenient -season.</p> - -<p>“I have something to tell you that I think -you will be interested to hear,” she said, at last, -still turning the leaves of the little book, and -feeling more embarrassed than she had supposed -it possible for <i>her</i> to feel.</p> - -<p>“Have you?” said Susan, brightly. “Good! -I like to hear new things, especially when they -have to do with my friends.” And there was -that in her tone which made her sister understand -that she desired to convey the thought -that she felt close to Ruth, and wanted to be -held in dear relations. For the first time in her -life Ruth was conscious of being willing.</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham is to return to-day.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, I heard you speaking of it.”</p> - -<p>There was wonderment in Susan’s tone, almost -as well as words could have done. It said: -“What is there specially interesting in that?”</p> - -<p>“Do you feel ready to receive him in a new -relation?” Ruth asked, and she was vexed to -feel the blood surging into her cheeks. “I think -he has a desire to be very brotherly.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ruth!”</p> - -<p>There was no mistaking Susan’s tone this time. -She had turned from the mirror and was surveying -her sister with unmistakably mournful eyes, -and there was astonished sorrow in her tones. -What could be the trouble! Whatever it was -Ruth resented it.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said haughtily, “I seem to have -disturbed as well as surprised you. I was not -aware that the news would be disagreeable.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, Ruth. I <i>am</i> very much -surprised. I had not supposed such a thing -possible.”</p> - -<p>“Why, pray?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Ruth, dear, he is not a Christian?”</p> - -<p>It would be impossible to describe to you the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -consternation in Susan’s face and voice, and the -astonishment in Ruth’s.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said again, “it is surely not the -first time you were conscious of that fact. He -will be in no more danger in that respect with me -for a wife. At least I trust he will not.”</p> - -<p>Susan had no answer to make to this strange -sentence. She stood, brush in hand, gazing -bewilderingly at Ruth’s face for a moment. -Then, recollecting herself, turned toward the -mirror again, with the simple repeatal:</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon. I did not mean to hurt -your feelings.”</p> - -<p>As for Ruth, it would have been difficult for -her to analyze her feelings. <i>Were</i> they hurt? -Was she angry? If so, at what or whom? Her -heart felt in a tumult.</p> - -<p>Now, I want you to understand that, strange -as it may appear, this was a new question to her. -That Judge Burnham was not a Christian man -she knew, and regretted. But, that it should -affect her answer to his question was a thought -which had not once presented itself. She turned -and went out from that room without another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -word, and feeling that she never wanted to say -any more words to that girl.</p> - -<p>“It is no use,” she said, aloud and angrily. -“We can never be anything to each other, and -it is folly to try. We are set in different molds. -I no sooner try to make a friend and confidant -of her than some of her tiresome notions crop -out and destroy it all.”</p> - -<p>She knew that all this was nonsense. She -knew it was the working of conscience on her -own heart that was at this moment making her -angry; and yet she found the same relief which -possibly you and I have felt in blaming somebody -for something, aloud, even while our -hearts gainsayed our words.</p> - -<p>It is not my purpose to linger over this part of -Ruth Erskine’s history. The time has come to -go on to other scenes. But in this chapter I -want to bridge the way, by a word or two of -explanation, so that you may the better understand -Ruth’s mood, and the governing principle -of her actions, in the days that followed.</p> - -<p>By degrees she came to a quieter state of -mind—not, however, until the formalities of -the new relation were arranged, and Judge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -Burnham had become practically almost one of -the family. She grew to realizing that it was a -strange, perhaps an unaccountable thing that -she, a Christian, should have chosen for her life-long -friend and hourly companion one who was -really hardly a believer in the Christ to whom -she had given herself. She grew to feeling that -if this thought had come first, before that promise -was made, perhaps she ought to have made a -different answer. But I shall have to confess -that she drew in with this thought a long breath -of relief as she told herself it was settled <i>now</i>. -There was no escape from promises as solemn as -those which had passed between them; that -such covenants were, doubtless, in God’s sight, -as sacred as the marriage relation itself, and she -was glad, to the depths of her soul, that she -believed this reasoning to be correct.</p> - -<p>At the same time there was a curious sensation -of aversion toward the one who had, as it -seemed to her, rudely disturbed the first flush of -her happiness. The glamour was gone from it -all. Henceforth a dull pain, a sense of want, a -questioning as to whether she was just where -she should be, came in with all the enjoyment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -and she struggled with the temptation to feel -vindictive toward this disturber of her peace. -Besides this, she confided to Judge Burnham -the fact that Susan thought she was doing wrong -in engaging herself to a man who was not a -Christian; and, while he affected to laugh over -it good-naturedly, as a bit of fanaticism which -would harm no one, and which was the result of -her narrow-minded life hitherto, it meant more -than that to him—jarred upon him—and Ruth -could see that it did. It affected, perhaps insensibly, -his manner toward the offending party. -He was not as “brotherly” as he had designed -being; and altogether, Susan, since the change -was to come, did not regret that Judge Burnham’s -disposition was to hurry it with all possible -speed. Life was less pleasant to her now -than it had been any time since her entrance -into this distinguished family. The pleasant -little blossom of tenderness which had seemed to -be about to make itself fragrant for her sister -and herself had received a rude blast, and was -likely to die outright.</p> - -<p>During the weeks that followed there were -other developments which served to startle Ruth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -as hardly anything had done hitherto. They -can best be explained by giving you the substance -of a conversation between Judge Burnham -and herself.</p> - -<p>“I ought to tell you something,” he said, -and the brief sentence was preceded and followed -by a pause of such length, and by such -evident embarrassment, that Ruth’s laugh had -a tinge of wonder in it, as she said, “Then, by -all means I hope you will do so.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it is not altogether new to you?” -he said, inquiringly. “Your father has doubtless -told you somewhat of my past life.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “Absolutely nothing, -save that you were, like himself, a lawyer, resident -in the city during term-time, and having -a country-seat somewhere. He didn’t seem -to be very clear as to that. Where is it? I -think I shall be glad to live in the country. I -never tried it, but I have an idea that it must -be delightful to get away from the tumult of the -city. Do you enjoy it?”</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham’s unaccountable embarrassment -increased. “You wouldn’t like <i>my</i> country-seat,” -he said decidedly. “I never mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -you to see it, if it can be helped. There is a -long story connected with it, and with that part -of my life. I am sorry that it is entirely new -to you; the affair will be more difficult for you -to comprehend. May I ask you if you mean -you are <i>utterly</i> ignorant of my early life? Is it -unknown to you that I have once been a married -man?”</p> - -<p>There was no mistaking the start and the -flush of surprise, if it was no deeper feeling, that -Ruth exhibited. But she answered quietly -enough:</p> - -<p>“I am entirely ignorant of your past history, -viewed in any phase.”</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham drew a heavy sigh.</p> - -<p>“I said the story was a long one, but I can -make it very brief.” He began: “You know -that a life-time of joy, or misery can be expressed -in one sentence. Well, I married when I was a -boy; married in haste and repented at leisure, as -many a boy has. My wife died when we had -been living together for five years, and I have -two daughters. They are almost women, I suppose, -now. The oldest is seventeen, and they -live at the place which you call my country-seat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -Now, these are the headlines of the story. Perhaps -you could imagine the rest better than I -can tell you. The filling out would take hours, -and would be disagreeable both to you and to -me. I trust you will let me relieve you from the -trial of hearing. There is one thing I specially -desire to say to you before this conversation -proceeds further: that is, I supposed, of course, -you were familiar with these outlines, at least so -far as my marriage is concerned, else I should -have told you long ago. I have not meant to -take any unfair advantage of you. I had not an -idea that I was doing so.”</p> - -<p>“Does my father know that you have daughters?” -This was Ruth’s question, and her -voice, low and constrained, sounded so strangely -to herself that she remembered noticing it even -then.</p> - -<p>“I do not know. It is more than probable -that he does not. Indeed, I am not sure that -any acquaintance of mine in the city knows -this part of my history. My married life was -isolated from them all. I have not attempted to -conceal it, and, at the same time, I have made no -effort to tell it. I am painfully conscious of how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -all this must look to you, yet I know you will -believe that I intended no deception. With regard -to the—to my daughters, my professional -life has kept me from them almost constantly, -so that no idea of <i>our</i> home—yours and mine—is -associated with them. I have no intention -of burying you in the country, and indeed my -errand here at this hour was to talk with you in -regard to the merits of two hotels, at either of -which we can secure desirable rooms.”</p> - -<p>He hurried over this part of his sentence in a -nervous way, as one who was trying, by a rapid -change of subject, to turn the current of thought. -Ruth brought him back to it with a question -which stabbed him.</p> - -<p>“But, Judge Burnham, what sort of a father -can you have been all these years?” He flushed -and paled under it, and under the steadiness of -her gaze.</p> - -<p>“I—I have hardly deserved the name of -father, I suppose, and yet in some respects I -have tried to do what it seemed to me I could. -Ruth, you don’t understand the situation. You -think you do, and it looks badly to you, but -there are circumstances which make it a peculiarly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -trying one. However, they are not circumstances -which need to touch <i>you</i>. I meant -and I mean to shield you from all these trials. -I asked you to be, not my housekeeper, not a -care-taker of two girls who would be utterly -uncongenial to you, but my <i>wife</i>, and—”</p> - -<p>She interrupted him. “And do you suppose, -Judge Burnham, that you and I can settle down -to a life together of selfish enjoyment in each -others’ society, ignoring the claims which your -children have on you, and which, assuredly, if -I become your wife, they <i>will have</i> on me? -Could you respect me if I were willing to do -so?”</p> - -<p>It was clear that Judge Burnham was utterly -confounded. He arose and stood confronting -her, for she had risen to draw aside a fire-screen, -and had not, in speaking, resumed her seat. -“You do not understand,” he muttered, at last. -“I have meant nothing wrong. I provide for -them, and am willing to do so. I see that they -are taken care of; I do not propose to desert -them, but it would be simply preposterous to -think of burying you up there in the country -with that sort of companionship! You do not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -know what you are talking about. I have never -for a moment, thought of such a thing.”</p> - -<p>“Then it is clearly time to think. If I do not -understand <i>you</i>, Judge Burnham, neither do -you understand me. My life has been anything -but a perfect one, or a happy one. I have gone -so far wrong myself that it ill becomes me to -find fault with others. But there is one thing -I will never do. I will never come between a -father and his children, separating them from -the place which they ought to have beside him. -<i>Never!</i>”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> - -<small>DUTY’S BURDEN.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-b1.jpg" alt="B" width="82" height="36" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-b2.jpg" alt="B" width="66" height="76" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">BY degrees Judge Burnham began to understand -the woman whom he had -chosen for his wife. Hitherto he had been in -the habit of being governed by his own will, of -bending forces to his strong purposes. Those -occasional characters with whom he came in contact, -who refused to be molded by him, he had -good-naturedly let alone, crossing their path as -little as possible, and teaching himself to believe -that they were not worth managing, which was -the sole reason why he did not manage them. -But Ruth Erskine was a new experience—she -<i>would do</i> what she believed to be the right<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -thing; and she <i>would not</i> yield her convictions -to be governed by his judgment. He could not -manage <i>her</i>, and he had no wish to desert her. -Clearly one of them must yield. The entire -affair served to keep him in a perturbed state of -mind.</p> - -<p>Ruth grew more settled. Weeks went by, -and her decisions were made, her plans formed, -and she walked steadily toward their accomplishment. -Not realizing it herself, she was yet engaged -in making a compromise with her conscience. -She believed herself, perhaps, to have -done wrong in promising to become the wife of -a man who ignored the principle which governed -her life. She would not give back that promise, -but she would make the life one of self-abnegation, -instead of—what for one brief week it -had seemed to her—a resting place, full of -light. She would be his wife, but she would -also be the mother of his daughters; she would -live with them, for them; give up her plans, her -tastes, her pursuits, for their sake. In short, -she would assume the martyr’s garb in good -earnest now, and wear it for a lifetime. The -more repulsive this course seemed to her—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -it grew very repulsive indeed—the more steadily -she clung to it; and it was not obstinacy, -you are to understand. It will do for such as -Judge Burnham to call such resolves by that -name; but you should know that Ruth Erskine -was all the time governed by a solemn sense of -duty. It was <i>cross</i>, hard, cold, unlightened by -any gleams of peace; but for all that it started -in a sense of <i>duty</i>.</p> - -<p>By degrees the “long story,” much of it, -came to light—rather was dragged to light—by -a persistent method of cross-questioning -which drove Judge Burnham to the very verge -of desperation.</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham,” she would begin, “how -have your daughters been cared for all these -years?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” he said, wriggling and trying to get -away from his own sense of degradation, “they -had good care; at least I supposed it was. -During their childhood their mother’s sister lived -there, and took the sole charge of them. She -was a kind-hearted woman enough, and did her -duty by them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But she died, you told me, when they were -still children.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that was when I was abroad. You see -when I went I expected to return in a year at -most, but I staid on, following one perplexing -tangle after another in connection with my business -affairs, until four or five years slipped away. -Meantime their aunt died, and the old housekeeper, -who had lived with their family since the -last century sometime, took her place, and managed -for them as well as she could. I didn’t -realize how things were going. I imagined -everything would come out right, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how they could,” Ruth said, -coldly, and Judge Burnham answered nothing.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t they attend school?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, they went to the country school -out there, you know, when there was one. It is -too near the city to secure good advantages, and -yet too far away for convenience. I meant, you -see, to have them in town, when I came home, -at the best schools, and boarding with me, but I -found it utterly impracticable—utterly so. You -have no conception of what five years of absence -will do for people.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can imagine something of what five years -of neglect would do.”</p> - -<p>Ruth said it icily—as she <i>could</i> speak. Then -he would say, “Oh, Ruth!” in a tone which -was entreating and almost pitiful. And he -would start up and pace back and forth through -the room for a moment, until brought back by -one of her stabbing questions.</p> - -<p>“How have they lived since your return?”</p> - -<p>“Why, right there, just where they always -have lived. It is the only home they have ever -known.”</p> - -<p>“And they are entirely alone?”</p> - -<p>“Why, no. The housekeeper, of whom I -told you, had a daughter, a trustworthy woman, -and when her mother died this daughter moved -to the house, with her family, and has taken care -of them.”</p> - -<p>“And so, Judge Burnham, your two daughters -have grown to young ladyhood, isolated -from companionship, and from education, and -from refinements of every sort, even from their -own father, and have been the companions of -ignorant hirelings!”</p> - -<p>“I tell you, Ruth, you must see them before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -you can understand this thing,” he would exclaim, -in almost despair.</p> - -<p>“I assuredly mean to,” would be her quiet -answer, which answer drove him nearer to desperation -than he was before. At last he came -and stood before her.</p> - -<p>“You force me to speak plainly,” he said. -“I would have shielded you forever, and you -will not let me. These girls are not like your -class of girls. They have no interest in refined -pursuits. They have no refinement of feeling -or manner. They have no desire for education. -They do not even care to keep their persons in -ordinarily tasteful attire. They care nothing -for the refinements of home. They belong to a -lower order of being. It is simply impossible to -conceive of them as my children; and it is -utterly preposterous to think of your associating -with them in any way.”</p> - -<p>She was stilled at last—stunned, it would -seem—for she sat in utter silence for minutes -that seemed to him hours, while he stood before -her and waited. When at last she spoke, her -voice was not so cold as it had been, but it was -controlled and intensely grave.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And yet, Judge Burnham, they <i>are</i> your -children, and you are bound to them by the -most solemn and sacred vows which it is possible -for a man to take on his lips. How can you -ever hope to escape a just reward for ignoring -them? Now, I must tell you what I feel and mean. -I do not intend to be hard or harsh, and yet I -intend to be true. I am not sure that I am acting -or talking as other girls would, under like -circumstances; but that is a question which has -never troubled me. I am acting in what I believe -to be the right way. You have asked me -to be your wife, and I have promised in good -faith. It was before I knew any of this story, -which, in a sense, alters the ground on which we -stood. I will tell you plainly what I believe I -ought to do, and what, with my present views, I -<i>must</i> do. I will give my life to helping you in -this matter. I will go up to that home of yours -and hide myself with those girls, and we will -both do what we can to retrieve the mistakes of -a lifetime. I will struggle and plan and endure -for them. I am somewhat versed in the duties -which this sort of living involves, as you know, -and in the crosses which it brings. Perhaps it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -was for this reason they were sent to me. I -have chafed under them, and been weak and -worthless, God knows; and yet I feel that perhaps -he is giving me another chance. I will try -to do better work for him, in your home, than I -have in my own. At any rate, I <i>must try</i>. If -I fail, it shall be after the most solemn and earnest -efforts that I can make. But, as I said, it -<i>must be</i> tried. This is not all self-sacrifice, -Judge Burnham. I mean that I could not do it, -would not see that I had any right to do it, if I -had not given my heart to <i>you;</i> and if for the -love of you I could not trust myself to help you -in <i>your</i> duty. But you must fully understand -that it seems unquestionably to be your duty. -You must not shirk it; I must never help you -to shirk it; I should not dare. I will go with you -to that home, and be with you a member of that -family. But I can never make with you another -home that does not include the <i>family</i>. I <i>must -never do it</i>.”</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham hoped to turn her away from -this decision, which was, to him, simply an -awful one! Do you imagine that he accomplished -it? I believe you know her better. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -is necessary for you to remember that he did not -understand the underlying motive by which she -was governed. When she said, “I <i>must</i> not do -it,” he did not understand that she meant her -vows to Christ would not let her. He believed, -simply, that she set her judgment above his, in -this matter, and determined that she <i>would</i> not -yield it. The struggle was a severe one. At -times he felt as though he would say to her, if -she “<i>must</i> not” share with him the home he -had so lovingly and tenderly planned for her, -why, then, <i>he</i> must give her up. The only reason -that he did not say this, was because he did -not dare to try it. He had not the slightest -intention of giving her up; and he was afraid -she would take him at his word, as assuredly she -would have done. She was dearer to him, in -her obstinacy, than anything in life—and nothing -must be risked. Therefore was he sore -beset; and, as often as he renewed the struggle, -he came off worsted. How could it be otherwise, -when Ruth could constantly flee back to -that unanswerable position—“Judge Burnham, -it is <i>wrong;</i> I <i>must</i> not do it?” What if -<i>he</i> didn’t understand her? He saw that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -understood herself, and meant what she said.</p> - -<p>So it came to pass that, as the days went by, -and the hour for the marriage drew nearer and -nearer, Judge Burnham felt the plans, so dear to -his heart, slipping away from under his control. -Ruth would be <i>married</i>. Well, that was a great -point gained. But she would not go away for a -wedding journey; she would not go to the -Grand Hotel, where he desired to take rooms—no, -not for a day, or hour. She would not have -the trial of contrast between the few, first bright -days of each other, and the dismal days following, -when they had each other, with something -constantly coming between. She would go -directly to that country home, and nowhere else -She would go to it just as it was. He was not -to alter the surroundings or the outward life, -in one single respect. She meant to see the -home influence which had molded those girls -exactly as it had breathed about them, without -any outside hand to change it. She proposed -to do the changing herself. One little bit of -compromise her stern conscience admitted—her -future husband might fit up one room for her -use—her private retreat—according to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -individual taste, and she would accept it from -him as hers. But the outer life, that was to be -lived as a family, he must not touch.</p> - -<p>“But Ruth,” he said, “you do not understand. -Things have utterly gone to decay. There was -no one to care, or appreciate; there was no one -to <i>take</i> care of anything, and I let everything -go.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” she said; “then we will see -what our united tastes can do, toward setting -everything right, when we come to feel what is -wanted.”</p> - -<p>“Then couldn’t you go with me and see the -place, a few weeks before we go there, and give -directions, such as you would like to see carried -out?—just a few, you know, such as you can -take in at a glance, to make it a little more like -home?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head decidedly. No, indeed. -She was not going there to spy out the desolation -of the land. She was going to it as a <i>home;</i> -and if, as a home, it was defective, together -they—he, his daughters and herself—would -see what was needed, and remodel it.</p> - -<p>How dismally he shook his head over that!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -He knew his daughters, and she did not. He -tried again:</p> - -<p>“But, Ruth, it is five miles from the railroad. -How will it be possible to ride ten miles by -train, and five by carriage, night and morning, -and attend to business?”</p> - -<p>“Easily,” she said, quietly; “except in term-time. -The busiest season that my father ever -had we were in the country, and he came out -nearly every evening. In term-time we must <i>all</i> -come into town and board, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>He winced over this, and was silent, and -felt himself giving up his last hope of holding -this thing in check, and began to realize that he -loved this future wife of his very much indeed, -else he could never submit to such a state of -things. He believed it would last for but a -little while—just long enough for her to see the -hopelessness of things. But this “seeing,” with -her, into all its hopelessness, was what he shrank -from.</p> - -<p>So the days went by; not much joy in them -for any one concerned. Away from Ruth’s influence, -Judge Burnham was annoyed, to such a -degree, that he could hardly make a civil answer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -to the most ordinary question; and his -office clerks grumbled among themselves that, -if it made such a bear of a man to know that in -three weeks he was to have a wife, they hoped -their turn would never come. Away from his -presence, Ruth was grave to a degree that threw -an added shadow over the home-life. Susan -felt herself to be in disgrace with her sister, and -had been unable thus far, to rise above it, and -be helpful, as she would have liked to be. Judge -Erskine, hearing more details from his friend -than from his daughter, sympathized with her -strong sense of duty, honored her, rejoiced in -her strength of purpose, and was <i>sorry</i> for her, -realizing, more than before, what a continuous -chain of trial her life had been of late. -Therefore, his tone was tender and sympathizing, -when he spoke to her, but sad, as one who -felt <i>too</i> deeply, and was not able to impart -strength.</p> - -<p>As for Mrs. Erskine, she had so much to say -about the strangeness of it all—wondering how -Judge Burnham could have managed to keep -things so secret, and how the girls looked, -whether they favored him, or their ma, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -whether they would be comfortable sort of -persons to get along with—that Ruth was -driven to the very verge of distraction, and felt, -at times, that, to get out of that house, into any -other on earth, would be a relief.</p> - -<p>There was much ado, also, about that wedding. -Mrs. Erskine wanted marvelous things—an -illumination, and a feast, and a crowd, and -all the resources of the rain-bow, as to bridal -toilet. But here, as in other matters, Ruth held -steadily to her own way, and brought it to pass—a -strictly private wedding, in the front parlor -of her father’s house; not a person, outside -of the Erskine family circle, to witness the ceremony, -save Marion Dennis; she, by virtue of -being Dr. Dennis’ wife, gained admission. But -Marion Dennis’ tears fell fast behind the raised -handkerchief, which shielded her face during -the solemn prayer. She knew, in detail, some -of Ruth’s plans. She knew, better than Ruth -did—so <i>she</i> thought—that plans are sometimes -hard to carry out. How many <i>she</i> had indulged -and, at this moment, there sat at home, her -haughty daughter, Grace, entirely unforgiving, -because of <i>her</i> “meddling”—so she styled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -earnest attempts to shield her from danger. To -Marion, Ruth’s future had never looked less -hopeful than it did on this marriage morning.</p> - -<p>It may be that her own disappointments -caused some of the flowing tears; but her <i>heart</i> -ached for Ruth. What should <i>she</i> do without -a Christian husband—a husband entirely in -sympathy with every effort, and entirely tender -with every failure of hers! What was Ruth to -do, with Judge Burnham for a husband, instead -of Dr. Dennis! How were the trials of life to -be borne with any man living except this <i>one!</i></p> - -<p>Thus reasoned silly Marion—unconsciously, -indeed; but that was as it seemed to her.</p> - -<p>Well for Ruth, that even at this moment, she -could look into the face of the man whom she had -chosen, and feel: “It is after all, for <i>him</i>. There -is no other person for whom I could begin this -life.”</p> - -<p>Said a friend, the other day, in sympathetic -tones, as she spoke of a young bride going -far from her home and her mother: “I feel -<i>so</i> sorry for her. It is such a trying experience, -all alone, away from all her early friends.”</p> - -<p>“But,” I said, “after all, she doesn’t go as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -far as you told me you did, when you were -married.”</p> - -<p>The answer was quick:</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; but then I had <i>my husband</i>, you -know; and she—”</p> - -<p>And then she stopped to laugh.</p> - -<p>So it was a blessed thing that Ruth Burnham, -going out from the home which had sheltered -her, felt that she went <i>with her husband</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> - -<small>EMBARRASSMENT AND MERRIMENT.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-i1.jpg" alt="I" width="97" height="31" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-i2.jpg" alt="I" width="66" height="86" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">I SUPPOSE there was never a bride going -out from her home, with her husband, -who was more silent than was our Ruth. It -was the silence of constraint, too. It was -such a little journey! ten miles or so, by train, -then five by carriage, and then—what <i>were</i> they -coming to? If only it had been her husband’s -happy home, where treasures were waiting to -greet him, and be clasped to his heart, Ruth felt -that it would have been <i>so</i> much easier.</p> - -<p>Yet I think, very likely, she did not understand -her own heart. Probably the easiest -excuse that we can make for ourselves, or for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -our shrinking from duties, is, “If it were <i>only</i> -something else, I could do it.” I think it quite -likely that had Ruth been going to just such a -home as she imagined would make her cross -lighter, she would have been jealous of those -clasping hands and tender kisses. The human -heart is a strange instrument, played upon in all -sorts of discords, even when we think there is -going to be music. As it was, the certainty of -her husband’s disapproval, the sense of strangeness, -and the sense of shrinking from the new -trials, and the questioning as to whether, after -all, she had done right, all served to depress -Ruth’s heart and hush her voice, to such a degree -that she felt speech was impossible. I want to -linger a minute over one sentence—the questioning -as to whether, after all, she had done -right. There is no more miserable state of -mind than this. It is such dreadful ground for -the <i>Christian</i> to occupy! Yet, practically, half -the Christians in the world are there. Theoretically, -we believe ourselves to be led, even in the -common affairs of life, by the All-wise Spirit of -God; theoretically, we believe that <i>He</i> can -make no mistake; theoretically, we believe that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -it is just as easy to get an answer from that -Spirit—“a word behind thee,” as the Bible -phrases it, directing us which way to go—as it is -to hear our human friend answer to our call. -But, practically, what <i>do</i> we believe? What is -the reason that so much of our life is given up -to mourning over <i>possible</i> mistakes? Is it because -we choose to decide some questions for -ourselves without bringing them to the test of -prayer? or because, having asked for direction, -we failed to watch for the answer, or expect it, -and so lost the “still small voice?” Or is it, -sometimes, because having heard the voice, we -regret its direction and turn from it, and choose -our own?</p> - -<p>Ruth Burnham was conscious of none of -these states. She had prayed over this matter; -indeed, it seemed to her that she had done little -else than pray, of late; and, in some points, she -was strong, feeling that her feet had been set -upon a rock. But in others there was, at this -too late moment, a sense of faltering. “Might -she not,” asked her conscience of her, “have -yielded somewhat? Would it have worked any -ill for them both to have gone away from everybody<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -for a few weeks, as Judge Burnham so -desired to do, and have learned to know and -help each other, and have learned to talk freely -together about this new home, and have grown -stronger together, before facing this manifest -duty?”</p> - -<p>I do not tell you she might have done all this. -Perhaps her first position, that it would have -been unwise and unhelpful, was the right one. -I think we do, sometimes, put added touches of -our own to the cross that the Father lays upon -us, making it shade in gloom, when he would -have tinted it with the sunlight. But I do not -say that Ruth had done this. I don’t know -which was wise. What I <i>am</i> sure of is, that -she, having left it to Christ; having asked for -his direction, and having received it (for unless -she thought she had been shown the step to -take, assured she ought not to have stepped,) -she had no right to unrest herself and strap on -to her heart the burden of that wearying question, -“<i>Did</i> I, after all, do right?”</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham could match her in quietness. -He had her beside him at last. She was his -wife; she bore his name; henceforth their interests<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -were one. Thus much of what he had -months ago set himself steadily to accomplish -had been accomplished. But not a touch of the -details was according to his plans. The situation -in which he found himself was so new and -so bewildering, that while he meant, for her -sake, to make the best of it until such time as -she should see that she was wrong and he right, -yet, truth to tell, he hardly knew how to set -about making the best of it.</p> - -<p>He did what he could. No topic for conversation -that suggested itself to his mind seemed -entirely safe. And, beside, what use to try to -converse for so short a journey? So he contented -himself with opening her car-window, -and dropping her blind, and arranging her travelling-shawl -comfortably for a shoulder-support, -and in other nameless, thoughtful ways making -this bit of a journey bright with care-taking -tenderness. It served to show Ruth how royally -he would have cared for her in the longer -journey which he wanted, and which she -wouldn’t have. Whereupon she immediately -said to her heart “Perhaps it would have been -better if I had yielded.” And that made her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -miserable. There was no time to yield now. -The station was called out, and there was bustle -and haste and no little nervousness in getting off -in time, for the train seemed, before it fairly -halted, to have been sorry for that attempt at -accommodation, and began to show signs of going -on again that were nerve-distracting. It annoyed -Judge Burnham to the degree that he -said, savagely, to the conductor, “It was hardly -worth while to stop, if you can’t do it more comfortably.” -He would have liked so much to -have been leisurely and comfortable; to have -done everything in a composed, travelled manner; -he understood so thoroughly all the details -of travelled life. Why <i>could</i> he not show Ruth -some of the comforts of it? That little station! -It was in itself a curiosity to Ruth. She had -not supposed, that ten miles away from a city, -anything could be so diminutive. A long, low, -unpainted building, with benches for seats, and -loungers spitting tobacco-juice for furniture. -There was evidently something unusual to stare -at. This was the presence of a quiet, tasteful -carriage, with handsome horses, and a driver -who indicated, by the very flourish of his whip,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -that this was a new locality to him. He and his -horses and his carriage belonged, unmistakably, -to city-life, and had rarely reached so far out.</p> - -<p>“Is this your carriage?” Ruth asked, surveying -it with a touch of satisfaction as Judge -Burnham made her comfortable among the cushions.</p> - -<p>“No, it is from town. There are no carriages -belonging to this enlightened region.”</p> - -<p>“How do your family reach the station, -then?”</p> - -<p>“They never reach it,” he answered, composedly. -He had resolved upon not trying to -smooth over anything.</p> - -<p>“But how did you get to and from the cars -when you were stopping here?”</p> - -<p>“On the rare occasions when I was so unfortunate -as to stop here I sometimes caught the -wagon which brings the mail and takes unfortunate -passengers; or, if I were too early for -that, there were certain milk-carts and vegetable-carts -which gave me the privilege of a ride, with -a little persuasion in the shape of money.”</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more studiedly polite than -Judge Burnham’s tone; but there was a covert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -sarcasm in every word he said. He seemed to -Ruth to be thinking, “I hope you realize the -uncomfortable position into which your obstinacy -has forced me.”</p> - -<p>Evidently not a touch of help was to be had -from him. What were they to talk about during -that five miles of travel over a rough road? -Ruth studied her brains to try to develop a subject -that would not make them even more -uncomfortable than they now felt. She was -unfortunate in selection, but it seemed impossible -to get away from the thoughts which were -just now so prominently before them. She suddenly -remembered a fact which surprised her, -and to which she gave instant expression.</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham, what are your daughter’s -names?”</p> - -<p>The gentleman thus addressed wrinkled his -forehead into a dozen frowns, and shook himself, -as though he would like to shake away all -remembrance of the subject, before he said:</p> - -<p>“Their very names are a source of mortification -to me. The elder is Seraphina and -the other Araminta. What do you think of -them?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ruth was silent and dismayed. This apparently -trivial circumstance served to show her -what a strange state of things existed in the -home whither she was going. She didn’t know -how to answer her husband’s question. She -was sorry that she had asked any. There -seemed no way out but to ask another, which, -in truth, pressed upon her.</p> - -<p>“How do you soften such names? What do -you call them when you address them?”</p> - -<p>“I call them nothing. I know of no way of -smoothing such hopeless cognomens, and I take -refuge in silence, or bewildering pronouns.”</p> - -<p>Ruth pondered over this answer long enough -to have her courage rise and to grow almost -indignant. Then she spoke again:</p> - -<p>“But, Judge Burnham, I do not see how you -could have allowed so strange a selection for -girls in this age of the world. Why didn’t you -save them from such a life-long infliction? Or, -was there some reason for the use of these names -that dignifies them—that makes them sacred?”</p> - -<p>“There is this sole reason for the names, and -for many things which you will find yourself unable -to understand. Their mother was a hopeless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -victim to fourth-rate sensation novels, and -named her daughters from that standpoint. I -was in reality powerless to interfere. You may -have discovered before this that I am not always -able to follow out the dictates of my own judgment, -and others, as well as myself, have to suffer -in consequence.”</p> - -<p>What could Ruth answer to this? She felt -its covert meaning; and so sure was she beginning -to feel that she had followed her own ideas, -instead of the leadings of any higher voice, that -she had not the heart to be offended with the -plainness of the insinuation. But she realized -that it was a strange conversation for a newly-made -husband and wife. She took refuge again -in silence. Judge Burnham tried to talk. He -asked if the seat she occupied was entirely comfortable, -and if she enjoyed riding, and if she -had tried the saddle, or thought she would enjoy -such exercise, and presently he said:</p> - -<p>“These are abominable roads. I am sorry to -have you so roughly treated in the very beginning -of our journey together. I did not want -roughness to come to you, Ruth. I thought -that you had endured enough.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was sorry that he said this. Her tears -were never nearer the surface than at this moment, -and she did not want to shed them. She -began to talk rapidly to him about the beauty -of the far-away hills which stretched bluely -before them, and he tried to help her effort and -appreciate them. Still it was too apparent just -then neither cared much for hills; and it was almost -a relief when the carriage at last drew up under -a row of elms. These, at least, were beautiful. -So was the long, irregular, grassy yard that -stretched away up the hill, and was shaded by -noble old trees. It required but a moment to -dismiss the carriage, and then her husband gave -her his arm, and together they toiled up the -straggling walk toward the long, low building, -which was in dire need of paint.</p> - -<p>“This yard is lovely,” Ruth said, and she -wondered if her voice trembled very much.</p> - -<p>“I used to like the yard, a hundred years or -so ago,” he answered sadly. “It really seems -to me almost as long ago as that since I had any -pleasant recollections of anything connected -with it.”</p> - -<p>“Was it your mother’s home?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, and his face grew tender. -“And she was a good mother, Ruth; I loved -the old house once for her sake.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can make you love it again for -mine.” Ruth said the words gently, with a tender -intonation that was very pleasant to hear, -and that not many people heard from her. -Judge Burnham was aware of it, and his grave -face brightened a little. He reached after her -hand, and held it within his own, and the pressure -he gave it said what he could not speak. -So they went up the steps of that low porch -with lighter hearts, after all, than had seemed -possible.</p> - -<p>The door at the end of that porch opened -directly into the front room, or “keeping room,” -as, in the parlance of that region of country, it -was called, though Ruth did not know it. The -opening of that door was a revelation to her. -She had never been in a real country room before. -There were green paper shades to the windows, -worn with years, and faded; and little twinkling -rays of the summer sunshine pushed in -through innumerable tiny holes, which holes, -curiously enough, Ruth saw and remembered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -and associated forever after with that hour and -moment. There was a rag carpet on the floor, -of dingy colors and uneven weaving. Ruth did -not even know the name of that style of carpet, -but she knew it was peculiar. There were cane-seated -chairs, standing in solemn rows at proper -intervals. There was a square table or “stand,” -if she had but known the proper name for it, -covered with a red cotton cloth having a gay -border and fringed edges. There was a wooden -chair or two, shrinking back from contact with -the “smarter” cane-seated ones; and there was -a large, old-fashioned, high-backed wooden rocker, -covered back and arms and sides, with a gay -patch-work cover, aglow with red and green -and yellow, and it seemed, to poor Ruth, a hundred -other dazzling colors, and the whole effect -reminded her forcibly of Mrs. Judge Erskine!</p> - -<p>Now, you have a list of every article of furniture -which this large room contained. No, I forget -the mantle-piece, though Ruth did not. It -was long and deep and high, and was adorned -with a curious picture or two, which would bear -studying before you could be sure what they -were, and with two large, bright, brass candlesticks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -and a tray and snuffers. Also, in the -center, a fair-sized kerosene lamp, which looked -depraved enough to smoke like a furnace, without -even waiting to be lighted! Also, there -were some oriental paintings in wooden frames -on the wall. Are you so fortunate as not to -understand what oriental paintings are? Then -you will be unable to comprehend a description -of Ruth’s face as her eye rested on them! Judge -Burnham was looking at her as her eye roved -swiftly and silently over this scene, not excepting -the curious paper, with which the walls -were hung in a pattern long gone by. He stood -a little at one side, affecting to raise an unmanageable -window sash. They were all unmanageable; -but in reality he was watching her, and I -must confess to you that this scene, contrasted -in his mind with the elegant home which his -wife had left, was fast taking a ludicrous side to -him. The embarrassments were great, and he -knew that they would thicken upon him, and -yet the desire to laugh overcame all other emotions. -His eyes danced, and he bit his lips to -restrain their mirth. But at last, when Ruth -turned and looked at him, the expression in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -face overcame him, and he burst forth into -laughter.</p> - -<p>It was a blessed thing for Ruth that she was -able to join him.</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” he said, wheeling the gay rocker -toward her. “I am sure you never occupied so -elegant a seat before. There is a great gray cat -belonging to the establishment who usually sits -in state here, but she has evidently vacated in -your favor to-day.”</p> - -<p>Ruth sank into the chair, unable to speak; the -strangeness of it all, and the conflicting emotions -stirring in her heart fairly took away the power -of speech. Judge Burnham came and stood beside -her.</p> - -<p>“We have entered into this thing, Ruth,” -he said, and his voice was not so hard as it had -been, “and there are embarrassments enough -certainly connected with it, and yet it is a home, -and it is <i>our</i> home—yours and mine—and we -are <i>together forever</i>. This, of itself, is joy enough -to atone for almost anything.”</p> - -<p>She was about to answer him, and there was -a smile on her face, in the midst of tears in her -eyes; but they were interrupted. The door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -opened suddenly, and an apparition in the shape -of a child, perhaps five years old, appeared to -them—a tow-headed child with staring blue -eyes and wide-open mouth—a child in a very -pink dress, not over-clean and rather short,—a -child with bare feet, and with her arms full of a -great gray cat. She stared amazingly at them -for a moment, then turned and vanished.</p> - -<p>“<i>That</i> is not mine, at least,” Judge Burnham -said, and the tone in which he said it was irresistible.</p> - -<p>His eyes met Ruth’s at that moment, and all -traces of tears had disappeared, also all signs of -sentiment. There was but one thing to do, and -they did it; and the old house rang with peal -after peal of uncontrollable laughter.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> - -<small>MY DAUGHTERS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-t1.jpg" alt="T" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-t2.jpg" alt="T" width="70" height="80" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">THE room to which Judge Burnham presently -escorted his bride was very unlike -that parlor. As she looked about her, on the -exquisite air of beauty which prevailed, and the -evidences of refined and cultured taste, scattered -with lavish hand, she was touched with the -thought that her tastes had been understood and -remembered, in each minute detail.</p> - -<p>“How very lovely this is!” she said, as her -foot rested on the soft velvet carpet, with its -wildwood vines trailing in rich colors over the -floor.</p> - -<p>“I knew you would like it,” Judge Burnham<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -said, with a gratified smile. “It reminded me -of you, and, indeed, the entire room has seemed -to me to be full of your presence. I enjoyed -arranging it. I think I could have gratified -your tastes in regard to the rest of the house, -Ruth, if you had let me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know you could,” she answered, earnestly. -“It was not that I did not trust your -taste—and perhaps I made a mistake; but I -meant it right, and you must help me to bring -right out of it.”</p> - -<p>She did not realize it, but this little concession -to his possible better judgment helped her -husband wonderfully.</p> - -<p>“We will make it come right,” he said, decidedly. -“And now I will leave you to rest a little, -while I go down and discover whether this -house is inhabited to-day.”</p> - -<p>With the door closing after him seemed to go -much of Ruth’s courage. This exquisite room -was a rest to her beauty-loving eyes and heart. -But it contrasted most strangely with the life -below stairs; and, when she thought of that -room below, it reminded her of all there was yet -to meet and endure, and of the newness of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -way, and the untried experiments which were to -be made, and of her own weakness—and her -heart trembled, and almost failed her. Yet it -must not fail her; she <i>must</i> get strength.</p> - -<p>Well for Ruth that she knew in what place to -seek it. Instead of taking a seat in the delicately-carved -and gracefully-upholstered easy-chair, -which invited her into its depths, she -turned and knelt before it. Perhaps, after all, -there are more dangerous experiences than those -which, in coming to a new home, to take up new -responsibilities, lead us to feel our utter weakness, -and bring us on our knees, crying to the -strong for strength.</p> - -<p>Judge Burnham’s entrance, nearly an hour -afterward, found Ruth resting quietly in that -easy chair, such a calm on her face, and such a -light in her eyes, that he stopped on the threshold, -and regarded her with a half-pleased, half-awed -expression, as he said:</p> - -<p>“You look wonderfully rested! I think my -easy chair must be a success. Will you come -down now, to a farm-house supper? Please -don’t see any more of the strange things than -you can help. I tried to get the girls to come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -up, and so avoid some of the horrors of a meeting -below stairs; but they are too thoroughly -alarmed to have any sense at all, and I had to -abandon that plan.”</p> - -<p>“Poor things!” said Ruth, compassionately. -“Am I so very formidable? It must be dreadful -to feel frightened at people. I can’t imagine -the feeling.”</p> - -<p>He surveyed her critically, then laughed. He -had some conception of what a vision she would -be to the people down-stairs. She had not -changed her travelling dress, which was of rich -dark silk, fitted exquisitely to her shapely form, -and the soft laces at throat and wrist, brightened -only by a knot of ribbon of the most delicate -tint of blue, completed what, to Judge Burnham’s -cultured taste, seemed the very perfection -of a toilet.</p> - -<p>“You do not frighten me,” he said. “I can -manage to look at you without being overwhelmed. -I shall not answer for anybody else. -Ruth, I have obeyed you to the very letter. In -a fit of something very like vexation, I resolved -not to lift a finger to change the customs of the -house, leaving you to see them, according to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -your desire, as they were. The result is we -haven’t even a table to ourselves, to-night. The -whole of that insufferable family, cat and all, are -ready to gather, with us, around their hospitable -board. I am sorry, now, that I was so very literal -in my obedience.”</p> - -<p>“I am not,” Ruth said, and her tone was -quiet, and had a sound in it which was not there -when he left her. It served to make him regard -her again, curiously.</p> - -<p>Then they went down-stairs to the kitchen! -Ruth was presently seated at the long table, -alarmingly near to the stove which had cooked -the potatoes that graced the evening meal—boiled -potatoes, served in their original coats! -to be eaten with two-tined steel forks, the same -forks expected to do duty in the mastication of -a huge piece of peach-pie!—unless, indeed, she -did as her husband’s daughters were evidently -accustomed to doing, and ate it with her knife. -There were, at that table, Farmer Ferris, in his -shirt-sleeves, himself redolent of the barn and the -cow-house; his wife, in a new, stiff, blue and red -plaid calico, most manifestly donned to do honor -to the occasion; two boys, belonging to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -Ferris household, in different degrees of shock-headed, -out-at-the-elbow disorder, and the aforesaid -apparition in pink calico, the gray cat still -hugged to her heart, and eating milk from the -same saucer, at intervals; and, lastly, the two -daughters of the House of Burnham.</p> - -<p>Those daughters! The strongest emotion -which Ruth found it in her heart to have for -them, on this first evening, was pity. She had -never imagined anything like the painful embarrassment -which they felt. They sat on the -edges of their chairs, and, when engaged in -trying to eat, tilted the chairs forward to reach -their plates, and rested their elbows on the -table to stare, when they dared to raise their -frightened eyes to do so. Their father had performed -the ceremony of introduction in a way -which was likely to increase their painful self-consciousness. -“Girls,” he had said, and his voice -sounded as if he were summoning them to a -trial by jury; “this is Mrs. Burnham.” And -they had stood up, and essayed to make little -bobbing courtesies, after the fashion of fifty -years ago, until further pressed by Mrs. Ferris, -who had said, with a conscious laugh:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> - -<p>“For the land’s sake, girls! do go and shake -hands with her. Why, she is your ma now.”</p> - -<p>But Judge Burnham’s haughty voice had -come to the rescue:</p> - -<p>“If you please, we will excuse them from that -ceremony, Mrs. Ferris,” he had said. “Mrs. -Burnham, please be seated.” And he had drawn -back her chair with the courtesy of a gentleman -and the inward fury of a lion. In truth, Judge -Burnham was ashamed of and angry with himself, -and I am glad of it; he deserved to be. Instead -of asserting his authority, and making this -meeting and this first meal together strictly a -family matter, and managing a dozen other little -details which he could have managed, and which -would have helped wonderfully, he had angrily -resolved to let everything utterly alone, and -bring Ruth thus sooner and more decisively to -seeing the folly, and the utter untenableness of -her position. But something in the absolute -calm of her face, this evening—a calm which -had come to her since he left her in their room -alone—made him feel it to be more than probable -that she would not easily, nor soon, abandon -the position which she had assumed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> - -<p>The ordeal of supper was gotten through with -easier than Ruth had supposed possible—though -truth to tell, the things which would have affected -most persons the least, were the hardest for -her to bear. She had not entirely risen above -the views concerning refinement which she had -expressed during the early days of Chautauqua -life; and to eat with a knife when a fork should -be used, and to have a two-tined steel fork, instead -of a silver one, and to have no napkin at -all, were to her positive and vivid sources of -discomfort—sources from which she could not -altogether turn away, even at this time. I am -not sure, however, that, in the trivialities, she -did not lose some of the real trials which the occasion -certainly presented.</p> - -<p>Directly after the supper was concluded, with -but a very poor attempt at eating on Ruth’s -part, Judge Burnham led the way to that dreadful -parlor, interposing his stern voice between -the evident intention of the daughters to remain -in the kitchen:</p> - -<p>“I desire that you will come immediately to -the parlor.”</p> - -<p>As for Ruth and himself, they did not retreat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -promptly enough to escape Mrs. Ferris’ stage-whisper:</p> - -<p>“For the land’s sake, girls! do go quick; I’m -afraid he will bite you next time. I wonder -if she is as awful cross as he is? She looks it, -and more too.”</p> - -<p>In the midst of all the tumult of thought -which there might have been, Ruth found herself -trying to determine which was the most -objectional expression of the two, Mrs. Judge -Erskine’s favorite “Land alive!” or Mrs. Ferris’ -“For the land’s sake!” Where do Americans -get their favorite expletives, anyway?</p> - -<p>She had not much time to query, for here -were these girls, sitting each on the edge of one of -the solemn cane-seated chairs, and looking as thoroughly -miserable as the most hard-hearted could -have desired. What was she to say to them, -or would it be more merciful to say nothing -at all? Ruth felt an unutterable pity for -them. How miserably afraid they were of their -father! How entirely unnatural it seemed! -And it could not be that he had ever been actually -unkind to them? It was just a system of -severe letting alone, combined with the unwisdom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -of the Ferris tongue which had developed -such results. Between the intervals of trying -to say a few words to them, words which they -answered with solemn “Yes, ma’ams,” Ruth -tried to study their personal appearance. It was -far from prepossessing; yet, remembering Susan, -and the marvelous changes which the “ivy-green -dress,” fitted to her form, had accomplished, -wondered how much of their painful -awkwardness was due to the utter unsuitability -of their attire, and the uncouth arrangement of -their <i>coiffures</i>.</p> - -<p>The elder of the two was tall and gaunt, with -pale, reddish, yellow hair—an abundance of it, -which she seemed to think served no purpose -but to annoy her, and was to be stretched back -out of the way as far and as tightly as possible. -Her shoulders were bent and stooping; her pale, -blue eyes looked as though, when they were -not full of dismayed embarrassment, they were -listless, and her whole manner betokened that -of a person who was a trial to herself, and to -every one with whom she came in contact.</p> - -<p>People, with such forms and faces, almost -invariably manage to fit themselves out in clothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -which shows every imperfection to advantage. -This girl was no exception; indeed, she -seemed to have succeeded in making an exceptional -fright of herself. Her dress was of the -color and material which seemed to increase her -height, and bore the marks of a novice in dress-making -about every part of it. To increase the -effect it was much too short for her, and showed -to immense disadvantage a pair of strong, thick -country boots, which might have been excellent -for tramping over plowed ground in wet weather. -The younger sister was a complete contrast in -every respect. Her form can only be described -by that expressive and not very elegant word -“chunky.” From her thick, short hair, down -to her thickly-shod feet, she seemed to be almost -equally shapeless and graceless; fat, red -cheeks; small, round eyes shining out from layers -of fat; large, ill-shaped hands; remarkably -large feet, apparently, or else her shoes were, -and arrayed in a large plaided dress of red and -green, which was much too low in the neck and -much too short-waisted, and was absolutely -uncouth! Swiftly, silently, Ruth took in all -these details. And she took in, also, what her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -husband had never known—that a large portion -of this uncouthness was due to the outward -adornings or disguisings, which is what persons -devoid of taste sometimes succeed in making of -their dress.</p> - -<p>In the midst of her musings there came to her -a new idea. It dawned upon her in the form of -a question. Why should she, a lady of fashion -and of leisure, and of such cultured taste that -she was an acknowledged authority among her -friends, on all matters pertaining to the esthetic, be -in so marked a manner, for the second time in her -short life, brought face to face with that form of -ill-breeding which troubled her the most? Not -only face to face with it, but put in such a position -that it was her duty to endure it patiently -and show kindly interest in the victims? Was -it possible? And this thought flashed upon her -like a revelation—that she had been wont to -make too much of this matter; that she had -allowed the lack of culture in these directions -to press her too sorely. Now, do you know that -this was the first time such a possibility had -dawned on Ruth Burnham? So insensible had -been her yielding to the temptation which wealth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -and leisure brings, to give too much thought -and too high a place to these questions of dress -and taste, that, as I say, she had not been conscious -of any sin in that direction, while those -who looked on at her life had been able to see -it plainly, and in exaggerated form!</p> - -<p>I suspect, dear friend, that you, at this moment, -are the victim of some inconsistency which your -next-door neighbor sees plainly, and which, possibly, -injures your influence over her, and you -are not conscious of its development. Now, that -is a solemn thought, as well as a perplexing one, -for what is to be done about it? “Cleanse thou -me from secret faults,” prayed the inspired -writer. May he not have meant those faults so -secret that it takes the voice of God to reveal -them to our hearts?</p> - -<p>At least to Ruth Burnham, sitting there in -that high-backed rocker, looking at her husband’s -daughters, the thought came like the -voice of God’s Spirit in her heart. She had -come very near to that revealing Spirit during -the last two hours—rather he had made his -presence known to her. She was in a hushed -mood, desiring to be led, and she plainly saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -that even this exhibition of uncouthness could -be a discipline to her soul, if she would but -allow its voice. You are not to understand that -she, therefore, concluded uncouthness and utter -disregard of refined tastes to be necessary outgrowths -of Christian experience, or to be in -the least necessary to a higher development of -Christian life. She merely had a glimpse of -what it meant, to be in a state of using this world -as not abusing it. The thought quickened her -resolutions in regard to those neglected girls -thus thrown under her care, and, I have no -doubt, that it toned her voice when she spoke to -them. I believe it not irreverent to say that the -very subject upon which she first addressed them -was chosen for her, all unconsciously to herself, -by that Ever-present Spirit, to whom nothing -that an immortal soul can say, appears trivial, -because he sees the waves of influence which are -stirred years ahead by the quiet words.</p> - -<p>Just what the two frightened girls expected -from her would have been, perhaps, difficult for -even themselves to explain. For years all their -intercourse with their father had consisted in a -series of irritated lectures, delivered in a sharp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -key, on his part, and received in a frightened -silence by them. He had been utterly disappointed -with them in every respect, and he had not -failed to show it, and they had not failed to seek -for sympathy by pouring the story of their grievances -into Mrs. Ferris’ willing ears. The result -was that she had but increased their terror in -and doubt of their father. Added to this, she had -all the ignorant superstition of her class in regard -to step-mothers, if, indeed the views of this sort -of people shall be called by no harsher name -than superstition. The new-comer had been, -during the last week, most freely discussed in -the Ferris household, and the result had been -what might have been expected. Therefore, it -was with unfeigned amazement and with the -demonstrations of prolonged stares, that Ruth’s -first suddenly spoken sentence broke the silence -which the others were feeling keenly.</p> - -<p>“Your hair looks as though it would curl, -naturally; did you ever try it?”</p> - -<p>This to the elder girl, whose whole face reddened -under the astonishment produced by the -query, and who, as I said, could only stare for a -moment. Then she said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am, I did once; long time ago.”</p> - -<p>“And didn’t you like the appearance?”</p> - -<p>A more vivid blush and a conscious laugh -was the answer. Then she added:</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, well enough; but it was such a -bother, and nobody to care.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is very little trouble.” Mrs. Burnham -answered, lightly, “when you understand just -how to manage it. I think natural curls are -beautiful.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XX.<br /> - -<small>A SISTER NEEDED.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-s1.jpg" alt="S" width="86" height="33" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-s2.jpg" alt="S" width="57" height="75" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">SOME vigorous planning was done that -night which followed Ruth Burnham’s -introduction to her new home. It was not restless -planning; neither could it be said to be -about new things, for these things Ruth had -studied every day since the first week of her -engagement, and the summer, which was in its -spring-time then, was fading now, so she had -<i>thought</i> before. But something had given her -thoughts new strength and force. Ruth believed -it to be that hour which she had spent alone on -her knees. She had spent many an hour before -that alone on her knees, but never had the power<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -of the unseen presence taken such hold upon -her as at that time. She had felt her own powerlessness -as <i>Ruth Erskine</i> had not been given -to feeling it, and you know it is “man’s extremity -that is God’s opportunity.”</p> - -<p>It was before the hour of breakfast that she -commenced the process of developing some of -her plans to her husband.</p> - -<p>“How long will it take to dispose of the Ferris -family?” she asked him, and her voice was so -calm, so full of strength, and conscious determination -that it rested him.</p> - -<p>“It can be done just as soon as your genius, -combined with my executive ability, can bring -it to pass,” he answered, laughing, “and I sincerely -hope and trust that you will be brilliant -and rapid in your display of genius.”</p> - -<p>“But, Judge Burnham, ought they to have -warning, as we do with servants?”</p> - -<p>“A week’s warning? I trust not! I should -not promise to endure a week of it. Oh, they -are prepared. I broadly hinted to them that the -mistress would want the house to herself. If -they had not felt the necessity of being here -to welcome you it could have been managed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -before this. They have their plans formed, I -believe, and as soon as you want to manage -without them, I will make it for their interest to -be in haste.”</p> - -<p>Ruth turned toward him with a relieved smile -and an eager air. “Could you manage, then, -to make it to their interest to go before breakfast, -or shall we have to wait until that meal is over?”</p> - -<p>He laughed, gayly. “Your energy is refreshing,” -he said, “especially when it is bestowed in -such a worthy cause. No, I think we will have -to wait until after breakfast. But, Ruth, are -you really in earnest? Do you actually mean -to settle down here, in this house, as it is? And -what are you going to do about help, and about—well, -everything?”</p> - -<p>Before she answered she came over and stood -beside him, slipping her hand through his arm -and speaking in tender earnestness. “Judge -Burnham, I want you to understand me; I feel -that I may have seemed hard, and cold, and -selfish. Perhaps I have been selfish in pushing -my plan; I think I have been, but I did not -intend it for selfishness. I was, and am, led by -what seems to be <i>our</i> duty—yours and mine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -Those girls of yours have been neglected. I -can see how you, being a man, would not know -what to do; at the same time I can see how I, -being a woman, can at least <i>try</i> to do many -things, and I am very eager to try. You may -call it an experiment if you will, and if it is, in -your estimation in six months from now an -utter failure, I will give it up and do exactly as -you propose.”</p> - -<p>There was a gleam of assurance in her eyes, -and he could see that she did not believe he -would ever be called upon to follow <i>his</i> plans. -But something tender and pleading in her tone -touched him, and he said, with feeling:</p> - -<p>“I begin to realize forcibly, what has only -come upon me in touches heretofore—that I -have not done my duty by the girls. I did not -know what to do. I used to study the question -and try to plan it, but I can not tell you -how utterly hopeless it seemed to me. Finally, -I gave it up. I determined that nothing could -ever be done but to support them and live away -from them, and long before I knew you I determined -on that as my line of action. So your -resolution was a surprise to me—an overwhelming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -one. But, perhaps, you are right. At -least I will help you in whatever way I can to -carry out <i>your</i> plans, however wild they are, and -I begin to realize that you may possibly have -some very wild ones, but I promise allegiance.”</p> - -<p>“Good!” said Ruth, with sparkling eyes, “I -ask nothing better than that. Then we will -proceed at once to business; there is so much -to be done that I don’t feel like taking a wedding -journey just now. We can enjoy it so -much more when we get our house in order. -There are certain things that I need to know -at once. First, how much or how little is there -to be done to this house, and—and to everything? -In other words, how much money am I -to spend?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he said looking relieved, “I thought -you were going to ask me what ought to be done -to make the place habitable, and, really, I hardly -know where to commence. I shall be charmed -to leave it in your hands. As to money, I -think I may safely promise you what you need -unless your ideas are on a more magnificent -scale than I think. I will give you my check -this morning for a thousand dollars, and when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -that is used you may come to me for as much -more. Is that an answer to your question?”</p> - -<p>“An entirely satisfactory one.” She answered -him with shining eyes, and they went down to -breakfast with a sense of satisfaction which, -considering the surroundings and the marvelous -calicoes in which the daughters of the house -appeared, was surprising.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see the way clear to results,” Judge -Burnham said, perplexedly, as he and his wife -walked on the piazza after breakfast and continued -the discussion of ways and means. “If -the Ferris tribe vacate to-day, as I have just -intimated to the head of the family is extremely -desirable, what are you to do for help until such -time as something competent in that line can be -secured, always supposing that there <i>is</i> such a -thing in existence? I remember what an experience -you have been having in your father’s -house in the line of help.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” said Ruth, brightly, “we had the -small-pox, you know; that makes a difference. -They have excellent servants there now, and, -indeed, we generally have had. My housekeeping -troubles did not lie in that direction. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -a plan; I don’t know what you will think of it. -I am afraid you will be very much surprised?”</p> - -<p>“No, I shall not,” he interrupted her to say, -“I have gotten beyond the condition of surprise -at anything which you may do or propose.”</p> - -<p>Then she went on with her story.</p> - -<p>“I thought it all over last night, and if she -will do it, I think I see my way clear, and I am -almost sure she will, for, really, I never knew a -more unselfish girl in my life.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say,” her husband said, regarding her -with an amused air. “Perhaps I might agree -with you if you will enlighten me as to which of -the patterns of domestic unselfishness you have -in mind. Did she reign in your household since -my knowledge of it began?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am not speaking of <i>hired</i> help,” Ruth -said, and a vivid flush brightened her cheeks. -“I was thinking of my sister. It is her help I -have in mind.”</p> - -<p>“Susan!” he exclaimed, and then was suddenly -silent. His face showed that, after all, -she had surprised him.</p> - -<p>There was much talk about it after that, and -the discussion finally ended in their taking passage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -in the mail-wagon, about which Judge Burnham -had spoken the day before, and jogging -together to the train. There was so much to -be done that Ruth had not the patience to wait -until another day, besides their departure would -give the Ferris family a chance to hasten <i>their</i> -movements. On the way to the cars Judge -Burnham mentally resolved that his first leisure -moments should be spent in selecting horses and -a driver, since he was to become a country gentleman. -Whether he would or not, it became -him to look out for conveniences.</p> - -<p>Seated again in the train, and made comfortable -by her watchful husband, Ruth took time -to smile over the variety of experiences through -which she had gone during the less than twenty-four -hours since she sat there before. It seemed -to her that she had lived a little life-time, and -learned a great deal, and it seemed a wonderful -thing that she was actually going to Susan -Erskine with a petition for help. Who could -have supposed that <i>she</i>, Ruth Erskine, would -ever have reached such a period in her history -that she would turn to her as the only a available -source of supply and comfort. A great deal of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -thinking can be done in one night, and Ruth had -lain awake and gone over her ground with steady -gaze and a determined heart. It surprised her -that things had not looked plainer to her before. -“Why couldn’t I have seen this way, yesterday, -before I left home?” she asked herself, but the -wonder was that she had seen it thus early.</p> - -<p>Very much surprised were the Erskine household -to see their bride of less than twenty-four -hours’ standing appear while they still lingered -over their breakfast-table!</p> - -<p>“We live in the country, you know,” was -Ruth’s composed explanation of the early advent. -“Country people are up hours before town people -have stirred; I always knew that.”</p> - -<p>“Land alive!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine, and -then for a whole minute she was silent. She -confided to Ruth, long afterward, that for about -five minutes her “heart was in her mouth,” for -she surely thought they had quarrelled and -parted!</p> - -<p>“Though I thought at the time,” she explained, -“that if you <i>had</i> got sick of it a’ready you -wouldn’t have come back together, and have -walked into the dining-room in that friendly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -fashion. But, then, I remembered that you -never did things like anybody else in this world, -and if you had made up your mind to come -back home again, and leave your husband, you -would be sure to pick out a way of doing it that -no other mortal would ever have thought of!”</p> - -<p>“I am going to my room,” Ruth said presently. -“Judge Burnham, I will hasten, and be -ready to go down town with you in a very little -while. Susan, will you come with me, please? -I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>And Susan arose with alacrity, a pleasant smile -lighting her plain face. There was a sound of -sisterliness in the tone, which she had watched -and waited for, but rarely heard.</p> - -<p>“I have come on the strangest errand,” Ruth -said, dropping into her own favorite chair, as -the door of her old room closed after them. “I -feel as if I were at least a year older than I was -yesterday. I have thought so much. First of -all, Susan, I want to tell you something. I have -found something. I have come close to Jesus—I -mean he has come close to me. He has almost -shown me himself. I don’t know how to -tell you about it, and indeed I am not sure that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -there is anything to <i>tell</i>. But it is a great deal -to have experienced. I seem to have heard him -say, ‘Come to <i>me</i>. Why do you struggle and -plan and toss yourself about? Haven’t I promised -you <i>rest?</i>’ And, Susan, I do believe he -spoke to my heart; why not?”</p> - -<p>“Why not, indeed!” said Susan, “when he -has repeated the message so many times. Ruth, -I am <i>so</i> glad!”</p> - -<p>Then Ruth ran rapidly from that subject to -less important ones, giving her sister a picture, -in brief, of the new home, closing with the sentence:</p> - -<p>“Now I am in a dilemma. I can’t keep any -of the Ferris family for an hour, and I can’t -introduce new servants until things are in different -shape, and I can’t get them into different -shape until I have help. Do you see what I am -to do?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Susan, with a bright smile, “you -need a sister; one who knows how to help in all -household matters, and yet who knows how to -keep her tongue reasonably quiet as to what she -found. I know how servants gossip, some of -them. That Rosie we had for a week tried to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -tell me things about Mrs. Dr. Blakeman’s kitchen -that would make her feel like fainting if she -knew it. A sister is just exactly what you need -in this emergency. Will you let her step into -the gap and show you how nicely she can fill -it?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Will</i> you?” Ruth asked, eagerly. “That is -just exactly what I wanted to say, though I -didn’t like to say it, for fear you would misunderstand, -not realize, you know, that it is because -we don’t want to go out of the <i>family</i> for assistance -just now that we needed you so much.”</p> - -<p>Recognized at last in <i>words</i> as a member of the -family! An unpremeditated sentence, evidently -from the heart. It was what Susan Erskine had -been patiently biding her time and waiting for. -It had come sooner than she expected. It made -her cheeks glow.</p> - -<p>“I will go home with you at once,” she said, -in a business-like way. “There is nothing to -hinder. The machinery of this house is in running -order again. That new second girl is a -treasure, Ruth, and, by the way, she has a sister -who might develop into a treasure for you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -Now let me see if I understand things. What -do you want to do first?”</p> - -<p>“First,” said Ruth, smiling, “I need to go -shopping. It is my <i>forte</i>, you know. I like to -buy things, and at last there is certainly occasion -for my buying. Susan, you have no idea how -much is wanted. Everything in every line is -necessary, and Judge Burnham has left all to -me. We need paper-hangers and painters, and -all that sort of thing, but of course he will -attend to those things. Our plan is to return -to-night with a load of necessities. Judge -Burnham is going to hire a team at once, and -have it loaded. But what <i>are</i> the first necessities? -Where shall I begin?”</p> - -<p>“Begin with a pencil and paper,” said Susan, -seizing upon them and seating herself. “Now, -let us be methodical. My teacher in mathematics -once told me that I was nothing if I was not -methodical. Kitchen first—no, dining-room, -because we shall have to eat even before we get -the house in order. What is a necessity to that -table before you can have a comfortable meal?”</p> - -<p>Then they plunged into business. Two -women, thoroughly in earnest, pencil and paper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -in hand, bank check in pocket, organization well -developed in both of them, and the need of -speed apparent, can accomplish surprising things -in the way of plans in an hour of time, especially -when one is persistently methodical.</p> - -<p>When Mrs. Burnham arose and drew her wrap -around her preparatory to joining the husband, -who was waiting below, she felt as though a -week’s work had been accomplished. Besides, -they had been cheery together, these two—been -in a different mood toward each other from what -had ever appeared before. Susan was so sensible, -so quick-witted, so clear-sighted as to what -needed doing first, and as to ways of doing the -soonest, and withal her matter-of-course way of -saying “we” when she spoke of the work to -arrange, made her appear such a tower of -strength to Ruth, who knew so well her own -delinquencies in the direction of housework, and -who had thoroughly tested Susan’s practical -knowledge.</p> - -<p>“Land alive!” ejaculated Mrs. Erskine, when, -after Ruth’s departure, the new arrangements -were presented to her for approval. “Who -would have thought she would have to come after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -you, in less than a day after she set out to do -for herself. So capable as she is, too, though I -don’t suppose she knows much more than a kitten -about housework. How should she? Well, -I’m glad I had you learn all them things. What -we’d have done this winter if I hadn’t is more -than <i>I</i> can see through. Well, well, child, I -don’t know how we are going to get along without -you. Your pa sets great store by you; I -can see it every day; and what if I should have -another turn of sick headache while you’re -gone! Though, for that matter, I don’t believe -I will. I guess going through the small-pox -cured them headaches. I ain’t had one since. -And so she needs you right off? Well, poor -thing! I don’t know what she <i>would</i> do without -you, I’m sure. Them girls ain’t efficient, I -dare say; girls never are. You learn ’em how, -Susan; you can do it, if anybody can, and -that’ll be doing ’em a good turn.”</p> - -<p>Susan discreetly kept her own counsel about -“them girls,” and quietly and swiftly packed -her satchel, not without an exultant song at her -heart. This beautiful sister, whose love she had -craved, seemed very near to her this morning.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> - -<small>TRYING QUESTIONS.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-y1.jpg" alt="Y" width="94" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-y2.jpg" alt="Y" width="65" height="76" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">YOU are to imagine much that was done -inside that long, low house on the hill -during the next three weeks. A great deal can -be done in three weeks’ time. What <i>was</i> actually -accomplished would fill a good-sized volume; -so it is well that you are to imagine instead -of read about it. A great many wheels of progress -were started during that very first day—Ruth -among the stores, Judge Burnham among -the paper-hangers, painters and draymen, Susan -in the Erskine attic, sorting out and packing -many things that, according to Judge Erskine’s -orders, were Ruth’s exclusive property. By the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -time the five o’clock train received the three, -they were tired and satisfied.</p> - -<p>Tired though they were, it was as late as midnight -before all the household settled into rest. -Susan dropped into her place as naturally as -though it had been waiting for her all these -years. The Ferris family were departed bag -and baggage, and the two Burnhams left behind -were red-eyed and disconsolate. Why not? -The Ferrises were the only friends they had -ever known. Susan put a sympathetic arm -around one and kissed the other before she had -been in the house five minutes, and Ruth remembered -with dismay that she had not thought -of doing such a thing. And, indeed, if I must -tell you the truth concerning her, it seemed -almost an impossible thing to do! She had -been for so many years in the habit of bestowing -her kisses rarely and to such an exceedingly -limited number of persons. Then they betook -themselves, Susan and Seraphina, to the kitchen. -Confusion reigned. So it did all over the house, -except in the locked-up purity of Ruth’s two -rooms. But before midnight there was a comfortable -place for Susan to sleep and most satisfactory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -preparations in line for a breakfast the -next morning.</p> - -<p>It was that next morning which gave the two -Burnham girls their first touch of a cultured -home. There was a little room, conveniently -situated as regarded the kitchen, which the -instinct of taste had made Ruth select at the -first glance as a dining-room. Thither she and -Susan repaired early in the evening to make a -survey.</p> - -<p>“It needs painting,” said Susan, scanning the -wood-work critically, “and papering; and then, -with a pretty carpet, it will be just the thing. -But, in the meantime, it is clean, and we can set -the breakfast-table here to-morrow morning, -can’t we?”</p> - -<p>“If we can get it in here to set,” Ruth -answered, in a dubious tone. “It is a long, horribly-shaped -table, and none of <i>our</i> furniture -will be here, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see my way out of that. There is a -little table in that pantry, or milk-room, or -whatever is the name of it, that will do nicely -for a dining-table until we get settled; and, -Ruth, shall we have some of my muffins for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -breakfast? You remember Judge Burnham -used to like them when we gave them to him -occasionally for tea. Oh, girls! I can make -delicious muffins, and if you are both down here -by six o’clock to-morrow morning I will teach -you how, the first thing I do.”</p> - -<p>This last to the two bewildered girls, who -stood waiting to see what astonishing thing -would happen next. As for Ruth, she went up-stairs -to that gem of a room, smiling over the -strangeness of the thought that Susan was down-stairs -in their kitchen, hers and Judge Burnham’s, -planning with his daughters to have muffins -for breakfast! Also, she thought, with a -sense of satisfaction, of the great trunk packed -with silver, rare old pieces of her mother’s own, -which had been held sacred for her during all these -years, and of the smaller and newer trunk containing -table drapery, which was a marvel of -fineness and whiteness. Both trunks had journeyed -hither several days ago, and had this night -been opened to secure certain things which -Susan’s morning plans had called for.</p> - -<p>So it was to the little room that the family -came the next morning, with its south window,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> -into which the September sun slanted its rays -cheerily. The room itself was carpetless, and -the chairs were wooden, and there was no other -attempt at furniture. But the table, laid in -snowy whiteness, and the napkins large and fine -and of delicate pattern, and the silver service -gleaming before Ruth’s place, and the silver -forks and solid silver spoons, and the glittering -goblets and delicate china—for Susan had actually -unpacked and washed and arranged Ruth’s -mother’s china—to say nothing of the aroma of -coffee floating in the air, and mingling not unpleasantly -with the whiff of a vase of autumn -roses which blushed before Ruth’s plate.</p> - -<p>All these things were a lesson in home refinements -such as a week of talking would never -have accomplished, and which the Burnham -girls sat down to for the first time in their lives. -It was curious to notice the effect on them. -Their conspicuous calicoes and stretched-back -hair and ungainly shoes were still painfully visible. -But, for the first time, apparently, it -dawned upon them that things didn’t match. -They surveyed the table, which was as a picture -to them, and then, with instinctive movements,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -essayed to hide their awkward shoes under their -too short dresses, and blushed painfully over the -impossibility of doing so. Ruth noticed it, and -smiled. They would be ready for her hand, she -fancied, when she came to an hour of leisure to -arrange for them.</p> - -<p>That breakfast scene was a cheery one. So -much of home had already entered into its elements -that Judge Burnham cordially pronounced -Susan a fairy, and she as genially responded that -she was a most substantial one, and had had two -substantial helpers, with a meaning glance -toward the girls.</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” he said, in kindly tone, and then -he glanced toward them.</p> - -<p>That was a very pleasant way of showing -good-will. The contrast between this breakfast -and the one to which they sat down but the -morning before was certainly very striking -And, though the girls blushed painfully, the -tone in which he had spoken, and the glance -which accompanied his remark, did more for -those daughters than all their father’s lectures had -accomplished.</p> - -<p>Directly the muffins and the broiled steak and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> -the amber coffee were discussed, and, the meal -concluded, business in that house commenced. -Thereafter it was a scene of organized disorder. -The girls, under Susan’s lead, proved, notwithstanding -Mrs. Judge Erskine’s surmise, very -“efficient” helpers. They could not enter a room -properly, they could not use the King’s English -very well, and they knew nothing about the -multitude of little accomplishments with which -the girls of their age usually consume time. -But it transpired that they could wash windows, -and “paints,” and sweep walls, and even nail -carpets. They were both quick-witted and skillful -over many of these employments, and the -hearty laugh which occasionally rung out from -their vicinity, when Susan was with them, -showed plainly that they had lost their fear of -her; but their embarrassment, where either -their father or Ruth was concerned, did not -decrease. And, indeed, in the whirl of plans -which had recently come upon them, these two -had little leisure to cultivate the daughters’ -acquaintance. Ruth, after a few attempts at -helping, discreetly left the ordering of the hired -helpers to Susan’s skillful hands, and accompanied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -her husband on daily shopping excursions, -where her good taste and good sense were -equally called into action.</p> - -<p>In the course of time, and when there is a full -purse to command skillful helpers, the time need -not be so very long drawn out. There came a -morning when it would have done your comfort-loving -heart good to have walked with Judge -Burnham and his wife through the reconstructed -house! Nothing showy; nothing really expensive, -as that term is used in the fashionable -world, had been attempted. Ruth’s tastes were -too well cultured for that. She knew, perfectly, -that what was quite in keeping with the -lofty ceilings and massive windows of her -father’s house would be ridiculously out of place -here. As you passed with her from room to -room you would have realized that nothing -looked out of place. Perhaps in the girl’s room -as much thought had been expended as in any -place in that house.</p> - -<p>Ruth had been amazed, not to say horrified, -on the occasion of her first visit to their room, -to find that it was carpetless, curtainless, and, I -had almost said, furnitureless! An old-fashioned,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -high-post bedstead, destitute of any pretense -of beauty, and a plain-painted stand, holding -a tin basin and a broken-nosed milk pitcher! -To Ruth, whose one experience of life had to do -with her father’s carefully furnished house, -where the servants’ rooms were well supplied -with the comforts, to say nothing of the luxuries -of the toilet, this looked simply barbarous. -Judge Burnham, too, was shocked and subdued. -It had been years since he had been a caller in -his daughters’ room, and he had seemed to think -that magic of some sort must have supplied -their wants. “I furnished money whenever it -was asked for,” he said, regarding Ruth with a -sort of appealing air. “Now, that I think of it, -they were never extravagant in their demands; -but I supposed I gave them enough. At least, -when I thought about it at all, I assured myself -that the Ferrises would certainly not be afraid -to ask for more, if more was needed.”</p> - -<p>“The difficulty with the Ferris family was, -that they had no tastes to expend money for,” -Ruth said, quietly, “but you can not wonder -that the girls are not just what we would like -to see them. They certainly have had no surroundings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -of any sort that would educate them -in your direction.”</p> - -<p>After this talk he entered with heartiness into -the plans for that room, and when the delicate -blue and pale gold carpet was laid—and it -reminded one of a sunset in a pure sky—and -the white drapery was looped with blue ribbons, -rural fashion, and the gold-banded china was -gracefully disposed on the toilet case, and the -dressing-bureau was adorned with all the little -daintinesses which Ruth understood so well how -to scatter, even to a blue and gold vase full of -sweet-scented blossoms, and the pretty cottage -bedstead was luxuriously draped in spotless -white, plump pillows, ruffled pillow shams, all -complete, Ruth stood back and surveyed the -entire effect with the most intense satisfaction. -What said the girls? Well, they <i>said</i> nothing. -But their blazing cheeks and suspiciously wet -eyes looked volumes, and for several days they -stepped about that room in a tiptoe fashion -which would have amused Ruth, had she seen it. -They could not rally from the feeling that everything -about them was so delicate and pure that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -to breathe upon, or touch, would be to mar a -work of art.</p> - -<p>Meantime, other matters had been progressing. -Ruth had lain awake half of one night -and studied the immortal question of dress. She -had met and battled with, and conquered half -a dozen forms of pride, and then had boldly announced -at the next morning’s breakfast-table, -the following:</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham, the girls and I want to go -to the city to attend to some dress-making. -Shall we go in that mail-wagon, or how?”</p> - -<p>Before this, I should have explained to you -that Judge Burnham had been, for some days, -in an active state of trying horses, examining -carriages, and interviewing professional drivers. -Also, several horses and carriages had waited on -them for trial, so that Ruth had taken several -rides to the cars on trial, and had once suggested -that perhaps it would be as economical a way of -keeping a carriage as any, this spending the season -in making a choice. Therefore Judge Burnham -laughed as he answered:</p> - -<p>“Why, no, there is to be a trial span here in -time for the ten o’clock train. I was about to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -propose a ride in honor of that occasion. Are -you going into town for the day?”</p> - -<p>Ruth laughed.</p> - -<p>“For the week, I am afraid. We shall probably -be detained at the dressmaker’s for some -time, and, after that, I have many errands to -do.”</p> - -<p>Now the form in which her pride had met her -last, was the shrinking from going to town, and -above all, going to the fashionable dress-making -and millinery establishments with those strange-looking -companions, for a critical survey of their -wardrobe revealed the fact that they had nothing -which she considered decent. This was not the -first time that she had taken the subject into consideration. -On the contrary, it had been present -with her during her shopping excursions, and -she had blessed the instinct which enabled her -to see at a glance just what shade or tint would -suit the opposite complexions of the two girls.</p> - -<p>She had visited her dressmaker and made -arrangements with her for service. But the -question had been, whether she could not smuggle -them off in some way to a quieter street -among the less fashionable workers, and secure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> -for them a respectable outfit in which to appear -at Madame Delfort’s. It was over these and -kindred plans that she had lain awake, and finally -abandoned them all, and resolved upon outright -unconcern in regard to what others might say -or think. Nevertheless she winced when the -two girls came down arrayed in their best, bright -plaids—for Mrs. Ferris’ taste had run entirely -in that direction—cheap hat adorned with cheap -flowers and brilliant ribbons, both flowers and -ribbons more or less soiled, and with no gloves -at all. Seraphina reported that she <i>had lost</i> -hers, and Araminta, that she <i>couldn’t find hers</i>. -Between those two states there is a distinction, -though it may not appear at first sight.</p> - -<p>The trial carriage had arrived, and Judge -Burnham seated his party, himself wearing a -disturbed face. He did not like the appearance -of the company with which he was to go to -town. Ruth had thought of this, and had tried -to plan differently, but with a man’s obtuseness -he had <i>not</i> thought of it, and could not, or would -not understand why he should go in on the ten -o’clock train, and the rest wait until twelve, -especially when his wife admitted herself to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> -in haste and they might all go together. Fairly -seated opposite his daughters, he saw a reason -for having gone earlier, and even looked about -him, nervously, as the carriage neared the depot, -wishing there was yet some chance of escape.</p> - -<p>A way opened. “Ah, good-morning, Judge! -this is fortunate. I am in search of you.” This -was the greeting which he received from the -depot door. And he left Ruth standing on the -steps and went forward to shake hands with a -tall, gray-haired man, in the prime of life. He -came back after a few moments, speaking rapidly. -“Ruth, that is Parsons, the famous criminal lawyer; -he wants to consult me in regard to a case, -and is going farther on by the next train in -search of a clue. I guess, after all, I shall have -to wait here for the twelve o’clock, and have a -talk with him; that is, if you do not object.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not at all!” Ruth said, breathing more -freely. Her husband’s daughters were less of a -cross to her without him than with him. Every -man he met on the train knew and came to -talk with him, while she was a stranger. The -famous criminal lawyer moved toward them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -looking interested, and Judge Burnham could -hardly escape the ceremony of introduction.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he said, bowing low to Mrs. Burnham, -“very happy to meet you, madam. I have -known your husband for several years. I hear -you are just getting settled at your country-seat. -Terrible task, isn’t it? But pays, I suppose, -when one gets fairly settled. I didn’t know -until the other day that you were rural in your -tastes, Judge Burnham?”</p> - -<p>All these sentences, spoken in the man-of-the-world -tone, which indicates that the person is -talking for the sake of filling the time, and all -the while his practiced eye was taking in the -group—Judge Burnham with a slightly embarrassed -manner and somewhat flushed face; his -elegant, high-bred wife, who was a trifle pale as -she was wont to be under strong feeling of any -sort; and the two girls, in <i>outre</i> attire, standing -a little apart, with wide eyes and flaming cheeks, -staring painfully. The criminal lawyer seemed -to think that the position demanded more words -from him. “You are the victims of the usual -American nuisance, I see,” with the slightest -possible inclination of his head toward the two.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -“The inefficiency of hired help is really the -social puzzle of this country, I think. Foreigners -have immensely the advantage of us. -Just returning a relay of the condemned sort I -suppose?”</p> - -<p>There was the rising inflection to his sentence -which marks a question, and yet he rattled on, -precisely like a man who expects no answer. -Was it because the train sounded its warning-whistle -just then, that Judge Burnham, though -his face flushed and his eyes flashed, did not -correct the criminal lawyer’s mistake?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> - -<small>“THAT WHICH SATISFIETH NOT.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-f1.jpg" alt="F" width="93" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-f2.jpg" alt="F" width="68" height="82" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">FAIRLY seated in the train, Ruth Burnham -gave herself up to gloominess over -her own planning. The episode with the famous -criminal lawyer not having served to sweeten -her way, she speedily determined on making as -little a cross of the rest of it as she could, too -fully realizing that, plan as she would, the way -was a <i>cross</i>. She still shrank from the fashionable -“Madame’s,” and her fashionable corps of -workers. Perhaps the worriment was what she -deserved for being so fashionable in her desires -that she could not bring herself to look up an -obscure back street with a modest sign, and thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -help along the large army of workers, who can -not be fashionable—though really, there are -two sides to even that question. She understood -that as a rule, the work done from that -back street would be a continual source of -mortification to her—a constant strain on her -temper, so long as the garments lasted. After -all, it is not so much the desire to be in the -height of the fashion that sends women to the -extravagantly high-priced <i>modistes</i>, as a knowledge -of the fact that as a rule, the low-priced -ones do not understand their business, and will -succeed in making a bungle of any work which -they undertake. When there shall arise a class -of women who have carefully learned how to -cut and make ordinary garments, in the best -manner, the cry of hard times, among such -workers, will be less frequently heard.</p> - -<p>Ruth concluded not to risk contact with -chance acquaintances in street-cars; but, directly -she reached the city, took a carriage to a store -where she was a stranger, and did some rapid -transforming work. Two stylish wraps, selected -with due reference to their qualifications for -covering much objectionable toilet underneath—selected,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -too, with careful reference to the height -and shape and complexion of the wearers; then -gloves that were strong and neat-fitting and -shapely; then hats of easily-donned stamp, gracefully, -yet slightly trimmed; and, really, Judge -Burnham would hardly have recognized his -daughters. Ruth surveyed them with satisfaction; -and, if they could have been fitted at the “Madame’s,” -without removing those stylish mantles, -she would have drawn a sigh of relief. As it -was, she still had that to dread, and a real ordeal -it was. Those who condemn her for exhibiting -much false pride and foolish lack of independence -have probably never been tried in the same -way. You have, of course, observed that people’s -own peculiar trials are the ones for which -they have sympathy. They are harder, too, to -bear, than any other person’s.</p> - -<p>Ruth was not one whit behind the multitude, -in her way of thinking about herself. As she -stood in the “Madame’s” apartments and endured -the well-bred stares and the well-bred impudence—for -there really is such a thing as what -might be called well-bred impudence—she set her -teeth hard, and ruled that the color <i>should not</i> rush<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -into her face, and, also, that the “Madame” should -have no more of her custom, from this time forth. -And yet, when she came to cooler moments, -she tried to reason within herself, as to how -the woman was to blame. What had she said, -or looked, that was not, under the circumstances, -most natural?</p> - -<p>All these questions Ruth held, for the time -being, at bay, and arranged and directed and -criticised with her usual calm superiority of -manner, and with the assurance of one who -knew exactly what she wanted, and intended -not to stop short of entire satisfaction. And she -didn’t. She was more critical and troublesome, -even, than usual; and the “Madame” would -have told you that that was unnecessary. And, -at last, after many delays, and changes of -plan and trimmings, and changes of patterns, -involving vexatious delays on “Madame’s” -part, they were free of her for the day, and -could pursue their round of shopping more at -leisure. But Ruth was in no mood for shopping, -other than the necessary things that must be -ordered to the “Madame’s” without delay. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -was tired and fretted; she wanted something -to cool and quiet her.</p> - -<p>She dispatched the necessary shopping with -great care, indeed, but with unusual speed, leaving -the girls, meantime, seated in the carriage, -instead of in the great store, where they would -have delighted to be.</p> - -<p>The business of lunching had been dispatched -some time before—as soon, indeed, as they had -left the dress-making establishment. Ruth had -chosen an obscure place for refreshment, not -choosing to risk the danger of fashionable acquaintances, -at the places with which she was -familiar. Consequently, she had been able to -do little else than gather her skirts about her, -to protect them from careless and hurried waiters, -and to curl her aristocratic nose behind her -handkerchief, at the unwonted smells combining -around her; while the girls, famished by -the drain on their nerves, and having, by reason -of the excitement of the morning, been unable to -indulge in much breakfast, made a hearty meal, -not at all disturbed by the sights and sounds and -odors which made eating an impossibility to -Ruth. This little matter served to add to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -discomfort and her sense of gloom; for, when -people are hungry, they are much more ready to -yield to gloom. All the shopping done that -she could bring herself to give attention to, she -consulted her watch, and learned with dismay, -that there was an hour and a half before train-time. -What was to be done with it?</p> - -<p>She thought of her husband’s office; but suppose -the criminal lawyer should be there? In -any case, there would be those dreadful students -to stare, and nudge each other and giggle. -Ruth dreaded a giggle more than she did a -bullet. Assuredly, she would not go there! -Neither was her city home to be thought of. -She was not in a mood to present her husband’s -daughters to Mrs. Judge Erskine; neither did -she intend that those daughters, in their present -attire, or with their present attainments, should -come in contact with her. So, as the gloomy-faced -woman rode listlessly along, on an up-town -car, while the two girls were bobbing their heads -swiftly from one window to another, endeavoring -to take in all the strange sights, she was engaged -in trying to decide what to do with time. -A blackboard bulletin, before one of the public<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -halls, caught her notice, and her quick eye took -in the large lettering: “<i>Bible Reading! Harry -Morehouse! Here, at Four O’clock! Come!</i>” -Before she had reached the inviting word, she -had signaled the car, and the bewildered girls -were following her whither she would.</p> - -<p>“There is an hour or more before we can go -home,” she said in explanation. “Let us go to -this meeting. Perhaps it will be interesting.”</p> - -<p>They were entirely willing; in fact, they were -in a state of maze. Anything that this remarkable -woman—who knew her way so composedly -through this great whirling city—suggested, -they were willing to help carry out. So they -mounted the steps to the large, light, social-looking -room, where people were already thronging -in. No acquaintances to be feared here. -Ruth did not now know many who frequented -such meetings, or were to be found in this part -of the city. In the distance she caught a glimpse -Marion, but she shrank back, unwilling to be -recognized even by her; for Marion had her -beautiful daughter beside her, and the contrast -would be too strikingly painful. Presently the -meeting opened. Ruth looked about her for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> -Harry Morehouse, a name with which she was -not unfamiliar. But she almost curled her lip in -disappointment, she was so amazed at the insignificance -of this little, boyish man! “As if <i>he</i> -could help anybody!” her heart said, in scorn. -“What exaggerated reports do get into the papers -about people!” And then, presently, she did -just what many another person has done, who -has listened to Harry Morehouse’s rendering of -Scripture—forgot to think of the man, and -gave earnest heed to the words which he was -reading; words which, someway, had a sound—strangely -familiar though they were—as if she -had never heard them before.</p> - -<p>“Wherefore do ye spend money for that -which is not bread? and your labor for that -which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto -me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your -soul delight itself in fatness.” What was there -in the familiar verse that thrilled so through -Ruth Burnham’s soul? “That which satisfieth -not.” She needed only her own experience to -show her that one who understood the human -heart spoke those words! How freely she had -been giving labor! and how strangely unsatisfying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -it all seemed to her to-day! She fairly hungered -and thirsted after a higher grasp of the -Infinite Arm, reached down. A great longing -came over her to hide herself away in him. She -was so tired and so tried, and a long line of -petty trials stared her in the face. She felt like -turning away from them all; and yet she -mustn’t. Well, then, she felt like reaching -higher ground—getting up where the air was -purer—where these endless details of dress and -position would trouble her less—where such -women as “Madame,” the dressmaker, would -have no power to flush her cheek and set her -heart to angry beatings by a high-bred stare. -Suddenly a new thought flashed across her -heart. These girls—what had she been doing -for them? How had she been trying to satisfy -them? In the days that they had spent together, -she remembered that she had not once alluded, -even in the most remote manner, to anything -higher, or better, or more satisfying, than these -new things, which, at best, were to perish with -the using. Had she not, by her example, left -the impress of her first influence upon them to -the effect that well-furnished rooms and carefully-adorned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> -bodies were <i>the</i> important things -on which to spend one’s strength?</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said within her disturbed self, “I -have no time.”</p> - -<p>“No time?” inquired that other inner self, -which is forever at war with its fellow. “Is it because -you have been employed on <i>more</i> important -matters?”</p> - -<p>This almost angered Ruth; it flushed her face, -and she said:</p> - -<p>“There is a proper time for all things.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the other one, “and is the proper -time to attend to this most important concern -with which we have to do in life <i>after</i> all the lesser -matters are disposed of?”</p> - -<p>Then Ruth roused, and gave her heart some -searching into. Was it possible that she had -really been teaching those girls that she considered -the matter of their outward adorning more -important than anything else connected with -them! If actions speak even louder than -words, and if she had acted the one, and not so -much as <i>spoken about</i> the other, what else <i>could</i> -they think?</p> - -<p>“I am glad,” she told herself, “that I brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> -them into this meeting. At least they will get -a different idea here.”</p> - -<p>Then she turned and looked at them. <i>Would</i> -they get different ideas, or had the first taken -root, leaving at least no <i>present</i> room for other -growths?</p> - -<p>Miss Seraphina was spreading her hand carefully -out on her lap, and contemplating with -eyes of unmistakable admiration the color and -texture and fit of her new gloves! It was altogether -probable that she had never worn well-fitting -gloves before, and she felt their importance. -The other sister was evidently as totally -absorbed in the trimness of her neatly-fitting kid -boot, the advent of which had made her foot a -stranger to herself, with which she was trying to -get acquainted, as though Harry Morehouse and -his wonderful new Bible had been in London at -that moment! A strange pang thrilled the -heart of the woman who was trying in her youth -to be a mother to these two, as she looked at -their absorbed faces and followed the direction -of their eyes. Was that simply the necessary -result of new refinements? Would these all -sink into their proper and subordinate places<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -directly the newness and strangeness had worn -off, or was this really a wave of her own influence -which was going to increase in power as -surely as it was fed?</p> - -<p>Now, this thought did not rest her; and while -it was desirable in itself that she should be thus -early roused to the sense of danger there might -be in flooding these young creatures with this -world’s vanities, that wise old enemy, Satan, was -on the alert to make the whole matter into -thorns with which to prick Ruth’s tired heart, -and in obliging her thoughts to revolve around -this center, never widening it nor seeing her -way out of the maze, yet effectually shutting -her off from the practical help which awaited -her through the channel of Harry Morehouse’s -Bible.</p> - -<p>Somebody has said that, whoever else stays -away from a religious meeting, Satan never does. -Was there ever a truer statement? If he would -only appear in his natural character, instead of, -as in this instance, transforming himself into a -goad, and pressing hard against the nerves that -were already strained to their utmost!</p> - -<p>On the whole, Mrs. Judge Burnham went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -home on the five o’clock train thoroughly wearied -in body and mind, and with a haunting sense of -disappointment pressing down her spirits. She -had accomplished that which she had in the -morning started to do. She had been successful -in all her undertakings, and could feel that -things were now in train for making transformation -in the outward appearance of these hitherto -neglected girls. A laudable undertaking, -certainly, so it was held in its place, but she -could not get her heart away from the sentence: -“And your labor for that which satisfieth not.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> - -<small>WHEREFORE?</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-n1.jpg" alt="N" width="92" height="42" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-n2.jpg" alt="N" width="65" height="76" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">NOW, I am afraid you will laugh over the -matter which appeared next to Ruth -Burnham in the shape of a trial. Yet, if you -have not lived long enough in this world to be -in sympathy with the <i>little</i> trials, which, in certain -states of mind, look large, either your experience -is not extensive or your <i>sympathies</i> not -large. It was no greater matter than the hair -which belonged to Judge Burnham’s daughters. -But really if you <i>could</i> have seen the trying -way in which they managed to disfigure their -heads with this part of their adorning, you -would have felt that some action was demanded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>. -Ruth knew exactly how each head ought to be -dressed; she could almost see the effect that -would be produced by a skillful and easily attainable -arrangement. Then where the trial? -Why, perhaps, if you are not made up of that -cruelly sensitive type of women—and I am sure -I hope you are not—it will be difficult to make -plain to you how Ruth shrank from touching -that hair! Human hair, other than her own -was a thing which she desired to keep at a respectful -distance. She could admire it, when well cared -for, and she did most heartily. But to <i>care</i> for -it, to comb and brush and fondle over <i>any</i> person’s -hair, was to Ruth, or would have been had -she ever been called upon to suffer in that line, -a positive martyrdom. Now add to this the fact -that this shrinking from the work increased tenfold -when it had to do with any person who was -not <i>very</i> dear and precious, and possibly you can -comprehend why she wore so troubled a face -that Saturday evening, and gazed at those hopeless -heads opposite her, and wondered how a -transformation was to be brought about. She -was hopeless as regarded teaching the intricacies -of any becoming twist or curl. In time, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> -patience and with often taking hold and obliging -the refractory hairs to lie in their place, it might -be accomplished; and here poor Ruth shivered -over the horrors of a possible future experience. -But to get them ready to appear at church the -next morning, without a personal encounter, -was not to be hoped for.</p> - -<p>This Saturday evening, although the family -had been three weeks in their new home, was -the first in which they were planning for church. -The little church in the village had been closed -for a longer space of time than that, undergoing -repairs, and the first Sabbath after their marriage -Ruth had contrived to plan and work herself -into an exhaustive headache that had to be -succumbed to and petted all day. The next -they had been forced to spend in the city, by -reason of having missed the last train out on -Saturday. Now here they were on the eve of -the third, and Ruth at least had been planning -toward the little stone church around the corner. -Everything was in readiness. The new dresses -and the new bonnets and the new gloves, and -all the new and bewildering paraphernalia of -the toilet had arrived from the city, the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -package only the evening before, and but for -that dreadful hair Ruth would have been happy -over the thought of the effect to be produced by -the next morning’s toilet.</p> - -<p>It was Susan who at last, and in an unexpected -manner, came to the rescue, just as she -had stepped in and rescued Ruth from a hundred -trials, both seen and unseen, during the -experiences of the last three weeks. She did -her part so naturally, too, as one who simply -happened along at the right moment, without -having understood any special need for it. Perhaps -there is no rarer or more perfect way of -bearing one another’s burdens than this apparently -unconscious one.</p> - -<p>They sat in the cheery sitting-room—Ruth -would not have it called a parlor—and in no -part of the house had the transformation been -more complete than in that square, rag-carpeted, -paper-curtained, and unhome-like room. Judge -Burnham was reading certain business letters -that seemed to perplex him. The girls were -wishing that they could invent some excuse for -escaping early from the room to their own, that -they might have another look at all the beauties<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -of their wardrobe, and Ruth was gazing at them -with a distressed air and manner, and thinking -of hair! Susan, glancing up from her glove-mending, -followed the direction of Ruth’s eyes -for a moment, then she spoke her thoughts.</p> - -<p>“I just <i>long</i> to get hold of your hair.”</p> - -<p>The remark seemed to be addressed to the -two girls, and was so in keeping with Ruth’s -thoughts that she started and flushed, wondering -for an instant whether it were possible for -Susan to know what they were. The girls -laughed, and looked pleased at her interest.</p> - -<p>“Your hair would curl beautifully,” Susan -added, addressing the elder sister. “And those -wide braids in which heavy hair is arranged -now would just fit Minta’s face. Don’t you -think so, Ruth?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ruth, promptly, “I am sure of -it. But I don’t know that she could get them -looped right.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, she could. It is very easy after one -knows how. Girls, I am an excellent barber. -Suppose we go up-stairs and try my skill? I -can show you so that you can arrange that part<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> -of your toilet in the morning in less time than -it usually takes.”</p> - -<p>This plan was immediately carried out, the -three going up-stairs with merry voices, Susan’s -cheery one being heard to say:</p> - -<p>“Oh, you don’t understand half my accomplishments -yet; there are ever so many things I -can do.”</p> - -<p>“That is a fact,” said Judge Burnham, with -emphasis. “She is a very treasure in the house. -I used to pity you, Ruth, but, upon my word, so -far as she is concerned, I am not sure that there -was any room for pity.”</p> - -<p>“There was not,” Ruth said, heartily. “It -took me a long time to realize it, but she has -been from the first day of her coming to our -home a blessing to me.”</p> - -<p>And so strange are these hearts of ours, -touched oftentimes by words or deeds apparently -so slight, Ruth felt the little episode of -the hair-dressing as something that called forth -very tender feeling for her sister. She began to -have a dim idea of what a blessing might be -hidden in a simple, quiet life, constantly unselfish -in so-called <i>little</i> things.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span></p> - -<p>So it came to pass that, on a lovely Sabbath -morning, the Burnham family were one and all -making ready to appear as a family in the little -stone church. The girls had been there, more -or less, on Sabbaths, during their lives. Years -ago Judge Burnham used to go occasionally, -when he felt like it. But it had been many a -year since he had been seen inside the unpretending -little building. Ruth, of course, had -never been, and the circumstances surrounding -them all were so new and strange that it was -almost like a company of strangers being introduced -into home-life together.</p> - -<p>The two girls came down a trifle earlier than -the others, and were in the hall near the doorway, -where the soft, yellow sunlight rested on -them, when Judge Burnham descended the -stairs. Half-way down he paused, with a surprised, -irresolute air, as his eyes rested on the -two apparent strangers, and then, as one of -them turned suddenly, and he caught a glimpse -of her face, the surprise deepened into bewilderment. -Who <i>were</i> these young ladies who were -so at home in his house in the privacy of a Sabbath -morning? This was the first thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -And the second, “It is not—can it be <i>possible</i> -that they are my daughters!” Then, it is almost -surprising that he did not at once feel humiliated -over the fact that outward adornings had power -so to transform!</p> - -<p>It was certainly a transformation! Rich, -quiet-toned silks, just the right tint to accord -well with skin and eyes, made in that indescribable -manner which marks the finished workman, -to those eyes skilled in translating it, and to -other eyes it simply says, “The effect is perfect.” -Wraps, and hats, and gloves, and handkerchiefs—everything -in keeping. And, in -place of the stretched-back hair, were soft, -smooth, rolling auburn curls, completely changing -the expression of the wearer’s face. Also, -that unbecoming mass of shortish hair which -had hung in such untidy uncouthness, was gone, -and in its place wide, smooth braids, tastefully -looped here and there with knots of ribbon of -just the right shade.</p> - -<p>Ruth should have been there at that moment -to see the two, and to see Judge Burnham as he -looked at them. She would have felt rewarded -for her work. It certainly <i>was</i> strange what a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> -different manner the hitherto awkward girls now -assumed. A sense of conscious becomingness, -if it were nothing more, had fallen upon them, -and in the effort to do justice to their new selves -they almost unconsciously drew the stooping -shoulders straight and stood with heads erect.</p> - -<p>“Well, upon my word!” said Judge Burnham, -recovering himself at last, and advancing -toward them, “I didn’t know you. I wondered -what strange ladies we had here. Your fall suits -are certainly very becoming.”</p> - -<p>He chose to ignore the fact that fall suits were -new experiences to them. Perhaps he really did -not yet understand to what a new world they -had been introduced. The two laughed, not -unpleasantly, and the flush on their cheeks, -toned, as it was, by the billows of soft ruchings -about the throat, was certainly not unbecoming. -They had taken long looks at themselves in -their mirror, that morning, and it was not unpleasant -to them to think that their father did -not recognize them. They had already reached -the place where they had no desire to have their -past recognized. Some seed takes root promptly -and grows rapidly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span></p> - -<p>You may imagine that the entrance of the -Burnham party to the little stone church was an -event in the eyes of the congregation. They -had known the Burnham girls all their lives; -but these “young ladies” they never saw before. -It would have been curious to a student of human -nature to have studied the effect which -their changed appearance made on the different -characters present. Certain ones looked unaffected -and unconcealed amazement; others gazed -up at them, and returned their nods of recognition -with respectful bows, seeming to look -upon them as people who had moved to an immense -distance from themselves; and there were -those who resented the removal, and tossed their -heads and said, with their eyes, and the shape -of their mouths, that they “considered themselves -quite as good as those Burnham girls, if -they were all decked out like peacocks!”</p> - -<p>As for Judge Burnham, the shade of satisfied -pride, in place of the mortification which he had -schooled himself to feel, repaid his wife for her -three weeks of effort.</p> - -<p>Then she tried to turn away from the question -of personal appearance, and give herself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -the service; but she was both surprised and -pained to find that, in her well-meant efforts to -place these girls in their proper position before -others, she had, someway, lost ground spiritually. -It was all very well to resolve to turn her -thoughts away from the girls, and their dresses, -and their bonnets, and their hair, and their manners, -but it was another thing to accomplish it. -She found what, possibly, we have each discovered -by experience, that it was not easy to get -away on Sabbath, in church, from that which -had absorbed us during the week, and indeed, a -fair share of the early Sabbath itself. Try as -she would to join in hymn, or Bible-reading, or -even prayers, she found her mind wandering -to such trivial questions as whether, after all, -a shade lighter of the silk would have fitted -Minta’s peculiar complexion better, or whether -those gloves were not a trifle large. These -thoughts were very hateful to her. She struggled -hard to get away from them, and was -amazed and distressed beyond measure to find -that they held her captive. She waited eagerly -for the sermon, hoping that it would be such an -one as would hold her attention for her, since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> -she was not able to control it herself; and behold, -the text announced was one which, indeed, -helped her wandering thoughts, but threw her -back into the very midst of the gloom which had -pressed her heart the last time she heard those -words: “Wherefore do ye spend money for that -which is not bread? and your labor for that -which satisfieth not?” Again her answering -conscience said that was what she had been doing. -Money and time and strength freely given for -that which was not bread!</p> - -<p>It had not fed her soul; on the contrary, it, -or something else, had starved her. Well, what -was the trouble? She had surely done that -which was her duty? Yes, but did a revealing -spirit whisper the words in her ear, just -then?—“These ought ye to have done, and not -to have left the other undone.” She had been -<i>absorbed</i> in her labor; she had put these things -first. She had risen and gone about the day, too -hurried for other than a word of prayer—too -hurried for any private reading. She had retired -at night, too wearied in mind and body for -any prayer at all! She was starved! much time -gone, and no bread for her hungry soul! Also,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> -having not fed herself, how could she have been -expected to feed others? Even yet she had said -almost nothing, to these daughters of hers, about -the all-important matter. She had talked with -them, often and long. All the details of the -toilet had been gone over carefully, exhaustively, -and she and they, and Judge Burnham himself, -were satisfied with the results of her words in -that direction. What about the direction which -“<i>satisfieth?</i>”</p> - -<p>How was Ruth to get away from her heart?</p> - -<p>No, I must do her justice; that was not her -cry. She did not want to get away from the -awakening voice. She was distressed, she was -humiliated, she was unhappy; but she wanted to -find rest only through the love and patience of -Jesus. She felt like a sheep who had wandered -outside, even while doing work that she surely -thought was set for her—as, indeed, it was; -but her eyes were just opening to the fact that -one can do work that the Master has set, so vigorously -as to forget the resting-places which he -has marked for the soul to pause and commune -with him, and gather strength. She had been -<i>working</i>, but not <i>resting</i>. And then, again, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -was most painfully true that, because of her lack -of spiritual strength, she had done but half her -work. The important human side she had -held to its important place, and worked faithfully -for it. But the forever-more important -spiritual side she had allowed to sink almost out -of sight of her vision; and even, when roused -by His Spirit, as He had spoken to her through -that very verse, but a little time before, she -had allowed her roused heart to slip back and -absorb itself in the cares of this world and the -adornments of fleshly bodies, while the souls -waited.</p> - -<p>Truth to tell, Ruth was not troubled any more -that morning, by wandering thoughts; neither -did she hear much of the earnest sermon which -was preached; but, if the preacher had but -known how the Holy Spirit took his text and -preached to one soul for him, he would have -gone home to his closet, on his knees, and thanked -God for using his lips that day, in reading to -that soul that questioning word.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> - -<small>“HEARKEN UNTO ME.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-i1.jpg" alt="I" width="97" height="31" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-i2.jpg" alt="I" width="66" height="86" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">“IT passes my comprehension how a man -with no more development of brain-power -than that one possesses made the mistake of -thinking he was called to preach!”</p> - -<p>This was what Judge Burnham said, as he -walked with his wife home from the morning -service.</p> - -<p>“Did you ever hear an effort more devoid of -ideas? What possible good can he think he has -accomplished, if that is his motive? Or how -can he have sufficient vanity to imagine that it is -other than a bore to listen to him?”</p> - -<p>Ruth hesitated for her answer. It was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> -that she had been so impressed with the sermon, -it was rather the text that had been preached to -her; and she did not feel personally sensitive in -regard to Judge Burnham’s opinion of this particular -minister. I think the reason that the -words struck sharply on her heart was because -they revealed her husband’s utter lack of sympathy -with the subject matter of the sermon. -He was speaking solely from a critical, intellectual -standpoint, without, apparently, a conception -of any spiritual power connected with the -“foolishness of preaching.” The sentence revealed -to Ruth, as with a flash of light—such -as reveals darkness—the fact that her husband -had no sympathy with Christ or his servants, as -such. Of course, she had known this before; -but to know a thing and to <i>feel</i> it are two very -different matters.</p> - -<p>“I was not thinking of the <i>newness</i> of the -truth,” she said, after a little, speaking hesitatingly. -“It impressed me, however. A thing -does not need to be new in order to be helpful; -it may be as old as the earth, and we never have -given it attention.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly,” he said lightly. “There are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -things so old and so tiresome that we do not -care to give them special attention; I am entirely -willing to class that sermon among such, -if you say so. I declare I had not realized that -a sermon could be such a trial to me. I don’t -quite see what is to be done; I suppose your orthodoxy -will not permit of your staying at home -on Sabbath, and I’m sure we can not tolerate that -sort of preaching—I suppose he calls it preaching. -How shall we manage?”</p> - -<p>Still Ruth had no answer ready. Every word -that he spoke served to increase the heavy weight -at her heart; and, despite her shivering effort -to get away from it, there rang the question, -“How can two walk together except they be -agreed?” Yet she realized only too well that -the time for settling that question was long past; -that she had taken solemn and irrevocable vows -upon her, and must abide by them. The question -now was, How was she so to walk with him -as not to dishonor Christ?</p> - -<p>“I have no fault to find with the man’s preaching,” -she said, coldly; and her husband laughed -good-naturedly, and told her he appreciated her -well-meant efforts to make the best of everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> -but, unfortunately, she had too much -brain to allow him for a moment to believe that -such weak attempts at oratory satisfied her. -Then he changed the subject, talking of matters -as foreign to Ruth’s thoughts as possible, and -yet serving, by their very distance from her -heart, to press the weight of pain deeper. Her -eyes once widely opened, it seemed that everything -which occurred that day served to show her -more plainly the gulf which lay between her -ideas, and plans, and hopes, and those of her -husband.</p> - -<p>“What a glorious day this is!” he had said, as -they turned from the dinner table. “I declare -I believe the country <i>is</i> ahead of the city! on -such days as these, any way. Ruth, what do -you say to a ride? It would be a good time to -explore that winding road which seemed to stretch -away into nowhere.”</p> - -<p>While he waited, he watched with surprise the -flush which deepened and spread on his wife’s -face. It so happened that the question of Sabbath -riding for pleasure was one which had come -up incidentally for discussion one evening at -Flossy Shipley’s, during Mr. Roberts’ visit, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -Ruth, who had taken the popular view of innocent -Sabbath recreation, had discussed the matter -with keen relish, finding Mr. Roberts able to -meet her at every point. She had been first annoyed -to find her position open to so much objection, -then interested to study the question in all -its bearings, and ended, as such a frank, intelligent -and thoroughly sincere nature as hersmust -end, in abandoning a position which she saw was -untenable, and coming strongly over to the -other side; since which time the observance of -the Sabbath had been one of her strong points. -Judge Burnham had respected her scruples, so far -as he knew them, but, truth to tell, he did not -understand them very well. Having no personal -principle in the matter by which to judge, he -was in danger of erring in unthought of directions, -and every new phase of the same question -demanded a new line of reasoning. It had not -so much as occurred to him that his wife would -see any impropriety in riding out in her own -carriage, on the Sabbath day, with her husband, -on a quiet, unfrequented country road.</p> - -<p>While she hesitated he watched her curiously.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, laughing, at last, “what is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -the trouble? You look as though I had broken -all the commands in the Decalogue. Am I on -forbidden ground now?”</p> - -<p>“Not <i>all</i> the commands,” Ruth said, trying -to smile; “but you seem to have forgotten the -Fourth.”</p> - -<p>“I am not sure that I know it. I am not -thoroughly posted as to the commandments—the -position in which they stand at least. What -is wrong, Ruth?”</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham, I don’t like to ride out for -pleasure on Sabbath.”</p> - -<p>“What! not with me? Is it wicked to have -a pleasant time on Sabbath? I didn’t know -that. I fail to see why we can’t be as good sitting -together in the carriage as we are sitting -together in the parlor. Or should we spend -this day apart, enjoying the luxury of melancholy -reflection?”</p> - -<p>“I think you know what I mean. You are -much too well versed in argument to be entirely -ignorant of people’s views in regard to this day.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, Ruth, I was never more -innocent. I might be able to see some force -in a young lady’s objection to riding out with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -young gentleman, especially in a city, or in a -crowded thoroughfare, though even such things -may be carried to excess; but when it comes to -one’s husband, and a country road where we -shall not meet three people in an hour, I confess -I am befogged. Susan, do you see the bearings -of this case?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I see a good many bearings which you -would not admit, and possibly you could bring -to bear a good many arguments which <i>I</i> would -not admit. We start from different standpoints. -It all resolves itself into whether we believe the -word of God or not, and I accept it as our rule -of life.”</p> - -<p>“Why, no, it doesn’t. I believe the word of -God; in a measure at least. I have respect for -the Sabbath as an institution, and believe in its -sacredness. I have no sort of fault to find with -‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.’ -I believe it was a good, sensible law. But we -should very likely quarrel over the word ‘holy.’ -I should object to the narrowness which made -it so falsely holy that I could not enjoy a ride -with my wife after church, and I should have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -serious doubts as to whether you could prove -your side of the question from the Bible.”</p> - -<p>“Listen to one Bible argument, then,” Susan -said, quietly, “and tell me what you think it -means. ‘If thou turn away thy foot from -doing thy pleasure on my holy day, and call the -Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honorable, -and shalt honor Him, not doing thine own -ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking -thine own words.’ What do you think of that -argument for my side, Judge Burnham?”</p> - -<p>The gentleman addressed looked his embarrassment -and annoyance. The verse quoted -sounded strangely new and solemn to him. His -inner consciousness was made certain that he -was not ready to gauge his Sabbath employments -by that rule.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well,” he said, restlessly, “that verse -would have to affect other things besides riding -out in the country; it has to do with home-life, -and words, and acts, as well.”</p> - -<p>“It certainly has,” Susan answered. And she -spoke as if she thought it in no degree lessened -the force of the argument, because the obligation -reached in many directions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose,” Ruth said, “there is no question -but that the Sabbath is very poorly observed; -still that is hardly an argument for increasing -the ways for dishonoring it, is it?”</p> - -<p>Then Judge Burnham turned on his heel and -went off to the piazza, deigning no reply to the -general question that his wife had put. As for -herself, she struggled with the sense of pain that -kept increasing, and wondered how she should -shape her life. Apparently, Judge Burnham -became ashamed of his rudeness, for he returned -presently to the parlor, whither Ruth had gone -to wait for him, and seating himself near her, -with some pleasant remark as far removed from -the recent subject as he could make it, took up -a book and seemed to lose himself in it. Ruth -followed his example, the book she took being -the elegantly bound Bible that her father had -sent to grace the table. Instinctively she turned -to the chapter from which the haunting verse -came, and slowly, carefully, read it over. Presently -what had been a pretense with Judge -Burnham became reality. He was interested -in his book, which interest he evidenced by a -burst of laughter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is really rich,” he said. “Listen to this -sarcasm, Ruth; see if you ever heard anything -touch deeper.” And then he read from the -sparkling, satirical, popular writer, a dozen sentences -of brilliant sarcasm concerning one of the -scientific questions of the day—keen, sharp, -sparkling with wit and strength, but having to -do with a subject for which Ruth had no sympathy -at any time, and which especially jarred -upon her this Sabbath afternoon. Her husband -looked up from his reading to meet the answering -flash of the eyes which he liked so well to -see kindle, and met the objection on her face, -and felt the lack of sympathy with his enjoyment. -“I beg your pardon,” he said, abruptly, -“I had forgotten your Puritan ideas. Possibly -I am infringing again on the sacredness of your -Sabbath.”</p> - -<p>“I certainly think that the sentiments of that -book are not in accordance with the Bible idea -of the sacredness of the day.” If Ruth could -only have kept her voice from sounding as cold -as an iceberg, she might have had some influence.</p> - -<p>As it was, he arose with a decided frown on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -his fine face. “I see, Ruth,” he said, speaking -as coldly as she had herself, “that we assuredly -have nothing in common for this day of the -week, whatever may be said of us on other -days. It is a pity that the ‘sacredness of the -Sabbath’ should be the only element of discord -between husband and wife. As I am in continual -danger of erring unconsciously, I will have -the grace to leave you in solitude and religious -enjoyment,” and with a courtly bow he left her -to herself, and her large, open Bible, and her -sad heart.</p> - -<p>A little later Susan came in, and stopping -beside her looked down the page of the Bible. -Ruth laid her finger on the words of the morning -text: “It is all true, Susan,” she said -gravely. “I don’t believe there is any person -living who realizes it more fully than I do. -‘That which satisfieth not.’ One may do one’s -best, and succeed in accomplishing, and it is -unsatisfying.”</p> - -<p>“Have you answered the question, Ruth, -dear?”</p> - -<p>“Whose question?”</p> - -<p>“The Holy Spirit’s—Wherefore, do ye?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> -That is what he asks. Do you understand why -we try to satisfy our souls on husks, instead of -wheat?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” Ruth said, thoughtfully, “things -have to be done.”</p> - -<p>“Of course; but why should we stop among -the <i>things</i> expecting satisfaction, or allow them -to take other than the subordinate place they -were meant to occupy? Ruth, I think the -trouble with you is, you do not read the whole -verse. You feel that you have proved the truth -of the first part of it, in your own experience -Why don’t you try the rest?”</p> - -<p>“Just what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Why, listen; ‘Hearken unto me, and eat ye -that which is good, and let your soul delight -itself in fatness.’ Don’t you see what an assurance -that is, that the feast is spread? There is -prepared that which will satisfy; why not -hearken to the voice of the Master of the -feast?”</p> - -<p>Ruth lifted to her sister’s face earnest eyes, -that filled with tears.</p> - -<p>“I <i>have</i> tried to ‘hearken,’” she said, in a -voice that was husky with feeling. “I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -heard his voice and have tried to follow him -and, at times, as I have told you before, he has -seemed very near, but the feeling does not stay. -I am up on the Mount one day, more than satisfied, -and the next day I have dropped down and -lost my comfort.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know that story in all its details. I -have lived it. In my own case it was because I -ceased ‘hearkening’ for his voice. I placed other -things first. I thought first of what <i>I</i> was going -to do, or have, or be, instead of putting Christ -first.”</p> - -<p>“Ruth, don’t you know He says: ‘For I the -Lord thy God am a <i>jealous God?</i>’ How often -I have thought of that! He <i>will not abide</i> with -a divided heart; he must be <i>first;</i> and, for myself, -I did not for years keep him first. God -was not in <i>all</i> my thoughts.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” Ruth said, speaking slowly -after a long silence, and she spoke with a long -drawn sigh.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know that I can ever get back to -where I was, even three weeks ago. Something -has dropped like a pall upon my joy in religion. -I never had much joy in anything. Really,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> -it isn’t my nature to be joyful. Perhaps I -should not expect it.”</p> - -<p>Susan, smiling, shook her head. “That won’t -do, you know. Joy is one of the fruits that -you are commanded to bear. It is not optional -with you. ‘The fruit of the Spirit is love’—<i>joy</i>—you -remember. It is not the joy of nature -that you and I are to look for, but the joy of -grace. Ruth, if I were you, I would not try to -go back to three weeks ago, I would try to go -back to Christ and ask him to hold you, and -lead you, and speak for you, and in this, your -time of special need, not to let you drop for one -moment away from him.”</p> - -<p>But who shall account for the perversity of -the human heart? Something in the simple, -earnest words were translated by Satan to mean -to Ruth a reflection against her husband. She -lifted her head haughtily and the tremor went -out of her voice. “I don’t know what you -mean by my ‘time of special need;’ I do not -know that one’s life, humanly speaking, could -be more carefully shielded than mine. I have -no anxiety as to Judge Burnham’s position in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -regard to these questions; he will respect my -wishes and follow my plans.”</p> - -<p>To this Susan had no answer. Had she -spoken at all, she feared she would have shown -Ruth that her own words were not strictly true. -She believed her at this moment to be weighed -down with a sense of her husband’s influence -over her.</p> - -<p>When the bell tolled for evening service, -Susan and the two daughters of the house came -down attired for church.</p> - -<p>“Going again?” queried Judge Burnham, -with uplifted eyebrows. “Ruth and I have had -enough for to-day.” And Ruth, sitting back in -the easy chair, with a footstool at her feet, and -a sofa pillow at her head, and a volume of -sacred poems in her hand, neither raised her -eyes nor spoke.</p> - -<p>“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” -This sentence stayed persistently with Susan -Erskine. What had it to do with Judge Burnham -and his wife that they, too, should remind -her of it?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> - -<small>“BITTER-SWEET.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-a1.jpg" alt="A" width="87" height="29" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-a2.jpg" alt="A" width="68" height="83" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">A QUESTION which began to press -heavily on Ruth’s mind as the days -went by was: What should she do when Susan -went home?</p> - -<p>It began to be apparent that all the details -connected with the reconstructed house were -completed; and also, that a skillful set of hired -helpers were in their places. But it was equally -apparent to her heart that she shrank from the -thought of seeing Susan pack her trunk and go -back to the Erskine homestead; she fitted so -perfectly into the family life; she had already -acquired such a remarkable degree of influence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> -over the girls. They copied her ways and her -words, and it had some time ago become apparent -to Ruth that this sister of hers was in every -respect worthy of being copied. Even her dress—taking -its hints from Flossy Shipley’s sweetly-spoken -words, about which Ruth knew nothing—had -taken such quietness of tone that, if it -was not marked for its beauty, had perhaps -higher praise in that it was not noticed at all, -but had sunken into the minor place it was expected -to fill. Ruth, in thinking the past all -over, was amazed at the wholesale way in which -she had finally adopted her sister. Just <i>when</i> -she began to like her, so well that it was a pleasure -to have her company and a trial to think of -her absence, she did not know. It seemed to -her now as though she had always felt so; and -yet she knew that somewhere along the line of -her life there must have been a decided change -of feeling.</p> - -<p>“She is just splendid, anyway!” This was -the final verdict. “I don’t care when I began -to know it; I know it now. I wish I could -have her with me always. If she and father -could live out here with us, how nice it would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -be! Father would like the country; it would -rest and strengthen him. But, oh! <i>that woman!</i>” -Which two words, spoken with an intensity of -emphasis that she allowed only the four walls of -her room to hear, always referred to Mrs. Judge -Erskine. She was quite as much of a trial as -ever. Ruth could not conceive of a possibility -of there ever being a time when she should want -to see <i>her</i>. So she studied over the problem of -how to keep Susan, and, like many another student, -found, after a few days, that it was worked -out for her, in a way that she would not have -chosen.</p> - -<p>The news burst like a bomb-shell into their -midst, without note or warning. Judge Erskine -had lost his fortune! Large though it had been, -it slipped out of his grasp almost in an hour.</p> - -<p>“The trouble has to do with small-pox and -religion!” Judge Burnham said, with something -very like a sneer on his handsome face. “I -don’t know which development should be blamed -the most. During his exile from the office his -clerks made some very foolish moves, as regarded -investments, etc. And, then, the other disease -reached such a form that he was beguiled into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -putting his name to two or three pieces of paper -for others, on the score of friendship—a piece -of idiocy that during all his sane years he had -warned me, and every other business man who -came to him for advice, from being beguiled -into; and the result is, financial ruin.”</p> - -<p>“There are worse ruins than that!” Ruth -said it haughtily; her husband’s criticism of her -father jarred.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that is true enough. There are dishonorable -ruins; this one is the soul of honor, and -of philanthropy, for that matter. He has <i>so</i> -much to sustain him, but he can’t live on it. -And, Ruth, if you had ever known what it was -to live on nothing, you could sympathize better -with that sort of ruin. The hard part for me to -bear would be that it is all so unnecessary; if -he had but lived up to the wisdom and business -keenness which characterized all the earlier -years of his life! He has taken to giving some -very strange advice to his clients since he subscribed -to his new views—advice which has -taken thousands of dollars out of his business. -‘Had to do it,’ he told me; his ‘conscience -wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.’ If that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -true, I am really afraid that I couldn’t afford to -have a conscience; it is too expensive in -article.”</p> - -<p>How much of this was sincere, and how much -was a sort of sarcastic pleasantry? Ruth wished -she knew. It was a new and rather startling -thought that possibly the money which sustained -her now had to do with the fact that her husband -couldn’t afford a sensitive conscience!</p> - -<p>She put the thought away, as far from her as -possible. At least, she could do nothing with it -now; the time for it was past. She tried not to -think what ground she had for expecting a high -type of conscience from one who lived in cool -dishonor of the claims of the Lord Jesus Christ.</p> - -<p>The immediate questions were: What would -her father do? Also, what was there that she -could do for him?</p> - -<p>“Oh, he will give everything up,” Judge -Burnham said; “every penny; house, and -landed property, and household goods, down to -his very dog. Even his clothing is in danger. -I saw it in his eyes. It is the disease which has -pervaded his system. This new conscience of -his won’t let him do anything sensible.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham,” said Ruth, having endured -all that she could—she was not skilled in endurance—“I -wish you would remember that -you are speaking of my father, and refrain from -sneers. If his code of honor is higher than -yours, he can not help it, I suppose. At least, -you should be able to respect it; or, failing in -that, please respect my feelings.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” said Judge Burnham, -quickly startled by the repressed fierceness of -the tones.</p> - -<p>“I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Ruth, -but you do not understand business, and your -father is really being very absurd with his -strained ideas of equity.”</p> - -<p>“I understand conscience, somewhat,” Ruth -said, quickly, and she was stung with the -thought that perhaps in the days gone by she -had stifled hers. Now all this was certainly -very sad talk to come between husband and wife -not six weeks after their marriage. Ruth felt it -and deplored it and wept over it, and wondered -how it would be possible to avoid subjects on -which they did not think and feel alike.</p> - -<p>Meantime she ought to go and see her father<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span>. -From this she shrank. How could she talk with -him from any other standpoint than that in -which she had always known him? A man of -wealth and power in the business world, she felt -that he must be utterly bowed down. He had -always, in a lofty, aristocratic way, attached full -importance to wealth. How was he going to -endure being suddenly thrown to the bottom of -the ladder, when he had for so many years rested -securely on the top round?</p> - -<p>However, it was folly for her to avoid such an -evident duty. She chose an hour when Mrs. -Erskine would be undoubtedly engaged down-stairs, -and slipped away to the train, having said -nothing of her intention to her husband when he -went to town an hour before, and without having -as yet succeeded in arranging a single sentence -that she felt would be helpful to her -father, she suddenly and silently presented herself -before him, in the little room off the library -which was sacred to his private use. He sat at -the table, writing, his face pale, indeed, but -quiet, not exactly cheerful, yet certainly peaceful.</p> - -<p>He glanced up as the door opened, and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> -arose quickly. “Well, daughter,” he said, “you -have come to see father in his trouble. That is -right. Come in, dear, and have a seat.” And -with the old-time courtesy he drew an easy chair -for her and waited while she seated herself. -Then he sat down again, in his large arm-chair, -before her.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “I must begin again. I shall -not get to where I was before. On your account -I regret it. I wanted to leave you a fortune to -do good with, but your husband has enough, and -it is all right. The Lord can choose what -money he will have spent for him.”</p> - -<p>“You certainly need not think of me, father. -As you say, Judge Burnham has enough.” And -even at this moment there was a pang in Ruth’s -heart that she would not have had her father see -for worlds, as she wondered how much power -she could have over <i>his</i> wealth to turn it into -sources for good.</p> - -<p>“My chief anxiety is, What are you going to -do?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, and there was a gleam of a -smile on his face, “I am going to climb up -again with my wife’s help. It isn’t poverty, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -know, thanks to her. Isn’t it marvelous how -she can have saved so much out of the paltry -yearly sums? Haven’t you heard about it? -Why, she actually has at interest about fourteen -thousand dollars; invested in my name, too. -Isn’t that a reward for the indignities I heaped -upon her?” His voice broke, and the tears -started in his eyes. “I tell you,” he said, tremulously, -“I bore it all better than that. I knew -I was not to blame for the financial downfall, -but to find that the woman whom I had wronged -had been all these years heaping coals of fire on -my head just unmanned me,” and he wiped the -great tears from his cheeks, while Ruth moved -restlessly in her seat. She did not like to hear -about his having wronged “that woman,” neither -did she like to have her father beholden to -<i>her</i> for support.</p> - -<p>“It is fortunate that she saved it,” she said, -and her voice was most unsympathetic. “But, -after all, father, it is your money.”</p> - -<p>“No, daughter, no; not a penny of it. Ten -times that sum ought to belong to her. Think -of trying to make <i>money</i> repair the injury which -I was doing her! But it is most comforting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -feel that I am to be beholden to her, rather than -to any other human being.”</p> - -<p>Ruth did not think so.</p> - -<p>“I have been wonderfully sustained, Ruth,” -her father continued. “I said last night that it -was almost worth losing a fortune to see how -calmly the Lord Jesus could hold me. I haven’t -had a doubt nor an anxiety as to its being the -right way from the first hour that I knew of the -loss. Of course I don’t see <i>why</i> it should come, -and really, I don’t believe I care to know. Why -should I, when I can so entirely trust to His -wisdom and love? There is another thing, -daughter—the sweet came with the bitter, and -was so much more important that it over-balanced. -Did you know that your mother had -come into the sunlight of His love? She told -me about it that very evening, and she says she -owes her knowledge of the way to me. Isn’t -that a wonderful boon for the Lord to bestow -on such as I?”</p> - -<p>Ruth turned almost away from him, with an -unaccountable irritability tugging at her heart. -“Your mother!” he had never used those words -to her before. They had slipped out now, unconsciously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> -He had grown used to their sound -in speaking to Susan; he did not see how they -jarred. It frightened his daughter to realize -how little she seemed to care whether a soul had -been new-born or not; she could not take in its -importance.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I am very glad,” she said, but her -voice bore not the slightest trace of gladness. -Then she went home, feeling that her spirit was -not in accord with the tone of that house. “He -doesn’t need <i>my</i> comfort,” she told herself, and -she said it almost bitterly. It was true enough, -he didn’t. Not that he did not appreciate human -sympathy and human love, but a greater -than human strength had laid hold upon his -weakness, and he was upborne. This, too, -Ruth recognized, and even while she rejoiced in -it, there mingled with the joy a strange pain.</p> - -<p>Following the money downfall came plans -that were quite in accord with her wishes. -They sprang into being apparently through a -chance remark. It began with Ruth, in a heavy -sigh, as she said, she and Susan being alone:</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how to take the next step for -those girls. It is absurd to think of sending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -them to school. At their age, and with their -limited knowledge, they would be simply objects -of ridicule. We must find a resident governess -for them. But where to look for one who will -have to teach young ladies what, in these days, -quite little children are supposed to know, and -yet remember that they are young ladies, and -treat them as such, is a puzzle. I am sure I -don’t know where to look, nor how to describe -what we need, the circumstances are so peculiar.”</p> - -<p>Then she waited for Susan to answer; and -so accustomed had she grown to being helped by -that young lady’s suggestions, that she waited -hopefully, though without having the least conception -of how a comparative stranger in the -city could help in this emergency.</p> - -<p>“There are plenty to get,” Susan said. “At -least I suppose the world is full of teachers, if -you only knew just where to look for them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>teachers</i>. Yes, there are plenty of them, -if a teacher was all that was needed. But, you -know, Susan, the case is a very unusual one. -We really need a woman who knows a good deal -about every thing, and who is as wise as a serpent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> -There is a chance to ruin the girls, and -make trouble for Judge Burnham and misery for -me, if we do not get just the right sort of person; -and I am in doubt as to whether there <i>is</i> -any right sort to be had.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Susan laughed, and blushed a little, -as she said:</p> - -<p>“After such an alarming statement of the -requirements, I am not sure that I have the -courage to propose a friend of mine. She doesn’t -lay claim to any of the gifts which you suggest.”</p> - -<p>Ruth looked up, relieved and smiling.</p> - -<p>“Do you really know a teacher, Susan, whom -you can recommend? I forgot that your acquaintance -was extensive among scholars. You -need not hesitate to suggest, for I assure you -that your recommendation would go further with -Judge Burnham and myself than any one we -know, for you understand the situation, and your -judgment is to be relied upon. Of whom are -you thinking, and where is she to be found? I -can almost promise her a situation.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Susan laughed outright.</p> - -<p>“Really,” she said, “you make it very embarrassing -work for me. I not only have to recommend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> -myself, but actually force myself upon -your observation. But, since I intend to teach -in the future, as I have done in the past, why -not try me for awhile, since I am here? I think -I would do until the girls were ready for somebody -who could do better.”</p> - -<p>If she had been watching her sister’s face she -would have seen the puzzled look change to one -of radiant delight. Then that sister did what, -to one of her undemonstrative nature, was a -strange thing to do—she crossed to Susan’s side, -and bending down, kissed her eagerly on either -cheek.</p> - -<p>“I believe I am an idiot!” she said. “Though -I used to think I was capable of planning as well -as most persons, but I never once thought of it! -And I knew you meant to teach, too. It is the -very thing. Nothing could be more delightful! -Judge Burnham will think so, too. Oh, Susan, -you are one of my greatest comforts!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> - -<small>“THESE BE THY GODS.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-a1.jpg" alt="A" width="87" height="29" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-a2.jpg" alt="A" width="68" height="83" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">AT last in Ruth Burnham’s home, life -settled into routine. Everything was -as she had planned it. She had tried two ways -of life. For a season almost everything had -gone contrary to her desires and plans. Then -there came this period wherein she was permitted -to carry out, in detail, all the schemes which -seemed to her wise. In the earlier days of her -Christian experience she had felt, if she did not -say, that if she could but have the control of -her own affairs, humanly speaking, she could -make things work together in a different and -more helpful manner for herself and her friends.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> -It was as if the Lord had taken her at her word -and opened the door for her to plan and carry -out according to her will. The question was, -Did she find it a success? Was she now, at last, -a happy, growing Christian—one whose influence -was felt in all the departments of her life? -Oh, I am afraid that Ruth hated to admit, even -to her own heart, how far from success she felt! -Painful though the admission was, she had to -make it to her conscience that she was neither a -growing nor a happy Christian.</p> - -<p>What was the trouble? Why, in her heart -and in her life there was conflict. She knew -the right, and too often she did it not. Give me -such an experience as that, and you may be sure -that you have given the record of an unhappy -and an unfruitful life. There were so many -ways in which Ruth could see that she had -erred. She meant to commence in just the right -way; she had taken great credit to herself for -her sacrifice of personal ease and pleasure, for -the taking up of hard crosses in connection with -Judge Burnham’s duties; yet now she saw that -there were crosses far more important which she -had not taken up at all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p> - -<p>Almost as often as she knelt alone in her own -room to pray she knelt in tears. First, because -she was always alone; her husband never bowed -with her, never read the Bible with her. Was -this, in part, her fault? What if, in those first -days when everything was new, and when he -was on the alert to be her comfort, she had -asked him to read with her, to kneel with her, -and hear her pray? Was it not possible that he -might have done so? Well, those first days -were not so long gone by. Was it not just possible -that he might join her now?</p> - -<p>Alas for Ruth! Though the days of her married -life had been so few, she could look back -upon them and see inconsistencies in word and -manner and action which went far toward sealing -her lips. Not that they should, but is it not -the painful experience of each one of us that -they so often do? If Ruth had but commenced -right! It is so hard to make a beginning, in the -middle of a life. Besides, there had been many -words spoken by Judge Burnham which would -serve to make it harder for him to yield to any -innovations. If she had but beguiled him before -these words were spoken! Then, indeed, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> -possible that some of them at least would never -have been uttered. Only a few weeks a wife, -and for how many of her husband’s sins was she -already in a measure responsible?</p> - -<p>Then the girls were a source of pain to Ruth’s -conscience. Not that they had not learned well -her first lessons. It surprised, at times it almost -alarmed her, to see with what eagerness they -caught at the ribbons and ruffles, and all the -outside adornments of life. They were entirely -willing to give these, each and all, important -place in their thoughts. She had given them -intoxicating glimpses of the world of fashion -before their heads or hearts were poised enough -not to be over-balanced. They had caught at -the glimpse and made a fairyland of beauty out -of it, and had resolved with all their young, -strong might to “belong” to that fairyland, and -they looked up to and reverenced Ruth as the -queen who had the power of opening these enchanted -doors to them. You are to remember -that, though backward, they were by no means -brainless. Having been kept in such marked -seclusion all their lives, until this sudden opening -of the outer doors upon them, and this sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> -flinging them into the very midst of the -whirl of “what to wear and how to make it,” -hearing little else during these first bewildering -days than the questions concerning this shade -and that tint, and the comparative merits of ruffles -or plaits, and the comparative qualities of -silks and velvets, and the absolute necessity of -perfect fitting boots and gloves and hats, what -wonder that they jumped to the conclusion, that -these things were the marks of power in the -world, and were second in importance to nothing?</p> - -<p>Having plunged into her work with the same -energy which characterized all Ruth’s movements, -how was she now to teach the lesson that -these things were absolutely as nothings compared -with a hundred other questions having to -do with their lives?</p> - -<p>She worked at this problem, and saw no more -how to do it than she saw how to take back the -first few weeks of married life and personal -influence over her husband and live them over -again. There was no solace in trying to talk -her difficulties over with Susan, because she, -while intensely sympathetic in regard to every-day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> -matters, was gravely silent when Ruth wondered -why the girls were so suddenly absorbed -in the trivialities of life to the exclusion of more -important things. And Ruth felt that her sister -recognized <i>her</i> share in the matter and deplored -it.</p> - -<p>About her husband she chose to be entirely -silent herself. If pride had not kept her so, the -sense of wifely vows would have sealed her lips. -At least she had high and sacred ideas of marriage -vows. Alas for Ruth, there were other -disquieting elements. She realized her husband’s -influence on herself. Try as she would, -resolve as she might, steadily she slipped away -from her former moorings. Little things, so -called, were the occasions of the lapses, but -they were not little in their effect on her spiritual -life.</p> - -<p>“How is it possible that you can desire to go -to that stuffy little room and meet a dozen illiterate -men and women or, is it a mistaken -sense of duty which impels you?”</p> - -<p>This was her husband’s question regarding the -suggestion of Ruth that they go to the weekly -prayer-meeting. His tone was not unkind, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> -there was just a touch of raillery in it, which -was at all times harder for Ruth to bear than -positive coldness.</p> - -<p>“You must be content to tolerate my tastes,” -she said, “since you can not sympathize with -them. Endurance is the most that I can expect.”</p> - -<p>He laughed good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“Now, Ruth, dear, don’t be cross. I haven’t -the least idea of being so, and I propose to -humor your whims to the last degree. I will -even escort you to that most uninviting room -and call for you again, enduring, meantime, -with what grace I can the sorrows of my -country solitude. What more can you expect? -But in return for such magnanimity you might -enlighten my curiosity. Why do you go? How -can I help being curious? In town, now, it was -different. While I might even there question -your choice of entertainments, at least you met -people of culture, with whom you had certain -ideas in common. But really and truly, my -dear wife, I am at home in this region of -country, so far as knowledge of the mental caliber -of the people is concerned, and I assure you -you will look in vain for a man or woman of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span> -brains. Outside of the minister—who is well -enough, I suppose, though he is a perfect bore -to me—there is a general and most alarming -paucity of ideas. Besides which, there is no -gas in the church, you know, and kerosene -lamps are fearful at their best, and these, I -judge, are at their worst. So, taking the subject -in all its bearings, I think I am justified in asking -what can be your motive?”</p> - -<p>Is it any wonder that there were tears in -Ruth’s eyes, as she turned them toward her husband? -How explain to one who would not understand -the meaning of her terms why she -sought the little country prayer-meeting?</p> - -<p>“Judge Burnham,” she said, speaking slowly, -and trying to choose the words with care, “is it -unknown to you that I profess to expect to meet -there with the Lord Jesus Christ?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that indeed!” he said, and the lightness -of his tone so jarred on her that she shivered. -“I believe that is an article in your creed. I -don’t discredit it in its intellectual and spiritual -sense, but what does it prove? I suppose you -meet him equally in this room, and I suppose the -surroundings of this room are as conducive to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span> -communion with the Unseen Presence as are -those of that forlorn little square box of a church. -Isn’t that the most doleful building for a church -that it was ever your misery to see? It is -abominably ventilated; for that matter churches -nearly always are. I wonder if there is any -thing in church creeds that conscientiously holds -people from observing the laws of health and -comfort? I don’t believe there is an opera-house -in the United States that would be tolerated for -a season, if the question of light and heat and -ventilation had been ignored in it as entirely as -they are in churches.”</p> - -<p>What was there to be said to such as he? -Perhaps Ruth said the best thing under the circumstances. -“Well, come, don’t let us discuss -the subject further; there is the bell; please take -me down to the poor little church, for I really -want to go.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” he said, rising promptly, and -making ready with a good-natured air. He attended -her to the very door and was on its threshold -in waiting when the hour of prayer was -over, and was gracious and attentive in the extreme -during the rest of the evening, making no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span> -allusion to the prayer-meeting, after the first few -mischievous and pointed questions as to the exercises, -questions which tried Ruth’s nerves to -the utmost, for the reason that the little meeting -had been so utterly devoid of anything like life -and earnestness that it was a trial rather than a -help to her.</p> - -<p>Conversations not unlike these were common -on prayer-meeting evening, always conducted on -Judge Burnham’s part, in the most gracious -spirit, ending by accompanying her to the church -door. She ceased to ask him to enter, for the -reason that she was not sure but it would be a -positive injury to him to do so. One Wednesday -evening he followed her to the parlor with a -petition:</p> - -<p>“Now, wifie, I have been most patiently good -every ‘meeting’ evening, since I had you all to -myself, having given you up, if not willingly, at -least uncomplainingly, to the companionship of -those who are neither elevating nor inspiriting. -Now it is your turn to show yourself unselfish. -I’m a victim to one of my old-fashioned headaches, -to-night, and want you to take care of -me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p> - -<p>To which proposition Ruth instantly agreed—the -pang of conscience which she felt being not -on account of the wife’s obvious duty to care for -a sick husband, but because of the instant throb -of relief of which she was conscious in having a -legitimate reason for escaping the prayer-meeting. -It was too painfully apparent, even to her -own heart, that she had not enjoyed the hour of -religious communion; that she had sighed inwardly -when the door closed after her retreating -husband, and she had gone back eagerly to his -companionship, directly after the hour of separation -was over. It transpired that, on this occasion, -his headache was not so severe, but that it -admitted of his being entertained by his wife’s -voice reading aloud, and he was presently so far -recovered as to sit up and join in her reading, -giving her a lesson in the true rendering of -Shakespeare, which was most enjoyable to both. -On the following Wednesday there was a concert -of unusual interest in the city, and Ruth obeyed -her husband’s summons by telegraph to come -down on the six o’clock train and attend. Of -course it would not do to have him wait in the city -for her and disappoint him. Another Wednesday,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> -and she went again to the little meeting; but it -had in the interim grown more distasteful to her; -and, indeed, there was this excuse for poor Ruth, -that the meeting was one of the dullest of its -kind; there were no outside influences helping her. -It was a matter of hard duty between her and -her conscience. Perhaps when we consider that -human nature is what it is, we should not think -it strange that six weeks after the concert found -Ruth accepting an invitation to a select party in -town, forgetting utterly, until, in her estimation, -the acceptance was beyond recall, that it was Wednesday -evening. When she remembered it, she told -her long-suffering conscience somewhat roughly, -that “wives certainly had duties which they -owed to their husbands.” I have given you now -only a specimen out of many influences which -slowly and surely drew Ruth down stream. -Susan, looking on, feeling for the present powerless, -except as that ever-present resource—prayer—was -left her, felt oftener perhaps than any -other command, the force of that one sentence: -“Thou shall have no other gods <i>before me</i>.”</p> - -<p>Yet was not Ruth Burnham happy. Perhaps -she had never, in her most discontented hours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> -been further from happiness. Her conscience was -too enlightened, and had, in the last two years, -been too well cultivated for her not to know that -she was going contrary very often to her former -ideas of right.</p> - -<p>Too surely she felt that her husband’s views, -her husband’s tastes, her husband’s plans of -life were at variance with hers. It was all very -well to talk about his yielding, and being led; he -could yield to the inevitable; and there is a way -of appearing to yield, gracefully, too, which develops -itself as only a master-stroke to the end -that one may gain one’s own way. This method -Judge Burnham understood in all its details.</p> - -<p>His wife early in their married life began to -realize it. She began to understand that he was, -in a quiet, persistent way, actually <i>jealous</i> of the -demands which her religion made upon her time -and heart. It was not that he deliberately meant -to overthrow this power which held her; rather -he sought in a patient way to undermine it. Perhaps -if Ruth had realized this, she might have -been more on her guard. But Satan had succeeded -in blinding her eyes by that most specious -of all reasonings that she must, by her concession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> -to his tastes and plans, win him over to her -ways of thinking. In other words, she must, by -doing wrong, convince him of the beauty that -there is in a consistent Christian life, and win -him to the right way! In matters pertaining to -this life Ruth’s lip would have curled in scorn -over such logic. Why was it that she could not -see plainly the ground whereon she trod?</p> - -<p>Is there, then, no rest in the Christian life? -Is the promise, “Come unto me, and I will give -you rest,” utterly void and worthless? Has not -God called his children to “peace?” Is there -no “peace which passeth understanding,” such as -the world can neither give nor take away?</p> - -<p>Why did not Ruth Burnham, with her educated -mind and clear brain, ponder these things, -and determine whether, when she told herself, -that of course one must expect conflict and heart-wars -in this life, she was not thereby making the -eternal God false to his covenants?</p> - -<p>What was the trouble? Why, the same thing -which comes in so continually with its weary -distractions—a divided heart. “Whosoever -therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy -of God!” That old solemn truth remains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span> -to-day, after eighteen hundred years of experience, -a <i>truth</i> which many a world-tossed soul has -proved; and Ruth Burnham had need to learn -that it matters not whether the world be represented -by a general glitter, or by a loving husband, -so that the object of special choice was -placed “<i>before</i>” <i>Him</i>, solemn effect must follow.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> - -<small>THE BAPTISM OF SUFFERING.</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-i1.jpg" alt="I" width="97" height="31" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-i2.jpg" alt="I" width="66" height="86" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">IN the course of time it became to Susan -Erskine, who was watching with eager -interest the story of her sister’s life, a question -of painful moment as to how the watchful -Christ would come to the rescue of his straying -sheep. For, as the days passed, it grew most -painfully apparent that Ruth <i>was</i> straying. She -did not gain in the least. This being the case, -it is of course equivalent to saying that she lost. -Steadily her husband proved the fact that his -was the stronger nature, and that he was leading, -not being led. Yet his wife did not get entirely -out of the way—not far enough out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> -indeed, to claim the few pitiful returns that the -world has for service. She staid always in that -wretched middle state, not belonging to the -world fully, nor yet fully to Christ; hence, continuous -soreness of heart, developing alternately -in gloom and irritability.</p> - -<p>There came at last a messenger to her home -and heart—a little, tender, helpless one, just -helpless enough and clinging enough to gather -all the tendrils of the heart around and bind -them closely. How that baby was loved! -There have been babies loved before—many a -heart has bowed before the shrine of such an -idol; but perhaps never baby, from grandfather -down to the little hired nurse, whose duty it was -in the course of time to keep said baby amused, -had such patient, persistent, willing slaves as -had this young heir of the house of Burnham. -As for Ruth, she found that she had never even -<i>dreamed</i> of the depth of mother-love. A sort -of general interest in healthy, cleanly, well-dressed -children had been one of her pastimes. -She had imagined herself somewhat fond of certain -types of childhood, while aware that she -shrank in horror from certain other types. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> -this new, strange rush of emotions which filled -her heart almost to bursting was an experience -of which she had had no conception. From that -hour those who watched Ruth anxiously to see -whether the sweet young life which was a part -of herself would win her back to her covenant -vows, saw with ever-deepening pain that this -new-born soul was only another and a stronger -idol. With all the fierceness of her strong nature, -with all the unrest of her dissatisfied heart, -did the mother bow before this tiny soul and -bring it worship. She discovered at last that -self-sacrifice was easy; that sleepless nights, and -restless days, and the pressure of many cares -and responsibilities were as nothing, provided -baby’s comfort demanded any or all of these.</p> - -<p>Now she withdrew entirely from the prayer-meetings, -and ceased her fitful attempts at being -identified with the Sabbath-school. She was -even most rare in her attendance on the regular -Sabbath service. Did not baby require a -mother’s care? This was her trust—God-given -surely, if anything ever was—and therefore she -was to consider it as a work from him.</p> - -<p>There is no error so fatal as a <i>half</i> truth. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> -be sure, this theory was not carried out in all -respects. The mother found time for social life. -She was seen frequently at concerts and lectures, -and entertainments of various sorts, but this, she -said, was a duty she owed to her husband. And -it really seemed as though there were no voice -left in her heart to remind her that the duties -she owed to Christ were being neglected. And -Susan, watching and waiting, began to ask her -heart half fearfully, “How will he speak to her -next?” That he <i>would</i> speak to her, and that -effectually, she fully believed, for Ruth was -surely one of his own. How strange that she -<i>would</i> wander and make it necessary for the -Shepherd to seek her with bleeding feet, “over -the mountains, wild and bare,” instead of resting -securely and sweetly within the fold!</p> - -<p>Meantime the domestic machinery of the -Burnham household worked more smoothly than -it is always wont to do under the peculiar family -relations.</p> - -<p>Ruth, whatever her faults, was fully alive to -the special cause of comfort in her household. -She never ceased to realize that one of the -greatest blessings of her lot in life was the sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> -descent upon her of a sister. Such a faithful, -thoughtful, self-sacrificing sister!—one who -really seemed to be as “wise as a serpent, and -as harmless as a dove.” Even Ruth, though -she had an idea that she fully appreciated her, -did not see the extent of her influence over -those untutored girls. Daily her power over -them increased; the development in them mentally -was something of which their father was -unceasingly proud; not the less, perhaps, did it -give him satisfaction because there was coupled -with it a development of refinement of tone and -manner, a growing sense of the fitness of things, -and an evident and hearty relish for the advantages -which his wealth was able to afford them.</p> - -<p>Over one thing Susan pondered and prayed, -and watched with no little anxiety: the girls -were willing to be her pupils in any other study -save that of personal religion; they were in a -degree interested in Bible study; they by no -means shrank from it; they respected her views, -they talked freely with her as to creeds and doctrines; -but when it came to pressing their personal -need of Christ as a Saviour from sin, they -were strangely apathetic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Had they inherited their father’s distaste -for all the personalities of religion?” Susan -questioned, “or had their first delicious glimpse -of this new world, given under the new mother’s -tutelage, so stamped their ambitions that they -had no room for deeper thoughts?” From this -last solution she shrank; it made such an awfully -solemn matter of personal responsibility; yet -when she saw the almost reverence in which -they held this new mother’s views of whatever pertained -to outside life, she could not but feel that -there had been stamped upon their hearts the -belief that she who had reigned so long in the -fashionable world knew all about the important -things, and <i>had shown them what they were!</i> At -least, Susan felt sure that, could Ruth have realized -the influences she possessed over the unformed -minds of her two daughters, she would -have shrunken from using it for trivialities.</p> - -<p>As for Ruth, the girls had become secondary -matters to her. She had carried her point; she -had proved that dress and attention to the many -refinements of life would make a vast difference -in these two; she had shown their father that it -was through sheer neglect that they grew to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> -the painful trials which they were; she had -proved to him that her course was the right one. -There was no skeleton in their country home -now, to be avoided painfully. The girls were -not perfect in deportment, it is true; but so -rapid had been their advancement in certain -ways, and so skillful was the brain which -planned their outward adornings, that they -might safely endure introductions as Judge -Burnham’s daughters, in any circle where it was -desirable to present them. Ruth felt, watching -them, that even the famous criminal lawyer -himself would never have recognized in them -the two distressing specimens which he had characterized -as “discarded American help.” She -had shown her husband, also, that country life -was not only endurable, but, in many respects, -desirable; indeed, so satisfied had he become -with his lovely rural home, that, when it was -announced as important for baby’s health that -the entire season should be spent there, he -offered no objection, and agreed with alacrity to -Ruth’s plan that Susan should take the girls for -a peep at life at Long Branch, and leave them -to the solitude of home. “Very well,” he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span> -said, “provided you will, on their return, leave -Susan in charge of his lordship, and run away -with me to the mountains for a few days.” And -Ruth had laughed, and shrugged her handsome -shoulders, and exclaimed over the folly of trying -to coax a mother from her six-months-old -baby, for any mountains in the world; and then -she had looked proudly over toward the lace-curtained -crib, and rejoiced in the fact that the -hero sleeping there had power enough to hold -father as well as mother a meek worshipper at -his shrine; for, if Judge Burnham really <i>was</i> an -idolater, his only son was the supreme idol in -his inmost heart.</p> - -<p>So the summer plans were carried out. Ruth -serenely discussed seaside outfits, and decided, -with the tone of one who realized that her word -was law, as to whether Minta would look better -in a salmon-colored evening dress, and whether -Seraph was too young for a satin-trimmed one. -Long ago Susan, apparently without thought on -the subject, had started the habit of softening -the objectional name into this euphonious one; -and Ruth remarked to her husband that perhaps -time would develop the fact that there was almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> -a prophecy in the name, if Sereph’s voice -continued to develop in strength and sweetness, -under culture. On the whole, there was serene -satisfaction in the survey of her handiwork where -these girls were concerned; they bade fair to do -justice to her discernment, and afford food for -pride. Still, as I said, they were secondary. So -that they were always well dressed, and sat properly -at table, and entered a room properly, and -bowed gracefully to her callers, and treated her -with unfailing respect, she was at rest concerning -them. <i>Almost</i>, she had so trodden her conscience -under foot that in these days had she really very -little trouble in the thought that her <i>best</i> for them -had ignored the <i>best</i> which life had for any soul.</p> - -<p>Susan packed, and arranged, and listened to -her numerous directions, and went off to take her -first summering away from cares, which of one -sort or another had held her for a lifetime—went -with a shade of anxiety on her face which was -not for herself, nor yet because of her responsibility -in regard to these two unfledged worldlings, -but for the Christian mother hovering over -the lace-curtained crib in the rose-hued nursery;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> -and her heart went murmuring, “How will He -speak to her next?”</p> - -<p>Not many days after, the next call of the Shepherd -came. You are prepared to hear what it -was—that little, sheltered, watched-over baby -fell sick; not very sick; not so but that the doctor -went and came with a cheery air, and told -the anxious mother that they would have her -darling as chirk as ever in a day or two, and -Judge Burnham believed him, and laughed at the -mother’s dreary face, and made light of her fears; -but poor Ruth did <i>not</i> believe him, and went -about her mother cares and hung over her sick -darling with an ever-increasing, deadening weight -at her heart. He was not the family physician -of the Erskines—Dr. Mitchell—Judge Burnham -didn’t believe in <i>him</i>, so the coming and going -doctor was the one associated with the dark -days wherein they had waited and watched over -Ruth’s father.</p> - -<p>Whether it was that association, or whatever -it was, Ruth shrank a little from Dr. Bacon, and -was not able to give him her full confidence. -Dark days were these, and they dragged their -slow lengths along, and brought regularly the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> -longer and darker nights, for it is at night that -we hang most hopelessly over our sick, and the -silence and quietness of the home grew oppressive -to Ruth. She wished for Susan, she would -gladly have had the girls coming and going, -yet it seemed foolish to send for them; there -was a skillful nurse, and there were neighbors, -who, though they had been almost ignored by -the fine family at the Hill, yet directly they -heard that there was sickness, came and went -with their thoughtful offers of assistance. Why, -even Mrs. Ferris, with her loud voice and her -uncouth ways, came and was welcomed by Ruth, -because of the humble work which she did in the -kitchen that tended to baby’s comfort.</p> - -<p>And still the doctor came and went with his -story that the baby would be all right in a few -days; but the days of mending did not come, -and the shadow deepened and darkened, though -as yet it seemed to be seen only by the mother’s -heart, and in that heart a war was being waged -which in fierceness and length of conflict so far -transcended all Ruth’s other struggles with life -as to make them pale into nothingness before -her. And the struggle was such that no human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> -heart could intermeddle, for it was between Ruth -and God! She realized in those days that she -had actually had many a struggle with the great -God before, without recognizing it as such, or at -least calling it by its right name.</p> - -<p>At first there was wild, fierce rebellion; she -clung to her baby, held him, indeed, so fiercely -that he wailed feebly, and looked up into her -face almost in terror, and she cried out that she -could not—indeed, <i>would not</i>—give him up; -no, not even to the Giver! And the little face -grew daily more wasted, and the little hands -more feeble, and the moments of wakeful recognition -shorter, and the hours of half stupor -longer, and the doctor grew less cheery when he -came, and Judge Burnham grew restless and -nervous—went later every day to town and -returned earlier, and was, in his silent, restrained, -yet passionate way, fully as rebellious as his -wife.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> - -<small>“THE OIL OF JOY.”</small></h2> - - -<div> - <img class="splittop" src="images/drop-e1.jpg" alt="E" width="87" height="37" /> - <img class="split" src="images/drop-e2.jpg" alt="E" width="66" height="79" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-capi">EVEN yet the doctor had said no word of -discouragement. And Judge Burnham -had, though he had ceased laughing at Ruth fears, -sharply controverted them. And she?—she -felt she would have stricken down any one who -had breathed a word of danger. It was fearful -enough to feel it; let no one dare to <i>speak</i> it. -Once when Judge Burnham—filled with pity -for her loneliness during the hours when he was -obliged to be away—suggested recalling the -travellers, she turned toward him fiercely:</p> - -<p>“Why?” she asked him; “what do you -mean? Are you keeping something from me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> -Does the Doctor tell you what he does not -me? Judge Burnham, I will never forgive you -if you deceive me.”</p> - -<p>“Why, no,” he said, “Ruth, no; why will you -be so unreasonable? The Doctor says he sees -no ground as yet for special anxiety. He says -to me just what he says to you. No one thinks -of deception. I only felt that it would be less -lonely with the girls at home; and Susan would -be a comfort.”</p> - -<p>“Comfort!” she said, still speaking sharply. -“Why have I need of comfort? I have my -baby, and I can take care of him; and as for -loneliness, the house is full from morning till -night. One would think people never heard of -a sick child before. They are always sick when -teething. Why should we be so unreasonably -frightened?”</p> - -<p>And Judge Burnham turned away sighing, -patient with his wife, for he saw that she was too -wildly frightened to talk or act like a reasonable -being.</p> - -<p>Among all the comers and goers there was one -who did not come. That was Mrs. Judge Erskine. -Not that she would not have willingly been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> -there both day and night; but poor Ruth, who -had never recovered in the least from her early -discomfort concerning the woman, in this time -of her frenzy felt the dislike increasing to almost -hatred. She tortured herself at times with imagining -the exclamations that the odious grandmother -would make over the change in her darling, -until at last it grew to be almost an insanity -to her; and she fiercely ordered that no word -of any sort should be taken to her home. “Father -shall not be needlessly troubled,” was outward -reason enough, for Judge Erskine was not strong -this season; so, beyond the knowledge that the -child was not very well, was teething, and kept -Ruth closely at home, the two people left in the -old Erskine homestead together knew nothing.</p> - -<p>Slowly yet surely, the Shepherd was reaching -after his stray sheep. By degrees her mood and -her prayers changed; they lost their fierceness, -but not one whit of their will-power. She began -to feel herself in the hands of God. She gave -up her defiance, and came to him as a suppliant. -She sat alone in the shadows of a long night of -watching, and looked over her life, and saw -plainly her mistakes, her wanderings, her sins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span>. -Then she fell on her knees beside that crib, one -watching eye and listening ear intent on every -change of expression or breathing in the darling, -and then and there she proceeded to make -terms with God. If he would only give her -back her darling, her boy, she would live, oh -<i>such</i> a different life!—a life of entire consecration. -All she had, and was, and hoped to be, -her husband, her baby—everything should be -consecrated, be held second to his love. Long -she knelt there praying, but no answering voice -spoke peace to her heart. And the struggle, -though changed in its form, went on and on by -degrees, and Ruth with her long preoccupied -heart was very slow to learn the lesson. She -was made to understand that God had never -promised to compromise with his own, never -promised to hear a prayer which began with an -“if.” Entire consecration meant all the ifs -thrown down at the feet of the Lord, for him to -control as he would. Solemnly his voice spoke -to her heart, spoke as plainly as though the -sound of it had echoed in the silent room: “And -<i>if</i> I take your darling into my arms of infinite -love, and shield him for you in heaven, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span> -then?” And Ruth realized with a shudder that -then, her heart said it would only be infinite -mercy that could keep her from hating God! -But when she realized this solemn, this <i>awful</i> -truth, which proved rebellion in the heart that -had long professed allegiance, God be thanked -that she did not get up from her kneeling and -go away again with the burden. She knelt -still, and, with the solemn light of the All-seeing -Eye flashing down into her soul, she confessed it -all—her rebellion, her selfish determination to -hold her treasure whether God would or not, her -selfish desire to compromise, her cowardly, pitiful -subterfuge of promising him that which was -already his by right, <i>if</i> he would submit to her -plans. The long, sad, sinful story was laid bare -before him, and then her torn heart said: “Oh, -Christ, I can not help it; I hold to my darling, -and I <i>can not</i> give him up, even when I would. -Oh, thou Saviour of human souls, even in their -sinfulness, what shall I do?” Did ever such -heart-cry go up to the Saviour of souls in vain?</p> - -<p>You do not need me to tell you that before -the dawn of the coming morning filled the room a -voice of power had spoken peace. The plans, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span> -the subterfuges, and the rebellings, and the “ifs,” -all were gone. “As thou wilt,” was the only -voice left in that thoroughly bared and bleeding -heart.</p> - -<p>It was even then that the shadow fell the -darkest. When the doctor came next morning, -for the first time he shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Things do not look so hopeful as they did, -here,” he said.</p> - -<p>And Judge Burnham, turning quickly toward -his wife, looking to see her faint or lose her reason -(he hardly knew which phase of despair to -expect), saw the pale, changed face.</p> - -<p>“Is there no hope, Doctor?” and her voice -though low, was certainly calmer than it had -been for days.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the Doctor, relieved at her -method of receiving his warning, “I never like -to say that. While there is life there is hope, -you know; but the fact is, I am disappointed in -the turn that the trouble has taken. I am a good -deal afraid of results.”</p> - -<p>Had Ruth spoken her thoughts, she would have -said: “I have been awfully afraid of results for a -week; but a voice of greater power than yours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> -has spoken to me now. It rests with Him, not -you; and I think he wants my darling.” What -she <i>did</i> say was:</p> - -<p>“Ought the girls to be summoned?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Dr. Bacon, regarding her curiously, -“if it is important that they should be -here, I think I should telegraph.”</p> - -<p>Then, presuming upon long acquaintance -with Judge Burnham, he said, as they passed -down the hall together:</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, Burnham, you have the -most unaccountable wife in the world.”</p> - -<p>“Comments are unnecessary, Doctor,” Judge -Burnham said, in his haughtiest tones, and the -next instant the front door closed with a bang, -and the father had shut himself and his pain into -the little room at the end of the hall. What -was <i>he</i> to do? which way turn? how live? He -had never until this moment had other than a -passing anxiety. Now the whole crushing weight -of the coming blow seemed to fall on him, and -he had not the force of habit, nor the knowledge -of past experiences, to drive him to his knees for -a refuge. Instead, his fierce heart raved. If -Ruth had been in danger of hating God, he felt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> -yes, actually realized, that his heart was filled -at this moment with a fierce and bitter hatred. -Can you imagine what the trials of that day -were to Ruth? Have you any knowledge of -what a shock it is to a torn and bleeding heart, -which yet feels that the Almighty Father, the -Everlasting Saviour, holds her and her treasure -in the hollow of his hand, to come in contact with -one who fiercely, blasphemously tramples on that -trust? In this moment of supreme pain, it was -given to Ruth’s conscience to remember that she -had chosen for her closest friend one who made no -profession of loyalty to her Redeemer—the <i>Lover</i> -of her child. Why should she expect to rest on -him now?</p> - -<p>This day, like all the other dark ones, drew -toward its closing; the Doctor watched and -waited for, and dispatched for, did not come, and -the night drew about them; and it so happened -that, save the nurse and the household servants, -the father and mother were alone with their -baby. Early in the afternoon, a sudden remembrance -had come to Ruth, and she had turned -from the crib long enough to say, “Let father<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> -know.” And the messenger had gone, but even -from him there was no response.</p> - -<p>So they watched and waited. Judge Burnham, -in feverish madness of anxiety, paced the -floor, and alternately raged at the absent Doctor -for not coming, and then wished he might never -look upon his face again. Ruth staid on her -knees beside that crib, from which for hours she -had not moved, and her lips continually formed -that inaudible prayer, “Thy will be done.” -And really and truly the awful bitterness of the -agony was gone out of her heart. There was a -sound of wheels crunching the graveled drive—a -bustle outside; somebody had come. Ruth -glanced up, half fearfully. What was coming -to break the solemn holiness of the hour? Not -the Doctor, surely, with such bustle of noise. -The door opened quickly, and they pressed in—her -father, a tall stranger just beside him, and -Mrs. Judge Erskine! <i>She</i> pushed past them -both.</p> - -<p>“Dear heart,” she said, bending down to the -crib, but her words were for Ruth, not the baby. -“We just got the word. I brought Dr. Parmelee; -I couldn’t help it, child; I’ve seen him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> -do such wonderful things. Your pa don’t -believe in his medicines—little bits of pills, -you know—and he said your husband didn’t -but, la! what difference does that make? Men -never do. They believe in getting ’em well, -though. Come here, Dr. Parmelee. His pulse -is real strong, and he looks to me as though he -might—”</p> - -<p>And here Mrs. Erskine paused for breath. -She had been, in the meantime, throwing off her -wraps, touching the baby’s hand with skillful -fingers, touching the hot head, and rising at last -to motion the Doctor forward—the tall stranger. -He came hesitatingly, looking toward the father; -but Judge Burnham caught at his name.</p> - -<p>“Anything, Doctor—anything!” he said, -hoarsely. “Dr. Bacon has proved himself an -idiot. It is too late now; but, in heaven’s name, -do something.”</p> - -<p>Did it ever occur to you as strange that such -men as Judge Burnham, in their hours of great -mental pain, are very apt to call for blessings in -“heaven’s name?”</p> - -<p>It was a strange hour! Ruth, who had been -hushed into silence and solemnity by the presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> -of the Death Angel, found herself whirled -into the very midst of the struggle for life. Dr. -Parmelee declared, with Mrs. Erskine, that there -was still a good deal of strength, and he hoped. -And then he stopped talking and went to work—quietly, -skillfully, without commotion of any -sort, yet issuing his orders with such swiftness -and skill that mother and nurse, especially the -former, were set to work to <i>do</i> instead of think. -Especially was Mrs. Erskine alert, seeming to -know by a sort of instinct, such as is noticeable -in nurses who have a special calling for their -work, what the Doctor wanted done, and how to -do it. Far into the night they obeyed and -watched. At last the Doctor rose up from a -careful examination of his little patient.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” he said, speaking quietly, “I -believe there has been a change in the symptoms -in the past two hours. If I mistake not, -the crisis is past. I think your little one will -recover.”</p> - -<p>At the sound of these words, Judge Burnham -strode over from his station at the head of the -crib, and, grasping the Doctor’s hand, essayed to -speak words, but his voice choked, and the self-possessed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span> -polished gentleman lost every vestige -of control, and broke into a passion of tears.</p> - -<p>“He is in God’s hands, my friend,” the new -Doctor said gently; “he will do right; and I -think he has given the little life back to you.”</p> - -<p>As for Ruth, she turned one look away from -her baby’s face toward the Doctor’s; and he -said as he went out from the home: “I declare -that woman’s eyes paid me to-night.”</p> - -<p>There was little talk and much watching -during the rest of the night and the day that -followed. Mrs. Erskine kept her post, keeping -up that sort of alert <i>doing</i> which the skillful -nurse understands so well, and which thrills the -heart of a watcher with eager hope. One of -Judge Burnham’s first morning duties was to -send a curt and courteous note—if both terms -are admissible—to Dr. Bacon, asking for his -bill. Then his own carriage waited at the train -for the coming of Dr. Parmelee.</p> - -<p>“Now, look here, child,” said Mrs. Erskine, -as, toward the midnight of the following night, -Ruth turned for a moment from the crib and -pressed her hand to her eyes, “you are just to -go to bed and get a night’s sleep. We’ll have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> -<i>you</i> on our hands, if you don’t, as sure as the -world; and that will be a nice mess for baby, -bless his heart. Judge Burnham, you just take -her and put her to bed. I’m going to sit by my -little boy, here, the whole blessed night; I -won’t even wink; and when I undertake to -watch, why I <i>watch</i>, and know how, though I do -say it that shouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>So, through much protesting from Ruth, and -overruling by her father and husband, she was -carried off to the room adjoining. In the gray -dawn of another morning, she, having slept for -four hours the sleep of utter exhaustion, started -with a sudden, affrighted waking, wherein all -the agony of the past days flashed over her, and, -without waiting to remember the after-scene of -joy, rushed to her nursery. There was the little -crib, with its sleeping treasure; there on the -couch, lay the tired nurse, sleeping quietly; -there, at the crib’s side, sat Mrs. Erskine, keeping -her faithful, tireless vigil. She looked up -with a reassuring smile as Ruth came in.</p> - -<p>“What did you wake up for? He’s as nice -as a robin in a nest of down. He breathes just -as easy! and the skin feels moist and natural.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> -See how his little hair curls with the dampness! -Anybody can see with half an eye that he is a -great deal better. He’ll get on now real fast, -Dr. Parmelee says so. I never did see the like -of them little pills! Ain’t bigger than pin-heads, -neither.”</p> - -<p>Ruth bent low over the crib. The bounding -pulse was quiet and steady at last; the breath -came in slow, soft respirations, with no horrible -gratings; the beautiful little hand, resting on -the pillow, was doubled up as in the grace in -which he held it when in health. Suddenly -there rushed over Ruth all the probabilities of -that solemn night, and all the blessings of this -hour. After she had given him up utterly to -God; after she had said, “Though he slay me, -yet will I trust;” after she had said, “I am -thine forever, Lord, <i>entirely</i>, though with empty -arms,” then he had given her back her trust—offered -her one more chance to train the soul for -him. With the thought came also the remembrance -of the door through which he had opened -this blessed paradise of hope, and she turned -suddenly, and, burying her head in Mrs. Erskine’s -ample lap, cried out: “Oh, mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span>, -mother! God bless you forever!” And the -first tears that her tired eyes had felt for a week -fell thick and fast.</p> - -<p>“Land alive!” said Mrs. Judge Erskine. -“Poor, dear heart! You are all tuckered out! -You just go right straight back to bed. I won’t -turn my eyes away from him, and he’s all right -anyhow. I know the signs. Bless your heart, -I nursed Mrs. Stevens’ baby only last week, and -this very Dr. Parmelee was there; and I saw -what them little pills and powders could do -when the Lord chose to use ’em. You just go -back, dearie, this minute. You can sleep all day -as well as not. Grandma’ll take care of her -blessed little darling, so she will.”</p> - -<p>And Ruth went back to the bedside, and to -her knees; and among the sentences of her -prayer that morning was this, from a full heart:</p> - -<p>“O God! I thank thee, that, despite all the -blindness and rebellion of my heart, thou didst -send to me a <i>mother</i>. Thou hast given me ‘the -oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of -praise for the spirit of heaviness.’”</p> - -<p class="center"> -<small>THE END.</small><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="tnote"><div class="center"> -<b>Transcriber’s Notes:</b></div> - -<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Sometimes easy-chair contains a -hyphen, sometimes not. This was retained as printed.</p> - -<p>Page 102, “Esrkine” changed to “Erskine” (Judge Erskine, with a)</p> - -<p>Page 146, “that” changed to “than” (observable than this awkward)</p> - -<p>Page 272, “unconsiously” changed to “unconsciously” (silly -Marion—unconsciously)</p> - -<p>Page 295, “futher” changed to “further” (until further pressed)</p> - -<p>Page 297, “gotton” changed to “gotten” (supper was gotten through)</p> - -<p>Page 312, “gotton” changed to “gotten” (have gotten beyond the)</p> - -<p>Page 322, “symyathetic” changed to “sympathetic” (put a sympathetic arm)</p> - -<p>Page 367, “occured” changed to “occurred” (which occurred that day)</p> - -<p>Page 418, “oppresive” changed to “oppressive” (home grew oppressive)</p> - -<p>Page 418, “assistence” changed to “assistance” (thoughtful offers of -assistance)</p> - -<p>Page 430, “skillfuly” changed to “skillfully” (skillfully, without -commotion)</p></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Ruth Erskine's Cross, by Isabella Alden and Pansy - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSS *** - -***** This file should be named 54078-h.htm or 54078-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/7/54078/ - -Produced by Emmy, MFR, Google Print and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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