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WORK:
A STORY OF EXPERIENCE.
BY
LOUISA M! ALCOTT,
AUTHOR or "LITTLE WOMEN," "LITTLE MEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED
GIRL," "HOSPITAL SKETCHES," ETC.

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"An endless significance lies in work ; in idleness alone is there perpetual
despair.'' — CarlyLE.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1873.
Juvenile
Collection
PS
1017
iWg
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
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Juwe coll
2
hizo, walaureat
try 00669
283382138
TO
MY MOTHER,
WHOSE LIFE HAS BEEN A LONG LABOR OF LOVE,
THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED
•
BY
· HER DAUGHTER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
PAGE
·
·
·
· 127
· · 146
·
·
·
ISTER
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·
I. CHRISTIE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
II. SERVANT. ............ 14
III. ACTRESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
IV. GOVERNESS . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
V. COMPANION . . . . . . .
VI. SEAMSTRESS . . . . . . .
VII. THROUGH THE MIST ...
VIII. A CURE FOR DESPAIR. ...
. . . 170
IX. MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER ......
X. BEGINNING AGAIN .........
XI. IN THE STRAWBERRY BED ..
XII. CHRISTIE'S GALA . . . . . . . . . .
XIII. WAKING UP ....
• . .
XIV. Which? .......... . . 309
XV. MIDSUMMER . . . . . . . . . . .
XVI. MUSTERED IN ......
XVII. THE COLONEL . . . . . . . . . . .
XVIII. SUNRISE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 398
XIX. LITTLE HEART'S-EASE ....
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XX. AT FORTY
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. 424
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS,
FROM DRAWINGS BY SOL EYTINGE.
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56
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63
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86
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134
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165
PAGE
“How doth the little busy bee" . ........ Vignette.
Christie ................... 1
Aunt Betsey's Interlarded Speech. ......... 4
Mrs. Stuart. ................
Hepsey · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Christie as Queen of the Amazons ...
Mr. Philip Fletcher . . . . . . . . . .
Mrs. Saltonstall and Family . . . . . . .
“No, I thank you”......
Helen Carrol . . . . . . .
96
Mrs. King and Miss Cotton ...
The Rescue .........
“C. Wilkins, Clear Starcher" ...
Lisha Wilkins . . . . . . . . . . .
170
Mrs. Wilkins' "Six Lively Infants ” . . . . . . . . . 179
Mr. Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mrs. Sterling ................. 219
David and Christie in the Greenhouse ......... 232
Mr. Power and Christie in the Strawberry Bed . ..... 250
A Friendly Chat . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
264
Kitty · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · 284
“One Happy Moment” ............. 305
David .
. .
.. .. 309
" Then they were married”. ......
“Don't mourn, dear heart, but WORK”. ... 406
“She's a good little gal ; looks consid’able like you”... 419
“ Each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the
happy end”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 443
.
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197
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WORK:
A STORY OF EXPERIENCE.
CHAPTER I..
CHRISTIE.

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CHRISTIE
66 A UNT BETSEY, there's going to be a new Dec-
0 laration of Independence.”
“Bless and save us, what do you mean, child ?” And
the startled old lady precipitated a pie into the oven
with destructive haste.
“I mean that, being of age, I'm going to take care
A
WORK.
of myself, and not be a burden any longer. Uncle
wishes me out of the way; thinks I ought to go, and,
sooner or later, will tell me so. I don't intend to wait
for that, but, like the people in fairy tales, travel away
into the world and seek my. fortune. I know I can
find it.” .
Christie emphasized' her speech by energetic demon-
strations in the bread-trough, kneading the dough as if
it was her destiny, and she was shaping it to suit her-
self; while Aunt Betsey stood listening, with uplifted
pie-fork, and as much astonishment as her placid face
was capable of expressing. As the girl paused, with a
decided thump, the old lady exclaimed :
“What crazy idee you got into your head now ?”
“A very sane and sensible one that's got to be work-
ing out, so please listen to it, ma'am. I've had it a
good while, I've thought it over thoroughly, and I'm
sure it's the right thing for me to do. I'm old enough
to take care of myself; and if I'd been a boy, I should
have been told to do it long ago. I hate to be depend-
ent; and now there's no need of it, I can't bear it any
longer. If you were poor, I wouldn't leave you; for I
never forget how kind you have been to me. But
Uncle doesn't love or understand me; I am a burden to
him, and I must go where I can take care of myself. I
can't be happy till I do, for there's nothing here for me.
I'm sick of this dull town, where the one idea is eat,
drink, and get rich; I don't find any friends to help me
as I want to be helped, or any work that I can do well;
so let me go, Aunty, and find my place, wherever it is."
“But I do need you, deary; and you mustn't think
. Uncle don't like you. He does, only he don't show it;
CHRISTIE.
and when your odd ways fret him, he ain't pleasant, I
know. I don't see why you can't be contented; I've
lived here all my days, and never found the place lone-
some, or the folks unneighborly.” And Aunt Betsey
looked perplexed by the new idea.
“ You and I are very different, ma'am. There was
more yeast put into my composition, I guess; and, after
standing quiet in a warm corner so long, I begin to fer-
ment, and ought to be kneaded up in time, so that I
may turn out a wholesome loaf. You can't do this; so
let me go where it can be done, else I shall turn sour
and good for nothing. Does that make the matter any
clearer ?” And Christie's serious face relaxed into a
smile as her aunt's eye went from her to the nicely
moulded loaf offered as an illustration.
“I see what you mean, Kitty; but I never thought
on't before. You be better riz than me; though, let
me tell you, too much emptins makes bread poor stuff,
like baker's trash; and too much workin' up makes it
hard and dry. Now fly 'round, for the big oven is
most het, and this cake takes a sight of time in the
mixin'."
“ You haven't said I might go, Aunty," began the girl,
after a long pause devoted by the old lady to the prep-
aration of some compound which seemed to require
great nicety of measurement in its ingredients; for
when she replied, Aunt Betsey curiously interlarded
her speech with audible directions to herself from the
receipt-book before her.
“ I ain't no right to keep you, dear, ef you choose to
take (a pinch of salt). I'm sorry you ain't happy, and
think you might be ef you'd only (beat eggs' six yolks and
WORK.

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AUNT BETSEY'S INTERLARDED SPEECH.
whites together). But ef you can't, and feel that you
need (two cups of sugar), only speak to Uncle, and ef
he says (a squeeze of fresh lemon), go, my dear, and
take my blessin' with you (not forgettin' to cover with
a piece of paper).”
Christie's laugh echoed through the kitchen; and the
old lady smiled benignly, quite unconscious of the
cause of the girl's merriment.
“I shall ask Uncle to-night, and I know he won't
object. Then I shall write to see if Mrs. Flint has a
room for me, where I can stay till I get something to
4
CHRISTIE.
do. There is plenty of work in the world, and I'm not
afraid of it; so you'll soon hear good news of me.
Don't look sad, for you know I never could forget you,
even if I should become the greatest lady in the land.”
And Christie left the prints of two floury_but affection-
ate hands on the old lady's shoulders, as she kissed the
wrinkled face that had never worn a frown to her.
Full of hopeful fancies, Christie salted the pans and
buttered the dough in pleasant forgetfulness of all mun-
dane affairs, and the ludicrous dismay of Aunt Betsey,
who followed her about rectifying her mistakes, and
watching over her as if this sudden absence of mind
had roused suspicions of her sanity.
“ Uncle, I want to go away, and get my own living,
if you please," was Christie's abrupt beginning, as they
sat round the evening fire.
“ Hey! what's that ? ” said Uncle Enos, rousing from
the doze he was enjoying, with a candle in perilous
proximity to his newspaper and his nose.
Christie repeated her request, and was much relieved,
when, after a meditative stare, the old man briefly
answered:
“Wal, go ahead."
"I was afraid you might think it rash or silly, sir."
“ I think it's the best thing you could do; and I like
your good sense in pupposin' on't.”
“Then I may really go ?”
“Soon's ever you like. Don't pester me about it till
you're ready; then I'll give you a little suthing to start
off with." And Uncle Enos returned to “ The Farmer's
Friend,” as if cattle were more interesting than kindred.
Christie was accustomed to his curt speech and care-
WORK.
less manner; had expected nothing more cordial; and,
turning to her aunt, said, rather bitterly:
“ Didn't I tell you he'd be glad to have me go? No
matter! When I've done something to be proud of, he
will be as glad to see me back again.” Then her voice
:changed, her eyes kindled, and the firm lips softened
with a smile. “ Yes, I'll try my experiment; then I'll
get rich ; found a home for girls like myself; or, better
still; be a Mrs. Fry, a Florence Nightingale, or” —
“ How are you on’t for stockin's, dear?”
Christie's castles in the air vanished at the pro-
saic question; but, after a blank look, she answered pleas-
antly:
“Thank you for bringing me down to my feet again,
when I was soaring away too far and too fast. I'm
poorly off, ma'am; but if you are knitting these for me,
I shall certainly start on a firm foundation.” And, lean-
ing on Aunt Betsey's knee, she patiently discussed the
wardrobe question from hose to head-gear.
“Don't you think you could be contented any way,
Christie, ef I make the work lighter, and leave you
more time for your books and things ?” asked the old
lady, loth to lose the one youthful element in her quiet
life.
“No, ma'am, for I can't find what I want here,” was
the decided answer.
“ What do you want, child ?"
" Look in the fire, and I'll try to show you."
The old lady obediently turned her spectacles that
way; and Christie said in a tone half serious, half play-
ful:
“Do you see those two logs? Well that one smoul-
V
CHRISTIE. :
dering dismally away in the corner is what my life is
now; the other blazing and singing is what I want my
life to be.”
“Bless me, what an idee! They are both a-burnin'.
where they are put, and both will be ashes to-morrow;
so what difference doos it make ?”
Christie smiled at the literal old lady; but, following
the fancy that pleased her, she added earnestly:
“I know the end is the same; but it does make a ,
difference how they turn to ashes, and how I spend my
life. That log, with its one dull spot of fire, gives
neither light nor warmth, but lies sizzling despondently
among the cinders. But the other glows from end to
end with cheerful little flames that go singing up the
chimney with a pleasant sound. Its light fills the room
and shines out into the dark; its warmth draws us
nearer, making the hearth the cosiest place in the house,
and we shall all miss the friendly blaze when it dies.
Yes,” she added, as if to herself, “ I hope my life may
be like that, so that, whether it be long or short, it will
be useful and cheerful while it lasts, will be missed when
it ends, and leave something behind besides ashes."
Though she only half understood them, the girl's
words touched the kind old lady, and made her look
anxiously at the eager young face gazing so wistfully
into the fire.
“A good smart blowin' up with the belluses would
make the green stick burn most as well as the dry one
after a spell. I guess contentedness is the best bellus
for young folks, ef they would only think so.”
“I dare say you are right, Aunty; but I want to try
for myself; and if I fail, I'll come back and follow your
WORK.
advice. Young folks always have discontented fits, you
know. Didn't you when you were a girl ?”.
6 Shouldn't wonder ef I did; but Enos came along,
and I forgot 'em."
“My Enos has not come along yet, and never may;
so I'm not going to sit and wait for any man to give me
independence, if I can earn it for myself.” And a
quick glance at the grúff, gray old man in the corner
plainly betrayed that, in Christie's opinion, Aunt Betsey
made a bad bargain when she exchanged her girlish
aspirations for a man whose soul was in his pocket.
“ Jest like her mother, full of hifalutin notions, dis-
contented, and sot in her own idees. Poor capital to
start a fortin' on.”
Christie's eye met that of her uncle peering over the
top of his paper with an expression that always tried
her patience. Now it was like a dash of cold water on
her enthusiasm, and her face fell as she asked quickly :
“How do you mean, sir ?”
“I mean that you are startin' all wrong; your l'e-
dic’lus notions about independence and self-cultur won't
come to nothin' in the long run, and you 'll make as bad
a failure of your life as your mother did of her'n.”
« Please, don't say that to me; I can't bear it, for I
shall never think her life a failure, because she tried to
help herself, and married a good man in spite of pov-
erty, when she loved him! You call that folly; but
I'll do the same if I can; and I'd rather have what my
father and mother left me, than all the money you are
piling up, just for the pleasure of being richer than
your neighbors.”
.“Never mind, dear, he don't mean no harm !” whis-
pered Aunt Betsey, fearing a storm.
9
-
But though Christie's eyes had kindled and her color
deepened, her voice was low and steady, and her indig-
nation was of the inward sort. .
“Uncle likes to try me by saying such things, and
this is one reason why I want to go away before I get
sharp and bitter and distrustful as he is. I don't sup-
pose I can make you understand my feeling, but I'd.
like to try, and then I'll never speak of it again;" and,
carefully controlling voice and face, Christie slowly
added, with a look that would have been pathetically
eloquent to one who could have understood the instincts
of a strong nature for light and freedom: “You say I
am discontented, proud and ambitious; that's true, and
I'm glad-of it. I am discontented, because I can't help
feeling that there is a better sort of life than this dull
money. I can't starve my soul for the sake of my
body, and I mean to get out of the treadmill if I can.
I'm proud, as you call it, because I hate dependence
where there isn't any love to make it bearable. You
don't say so in words, but I know you begrudge me a
home, though you will call me ungrateful when I'm
gone. I'm willing to work, but I want work that I can
pút my heart into, and feel that it does me good, no
matter how hard it is. I only ask for a chance to be a
useful, happy woman, and I don't think that is a bad.
ambition. Even if I only do what my dear mother did,
earn my living honestly and happily, and leave a beau-
tiful example behind me, to help one other woman as
hers helps me, I shall be satisfied.”
Christie's voice faltered over the last words, for the
thoughts and feelings which had been working within
1*
10
WORK.
her during the last few days had stirred her deeply, and
the resolution to cut loose from the old life had not
been lightly made. Mr. Devon had listened behind his
paper to this unusual outpouring with a sense of dis-
comfort which was new to him. But though the words
reproached and annoyed, they did not soften him, and
when Christie paused with tearful eyes, her uncle rose,
saying, slowly, as he lighted his candle :
"Ef I'd refused to let you go before, I'd agree to it
now; for you need breakin' in, my girl, and you are
goin' where you'll get it, so the sooner you're off the
better for all on us. Come, Betsey, we may as wal
leave, for we can't understand the wants of her higher
nater, as Christie calls it, and we've had lecterin' enough
for one night.” And with a grim laugh the old man
quitted the field, worsted but in good order.
“There, there, dear, hev a good cry, and forgit all
about it!” purred Aunt Betsey, as the heavy footsteps
creaked away, for the good soul had a most old-fash-
ioned and dutiful awe of her lord and master.
“I shan't cry but act; for it is high time I was off.
I've stayed for your sake; now I'm more trouble than
comfort, and away I go. Good-night, my dear old
Aunty, and don't look troubled, for I 'll be a lamb while
I stay."
Having kissed the old lady, Christie swept her work
away, and sat down to write the letter which was the
first step toward freedom. When it was done, she
drew nearer to her friendly confidante the fire, and till
late into the night sat thinking tenderly. of the past,
bravely of the present, hopefully of the future. Twenty-
one to-morrow, and her inheritance a head, a heart, a
CIIRISTIE.
pair of hands; also the dower of most New England
girls, intelligence, courage, and common sense, many
practical gifts, and, hidden under the reserve that
soon melts in a genial atmosphere, much romance and
enthusiasm, and the spirit which can rise to heroism
when the great moment comes.
Christie was one of that large class of women who,
moderately endowed with talents, earnest and true-
hearted, are driven by necessity, temperament, or prin-
ciple out into the world to find support, happiness, and
homes for themselves. Many turn back discouraged ;
more accept shadow for substance, and discover their
mistake too late; the weakest lose their purpose and
themselves; but the strongest struggle on, and, after
danger and defeat, earn at last the best success this
world can give us, the possession of a brave and cheer-
ful spirit, rich in self-knowledge, self-control, self-help.
This was the real desire of Christie's heart; this was to
be her lesson and reward, and to this happy end she
was slowly yet surely brought by the long discipline of
· life and labor.
Sitting alone there in the night, she tried to strength-
en herself with all the good and helpful memories sho
could recall, before she went away to find her place in
the great unknown world. She thought of her mother,
so like herself, who had borne the commonplace life of
home till she could bear it no longer. Then had gone
away to teach, as most country girls are forced to do.
Had met, loved, and married a poor gentleman, and,
after a few years of genuine happiness, untroubled even
by much care and poverty, had followed him out of the
world, leaving her little child to the protection of her
brother.
12
WORK.
Christie looked back over the long, lonely years she
had spent in the old farm-house, plodding to school and
church, and doing her tasks with kind Aunt Betsey
while a child; and slowly growing into girlhood, with
a world of romance locked up in a heart hungry for
love and a larger, nobler life.
She had tried to appease this hunger in many ways,
but found little help. Her father's old books were all
she could command, and these she wore out with much
reading. Inheriting his refined tastes, she found noth-
ing to attract her in the society of the commonplace.
and often coarse people about her. She tried to like.
the buxom girls whose one ambition was to “ get mar-
ried," and whose only subjects of conversation were
“sinart bonnets” and “nice dresses.” She tried to
believe that the admiration and regard of the bluff
young farmers was worth striving for; but when one
well-to-do neighbor laid his acres at her feet, she found
it impossible to accept for her life's companion a man
whose soul was wrapped up in prize cattle and big
turnips.
Uncle Enos never could forgive her for this piece of
folly, and Christie plainly saw that one of three things
would surely happen, if she lived on there with no vent
for her full heart and busy mind. She would either
mairy Joe Butterfield in sheer desperation, and become
a farmer's household drudge; settle down into a sour
spinster, content to make butter, gossip, and lay up
money all her days; or do what poor Matty Stone had
done, try to crush and curb her needs and aspirations
till the struggle grew too hard, and then in a fit of:
despair end her life, and leave a tragic story to haunt
their quiet river.
CHRISTIE.
13
To escape these fates but one way appeared ; to break
loose from this narrow life, go out into the world
and see what she could do for herself. This idea was ·
full of enchantment to the eager girl, and, after much
earnest thought, she had resolved to try it. .
“If I fail, I can come back," she said to herself, even
while she scorned the thought of failure, for with all
her shy pride she was both brave and ardent, and her
dreains were of the rosiest sort.
“I won't marry Joe; I won't wear myself out in a
district-school for the mean sum they give a woman; I
won't delve away here where I'm not wanted; and I
won't end my life like a coward, because it is dull and
hard. I'll try my fate as mother did, and perhaps I
may succeed as well.” And Christie's thoughts went
wandering away into the dim, sweet past when she, a
happy child, lived with loving parents in a different
world from that.
Lost in these tender memories, she sat till the old
moon-faced clock behind the door struck twelve, then
thie visions vanished, leaving their benison behind them.
As she glanced backward at the smouldering fire, a
slender spire of flame shot up from the log that had
blazed so cheerily, and shone upon her as she went. A
good omen, gratefully accepted then, and remembered
often in the years to come.
CHAPTER II.
SERVANT.
A FORTNIGHT later, and Christie was off. Mrs.
0 Flint bad briefly answered that she had a room,
and that work was always to be found in the city. So
the girl packed her one trunk, folding away splendid
hopes among her plain gowns, and filling every corner
with happy fancies, utterly impossible plans, and tender
little dreams, so lovely at the time, so pathetic to
remember, when contact with the hard realities of life
has collapsed our bright bubbles, and the frost of disap-
pointment nipped all our morning glories in their prime.
The old red stage stopped at Enos Devon's door,
and his niece. crossed the threshold after a cool hand-
shake with the master of the house, and a close em-
brace with the mistress, who stood pouring out last
words with spectacles too dim for seeing. Fat Ben
swung up the trunk, slammed the door, mounted his
perch, and the ancient vehicle swayed with premonitory
symptoms of departure.
Then something smote Christie's heart. “Stop!”
she cried, and springing out ran back into the dismal
room where the old man sat. Straight up.to him she
went with outstretched hand, saying steadily, though
her face was full of feeling:
SERVANT.
15
“Uncle, I'm not satisfied with that good-bye. I
don't mean to be sentimental, but I do want to say,
• Forgive me!' I see now that I might have made you
sorry to part with me, if I had tried to make you love
me more. It's too late now, but I'm not too proud to
confess when I'm wrong. I want to part kindly; I ask
your pardon; I thank you for all you've done for me,
and I say good-bye affectionately now.”
Mr. Devon had a heart somewhere, though it seldom
troubled him; but it did make itself felt when the girl
looked at him with his dead sister's eyes, and spoke in
a tone whose unaccustomed tenderness was a reproach.
Conscience had pricked him more than once that
week, and he was glad to own it now; his rough sense
of honor was touched by her frank expression, and, as
he answered, his hand was offered readily.
“I like that, Kitty, and think the better of you for 't.
Let bygones be bygones. I gen'lly got as good as I
give, and I guess I deserved some on't. I wish you
wal, my girl, I heartily wish you wal, and hope you
won't forgit that the old house ain't never shet aginst
you."
Christie astonished him with a cordial kiss; then
bestowing another warm hug on Aunt Niobe, as she
called the old lady in a tearful joke, she ran into the.
carriage, taking with her all the sunshine of the
place.
Christie found Mrs. Flint a dreary woman, with
“ boarders” written all over her sour face and faded
figure. Butcher's bills and house rent seemed to fill
her eyes with sleepless anxiety; thriftless cooks and
saucy housemaids to sharpen the tones, of her shrill
16
WORK.
voice; and an incapable husband to burden her shoul-
ders like a modern “Old man of the sea.”
A little room far up in the tall house was at the girl's
disposal for a reasonable sum, and she took possession,
feeling very rich with the hundred dollars Uncle Enos
gave her, and delightfully independent, with no milk-
pans to scald; no heavy lover to elude; no humdrum
district school to imprison her day after day.
For a week she enjoyed her liberty heartily, then set
about finding something to do. Her wish was to be a
governess, that being the usual refuge for respectable
girls who have a living to get. But Christie soon found
her want of accomplishments a barrier to success in
that line, for the mammas thought less of the solid than
of the ornamental branches, and wished their little dar-
lings to learn French before English, music before
grammar, and drawing before writing.
So, after several disappointments, Christie decided
that her education was too old-fashioned for the city,
and gave up the idea of teaching. Sewing she resolved
not to try till every thing else failed; and, after a few
more attempts to get writing to do, she said to herself,
in a fit of humility and good sense : “I'll begin at the
beginning, and work my way up. I'll put my pride in
my pocket, and go out to service. Housework I like,
and can do. well, thanks to Aunt Betsey. I never
thought it degradation to do it for her, so why should
I mind doing it for others if they pay for it? It isn't
what I want, but it's better than idleness, so I'll try it!”
Full of this wise resolution, she took to haunting that
purgatory of the poor, an intelligence office. Mrs.
Flint gave her a recommendation, and she hopefully
SERVANT.
17
took her place among the ranks of buxom German,
incapable Irish, and “smart” American women; for in
those days foreign help had not driven farmers' daugh-
ters out of the field, and made domestic comfort a lost
art.
At first Christie enjoyed the novelty of the thing,
and watched with interest the anxious housewives who
flocked in demanding that rara avis, an angel at nine
shillings a week; and not finding it, bewailed the
degeneracy of the times. Being too honest to profess
herself absolutely perfect in every known branch of
house-work, it was some time before she suited herself.
Meanwhile, she was questioned and lectured, half en-
gaged and kept waiting, dismissed for a whim, and so
worried that she began to regard herself as the incar-
nation of all human vanities and shortcomings.
“A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at
last offered her, and she posted away to secure it, having
reached a state of desperation and resolved to go as a
first-class cook rather than sit with her hands before her
any longer.
A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties
seemed things to be grateful for, and Christie decided
that going out to service was not the hardest fate in
life, as she stood at the door of a handsome house in a
sunny square waiting to be inspected.
Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected
the artistic, and the new applicant found her with a
Roman scarf about her head, a rosary like a string of
small cannon balls at her side, and azure draperies
which became her as well as they did the sea-green
furniture of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers
. 18
WORK.
tripped over coral and shells, grew sea-sick looking at
pictures of tempestuous billows engulfing every sort of
craft, from a man-of-war to a hencoop with a ghostly
young lady clinging to it with one hand, and had their
appetites effectually taken away by a choice collection
of water-bugs and snakes in a glass globe, that looked
like a jar of mixed pickles in a state of agitation..

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SERVANT.
19
Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's
“ Rain, Wind, and Hail,” that pleasing work which was
sold upsidedown and no one found it out. Motioning
Christie to a seat she finished some delicate sloppy
process before speaking. In that little pause Christie
examined her, and the impression then received was.
afterward confirmed.
Mrs. Stuart possessed some beauty and chose to think
herself a queen of society. She assumed majestic man-
ners in public and could not entirely divest herself of
them in private, which often produced: comic effects.
Zenobia troubled about fish-sauce, or Aspasia indignant
at the price of eggs will give some idea of this lady
when she condescended to the cares of housekeeping.
Presently she looked up and inspected the girl as if
a new servant were no more than a new bonnet, a
necessary article to be ordered home for examination.
Christie presented her recommendation, made her mod-
est little speech, and awaited her doom.
Mrs. Stuart read, listened, and then demanded with
queenly brevity:
“ Your name?”
66 Christie Devon."
“ Too long; I should prefer to call you Jane as I am
accustomed to the name.”
“ As you please, ma'am.”
6 Your age ?”
“Twenty-one.”
“ You are an American ?”
“ Yes, ma'am.”
Mrs. Stuart gazed into space a moment, then deliv-
ered the following address with impressive solemnity.'
20
WORK.
“I wish a capable, intelligent, honest, neat, well-con-
ducted person who knows her place and keeps it. The
work is light, as there are but two in the family. I am
very particular and so is Mr. Stuart. I pay two dollars
and a half, allow one afternoon out, one service on Sun-
day, and no followers.. My table-girl must understand
her duties thoroughly, be extremely neat, and always
wear white aprons."
“I think I can suit you, ma'am, when I have learned
the ways of the house,” meekly replied Christie.
Mrs. Stuart looked graciously satisfied and returned
the paper with a gesture that Victoria might have used
in restoring a granted petition, though her next words
rather marred the effect of the regal act, “ My cook is
black.”
“I have no objection to color, ma'am.”
An expression of relief dawned upon Mrs. Stuart's
countenance, for the black cook had been an insur-
mountable obstacle to all the Irish ladies who had
applied. Thoughtfully tapping her Roman nose with
the handle of her brush Madame took another survey
of the new applicant, and seeing that she looked neat,
intelligent, and respectful, gave a sigh of thankfulness
and engaged her on the spot.
Much elated Christie rushed home, selected a bag of
necessary articles, bundled the rest of her possessions
into an empty closet (lent her rent-free owing to a pro-
fusion of cockroaches), paid up her board, and at two
- o'clock introduced herself to Hepsey Johnson, her fellow
servant.
Hepsey was a tall, gaunt woman, bearing the tragedy
of her race written in her face, with its melancholy
SERVANT.
eyes, subdued expression, and the pathetic patience of
a wronged dumb animal. She received Christie with
an air of resignation, and speedily bewildered her with
an account of the duties she would be expected to per-
form.
A long and careful drill enabled Christie to set the
table with but few mistakes, and to retain a tolerably
clear recollection of the order of performances. She
had just assumed her badge of servitude, as she called
the white apron, when the bell rang violently and Hep-
sey, who was hurrying away to “ dish up,” said:
“It's de marster. You has to answer de bell, honey,
and he likes it done bery spry."
Christie ran and admitted an impetuous, stout gentle-
man, who appeared to be incensed against the elements,
for he burst in as if blown, shook himself like a New-
foundland dog, and said all in one breath :
“ You 're the new girl, are you? Well, take my
umbrella and pull off my rubbers."
6 Sir?”
Mr. Stuart was struggling with his gloves, and, quite
unconscious of the astonishment of his new maid, impa-
tiently repeated his request.
“ Take this wet thing away, and pull off my over-
shoes. Don't you see it's raining like the very
deuce!”
Christie folded her lips together in a peculiar manner
as she knelt down and removed a pair of muddy over-
shoes, took the dripping umbrella, and was walking
away with her agreeable burden when Mr. Stuart gave.
her another shock by calling over the banister:
"I'm going out again; so clean those rubbers, and
22
WORK.
see that the boots I sent down this morning are in
order."
“ Yes, sir,” answered Christie meekly, and imme-
diately afterward startled Hepsey by casting overshoes
and umbrella upon the kitchen floor, and indignantly
demanding :
“ Am I expected to be a boot-jack to that man?"
“I 'spects you is, honey."
5 Am I also expected to clean his boots ? "
“Yes, chile. Katy did, and de work ain't hard when
you gits used to it."
“It isn't the work; it's the degradation; and I won't
submit to it."
Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey
shook her head, saying quietly as she went on garnish-
ing a dish :
“Dere's more 'gradin' works dan dat, chile, and dem
dat 's bin 'bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy.
You's paid for it, honey; and if you does it willin, it
won't hurt you more dan washin' de marster's dishes, or
sweepin' his rooms."
“ There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing.
Do you think it's right to ask it of me ?” cried Christie,
feeling that being servant was not as pleasant a task as
she had thought it.
“ Dunno, chile. I’se shore I'd never ask it of any
woman if I was a man, 'less I was sick or ole. But
folks don't seem to 'member dat we've got feelin's, and
de best way is not to mind dese ere little trubbles.
You jes leave de boots to me; blackin' can't do dese
ole hands no hurt, and dis ain't no deggydation to me
now; I's a free woman."
SERVANT.
23
(D
" Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave ?” asked the
girl, forgetting her own small injury at this suggestion
of the greatest of all wrongs.
“ All my life, till I run away five year ago. My ole
folks, and eight brudders and sisters, is down dere in de
pit now, waitin' for the Lord to set 'em free. And He's
gwine to do it soon, soon !” As she uttered the last
words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow from
Hepsey's face, and the solemn fervor of her voice
thrilled Christie's heart. All her anger died out in a
great pity, and she put her hand on the woman's shoul-
der, saying earnestly:
“I hope so; and I wish I could help to bring that
happy day at once!"
For the first time Hepsey smiled, as she said grate-
fully, “ De Lord bress you for dat wish, chile.” Then,
dropping suddenly into her old, quiet way, she added,
turning to her work:
“Now you tote up de dinner, and I'll be handy by to
'fresh your mind 'bout how de dishes goes, for missis is
bery 'ticular, and don't like no 'stakes in tendin?” .
Thanks to her own neat-handed ways and Hepsey's
prompting through the slide, Christie got on very well;
managed her salver dexterously, only upset one glass,
clashed one dislı-cover, and forgot to sugar the pie
before putting it on the table; an omission which was
majestically pointed out, and graciously pardoned as a
first offence.
By seven o'clock the ceremonial was fairly over, and
Christie dropped into a chair quite tired ont with fre-
quent pacings to and fro. In the kitchen she found the
table spread for one, and Hepsey busy with the boots.
24
WORK.
“ Aren't you coming to your dinner, Mrs. Johnson ?"
she asked, not pleased at the arrangement.
“When you's done, honey; dere's no hurry 'bout me.
Katy liked dat way best, and I'se used ter waitin'."
“But I don't like that way, and I won't have it. I
suppose Katy thought her white skin gave her a right
to be disrespectful to a woman old enough to be her
mother just because she was black. I don't; and while
I'm here, there must be no difference made. If we can
work together, we can eat together; and because you
have been a slave is all the more reason I should be
good to you now."
If Hepsey had been surprised by the new girl's pro-
test against being made a boot-jack of, she was still
more surprised at this sudden kindness, for she had set
Christie down in her own mind as “one ob dem toppin'
smart ones dat don't stay long nowheres.” She changed
her opinion now, and sat watching the girl with a new
expression on her face, as Christie took boot and brush
from her, and fell to work energetically, saying as she
scrubbed :
“I'm ashamed of complaining about such a little
thing as this, and don't mean to feel degraded by it,
though I should by letting you do it for me. I never
lived out before: that's the reason I made a fuss.
There's a polish, for you, and I'm in a good humor
again; so Mr. Stuart may call for his boots whenever
he likes, and we'll go to dinner like fashionable people,
as we are.”
There was something so irresistible in the girl's hearty
manner, that Hepsey submitted at once with a visible
satisfaction, which gave a relish to Christie's dinner,
;
SERVANT.
though it was eaten at a kitchen table, with a bare-
armed cook sitting opposite, and three rows of bur-
nished dish-covers reflecting the dreadful spectacle.
After this, Christie got on excellently, for she did her
best, and found both pleasure and profit in her new
handsome rooms in order, to polish plate, and spread
bountiful meals. There was an atmosphere of ease
and comfort about her which contrasted agreeably with
the shabbiness of Mrs. Flint's boarding-house, and the
bare simplicity of the old home. Like most young
people, Christie loved luxury, and was sensible enough
to see and value the comforts of her situation, and to
wonder why more girls placed as she was did not
choose a life like this rather than the confinements of a
sewing-room, or the fatigue and publicity of a shop.
She did not learn to love her mistress, because Mrs.
Stuart evidently considered herself as one belonging to
a superior race of beings, and had no desire to establish
any of the friendly relations that may become so help-
ful and pleasant to both mistress and maid. She made
a royal progress through her dominions every morning,
issued orders, found fault liberally, bestowed praise
sparingly, and took no more personal interest in her ser-
vants than if they were clocks, to be wound up once a
day, and sent away the moment they got out of repair.
Mr. Stuart was absent from morning till night, and
all Christie ever knew about him was that he was a
kind-hearted, hot-tempered, and very conceited man;
fond of his wife, proud of the society they managed to:
draw about them, and bent on making his way in the
world at any cost.
26
WORK.
If masters and mistresses knew how skilfully they
are studied, criticised, and imitated by their servants,
they would take more heed to their ways, and set
better examples, perhaps. Mrs. Stuart never dreamed
that her quiet, respectful Jane kept a sharp eye on all
her movements, smiled covertly at her affectations,
envied her accomplishments, and practised certain little
elegancies that struck her fancy.
Mr. Stuart would have become apoplectic with indig-
nation if he had known that this too intelligent table-
girl often contrasted her master with his guests, and
dared to think him wanting in good breeding when he
boasted of his money, flattered a great man, or laid
plans to lure some lion into his house. When he lost
his temper, she always wanted to laugh, he bounced
and bumbled about so like an angry blue-bottle fly;
· and when he got himself up elaborately for a party,
this disrespectful hussy confided to Hepsey her opinion
that “.master was a fat dandy, with nothing to be vain
of but his clothes,” — a sacrilegious remark which
would have caused her to be summarily ejected from
the house if it had reached the august ears of master
or mistress.
“My father was a gentleman; and I shall never for-
get it, though I do go out to service. I've got no rich
friends to help me up, but, sooner or later, I mean to
find a place among cultivated people; and while I'm
working and waiting, I can be fitting myself to fill that
place like a gentlewoman, as I am."
With this ambition in her mind, Christie took notes
of all that went on in the polite world, of which she
got frequent glimpses while « living out.” Mrs. Stuart
SERVANT.
:
27
received one evening of each week, and on these occa-
sions Christie, with an extra frill on her white apron,
served the company, and enjoyed herself more than
they did, if the truth had been known.
. While helping the ladies with their wraps, she
observed what they wore, how they carried them-
selves, and what a vast amount of prinking they did,
not to mention the flood of gossip they talked while
shaking out their flounces and settling their topknots.
Later in the evening, when she passed cups and
glasses, this demure-looking damsel heard much fine
discourse, saw many famous beings, and improved her
mind with surreptitious studies of the rich and great
when on parade. But her best time was after supper,
when, through the crack of the door of the little room
where she was supposed to be clearing away the relics
of the feast, she looked and listened at her ease;
laughed at the wits, stared at the lions, heard the music,
was impressed by the wisdom, and much edified by the
gentility of the whole affair.
After a time, however, Christie got rather tired of it,
for there was an elegant sameness about these evenings
that became intensely wearisome to the uninitiated, but
she fancied that as each had his part to play he man-
aged to do it with spirit. Night after night the wag
told his stories, the poet read his poems, the singers
warbled, the pretty women simpered and dressed, the
heavy scientific was duly discussed by the elect precious,
and Mrs. Stuart, in amazing costumes, sailed to and fro
in her most swan-like manner; while my lord stirred
up the lions he had captured, till they roared their best,
great and small.
28
WORK.
“Good heavens! why don't they do or say something
new and interesting, and not keep twaddling on about
art, and music, and poetry, and cosmos ? The papers
are full of appeals for help for the poor, reforms of all
sorts, and splendid work that others are doing; but
these people seem to think it isn't genteel enough to be
spoken of here. I suppose it is all very elegant to go
on like a set of trained canaries, but it's very dull fun
to watch them, and Hepsey's stories are a deal more
interesting to me."
Having come to this conclusion, after studying dilet-
tanteism through the crack of the door for some months,
Christie left the “ trained canaries” to twitter and hop
about their gilded cage, and devoted herself to Hepsey,
who gave her glimpses into another sort of life so bit-
terly real that she never could forget it.

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HEPSEY.
Friendship had prospered in the lower regions, for
Hepsey had a motherly heart, and Christie soon won
SERVANT.
·
·
29
her confidence by bestowing her own. Her story was
like many another; yet, being the first Christie had
ever heard, and told with the unconscious eloquence of
one who had suffered and escaped, it made a deep im-
pression on her, bringing home to her a sense of obliga-
tion so forcibly that she began at once to pay a little
part of the great debt which the white race owes the
black.
Christie loved books; and the attic next her own was
full of them. To this store she found her way by a sort
of instinct as sure as that which leads a fly to a honey-
pot, and, finding many novels, she read her fill.' This
amusement lightened many heavy hours, peopled the
silent house with troops of friends, and, for a time, was
the joy of her life.
Hepsey used to watch her as she sat buried in her
book when the day's work was done, and once a heavy
sigh roused Christie from the most exciting crisis of
“The Abbot."
“What's the matter? Are you very tired, Aunty ?"
she asked, using the name that came most readily to
her lips.
“No, honey; I was only wishin' I could read fast
like you does. I’s berry slow 'bout readin' and I want
to learn a heap," answered Hepsey, with such a wistful
look in her soft eyes that Christie shut her book, saying
briskly :
“Then I'll teach you. Bring out your primer and
let's begin at once."
“Dear chile, it's orful hard work to put learnin' in
my ole head, and I wouldn't 'cept such a ting from you
only I needs dis sort of help so bad, and I can trust you
to gib it to me as I wants it."
30
WORK.
Then in a whisper that went straight to Christie's
heart, Hepsey told her plan and showed what help she
craved.
For five years she had worked hard, and saved lier
earnings for the purpose of her life. When a consider-
able sum had been hoarded up, she confided it to one
whom she believed to be a friend, and sent him to buy
her old mother. But he proved false, and she never
saw either mother or money. It was a hard blow, but
she took heart and went to work again, resolving this
time to trust no one with the dangerous part of the
affair, but when she had scraped together enough to pay
her way she meant to go South and steal her mother at
the risk of her life.
“I don't want much money, but I must know little
'bout readin' and countin' up, else I'll get lost and
cheated. You 'll help me do dis, honey, and I'll bless
you all my days, and so will my old mammy, if I ever
gets her safe away.” .
With tears of sympathy:shining on her cheeks, and
both hands stretched out to the poor soul who implored
this small boon of her, Christie promised all the help
that in her lay, and kept her word religiously.
From that time, Hepsey's cause was hers; she laid
by a part of her wages for “ole mammy,” she com-
forted Hepsey with happy prophecies of success, and
tanght with an energy and skill she had never known
before. Novels lost their charms now, for Hepsey could
give her a comedy and tragedy surpassing any thing
she found in them, because truth stamped her tales with
a power and pathos the most gifted fancy could but
poorly imitate.
SERVANT.
31
The select receptions upstairs seemed duller than
ever to her now, and her happiest evenings were spent
in the tidy kitchen, watching Hepsey laboriously shap-
ing A's and B’s, or counting up on her worn fingers the
wages they had earned by months of weary work, that
she might purchase one treasure, -- a feeble, old woman,
worn out with seventy years of slavery far away there
in Virginia.
For a year Christie was a faithful servant to her
mistress, who appreciated her virtues, but did not
encourage them; a true friend to poor Hepsey, who
loved her dearly, and found in her sympathy and affec-
tion a solace for many griefs and wrongs. But Provi-
dence had other lessons for Christie, and when this one
was well learned she was sent away to learn another
phase of woman's life and labor.
While their domestics amused themselves with privy
conspiracy and rebellion at home, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart
spent their evenings in chasing that bright bubble
called social success, and usually came home rather
cross because they could not catch it.
On one of these occasions they received a warm
welcome, for, as they approached the house, smoke was
seen issuing from an attic window, and flames flickering
behind the half-drawn curtain. Bursting out of the
carriage with his usual impetuosity, Mr. Stuart let him-
self in and tore upstairs shouting“ Fire!” like an
engine company.
In the attic Christie was discovered lying dressed
upon her bed, asleep or suffocated by the smoke that
filled the room. A book had slipped from her hand,
and in falling had upset the candle on a chair beside
32
WORK.
her; the long wick leaned against a cotton gown hang-
ing on the wall, and a greater part of Christie's ward-
robe was burning brilliantly..
“I forbade her to keep the gas lighted so late, and
see what the deceitful creature has done with her pri-
vate candle !” cried Mrs. Stuart with a shrillness that
roused the girl from her heavy sleep more effectually,
than the anathemas Mr. Stuart was fulminating against
the fire.
Sitting up she looked dizzily about her. The smoke
was clearing fast, a window having been opened; and
the tableau was a striking one. Mr. Stuart with an
excited countenance was dancing frantically on a heap
of half-consumed clothes pulled from the wall. He had
not only drenched them with water from bowl and
pitcher, but had also cast those articles upon the pile
like extinguishers, and was skipping among the frag-
ments with an agility which contrasted with his stout
figure in full evening costume, and his besmirched face,
made the sight irresistibly ludicrous.
Mrs. Stuart, though in her most regal array, seemed
to have left her dignity downstairs with her opera
cloak, for with skirts gathered closely about her, tiara
all askew, and face full of fear and anger, she stood
upon a chair and scolded like any shrew.
The comic overpowered the tragic, and being a little
hysterical with the sudden alarm, Christie broke into a
peal of laughter that sealed her fate.
“ Look at her! look at her!” cried Mrs. Stuart gestic-
ulating on her perch as if about to fly. “She has been
at the wine, or lost her wits. She must go, Horatio,
she must go! I cannot have my nerves shattered by
SERVANT.
33
such dreadful scenes. She is too fond of books, and it
has turned her brain. Hepsey can watch her to-night,
and at dawn she shall leave the house for ever.”
“Not till after breakfast, my dear. Let us have that
in comfort I beg, for upon my soul we shall need it,"
panted Mr. Stuart, sinking into a chair exhausted with
the vigorous measures which had quenched the con-
flagration.
Christie checked her untimely mirth, explained the
probable cause of the mischief, and penitently promised
to be more careful for the future.
Mr. Stuart would have pardoned her on the spot, but
Madame was inexorable, for she had so completely for-
gotten her dignity that she felt it would be impossible
ever to recover it in the eyes of this disrespectful
menial. Therefore she dismissed her with a lecture
that made both mistress and maid glad to part.
She did not appear at breakfast, and after that meal
Mr. Stuart paid Christie her wages with a solemnity
which proved that he had taken a curtain lecture to
heart. There was a twinkle in his eye, however, as he
kindly added a recommendation, and after the door
closed behind him Christie was sure that he exploded
into a laugh at the recollection of his last night's per-
formance.
This lightened her sense of disgrace very much, so,
· leaving a part of her money to repair damages, she
packed up her dilapidated wardrobe, and, making Hep-
sey promise to report progress from time to time, Chris-
tie went back to Mrs. Flint's to compose her mind and
be ready à la Micawber “for something to turn up.”
2* .
CHAPTER III.
ACTRESS.
EELING that she had all the world before her
I where to choose, and that her next step ought to
take her up at least one round higher on the ladder she
was climbing, Christie decided not to try going out to
service, again. She knew very well that she would
never live with Irish mates, and could not expect to
find another Hepsey. So she tried to get a place as
companion to an invalid, but failed to secure the only
situation of the sort that was offered her, because she
mildly objected to waiting on a nervous cripple all day,
and reading aloud half the night. The old lady called
her an “impertinent baggage," and Christie retired in
great disgust, resolving not to be a slave to anybody.
Things seldom turn out as we plan them, and after
much waiting and hoping for other work Christie at
last accepted about the only employment which had
not entered her mind.
Among the boarders at Mrs. Flint's were an old lady
and her pretty daughter, both actresses at a respectable
theatre. Not stars by any means, but good second-rate
players, doing their work creditably and earning an
honest living. The mother had been kind to Christie
in offering advice, and sympathizing with her disap-
ACTRESS.
35
pointments. The daughter, a gay little lass, bad taken
Christie to the theatre several times, there to behold
her in all the gauzy glories that surround the nymphs
of spectacular romance.
To Christie this was a great delight, for, though she
had pored over her father's Shakespeare till she knew
many scenes by heart, she had never seen a play till
Lucy led her into what seemed an enchanted world.
Her interest and admiration pleased the little actress,
and sundry lifts when she was hurried with her dresses
made her grateful to Christie.
The girl's despondent face, as she came in day after
day from her unsuccessful quest, told its own story,
though she uttered no complaint, and these friendly
souls laid their heads together, eager to help her in'
their own dramatic fashion.
“I've got it! I've got it! All hail to the queen!”
was the cry that one day startled Christie as she sat
thinking anxiously, while sewing mock-pearls on a
crown for Mrs. Black.
Looking up she saw Lucy just home from rehearsal,
going through a series of pantomimic evolutions sug-
gestive of a warrior doing battle with incredible valor,
and a very limited knowledge of the noble art of self-
defence.
“ What have you got? Who is the queen ? " she
asked, laughing, as the breathless hero lowered her
umbrella, and laid her bonnet at Christie's feet.
“ You are to be the Queen of the Amazons in our
new spectacle, at half a dollar a night for six or eight
weeks, if the piece goes well."
. “No!” cried Christie, with a gasp.
36
“ Yes!” cried Lucy, clapping her hands; and then
she proceeded to tell her news with theatrical volubil-
ity. “Mr. Sharp, the manager, wants a lot of tallish
girls, and I told him I knew of a perfect dear. He
said : “Bring her on, then, and I flew home to tell you.
Now, don't look wild, and say no. You've only got to
sing in one chorus, march in the grand procession, and
lead your band in the terrific battle-scene. The dress
is splendid! Red tunic, tiger-skin over shoulder, helmet,
shield, lance, fleshings, sandals, hair down, and as much
cork to your eyebrows as you like.”
- Christie certainly did look wild, for Lucy had burst
into the room like a small hurricane, and her rapid
words rattled about the listeners' ears as if a hail-storm
had followed the gust. While Christie still sat with
her mouth open, too bewildered to reply, Mrs. Black
said in her cosey voice: -
“ Try it, me dear, it's just what you'll enjoy, and a .
capital beginning I assure ye; for if you do well old
Sharp will want you again, and then, when some one
slips out of the company, you can slip in, and there you
are quite comfortable. Try it, me dear, and if you
don't like it drop it when the piece is over, and there 's
no barm done."
you are after. We'll stand by you like bricks, and in a
week you 'll say it's the best lark you ever had in your
life. Don't be prim, now, but say yes, like a trump, as
you are," added Lucy, waving a pink satin train tempt-
ingly before her friend.
“I will try it,” said Christie, with sudden decision,
feeling that something entirely new and absorbing was
ACTRESS.
37'.
what she needed to expend the vigor, romance, and
enthusiasm of her youth upon.
With a shriek of delight Lucy swept her off her
chair, and twirled her about the room as excitable
young ladies are fond of doing when their joyful emo-
tions need a vent. When both were giddy they sub-
sided into a corner and a breathless discussion of the
important step.
Though she had consented, Christie had endless
doubts and fears, but Lucy removed many of the former,
and her own desire for pleasant employment conquered
many of the latter. In her most despairing moods she
had never thought of trying this. Uncle Enos consid-
ered “play-actin'” as the sum of all iniquity. What
would he say if she went calmly to destruction by that
road? Sad to relate, this recollection rather strength-
ened her purpose, for a delicious sense of freedom per-
vaded her soul, and the old defiant spirit seemed to rise
up within her at the memory of her Uncle's grim
prophecies and narrow views.
“Lucy is happy, virtuous, and independent, why can't
I be so too if I have any talent? It isn't exactly what
I should choose, but any thing honest is better than
idleness. I'll try it any way, and get a little fun, even
if I don't make much money or glory out of it."
So Christie held to her resolution in spite of many
secret misgivings, and followed Mrs. Black's advice on
all points with a docility which caused that sanguine
lady to predict that she would be a star before she
knew where she was.
“Is this the stage? How dusty and dull it is by
daylight!” said Christie next day, as she stood by Lucy
38
WORK.
on the very spot where she had seen Hamlet die in
great anguish two nights before.
“ Bless you, child, it's in curl-papers now, as I am of
a morning. Mr. Sharp, here's an Amazon for you."
As she spoke, Lucy hurried across the stage, followed
by Christie, wearing any thing but an Amazonian
expression just then.
“Everon before ?” abruptly asked a keen-faced,
little man, glancing with an experienced eye at the
young person who stood before him bathed in blushes.
.“ No, sir." i
“Do you sing ?”
“ A little, sir."
“ Dance, of course ?"
66 Yes, sir."
6 Just take a turn across the stage, will you? Must
walk well to lead a march.”
As she went, Christie heard Mr. Sharp taking notes
audibly:
“Good tread; capital figure; fine eye. She'll make
up well, and behave herself, I fancy.”
A strong desire to make off seized the girl; but,
remembering that she had presented herself for inspec-
tion, she controlled the impulse, and returned to him
with no demonstration of displeasure, but a little more
fire in “ the fine eye,” and a more erect carriage of the
“ capital figure."
“ All right, my dear. Give your name to Mr. Tripp,
and your mind to the business, and consider yourself
engaged,” — with which satisfactory remark the little
man vanished like a ghost.
“ Lucy, did you hear that impertinent my dear'?"
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ACTRESS.
43
ringing shout, rushed down the ten-foot precipice, and
charged upon the foe with an energy that inspired her
followers, and quite satisfied the princess struggling in
the demon’s grasp.
With clashing of arms and shrill war-cries the rescu-
ers of innocence assailed the sooty fiends who fell before
their unscientific blows with a rapidity which inspired
in the minds of beholders a suspicion that the goblins'
own voluminous tails tripped them up and gallantry
kept them' prostrate. As the last groan expired, the
last agonized squirm subsided, the conquerors per-
formed the intricate dance with which it appears the
Amazons were wont to celebrate their victories. Then
the scene closed with a glare of red light and a “grand
tableau” of the martial queen standing in a bower of
lances, the rescued princess gracefully fainting in her
arms, and the vanquished demon scowling fiercely
under her foot, while four-and-twenty dishevelled dam-
sels sang a song of exultation, to the barbaric music of
a tattoo. on their shields.
All went well that night, and when at last the girls
doffed crown and helmet, they confided to one another
the firm opinion that the success of the piece was in a
great measure owing to their talent, their exertions,
and went gaily home predicting for themselves careers
as brilliant as those of Siddons and Rachel.
It would be a pleasant task to paint the vicissitudes
and victories of a successful actress; but Christie was
no dramatic genius born to shine before the world and
leave a name behind her. She had no talent except
that which may be developed in any girl possessing
the lively fancy, sympathetic nature, and ambitious
-
,
44
WORK.
spirit which make such girls naturally dramatic. This
was to be only one of many experiences which were to
show her her own weakness and strength, and through
effort, pain, and disappointment fit her to play a nobler
part on a wider stage.
For a few weeks Christie's illusions lasted; then she
discovered that the new life was nearly as humdrum as
the old, that her companions were ordinary men and
women, and her bright hopes were growing as dim as
her tarnished shield. She grew unutterably weary of
“ The Castle of the Sun," and found the “ Demon's
Daughter" an unmitigated bore. She was not tired of
the profession, only dissatisfied with the place she held
in it, and eager to attempt a part that gave some scope
for power and passion.
Mrs. Black wisely reminded her that she must learn
to use her wings before she tried to fly, and comforted
her with stories of celebrities who had begun as she
was beginning, yet who had suddenly burst from their
grub-like obscurity to adorn the world as splendid
butterflies.
6 We'll stand by you, Kit; so keep up your courage,
and do your best. Be clever to every one in general,
old Sharp in particular, and when a chance comes, have
your wits about you and grab it. That's the way to
get on," said Lucy, as sagely as if she had been a star
for years.
“If I had beauty I should stand a better chance,"
sighed Christie, surveying herself with great disfavor,
quite unconscious that to a cultivated eye the soul of
beauty was often visible in that face of hers, with its
intelligent eyes, sensitive mouth, and fine lines about
ACTRESS.
45
the forehead, making it a far more significant and
attractive countenance than that of her friend, pos-
sessing only piquant prettiness. .
“ Never mind, child; you've got a lovely figure, and
an actress's best feature, — fine eyes and eyebrows. I
heard old Kent say so, and he's a judge. So make the
best of what you've got, as I do," answered Lucy,
glancing at her own comely little person with an air of
perfect resignation.
Christie laughed at the adviser, but wisely took the
advice, and, though she fretted in private, was cheerful
and alert in public. Always modest, attentive, and
obliging, she soon became a favorite with her mates,
and, thanks to Lucy's good offices with Mr. Sharp,
whose favorite she was, Christie got promoted sooner
than she otherwise would have been.
A great Christmas spectacle was brought out the
next season, and Christie had a good part in it. When
that was over she thought there was no hope for her,
as the regular company was full and a different sort of
performance was to begin. But just then her chance
came, and she “ grabbed it." The first soubrette died
suddenly, and in the emergency Mr. Sharp offered the
place to Christie till he could fill it to his mind. Lucy
was second soubrette, and had hoped for this promo-
tion ; but Lucy did not sing well. Christie had a good
voice, had taken lessons and much improved of late,
so she had the preference and resolved to stand the test
so well that this temporary elevation should become
permanent.
She did her best, and though many of the parts were
distasteful to her she got through them successfully,
46
WORK.
while now and then she had one which she thoroughly
enjoyed. Her Tilly Slowboy was a hit, and a proud
girl was Christie when Kent, the comedian, congratu-
lated her on it, and told her he had seldom seen it
better done.
To find favor in Kent's eyes was an honor indeed, for
he belonged to the old school, and rarely condescended
to praise modern actors. His own style was so admi-
rable that he was justly considered the first comedian
in the country, and was the pride and mainstay of the
-old theatre where he had played for years. Of course
he possessed much influence in that little world, and
being a kindly man used it generously to help up any
young aspirant who seemed to him deserving.
He had observed Christie, attracted by her intelli-
gent face and modest manners, for in spite of her youth
there was a native refinement about her that made it
impossible for her to romp and flirt as some of her
mates did. But till she played Tilly he had not thought
she possessed any talent. That pleased him, and seeing
how mnch she valued his praise, and was flattered by
his notice, he gave her the wise but unpalatable advice
always offered young actors. Finding that she accepted
it, was willing to study hard, work faithfully, and wait
patiently, he predicted that in time she would make a
clever actress, never a great one.
Of course - Christie thought he was mistaken, and
secretly resolved to prove him a false prophet by the
triumphs of her career. But she meekly bowed to his
opinion; this docility pleased him, and he took a pater-
nal sort of interest in her, which, coming from the pow-
erful favorite, did her good service with the higher
ACTRESS.
powers, and helped her on more rapidly than years of
meritorious effort.
Toward the end of that second season several of
Dickens's dramatized novels were played, and Christie
earned fresh laurels. She loved those books, and
seemed. by instinct to understand and personate the
humor and pathos of many of those grotesque creations.
Believing she had little beauty to sacrifice, she dressed
such parts to the life, and played them with a spirit
and ease that surprised those who had considered her
a dignified and rather dull young person.
“I'll tell you what it is, Sharp, that girl is going to
make a capital character actress. When her parts suit,
she forgets herself entirely and does admirably well.
Her Miggs was nearly the death of me to-night. She's
got that one gift, and it's a good one. You'd better
give her a chance, for I think she'll be a credit to the
old concern."
Kent said that, - Christie heard it, and flew to Lucy,
waving Miggs's cap for joy as she told the news.
“What did Mr. Sharp say?" asked Lucy, turning
round with her face half " made up."
“ He merely said · Hum, and smiled. Wasn't that a
good sign?” said Christie, anxiously.
“Can't say,” and Lucy touched up her eyebrows as
if she took no interest in the affair.
Christie's face fell, and her heart sunk at the thought
of failure; but she kept up her spirits by working
harder than ever, and soon had her reward. Mr.
Sharp's “ Hum" did mean yes, and the next season she
was regularly engaged, with a salary of thirty dollars
a week.
48
WORK.
It was a grand step, and knowing that she owed it to
Kent, Christie did her utmost to show that she deserved
his good opinion. New trials and temptations beset
her now, but hard work and an innocent nature kept
her safe and busy. Obstacles only spurred her ou to
redoubled exertion, and whether she did well or ill, was
praised or blamed, she found a never-failing excitement
in her attempts to reach the standard of perfection she
had set up for herself. Kent did not regret his patron-
age. Mr. Sharp was satisfied with the success of the
experiment, and Christie soon became a favorite in a
small way, because behind the actress the public always
saw a woman who never “forgot the modesty of
nature.”
But as she grew prosperous in outward things, Chris-
tie found herself burdened with a private cross that
tried her very much. Lucy was no longer her friend;
something had come between them, and a steadily
increasing coldness took the place of the confidence
and affection which had once existed. Lucy was jeal-
ous for Christie had passed her in the race. She knew
she could not fill the place Christie had gained by
favor, and now held by her own exertions, still she was
bitterly envious, though ashamed to own it.
Christie tried to be just and gentle, to prove her
gratitude to her first friend, and to show that her heart
was unchanged. But she failed to win Lucy back and
felt herself injured by such unjust resentment. Mrs.
Black took her daughter's part, and though they pre-
served the peace outwardly the old friendliness was
quite gone.
Hoping to forget this trouble in excitement Christie
ACTRESS.
49
gave herself entirely to her profession, finding in it a
satisfaction which for a time consoled her.
But gradually she underwent the sorrowful change
which comes to strong natures when they wrong them-
selves through ignorance or wilfulness.
Pride and native integrity kept her from the worst
temptations of such a life, but to the lesser ones she
yielded, growing selfish, frivolous, and vain, — intent on
her own advancement, and careless by what means she
reached it. She had no thought now beyond her art,
no desire beyond the commendation of those whose
opinion was serviceable, no care for any one but her-
self.
Her love of admiration grew by what it fed on, till
the sound of applause became the sweetest music to
her ear. She rose with this hope, lay down with this
satisfaction, and month after month passed in this fever-
ish life, with no wish to change it, but a growing appe-
tite for its unsatisfactory delights, an ever-increasing
forgetfulness of any higher aspiration than dramatic
fame.
“Give me joy, Lucy, I'm to have a benefit next
week! Everybody else has had one, and I've played
for them all, so no one seemed to begrudge me my turn
when dear old Kent proposed it,” said Christie, coming
in one night still flushed and excited with the good
news.
“What shall you have ? ” asked Lucy, trying to look
pleased, and failing decidedly.
6. Masks and Faces. I've always wanted to play Peg.
and it has good parts for you and Kent, and St. George.
D
50
WORK,
I chose it for that reason, for I shall need all the help
I can get to pull me through, I dare say.”
The smile vanished entirely at this speech, and Chris-
tie was suddenly seized with a suspicion that Lucy was
not only jealous of her as an actress, but as a woman.
Q
:
played lovers' parts with Christie, and played them
very well, too, being possessed of much talent, and a
gentleman. They had never thought of falling in love
with each other, though St. George wooed and won
Christie night after night in vaudeville and farce. But
it was yery easy to imagine that so much mock passion
had a basis of truth, and Lucy evidently tormented
herself with this belief.
“Why didn't you choose Juliet: St. George would
do Romeo so well ?.” said Lucy, with a sneer.
“No, that is beyond me. Kent says Shakespeare
will never be my line, and I believe him. I should
think you'd be satisfied with · Masks and Faces,' for you
know Mabel gets her husband safely back in the end,"
answered Christie, watching the effect of her words.
“ As if I wanted the man! No, thank you, other
people's leavings won't suit me,” cried Lucy, tossing:
· her head, though her face belied her words.
ing legs,' and 'a melting voice?”” asked Christie mali-
ciously, quoting Lucy's own rapturous speeches when
the new actor came.
. “Come, come, girls, don't quarrel. I won't ’ave it in
me room. Lucy's tired to death, and it's not nice of
you, Kitty, to come and crow over her this way,” said
ACTRESS.
:
.
51
.
Mamma Black, coming to the rescue, for Lucy was in .
tears, and Christie looking dangerous.
“It's impossible to please you, so I'll say good-night,"
and Christie went to her room with resentment burn-
·ing hotly in her heart.
As she crossed the chamber her eye fell on her own
figure reflected in the long glass, and with a sudden
impulse she turned up the gas, wiped the rouge from
her cheeks, pushed back her hair, and studied her own .
face intently for several moments. It was pale and
jaded now, and all its freshness seemed gone; hard
lines had come about the mouth, a feverish disquiet
filled the eyes, and on the forehead seemed to lie the
shadow of a discontent that saddened the whole face.
If one could believe the testimony of that countenance
things were not going well with Christie, and she
owned it with a regretful sigh, as she asked herself,
“Am I what I hoped I should be ? No, and it is my
fault. If three years of this life have made me this,
what shall I be in ten? A fine actress perhaps, but
how good a woman?”
With gloomy eyes fixed on her altered face she stood
a moment struggling with herself. Then the hard look
returned, and she spoke out defiantly, as if in answer
to some warning voice within herself. “No one cares
what I am, so why care myself? Why not go on and
get as much fame as I can ? Success gives me power
if it cannot give me happiness, and I must have some
reward for my hard work. Yes! a gay life and a short
one, then out with the lights and down with the
curtain !.
But in spite of her reckless words Christie sobbed
52
WORK.
herself to sleep that night like a child who knows it is
astray, yet cannot see the right path or hear its mother's
voice calling it home.
On the night of the benefit, Lucy was in a most exas-
perating mood, Christie in a very indignant one, and
as they entered their dressing-room they looked as if
they might have played the Rival Queens with great
effect. Lucy offered no help and Christie asked none,
but putting her vexation resolutely out of sight fixed
her mind on the task before her.
As the pleasant stir began all about her, actress-like,
she felt her spirits rise, her courage increase with every
curl she fastened up, every gay garment she put on,
and soon siniled approvingly at herself, for excitement
lent her cheeks a better color than rouge, her eyes
shone with satisfaction, and her heart beat high with
the resolve to make a hit or die.
Christie needed encouragement that night, and found
it in the hearty welcome that greeted her, and the full
house, which proved how kind a regard was entertained
for her by many who knew her only by a fictitious
name. She felt this deeply, and it helped her much,
for she was vexed with many trials those before the
footlights knew nothing of.
The other players were full of kindly interest in her
success, but Lucy took a naughty satisfaction in har-
assing her by all the small slights and unanswerable
provocations which one actress has it in her power to
inflict upon another.
Christie was fretted almost beyond endurance, and
retaliated by an ominous frown when her position
allowed, threatening asides when a moment's by-play
¿ ACTRESS.
53
favored their delivery, and angry protests whenever
she met Lucy off the stage.
But in spite of all annoyances she had never played
better in her life. She liked the part, and acted the
warm-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued Peg with
a spirit and grace that surprised even those who knew
her best. Especially good was she in the scenes with
Triplet, for Kent played the part admirably, and cheered
· her on with many an encouraging look and word.
Anxious to do honor to her patron and friend she
threw her whole heart into the work; in the scene
where she comes like a good angel to the home of the
poor play-wright, she brought tears to the eyes of her
audience; and when at her command Triplet strikes
up a jig to amuse the children she “ covered the
buckle” in gallant style, dancing with all the frolic-
some abandon of the Irish orange-girl who for a
moment forgot her grandeur and her grief.
That scene was her best, for it is full of those touches
of nature that need very little art to make them effec-
tive; and when a great bouquet fell with a thump at
Christie's feet, as she paused to bow her thanks for an
encore, she felt that she had reached the height of
earthly bliss.
In the studio scene Lucy seemed suddenly gifted
with unsuspected skill; for when Mabel kneels to the
picture, praying her rival to give her back her husband's
heart, Christie was amazed to see real tears roll down
Lucy's cheeks, and to hear real love and longing thrill
her trembling words with sudden power and passion.
“That is not acting. She does love St. George, and
thinks I mean to keep him from her. Poor dear! I'll
54
WORK. ::
tell her all about it to-night, and set her heart at rest,"
thought Christie; and when Peg left the frame, her
face expressed the genuine pity that she felt, and her
voice was beautifully tender as she promised to restore
the stolen treasure.
Lucy felt comforted without knowing why, and the
piece went smoothly on to its last scene. Peg was
just relinquishing the repentant husband to his forgiv-
ing wife with those brave words of hers, when a rend-
ing sound above their heads made all look up and start
back; all but Lucy, who stood bewildered. Christie's
quick eye saw the impending danger, and with a sud-
den spring she caught her friend from it. It was only
a second's work, but it cost her much; for in the act,
down crashed one of the mechanical contrivances used
in a late spectacle, and in its fall stretched Christie
stunned and senseless on the stage.
A swift uprising filled the house with tumult; a
crowd of actors hurried forward, and the panic-stricken
audience caught glimpses of poor Peg lying mute and
pallid in Mabel's arms, while Vane wrung his hands,
and Triplet audibly demanded, “Why the devil some-
body didn't go for a doctor ?”
Then a brilliant view of Mount Parnassus, with
Apollo and the Nine Muses in full blast, shut the scene
from sight, and soon Mr. Sharp appeared to ask their
patience till the after-piece was ready, for Miss Douglas
was too much injured to appear again. And with an
unwonted expression of feeling, the little man alluded
to “ the generous act which perhaps had changed the
comedy to a tragedy and robbed the beneficiary of her
well-earned reward at their hands."
ACTRESS.
55.
All had seen the impulsive spring toward, not from,
the danger, and this unpremeditated action won heart-
ier applause than Christie ever had received for her.
best rendering of more heroic deeds.
But she did not hear the cordial round they gave
her. She had said she would “make a hit or die ;"
and just then it seemed as if she had done both, for
she was deaf and blind to the admiration and the
sympathy bestowed upon her as the curtain fell on the
first, last benefit she ever was to have.
CHAPTER IV.
GOVERNESS.

.
*
*
*
*
I. VIRAL
*
.
IA
I
*
i
.
.
..
S
.
BAND
BH
VAN
A
-
MR. PHILIP FLETCHER.
D URING the next few weeks Christie learned the
U worth of many things which she had valued very
lightly until then. Health became a boon too precious
to be trifled with ; life assumed a deeper significance
when death's shadow fell upon its light, and she dis-
covered that dependence might be made endurable by
the sympathy of unsuspected friends. .
Lucy waited upon her with a remorseful devotion
GOVERNESS.
57 ..
which touched her very much and won entire forgive-
ness for the past, long before it was repentantly im-
plored. All her comrades came with offers of help and
affectionate regrets. Several whom she had. most dis-
liked now earned her gratitude by the kindly thought-
fulness which filled her sick-room with fruit and flowers,
supplied carriages for the convalescent, and paid her
doctor's bill without her knowledge.
Thus Christie learned, like many another needy
member of the gay profession, that though often extrav-
agant and jovial in their way of life, these men and
women give as freely as they spend, wear warm, true
hearts under their motley, and make misfortune only
another link in the bond of good-fellowship which
binds them loyally together.
Slowly Christie gathered her energies after weeks of
suffering, and took up her life again, grateful for the
gift, and anxious to be more worthy of it. Looking
back upon the past she felt that she had made a mis-
take and lost more than she had gained in those three
years. Others might lead that life of alternate excite-
ment and hard work unharmed, but she could not.
The very ardor and insight which gave power to the
actress made that mimic life unsatisfactory to the
woman, for hers was an earnest nature that took fast
hold of whatever task she gave herself to do, and lived
in it heartily while duty made it right, or novelty lent
it charms. But when she saw the error of a step, the
emptiness of a belief, with a like earnestness she tried to
retrieve the one and to replace the other with a better
substitute.
In the silence of wakeful nights and the solitude of
3*
:: 58
WORK.
quiet days, she took counsel with her better self, con-
demned the reckless spirit which had possessed her,
and came at last to the decision which conscience
prompted and much thought confirmed.
“The stage is not the place for me," she said. “I
have no genius to glorify the drudgery, keep me from
temptation, and repay me for any sacrifice I make.
Other women can lead this life safely and happily : I
cannot, and I must not go back to it, becausé, with all
my past experience, and in spite of all my present good
resolutions, I should do no better, and I might do worse.
*I'm not wise enough to keep steady there; I must
return to the old ways, dull but safe, and plod along
· till I find my real place and work."
Great was the surprise of Lucy and her mother when
Christie told her resolution, adding, in a whisper, to the
girl, “I leave the field clear for you, dear, and will
dance at your wedding with all my heart when St.
George asks you to play the · Honeymoon' with him,
as I'm sure he will before long."
Many entreaties from friends, as well as secret long-
ings, tried and tempted Christie sorely, but she with-
stood them all, carried her point, and renounced the
profession she could not follow without self-injury and
self-reproach. The season was nearly over when she
was well enough to take her place again, but she
refused to return, relinquished her salary, sold her ward-
robe, and never crossed the threshold of the theatre
after she had said good-bye.
Then she asked, “What next?” and was speedily
answered. An advertisement for a governess met her
eye, which seemed to combine the two things she
GOVERNESS.
59.
most needed just then, - employment and change of
air.
“Mind you don't mention that you've been an actress
or it will be all up with you, me dear,” said Mrs. Black,
as Christie prepared to investigate the matter, for since
her last effort in that line she had increased her knowl-
edge of music, and learned French enough to venture
teaching it to very young pupils.
“I'd rather tell in the beginning, for if you keep any
thing back it's sure to pop out when you least expect or
want it. I don't believe these people will care as long
as I'm respectable and teach well,” returned Christie,
wishing she looked stronger and rosier.
6 You'll be sorry if you do tell,” warned Mrs. Black,
who knew the ways of the world.
“I shall be sorry if I don't,” laughed Christie, and
so she was, in the end.
5 L. N. Saltonstall” was the name on the door, and
L. N. Saltonstall's servant was so leisurely about
answering Christie's meek solo on the bell, that she had
time to pull out her bonnet-strings half-a-dozen times
before a very black man in a very white jacket conde-
scended to conduct her to his mistress.
A frail, tea-colored“ lady appeared, displaying such
a small proportion of woman to such a large pro-
portion of purple and fine linen, that she looked as if
she was literally as well as figuratively “dressed' to
death."
Christie went to the point in a business-like manner
that seemed to suit Mrs. Saltonstall, because it saved
so much trouble, and she replied, with a languid affa-
bility:
60
WORK.
« I wish some one to teach the children a little, for
they are getting too old to be left entirely to nurse. I
am anxious to get to the sea-shore as soon as possible,
for they have been poorly all winter, and my own
health has suffered. Do you feel inclined to try the
place ? And what compensation do you require ?”.
Christie had but a vague idea of what wages were
usually paid to nursery governesses, and heşitatingly
named a sum which seemed reasonable to her, but was
so much less than any other applicant had asked, that
Mrs. Saltonstall began to think she could not do better
than secure this cheap young person, who looked firm
enough to manage her rebellious son and heir, and
well-bred enough to begin the education of a little fine
lady. Her winter had been an extravagant one, and
she could economize in the governess better perhaps
out of town at once.
“Your terms are quite satisfactory, Miss Devon, and
if my brother approves, I think we will consider the
matter settled. Perhaps you would like to see the
children? They are little darlings, and you will soon
be fond of them, I am sure." .
.
appeared an eight-year old boy, so excessively Scotch
in his costume that he looked like an animated checker-
board; and a little girl, who presented the appearance
of a miniature opera-dancer staggering under the
weight of an immense sash.
“Go and speak prettily to Miss Devon, my pets, for
she is coming to play with you, and you must mind
what she says,” commanded mamma.
• GOVERNESS.
61
The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to
Christie's knee, and stood there staring at her with a
dull composure that quite daunted her, it was so sadly
unchildlike.
“What is your name, dear?" she asked, laying her
hand on the young lady's head.
6 Villamena Temmatina Taltentall. You mustn't
touch my hair; it's just turled," was the somewhat
embarrassing reply.
“Mine’s Louy 'Poleon Thaltensthall, like papa's,"
volunteered the other young person, and Christie pri-
vately wondered if the possession of names nearly as
long as themselves was not a burden to the poor
dears.
Feeling that she must say something, she asked, in
her most persuasive tone:
“Would you like to have me come and teach you
some nice lessons out of your little books ?.”
If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot
it could not have caused greater dismay. Wilhelmina
cast herself upon the floor passionately, declaring that
she « touldn't tuddy," and Saltonstall, Jr., retreated
precipitately to the door, and from that refuge defied
the whole race of governesses and “nasty lessons"
jointly.
“ There, run away to Justine. They are sadly out
of sorts, and quite pining for sea-air," said mamma,
with both hands at her ears, for the war-cries of her
darlings were piercing as they departed, proclaiming
their wrongs while swarming up stairs, with a skirmish
on each landing.
With a few more words Christie took leave, and
-62
WORK.
scandalized the sable retainer by smiling all through
the hall, and laughing audibly as the door closed. The
contrast of the plaid boy and beruffled girl's irritability
with their mother's languid affectation, and her own
nnfortunate efforts, was too much for her. In the
middle of her mérriment she paused suddenly, saying
to herself:
“I never told about my acting. I must go back
and have it settled.” She retraced a few steps, then
turned and went on again, thinking, “No; for once I'll
be guided by other people's advice, and let well
alone.”
A note arrived soon after, bidding Miss Devon con-
sider herself engaged, and desiring her to join the
family at the boat on Monday next.
At the appointed time Christie was on board, and
looked about for her party. Mrs. Saltonstall appeared
in the distance with her family about her, and Christie
took a survey before reporting herself. Madame looked
more like a fashion-plate than ever, in a mass of green
flounces, and an impressive bonnet flushed with poppies
and bristling with wheat-ears. Beside her sat a gentle-
man, rapt in a newspaper, of course, for to an American
man life is a burden till the daily news have been ab-
sorbed. Mrs. Saltonstall's brother was the possessor
of a handsome eye without softness, thin lips without
benevolence, but plenty of will; a face and figure
which some thirty-five years of ease and pleasure had
done their best to polish and spoil, and a costume
without flaw, from his aristocratic boots to the summer
hat on his head.
The little boy more checkered and the little girl
GOVERNESS.
63.
.
more operatic than before, sat on stools eating bonbons,
while a French maid and the African footman hovered
in the background.

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Mrs. SALTONSTALL AND FAMILY.
Feeling very much like a meek gray moth among
a flock of butterflies, Christie modestly presented her-
self.
“Good morning,” said Madame with a nod, which,
64
WORK.
slight as it was, caused a great commotion among the
poppies and the wheat; “ I began to be anxious about
you. Miss Devon, my brother, Mr. Fletcher.”
The gentleman bowed, and as Christie sat down he
got up, saying, as he sauntered away with a bored
expression :
Will you have the paper, Charlotte? There's
nothing in it."
As Mrs. Saltonstall seemed going to sleep and she
felt delicate about addressing the irritable infants
in public, Christie amused herself by watching Mr.
Fletcher as he roamed listlessly about, and deciding,
in her usual rash way, that she did not like him because
he looked both lazy and cross, and ennui was evidently
his bosom friend. Soon, however, she forgot every
thing but the shimmer of the sunshine on the sea, the
fresh wind that brought color to her pale cheeks, and
the happy thoughts that left a smile upon her lips.
Then Mr. Fletcher put up his glass and stared at her,
shook his head, and said, as he lit a cigar:
“ Poor little wretch, what a time she will have of it
between Charlotte and the brats !"
But Christie needed no pity, and thought herself a
fortunate young woman when fairly established in her
corner of the luxurious apartments occupied by the
family. Her duties seemed light compared to those
she had left, her dreams were almost as bright as of
old, and the new life looked pleasant to her, for she was
one of those who could find little bits of happiness for
herself and enjoy them heartily in spite of loneliness
or neglect.
One of her amusements was studying her companions,
GOVERNESS.
65
and for a time this occupied her, for Christie possessed
penetration and a feminine fancy for finding out people.
Mrs. Saltonstall's mission appeared to be the illus-
tration of each new fashion as it came, and she per-
formed it with a devotion worthy of a better cause.
If a color reigned supreme she flushed herself with
scarlet or faded into primrose, made herself pretty in
the bluest of blue gowns, or turned livid under a goose-
berry colored bonnet. Her hat-brims went up or down,
were preposterously wide or dwindled to an inch, as
the mode demanded. Her skirts were rampant with
sixteen frills, or picturesque with landscapes down each
side, and a Greek border or a plain hem. Her waists
were as pointed as those of Queen Bess or as short as
Diana's; and it was the opinion of those who knew
her that if the autocrat who ruled her life decreed the
wearing of black cats as well as of vegetables, bugs,
and birds, the blackest, glossiest Puss procurable for
money would have adorned her head in some way. .
Her time was spent in dressing, driving, dining and
dancing; in skimming novels, and embroidering muslin;
going to church with a velvet prayer-book and a new
bonnet; and writing to her husband when she wanted
money, for she had a husband somewhere abroad,
who so happily combined business with pleasure that
he never found time to come home. Her children were
inconvenient blessings, but she loved them with the
love of a shallow heart, and took such good care of
their little bodies that there was none left for their little
souls. A few days' trial satisfied her as to Christie's
capabilities, and, relieved of that anxiety, she gave her-
self up to her social duties, leaving the ocean and the
UU
66
WORK.
governess to make the summer wholesome and agree-
able to “the darlings."
Mr. Fletcher, having tried all sorts of pleasure and
'found that, like his newspaper, there was “nothing in
: it,” was now paying the penalty for that unsatisfactory
knowledge. Ill health soured his temper and made his
life a burden to him. Having few resources within
himself to fall back upon, he was very dependent upon
other people, and other people were so busy amusing
themselves, they seemed to find little time or inclina-
tion to amuse a man who had never troubled himself
about them. He was rich, but while his money could
hire a servant to supply each want, gratify each caprice,
it could not buy a tender, faithful friend to serve for
love, and ask no wages but his comfort.
He knew this, and felt the vain regret that inevitably
comes to those who waste life and learn the value of
good gifts by their loss. But he was not wise or brave
enough to bear his punishment manfully, and lay the
lesson honestly to heart. Fretful and imperious when
in pain, listless and selfish when at ease, his one aim in
life now was to kill time, and any thing that aided him
.
For a long while he took no more notice of Christie
than if she had been a shadow, seldom speaking beyond
the necessary salutations, and merely carrying his finger
to his hat-brim when he passed her on the beach with
the children. Her first dislike was softened by pity
when she found he was an invalid, but she troubled
herself very little about him, and made no romances
with him, for all her dreams were of younger, nobler
lovers.
GOVERNESS.
67
Busied with her own affairs, the days though monot-
onous were not unhappy. She prospered in her work
and the children soon believed in her as devoutly as
young Turks in their Prophet. She devised amuse-
ments for herself as well as for them; walked, bathed,
drove, and romped with the little people till her own
eyes shone like theirs, her cheek grew rosy, and her
thin figure rounded with the promise of vigorous health
again.
Christie was at her best that summer, physically
speaking, for sickness had refined her face, giving it
that indescribable expression which pain often leaves
upon a countenance as if in compensation for the bloom
it takes away. The frank eyes had a softer shadow in
their depths, the firm lips smiled less often, but when it
came the smile was the sweeter for the gravity that
went before, and in her voice there was a new under-
tone of that subtle music, called sympathy, which steals
into the heart and nestles there.
She was unconscious of this gracious change, but
others saw and felt it, and to some a face bright with
health, intelligence, and modesty was more attractive
than mere beauty. Thanks to this and her quiet, cordial
manners, she found friends here and there to add charms
to that summer by the sea.
The dashing young men took no more notice of her
than if she had been a little gray peep on the sands;
not so much, for they shot peeps now and then, but a
able belles and beauties were not even aware of her
existence, being too entirely absorbed in their yearly
husband-hunt to think of any one but themselves and
68
WORK.
their prey. The dowagers had more interesting topics
to discuss, and found nothing in Christie's humble for-
tunes worthy of a thought, for they liked their gossip
strong and highly flavored, like their tea..
But a kind-hearted girl or two found her out, several
lively old maids, as full of the romance of the past as
ancient novels, a bashful boy, three or four invalids,
and all the children, for Christie had a motherly heart
and could find charms in the plainest, crossest baby that
ever squalled.
Of her old friends she saw nothing, as her theatrical
ones were off on their vacations, Hepsey had left her
place for one in another city, and Aunt Betsey seldom
wrote.
But one day a letter came, telling her that the dear
old lady would never write again, and Christie felt as
if her nearest and dearest friend was lost. She had
gone away to a quiet spot among the rocks to get over
her first grief alone, but found it very hard to check
her tears, as memory brought back the past, tenderly
recalling every kind act, every loving word, and familiar
scene. She seldom wept, but when any thing did unseal .
the fountains that lay so deep, she cried with all her
heart, and felt the better for it.
With the letter crumpled in her hand, her head on
her knees, and her hat at her feet, she was sobbing like
a child, when steps startled her, and, looking up, she
saw Mr. Fletcher regarding her with an astonished
countenance from under his big sun umbrella.
Something in the flushed, wet face, with its tremu-
lous lips and great tears rolling down, seemed to touch
,
GOVERNESS69
SS.
.
even lazy Mr. Fletcher, for he furled his umbrella with
unusual rapidity, and came up, saying, anxiously: :
“My dear Miss Devon, what's the matter? Are
you hurt? Has Mrs. S. been scolding? Or have the
children been too much for you?”
“No; oh, no! it's bad news from home," and Chris-
tie's head went down again, for a kind word was more
than she could hear just then.
“ Some one ill, I fancy? I'm sorry to hear it, but
you must hope for the best, you know," replied Mr.
Fletcher, really quite exerting himself to remember and
present this well-worn consolation.
“ There is no hope; Aunt Betsey's dead !”
“Dear me! that's very sad.”
Mr. Fletcher tried not to smile as Christie sobbed
out the old-fashioned name, but a minute afterward
there were actually tears in his eyes, for, as if won by
his sympathy, she poured out the homely little story of
Aunt Betsey's life and love, unconsciously pronouncing
the kind old lady's best epitaph in the unaffected grief
that made her broken words so eloquent.
For a minute Mr. Fletcher forgot himself, and felt as
he remembered feeling long ago, when, a warm-hearted
boy, he had comforted his little sister for a lost kitten
or a broken doll. It was a new sensation, therefore
interesting and agreeable while it lasted, and when
it vanished, which it speedily did, he sighed, then
shrugged his shoulders and wished “the girl would
stop crying like a water-spout."
“ It's hard, but we all have to bear it, you know;
and sometimes I fancy if half the pity we give the
dead, who don't need it, was given to the living, who
70
WORK.
do, they'd bear their troubles more comfortably. I
know I should," added Mr. Fletcher, returning to his
own afflictions, and vaguely wondering if any one
would cry like that when he departed this life.
Christie minded little what he said, for his voice was
pitiful and it comforted her. She dried her tears, put.
back her hair, and thanked him with a grateful smile,
which gave him another pleasant sensation; for, though
young ladies showered smiles upon him with midsum-
mer radiance, they seemed cool and pale beside the
sweet sijcerity of this one given by a girl whose eyes
here red with tender tears.
“ That's right, cheer up, take a little run on the
beach, and forget all about it,” he said, with a hearti-
ness that surprised himself as much as it did Christie.
“I will, thank you. Please don't speak of this; I'm
used to bearing my troubles alone, and time will help
me to do it cheerfully."
“ That's brave! If I can do any thing, let me know;
I shall be most happy." And Mr. Fletcher evidently
meant what he said.
Christie gave him another grateful “ Thank you,"
then picked up her hat and went away along the sands
to try his prescription; while Mr. Fletcher walked the
other way, so rapt in thought that he forgot to put
up his umbrella till the end of his aristocratic nose was
burnt a deep red.
That was the beginning of it; for when Mr. Fletcher
found a new amusement, he usually pursued it regard-
less of consequences. Christie took his pity for what
it was worth, and thought no more of that little inter-
view, for her heart was very heavy. But he remem-
· GOVERNESS.
71
bered it, and, when they met on the beach next day,
wondered how the governess would behave. She was
reading as she walked, and, with a mute acknowledg-
ment of his nod, tranquilly turned a page and read on
without a pause, a smile, or change of color. :
Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away; but Chris-
tie was all the more amusing for her want of coquetry,
and soon after he tried her again. The great hotel
wås all astir one evening with bustle, light, and music;
for the young people had a hop; às an appropriate
entertainment for a melting July night. With no taste
for such folly, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr.
Fletcher lounged about the piazzas, tantalizing the fair
fowlers who spread their nets for him, and goading
sundry desperate spinsters to despair by his erratic
movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long
window gave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he
found Christie leaning in, with a bright, wistful face,
while her hand kept time to the enchanting music of a .
waltz.
“Wisely watching the lunatics, instead of joining in
their antics,” he said, sitting down with a sigh.
Christie looked around and answered, with the wist-
ful look still in her eyes:
.
“I'm very fond of that sort of insanity; but there
is no place for me in Bedlam at present."
“I daresay I can find you one, if you care to try it.
I don't indulge myself.” And Mr. Fletcher's eye went
from the rose in Christie's brown hair to the silvery
folds of her best gown, put on merely for the pleasure
of wearing it because every one else was in festival
array.
72
WORK.
She shook her head. - No, thank you. Governesses
are very kindly treated in America; but ball-rooms
like that are not for them. I enjoy looking on, fortu-
nately; so I have my share of fun after all."
“I shan't get any complaints out of her. Plucky
little soul! I rather like that,” said Mr. Fletcher to
himself; and, finding his seat comfortable, the corner
cool, and his companion pleasant to look at, with the
moonlight doing its best for her, he went on talking for
his own satisfaction.
Christie would rather have been left in peace; but
fancying that he did it out of kindness to her, and that
she had done him injustice before, she was grateful
now, and exerted herself to seem so; in which endeavor
she succeeded so well that Mr. Fletcher proved he
could be a very agreeable companion when he chose.
He talked well; and Christie was a good listener. Soon
interest conquered her reserve, and she ventured to
ask a question, make a criticism, or express an opinion
in her own simple way. Unconsciously she piqued tho
curiosity of the man; for, though he knew many lovely,
wise, and witty women, he had never chanced to meet
with one like this before; and novelty was the desire
of his life. Of course he did not find moonlight, music,
and agreeable chat as delightful as she did; but there
was something animating in the fresh face opposite,
something flattering in the eager interest she showed,
and something most attractive in the glimpses uncon-
sciously given him of a nature genuine in its womanly
sincerity and strength. Something about this girl
seemed to appeal to the old self, so long neglected that
he thought it dead. He could not analyze the feeling,
GOVERNESS.
73
but was conscious of a desire to seem better than he
was as he looked into those honest eyes; to talk well,
that he might bring that frank smile to the lips that
grew either sad or scornful when he tried worldly gos-
sip or bitter satire; and to prove himself a man under
all the elegance and polish of the gentleman.
He was discovering then, what Christie learned
when her turn came, that fine natures seldom fail to
draw out the finer traits of those who approach them,
as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the hand of a
child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsus-
pected spots. Women often possess this gift, and when
used worthily find it as powerful as beauty; for, if less
alluring, it is more lasting and more helpful, since it
appeals, not to the senses, but the souls of men.
Christie was one of these; and in proportion as her
own nature was sound and sweet so was its power as a
touchstone for the genuineness of others. It was this
unconscious gift that made her wonder at the unex-
pected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this
which made him, for an hour or two at least, heart-
ily wish he could live his life over again and do it
better.
After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christio
when he met her, turned and joined her sometimes
as she walked with the children, and fell into the way
of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to an
invalid friend on piazza or sea-shore. Christie much
preferred to have no auditor but kind Miss Tudor; but
finding the old lady enjoyed his chat she resigned her-
self, and when he brought them new books as well as
himself, she became quite cordial.
4 .
74
WORK.
Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded
the little group that met day after day among the rocks.
Christie read aloud, while the children revelled in sand,
shells, and puddles; Miss Tudor spun endless webs of
gay silk and wool; and Mr. Fletcher, with his hat over
his eyes, lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard, as
he watched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight,
and listened to the pleasant voice that went reading on
till all his ills and ennui seemed lulled to sleep as by
a spell.
A week or two of this new caprice set Christie to
thinking. She knew that Uncle Philip was not fond
of the darlings;” it was evident that good Miss Tu-
- dor, with her mild twaddle and eternal knitting, was
not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he
came for her sake alone. She laughed at herself for
this fancy at first; but not possessing the sweet uncon-
sciousness of those heroines who can live through three
volumes with a burning passion before their eyes, and
never see it till the proper moment comes, and Eugene
goes down upon his knees, she soon felt sure that Mr.
Fletcher found her society agreeable, and wished her to
know it.
Being a mortal woman, her vanity was flattered, and
she found herself showing that she liked it by those
small signs and symbols which lovers' eyes are so quick
to see and understand, — an artful bow on her hat, a
flower in her belt, fresh muslin gowns, and the most
becoming arrangement of her hair.
“Poor man, he has so few pleasures I'm sure I
needn't grudge him such a small one as looking at and
listening to me if he likes it," she said to herself one
GOVERNESS.
75
•
day, as she was preparing for her daily stroll with un-
usual care. “But how will it end? If he only wants a
mild flirtation he is welcome to it; but if he really
cares for me, I must make up my mind about it, and
not deceive him. I don't believe he loves me: how
can he? such an insignificant creature as I am."
Here she looked in the glass, and as she looked the
color deepened in her cheek, her eyes shone, and a
smile would sit upon her lips, for the reflection showed
her a very winning face under the coquettish hat put
on to captivate.
“Don't be foolish, Christie! Mind what you do, and
be sure vanity doesn't delude you, for you are only á
woman, and in things of this sort we are so blind and
silly. I'll think of this possibility soberly, but I won't
flirt, and then which ever way I decide I shall have
nothing to reproach myself with.”
Armed with this virtuous resolution, Christie sternly
replaced the pretty hat with her old brown one, fas-
tened up a becoming curl, which of late she had worn
behind her ear, and put on a pair of stout, rusty boots,
much fitter for rocks and sand than the smart slippers
she was preparing to sacrifice. Then she trudged away
to Miss Tudor, bent on being very quiet and reserved,
as became a meek and lowly governess.
But, dear heart, how feeble are the resolutions of
womankind! When she found herself sitting in her
favorite nook, with the wide, blue sea glittering below,
the fresh wind making her blood dance in her veins,
and all the earth and sky so full of summer life and
loveliness, her heart would sing for joy, her face would
shine with the mere bliss of living, and underneath
76
WORK. ,
all this natural content the new thought, half con-
fessed, yet very sweet, would whisper, “Somebody
cares for me."
If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletch-
er's face that morning would have dispelled the doubt,
· for, as she read, he was saying to himself: “ Yes, this
healthful, cheery, helpful creature is what I want to
make life pleasant. Every thing else is used up; why
not try this, and make the most of my last chance ?
She does me good, and I don't seem to get tired of her.
I can't have a long life, they tell me, nor an easy one,
with the devil to pay with my vitals generally; so it
would be a wise thing to provide myself with a good-
tempered, faithful soul to take care of me. My fortune
would pay for loss of time, and my death leave her
a bonny widow. I won't be rash, but I think I'll
try it."
With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful
thoughts in his mind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletcher's
eyes betrayed him, as he lay looking at Christie. Never
had she read so badly, for she could not keep her mind
on her book. It would wander to that new and trouble-
some fancy of hers; she could not help thinking that
Mr. Fletcher must have been a handsome man before
he was so ill; wondering if his temper was very bad,
and fancying that he might prove both generous and
kind and true to one who loved and served him well.
At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of the
tongue that covered her with confusion.
She was reading “ John Halifax," and instead of say-
ing “ Phineas Fletcher” she said Philip, and then colored
to her forehead, and lost her place. Miss Tudor did
GOVERNESS.
not mind it, but Mr. Fletcher laughed, and Christie
thanked Heaven that her face was half hidden by the
old brown hat.
Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find
that Mr. Fletcher had joined a yachting party next
day and he would be away for a week. During that
week Christie thought over the matter, and fancied she
had made up her mind. She recalled certain speeches
she had heard, and which had more weight with her than
she suspected. One dowager had said to another: “P.
F. intends to marry, I assure you, for his sister told me
so, with tears in her eyes. Men who have been gay in
their youth make very good husbands when their wild
oats are sowed. Clara could not do better, and I should
be quite content to give her to him."
“Well, dear, I should be sorry to see my Augusta
his wife, for whoever he marries will be a perfect slave
to him. His fortune would be a nice thing if he did
not live long; but even for that my Augusta shall not be
sacrificed," returned the other matron whose Augusta
had vainly tried to captivate “P. F.," and revenged
herself by calling him “a wreck, my dear, a perfect
wreck."
At another time Christie heard some girls discussing
the eligibility of several gentlemen, and Mr. Fletcher
was considered the best match among them.
“ You can do any thing you like with a husband a
good deal older than yourself. He's happy with his
business, his club, and his dinner, and leaves you to do
what you please ; just keep him comfortable and he'll
pay your bills without much fuss,” said one young thing
who had seen life at twenty.
78
WORK.
“I'd take him if I had the chance, just because
everybody wants him. Don't admire him a particle,
but it will make a jolly stir whenever he does marry,
and I wouldn't mind having a band in it,” said the
second budding belle.
. “I'd take him for the diamonds alone. Mamma
says they are splendid, and have been in the family for
ages. He won't let Mrs. S. wear them, for they always
go to the eldest son's wife. Hope he'll choose a hand-
some woman who will show them off well,” said a third
sweet girl, glancing at her own fine neck.
“He won't; he'll take some poky old maid who will
cuddle him when he is sick, and keep out of his way
when he is well. See if he don't."
“I saw him dawdling round with old Tudor, perhaps
he means to take her : she's a capital nurse, got ill her-
self taking care of her father, you know.”
“Perhaps he's after the governess; she's rather nice
looking, though she hasn't a bit of style."
“Gracious, no! she's a dowdy thing, always trailing
round with a book and those horrid children. No
danger of his marrying her.” And a derisive laugh
seemed to settle that question beyond a doubt.
« Oh, indeed!” said Christie, as the girls went troop-
ing out of the bath-house, where this pleasing chatter
bad been carried on regardless of listeners. She called
them “ mercenary, worldly, unwomanly flirts,” and felt
herself much their superior. Yet the memory of their
gossip haunted her, and had its influence upon her
decision, though she thought she came to it through
her own good judgment and discretion.
“If he really cares for me I will listen, and not refuse
GOVERNESS.
79
till I know him well enough to decide. I'm tired of
being alone, and should enjoy ease and pleasure so
much. He's going abroad for the winter, and that
would be charming. I'll try not to be worldly-minded
and marry without love, but it does look tempting to
a poor soul like me.”
So Christie made up her mind to accept, if this pro-
motion was offered her; and while she waited, went
through so many alternations of feeling, and was so
harassed by doubts and fears that she sometimes found
herself wishing it had never occurred to her.
Mr. Fletcher, meantime, with the help of many medi-
tative cigars, was making up his mind. Absence only
proved to him how much he needed a better time-killer
than billiards, horses, or newspapers, for the long, list-
less days seemed endless without the cheerful govern-
ess to tone him up, like a new and agreeable sort of .
bitters. A gradually increasing desire to secure this
satisfaction had taken possession of him, and the
thought of always having a pleasant companion, with
no nerves, nonsense, or affectation about her, was an
inviting idea to a man tired of fashionable follies and
tormented with the ennui of his own society.
The gossip, wonder, and chagrin such a step would
cause rather pleased his fancy; the excitement of try-
ing almost the only thing as yet untried allured him;
and deeper than all the desire to forget the past in a
better future led him to Christie by the nobler instincts
that never wholly die in any soul. He wanted her as
he had wanted many other things in his life, and had
little doubt that he could have her for the asking.
Even if love was not abounding, surely his fortune,
80
WORK,
UY
-
which hitherto bad procured him all he wished (except
health and happiness) could buy him a wife, when his
friends made better bargains every day. So, having
settled the question, he came home again, and every
one said the trip had done him a world of good.
Christie sat in her favorite nook one bright Septem-
ber morning, with the inevitable children hunting hap-
less crabs in a pool near by. A book lay on her knee,
but she was not reading; her eyes were looking far
across the blue waste before her with an eager gaze,
and her face was bright with some happy thought.
The sound of approaching steps disturbed her reverie,
and, recognizing them, she plunged into the heart of
the story, reading as if utterly absorbed, till a shadow
fell athwart the page, and the voice she had expected
to hear asked blandly:
. “What book now, Miss Devon ?”
“Jane Eyre,' sir.”
Mr. Fletcher sat down just where her hat-brim was
no screen, pulled off his gloves, and leisurely composed
himself for a comfortable lounge.
“What is your opinion of Rochester ?” he asked,
presently.
“Not a very high one."
« Then you think Jane was a fool to love and try to
make a saint of him, I suppose ? "
“I like Jane, but never can forgive her marrying that
man, as I haven't much faith in the saints such sinners
make."
“But don't you think a man who had only follies to
regret might expect a good woman to lend him a hand
and make him happy ?”
GOVERNESS.
81
“ If he has wasted his life he must take the conse-
quences, and be content with pity and indifference,
instead of respect and love. Many good women do
lend a hand,' as you say, and it is quite Christian and
amiable, I've no doubt; but I cannot think it a fair
bargain.”
Mr. Fletcher liked to make Christie talk, for in the
interest of the subject she forgot herself, and her chief
charm for him was her earnestness. But just then the
earnestness did not seem to suit him, and he said, rather
sharply :
“What hard-hearted creatures you women are some-
times ! Now, I fancied you were one of those who
wouldn't leave a poor fellow to his fate, if his salvations
lay in your hands.”
“I can't say what I should do in such a case; but it
always seemed to me that a man should have energy
enough to save himself, and not expect the "weaker
vessel, as he calls her, to do it for him," answered
Christie, with a conscious look, for Mr. Fletcher's face
made her feel as if something was going to happen.
Evidently anxious to know what she would do in
aforesaid case, Mr. Fletcher decided to put one before
her as speedily as possible, so he said, in a pensive tone,
and with a wistful glance:
“You looked very happy just now when I came up.
I wish I could believe that my return had any thing to
do with it."
Christie wished she could control her tell-tale color,
but finding she could not, looked hard at the sea, and,
ignoring his tender insinuation, said, with suspicious
enthusiasm :
4*
82
WORK. .
“I was thinking of what Mrs. Saltonstall said this
morning. She asked me if I would like to go to Paris
with her for the winter. It has always been one of my
dreams to go abroad, and I do hope I shall not be dis-
appointed.”
Christie's blush seemed to be a truer answer than her
words, and, leaning a little nearer, Mr. Fletcher said,
in his most persuasive tone:
“Will you go to Paris as my governess, instead of
Charlotte's ?”
Christie thought her reply was all ready; but when
the moment came, she found it was not, and sat siłent,
feeling as if that “ Yes” would promise far more than
she could give. Mr. Fletcher had no doubt what the
was one of the moments that are so pleasant and so
short-lived they should be enjoyed to the uttermost.
He liked to watch her color come and go, to see the
asters on her bosom tremble with the quickened beat-
ing of her heart, and tasted, in anticipation, the satis-
faction of the moment when that pleasant voice of
hers would falter out its grateful assent. Drawing yet
nearer, he went on, still in the persuasive tone that
would have been more lover-like if it had been less
assured.
“I think I am not mistaken in believing that you
care for me a little. You must know how fond I am
of you; how much I need you, and how glad I should
be to give all I have if I might keep you always to
make my hard life happy. May I, Christie ?"
“ You would soon tire of me. I have no beauty, no
accomplishments, no fortune, – nothing but my heart
GOVERNESS.
and my hand to give the man I marry. Is that enough ?”
asked Christie, looking at him with eyes that betrayed
the hunger of an empty heart longing to be fed with
genuine food.
But Mr. Fletcher did not understand its meaning;
he saw the humility in her face, thought she was over-
come by the weight of the honor he did her, and tried
to reassure her with the gracious air of one who wishes
to lighten the favor he confers.
It right not be for some men, but it is for me,
because I want you very much. Let people say what
they will, if you say yes I am satisfied. You shall not
regret it, Christie ; I'll do my best to make you happy;
you shall travel wherever I can go with you, have what
you like, if possible, and when we come back by and
by, you shall take your place in the world as my wife:
You will fill it well, I fancy, and I shall be a happy
man. I've had my own way all my life, and I mean to
have it now, so smile, and say, 'Yes, Philip,' like a
sweet soul, as you are.”
But Christie did not smile, and felt no inclination to
say “ Yes, Philip," for that last speech of his jarred on
her ear. The tone of unconscious condescension in it
wounded the woman's sensitive pride; self was too
apparent, and the most generous words seemed to her.
like bribes. This was not the lover she had dreamed
of, the brave, true man who gave her all, and felt it
could not half repay the treasure of her innocent, first
love. This was not the happiness she had hoped for,
the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweet content
that made all things possible, and changed this work-a-
day world into a heaven while the joy lasted.
84
WORK.
She had decided to say " yes,” but her heart said
“no” decidedly, and with instinctive loyalty she obeyed
it, even while she seemed to yield to the temptation
which appeals to three of the strongest foibles in most
* women's nature, - vanity, ambition, and the love of
pleasure.
“You are very kind, but you may repent it, you
know so little of me," she began, trying to soften her
refusal, but sadly hindered by a feeling of contempt.
“I know more about you than you think; but it
makes no difference,” interrupted Mr. Fletcher, with a
smile that irritated Christie, even before she understood
its significance. “I thought it would at first, but I
* found I couldn't get on without you, so I made up my
mind to forgive and forget that my wife had ever been
an actress.”
: Christie had forgotten it, and it would have been
well for him if he had held his tongue. Now she
understood the tone that had chilled her, the smile that
angered her, and Mr. Fletcher's fate was settled in the
drawing of a breath.
“Who told you that?" she asked, quickly, while
every nerve tingled with the mortification of being
found out then and there in the one secret of her life.
" I saw you dancing on the beach with the children
one day, and it reminded me of an actress I had once
seen. I should not have remembered it but for the
accident which impressed it on my mind. Powder,
paint, and costume made “Miss Douglas' a very differ-
ent woman from Miss Devon, but a few cautious inqui-
ries settled the matter, and I then understood where
you got that slight soupçon of dash and daring which
GOVERNESS.
85
makes our demure governess so charming when with
me."
As he spoke, Mr. Fletcher smiled again, and kissed
his hand to her with a dramatic little gesture that exas-
perated Christie beyond measure. She would not make
light of it, as he did, and submit to be forgiven for a
past she was not ashamed of. Heartily wishing she
had been frank at first, she resolved to have it out now,
and accept nothing Mr. Fletcher offered her, not even
silence. .
« Yes,” she said, as steadily as she could, “I was an
actress for three years, and though it was a hard life it
was an honest one, and I'm not ashamed of it. I
ought to have told Mrs. Saltonstall, but I was warned
that if I did it would be difficult to find a place, people
are so prejudiced. I sincerely regret it now, and
shall tell her at once, so you may save yourself the
trouble."
“My dear girl, I never dreamed of telling any one!"
cried Mr. Fletcher in an injured tone. “I beg you *
won't speak, but trust me, and let it be a little secret
between us two. I assure you it makes no difference
to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose,
so forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the
other point. I'm still waiting for my answer, you
know."
“ It is ready."
“ A kind one, I'm sure. What is it, Christie ?"
“No, I thank you."
“But you are not in earnest ?"
“ Perfectly so."
Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against
86
WORK.
the rock, saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise
and disappointment that her heart reproached her:

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“No, I THANK YOU."
“Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss
Devon ? "
“ Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr.
Fletcher."
Christie tried to speak. kindly, but she was angry
with herself and him, and unconsciously showed it both
in face and voice, for she was no actress off the stage,
and wanted to be very true just then as a late atone-
ment for that earlier want of candor.
GOVERNESS.
87
A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher's face; his
cold eyes kindled with an angry spark, his lips were
pale with anger, and his voice was very bitter, as he
slowly said:
“I've made many blunders in my life, and this is
one of the greatest; for I believed in a woman, was
fool enough to care for her with the sincerest love I
ever knew, and fancied that she would be grateful for
the sacrifice I made."
He got no further, for Christie rose straight up and
answered him with all the indignation she felt burning
in her face and stirring the voice she tried in vain to
keep as steady as his own.
“ The sacrifice would not have been all yours, for it
is what we are, not what we have, that makes one
human being superior to another. I am as well-born
as you in spite of my poverty; my life, I think, has
been a better one than yours;, my heart, I know, is
fresher, and my memory has fewer faults and follies to
reproach me with. What can you give me but money
and position in return for the youth and freedom I
should sacrifice in marrying you? Not love, for you
count the cost of your bargain, as no true lover could,
and you reproach me for deceit when in your heart you
know you only cared for me because I can amuse and
serve you. I too deceived myself, I too see my mis-
take, and I decline the honor you would do me, since it
is so great in your eyes that you must remind me of it
as you offer it.”
In the excitement of the moment Christie uncon-
sciously spoke with something of her old dramatic fer-
vor in voice and gesture, Mr. Fletcher saw it, and,
88
WORK.
while he never had admired her so much, could not
resist avenging himself for the words that angered him,
the more deeply for their truth. Wounded vanity and
baffled will can make an ungenerous man as spiteful as
a woman; and Mr. Fletcher proved it then, for he saw
where Christie's pride was sorest, and touched the
wound with the skill of a resentful nature.
As she paused, he softly clapped his hands, saying,
with a smile that made her eyes flash:
“ Very well done! infinitely superior to your Wof-
fington, Miss Devon. I am disappointed in the woman,
but I make my compliment to the actress, and leave
the stage free for another and a more successful Romeo.”
Still smiling, he bowed and went away apparently
quite calm and much amused, but a more wrathful, dis-
appointed man never crossed those sands than the one
who kicked his dog and swore at himself for a fool that
day when no one saw bim.
For a minute Christie stood and watched him, then,
fecling that she must either laugh or cry, wisely chose
the former vent for her emotions, and sat down feeling
inclined to look at the whole scene from a ludicrous
point of view.
“My second love affair is a worse failure than my
first, for I did pity poor Joc, but this man is detestable,
and I never will forgive him that last insult. I dare
say I was absurdly tragical, I'm apt to be when very
angry, but what a temper he has got! The white, cold
kind, that smoulders and stabs, instead of blazing up
and being over in a minute. Thank Fleaven, I'ın not
his wife! Well, I've made an enemy and lost my
· place, for of course Mrs. Saltonstall won't keep me
GOVERNESS.
89
after this awful discovery. I'll tell her at once, for I
will have no ' little secrets' with him. No Paris either,
and that's the worst of it all! Never mind, I haven't
sold my liberty for the Fletcher diamonds, and that's
a comfort. Now a short scene with my lady and then
exit governess.??.
But though she laughed, Christie felt troubled at the
part she had played in this affair; repented of her
worldly aspirations; confessed her vanity; accepted
her mortification and disappointment as a just punish-
ment for her sins; and yet at the bottom of her heart
she did enjoy it mightily.
She tried to spare Mr. Fletcher in her interview with
his sister; and only betrayed her own iniquities. But,
to her surprise, Mrs. Saltonstall, though much disturbed
at the discovery, valued Christie as a governess, and
respected her as a woman, so she was willing to bury
the past, she said, and still hoped Miss Devon would
remain.
Then Christie was forced to tell her why it was im-
possible for her to do so; and, in her secret soul, she
took a naughty satisfaction in demurely mentioning
that she had refused my lord.
Mrs. Saltonstall's consternation was comical, for she
had been so absorbed in her own affairs she had sus-
pected nothing; and horror fell upon her when she
learned how near dear Philip had been to the fate from
which she jealously guarded him, that his property
might one day benefit the darlings.
In a moment every thing was changed; and it was
evident to Christie that the sooner she left the better it
would suit madame. The proprieties were preserved
:
U
90
WORK.
to the end, and Mrs. Saltonstall treated her with un-
usual respect, for she had come to honor, and also con-
ducted herself in a most praiseworthy manner. How
she could refuse a Fletcher visibly amazed the lady;
but she forgave the slight, and gently insinuated that
“my brother” was, perhaps, only amusing himself.
Christie was but too glad to be off; and when Mrs.
Saltonstall asked when she would prefer to leave,
promptly replied, “To-morrow," received her salary,
which was forthcoming with unusual punctuality, and
packed her trunks with delightful rapidity.
As the family was to leave in a week, her sudden
departure caused no surprise to the few who knew her,
and with kind farewells to such of her summer friends
as still remained, she went to bed that night all ready
for an early start. She saw nothing more of Mr.
Fletcher that day, but the sound of excited voices in
the drawing-room assured her that madame was having
it out with her brother; and with truly feminine incon-
sistency Christie hoped that she would not be too hard
upon the poor man, for, after all, it was kind of him to.
overlook the actress, and ask the governess to share his
good things with him.
She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep,
imagining a bridal trip to Paris, and dreamed so
delightfully of lost splendors that the awakening was
rather blank, the future rather cold and hard.
She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat
and so escape all disagreeable rencontres, and having
kissed the children in their little beds, with tender
promises not to forget them, she took a hasty breakfast
and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door. The
GOVERNESS.
91
sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded,
and Miss Walker, the hearty English lady who did her
ten miles a day, cried out, as she tramped by, blooming
and bedraggled :
“Bless me, are you off ?”
6 Yes, thank Heaven!” answered Christie ; but as
she spoke Mr. Fletcher came down the steps looking as
wan and heavy-eyed as if a sleepless night had been
added to his day's defeat. Leaning in at the window,
he asked abruptly, but with a look she never could
forget:
*** Will nothing change your answer, Christie ?”
“ Nothing.”
His eyes said, “ Forgive me,” but his lips only said,
“Good-by," and the carriage rolled away.
Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the
hand still red with the lingering grasp he had given it,
and Christie said, as pitifully as if she loved him:
“ He has got á heart, after all, and perhaps I might
have been glad to fill it if he had only shown it to me
sooner. · Now it is too late."
CHAPTER V.
COMPANION.
PEFORE she had time to find a new situation,
D Christie received a note from Miss Tudor, saying
that hearing she had left Mrs. Saltonstall she wanted
to offer her the place of companion to an invalid girl,
where the duties were light and the compensation large.
6 How kind of her to think of me,” said Christie,
gratefully. “I'll go at once and do my best to secure
it, for it must be a good thing or she wouldn't recom-
mend it."
Away went Christie to the address sent by Miss
Tudor, and as she waited at the door she thought:
“What a happy family the Carrols must be !” for the
house was one of an imposing block in a West End
square, which had its own little park where a fountain
sparkled in the autumn súnshine, and pretty children
played among the fallen leaves. .
Mrs. Carrol was a stately woman, still beautiful in
spite of her fifty years. But though there were few
lines on her forehead, few silver threads in the dark
hair that lay smoothly over it, and a gracious smile
showed the fine teeth, an indescribable. expression of
unsubmissive sorrow touched the whole face, betraying
that life had brought some heavy cross, from which her
COMPANION.
93
Tudor telli cerful temper; 140 an invalid." Dd an
wealth could purchase no release, for which her pride
could find no effectual screen.
She looked at Christie with a searching eye, listened
attentively when she spoke, and seemed testing her
with covert care as if the place she was to fill demanded
some unusual gift or skili.
“ Miss Tudor tells me that you read aloud well, sing
sweetly, possess a cheerful temper, and the quiet, patient
ways which are peculiarly grateful to an invalid," began
Mrs. Carrol, with that keen yet wistful gaze, and an
anxious accent in her voice that went to Christie's
heart.
“ Miss Tudor is very kind to think so well of me and
my few accomplishments. I have never been with an
invalid, but I think I can promise to be patient, willing,
and cheerful. My own experience of illness has taught
me how to sympathize with others and love to lighten
pain. I shall be very glad to try if you think I have
any fitness for the place."
“I do,” and Mrs. Carrol's face softened as she spoke,
for something in Christie's words or manner seemed to
please her. Then slowly, as if the task was a hard one,
she added :
“My daughter has been very ill and is still weak and
nervous. I must hint to you that the loss of one very ·
dear to her was the cause of the illness and the melan-
choly which now oppresses her. Therefore we must
avoid any thing that can suggest or recall this trouble.
She cares for nothing as yet, will see no one, and pre-
fers to live alone. She is still so feeble this is but
natural; yet solitude is bad for her, and her physician
thinks that a new face might rouse her, and the society
94
WORK.
of one in no way connected with the painful past might
interest and do her good. You see it is a little difficult
to find just what we want, for a young companion is
best, yet must be discreet and firm, as few young people
are."
Fancying from Mrs. Carrol's manner that Miss Tudor
had said more in her favor than had been repeated to
her, Christie in a few plain words told her little story,
resolving to have no concealments here, and feeling
that perhaps her experiences might have given her
more firmness and discretion than many women of ber
age possessed. Mrs. Carrol seemed to find it so; the
anxious look lifted a little as she listened, and when
Christie ended she said, with a sigh of relief: .
“ Yes, I think Miss Tudor is right, and you are the
one we want. Come and try it for a week and then we .
can decide. Can you begin to-day?” she added, as
Christie rose. “Every hour is precious, for my poor
girl's sad solitude weighs on my heart, and this is my
one hope."
“I will stay with pleasure," answered Christie, think-
ing Mrs. Carrols anxiety excessive, yet pitying the
mother's pain, for something in her face suggested the
idea that she reproached herself in some way for her
daughter's state..
With secret gratitude that she had dressed with care,
Christie took off her things and followed Mrs. Carrol
upstairs. Entering a room in what seemed to be a
wing of the great house, they found an old woman
sewing.
“How is Helen to-day, Nurse ?” asked Mrs. Carrol,
pausing
· COMPANION.
95
“ Poorly, ma'am. I've been in every hour, but she
only says: “Let me be quiet, and lies looking up at the
picture till it's fit to break your heart to see her,"
answered the woman, with a shake-of the head.
“I have brought Miss Devon to sit with her a little
while. Doctor advises it, and I fancy the experiment
may succeed if we can only amuse the dear child, and
make her forget herself and her troubles.”
“ As you please, ma’am,” said the old woman, look-
ing with little favor at the new-comer, for the good soul
was jealous of any interference between herself and
the child she had tended for years.
“I won't disturb her, but you shall take Miss Devon
in and tell Helen mamma sends her love, and hopes
she will make an effort for all our sakes.”
“ Yes, ma'am.”
“Go, my dear, and do your best.” With these words
Mrs. Carrol hastily left the room, and Christie followed
Nurse.
A quick glance showed her that she was in the dain-
tily furnished boudoir of a rich man's daughter, but
before she could take a second look her eyes were
arrested by the occupant of this pretty place, and she
forgot all else. « On a low luxurious couch lay a girl, so
beautiful and pale and still, that for an instant Christie
thought her dead or sleeping. She was neither, for at
the sound of a voice the great eyes opened wide, dark-
ening and dilating with a strange expression as they
fell on the unfamiliar face.
“Nurse, who is that? I told you I would see no
one. I'm too ill to be so worried,” she said, in an im-
perious tone.
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HELEN CARROL.
“ Yes, dear, I know, but your mamma wished you to
make an effort. Miss Devon is to sit with you and try
to cheer you up a bit,” said the old woman in a dissat-
isfied tone, that contrasted strangely with the tender
way in which she stroked the beautiful disordered hair
that hung about the girl's shoulders.
Helen knit her brows and looked most ungracious,
but evidently tried to be civil, for with a courteous
wave of her hand toward an easy chair in the sunny
· window she said, quietly:
COMPANION.
97
“Please sit down, Miss Devon, and excuse me for a
little while. I've had a bad night, and am too tired to
talk just yet. There are books of all sorts, or the con-
servatory if you like it better.”
« Thank you. I'll read quietly till you want me.
Then I shall be very glad to do any thing I can for
you."
With that Christie retired to the big chair, and fell
to reading the first book she took up, a good deal em-
barrassed by her reception, and very curious to know
what would come next.
The old woman went away after folding the down
coverlet carefully over her darling's feet, and Helen
seemed to go to sleep.
For a time the room was very still; the fire burned
softly on the marble hearth, the sun shone warmly on
velvet carpet and rich hangings, the delicate breath of
flowers blew in through the half-open door that led to
a gay little conservatory, and nothing but the roll of a
distant carriage broke the silence now and then.'
Christie's eyes soon wandered from her book to the
lovely face and motionless figure on the couch. Just
opposite, in a recess, hung the portrait of a young and
handsome man, and below it stood a vase of flowers, a
graceful Roman lamp, and several little relics, as if it
were the shrine where some dead love was mourned
and worshipped still.
As she looked from the living face, so pale and so
pathetic in its quietude, to the painted one so full of
color, strength, and happiness, her heart ached for poor
Helen, and her eyes were wet with tears of pity. A
sudden movement on the couch gave her no time to
98
WORR.
hide them, and as she hastily looked down upon her
book a treacherous drop fell glittering on the page.
“What have you there so interesting ?” asked Helen,
in that softly imperious tone of hers.
“Don Quixote," answered Christie, too much abashed
to have her wits about her.
Helen smiled a melancholy smile as she rose, saying
wearily :
“ They gave me that to make me laugh, but I did not
find it funny; neither was it sad enough to make me
cry as you do.” he
“I was not reading, I was ” — there Christie broke
down, and could have cried with vexation at the bad
beginning she had made. But that involuntary tear
was better balm to Helen than the most perfect tact,
the most brilliant conversation. It touched and won
her without words, for sympathy works miracles. Her
whole face changed, and her mournful eyes grew soft
as with the gentle freedom of a child she lifted Chris-
tie's downcast face and said, with a falter in her voice:
“I know you were pitying me. Well, I need pity, and
from you I'll take it, because you don't force it on me.
Have you been ill and wretched too? I think so, else
you would never care to come and shut yourself úp
here with me!”
“I have been ill, and I know how hard it is to get
one's spirits back again. I've had my troubles, too,
but not heavier than I could bear, thank God.”
“ What made you ill ? Would you mind telling me
about it? I seem to fancy hearing other people's woes,
though it can't make mine seem lighter."
: “A piece of the Castle of the Sun fell on my head:
COMPANION.
.99
and nearly killed me," and Christie laughed in spite of
herself at the astonishment in Helen's face. “I was
she added, quickly.
6 I'm glad of that. I used to wish I could be one, I
was so fond of the theatre. They should have con-
sented, it would have given me something to do, and,
however hard it is, it couldn't be worse than this."
Helen spoke vehemently and an excited flush rose to
her white cheeks; then she checked herself and dropped
into a chair, saying, hurriedly:
“ Tell about it: don't let me think; it's bad for me."
Glad to be set to work, and bent on retrieving her
first mistake, Christie plunged into her theatrical experi-
ences and talked away in her most lively style. People
usually get eloquent when telling their own stories,
and true tales are always the most interesting. Helen
listened at first with a half-absent air, but presently
grew more attentive, and when the catastrophe came
behind the curtain.
Charmed with her success, Christie branched off right
and left, stimulated by questions, led on by suggestive
incidents, and generously supplied by memory. Before
she knew it, she was telling her whole history in the
most expansive manner, for women soon get sociable
together, and Helen's interest flattered her immensely.
Once she made her laugh at some droll trifle, and as if
the unaccustomed sound had startled her, old ņuise
popped in her head; but seeing nothing amiss retired,
wondering what on earth that girl could be doing to
cheer up Miss Helen so.
100
WORK.
“ Tell about your lovers: you must have had some;
actresses always do. Happy women, they can love as
they like!” said Helen, with the inquisitive frankness
of an invalid for whom etiquette has ceased to exist.
Remembering in time that this was a forbidden sub-
ject, Christie smiled and shook her head.
“I had a few, but one does not tell those secrets, you
know."
Evidently disappointed, and a little displeased at
being reminded of her want of good-breeding, Helen
got up and began to wander restlessly about the room.
Presently, as if wishing to atone for her impatience,
she bade Christie come and see her flowers. Following
her, the new companion found herself in a little world
where perpetual summer reigned. Vines curtained the
roof, slender shrubs and trees made leafy walls on either
side, flowers bloomed above and below, birds carolled
in half-bidden prisons, aquariums and ferneries stood
all about, and the soft plash of a little fountain made
pleasant music as it rose and fell.
Helen threw herself wearily down on a pile of cush-
ions that lay beside the basin, and beckoning Christie
to sit near, said, as she pressed her hands to her hot
forehead and looked up with a distressful brightness in
the haggard eyes that seemed to have no rest in them :
“ Please sing to me; any humdrum air will do. I
am so tired, and yet I cannot sleep. If my head would
only stop this dreadful thinking and let me forget one
hour it would do me so much good.”
“I know the feeling, and I'll try what Lucy used to
do to quiet me. Put your poor head in my lap, dear,
and lie quite still while I cool and comfort it.”
COMPANION.
101
Obeying like a worn-out child, Helen lay motionless
while Christie, dipping her fingers in the basin, passed
the wet tips softly to and fro across the hot forehead,
and the thin temples where the pulses throbbed so fast.
And while she soothed she sang the “ Land o' the Leal,"
and sang it well; for the tender words, the plaintive
air were dear to her, because her mother loved and
sang it to her years ago. Slowly the heavy eyelids ·
drooped, slowly the lines of pain were smoothed away
from the broad brow, slowly the restless hands grew
still, and Helen lay asleep.
So intent upon her task was Christie, that she forgot
herself till the discomfort of her position reminded her
that she had a body. Fearing to wake the poor girl in
her arms, she tried to lean against the basin, but could
not reach a cushion to lay upon the cold stone ledge.
An unseen hand supplied the want, and, looking round,
she saw two young men standing behind her.
Helen's brothers, without doubt; for, though utterly
unlike in expression, some of the family traits were
strongly marked in both. The elder wore the dress of
a priest, had a pale, ascetic face, with melancholy eyes,
stern mouth, and the absent air of one who leads an
inward life. The younger had a more attractive face,
for, though bearing marks of dissipation, it betrayed a
generous, ardent nature, proud and wilful, yet lovable
in spite of all defects. He was very boyish still, and
plainly showed how much he felt, as, with a hasty nod
to Christie, he knelt down beside his sister, saying, in a
whisper :
6 Look at her, Augustine! so beautiful, so quiet!
What a comfort it is to see her like herself again."
102
WORK.
“Ah, yes; and but for the sin of it, I could find it in
my heart to wish she might never wake!” returned the
other, gloomily.
“ Don't say that! How could we live without her ?”
Thien, turning to Christie, the younger said, in a friendly
tone:
“ You must be very tired; let us lay her on the sofa.
It is very damp here, and if she sleeps long you will
faint from weariness.”
Carefully lifting her, the brothers carried the sleeping
girl into her room, and laid her down. She sighed
as her head touched the pillow, and her arm clung to
Harry's neck, as if she felt his nearness even in sleep.
He put his cheek to hers, and lingered over her with
an affectionate solicitude beautiful to see. Augustine
stood silent, grave and cold as if he had done with
human ties, yet found it hard to sever this one, for he
stretched his hand above his sister as if he blessed her,
then, with another grave bow to Christie, went away
as noiselessly as he had come. But Harry kissed the
sleeper tenderly, whispered, “Be kind to her," with an
imploring voice, and hurried from the room as if to
hide the feeling that he must not show.
A few minutes later the nurse brought in a note from:
Mrs. Carrol.
“My son tells me that Helen is asleep, and you look
very tired. Leave her to Hester, now; you have done
enough to-day, so let me thank you heartily, and send
you home for a quiet night before you continue your
Christie went, found a carriage waiting for her, and
drove home very happy at the success of her first.
attempt at companionship.
COMPANION..
103
The next day she entered upon the new duties with
interest and good-will, for this was work in which heart
took part, as well as head and hand. Many things
surprised, and some things perplexed her, as she came
to know the family better. But she discreetly held ber
tongue, used her eyes, and did her best to please.
Mrs. Carrol seemed satisfied, often thanked her for
her faithfulness to Helen, but seldom visited her daugh-
ter, never seemed surprised or grieved that the girl
expressed no wish to see her; and, though her hand-
some face always wore its gracious smile, Christie soon
felt very sure that it was a mask put on to hide some
heavy sorrow from a curious world.
· Augustine never came except when Helen was asleep:
then, like a shadow, he passed in and out, always silent,
cold, and grave, but in his eyes the gloom of some
remorseful pain that prayers and penances seemed pow-
erless to heal.
Harry came every day, and no matter how melan-
choly, listless, or irritable his sister might be, for him
she always had a smile, an affectionate greeting, a word
of praise, or a tender warning against the reckless spirit
that seemed to possess him. The love between them
was very strong, and Christie found a never-failing
pleasure in watching them together, for then Helen
showed what she once had been, and Harry was his best
self. A boy still, in spite of his one-and-twenty years,
he seemed to feel that Helen's room was a safe refuge
from the temptations that beset one of his thoughtless
and impetuous nature. Here he came to confess his
faults and follies with the frankness which is half sad,
half comical, and wholly charming in a good-hearted
:
104
WORK.
young scatter-brain. Here he brought gay gossip, lively
descriptions, and masculine criticisms of the world he
moved in. All his hopes and plans, joys and sorrows,
successes and defeats, he told to Helen. And she, poor
soul, in this one happy love of her sad life, forgot a
little the burden of despair that darkened all the world
to her. For his sake she smiled, to him she talked
when others got no word from her, and Harry's salva-
tion was the only duty that she owned or tried to fulfil.
A younger sister was away at school, but the others
seldom spoke of her, and Christie tired herself with
wondering why Bella never wrote to Helen, and why
Harry seemed to have nothing. but a gloomy sort of
pity to bestow upon the blooming girl whose picture
hung in the great drawing-room below.
It was a very quiet winter, yet a very pleasant one
to Christie, for she felt herself loved and trusted, saw
that she suited, and believed that she was doing good,
as women best love to do it, by bestowing sympathy
and care with generous devotion.
Helen and Harry loved her like an elder sister;
Augustine showed that he was grateful, and Mrs. Car-
rol sometimes forgot to put on her mask before one who
seemed fast becoming confidante as well as companion.
In the spring the family went to the fine old country-
house just out of town, and here Christie and her
charge led a freer, happier life. Walking and driving,
boating and gardening, with pleasant days on the wide
terrace, where Helen swung idly in her hammock, while
Christie read or talked to her; and summer twilights.
beguiled with music, or the silent reveries more elo-
quent than speech, which real friends may enjoy to-
COMPANION.
105
.gether, and find the sweeter for the mute companion-
ship.
Harry was with them, and devoted to his sister, who
seemed slowly to be coming out of her sad gloom, won
by patient tenderness and the cheerful influencés all
about her.
Christie's heart was full of pride and satisfaction, as
she saw the altered face, heard the tone of interest in
that once hopeless voice, and felt each day niore sure
that Helen had outlived the loss that seemed to have
broken her heart.
Alas, for Christie's pride, for Harry's hope, and for
poor Helen's bitter fate! When all was brightest, the
black shadow came; when all looked safest, danger
was at hand; and when the past seemed buried, the
ghost which haunted it returned, for the punishment
of a broken law is as inevitable as death.
When settled in town again Bella came home, a gay,
young girl, who should have brought sunshine and hap-
piness into her home. But from the hour she returned
a strange anxiety seemed to possess the others. Mrs.
Carrol watched over her with sleepless care, was evi-
dently full of maternal pride in the lovely creature, and
began to dream dreams about her future. She seemed
to wish to keep the sisters apart, and said to Christie,
as if to explain this wish :
“ Bella was away when Helen's trouble and illness
came, she knows very little of it, and I do not want
her to be saddened by the knowledge. Helen cares
only for Hal, and Bella is too young to be of any use
to my poor girl; therefore the less they see of each
other the better for both. I am sure you agree with
5*
106
WORK.
me ?” she added, with that covert scrutiny which Chris-
tie had often felt before.
She could but acquiesce in the mother's decision, and
devote herself more faithfully than ever to Helen, who
soon needed all her care and patience, for a terrible
unrest grew upon her, bringing sleepless nights again,
moody days, and all the old afflictions with redoubled
force.
Bella “ came out” and began her career as a beauty
and a belle most brilliantly. Harry was proud of her,
but seemed jealous of other men's admiration for his
charming sister, and would excite both Helen and him-
self over the flirtations into which “that child” as they
called her, plunged with all the zest of a light-hearted
girl whose head was a little turned with sudden and
excessive adoration.
In vain Christie begged Harry not to report these
things, in vain she hinted that Bella had better not
come to show herself to Helen night after night in all
the dainty splendor of her youth and beauty; in vain
she asked Mrs. Carrol to let her go away to some
quieter place with Helen, since she never could be per-
suaded to join in any gayety at home or abroad. All
seemed wilful, blind, or governed by the fear of the
gossiping world. So the days rolled on till an event
occurred which enlightened Christie, with startling
abruptness, and showed her the skeleton that haunted
this unhappy. family.
Going in one morning to Helen she found her walk-
ing to and.fro as she often walked of late, with hurried
steps and excited face as if driven by some power
beyond her control.
COMPANION.
107
“Good morning, dear. I'm so sorry you had a rest-
less night, and wish you had sent for me. Will you
come out now for an early drive? It's a lovely day,
and your mother thinks it would do you good," began
Christie, troubled by the state in which she found the
girl.
But as she spoke Helen turned on her, crying pas-
sionately :
“ My mother! don't speak of her to me, I hate her!”
: “Oh, Helen, don't say that. Forgive and forget if
she has displeased you, and don't exhaust yourself by
brooding over it. Come, dear, and let us soothe our-
selves with a little music. I want to hear that new
song again, though I can never hope to sing it as you
do."
“Sing !” echoed Helen, with a shrill laugh, “you
don't know what you ask. Could you sing when your
heart was heavy with the knowledge of a sin about to
be committed by those nearest to you? Don't try to
quiet me, I must talk whether you listen or not; I shall
go frantic if I don't tell some one; all the world will.
know it soon. Sit down, I'll not hurt you, but don't
thwart me or you'll be sorry for it."
Speaking with a vehemence that left her breathless,
Helen thrust Christie down upon a seat, and went on
with an expression in her face that bereft the listener
of power to move or speak.
“ Harry has just told me of it; he was very angry,
and I saw it, and made him tell me. Poor boy, he can
keep nothing from me. I've been dreading it, and
now it's coming. You don't know it, then? Young
Butler is in love with Bella, and no one has pre-
. 108
WORK.
vented it. Think how wicked when such a curse is on
us all."
The question, “ What curse ? ” rose involuntarily to .
Christie's lips, but did not pass them, for, as if she read
the thought, Helen answered it in a whisper that made
the blood tingle in the other's veins, so full of ominous
suggestion was it.
“The curse of insanity I mean. We are all mad, or
· shall be; we come of a mad race, and for years we
have gone recklessly on bequeathing this awful inheri-
tance to our descendants. It should end with us, we
are the last; none of us should marry; none dare think
of it but Bella, and she knows nothing. She must be
told, she must be kept from the sin of deceiving her
lover, the agony of seeing her children become what I
am, and what we all may be."
Here Helen wrung her hands and paced the room in
such a paroxysm of impotent despair that Christie sat
bewildered and aghast, wondering if this were true, or
but the fancy of a troubled brain. Mrs. Carrol's face
and manner returned to her with sudden vividness, so
did Augustine's gloomy expression, and the strange
wish uttered over his sleeping sister long ago. Harry's
reckless, aimless life might be explained in this way;
and all that had perplexed her through that year.
Every thing confirmed the belief that this tragical
assertion was true, and Christie covered up her face,
murmuring, with an involuntary shiver:
“My God; how terrible!” .
Helen came and stood before her with such grief and
penitence in her countenance that for a moment it con-
quered the despair that had broken bounds.
COMPANION.
109
“We should have told you this at first; I longed to
do it, but I was afraid you'd go and leave me. I was
so lonely, so miserable, Christie. I could not give you
up when I had learned to love you; and I did learn
very soon, for no wretched creature ever needed help
and comfort more than I. For your sake I tried to be
quiet, to control my shattered- nerves, and hide my
desperate thoughts. You helped me very much, and
your unconsciousness made me doubly watchful. For-
give me; don't desert me now, for the old horror may
be coming back, and I want you more than ever.”
Too much moved to speak, Christie held out her
hands, with a face full of pity, love, and grief. Poor
Helen clung to them as if her only help lay there, and
for a moment was quite still. But not long; the old
anguish was too sharp to be borne in silence; the relief
of confidence once tasted was too great to be denied;
and, breaking loose, she went to and fro again, pouring
out the bitter secret which had been weighing upon
heart and conscience for a year.
.“ You wonder that I hate my mother; let me tell
you why. When she was beautiful and young she
married, knowing the sad history of my father's family.
He was rich, she poor and proud; ambition made her
wicked, and she did it after being warned that, thouglı
he might escape, his children were sure to inherit the
curse, for when one generation goes free it falls more
heavily upon the rest. She knew it all, and yet she
married him. I have her to thank for all I suffer, and
I cannot love her though she is my mother. It may be
wrong to say these things, but they are true; they
burn in my heart, and I must speak out; for I tell you
110
WORK.
.
there comes a time when children judge their parents
as men and women, in spite of filial duty, and woe to
those whose actions change affection and respect to
hatred or contempt.”
The bitter grief, the solemn fervor of her words, both
touched and awed Christie too much for speech. Helen
had passed beyond the bounds of ceremony, fear, or
shame: her hard lot, her dark experience, set her apart,
and gave her the right to utter the bare truth. To
her heart's core Christie felt that warning; and for the
first time saw what many never see or wilfully deny,—
the awful responsibility that lies on every man and
woman's soul forbidding them to entail upon the inno-
cent the burden of their own infirmities, the curse that
surely follows their own sins.
Sad and stern, as an accusing angel, that most un-
happy daughter spoke:
“If ever a woman had cause to repent, it is my
mother; but she will not, and till she does, God has
forsaken us. Nothing can subdue her pride, not even
an affliction like inine. She hides the truth; she bides
me, and lets the world believe I am dying of consump-
tion; not a word about insanity, and no one knows the
secret beyond ourselves, but doctor, nurse, and you.
This is why I was not sent away, but for a year was
shut up in that room yonder where the door is always
locked. If you look in, you 'll see barred windows,
guarded fire, muffiled walls, and other sights to chill
your blood, when you remember all those dreadful
things were meant for me.”
“Don't speak, don't think of them! Don't talk any
more; let me do something to comfort you, for my
COMPANION.
111
heart is broken with all this,” cried Christie, panic-
stricken at the picture Helen's words had conjured up.
tried to lighten this burden by sharing it with you.
Let me talk, let me wear myself out, then you shall
help and comfort me, if there is any help and comfort
for such as I. Now I can tell you all about my Edward,
and you 'll listen, though mamma forbade it. Three
years ago my father died, and we came here. I was
well then, and oh, how happy!”.
Clasping her hands above her head, she stood like a
beautiful, pale image of despair; tearless and mute, but
with such a world of anguish in the eyes lifted to the
smiling picture opposite that it needed no words to tell
the story of a broken heart.
“How I loved him!” she said, softly, while her whole
face glowed for an instant with the light and warmth
of a deathless passion. “How I loved him, and how
he loved me! Too well to let me darken both our
lives with a remorse which would come too late for a
just atonement. I thought him cruel then, — I bless
him for it now. I had far rather be the innocent suf-
ferer I am, than a wretched woman like my mother. I
shall never see him any more, but I know he thinks of
me far away in India, and when I die one faithful heart
will remember me.”
There her voice faltered and failed, and for a moment
the fire of her eyes was quenched in tears. Christie
thought the reaction had come, and rose to go and com-
fort her. But instantly Helen's hand was on her shoul-
der, and pressing her back into her seat, she said, almost
fiercely:
112
WORK.
(4
“I'm not done yet; you must hear the whole, an:
help me to save Bella. We knew nothing of the blight
that hung over us till father told Augustine upon his
death-bed. August, urged by mother, kept it to him-
self, and went away to bear it as he could. He should
have spoken out and saved me in time. But not till
he came home and found me engaged did he have
courage to warn me of the fate in store for us. Su
Edward tore himself away, although it broke his heart,
and I -- do you see that ? "
With a quick gesture she rent open her dress, and
on her bosom Christie saw a scar that made her turn
yet paler than before.
“Yes, I tried to kill myself; but they would not let
me die, so the old tragedy of our house begins again.
August became a priest, hoping to hide his calamity
and expiate his father's sin by endless penances and
prayers. Harry turned reckless; for what had he to
look forward to ? A short life, and a gay one, he says,
and when his turn cornes he will spare himself long
suffering, as I tried to do it. Bella was never told;
she was so young they kept her ignorant of all they
could, even the knowledge of my state. She was long
away at school, but now she has come home, now she
has learned to love, and is going blindly as I went,
because no one tells her what she must know soon or
late. Mamma will not. August hesitates, remember-
ing me. Harry swears he will speak out, but I implore
him not to do it, for he will be too violent; and I am
powerless. I never knew about this man till Hal told
me to-day. Bella only comes in for a moment, and I
have no chance to tell her she must not love him."
COMPANION. .
113
Pressing her hands to her temples, Helen resumed
her restless march again, but suddenly broke out more
violently than before :
“Now do you wonder why I am half frantic? Now
will you ask me to sing and smile, and sit calmly by
while this wrong goes on? You have done much for
me, and God will bless you for it, but you cannot keep
me sane. Death is the only cure for a mad Carrol, and
I’ın so young, so strong, it will be long in coming
unless I hurry it."
She clenched her hands, set her teeth, and looked
about her as if ready for any desperate act that should
set her free from the dark and dreadful future that lay
before her.
For a moment Christie feared and trembled; then
pity conquered fear. She forgot herself, ande only
remembered this poor girl, so hopeless, helpless, and
afflicted. Led by a sudden impulse, she put both arms
about her, and held her close with a strong but silent
tenderness better than any bonds. At first; Helen
seemed unconscious of it, as she stood rigid and motion-
less, with her wild eyes dumbly imploring help of earth
and heaven. Suddenly both strength and excitement
seemed to leave her, and she would have fallen but for
the living, loving prop that sustained her.
Still silent, Christie laid her down, kissed her white
lips, and busied herself about her till she looked up
quite herself again, but so wan and weak, it was pitiful
to see her.
“It's over now," she whispered, with a desolate sigh.
“Sing to me, and keep the evil spirit quiet for a little
H
114
WORK.
while. To-morrow, if I'm strong enough, we'll talk
about poor little Bella."
And Christie sang, with tears dropping fast upon the
keys, that made a soft accompaniment to the sweet old
hymns which soothed this. troubled soul as David's
music brought repose to Saul.
When Helen slept at last from sheer exhaustion,
Christie executed the resolution she had made as soon
as the excitement of that stormy scene was over. She
went straight to Mrs. Carrol's room, and, undeterred
by the presence of her sons, told all that had passed.
They were evidently not unprepared for it, thanks to
old Hester, who had overheard enough of Helen's
wild words to know that something was amiss, and
had reported accordingly; but none of them had vent-
ured to interrupt the interview, lest Helen should be
driven to desperation as before.
« Mother, Helen is right; we should speak out, and
not hide this bitter fact any longer. The world will
pity us, and we must bear the pity, but it would con-
demn us for deceit, and we should deserve the condem-
nation if we let this misery go on. Living a lie will
ruin us all. Bella will be destroyed as Helen was; I
am only the shadow of a man now, and Hal is killing
himself as fast as he can, to avoid the fate we all dread.”
Augustine spoke first, for Mrs. Carrol sat speechless
with her trouble as Christie paused.
« Keep to your prayers, and let me go my own way,
it's the shortest,” muttered Harry, with his face hidden,
and his head down on his folded arms.
“ Boys, boys, you'll kill me if you say such things!
I have more now than I can bear. Don't drive me
COMPANION.
115
:
wild with your reproaches to each other ! ” cried their
inother, her heart rent with the remorse that came too
late.
“No fear of that; you are not a Carrol,” answered
Harry, with the pitiless bluntness of a resentful and
rebellious boy.
Augustine turned on him with a wrathful flash of the
eye, and a warning ring in his stern voice, as he pointed
to the door.
.“ You shall not insult your mother! Ask her pardon,
or go !”
“She should ask mine! I'll go. When you want
me, you 'll know where to find me.” And, with a reck-
less laugh, Harry stormed out of the room.
Augustine's indignant face grew full of a new trouble
as the door banged below, and he pressed his thin
hands tightly together, saying, as if to himself:
“Heaven help me! Yes, I do know; for, night after
night, I find and bring the poor lad home from gamb-
ling-tables and the hells where souls like his are lost."
Here Christie thought to slip away, feeling that it
was no place for her now that her errand was done.
But Mrs. Carrol called her back.
6 Miss Devon — Christie — forgive me that I did not
trust you sooner. It was so hard to tell; I hoped so
much from time; I never could believe that my poor
children would be made the victims of my mistake.
Do not forsake us: Helen loves you so. Stay with her,
I implore you, and let a most unhappy mother plead
for a most unhappy child.” Then Christie went to the
poor woman, and earnestly assured ber of her love and
loyalty; for now she felt doubly bound to them because
they trusted her.
w she felt dy assured her ofte, went to th
116,
WORK.
“ What shall we do ?” they said to her, with pathetic
submission, turning like sick people to a healthful soul
for help and comfort.
“ Tell Bella all the truth, and help her to refuse her
lover. Do “this just thing, and God will strengthen
you to bear the consequences," was her answer, though
she trembled at the responsibility they put upon her.
“Not yet,” cried Mrs. Carrol. “Let the poor child
· enjoy the holidays with a light heart, — then we will
tell her; and then Heaven help us all !”
So it was decided; for only a week or two of the old
year remained, and no one had the heart to rob poor
Bella of the little span of blissful ignorance that now
remained to her.
A terrible tiine was that to Christie; for, while one
sister, blessed with beauty, youth, love, and pleasure,
tasted life at its sweetest, the other sat in the black
shadow of a growing dread, and wearied Heaven with
piteous prayers for her relief.
“The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping
over me. Don't let it come, Christie! Stay by me!
Help me! Keep me sane! And if you cannot, ask
God to take me quickly!”
With words like these, poor Helen clung to Christie;
and, soul and body, Christie devoted herself to the
afflicted girl. She would not see her mother; and the
unhappy woman haunted that closed door, hungering
for the look, the word, that never came to her. Augus-
tine was her consolation, and, during those troublous
days, the priest was forgotten in the son. But Harry
was all in all to Helen then; and it was touching to
see how these unfortunate young creatures clung to one
COMPANION.
117
another, she tenderly trying to keep him from the wild
life that was surely hastening the fate he might other-
wise escape for years, and he patiently bearing aļl her
moods, eager to cheer and soothe the sad captivity from
which he could not save her.
These tender ministrations seemed to be blessed at
last; and Christie began to hope the haunting terror
would pass by, as quiet gloom succeeded to wild excite-
ment. The cheerful spirit of the season seemed to
reach even that sad room; and; in preparing gifts for
others, Helen seemed to find a little of that best of all
gifts, — peace for herself.
On New Year's morning, Christie found her garland-
ing her lover's picture with white roses and the myrtle
sprays brides wear.
“ These were his favorite flowers, and I meant to
make my wedding wreath of this sweet-scented myrtle,
because he gave it to me," she said, with a look that
made Christie's eyes grow dim. “Don't grieve for me,
dear; we shall surely meet hereafter, though so far
asunder here. Nothing can part us there, I devoutly
believe ; for we leave our burdens all behind us when
we go.” Then, in a lighter tone, she said, with her arm
on Christie's neck :
“ This day is to be a happy one, no matter what
comes after it. I'm going to be my old self for a little
while, and forget there's such a word as sorrow. Help
me to dress, so that when the boys come up they may
find the sister Nell they have not seen for two long
years."
“ Will you wear this, my darling? Your mother
sends it, and she tried to have it dainty and beautiful
118
WORK.
.
enough to please you. See, your own colors, though
the bows are only laid on that they may be changed
for others if you like.”
As she spoke Christie lifted the cover of the box old
Hester had just brought in, and displayed a cashmere
wrapper, creamy-white, silk-lined, down-trimmed, and
delicately relieved by rosy knots, like holly berries lying
upon snow. Helen looked at it without a word for
several minutes, then gathering up the ribbons, with a
strange smile, she said :
“I like it better so; but I 'll not wear it yet.”
« Bless and save us, deary; it must have a bit of
color somewhere, else it looks just like a shroud,” cried
Hester, and then wrung her hands in dismay as Helen
answered, quietly:
“Ah, well, keep it for me, then. I shall be happier
when I wear it so than in the gayest gown I own, for
when you put it on, this poor head and heart of mine
will be quiet at last.”
Motioning Hester to remove the box, Christie tried
to banish the cloud her unlucky words had brought to
Helen's face, by chatting cheerfully as she helped her
make herself “ pretty for the boys."
All that day she was unusually calm and sweet, and
seemed to yield herself wholly to the happy influences
of the hour, gave and received her gifts so cheerfully
that her brothers watched her with delight; and uncon-
scious Bella said, as she hung about her sister, with
loving admiration in her eyes :
“I always thought you would get well, and now I'm
sure of it, for you look as you used before I went away
to school, and seem just like our own dear Nell."
es
COMPANION.
119
“I'm glad of that; I wanted you to feel só, my
Bella. I'll accept your happy prophecy, and hope I
may get well soon, very soon.”
So cheerfully she spoke, so tranquilly she smiled,
that all rejoiced over her believing, with love's blind-
ness, that she might yet conquer her malady in spite of
their forebodings.
It was a very happy day to Christie, not only that
she was generously remembered and made one of them
by all the family, but because this change for the better
in Helen made her heart sing for joy. She had given
time, health, and much love to the task, and ventured
now to hope they had not been given in vain. One
thing only marred her happiness, the sad estrangement
of the daughter from her mother, and that evening she
resolved to take advantage of Helen's tender mood,
and plead for the poor soul who dared not plead for
herself.
As the brothers and sisters said good-night, Helen
clung to them as if loth to part, saying, with each
embrace:
“Keep hoping for me, Bella; kiss me, Harry; bless
me, Augustine, and all wish for me a happier New Year
than the last.??
When they were gone she wandered slowly round
the room, stood long before the picture with its fading
garland, sung a little softly to herself, and came at last
to Christie, saying, like a tired child:
“I have been good all day; now let me rest."
“ One thing has been forgotten, dear," began Christie,
fearing to disturb the quietude that seemed to have
been so dearly bought.
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WORK. -
Helen understood her, and looked up with a sane
sweet face, out of which all resentful bitterness had
passed.
“No, Christie, not forgotten, only kept until the last.
To-day is a good day to forgive, as we would be for-
given, and I mean to do it before I sleep.” Then hold-
ing Christie close, she added, with a quiver of emotion
in her voice: “I have no words warm enough to thank
you, my good angel, for all you have been to me, but I
know it will give you a great pleasure to do one thing
more. Give dear mamma my love, and tell her that
when I am quiet for the night I want her to come and
get me to sleep with the old lullaby she used to sing
when I was a little child."
No gift bestowed that day was so precious to Christie
as the joy of carrying this loving message from daugli-
ter to mother. How Mrs. Carrol received it need not
be told. She would have gone at once, but Christie
begged her to wait till rest and quiet, after the efforts
of the day, had prepared Helen for an interview which
might undo all that had been done if too hastily at-
tempted.
Hester always waited upon her child at night; so,
feeling that she might be wanted later, Christie went
to her own room to rest. Quite sure that Mrs. Carrol
would come to tell her what had passed, she waited for
an hour or two, then went to ask of Hester how the
visit had sped.
“Her mamma came up long ago, but the dear thing
was fast asleep, so I wouldn't let her be disturbed, and
Mrs. Carrol went away again," said the old woman,
rousing from a nap.
COMPANION.
121
)
Grieved at the mother's disappointment, Christie
stole in, hoping that Helen might rouse. She did not, .
and Christie was about to leave her, when, as she bent
to smooth the tumbled coverlet, something dropped
at her feet. Only a little pearl-handled penknife of
Harry's; but her heart stood still with fear, for it was
open, and, as she took it up, a red stain came off upon
her hand.
Helen's face was turned away, and, bending nearer,
Christie saw how deathly pale it looked in the shadow
of the darkened room. She listened at her lips; only
a firint flutter of breath parted them; she lifted up the
averted head, and on the white throat saw a little
wound, from which the blood still flowed. Then, like
a flash' of light, the meaning of the sudden change
which came over her grew clear, — her brave efforts to
make the last day happy, her tender good-night part-
ings, her wish to be at peace with every one, the tragic
death she had chosen rather than live out the tragic
life that lay before her. .
Christie's nerves had been tried to the uttermost;
the shock of this discovery was too much for her, and,
in the act of calling for help, she fainted, for the first
time in her life..
When she was herself again, the room was full of
people; terror-stricken faces passed before her; broken
voices whispered, “ It is too late," and, as she saw the
group about the bed, she wished for unconsciousness
again.
Helen lay in her mother's arms at last, quietly breath-
ing her life away, for though every thing that love and
skill could devise had been tried to save her, the little
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WORK.
knife in that desperate hand had done its work, and
this world held no more suffering for her. Harry was
down upon his knees beside her, trying to stifte his
passionate grief. Augustine prayed audibly above her,
and the fervor of his broken words comforted all hearts
but one. Bella was clinging, panic-stricken, to the
kind old doctor, who was sobbing like a boy, for he had
loved and served poor Helen as faithfully as if she had
been his own.
“ Can nothing save her ? ” Christie whispered, as the
prayer ended, and a sound of bitter weeping filled the
room.
« Nothing; she is sane and safe at last, thank God!"
Christie could not but echo his thanksgiving, for the
blessed tranquillity of the girl's countenance was such
as none but death, the great healer, can bring; and, as
they looked, her eyes opened, beautifully clear and
calm before they closed for ever. From face to face
they passed, as if they looked for some one, and her
lips moved in vain efforts to speak.
Christie went to her, but still the wide, wistful eyes
searched the room as if unsatisfied; and, with a longing
that conquered the mortal weakness of the body, the
heart sent forth one tender cry:
« My mother — I want my mother!”
There was no need to repeat the piteous call, for, as
it left her lips, she saw her mother's face bending over
her, and felt her mother's arms gathering her in an
embrace which held her close even after death had set
its seal upon the voiceless prayers for pardon which
passed between those reunited hearts.
When she was asleep at last, Christie and her mother
COMPANION.
123
made her ready for her grave; weeping tender tears as
they folded her in the soft, white garment she had put
by for that sad hour; and on her breast they laid the
flowers she had hung about her lover as a farewell gift.
So beautiful she looked when all was done, that in the
early dawn they called her brothers, that they might
not lose the memory of the blessed peace that shone
upon her face, a mute assurance that for her the new
year had happily begun.
“Now my work here is done, and I must go," thought
Christie, when the waves of life closed over the spot
where another tired swimmer had gone down. But
she found that one more task remained for her before
she left the family which, on her coming, she had
thought so happy.
Mrs. Carrol, worn out with the long effort to conceal
her secret cross, broke down entirely under this last
blow, and besought Christie to tell Bella all that she
must know. It was a hard task, but Christie accepted
it, and, when the time came, found that there was very
little to be told, for at the death-bed of the elder sister,
the younger had learned much of the sad truth. Thus
prepared, she listened to all that was most carefully and
tenderly confided to her, and, when the heavy tale was
done, she surprised Christie by the unsuspected strength
she showed. No tears, no lamentations, for she was
her mother's daughter, and inherited the pride that can
bear heavy burdens, if they are borne unseen.
6 Tell me what I must do, and I will do it," she said,
with the quiet despair of one who submits to the inevi-
table, but will not complain.
When Christie with difficulty told her that she should
124
WORK.
give up her lover, Bella bowed her head, and for a
moment could not speak, then lifted it as if defying her
own weakness, and spoke out bravely:
“ It shall be done, for it is right. It is very hard for
me, because I love him; he will not suffer much, for he
can love again. I should be glad of that, and I'll try
to wish it for his sake. He is young, and if, as Harry
says, he cares more for my fortune than myself, so much
the better. What next, Christie ?"
Amazed and touched at the courage of the creature
she had fancied a sort of lovely butterfly to be crushed
by a single blow, Christie took heart, and, instead of
soothing sympathy, gave her the solace best fitted for
strong natures, something to do for others. What
inspired her, Christie never knew; perhaps it was the
year of self-denying service she had rendered for pity's
sake; such devotion is its own reward, and now, in
herself, she discovered unsuspected powers.
“Live for your mother and your brothers, Bella ;
they need you sorely, and in time I know you will find
true consolation in it, although you must relinquish
much. · Sustain your mother, cheer Augustine, watch
over Harry, and be to them what IIelen longed to be.”
6 And fail to do it, as she failed!” cried Bella, with a
shudder.
“ Listen, and let me give you this hope, for I sin-
cerely do believe it. Since I came here, I have read
many books, thought much, and talked often with Dr.
Shirley about this sad affliction. He thinks you and
Harry may escape it, if you will. You are like your
mother in temperament and temper; you have self-
control, strong wills, good nerves, and cheerful spirits.
1
COMPANION.
125
Poor Harry is willfully spoiling all his chances now;
but you may save him, and, in the endeavor, save your-
self.”
“Oh, Christie, may I hope it? Give me one chance
of escape, and I will suffer any hardship to keep it.
Let me see any thing before me but a life and death like
Helen's, and I'll bless you for ever !” cried Bella, wel-
coming this ray of light as a prisoner welcomes sun-
shine in his cell.
Christie trembled at the power of her words, yet,
honestly believing them, she let them uplift this discon-
solate soul, trusting that they might be in time fulfilled
through God's mercy and the saving grace of sincere
endeavor.
Holding fast to-this frail spar, Bella bravely took up
arms against her sea of troubles, and rode out the
storm. When her lover came to know his fate, she hid
her heart, and answered “no,” finding a bitter satisfac-
tion in the end, for Harry was right, and, when the
fortune was denied him, young Butler did not mourn
the woman long. Pride helped Bella to bear it; but it
needed all her courage to look down the coming years
so bare of all that makes life sweet to youthful souls,
so desolate and dark, with duty alone to cheer the
thorny way, and the haunting shadow of her race lurk-
ing in the background.
Submission and self-sacrifice are stern, sad angels,
but in time one learns to know and love them, for when
they have chastened, they uplift and bless. Dimly dis-
cerning this, poor Bèlla put her hands in theirs, saying,
“Lead me, teach me; I will follow and obey you."
All soon felt that they could not stay in a house so
126
WORK.
.
full of heavy. memories, and decided to return to their
old home. They begged Christie to go with them,
using every argument and entreaty their affection could
suggest. But Christie needed rest, longed for freedom,
and felt that in spite of their regard it would be very
hard for her to live among them any longer. Her
healthy nature needed brighter influences, stronger
comrades, and the memory of Helen weighed so heavily
upon her heart that she was eager to forget it for a time
in other scenes and other work.
So they parted, very sadly, very tenderly, and laden
with good gifts Christie went on her way weary, but
well satisfied, for she had earned her rest.
CHAPTER VI. -
SEAMSTRESS.
TOR some weeks Christie rested and refreshed her-
1 self by making her room gay and comfortable
with the gifts lavished on her by the Carrols, and
· by sharing with others the money which Ilarry had
· smuggled into her possession after she had steadily
· refused to take one penny more than the sum agreed
upon when she first went to them.
She took infinite satisfaction in sending one hundred
dollars to Uncle Enos, for she had accepted what he
gave her as a loan, and set her heart on repaying every
fraction of it. Another hundred she gave to Hepsey,
who found her out and came to report her trials and
tribulations. The good soul had ventured South and
tried to buy her mother. But “ole missis” would not
let her go at any price, and the faithful chattel would
not run away. Sorely disappointed, Hepsey had been
obliged to submit; but her trip was not a failure, for
she liberated several brothers and sent them trium-
phantly to Canada.
“You must take it, Hepsey, for I could not rest
happy if I put it away to lie idle while you can save
men and women from torment with it. I'd give it if
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WORK.
it was my last penny, for I can help in no other way;
and if I need money, I can always earn it, thank God !”
said Christie, as Hepsey hesitated to take so much from
a fellow-worker.
Tlie thought of that investment lay warm at Chris-
tie's heart, and never woke a regret, for well she knew
that every dollar of it would be blessed, since shares in
the Underground Railroad pay splendid dividends that
never fail.
Another portion of her fortune, as she called Harry's
gift, was bestowed in wedding presents upon Lucy,
who at length succeeded in winning the heart of the
owner of the “heavenly eyes” and “ distracting legs ;"
and, having gained her point, married him with dra-
matic celerity, and went West to follow the fortunes
of her lord.
The old theatre was to be demolished and the com-
pany scattered, so a farewell festival was held, and
Christie went to it, feeling more solitary than ever as
she bade her old friends a long good-bye.
The rest of the money burned in her pocket, but she
prudently put it by for a rainy day, and fell to work
again when her brief vacation was over.
IIearing of a chance for a good needle-woman in a
large and well-conducted mantua-making establish-
ment, she secured it as a temporary thing, for she
wanted to divert her mind from that last sad experi-
ence by entirely different employment and surround-
ings. She liked to return at night to her own little
home, solitary and simple as it was, and felt a great
repugnance to accept any place where she would be
mixed up with family affairs again.
SEAMSTRESS.
129
ashion. But ce, and all the indesoyed seeing deli
So day after day she went to her seat in the work-
room where a dozen other young women sat sewing
busily on gay garments, with as much lively gossip to
beguile the time as Miss Cotton, the forewoman, would
allow.
For a while it diverted Christie, as she had a femi-
nine love for pretty things, and enjoyed seeing delicate
silks, costly lace, and all the indescribable fantasies of
fashion. But as spring came on, the old desire for
something fresh and free began to haunt her, and she
had both waking and sleeping dreams of a home in the
country somewhere, with cows and flowers, clothes
bleaching on green grass, bob-o'-links making rapturous
music by the river, and the smell of new-mown hay, all
lending their charms to the picture she painted for
herself.
Most assuredly she would have gone to find these
things, led by the instincts of a healthful nature, had
not one slender tie held her till it grew into a bond so
strong she could not break it.
Among her companions was one, and one only, who
attracted her. The others were well-meaning girls,
but full of the frivolous purposes and pleasures which
their tastes prompted and their dull life fostered. Dress,
gossip, and wages were the three topics which absorbed
them. Christie soon tired of the innumerable changes
rung upon these themes, and took refuge in her own
thoughts, soon learning to enjoy them undisturbed by
the clack of many tongues about her. Her evenings
at home were devoted to books, for she had the true
New England woman's desire for education, and read
or studied for the love of it. Thus she had much to
.
.
6*
130
WORK.
414, as rapory porno
think of as her needle flew, and was rapidly becoming
a sort of sewing-machine when life was brightened for
her by the finding of a friend.
Among the girls was one quiet, skilful creature,
whose black dress, peculiar face, and silent ways
attracted Christie. Her evident desire to be let alone
amused the new comer at first, and she made no effort
to know her. But presently she became aware that
Rachel watched her with covert interest, stealing quick,
shy glances at her as she sat musing over her work.
Christie smiled at her when she caught these glances,
as if to reassure the looker of her good-will. But
Rachel only colored, kept her eyes fixed on her work,
and was more reserved-than ever.
This interested Christie, and she fell to studying this
young woman with some curiosity, for she was different
from the others. Though evidently younger than she
looked, Rachel's face was that of one who had known
some great sorrow, some deep experience; for there
were lines on the forehead that contrasted strongly
with the bright, abundant hair above it; in repose, the
youthfully red, soft lips had a mournful droop, and the
eyes were old with that indescribable expression which
comes to those who count their lives by emotions, not
by years.
Strangely haunting eyes to Christie, for they seemed
to appeal to her with a mute eloquence she could not
resist. In vain did Rachel answer her with quiet cold-
ness, nod silently when she wished her a cheery “good
morning," and keep resolutely in her own somewhat
isolated corner, though invited to share the sunny
window where the other sat. Her eyes belied her
SEAMSTRESS,
· 131
words, and those fugitive glances betrayed the longing
of a lonely heart that dared not yield itself to the
genial companionship so freely offered it.
Christie was sure of this, and would not be repulsed;
for her own heart was very solitary. She missed Helen,
and longed to fill the empty place. She wooed this
shy, cold girl as patiently and as gently as a lover
might, determined to win her confidence, because all
the others had failed to do it. Sometimes she left a
flower in Rachel's basket, always smiled and nodded 'as
she entered, and often stopped to admire the work of
ber tasteful fingers. It was impossible to resist such
friendly overtures, and slowly Rachel's coldness melted;
into the beseeching eyes came a look of gratitude, the
more touching for its wordlessness, and an irrepressible
smile broke over her face in answer to the cordial ones
that made the sunshine of her day.
Emboldened by these demonstrations, Christie
changed her seat, and quietly established between
them a daily interchange or something beside needles,
pins, and spools. Then, as Rachel did not draw back
offended, she went a step farther, and, one day when
they chanced to be left alone to finish off a delicate bit
of work, she spoke out frankly:
“Why can't we be friends ? I want one sadly, and
so do you, unless your looks deceive me. · We both
seem to be alone in the world, to have had trouble, and
to like one another. I won't annoy you by any imper-
tinent curiosity, nor burden you with uninteresting
confidences; I only want to feel that you like me a
little and don't mind my liking you a great deal. Will
CD
132
WORK.
A great tear rolled down upon the shining silk in
Rachel's hands as she looked into Christie's earnest
face, and answered with an almost passionate gratitude
in her own:
“ You can never need a friend as much as I do, or
know what a blessed thing it is to find such an one as
you are."
« Then I may love you, and not be afraid of offend-
ing?” cried Christie, much touched.
“ Yes. But remember. I didn't ask it first,” said
Rachel, half dropping the band she had held in both
her own.
“ You proud creature! I'll remember; and when
we quarrel, I'll take all the blame upon myself.”
Then Christie kissed her warmly, whisked' away the
tear, and began to paint the delights in store for them
in her most enthusiastic way, being much elated with
her victory; while Rachel listened with a newly kindled
light in her lovely eyes, and a smile that showed how
winsome her face had been before many tears washed
its bloom away, and much trouble made it old too soon.
Christie kept her word, -- asked no questions, volun-
teered no confidences, but heartily enjoyed the new
friendship, and found that it gave to life the zest which
it had lacked before. Now some one cared for her,
and, better still, she could make some one happy, and
in the act of lavishing the affection of her generous nat-
ure on a creature sadder and more solitary than her-
self, she found a satisfaction that never lost its charm.
There was nothing in her possession that she did not
offer Rachel, from the whole of her heart to the larger
half of her little room,
SEAMSTRESS.
133.
“I'm tired of thinking only of myself. It makes me
selfish and low-spirited; for I'm not a bit interesting.
I must love somebody, and “love them hard,' as chil-
dren say; so why can't you come and stay with me?
There's room enough, and we could be so cosy evenings
with our books and work. I know you need some
one to look after you, and I love dearly to take care
of people. Do come,” she would say, with most per-
suasive hospitality.
But Rachel always answered steadily: “Not yet,
Christie, not yet. I've got something to do before I
can think of doing any thing so beautiful as that. Only
love me, dear, and some day I'll show you all my heart,
and thank you as I ought.”
So Christie was content to wait, and, meantime, en-
joyed much; for, with Rachel as a friend, she ceased
to care for country pleasures, found happiness in the
work that gave her better food than mere daily bread,
and never thought of change; for love can make a
home for itself anywhere.
A very bright and happy time was this in Christie's
life ; but, like most happy times, it was very brief.
Only one summer allowed for the blossoming of the
friendship that budded so slowly in the spring; then
the frost came and killed the flowers; but the root lived
long underneath the snows of suffering, doubt, and
absence.
Coming to her work late one morning, she found the
usually orderly room in confusion. Some of the girls
were crying; some whispering together, — all looking
excited and dismayed. Mrs. King sat majestically at
her table, with an ominous frown upon her face. Miss
134
WORK.
Cotton stood beside her, looking unusually sour and
stern, for the ancient virgin's temper was not of the
best. Alone, before them all, with her face hidden in
her hands, and despair in every line of her drooping
figure, stood Rachel, -- a meek culprit at the stern bar
of justice, where women try a sister woman.
• What's the matter ?” cried Christie, pausing on the
threshold.

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DIRS. KING AND Miss COTTON.
SEAMSTRESS.
135
Rachel shivered, as if the sound of that familiar voice
was a fresh wound, but she did not lift her head; and
Mrs. King answered, with a nervous emphasis that
made the bugles of her head-dress rattle dismally:
“ A very sad thing, Miss Devon, — very sad, indeed; a
thing which never occurred in my establishment before,
and never shall again. It appears that Rachel, whom
we all considered a most respectable and worthy girl,
has been quite the reverse. I shudder to think what
the consequences of my taking her without a character
(a thing I never do, and was only tempted by her su-
perior taste as a trimmer) might have been if Miss Cot-
ton, having suspicions, had not made strict inquiry and
confirmed them.”
“That was a kind and generous act, and Miss Cotton
must feel proud of it,” said Christie, with an indignant
recollection of Mr. Fletcher's “ cautious inquiries” about
herself.
“ It was perfectly right and proper, Miss Devon; and
I thank her for her care of my interests." And Mrs.
King bowed her acknowledgment of the service with
a perfect castanet accompaniment, whereat Miss Cot-
ton bridled with malicious complacency.
“ Mrs. King, are you sure of this ? ” said Christie.
“Miss Cotton does not like Rachel because her work is
so much praised. May not her jealousy make her un-
just, or her zeal for you mislead her ? "
“I thank you for your polite insinuations, miss," re-
turned the irate forewoman. “I never make mistakes;
but you will find that you have made a very great one
in choosing Rachel for your bosom friend instead of
some one who would be a credit to you. Ask the creat-
136
WORR.
ure herself if all I've said of her isn't true. She can't
deny it."
With the same indefinable misgiving which had held
her aloof, Christie turned to Rachel, lifted up the hid-
ingly, as she whispered : “ Is it true ?"
The woful countenance she saw made any other
answer needless. Involuntarily her hands fell away,
and she hid her own face, uttering the one reproach,
which, tender and tearful though it was, seemed harder
to be borne than the stern condemnation gone before.
“Oh, Rachel, I so loved and trusted you!”
The grief, affection, and regret that trembled in her
voice roused Rachel from her state of passive endurance
and gave her courage to plead for herself. But it was
Christie whom she addressed, Christie whose pardon
she implored, Christie's sorrowful reproach that she
most keenly felt.
“Yes, it is true,” she said, looking only at the woman
who had been the first to befriend and now was the last
to desert her. “It is true that I once went astray, but
God knows I have repented; that for years I've tried to
be an honest girl again, and that but for this help I
should be a far sadder creature than I am this day.
Christie, you can never know how bitter hard it is to
outlive a sin like mine, and struggle up again from such
a fiill. It clings to me; it won't be shaken off or buried
out of sight. No sooner do I find a safe place like this,
and try to forget the past, than some one reads my
secret in my face and hunts me down. It seems very
cruel, very hard, yet it is my punishment, so I try to
bear it, and begin again. What hurts me now more
SEAMSTRESS.
137
than all the rest, what breaks my heart, is that I
deceived you. I never meant to do it. I did not seek
you, did I ? I tried to be cold and stiff; never asked
for love, though starving for it, till you came to me, so
kind, so generous, so dear, — how could I help it ?. Oh,
how could I help it then?”
Christie had watched Rachel while she spoke, and
spoke to her alone; her heart yearned toward this one
friend, for she still loved her, and, loving, she believed
in her.
“I don't reproach you, dear: I don't despise or desert
you, and though I'm grieved and disappointed; I'll
stand by you still, because you need me more than
ever now, and I want to prove that I am a true friend.
Mrs. King, please forgive and let poor Rachel stay
here, safe among us.”
“Miss Devon, I'm surprised at you! By no means;
it would be the ruin of my establishment; not a girl
would remain, and the character of my rooms would
be lost for ever," replied Mrs. King, goaded on by the
relentless Cotton.
“But where will she go if you send her away? Who
will employ her if you inform against her? What
stranger will believe in her if we, who have known her
so long, fail to befriend her now? Mrs. King, think
of your own daughters, and be a mother to this poor
girl for their sake."
That last stroke touched the woman's heart; her
cold eye softened, her hard mouth relaxed, and pity
was about to win the day, when prudence, in the shape
of Miss Cotton, turned the scale, for that spiteful spins-
ter suddenly cried out, in a burst of righteous wrath:
138
WORK.
“ If that hussy stays, I leave this establishment for
ever!” and followed up the blow by putting on her
bonnet with a flourish.
At this spectacle, self-interest got the better of sym-
pathy in Mrs. King's worldly mind. To lose Cotton
was to lose her right hand, and charity at that price was
too expensive a luxury to be indulged in; so she
hardened her heart, composed her features, and said,
impressively:
“ Take off your bonnet, Cotton; I have no intention
of offending you, or any one else, by such a step. I
forgive you, Rachel, and I pity you ; but I can't think
of allowing you to stay. There are proper institutions
for such as you, and I advise you to go to one and re-
pent. You were paid Saturday night, so nothing pre-
vents your leaving at once. Time is money here, and
we are wasting it. Young ladies, take your seats.”
· All but Christie obeyed, yet no one touched a needle,
and Mrs. King sat, hurriedly stabbing pins into the fat
cushion on her breast, as if testing the hardness of her
heart.
Rachel's eye went round the room; saw pity, aver-
sion, or contempt, on every face, but met no answering
glance, for even Christie's eyes were bent thoughtfully
on the ground, and Christie's heart seemed closed
against her. As she looked her whole manner changed;
her tears ceased to fall, her face grew hard, and a reck-
less mood seemed to take possession of her, as if find-
ing herself deserted by womankind, she would desert
her own womanhood.
“I might have known it would be so," she said ab-
ruptly, with a bitter smile, sadder to see than her most
SEAMSTRESS.
139
hopeless tears. “It's no use for such as me to try; bet-
ter go back to the old life, for there are kinder hearts
arnong the sinners than among the saints, and no one
can live without a bit of love. Your Magdalen Asylums
are penitentiaries, not homes ; I won't go to any of
them. Your piety isn't worth much, for though you
read in your Bible how the Lord treated a poor soul
like me, yet when I stretch out my hand to you for
help, not one of all you virtuous, Christian women dare
take it and keep me from a life that's worse than hell."
As she spoke Rachel flung out her hand with a half-
defiant gesture, and Christie took it. That touch, full
of womanly compassion, seemed to exorcise the des-
perate spirit that possessed the poor girl in her despair,
for, with a stifled exclamation, she sunk down at Chris-
tie's feet, and lay there weeping in all the passionate
abandonment of love and gratitude, remorse and shame.
Never had human voice sounded so heavenly sweet to
her as that which broke the silence of the room, as
this one friend said, with the earnestness of a true and
tender heart:
“ Mrs. King, if you send her away, I must take her
in; for if she does go back to the old life, the sin of it
will lie at our door, and God will remember it against
us in the end. Some one must trust her, help her, love
her, and so save her, as nothing else will. Perhaps I
can do this better than you, ----at least, I'll try; for even
if I risk the loss of my good name, I could bear that bet-
ter than the thought that Rachel had lost the work of
these hard years for want of upholding now. She shall
come home with me; no one there need know of this
discovery, and I will take any work to her that you
140
WORK.
will give me, to keep her from want and its tempta-
tions. Will you do this, and let me sew for less, if I
can pay you for the kindness in no other way?”
Poor Mrs. King was “much tumbled up and down
in her own mind;” she longed to 'consent, but Cotton's
eye was upon her, and Cotton's departure would be an
irreparable loss, so she decided to end the matter in the
most summary manner. Plunging a particularly large
pin into her cushioned breast, as if it was a relief to
inflict that mock torture upon herself, she said sharply:
“ It is impossible. You can do as you please, Miss
Devon, but I prefer to wash my hands of the affair at
once and entirely."
Christie's eye went from the figure at her feet to the
hard-featured woman who had been a kind and just
mistress until now, and she asked, anxiously :
“Do you mean that you wash your hands of me also,
if I stand by Rachel ?”
“I do. I'm very sorry, but my young ladies must
keep respectable company, or leave my service,” was
the brief reply, for Mrs. King grew grimmer externally
as the mental rebellion increased internally. :
“ Then I will leave it !” cried Christie, with an indig-
nant voice and eye. “Come, dear, we'll go together."
And without a look or word for any in the room, she
raised the prostrate girl, and led her out into the little
hall.
There she essayed to comfort her, but before many
words had passed her lips Rachel looked up, and she
was silent with surprise, for the face she saw was
neither despairing nor defiant, but beautifully sweet
and clear, as the unfallen spirit of the woman shone
SEAMSTRESS.
141
through the grateful eyes, and blessed her for her
loyalty.
“ Christie, you have done enough for me,” she said.
.6 Go back, and keep the good place you need, for such
are hard to find. I can get on alone; I'm used to this,
and the pain will soon be over."
“I'll not go back ! ” cried Christie, hotly. I'll do
. slop-work and starve, before I 'll stay with such a nar-
row-minded, cold-hearted woman. Come home with
me at once, and let us lay our plans together.”
“No, dear; if I wouldn't go when you first asked me,
much less will I go now, for I've done you harm
enough already. I never can thank you for your great
goodness to me, never tell you what it has been to me.
We must part now; but some day I'll come back and
show you that I've not forgotten how you loved and
helped and trusted me, when all the others cast me
off.”
Vain were Christie's arguments and appeals. Rachel
was immovable, and all her friend could win from her
was a promise to send word, now and then, how things
prospered with her.
“ And, Rachel, I charge you to come to me in any
strait, no matter what it is, no matter where I am; for
if any thing could break my heart, it would be to know
that you had gone back to the old life, because there
was no one to help and hold you up."
“I never can go back; you have saved me, Christie,
for you love me, you have faith in me, and that will
keep me strong and safe when you are gone. Oh, my
dear, my dear, God bless you for ever and for ever!”
Then Christie, remembering only that they were two
142
WORK.
loving women, alone in a world of sin and sorrow,
took Rachel in her arms, kissed and cried over her
with sisterly affection, and watched her prayerfully,
as she went away to begin her hard task anew, with.
nothing but the touch of innocent lips upon her cheek,
the baptism of tender tears upon her forehead to keep
her from despair.
Still cherishing the hope that Rachel would come
back to her, Christie neither returned to Mrs. King
nor sought another place of any sort, but took home
work from a larger establishment, and sat sewing dili-
gently in her little room, waiting, hoping, longing for
her friend. But month after month went by, and no
word, no sign came to comfort her. She would not
doubt, yet she could not help fearing, and in her
nightly prayer no petition was more fervently made
than that which asked the Father of both saint and
sinner to keep poor Rachel safe, and bring her back in
his good time.
Never had she been so lonely as now, for Christie
had a social heart, and, having known the joy of a
cordial friendship even for a little while, life seemed
very barren to her when she lost it. No new friend
took Rachel's place, for none came to her, and a feeling
of loyalty kept her from seeking one. But she suf-
fered for the want of genial society, for all the ten-
derness of her nature seemed to have been roused by
that brief but most sincere affection. Her hungry
heart clamored for the happiness that was its right,
and grew very heavy as she watched friends or lovers
walking in the summer twilight when she took her
evening stroll. Often her eyes followed some humble
SE AMSTRESS.
143
pair, longing to bless and to be blessed by the divine
passion whose magic beautifies the little milliner and
her lad with the same tender grace as the poet and the
mistress whom he makes immortal in a song. But
neither friend nor lover came to Christie, and she said
to herself, with a sad sort of courage:
“I shall be solitary all my life, perhaps; so the sooner
I make up my mind to it, the easier it will be to
bear."
At Christmas-tide she made a little festival for her-
self, by giving to each of the household drudges the
most generous gift she could afford, for no one else
thought of them, and having known some of the hard-
ships of servitude herself, she had much sympathy with
those in like case.
Then, with the pleasant recollection of two plain
faces, brightened by gratitude, surprise, and joy, she
went out into the busy streets to forget the solitude she
left behind her.
Very gay they were with snow and sleigh-bells, holly-
boughs, and garlands, below, and Christmas sunshine
in the winter sky above. All faces shone, all voices had
a cheery ring, and everybody stepped briskly on
errands of good-will. Up and down went Christie,
making herself happy in the happiness of others.
Looking in at the shop-windows, she watched, with
interest, the purchases of busy parents, calculating how
best to fill the little socks hung up at home, with a
childish faith that never must be disappointed, no mat-
ter how hard the times might be. She was glad to see
so many turkeys on their way to garnish hospitable
tables, and hoped that alļ the dear home circles might
144
WORK.
be found unbroken, though she had place in none. No
Christmas-tree went by leaving a whiff of piny sweet-
ness behind, that she did not wish it all success, and
picture to herself the merry little people dancing in its
window full of goodies, smiling even while it shivered,
she could not resist playing Santa Claus till her purse
was empty, sending the poor little souls enraptured
home with oranges and apples in either hand, and
splendid sweeties in their pockets, for the babies.
No envy mingled with the melancholy that would
not be dispelled even by these gentle acts, for her heart
was very tender that night, and if any one had asked
what gifts she desired most, she would have answered
with a look more pathetic than any shivering child had
given her:
“I want the sound of a loving voice; the touch of a
friendly hand.”
no Christmas fire burned, no tree shone, no household
group awaited her, she climbed the long, dark stairs,
with drops on her cheeks, warmer than any melted
snow-flake could have left, and opening her door
paused on the threshold, smiling with wonder and
delight, for in her absence some gentle spirit had
remembered her. A fire burned cheerily upon the
hearth, her lamp was lighted, a lovely rose-tree, in full
bloom, filled the air with its delicate breath, and in its
shadow lay a note from Rachel.
“A merry Christmas and a happy New Year, Chris-
tie! Long ago you gave me your little rose; I have
SEAMSTRESS.
145
watched and tended it for your sake, dear, and now
when I want to show my love and thankfulness, I give
it back again as my one treasure. I crept in while you
were gone, because I feared I might harm you in some
way if you saw me. I longed to stay and tell you that
I am safe and well, and busy, with your good face looķ-
ing into mine, but I don't deserve that yet. Only love
me, trust me, pray for me, and some day you shall
know what you have done for me. Till then, God bless
and keep you, dearest friend, your RACHEL"
Never had sweeter tears fallen than those that
dropped upon the little tree as Christie took it in her
arms, and all the rosy clusters leaned toward her as if
eager to deliver tender messages. Surely her wish was
granted now, for friendly hands had been at work for
her. Warm against her heart lay words as precious as
if uttered by a loving voice, and nowhere, on that
happy night, stood a fairer Christmas tree than that
which bloomed so beautifully from the heart of a Mag-
dalen who loved much and was forgiven.
7*
CHAPTER VII.
THROUGH THE MIST.
THE year that followed was the saddest Christie
1 had ever known, for she suffered a sort of poverty
which is more difficult to bear than actual want, since
money cannot lighten it, and the rarest charity alone
can minister to it. Her heart was empty and she could
not fill it; her soul was hungry and she could not feed
it; life was cold and dark and she could not warm and
brighten it, for she knew not where to go.
She tried to help herself by all the means in her
power, and when effort after effort failed she said: “I
am not good enough yet to deserve happiness. I think
too much of human love, too little of divine. When I
have made God my friend perhaps He will let me find
and keep one heart to make life happy with. How
shall I know God? Who will tell me where to find
Him, and help me to love and lean upon Him as I
ought ?”
In all sincerity she asked these questions, in all sin-
cerity she began her search, and with pathetic patience
waited for an answer. She read many books, some
wise, some vague, some full of superstition, all unsatis-
factory to one who wanted a living God. She went to
THROUGH THE MIST.
147
many churches, studied many creeds, and watched
their fruits as well as she could ; but still remained
unsatisfied. Some were cold and narrow, some seemed
theatrical and superficial, some stern and terrible, none
simple, sweet, and strong enough for humanity's many
needs. There was too much machinery, too many
walls, laws, and penalties between the Father and his
children. Too much fear, too little love; too many
saints and intercessors; too little faith in the instincts
of the soul which turns to God as flowers to the sun.
Too much idle strife about names and creeds; too little
but godliness, whose creed is boundless and benignant
little children in their mother's love.
Nowhere did Christie find this all-sustaining power,
this paternal friend, and comforter, and after months of
patient searching she gave up her.quest, saying, de-
spondently:
“I'm afraid I never shall get religion, for all that's
offered me seems so poor, so narrow, or so hard that I
cannot take it for my stay. A God of wrath I cannot
love; a God that must be propitiated, adorned, and
adored like an idol I cannot respect; and a God who
can be blinded to men's iniquities through the week by
a little beating of the breast and bowing down on the
seventh day, I cannot serve. I want a Father to whom
I can go with all my sins and sorrows, all my hopes and
joys, as freely and fearlessly as I used to go to my
human father, sure of help and sympathy and love.
Shall I ever find Him?”
Alas, poor Christie! she was going through the sor-
148
WORR.
rowful perplexity that comes to so many before they
learn that religion cannot be given or bought, but must
grow as trees grow, needing frost and snow, rain and
wind to strengthen it before it is deep-rooted in the
soul; that God is in the hearts of all, and they that
seek shall surely find Him when they need Him most.
So Christie waited for religion to reveal itself to her,
and while she waited worked with an almost desperate
industry, trying to buy a little happiness for herself by
giving a part of her earnings to those whose needs
money could supply. She clung to her little room, for
there she could live her own life undisturbed, and pre-
ferred to stint herself in other ways rather than give
up this liberty. Day after day she sat there sewing
health of mind and body into the long seams or dainty
stitching that passed through her busy hands, and while
she sewed she thought sad, bitter, oftentimes rebellious
thoughts.
It was the worst life she could have led just then,
for, deprived of the active, cheerful influences she most
needed, her mind preyed on itself, slowly and surely,
preparing her for the dark experience to come. She
knew that there was fitter work for her somewhere,
but how to find it was a problem which wiser women
have often failed to solve. She was no pauper, yet was
one of those whom poverty sets at odds with the world,
for favors burden and dependence makes the bread
bitter unless love brightens the one and sweetens the
other.
There are many Christies, willing to work, yet unable
to bear the contact with coarser natures which makes
labor seem degrading, or to endure the hard struggle
THROUGH THE MIST.
149
for the bare necessities of life when life has lost all that
makes it beautiful. People wonder when such as she
say they can find little to do; but to those who know
nothing of the pangs of pride, the sacrifices of feeling,
the martyrdoms of youth, love, hope, and ambition that
go on under the faded cloaks of these poor gentle-
women, who tell them to go into factories, or scrub in
kitchens, for there is work enough for all, the most con-
vincing answer would be, “ Try it.”
· Christie kept up bravely till a wearisome low fever
broke both strength and spirit, and brought the weight
of debt upon her when least fitted to bear or cast it off.
For the first time she began to feel that she had nerves
which would rebel, and a heart that could not long
endure isolation from its kind without losing the cheer-
ful courage which hitherto had been her staunchest
friend. Perfect rest, kind care, and genial society were
the medicines she needed, but there was no one to min-
ister to her, and she went blindly on along the road so
many women tread.
She left her bed too soon, fearing to ask too much of .
the busy people who had done their best to be neigh-
borly. She returned to her work when it felt heavy in
her feeble hands, for debt made idleness seem wicked
to her conscientious mind. And, worst of all, she fell
back into the bitter, brooding mood which had become
habitual to her since she lived alone. While the tired
hands slowly worked, the weary brain ached and burned
with heavy thoughts, vain longings, and feverish fancies,
till things about her sometimes seemed as strange and
spectral as the phantoms that had haunted her half-
delirious sleep. Inexpressibly wretched were the dreary
150
WORK.
days, the restless nights, with only pain and labor for
companions. The world looked very dark to her, life
seemed an utter failure, God a delusion, and the long,
lonely years before her too hard to be endured.
It is not always want, insanity, or sin that drives
women to desperate deaths; often it is a dreadful lone-
liness of heart, a hunger for home and friends, worse
than starvation, a bitter sense of wrong in being denied
the tender ties, the pleasant duties, the sweet rewards
that can make the humblest life happy; a rebellious
protest against God, who, when they cry for bread,
seems to offer them a stone. Some of these impatient
souls throw life away, and learn too late how rich it
might have been with a stronger faith, a more sub-
missive spirit. Others are kept, and slowly taught to
stand and wait, till blest with a happiness the sweeter
for the doubt that went before.
· There came a time to Christie when the mist about
her was so thick she would have stumbled and fallen
had not the little candle, kept alight by her own hand,
showed her how far “ a good deed shines in a naughty
world ;” and when God seemed utterly forgetful of her
He sent a friend to save and comfort her.
March winds were whistling among the house-tops,
and the sky was darkening with a rainy twilight as
Christie folded up her finished work, stretched her
weary limbs, and made ready for her daily walk. Even
this was turned to profit, for then she took home her
work, went in search of more, and did her own small
marketing. As late hours and unhealthy labor de-
stroyed appetite, and unpaid debts made each mouthful
difficult to swallow with Mrs. Flint's hard eye upon
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151
her, she had undertaken to supply her own food, and
so lessen the obligation that burdened her. An unwise
retrenchment, for, busied with the tasks that must be
done, she too often neglected or deferred the meals to
which no society lent interest, no appetite gave flavor;
and when the fuel was withheld the fire began to die
out spark by spark.
As she stood before the little mirror, smoothing the
hair upon her forehead, she watched the face reflected
there, wondering if it could be the same she used to
see so full of youth and hope and energy.
“Yes, I'm growing old; my youth is nearly over,
and at thirty I shall be a faded, dreary woman, like so
many I see and pity. It's hard to come to this after
trying so long to find my place, and do my duty. I'm
a failure after all, and might as well have stayed with
Aunt Betsey or married Joe."
“Miss Devon, to-day is Saturday, and I'm makin' up
my bills, so I'll trouble you for your month's board,
and as much on the old account as you can let me
have.”
Mrs. Flint spoke, and her sharp voice rasped the
silence like a file, for she had entered without knocking,
and her demand was the first intimation of her pres-
ence.
Christie turned slowly round, for there was no elas-
ticity in her motions now; through the melancholy
anxiety her face always wore of late, there came the
worried look of one driven almost beyond endurance,
and her hands began to tremble nervously as she tied
on her bonnet. Mrs. Flint was a hard woman, and
dunned her debtors relentlessly; Christie dreaded the
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sight of her, and would have left the house had she
þeen free of debt.
“ I am just going to take these things home and get
more work. I am sure of being paid, and you shall
have all I get. But, for Heaven's sake, give me time.”
Two days and a night of almost uninterrupted labor
had given a severe strain to her nerves, and left her in
a dangerous state. Something in her face arrested
Mrs. Flint's attention ; she observed that Christie was
putting on her best cloak and hat, and to her suspicious
eye the bundle of work looked unduly large.
It had been a hard day for the poor woman, for the
cook had gone off in a huff; the chamber girl been
detected in petty larceny; two desirable boarders had
disappointed her; and the incapable husband had fallen
ill, so it was little wonder that her soul was tried, ber
sharp voice sharper, and her sour temper sourer than
ever.
“I have heard of folks putting on their best things
and going out, but never coming back again, when
they owed money. It's a mean trick, but it's some-
times done by them you wouldn't think it of,” she said,
with an aggravating sniff of intelligence.
To be suspected of dishonesty was the last drop in
Christie's full cup. She looked at the woman with a
strong desire to do something violent, for every nerve
was tingling with irritation and anger. But she con-
trolled herself, though her face was colorless and her
hands were more tremulous than before. Unfastening
her. comfortable cloak she replaced it with a shabby
shawl; took off her neat bonnet and put on a hood,
unfolded six linen shirts, and shook them out before her
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153
landlady's eyes; then retied the parcel, and, pausing on
the threshold of the door, looked back with an expres-
sion that haunted the woman long afterward, as she
said, with the quiver of strong excitement in her voice:
“Mrs. Flint, I have always dealt honorably by you;
I always mean to do it, and don't deserve to be sus-
pected of dishonesty like that. I leave every thing I
own behind me, and if I don't come back, you can sell
them all and pay yourself, for I feel now as if I never
wanted to see you or this room again.”
Then she went rapidly away, supported by her indig-
nation, for she had done her best to pay her debts; had
sold the few trinkets she possessed, and several treas-
ures given by the Carrols, to settle her doctor's bill,
and had been half killing herself to satisfy Mrs. Flint's
deinands. The consciousness that she had been too
lavish in her generosity when fortune smiled upon her,
made the present want all the harder to bear. But she
would neither beg nor borrow, though she knew Harry
would delight to give, and Uncle Enos lend her money,
with a lecture on extravagance, gratis.
“I'll paddle my own canoe as long as I can,” she
said, sternly; "and when I must ask help I'll turn to
strangers for it, or scuttle my boat, and go down with-
out troubling any one.”
When she came to her employer's door, the servant
said: “Missis was out;" then seeing Christie's disap-
pointed face, she added, confidentially:
“ If it's any comfort to know it, I can tell you that
missis wouldn't have paid you if she had a been to
home. There's been three other women here with
work, and she's put 'em all off. She always does, and
154
WORK.
beats 'em down into the bargain, which ain't genteel to
my thinkin'."
: “She promised me I should be well paid for these,
because I undertook to get them done without fail.
I've worked day and night rather than disappoint her,
and felt sure of my money,” said Christie, despond-
ently.
“I'm sorry, but you won't get it. She told me to
tell you your prices was too high, and she could find
folks to work cheaper.”
“She did not object to the price when I took the
stitching. See if it isn't nicely done." And Christie
displayed her exquisite needlework with pride..
The girl admired it, and, having a grievance of her
own, took satisfaction in berating her mistress.
“ It's a shame! These things are part of a present
the ladies are going to give the minister; but I don't
believe he 'll feel easy in 'em if poor folks is wronged
to get 'em. Missis won't pay what they are worth, I
know; for, don't you see, the cheaper the work is done,
the more money she has to make a spread with her
share of the present ? It's my opinion you'd better
hold on to these shirts till she pays for 'em handsome.”
“No; I'll keep my promise, and I hope she will
keep hers. Tell her I need the money very much, and
have worked very hard to please her. I'll come again
on Monday, if I'm able.”
Christie's lips trembled as she spoke, for she was
feeble still, and the thought of that hard-earned money
had been her sustaining hope through the weary hours
spent over that ill-paid work. The girl said “Good-
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155
·
bye,” with a look of mingled pity and respect, for in
her eyes the seamstress was more of a lady than the
mistress in this transaction.
Christie hurried to another place, and asked eagerly
if the young ladies had any work for her. “Not a
stitch," was the reply, and the door closed. She stood
a moment looking down upon the passers-by wonder-
ing what answer she would get if she accosted any one;
and had any especially benevolent face looked back at
her she would have been tempted to do it, so heart-sick
and forlorn did she feel just then.
She knocked at several other doors, to receive the
same reply. She even tried a slop-shop, but it was
full, and her pale face was against her. Her long ill-
ness had lost her many patrons, and if one steps ont
from the ranks of needle-women it is very hard to press
in again, so crowded are they, and so desperate the
need of money.
One hope remained, and, though the way was long,
and a foggy drizzle had set in, she minded neither dis-
tance nor the chilly rain, but hurried away with anxious
thoughts still dogging her steps. Across a long bridge,
through muddy roads and up a stately avenue she
went, pausing, at last, spent and breathless at another
door.
A servant with a wedding-favor in his button-hole
opened to her, and, while he went to deliver her urgent
message, she peered in wistfully from the dreary world
without, catching glimpses of home-love and happiness
that made her heart ache for very pity of its own lone-
liness.
A wedding was evidently afoot, for hall and staircase
1
156
WORK.
:
blazed with light and bloomed with flowers. Smiling
men and maids ran to and fro; opening doors showed
tables beautiful with bridal white and silver; savory
odors filled the air; gay voices echoed above and
below; and once she caught a brief glance at the
bonny bride, standing with her father's arm about her,
while her mother gave some last, loving touch to her
array; and a group of young sisters with April faces
clustered - round her.
The pretty picture vanished all too soon; the man
returned with a hurried “No” for answer, and Christie
went out into the deepening twilight with a strange
sense of desperation at her heart. It was not the
refusal, not the fear of want, nor the reaction of over-
taxed nerves alone; it was the sharpness of the con-
trast between that other woman's fate and her own that
made her wring her hands together, and cry out,
bitterly:
“Oh, it isn't fair, it isn't right, that she should have
so much and I so little! What have I ever done to be
so desolate and miserable, and never to find any happi-
ness, however hard I try to do what seems my duty ?”
There was no answer, and she went slowly down the
long avenue, feeling that there was no cause for hurry
now, and even night and rain and wind were better
than her lonely room or Mrs. Flint's complaints. Afar
off the city lights shone faintly through the fog, like
pale lamps seen in dreams; the damp air cooled her
feverish cheeks; the road was dark and still, and she
longed to lie down and rest among the sodden leaves.
When she reached the bridge she saw the draw was
up, and a spectral ship was slowly passing through.
THROUGH THE MIST.
157
With no desire to mingle in the crowd that waited on
either side, she paused, and, leaning on the railing, let
her thoughts wander where they would. As she stood
there the heavy air seemed to clog her breath and
wrap her in its chilly arms. She felt as if the springs
of life were running down, and presently would stop;
for, even when the old question, “ What shall I do?”
came haunting her, she no longer cared even to try to
answer it, and had no feeling but one of utter weari-
ness. She tried to shake off the strange mood that
was stealing over her, but spent body and spent brain
were not strong enough to obey her will, and, in spite
of her efforts to control it, the impulse that had seized
· her grew more intense each moment.
Why should I work and suffer any longer for my-
self alone ?” she thought; “why wear out my life
struggling for the bread I have no heart to eat ? I am
not wise enough to find my place, nor patient enough
to wait until it comes to me. Better give up trying,
and leave room for those who have something to live
for."
Many a stronger soul has known a dark hour when
the importunate wish has risen that it were possible
and right to lay down the burdens that oppress, the
perplexities that harass, and hasten the coming of the
long sleep that needs no lullaby. Such an hour was
this to Christie, for, as she stood there, that sorrowful
bewilderment which we call despair came over her, and
ruled her with a power she could not resist.
A flight of steps close by led to a lumber wharf, and,
scarcely knowing why, she went down there, with a
vague desire to sit still somewhere, and think her way
158
WORK.
out of the mist that seemed to obscure her mind. A
single tall lamp shone at the farther end of the plat-
form, and presently she found herself leaning her hot
forehead against the iron pillar, while she watched with
curious interest the black water rolling sluggishly
below.
She knew it was no place for her, yet no one waited
for her, no one would care if she staid for ever, and,
yielding to the perilous fascination that drew her there,
she lingered with a heavy throbbing in her temples, and
a troop of wild fancies whirling through her brain.
Something white swept by below, — only a broken oar
- but she began to wonder how a human body would
look floating through the night. It was an awesome
fancy, but it took possession of her, and, as it grew, her
eyes dilated, her breath came fast, and her lips fell
apart, for she seemed to see the phantom she had con-
jured up, and it wore the likeness of herself. .
With an ominous chill creeping through her blood,
and a growing tumult in her mind, she thought, “I
must go,” but still stood motionless, leaning over the
wide gulf, eager to see where that dead thing would
pass away. So plainly did she see it, so peaceful was
the white face, so full of rest the folded hands, so
strangely like, and yet unlike, herself, that she seemed
to lose her identity, and wondered which was the real
and which the imaginary Christie. Lower and lower
she bent; looser and looser grew her hold upon the
pillar; faster and faster beat the pulses in her temples,
and the rush of some blind impulse was swiftly coming
on, when a hand seized and caught her back.
For an instant every thing grew black before her

THROUGH THE MIST.
159
eyes, and the earth seemed to slip away from under-
neath her feet. Then she was herself again, and found
that she was sitting on a pile of lumber, with her head
uncovered, and a woman's arm about her.
THE RESCUE.
“Was I going to drown myself?” she asked, slowly,
with a fancy that she had been dreaming frightfully,
and some one had wakened her.
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WORK.
6 You were most gone; but I came in time, thank
God! O Christie ! don't you know me ?”
Ah! no fear of that; for with one bewildered look,
one glad cry of recognition, Christie found her friend
again, and was gathered close to Rachel's heart.
“My dear, my dear, what drove you to it? Tell
me all, and let me help you in your trouble, as you
helped me in mine," she said, as she tenderly laid the
poor, white face upon her breast, and wrapped her
shawl about the trembling figure clinging to her with
such passionate delight.
“I have been ill; I worked too hard; I'm not
myself to-night. I owe money. People disappoint and
worry me; and I was so worn out, and weak, and
wicked, I think I meant to take my life.”
“No, dear; it was not you that meant to do it,
but the weakness and the trouble that bewildered you.
Forget it all, and rest a little, safe with me; then we'll
talk again."
Rachel spoke soothingly, for Christie shivered and
sighed as if her own thoughts frightened her. For a
moment they sat silent, while the mist trailed its. white
shroud above them, as if death had paused to beckon
a tired child away, but, finding her so gently cradled
on a warm, human heart, had relented and passed on,
leaving no waif but the broken oar for the river to
carry toward the sea.
6 Tell me about yourself, Rachel. Where have you
been so long? I've looked and waited for you ever
since the second little note you sent me on last Christ-
mas; but you never came."
“I've been away, dear heart, hard at work in another
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161
city, larger and wickeder than this. I tried to get work
here, that I might be near you; but that cruel Cotton
always found me out; and I was so afraid I should get
desperate that I went away where I was not known.
There it came into my mind to do for others more
wretched than I what you had done for me. God put
the thought into my heart, and he helped me in my
work, for it has prospered wonderfully. All this year
I have been busy with it, and almost happy; for I felt
that your love made me strong to do it, and that, in
time, I might grow good enough to be your friend."
“See what I am, Rachel, and never say that any
more!"
“Hush, my poor dear, and let me talk! You are not
able to do any thing, but rest, and listen: I knew how
many poor souls went wrong when the devil tempted
them; and I gave all my strength to saving those who
were going the way I went. I had no fear, no shame
to overcome, for I was one of them. They would listen
to me, for I knew what I spoke; they could believe in
salvation, for I was saved; they did not feel so outcast
and forlorn when I told them you had taken me into
your innocent arms, and loved me like a sister. With
every one I helped my power increased, and I felt as if
I had washed away a little of my own great sin. O
Christie ! never think it's time to die till you are called;
for the Lord leaves us till we have done our work, and
never sends more sin and sorrow than we can bear and
be the better for, if we hold fast by Him."
So beautiful and brave she looked, so full of strength
and yet of meek submission was her voice, that Chris-
tie's heart was thrilled; for it was plain that Rachel
162
WORR.
had learned how to distil balm from the bitterness of
life, and, groping in the mire to save lost souls, had
found her own salvation there.
you are," she said. “I am all wrong, and feel as if I
never could get right again, for I haven't energy
enough to care what becomes of me."
“I know the state, Christie : I've been through it all!
but when I stood where you stand now, there was no
hand to pull me back, and I fell into a blacker river
than this underneath our feet. Thank God, I came in
time to save you from either death!”
“How did you find me?” asked Christie, when she
had echoed in her heart the thanksgiving that came
with such fervor from the other's lips.
“I passed you on the bridge. I did not see your face,
but you stood leaning there so wearily, and looking
down into the water, as I used to look, that I wanted to
speak, but did not; and I went on to comfort a poor
however; and when I saw you down here I knew why
I was sent. You were almost gone, but I kept you ;
and when I had you in my arms I knew you, though
it nearly broke my heart to find you here. Now, dear,
come home.
“ Home! ah, Rachel, I've got no home, and for want
of one I shall be lost!”
The lament that broke from her was more pathetic
than the tears that streamed down, hot and heavy,
melting from her heart the frost of her despair. Her
friend let her weep, knowing well the worth of tears,
and while Christie sobbed herself quiet, Rachel took
thought for her as tenderly as any mother.
THROUGH THE MIST.
163
When she had heard the story of Christie's troubles,
she stood up as if inspired with a happy thought, and
stretching both hands to her friend, said, with an air
of cheerful assurance most comforting to see:
“I'll take care of you; come with me, my poor Chris-
tie, and I'll give you a home, very humble, but honest
and happy.”
“ With you, Rachel ?”
“No, dear, I must go back to my work, and you are
not fit for that. Neither must you go again to your
own room, because for you it is haunted, and the worst
place you could be in. You want change, and I'll give
you one. It will seem queer at first, but it is a whole-
some place, and just what you need.”
“I'll do any thing you tell me. I'm past thinking for
myself to-night, and only want to be taken care of
till I find strength and courage enough to stand alone,”
said Christie, rising slowly and looking about her with
an aspect as helpless and hopeless as if the cloud of
mist was a wall of iron.
Rachel put on her bonnet for her and wrapped her
shawl about her, saying, in a tender voice, that warmed
the other's heart :
“ Close by lives a dear, good woman who often be-
friends such as you and I. She will take you in with-
out a question, and love to do it, for she is the most
hospitable soul I know. Just tell her you want work,
that I sent you, and there will be no trouble. Then,
when you know her a little, confide in her, and you
will never come to such a pass as this again. Keep up
your heart, dear; I'll not leave you till you are safe.”
So cheerily she spoke, so confident she looked, that
164
WORK.
the lost expression passed from Christie's face, and
hand in hand they went away together, — two types of
the sad sisterbood standing on either shore of the dark
river that is spanned by a Bridge of Sighs.
Rachel led her friend toward the city, and, coming
to the mechanics' quarter, stopped before the door of
a small, old house.
“ Just knock, say · Rachel sent me,' and you'll find
yourself at home.”
“Stay with me, or let me go with you, I can't lose
you again, for I need you very much," pleaded Christie,
clinging to her friend.
“Not so much as that poor girl dying all alone.
She's waiting for me, and I must go. But I'll write
soon; and remember, Christie, I shall feel as if I had
only paid a very little of my debt if you go back to the
sad old life, and lose your faith and hope again. God
bless and keep you, and when we meet next time let
me find a happier face than this."
Rachel kissed it with her heart on her lips, smiled
her brave sweet smile, and vanished in the mist.
Pausing a moment to collect herself, Christie recol-
lected that she had not asked the name of the new
friend whose help she was about to ask. A little sign
on the door caught her eye, and, bending down, she
managed to read by the dim light of the street lamp
these words:
«C. WILKINS, Clear-Starcher.
“Laces done up in the best style."
Too tired to care whether a laundress or a lady took
her in, she knocked timidly, and, while she waited for
THROUGH THE MIST.
165
an answer to her summons, stood listening to the noises
within.
A swashing sound as of water was audible, likewise a
scuffling as of flying feet; some one clapped hands, and
a voice said, warningly, “Into your beds this instant
minute or I'll come to you! Andrew Jackson, give
Gusty a boost; Ann Lizy, don't you tech Wash's feet
to tickle 'em. Set pretty in the tub, Victory, dear,
while ma sees who's rappin'."

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“C. WILKINS, Clear STARCHER.”
Then heavy footsteps approached, the door opened
wide, and a large woman appeared, with fuzzy red
hair, no front teeth, and a plump, clean face, brightly
illuminated by the lamp she carried.
“If you please, Rachel sent me. She thought you
might be able” —
Christie got no further, for C. Wilkins put out a
strong bare arm, still damp, and gently drew her in,
166
WORK.
saying, with the same motherly tone as when address-
ing her children, “ Come right in, dear, and don't mind
the clutter things is in. I'm givin' the children their
Sat'day scrubbin', and they will slop and kite 'round,
no matter ef I do spank 'em.”
Talking all the way in such an easy, comfortable
voice that Christie felt as if she must have heard it
before, Mrs. Wilkins led her unexpected guest into a
small kitchen, smelling suggestively of soap-suds and
warm flat-irons. In the middle of this apartment was
a large tub; in the tub a chubby child sat, sucking a
sponge and staring calmly at the new-comer with a
pair of big blue eyes, while little drops shone in the
yellow curls and on the rosy shoulders.
“How pretty!” cried Christie, seeing nothing else
and stopping short to admire this innocent little Venus
rising from the sea.
“ So she is ! Ma’s darlin' lamb! and ketchin' her
death a cold this blessed minnit. Set right down, my
dear, and tuck your wet feet into the oven. I'll have
a dish o' tea for you in less ’n no time; and while it's
drawin' I'll clap Victory Adelaide into her bed.”
Christie sank into a shabby but most hospitable old
chair, dropped her bonnet on the floor, put her feet in
the oven, and, leaning back, watched Mrs. Wilkins
wipe the baby as if she had come for that especial pur-
pose. As Rachel predicted, she found herself at home
at once, and presently was startled to hear a laugh
from her own lips when several children in red and
yellow flannel night-gowns darted like meteors across
the open doorway of an adjoining room, with whoops
and howls, bursts of laughter, and antics of all sorts.
THROUGH THE MIST.
167
How pleasant it was; that plain room, with no orna-
ments but the happy faces, no elegance, but cleanliness,
no wealth, but hospitality and lots of love. This lat-
ter blessing gave the place its charm, for, though Mrs.
Wilkins threatened to take her infants' noses off if they
got out of bed again, or “put 'em in the kettle and
bile 'em” they evidently knew no fear, but gambolled
all the nearer to her for the threat; and she beamed
upon them with such maternal tenderness and pride
that her homely face grew beautiful in Christie's eyes.
When the baby was bundled up in a blanket and
about to be set down before the stove to simmer a
trifle before being put to bed, Christie held out her
arms, saying with an irresistible longing in her eyes
and voice:
“Let me hold her! I love babies dearly, and it seems
as if it would do me more good than quarts of tea to
cuddle her, if she'll let me.”
“There now, that's real sensible; and mother's bird 'll
set along with you as good as a kitten. Toast her
tootsies wal, for she's croupy, and I have to be extra
choice of her.”
“How good it feels ! ” sighed Christie, half devouring
the warm and rosy little bunch in her lap, while baby
lay back luxuriously, spreading her pink toes to the
pleasant warmth and smiling sleepily up in the hungry
face that hung over her."
Mrs. Wilkins's quick eyes saw it all, and she said to
herself, in the closet, as she cut bread and rattled down
a cup and saucer :
“That's what she wants, poor creeter; I'll let her
have a right nice time, and warm and feed and chirk
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WORK.
her up, and then I 'll see what's to be done for her. She
ain't one of the common sort, and goodness only knows
what Rachel sent her here for. She's poor and sick,
but she ain't bad. I can tell that by her face, and she's
the sort I like to help. It's a mercy I ain't eat my sup-
per, so she can have that bit of meat and the pie.”
Putting a tray on the little table, the good soul set
forth all she had to give, and offered it with such hos-
pitable warmth that Christie ate and drank with un-
accustomed appetite, finishing off deliciously with a
kiss from baby before she was borne away by her
mother to the back bedroom, where peace soon
reigned.
“Now let me tell you who I am, and how I came to
you in such an unceremonious way,” began Christie,
when her hostess returned and found her warmed,
refreshed, and composed by a woman's three best com-
forters, — kind words, a baby, and a cup of tea.
66 ?Pears to me, dear, I wouldn't rile myself up by
telling any werryments to-night, but git right warm
intér bed, and have a good long sleep,” said Mrs. Wil-
kins, without a ray of curiosity in her wholesome red
face.
“But you don't know any thing about me, and I may
be the worst woman in the world,” cried Christie,
anxious to prove herself worthy of such confidence.
“I know that you want takin' care of, child, or
Rachel wouldn't a sent you. Ef I can help any one, I
don't want no introduction; and ef you be the wust
woman in the world (which you ain't), I wouldn't shet
my door on you, for then you'd need a lift more ’n you
do now."
THROUGH THE MIST.
169
Christie could only put out her hand, and mutely
thank her new friend with full eyes.
“ You ’re fairly tuckered out, you poor soul, so you
up, else you 'll be down sick. It ain't a might of incon-
venience; the room is kep for company, and it's all
ready, even to a clean night-cap. I'm goin' to clap
this warm flat to your feet when you're fixed; it's
amazin' comfortin' and keeps your head cool.”
Up they went to a tidy little chamber, and Christie
found herself laid down to rest none too soon, for she
was quite worn out. Sleep began to steal over her the
moment her head touched the pillow, in spite of the
much beruffled cap which Mrs. Wilkins put on with
visible pride in its stifly crimped borders. She was
dimly conscious of a kind hand tucking her up, a com-
fortable voice purring over her, and, best of all, a
motherly good-night kiss, then the weary world faded
quite away and she was at rest.
CHAPTER VIII.
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.

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LISHA WILKINS.
W H EN Christie opened the eyes that had closed
W
W so wearily, afternoon sunshine streamed across
the room, and seemed the herald of happier days.
Refreshed by sleep, and comforted by grateful recollec-
tions of her kindly welcome, she lay tranquilly enjoy-
ing the friendly atmosphere about her, with so strong a
feeling that a skilful hand had taken the rudder, that
she felt very little anxiety or curiosity about the haven
which was to receive her boat after this narrow escape
from shipwreck.
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
171
.
Her eye wandered to and fro, and brightened as it
"went; for though a poor, plain room it was as neat as
hands could make it, and so glorified with sunshine
that she thought it a lovely place, in spite of the yellow
paper with green cabbage roses on it, the gorgeous
plaster statuary on the mantel-piece, and the fragrance
of dough-nuts which pervaded the air. Every thing
suggested home life, humble but happy, and Christie's
solitary heart warmed at the sights and sounds about
her.
A half open closet-door gave her glimpses of little
frocks and jackets, stubby little shoes, and go-to-meet-
ing hats all in a row. From below came up the sound
of childish voices chattering, childish feet trotting to
and fro, and childish laughter sounding sweetly through
the Sabbath stillness of the place. From a room near
by, came the soothing creak of a rocking-chair, the
rustle of a newspaper, and now and then a scrap of
conversation common-place enough, but pleasant to
hear, because so full of domestic love and confidence;
and, as she listened, Christie pictured Mrs. Wilkins and
her husband taking their rest together after the week's
hard work was done.
“I wish I could stay here; it's so comfortable and
home-like. I wonder if they wouldn't let me have this
room, and help me to find some better work than sew-
ing? I'll get up and ask them,” thought Christie,
feeling an irresistible desire to stay, and strong repug-
nance to returning to the room she had left, for, as
Rachel truly said, it was haunted for her.
When she opened the door to go down, Mrs. Wilkins
· 172
WORK.
bounced out of her rocking-chair and hurried to meet
her with a smiling face, saying all in one breath :
“Good mornin', dear! Rested well, I hope? I'm
proper glad to hear it. Now come right down and
have your dinner. I kep it hot, for I couldn't bear to
wake you up, you was sleepin' so beautiful.”
“I was so worn out I slept like a baby, and feel like
a new creature. It was so kind of you to take me in,
and I'm so grateful I don't know how to show it,” said
Christie, warmly, as her hostess ponderously descended
the complaining stairs and ushered her into the tidy
kitchen from which tubs and flat-irons were banished
one day in the week.
“Lawful sakes, the ain't nothing to be grateful for,
child, and you're heartily welcome to the little I done.
We are country folks in our ways, though we be livin’
in the city, and we have a reg’lar country dinner Sun-
days. Hope you 'll relish it; my vittles is clean ef
they ain't rich."
As she spoke, Mrs. Wilkins dished up baked beans,
Indian-pudding, and brown bread enough for half a
dozen. Christie was hungry now, and ate with an
appetite that delighted the good lady who vibrated
between her guest and her children, shut up in the
“settin’-room."
“Now please let me tell you all about myself, for I
am afraid you think me something better than I am.
If I ask help from you, it is right that you should
know whom you are helping,” said Christie, when the
table was cleared and her hostess came and sat down
beside her.
“ Yes, my dear, free your mind, and then we'll fix
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
173
things up right smart. Nothin' I like better, and Lisha
says I have considerable of a knack that way,” replied
Mrs. Wilkins, with a smile, a nod, and an air of interest
most reassuring.
So Christie told her story, won to entire confidence
by the sympathetic face opposite, and the motherly pats
so gently given by the big, rough hand that often met
her own. When all was told, Christie said very ear-
nestly:
“I am ready to go to work to-morrow, and will do
any thing I can find, but I should love to stay here a
little while, if I could; I do so dread to be alone. Is
it possible? I mean to pay my board of course, and
help you besides if you 'll let me."
Mrs. Wilkins glowed with pleasure at this compli-
ment, and leaning toward Christie, looked into her face
a moment in silence, as if to test the sincerity of the
wish. In that moment Christie saw what steady, saga-
cious eyes the woman had; so clear, so honest that
she looked through them into the great, warm heart
below, and looking forgot the fuzzy, red hair, the pau-
city of teeth, the faded gown, and felt only the attrac-
tion of a nature genuine and genial as the sunshine
dancing on the kitchen floor.
Beautiful souls often get put into plain bodies, but
they cannot be hidden, and have a power all their own,
the greater for the unconsciousness or the humility
which gives it grace. Christie saw and felt this then,
and when the homely woman spoke, listened to her
with implicit confidence.
“My dear, I'd no more send you away now than I
would my Adelaide, for you need looking after for a
174
WORK.
spell, most as much as she doos. You've been thinkin'
and broodin' too much, and sewin' yourself to death.
We'll stop all that, and keep you so busy there won't
be no time for the hypo. You're one of them that
can't live alone without starvin’ somehow, so I'm jest
goin' to turn you in among them children to paster, so
to speak. That's wholesome and fillin' for you, and
goodness knows it will be a puffect charity to me, for
I'm goin' to be dreadful drove with gettin' up curtins
and all manner of things, as spring comes on. So it
ain't no favor on my part, and you can take out your
board in tendin' baby and putterin' over them little
tykes."
“I should like it so much! But I forgot my debt to
Mrs. Flint; perhaps she won't let me go,” said Christie,
with an anxious cloud coming over her brightening
face.
“Merciful, suz! don't you be werried about her. I'll
see to her, and ef she acts ugly Lisha 'll fetch her
round; men can always settle such things better 'n we
can, and he's a dreadful smart man Lisha is. We'll
go to-morrer and get your belongins, and then settle
right down for a spell; and by-an’-by when you git a
trifle more chipper we 'll find a nice place in the country
somers. That's what you want; nothin' like green
grass and woodsy smells to right folks up. When I
was a gal, ef I got low in my mind, or riled in my
temper, I jest went out and grubbed in the gardin, or
made hay, or walked a good piece, and it fetched me
round beautiful. Never failed; so I come to see that
good fresh dirt is fust rate physic for folk's spirits as
it is for wounds, as they tell on."
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
175
:
“That sounds sensible and pleasant, and I like it.
- Oh, it is so beautiful to feel that somebody cares for
you a little bit, and you ain't one too many in the
world,” sighed Christie.
“Don't you never feel that agin, my dear. What's
the Lord for ef he ain't to hold on to in times of
trouble. Faith ain't wuth much ef it's only lively in
fair weather; you've got to believe hearty and stan'
by the Lord through thick and thin, and he'll stan' by
you as no one else begins to. I remember of havin'
this bore in upon me by somethin' that happened to a
when folks asked him what he thought when the bust
come, he said, real sober and impressive: "Wal, it come
through me, like a flash, that I'd served the Lord as
faithful as I knew how for a number a years, and I
guessed he'd fetch me through somehow, and he did.'
Sure enough the man warn’t killed; I'm bound to
confess he was shook dreadful, but his faith warn’t.”
Christie could not help smiling at the story, but she
liked it, and sincerely wished she could imitate the
hero of it in his piety, not his powder. She was about
to say so when the sound of approaching steps an-
nounced the advent of her host. She had been rather
impressed with the “smartness” of Lisha by his wife's
praises, but when a small, sallow, sickly looking man
came in she changed her mind; for not even an im-
mensely stiff collar, nor a pair of boots that seemed
composed entirely of what the boys call “ creak leather,"
could inspire her with confidence.
Without a particle of expression in his yellow face,
Mr. Wilkins nodded to the stranger over the picket
176
WORK.
fence of his collar, lighted his pipe, and clumped away
to enjoy his afternoon promenade without compromis-
ing himself by a single word.
His wife looked after him with an admiring gaze as
she said :
“ Them boots is as good as an advertisement, for he
made every stitch on 'em himself;" then she added,
laughing like a girl: “It's redick’lus my bein' so proud
of Lisha, but ef a woman ain't a right to think wal of
her own husband, I should like to know who has !”
Christie was afraid that Mrs. Wilkins had seen her
disappointment in her face, and tried, with wifely zeal,
to defend her lord from even a disparaging thought.
Wishing to atone for this transgression she was about
to sing the praises of the wooden-faced Elisha, but was
spared any polite fibs by the appearance of a small girl
who delivered an urgent message to the effect, that
“ Mis Plumly was down sick and wanted Mis Wilkins
to run over and set a spell."
As the good lady hesitated with an involuntary glance
at her guest, Christie said quickly:
“Don't mind me; I'll take care of the house for you
if you want to go. You may be sure I won't run off
with the children or steal the spoons."
“I ain't a mite afraid of anybody wantin' to steal
them little toads; and as for spoons, I ain't got a silver
one to bless myself with," laughed Mrs. Wilkins. "I
guess I will go, then, ef you don't mind, as it's only
acrost the street. Like's not settin' quiet will be better
for you 'n talkin', for I'm a dreadful hand to gab when
I git started. Tell Mis Plumly I'm a comin'."
Then, as the child ran off, the stout lady began to

A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
177
..
OVV
rummage in her closet, saying, as she rattled and
slammed:
“I'll jest take her a drawin' of tea and a couple of
nut-cakes: mebby she'll relish 'em, for I shouldn't
wonder ef she hadn't had a mouthful this blessed day.
She's dreadful slack at the best of times, but no one
can much wonder, seein' she's got nine children, and
is jest up from a rheumatic fever. I'm sure I never
grudge a meal of vittles or a hand's turn to such
as she is, though she does beat all for dependin' on
her neighbors. I'm a thousand times obleeged. You
needn't werry about the children, only don't let 'em
git lost, or burnt, or pitch out a winder; and when
it's done give 'em the patty-cake that's bakin' for
'em."
With which maternal orders Mrs. Wilkins assumed
a sky-blue bonnet, and went beaming away with sev-
eral dishes genteelly hidden under her purple shawl.
Being irresistibly attracted toward the children Chris-
tie opened the door and took a survey of her responsi-
bilities.
· Six lively infants were congregated in the “settin-
room, and chaos seemed to have come again, for every
sort of destructive amusement was in full operation.
George Washington, the eldest blossom, was shearing
a resigned kitten; Gusty and Ann Eliza were concoct-
ing mud pies in the ashes; Adelaide Victoria was
studying the structure of lamp-wicks, while Daniel
Webster and Andrew Jackson were dragging one
another in a clothes-basket, to the great detriment of
the old carpet and still older chariot.
Thinking that some employment more suited to the
.
8*
178
WORK.
day might be introduced, Christie soon made friends
with these young persons, and, having rescued the
kitten, banished the basket, lured the elder girls from
their mud-piety, and quenched the curiosity of the
Pickwickian Adelaide, she proposed teaching them
some little hymns.
The idea was graciously received, and the class deco-
rously seated in a row. But before a single verse was
given out, Gusty, being of a house-wifely turn of mind,
suggested that the patty-cake might burn. Instant
alarm pervaded the party, and a precipitate rush was
made for the cooking-stove, where Christie proved by
ocular demonstration that the cake showed no signs of
baking, much less of burning. The family pronounced
themselves satisfied, after each member had poked a
grimy little finger into the doughy delicacy, whereon
one large raisin reposed in proud pre-eminence over
the vulgar herd of caraways.
Order being with difficulty restored, Christie taught
her flock an appropriate hymn, and was flattering her-
self that their youthful minds were receiving a devo-
tional bent, when they volunteered a song, and incited
thereunto by the irreverent Wash, burst forth with a
gem from Mother Goose, closing with a smart skirmish
of arms and legs that set all law and order at defiance.
Hoping to quell the insurrection Christie invited the
breathless rioters to calm themselves by looking at the
pictures in the big Bible. But, unfortunately, her expla-
nations were so vivid that her audience were fired with
a desire to enact some of the scenes portrayed, and no
persuasions could keep them from playing Ark on the
spot. The clothes-basket was elevated upon two

1
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
179
chairs, and into it marched the birds of the air and the
beasts of the field, to judge by the noise, and all set
sail, with Washington at the helm, Jackson and Web-
ster plying the clothes and pudding-sticks for oars, while
the young ladies rescued their dolls from the flood, and
waved their hands to imaginary friends who were not
unmindful of the courtesies of life even in the act of
drowning

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Mrs. Wilkins' Sıx LIVELY INFANTS.
Finding her authority defied Christie left the rebels
to their own devices, and sitting in a corner, began to
· 180
WORK.
think about her own affairs. But before she had time
to get anxious or perplexed the children diverted her
mind, as if the little flibberty-gibbets knew that their
pranks and perils were far wholesomer for her just
then than brooding.
The much-enduring kitten being sent forth as a dove
upon the waters failed to return with the olive-branch;
of which peaceful emblem there was soon great need,
for mutiny broke out, and spread with disastrous ra-
pidity.
Ann Eliza slapped Gusty because she had the biggest
bandbox; Andrew threatened to “chuck” Daniel over-
board if he continued to trample on the fraternal toes,
and in the midst of the fray, by some unguarded
motion, Washington capsized the ship and precipitated
the patriarchal family into the bosom of the deep.
Christie flew to the rescue, and, hydropathically
treated, the anguish of bumps and bruises was soon
assuaged. Then appeared the appropriate moment for
a story, and gathering the dilapidated party about her
she soon enraptured them by a recital of the immortal
history of “Frank and the little dog Trusty." Charmed
with her success she was about to tell another moral
tale, but no sooner had she announced the name, « The
Three Cakes," when, like an electric flash a sudden
recollection seized the young Wilkinses, and with one
voice they demanded their lawful prize, sure that now
it must be done.
Christie had forgotten all about it, and was harassed
with secret misgivings as she headed the investigating
committee. With skipping of feet and clapping of
hands the eager tribe surrounded the stove, and with

A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
181
fear and trembling Christie drew forth a melancholy
cinder, where, like Casabianca, the lofty raisin still
remained, blackened, but undaunted, at its post.
Then were six little vials of wrath poured out upon
her devoted head, and sounds of lamentation filled the
air, for the irate Wilkinses refused to be comforted till
the rash vow to present each member of the outraged
family with a private cake produced a lull, during
which the younger ones were decoyed into the back
yard, and the three elders solaced themselves with
mischief.
Mounted on mettlesome broomsticks Andrew and
Daniel were riding merrily away to the Banbury Cross,
of blessed memory, and little Vic was erecting a pagoda
of oyster-shells, under Christie's superintendence, when
a shrill scream from within sent horsemen and archi-
tects flying to the rescue.
Gusty's pinafore was in a blaze; Ann Eliza was
dancing frantically about her sister as if bent on making
a suttee of herself, while George Washington hung out
of window, roaring, “Fire ! ” “ water!” “engine!”
“ pa!” with a presence of mind worthy of his sex.
A speedy application of the hearth-rug quenched the
conflagration, and when a minute burn had been envel- :
oped in cotton-wool, like a gem, a coroner sat upon the
pinafore and investigated the case.
· It appeared that the ladies were “ only playing paper
dolls,” when Wash, sighing for the enlightenment of his
race, proposed to make a bonfire, and did so with an
old book; but Gusty, with a firm belief in future pun-
ishment, tried to save it, and fell a victim to her prin-
ciples, as the virtuous are very apt to do.
182
WORK. .
The book was brought into court, and proved to be
an ancient volume of ballads, cut, torn, and half con-
sumed. Several peculiarly developed paper dolls,
branded here and there with large letters, like galley-
slaves, were then produced by the accused, and the
judge could with difficulty preserve her gravity when
she found“ John Gilpin ” converted into a painted
petticoat, “ The Bay of Biscay, 0," situated in the
crown of a hat, and “ Chevy Chase” issuing from the
mouth of a triangular gentleman, who, like Dickens's
cherub, probably sung it by ear, having no lungs to
speak of.
It was further apparent from the agricultural appear-
ance of the room that beans had been sowed broadcast
by means of the apple-corer, which Wash had con-
verted into a pop-gun with a mechanical ingenuity
worthy of more general appreciation. He felt this
deeply, and when Christie reproved him for leading his
sisters astray, he resented the liberty she took, and
retired in high dudgeon to the cellar, where he appeared
to set up a menagerie, — for bears, lions, and unknown
animals, endowed with great vocal powers, were heard
to solicit patronage from below.
Somewhat exhausted by her labors, Christie rested,
after clearing up the room, while the children found a
solace for all afflictions in the consumption of relays of
bread and molasses, which infantile restorative occurred
like an inspiration to the mind of their guardian.
Peace reigned for fifteen minutes; then came a loud
crash from the cellar, followed by a violent splashing,
and wild cries of, “ Oh, oh, oh, I've fell into the pork
barrel! I'm drownin', I'm drownin'!"

0
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
183
Down rushed Christie, and the sticky innocents ran
screaming after, to behold their pickled brother fished
up from the briny deep. A spectacle well calculated
to impress upon their infant minds the awful conse-
quences of straying from the paths of virtue.
At this crisis Mrs. Wilkins providentially appeared,
breathless, but brisk and beaming, and in no wise dis-
mayed by the plight of her luckless son, for a ten years'
acquaintance with Wash's dauntless nature had inured
his mother to “didoes” that would have appalled most
women.
“Go right up chamber, and change every rag on you,
and don't come down agin till I rap on the ceilin’; you
dreadful boy, disgracin' your family by sech actions.
I'm sorry I was kep' so long, but Mis Plumly got tellin'
her werryments, and 'peared to take so much comfort
in it I couldn't bear to stop her. Then I jest run
round to your place and told that woman that you was
safe and well, along’r friends, and would call in to-
morrer to get your things. She'd ben so scart by
your not comin' home that she was as mild as milk, so
you won't have no trouble with her, I expect."
“ Thank you very much! How kind you are, and
how tired you must be! Sit down and let me take
your things,” cried Christie, more relieved than she
could express.
“Lor', no, I'm fond of walkin', but bein' ruther hefty
it takes my breath away some to hurry. I'm afraid
these children have tuckered you out though. They
are proper good gen’lly, but when they do take to
trainen they're a sight of care,” said Mrs. Wilkins, as
she surveyed her imposing bonnet with calm satisfac-
tion.
184
WORK.
“I've enjoyed it very much, and it's done me good,
for I haven't laughed so much for six months as I have
this afternoon," answered Christie, and it was quite
true, for she had been too busy to think of herself or
her woes.
“Wal, I thought likely it would chirk you up some,
or I shouldn't have went," and Mrs. Wilkins put away
a contented smile with her cherished bonnet, for Chris-
tie's face had grown so much brighter since she saw it
last, that the good woman felt sure her treatment was
the right one.
At supper Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and
children talked incessantly, he ate four slices of bread
and butter, three pieces of pie, five dough-nuts, and
drank a small ocean of tea out of his saucer. Then,
evidently feeling that he had done his duty like a man,
he gave Christie another nod, and disappeared again
without a word.
When she had done up her dishes Mrs. Wilkins
brought out a few books and papers, and said to Chris-
tie, who sat apart by the window, with the old shadow
creeping over her face :
“Now don't feel lonesome, my dear, but jest lop
right down on the soffy and have a sociable kind of a
time. Lisha's gone down street for the evenin'. I'll
keep the children as quiet as one woman can, and you
may read or rest, or talk, jest as you 're a mind.”
“ Thank you; I'll sit here and rock little Vic to
sleep for you. I don't care to read, but I'd like to
have you talk to me, for it seems as if I'd known you
a long time and it does me good,” said Christie, as she
settled herself and baby on the old settee which had
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
185
served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now
received the honorable name of sofa in its old age.
Mrs. Wilkins looked gratified, as she settled her
brood round the table with a pile of pictorial papers to
amuse them. Then having laid herself out to be
agreeable, she sat thoughtfully rubbing the bridge of
her nose, at a loss how to begin. Presently Christie
helped her by an involuntary sigh.
“ What's the matter, dear? Is there any thing I can
do to make you comfortable ?” asked the kind soul,
alert at once, and ready to offer sympathy.
“I'm very cosy, thank you, and I don't know why I
sighed. It's a way I've got into when I think of my
worries,” explained Christie, in haste.
6 Wal, dear, I wouldn't ef I was you. Don't keep
turnin' your troubles over. Git atop of 'em somehow,
and stay there ef you can,” said Mrs. Wilkins, very
earnestly.
“ But that's just what I can't do. I've lost all: my
spirits and courage, and got into a dismal state of mind.
You seem to be very cheerful, and yet you must have
a good deal to try you sometimes. I wish you'd tell
me how you do it ;” and Christie looked wistfully into
that other face, so plain, yet so placid, wondering to
see how little poverty, hard work, and many cares had
soured or saddened it.
“Really I don't know, unless it's jest doin' whatever
comes along, and doin' of it hearty, sure that things
is all right, though very often I don't see it at fust.”
“Do you see it at last ? "
“Gen'lly I do; and if I don't I take it on trust, same
as children do what older folks tell 'em; and byme-by
186
WORK.
when I'm grown up in spiritual things I'll understan'
as the dears do, when they git to be men and women.”
That suited Christie, and she thought hopefully
within herself:
“This woman has got the sort of religion I want, if
it makes her what she is. Some day I'll get her to tell
me where she found it.” Then aloud she said :
“But it's so hard to be patient and contented when
nothing happens as you want it to, and you don't get
your share of happiness, no matter how much you try
to deserve it."
“ It ain't easy to bear, I know, but having tried
my own way and made a dreadful mess on 't, I con-
cluded that the Lord knows what's best for us, and
things go better when he manages than when we go
scratchin' round and can't wait.”
“ Tried your own way? How do you mean?” asked
Christie, curiously; for she liked to hear her hostess
talk, and found something besides amusement in the
conversation, which seemed to possess a fresh country
flavor as well as country phrases.
Mrs. Wilkins smiled all over her plump face, as if
she liked to tell her experience, and having hunched
sleepy little Andy more comfortably into her lap, and
given a preparatory hem or two, she began with great
good-will.
“ It happened a number a years ago and ain't much
of a story any way. But you're welcome to it, as some
of it is rather humorsome, the laugh may do you good
ef the story don't. We was livin' down to the eastard
at the time. It was a real pretty place; the house
stood under a couple of maples and a gret brook come

A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
187
foamin' down the rayvine and away through the med-
ders to the river. Dear sakes, seems as ef I see it now,
jest as I used to settin' on the doorsteps with the lay-
locks all in blow, the squirrels jabberin' on the wall,
and the saw-mill screekin’ way off by the dam."
Pausing a moment, Mrs. Wilkins looked musingly at
the steam of the tea-kettle, as if through its silvery
haze she saw her early home again. Wash promptly
roused her from this reverie by tumbling off the boiler
with a crash. His mother picked him up and placidly
went on, falling more and more into the country dia-
lect which city life had not yet polished.
“I oughter hev been the contentedest woman alive,
but I warn’t, for you see I'd worked at millineryin'
before I was married, and had an easy time on’t,
Afterwards the children come along pretty fast, there
was sights of work to do, and no time for pleasurin',
so I got wore out, and used to hanker after old times
in a dreadful wicked way.
«Finally I got acquainted with a Mis Bascum, and
she done me a sight of harm. You see, havin' few pies
of her own to bake, she was fond of puttin' her fingers
into her neighborses, but she done it so neat that no
one mistrusted she was takin' all the sauce and leavin'
all the crust to them, as you may say. Wal, I told her
my verryments and she sympathized real hearty, and
said I didn't ought to stan' it, but have things to suit
me, and enjoy myself, as other folks did. So when she
put it into my head I thought it amazin' good advice,
and jest went and done as she told me.
“ Lisha was the kindest man you ever see, so when I
up and said I warn't goin' to drudge round no more,
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but must hev a girl, he got one, and goodness knows
whát a trial she was. After she came I got dreadful
slack, and left the house and the children to Hen'retta,
and went pleasurin' frequent all in my best. I always
was a dressy woman in them days, and Lisha give me
his earnin's real lavish, bless his heart! and I went and
spent 'em on my sinful gowns and bunnets.”
Here Mrs. Wilkins stopped to give a remorseful groan
and stroke her faded dress, as if she found great com-
fort in its dinginess.
“ It ain't no use tellin' all I done, but I had full swing,
and at fust I thought luck was in my dish sure. But it
warn’t, seein' I didn't deserve it, and I had to take my
mess of trouble, which was needful and nourishin,' ef
I'd had the grace to see it so.
“ Lisha got into debt, and no wonder, with me a
wastin' of his substance; Hen'retta went off suddin',
with whatever she could lay her hands on, and every-
thing was at sixes and sevens. Lisha's patience give
out at last, for I was dreadful fractious, knowin' it was
all my fault. The children seemed to git out of sorts,
too, and acted like time in the primer, with croup and
pins, and whoopin’-cough and teinper. I declare I
used to think the pots and kettles biled over to spite
each other and me too in them days.
“ All this was nuts to Mis Bascum, and she kep’
advisin' and encouragin' of me, and I didn't see through
her a mite, or guess that settin' folks by the ears was
as relishin' to her as bitters is to some. Merciful, suz!
what a piece a work we did make betwixt us! I
scolded and moped 'cause I couldn't have my way;
Lisha swore and threatened to take to drinkin' ef I
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
189
didn't make home more comfortable; the children run
wild, and the house was gittin' too hot to hold us,
when we was brought up with a round turn, and I see
the redicklousness of my doin's in time.
“ One day Lisha come home tired and cross, for bills
was pressin', work slack, and folks talkin' about us as
ef they'd nothin' else to do. I was dishin' up dinner,
feelin' as nervous as a witch, for a whole batch of
bread had burnt to a cinder while I was trimmin' a new
bunnet, Wash had scart me most to death swallerin' a
cent, and the steak had been on the floor more'n once,
owin' to my havin' babies, dogs, cats, or hens under
my feet the whole blessed time.
“Lisha looked as black as thunder, throwed his hat
into a corner, and came along to the sink where I was
skinnin' pertaters. As he washed his hands, I asked
what the matter was; but he only muttered and
slopped, and I couldn't git nothin' out of him, for he.
ain't talkative at the best of times as you see, and when
he's werried corkscrews wouldn't draw a word from
him.
6 Bein' riled myself didn't mend matters, and so we
fell to hectorin' one another right smart. He said
somethin' that dreened my last drop of patience; I
give a sharp answer, and fust thing I knew he up with
his hand and slapped me. It warn’t a hard blow by
no means, only a kind of a wet spat side of the head;
but I thought I should have flew, and was as mad as ef
I'd been knocked down. You never see a man look so
'shamed as Lisha did, and ef I'd been wise I should
have made up the quarrel then. But I was a fool. I
jest flurg fork, dish, pertaters and all into the pot, and
says, as ferce as you please:
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666'Lisha Wilkins, when you can treat me decent you
may come and fetch me back; you won't see me till
then, and so I tell you.
6 Then I made a bee-line for Mis Bascum's; told her
the whole story, had a good cry, and was all ready to
go home in half an hour, but Lisha didn't come.
“Wal, that night passed, and what a long one it was
to be sure! and me without a wink of sleep, thinkin' of
Wash and the cent, my emptins and the baby. Next
day come, but no Lisha, no message, no nuthin', and I
began to think I'd got my match though I had a sight
of grit in them days. I sewed, and Mis Bascum she
clacked; but I didn't say much, and jest worked like
sixty to pay for my keep, for I warn’t goin' to be
beholden to her for nothin'.
“The day dragged on terrible slow, and at last I
begged her to go and git me a clean dress, for I'd come
off jest as I was, and folks kep' droppin' in, for the
story was all round, thanks to Mis Bascum's long
tongue.
“ Wal, she went, and ef you 'll believe me Lisha
wouldn't let her in! He handed my best things out a
winder and told her to tell me they were gittin' along
fust rate with Florindy Walch to do the work. He
hoped I'd have a-good time, and not expect him for a
consider’ble spell, for he liked a quiet house, and now
he'd got it.
“When I heard that, I knew he must be provoked
the wust kind, for he ain't a hash man by nater. I
could have crep' in at the winder ef he wouldn't open
the door, I was so took down by that message. But
Mis Bascum wouldn't hear of it, and kep’ stirrin of
nyo
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
191
me up till I was ashamed to eat 'umble pie fust; so I
waited to see how soon he'd come round. But he had
the best on't you see, for he'd got the babies and lost a
cross wife, while I'd lost every thing but Mis Bascum,
who grew hatefuler to me every hour, for I begun to
mistrust she was a mischief-maker, - widders most
always is, – seein' how she pampered up my pride and
?peared to like the quarrel.
“ I thought I should have died more’n once, for sure
as you live it went on three mortal days, and of all
miser'ble creeters I was the miser'blest. Then I see
how wicked and ungrateful I'd been; how I'd sbirked
my bounden duty and scorned my best blessins.
There warn't a hard job that ever I'd hated but what
grew easy when I remembered who it was done for;
there warn't a trouble or a care that I wouldn't have
welcomed hearty, nor one hour of them dear fractious
babies that didn't seem precious when I'd gone and
left 'em. I'd got time to rest enough now, and might go
pleasuring all day long; but I couldn't do it, and would
have given a dozin bunnets trimmed to kill ef I could
only have been back moilin' in my old kitchen with
the children hangin' round me and Lisha a comin' in
cheerful from his work as he used to 'fore I spoilt his
home for him. How sing’lar it is folks never do know
when they are wal off!”.
“I know it now,” said Christie, rocking lazily to and
fro, with a face almost as tranquil as little Vic's, lying
half asleep in her lap.
“Glad to hear it, my dear. As I was goin' on to say,
when Saturday come, a tremenjus storm set in, and it
rained guns all day. I never shall forgit it, for I was
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WORK.
hankerin' after baby, and dreadful werried about the
others, all bein' croupy, and Florindy with no more
idee of nussin' than a baa lamb. The rain come down
like a reg'lar deluge, but I didn't seem to have no ark
to run to. As night come on things got wuss and wuss,
for the wind blowed the roof off Mis Bascum's barn
and stove in the butt'ry window; the brook riz and
went ragin' every which way, and you never did see
such a piece of work.
“My heart was most broke by that time, and I knew
I should give in 'fore Monday. But I set and sewed and
listened to the tinkle tankle of the drops in the pans set
round to ketch 'em, for the house leaked like a sieve.
Mis Bascum was down suller putterin' about, for every
kag and sarce jar was afloat. Moses, her brother, was
lookin' after his stock and tryin' to stop the damage.
All of a sudden he bust in lookin' kinder wild, and
settin' down the lantern, he sez, sez he: "You're
ruthern an unfortinate woman to-night, Mis Wilkins.
How so ?' sez I, as ef nuthin' was the matter already.
“«Why, sez he, 'the spilins have give way up in the
rayvine, and the brook's come down like a river, upsot
your lean-to, washed the mellion patch slap into the
road, and while your husband was tryin' to git the pig
out of the pen, the water took a turn and swep him
away.'
666 Drownded ?' sez I, with only breath enough for that
one word. Shouldn't wonder,' sez Moses, nothin'
ever did come up alive after goin' over them falls.'
" It come over me like a streak of lightenin'; every
thin' kinder slewed round, and I dropped in the first
faint I ever had in my life. Next I knew Lisha was
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
193
holdin' of me and cryin' fit to kill himself. I thought
I was dreamin', and only had wits enough to give a sort
of permiscuous grab at him and call out:
“Oh, Lisha! ain't you drownded?' He give a gret
start at that, swallered down his sobbin', and sez as
lovin' as ever a man did in this world:
“Bless your dear heart, Cynthy, it warn't me it was
the pig ;' and then fell to kissin' of me, till betwixt
laughin' and cryin' I was most choked. Deary me, it
all comes back so livin' real it kinder takes my breath
away."
And well it might, for the good soul entered so
heartily into her story that she unconsciously embel-
lished it with dramatic illustrations. At the slapping
episode she flung an invisible “fork, dish, and perta-
ters” into an imaginary kettle, and glared; when the
catastrophe arrived, she fell back upon her chair to ex-
press fainting; gave Christie's arm the “permiscuous
grab” at the proper moment, and uttered the repentant
Lisha's explanation with an incoherent pathos that
forbid a laugh at the sudden introduction of the por-
cine martyr.
6 What did you do then ?” asked Christie in a most
flattering state of interest.
“Oh, law! I went right home and hugged them
children for a couple of hours stiddy," answered Mrs.
Wilkins, as if but one conclusion was possible.
“Did all your troubles go down with the pig ?”
asked Christie, presently.
“Massy, no, we're all poor, feeble worms, and the
best meanin' of us fails too often,” sighed Mrs. Wilkins,
as she tenderly adjusted the sleepy head of the young
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worm in her lap. “ After that scrape I done my best ;
Lisha was as meek as a whole flock of sheep, and we
give Mis Bascum a wide berth. Things went lovely for
ever so long, and though, after a spell, we had our ups
and downs, as is but natural to human creeters, we
never come to such a pass agin. Both on us tried
real hard; whenever I felt my temper risin' or discon-
tent comin' on I remembered them days and kep a
taut rein; and as for Lisha he never said a raspin'
word, or got sulky, but what he'd bust out laughin'
after it and say: ‘Bless you, Cynthy, it warn’t me, it
was the pig.'”
Mrs. Wilkius' hearty laugh fired a long train of lesser
ones, for the children recognized a household word.
Christie enjoyed the joke, and even the tea-kettle
boiled over as if carried away by the fun.
“Tell some more, please," said Christie, when the
merriment subsided, for she felt her spirits rising.
“ There's nothin' more to tell, except one thing that
prevented my ever forgittin' the lesson I got then. My
little Almiry took cold that week and pined away
rapid. She'd always been so ailin' I never expected to
raise her, and more 'n once in them sinful tempers of
mine I'd thought it would be a mercy ef she was took
out of her pain. But when I laid away that patient,
sufferin' little creeter I found she was the dearest of
'em all. I most broke my heart to hev her back, and
never, never forgive myself for leavin' her that time.”
With trembling lips and full eyes Mrs. Wilkins
stopped to wipe her features generally on Andrew
Jackson's pinafore, and heave a remorseful sigh.
“And this is how you came to be the checrful, con-
A CURE FOR DESPAIR.
195
tented woman you are ?” said Christie, hoping to
divert the mother's mind from that too tendér memory.
“ Yes,” she answered, thoughtfully, “ I told you Lisha
was a smart man; he give me a good lesson, and it set
me to thinkin' serious. 'Pears to me trouble is a kind
of mellerin' process, and ef you take it kindly it doos
you good, and you learn to be glad of it. I'm sure Lisha
and me is twice as fond of one another, twice as
willin' to work, and twice as patient with our trials
sense dear little Almiry died, and times was hard.
I ain't what I ought to be, not by a long chalk, but I
try to live up to my light, do my duty cheerful, love
my neighbors, and fetch up my family in the fear of
God. Ef I do this the best way I know how, I'm sure
I'll get my rest some day, and the good Lord won't
forgit Cynthy Wilkins. He ain't so fur, for I keep my
health wonderfle, Lisha is kind and stiddy, the children
flourishin', and I'm a happy woman though I be a humly
one."
There she was mistaken, for as her eye roved round
the narrow room from the old hat on the wall to the
curly heads bobbing here and there, contentment,
piety, and mother-love made her plain face beautiful.
“That story has done me ever so much good, and I
shall not forget it. Now, good-night, for I must be up
early to-morrow, and I don't want to drive Mr. Wilkins
away entirely,” said Christie, after she had helped put
the little folk to bed, during which process she had
heard her host creaking about the kitchen as if afraid
to enter the sitting-room.
She laughed as she spoke, and ran up stairs, wonder-
ing if she could be the same forlorn creature who had
crept so wearily up only the night before.
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WORK.
It was a very humble little sermon that Mrs. Wilkins
had preached to her, but she took it to heart and
profited by it; for she was a pupil in the great charity
school where the best teachers are often unknown, un-
honored here, but who surely will receive commendation
and reward from the head master when their long vaca-
tion comes.
CHAPTER IX.
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.

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CITY
MR. POWER.
N EXT day Christie braved the lion in his den,
otherwise the flinty Flint, in her second-class
boarding-house, and found that alarm and remorse had
produced a softening effect upon her. She was unfeign-
edly glad to see her lost lodger safe, and finding that
the new friends were likely to put her in the way of
paying her debts, this much harassed matron permitted
her to pack up her possessions, leaving one trunk as a
sort of hostage. Then, with promises to redeem it as
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TORK.
soon as possible, Christie said good-bye to the little
room where she had hoped and suffered, lived and
labored so long, and went joyfully back to the humble
home she had found with the good laundress.
All the following week Christie « chored round,” as
Mrs. Wilkins called the miscellaneous light work she
'let her do. Much washing, combing, and clean pina-
foring of children fell to her share, and she enjoyed it
amazingly; then, when the elder ones were packed off
to school she lent a hand to any of the numberless
tasks housewives find to do from morning till night.
In the afternoon, when other work was done, and little
Vic asleep or happy with her playthings, Christie
clapped laces, sprinkled muslins, and picked out edg-
ings at the great table where Mrs. Wilkins stood
ironing, fluting, and crimping till the kitchen bristled
all over with immaculate frills and flounces.
It was pretty delicate work, and Christie liked it, for
Mrs. Wilkins was an adept at her trade and took as
much pride and pleasure in it as any French blanchis-
seuse tripping through the streets of Paris with a tree
full of coquettish caps, capes, and petticoats borne
before her by a half invisible boy.
Being women, of course, they talked as industriously
as they worked; fingers flew and tongues clacked with
equal profit and pleasure, and, by Saturday, Christie
had made up her mind that Mrs. Wilkins was the most
sensible woman she ever knew. Her grammar was an
outrage upon the memory of Lindley Murray, but the
goodness of her heart would have done honor to any
saint in the calendar. She was very plain, and her
manners were by no means elegant, but good temper
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
199
made that homely face' most lovable, and natural refine-
ment of soul made mere external polish of small
account. Her shrewd ideas and odd sayings amused
Christie very much, while her good sense and bright
way of looking at things did the younger woman a
world of good. .
Mr. Wilkins devoted himself to the making of shoes
and the consumption of food, with the silent regularity
of a placid animal. His one dissipation was tobacco,
and in a fragrant cloud of smoke he lived and moved
and had his being so entirely that he might have been
described as a pipe with a man somewhere behind it.
Christie once laughingly spoke of this habit and de-
clared she would try it herself if she thought it would
make her as quiet and undemonstrative as Mr. Wilkins,
who, to tell the truth, made no more impression on her
than a fly.
“I don't approve on't, but he might do wuss. We
all have to have our comfort somehow, so I let Lisha
smoke as much as he likes, and he lets me gab, so it's
about fair, I reckou," answered Mrs. Wilkins, from the
suds.
She laughed as she spoke, but something in her face
made Christie suspect that at some period of his life
Lisha had done “ wuss ;” and subsequent observations
confirmed this suspicion and another one also, - that
his good wife had saved him, and was gently easing
him back to self-control and self-respect. But, as old
Fuller quaintly says, “ She so gently folded up his
faults in silence that few guessed them," and loyally
paid him that respect which she desired others to
hestow. It was always “ Lisha and me," “ I'll ask my
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WORK.
husband” or “ Lisha 'll know; he don't say much, but
he's a dreadful smart man," and she kept up the fiction
so dear to her wifely soul by endowing him with her
own virtues, and giving him the credit of her own
intelligence.
Christie loved her all the better for this devotion,
and for her sake treated Mr. Wilkins as if he possessed
the strength of Samson and the wisdom of Solomon.
He received her respect as if it was his due, and now
and then graciously accorded her a few words beyond
the usual scanty allowance of morning and evening
greetings. At his shop all day, she only saw him at
meals and sometimes of an evening, for Mrs. Wilkins
tried to keep him at home safe from temptation, and
Christie helped her by reading, talking, and frolicking
with the children, so that he might find home attrac-
tive. He loved his babies and would even relinquish
his precious pipe for a time to ride the little chaps on
his foot, or amuse Vic with shadow rabbits on the
wall.
At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins's
face made tobacco fumes endurable, and the burden of
a dull man's presence less oppressive to Christie, who
loved to pay her debts in something besides money.
As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces
that Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, “Ef it's
fair to-morrow I want you to go to my meetin' and
hear my minister. It'll do you good.”
“ Who is he?"
“ Mr. Power."
Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of
Thomas Power as a rampant radical and infidel of the
MRS. WILKINS.
201
'S MINISTER.
deepest dye, and been warned never to visit that den
of iniquity called his free church.
. “Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you don't mean it!” she said,
leaving her lace to dry at the most critical stage.
“Yes, I do!” answered Mrs. Wilkins, setting down
her flat-iron with emphasis, and evidently preparing to
fight valiantly for her minister, as most women will.
“I beg your pardon; I was a little surprised, for I'd
heard all sorts of things about him,” Christie hastened
to say.
“Did you ever hear hin, or read any of his writ-
ins ?" demanded Mrs. Wilkins, with a calmer air.
“Never."
“ Then don't judge. You go hear and see that
blessed man, and ef you don't say he's the shadow of
a great rock in a desert land, I'll give up,” cried the
good woman, waxing poetical in her warmth.
“I will to please you, if nothing else. I did go once
just because I was told not to; but he did not preach
that day and every thing was so peculiar, I didn't know
whether to like it or be shocked.”
“It is kind of sing’lar at fust, I'm free to confess,
and not as churchy as some folks like. But there
ain't no place but that big enough to hold the crowds
that want to go, for the more he's abused the more
folks flock to see him. They git their money's wuth I
do believe, for though there ain't no pulpits and pews,
there's a sight of brotherly love round in them seats,
and pious practice, as well as powerful preaching, in
that shabby desk. Ele don't need no commandments
painted up behind him to read on Sunday, for he keeps
11
9*
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WORK,
'em in bis heart and life all the week as honest as man
can."
There Mrs. Wilkins paused, flushed and breathless
with her defence, and Christie said, candidly: “I did
like the freedom and good-will there, for people sat
where they liked, and no one frowned over shut pew-
doors, at me a stranger. An old black woman sat next
ine, and said " Amen' when she liked what she heard,
and a very shabby young man was on the other, listen-
ing as if his soul was as hungry as his body. People
read books, laughed and cried, clapped when pleased,
and hissed when angry; that I did not like."
“No more does Mr. Power; he don't mind the cryin’
and the smilin' as it's nat'ral, but noise and disrespect
of no kind ain't pleasin' to bim. His own folks behave
becomin', but strangers go and act as they like, think-
in' that there ain't no bounds to the word free. Then
we are picked at for their doin's, and Mr. Power has to
carry other folkses' sins on his shoulders. But, dear
suz, it ain't much matter after all, ef the souls is well-
meanin'. Children always make a noise a strivin' after
what they want most, and I shouldn't wonder ef the
Lord forgive all our short-comin's of that sort, sense
we are hankerin' and reachin' for the truth.”
“I wish I had heard Mr. Power that day, for I was
striving after peace with all my heart, and he might
have given it to me,” said Christie, interested and im-
pressed with what she heard.
6 Wal, no, dear, I guess not. Peace ain't give to no
one all of a suddin, it gen’lly comes through much
tribulation, and the sort that comes hardest is best
wuth havín'. Mr. Power would a' ploughed and har-
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
203
rered you, so to speak, and sowed good seed liberal ;
then ef you wárn’t barren ground things would have
throve, and the Lord give you a harvest accordin' to
your labor. Who did you hear ?" asked Mrs. Wilkins,
pausing to starch and clap vigorously.
- 6 A very young man who seemed to be airing his
ideas and beliefs in the frankest manner. He belabored
everybody and every thing, upset church and state,
called namės, arranged heaven and earth to suit him-
self, and evidently meant every word he said. Much
of it would have been ridiculous if the boy had not
been so thoroughly in earnest; sincerity always com-
mands respect, and though people smiled, they liked
his courage, and seemed to think he would make a man
when his spiritual wild oats were sown."
“I ain't a doubt on't. We often have such, and
they ain't all empty talk, nuther; some of 'em are sur-
prisingly bright, and all mean so well I don't never
reluct to hear 'em. They must blow off their steam
somewheres, else they'd bust with the big idees a
swellin' in 'em ; Mr. Power knows it and gives 'em the
chance they can't find nowheres else. 'Pears to me,”
added Mrs. Wilkins, ironing rapidly as she spoke, “that
folks is very like clothes, and a sight has to be done to
keep 'em clean and whole. All on us has to lend a
hand in this dreadful mixed-up wash, and each do our
part, same as you and me is now. There's scrubbin'
and bilin', wrenchin' and bluein', dryin' and foldin',
ironin' and polishin', before any of us is fit for wear a
Sunday mornin'."
“What part does Mr. Power do ?” asked Christie,
. much amused at this peculiarly appropriate simile.
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WORK.
“The scrubbin' and the bilin’; that's always the
hardest and the hottest part. He starts the dirt and
gits the stains out, and leaves 'em ready for other folks
to finish off. It ain't such pleasant work as hangin'
out, or such pretty work as doin' up, but some one's
got to do it, and them that's strongest does it best,
though they don't git half so much credit as them as
polishes and crimps. That's showy work, but it
wouldn't be no use ef the things warn't well washed
fust," and Mrs. Wilkins thoughtfully surveyed the
snowy muslin cap, with its border fluted like the petals
of a prim white daisy, that hung on her hand.
“I'd like to be a washerwoman of that sort; but as
I'm not one of the strong, I'll be a laundress, and try
to make purity as attractive as you do,” said Christie,
soberly.
“Ah, my dear, it's warm and wearin' work I do
assure you, and hard to give satisfaction, try as you
may. Crowns of glory ain't wore in this world, but
it's my 'pinion that them that does the hard jobs here
will stand a good chance of havin' extra bright ones
when they git through.”
“I know you will,” said Christie, warmly.
« Land alive, child! I warn't thinking of Cynthy
Wilkins, but Mr. Power. I'll be satisfied ef I can set
low down somewheres and see him git the meddle.
He won't in this world, but I know there's rewards
savin' up for him byme-by.”
“I'll go to-morrow if it pours!” said Christie, with
decision.
“Do, and I'll lend you my bunnit,” cried Mrs. Wil-
kins, passing, with comical rapidity, from crowns of
glory to her own cherished head-gear.
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
205
“ Thank you, but I can't wear blue, I look as yellow
as a dandelion in it. Mrs. Flint let me have my best
things though I offered to leave them, so I shall be
respectable and by-and-by blossom out.”
On the morrow Christie went early, got a good seat,
and for half an hour watched the gathering of the
motley congregation that filled the great hall. Some
came in timidly, as if doubtful of their welcome; some
noisily, as if, as Mrs. Wilkins said, they had not learned
the wide difference between liberty and license; many
as if eager and curious; and a large number with the
look of children gathering round a family table ready
to be fed, and sure that wholesome food would be
bountifully provided for them.
Christie was struck by the large proportion of young
people in the place, of all classes, both sexes, and
strongly contrasting faces. Delicate girls looking with
the sweet wistfulness of maidenly hearts for something
strong to lean upon and love; sad-eyed women turning
to heaven for the consolations or the satisfactions earth
could not give them; anxious mothers perplexed with
many cares, trying to find light and strength; young
men with ardent faces, restless, aspiring, and impetuous,
longing to do and dare; tired-looking students, with
perplexed wrinkles on their foreheads, evidently come
to see if this man had discovered the great secrets
they were delving after; and soul-sick people trying
this new, and perhaps dangerous medicine, when others
failed to cure. Many earnest, thoughtful men and
women were there, some on the anxious seat, and some
already at peace, having found the clew that leads safely
through the labyrinth of life. Here and there a white
206
WORK.
.
head, a placid old face, or one of those fine counte-
nances that tell, unconsciously, the beautiful story of
a victorious soul.
Some read, some talked, some had flowers in their
hands, and all sat at ease, rich and poor, black and
white, young and old, waiting for the coming of the
man who had power to attract and hold so many of his
kind. Christie was so intent on watching those about
her that she did not see him enter, and only knew it by
the silence which began just in front of her, and seemed
to flow backward like a wave, leaving a sea of expec-
tant faces turning to one point. That point was a
gray head, just visible above the little desk which
stood in the middle of a great platform. A vase of.
lovely flowers was on the little shelf at one side, a
great Bible reposed on the other, and a manuscript lay
whitely on the red slope between.
In a moment Christie forgot every thing else, and
waited with a curious anxiety to see what manner of
man this was. Presently he got up with an open book
in his hand, saying, in a strong, cheerful voice: “Let
us sing,” and having read a hymn as if he had com-
posed it, he sat down again.
Then everybody did sing; not harmoniously, but
heartily, led by an organ, which the voices followed at
their own sweet will. At first, Christie wanted to
smile, for some shouted and some hummed, some sat .
silent, and others sung sweetly; but before the hymn
ended she liked it, and thought that the natural praise
of each individual soul was perhaps more grateful to
the ear of God than masses by great masters, or psalms *
warbled tunefully by hired opera singers.
of each of God the by hired
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
207
Then Mr. Power rose again, and laying his hands
together, with a peculiarly soft and reverent gesture,
lifted up his face and prayed. Christie had never heard
a prayer like that before; so devout, so comprehensive,
and so brief. A. quiet talk with God, asking nothing
but more love and duty toward him and our fellow-
men; thanking him for many mercies, and confiding all
things trustfully to the “ dear father and mother of
souls.”
The sermon which followed was as peculiar as the
prayer, and as effective. “One of Power's judgment-
day sermons," as she heard one man say to another,
when it was over. Christie certainly felt at first as if
kingdoms and thrones were going down, and each man
being sent to his own place. A powerful and popular
wrong was arrested, tried, and sentenced then and
there, with a courage and fidelity that made plain
words eloquent, and stern justice beautiful. He did
not take David of old for his text, but the strong,
sinful, splendid Davids of our day, who had not fulfilled
the promise of their youth, and whose seeming success
was a delusion and a snare to themselves and others,
sure to be followed by sorrowful abandonment, defeat,
and shame. The ashes of the ancient hypocrites and
Pharisees was left in peace, but those now living were
heartily denounced; modern money-changers scourged
out of the temple, and the everlasting truth set up
.therein.
As he spoke, not loudly nor vehemently, but with
the indescribable effect of inward force and true inspi-
. ration, a curious stir went through the crowd at times,
as a great wind sweeps over a corn field, lifting the
208
WORK.
broad leaves to the light and testing the strength of
root and stem. People looked at one another with a
roused expression; eyes kindled, heads nodded invol-
untary approval, and an emphatic, “ that's so !” dropped
from the lips of men who saw their own'vague instincts
and silent opinions strongly. confirmed and nobly
uttered. Consciences seemed to have been pricked to
duty, eyes cleared to see that their golden idols had
feet of clay, and wavering wills strengthened by the
salutary courage and integrity of one indomitable man.
Another hymn, and a benediction that seemed like a
fit grace after meat, and then the crowd poured out;
not yawning, thinking of best clothes, or longing for
dinner, but waked up, full of talk, and eager to do
something to redeem the country and the world.
Christie went rapidly home because she could not
help it, and burst in upon Mrs. Wilkins with a face full
of enthusiasm, exclaiming, while she cast off her bonnet
as if her head had outgrown it since she left:
“It was splendid! I never heard such a sermon
before, and I'll never go to church anywhere else.”
"I knew it! ain't it fillin'? don't it give you a kind
of spirital l’ist, and make things wuth more some-
how?” cried Mrs. Wilkins, gesticulating with the
pepper-pot in a way which did not improve the steak
she was cooking, and caused great anguish to the noses
of her offspring, who were watching the operation.
Quite deaf to the chorus of sneezes which accom- ·
panied her words, Christie answered, brushing back
her hair, as if to get a better out-look at creation gen-
erally:
“Oh, yes, indeed! At first it was rather terrible,
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
209
and yet so true. I wouldn't change a word of it. But I
don't wonder he is misunderstood, belied, and abused.
He tells the truth so plainly, and lets in the light so
clearly, that hypocrites and sinners must fear and hate ::
him. I think he was a little hard and unsparing, some-
times, though I don't know enough to judge the men
and measures he condemned. I admire him very much,
but I should be afraid of him if I ever saw him nearer.”
ī No, you wouldn't; not a grain. You hear him.
preach agin and you 'll find him as gentle as a lamb.
Strong folks is apt to be ruther ha'sh at times; they
can't help it no more than this stove can help scorchin'
the vittles when it gits red hot. Dinner's ready, so set
right up and tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Wilkins,
slapping the steak on to the platter, and beginning to
deal out fried potatoes all round with absent-minded
lavishness.
Christie talked, and the good soul enjoyed that far
more than her dinner, for she meant to ask Mr. Power
to help her find the right sort of home for the stranger
whose unfitness for her present place was every day
made more apparent to the mind of her hostess.
“What took you there first ? ” asked Christie, still
wondering at Mrs. Wilkins's choice of a minister.
“ The Lord, my dear," answered the good woman, in
a tone of calm conviction. “I'd heard of him, and I
always have a leanin' towards them that's reviled; so
one Sabbath I felt to go, and did. "That's the gospel
for me,' says I,“my old church ain't big enough now,
and I ain't goin' to set and nod there any longer,' and
I didn't."
“ Hadn't you any doubts about it, any fears of going
1
210
WORK.
wrong or being sorry afterwards ?” asked Christie,
attained without much tribulation of some kind.
“In some things folks is led; I be frequent, and
when them leadin's come I don't ask no questions but
jest foller, and it always turns out right.”
5 I wish I could be led.”
“ You be, my dear, every day of your life only you
don't see it. When you are doubtful, set still till the
call comes, then git up and walk whichever way it
says, and you won't fall. You've had bread and water
long enough, now you want meat and wine a spell ;
take it, and when it's time for milk and honey some
one will fetch 'em ef you keep your table ready. The
Lord feeds us right; it's we that quarrel with our
vittles.”
“I will,” said Christie, and began at once to prepare
her little board for the solid food of which she had had
a taste that day.
That afternoon Mrs. Wilkins took her turn at church-
going, saw Mr. Power, told Christie's story in her
best style, and ended by saying:
“She's true grit, I do assure you, sir. Willin' to
work, but she's seen the hard side of things and got
erin' up, and I don't know anybody who can do the
job better ’n you can.”
“ Very well, I'll come and see her," answered Mr.
Power, and Mrs. Wilkins went home well satisfied.
He kept his word, and about the middle of the week
came walking in upon them as they were at work.
“ Don't let the irons cool,” he said, and sitting down
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
211.
in the kitchen began to talk as comfortably as if in the
best parlor; more so, perhaps, for best parlors are apt
to have a depressing effect upon the spirits, while
the mere sight of labor is exhilarating to energetic
minds.
He greeted Christie kindly, and then addressed him-
self to Mrs. Wilkins on various charitable matters, for
he was a minister at large, and she one of his almoners.
Christie could really see him now, for when he preached
she forgot the man in the sermon, and thought of him
only as a visible conscience.
A sturdy man of fifty, with a keen, brave face, pene-
trating eyes, and mouth a little grim; but a voice so
resonant and sweet it reminded one of silver trumpets,
and stirred and won the hearer with irresistible power.
Rough gray hair, and all the features rather rugged, as
if the Great Sculptor had blocked out a grand statue,
and left the man's own soul to finish it.
Had Christie known that he came to see her she
would have been ill at ease; but Mrs. Wilkins had kept
her own counsel, so when Mr. Power turned to Christie,
saying:
“My friend here tells me you want something to do.
Would you like to help a Quaker lady with her house-
work, just out of town?”
She answered readily: “Yes, sir, any thing that
is honest.”
helper. Mrs. Sterling is a dear old lady, and the place
a pleasant little nest. It is good to be there, and I
think you 'll say so if you go."
: “It sounds pleasant. When shaļl I go ?”
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WORK.
Mr. Power smiled at her alacrity, but the longing
look in her eyes explained it, for he saw at a glance
that her place was not here.
“I will write at once and let you know how matters
are settled. Then you shall try it, and if it is not what
you want, we will find you something else. There's
plenty to do, and nothing pleasanter than to put the
right pair of hands to the right task. Good-by; come
and see me if the spirit moves, and don't let go of Mrs.
Wilkins till you lay hold of a better friend, if you can
find one."
Then he shook hands cordially, and went walk-
ing out again into the wild March weather as if he
liked it.
“ Were you afraid of him ?” asked Mrs. Wilkins.
“I forgot all about it: he looked so kind and friendly.
But I shouldn't like to have those piercing eyes of his
fixed on me long if I had any secret on my conscience."
answered Christie.
“You ain't nothin' to fear. He liked your way of
speakin' fust rate, I see that, and you 'll be all right
now he's took hold."
· “Do you know Mrs. Sterling ?”
“Only by sight, but she's a sweet appearin' woman,
and I wouldn't ask nothin' better 'n to see more of
her," said Mrs. Wilkins, warmly, fearing Christie's heart
might misgive her.
But it did not, and when a note came saying Mrs.
Sterling would be ready for her the next week, she
seemed quite content with every thing, for though the
wages were not high she felt that country air and quiet
were worth' more to her just then than money, and
that Wilkinses were better taken homeopathically.
MRS. WILKINS’S MINISTER...213
bly clo con Visib
The spirit did move her to go and see Mr. Power, but
she could not make up her mind to pass that invisible
barrier which stands between so many who could give
one another genuine help if they only dared to ask it.
But when Sunday came she went to church, eager
for more, and thankful that she knew where to go
for it.
This was a very different sermon from the other, and
Christie felt as if he preached it for her alone. “Keep
innocency and take heed to the thing that is right, for
this will bring a man peace at the last,” might havo
been the text, and Mr. Power treated it as if he had
known all the trials and temptations that made it hard
to live up to.
Justice and righteous wrath possessed him before,
now mercy and tenderest sympathy for those who
faltered in well-doing, and the stern judge seemed
changed to a pitiful father. But better than the pity
was the wise counsel, the cheering words, and the de-
vout surrender of the soul to its best instincts; its
close communion with its Maker, unchilled by fear,
untrammelled by the narrowness of sect or supersti-
tion, but full and free and natural as the breath of
life.
As she listened Christie felt as if she was climbing up
from a solitary valley, through mist and shadow toward
a mountain top, where, though the way might be rough
and strong winds blow, she would get a wider outlook
over the broad earth, and be nearer the serene blue
sky. For the first time in her life religion seemed a
visible and vital thing; a power that she could grasp
and feel, take into her life and make her daily bread.
214
WORK.
Not a vague, vast idea floating before her, now beauti-
ful, now terrible, always undefined and far away.
She was strangely and powerfully moved that day, for
the ploughing had begun; and when the rest stood up
for the last hymn, Christie could only bow her head
and let the uncontrollable tears flow down like summer
rain, while her heart sang with new aspiration :
“Nearer, my God, to thee,
E'en though a cross it be
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to thee.
Nearer to thee!”
Sitting with her hand before her eyes, she never
stirred till the sound of many feet told her that service
was done. Then she wiped her eyes, dropped her veil,
and was about to rise when she saw a little bunch of
flowers between the leaves of the hymn book lying
open in her lap. Only a knot of violets set in their
own broad leaves, but blue as friendly eyes looking
into hers, and sweet as kind words whispered in her
ear. She looked about her hoping to detect and thank
the giver; but all faces were turned the other way, and
all feet departing rapidly.
Christie followed with a very grateful thought in her
heart for this little kindness from some unknown friend;
and, anxious to recover herself entirely before she faced
Mrs. Wilkins, she took a turn in the park.
The snow was gone, high winds had dried the walk,
and a clear sky overhead made one forget sodden turf
and chilly air. March was going out like a lamb, and
Christie enjoyed an occasional vernal whiff from far-off
MRS. WILKINS'S MINISTER.
215
fields and wakening woods, as she walked down the
broad mall watching the buds on the boughs, and lis-
tening to the twitter of the sparrows, evidently discuss-
ing the passers-by as they sat at the doors of their little
mansions.
Presently she turned to walk back again and saw
Mr. Power coming toward her. She was glad, for aļl
her fear had vanished now, and she wanted to thank
him for the sermon that had moved her so deeply. He
shook hands in his cordial way, and, turning, walked
with her, beginning at once to talk of her affairs as if
interested in them.
“ Are you ready for the new experiment?” he asked.
“Quite ready, sir; very glad to go, and very much
obliged to you for your kindness in providing for
me.”
“That is what we were put into the world for, to help
one another. You can pass on the kindness by serving
my good friends who, in return, will do their best for
you."
“That's so pleasant! I always knew there were
plenty of good, friendly people in the world, only I did
not seem to find them often, or be able to keep them
long when I did. Is Mr. Sterling an agreeable old
man?”
“Very agreeable, but not old. David is about
thirty-one or two, I think. He is the son of my
friend, the husband died some years ago. I thought I
mentioned it.”
“ You said in your note that Mr. Sterling was a florist,
and might like me to help in the green-house, if I was
willing. It must be lovely work, and I should like it
very much.”
216
WORK.
“Yes, David devotes himself to his flowers, and leads
a very quiet life. You may think him rather grave and
blunt at first, but you 'll soon find him out and get on
comfortably, for he is a truly excellent fellow, and my
right-hand man in good works.”
A curious little change had passed over Christie's face
during these last questions and answers, unconscious,
but quite observable to keen eyes like Mr. Power's.
Surprise and interest appeared first, then a shadow of
reserve as if the young woman dropped a thin veil be-
tween herself and the young man, and at the last words
a half smile and a slight raising of the brows seemed to
express the queer mixture of pity and indifference with
which we are all apt to regard “excellent fellows" and
samiable girls.” Mr. Power understood the look, and
went on more confidentially than he had at first in-
tended, for he did not want Christie to go off with a
prejudice in her mind which might do both David and
herself injustice.
“People sometimes misjudge him, for he is rather
old-fashioned in manner and plain in speech, and may
seem unsocial, because he does not seek society. But
those who know the cause of this forgive, any little
short-comings for the sake of the genuine goodness of
the man. David had a great trouble some years ago
and suffered much. He is learning to bear it bravely,
and is the better for it, though the memory of it is still
bitter, and the cross hard to bear even with pride to
help him hide it, and principle to keep him from
despair."
Mr. Power glanced at Christie as he paused, and was
satisfied with the effect of his words, for interest, pity,
.
MRS. WILKINS’S MINISTER.
217
and respect shone in her face, and proved that he had
touched the right string. She seemed to feel that this
little confidence was given for a purpose, and showed
that she accepted it as a sort of gage for her own fidelity
to her new employers.
" Thank you, sir, I shall remember," she said, with
her frank eyes lifted gravely to his own. “I like to
work for people whom I can respect,” she added, “and
will bear with any peculiarities of Mr. Sterling's with-
out a thought of complaint. When a man has suffered
through one woman, all women should be kind and
patient with him, and try to atone for the wrong which
lessens his respect and faith in them."
“There you are right; and in this case all women
should be kind, for David pities and protects woman-
kind as the only retaliation for the life-long grief one
woman brought upon him. That's not a common re-
venge, is it?”
“ It's beautiful!” cried Christie, and instantly David
was a hero.
“At one time it was an even chance whether that
trouble sent David to the devil,' as he expressed it, or
made a man of him. That little saint of a mother kept
him safe till the first desperation was over, and now he
lives for her, as he ought. Not so romantic an ending
as a pistol or Byronic scorn for the world in general
and women in particular, but dutiful and brave, since
it often takes more courage to live than to die.”
“Yes, sir,” said Christie, heartily, though her eyes
cause for despair than "David.
10
218
WORK.
They were at the gate now, and Mr. Power left her,
saying, with a vigorous hand-shake:
“Best wishes for a happy summer. I shall come
sometimes to see how you prosper; and remember, if
you tire of it and want to change, let me know, for I
take great satisfaction in putting the right people in the
right places. Good-by, and God be with you."
CHAPTER X.
BEGINNING AGAIN.

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Mrs. STERLING.
TT was an April day when Christie went to her new
1 home. Warm rains had melted the last trace of
snow, and every bank was full of pricking grass-blades,
brave little pioneers and heralds of the Spring. The
budding elm boughs swung in the wind; blue-jays
screamed among the apple-trees; and robins chirped
shrilly, as if rejoicing over winter hardships safely
passed. Vernal freshness was in the air despite its
chill, and lovely hints of summer time were every-
where.
220
WORK.
These welcome sights and sounds met Christie, as
she walked down the lane, and, coming to a gate,
paused there to look about her. An old-fashioned
cottage stood in the midst of a garden just awakening
from its winter sleep. One elm hung protectingly over
the low roof, sunshine lay warmly on it, and at every
window flowers' bright faces smiled at the passer-by
invitingly.
On one side glittered a long green-house, and on the
other stood a barn, with a sleek cow ruminating in the
yard, and an inquiring horse poking his head out of his
stall to view the world. Many comfortable gray hens
were clucking and scratching about the hay-strewn
floor, and a flock of doves sat cooing on the roof.
A quiet, friendly place it looked; for nothing marred
its peace, and the hopeful, healthful spirit of the season
seemed to haunt the spot. Snow-drops and crocuses
were up in one secluded nook; à plump maltese cat sat
purring in the porch ; and a dignified old dog came
marching down the walk to escort the stranger in.
With a brightening face Christie went up the path,
and tapped at the quaint knocker, hoping that the face
she was about to see would be in keeping with the
pleasant place.
She was not disappointed, for the dearest of little
Quaker ladies opened to her, with such an air of peace
and good-will that the veriest ruffian, coming to molest
or make afraid, would have found it impossible to mar
the tranquillity of that benign old face, or disturb one
fold of the soft muslin crossed upon her breast...
“I come from Mr. Power, and I have a note for
Mrs. Sterling,” began Christie in her gentlest tone, as
BEGINNING AGAIN..
221
her last fear vanished at sight of that mild maternal
figure.
“I am she; come in, friend ; I am glad to see thee,”
said the old lady, smiling placidly, as she led the way
into a room whose principal furniture seemed to be
books, flowers, and sunshine.
The look, the tone, the gentle “ thee,” went straight
to Christie's heart; and, while Mrs. Sterling put on her
spectacles and slowly read the note, she stroked the cat
and said to herself : “ Surely, I have fallen among a set
of angels. I thought Mrs. Wilkins a sort of saint, Mr.
Power was an improvement even upon that good soul,
and if I am not mistaken this sweet little lady is the
best and dearest of all. I do hope she will like me."
“It is quite right, my dear, and I am most glad to
see thee; for we need help at this season of the year,
and have had none for several weeks. Step up to the
room at the head of the stairs, and lay off thy things. .
Then, if thee is not tired, I will give thee a little job
with me in the kitchen," said the old lady with a kindly
directness which left no room for awkwardness on the
new-comer's part.
Up went Christie, and after a hasty look round a
room as plain and white and still as a nun's cell, she
whisked on a working-apron and ran down again,
feeling, as she fancied the children did in the fairy tale,
when they first arrived at the house of the little old.
woman who lived in the wood.
Mrs. Wilkins's kitchen was as neat as a room could
be, wherein six children came and went, but this
kitchen was tidy with the immaculate order of which
Shakers and Quakers alone seem to possess the secret, -
222
WORK.
a fragrant, shining cleanliness, that made even black
kettles ornamental and dish-pans objects of interest.
Nothing burned or boiled over, though the stove was
full of dinner-pots and skillets. There was no litter or
hurry, though the baking of cake and pies was going
on, and when Mrs. Sterling put a pan of apples, and a
knife into her new assistant's hands, saying in a tone
that made the request a favor, “ Will thee kindly pare
these for me?” Christie wondered what would happen
if she dropped a seed upon the floor, or did not cut the
apples into four exact quarters.
“I never shall suit this dear prim soul,” she thought, -
as her eye went from Puss, sedately perched on one
small mat, to the dog dozing upon another, and neither
offering to stir from their own dominions.
This dainty nicety amused her at first, but she liked
it, and very soon her thoughts went back to the old
times when she worked with Aunt Betsey, and learned
the good old-fashioned arts which now were to prove
her fitness for this pleasant place. .
Mrs. Sterling saw the shadow that crept into Chris-
tie's face, and led the chat to cheerful things, not saying
much herself, but beguiling the other to talk, and listen-
ing with an interest that made it easy to go on. .
Mr. Power and the Wilkinses made them friends
very soon; and in an hour or two Christie was moving
about the kitchen as if she had already taken posses-
sion of her new kingdom.
“ Thee likes housework I think," said Mrs. Sterling,
as she watched her hang up a towel to dry, and rinse
her dish-cloth when the cleaning up was done.
“Oh, yes! if I need not do it with a shiftless Irish girl
BEGINNING AGAIN.
223
to drive me distracted by pretending to help. I have
lived out, and did not find it hard while I had my good
Hepsey. I was second girl, and can set a table in style.
Shall I try now?” she asked, as the old lady went into
a little dining-room with fresh napkins in her hand.
6 Yes, but we have no style here. I will show thee
once, and hereafter it will be thy work, as thy feet are
younger than mine."
A nice old-fashioned table was soon spread, and
Christie kept smiling at the contrast between this and
Mrs. Stuart's. Chubby little pitchers appeared, delicate
old glass, queer china, and tiny tea-spoons; linen as
smooth as satin, and a quaint tankard that might have
come over in the “ May-flower."
“Now, will thee take that pitcher of water to David's
room? It is at the top of the house, and may need
a little dusting. I have not been able to attend to
it as I would like since I have been alone,” said Mrs.
Sterling.
Rooms usually betray something of the character and
tastes of their occupants, and Christie paused a moment
as she entered David's, to look about her with feminine
interest.
It was the attic, and extended the whole length of
the house. One end was curtained off as a bedroom,
and she smiled at its austere simplicity.
A gable in the middle made a sunny recess, where
were stored bags and boxes of seed, burches of herbs,
and shelves full of those tiny pots in which baby plants
are born and nursed till they can grow alone.
The west end was evidently the study, and here
Christie took a good look as she dusted tidily. The
224
WORK.
furniture was nothing, only an old sofa, with the horse-
hair sticking out in tufts here and there; an antique
secretary; and a table covered with books. As she
whisked the duster down the front of the ancient piece
of furniture, one of the doors in the upper half swung
open, and Christie saw three objects that irresistibly
riveted her eyes for a moment. A broken fan, a bundle
of letters tied up with a black ribbon, and a little work-
basket in which lay a fanciful needle-book with “ Letty"
embroidered on it in faded silk.
“Poor David, that is his little shrine, and I have no
right to see it,” thought Christie, shutting the door with
self-reproachful haste.
At the table she paused again, for books always at-
tracted her, and here she saw a goodly array whose names
were like the faces of old friends, because she remem-
bered them in her father's library.
Faust was full of ferns, Shakspeare, of rough sketches
of the men and women whom he has made immor-
tal. Saintly Herbert lay side by side with Saint
Augustine's confessions. Milton and Montaigne stood
socially together, and Andersen's lovely “ Märchen”flut-
tered its pictured leaves in the middle of an open Plato;
while several books in unknown tongues were half-
hidden by volumes of Browning, Keats, and Coleridge.
In the middle of this fine society, slender and trans-
parent as the spirit of a shape, stood a little vase hold-
ing one half-opened rose, fresh and fragrant as if just
gathered. :
Christie smiled as she saw it, and wondered if the
dear, dead, or false woman had been fond of roses.
Then her eye went to the mantel-piece, just above
BEGINNING AGAIN.
225
the table, and she laughed; for, on it stood three busts,
idols evidently, but very shabby ones; for Göthe's nose
was broken, Schiller's head cracked visibly, and the
dust of ages seemed to have settled upon Linnæus in
the middle. On the wall above them hung a curious
old picture of a monk kneeling in a devout -ecstasy,
while the face of an angel is dimly seen through the
radiance that floods the cell with divine light. Por-
traits of Mr. Power and Martin Luther stared thought-
fully at one another from either side, as if making up
their minds to shake hands in spite of time and space.
“Melancholy, learned, and sentimental,” said Christie
to herself, as she settled David's character after these
discoveries.
The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more
curious than ever to see if this belief was true.
"Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son.
Sometimes he does not hear the bell when he is busy.
Thee will find my garden-hood and shawl behind the
door,” said Mrs. Sterling, presently; for punctuality
was a great virtue in the old lady's eyes.
Christie demurely tied on the little pumpkin-hood,
wrapped the gray shawl about her, and set out to find
her “master," as she had a fancy to call this unknown
David.
From the hints dropped by Mr. Power, and her late
discoveries, she had made a hero for herself; a sort of
melancholy Jaques; sad and pale and stern; retired
from the world to nurse his wounds in solitude. She
rather liked this picture; for romance dies hard in a
woman, and, spite of her experiences, Christie still in-
dulged in dreams and fancies. “It will be so interest-
10*
226
WORK.
ing to see how he bears his secret sorrow. I am fond
of woe; but I do hope he won't be too lackadaisical, for
I never could abide that sort of blighted being.”
Thinking thus, she peeped here and there, but saw no
one in yard or barn, except a workman scraping the
mould off his boots near the conservatory.
6 This David is among the flowers, I fancy; I will
just ask, and not bolt in, as he does not know me.
6 Where is Mr. Sterling ?” added Christie aloud, as she
approached.
Thė man looked up, and a smile came into his eyes,
as he glanced from the old hood to the young face in-
side. Then he took off his hat, and held out his hand,
saying with just his mother's simple directness :
“I am David; and this is Christie Devon, I know.
How do you do?”
“Yes; dinner's ready," was all she could reply, for
the discovery that this was the “master," nearly took
her breath away. Not the faintest trace of the melan-
choly Jaques about him; nothing interesting, romantic,
pensive, or even stern. Only a broad-shouldered, brown-
bearded man, with an old hat and coat, trousers tucked
into his boots, fresh mould on the hand he had given
her to shake, and the cheeriest voice she had ever
heard.
What a blow it was to be sure! Christie actually
felt vexed with him for disappointing her so, and could
not recover herself, but stood red and awkward, till,
with a last scrape of his boots, David said with placid
brevity:
“ Well, shall we go in ?" .
Christie walked rapidly into the house, and by the
BEGINNING AGAIN.
227
time she got there the absurdity of her fancy struck
her, and she stifled a laugh in the depths of the little
pumpkin-hood, as she hung it up. Then, assuming her
gravest air, she went to give the finishing touches to
dinner.
Ten minutes later she received another surprise; for
David appeared washed, brushed, and in a suit of gray,
- a personable gentleman, quite unlike the workman
in the yard.
Christie gave one look, met a pair of keen yet kind
eyes with a suppressed laugh in them, and dropped her
own, to be no more lifted up till dinner was done.
It was a very quiet meal, for no one said much; and
it was evidently the custom of the house to eat silently,
only now and then saying a few friendly words, to show
that the hearts were social if the tongues were not.
On the present occasion this suited Christie; and she
ate her dinner without making any more discoveries,
except that the earth-stained hands were very clean
now, and skilfully supplied her wants before she could
make them known.
As they rose from table, Mrs. Sterling said: “ Davy,
does thee want any help this afternoon ?"
“I shall be very glad of some in about an hour if
thee can spare it, mother."
“I can, dear.”
“Do you care for flowers ?” asked David, turning to
Christie, “because if you do not, this will be a very
trying place for you.”
“I used to love them dearly; but I have not had any
for so long I hardly remember how they look,” an-
228
WORK.
roses, dead long ago. . “Shy, sick, and sad; poor soul,
we must lend a hand and cheer her up a bit” thought
David, as he watched her eyes turn toward the green
things in the windows with a bright, soft look, he liked
to see.
“ Come to the conservatory in an hour, and I'll show
you the best part of a German,'” he said, with a nod
and a smile, as he went away, beginning to whistle like
a boy when the door was shut behind him.
“What did he' mean?” thought Christie, as she
helped clear the table, and put every thing in Pimlico
order.
She was curious to know, and when Mrs. Sterling
said: “Now, my dear, I am going to take my nap, and
thee can help David if thee likes," she was quite ready
to try the new work.
. She would have been more than woman if she had
not first slipped upstairs to smooth her hair, put on a
fresh collar, and a black silk apron with certain effective
frills and pockets, while a scarlet rigolette replaced the
hood, and lent a little color to her pale cheeks.
“I am a poor ghost of what I was," she thought;
“but that's no matter: few can be pretty, any one can
be neat, and that is more than ever necessary here."
Then she went away to the conservatory, feeling
rather oppressed with the pity and sympathy, for which
there was no call, and fervently wishing that David
would not be so comfortable, for he ate a hearty din-
ner, laughed four times, and whistled as no heart-broken
man would dream of doing.
No one was visible as she went in, and walking slow-
ly down the green aisle, she gave herself up to the en-.
BEGINNING AGAIN.
229
o
joyment of the lovely place. The damp, sweet air
made summer there, and a group of slender, oriental
trees whispered in the breath of wind that blew in from
an open sash. Strange vines and flowers hung overhead;
banks of azaleas, ruddy, white, and purple, bloomed
in one place; roses of every hue turned their lovely
faces to the sun; ranks of delicate ferns, and heaths
with their waxen bells, were close by; glowing gerani-
ums and stately lilies side by side ; savage-looking scarlet
flowers with purple hearts, or orange spikes rising from
leaves mottled with strange colors ; dusty passion-flow-
ers, and gay nasturtiums climbing to the roof. All
manner of beautiful and curious plants were there; and
Christie walked among them, as happy as a child who
finds its playmates again.
Coming to a bed of pansies she sat down on a rustic
chair, and, leaning forward, feasted her eyes on these
her favorites. Her face grew young as she looked, her
hands touched them with a lingering tenderness as if
to her they were half human, and her own eyes were
so busy enjoying the gold and purple spread before
her, that she did not see another pair peering at her
over an unneighborly old cactus, all prickles, and queer
knobs. Presently a voice said at her elbow:
“ You look as if you saw something beside pansies
there."
David spoke so quietly that it did not startle her, and
she answered before she had time to feel ashamed of
her fancy.
“I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a
little face when I look at this flower. Sometimes it is
a sad one, sometimes it's merry, often roguish, but al-
230
WORK.
ways a dear little face; and when I see so many to-
gether, it 's like a flock of children, all nodding and smil-
ing at me at once."
“So it is!” and David nodded, and smiled himself,
as he handed her two or three of the finest, as if it was
as natural a thing as to put a sprig of mignonette in
his own button-hole.
Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remem-
bering that she came there to work, not to dream. He
seemed to understand, and went into a little room near
by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gay flowers on
the table :
6 These are to be made into little bouquets for a
"German’to-night. It is pretty work, and better fitted
for a woman's fingers than a man's. This is all you
have to do, and you can use your taste as to colors."
While he spoke David laid a red and white carna-
tion on a bit of smilax, tied them together, twisted a
morsel of silver foil about the stems, and laid it before
Christie as a sample.
“Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much," she
said, burying her nose in the mass of sweetness before
her, and feeling as if her new situation grew pleasanter
every minute.
“ Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk
will soon be spoilt, for the flowers are wet,” and David
gravely offered her a large checked pinafore.
Christie could not help laughing as she put it on:
all this was so different from the imaginary picture she
had made. She was disappointed, and yet she began
to feel as if the simple truth was better than the senti-
mental fiction; and glanced up at David involuntarily
BEGINNING AGAIN.
231
to see if there were any traces of interesting woe about
him.
But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-
forward look which she liked so much, yet could not
meet just yet; and all she saw was that he was smiling
also with an indulgent expression as if she was a little
girl whom he was trying to amuse.
“ Make a few, and I'll be back directly when I have
attended to another order," and he went away thinking
Christie's face was very like the pansies they had been
talking about, - one of the sombre ones with a bright
touch of gold deep down in the heart, for thin and pale
as the face was, it lighted up at a kind word, and all
the sadness vanished out of the anxious eyes when the
frank laugh came.
Christie fell to work with a woman's interest in such
a pleasant task, and soon tied and twisted skilfully,
exercising all her taste in contrasts, and the pretty
little conceits flower-lovers can produce. She was so
interested that presently she began to hum half un-
consciously, as she was apt to do when happily em-
ployed :
“Welcome, maids of honor,
You do bring
In the spring,
And wait upon her.
She has virgins many,
Fresh and fair,
Yet you are
More sweet than any." .
There she stopped, for David's step drew near, and
she remembered where she was.
« The last verse is the best in that little poem. Have
232
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find the new-comer singing Herrick's lines “ To Violets."
.“ Almost; my father used to say that when we went
looking for early violets, and these lovely ones reminded
me of it,” explained Christie, rather abashed.

.
DAVID AND CHRISTIE IN THE GREEN HOUSE.
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BEGINNING AGAIN.
233
As if to put her at ease David added, as he laid an-
other handful of double-violets on the table:
“Y’are the maiden posies,
And so graced,
To be placed
'Tore damask roses.
Yet, though thus respected,
By and by
Ye do lie,
Poor girls, neglected.'
6 I always think of them as pretty, modest maids
after that, and can't bear to throw them away, even
when faded.”
Christie hoped he did not think her sentimental, and
changed the conversation by pointing to her work, and
saying, in a business-like way: .
6 Will these do? I have varied the posies as much
as possible, so that they may suit all sorts of tastes and
whims. I never went to a German' myself; but I have
looked on, and remember hearing the young people say
the little bouquets didn't mean any thing, so I tried to
make these expressive.”
“Well, I should think you had succeeded excellently,
and it is a very pretty fancy. Tell me what some of
them mean: will yon?”
.“ You should know better than I, being a florist,"
said Christie, glad to see he approved of her work.
“I can grow the flowers, but not read them," and
David looked rather depressed by his own ignorance
of those delicate matters.
Still with the business-like air, Christie held up one
234
WORK.
after another of the little knots, saying soberly, though
her eyes smiled :
“This white one might be given to a newly engaged:
girl, as suggestive of the coming bridal. That half-
blown bud would say a great deal from a lover to his
idol; and this heliotrope be most encouraging to a
timid swain. Here is a rosy daisy for some merry little
damsel; there is a scarlet posy for a soldier; this deli-
cate azalea and fern for some lovely creature just out;
and there is a bunch of sober pansies for a spinster, if
spinsters go to Germans. Heath, scentless but pretty,
would do for many; these Parma violets for one with
a sorrow; and this curious purple flower with arrow-
shaped stamens would just suit a handsome, sharp-
tongued woman, if any partner dared give it to her.”
David laughed, as his eye went from the flowers to
Christie's face, and when she laid down the last breast-
knot, looking as if she would like the chance of present-
ing it to some one she knew, he seemed much amused.
“ If the beaux and belles at this party have the wit
to read your posies, my fortune will be made, and you
will have your hands full supplying compliments, dec-
larations, rebukes, and criticisms for the fashionable
butterflies. I wish I could put consolation, hope, and
submission into my work as easily, but I am afraid I
can't,” he added a moment afterward with a changed
face, as he began to lay the loveliest white flowers into
a box.
“ Those are not for a wedding, then ?"
“For a dead baby; and I can't seem to find any white
and sweet enough.”
“ You know the people ?” asked Christie, with the
sympathetic tone in her voice.
BEGINNING AGAIN.
235
“Never saw or heard of them till to-day. Isn't it
enough to know that baby's dead,' as the poor man
said, to make one feel for them ?”
“Of course it is; only you seemed so interested in
arranging the flowers, I naturally thought it was for
some friend," Christie answered hastily, for David
looked half indignant at her question.
.“I want them to look lovely and comforting when
the mother opens the box, and I don't seem to have
the right flowers. Will you give it a touch ? women
have a tender way of doing such things that we can
never learn."
“I don't think I can improve it, unless I add another
sort of flower that seems appropriate: may I?"
“Any thing you can find.”
Christie waited for no more, but ran out of the green-
house to David's great surprise, and presently came
hurrying back with a handful of snow-drops.
“Those are just what I wanted, but I didn't know
the little dears were up yet! You shall put them in,
and I know they will suggest what you hope to these
poor people,” he said approvingly, as he placed the box
before her, and stood by watching her adjust the little
sheaf of pale flowers tied up with a blade of grass.
She added a frail fern or two, and did give just the
graceful touch here and there which would speak to
the mother's sore heart of the tender thought some one
had taken for her dead darling.
The box was sent away, and Christie went on with
her work, but that little task performed together seemed
to have made them friends; and, while David tied up
several grand bouquets at the same table, they talked
before of Palco *
.
.
236
WORK:
IV
as if the strangeness was fast melting away from their
short acquaintance.
Christie's own manners were so simple that simplicity
in others always put her at her ease: kindness soon
banished her reserve, and the desire to show that she
was grateful for it helped her to please. David's blunt-
ness was of such a gentle sort that she soon got used
to it, and found it a pleasant contrast to the polite
insincerity so common. He was as frank and friendly
as a boy, yet had a certain paternal way with him
which rather annoyed her at first, and made her feel as
if he thought her a mere girl, while she was very sure
he could not be but a year or two older than herself.
“I'd rather he'd be masterful, and order me about,"
she thought, still rather regretting the “ blighted being”
she had not found.
In spite of this she spent a pleasant afternoon, sitting
in that sunny place, handling flowers, asking questions
about them, and getting the sort of answers she liked;
not dry botanical names and facts, but all the delicate
traits, curious habits, and poetical romances of the
sweet things, as if the speaker knew and loved them as
friends, not merely valued them as merchandise.
They had just finished when the great dog came
bouncing in with a basket in his mouth.
“Mother wants eggs: will you come to the barn and
get them ? Hay is wholesome, and you can feed the
doves if you like," said David, leading the way with
Bran rioting about him.
“Why don't he offer to put up a swing for me, or
get me a doll? It's the pinafore that deceives him.
Never mind: I rather like it after all,” thought Christie;
BEGINNING AGAIN.
237
but she left the apron behind her, and followed with
the most dignified air.
It did not last long, however, for the sights and
sounds that greeted her, carried her back to the days
of egg-hunting in Uncle Enos's big barn; and, before
she knew it, she was rustling through the hay mows,
talking to the cow and receiving the attentions of Bran
with a satisfaction it was impossible to conceal.
The hens gathered about her feet.cocking their
expectant eyes at her; the doves came circling round
her head; the cow stared placidly, and the inquisitive
horse responded affäbly when she offered him a handful
of hay.
“How tame they all are! I like animals, they are
so contented and intelligent,” she said, as a plump dove
lit on her shoulder with an impatient coo.
“That was Kitty's pet, she always fed the fowls.
Would you like to do it ?” and David offered a little
measure of oats.
“ Very much;” and Christie began to scatter the
grain, wondering who “Kitty” was.
As if he saw the wish in her face, David added,
while he shelled corn for the hens:
“She was the little girl who was with us last. Her
father kept her in a factory, and took all her wages,
barely giving her clothes and food enough to keep her
alive. The poor child ran away, and was trying to
hide when Mr. Power found and sent her here to be
cared for.”
“ As he did me?” said Christie quickly.
“ Yes, that's a way he has."
“A very kind and Christian way. Why didn't she
stay ? "
.
238
WORK.
“ Well, it was rather quiet for the lively little thing,
and rather too near the city, so we got a good place up
in the country where she could go to school and learn
housework. The mill had left her no time for these
things, and at fifteen she was as ignorant as a child."
“You must miss her."
"I do very much." .
6 Was she pretty ?”
“She looked like a little rose sometimes," and David
smiled to himself as he fed the gray hens.
Christie immediately made a picture of the “lively
little thing” with a face “like a rose," and was uncom-
fortably conscious that she did not look half as well
feeding doves as Kitty must have done.
Just then David handed her the basket, saying in the.
paternal way that half amused, half piqued her: “ It
is getting too chilly for you here: take these in please,
and I'll bring the milk directly.”
In spite of herself she smiled, as a sudden vision of
the elegant Mr. Fletcher, devotedly carrying her book
or beach-basket, passed through her mind ; then hastened
to explain the smile, for David lifted his brows inquir-
ingly, and glanced about him to see what amused her.
“I beg your pardon : I've lived alone so much that
it seems a little odd to be told to do things, even if
they are as easy and pleasant as this."
“I am so used to taking care of people, and direct-
ing, that I do so without thinking. I won't if you
don't like it," and he put out his hand to take back the
basket with a grave, apologetic air.
“But I do like it; only it amused me to be treated
like a little girl again, when I am nearly thirty, and
BEGINNING AGAIN.
239
feel seventy at least, life has been so hard to me
lately."
Her face sobered at the last words, and David's in-
it lest they should fill, so suddenly did the memory of
past troubles overcome her.
“I know," he said in a tone that warmed her heart,
“I know, but we are going to try, and make life easier
for you now, and you must feel that this is home and
we are friends."
“I do!” and Christie flushed with grateful feeling
and a little shame, as she went in, thinking to her-
self: “How silly I was to say that! I may have spoilt
the simple friendliness that was so pleasant, and have
made him think me a foolish stuck-up old creature.”
was unchanged when he came in and found her busy
with the table.
" It's pleasant to see thee resting, mother, and every
thing going on so well,” he said, glancing about the
room, where the old lady sat, and nodding toward the
kitchen, where Christie was toasting bread in her neatest
manner.
“Yes, Davy, it was about time I had a helper for thy
sake, at least; and this is a great improvement upon
heedless Kitty, I am inclined to think.”
Mrs. Sterling dropped her voice over that last sen-
tence; but Christie heard it, and was pleased. A mo-
ment or two later, David came toward her with a glass
in his hand, saying as if rather doubtful of his recep-
“New milk is part of the cure: will you try it?”
tion:
240 .
WORK.
· For the first time, Christie looked straight up in the
honest eyes that seemed to demand honesty in others,
and took the glass, answering heartily:
“Yes, thank you; I drink good health to you, and
better manners to me."
The newly lighted lamp shone full in her face, and
though it was neither young nor blooming, it showed
something better than youth and bloom to one who
could read the subtle language of character as David
could. He nodded as he took the glass, and went away
saying quietly:.
“ We are plain people here, and you won't find it
hard to get on with us, I think.”
But he liked the candid look, and thought about it,
as he chopped kindlings, whistling with a vigor which
caused Christie to smile as she strained the milk.
After tea a spider-legged table was drawn out toward
the hearth, where an open fire burned cheerily, and
puss purred on the rng, with Bran near by. David
unfolded his newspapers, Mrs. Sterling pinned on her
knitting-sheath, and Christie sat a moment enjoying
the comfortable little scene. She sighed without know-
ing it, and Mrs. Sterling asked quickly:
“Is thee tired, my dear ?”
“Oh, no! only happy.”
“I am glad of that: I was afraid thee would find it
dull.”
“It's beautiful!” then Christie checked herself, feel-
ing that these outbursts would not suit such quiet
people; and, half ashamed of showing how much she
felt, she added soberly, “ If you will give me something
to do I shall be quite contented.”
BEGINNING AGAIN.
241
. “Sewing is not good for thee. If thee likes to knit
I'll set up a sock for thee to-morrow," said the old
lady well pleased at the industrious turn of her new
handmaid.
“I like to darn, and I see some to be done in this
basket. May I do it ?” and Christie laid hold of the
weekly job which even the best housewives are apt to
set aside for pleasanter tasks. :
“As thee likes, my dear. My eyes will not let me
sew much in the evening, else I should have finished
that batch to-night. Thee will find the yarn and
needles in the little bag.”
So Christie fell to work on gray socks, and neat
lavender-colored hose, while the old lady knit swiftly,
and David read aloud. Christie thought she was listen-
ing to the report of a fine lecture; but her ear only
caught the words, for her mind wandered away into a
region of its own, and lived there till her task was done.
Then she laid the tidy pile in the basket, drew her
chair to a corner of the hearth, and quietly enjoyed
herself.
The cat, feeling sure of a welcome, got up into her
lap, and went to sleep in a cosy bunch ; Bran laid his
nose across her feet, and blinked at her with sleepy
good-will, while her eyes wandered round the room,
from its quaint furniture and the dreaming flowers in
the windows, to the faces of its occupants, and lingered
there.
The plain border of a Quaker cap encircled that
mild old face, with bands of silver hair parted on a
forehead marked with many lines. But the eyes were
clear and sweet; winter roses bloomed in the cheeks,
1 11
Р
242
WORK.
and an exquisite neatness pervaded the small figure,
from the trim feet on the stool, to the soft shawl folded
about the shoulders, as only a Quakeress can fold one.
In Mrs. Sterling, piety and peace made old age lovely,
and the mere presence of this tranquil soul seemed to
fill the room with a reposeful charm none could resist.
The other face possessed no striking comeliness of
shape or color; but the brown, becoming beard made
it manly, and the broad arch of a benevolent brow
added nobility to features otherwise not beautiful, -- a
face plainly expressing resolution and rectitude, in-
spiring respect as naturally as a certain protective
kindliness of manner won confidence. Even in repose
wearing a vigilant look as if some hidden pain or
passion lay in wait to surprise and conquer the sober
cheerfulness that softened the lines of the firm-set lips,
and warmed the glance of the thoughtful eyes.
Christic fancied she possessed the key to this, and
longed to know all the story of the cross which Mr.
Power said David had learned to bear so well. Then
she began to wonder if they could like and keep her,
to hope so, and to feel that here at last she was at
home with friends. But the old sadness crept over her,
as she remembered how often she had thought this
before, and how soon the dream ended, the ties were
broken, and she adrift again.
“Ah well,” she said within herself, “I won't think
of the morrow, but take the good that comes and enjoy
it while I may. I must not disappoint Rachel, since
she kept her word so nobly to me. Dear soul, when
shall I see her again ?"
The thought of Rachel always touched her heart,
BEGINNING AGAIN.
243
more now than ever; and, as she leaned back in her
chair with closed eyes and idle hands, these tender
memories made her unconscious face most eloquent.
The eyes peering over the spectacles telegraphed a
meaning message to the other eyes glancing over the
paper now and then; and both these friends in deed as
well as name felt assured that this woman needed all
the comfort they could give her. But the busy needles
never stopped their click, and the sonorous voice read
on without a pause, so Christie never knew what mute
confidences passed between mother and son, or what
helpful confessions her traitorous face had made for her.
The clock struck nine, and these primitive people
prepared for rest; for their day began at dawn, and
much wholesome work made sleep a luxury.
- Davy will tap at thy door as he goes down in the
morning, and I will soon follow to show thee about
matters. Good-night, and good rest, my child."
So speaking, the little lady gave Christie a maternal
kiss; David shook hands; and then she went away,
wondering why service was so lightened by such little
kindnesses.
As she lay in her narrow white bed, with the “pale
light of stars” filling the quiet, cell-like room, and some
one playing softly on a flute overhead, she felt as if she
had left the troublous world behind her, and shutting
out want, solitude, and despair, had come into some
safe, secluded spot full of flowers and sunshine, kind
hearts, and charitable deeds.
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED. ..
PROM that day a new life began for Christie, a
T happy, quiet, useful life, utterly unlike any of
the brilliant futures she had planned for herself; yet
indescribably pleasant to her now, for past experience
had taught her its worth, and made her ready to
enjoy it.
Never had spring seemed so early or so fair, never
had such a crop of hopeful thoughts and happy feel-
ings sprung up in her heart as now; and nowhere was
there a brighter face, a blither voice, or more willing
hands than Christie's when the apple blossoms came.
This was what she needed, the protection of a
home, wholesome cares and duties; and, best of all,
friends to live and labor for, loving and beloved. Her
whole soul was in her work now, and as health returned,
much of the old energy and cheerfulness came with it,
a little sobered, but more sweet and earnest than ever.
No task was too hard or humble; no day long enough
to do all she longed to do; and no sacrifice would have
seemed too great for those whom she regarded with
steadily increasing love and gratitude.
Up at dawn, the dewy fresliness of the hour, the
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
245
morning rapture of the birds, the daily miracle of sun-
rise, set her heart in tune, and gave her Nature's most
healing balın. She kept the little house in order, with
Mrs. Sterling to direct and share the labor so pleasantly,
that mistress and maid soon felt like mother and
daughter, and Christie often said she did not care for
any other wages.
The house-work of this small family was soon done,
and then Christie went to tasks that she liked better.
Much out-of-door life was good for her, and in garden
and green-house there was plenty of light labor she
could do. So she grubbed contentedly in the whole-
some earth, weeding and potting, learning to prune
and bud, and finding Mrs. Wilkins was quite right in
her opinion of the sanitary virtues of dirt.
Trips to town to see the good woman and carry
country gifts to the little folks; afternoon drives with
Mrs. Sterling in the old-fashioned chaise, drawn by the
Roman-nosed horse, and Sunday pilgrimages to church
to be “righted up” by one of Mr. Power's stirring ser-
mons, were among her new pleasures. Biit, on the
whole, the evenings were her happiest times: for then
David read aloud while she worked ; she sung to the
old piano tuned for her use; or, better still; as spring
came on, they sat in the porch, and talked as people
only do talk when twilight, veiling the outer world,
seems to lift the curtains of that inner world where
minds go exploring, hearts learn to know one another,
and souls walk together in the cool of the day.
At such times Christie seemed to catch glimpses of
another David than the busy, cheerful man appar-
ently contented with the humdrum duties of an ob-
246
WORK.
scure, laborious life, and the few unexciting pleasures
afforded by books, music, and niuch silent thought.
She sometimes felt with a woman's instinct that under
this composed, commonplace existence another life
went on; for, now and then, in the interest of conver-
sation, or the involuntary yielding to a confidential
impulse, a word, a look, a gesture, betrayed an unex-
pected power and passion, a secret unrest, a bitter
memory that would not be ignored.
· Only at rare moments did she catch these glimpses,
and so brief, so indistinct, were they that she half
believed her own lively fancy created them. She longed
to know more; but “David's trouble” made him sacred
in her eyes from any prying curiosity, and always after
one of these twilight betrayals Christie found him so
like his unromantic self next day, that she laughed and
said:
“I never shall outgrow my foolish way of trying to
make people other than they are. Gods are gone,
heroes hard to find, and one should be contented with
good men, even if they do wear old clothes, lead prosaic
lives, and have no accomplishments but gardening,
playing the flute, and keeping their temper."
She felt the influences of that friendly place at once;
but for a time she wondered at the natural way in
which kind things were done, the protective care ex-
tended over her, and the confiding air with which these
people treated her. They asked no questions, demanded
no explanations, seemed unconscious of conferring
favors, and took her into their life so readily that she
marvelled, even while she rejoiced, at the good fortune
which led her there.
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
247
She understood this better when she discovered, what
Mr. Power had not mentioned, that the little cottage
was a sort of refuge for many women like herself; a
half-way house where they could rest and recover them-
selves after the wrongs, defeats, and weariness that come
to such in the battle of life..
With a chivalry older and finer than any Spenser
sung, Mr. Power befriended these forlorn souls, and
David was his faithful squire. Whoever knocked at
that low door was welcomed, warmed, and fed ; com-
forted, and set on their way, cheered and strengthened
by the sweet good-will that made charity no burden,
and restored to the more desperate and despairing
their faith in human nature and God's love.
There are many such green spots in this world of
ours, which often seems so bad that a second Deluge
could hardly wash it clean again ; and these beneficent,
unostentatious asylums are the salvation of more
troubled souls than many a great institution gilded all
over with the rich bequests of men who find themselves
too heavily laden to enter in at the narrow gate of
heaven.
Happy the foot-sore, heart-weary traveller who turns
from the crowded, dusty highway down the green lane
that leads to these humble inns, where the sign of the
Good Samaritan is written on the face of whomsoever
opens to the stranger, and refreshment for soul and
body is freely given in the name of Him who loved the
poor.
Mr. Power came now and then, for his large parish
left him but little time to visit any but the needy.
Christie enjoyed these brief visits heartily, for her new
248
WORK.
friends soon felt that she was one of them, and cor-
dially took her into the large circle of workers and
believers to which they belonged.
Mr. Power's heart was truly an orphan asylum, and
every lonely creature found a welcome there. He
could rebuke sin sternly, yet comfort and uplift the
sinner with fatherly compassion; righteous wrath would
flash from his eyes at injustice, and contempt sharpen
his voice as he denounced hypocrisy: yet the eyes
that lightened would dim with pity for a woman's
wrong, a child's small sorrow; and the voice that
thundered would whisper consolation like a mother, or
give counsel with a wisdom books cannot teach.
He was a Moses in his day and generation, born to
lead his people out of the bondage of dead supersti-
tions, and go before them through a Red Sea of perse-
cution into the larger liberty and love all souls hunger
for, and many are just beginning to find as they come
doubting, yet desiring, into the goodly land such pio-
neers as he have planted in the wilderness.
He was like a tonic to weak natures and wavering
wills; and Christie felt a general revival going on within
herself as her knowledge, honor, and affection for him
grew. His strength seemed to uphold her ; his integ-
rity to rebuke all unworthiness in her own life; and the
magic of his generous, genial spirit to make the hard
places smooth, the bitter things sweet, and the world
seem a happier, honester place than she had ever
thought it since her father died.
Mr. Power had been interested in her from the first;
had watched her through other eyes, and tried her by
various unsuspected tests. She stood them well;
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
249
showed her faults as frankly as her virtues, and tried to
deserve their esteem by copying the excellencies she
admired in them.
“She is made of the right stuff, and we must keep
her among us; for she must not be lost or wasted by
being left to drift about the world with no ties to make
her safe and happy. She is doing so well here, let her
stay till the restless spirit begins to stir again ; then
she shall come to me and learn contentment by seeing
greater troubles than her own.”
Mr. Power said this one day as he rose to go, after
sitting an hour with Mrs. Sterling, and hearing from
her a good report of his new protégée. The young
people were out at work, and had not been called in to
see him, for the interview had been a confidential one.
But as he stood at the gate he saw Christie in the
strawberry bed, and went toward her, glad to see how
well and happy she looked.
. Her hat was hanging on her shoulders, and the sun
giving her cheeks a healthy color; she was humming
to herself like a bee as her fingers flew, and once she
paused, shaded her eyes with her hand, and took a long
look at a figure down in the meadow; then she worked on
silent and smiling, - a pleasant creature to see, though
her hair was ruffled by the wind; her gingham gown
pinned up; and her fingers deeply stained with the
blood of many berries.
“I wonder if that means any thing ?” thought Mr.
Power, with a keen glance from the distant man to the
busy woman close at hand. “It might be a helpful,
happy thing for both, if poor David only could forget."
He had time for no more castle-building, for a startled
11*
250
WORK.
robin flew away with a shrill chirp, and Christie looked
up.
“Oh, I'm so glad ! ” she said, rising quickly. “I was
picking a special box for you, and now you can have a
feast beside, just as you like it, fresh from the vines.
Sit here, please, and I'll hull faster than you can eat."
“ This is "luxury!” and Mr. Power sat down on the
three-legged stool offered him, with a rhubarb leaf on
his knee which Christie kept supplying with delicious
mouthfuls.

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Mr. Power AND CHRISTIE IN THE Strawberry Bed.
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
251
“Well, and how goes it ? Are we still happy and con-
tented here ?” he asked.
“I feel as if I had been born again ; as if this was -
a new heaven and a new earth, and every thing was
as it should be," answered Christie, with a look of per-
fect satisfaction in her face.
“ That's a pleasant hearing. Mrs. Sterling has been
praising you, but I wanted to be sure you were as satis-
fied as she. And how does David wear? well, I hope."
“Oh, yes, he is very good to me, and is teaching me
to be a gardener, so that I needn't kill myself with sew-
ing any more. Much of this is fine work for women,
and so healthy. Don't I look a different creature from
the ghost that came here three or four months ago ?”
and she turned her face for inspection like a child.
“ Yes, David is a good gardener. I often send my
sort of plants here, and he always makes them grow
and blossom sooner or later," answered Mr. Power, re-
garding her like a beneficent genie on a three-legged
stool.
“ You are the fresh air, and Mrs. Sterling is the quiet
sunshine that does the work, I fancy. David only digs
about the roots."
“ Thank you for my share of the compliment; but
why say "only digs '? That is a most important part
of the work: I'm afraid you don't appreciate David.”
« Oh, yes, I do; but he rather aggravates me some-
times,” said Christie, laughing, as she put a particularly
big berry in the green plate to atone for her frankness.
“How ?” asked Mr. Power, interested in these little
revelations.
“Well, he won't be ambitious. I try to stir him up,
252
WORK.
for he has talents; I've found that out: but he won't
seem to care for any thing but watching over his mother,
reading his old books, and making flowers bloom double
when they ought to be single.”
“ There are worse ambitions than those, Christie. I
know many a man who would be far better employed
in cherishing a sweet old woman, studying Plato, and
doubling the beauty of a flower, than in selling princi-
ples for money, building up a cheap reputation that dies
with him, or chasing pleasures that turn to ashes in his
mouth."
“Yes, sir; but isn't it natural for a young man to
have some personal aim or aspiration to live for? If
David was a weak or dull man I could understand it;
but I seem to feel a power, a possibility for something
higher and better than any thing I see, and this frets
me. He is so good, I want him to be great also in
some way.”
:“ A wise man says, “The essence of greatness is the
perception that virtue is enough. I think David one
of the most ambitious men I ever knew, because at
thirty he has discovered this truth, and taken it to
heart. Many men can be what the world càlls great:
very few men are what God calls good. This is the
harder task to choose, yet the only success that satis-
fies, the only honor that outlives death. These faith-
ful lives, whether seen of men or hidden in corners, are
the salvation of the world, and few of us fail to ac-
knowledge it in the hours when we are brought close
to the heart of things, and see a little as God sees.”'
Christie did not speak for a moment: Mr. Power's
voice had been so grave, and his words so earnest that
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
253
she could not answer lightly, but sat turning over the
new thoughts in her mind. Presently she said, in a
penitent but not quite satisfied tone:
“Of course you are right, sir. I'll try not to care for
the outward and visible signs of these hidden virtues ;
but I'm afraid I still shall have a hankering for the
worldly honors that are so valued by most people.".
and God's favor,' according to Æschylus, and you will
find he was right. David got a heavy blow some years
ago as I told you, I think; and he took it hard, but it
did not spoil him : it made a man of him; and, if I am
not much mistaken, he will yet do something to be
proud of, though the world may never hear of it.”
" I hope so !” and Christie's face brightened at the
thought.
“ Nevertheless you look as if you doubted it, O you
of little faith. Every one has two sides to his nature:
David has shown you the least interesting one, and
you judge accordingly. I think he will show you the
other side some day, --for you are one of the women
who win confidence without trying, -- and then you
will know the real David. Don't expect too much, or
quarrel with the imperfections that make him human;
but take him for what he is worth, and help him if you
can to make his life a brave and good one."
“I will, sir,” answered Christie so meekly that Mr.
Power laughed; for this confessional in the strawberry
bed amused him very much.
“ You are a hero-worshipper, my dear; and if people
don't come up to the mark you are so disappointed that
you fail to see the fine reality which remains when the
254
WORK.
pretty romance ends. Saints walk about the world to-
day as much as ever, but instead of haircloth and halos
they now wear" -
“Broadcloth and wide-brimmed hats," added Chris-
tie, looking up as if she had already found a better
St. Thomas than any the church ever canonized.
He thanked her with a smile, and went on with a
glance toward the meadow.
“And knights go crusading as gallantly as ever
against the giants and the dragons, though you don't
discover it, because, instead of banner, lance, and shield
they carry” –
... “Bushel-baskets, spades, and sweet-flag for their
mothers,” put in Christie again, as David came up the
path with the loam he had been digging.
Both began to laugh, and he joined in the.merriment
without knowing why, as he put down his load, took off
his hat, and shook hands with his honored guest.
“ What's the joke?” he asked, refreshing himself
with the handful of berries Christie offered him.
“Don't tell,” she whispered, looking dismayed at the
idea of letting him know what she had said of him.
But Mr. Power answered tranquilly: .
“We were talking about coins, and Christie was ex-
pressing her opinion of one I showed her. The face
and date she understands; but the motto puzzles her,
and she has not seen the reverse side yet, so does
not know its value. She will some day; and then she
will agree with me, I think, that it is sterling gold.”
The emphasis on the last words enlightened David :
his sunburnt cheek reddened, but he only shook his
head, saying: “She will find a brass farthing I'm afraid,
IN THE STRAWBERRY BED.
-255
sir,” and began to crumble a handful of loam about the
roots of a carnation that seemed to have sprung up by
chance at the foot of the apple-tree.
“How did that get there?" asked Christie, with sud-
den interest in the flower.
6 It dropped when I was setting out the others, took
root, and looked so pretty and comfortable that I left
it. These waifs sometimes do better than the most
carefully tended ones : I only dig round them a bit and
leave them to sun and air.”
Mi. Power looked at Christie with so much meaning
in his face that it was her turn to .color now. But with
feminine perversity she would not own herself mistaken,
and answered with eyes as full of meaning as his own:
5 I like the single ones best : double-carnations are
so untidy, all bursting out of the calyx as if the petals
had quarrelled and could not live together."
“ The single ones are seldom perfect, and look poor
and incomplete with little scent or beauty,” said un-
conscious David propping up the thin-leaved flower,
that looked like a pale solitary maiden, beside the great
crimson and white carnations near by, filling the air
with spicy odor.
“I suspect you will change your mind by and by,
- Christie, as your taste improves, and you will learn to
think the double ones the handsomest," added Mr.
Power, wondering in his benevolent heart if he would
ever be the gardener to mix the colors of the two hu-
man plants before him.
“I must go,” and David shouldered his basket as if
he felt he might be in the way.
“ So must I, or they will be waiting for me at the
256
WORK.
hospital. Give me a handful of flowers, David : they
often do the poor souls more good than my prayers or
preaching:”
Then they went away, and left Christie sitting in the
strawberry bed, thinking that David looked less than
ever like a hero with his blue shirt, rough straw hat,
and big boots; also wondering if he would ever show
her his best side, and if she would like it when she
saw it.
CHAPTER XII.
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
On the fourth of September, Christie woke up, say-
ing to herself : “It is my birthday, but no one
knows it, so I shall get no presents. Ah, well, I'm
too old for that now, I suppose;" but she sighed as she
said it, for well she knew one never is too old to be
remembered and beloved.
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Sterling entered,
carrying what looked very like a pile of snow-flakes in
her arms. Laying this upon the bed, she kissed Chris-
tie, saying with a tone and gesture that made the words
a benediction :
“A happy birthday, and God bless thee, my daughter!”
Before Christie could do more than hug both gift and
giver, a great bouquet came flying in at the open win-
dow, aired with such skill that it fell upon the bed,
while David's voice called out from below: “A happy
birthday, Christie, and many of them !"
“ How sweet, how kind of you, this is ! I didn't dream
you knew about to-day, and never thought of such a
beautiful surprise," cried Christie, touched and charmed
by this unexpected celebration.
258
WORK.
“ Thee mentioned it once long ago, and we remem-
bered. They are very huinble gifts, my dear; but we
could not let the day pass without some token of the
thanks we owe thee for these months of faithful service
and affectionate coinpanionship.”
Christie had no answer to this little address, and was
about to cry as the only adequate expression of her
feelings, when a hearty “ Hear! Hear!” from below
made her laugh, and call out:
“ You conspirators ! how dare you lay plots, and then
exult over me when I can't find words to thank you ?
I always did think you were a set of angels, and now
I'm quite sure of it."
“Thee may be right about Davy, but I am only a
prudent old woman, and have taken much pleasure
in privately knitting this light wrap to wear when thee
sits in the porch, for the evenings will soon grow chilly.
My son did not know what to get, and finally decided
that flowers would suit thee best; so he made a bunch
of those thee loves, and would toss it in' as if he was a
boy."
“I like that way, and both my presents suit me ex-
actly,” said Christie, wrapping the fleecy shawl about
her, and admiring the nosegay in which her quick eye
saw all her favorites, even to a plumy spray of the
little wild asters which she loved so much.
“Now, child, I will step down, and see about break-
fast. Take thy time; for this is to be a holiday, and we
mean to make it a happy one if we can.”
With that the old lady went away, and Christie soon
followed, looking very fresh and blithe as she ran down
smiling behind her great bouquet. David was in the
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
259
porch, training up the morning-glories that bloomed.
late and lovely in that sheltered spot. He turned as
she approached, held out his hand, and bent a little as
if he was moved to add a tenderer greeting. But he
did not, only held the hand she gave him for a moment,
as he said with the paternal expression unusually
visible:
“I wished you many happy birthdays; and, if you
go on getting younger every year like this, you will
surely have them.”
It was the first compliment he had ever paid her, and
she liked it, though she shook her head as if disclaim-
ing it, and answered brightly :
“I used to think many years would be burdensome,
and just before I came here I felt as if I could not bear
another one. But now I like to live, and hope I shall
a long, long time."
“I'm glad of that; and how do you mean to spend
these long years of yours ? ” asked David, brushing
back the lock of hair that was always falling into his
eyes, as if he wanted to see more clearly the hopeful
face before him.
“ In doing what your morning-glories do, --climb up
as far and as fast as I can before the frost comes," an-
swered Christie, looking at the pretty symbols she had
chosen.
“You have got on a good way already then," began
David, smiling at her fancy.
“Oh no, I haven't !” she said quickly. “I'm only
about half way up. See here: I'll tell how it is;” and,
pointing to the different parts of the flowery wall, she
added in her earnest way: “I've watched these grow,
260
WORK.
and had many thoughts about them, as I sit sewing in
the porch. These variegated ones down low are my
childish fancies; most of them gone to seed you see.
These lovely blue ones of all shades are my girlish
dead, some torn by the wind, arrd only a few pale ones
left quite perfect. Here you observe they grow sombre
with a tinge of purple; that means pain and gloom,
and there is where I was when I came here. Now
they turn from those sad colors to crimson, rose, and
soft pink. That's the happiness and health I found here.
You and your dear mother planted them, and you see
how strong and bright they are."
. She lifted up her hand, and gathering one of the
great rosy cups offered it to him, as if it were brimful
of the thanks she could not utter. He comprehended,
took it with a quiet " Thank you,” and stood looking
at it for a moment, as if her little compliment pleased
him very much.
“And these ?” he said presently, pointing to the
US
The color deepened a shade in Christie's cheek, but
she went on with no other sign of shyness; for with
David she always spoke out frankly, because she could.
not help it.
- “ Those mean love to me, not passion : the deep red
ones half hidden under the leaves mean that. My
violet flowers are the best and purest love we can
know: the sort that makes life beautiful and lasts for
** 'ever. The white ones that come next are tinged with
· that soft color here and there, and they mean holiness.
I know there will be love in heaven; so, whether I
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
261
25 Pa see their leads the b
ever find it here or not, I am sure I shall not miss it
wholly."
Then, as if glad to leave the theme that never can
be touched without reverent emotion by a true woman,
she added, looking up to where a few spotless blossoms
shone like silver in the light:
“ Far away there in the sunshine are my highest
aspirations. I cannot reach them : but I can look up,
and see their beauty ; believe in them, and try to follow
where they lead ; remember that frost comes latest to
those that bloom the highest; and keep my beautiful
white flowers as long as I can.”
“ The mush is ready; come to breakfast, children,"
· called Mrs. Sterling, as she crossed the hall with a tea-
pot in her hand.
Christie's face fell, then she exclaimed laughing:
" That's always the way; I never take a poetic flight
but in comes the mush, and spoils it all."
“Not a bit; and that's where women are mistaken.
Souls and bodies should go on together; and you will
find that a hearty breakfast won't spoil the little hymn
the morning-glories sung;” and David set her a good
example by eating two bowls of hasty-pudding and
milk, with the lovely flower in his button-hole.
“Now, what are we to do next?” asked Christie,
when the usual morning work was finished.
“In about ten minutes thee will see, I think,” an-
swered Mrs. Sterling, glancing at the clock; and smiling
at the bright expectant look in the younger woman's
eyes.
She did see; for in less than ten minutes the rumble
of an omnibus was heard, a sound of many voices, and
262
WORK.
then the whole Wilkins brood came whooping down
the lane. It was good to see Ma Wilkins jog ponder-
ously after in full state and festival array; her bonnet
trembling with bows, red roses all over her gown, and
a parasol of uncommon brilliancy brandished joyfully
in her hand. It was better still to see her hug Christie,
when the latter emerged, flushed and breathless, from
the chaos of arms, legs, and chubby faces in which she
was lost for several tumultuous moments; and it was
best of all to see the good woman place her cherished
“ bunnit” in the middle of the parlor table as a choice
and lovely ornament, administer the family pocket-
handkerchief all round, and then settle down with a
hearty:
“Wal, now, Mis Sterlin', you've no idee how tickled
we all was when Mr. David came, and told us you was
goin' to have a galy here to-day. It was so kind of
providential, for 'Lisha was invited out to a day's
pleasurin', so I could leave jest as wal as not. The
childern 's ben hankerin' to come the wust kind, and go
plummin' as they did last month, though I told 'em ber-
ries was gone weeks ago. I reclly thought I'd never
get 'em here whole, they trained so in that bus. Wash
would go on the step, and kep fallin' off; Gusty's hat
blew out a winder; them two, bad boys tumbled round
loose; and dear little Victory set like a lady, only I
found she'd got both feet in the basket right atop of
the birthday cake, I made a puppose for Christie.”
“ It hasn't hurt it a bit; there was a cloth over it,
and I like it all the better for the marks of Totty's
little feet, bless 'em!” and Christie cuddled the cul-
prit with one hand while she revealed the damaged
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
263
delicacy with the other, wondering inwardly what evil
star was always in the ascendant when Mrs. Wilkins
made cake.
“ Now, my dear, you jest go and have a good frolic
with them childern, I'm a goin' to git dinner, and you
a goin' to play ; so we don't want to see no more of
you till the bell rings," said Mrs. Wilkins pinning up
her gown, and “shooing" her brood out of the room,
which they entirely filled.
Catching up her hat Christie obeyed, feeling as much
like a child as any of the excited six. The revels
that followed no pen can justly record, for Goths and
Vandals on the rampage but feebly describes the youth-
· ful Wilkinses when their spirits effervesced after a
month's bottling up in close home quarters.
David locked the greenhouse door the instant he
saw them; and pervaded the premises generally like
a most affable but very watchful policeman, for the rav-
ages those innocents committed much afflicted him.
Yet he never had the heart to say a word of reproof,
when he saw their raptures over dandelions, the relish
with which they devoured fruit, and the good it did the
little souls and bodies to enjoy unlimited liberty, green
grass, and country air, even for a day.
Christie usually got them into the big meadow as
soon as possible, and there let them gambol at will;
while she sat on the broken bough of an apple-tree,
and watched her flock like an old-fashioned shepherdess.
To-day she did so; and when the children were happily
sailing boats, tearing to and fro like wild colts, or dis-
covering the rustic treasures Nurse Nature lays ready
to gladden little hearts and hands, Christie sat idly
264
WORK.
making a garland of green brakes, and ruddy sumach
. leaves ripened before the early frosts had come.
David saw her there, and, feeling that he might come
off guard for a time, went strolling down to lean upon
the wall, and chat in the friendly fashion that had natu-
rally grown up between these fellow-workers. She was
waiting for the new supply of ferns little Adelaide was
getting for her by the wall; and while she waited she
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A FRIENDLY CHAT.
CHRISTIE265
A
'S GALA.
sat resting her cheek upon her hand, and smiling to
herself, as if she sáw some pleasant picture in the green
grass at her feet.
“ Now I wonder what she's thinking about,” said
David's voice close by, and Christie straightway an-
swered:
“ Philip Fletcher.”
5 And who is he?" asked David, settling his elbow
in a comfortable niche between the mossy stones, so
that he could “lean and loaf” at his ease.
« The brother of the lady whose children I took care
of;" and Christie wished she had thought before she
answered that first question, for in telling her adven-
tures at different times she had omitted all mention of
this gentleman.
“Tell about him, as the children say: your experi-
ences are always interesting, and you look as if this
man was uncommonly entertaining in some way," said .
David, indolently inclined to be amused.
“Oh, dear no, not at all entertaining! invalids seldom
are, and he was sick and lazy, conceited and very cross
sometimes." Christie's heart rather smote her as she said
this, remembering the last look poor Fletcher gave her. -
“A nice man to be sure; but I don't see any thing to
smile about," persisted David, who liked reasons for
things; a masculine trait often very trying to feminine
minds.
“I was thinking of a little quarrel we once had. He
found out that I had been an actress; for I basely did
not mention that fact when I took the place, and so got
properly punished for my deceit. I thought he'd tell
his sister of course, so I did it myself, and retired from
12
266
WORK.
:: the situation as much disgusted with Christie Devon as
you are.”
“Perhaps I ought to be, but I don't find that I am.
Do you know I think that old Fletcher was a sneak?"
and David looked as if he would rather like to mention
his opinion to that gentleman.
“ He probably thought he was doing his duty to the
children: few people would approve of an actress for a
teacher you know. He had seen me play, and remem-
bered it all of a sudden, and told me of it: that was the
way it came about,” said Christie hastily, feeling that
she must get out of the scrape as soon as possible, or
she would be driven to tell every thing in justice to Mr.
Fletcher. com
"I should like to see you act.” .
“ You a Quaker, and express such a worldly and
dreadful wish?” cried Christie, much amused, and very
grateful that his thoughts had taken a new direction.
“I'm not, and never have been. Mother married out
of the sect, and, though she keeps many of her old ways,
always left me free to believe what I chose. I wear
drab because I like it, and say “thee' to her because
she likes it, and it is pleasant to have a little word all
our own. I've been to theatres, but I don't care much'
for them. Perhaps I should if I'd had Fletcher's luck
in seeing you play.”
“You didn't lose much: I was not a good actress;
though now and then when I liked my part I did pretty
well they said," answered Christie, modestly.
“Why didn't you go back after the accident?” asked
David, who had heard that part of the story.
“I felt that it was bad for me, and so retired to pri-
vate life.”
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
267
- 6.Do you ever regret it ?”
“Sometimes when the restless fit is on me: but not
so often now as I used to do; for on the whole I'd
rather be a woman than act a queen.”
“Good!” said David, and then added persuasively:
“But you will play for me some time: won't you? I've
a curious desire to see you do it.”
.6 Perhaps I'll try,” replied Christie, flattered by his
interest, and not unwilling to display her little talent.
“Who are you making that for? it's very pretty,"
asked David, who seemed to be in an inquiring frame
of mind that day.
.“ Any one who wants it. I only do it for the pleasure:
I always liked pretty things; but, since I have lived
among flowers and natural people, I seem to care more
than ever for beauty of all kinds, and love to make it if I
can without stopping for any reason but the satisfaction."
“Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
«• Then beauty is its own excuse for being,'”
observed David, who had a weakness for poetry, and,
finding she liked his sort, quoted to Christie almost as
freely as to himself.
.." Exactly, so look at that and enjoy it," and she
pointed to the child standing knee-deep in graceful
ferns, looking as if she grew there, a living buttercup,
with her buff frock off at one plump shoulder and her
bright hair shining in the sun. .
Before David could express his admiration, the little
picture was spoilt ; for Christie called out, “ Come, Vic,
bring me some more pretties !” startling baby so that
she lost her balance, and disappeared with a muffled
.
268
:: WORK.
cry, leaving nothing to be seen but a pair of small con-
vulsive shoes, soles uppermost, among the brakes. Da-
vid took a leap, reversed Vic, and then let her compose
her little feelings by sticking bits of green in all the
button-holes of his coat, as he sat on the wall while she
stood beside him in the safe shelter of his arm.
“ You are very like an Englishman,” said Christie,
after watching the pair for a few minutes.
“How do you know?” asked David, looking surprised.
“There were several in our company, and I found
them very much alike. Blunt and honest, domestic and
kind; hard to get at, but true as steel when once won;
not so brilliant and original as Americans, perhaps, but
more solid and steadfast. On the whole, I think them
the manliest men in the world,” answered Christie, in
the decided way young people have of expressing their
opinions.
“You speak as if you had known and studied a great
variety of men,” said David, feeling that he need not
resent the comparison she had made.
“I have, and it has done me good. Women who
stand alone in the world, and have their own way to
make, have a better chance to know men truly than
those who sit safe at home and only see one side of
mankind. We lose something; but I think we gain a
great deal that is more valuable than admiration, flat-
tery, and the superficial service most men give to our
sex. Some one says, “Companionship teaches men and
women to know, judge, and treat one another justly.'
I believe it; for we who are compelled to be fellow-
workers with men understand and value them more
truly than many a belle who has a dozen lovers sigh-
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
269
ing at her feet. I see their faults and follies; but I also
see so much to honor, love, and trust, that I feel as if
the world was full of brothers. Yes, as a general rule,
men have been kinder to me than women; and if I
wanted a staunch friend I'd choose a man, for they
wear better than women, who ask too much, and cannot
see that friendship lasts longer if a little respect and
reserve go with the love and confidence."
Christie had spoken soberly, with no thought of flat-
tery or effect; for the memory of many kindnesses
bestowed on her by many men, from rough Joe Butter-
field to Mr. Power, gave warmth and emphasis to her
words.
The man sitting on the wall appreciated the compli-
ment to his sex, and proved that he deserved his share
of it by taking it exactly as she meant it, and saying
heartily:
“I like that, Christie, and wish more women thought
and spoke as you do.”
“ If they had had my experience they would, and not
be ashamed of it. I am so old now I can say these things
and not be misjudged; for even some sensible people
think this honest sort of fellowship impossible if not im- -
proper. I don't, and I never shall, so if I can ever do
any thing for you, David, forget that I am a woman and
tell me as freely as if I was a younger brother."
“I wish you were!”
“So do I; you'd make a splendid elder brother.”
“No, a very bad one.”
There was a sudden sharpness in David's voice that
jarred on Christie's' ear and made her look up quickly.
She only caught a glimpse of his face, and saw that it
270
WORK.
was strangely troubled, as he swung himself over the
wall with little Vic on his arm and went toward the
house, saying abruptly:
“ Baby's sleepy: she must go in."
Christie sat some time longer, wondering what she
had said to disturb him, and when the bell rang went
in still perplexed. But David looked as usual, and the
only trace of disquiet was an occasional hasty shaking
back of the troublesome lock, and a slight knitting of
the brows; two tokens, as she had learned to know,
of impatience or pain.
She was soon so absorbed in feeding the children,
hungry and clamorous as young birds for their food,
that she forgot every thing else. When dinner was
done and cleared away, she devoted herself to Mrs.
Wilkins for an hour or two, while Mrs. Sterling took
her nap, the infants played riotously in the lane, and
David was busy with orders.
The arrival of Mr. Power drew every one to the
porch to welcome bim. As he handed Christie a book,
he asked with a significant smile :
“ Have you found him yet?”
She glanced at the title of the new gift, read “Heroes
and Hero-worship," and answered merrily:
“No, sir, but I'm looking hard.”
“Success to your search,” and Mr. Power turned to
greet David, who approached.
“Now, what shall we play?” asked Christie, as the
children gathered about her demanding to be amused.
George Washington suggested leap-frog, and the
others added equally impracticable requests; but Mrs.
Wilkins settled the matter by saying:
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
271
“Let's have some play-actin', Christie. That used
to tickle the children amazin’ly, and I was never tired
of hearin' them pieces, specially the solemn ones.”
“Yes, yes! do the funny girl with the baby, and the
old woman, and the lady that took pison and had fits !"
shouted the children, charmed with the idea.
Christie felt ready for any thing just then, and gave
them Tilly Slowboy, Miss Miggs, and Mrs. Gummage,
in her best style, while the young folks rolled on the
grass in ecstasies, and Mrs. Wilkins laughed till she
cried.
“Now a touch of tragedy!” said Mr. Power, who sat
under the elm, with David leaning on the back of his
chair, both applauding heartily.
“ You insatiable people! do you expect me to give
you low comedy and heavy tragedy all alone? I'm
equal to melodrama I think, and I'll give you Miss St.
Clair as Juliet, if you wait a moment."
Christie stepped into the house, and soon reappeared
with a white table-cloth draped about her, two dishev-
elled locks of hair on her shoulders, and the vinegar
cruet in her hand, that being the first bottle she could
find. She meant to burlesque the poison scene, and
began in the usual ranting way; but she soon forgot St.
Clair in poor Juliet, and did it as she had often longed
to do it, with all the power and passion she possessed.
Very faulty was her rendering, but the earnestness she
put into it made it most effective to her uncritical audi-
ence, who “ brought down the house," when she fell
upon the grass with her best stage drop, and lay there
getting her breath after the mouthful of vinegar she
had taken in the excitement of the moment.
272
WORK.
She was up again directly, and, inspired by this
superb success, ran in and presently reappeared as Lady
Macbeth with Mrs. Wilkins's scarlet shawl for royal
robes, and the leafy chaplet of the morning for a crown.
She took the stage with some difficulty, for the uneven-
ness of the turf impaired the majesty of her tragic
stride, and fixing her eyes on an invisible Thane (who
cut his part shamefully, and spoke in the gruffest of
gruff voices) she gave them the dagger scene.
David as the orchestra, had been performing a drum
solo on the back of a chair with two of the corn-cobs
Victoria had been building houses with ; but, when
Lady Macbeth said, “Give me the daggers,” Christie
plucked the cobs suddenly from his hands, looking so
fiercely scornful, and lowering upon him so wrathfully
with her corked brows that he ejaculated an involun-
tary,“ Bless me!” as he stepped back quite daunted.
Being in the spirit of her part, Christie closed with
the sleep-walking scene, using the table-cloth again,
while a towel composed the tragic nightcap of her
ladyship. This was an imitation, and having a fine
model and being a good mimic, she did well; for the
children sat staring with round eyes, the gentlemen
watched the woful face and gestures intently, and
Mrs. Wilkins took a long breath at the end, exclaim-
ing: “I never did see the beat of that for gastliness!
My sister Clarissy used to walk in her sleep, but she
warn’t half so kind of dreadful.”
“If she had had the murder of a few friends on her
conscience, I dare say she would have been,” said Chris-
tie, going in to make herself tidy.
Well, how do you like her as an actress ? " asked
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
273
A
Mr. Power of David, who stood looking, as if he still
saw and heard the haunted lady.
« Very much; but better as a woman. I'd no idea
she had it in her," answered David, in a wonder-stricken
tone.
“ Plenty of tragedy and comedy in all of us," began
Mr. Power; but David-said hastily:
“ Yes, but few of us have passion and imagination
enough to act Shakspeare in that way.”
“ Very true: Christie herself could not give a whole
character in that style, and would not think of trying."
“ I think she could; and I'd like to see her try it,"
said David, much impressed by the dramatic ability
which Christie's usual .quietude had most effectually
hidden.
He was still thinking about it, when she came out
again. Mr. Power beckoned to her, saying, as she
came and stood before him, flushed and kindled with
her efforts :
“Now, you must give me a bit from the Merchant of
Venice.' Portia is a favorite character of mine, and I
want to see if you can do any thing with it.”
“No, sir, I cannot. I used to study it, but it was
too sober to suit me. I am not a judicial woman, so I
gave it up," answered Christie, much flattered by his
request, and amused at the respectful way in which
David looked at her. Then, as if it just occurred to
her, she added, “I remember one little speech that I
can say to you, sir, with great truth, and I will, since
you like that play.”
Still standing before him, she bent her head a little,
and with a graceful gesture of the hands, as if offering
12*
274
WORK.
something, she delivered with heartfelt emphasis the
first part of Portia's pretty speech to her fortunate
suitor:
“ You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am : though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;
That, only to stand high in your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of something; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd:--
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn; happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is that her willing spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.”
David applauded vigorously; but Mr. Power roso
silently, looking both touched and surprised; and, draw-
ing Christie's hand through his arm, led her away into
the garden for one of the quiet talks that were so much
to her.
When they returned, the Wilkinses were preparing
to depart; and, after repeated leave-takings, finally
got under way, were packed into the omnibus, and
rumbled off with hats, hands, and handkerchiefs wav-
ing from every window. Mr. Power soon followed,
and peace returned to the little house in the lane.
Later in the evening, when Mrs. Sterling was en-
gaged with a neighbor, who had come to confide some
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
275
affliction to the good lady, Christie went into the porch,
and found David sitting on the step, enjoying the mel-
low moonlight and the balmy air * As he did not speak,
she sat down silently, folded her hands in her lap, and
began to enjoy the beauty of the night in her own way.
Presently she became conscious that David's eyes had
turned from the moon to her own face. He sat in the
shade, she in the light, and he was looking at her with
the new expression which amused her.
“ Well, what is it? You look as if you never saw .
me before," she said, smiling.
“I feel as if I never had,” he answered, still regard-
ing her as if she had been a picture.
“ What do I look like?”
“ A peaceful, pious nun, just now.”
“Oh! that is owing to my pretty shawl. I put it on
in honor of the day, though it is a trifle warm, I con-
fess.” And Christie stroked the soft folds about her
shoulders, and settled the corner that lay lightly on her
hair. “I do feel peaceful to-night, but not pious. I
am afraid I never shall do that,” she added soberly.
“ Why not ?"
“ Well, it does not seem to be miy nature, and I
don't know how to change it. I want something to
keep me steady, but I can't find it. So I whiffle about
this way and that, and sometimes think I am a nost
degenerate creature."
“ That is only human nature, so don't be troubled.
We are all compasses pointing due north. We get
shaken often, and the needle varies in spite of us; but
the minute we are quiet, it points right, and we have
only to follow it."
276
WORK.
66 The keeping quiet is just what I cannot do. Your
mother shows me how lovely it is, and I try to imitate
it; but this restless soul of mine will ask questions and
doubt and fear, and worry me in many ways. What
shall I do to keep it still ?” asked Christie, smiling, yet
earnest.
“ Let it alone : you cannot force these things, and
the best way is to wait till the attraction is strong
enough to keep the needle steady. Some people get
their ballast slowly, some don't need much, and some
have to work hard for theirs."
“ Did you?” asked Christie ; for David's voice fell a
little, as he uttered the last words.
"I have not got much yet."
“I think you have. Why, David, you are always
cheerful and contented, good and generous. If that
is not true piety, what is ?”
“ You are very much deceived, and I am sorry for
it," said David, with the impatient gesture of the head,
and a troubled look.
“Prove it!” And Christie looked at him with such
sincere respect and regard, that his honest nature
would not let him accept it, though it gratified him
much.
He made no answer for a minute. Then he said
slowly, as if feeling a modest man's hesitation to speak
of himself, yet urged to it by some irresistible im-
pulse:
“I will prove it if you won't mind the unavoidable
egotism; for I cannot let you think me so much better
than I am. Outwardly I seem to you cheerful, con-
tented, generous, and good. In reality I am sad, dis-
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
277
satisfied, bad, and selfish: see if I'm not. I often tire
of this quiet life, hate my work, and long to break
away, and follow my own wild and wilful impulses, no
matter where they lead. Nothing keeps me at such
times but my mother and God's patience.”
David began quietly; but the latter part of this con-
fession was made with a sudden impetuosity that startled
Christie, so utterly unlike his usual self-control was it.
She could only look at him with the surprise she felt.
His face was in the shadow; but she saw that it was
flushed, his eyes excited, and in his voice she heard an
undertone that made it sternly self-accusing.
“I am not a hypocrite,” he went on rapidly, as if
driven to speak in spite of himself. “ I try to be what I
seem, but it is too hard sometimes and I despair. Espe-
cially hard is it to feel that I have learned to feign
happiness so well that others are entirely deceived. Mr.
Power and mother know me as I am: other friends I
have not, unless you will let me call you one. Whether
you do or not after this, I respect you too much to let
you delude yourself about my virtues, so I tell you the
truth and abide the consequences."
He looked up at her as he paused, with a curious
mixture of pride and humility in his face, and squared
his broad shoulders as if he had thrown off a burden
that had much oppressed him.
Christie offered him her hand, saying in a tone that
did his heart good: “ The consequences are that I
respect, admire, and trust you more than ever, and feel
proud to be your friend."
David gave the hand a strong and grateful pressure,
said, “Thank you," in a moved tone, and then leaned
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back into the shadow, as if trying to recover from this
unusual burst of confidence, won from him by the soft
magic of time, place, and companionship.
Fearing he would regret the glimpse he had given
her, and anxious to show how much she liked it, Chris-
tie talked on to give him time to regain composure.
6 I always thought in reading the lives of saints or
good men of any time, that their struggles were the
most interesting and helpful things recorded. Human
imperfection only seems to make real piety more possi-
ble, and to me more beautiful; for where others have
conquered I can conquer, having suffered as they suffer,
and seen their hard-won success. That is the sort of
religion I want; something to hold by, live in, and
enjoy, if I can only get it.”
“I know you will.” He said it heartily, and seemed
quite calm again ; so Christie obeyed the instinct which
told her that questions would be good for David, and
that he was in the mood for answering them.
6 May I ask you something," she began a little timidly.
« Any thing, Christie," he answered instantly.
“ That is a rash promise: I am a woman, and there-
fore curious; what shall you do if I take advantage of
the privilege?”
“ Try and see.”
"I will be discreet, and only ask one thing," she
replied, charmed with her success. “You said just now
that you had learned to feign happiness. I wish you
would tell me how you do it, for it is such an excellent
imitation I shall be quite content with it till I can learn
the genuine thing."
David fingered the troublesome forelock thought-
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
279
fully for a moment, then said, with something of the
former impetuosity coming back into his voice and
manner :
“ I will tell you all about it; that's the best way: I
as well have done with it now, since I have begun. It
is not interesting, mind you, - only a grim little history
of one man's fight with the world, the flesh, and the
devil: will you have it?”
“Oh, yes!” answered Christie, so eagerly that David
laughed, in spite of the bitter memories stirring at his
heart.
“ So like a woman, always ready to hear and forgive
sinners," he said, then took a long breath, and added
rapidly :
good may it do you. Some years ago I was desperately
miserable; never mind why: I dare say I shall tell you
all about it some day if I go on at this rate. Well,
being miserable, as I say, every thing looked black and
bad to me: I hated all men, distrusted all women,
doubted the existence of God, and was a forlorn wretch
generally. Why I did not go to the devil I can't say:
I did start once or twice; but the thought of that dear
old woman in there sitting all alone and waiting for me
dragged me back, and kept me here till the first reck-
lessness was over. People talk about duty being sweet;
I have not found it so, but there it was: I should have
been a brute to shirk it; so I took it up, and held on
desperately till it grew bearable."
“ It has grown sweet now, David, I am sure,” said
Christie, very low.
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“No, not yet," he answered with the stern honesty
that would not let him deceive himself or others, cost
what it might to be true. There is a certain solid sat-
isfaction in it that I did not use to find. It is not a
mere dogged persistence now, as it once was, and that
is a step towards loving it perhaps.”
He spoke half to himself, and sat leaning his head
on both hands propped on his knees, looking down as
if the weight of the old trouble bent his shoulders
again.
6 What more, David ?” said Christie.
“Only this. When I found I had got to live, and
live manfully, I said to myself, “I must have help or I
cannot do it. To no living soul could I tell my grief,
not even to my mother, for she had her own to bear:
no human being could help me, yet I must have help
or give up shamefully. Then I did what others do
when all else fails to sustain them; I turned to God :
not humbly, not devoutly or trustfully, but doubtfully,
bitterly, and rebelliously; for I said in my despairing
heart, If there is a God, let Him help me, and I will
believe.' He did help me, and I kept my word.”
« Oh, David, how ?” whispered Christie after a mo-
ment's silence, for the last words were solemn in their
earnestness.
6 The help did not come at once. No miracle answered
me, and I thought my cry had not been heard. But it
had, and slowly something like submission came to me.
It was not cheerful nor pious: it was only a dumb, sad
sort of patience without hope or faith. It was better
than desperation; so I accepted it, and bore the inevi-
table as well as I could. Presently, courage seemed to
CHRISTIE'S GALA.
281
spring up again :I was ashamed to be beaten in the first
battle, and some sort of blind instinct made me long to
break away from the past and begin again. My father
was dead; mother left all to me, and followed where I
led. I sold the old place, bought this, and, shutting
out the world as much as I could, I fell to work
as if my life depended on it. That was five or six
years ago : and for a long time I delved away without
interest or pleasure, merely as a safety-valve for my
energies, and a means of living; for I gave up all my
earlier hopes and plans when the trouble came.
“ I did not love my work; but it was good for me,
and helped cure my sick soul. I never guessed why I felt
better, but dug on with indifference first, then felt pride
in my garden, then interest in the plants I tended, and
by and by I saw what they had done for me, and loved
them like true friends."
A broad woodbine leaf had been fluttering against
David's head, as he leaned on the slender pillar of the
porch where it grew. Now, as if involuntarily, he laid
his cheek against it with a caressing gesture, and sat
looking over the garden lying dewy and still in the
moonlight, with the grateful look of a man who has --
learned the healing miracles of Nature and how near
she is to God.
“Mr. Power helped you: didn't he?” said Christie,
longing to hear more.
“ So much! I never can tell you what he was to me,
nor how I thank him. To him, and to my work I owe
the little I have won in the way of strength and com-
fort after years of effort. I see now the compensation
that comes out of trouble, the lovely possibilities that
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exist for all of us, and the infinite patience of God,
which is to me one of the greatest of His divine attri-
butes. I have only got so far, but things grow easier as
one goes on; and if I keep tugging I may yet be the
cheerful, contented man I seem. That is all, Christie,
and a longer story than I meant to tell.”
“Not long enough : some time you will tell me more
perhaps, since you have once begun. It seems quite
natural now, and I am so pleased and honored by your
confidence. But I cannot help wondering what made
you do it all at once,” said Christie presently, after they
had listened to a whippoorwill, and watched the flight
of a downy owl.
"I do not think I quite know myself, unless it was
because I have been on my good behavior since you
came, and, being a humbug, as I tell you, was forced
to unmask in spite of myself. There are limits to
human endurance, and the proudest man longs to
unpack his woes before a sympathizing friend now
and then. I have been longing to do this for some
time; but I never like to disturb mother's peace, or
take Mr. Power from those who need him more. So
to-day, when you so sweetly offered to help me if
you could, it quite went to my heart, and seemed so
friendly and comfortable, I could not resist trying it to-
night, when you began about my imaginary virtues.
That is the truth, I believe: now, what shall we do?
about it?"
“Just go on, and do it again whenever you feel like
it. I know what loneliness is, and how telling worries
often cures them. I meant every word I said this
morning, and will prove it by doing any thing in the
CHRISTIES GALA.
283
world I can for you. Believe this, and let me be your
friend."
They had risen, as a stir within told them the guest
was going; and as Christie spoke she was looking up
with the moonlight full upon her face.
any false sentiment, or trace of coquetry in her manner,
it would have spoiled that hearty little speech of hers.
But in her heart was nothing but a sincere desire to
prove gratitude and offer sympathy; in her manner
the gentle frankness of a woman speaking to a brother;
value of friendship, and did not ask or give it lightly.
“I will," was David's emphatic answer, and then, as
if to seal the bargain, he stooped down, and gravely
kissed her on the forehead.
Christie was a little startled, but neither offended nor
confused; for there was no love in that quict kiss, — only
respect, affection, and much gratitude; an involuntary
demonstration from the lonely man to the true-hearted
woman who had dared to come and comfort him.
Out trotted neighbor Miller, and that was the end of
confidences in the porch ; but David played melodiously
on his flute that night, and Christie fell asleep saying
happily to herself:
“Now we are all right, friends for ever, and every
thing will go beautifully."
CHAPTER XIII.
WAKING UP.

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KITTY.
D VERY thing did “go beautifully" for a time;
so much so, that Christie began to think she
really had “got religion.” A delightful peace pervaded
her soul, a new interest made the dullest task agreea-
ble, and life grew so inexpressibly sweet that she felt as
if she could forgive all her enemies, love her friends
more than ever, and do any thing great, good, or
glorious.
She had known such moods before, but they had
never lasted long, and were not so intense as this;
therefore, she was sure some blessed power had come
to uphold and cheer her. She sang like a lark as she
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285
.
swept and dusted; thought high and happy thoughts
among the pots and kettles, and, when she sat sewing,
smiled unconsciously as if some deep satisfaction made
sunshine from within. Heart and soul seemed to wake
up and rejoice as naturally and beautifully as flowers in
the spring. A soft brightness shone in her eyes, a
fuller tone sounded in her voice, and her face grew
young and blooming with the happiness that trans-
figures all it touches.
“ Christie's growing handsome,” David would say
to his mother, as if she was a flower in which he took
pride.
« Thee is a good gardener, Davy," the old lady would
reply, and when he was busy would watch him with a
tender sort of anxiety, as if to discover a like change in
him.
But no alteration appeared, except more cheerfulness
and less silence; for now there was no need to hide his
real self, and all the social virtues in him came out
delightfully after their long solitude.
In her present uplifted state, Christie could no more
help regarding David as a martyr and admiring him
for it, than she could help mixing sentiment with her
sympathy. By the light of the late confessions, his life -
and character looked very different to her now. His
apparent contentment was resignation; his cheerfulness,
a manly contempt for complaint;. his reserve, the
modest reticence of one who, having done a hard duty
well, desires no praise for it. Like all enthusiastic per-
sons, Christie had a hearty admiration for self-sacrifice
and self-control; and, while she learned to see David's
virtues, she also exaggerated them, and could not do
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enough to show the daily increasing esteem and respect
she felt for him, and to atone for the injustice she once
did him.
She grubbed in the garden and green-house, and
learned hard botanical names that she might be able to
talk intelligently upon subjects that interested her com-
rade. Then, as autumn ended out-of-door work, she
tried to make home more comfortable and attractive
than ever.
David's room was her especial care ; for now to her
there was something pathetic in the place and its poor
furnishing. He had fought many a silent battle there;
won many a secret victory; and tried to cheer his soli-
'tude with the best thoughts the minds of the bravest,
wisest men could give him.
She did not smile at the dilapidated idols now, but
touched them tenderly, and let no dust obscure their
well-beloved faces. She set the books in order daily,
taking many a sip of refreshment from them by the
way, and respectfully regarded those in unknown
tongues, full of admiration for David's learning. She
covered the irruptive sofa neatly; saw that the little
vase was always clear and freshly filled ; cared for the
nursery in the gable-window; and preserved an exqui-
site neatness everywhere, which delighted the soul of the
room's order-loving occupant.
She also — alas, for romance !-- cooked the dishes
David loved, and liked to see him enjoy them with the
appetite which once had shocked her so. She watched
over his buttons with a vigilance that would have
softened the heart of the crustiest bachelor: she even
gave herself the complexion of a lemon by wearing
WAKING UP.
.
287
287
blue, because David liked the pretty contrast with his
mother's drabs.
After recording that last fact, it is unnecessary to ex-
plain what was the matter with Christie. She honestly
thought she had got religion; but it was piety's twin-
sister, who produced this wonderful revival in her soul;
and though she began in all good faith she presently
discovered that she was
“Not the first maiden
Who came but for friendship,
And took away love."
After the birthnight confessions, David found it
easier to go on with the humdrum life he had chosen
· from a sense of duty; for now he felt as if he had not
only a fellow-worker, but a comrade and friend who un-
derstood, sympathized with, and encouraged him by an
interest and good-will inexpressibly comfortable and
inspiring. Nothing disturbed the charm of the new
league in those early days; for Christie was thoroughly
simple and sincere, and did her womanly work with no
thought of reward or love or admiration.
David saw this, and felt it more attractive than any
gift of beauty or fascination of manner would have
been. He had no desire to be a lover, having forbidden
himself that hope; but he found it so easy and pleasant
to be a friend that he reproached himself for not trying
it before; and explained his neglect by the fact that
Christie was not an ordinary woman, since none of all
the many he had known and helped, had ever been
any thing to him but objects of pity and protection.
Mrs. Sterling saw these changes with her wise,
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·motherly eyes, but said nothing; for she influenced
others by the silent power of character. Speaking
little, and unusually gifted with the meditative habits
of age, she seemed to live in a more peaceful world
than this. As George MacDonald somewhere says,
“Her soul seemed to sit apart in a sunny little room,
safe from dust and noise, serenely regarding passers-by
through the clear muslin curtains of her window.”
fish, but ready to share all the joys and sorrows of
those about her; and when advice was asked she gave
it gladly. Christie had won her heart long ago, and
now was as devoted as a daughter to her; lightening
her cares so skilfully that many of them slipped natu-
rally on to the young shoulders, and left the old lady
much time for rest, or the lighter tasks fitted for feeble
hands. Christie often called her “Mother," and felt
herself rewarded for the hardest, humblest job she ever
did when the sweet old voice said gratefully, “I thank
thee, daughter."
Things were in this prosperous, not to say paradi-
siacal, state, when one member of the family began to
make discoveries of an alarming nature. The first was
that the Sunday pilgrimages to church were seasons of
great refreshment to soul and body when David went
also, and utter failures if he did not. Next, that the
restless ambitions of all sorts were quite gone; for now
Christie's mission seemed to be sitting in a quiet corner
and making shirts in the most exquisite manner, while
thinking about - well, say botany, or any kindred sub-
ject. Thirdly, that home was woman's sphere after all,
and the perfect roasting of beef, brewing of tea, and
WAKING UP.
289
concocting of delectable puddings, an end worth living
Fourthly, and worst of all, she discovered that she
was not satisfied with half confidences, and quite pined
to know all about “ David's trouble.” The little needle-
book with the faded “ Letty” on it haunted her; and
when, after a pleasant evening below, she heard hiin
pace his room for hours, or play melancholy airs upon
the flute, she was jealous of that unknown woman who
had such power to disturb his peace, and felt a strong
desire to smash the musical confidante into whose re-
sponsive breast he poured his woe.
At this point Christie paused; and, after evading any
explanation of these phenomena in the most skilful
manner for a time, suddenly faced the fact, saying to
herself with great candor and decision :
“ I know what all this means: I'm beginning to
like David more than is good for me. I see this clearly,
and won't dodge any longer, but put a stop to it at
once. Of course I can if I choose, and now is the time
to do it; for I understand myself perfectly, and if I
reach a certain point it is all over with me. That
point I will not reach: David's heart is in that Letty's
grave, and he only cares for me as a friend. I promised
to be one to him, and I'll keep my word like an honest
woman. It may not be easy; but all the sacrifices
shall not be his, and I won't be a fool.”
With praiseworthy resolution Christie set about the
reformation without delay; not an easy task and one
that taxed all her wit and wisdom to execute without
Sterling must not be left alone on Sunday, so the young
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WORK.
people took turns to go to church, and such dismal trips
Christie had never known; for all her Sundays were bad
weather, and Mr. Power seemed to hit on unusually
uninteresting texts.
She talked while she sewed instead of indulging in
dangerous thoughts, and Mrs. Sterling was surprised
and entertained by this new loquacity. In the evening
she read and studied with a diligence that amazed and
rather disgusted David; since she kept all her lively
chat for his mother, and pored over her books when he
wanted her for other things.
“I'm trying to brighten up my wits,” she said, and
went on trying to stifle her affections.
But though “the absurdity,” as she called the new
revelation, was stopped externally, it continued with
redoubled vigor internally. Each night she said, “ this
must be conquered,” yet cach morning it rose fair and
strong to make the light and beauty of her day, and
conquer her again. She did her best and bravest, but
was forced at last to own that she could not “put a
stop to it,” because she had already reached the point
where it was all over with her.”
Just at this critical moment an event occurred which
completed Christie's defeat, and made her feel that her
only safety lay in flight.
One evening she sat studying ferns, and heroically
saying over and over, “Andiantum, Aspidium, and
Asplenium, Trichomanes,” while longing to go and talks
delightfully to David, who sat musing by the fire.
“I can't go on so much longer,” she thought despair-
ingly. “Polypodium aureum, a native of Florida,” is
all very interesting in its place; but it doesn't help me
WAKING UP.
291
to gain self-control a bit, and I shall disgrace myself
if something doesn't happen very soon."
Something did happen almost instantly; for as she
shut the cover sharply on the poor Polypods, a knock
was heard, and before David could answer it the door
flew open and a girl ran in.: Straight to him she went,
and clinging to his arm said excitedly :
“Oh, do take care of me: I've run away again!”
“Why, Kitty, what's the matter now ?” asked
David, putting back her hood, and looking down at her
a long time, and missed very much.
“Father found me, and took me home, and wanted
me to marry a dreadful man, and I wouldn't, so I ran
away to you. He didn't know I came here before, and
I'm safe if you 'll let me stay,” cried Kitty, still cling-
"Of course I will, and glad to see you back again,"
answered David, adding pitifully, as he put her in his
easy-chair, took her cloak and hood off and stood strok-
ing her curly hair: “ Poor little girl! it is hard to have
to run away so much : isn't it?”
. “Not if I come here; it's so pleasant I'd like to stay
all my life," and Kitty took a long breath, as if her
troubles were over now. “Who's that?” she asked
suddenly, as her eye fell on Christie, who sat watching
her with interest :
“ That is our good friend Miss Devon. She came
to take your place, and we got so fond of her we
could not let her go," answered David with a gesture
of introduction, quite unconscious that his position
just then was about as safe and pleasant as that of
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a man between a lighted candle and an open pow-
der barrel.
The two young women nodded to each other, took
a swift survey, and made up their minds before David
had poked the fire. Christie saw a pretty face with
rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and brown rings of hair lying
on the smooth, low forehead; a young face, but not
childlike, for it was conscious of its own prettiness, and
betrayed the fact by little airs and graces that reminded
one of a coquettish kitten. Short and slender, she
looked more youthful than she was; while a gay dress,
with gilt ear-rings, locket at the throat, and a cherry
ribbon in her hair made her a bright little figure in that
plain room.
Christie suddenly felt as if ten years had been added
to her age, as she eyed the new-comer, who leaned back
in the great chair talking to David, who stood on the
rug, evidently finding it pleasanter to look at the vi-
vacious face before him than at the fire.
“ Just the pretty, lively sort of girl sensible men
often marry, and then discover how silly they are,"
thought Christie, taking up her work and assuming an
iudifferent air.
“ She's a lady and nice looking, but I know I shan't
like her," was Kitty's decision, as she turned away and
devoted herself to David, hoping he would perceive
how much she had improved and admire her accord-
ingly.
“So you don't want to marry this Miles because he
is not handsome. You'd better think again before you
make up your mind. He is respectable, well off, and
fond of you, it seems. Why not try it, Kitty? You
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293
need some one to take care of you sadly,” David said,
when her story had been told.
“If father plagues me much I may take the man;
but I'd rather have the other one if he wasn't poor,"
answered Kitty, with a side-long glance of the blue
eyes, and a conscious smile on the red lips.
“Oh, there's another lover, is there ?”
“ Lots of 'em."
David laughed and looked at Christie as if inviting
her to be amused with the freaks and prattle of a child.
But Christie sewed away without a sign of interest.
“ That won't do, Kitty: you are too young for much
of such nonsense. I shall keep you here a while, and
see if we can't settle matters both wisely and pleas-
antly,” he said, shaking his head as sagely as a grand-
father.
“I'm sure I wish you would: I love to stay here,
you are always so good to me. I'm in no hurry.to be
married; and you won't make me: will you ?”
Kitty rose as she spoke, and stood before him with a
beseeching little gesture, and a confiding air quite cap- .
tivating to behold.
Christie was suddenly seized with a strong desire to
shake the girl and call her an “ artful little hussy," but
crushed this unaccountable impulse, and hemmed a
pocket-handkerchief with reckless rapidity, while she'
stole covert glances at the tableau by the fire.
David put his finger under Kitty's round chin, and
lifting her face looked into it, trying to discover if :
she really cared for this suitor who seemed so provi-
dentially provided for her. Kitty smiled and blushed,
and dimpled under that grave look so prettily that it
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soon changed, and David let her go, saying indul-
gently:
“You shall not be troubled, for you are only a child
after all. Let the lovers go, and stay and play with me,
for I've been rather lonely lately."
“ That's a reproach for me,” thought Christie, long-
ing to cry out: “No, no; send the girl away and let
me be all in all to you." But she only turned up the
lamp and pretended to be looking for a spool, while her
heart ached and her eyes were too dim for seeing.
“I'm too old to play, but I'll stay and tease you as
I used to, if Miles don't come and carry me off as he
said he would,” answered Kitty, with a toss of the
head which showed she was not so childlike as David
fancied. But the next minute she was sitting on a
stool at his feet petting the cat, while she told her ad-
ventures with girlish volubility.
Christie could not bear to sit and look on any longer,
so she left the room, saying she would see if Mrs. Ster-
ling wanted any thing, for the old lady kept her room
with a touch of rheumatism. As she shut the door,
Christie heard Kitty say softly :
« Now we'll be comfortable as we used to be: won't
we?"
What David answered Christie did not stay to hear,
but went into the kitchen, and had her first pang of
jealousy out alone, while she beat up the buckwheats
for breakfast with an energy that made them miracles
of lightness on the morrow.
When she told Mrs. Sterling of the new arrival,
the placid little lady gave a cluck of regret and said
with unusual emphasis :
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295
“I'm sorry for it."
6 Why?” asked Christie, feeling as if she could em-
brace the speaker for the words.
“ She is a giddy little thing, and much care to who-
ever befriends her.” Mrs. Sterling would say no more,
but, as Christie bade her good-night, she held her hand,
saying with a kiss :
. “No one will take thy place with me, my daughter."
For a week Christie suffered constant pin-pricks of
jealousy, despising herself all the time, and trying to
be friendly with the disturber of her peace. As if
prompted by an evil spirit, Kitty unconsciously tried.
and tormented her from morning to night, and no one
saw or guessed it unless Mrs. Sterling's motherly heart
divined the truth. David seemed to enjoy the girl's
lively chat, her openly expressed affection, and the fresh
young face that always brightened when he came.
Presently, however, Christie saw a change in him,
and suspected that he had discovered that Kitty was a
child no longer, but a young girl with her head full of
love and lovers. The blue eyes grew shy, the pretty
face grew eloquent with blushes now and then, as he
looked at it, and the lively tongue faltered sometimes
in speaking to him. A thousand little coquetries were
played off for his 'benefit, and frequent appeals for
advice in her heart affairs kept tender subjects upper-
most in their conversations.
At first all this seemed to amuse David as much as
if Kitty were a small child playing at sweethearts; but
soon' his manner changed, growing respectful, and a
little cool when Kitty was most conf'ding. He no
longer laughed about Miles, stopped calling her “ little
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WORK.
girl," and dropped his paternal ways as he had done
with Christie. By many indescribable but significant
signs he showed that he considered Kitty a woman
now and treated her as such, being all the more scru-
pulous in the respect he paid her, because she was so
unprotected, and so wanting in the natural dignity and
refinement which are a woman's best protection.
Christie admired him for this, but saw in it the
beginning of a tenderer feeling than pity, and felt each
day that she was one too many now.
Kitty was puzzled and piqued by these changes, and
being a born flirt tried all her powers on David, veiled
under guileless girlishness. She was very pretty, very
charming, and at times most lovable and sweet when
all that was best in her shallow little heart was touched.
But it was evident to all that her early acquaintance
with the hard and sordid side of life had brushed the
bloom from her nature, and filled her mind with
'thoughts and feelings unfitted to her years.
Mrs. Sterling was very kind to her, but never treated
her as she did Christie; and though not a word was
spoken between them the elder women knew that they
quite agreed in their opinion of Kittý. She evidently
was rather afraid of the old lady, who said so little and
saw so much. Christie also she shunned without ap-
pearing to do so, and when alone with her put on airs
that half amused, half irritated the other.
“ David is my friend, and I don't care for any one
else,” her manner said as plainly as words; and to him
she devoted herself so entirely, and apparently so suc-
cessfully, that Christie made up her mind he had at
last begun to forget his Letty, and think of filling the
void her loss had left.
WAKING UP.
297
A few words which she accidentally overheard con-
As she came quietly in one evening from a stroll in the
lane, and stood taking off cloak and hood, she caught a
glimpse through the half-open parlor door of David
pacing to and fro with a curiously excited expression
on his face, and heard Mrs. Sterling say with unusual
warmth:
“ Thee is too hard upon thyself, Davy. Forget the
past and be happy as other men are. Thee has atoned
for thy fault long ago, so let me see thee at peace
before I die, my son.”
“Not yet, mother, not yet. I have no right to hope
or ask for any woman's love till I am worthier of it,"
answered David in a tone that thrilled Christie's heart:
it was so full of love and longing.
Here Kitty came running in from the green-house
with her hands full of flowers, and passing Christie, who
was fumbling among the cloaks in the passage, she
went to show David some new blossom.
He had no time to alter the expression of his face
for its usual grave serenity: Kitty saw the change at
once, and spoke of it with her accustomed want of
“ How handsome you look! What are you thinking.
about ?” she said, gazing up at him with her own eyes
bright. with wonder, and her cheeks glowing with the
delicate carmine of the frosty air.
“I am thinking that you look more like a rose than
ever," answered David turning her attention from him-
self by a compliment, and beginning to admire the
13*
298
WORK.
flowers, still with that flushed and kindled look on his
own face.
Christie crept upstairs, and, sitting in the dark, decided
with the firmness of despair to go away, lest she should
betray the secret that possessed her, a dead hope now,
but still too dear to be concealed.
“Mr. Power told me to come to him when I got tired
of this. I'll say I am tired and try something else, no
matter what:I can bear any thing, but to stand quietly
by and see David marry that empty-hearted girl, who
dares to show that she desires to win him. Out of
sight of all this, I can conquer my love, at least hide it;
but if I stay I know I shall betray myself in some bit-
ter minute, and I'd rather die than do that."
Armed with this resolution, Christie went the next
day to Mr. Power, and simply said: “I am not needed
at the Sterlings any more : can you give me other work
to do ?”
Mr. Power's keen eye searched her face for a mo-
ment, as if to discover the real motive for her wish.
But Christie had nerved herself to bear that look, and
showed no sign of her real trouble, unless the set ex-
pression of her lips, and the unnatural steadiness of
her eyes betrayed it to that experienced reader of
human hearts.
Whatever he suspected or saw, Mr. Power kept to
himself, and answered in his cordial way:
“Well, I've been expecting you would tire of that
quiet life, and have plenty of work ready for you.
One of my good Dorcases is tired out and must rest; so
you shall take her place and visit my poor, report
their needs, and supply them as fast as we can. Does
that suit you ?"
WAKING UP.
299
“ Entirely, sir. Where shall I live ?” asked Christie,
with an expression of relief that said much.
“ Here for the present. I want a secretary to put my
papers in order, write some of my letters, and do a
thousand things to help a busy man. My old house-
keeper likes you, and will let you take a duster now
and then if you don't find enough other work to do.
When can you come ?"
Christie answered with a long breath of satisfaction :
“ To-morrow, if you like.”
“I do: can you be spared so soon ?”
“Oh, yes! they don't want me now.at all, or I would
not leave them. Kitty can take my place: she needs
protection more than I; and there is not room for two."
She checked herself there, conscious that a tone of
bitterness had crept into her voice. Then quite steadily
she added :
“ Will you be kind enough to write, and ask Mrs.
Sterling if she can spare me? I shall find it hard to
tell her myself, for I fear she may think me ungrateful
after all her kindness."
“No: she is used to parting with those whom she
has helped, and is always glad to set them on their way
toward better things. I will write to-morrow, and you
can come whenever you will, sure of a welcome, my
child."
Something in the tone of those last words, and the
pressure of the strong, kind hand, touched Christie's
sore heart, and made it impossible for her to hide the
truth entirely.
She only said: “ Thank you, sir. I shall be very
glad to come;" but her eyes were full, and she held
, 300
.
WORK.
his hand an instant, as if she clung to it sure of succor
and support.
Then she went home so pale and quiet; so helpful,
patient, and affectionate, that Mrs. Sterling watched
her anxiously; David looked amazed; and, even self-
absorbed Kitty saw the change, and was touched
by it.
On the morrow, Mr. Power's note came, and Christie
fled upstairs while it was react and discussed.
“If I get through this parting without disgracing
myself, I don't care what happens to me afterward,” she
said; and, in order that she might do so, she assumed
a cheerful air, and determined to depart with all the
honors of war, if she died in the attempt.
So, when Mrs. Sterling called her down, she went
humming into the parlor, smiled as she read the note
silently given her, and then said with an effort greater
than any she had ever made in her most arduous part
on the stage:
“Yes, I did say to Mr. Power that I thought I'd
better be moving on. I'm a restless creature as you
know; and, now that you don't need me, I've a fancy to
see more of the world. If you want me back again in
the spring, I'll come.”
“I shall want thee, my dear, but will not say a word
to keep thee now, for thee does need a change, and Mr.
Power can give thee work better suited to thy taste
than any here. We shall see thee sometimes, and
spring will make thee long for the flowers, I hope,"
was Mrs. Sterling's answer, as Christie gave back the
note at the end of her difficult speech.
“Don't think me ungrateful. I have been very
WAKING UP.
301
happy here, and never shall forget how motherly kind
you have been to me. You will believe this and love
while ?” prayed Christie, with a face full of treacherous
emotion.
Mrs. Sterling laid her hand on Christie's head, as she
knelt down impulsively before her, and with a soft so-
lemnity that made the words both an assurance and a
blessing, she said:
“I believe and love and honor thee, my child. My
thee to itself now; and nothing can ever come between
us, unless thee wills it. Remember that, and go in
peace with an old friend's thanks, and good wishes
in return for faithful service, which no money can
repay.”
Christie laid her cheek against that wrinkled one, and,
for a moment, was held close to that peaceful old heart
which felt so tenderly for her, yet never wounded her
by a word of pity. Infinitely comforting was that little
instant of time, when the venerable woman consoled
the young one with a touch, and strengthened her by
the mute eloquence of sympathy.
This made the hardest task of all easier to perform;
and, when David met her in the evening, Christie was
ready to play out her part, feeling that Mrs. Sterling
would help her, if need be. But David took it very
quietly; at least, he showed no very poignant regret at
her departure, though he lamented it, and hoped it
would not be a very long absence. This wounded
Christie terribly; for all of a sudden a barrier seemed
to rise between them, and the old friendliness grew
chilled.
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WORK.
“ He thinks I am ungrateful, and is offended," she
said to herself. “Well, I can bear coldness better than
kindness now, and it will make it easier to go.”
Kitty was pleased at the prospect of reigning alone,
and did not disguise, her satisfaction ; so Christie's last
day was any thing but pleasant. Mr. Power would
send for her on the morrow, and she busied herself in
packing her own possessions, setting every thing in
order, and making various little arrangements for Mrs.
Sterling's confort, as Kitty was a heedless creature;
willing enough, but very forgetful. In the evening
some neighbors came in; so that dangerous time was
safely passed, and Christie escaped to her own room
with her usual quiet good-night all round.
“We won't have any sentimental demonstrations;
no wailing, or tender adieux. If I'm weak enough to
break my heart, no one need know it, - least of all,
that little fool,” thought Christie, grimly, as she burnt
up several long-cherished relics of her love.
She was up early, and went about her usual work
with the sad pleasure with which one performs a task
for the last time. Lazy little Kitty never appeared till
'the bell rang; and Christie was fond of that early hour,
busy though it was, for David was always before her
with blazing fires; and, while she got breakfast, he
came and went with wood and water, milk and market-
ing; often stopping to talk, and always in his happiest
mood.
The first snow-fall had made the world wonderfully
lovely that morning; and Christie stood at the window
admiring the bridal look of the earth, as it lay daz-
zlingly white in the early sunshine. The little parlor
WAKING UP.
303
was fresh and clean, with no speck of dust anywhere;
the fire burned on the bright andirons; the flowers
were rejoicing in their morning bath; and the table
was set out with dainty care. So homelike, so pleas-
ant, so very dear to her, that Christie yearned to stay,
yet dared not, and had barely time to steady face and
voice, when David came in with the little posies he
always had ready for his mother and Christie at break-
fast time. Only a flower by their plates; but it meant
much to them : for, in these lives of ours, tender little
acts do more to bind hearts together than great deeds
or heroic words; since the first are like the dear daily
bread that none can live without; the latter but occa-
sional feasts, beautiful and memorable, but not possible
to all.
This morning David laid a sprig of sweet-scented
balm at his mother's place, two or three rosy daisies at
Kitty's, and a bunch of Christie's favorite violets at hers.
She smiled as her eye went from the scentless daisies,
so pertly pretty, to her own posy full of perfume, and
the half sad, half sweet associations that haunt these
blue-eyed flowers.
“I wanted pansies for you, but not one would bloom;
so I did the next best, since you don't like roses," said
David, as Christie stood looking at the violets with
a thoughtful face, for something in the peculiarly grace-
ful arrangement of the heart-shaped leaves recalled
another nosegay to her mind.
“I like these very much, because they came to me in
the beginning of this, the happiest year of my life;"
and scarcely knowing why, except that it was very sweet
to talk with David in the early sunshine, she told about
304
WORR.
the flowers some one had given her at church. As she
finished she looked up at him; and, though his face was
perfectly grave, his eyes laughed, and with a sudden con-
viction of the truth, Christie exclaimed !
.“ David, I do believe it was you!”
“I couldn't help it: you seemed so touched and .
troubled. I longed to speak to you, but didn't dare, so
dropped the flowers and got away as fast as possible.
Did you think it very rude?”
I thought it the sweetest thing that ever happened
to me. That was my first step along a road that you
have strewn with flowers ever since. I can't thank
you, but I never shall forget it.” Christie spoke out
fervently, and for an instant her heart shone in her
face. Then she checked herself, and, fearing she had
said too much, fell to slicing bread with an energetic
rapidity which resulted in a cut finger. Dropping the
knife, she tried to get her handkerchief, but the blood
flowed fast, and the pain of a deep gash' made her a
little faint. David sprung to help her, tied up the
wound, put her in the big chair, held water to her lips,
and bathed her temples with a wet napkin; silently, but
so tenderly, that it was almost too much for poor
Christie.
For one happy moment her head lay on his arm, and
his hand brushed back her hair with a touch that was a
caress: she heard his heart beat fast with anxiety; felt
his breath on her cheek, and wished that she might die
then and there, though a bread-knife was not a roman-
tic weapon, nor a cut finger as interesting as a broken
heart. Kitty's voice made her start up, and the blissful
vision of life, with David in the little house alone, van-
WARING UP.
-305
..
ished like a bright bubble, leaving the hard reality to
be lived out with nothing but a woman's pride to
conceal a woman's most passionate pain.
" It's nothing: I'm all right now. Don't say any
thing to worry your mother; I'll put on a bit of court-
plaster, and no one will be the wiser,” she said, hastily
removing all traces of the accident but her own pale
face.
“ Poor Christie, it's hard that you should go away

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306
WORK.
with a wound like this on the hand that has done so
much for us,” said David, as he carefully adjusted the
black strip on that forefinger, roughened by many
stitches set for him.
“I loved to do it," was all Christie trusted herself to
say.
“I know you did; and in your own words I can only
answer: 'I don't know how to thank you, but I never
shall forget it.” And David kissed the wounded hand
as gratefully and reverently as if its palm was not
hardened by the humblest tasks.
If he had only known - ah, if he had only known!
how easily he might repay that debt, and heal the
deeper wound in Christie's heart. As it was, she could
only say, “You are too kind,” and begin to shovel' tea
into the pot, as Kitty came in, as rosy and fresh as the
daisies she put in her hair.
“ Ain't they becoming ?” she asked, turning to Da-
vid for admiration.
“No, thank you," he answered absently, looking out
over her head, as he stood upon the rug in the attitude
which the best men will assume in the bosoms of their
families.
Kitty looked offended, and turned to the mirror for
comfort; while Christie went on shovelling tea, quite
unconscious what she was about till David said gravely:
“Won't that be rather strong ?”
“ How stupid of me! I always forget that Kitty does
not drink tea," and Christie rectified her mistake with
all speed.
Kitty laughed, and said in her pert little way:
“Getting up early don't seem to agree with either
7
WAKING UP.
307
of you this morning: I wonder what you've been
doing?”
“ Your work. Suppose you bring in the kettle:
Christie has hurt her hand.”
David spoke quietly; but Kitty looked as much sur-
prised as if he had boxed her ears, for he had never
used that tone to her before. She meekly obeyed; and
David added with a smile to Christie:
“Mother is coming down, and you 'll have to get
more color into your cheeks if you mean to hide your
accident from her.”
“That is easily clone;" and Christie rubbed her pale
cheeks till they rivalled Kitty's in their bloom.
“How well you women know how to conceal your
wounds," said David, half to himself.
“It is an invaluable accomplishment for us sometimes :
you forget that I have been an actress," answered
Christie, with a bitter sort of smile.
"I wish I could forget what I have been!” muttered
David, turning his back to her and kicking a log that
had rolled out of place.
In came Mrs. Sterling, and every one brightened up
to meet her. Kitty was silent, and wore an injured air
which nobody minded; Christie was very lively; and
David did his best to help her through that last meal,
which was a hard one to three out of the four.
At noon a carriage came for Christie, and she said
good-by, as she had drilled herself to say it, cheerfully
and steadily.
“ It is only for a time, else I couldn't let thee go,
my dear,” said Mrs. Sterling, with a close embrace.
6 I shall see you at church, and Tuesday evenings,
:
WORK.
308
even if you don't find time to come to us, so I shall not
say good-by åt all;" and David shook hands warmly,
as he put her into the carriage.
“I'll invite you to my wedding when I make up my
mind,” said Kitty, with feminine malice; for in her eyes
Christie was an old maid who doubtless envied her her
“lots of lovers.”
"I hope you will be very happy. In the mean time
try to save dear Mrs. Sterling all you can, and let her
make you worthy a good husband," was Christie's an-
swer to a speech she was too noble to resent by a sharp
word, or even a contemptuous look.
Then she drove away, smiling and waving her hand
to the old lady at her window; but the last thing she
saw as she left the well-beloved lane, was David going
slowly up the path, with Kitty close beside him, talking
busily. If she had heard the short dialogue between
them, the sight would have been less bitter, for Kitty
said :
“She's dreadful good; but I'm glad she's gone: ain't
you?”
"No.".
“ Had you rather have her here than me?"
“ Yes."
“ Then why don't you ask her to come back.”
“I would if I could!”
“I never did see any thing like it; every one is so
queer and cross to-day I get snubbed all round. If
folks ain't good to me, I'll go and marry Miles ! I de-
clare I will."
“You'd better," and with that David left her frown-
ing and pouting in the porch, and went to shovelling
snow with unusual vigor.
CHAPTER XIV.
WHICH ?

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DAVID.
M R. POWER received Christie so hospitably that --
IV she felt at home at once, and took up her new
duties with the energy of one anxious to repay a favor.
Her friend knew well the saving power of work, and
gave her plenty of it; but it was a sort that at once
interested and absorbed her, so that she had little time
for dangerous thoughts or vain regrets. As he once
said, Mr. Power made her own troubles seem light by
showing her others so terribly real and great that she
was ashamed to repine at her own lot.
310
WORK.
Her gift of sympathy served her well, past expe- .
rience gave her a quick eye to read the truth in others,
and the earnest desire to help and comfort made her an
excellent almoner for the rich, a welcome friend to the
poor. She was in just the right mood to give herself
gladly to any sort of sacrifice, and labored with a quiet
energy, painful to witness had any one known the hid-
den suffering that would not let her rest.
If she had been a regular novel heroine at this crisis,
she would have grown gray in a single night, had a
dangerous illness, gone mad, or at least taken to per-
vading the house at unseasonable hours with her back
hair down and much wringing of the hands. Being
only a commonplace woman she did nothing. so roman-
tic, but instinctively tried to sustain and comfort her-
self with the humble, wholesome duties and affections
which seldom fail to keep heads sane and hearts safe.
Yet, though her days seemed to pass so busily and
cheerfully, it must be confessed that there were lonely
vigils in the night; and sometimes in the morning
Christie's eyes were very heavy, Christie's pillow wet
with tears.
But life never is all work or sorrow; and happy
hours, helpful pleasures, are mercifully given like way-
side springs to pilgrims trudging wearily along. Mr.
Power showed Christie many such, and silently pro-
vided her with better consolation than pity or advice.
“ Deeds not words," was his motto; and he lived it
out most faithfully. “Books and work” he gave his
new charge; and then followed up that prescription
with “healthful play" of a sort she liked, and had
longed for all her life. Sitting at his table Christie
WHICH?
311
,
saw the best and bravest men and women of our times;
for Mr. Power was a magnet that drew them from all
parts of the world. She saw and heard, admired and
loved them ; felt her soul kindle with the desire to fol-
low in their steps, share their great tasks, know their
difficulties and dangers, and in the end taste the immor-
tal satisfactions given to those who live and labor for
their fellow-men. In such society all other aims seemed
poor and petty; for they appeared to live in a nobler
world than any she had known, and she felt as if
they belonged to another race; not men nor angels,
but a delightful mixture of the two; more as she im-
agined the gods and heroes of old; not perfect, but
wonderfully strong and brave and good; each gifted
with a separate virtue, and each bent on a mission that
should benefit mankind.
Nor was this the only pleasure given her. One even-
ing of each week was set apart by Mr. Power for the
reception of whomsoever chose to visit him ; for his
parish was a large one, and his house a safe haunt for
refugees from all countries, all oppressions.
Christie enjoyed these evenings heartily, for there
was no ceremony; each comer brought his mission,
idea, or need, and genuine hospitality made the visit
profitable or memorable to all, for entire freedom pre-
vailed; and there was stabling for every one's hobby.
Christie felt that she was now receiving the best cult-
ure, acquiring the polish that society gives, and makes
truly admirable when character adds warmth and power
to its charm. The presence of her bosom-care calmed
the old unrest, softened her manners, and at times
touched her face with an expression more beautiful
312
WORK.
than heauty. She was quite unconscious of the changes
passing over her; and if any one had told her she was
fast becoming a most attractive woman, she would
have been utterly incredulous. But others saw and
felt the new charm; for no deep experience bravely
borne can fail to leave its mark, often giving power in
return for patience, and lending a subtle loveliness to
faces whose bloom it has destroyed.
This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening
when she went down to the weekly gathering in one
of the melancholy moods which sometimes oppressed
her. She felt. dissatisfied with herself because her
interest in all things began to flag, and a restless
longing for some new excitement to break up the
monotonous pain of her inner life possessed her. Being
still a little shy in company, she slipped quietly into a
recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and
sat looking listlessly about her while waiting for David,
who seldom failed to come.
• A curious collection of fellow-beings was before her,
and at another time she would have found much to
interest and amuse her. In one corner a newly im-
ported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring,
and the fragrance of many meerschaum's still hovering
about hiin, was hammering away upon some disputed
point with a scientific Frenchman, whose national
politeness was only equalled by his national volubility.
A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive
slave; a young poet getting inspiration from the face
and voice of a handsome girl who had earned the right
to put M. D. to her name. An old philosopher was calm-
ing the ardor of several rampant radicals, and a famous
WHICH?
313
singer was comforting the heart of an Italian exile by
talking politics in his own melodious tongue.
There were plenty of reformers: some as truculent
as Martin Luther; others as beaming and benevo-
lent as if the pelting of the world had only mellowed
them, and no amount of denunciatory thunder could
sour the milk of human kindness creaming in their
happy hearts. There were eager women just beginning
their protest against the wrongs that had wrecked their
peace; subdued women who had been worsted in the
unequal conflict and given it up; resolute women with
“ No surrender” written all over their strong-minded
countenances; and sweet, hopeful women, whose faith
in God and man nothing could shake or sadden.
But to Christie there was only one face worth look-
ing at till David came, and that was Mr. Power's; for
he was a perfect host, and pervaded the rooms like a
genial atmosphere, using the welcome of eye and hand
which needs no language to interpret it, giving to each
guest the intellectual fare he loved, and making their
enjoyment his own.
“ Bless the dear man! what should we all do without
him ?” thought Christie, following him with grateful
eyes, as he led an awkward youth in rusty black to the
statesman whom it had been the desire of his ambi- .
tious soul to meet.
The next minúte she proved that she at least could
do without the “dear man;" for David entered the
room, and she forgot all about him. Here and at
church were the only places where the friends had
met during these months, except one or two short
14
314
WORK.
visits to the little house in the lane when Christie
devoted herself to Mrs. Sterling.
David was quite unchanged, though once or twice
Cbristie fancied he seemed ill at ease with her, and im-
mediately tormented herself with the idea that some
alteration in her own manner had perplexed or offended
him. She did her best to be as frank and cordial as in
the happy old days; but it was impossible, and she soon
gave it up, assuming in the place of that former friend-
liness, a grave and quiet manner which would have led
a wiser man than David to believe her busied with her
own affairs and rather indifferent to every thing else.
If he had known how her heart danced in her bosom,
her eyes brightened, and all the world became endur-
able, the moment he appeared, he would not have been
so long in joining her, nor have doubted what welcome
awaited him.
As it was, he stopped to speak to his host; and, before
:: he reappeared, Christie had found the excitement she
had been longing for.
“Now some bore will keep him an hour, and the
evening is so short," she thought, with a pang of disap-
pointment; and, turning her eyes away from the crowd
which had swallowed up her heart's desire, they fell
upon a gentleman just entering, and remained fixed
with an expression of unutterable surprise; for there,
elegant, calm, and cool as ever, stood Mr. Fletcher.
“How came he here ?" was her first question ; “How
will he behave to me?” her second. As she could
answer neither, she composed herself as fast as possible,
resolving to let matters take their own course, and
feeling in the mood for an encounter with a discarded
te,
WHICH?
315
lover, as she took a womanish satisfaction in remember-
ing that the very personable gentleman before her had
once been.
Mr. Fletcher and his companion passed on to find
their host; and, with a glance at the mirror opposite,
which showed her that the surprise of the moment had
given her the color she lacked before, Christie occupied
herself with a portfolio of engravings, feeling very
much as she used to feel when waiting at a side scene
for her cue.
She had not long to wait before Mr. Power came up,
and presented the stranger; for such he fancied him,
never having heard a certain episode in Christie's life.
Mr. Fletcher bowed, with no sign of recognition in his
face, and began to talk in the smooth, low voice she
remembered so well. For the moment, through sheer
surprise, Christie listened and replied as any young
lady might have done to a new-made acquaintance.
But very soon she felt sure that Mr. Fletcher intended
to ignore the past; and, finding her on a higher round
of the social ladder, to accept the fact and begin again.
At first she was angry, then amused, then interested
in the somewhat dramatic turn affairs were taking, and
very wisely decided to meet him on his own ground,
and see what came of it.
In the midst of an apparently absorbing discussion
of one of Raphael's most insipid Madonnas, she was
conscious that David had approached, paused, and
was scrutinizing her companion with unusual interest.
Seized with a sudden desire to see the two men to-
gether, Christie beckoned ; and when he obeyed, she
introduced him, drew him into the conversation, and
S10
316
WORK.
then left him in the lurch by falling silent and taking
notes while they talked.
If she wished to wean her heart from David by seeing
him at a disadvantage, she could have devised no better
way; for, though a very feminine test, it answered the
purpose excellently.
Mr. Fletcher was a handsome man, and just then
looked his best. Improved health gave energy and
color to his formerly sallow, listless face: the cold eyes
were softer, the hard mouth suave and smiling, and
about the whole man there was that indescribable
something which often proves more attractive than
worth or wisdom to keener-sighted women than Christie.
Never had he talked better; for, as if he suspected
what was in the mind of one hearer, he exerted himself
to be as brilliant as possible, and succeeded admirably.
David never appeared so ill, for he had no clew to
the little comedy being played before him; and long
seclusion and natural reserve unfitted him to shine
beside a man of the world like Mr. Fletcher. His
simple English sounded harsh, after the foreign phrases
that slipped so easily over the other's tongue. He had
visited no galleries, seen few of the world's wonders,
and could only listen when they were discussed. More
than once he was right, but failed to prove it, for Mr.
Fletcher skilfully changed the subject or quenched him
with a politely incredulous shrug.
Even in the matter of costume, poor David was
worsted; for, in a woman's eyes, dress has wonderful
significance. Christie used to think his suit of sober gray
the most becoming man could wear; but now it looked
shapeless and shabby, beside garments which bore the
WHICH?
317
stamp of Paris in the gloss and grace of broadcloth
and fine linen. David wore no gloves : Mr. Fletch-
er's were immaculate. David's tie was so plain no
one observed it: Mr. Fletcher's, elegant and faultless
enough for a modern Beau Brummel. David's hand-
kerchief was of the commonest sort (she knew that,
for she hemmed it herself): Mr. Fletcher's was the finest
cambric, and a delicate breath of perfume refreshed the
aristocratic nose to which the article belonged.
Christie despised herself as she made these compar-
isons, and felt how superficial they were; but; having
resolved to exalt one man at the expense of the other for
her own good, she did not relent till David took advan-
tage of a pause, and left them with a reproachful look that
made her wish Mr. Fletcher at the bottom of the sea.
When they were alone a subtle change in his face
and manner convinced her that he also had been taking
notes, and had arrived at a favorable decision regard-
ing herself. Women are quick at making such discov-
eries; and, even while she talked with him as a stranger,
she felt assured that, if she chose, she might make him
again her lover.
Here was a temptation! She had longed for some
new excitement, and fate seemed to have put one of
the most dangerous within her reach. It was natural
to find comfort in the knowledge that somebody loved
her, and to take pride in her power over one man,
because another did not own it. In spite of her better
self she felt the fascination of the hour, and yielded to
it, half unconsciously assuming something of the “ dash
and daring” which Mr. Fletcher had once confessed to
finding so captivating in the demure governess. He
f uncons nich Mr.
the de
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WORK.
evidently thought so still, and played his part with
spirit; for, while apparently enjoying a conversation
which contained no allusion to the past, the memory of
it gave piquancy to that long tête-à-tête.
As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher's friend
beckoned to him; and he rose, saying with an accent of
regret which changed to one of entreaty; as he put his
question :
“I, too, must go. May I come again, Miss Devon ?”
“I am scarcely more than a guest myself; but Mr.
Power is always glad to see whoever cares to come,”
replied Christie rather primly, though her eyes were
dancing with amusement at the recollection of those
love passages upon the beach.
“Next time, I shall come not as a stranger, but as a
former — may I say friend ?” he added quickly, as if
emboldened by the mirthful eyes that so belied the
demure lips.
. “Now you forget your part," and Christie's primness
vanished in a laugh. “I am glad of it, for I want to
ask about Mrs. Saltonstall and the children. I've
often thought of the little dears, and longed to see
them." -
“ They are in Paris with their father.”
“Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope ? "
“She died six months ago."
An expression of genuine sorrow came over Mr.
Fletcher's face as he spoke; and, remembering that the
silly little woman was his sister, Christie put out her
hand with a look and gesture so full of sympathy that
words were unnecessary. Taking advantage of this
propitious moment, he said, with an expressive glance
WHICH ?
319
and effective tone: “I am all alone now. You will let
me come again ?".
“Certainly, if it can give you pleasure," she an-
swered heartily, forgetting herself in pity for his sor-
row.
Mr. Fletcher pressed her hand with a grateful,
« Thank you !” and wisely went away at once, lcaving
compassion to plead for him better than he could have
done it for himself.
Leaning back in her chair, Christie was thinking over
this interview so intently that she started when David's
voice said close beside her:
“Shall I disturb you if I say, "Good-night'?"
“I thought you were not going to say it at all,”
she answered rather sharply.
“I've been looking for a chance; but you were so
absorbed with that man I had to wait."
“ Considering the elegance of that man, you don't
treat him with much respect.”
“I don't feel much. What brought him here, I won-
der. French salon is more in his line."
“ He came to see Mr. Power, as every one else does,
of course."
“Don't dodge, Christie : you know he came to see
you."
“How do you like him?" she asked, with treacher-
“Not particularly, so far. But if I knew him, I dare
say I should find many good traits in him."
“I know you would !” said Christie, warmly, not
thinking of Fletcher, but of David's kindly way of
finding good in every one.
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WORK.
“He must have improved since you saw him last;
for then, if I remember rightly, you found him 'lazy,
cross, selfish, and conceited.""
“Now, David, I never said any thing of the sort,"
began Christie, wondering what possessed him to be so
satirical and short with her.
“Yes, you did, last September, sitting on the old
apple-tree the morning of your birthday.”
“What an inconvenient memory you have! Well,
he was all that then; but he is not an invalid now, and
so we see his real self.”
“I also remember that you gave me the impression
that he was an elderly man."
- Isn't forty elderly ?”
• He wasn't forty when you taught his sister's chil-
dren.”
“No; but he looked older than he does now, being
so ill. I used to think he would be very handsome
with good health; and now I see I was right,” said
Christie, with feigned enthusiasm ; for it was a new
thing to tease David, and she liked it.
But she got no more of it; for, just then, the singer
began to sing to the select few who remained, and
every one was silent. Leaning on the high back of
Christie's, chair, David watched the reflection of her
face in the long mirror; for she listened to the music
with downcast eyes, unconscious what eloquent ex-
pressions were passing over her countenance. She
seemed a new Christie to David, in that excited mood;
and, as he watched her, he thought :
“She loved this man once, or he loved her; and to-
night it all comes back to her. How will it end?" .
WHICE?
321
O
So earnestly did he try to read that altered face that .
Christie felt the intentness of his gaze, looked up sud-
denly, and met his eyes in the glass. Something in the
expression of those usually serene eyes, now darkened
and dilated with the intensity of that long scrutiny,
surprised and troubled her; and, scarcely knowing what
she said, she asked quickly :
“Who are you admiring ?”
“Not myself."
“I wonder if you'd think me vain if I asked you
something that I want to know?” she said, obeying a
sudden impulse.
“ Ask it, and I'll tell you."
6 Am I much changed since you first knew me?”.
“Very much.”
“For the better or the worse ?"
“ The better, decidedly.”
« Thank you, I hoped so; but one never knows how
one seems to other people. I was wondering what
you saw in the glass.”
“A good and lovely woman, Christie.”
How sweet it sounded to hear David say that! so
simply and sincerely that it was far more than a mere
compliment. She did not thank him, but said softly as
if to herself:
“So let me seem until I be "
-- and then sat silent, so full of satisfaction in the
thought that David found her “good and lovely," she
could not resist stealing a glance at the tell-tale mirror
to see if she might believe him.
She forgot herself, however; for he was off guard now,
and stood looking away with brows knit, lips tightly
. 14*
322
WORK.
set, and eyes fixed, yet full of fire; his whole attitude.
and expression that of a man intent on subduing some
strong impulse by a yet stronger will.
It startled Christie; and she leaned forward, watching
him with breathless interest till the song ceased, and,
with the old impatient gesture, David seemed to relapse
into his accustomed quietude.
“It was the wonderful music that excited him: that
was all;” thought Christie; yet, when he came round
to say good-night, the strange expression was not gone,
and his manner was not his own.
“ Shall I ask if I may come again," he said, imitating
Mr. Fletcher's graceful bow with an odd smile.
..“I let him come because he has lost his sister, and is
lonely," began Christie, but got no further, for David
said, “Good-night !" abruptly, and was gone without a
word to Mr. Power.
. “He's in a hurry to get back to his Kitty," she
thought, tormenting herself with feminine skill. “Never
mind,” she added, with a defiant sort of smile; “ I've
got my Philip, handsomer and more in love than ever,
if I'm not deceived. I wonder if he will come again ?"
Mr. Fletcher did come again, and with flattering regu-
larity, for several weeks, evidently finding something
"very attractive in those novel gatherings. Mr. Power
soon saw why he came; and, as Christie seemed to enjoy
his presence, the good man said nothing to disturb her,
though he sometimes cast an anxious glance toward the
recess where the two usually sat, apparently busy with
books or pictures; yet, by their faces, showing that an
under current of deeper interest than art or literature
flowed through their intercourse.
WHICH?
323
Christie had not deceived herself, and it was evident
that her old lover meant to try his fate again, if she
continued to smile upon him as she had done of late.
He showed her his sunny side now, and very pleasant
she found it. The loss of his sister had touched his
heart, and made him long to fill the place her death
left vacant. Better health sweetened his temper, and
woke the desire to do something worth the doing; and
the sight of the only woman he had ever really loved,
reawakened the sentiment that had not died, and made
it doubly sweet.
Why he cared for Christie he could not tell, but he
never had forgotten her; and, when he met her again
with that new beauty in her face, he felt that time had
only ripened the blithe girl into a deep-hearted woman,
and he loved her with a better love than before. His
whole manner showed this; for the half-careless, half-
condescending air of former times was replaced by the
most courteous respect, a sincere desire to win her
favor, and at times the tender sort of devotion women
find so charming.
Christie felt all this, enjoyed it, and tried to be
grateful for it in the way he wished, thinking that hearts
could be managed like children, and when one toy is
unattainable, be appeased by a bigger or a brighter one
of another sort.
“I must love some one,” she said, as she leaned over
a basket of magnificent flowers just left for her by Mr.
Fletcher's servant, a thing which often happened now.
“ Philip has loved me with a fidelity that ought to touch
my heart. Why not accept him, and enjoy a new life
of luxury, novelty, and pleasure? All these things he
324.
WORK.
can give me: all these things are valued, admired, and
sought for; and who would appreciate them more than
I? I could travel, cultivate myself in many delightful
ways, and do so much good. No matter if I was not
very happy: I should make Philip so, and have it in my
power to comfort many poor souls. That ought to satisfy
me; for what is nobler than to live for others ? ”
This idea attracted her, as it does all generous natures;
she became enamoured of self-sacrifice, and almost per-
suaded herself that it was her duty to marry Mr.
Fletcher, whether she loved him or not, in order that
she might dedicate her life to the service of poorer,
sadder creatures than herself.
But in spite of this amiable delusion, in spite of the
desire to forget the love she would have in the love she
might havc, and in spite of the great iinprovement in
her faithful Philip, Christie could not blind herself to
the fact that her head, rather than her heart, advised
the match; she could not conquer a suspicion that, how-
ever much Mr. Fletcher might love his wife, he would
be something of a tyrant, and she was very sure she
never would inake a good slavc. In lier cooler mo-
ments sho remembered that men are not puppets, to
be moved as a woman's will commands, and the uncer-
tainty of being able to carry out her charitable plans
made her pause to consider whether she would not be
selling her liberty too cheaply, if in return she got only
dependence and bondage along with fortune and a
homc.
So tempted and perplexed, self-deluded and self-
warned, attracted and repelled, was poor Christie, that
she began to feel as if she had got into a labyrinth
Y
WHICH?
325
without any clew to bring her safely out. She longed
to ask advice of some one, but could not turn to Mrs.
Sterling; and what other woman friend had she except
Rachel, from whom she had not heard for months ?
As she asked herself this question one day, feeling
sure that Mr. Fletcher would come in the evening, and
would soon put his fortune to the touch again, the
thought of Mrs. Wilkins seemed to answer her.
“ Why not?” said Christie : “ she is sensible, kind,
and discreet; she may put me right, for I'm all in a
tangle now with doubts and fears, feelings and fan-
cies. I'll go and sce her: that will do me good, even
if I don't say a word about my worryments,' as the
dear soul would call them.”
Away she went, and fortunately found her friend
alone in the “settin’-room,” darning away at a perfect
stack of socks, as she crcaked comfortably to and fro
in her old rocking-chair.
“I was jest wishin' somebody would drop in : it's
so kinder lonesoinc with the children to school and
Adelaide asleep. How be you, dear?” said Mrs. Wil-
kins, with a hospitable hug and a beaming smile.
“I'm worried in my mind, so I came to see you,"
answered Christie, sitting down with a sigh.
« Bless your dear heart, what is to pay.. Free your
mind, and I'll do my best to lend a hand.”
The mere sound of that hearty voice comforted
Christic, and gave her courage to introduce the little
fiction under which she had decided to defraud Mrs.
Wilkins of her advice. So she helped herself to a
very fragmentary blue sock and a big needle, that she
might have employment for her eyes, as they were not
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WORK.
so obedient as her tongue, and then began in as easy a
tone as she could assume.
“Well, you see a friend of mine wants my advice on
a very serious matter, and I really don't know what to
give her. It is strictly confidential, you know, so I
won't mention any names, but just set the case before
you and get your opinion, for I've great faith in your
sensible way of looking at things.”
6 Thanky, dear, you’r welcome to my 'pinion ef it's
wuth any thing. Be these folks you tell of young ?”
asked Mrs. Wilkins, with evident relish for the mys-
tery.
“No, the woman is past thirty, and the man ’most
forty, I believe,” said Christie, darning away in some
trepidation at having taken the first plunge.
“My patience! ain't the creater old enough to know
her own mind ? for I s'pose she's the one in the quan-
derry ?” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins, looking over her
spectacles with dangerously keen eyes.
« The case is this,” said Christie, in guilty haste.
“ The creature' is poor and nobody, the man rich and
of good family, so you see it's rather hard for her to
decide."
“No, I don't see nothin' of the sort," returned blunt
Mrs. Wilkins. "Ef she loves the man, take him: ef
she don't, give him the mittin and done with it. Money
and friends and family ain't much to do with the mat-
ter accordin' to my view. It's jest a plain question
betwixt them two. Ef it takes much settlin' they'd
better let it alone.”
“She doesn't love him as much as she might, I fancy,
but she is tired of grubbing along alone. He is very
WHICH?
327
fond of her, and very rich ; and it would be a fine thing
for her in a worldly way, I'm sure.”
“Oh, she 's goin' to marry for a livin’ is she? Wal,
now I'd ruther one of my girls should grub the wust
kind all their days than do that. Hows’ever, it may
suit some folks ef they ain't got much heart, and is
contented with fine clothes, nice vittles, and handsome
furnitoor. Selfish, cold, silly kinder women might git
on, I dare say; but I shouldn't think any friend of
your'n would be one of that sort."
“But she might do a great deal of good, and make
others happy even if she was not so berself."
“ She might, but I doubt it, for money got that way.
wouldn't prosper wal. Mis’able folks ain't half so
charitable as happy ones; and I don't believe five dol-
lars from one of 'em would go half so fur, or be half
so comfortin' as a kind word straight out of a cheerful
heart. I know some thinks that is a dreadful smart
thing to do; but I don't, and ef any one wants to go a
sacrificin' herself for the good of others, there's better
ways of doin' it than startin' with a lie in her mouth."
Mrs. Wilkins spoke warmly; for Christie's face made
her fiction perfectly transparent, though the good woman
with true delicacy showed no sign of intelligence on
that point.
“ Then you wouldn't advise my friend to say yes ?”
“Sakes alive, no! I'd say to her as I did to my
younger sisters when their courtin' time come : "Jest
be sure you're right as to there bein' love enough, then
go ahead, and the Lord will bless you.?”
“ Did they follow your advice ?"
“ They did, and both is prosperin' in different ways.
328
WORK.
1
Gusty, she found she was well on't for love, so she mar-
ried, though Samuel Buck was poor, and they're happy
as can be a workin' up together, same as Lisha and me
did. Addy, she calc'lated she wan't satisfied somehow,
so she didn't marry, though James Miller was wal off;
and she's kep stiddy to her trade, and ain't never
repented. There's a sight said and writ about such
things,” continued Mrs. Wilkins, rainbling on to give
Christie time to think; “but I've an idee that women's
hearts is to be trusted ef they ain't been taught all
wrong. Jest let 'em remember that they take a hus-
band for wuss as well as better (and there's a sight of
wuss in this tryin' world for some on us), and be ready
to do their part patient and faithful, and I ain't a
grain afraid but what they 'll be fetched through, always
pervidin' they love the man and not his money.”
There was a pause after that last speech, and Christie
felt as if her perplexity was clearing away very fast; for
Mrs. Wilkins's plain talk seenied to show her things in
their true light, with all the illusions of false senti-
ment and false reasoning stripped away. She felt
clearer and stronger already, and as if she could make
up her mind very soon when one other point had been
discussed.
“I fancy my friend is somewhat influenced by the
fact that this man loved and asked her to marry him
some years ago. He has not forgotten her, and this
touches her heart more than any thing else. It seems
as if his love must be genuine to last so long, and not
to mind her poverty, want of beauty, and accomplish-
ments; for he is a proud and fastidious man."
“I think wal of him for that!” said Mrs. Wilkins,
WHICH ?
329
approvingly ; “but I guess she's wuth all he gives her,
for there must be somethin' pretty gennywin' in her
to make him overlook her lacks and hold on so stiddy.
It don't alter her side of the case one mite though ; for
love is love, and ef she ain't got it, he'd better not
take gratitude instid, but sheer off and leave her for
somebody else." .
“Nobody else wants her!” broke from Christie like
an involuntary cry of pain; then she hid her face by
stooping to gather up the avalanche of hosiery which
fell from her lap to the floor. .
“She can't be sure of that," said Mrs. Wilkins
cheerily, though her spectacles were dim with sudden
mist. “I know there's a mate for her. somewheres, so
she'd better wait a spell and trust in Providence. It
wouldn't be so pleasant to see the right one come along
after she'd went and took the wrong one in a hurry:
would it? Waitin' is always safe, and time needn't
be wasted in frettin' or bewailin'; for the Lord knows
there's a sight of good works sufferin' to be done, and
single women has the best chance at ’em.”
“I've accomplished one good work at any rate; and, ..
small as it is, I feel better for it. Give this sock to
your husband, and tell him his wife sets a good example
both by precept and practice to other women, married
or single. Thank you very much, both for myself and
my friend, who shall profit by your advice,” said Chris-
tie, feeling that she had better go before she told every
thing.
“I hope she will,” returned Mrs. Wilkins, as her
guest went away with a much happier face than the
one she brought. “And ef I know her, which I think
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WORK:
I do, she 'll find that Cinthy Wilkins ain't fur from
right, ef her experience is good for any thing,” added
the matron with a sigh, and a glance at a dingy photo-
graph of her Lisha on the wall, a sigh that seemed to
say there had been a good deal of “ wuss” in her bar-
gain, though she was too loyal to confess it.
- Something in Christie's face struck Mr. Fletcher at
once when he appeared that evening. He had some-
times found her cold and quiet, often gay and capri-
cious, usually earnest and cordial, with a wistful look
that searched his face and both won and checked him
by its mute appeal, seeming to say, “Wait a little till
- I have taught my heart to answer as you wish.”
To-night her eyes shunned his, and when he caught
à glimpse of them they were full of a soft trouble ;
her manner was kinder than ever before, and yet it
made him anxious, for there was a resolute expres-,
sion about her lips even when she smiled, and though
he ventured upon allusions to the past hitherto tacitly
avoided, she listened as if it had no tender charm for
her.
Being thoroughly in earnest now, Mr. Fletcher re-
solved to ask the momentous question again without de-
lay. David was not there, and had not been for several
weeks, another thorn in Christie's heart, though she
showed no sign of regret, and said to herself, “It is
better so." His absence left Fletcher master of the
field, and he seized the propitious moment.
“Will you show me the new picture ? Mr. Power
spoke of it, but I do not like to trouble him."
“With pleasure," and Christie led the way to a
little room where the newly arrived gift was placed.
WHICH ?
331
love
She knew what was coming, but was ready, and felt
a tragic sort of satisfaction in the thought of all she
was relinquishing for love of David.
No one was in the room, but a fine copy of Michael
Angelo's Fates hung on the wall, looking down at them
with weird significance.
but a lookin
to any questioning of ours," Mr. Fletcher said, after a
glance of affected interest.
“ They would give a true one I fancy," answered
Christie, shading her eyes as if to see the better.
“I'd rather question a younger, fairer Fate, hoping
May 1, Christie ?"
“I will be true but I cannot be kind." It cost her
much to say that; yet she did it steadily, though he
held her hand in both his own, and waited for her
Words with ardent expectation.
Not yet perhaps, — but in time, when I have proved
how sincere my love is, how entire my repentance for
the ungenerous words you'have not forgotten. I wanted
you then for my own sake, now I want you for yourself,
because I love and honor you above all women. I tried
to forget you, but I could not; and all these years have
carried in my heart a very tender memory of the girl
who dared to tell me that all I could offer her was
not worth her love."
“I was mistaken,” began Christie, finding this wooing
much harder to withstand than the other.
“No, you were right: I felt it then and resented it,
but I owned it later, and regretted it more bitterly than
I can tell. I'm not worthy of you; I never shall be: but
332
WORK.
I've loved you for five years without hope, and I'll
wait five more if in the end you will come to me.
Christie, I need you very much!”
If Mr. Fletcher had gone down upon his knees and
poured out the most ardent protestations that ever left
a lover's lips, it would not have touched her as did that
last little appeal, uttered with a break in the voice that
once was so proud and was so humble now.
“Forgive me!” she cried, looking up at him with
real respect in her face, and real remorse smiting her
conscience. “Forgive me! I have misled you and my-
self. I tried to love you: I was grateful for your regard,
touched by your fidelity, and I hoped I might repay it;
but I cannot! I cannot !”
“Why?” .
Such a hard question! She owed him all the truth,
yet how could she tell it? She could not in words,
but her face did, for the color rose and burned on
cheeks and forehead with painful fervor; her eyes
fell, and her lips trembled as if endeavoring to keep
down the secret that was escaping against her will.
A moment of silence as Mr. Fletcher searched for
the truth and found it; then he said with such sharp
sound:
“I see: I am too late ?"
66 Yes."
“None."
“ Then there is nothing more for me to say but
good-by. May you be happy.”
“ I shall not be;-- I have no hope; - I only try to be
WHICH?
333
true to you and to myself. Oh, believe it, and pity me
as I do you!”
As the words broke from Christie, she covered up
her face, bowed down with the weight of remorse
that made her long to atone for what she had done
by any self-humiliation.
Mr. Fletcher was at his best at that moment; for
real love ennobles the worst and weakest while it.
lasts: but he could not resist the temptation that con-
fession offered him. He tried to be generous, but the
genuine virtue was not in him; he did want Christie
very much, and the knowledge of a rival in her heart
only made her the dearer.
“I'm not content with your pity, sweet as it is: I
want your love, and I believe that I might earn it
if you would let me try. You are all alone, and life is
hard to you: come to me and let me make it happier.
I'll be satisfied with friendship till you can give me
more."
He said this very tenderly, caressing the bent head
while he spoke, and trying to express by tone and
gesture how eagerly he longed to receive and cherish
what that other man neglected.
Christie felt this to her heart's core, and for a moment
longed to end the struggle, say, “ Take me,” and accept
the shadow for the substance. But those last words of
his vividly recalled the compact made with David that
happy birthday night. How could she be his friend if
she was Mr. Fletcher's wife? She knew she could not
be true to both, while her heart reversed the sentiment
she then would owe them: David's friendship was
dearer than Philip's love, and she would keep it at all
334
WORK.
costs. These thoughts flashed through her mind in the
drawing of a breath, and she looked up, saying steadily
in spite of wet eyes and still burning cheeks :
“Hope nothing; wait for nothing from me. I will
have no more delusions for either of us: it is weak
and wicked, for I know I shall not change. Some time
we may venture to be friends perhaps, but not now.
Forgive me, and be sure I shall suffer more than you
for this mistake of mine."
When she had denied his suit before. he had been
ungenerous and angry; for his pride was hurt and his
will thwarted: now his heart bled and hope died hard ;
but all that was manliest in him rose to help him bear
the loss, for this love was genuine, and made him both
just and kind. His face was pale with the pain of that
fruitless passion, and his voice betrayed how hard he
strove for self-control, as he said hurriedly:
“You need not suffer: this mistake has given me
the happiest hours of my life, and I am better for hav-
ing known so sweet and true a woman. God bless you,
Christie !” and with a quick embrace that startled her
by its suddenness and strength he left her, standing
there alone before the three grim Fates.
CHAPTER XV.
MIDSUMMER.
.
"N OW it is all over. I shall never have another
I chance like that, and must make up my mind to
be a lonely and laborious spinster all my life. Youth
is going fast, and I have little in myself to attract or
win, though David did call me good and lovely.'
Ah, well, I'll try to deserve his praise, and not let dis-
appointment sour or sadden me. Better to hope and
wait all my life than marry without love."
Christie often said this to herself during the hard
days that followed Mr. Fletcher's disappearance; a
disappearance, by the way, which caused Mr. Power
much satisfaction, though he only betrayed it by added
kindness to Christie, and in his manner an increased
respect very comforting to her.
But she missed her lover, for nothing now broke up
the monotony of a useful life. She had enjoyed that
little episode; for it had lent romance to every thing
while it lasted, even the charity basket with which she
went her rounds; for Mr. Fletcher often met her by ac-
cident apparently, and carried it as if to prove the sin-
cerity of his devotion. No bouquets came now; no
graceful little notes with books or invitations to some
coveted pleasure; no dangerously delightful evenings
in the recess, where, for a time, she felt and used the
336
WORK.
y
power which to a woman is so full of subtle satisfaction;
no bitter-sweet hopes; no exciting dreams of what
might be with the utterance of a word; no soft uncer-
tainty to give a charm to every hour that passed.
Nothing but daily duties, a little leisure that hung
heavy on her hands with no hope to stimulate, no
lover to lighten it, and a sore, sad heart that would
clamor for its right; and even when pride silenced it
ached on with the dull pain which only time and pa-
tience have the power to heal..
But as those weeks went slowly by, she began to
discover some of the miracles true love can work. She
thought she had laid it in its grave; but an angel
rolled the stone away, and the lost passion rose stronger,
purer, and more beautiful than when she buried it with
bitter tears. A spirit now, fed by no hope, warmed by
no tenderness, clothed in no fond delusion; the vital
soul of love which outlives the fairest, noblest form
humanity can give it, and sits among the ruins singing
the immortal hymn of consolation the Great Musician
taught.
Christie felt this strange comfort resting like a baby
in her lonely bosom, cherished and blessed it; wonder-
ing while she rejoiced, and soon perceiving with the
swift instinct of a woman, that this was a lesson, hard
to learn, but infinitely precious, helpful, and sustaining
when once gained. She was not happy, only patient;
not hopeful, but trusting; and when life looked dark
and barren without, she went away into that inner
world of deep feeling, high thought, and earnest aspi-
ration; which is a never-failing refuge to those whose
experience has built within them
MIDSUMMER.
337
“ The nunnery of a chaste heart and quiet mind.”
Some women live fast; and Christie fought her battle,
won her victory, and found peace declared during that
winter: for her loyalty to love brought its own re-
ward in time, giving her the tranquil steadfastness which
comes to those who submit and ask nothing but forti-
tude.
She had seen little of David, except at church, and
began to regard him almost as one might a statue on
a tomb, the marble effigy of the beloved dead below;
for the sweet old friendship was only a pale shadow
now. He always found her out, gave her the posy she
best liked, said cheerfully, “How goes it, Christie ?"
and she always answered, “Good-morning, David. I
am well and busy, thank you.” Then they sat together
listening to Mr. Power, sung from the same book,
walked a little way together, and parted for another
week with a hand-shake for good-by.
Christie often wondered what prayers David prayed
when he sat so still with his face hidden by his hand,
and looked up with such a clear and steady look when
he had done. She tried to do the same; but her
thoughts would wander to the motionless gray figure
beside her, and she felt as if peace and strength uncon-
sciously flowed from it to sustain and comfort her.
Some of her happiest moments were those she spent
sitting there, pale and silent, with absent eyes, and lips
that trembled now and then, hidden by the flowers held
before them, kissed covertly, and kept like relics long
after they were dead.
One bitter drop always marred the pleasure of that
15
338
WORK.
hour; for when she had asked for Mrs. Sterling, and
sent her love, she forced herself to say kindly:
6 And Kitty, is she doing well ?"
6 Capitally; come and see how she has improved ;
we are quite proud of her.”
we have so much to do,” she would answer smiling,
2
mood she tried to make habitual.
But she seldom made time to go and see Kitty's
improvement; and, when she did run out for an hour
she failed to discover any thing, except that the girl was
prettier and more coquettish than ever, and assumed
airs of superiority that tried Christie very much.
“ I am ready for any thing,” she always said with a
resolute air after one of these visits; but, when the
time seemed to have come she was not so ready as she
fancied.
Passing out of a store one day, she saw Kitty all in
her best, buying white gloves with a most important
air. “That looks suspicious,” she thought, and could
not resist speaking.
“ All well at home?" she asked.
“Grandma and I have been alone for nearly a week;
David went off on business; but he's back now and —
oh, my goodness! I forgot: I'm not to tell a soul
yet;" and Kitty pursed up her lips, looking quite op-
pressed with some great secret.
“Bless me, how mysterious! Well, I won't ask any
dangerous questions, only tell me if the dear old lady.
is well,” said Christie, desperately curious, but too
proud to show it.
MIDSUMMER.
339
“She 's well, but dreadfully upset by what's hap-
pened; well she may be.” And Kitty shook her head
with a look of mingled mystery and malicious merri-
inent.
“Mr. Sterling is all right I hope ?" Christie never
called him David to Kitty; so that impertinent little
person took especial pains to speak familiarly, some-
times even fondly of him to Christie.
“Dear fellow! he's so happy he don't know what to
do with himself. I just wish you could see him go
round smiling, and singing, and looking as if he'd like
to dance."
“That looks as if he was going to get a chance to do
it,” said Christie, with a glance at the gloves, as Kitty
turned from the counter.
“So he is !” laughed Kitty, patting the little parcel
with a joyful face.
“I do believe you are going to be married :" ex-
claimed Christie, half distracted with curiosity.
“I am, but not to Miles. Now don't you say another
word, for I'm dying to tell, and I promised I wouldn't.
David wants to do it himself. By-by." And Kitty
hurried away, leaving Christie as pale as if she had seen
a ghost at noonday.
She had; for the thought of David's marrying Kitty
had haunted her all those months, and now she was
quite sure the blow had come.
“If she was only a nobler woman I could bear it
better; but I am sure he will regret it when the first
illusion is past. I fancy she reminds him of his lost
Letty, and so he thinks he loves her. I pray he may
be happy, and I hope it will be over soon,” thought
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WORK.
Christie, with a groan, as she trudged away to carry
comfort to those whose woes could be relieved by tea
and sugar, flannel petticoats, and orders for a ton of
coal.
It was over soon, but not as Christie had expected.
That evening Mr. Power was called away, and she
sat alone, bravely trying to forget suspense and grief in
copying the record of her last month's labor. · But she
made sad work of it; for her mind was full of David
and his wife, so happy in the little home which had
grown doubly dear to her since she left it. No wonder
then that she put down “two dozen children” to Mrs.
Flanagan, and “four knit hoods” with the measles;
or that a great blot fell upon “twenty yards red flan-
nel," as the pen dropped from the hands she clasped
together; saying with all the fervor of true self-abnega-
tion: “I hope he will be happy; oh, I hope he will be
happy!”
If ever woman deserved reward for patient endeavor,
→ hard-won submission, and unselfish love, Christie did
then. And she received it in full measure; for the
dear Lord requites some faithful hearts, blesses some
lives that seem set apart for silent pain and solitary
labor.
Snow was falling fast, and a bitter wind moaned
without; the house was very still, and nothing stirred
in the room but the flames dancing on the hearth, and
the thin hand moving to and fro among the records of
a useful life.
Suddenly the bell rang loudly and repeatedly, as if
the new-comer was impatient of delay. Christie paused
to listen. It was not Mr. Power's ring, not his voice in
MIDSUMMER.
341
the hall below, not his step that came leaping up the
stairs, nor his hand that threw wide the door. She
knew them all, and her heart stood still an instant;
then she gathered up her strength, said low to herself,
“Now it is coming," and was ready for the truth, with
a colorless face; eyes unnaturally bright and fixed; and
one hand on her breast, as if to hold in check the rebel-
lious heart that would throb so fast.
It was David who came in with such impetuosity.
Snow-flakes shone in his hair; the glow of the keen
wind was on his cheek, a smile on his lips, and in his
eyes an expression she had never seen before. Happi-
ness, touched with the shadow of some past pain;
doubt and desire; gratitude and love, — all seemed to
meet and mingle in it; while, about the whole man,
was the free and ardent air of one relieved from some
heavy burden, released from some long captivity.
“O David, what is it?” cried Christie, as he stood
looking at her with this strange look.
“ News, Christie ! such happy news I can't find
words to tell them,” he answered, coming nearer, but
too absorbed in his own emotion to heed hers.
She drew a long breath and pressed her hand a little
heavier on her breast, as she said, with the ghost of a
smile, more pathetic than the saddest tears :
“I guess it, David.”
“How ?” he demanded, as if defrauded of a joy he
had set his heart upon.
“I met Kitty, - she told me nothing, — but her face
betrayed what I have long suspected."
David laughed, such a glad yet scornful laugh, and,
snatching a little miniature from his pocket, offered
342
WORK.
it, saying, with the new impetuosity that changed him
so:
“ That is the daughter I have found for my mother.
You know her, -- you love her; and you will not be
ashamed to welcome her, I think.”
Christie took it; saw a faded, time-worn likeness of
a young girl's happy face; a face strangely farniliar,
yet, for a moment, she groped to find the name
belonging to it. Then memory helped her; and she
said, half incredulously, half joyfully:
“ Is it my Rachel ?”
“ It is my Letty!” cried David, with an accent of
such mingled love and sorrow, remorse and joy, that
Christie seemed to hear in it the death-knell of her
faith in him. The picture fell from the hands she put
up, as if to ward off some heavy blow, and her voice
was sharp with reproachful anguish, as she cried :
“O David, David, any thing but that!”
An instant he seemed bewildered, then the meaning
of the grief in her face flashed on him, and his own
grew white with indignant repudiation of the thought
that daunted her; but he only said with the stern
brevity of truth:
“ Letty is my sister."
“Forgive me, - how could I know? Oh, thank
God! thank God !” and, dropping down upon a chair,
Christie broke into a passion of the happiest tears she
ever shed.
David stood beside her silent, till the first irrepress-
ible paroxysm was over; then, while she sat weeping
softly, quite bowed down by emotion, he said, sadly
now, not sternly:
MIDSUMMER.
343
“ You could not know, because we hid the truth so
carefully. I have no right to resent that belief of
yours, for I did wrong my poor Letty, almost as much
as that lover of hers, who, being dead, I do not curse.
Let me tell you every thing, Christie, before I ask your
respect and confidence again. I never deserved them,
but I tried to; for they were very precious to me."
He paused a moment, then went on rapidly, as if
anxious to accomplish a hard task; and Christie forgot
to weep while listening breathlessly.
“ Letty was the pride of my heart; and I loved her
very dearly, for she was all I had. Such a pretty child;
such a gay, sweet girl ; how could I help it, when she
was so fond of me? We were poor then, - poorer
than now, -- and she grew restless; tired of hard work;
longed for a little pleasure, and could not bear to waste
her youth and beauty in that dull town. I did not
blame my little girl ; but I could not help her, for I
was tugging away to fill father's place, he being broken
down and helpless. She wanted to go away and sup-
port herself. You know the feeling; and I need not
tell you how the proud, high-hearted creature hated
dependence, even on a brother who would have worked
his soul out for her. She would go, and we had faith
in her. For a time she did bravely; but life was too
hard for her; pleasure too alluring, and, when tempta-
tion came in the guise of love, she could not resist.
One dreadful day, news came that she was gone, never
to come back, my innocent little Letty, any more.”
His voice failed there, and he walked fast through
the room, as if the memory of that bitter day was still
unbearable. Christie could not speak for very pity;
344
WORK.
and he soon continued, pacing restlessly before her, as
he had often done when she sat by, wondering what
unquiet spirit drove him to and fro:
“ That was the beginning of my trouble; but not
the worst of it: God forgive me, not the worst !
Father was very feeble, and the shock killed him;
mother's heart was nearly broken, and all the happiness
was taken out of life for me. But I could bear it,
heavy as the blow was, for I had no part in that sin
and sorrow. A year later, there came a letter from
Letty, — à penitent, imploring, little letter, asking to
be forgiven and taken home, for her lover was dead,
and she alone in a foreign land. How would you
answer such a letter, Christie ?"
“As you did ; saying: Come home and let us com-
fort you.?
" I said: “You have killed your father; broken your
mother's heart; ruined your brother's hopes, and dis-
graced your family. You no longer have a home with
us; and we never want to see your face again.'" .
“O David, that was cruel ! ”
“I said you did not know me; now you see how
deceived you have been. A stern, resentful devil pos-
sessed me then, and I obeyed it. I was very proud ;
full of ambitious plans and jealous love for the few I
our honest name that time could never wash away;
made home desolate, and destroyed my faith in every
thing; for whom could I trust, when she, the nearest
and dearest creature in the world, deceived and de-
serted me. I could not forgive; wrath burned hot
MIDSUMMER.
345
0
within me, and the desire for retribution would not be
appeased till those cruet words were said. The retri-
bution and remorse came swift and sure; but they
came most heavily to me.”
Still standing where he had paused abruptly as he
asked his question, David wrung his strong hands to-
gether with a gesture of passionate regret, while his
face grew sharp with the remembered suffering of the
years he had given to the atonement of that wrong.
Christie put her own hand on those clenched ones,
and whispered softly:
6 Don't tell me any more now: I can wait."
“ I must, and you must listen! I've longed to tell
you, but I was afraid; now, you shall know every
thing, and then decide if you can forgive me for Letty's
sake,” he said, so resolutely that she listened with a
face full of mute compassion.
“ That little letter came to me; I never told my
mother, but answered it, and kept silent till news
arrived that the ship in which Letty had taken passage
was lost. Remorse had been tugging at my heart;
and, when I knew that she was dead, I forgave her
with a vain forgiveness, and mourned for my darling,
as if she had never left me. I told my mother then,
and she did not utter one reproach; but age seemed to
fall upon her all at once, and the pathetic quietude you
see.
« Then, but for her, I should have been desperate;
for day and night Letty's face haunted me; Letty's
voice cried : "Take me horne!' and every word of
that imploring letter burned before my eyes as if writ-
ten in fire. Do you wonder now that I hid myself;
15*
346
· WORK.
that I had no heart to try for any honorable place in
the world, and only struggled to forget, only hoped to
expiate my sin ?”
With his head bowed down upon his breast, David
stood silent; asking himself if he had even now done
enough to win the reward he coveted. Christie's voice
seemed to answer him; for she said, with heartfelt grati-
tude and respect:
“ Surely you have atoned for that barshness to one
woman by years of devotion to many. Was it this
that made you ' a brother of girls,' as Mr. Power once
called you? And, when I asked what he meant, he said
the Arabs call a man that who has 'a clean heart to
love all women as his sisters, and strength and courage
to fight for their protection !""
She hoped to lighten his trouble a little, and spoke
with a smile that was like cordial to poor David.
“ Yes," he said, lifting his head again. “I tried to
be that, and, for Letty's sake, had pity on the most for-
lorn, patience with the most abandoned; always remem-
bering that she might have been what they were, if
death had not been more merciful than I.”
« But she was not dead: she was alive and working
as bravely as you. Ah, how little I thought, when I
loved Rachel, and she loved me, that we should ever
meet so happily as we soon shall. Tell me how you
found her ? Does she know I am the woman she once
saved ? Tell me all about her; and tell it fast," prayed
Christie, getting excited, as she more fully grasped the
happy fact that Rachel and Letty were one.
David came nearer, and his face kindled as he spoke.
“ The ship sailed without her; she came later; and,
MIDSUMMER.
347 -
finding that her name was among the lost, she did not
deny it, for she was dead to us, and decided to remain
so till she had earned the right to be forgiven. You
know how she lived and worked, stood firm with no
one to befriend her till you came, and, by years of
patient well-doing, washed away her single sin. If
any one dares think I am ashamed to own her now, let
him know what cause I have to be proud of her; let
him come and see how tenderly I love her; how
devoutly I thank God for permitting me to find and
bring my little Letty home."
Only the snow-flakes drifting against the window-
pane, and the wailing of the wind, was heard for a
a glad voice:
“I went into a hospital while away, to look after one
of my poor girls who had been doing well till illness
brought her there. As I was passing out I saw a sleep-
ing face, and stopped involuntarily: it was so like Letty's.
I never doubted she was dead; the name over the bed
was not hers; the face was sadly altered from the happy,
rosy one I knew, but it held me fast; and as I paused
the eyes opened, — Letty's own soft eyes, -- they saw
me, and, as if I was the figure of a dream, she smiled,
put up her arms and said, just as she used to say, a
child, when I woke her in her little bed — Why,
Davy!'- I can't tell any more, — only that when I
brought her home and put her in mother's arms, I felt
as if I was forgiven at last.”
He broke down there, and went and stood behind the
window curtains, letting no one see the grateful tears
that washed away the bitterness of those long years.
348
· WORK.
Christie had taken up the miniature and was booking
at it, while her heart sang for joy that the lost was
found, when David came back to her, wearing the same
look she had seen the night she listened among the
cloaks. Moved and happy, with eager eyes and ardent
manner, yet behind it all a pale expectancy as if some
great crisis was at hand :
6 Christie, I never can forget that when all others,
even I, cast Letty off, you comforted and saved her.
What can I do to thank you for it ? "
“ Be my friend, and let me be hers again,” she an-
swered, too deeply moved to think of any private hope
or pain.
. “Then the past, now that you know it all, does not
change your heart to us?”
“It only makes you dearer.”
“ And if I asked you to come back to the home that
has been desolate since you went, would you come ? "
“ Gladly, David."
« And if I dared to say I loved you?”
She only looked at him with a quick rising light and
warmth over her whole face; he stretched both arms
to her, and, going to him, Christie gave her answer
silently.
Lovers usually ascend straight into the seventh
heaven for a time: unfortunately they cannot stay
long; the air is too rarefied, the light too brilliant, the
fare too ethereal, and they are forced to come down to
mundane things, as larks drop from heaven's gate into
their grassy nests. David was summoned from that
blissful region, after a brief enjoyment of its divine
delights, by Christie, who looked up from her new refuge
with the abrupt question :
: MIDSUMMER. .
349
“ What becomes of Kitty ?”
He regarded her with a dazed expression for an
instant, for she had been speaking the delightful lan-
guage of lips and eyes that lovers use, and the old
tongue sounded harsh to him.
6 She is safe with her father, and is to marry the
other one' next week.”
“ Heaven be praised !” ejaculated Christie, so fer-
vently that David looked suddenly enlightened and
much amused, as he said quickly:
6 What becomes of Fletcher ? »
“He's safely out of the way, and I sincerely hope
he will marry some other one' as soon as possible."
“ Christie, you were jealous of that girl.”
“ David, you were jealous of that man.”
Then they both burst out laughing like two children,
for heavy burdens had been lifted off their hearts and
they were bubbling over with happiness.
“But truly, David, weren't you a little jealous of P.
F.?” persisted Christie, feeling an intense desire to ask
all manner of harassing questions, with the agreeable
- certainty that they would be fully answered.
“Desperately jealous. You were so kind, so gay, so
altogether charming when with him, that I could not
stand by and see it, so I kept away. Why were you
never so to me?"
“Because you never showed that you cared for me,
and he did. But it was wrong in me to do it, and I
repent of it heartily; for it hurt him more than I thought
it would when the experiment failed. I truly tried to
love him, but I couldn't."
.« Yet he had so much to offer, and could give you all
350
WORK.
1
you most enjoy. It is very singular that you failed to
care for him, and preferred a poor old fellow like me,"
said David, beaming at her like a beatified man.
“I do love luxury and pleasure, but I love indepen-
dence more. I'm happier poking in the dirt with you
than I should be driving in a fine carriage with that
piece of elegance' as Mr. Power called him; prouder
of being your wife than his; and none of the costly
things he offered me were half so precious in my sight
as your little nosegays, now mouldering away in my
treasure-box upstairs. Why, Davy, I've longed more
intensely for the right to push up the curly lock that is
always tumbling into your eyes, than for Philip's whole
fortune. May I do it now?”
You may," and Christie did it with a tender satis-
faction that made David love her the more, though he
laughed like a boy at the womanly whim.
“ And so you thought I cared for Kitty ?” he said
presently, taking his turn at the new game.
“How could I help it when she was so young and
pretty and fond of you ?”
“ Was she ? ” innocently.
“ Didn't you see it? How blind men are!"
“Not always.”
.“ David, did you see that I cared for you ?” asked
Christie, turning crimson under the significant glance he
gave her.
"I wish I had; I confess I once or twice fancied that
I caught glimpses of bliss round the corner, as it were;
but, before I could decide, the glimpses vanished, and I
was very sure I was a conceited coxcomb to think it;
for a moment. It was very hard, and yet I was glad.”
G
CULI
MIDSUMMER.
:
351
“ Glad!”
“Yes, because I had made a sort of vow that I'd
never love or marry as a punishment for my cruelty to
Letty."
“ That was wrong, David.”
“I see it now; but it was not hard to keep that fool-
ish vow till you came; and you see I've broken it
without a shadow of regret to-night.”
“You might have done it months ago and saved me
so much woe if you had not been a dear, modest, mor-
bidly conscientious bat,” sighed Christie, pleased and
proud to learn her power, yet sorry for the long
delay.
6 Thank you, love. You see I didn't find out why
I liked my friend so well till I lost her. I had just
begun to feel that you were very dear, —- for after the
birthday you were like an angel in the house, Christie,
-- when you changed all at once, and I thought you sus-
pected me, and didn't like it. Your running away when
Kitty came confirmed my fear; then in came that ---
· would you mind if I said — confounded Fletcher ? "
“Not in the least." .
“Well, as he didn't win, I won't be hard on him;
but I gave up then and had a tough time of it; espe-
cially that first night when this splendid lover appeared
and received such a kind welcome.”
Christie saw the strong hand that lay on David's
knee clenched slowly, as he knit his brows with a grim
look, plainly showing that he was not what she was
inclined to think him, a perfect saint.
“Oh, my heart ! and there I was loving you so dearly
all the time, and you wouldn't see or speak or under-
352
WORK.
stand, but went away, left me to torment all three of
“My dearest girl, did you ever know a man in love
do, say, or think the right thing at the right time? I
never did,” said David, so penitently that she forgave
him on the spot.
6 Never mind, dear. It has taught us the worth of
love, and perhaps we are the better for the seeming
waste of precious time. Now I've not only got your
but Letty also, and your mother is mine in very truth.
Ah, how rich I am!”
“But I thought it was all over with me when I
found Letty, because, seeing no more of Fletcher, I
had begun to hope again, and when she came back
to me I knew my home must be hers, yet feared you
would refuse to share it if you knew all. You are
very proud, and the purest-hearted woman I ever
knew."
“And if I had refused, you would have let me go and
held fast to Letty?”.
“ Yes, for I owe her every thing."
“ You should have known me better, David. But I
don't refuse, and there is no need to choose between
us.”
: “No, thank heaven, and you, my Christie! Imagine
her. If any thing could make me love you more than I
now do, it would be that! No, don't hide your face;
I like to see it blush and smile and turn to me confid-
ingly, as it has not done all these long months.”
“ Did Letty tell you what she had done for me?”
asked Christie, looking more like a iose than ever Kitty
did.
MIDSUMMER.
.. 353
“She told me every thing, and wished me to tell you
all her story, even the saddest part of it. I'd better
do it now before you meet again."
He paused as if the tale was hard to tell; but Chris-
tie put her hand on his lips saying softly :
“Never tell it ; let her past be as sacred as if she
were dead. She was my friend when I had no other:
she is my dear sister now, and nothing can ever change
the love between us."
If she had thought David's fáce beautiful with grati-
tude when he told the happier portions of that history,
she found it doubly so when she spared him the recital
of its darkest chapter, and bade him “ leave the rest to
silence."
“Now you will come home? "Mother wants you,
Letty longs for you, and I have got and mean to keep
you all my life, God willing!”
“I'd better die to-night and make a blessed end, for
so much happiness is hardly possible in a world of
woe," answered Christie to that fervent invitation.
.“ We shall be married very soon, take a wedding
trip to any part of the world you like, and our honey-
moon will last for ever, Mrs. Sterling, Jr.," said David,
soaring away into the future with sublime disregard of
obstacles.
Before Christie could get her breath after that some-
what startling announcement, Mr. Power appeared,
took in the situation at a glance, gave them a smile that
was a benediction, and said heartily as he offered a hand
to each: ' .
“Now I'm satisfied; I've watched and waited pa-
tiently, and after many' tribulations you have found
. . w
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each other in good time;" then with a meaning look
at Christie he added slyly: “But David is “no hero'
you know."
She remembered the chat in the strawberry bed,
laughed, and colored brightly, as she answered with her
hand trustfully in David's, her eyes full of loving pride,
and reverence lifted to his face:
:“I've seen both sides of the medal now, and found it
sterling gold. Hero or not I'm content; for, though
he loves his mother much, there is room in his heart
for me too; his old books' have given him something
better than learning, and he has convinced me that
double flowers' are loveliest and best."
*
S
"
CHAPTER XVI.
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"HRISTIE'S return was a very happy one, and
could not well be otherwise with a mother, sister,
and lover to welcome her back. Her meeting with
Letty was indescribably tender, and the days that fol-
lowed were pretty equally divided between her and her
brother, in nursing the one and loving the other.
There was no cloud now in Christie's sky, and all the
world seemed in bloom. But even while she enjoyed
every hour of life, and begrudged the time given to
sleer, she felt as if the dream was too beautiful to last,
and often said :
“Something will happen : such perfect happiness is
not possible in this world.”
“ Then let us make the most of it,” David would
reply, wisely bent on getting his honey wbile he could,
and not borrowing trouble for the morrow.
So Christie turned a deaf ear to her “ prophetic
soul,” and gave herself up to the blissful holiday that
had come at last. Even while March winds were howl-
ing outside, she blissfully “poked in the dirt” with
David in the green-house, put up the curly lock as
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times a day, not in words, but in silent ways, that
touched him to the heart, and made his future look so
bright he hardly dared believe in it.
A happier man it would have been difficult to find
just then; all his burdens seemed to have fallen off,
and his spirits rose again with an elasticity which sur-
prised even those who knew him best. Christie often
stopped to watch and wonder if the blithe young man
who went whistling and singing about the house, often
stopping to kiss somebody, to joke, or to exclaim with
a beaming face like a child at a party : “Isn't every
thing beautiful?” could be the sober, steady David,
who used to plod to and fro with his shoulders a little
bent, and the absent look in his eyes that told of
thoughts above or beyond the daily task.
It was good to see his mother rejoice over him with
an exceeding great joy; it was better still to see Letty's
eyes follow him with unspeakable love and gratitude in
their soft depths; but it was best of all to see Christie
marvel and exult over the discoveries she made : for,
though she had known David for a year, she had never
seen the real man till now.
“ Davy, you are a humbug,” she said one day when
they were making up a bridal order in the green-
house.
“I told you so, but you wouldn't believe it,” he an-
swered, using long stemmed rose-buds with as prodigal
a hand as if the wedding was to be his own.
“I thought I was going to marry a quiet, studious,
steady-going man; and here I find myself engaged to
a romantic youth who flies about in the most undigni-
fied manner, embraces people behind doors, sings opera
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airs, – very much out of tune by the way, — and con-
ducts himself more like an infatuated Claude Melnotte,
than a respectable gentleman on the awful verge of
matrimony. Nothing can surprise me now: I'm pre-
pared for any thing, even the sight of my Quakerish
lover dancing a jig."
“ Just what I've been longing to do! Come and
take a turn: it will do you good ;” and, to Christie's
utter amazement, David caught her round the waist
and waltzed her down the boarded walk with a speed
and skill that caused less havoc among the flower-pots
than one would imagine, and seemed to delight the
plants, who rustled and nodded as if applauding the
dance of the finest double flower that had ever blos-
somed in their midste
“I can't help it, Christie,” he said, when he had
landed her breathless and laughing at the other end..
“ I feel like a boy out of school, or rather a man out of
prison, and must enjoy my liberty in some way. I'm
not a talker, you know; and, as the laws of gravitation
forbid my soaring aloft anywhere, I can only express
my joyfully uplifted state of mind by “prancing,' as **
you call it. Never mind dignity: let's be happy, and
by and by I'll sober down.”
“I don't want you to ; I love to see you so young
and happy, only you are not the old David, and I've
got to get acquainted with the new one."
“I hope you 'll like him better than the frost-bitten
Cold David' you first knew and were kind enough to
love. Mother says I've gone back to the time before
we lost Letty, and I sometimes feel as if I had. In
that case you will find me a proud, impetuous, am-
bitious fellow, Christie, and how will that suit ?”
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“ Excellently; I like pride of your sort; impetuosity
becomes you, for you have learned to control it if need ·
be; and the ambition is best of all. I always won-
dered at your want of it, and longed to stir you up;
for you did not seem the sort of man to be contented
with mere creature comforts when there are so many
fine things men may do. What shall you choose,
Davy ?”
"I shall wait for time to show. The sap is all astir
in me, and I'm ready for my chance. I don't know
what it is, but I feel very sure that some work will be
given me into which I can put my whole heart and
soul and strength. I spoilt my first chance; but I know
I shall have another, and, whatever it is, I am ready to
do my best, and live or die for it as God wills."
“So am I," answered Christie, with a voice as earnest
and a face as full of hopeful resolution as his own.
Then they went back to their work, little dreaming
as they tied roses and twined smilax wreaths, how near
that other chance was; how soon they were to be called
upon to keep their promise, and how well each was to
perform the part given them in life and death.
The gun fired one April morning at Fort Sumter
told many men like David what their work was to be,
and showed many women like Christie a new right to
claim and bravely prove their fitness to possess.
No need to repeat the story of the war begun that
day; it has been so often told that it will only be
touched upon here as one of the experiences of Chris-
tie's life, an experience which did for her what it did
for all who took a share in it, and loyally acted their
part.
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The North woke up from its prosperous lethargy, and
began to stir with the ominous hum of bees when rude
hands shake the hive. Rich and poor were proud to
prove that they loved their liberty better than their
money or their lives, and the descendants of the brave
old Puritans were worthy of their race. Many said:.- It
will soon be over;" but the wise men, who had warned
in vain, shook their heads, as that first disastrous sum-
mer showed that the time for compromise was past, and
the stern reckoning day of eternal justice was 'at
hand.
To no home in the land did the great trouble bring
a more sudden change than the little cottage in the
lane. All its happy peace was broken ; excitement
and anxiety, grief and indignation, banished the sweet
home joys and darkened the future that had seemed so
clear. David was sober enough now, and went about his
work with a grim set to his lips, and a spark in his eyes
that made the three women look at one another pale
with unspoken apprehension. As they sat together,
picking lint or rolling bandages while David read
aloud some dismal tale of a lost battle that chilled
their blood and made their hearts ache with pity, each
woman, listening to the voice that stirred her like mar-
tial music, said within herself: “ Sooner or later he
will go, and I have no right to keep him.” Each tried
to be ready to make her sacrifice bravely when the
time came, and each prayed that it might not be
required of her.
David said little, but they knew by the way he
neglected his garden and worked for the soldiers, that
his heart was in the war. Day after day he left Chris-
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tie and his sister to fill the orders that came so often
now for flowers to lay on the grave of some dear, dead
boy brought home to his mother in a shroud. Day after
day he hurried away to help Mr. Power in the sani-
tary work that soon claimed all hearts and hands; and,
day after day, he came home with what Christie called
the “heroic look” more plainly written on his face.
All that first summer, so short and strange; all that
first winter, so long and hard to those who went and
those who stayed, David worked and waited, and the
women waxed strong in the new atmosphere of self-
sacrifice which pervaded the air, bringing out the sturdy
virtues of the North.
“How terrible! Oh, when will it be over!” sighed
Letty one day, after hearing a long list of the dead
and wounded in one of the great battles of that second
summer.
“Never till we have beaten!” cried David, throwing
down the paper and walking about the room with his
head up like a war-horse who smells powder. “It is
terrible and yet glorious. I thank heaven I live to see
this great wrong righted, and only wish I could do my
share like a man."
“That is natural; but there are plenty of men who
have fewer ties than you, who can fight better, and
whose places are easier to fill than yours if they die."
said Christie, hastily.
“But the men who have most to lose fight best they
say; and to my thinking a soldier needs a principle as
well as a weapon, if he is to do real service."
“ As the only son of a widow, you can't be drafted :
that's one comfort," said Letty, who could not bear to
give up the brother lost to her for so many years.
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501
“I should not wait for that, and I know mother
would give her widow's mite if she saw that it was
needed.”
“Yes, Davy." The soft, old voice answered steadily;
but the feeble hand closed instinctively on the arm of
this only son, who was so dear to her. David held it
close. in both of his, saying gratefully : “ Thank you,
mother;" then, fixing his eyes on the younger yet not
dearer women, he added with a ring in his voice that
made their hearts answer with a prompt “Ay, ay!”
in spite of love or fear:
“Now listen, you dear souls, and understand that, if.
I do this thing, I shall not do it hastily, nor without
counting well the cost. My first and most natural irn- '.
pulse was to go in the beginning; but I stayed for
your sakes. I saw I was not really needed : I thought
the war would soon be over, and those who went then
could do the work. You see how mistaken we were,
and God only knows when the end will come. The
boys - bless their brave hearts !--- have done nobly,
but older men are needed now. We cannot sacrifice all
the gallant lads; and we who have more to lose than ! --
they must take our turn and try to do as well. You
own this; I see it in your faces : then don't hold me
back when the time comes for me to go. I miłst do
iny part, however small it is; or I shall never feel as if
I deserved the love you give me. You will let me go,
I am sure, and not regret that I did what seemed to
me a solemn duty, leaving the consequences to the
Lord !"
“ Yes, David,” sister and sweetheart answered,
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bravely forgetting in the fervor of the moment what
heavy consequences God might see fit to send.
“Good! I knew my Spartans would be ready, and
I won't disgrace then. I've waited more than a year,
and done what I could. But all the while I felt
that I was going to get a chance at the hard work, and
I've been preparing for it. Bennet will take the garden
or longer, if I like. He's a kind, neighborly man, and!
TI
you faithfully. Mr. Power cannot be spared to go as
chaplain, though he longs to desperately; so he is near
in case of need, and with your two devoted daughters
by you, mother, I surely can be spared for a little
while."
« Only one daughter near her, David : I shall enlist
when you do,” said Christie, resolutely.
“ You mean it?"
“I mean it as honestly as you do. I knew you would
go: I saw you getting ready, and I made up my mind
to follow. I, too, have prepared for it, and even spoken
to Mrs. Amory. She has gone as matron of a hospital, .
and promised to find a place for me when I was ready.
The day you enlist I shall write and tell her I am
ready.”
There was fire in Christie's eyes and a flush on her
chcek now, as she stood up with the look of a woman
bent on doing well her part. David caught her hands
in his, regardless of the ominous bandages they held,
and said, with tender admiration and reproach in his
voice :
“You wouldn't marry me when I asked you this
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summer, fearing you would be a burden to me; but
now you want to share hardship and danger with me,
and support me by the knowledge of your nearness.
Dear, ought I to let you do it?"
“ You will let me do it, and in return I will marry
the promise with a kiss that silenced him.
He had been anxious to be married long ago, but
when he asked Mr. Power to make him happy, a month
after his engagement, that wise friend said to them :)
“I don't advise it yet. You have tried and proved
one another as friends, now try and prove one another
as lovers; then, if you feel that all is safe and happy,
you will be ready for the greatest of the three experi-
ments, and then in God's name marry.”
« We will,” they said, and for a year had been con-
tent, studying one another, finding much to love, and
something to learn in the art of bearing and forbearing.
David had begun to think they had waited long
enough, but Christie still delayed, fearing she was not
worthy, and secretly afflicted by the thought of her
poverty. She had so little to give in return for all she
received that it troubled her, and she was sometimes
tempted to ask Uncle Enos for a modest marriage por-
tion. She never had yet, and now resolved to ask
nothing, but to earn her blessing by doing her share in
the great work.
“I shall remember that," was all David answered to
that last promise of hers, and three months later he
took her at her word.
For a week or two they went on in the old way;
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plans, read books on nursing, made gruel, plasters, and
poultices, till Mrs. Sterling pronounced her perfect; and
dreamed dreams of a happy time to come when peace
had returned, and David was safe at home with all the
stars and bars a man could win without dying for them.
David set things in order, conferred with Bennet,
petted his womankind, and then hurried away to pack
boxes of stores, visit camps, and watch departing regi-
ments with a daily increasing certainty that his time
had come.
One September day he went slowly home, and, seeing
Christie in the garden, joined her, helped her finish mat-
ting up some delicate shrubs, put by the tools, and
when all was done said with unusual gentleness :
" Come and walk a little in the lane."
She put her arm in his, and answered quickly:
“You've something to tell me: I see it in your face."
“ Dear, I must go."
“ Yes, David.”
“ And you ?”
“I go too."
6 Yes, Christie.”
That was all : she did not offer to detain him now;
he did not deny her right to follow. They looked each
other bravely in the face a moment, seeing, acknowledg-
ing the duty and the danger, yet ready to do the one
and dare the other, since they went together. Then
shoulder to shoulder, as if already mustered in, these
faithful comrades marched to and fro, planning their
campaign.
Next evening, as Mrs. Sterling sat alone in the twi-
light, a tall man in army blue entered quietly, stood
ܢܐ
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watching the tranquil figure for a moment, then went
and knelt down beside it, saying, with a most unsol-
dierly choke in the voice :
“ I've done it, mnother : tell me you're not sorry."
But the little Quaker cap went down on the broad
shoulder, and the only answer he heard was a sob that
stirred the soft folds over the tender old heart that
clung so closely to the son who had lived for her so
long. What happened in the twilight no one ever
knew; but David received promotion for bravery in a
harder battle than any he was going to, and from his
mother's breast a decoration more precious to him than
the cross of the Legion of Honor from a royal hand.
When Mr. Power presently came in, followed by the
others, they found their soldier standing very erect in
his old place on the rug, with the firelight gleaming on
his bright buttons, and Bran staring at him with a
perplexed aspect; for the uniform, shorn hair, trimmed
beard, and a certain lofty carriage of the head so
changed his master that the sagacious beast was dis-
turbed.
Letty smiled at him approvingly, then went to com-
fort her mother who could not recover her tranquillity
so soon. But Christie stood aloof, looking at her lover .
with something more than admiration in the face that
kindled beantifully as she exclaimed :
“O David, you are splendid! Once I was so blind
I thought you plain; but now my boy in blue' is the
noblest looking man I ever saw. Yes, Mr. Power, I've
found my hero at last! Here he is, my knight without
reproach or fear, going out to take his part in the
grandest battle ever fought. I wouldn't keep him if I
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could ; I'm glad and proud to have him go; and if he
never should come back to me I can bear it better for
knowing that he dutifully did his best, and left the
consequences to the Lord.”
Then, having poured out the love and pride and con-
fidence that enriched her sacrifice, she broke down and
clung to him, weeping as so many clung and wept in
those hard days when men and women gave their dear-
est, and those who prayed and waited suffered almost
as much as those who fought and died.
When the deed was once done, it was astonishing
what satisfaction they all took in it, how soon they got
accustomed to the change, and what pride they felt in
“our soldier.” The loyal frenzy fell upon the three quiet
country. Mrs. Sterling cut up her treasured old linen
dozen, put up jelly, and sewed on blue jackets with
tireless industry; while Christie proclaimed that if she
had twenty lovers she would send thein all; and then
made preparations enough to nurse the entire party.
David meantime was in camp, getting his first taste of
martial life, and not liking it any better than he thought
he should; but no one heard a complaint, and he never
regretted his “love among the roses,” for he was one
of the men who had a “principle as well as a weapon,"
and meant to do good service with both.
It would have taken many knapsacks to hold all the
gifts showered upon him by his friends and neighbors.
He accepted all that came, and furnished forth those of
his company who were less favored. Among these was
Elisha Wilkins, and how he got there should be told.
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· Elisha had not the slightest intention of enlisting,
but Mrs. Wilkins was a loyal soul, and could not rest
till she had sent a substitute, sinoe she could not go
herself. Finding that Lisha showed little enthusiasm
on the subject, she tried to rouse him by patriotic
appeals of various sorts. She read stirring accounts of
battles, carefully omitting the dead and wounded; she
turned out, baby and all if possible, to cheer every
regiment that left; and was never tired of telling Wash
how she wished she could add ten years to his age and
send him off to fight for his country like a man.
But nothing seemed to rouse the supine Elisha, who .
chewed his quid like a placid beast of the field, and
showed no sign of a proper spirit.
6 Very well,” said Mrs. Wilkins resolutely to herself,
6 ef I can't make no impression on his soul I will on his
stommick, and see how that'll work."
Which threat she carried out with such skill and
force that Lisha was effectually waked up, for he was
"partial to good vittles," and Cynthy was a capital
cook. Poor ràtions did not suit him, and he demanded
why his favorite dishes were not forthcoming.
“ We can't afford no nice vittles now when our men
are sufferin' so. I should be ashamed to cook 'em, and
expect to choke tryin' to eat 'em. Every one is sacri-
ficin' somethin', and we mustn't be slack in doin' our
part, -- the Lord knows it's precious little, — and there
won't be no stuffin' in this house for a consid’able spell.
Ef I could save up enough to send a man to do my
share of the fightin', I should be proud to do it. Any-
way I shall stint the family and send them dear brave
fellers every cent I can git without starvin' the chil-
dren."
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“Now, Cynthy, don't be ferce. Things will come
out all right, and it ain't no use upsettin' every thing
and bein' so darned uncomfortable," answered Mr. Wil-
kins with unusual energy.
« Yes it is, Lisha. No one has a right to be comfort-
able in such times as these, and this family ain't goin'
to be ef I can help it," and Mrs. Wilkins set down her
flat-iron with a slam which plainly told her Lisha war
was declared.
· He said no more but fell a thinking. He was not as
unmoved as he seemed by the general excitement, and
had felt sundry manly impulses to “ up and at 'em,"
when his comrades in the shop discussed the crisis with
ireful brandishing of awls, and vengeful pounding of
sole leather, as if the rebels were under the hammer.
But the selfish, slothful little man could not make up
his mind to brave hardship and danger, and fell back
on his duty to his family as a reason for keeping safe at
home.
But now that home was no longer comfortable, now
that Cynthy had sharpened her tongue, and turned
“ferce," and now - hardest blow of all - that he was
kept on short commons, he began to think he might as
well be on the tented field, and get a little glory along
with the discomfort if that was inevitable. Nature
abhors a vacuum, and when food fell short patriotism
had a chance to fill the aching void. Lisha had about
made up his mind, for he knew the value of peace and
quietness; and, though his wife was no scold, she was
the ruling power, and in his secret soul he considered
her a very remarkable woman. He knew what she
wanted, but was not going to be hurried for anybody;
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.
DI
so he still kept silent, and Mrs. Wilkins began to think
she must give it up. An unexpected ally appeared
however, and the good woman took advantage of it to.
strike one last blow. .
Lisha sat eating a late breakfast one morning, with a
small son at either elbow, waiting for stray mouthfuls
and committing petty larcenies right and left, for Pa,
was in a brown study. Mrs. Wilkins was frying flap-
jacks, and though this is not considered an heroical em-
ployment she made it so that day. This was a favorite
dish of Lisha's, and she had prepared it as a bait for
this cautious fish. To say that the fish rose at once
and swallowed the bait, hook and all, but feebly ex-
presses the justice done to the cakes by that long-suffer-
ing man. Waiting till he had a tempting pile of the
lightest, brownest flapjacks ever seen upon his plate,
and was watching an extra big bit of butter melt luxu-
riously into the warm bosom of the upper one, with a
face as benign as if some of the molasses he was trick-
ling over them had been absorbed into his nature,
Mrs. Wilkins seized the propitious moment to say im-
pressively:
“David Sterlin' has enlisted !"
“ Sho! has he, though ? "
.“ Of course he has! any man with the spirit of a
muskeeter would.”
“Well, he ain't got a family, you see."
“He's got his old mother, that sister home. from
furrin' parts somewheres, and Christie just going to be
married. I should like to know who's got a harder
family to leave than that ?"
6 Six young children is harder: ef I went fifin' and
:
16*
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drummin' off, who'd take care of them I'd like to
know?"
“I guess I could support the family ef I give my
mind to it;” and Mrs. Wilkins turned a flapjack with an
emphasis that caused her lord to bolt a hot triangle
with dangerous rapidity; for well he knew very little
of his money went into the common purse. She never
reproached him, but the fact nettled him now; and
something in the tone of her voice made that sweet
morsel hard to swallow.
“Pears to me you ’re in ruther a hurry to be a
widder, Cynthy, shovin' me off to git shot in this kind
of a way,” growled Lisha, ill at ease.
“I'd ruther be a brave man's widder than a coward's
wife, any day!.” cried the rebellious Cynthy: then she
relented, and softly slid two hot cakes into his plate;
adding, with her hand upon his shoulder, “ Lisha, dear,
I want to be proud of my husband as other women be
of theirs. Every one gives somethin', I've only got
you, and I want to do my share, and do it hearty."
She went back to her work, and Mr. Wilkins sat
thoughtfully stroking the curly heads beside him, while
the boys ravaged his plate, with no reproof, but a half
audible, “ My little chaps, my little chaps!”.
She thought she had got him, and smiled to herself,
even while a great tear sputtered on the griddle at
those last words of his.
Imagine her dismay, when, having consumed the
bait, her fish gave signs of breaking the line, and
escaping after all; for Mr. Wilkins pushed back his
chair, and said slowly, as he filled his pipe:
"I'm blest ef I can see the sense of a lot of decent
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men going off to be froze, and starved, and blowed up
jest for them confounded niggers."
He got no further, for his wife's patience gave out;
and, leaving her cakes to burn black, she turned to him
with a face glowing like her stove, and cried out:
“ Lisha, ain't you got no heart ? can you remember
what Hepsey told us, and call them poor, long-sufferin'
creeters names? Can you think of them wretched
wives sold from their husbands; them children as dear
as ourn tore from their mothers; and old folks kep
slavin eighty long, hard years with no pay, no help, no
pity, when they git past work? Lisha Wilkins, look at
Mrs. Wilkins was a homely woman in an old calico
gown, but her face, her voice, her attitude were grand,
as she flung wide the door of the little back bedroom,
and pointed with her tin spatula to the sight beyond.
Only Hepsey sitting by a bed where lay what looked
more like a shrivelled mummy than a woman. Ah!
but it was that old mother worked and waited for so
long: blind now, and deaf; childish, and half dead with
many hardships, but safe and free at last; and Hepsey's
black face was full of a pride, a peace, and happiness
more eloquent and touching than any speech or sermon
ever uttered.
Mr. Wilkins had heard her story, and been more
affected by it than he would confess: now it came
home to him with sudden force; the thought of his
own mother, wife, or babies torn from him stirred him
to the heart, and the manliest emotion he had ever
known caused him to cast his pipe at his feet, put on
his hat with an energetic slap, and walk out of the
372
WORK.
.
house, wearing an expression on his usqally wooden face
that caused his wife to clap her hands and cry exult-
ingly:
“I thought that would fetch him!”
Then she fell to work like an inspired woman; and
at noon a sumptuous dinner “smoked upon the board ;"
the children were scrubbed till their faces shone; and
the room was as fresh and neat as any apartment could
be with the penetrating perfume of burnt flapjacks still.
pervading the air, and three dozen ruffled nightcaps
decorating the clothes-lines overhead.
“ Tell me the instant minute you see Pa a comin', and
I'll dish up the gravy," was Mrs. Wilkins's command, as
she stepped in with a cup of tea for old “Marm,” as
she called Hepsey's mother.
“He's a comin', Ma!” called Gusty, presently.
“ No, he ain't: it’s a trainer," added Ann Lizy.
“ Yes, 'tis Pa! oh, my eye! ain't he stunăin!” cried
Wash, stricken for the first time with admiration of his
sire.
Before Mrs. Wilkins could reply to these conflicting
rumors her husband walked in, looking as martial as his
hollow chest and thin legs permitted, and, turning his
cap nervously in his hands, said half-proudly, half-
reproachfully:
“Now, Cynthy, be you satisfied ?”
« Oh, my Lisha! I be, I be!” and the inconsistent
woman fell upon his buttony breast weeping copi-
ously.
If ever a man was praised and petted, admired and .
caressed, it was Elisha Wilkins that day. His wife.
fed him with the fat of the land, regardless of conse-
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quences; his children revolved about him with tireless
curiosity and wonder; his neighbors flocked in to ap-
plaud, advise, and admire; every one treated him with
a respect most grateful to his feelings; he was an object.
of interest, and with every hour his importance in-
creased, so that by night he felt like a Commander-in-
Chief, and bore himself accordingly. He had enlisted
in David's regiment, which was a great comfort to his
wife; for though her stout heart never failed her, it grew
very heavy at times; and when Lisha was gone, she
often dropped a private tear over the broken pipe that
always lay in its old place, and vented her emotions by
sending baskets of nourishment to Private Wilkins,
which caused that bandy-legged warrior to be much
envied and cherished by his mates.
: “I'm glad I done it; for it will make a man of
Lisha; and, if I've sent him to his death, God knows
he 'll be fitter to die than if he stayed here idlin' his life
away."
Then the good soul openly shouldered the burden
she had borne so long in secret, and bravely trudged
on alone.
“Another great battle !” screamed the excited news-
boys in the streets. “Another great battle!” read
Letty in the cottage parlor. “Another great battle!”
cried David, coming in with the war-horse expression
on his face a month or two after he enlisted.
The women dropped their work to look and listen;
for his visits were few and short, and every instant was
precious. When the first greetings were over, David
stood silent an instant, and a sudden mist came over his
eyes as he glanced from one beloved face to another;
374
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22
then he threw back his head with the old impatient
gesture, squared his shoulders, and said in a loud, cheer-
ful voice, with a suspicious undertone of emotion in it,
however :
“My precious people, I've got something to tell you:
are you ready?”
They knew what it was without a word. Mrs. Ster-
ling clasped her hands and bowed her head. Letty
turned pale and dropped her work; but Christie's eyes
kindled, as she answered with a salute:
“Ready, my General.”
“ We are ordered off at once, and go at four this
afternoon. I've got a three hours' leave to say good-
by in. Now, let's be brave and enjoy every minute
of it."
“We will: what can I do for you, Davy?” asked
Christie, wonderfully supported by the thought that
she was going too.
“Keep your promise, dear,” he answered, while the
warlike expression changed to one of infinite tender-
ness.
“ What promise ?”
« This ;” and he held out his hand with a little
paper in it. She saw it was a marriage license, and on
it lay a wedding-ring. She did not hesitate an instant,
but laid her own hand in his, and answered with her
heart in her face :
“I'll keep it, David.”
“I knew you would !” then holding her close be said
in a tone that made it very hard for her to keep steady; :
as she had vowed she would do to the last: “I know
it is much to ask, but I want to feel that you are mine
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375
S
before I go. Not only that, but it will be a help and
protection to you, dear, when you follow. As a married
woman you will get on better, as my wife you will be
allowed to come to me if I need you, and as my” —
he stopped there, for he could not add — “ as my widow
you will have my pension to support you.”
She understood, put both arms about his neck as if
to keep him safe, and whispered fervently:
“ Nothing can part us any more, not even death; for
love like ours will last for ever."
“ Then you are quite willing to try the third great
experiment ?"
“Glad and proud to do it."
“ With no doubt, no fear, to mar your consent.”
“Not one, David.”
“ That's true love, Christie !”
Then they stood quite still for a time, and in the
silence the two hearts talked together in the sweet
language no tongue can utter. Presently David said
regretfully:
"I meant it should be so different. I always planned
that we'd be married some bright summer day, with
many friends about us; then take a happy little journey
somewhere together, and come back to settle down at
home in the dear old way. Now it's all so hurried,
sorrowful, and strange. A dull November day; no
friends but Mr. Power, who will be here soon; no jour-
ney but my march to Washington alone; and no happy
coming home together in this world perhaps. Can you
bear it, love ?"
“ Have no fear for me: I feel as if I could bear any
thing just now; for I've got into a heroic mood and I
376
WORK.
mean to keep so as long as I can. I've always wanted
to live in stirring times, to have a part in great deeds,
to sacrifice and suffer something for a principle or a
person; and now I have my wish. I like it, David :
it's a grand time to live, a splendid chance to do and
suffer; and I want to be in it heart and soul, and earn a
little of the glory or the martyrdom that will come in
the end. Surely I shall if I give you and myself to
the cause; and I do it gladly, though I know that my
heart has got to ache as it never has ached yet, when
my courage fails, as it will by and by, and my selfish
soul counts the cost of my offering after the excitement
is over. Help me to be brave and strong, David : don't
let me complain or regret, but show me what lies be-
yond, and teach me to believe that simply doing the
right is reward and happiness enough.”
Christie was lifted out of herself for the moment,
and looked inspired by the high mood which was but
the beginning of a nobler life for her. David caught "
the exaltation, and gave no further thought to any thing
but the duty of the hour, finding himself stronger and
braver for that long look into the illuminated face of
the woman he loved.
“I'll try," was all his answer to her appeal; then
· proved that he meant it by adding, with his lips against
her cheek: “I must go to mother and Letty. We
leave them behind, and they must be comforted.”
He went, and Christie vanished to make ready for
her wedding, conscious, in spite of her exalted state of .
mind, that every thing was very hurried, sad, and
strange, and very different from the happy day she had
so often planned.
MUSTERED IN.
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:
“No matter, we are well on't for love, and that is
all we really need,” she thought, recalling with a smile
Mrs. Wilkins's advice.
“ David sends you these, dear. Can I help in any
way?” asked Letty, coming with a cluster of lovely
white roses in her hand, and a world of affection in her
eyes.
“I thought he'd give me violets,” and a shadow
came over Christie's face.
“ But they are mourning flowers, you know."
“ Not to me. The roses are, for they remind me of
poor Helen, and the first work I did with David was
arranging flowers like these for a dead baby's little
coffin."
“My dearest Christie, don't be superstitious: all
brides wear roses, and Davy thought you'd like them,"
said Letty, troubled at her words.
4 Then I'll wear them, and I won't have fancies if I
can help it. But I think few brides dress with a braver,
happier heart than mine, though I do choose a sober
wedding-gown," answered Christie, smiling again, as
she took from a half-packed trunk her new hospital suit
of soft, gray, woollen stuff.
“Won't you wear the pretty silvery silk we like so
well ?” asked Letty timidly, for something in Christie's
face and manner impressed her very much.
“No, I will be married in my uniform as David is,"
she answered with a look Letty long remembered.
“Mr. Power has come,” she said softly a few minutes
later, with an anxious glance at the clock.
“Go dear, I'll come directly. But first” — and
Christie held her friend close a moment, kissed her ten-
378
WORK.
derly, and whispered in a broken voice: “Remember, !
don't take his heart from you, I only share it with my
sister and my mother."
“I'm glad to give him to you, Christie ; for now I
feel as if I had partly paid the great debt I've owed so
long," answered Letty through her tears.
Then she went away, and Christie soon followed,
looking very like a Quaker bride in her gray gown with
no ornament but delicate frills at neck and wrist, and
the roses in her bosom.
“ No bridal white, dear ?” said David, going to her.
“ Only this,” and she touched the flowers, adding
with her hand on the blue coat sleeve that embraced
her: “I want to consecrate my uniform as you do
yours by being married in it. Isn't it fitter for a sol-
dier's wife than lace and silk at such a time as this ? "
“Much fitter: I like it; and I find you beautiful, my
Christie,” whispered David, as she put one of her roses
in his button-hole.
“ Then I'm satisfied.”
“ Mr. Power is waiting: are you ready, love?”
« Quite ready.”
Then they were married, with Letty and her mother
standing beside them, Bennet and his wife dimly
visible in the door-way, and poor Bran at his master's
feet, looking up with wistful eyes, half human in the
anxious affection they expressed.
Christie never forgot that service, so simple, sweet,
and solemn; nor the look her husband gave her at the
end, when he kissed her on lips and forehead, saying
fervently, “God bless my wife!”
A tender little scene followed that can better be
MUSTERED IN.
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if they shed any tears over the brief happiness no one
saw them but the flowers, and they loyally kept the
secret folded up in their tender hearts.
Mr. Power cheered the old lady, while Letty, always
glad to serve, made ready the last meal David might
ever take at home.
A very simple little marriage feast, but more love,
good-will, and tender wishes adorned the plain table
than is often found at wedding breakfasts; and better
than any speech or song was Letty's broken whisper,
as she folded her arms round David's empty chair when
no one saw her, “Heaven bless and keep and bring
him back to us."
How time went that day! The inexorable clock
would strike twelve so soon, and then the minutes flew
till one was at hand, and the last words were still half
said, the last good-byes still unuttered.
“I must go !” cried David with a sort of desperation,
as Letty clung to 'one arm, Christie to the other.
“I shall see you soon: good-by, my husband,” whis-
pered Christie, setting him free.
“Give the last kiss to mother," added Letty, follow-
ing her example, and in another minute David was
gone.
At the turn of the lane, he looked back and swung
his cap; all waved their hands to him; and then he
marched away to the great work before him, leaving
those loving hearts to ask the unanswerable question :
“How will he come home ?"
Christie was going to town to see the regiment off,
and soon followed with Mr. Power. They went early
to a certain favorable spot, and there found Mrs. Wil-
MUSTERED IN.
381
kins, with her entire family perched upon a fence, on
the spikes of which they impaled themselves at inter-
vals, and had to be plucked off by the stout girl en-
gaged to assist in this memorable expedition.
6 Yes, Lisha 's goin', and I was bound he should see
every one of his blessed children the last thing, ef I
took 'em all on my back. He knows where to look,
and he's a goin' to see seven cheerful faces as he goes
by. Time enough to cry byme by; so set stiddy,
boys, and cheer loud when you see Pa," said Mrs.
Wilkins, fanning her hot face, and utterly forgetting
her cherished bonnet in the excitement of the moment.
“I hear drums! They're comin'!” cried Wash, after
a long half hour's waiting had nearly driven him frantic.
The two younger boys immediately tumbled off the
fence, and were with difficulty restored to their perches.
Gusty began to cry, Ann Elizy to wave a minute red
cotton handkerchief, and Adelaide to kick delightedly
in her mother's arms.
“ Jane Carter, take this child for massy sake: my
legs do tremble so I can't h'ist her another minute.
Hold on to me behind, somebody, for I must see ef
I do pitch into the gutter," cried Mrs. Wilkins, with
a gasp, as she wiped her eyes on her shawl, clutched
the railing, and stood ready to cheer bravely when
her conquering hero came.
Wash had heard drums every five minutes since he
arrived, but this time he was right, and began to
cheer the instant a red cockade appeared at the other
end of the long street.
It was a different scene now than in the first en-
thusiastic, hopeful days. Young men and ardent boys
382
WORR.
filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with
loyal zeal, and blissfully ignorant of all that lay before
them.
Now the blue coats were worn by mature men,
some gray, all grave and resolute; husbands and fathers
with the memory of wives and children tugging at
their heart-strings; homes left desolate behind them,
and before them the grim certainty of danger, hard-
ship, and perhaps a captivity worse than death. Little
of the glamour of romance about the war now: they
saw what it was, a long, hard task; and here were
the men to do it well.
Even the lookers-on were different. Once all was
wild enthusiasm and glad uproar; now men's lips were
set, and women's smileless even as they cheered;
fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes
needed them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their
stillness, followed the acclamations of the crowd. All
watched with quickened breath and proud souls that
living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely
glitter above, as it flowed down the street and away
to join the sea of dauntless hearts that for months
had rolled up against the South, and ebbed back red-
dened with the blood of men like these.
As the inspiring music, the grand tramp drew near,
Christie felt the old thrill and longed to fall in and
follow the flag anywhere. Then she saw David, and
the regiment became one man to her. He was pale,
but his eyes shone, and his whole face expressed that
two of the best and bravest emotions of a man, love
and loyalty, were at their height as he gave his new-
made wife a long, lingering look that seemed to say:
MUSTERED IN.
383
“I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.”
Christie smiled and waved her hand to him, showed
him his wedding roses still on her breast, and bore
up as gallantly as he, resolved that his last impression
of her should be a cheerful one. But when it was
all over, and nothing remained but the trampled street,
the hurrying crowd, the bleak November sky, when
Mrs. Wilkins sat sobbing on the steps like Niobe with
her children scattered about her, then Christie's heart
gave way, and she hid her face on Mr. Power's shoulder
for a moment, all her ardor quenched in tears as she
cried within herself:
“No, I could not bear it if I was not going too!”
CHAPTER XVII.
TIIE COLONEL.
SEN years earlier Christie made her début as an
1 Amazon, now she had a braver part to play on a
larger stage, with a nation for audience, martial music
and the boom of cannon for orchestra; the glare of
battle-fields was the “ red light;" danger, disease, and
death, the foes she was to contend against; and the
troupe she joined, not timid girls, but high-hearted
women, who fought gallantly till the “demon” lay
dead, and sang their song of exultation with bleeding
hearts, for this great spectacle was a dire tragedy to
them.
Christie followed David in a week, and soon proved
herself so capable that Mrs. Amory rapidly promoted
her from one important post to another, and bestowed
upon her the only honors left the women, hard work,
responsibility, and the gratitude of many men.
“You are a treasure, my dear, for you can turn your
hand to any thing and do well whatever you under-
take. So many come with plenty of good-will, but not
a particle of practical ability, and are offended because
I decline their help. The boys don't want to be cried
over, or have their brows everlastingly swabbed, as
old Watkins calls it: they want to be well fed and
THE COLONEL.
385
nursed, and cheered up with creature comforts. Your
nice beef-tea and cheery ways are worth oceans of
tears and cart-loads of tracts."
Mrs. Amory said this, as Christie stood waiting while
she wrote an order for some extra delicacy for a very
sick patient. Mrs. Sterling, Jr., certainly did look like
an efficient nurse, who thought more of “the boys”
than of herself; for one hand bore a pitcher of gruel,
the other a bag of oranges, clean shirts hung over the
right arm, a rubber cushion under the left, and every
pocket in the big apron was full of bottles and band-
ages, papers and letters.
“I never discovered what an accomplished woman I
was till I came here," answered Christie, laughing.
“ I'm getting vain with so much praise, but I like it
immensely, and never was so pleased in my life as I
was yesterday when Dr. Harvey came for me to take
care of poor Dunbar, because no one else could manage
him."
“It's your firm yet pitiful way the men like so well.
I can't describe it better than in big Ben's words: Mis
Sterlin' is the nuss for me, marm. She takes care of
me as ef she was my own mother, and it's a comfort
jest to see her round.' It's a gift, my dear, and you
may thank heaven you have got it, for it works wonders
in a place like this."
“I only treat the poor fellows as I would have other
women treat my David if he should be in their care.
He may be any hour, you know.”
“ And my boys, God keep them!”
The pen lay idle, and the gruel cooled, as young wife
and gray-haired mother forgot their duty for a moment
17
386
WORK.
in tender thoughts of the absent. Only a moment, for
in came an attendant with a troubled face, and an im-
portant young surgeon with the well-worn little case
under his arm.
“ Bartlett's dying, marm: could you come and see to
him ? ” says the man to Mrs. Amory.
“We have got to amputate Porter's arm this morn-
ing, and he won't consent unless you are with him. You
will come, of course ?” added the surgeon to Christie,
having tried and found her a woman with no “con-
founded nerves” to impair her usefulness.
So matron and nurse go back to their duty, and
dying Bartlett and suffering Porter are all the more
tenderly served for that wasted minute.
Like David, Christie bad enlisted for the war, and
in the two years that followed, she saw all sorts of
service; for Mrs. Amory had influence, and her right-
hand woman, after a few months' apprenticeship, was
ready for any post. The gray gown and comforting
face were known in many bospitals, seen on crowded
transports, among the ambulances at the front, invalid
cars, relief tents, and food depots up and down the
holding the hand that did its work so well.
David meanwhile was doing his part manfully, not
only in some of the great battles of those years, but
among the hardships, temptations, and sacrifices of
soldiers' life. Spite of his Quaker ancestors, he was a
good fighter, and, better still, a magnanimous enemy,
hating slavery, but not the slave-holder, and often
spared the master while he saved the chattel. He was
soon promoted, and might have risen rapidly, but was
THE COLONEL.
387
content to remain as captain of his company; for his
men loved him, and he was prouder of his influence
over them than of any decoration he could win.
His was the sort of courage that keeps a man faithful
to death, and though he made no brilliant charge,
uttered few protestations of loyalty, and was never
heard to “damn the rebs," his comrades felt that his
brave example had often kept them steady till a forlorn
hope turned into a victory, knew that all the wealth
of the world could not bribe him from his duty, and
learned of him to treat with respect an enemy as brave
and less fortunate than themselves. A noble nature
soon takes its proper rank and exerts its purifying influ-
ence, and Private Sterling won confidence, affection, and
respect, long before promotion came; for, though he
had tended his flowers like a woman and loved his
books like a student, he now proved that he could also
do his duty and keep his honor stainless as a soldier
and a gentleman.
He and Christie met as often as the one could get a
brief furlough, or the other be spared from hospital
duty; but when these meetings did come, they were
wonderfully beautiful and rich, for into them was dis-
tilled a concentration of the love, happiness, and com-
munion which many men and women only know
through years of wedded life.
Christie liked romance, and now she had it, with a
very sombre reality to give it an added charm. No
Juliet ever welcomed her Romeo more joyfully than
she welcomed David when he paid her a flying visit
unexpectedly; no Bayard ever had a more devoted
lady in his tent than David, when his wife came through
388
WORK.
every obstacle to bring him comforts or to nurse the
few wounds he received. Love-letters, written beside
watch-fires and sick-beds, flew to and fro like carrier-
doves, with wondrous speed; and nowhere in all the
brave and busy land was there a fonder pair than this,
although their honeymoon was spent apart in camp and
hospital, and well they knew that there might never
be for them a happy going home together.
In her yanderings to and fro, Christie not only made
many new friends, but met some old ones; and among
these one whose unexpected appearance much surprised
and touched her. .
She was a scrabbling" eggs in a tin basin on board a
crowded transport, going up the river with the echoes
of a battle dying away behind her, and before her the
prospect of passing the next day on a wharf serving
out food to the wounded in an easterly storm.
“O Mrs. Sterling, do go up and see what's to be
done! We are all full below, and more poor fellows
are lying about on deck in a dreadful state. I'll take
your place here, but I can't stand that any longer," said
one of her aids, coming in heart-sick and exhausted by
the ghastly sights and terrible confusion of the day.
“I'll go: keep scrabbling while the eggs last, then
knock out the head of that barrel and make gruel till I
pass the word to stop.”
Forgetting her bonnet, and tying the ends of her
shawl behind her, Christie caught up a bottle of brandy
and a canteen of water, and ran on deck. There a sight
to daunt most any woman, met her eyes; for all about
her, so thick that she could hardly step without tread-
ing on them, lay the sad wrecks of men: some moan-
THE COLONEL.
389
ing for help; some silent, with set, white faces turned up
to the gray sky; all shelterless from the cold wind that
blew, and the fog rising from the river. Surgeons and
nurses were doing their best; but the boat was loaded,
and greater suffering reigned below.
“ Heaven help us all!” sighed Christie, and then she
fell to work.
Bottle and canteen were both nearly empty by the
time she came to the end of the long line, where lay
a silent figure with a hidden face. “Poor fellow, is he
dead ?” she said, kneeling down to lift a corner of the
blanket lent by a neighbor.
A familiar face looked up at her, and a well remen-
bered voice said courteously, but feebly:
6. Thanks, not yet. Excuse my left hand. I'm very
glad to see you."
“Mr. Fletcher, can it be you!" she cried, looking at
him with pitiful amazement. Well she might ask, for
any thing more unlike his former self can hardly be
imagined. Unshaven, haggard, and begrimed with
powder, mud to the knees, coat half on, and, worst of
all, the right arm gone, there lay the “piece of ele-
gance” she had known, and answered with a smile she
never saw before:
“ All that's left of me, and very much at your ser-
vice. I must apologize for the dirt, but I've laid in a
mud-puddle for two days; and, though it was much
easier than a board, it doesn't improve one's appear-
ance.”
“What can I do for you? Where can I put you?
I can't bear to see you here!” said Christie, much
afflicted by the spectacle before her.
390
WORK.
“ Why not? we are all alike when it comes to this
pass. I shall do very well if I might trouble you for a
draught of water."
She poured her last drop into his parched mouth and
hurried off for more. She was detained by the way,
and, when she returned, fancied he was asleep, but soon
discovered that he had fainted quietly away, utterly
spent with two days of hunger, suffering, and exposure.
He was himself again directly, and lay contentedly
looking up at her as she fed him with hot soup, longing
to talk, but refusing to listen to a word till he was
refreshed.
“ That's very nice,” he said gratefully, as he finished,
adding with a pathetic sort of gayety, as he groped
about with his one hand:“I don't expect napkins, but
I should like a handkerchief. They took my coat off
when they did my arm, and the gentleman who kindly
lent me this doesn't seem to have possessed such an
article."
Christie wiped his lips with the clean towel at her
side, and smiled as she did it, at the idea of Mr. Fletch-
er's praising burnt soup, and her feeding him like a
baby out of a tin cup.
"I think it would comfort you if I washed your face:
can you bear to have it done?” she asked.
“ If you can bear to do it,” he answered, with an
apologetic look, evidently troubled at receiving such
services from her.
Yet as her hands moved gently about his face, he
shut his eyes, and there was a little quiver of the lips
now and then, as if he was remembering a time when
he had hoped to have her near him in a tenderer capacity
TIIE COLONEL.
391
than that of nurse. She guessed the thought, and tried
to banish it by saying cheerfully as she finished:
“There, you look more like yourself after that. Now
the hands."
“Fortunately for you, there is but one," and he
rather reluctantly surrendered a very dirty member.
“Forgive me, I forgot. It is a brave hand, and I
am proud to wash it!”
« How do you know that?” he asked, surprised at
her little burst of enthusiasm, for as she spoke she
pressed the grimy hand in both her own.
« While I was recovering you from your faint, that
man over there informed me that you were his Colonel;
that you 'fit like a tiger,' and when your right arm was
disabled, you took your sword in the left and cheered
them on as if you were bound to beat the whole rebel
army.'”
“That's Drake's story," and Mr. Fletcher tried to
give the old shrug, but gave an irrepressible groan
instead, then endeavored to cover it, by saying in a
careless tone, “I thought I might get a little excite-
ment out of it, so I went soldicring like all the rest of
you. I'm not good for much, but I can lead the way
for the brave fellows who do the work. Officers make
good targets, and a rebel bullet would cause no sorrow
in taking me out of the world.”
“Don't say that! I should grieve sincerely; and
yet I'm very glad you came, for it will always be a
satisfaction to you in spite of your great loss."
“There are greater losses than right arms,” muttered
Mr. Fletcher gloomily, then chocked himself, and added
with a pleasant change in voice and face, as he glanced
at the wedding-ring she wore:
392
WORK.
but I can't help offering mine; for if I'm not mistaken
your left hand also has grown doubly precious since we
met?”
Christie had been wondering if he knew, and was
much relieved to find he took it so well. Her face said
more than her words, as she answered briefly:
“ Thank you. Yes, we were married the day David
left, and have both been in the ranks ever since.”
“Not wounded yet? your husband, I mean," he said,
getting over the hard words bravely.
6 Three times, but not badly. I think a special angel
stands before him with a shield;" and Christie smiled
as she spoke.
5 I think a special angel stands behind him with
prayers that avail much," added Mr. Fletcher, looking
her heart.
“Now I must go to my work, and you to sleep:
you need all the rest you can get before you have
to knock about in the ambulances again,” she said,
marking the feverish color in his face, and knowing
well that excitement was his only strength.
“How can I sleep in such an Inferno as this ?”
“ Try, you are so weak, you 'll soon drop off;" and,
laying the cool tips of her fingers on his eyelids, she
kept them shut till he yielded with a long sigh of
mingled weariness and pleasure, and was asleep before
he knew it.
When he woke it was late at night; but little of
night's blessed rest was known on board that boat laden
with a freight of suffering. Cries still came up from
THE COLONEL.
393
below, and moans of pain still sounded from the
deck, where shadowy figures with lanterns went to
and fro among the beds that in the darkness looked
like graves.
Weak with pain and fever, the poor man gazed
about him half bewildered, and, conscious only of one
desire, feebly called “ Christie !”
“ Here I am;" and the dull light of a lantern showed
him her face very worn and tired, but full of friend-
liest compassion.
“What can I do for you?" she asked, as he clutched
her gown, and peered up at her with mingled doubt and
satisfaction in his haggard eyes.
“Just speak to me; let me touch you: I thought it
was a dream; thank God it isn't. How much longer
will this last?” he added, falling back on the softest
pillows she could find for him.'
“We shall soon land now; I believe there is an
officers' hospital in the town, and you will be quite
comfortable there."
“I want to go to your hospital: where is it?"
“I have none; and, unless the old hotel is ready, I
shall stay on the wharf with the boys until it is."
“ Then I shall stay also. Don't send me away,
Christie: I shall not be a trouble long; surely David
will let you help me die?” and poor Fletcher stretched
his one hand imploringly to her in the first terror of the
delirium that was coming on.
“I will not leave you: I'll take care of you, and no
one can forbid it. Drink this, Philip, and trust to
Christie."
He obcyed like a child, and soon fell again into a
17*
394
troubled sleep while she sat by him thinking about
David.
The old hotel was ready; but by the time he got
there Mr. Fletcher was past caring where he went, and
for a week was too ill to know any thing, except that
Christie nursed him. Then he turned the corner and
began to recover. She wanted him to go into more
comfortable quarters; but he would not stir as long as
she remained; so she put him in a little room by himself,
got a man to wait on him, and gave him as much of her
care and time as she could spare from her many duties.
He was not an agreeable patient, I regret to say;
he tried to bear his woes heroically, but did not succeed
very well, not being used to any exertion of that sort;
and, though in Christie's presence he did his best, his
man confided to her that the Colonel was “as fractious
as a teething baby, and the domineeringest party he
ever nussed.”
Some of Mr. Fletcher's attempts were comical, and
some pathetic, for though the sacred circle of her wed-
ding-ring was an effectual barrier against a look or
word of love, Christie knew that the old affection was
not dead, and it showed itself in his desire to win her
respect by all sorts of small sacrifices and efforts at self-
control. He would not use many of the comforts sent
him, but insisted on wearing an army dressing-gown,
and slippers that cost him a secret pang erery time his
eye was affronted by their ugliness. Always after an
angry scene with his servant, he would be found going
round among the men bestowing little luxuries and kind
words; not condescendingly, but humbly, as if it was
THE COLONEL.
395
due to the brave fellows who bore their pains with a
fortitude he could not imitate.
"Poor Philip, he tries so hard I must pity, not de-
spise him; for he was never taught the manly virtues
went to him one day with an unusually happy heart.
She found him sitting with a newly opened package
before him, and a gloomy look upon his face.
“See what rubbish one of my men has sent me, think-
ing I might value it," he said, pointing to a broken
sword-hilt and offering her a badly written letter.
She read it, and was touched by its affectionate respect
and manly sympathy; for the good fellow had been one
of those who saved the Colonel when he fell, and had
kept the broken sword as a trophy of his bravery,
“ thinking it might be precious in the eyes of them that
loved hiin.”
“Poor Burny might have spared himself the trouble,
for I've no one to give it to, and in my eyes it's nothing
but a bit of old metal,” said Fletcher, pushing the par-
cel away with a half-irritated, half-melancholy look.
“Give it to me as a parting keepsake. I have a fine
collection of relics of the brave men I have known; and
this shall have a high place in my museum when I go
home," said Christie, taking up the “ bit of old metal"
with more interest than she had ever felt in the bright-
est blade.
“ Parting keepsake! are you going away ? ” asked
Fletcher, catching at the words in anxious haste, yet
looking pleased at her desire to keep the relic.
“Yes, I'm ordered to report in Washington, and
start to-morrow."
396
WORK.
“ Then I 'll go as escort. The doctor has been want-
ing me to leave for a week, and now I've no desire to
stay," he said eagerly.
But Christie shook her head, and began to fold up
paper and string with nervous industry as she answered:
“I am not going directly to Washington: I have a
week's furlough first."
“ And what is to become of me?" asked Mr. Fletcher,
as fretfully as a sick child; for he knew where her short
holiday would be passed, and his temper got the upper-
hand for a minute.
“ You should go home and be comfortably nursed:
you 'll need care for some time, and your friends will
be glad of a chance to give it I've no doubt."
“I have no home, as you know; and I don't believe
I've got a friend in the world who cares whether I
live or die."
“ This looks as if you were mistaken ;” and Christie
glanced about the little room, which was full of com-
forts and luxuries accumulated during his stay.
His face changed instantly, and he answered with
the honest look and tone never given to any one but
her.
“I beg your pardon: I'm an ungrateful brute. But
you see I'd just made up my mind to do something
worth the doing, and now it is made impossible in
a way that renders it hard to bear. You are very
patient with me, and I owe my life to your care :
I never can thank you for it; but I will take myself
out of your way as soon as I can, and leave you free
to enjoy your happy holiday. Heaven knows you
have earned it!"
THE COLONEL.
397
He said those last words so heartily that all the bit-
terness went out of his voice, and Christie found it
easy to reply with a cordial smile :
“I shall stay and see you comfortably off before I go
myself. As for thanks and reward I have had both;
for you have done something worth the doing, and you
give me this."
She took up the broken blade as she spoke, and car-
ried it away, looking proud of her new trophy.
Fletcher left next day, saying, while he pressed her
hand as warmly as if the vigor of two had gone into
his one:
“ You will let me come and see you by and by when
you too get your discharge: won't you ?”
“So gladly that you shall never again say you have
no home. But you must take care of yourself, or you
will get the long discharge, and we can't spare you
yet,” she answered warmly.
“No danger of that: the worthless ones are too
often left to cumber the earth ; it is the precious ones
who are taken,” he said, thinking of her as he looked
into her tired face, and remembered all she had done
for him.
Christie shivered involuntarily at those ominous
words, but only said, “Good-by, Philip," as he went
feebly away, leaning on his servant's arm, while all the
men touched their caps and wished the Colonel a
pleasant journey.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SUNRISE.
THREE months later the war seemed drawing
1 toward an end, and Christie was dreaming happy
dreams of home and rest with David, when, as she sat
one day writing a letter full of good news to the
wife of a patient, a telegram was handed to her, and
tearing it open she read:
“ Captain Sterling dangerously wounded. Tell his wife to
come at once.
E. WILKINS."
“No bad news I hope, ma’am ?" said the young fel-
low anxiously, as his half-written letter fluttered to the
ground, and Christie sat looking at that fateful strip of
paper with all the strength and color stricken out of
her face by the fear that fell upon her.
“ It might be worse. They told me he was dying
once, and when I got to him he met me at the door.
I'll hope for the best now as I did then, but I never
felt like this before," and she hid her facé as if daunted
by ominous forebodings too strong to be controlled.
In a moment she was up and doing as calm and steady
as if her heart was not torn by an anxiety too keen -
SUNRISE.
399
for words. By the time the news had flown through
the house, she was ready; and, coming down with no
luggage but a basket of comforts on her arm, she found
the hall full of wan and crippled creatures gathered
there to see her off, for no nurse in the hospital was
more beloved than Mrs. Sterling. Many eyes followed
her, - many lips blessed her, many hands were out-
stretched for a sympathetic grasp: and, as the ambu-
lance went clattering away, many hearts echoed the
words of one grateful ghost of a man, “The Lord go
with her and stand by her as she's stood by us.”
It was not a long journey that lay before her; but to
Christie it seemed interminable, for all the way one un-
answerable question haunted her, “ Surely God will not
be so cruel as to take David now when he has done his
part so well and the reward is so near."
It was dark when she arrived at the appointed spot;
but Elisha Wilkins was there to receive her, and to her
first breathless question, “How is David ? " answered
briskly :
“ Asleep and doin' well, ma'am. At least I should
say so, and I peeked at him the last thing before I
started.”
“ Where is he?”
“ In the little hospital over yonder. Camp warn't no
place for him, and I fetched him here as the nighest, and
the best thing I could do for him."
" How is he wounded ?”
“Shot in the shoulder, side, and arm."
“ Dangerously you said ?”
“No, ma'am, that warn't and ain't my opinion. The
sergeant sent that telegram, and I think he done wrong.
400
WORK.
The Captain is hit pretty bad; but it ain't by no means
desperate accordin' to my way of thinkin'," replied the
hopeful Wilkins, who seemed mercifully gifted with an
unusual flow of language.
“ Thank heaven! Now go on and tell me all about
it as fast as you can,” commanded Christie, walking
along the rough road so rapidly that Private Wilkins
would have been distressed both in wind and limb if
discipline and hardship had not done much for him.
“Well, you sce we've been skirmishin'round here
for a week, for the woods are full of rebs waitin' to
surprise some commissary stores that's expected along.
Contrabands is always comin' into camp, and we do the
best we can for the poor devils, and send 'em along
where they'll be safe. Yesterday four women and a
boy come: about as desperate a lot as I ever see; for
they'd been two days and a night in the big swamp,
wadin' up to their waists in mud and water, with nothin'
to eat, and babies on their backs all the way. Every
woman had a child, one dead, but she'd fetched it, so
it might be buried frec,' the poor soul said.”
Mr. Wilkins stopped an instant as if for breath, but
the thought of his own “little chaps" filled his heart
with pity for that bereaved mother; and he understood
now why decent men were willing to be shot and
starved for “ the confounded niggers," as he once called
them.
“Go on,” said Christie, and he made haste to tell the
little story that was so full of intense interest to his
listener.
“I never saw the Captain so worked up as he was by
the sight of them wretched women. He fed and warmed
SUNRISE.
401
'em, comforted their poor scared souls, give what clothes
we could find, buried the dead baby with his own
hands, and nussed the other little creeters as if they
were his own. It warn’t safe to keep 'em more ’n a
day, so when night come the Captain got 'em off down
the river as quiet as he could. Me and another man
helped him, for he wouldn't trust no one but himself to
boss the job. A boat was ready, - blest if I know how
he got it, — and about midnight we led them women
down to it. The boy was a strong lad, and any of 'em
could help row, for the current would take 'em along
rapid. This way, ma'am; be we goin' too fast for you ?”
“Not fast enough. Finish quick.”
“We got down the bank all right, the Captain stand-
ing in the little path that led to the river to keep guard,
while Bates held the boat stiddy and I put the women
in. Things was goin' lovely when the poor gal who'd
lost her baby must needs jump out and run up to thank
the Captain agin for all he'd done for her. Some of
them sly rascals was watchin' the river: they see her,
heard Bates call out, 'Come back, wench; come back!'
and they fired. She did come back like a shot, and we
give that boat a push that sent it into the middle of
the stream. Then we run along below the bank, and
come out further down to draw off the rebs. Some
followed us and we give it to 'em handsome. But
some warn't deceived, and we heard 'em firin' away at
the Captain; so we got back to him as fast as we could,
but it warn’t soon enough.— Take my arm, Mis' Ster-
lin': it's kinder rough here."
“And you found him ?” –
“Lyin' right acrost the path with two dead men in
402
WORK.
front of him; for he'd kep 'em off like a lion till the
firin' brought up a lot of our fellers and the rebs ske-
daddled. I thought he was dead, for by the starlight
I see he was bleedin' awful, — hold on, my dear, hold
on to me, — he warn't, thank God, and looked up at me
and sez, sez he, · Are they safe ?' They be, Captain,"
sez I. Then it's all right,'sez he, smilin' in that
bright way of his, and then dropped off as quiet as a
lamb. We got him back to camp double quick, and
when the surgeon see them three wounds he shook his
head, and I mistrusted that it warn’t no joke. So when
the Captain come to I asked him what I could do or
git for him, and he answered in a whisper, “My wife.””
For an instant Christie did “hold on” to Mr. Wilkins's
arm, for those two words seemed to take all her strength
away. Then the thought that David was waiting for
her strung her nerves and gave her courage to bear
any thing.
“ Is he here ?” she asked of her guide a moment
later, as he stopped before a large, half-ruined house,
through whose windows dim lights and figures were
seen moving to and fro.
“Yes, ma’am; we've made a hospital' of this; the
Captain's got the best room in it, and now he's got the
best nuss that's goin’anywheres. Won't you have a drop
of something jest as a stand-by before you see him ?”
“ Nothing; take me to him at once.”
“ Here we be then. Still sleepin': that looks well."
Mr. Wilkins softly led the way down a long hall,
opened a door, and after one look fell back and saluted
as the Captain's wife passed in.
A surgeon was bending over the low bed, and when
a hoarse voice at his elbow asked:
SUNRISE.
403
“How is he?” The doctor answered without look-
ing up:
“Done for: this shot through the lungs will finish
him before morning I'm afraid.”
« Then leave him to me: I am his wife,” said the
voice, clear and sharp now with the anguish those hard.
words had brought.
“Good God, why did no one tell me! My dear lady,
I thought you were a nurse !” cried the poor surgeon
rent with remorse for what now seemed the brutal
frankness of his answer, as he saw the white face of
the woman at his side, with a look in her eyes harder
to see than the bitterest tears that ever fell.
“I am a nurse. If you can do nothing, please go and
leave him to me the little while he has to live."
Without a word the surgeon vanished, and Christie
was alone with David.
The instant she saw him she felt that there was no
hope, for she had seen too many faces wear the look his
wore to be deceived even by her love. Lying with
closed eyes already sunken by keen suffering, hair damp
with the cold dew on his forehead, a scarlet spot on
either cheek, gray lines about the mouth, and pale lips
parted by the painful breaths that came in heavy gasps
or fluttered fitfully. This was what Christie saw, and
after that long look she knew the truth, and sunk down
beside the bed, crying with an exceeding bitter cry:
“O David, O my husband, must I give you up so
soon ?"
His eyes opened then, and he turned his cheek to
hers, whispering with a look that tried to be a smile,
but ended in a sigh of satisfaction :
404
WORK.
“I knew you'd come;" then, as a tearless sob shook
her from head to foot, he added steadily, though each
breath oost a pang, “ Yes, dear, I must go first, but it
won't be hard with you to help me do it bravely."
In that supremely bitter moment there returned to
Christie's memory certain words of the marriage service
that had seemed so beautiful when she took part in it:
“For better for worse, till death us do part.” She had
known the better, so short, so sweet! This was the worse,
and till death came she must keep faithfully the promise
made with such a happy heart. The thought brought
with it unexpected strength, and gave her courage to
crush down her grief, seal up her tears, and show a
hers ready to help her husband die.
He saw and thanked her for the effort, felt the
sustaining power of a true wife's heart, and seemed
to have no other care, since she was by him stead-
fast to the end. He lay looking at her with such
serene and happy eyes that she would not let a tear,
a murmur, mar his peace; and for a little while she
felt as if she had gone out of this turbulent world
But such hours are as brief as beautiful, and at
midnight mortal suffering proved that immortal joy
had not yet begun.
Christie had sat by many death-beds, but never one
like this; for, through all the bitter pangs that tried
his flesh, David's soul remained patient and strong,
upheld by the faith that conquers pain and makes
even Death a friend. In the quiet time that went be-
forc, he had told his last wishes, given his last mcs-
SUNRISE.
405
sages of love, and now had but one desire, — to go soon
that Christie might be spared the trial of seeing suf-
fering she could neither lighten nor share.
“Go and rest, dear; go and rest,” he whispered more
than once. “Let Wilkins come: this is too much for
you. I thought it would be easier, but I am so strong
life fights for me inch by inch."
But Christie would not go, and for her sake David
made haste to die.
Hour after hour the tide ebbed fast, hour after hour
the man's patient soul sat waiting for release, and
hour after hour the woman's passionate heart clung
to the love that seemed drifting away leaving her
alone upon the shore. Once or twice she could not
bear it, and cried out in her despair:
“No, it is not just that you should suffer this for
a creature whose whole life is not worth a day of
your brave, useful, precious one! Why did you pay
· such a price for that girl's liberty ?” she said, as the
thought of her own wrecked future fell upon her dark
and heavy.
. “ Because I owed it; -- she suffered more than this
- seeing her baby die; — I thought of you in her place,
and I could not help doing it."
The broken answer, the reproachful look, wrung
Christie's heart, and she was silent: for, in all the
knightly tales she loved so well, what Sir Galahad had
rescued a more wretched, wronged, and helpless woman
than the poor soul whose dead baby David buried ten-
derly before he bought the mother's freedom with his
life?
Only one regret escaped him as the end drew very
406
WORK.
near, and mortal weakness brought relief from mortal
pain. The first red streaks of dawn shone in the east,
and his dim eyes brightened at the sight;
“Such a beautiful world !” he whispered with the
ghost of a smile, “and so much good work to do in
it, I wish I could stay and help a little longer," he
added, while the shadow deepened on his face. But
soon he said, trying to press Christie's hand, still hold-
ing his : “ You will do my part, and do it better than
I could. Don't mourn, dear heart, but work; and by
and by you will be comforted."
“I will try; but I think I shall soon follow you,
and need no comfort here," answered Christie, already
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SUNRISE.
407
David ?" she asked a little later, as she saw his eyes
turn wistfully toward the window where the rosy glow
was slowly creeping up the sky.
“I want to see the sun rise; --- that used to be our
happy time ;- turn my face toward the light, Christie,
and we'll wait for it together."
An hour later when the first pale ray crept in at
the low window, two faces lay upon the pillow; one
full of the despairing grief for which there seems no
balm; the other with lips and eyes of solemn peace,
and that mysterious expression, lovelier than any smile,
which death leaves as a tender token that all is well
with the new-born soul.
To Christie that was the darkest hour of the dawn,
but for David sunrise had already come.
CHAPTER XIX.
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
W HEN it was all over, the long journey home,
V the quiet funeral, the first sad excitement, then
came the bitter moment when life says to the bereaved :
“ Take up your burden and go on alone.” Christie's
had been the still, tearless grief hardest to bear, most
impossible to comfort; and, while Mrs. Sterling bore
her loss with the sweet patience of a pious heart, and
Letty mourned her brother with the tender sorrow that
finds relief in natural ways, the widow sat among them
lowed David, leaving the shadow of her former self
behind.
“ He will not come to me, but I shall go to him,"
seemed to be the thought that sustained her, and those
who loved her said despairingly to one another: “ Her
heart is broken : she will not linger long."
But one woman wise in her own motherliness always
answered hopefully: “Don't you be troubled ; Nater
knows what's good for us, and works in her own way.
Hearts like this don't break, and sorrer only makes 'em
stronger. You mark my words: the blessed baby that's
a comin' in the summer will work a merrycle, and
you'll see this poor dear a happy woman yet."
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
409
Few believed in the prophecy; but Mrs. Wilkins
stoutly repeated it and watched over Christie like a
mother; often trudging up the lane in spite of wind or
weather to bring some dainty mess, some remarkable
puzzle in red or yellow calico to be used as a pattern
for the little garments the three women sewed with
such tender interest, consecrated with such tender
tears; or news of the war fresh from Lisha who was
goin' to see it through ef he come home without a leg
to stand on." A cheery, hopeful, wholesome influence
she brought with her, and all the house seemed to
brighten as she sat there freeing her mind upon every
subject that came up, from the delicate little shirts Mrs.
Sterling knit in spite of failing eyesight, to the fall of
Richinond, which, the prophetic spirit being strong
within her, Mrs. Wilkins foretold with sibylline pre-
cision.
She alone could win a faint smile from Christie with
some odd saying, some shrewd opinion, and she alone
brought tears to the melancholy eyes that sorely needed
such healing dew; for she carried little Adelaide, and
without a word put her into Christie's arms, there to
cling and smile and babble till she had soothed the
bitter pain and hunger of a suffering heart.
She and Mr. Power held Christie up through that
hard time, ministering to soul and body with their
hope and faith till life grew possible again, and from
the dust of a great affliction rose the sustaining power
she had sought so long.
As spring came on, and victory after victory pro-
claimed that the war was drawing to an end, Christie's
sad resignation was broken by gusts of grief so stormy,
18
410
WORK.
so inconsolable, that those about her trembled for her
life. It was so hard to see the regiments come home
proudly bearing the torn battle-flags, weary, wounded,
but victorious, to be rapturously welcomed, thanked,
and honored by the grateful country they had served
so well; to see all this and think of 'David in his grave
unknown, unrewarded, and forgotten by all but a faith-
ful few.
“ I used to dream of a time like this, to hope and
plan for it, and cheer myself with the assurance that,
after all our hard work, our long separation, and the
dangers we had faced, David would get some honor,
receive some reward, at least be kept for me to love
and serve and live with for a little while. But these
men who have merely saved a banner, led a charge, or
lost an arm, get all the glory, while he gave his life so
nobly; yet few know it, no one thanked him, and I am
left desolate when so many useless ones might have
been taken in his place. Oh, it is not just! I cannot
forgive God for robbiug him of all his honors, and me
of all my happiness.”
So lamented Christie with the rebellious protest of a
strong nature learning submission through the stern
discipline of grief. In vain Mr. Power told her that
David had received a better reward than any human
hand could give him, in the gratitude of many women,
the respect of many men. That to do bravely the
daily duties of an upright life was more heroic in God's
sight, than to achieve in an enthusiastic moment a
single deed that won the world's applause; and that
the seeming incompleteness of his life was beautifully
rounded by the act that caused his death, although no
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
411
eulogy recorded it, no song embalmed it, and few knew
it but those he saved, those he loved, and the Great
Commander who promoted him to the higher rank he
had won.
Christie could not be content with this invisible,
intangible recompense for her hero : she wanted to see,
to know beyond a doubt, that justice had been done;
and beat herself against the barrier that baffles bereaved
humanity till impatient despair was wearied out, and
passionate heart gave up the struggle.
Then, when no help seemed possible, she found it
where she least expected it, in herself. Searching for
religion, she had found love: now seeking to follow love
she found religion. The desire for it had never left
her, and, while serving others, she was earning this
reward; for when her life seemed to lie in ashes, from
their midst, this slender spire of flame, purifying while
it burned, rose trembling toward heaven; showing her
how great sacrifices turn to greater compensations;
giving her light, warmth, and consolation, and teach-
ing her the lesson all must learn.
God was very patient with her, sending much help,
and letting her climb up to Him by all the tender ways
in which aspiring souls can lead unhappy hearts.
David's room had been her refuge when those dark
hours came, and sitting there one day trying to under-
stand the great mystery that parted her from David,
she seemed to receive an answer to her many prayers
for some sign that death had not estranged them. The
house was very still, the window open, and a soft south
wind was wandering through the room with hints of
May-flowers on its wings. Suddenly a breath of music
412
WORK.
startled her, so airy, sweet, and short-lived that no
human voice or hand could have produced it. Again
and again it came, a fitful and melodious sigh, that
to one made superstitious by inuch sorrow, seemed like
a spirit's voice delivering some message from another
world.
Christie looked and listened with hushed breath and
expectant heart, believing that some special answer was
to be given her. But in a moment she saw it was no
supernatural sound, only the south wind whispering in
David's flute that hung beside the window. Disap-
pointment came first, then warm over her sore heart
flowed the tender recollection that she used to call the
old flute “ David's voice," for into it he poured the joy
and sorrow, unrest and pain, he told no living soul.
How often it had been her lullaby, before she learned
to read its language; how gaily it had piped for others;
how plaintively it had sung for him, alone and in the
night; and now how full of pathetic music was that
hymn of consolation fitfully whispered by the wind's
soft breath.
Ah, yes! this was a better answer than any super-
natural voice could have given her; a more helpful sign
than any phantom face or hand; a surer confirmation of
her hope than subtle argument or sacred promise : for
it brought back the memory of the living, loving man
so vividly, so tenderly, that Christie felt as if the barrier
was down, and welcomed a new sense of David's near-
ness with the softest tears that had flowed since she
closed the serene eyes whose last look had been for
her.
After that hour she spent the long spring days lying
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
413
on the old couch in his room, reading his books, think-
ing of his love and life, and listening to “ David's voice.”
She always heard it now, whether the wind touched
the flute with airy fingers or it hung mute; and it sung
to her songs of patience, hope, and cheer, till a myste-
rious peace came to her, and she discovered in herself
the strength she had asked, yet never thought to find.
Under the snow, herbs of grace had been growing
silently; and, when the heavy rains had melted all the
frost away, they sprung up to blossom beautifully in the
sun that shines for every spire of grass, and makes it
perfect in its time and place.
Mrs. Wilkins was right; for onc June morning, when
she laid “that blessed baby” in its mother's arins,
Christie's first words were:
“Don't let me die: I must live for baby now," and
gathered David's little daughter to her breast, as if the
soft touch of the fumbling hands had healed every
wound and brightened all the world.
“ I told you so; God bless 'em both!” and Mrs. Wil-
kins retired precipitately to the hall, where she sat down
upon the stairs and cried most comfortable tears; for
her maternal heart was full of a thanksgiving too deep
for words.
A sweet, secluded time to Christie, as she brooded
over her little treasure and forgot there was a world
outside. A fond and jcalous mother, but a very happy
one, for after the bitterest came the tenderest experi-
ence of her life. She felt its sacredness, its beauty, and
its high responsibilities; accepted them prayerfully,
and found unspeakable delight in fitting herself to bear
them worthily, always remembering that she had a
414
WORK.
double duty to perform toward the fatherless little
creature given to her care.
It is hardly necessary to mention the changes one
small individual made in that feminine household. The
purring and clucking that went on; the panics over a
pin-prick; the consultations over a pellet of chamo-
milla; the raptures at the dawn of a first smile; the
solemn prophecies of future beauty, wit, and wisdom in
the bud of a woman; the general adoration of the
entire family at the wicker shrine wherein lay the idol,
a mass of flannel and cambric with a bald head at one
end, and a pair of microscopic blue socks at the other.
Mysterious little porringers sat unreproved upon the
parlor fire, small garments aired at every window,
lights burned at unholy hours, and three agitated night-
caps congregated at the faintest chirp of the restless
bird in the maternal nest.
Of course Grandma grew young again, and produced
nursery reminiscences on every occasion ; Aunt Letty
trotted day and night to gratify the imaginary wants
of the idol, and Christie was so entirely absorbed that
the whole South might have been swallowed up by an
earthquake without causing her as much consternation
as the appearance of a slight rash upon the baby.
No flower in David's garden throve like his little June
rose, for no wind was allowed to visit her too roughly;
and when rain fell without, she took her daily airing in
the green-house, where from her mother's arms she soon
regarded the gay sight with such sprightly satisfaction
that she seemed a little flower herself dancing on its
stem.
She was named Ruth for grandma, but Christie
LITTLE HEART S-EASE.
415
always called her “ Little Heart's-ease,” or “Pansy," and
those who smiled at first at the mother's fancy, came in
time to see that there was an unusual fitness in the
name. All the bitterness seemed taken out of Chris-
tie's sorrow by the soft magic of the child : there was
so much to live for now she spoke no more of dying;
and, holding that little hand in hers, it grew easier to
go on along the way that led to David.
A prouder mother never lived; and, as baby waxed
in beauty and in strength, Christie longed for all the
world to see her. A sweet, peculiar, little face she had,
sunny and fair; but, under the broad forehead where
the bright hair fell as David's used to do, there shone
a pair of dark and solemn eyes, so large, so deep, and
often so unchildlike, that her mother wondered where
she got them. Even when she smiled the shadow ling-
ered in these eyes, and when she wept they filled and
overflowed with great, quiet tears like flowers too full
of dew. Christie often said remorsefully:
“My little Pansy! I put my own sorrow into your
baby soul, and now it looks back at me with this
strange wistfulness, and these great drops are the un-
submissive tears I locked up in my heart because I
would not be grateful for the good gift God gave me,
even while he took that other one away. O Baby,
forgive your mother; and don't let her find that she
has given you clouds instead of sunshine."
This fear helped Christie to keep her own face cheer-
ful, her own heart tranquil, her own life as sunny,
healthful, and hopeful as she wished her child's to be.
For this reason she took garden and green-house into
her own hands when Bennet gave them up, and, with a
416
WORK.
stout lad to help her, did well this part of the work
that David bequeathed to her. It was a pretty sight
to see the mother with her year-old daughter out
among the fresh, green things: the little golden head
bobbing here and there like a stray sunbeam; the baby
voice telling sweet, unintelligible stories to bird and
bee and butterfly; or the small creature fast asleep in
a basket under a rose-bush, swinging in a hạmmock
from a tree, or in Bran's keeping, rosy, vigorous, and
sweet with sun and air, and the wholesome influence
of a wise and tender love.
While Christie worked she planned her daughter's
future, as mothers will, and had but one care concern-
ing it. She did not fear poverty, but the thought of
being straitened for the means of educating little
Ruth afflicted her. She meant to teach her to labor
heartily and see no degradation in it, but she could not
bear to feel that her child should be denied the harm-
less pleasures that make youth sweet, the opportunities
that educate, the society that ripens character and
gives a rank which money cannot buy. A little sum to
put away for Baby, safe from all risk, ready to draw
from as each need came, and sacredly devoted to this
· end, was now Christie's sole ambition.
With this purpose at her heart, she watched her
fruit and nursed her flowers; found no task too hard,
no sun too hot, no weed too unconquerable; and soon
the garden David planted when his life seemed barren,
yielded lovely harvests to swell his little daughter's
portion.
One day Christie received a letter from Uncle Enos
expressing a wish to see her if she cared to come so
- LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
417
far and “stop a spell.” It both surprised and pleased
her, and she resolved to go, glad that the old man
remembered her, and proud to show him the great suc-
cess of her life, as she considered Baby.
So she went, was hospitably received by the ancient
cousin five times removed who kept house, and greeted
with as much cordiality as Uncle Enos ever showed to
any one. He looked askance at Baby, as if he had
not bargained for the honor of her presence; but he
said nothing, and Christie wisely refrained from men-
tioning that Ruth was the most remarkable child ever
born.
She soon felt at home, and went about the old house
visiting familiar nooks with the bitter, sweet satisfaction
of such returns. It was sad to miss Aunt Betsey in the
big kitchen, strange to see Uncle Enos sit all day in his
arm-chair too helpless now to plod about the farm and
carry terror to the souls of those who served him. He
was still a crabbed, gruff, old man; but the narrow,
hard, old heart was a little softer than it used to be; and
he sometimes betrayed the longing for his kindred that
the aged often feel when infirmity makes them desire
tenderer props than any they can hire.
Christie saw this wish, and tried to gratify it with a
dutiful affection which could not fail to win its way.
Baby unconsciously lent a hand, for Uncle Enos could
not long withstand the sweet enticements of this little
kinswoman. He did not own the conquest in words,
but was seen to cuddle his small captivator in private;
allowed all sorts of liberties with his spectacles, his
pockets, and bald pate; and never seemed more com-
fortable than when she confiscated his newspaper, and
· 18*
AA
418
WORK. ,
sitting on his knee read it to him in a pretty language
of her own.
“She's a good little gal; looks consid’able like you ;
but you warn't never such a quiet puss as she is,” he
said one day, as the child was toddling about the room
with an old doll of her mother's lately disinterred from
its tomb in the garret.
“She is like her father in that. ' But I get quieter as
I grow old, uncle," answered Christie, who sat sewing
near him.
“ You be. growing old, that's a fact; but somehow
it's kind of becomin'. I never thought you'd be so
much of a lady, and look so well after all you've ben
through,” added Uncle Enos, vainly trying to discover
what made Christie's manners so agreeable in spite of
her plain dress, and her face so pleasant in spite of the
gray hair at her temples and the lines about her
mouth.
It grew still pleasanter to see as she smiled and
looked up at him with the soft yet bright expression
that always made him think of her mother.
“I'm glad you don't consider me an entire failure,
uncle. You know you predicted it. But though I
have gone through a good deal, I don't regret my
attempt, and when I look at Pansy I feel as if I'd made
a grand success.”
“You haven't made much money, I guess. If you
don't mind tellin', what have you got to live on ?'
asked the old man, unwilling to acknowledge any life
a success, if dollars and cents were left out of it.
“Only David's pension and what I can make by my
garden."
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
419
“ The old lady has to have some on’t, don't she ?"
6 She has a little money of her own; but I see that
she and Letty have two-thirds of all I make."
« That ain't a fair bargain if you do all the work."
“ Ah, but we don't make bargains, sir: we work for
one another and share every thing together.”
“ So like women !” grumbled Uncle Enos, longing to
see that “the property was fixed up square.”

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"SHE'S A GOOD LITTLE GAL; LOOKS CONSID'APLE LIKE YOU."
420
WORK.
“ How are you goin' to eddicate the little gal? I
s'pose you think as much of culter and so on as ever
you did,” he presently added with a gruff laugh.
“More,” answered Christie, smiling too, as she remem-
bered the old quarrels. “I shall earn the money, sir.
If the garden fails I can teach, nurse, sew, write, cook
even, for I've half a dozen useful accomplishments at
my fingers' ends, thanks to the education you and dear
Aunt Betsey gave me, and I may have to use them all
for Pansy's sake.”
Pleased by the compliment, yet a little conscience-
stricken at the small share he deserved of it, Uncle Enos
sat rubbing up his glasses a minute, before he led to the
subject he had in his mind.
“Ef you fall sick or die, whạt then?”
“I've thought of that,” and Christie caught up the
child as if her love could keep even death at bay. But
Pansy soon struggled down again, for the dirty-faced
doll was taking a walk and could not be detained. “If
I am taken from hei, then my little girl must do as her
mother did. God has orphans in His special care, and
He won't forget her I am sure."
Uncle Enos had a coughing spell just then; and, when
he got over it, he said with an effort, for even to talk
of giving away his substance cost him a pang :
“I'm gettin' into years now, and it's about time I
meant to give you a little suthing, but as you didn't
ask for’t, I took good care on’t, and it ain't none the
needn't be anxious about the little gal. It ain't much,
but it will make things easy I reckon."
LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
421
.
“You are very kind, uncle; and I am more grateful
than I can tell. I don't want a penny for myself, but I
should love to know that my daughter was to have an
easier life than mine."
“I s'pose you thought of that when you come so
quick ?." said the old man, with a suspicious look, that
made Christie's eyes kindle as they used to years ago,
but she answered honestly:
“ I did think of it and hope it, yet I should have
come quicker if you had been in the poor-house."
Neither spoke for a minute; for, in spite of generosity
and gratitude, the two natures struck fire when they
met as inevitably as flint and steel.
6 What's your opinion of missionaries," asked Uncle
Enos, after a spell of meditation.
“ If I had any money to leave them, I should be-
queath it to those who help the heathen here at home,
and should let the innocent Feejee Islanders worship
their idols a little longer in benighted peace,” answered
Christie, in her usual decided way.
“That's my idee exactly; but it's uncommon hard to
settle which of them that stays at home you 'll trust
your money to. You see Betsey was always pesterin’
me to give to charity things; but I told her it was bet-
ter to save up and give it in a handsome lump that
looked well, and was a credit to you. When she was
dyin' she reminded me on’t, and I promised I'd do
suthing before I follered. I've been turnin' on't over
in my mind for a number of months, and I don't
seem to find any thing that's jest right. You've ben
round among the charity folks lately accordin' to your
tell, now what would you do if you had a tidy little
sum to dispose on?”
422
WORK.
“ Help the Freed people."
The answer came so quick that it nearly took the old
gentleman's breath away, and he looked at his niece
with his mouth open after an involuntary, “ Sho!"
had escaped him.
“ David helped give them their liberty, and I would
so gladly help them to enjoy it ! ” cried Christie, all the
old enthusiasm blazing up, but with a clearer, steadier
flame than in the days when she dreamed splendid
dreams by the kitchen fire.
« Well, no, that wouldn't meet my views. What
else is there?” asked the old man quite unwarmed by
her benevolent ardor.
6 Wounded soldiers, destitute children, ill-paid
women, young people struggling for independence,
homes, hospitals, schools, churches, and God's charity
all over the world.”
“ That's the pesky part on’t: there's such a lot
to choose from; I don't know much about any of 'em,”
began Uncle Enos, looking like a perplexed raven with
a treasure which it cannot decide where to hide.
“Whose fault is that, sir ? "
The question hit the old man full in the conscience,
and he winced, remembering how many of Betsey's
charitable impulses he had nipped in the bud, and
now all the accumulated alms she would have been
so glad to scatter weighed upon him heavily. He
rubbed his bald head with a yellow bandana, and
moved uneasily in his chair, as if he wanted to get up
and finish the neglected job that made his helplessness
so burdensome.
“I'll ponder on't a spell, and make up my mind,”
was all he said, and never renewed the subject again.
· LITTLE HEART'S-EASE.
. 423
But he had very little time to ponder, and he never
did make up his mind; for a few inonths after Christie's
left all he had to her.
Not an immense fortune, but far larger than she ex-
pected, and great was her anxiety to use wisely this
unlooked-for benefaction. She was very grateful, but
she kept nothing for herself, feeling that David's pen-
sion was enough, and preferring the small sum he earned
so dearly to the thousands the old man had hoarded up
for years. A good portion was put by for Ruth, some-
thing for “mother and Letty” that want might never
touch them, and the rest she kept for David's work,
believing that, so spent, the money would be blest.
CHAPTER XX.
AT FORTY.
TEARLY twenty years since I set out to seek my
I fortune. It has been a long search, but I think
I have found it at last. I only asked to be a useful,
happy woman, and my wish is granted : for, I believe
I am useful ; I know I am happy.”
Christie looked so as she sat alone in the flowery par-
lor one September afternoon, thinking over her life with
a grateful, cheerful spirit. Forty to-day, and pausing at
that half-way house between youth and age, she looked
back into the past without bitter regret or unsubmissive
grief, and forward into the future with courageous pa-
tience; for three good angels attended her, and with
faith, hope, and charity to brighten life, no woman need
lament lost youth or fear approaching age. Christie
did not, and though her eyes filled with quiet tears as
they were raised to the faded cap and sheathed sword
hanging on the wall, none fell; and in a moinent tender
sorrow changed to still tenderer joy as her glance wan-
dered to rosy little Ruth playing hospital with her dol-
lies in the porch. Then they shone with genuine satis-
faction as they went from the letters and papers on her
table to the garden, where several young women were
AT FORTY.
425
at work with a healthful color in the cheeks that had
been very pale and thin in the spring:
“I think David is satisfied with me; for I have given
all my heart and strength to his work, and it prospers
well,” she said to herself, and then her face grew
thoughtful, as she recalled a late event which seemed to
have opened a new field of labor for her if she chose to
enter it.
A few evenings before she had gone to one of the
many meetings of working-women, which had made
some stir of late. Not a first visit, for she was much
interested in the subject and full of sympathy for this
class of workers.
There were speeches of course, and of the most
unparliamentary sort, for the meeting was composed
almost entirely of women, each eager to tell her special
grievance or theory. Any one who chose got up and
spoke; and whether wisely or foolishly each proved how
great was the ferment now going on, and how difficult
it was for the two classes to meet and help one another
in spite of the utmost need on one side and the sin-
'cerest good-will on the other. The workers poured out
their wrongs and hardships passionately or plaintively,
demanding or imploring justice, sympathy, and help;
displaying the ignorance, incapacity, and prejudice,
which make their need all the more pitiful, their relief
all the more imperative.
The ladies did their part with kindliness, patience,
and often unconscious condescension, showing in their
turn how little they knew of the real trials of the
women whom they longed to serve, how very narrow a
sphere of usefulness they were fitted for in spite of cult-
426
WORK.
ure and intelligence, and how rich they were in gener-
ous theories, how poor in practical methods of relief.
One accomplished creature with learning radiating
from every pore, delivered a charming little essay on
the strong-minded women of antiquity ; then, taking
labor into the region of art, painted delightful pictures
of the time when all would work harmoniously together
in an Ideal Republic, where each did the task she liked,
and was paid for it in liberty, equality, and fraternity.
· Unfortunately she talked over the heads of her audi-
ence, and it was like telling fairy tales to hungry chil-
dren to describe Aspasia discussing Greek politics with
Pericles and Plato reposing upon ivory couches, or
Hypatia modestly delivering philosophical lectures to
young men behind a Tyrian purple curtain; and the
Ideal Republic met with little favor from anxious seam-
stresses, type-setters, and shop-girls, who said ungrate-
fully among themselves, “That's all very pretty, but I
don't see how it's going to better wages among us
now.”
Another eloquent sister gave them a political ora-
tion which fired the revolutionary blood in their veins,
and made them eager to rush to the State-house en
masse, and demand the ballot before one-half of them
were quite clear what it meant, and the other half were
as unfit for it as any ignorant Patrick bribed with a
dollar and a sup of whiskey.
A third well-wisher quenched their ardor like a wet
blanket, by reading reports of sundry labor reforms in
foreign parts; most interesting, but made entirely futile
by differences of climate, needs, and customs. She
closed with a cheerful budget of statistics, giving the
AT FORTY.
427
11
VU
exact number of needle-women who had starved, gone.
mad, or committed suicide during the past year; the
enormous profits wrung by capitalists from the blood
and muscles of their employés; and the alarming in-
crease in the cost of living, which was about to plunge
the nation into debt and famine, if not destruction
generally.
When she sat down despair was visible on many
countenances, and immediate starvation seemed to be
waiting at the door to clutch them as they went out;
for the impressible creatures believed every word and
saw no salvation anywhere.
Christie had listened intently to all this; had admired,
regretted, or condemned as each spoke ; and felt a stead-
ily increasing sympathy for all, and a strong desire to
bring the helpers and the helped into truer relations
with each other.
The dear ladies were so earnest, so hopeful, and so
unpractically benevolent, that it grieved her to see so.
much breath wasted, so much good-will astray; while
the expectant, despondent, or excited faces of the work-
women touched her heart; for well she knew how much
they needed belp, how eager they were for light, how
ready to be led if some one would only show a possible
way.
As the statistical extinguisher retired, beaming with
satisfaction at having added her mite to the good cause,
a sudden and uncontrollable impulse moved Christie to
rise in her place and ask leave to speak. It was readily
granted, and a little stir of interest greeted her; for she
was known to many as Mr. Power's friend, David Ster-
ling's wife, or an army nurse who had done well. Whis-
428
WORK.
pers circulated quickly, and faces brightened as they
turned toward her; for she had a helpful look, and her
first words pleased them. When the president invited
her to the platform she paused on the lowest step, say-
ing with an expressive look and gesture :
“I am better here, thank you; for I have been and
mean to be a working-woman all my life.”
“ Hear! hear!” cried a stout matron in a gay bon-
net, and the rest indorsed the sentiment with a hearty
round. Then they were very still, and then in a clear,
steady voice, with the sympathetic undertone to it that
is so magical in its effect, Christie made her first speech
in public since she left the stage.
That early training stood her in good stead now,
giving her self-possession, power of voice, and ease of
gesture; while the purpose at her heart lent her the sort
of simple eloquence that touches, persuades, and con-
vinces better than logic, flattery, or oratory.
What she said she hardly knew: words came faster
and all the lessons of her life rose vividly before her to
give weight to her arguments, value to her counsel, and
the force of truth to every sentence she uttered. She
had known so many of the same trials, troubles, and
temptations that she could speak understandingly of
them; and, better still, she had conquered or outlived .
so many of them, that she could not only pity but help
others to do as she had done. Having found in labor
those who listened that, no matter how hard or humble
the task at the beginning, if faithfully and bravely per-
formed, it would surely prove a stepping-stone to some-
AT FORTY.
429
.thing better, and with each honest effort they were
fitting themselves for the nobler labor, and larger
liberty God meant them to enjoy.
The women felt that this speaker was one of them;
for the same lines were on her face that they saw on
their own, her hands were no fine lady's hands, her
dress plainer than some of theirs, her speech simple
enough for all to understand; cheerful, comforting, and
full of practical suggestion, illustrations out of their
own experience, and a spirit of companionship that
uplifted their despondent hearts.
Yet more impressive than any thing she said was the
subtle magnetism of character, for that has a universal
language which all can understand. They saw and felt
that a genuine woman stood down there among them
like a sister, ready with head, heart, and hand to help
them help themselves; not offering pity as an alms, but
justice as a right. Hardship and sorrow, long effort
and late-won reward had been hers they knew; wife-
hood, motherhood, and widowhood brought her very
near to them; and behind her was the background of
an earnest life, against which this figure with health on
the cheeks, hope in the eyes, courage on the lips, and
the ardor of a wide benevolence warming the whole
countenance stood out full of unconscious dignity and
beauty; an example to comfort, touch, and inspire
them.
It was not a long speech, and in it there was no
learning, no statistics, and no politics; yet it was the
speech of the evening, and when it was over no one
else seemed to have any thing to say. As the meeting
broke up Christie's hand was shaken by many rough-
430
WORK.
ened by the needle, stained with printer's ink, or hard
with humbler toil; many faces smiled gratefully at her,
and many voices thanked her heartily. But sweeter
than any applause were the words of one woman who
grasped her hand, and whispered with wet eyes :
“I knew your blessed husband; he was very good to
me, and I've been thanking the Lord he had such a
wife for his reward !”
Christie was thinking of all this as she sat alone that
day, and asking herself if she should go on; for the
ladies had been as grateful as the women; had begged
her to come and speak again, saying they needed just
such a mediator to bridge across the space that now
divided them from those they wished to serve. She
certainly seemed fitted to act as interpreter between
the two classes; for, from the gentleman her father she
had inherited the fine instincts, gracious manners, and
unblemished name of an old and honorable race; from
the farmer's daughter, her mother, came the equally
valuable dower of practical virtues, a sturdy love of
independence, and great respect for the skill and cour-
age that can win it.
Such women were much needed and are not always
easy to find; for even in democratic America the hand
that earns its daily bread must wear some talent, name,
or honor as an ornament, before it is very cordially
shaken by those that wear white gloves.
"Perhaps this is the task my life has been fitting me
for," she said. “A great and noble one which I should
be proud to accept and help accomplish if I can. Others
have finished the emancipation work and done it splen-
didly, even at the cost of all this blood and sorrow. I
AT FORTY.
431
-
came too late to do any thing but give my husband
and behold the glorious end. This new task seems to
offer me the chance of being among the pioneers, to
do the hard work, share the persecution, and help lay
the foundation of a new emancipation whose happy
success I may never see. Yet I had rather be remem-
bered as those brave beginners are, though many of
them missed the triumph, than as the late comers will
Just then the gate creaked on its hinges, a step
sounded in the porch, and little Ruth ran in to say in
an audible whisper :-
“ It's a lady, mamma, a very pretty lady: can you
see her ? "
“Yes, dear, ask her in.”
There was a rustle of sweeping silks through the
narrow hall, a vision of a very lovely woman in the
door-way, and two daintily gloved hands were extended
as an eager voice asked: “ Dearest Christie, don't you
remember Bella Carrol ?”
Christie did remember, and had her in her arms di-
rectly, utterly regardless of the imminent destruction of
a marvellous hat, or the bad effect of tears on violet
ribbons. Presently they were sitting close together,
talking with April faces, and telling their stories as
women must when they meet after the lapse of years.
A few letters had passed between them, but Bella had
been abroad, and Christie too busy living her life to
have much time to write about it.
“ Your mother, Bella ? how is she, and where ?”
“ Still with Augustine, and he you know is melan-
432
WORK.
choly mad: very quiet, very patient, and very kind
to every one but himself. His penances for the sins
of his race would soon kill him if mother was not
there to watch over him. And her penance is never
to leave him.”
“Dear child, don't tell me any more; it is too sad.
Talk of yourself and Harry. Now you smile, so I'm
sure all is well with him.”
“Yes, thank heaven! Christie, I do believe fate
means to spare us as dear old Dr. Shirley said. I never
can be gay again, but I keep as cheerful and busy as
I can, for Harry's sake, and he does the same for mine.
We shall always be together, and all in all to one
another, for we can never marry and have homes apart
you know. We have wandered over the face of the
earth for several years, and now we mean to settle
down and be as happy and as useful as we can."
“That’s brave! I am so glad to hear it, and so truly
thankful it is possible. But tell me, Bella, what Harry
means to do? You spoke in one of your first letters
of his being hard at work studying medicine. Is that
to be his profession ?"
“Yes; I don't know what made him choose it, unless
it was the hope that he might spare other families from
a curse like ours, or lighten it if it came. After
Helen's death he was a changed creature; no longer a
wild boy, but a man. I told him what you said to me,
and it gave him hope.' Dr. Shirley confirmed it as far
as he dared; and Hal resolved to make the most of his
one chance by interesting himself in some absorbing
study, and leaving no room for fear, no time for danger-
AT FORTY.
433
forted, for we both feared that sad trouble would
destroy him. He studied hard, got on splendidly,
and then went abroad to finish off. I went with him;
for poor August was past hope, and marma would
not let me help her. The doctor said it was best for
me to be away, and excellent for Hal to have me with
him, to cheer him up, and keep him steady with a
little responsibility. We have been happy together
in spite of our trouble, he in his profession, and I in
him; now he is ready, so we have come home, and
now the hardest part begins for me."
“ How, Bella ? "
“ He has his work and loves it: I have nothing
after my duty to him is done. I find I've lost my
taste for the old pleasures and pursuits, and though
I have tried more sober, solid ones, there still remains
much time to hang heavy on my hands, and such an
empty place in my heart, that even Harry's love can-
not fill it. I'm afraid I shall get melancholy, — that
is the beginning of the end for us, you know.”
As Bella spoke the light died out of her eyes, and
they grew despairing with the gloom of a tragic mem-
ory. Christie drew the beautiful, pathetic face down
upon her bosom, longing to comfort, yet feeling very
powerless to lighten Bella's burden.
But Christie's little daughter did it for her. Ruth
had been standing near regarding the “ pretty lady,"
with as much wonder and admiration as if she thought
her a fairy princess, who might vanish before she got a
good look at her. Divining with a child's quick instinct
that the princess was in trouble, Ruth flew into the
porch, caught up her latest and dearest treasure, and
BB
434
WORK.
presented it as a sure consolation, with such sweet
good-will, that Bella could not refuse, although it was
only a fuzzy caterpillar in a little box.
“I give it to you because it is my nicest one and just
ready to spin up. Do you like pussy-pillars, and know
how they do it ? ” asked Ruth, emboldened by the kiss
she got in return for her offering.
“ Tell me all about it, darling,” and Bella could not
help smiling, as the child fixed her great eyes upon her,
and told her little story with such earnestness, that she
was breathless by the time she ended.
“At first they are only grubs you know, and stay
down in the earth; then they are like this, nice and
downy and humpy, when they walk; and when it's
time they spin up and go to sleep. It's all dark in
their little beds, and they don't know what may happen
to 'em ; but they are not afraid 'cause God takes care
of 'em. So they wait and don't fret, and when it's
right for 'em they come out splendid butterflies, all
beautiful and shining like your gown. They are happy
then, and fly away to eat honey, and live in the air,
and never be creeping worms any more."
“ That's a pretty lesson for me," said Bella softly, “I
accept and thank you for it, little teacher ; I'll try to
be a patient “pussy-pillar' though it is dark, and I
don't know what may happen to me; and I'll wait
hopefully till it's time to float away a happy butter-
fly.”
“Go and get the friend some flowers, the gayest
and sweetest you can find, Pansy,” said Christie, and,
as the child ran off, she added to her friend :
“ Now we must think of something pleasant for you
17
AT FORTY.
435
to do. It may take a little time, but I know we
shall find your niche if we give our minds to it.”
“ That's one reason why I came. I heard some
friends of mine talking about you yesterday, and they
seemed to think you were equal to any thing in the
way of good works. Charity is the usual refuge for
people like me, so I wish to try it. I don't mind
doing or seeing sad or disagreeable things, if it only
fills up my life and helps me to forget.”
“You will help more by giving of your abundance
to those who know how to dispense it wisely, than by
trying to do it yourself, my dear. I never advise pretty
creatures like you to tuck up their silk gowns and go
down into the sloughs with alms for the poor, who
don't like it any better than you do, and so much pity
and money are wasted in sentimental charity."
6. Then what shall I do?”
“ If you choose you can find plenty of work in your
own class; for, if you will allow me to say it, they need
help quite as much as the paupers, though in a very
different way.”
“Oh, you mean I'm to be strong-minded, to cry
aloud and spare not, to denounce their iniquities, and
demand their money or their lives ?”
“Now, Bella, that's personal; for I made my first
speech a night or two ago."
“I know you did, and I wish I'd heard it. I'd make
mine to-night if I could do it half as well as I'm told
you did," interrupted Bella, clapping her hands with a
face full of approval.
But Christie was in earnest, and produced her new
project with all speed.
436
· WORK.
“I want you to try a little experiment for me, and
if it succeeds you shall have all the glory; I've been
waiting for some one to undertake it, and I fancy you
are the woman. Not every one could attempt it; for it
needs wealth and position, beauty and accomplishments,
much tact, and more than all a heart that has not been
spoilt by the world, but taught through sorrow how to
value and use life well.”
« Christie, what is it? this experiment that needs so
much, and yet which you think me capable of trying ?”
asked Bella, interested and flattered by this opening.
“I want you to set a new fashion: you know you
can set almost any you choose in your own circle; for
people are very like sheep, and will follow their leader
if it happens to be one they fancy. I don't ask you to
be a De Staël, and have a brilliant salon: I only want
you to provide employment and pleasure for others
like yourself, who now are dying of frivolity or ennui.”
“I should love to do that if I could. Tell me how."
“Well, dear, I want you to make Harry's home as
beautiful and attractive as you can; to keep all the
elegance and refinement of former times, and to add to
it a new charm by setting the fashion of common sense.
Invite all the old friends, and as many new ones as you
choose; but have it understood that they are to come
as intelligent men and women, not as pleasure-hunting
beaux and belles; give them conversation instead of
gossip; less food for the body and more for the mind;
the healthy stimulus of the nobler pleasures they can
command, instead of the harmful excitements of pres-
ent dissipation. In short, show them the sort of society
we need more of, and might so easily have if those who
AT FORTY.
437 ,
possess the means of culture cared for the best sort,
and took pride in acquiring it. Do you understand,
Bella ?”
“ Yes, but it's a great undertaking, and you could
do it better than I.”
“Bless you, no! I haven't a single qualification for
it but the will to have it done. I'm strong-minded,
a radical, and a reformer. I've done all sorts of dread-
ful things to get my living, and I have neither youth,
beauty, talent, or position to back me up; so I should
only be politely ignored if I tried the experiment my-
self. I don't want you to break out and announce
your purpose with a flourish; or try to reform society
at large, but I do want you to devote yourself and your
advantages to quietly insinuating a better state of
things into one little circle. The very fact of your own
want, your own weariness, proves how much such a re-
form is needed. There are so many fine young women
longing for something to fill up the empty places that
come when 'the first flush of youth is over, and the
serious side of life appears; so many promising young
.men learning to conceal or condemn the high ideals
and the noble purposes they started with, because
they find no welcome for them. You might help both
by simply creating a purer atmosphere for them to
breathe, sunshine to foster instead of frost to nip their
good aspirations, and so, even if you planted no seed,
you might encourage a timid sprout or two that would
one day be a lovely flower or a grand tree all would
admire and enjoy."
As Christie ended with the figure suggested by her
favorite work, Bella said after a thoughtful pause :
438
WORK.
“ But few of the women I know can talk about any
thing but servants, dress, and gossip. Here and there
one knows something of music, art, or literature; but the
superior ones are not favorites with the larger class of
gentlemen."
6 Then let the superior women cultivate the smaller
class of men who do admire intelligence as well as
beauty. There are plenty of them, and you had better
introduce a few as samples, though their coats may not
be of the finest broadcloth, nor their fathers solid
men. Women lead in society, and when men find
that they can not only dress with taste, but talk with
sense, the lords of creation will be glad to drop mere
twaddle and converse as with their equals. Bless
my heart!” cried Christie, walking about the room
as if she had mounted her hobby, and was off for
a canter, “how people can go on in such an idiotic
fashion passes my understanding. Why keep up an
endless clatter about gowns and dinners, your neigh-
bors' affairs, and your own aches, when there is a world
full of grand questions to settle, lovely things to see,
wise things to study, and noble things to imitate.
Bella, you must try the experiment, and be the queen
of a better society than any you can reign over now.”.
“ It looks inviting, and I will try it with you to help
me. I know Harry would like it, and I'll get him to
recommend it to his patients. If he is as successful
here as elsewhere they will swallow any dose he orders;
for he knows how to manage people wonderfully well.
He prescribed a silk dress to a despondent, dowdy
patient once, telling her the electricity of silk was
good for her nerves: she obeyed, and when well
AT FORTY.
439
11
dressed felt so much better that she bestirred herself
generally and recovered; but to this day she sings the
praises of Dr. Carrol's electric cure.”.
Bella was laughing gaily as she spoke, and so was
Christie as she replied:
“That's just what I want you to do with your
patients. Dress up their minds in their best; get them
out into the air; and cure their ills by the magnetism
of more active, earnest lives.”
They talked over the new plan with increasing in-
terest; for Christie did not mean that Bella should be
one of the brilliant women who shine for a little while,
and then go out like a firework. And Bella felt as if
she had found something to do in her own sphere, a
sort of charity she was fitted for, and with it a pleasant
sense of power to give it zest.
When Letty and her mother came in, they found a
much happier looking guest than the one Christie had
welcomed an hour before. Scarcely had she introduced
them when voices in the lane made all look up to see
old Hepsey and Mrs. Wilkins approaching.
: “Two more of my dear friends, Bella: a fugitive slave
and a laundress. One has saved scores of her own peo-
ple, and is my pet heroine. The other has the bravest,
cheeriest soul I know, and is my private oracle.”
The words were hardly out of Christie's mouth
when in they came; Hepsey's black face shining with
affection, and Mrs. Wilkins as usual running over with
kind words.
“My dear creeter, the best of wishes and no end of
happy birthdays. There's a triflin' keepsake; tuck it
away, and look at it byme by. Mis' Sterlin', I'm
440
WORK.
proper glad to see you lookin' so well. Aunt Letty,
bow's that darlin' child-? I ain't the pleasure of
your acquaintance, Miss, but I'm pleased to see you.
The children all sent love, likewise Lisha, whose bones
is better sense I tried the camfire and red flannel.”
Then they settled down like a flock of birds of vari- .
ous plumage and power of song, but all amicably dis-
posed, and ready to peck socially at any topic which
might turn up.
Mrs. Wilkins started one by exclaiming as she “laid
off” her bonnet:
“ Sakes alive, there's a new picter! Ain't it beau-
tiful ? "
“Colonel Fletcher brought it this morning. A great
artist painted it for him, and he gave it to me in a way
that added much to its value," answered Christie, with
both gratitude and affection in her face; for she was a
woman who could change a lover to a friend, and keep
him all her life.
It was a quaint and lovely picture of Mr. Greatheart,
leading the fugitives from the City of Destruction. A
dark wood lay behind; a wide river rolled before;
Mercy and Christiana pressed close to their faithful
guide, who went down the rough and narrow path bear-
ing a cross-hilted sword in his right hand, and holding
a sleeping baby with the left. The sun was just rising,
and a long ray made a bright path athwart the river,
turned Greatheart's dinted armor to gold, and shone
into the brave and tender face that seemed to look
beyond the sunrise.
“There's just a hint of Davy in it that is very com-
forting to me," said Mrs. Sterling, as she laid her old
AT FORTY.
441
hands softly together, and looked up with her devout
eyes full of love.
“ Dem women oughter bin black,” murmured Hepsey, .
teartully; for she considered David worthy of a place
with old John Brown and Colonel Shaw.
6 The child looks like Pansy, we all think,” added
Letty, as the little girl brought her nosegay for Aunty
to tie up prettily. .
Christie said nothing, because she felt too much; and
Bella was also silent because she knew too little. But
Mrs. Wilkins with her kindly tact changed the subject
before it grew painful, and asked with sudden interest:
“When be you a goin' to hold forth agin, Christie ?
Jest let me know beforehand, and I'll wear my old
gloves: I tore my best ones all to rags clappin' of you ;
it was so extra good.”
"I don't deserve any credit for the speech, because
it spoke itself, and I couldn't help it. I had no thought
of such a thing till it came over me all at once, and I
was up before I knew it. I'm truly glad you liked it,
but I shall never make another, unless you think I'd
better. You know I always ask your advice, and what
is more remarkable usually take it,” said Christie, glad
to consult her oracle.
“ Hadn't you better rest a little before you begin any
new task, my daughter ? You have done so much
these last years you must be tired," interrupted Mrs.
Sterling, with a look of tender anxiety.
“You know I work for two, mother," answered Chris-
tie, with the clear, sweet expression her face always
wore when she spoke of David. “I am not tired yet:
I hope I never shall be, for without my work I should
19*
442
WORK.
fall into despair or ennui. There is so much to be done,
and it is so delightful to help do it, that I never mean
to fold my hands till they are useless. I owe all I can
do, for in labor, and the efforts and experiences that
grew out of it, I have found independence, education,
happiness, and religion."
“Then, my dear, you are ready to help other folks
into the same blessed state, and it's your duty to do
it!” cried Mrs. Wilkins, her keen eyes full of sympathy
and commendation as they rested on Christie's cheerful,
earnest face. “Ef the sperrit moves you to speak, up
and do it without no misgivin’s. I think it was a special
· leadin' that night, and I hope you'll foller, for it ain't
every one that can make folks laugh and cry with a
few plain words that go right to a body's heart and stop
there real comfortable and fillin'. I guess this is your
next job, my dear, and you'd better ketch hold and
give it the right turn; for it's goin' to take time, and
women ain't stood alone for so long they'll need a sight
of boostin'."
There was a general laugh at the close of Mrs. Wil-
kins's remarks; but Christie answered seriously : “ I ac-
cept the task, and will do my share faithfully with
words or work, as shall seem best. We all need much
preparation for the good time that is coming to us, and
can get it best by trying to know and help, love and
educate one another, — as we do here."
With an impulsive gesture Christie stretched her
hands to the friends about her, and with one accord
they laid theirs on hers, a loving league of sisters,
old and young, black and white, rich and poor, each
ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy
end.
AT FORTY.
443
“Me too !” cried little Ruth, and spread her chubby
hand above the rest : a hopeful omen, seeming to
promise that the coming generation of women will not
only receive but deserve their liberty, by learning that
the greatest of God's gifts to us is the privilege of
sharing His great work.

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