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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mildred’s New Daughter, by Martha Finley
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Mildred’s New Daughter
+
+Author: Martha Finley
+
+Release Date: February 25, 2012 [eBook #38978]
+[Most recently updated: September 23, 2023]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+Revised by Richard Tonsing.
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER ***
+
+
+
+
+MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER
+
+
+By MARTHA FINLEY
+
+(MARTHA FARQUHARSON)
+
+Author of the Famous ELSIE BOOKS
+
+    “A sweet, heartlifting cheerfulness,
+    Like springtime of the year,
+    Seemed ever on her steps to wait.”
+                              —Mrs. Hale.
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers—New York
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1894,
+BY
+DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+The clock on the mantel, striking six, woke Ethel and Blanche Eldon, two
+little sisters lying side by side in their pretty bed.
+
+“Ah, it is morning, Blanche, and time for you and me to be up,” said
+Ethel, smiling pleasantly into her younger sister’s eyes.
+
+“Yes; in a minute, Ethel,” replied Blanche, turning toward her sister
+and patting her cheek affectionately.
+
+At the same moment the door into the hall opened softly and the mother
+came in, her dark eyes shining, her thin, pale face wreathed in smiles.
+
+“Good-morning, my darlings,” she said, speaking softly, for fear of
+waking the two younger children in the nursery beyond. “Have you slept
+well?” she asked, bending over to kiss first one, then the other.
+
+“Yes, mamma, dear,” they answered, speaking together. “And so have Harry
+and Nannette,” added Ethel, “and they are sound asleep yet, I think.”
+
+“And we will not wake them,” responded the mother.
+
+“Did you sleep well, mamma? and is dear papa better?” asked the little
+girls with eager, anxious looks up into her face, Ethel adding, “Oh, I
+am sure of it, because you look so happy!”
+
+“Yes, dears, I am very glad and happy, very thankful to our kind
+Heavenly Father, that your papa slept unusually well and seems easier
+and brighter this morning than I have seen him for weeks,” Mrs. Eldon
+replied, with tears of joy shining in her eyes. “He has asked to see his
+children, and when you are dressed and have eaten your breakfast, you
+shall come to him for a few minutes.”
+
+“Oh, we are so glad we may see him, mamma,” they cried in a breath,
+Ethel adding, “I hope papa will soon be so well that we can go back to
+our own dear home again and see our own dear grandma and grandpa.”
+
+“Yes, I hope so, darling. And now you two may get up and when dressed
+help Harry and Nannette with their toilet.”
+
+“Then have our breakfast and after that go in to see papa?” exclaimed
+Blanche joyously. “And may we kiss him, mamma?”
+
+“I think he will be able to kiss his children all around,” the mother
+answered the little questioner, with a loving smile. “But I must go back
+to him now, dears,” she added; and with another tender kiss she turned
+and went quickly from the room.
+
+The two little girls were already out of bed and dressing as fast as
+they could; but that was not so very rapidly, for Ethel, the eldest, was
+only eight years old, Blanche nearly two years younger.
+
+Their father had been ill for a long while, and it was now some days
+since they had seen him; their mother was his devoted nurse, with him
+almost constantly, so that of late the children had been left very much
+to themselves and the companionship of the young girl, Myra, who
+combined in her person the calling of both child’s-nurse and housemaid.
+Ethel was scarcely dressed when the little brother and sister woke and
+were heard demanding assistance with their dressing.
+
+“Oh, hush, hush! do hush, children!” cried Ethel, running to them,
+“don’t make such a noise. You forget that our dear papa is very sick and
+your noise may make him worse. I don’t know where Myra is, but you may
+get up and I will help you to dress; then we will have breakfast, and
+after that we will go into dear papa’s room; for mamma says we may.”
+
+“Oh! oh! can we, Ethel?” they asked in delight. “We’re so glad! ’cause
+we haven’t seen our dear papa for ever so long.”
+
+“And Nanny wants mamma to tum and dress her,” whimpered Nannette.
+
+“Oh, no, Nan, dear; mamma is too busy taking care of our poor sick papa,
+so I’ll dress you and we’ll have our breakfast, and then we are to go in
+to see him,” returned Ethel. “Now be a dear, good girl and don’t cry,”
+she added coaxingly; “because if dear papa should hear you it might make
+him worse. Now let me wash you and put on your clothes and brush your
+hair and then we’ll have our breakfast.”
+
+The little maid worked away while she talked, dressing the baby sister,
+and little Blanche helped Harry with his toilet.
+
+Before they had finished Myra came to their assistance.
+
+“Your papa is better this morning, Miss Ethel,” she said, “and your
+breakfast’s ready now. Your mamma says you may go in to see the captain
+when you are done eatin’, and then you are to have your morning walk.”
+
+“Oh, yes, we know,” said Blanche; “mamma told us papa was better, and
+we’re just as glad as can be.”
+
+“We hope he’ll soon be quite, quite well,” added Ethel, taking the hand
+of Nannette and leading the way to the breakfast room.
+
+The four were quite merry over their porridge, feeling in excellent
+spirits because of the good news about their father, whom they dearly
+loved.
+
+When all had finished their meal and been made tidy again, they were
+taken to him. He greeted them with a loving smile and a few low spoken
+words of endearment. Alas! he was still so ill as to be scarce able to
+lift his head from the pillow, and when each had had a few loving words
+and a tender kiss of fatherly affection, mamma bade them run away to
+their play, promising that they should come in again for a few minutes
+when papa felt able to see them.
+
+She led them to the door and kissed each in turn, saying low and
+tenderly, “Mamma’s own dear, dear children! no words can tell how mamma
+loves you all.” The baby she kissed several times, holding her close as
+if loth to let her go. Setting her down at last with a heavy sigh, “Go,
+my darlings,” she said, “and try to be quiet while you are in the house
+lest you disturb poor, dear papa.”
+
+With that she stepped back into the room again and softly closed the
+door.
+
+Nannette was beginning to cry, “Nanny wants to go back to dear mamma and
+stay wis her,” but Ethel put her arms about her, saying cheerily,
+“There, there, little sister, don’t cry; we are going to take a nice
+walk out in the green fields and gather flowers under the hedge-rows for
+our dear papa and mamma. Won’t that be pleasant?”
+
+“Oh yes, yes! I so glad!” cried the little one with sudden change of
+look and tone. “Put Nan’s hat on dus now; dis minute.”
+
+“Yes, darling, we’ll go and get it at once; and Blanche and Harry and I
+will put our hats on too, and oh, such a good time as we shall have!”
+
+At that Nannette dried her eyes and began prattling delightedly about
+the flowers she hoped to gather, and the birds that would be singing in
+the tree-tops, or flying to and fro building their nests.
+
+Harry and Blanche were scarcely less elated, and even staid little Ethel
+grew blithe and gay as they passed down the village street and turned
+aside into the green lanes and meadows.
+
+The house grew very quiet when the children had gone. Captain Eldon had
+fallen into a doze and his devoted wife sat close by his side, one thin
+hand fast clasped in hers, while she almost held her breath lest she
+should rouse him from that slumber which might prove the turning point
+in the long illness that had brought him to the very borders of the
+grave.
+
+Mrs. Eldon was a West Indian from the island of Jamaica; and the
+captain, belonging to an English regiment stationed there, had won her
+heart, courted and married her. She was the only living child of a
+worthy couple, a wealthy planter and his wife, who had made no objection
+to their daughter’s acceptance of the gallant British officer who had
+made himself agreeable to them as well as to her.
+
+He proved a kind and indulgent husband. They were a devotedly attached
+couple and very happy during the first eight years of their married
+life; then Captain Eldon’s health began to fail, the climate was
+pronounced most unfavorable by his medical adviser, and obtaining a
+furlough, he returned to his native land, taking wife and children with
+him; but the change had little effect; he rallied somewhat for a time,
+then he grew weaker and now had scarcely left his bed for weeks.
+
+He had no near relatives living except two brothers, who had, years
+before, emigrated to America; he was too ill to seek old friends and
+acquaintances, and taking possession of a cottage advertised for rent,
+on the outskirts of a village and near the seashore, he, with his wife
+and little ones, had passed a secluded life there, seeing few visitors
+besides the physician who was in attendance.
+
+Mrs. Eldon insisted on being her husband’s sole nurse and determinedly
+persisted in believing in his final recovery, often talking hopefully of
+the time when they might return to her island home on the other side of
+the ocean, and the fond parents who were wearying of the prolonged
+absence of their only child and her little ones. But to-day as she sat
+with her eyes riveted upon his sleeping face and noted its haggard
+look—so thin, wan and marked with lines of suffering—her heart misgave
+her as never before. Was he—the light and joy of her life—about to pass
+away to that bourn whence no traveller returns? Oh, the anguish of that
+thought! how could life ever be endured without him? Her heart almost
+stood still with terror and despair.
+
+“Oh, my darling!” she moaned, as suddenly the sunken eyes opened and
+gazed mournfully into hers, “do not leave me! I cannot live without
+you,” and as she spoke she pressed her hand upon her heart and gasped
+for breath.
+
+His lips moved but no sound came from them, the fingers of the hand she
+held closed convulsively over hers, he drew a long sighing breath, and
+was gone.
+
+The sound of a heavy fall brought the cook and housemaid running from
+the kitchen to find the captain dead and the new-made widow lying prone
+upon the floor by his bedside, apparently as lifeless as he.
+
+“Dear, dear!” cried the cook, stooping over the prostrate form, “there
+don’t seem to be a bit more life in her than in him. Take hold here with
+me, Myra, and we’ll lift her to the couch yonder. Poor thing, poor
+thing! between nursin’ and frettin’ she’s just about killed, and I
+shouldn’t wonder if she wouldn’t be long a-following o’ him, if she
+hasn’t done it already.”
+
+“Betty, I’m afraid she has!” sobbed the girl, “and what will the poor
+children do? She was just the sweetest lady I ever saw, so she was.”
+
+“There now, Myra, don’t go on so, but run and bring somethin’ to bring
+her to. Oh, there’s the doctor’s gig at the gate! Run and let him in,
+quick as you can go.”
+
+In another minute the doctor entered the room, followed by the sobbing
+Myra. He glanced first at the still form on the bed. “Yes, the poor
+gentleman has gone!” he said, sighing as he spoke; “but it is only what
+was to be expected.”
+
+He turned quickly to the couch where lay the still form of Mrs. Eldon,
+the face as pale and deathlike as that of the husband, laid his finger
+on her wrist, turned hastily, caught up a hand-glass lying on the bureau
+and held it to her lips for a moment, then laying it down with a sigh:
+
+“She too is gone,” he said in a low, moved tone, “and I am hardly
+surprised.”
+
+“Oh, sir, what ailed her?” sobbed Myra, “She scarce ever complained of
+being ill.”
+
+“No, but I knew she had heart trouble likely to carry her off should she
+be subjected to any great or sudden shock.”
+
+“And he’s been took that suddent! and she so fond o’ him,” groaned
+Betty. “Well, well, well! we’ve all got to die, but when my time comes I
+’ope I’ll go a bit slower; that I do!”
+
+The doctor was looking at his watch. “I must be going,” he said, “for I
+have other patients needing attention; but I’ll drive to the vicarage
+and ask Mrs. Rogers to come and oversee matters here. By the way, can
+either of you tell me where any relatives are to be found?”
+
+“No, sir, that we can’t,” replied the cook, sighing heavily. “Leastways
+I don’t remember so much as oncet hearing the capting nor Mrs. Eldon
+mention no relations ’cept it might be some o’ her folks ’way acrost the
+sea somewheres.”
+
+“Too far away to be of any use in this extremity,” muttered the
+physician meditatively. Then a little louder, “Well,” he said, “I’ll go
+for the vicar’s wife, and she’ll see to all the necessary arrangements.
+Where are the children?”
+
+“Out walkin’ in the fields, sir,” answered Myra. “Oh, dear, the poor
+little things! Whatever will they do? What’s to become o’ them without
+no father nor no mother?”
+
+“I dare say there are relations somewhere,” returned the doctor, then
+hurried out to his gig, and in another minute was driving rapidly in the
+direction of the parsonage.
+
+Not far from the house he came upon the little group of children
+returning from their walk.
+
+“Oh, doctor,” cried Ethel, and perceiving that she wanted to speak to
+him, he reined in his horse for a moment, “have you been to our house?
+and did you find papa better? Oh, I hope—I think he is very much better,
+and will soon be well.”
+
+“Yes, my dear,” returned the kind-hearted physician after a moment’s
+pause, as if considering the question and the best reply to make. “I
+found him entirely free from the pain from which he has been so long
+suffering; and I am sure you and your little brother and sisters will be
+glad of it.”
+
+“Oh, yes, indeed, sir! just as glad as we can be; as I am sure dear
+mamma must be.”
+
+The doctor drove on, sighing to himself, “Poor little orphans! I wonder
+what is to become of them. If I were only a rich man instead of a poor
+one with a family of my own to support—ah, well! I hope there are
+relatives somewhere who will see that they are clothed, fed, and
+educated.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+“Oh, papa is better, dear, dear papa!” cried Ethel, jumping and dancing
+in delight.
+
+“Oh, I’m so glad! I’m so glad!” cried Blanche and Harry in chorus.
+
+“I so blad! I so blad!” echoed Nannette. “But I don’t want to doe home,
+Ethel; I’se tired.”
+
+“Then we’ll go and sit down a while under the trees by the little brook
+over yonder,” returned Ethel in soothing tones. “You will like that,
+Blanche and Harry, won’t you?”
+
+A ready assent was given, and all three turned aside and spent an hour
+or more in the pleasant spot, rolling on the grass, picking flowers,
+throwing them into the water, and watching them sail away out of sight.
+
+At length Nannette began fretting. “I so tired, so s’eepy. Me wants to
+doe home see papa and mamma.”
+
+“So you shall, Nan. I want to see them, too,” returned Ethel, rising and
+taking her little sister’s hand as she spoke. “Come, Blanche and Harry.”
+
+“Yes, I’m ready,” said Harry, flinging the last pebble into the water.
+“I want to see papa and mamma; ’sides I’m hungry for my lunch.”
+
+“So am I,” said Blanche, and they followed on behind Ethel and the baby
+sister, laughing and chatting merrily as they went.
+
+Myra met the little party at the gate, her eyes red with weeping.
+
+“O Myra, what’s the matter?” asked Ethel in alarm.
+
+“Never mind,” returned the little maid evasively. “Your lunch is ready,
+and you’d best come and eat first thing, ’cause I know you must be
+hungry.”
+
+So saying she led the way into the house and on to the dining room.
+
+They had come in with appetites sharpened by exercise in the open air,
+and were too busy satisfying them to indulge in much chatter. Nannette
+at length fell asleep in her chair and was carried to her bed by Myra,
+whither Harry presently followed her.
+
+“Has mamma had her lunch yet, Myra?” asked Ethel.
+
+Myra seemed not to have heard, and the question was repeated.
+
+“No, miss,” she replied, and Ethel noticed a suspicious tremble in her
+voice.
+
+“O Myra, I hope mamma isn’t sick,” exclaimed the little girl. “She has
+been looking so pale of late!”
+
+“She—she’s lying down—asleep,” Miss Ethel, Myra returned with
+difficulty, swallowing a lump in her throat and hurrying from the room.
+
+“How oddly Myra acts! and she looks as if she’d been crying ever so long
+and hard,” remarked Ethel, half to herself, half to Blanche.
+
+But Blanche had thrown herself on the bed beside the two little ones,
+and was so nearly asleep that she scarcely heard or heeded.
+
+Ethel seated herself in a large easy-chair by the window with a book in
+her hand; but all being so quiet within and without the house, she too,
+rather weary with the walk and sports of the morning, was presently
+wandering in the land of dreams.
+
+She was roused from her slumber by someone bending over her and softly
+pressing a kiss upon her forehead. Her eyes opened and looked up into
+the kind face of Mrs. Rogers, the vicar’s wife.
+
+“Oh, I thought it was mamma!” exclaimed the little girl in a tone of
+keen disappointment.
+
+“No, dear, but I kissed you for her—your dear mother,” returned the lady
+with emotion.
+
+“But why didn’t mamma come herself?” asked Ethel, growing frightened
+though she could scarcely have told why. “You are very kind, Mrs.
+Rogers, but oh, I do want mamma! Can I go to her now?” She sprang to her
+feet as she spoke.
+
+“My poor child, my poor dear little girl,” the lady said tremulously,
+seating herself and drawing Ethel into her arms.
+
+“Oh, ma’am, why do you say that?” queried Ethel in terror. “Is anything
+the matter with mamma? is papa worse? Oh, what shall I do? Can’t I go to
+them now? I’ll be very quiet and good.”
+
+“Oh, my child, my poor dear child, how shall I tell you!” cried the
+lady, folding the little girl close in her arms, while great tears
+chased each other down her cheeks. “Your dear father has gone to his
+heavenly home, Ethel, and to the dear Saviour whom he loved and served
+while here upon earth.”
+
+“Do you mean that papa is dead?” almost shrieked Ethel. “Oh, oh, my
+papa, my dear papa!” and hiding her face in her hands she sobbed
+violently for a moment.
+
+“But I must go to mamma!” she cried, dashing away her tears; “she will
+be wanting me to comfort her, for there’s nobody else to do it now. Oh,
+let me go! I must!” as Mrs. Rogers held her fast.
+
+“No, dear child,” she said with emotion, “your mamma does not need you
+or any other earthly comforter now, for God Himself has wiped away all
+tears from her eyes and she will never know sin or sorrow or suffering
+any more.”
+
+A dazed look up into the lady’s face was Ethel’s only rejoinder for a
+moment, then she stammered, “I—I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.
+I—I—mamma has taught me that it is only in heaven there is no sin or
+sorrow or pain.”
+
+“Yes, darling, and it is there she is now with the dear husband—your
+father—whom she so dearly loved!”
+
+“Oh, you can’t mean it! it can’t be that both are gone, and nobody left
+to love us or take care of us—Blanche and Harry, and Nan and me! Oh, no,
+no, it can’t be possible!” cried the little girl, covering her face with
+her hands and bursting into an agony of sobs and tears. “Mamma, mamma,
+mamma, oh, I can never, never, never do without you!”
+
+Mrs. Rogers drew her closer and spoke in low, comforting tones, her own
+tears falling fast the while, “Dear child, God will take care of you and
+your little brother and sisters. He calls Himself the father of the
+fatherless. He pities and loves you and will raise up friends and
+helpers for you. Can you not trust Him for that, dear child, and be glad
+for papa and mamma, that they are safe with Him and will never again be
+sick or in pain? and that if you love and serve Him while on earth He
+will one day take you to be with Him and them?”
+
+“I don’t want to die, and I cannot, I cannot do without my dear papa and
+mamma!” wailed the well-nigh heartbroken child.
+
+Her cry waked the three younger ones; a trying scene ensued.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+To Ethel and Blanche the memories of the next few days seemed, through
+the rest of their lives, ever like a dreadful dream. Then they were
+taken on board an ocean steamer bound for the city of Philadelphia in
+the United States of America, where two brothers of their father had
+settled years before. They were merchants doing a large wholesale and
+retail business, and were known to be abundantly able to provide for the
+orphan children of their deceased brother.
+
+The address of the parents of Mrs. Eldon was not known to those who made
+the arrangements, so that they were not even advised of their daughter’s
+death.
+
+There were no relatives to take charge of the forlorn little ones on
+their voyage, but they were given into the care of the wife of a soldier
+who was going out to join her husband in Canada, a Mrs. McDougal, a
+warm-hearted earnest Christian, childless herself, but with a heart full
+of love and tenderest sympathy for the sadly bereaved little ones
+committed to her care. She petted, soothed, comforted them, attended
+faithfully to all their physical needs, and spent many an hour amusing
+them with quaint stories of Scottish life and manners, of brownies,
+elves, and fairies; tales that would interest and amuse, yet teach no
+harmful lesson.
+
+Before the good and gallant vessel had reached her destination the
+mutual love between the kind caretaker and her young charges had grown
+very strong, and it was with a heavy heart that Mrs. McDougal looked
+forward to the coming separation.
+
+The announcement of the deaths of their brother and his wife, and that
+the children would be sent directly to them, had reached the firm of the
+Eldon Brothers only a few hours before the arrival of the vessel
+bringing them.
+
+It was a great and not altogether welcome surprise, yet their hearts
+were moved with pity for the forlorn little ones, and together they
+repaired at once to the dock and boarded the newly arrived vessel in
+search of them.
+
+They found them on the deck with their kind caretaker, Nannette on her
+lap, the others grouped about her.
+
+“Ah, here they are! I’d know that little lad anywhere as poor Harry’s
+boy!” exclaimed Mr. Albert Eldon, the younger of the two, with emotion,
+and laying a hand tenderly upon the child’s head, as he spoke.
+
+“That’s my name, sir; and it was my papa’s name too. Mamma called him
+that, but most folks said captain when they talked to him,” volunteered
+the little fellow in return.
+
+“Ah? then I’m your uncle Albert; and this gentleman,” indicating his
+brother, “is your uncle George.”
+
+“Oh I thought so for you resemble papa; at least as he was before he was
+taken so ill,” Ethel said, lifting tearful eyes to the face of Mr.
+George Eldon.
+
+“Do I, my dear? I believe there is said to be a strong family
+resemblance among us all,” he returned. “At all events we are your
+father’s brothers, and therefore own uncles to all of you little ones,”
+he added, stooping to caress them in turn, as his brother was doing.
+
+Then the gentlemen held a conversation with Mrs. McDougal in
+which—perceiving how loth the children were to be separated from her,
+clinging to her with tears and entreaties that she would not leave
+them—they proposed that she should remain in charge of them for a few
+days or weeks while they were becoming familiar with their new
+surroundings.
+
+She replied that she could do so for only a day or two, as she must
+embrace the first opportunity to rejoin her husband.
+
+“I am sorry to hear that,” returned Mr. Albert Eldon, “but do us the
+favor to stay while you can; and let it be at my house; for we will not
+try separating these little folks while you are with them, whatever
+arrangement we may decide upon later. Will not that be the better plan,
+brother?”
+
+“For the present—till we have time to talk the matter over with our
+wives? Yes, I think so.”
+
+A carriage was waiting on the wharf, in which Mrs. McDougal and the
+children were presently bestowed, Mr. Albert Eldon following, after a
+moment’s low-toned chat with his brother and an order to the driver. He
+seated himself and took Harry on his knee.
+
+“Where are we doin’ now?” asked Nannette, peering out of the window as
+the vehicle moved on.
+
+“To my house—Uncle Albert’s house, little one,” replied Mr. Eldon in
+pleasant tones. “You will find some little cousins, a girl and a boy,
+and I hope have nice times playing with them.”
+
+“What’s the boy’s name, Uncle Albert?” queried Harry.
+
+“Charles Augustus; the little girl is Leonora; but they are usually
+called Gus and Lena, or Nora, for short.”
+
+“Are they all the children you have, uncle?” asked Ethel with shy look
+and tone.
+
+“Oh, no,” he replied; “there are Albert and Arabella, nearly grown up,
+and Olive and Minnie; Minnie is twelve and Olive fourteen.”
+
+“Has dey dot a papa and mamma?” asked Nannette.
+
+“Yes; your Aunt Augusta is their mamma and I am their papa.”
+
+“And we haven’t any; our papa and mamma both went away to heaven,”
+sighed Blanche.
+
+“Where they are very, very happy, dear child,” returned her uncle,
+laying a hand tenderly on her head as she sat by his side.
+
+Then he called their attention to something passing in the street, and
+exerted himself to amuse them in various ways till the carriage drew up
+in front of a spacious dwelling.
+
+“Ah, here we are,” he said, throwing open the door, alighting and
+handing them out one after the other.
+
+“Why, who in the world can they be? And what is papa bringing them here
+for?” exclaimed a little girl, leaning out from an upper window and
+scanning with eager curiosity the new arrivals whom her father was
+marshalling up the front door steps, and at once admitted to the hall
+with his dead-latch key.
+
+“What’s that? More company coming, Min?” queried another voice, and
+Olive’s head appeared beside that of her sister, just as the hack in
+which the little party had arrived turned and drove away. “Pooh! nobody
+of any consequence; they came in a hired hack.”
+
+“But they were children—except one woman—their nurse, I suppose; and
+papa with them! There, I hear them coming up the stairs now, and I mean
+to find out all about it,” and with the words Minnie threw down her
+books and ran from the room, Olive following close at her heels.
+
+They heard their father’s voice coming from the nursery, and rushed in
+there, asking breathlessly:
+
+“Papa, whom have you got here? And what did you bring them for?”
+
+“These children are your little cousins,” he answered pleasantly. “Come
+and speak to them, all of you. They are the children of your Uncle
+Henry, of whom you have often heard me speak. Ethel, here, Charles
+Augustus, is just about your age, and Blanche might be Lena’s twin;
+Harry is two years younger, and Nannette, a baby girl, the youngest of
+all.”
+
+The greetings over:
+
+“But, papa, where are Uncle Harry and—and their mother?” asked Minnie,
+more than half regretting her query as she saw the tears gathering in
+Ethel’s eyes.
+
+“In heaven, I trust,” her father replied in low and not unmoved tones.
+“There, my dears, do what you can to make your cousins comfortable and
+happy, I must go and speak to your mamma.” So saying he left the room.
+
+Mrs. Eldon, lying on the sofa in her dressing room, looked up in mild
+surprise as her husband entered.
+
+“Why, Albert,” she said, closing her book with a yawn, “what fortunate
+circumstance brings you home at this unusual hour?” Then as he drew
+nearer: “What is it, my dear? Why, actually, there are tears in your
+eyes. Oh,” half starting up, “is there anything wrong with Albert or——”
+
+“No,” he said huskily, “but bad news from England reached us this
+morning. My brother Henry is no more; he and his wife died within a few
+minutes of each other. She had heart disease, we are told, was strongly
+attached to him, worn out with long and arduous nursing, and the shock
+of his decease was more than her enfeebled frame could bear.”
+
+“How very sad! I am really sorry for you, my dear. And they left some
+children, did they not?”
+
+“Yes, four little ones—a boy and three girls, the eldest only about
+eight years of age. They have grandparents, probably very well to do,
+somewhere in the West Indies, but no one knows their name or address. So
+the little orphans have been sent to us. The steamship came in this
+morning, only a few hours after the letter was received telling us all
+this, and which was forwarded by a vessel bound to a Canadian port but
+delayed somewhat in her voyage, so that, starting some days before the
+other, she reached port only a day or two ahead of her.”
+
+“And you are going down to the vessel to get the children?”
+
+“No; we went down—George and I—at once on learning that she was in,
+found the little folks there all right, and I have just brought them
+home with me.”
+
+“But surely we are not to be expected to keep the whole four? Surely
+George and his wife will take two, as they have the same right as we to
+be at the expense and trouble.”
+
+“I think so, eventually; but just at present, while the poor little
+things feel themselves strangers in a strange place, it would be hard
+for them to be separated; so I have engaged to keep the whole for a few
+days,” he replied; then seeing that she looked ill-pleased with the
+arrangement:
+
+“But, I do not intend they shall be any trouble to you, my dear,” he
+added hastily. “The woman who had charge of them on the voyage will
+remain with them for a few days, and except when they are taken out for
+air and exercise, they can be kept in the nursery and adjoining rooms.”
+
+“Well,” she sighed, returning to her book, “I suppose I may as well
+resign myself to the inevitable.”
+
+“Do you think it more than their nearest relatives should do for our
+children, were they so sorely bereaved?” he asked.
+
+“No, I suppose not; but I have given my consent and what more would you
+ask?”
+
+“Nothing more, Augusta, except that you will encourage our children to
+be kind and considerate toward their orphan cousins.”
+
+“Really I know of no one but their father who would expect them to be
+anything else,” she returned in a not particularly pleasant tone.
+
+“I do not expect it,” he said; “yet think it might be as well to call
+their attention to the fact that the little orphans are entitled to
+their kindly sympathy. But I am needed at my place of business and must
+return at once. Good-by till dinner time, my dear;” and with the last
+word he left the room.
+
+“Dear me! as if we hadn’t children enough of our own!” exclaimed Mrs.
+Eldon in a petulant tone, and impatiently tossing aside her book as the
+sound of her husband’s footsteps died away in the distance. “Albert
+needn’t talk as if they were to be no trouble to me. Who else is to do
+the shopping for their clothes, decide how they are to be made and find
+somebody to do the work? for of course if they don’t look all right,
+people will talk and say we don’t treat them as well as we do our own.”
+
+At that moment the patter of little feet was heard in the hall without,
+the door opened and her youngest two came rushing in.
+
+“Oh, mamma,” they exclaimed half breathlessly, “papa has brought us some
+cousins, nice little things, and we like ’em and want you to see them
+too. Mayn’t we bring ’em in here?”
+
+“Oh, yes, if you will only be quiet. Will you never learn not to be so
+noisy?”
+
+“Maybe some day when we’re growed up like you and papa,” said Nora.
+“Come, Gus, let’s go and bring ’em,” and away they ran, to return in a
+few moments leading Blanche and Harry and followed by the nurse carrying
+Nannette; Ethel keeping close at her side.
+
+They were pretty, winsome looking children, and Mrs. Eldon was roused to
+something like interest. She sat up and took Nannette on her lap for a
+few minutes, spoke kindly to the others, and asked some questions in
+regard to their former homes and the voyage across the ocean.
+
+Most of the replies came from Ethel, and her timid, retiring, yet
+ladylike manner found favor with her interrogator.
+
+“You are a nice little girl,” she said at length, smoothing her hair
+caressingly and giving her a kiss, “and so are your sisters. I am
+pleased with Harry, also, for he seems a manly little fellow, and I hope
+you and my little folks will get along happily together while you stay.
+There, run back to the nursery now, all of you, for it is time for me to
+dress.”
+
+They all started to obey, but as they reached the door, “Oh, mamma,”
+cried Charles Augustus, turning toward her again, “mayn’t we go down to
+the yard? ’cause I want to show cousins the pups and rabbits.”
+
+“Yes, yes! anything if you will go and leave me in peace,” she replied
+with some impatience.
+
+“Come along then, Ethel and the rest of you,” cried Charlie, leading the
+way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+The Eldon brothers lived in adjoining houses, large, handsome, and with
+more extensive grounds than are usually connected with a city residence;
+a low hedge separated those of the one from the other, and a gate in
+that gave to each household free access to both, which, by the way, was
+a convenience more esteemed by the brothers and their children than by
+the wives and mothers, who had few interests in common—Mrs. George Eldon
+occupying herself almost exclusively with home cares and economies and
+outside charities, while her sister-in-law was a butterfly of fashion,
+considering herself a martyr to social duties and leaving the care of
+house, children, and her husband’s comfort to those who could be hired
+to attend to them. As a natural consequence each secretly despised and
+avoided the other.
+
+When the brothers parted at the wharf that day, the elder one went
+immediately to his place of business, where he found his wife waiting to
+speak with him in his private counting room.
+
+“Ah,” she said as he entered, “I am glad you have come at last; for I
+have been waiting here for at least a full hour. Where on earth have you
+been?”
+
+“Out seeing to some very important business; a matter demanding
+immediate attention,” he replied somewhat coldly.
+
+“Something which your wife is not to know about, I presume?”
+
+“I have not said so, nor have I the least intention to keep it secret
+from you. Let me read you this”—unfolding a letter as he spoke.
+
+It was the one he had just received from England, telling of the decease
+of Captain and Mrs. Eldon, and the sending of their children to America.
+She listened in almost breathless surprise.
+
+“You have hardly mentioned that brother for years, and I had almost
+forgotten his existence,” she remarked as he refolded the letter and
+laid it aside.
+
+“Too true,” he responded with a heavy sigh, “and my heart reproaches me
+for my neglect. Poor Harry! if he had left that climate sooner he might
+perhaps have lived to be an old man; lived to support and bring up his
+children himself; but now all that I can do is to help in that work.”
+
+“As if you hadn’t family enough of your own!” she exclaimed indignantly.
+
+“I have two, my brother Albert six; and I have quite as large an income
+as he.”
+
+“And a wife that doesn’t spend the half that his does,” she added
+drawing herself up with dignity.
+
+“Quite true, and, therefore, I should take certainly not less than half
+the burden of providing for Harry’s helpless little ones.”
+
+“No doubt you will do your full share,” she said coldly, “and your wife
+will be expected to do more than hers in the way of seeing that the
+children are trained and taught, fed and clothed; things that such a
+butterfly of fashion as Mrs. Albert does not trouble her head about for
+her own offspring, and certainly would not for others.”
+
+“Well, my dear, fortunately for us we will not be called upon to give an
+account for her sins of omission or commission; but I have heard you
+say, certainly more than once or twice, that you consider it a duty to
+care for the poor with purse, time, and effort; and surely relationship
+to your husband should not be looked upon as a bar to such ministrations
+on the part of his wife. My brother, I am happy to say, is more than
+willing to do his full share, and I certainly do not want him to do
+more.”
+
+He was magnanimous enough not to mention her orphan niece whom he was
+supporting and educating, and she had the grace to feel somewhat ashamed
+of her display of unwillingness to do a little for his fatherless and
+motherless nephew and nieces. But she did not condescend to say so much
+in words.
+
+“Well, how soon are we to expect them?” she asked.
+
+“They are already here,” he replied, “and the errand from which I have
+just returned was to the vessel that brought them. Albert proposes to
+keep the whole four for a few days, till they have had time to become
+somewhat acquainted with us, and parted with the good woman—the wife of
+a soldier in Canada—who had charge of them on the voyage.”
+
+“And after that?”
+
+“We propose to make a division—each taking two; our wives, of course,
+having a vote as to which two each of them may prefer to take.”
+
+“And they have been already sent up to your brother’s, I suppose? I
+wonder how Augusta likes it.”
+
+“Surely she can hardly be without some feeling of compassion for the
+sorely bereaved little ones,” he returned with emotion.
+
+“They are to be pitied,” she said, her voice softening somewhat. “Well,
+I came for a little money to spend in doing good—helping some of the
+unfortunates in our midst. Can you spare it?”
+
+“Certainly,” he replied, opening his purse and handing her a small
+roll of banknotes.
+
+“Thank you,” she said; “I’ll see to it that your bounty is not wasted.”
+
+“I’m sure of it, Sarah; I never knew you to be wasteful.”
+
+She smiled at that, understanding it as a well deserved compliment; then
+took a hasty leave, as she perceived that someone was at the door
+seeking an interview with Mr. Eldon.
+
+“Well, it’s a bad business,” she sighed to herself as she hurried along
+the street; “as if it was not enough to be plagued with my own brother’s
+child, I must have his too. And really there’s no necessity for it; it
+would be a charity to pay somebody to take charge of the four, saving
+them the trial of being separated and helping the caretaker to make a
+living; decidedly I think it is a brilliant idea and that I shall have
+no difficulty in persuading Augusta to join me in insisting upon having
+it carried out.”
+
+Mrs. Augusta was in her dressing room, just completing her dinner
+toilet, when to her intense surprise a tap at her door was followed by
+the entrance of her sister-in-law.
+
+“Ah, you had no idea it was I coming upon you so unceremoniously,”
+remarked the caller with a grim smile, and seating herself without
+waiting to be invited; “but I came to have a bit of chat with you about
+this invasion of our homes by uninvited young guests. I for one see no
+reason why we should be expected to take charge of them, our husbands
+being amply able to pay someone else to do so, someone who may be glad
+to add in that way to a meagre income.”
+
+“Why, Sarah, that’s a brilliant idea! If only such a person—one whom
+George and Albert would be willing to trust—can be found,” exclaimed
+Mrs. Augusta, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Have you anyone in
+mind?”
+
+“Yes, I have thought of that poor Irish curate, Coote, who is so
+continually applying for help. Wasteful creatures he and his wife must
+be to need it so often, with never a chick or child of their own to
+support.”
+
+“I should think so; and I can’t bear him—red-headed, pompous,
+dictatorial, domineering creature that he is! He should never have
+charge of a child of mine.”
+
+“Well, don’t, I beg of you, be silly enough to say that to your husband
+or mine.”
+
+“Of course not; if they can’t see for themselves, why should you or I
+enlighten them? Still I do feel a little sorry at the thought of giving
+him a chance to domineer over those poor little orphans.”
+
+“Let them behave themselves and they will do fairly well, I have no
+doubt,” returned Mrs. Sarah with a frown. “They must be taught to expect
+to support themselves from the time they can be made capable of doing
+so, and lessons in self-control and the endurance of some hardship will
+be a decided benefit to them.”
+
+“So we will endeavor to believe, at all events,” laughed Mrs. Augusta.
+
+Then they consulted together as to the best plan for approaching their
+husbands on the subject; and decided that their wisest course would be
+to say nothing at present, but wait till some trouble between the
+newcomers and their own children should so annoy the gentlemen that they
+would be ready to purchase peace at almost any price.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+Things went pretty smoothly with the little orphans while their friend
+Mrs. McDougal stayed. She managed to keep the peace between them and
+their cousins by soothing and petting her young charges and interesting
+all the occupants of the nursery with her fairy tales, her stories of
+Wallace, the Bruce, and Robin Hood and his merry men.
+
+But all too soon came the day when she must leave Philadelphia and go to
+the husband who was wearying for his good wife; a sad, sad day to the
+poor little fatherless and motherless children! They clung to her until
+the last moment, and she had to tear herself away leaving the whole four
+weeping bitterly.
+
+Their uncles were kind, but because of business cares seldom seen; the
+aunts took little notice of the young strangers, each being absorbed in
+her usual round of occupation, while the treatment of the cousins, older
+and younger, varied with their varying moods—sometimes they were kind,
+disposed to pet and humor their forlorn little relatives, and
+again—without any apparent reason for a change—treated them with
+coldness and indifference.
+
+That was hard to bear, and caused many a fit of home-sickness and bitter
+weeping for the loss of the dear father and mother whom they would never
+see more upon earth.
+
+Ethel, who was, in spite of her tender years, a very womanly little
+girl, earnestly strove to act a mother’s part to her younger sisters and
+little brother—soothing and comforting them in their griefs and seldom
+giving vent to her own except in the darkness and silence of night when
+none but God, her Heavenly Father, could see and know it. Her pillow was
+often wet with tears as she sobbed herself to sleep while pouring all
+her sorrows into His sympathizing ear, as both her mother and Mrs.
+McDougal had taught her to do, repeating to her again and again that
+command and precious promise, “Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I
+will deliver thee and thou shalt glorify Me.”
+
+“Oh, if I could only find our dear grandpa and grandma,” she sometimes
+said to herself; “they would love us as dear mamma and papa did, and
+take us home to live with them, and we would be, oh, so happy!”
+
+Then she would comfort herself with the hope that perhaps some day they
+would be found, and she and her brother and sisters be taken to the
+sweet and lovely home she could remember as a half forgotten dream,
+where no one would think them in the way; but they would be loved and
+petted and made much of, instead of being barely tolerated as those of
+whose presence their entertainers would gladly be relieved.
+
+But scarcely a week had elapsed after the departure of their beloved
+caretaker, Mrs. McDougal, when the little orphans were subjected to yet
+another trial in the removal of Blanche and Harry to the house of their
+uncle George and the custody of his cold-mannered, unsympathetic wife.
+
+The enforced separation was a bitter thing to both themselves and the
+other two. But tears and cries brought only reproof and punishment;
+especially to Harry, who proved, under the tyrannical rule of his
+uncle’s wife, a very determined little rebel, bringing upon himself
+punishments so many and severe that to hear of them, as she did in one
+way and another, almost broke Ethel’s heart.
+
+She sorrowed for Blanche too, and for Nannette and herself; for their
+situation was only slightly better than that of their brother and
+sister.
+
+Things grew worse and worse with all four until at length their uncles,
+wearied out with complaints from their wives and feeling that it was sad
+to have the children separated, began to talk of trying to find a good
+home for them elsewhere.
+
+Then Mrs. George Eldon broached her idea that it would be a help to poor
+Mr. Coote if he and his wife were paid to take charge of the little
+orphans, and at the same time a pleasant change for the children, as the
+whole four could be together.
+
+She did not add the information that she had already written privately
+to Coote, telling of her plan and advising him to casually call in upon
+her husband and his brother, speak of his cramped circumstances and
+remark that he was thinking of trying to get a few boarding pupils to
+help himself and wife eke out their small income.
+
+The uncles hesitated over Mrs. George’s suggestion, but finally
+consented to let the experiment be tried, provided Coote and his wife
+might like to try it; or if not they, someone else likely to prove a
+suitable person could be found.
+
+It seemed to them quite a providence when a day or two later Coote
+called at their place of business and made known his desire for just
+such an opportunity for increasing his meagre means, asking if they
+could recommend him to someone who had the guardianship of children in
+need of a good home where they would receive parental care and training.
+
+The brothers exchanged glances of relief and pleasure.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Coote,” replied the elder Mr. Eldon, “we ourselves are wanting
+just such a home and caretaking for the orphan children of a deceased
+brother; four little ones—the eldest eight, the youngest about three
+years of age.”
+
+“Possible?” cried Coote, simulating delighted surprise, laughing in a
+gleeful way and rubbing his hands together with a look of great
+satisfaction. “Well, sirs, you may rest assured that if committed to my
+care and that of my estimable wife they will not long miss their
+departed parents, and will be trained up in so godly a manner that they
+will no doubt be reunited to them in a better world.”
+
+“Not too soon, I hope,” observed Mr. Albert dryly. “I desire them to
+live to years of maturity, becoming happy, honorable, and useful
+citizens of this free land which we have adopted as our own.”
+
+“Oh, certainly, sir,” responded Coote, “and I’m thinking they’ll be more
+likely to live and thrive in the wholesome air of the country town in
+which I am located than here in the city.”
+
+“I hope so indeed,” said the elder Mr. Eldon; “but if we trust them to
+you and Mrs. Coote it must be with the distinct understanding that they
+are to be well fed and clothed, and to receive truly parental care and
+affection.”
+
+“Oh, certainly, certainly, sir,” again responded Coote; “my wife and I
+will look upon and treat the poor little orphans quite as if they were
+our own.”
+
+“Better, I trust, than some people treat their own,” returned Mr. Eldon.
+“Well, sir, if my brother approves, we will, I think, give you an
+opportunity to show yourself a kind and wise guardian to these little
+ones who, as the offspring of our deceased brother, are very near and
+dear to us.”
+
+In reply Mr. Coote gave renewed assurances that he felt a great interest
+in the little orphans, and that he and his wife would be as father and
+mother to them, doing for them all that the best of parents could do.
+
+The uncles then consented to put them in his care for an indefinite
+period, reserving the right to remove them if at any time they saw
+reason to be dissatisfied with the treatment they received.
+
+“I certainly shall give you no occasion for it,” remarked Coote suavely;
+“as I have said, my wife and I will be as tender and careful of the
+little darlings as though, they were our own flesh and blood.”
+
+“How soon will you be ready for them?” asked Mr. George Eldon.
+
+“At once, sir, at once. And if you please I should greatly prefer to
+take them with me on my return this afternoon. It would save me another
+trip to the city, and in my circumstances that expense would count.”
+
+“And since the change has to be made it would perhaps be as well to make
+it at once,” remarked Mr. Eldon thoughtfully, adding, “I hope the poor
+little creatures may be happier with you, Mr. Coote, than they have been
+with us, if only for the simple reason that the whole four will be
+together; for I never saw children fonder of each other than they are.”
+
+“Nor I,” assented his brother; “and Ethel, young as she is, seems very
+like a mother to Harry and Nannette, poor child! I am really sorry to
+part with her. I’ll go up with you, Coote, explain matters to her, bid
+good-by to the whole four, and see them off.”
+
+Things had gone very wrong that morning with Blanche and Harry, and
+Ethel was nearly heartbroken over the sore punishment meted out to them
+by Mrs. George. That made the news her Uncle Albert brought her much
+less distressing than it would otherwise have been; for how, she asked
+herself, was it possible things could go worse anywhere than here? And
+it seemed a blessing indeed that she and all three of the younger ones
+would be together again.
+
+She loved Uncle Albert, clung tearfully to him for a moment when he had
+told her of the new arrangement, then almost cheerfully gathered
+together the few small possessions of herself, brother, and sisters.
+
+By direction of the aunts the children’s trunk had been already packed
+with the most of their clothing, so that it was the work of but a few
+minutes to get everything in readiness for their hasty departure.
+
+The little ones were almost dazed by the suddenness of the thing, and
+scarcely realized what had happened till they found themselves in the
+cars alone with their new and unknown guardian. Their Uncle Albert had
+gone with them to the train, and in bidding them good-by he laid a box
+of candies in Ethel’s lap, saying, “That is for you and your brother and
+sisters to eat on the way;” and bestowed a large, luscious orange on
+each, of the four.
+
+Ethel threw her arms about his neck and held him tight for a moment,
+while her sobs came thick and fast.
+
+“Oh, Uncle, dear Uncle Albert,” she cried chokingly, “won’t I ever see
+you any more?”
+
+“Yes, yes, dear child,” he said soothingly, “I shall run up to look at
+you and the others one of these days, when business grows slack; and
+perhaps—who knows but you’ll be back with us again some day? But there,
+I must go now. Be good children, all of you, and Uncle Albert won’t
+forget you at Christmas time.”
+
+And with a hasty caress bestowed on each of the others he hurried from
+the car.
+
+Ethel dried her eyes, opened the box, gave a bit of the candy to each of
+the other three, then seeing that Mr. Coote was eying them as though he
+too would like a share, she held out her box to him, asking timidly,
+“Will you have a piece too, sir?”
+
+His only reply was to seize the box, help himself to half its contents,
+then hand it back with a gruff, “Candy isn’t at all good for children,
+and if your uncle had consulted me he wouldn’t have wasted his money
+buying it for you.”
+
+“Oh, dear, that man’s got most all of our candy; and Uncle Albert said
+it was for us,” wailed Harry, taking a peep into the half-emptied box.
+
+“Be quiet, sir!” commanded Coote, turning a flushed and angry face upon
+the little boy.
+
+“Give back that candy and I’ll be quiet enough,” returned Harry
+sturdily.
+
+“What a hog of a man to be robbing those poor little children of their
+candy!” exclaimed a motherly-looking country woman in the next seat,
+apparently addressing her remark to a young girl at her side, but
+speaking loud enough for Coote and other near-by passengers to hear.
+
+The train was just starting. Coote leaned over the back of the seat,
+bringing his mouth near to Harry’s ear.
+
+“You keep quiet, you young dog,” he said savagely, “or I’ll pitch you
+out the window and let the train run over you and kill you.”
+
+“Oh, you wicked, wicked man!” cried Ethel, with a burst of tears,
+putting her arm round Harry and holding him close; “if you do you’ll get
+hung for murder.”
+
+“Take care, miss; it wouldn’t take long to send you after him,” was the
+threatening rejoinder, and Coote leaned back in his seat again, took a
+newspaper from his pocket, and sat looking over it while devouring with
+evident enjoyment the candy of which he had robbed the children.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+It was a lovely day early in October, and the children enjoyed gazing
+out upon the landscape, so new to them, the gorgeous coloring of the
+forest trees particularly attracting their attention. They were close
+together, having possession of a corner near the door of the car, where
+two seats at right angles gave them abundance of room to move about and
+gaze their fill, now on the outer world, now at the occupants of the
+seats near at hand. They were pretty quiet, and disturbed no one but
+each other with their prattle and fidgeting.
+
+The sun was near its setting when they arrived at their destination.
+They were bundled very unceremoniously out of the car and hurried along
+the street by Mr. Coote, who seemed in hot haste to reach his parsonage,
+some two or three squares distant. Poor little Nannette found it very
+hard—indeed quite impossible—to keep up with him in his rapid strides,
+though Ethel on one side and Blanche on the other were doing their
+utmost to help her along. And even they, without that hindrance, could
+not possibly have kept pace with their conductor. Nor could Harry, and
+he too fell behind with them, and all four were crying more or less when
+they reached the gate where Coote stood awaiting their coming, with a
+scowl of impatience upon his ugly features.
+
+“I thought you were close behind me. You’ll have to learn to walk
+faster. Dawdling along is something I’ll not put up with,” he growled,
+snatching Nannette up roughly and carrying her into the house, the
+others following in obedience to the gruff order, “Come along in, all o’
+you.”
+
+A middle-aged woman—tall, rawboned, of scowling countenance and stiffly
+starched in manner, stood waiting in the hall.
+
+“So you’ve brought ’em,” she said in icy tones. “Well, they’ll make
+trouble and work enough, but the pay will help to eke out that
+starvation salary of yours.”
+
+“Take care, Sarah,” he muttered, setting down the sobbing Nannette, none
+too gently, upon the floor, “little pitchers have big ears, and there’s
+no knowing when or where they might blab.”
+
+“Just let me catch ’em at it and they’ll not be apt to do it a second
+time,” she said, turning upon the trembling little ones a look so angry
+and threatening that they clung together in affright, tears coursing
+down their cheeks and their young bosoms heaving with sobs.
+
+“Stop your crying, every one of you!” she commanded. “Come right in here
+and eat your suppers,” opening a door near where she stood, “and then
+you shall go to bed. But no. Pull off your hats and coats first and hang
+them here on the rack in the hall. You must learn to wait on yourselves,
+and that there’s a place for everything and everything must be in its
+place, and the sooner you learn it the better it’ll be for you; for dirt
+and disorder are never allowed in the house where I’m at the head of
+affairs. I’ll help you this time, but you’ve got to help yourselves
+after this.”
+
+She had seized Nannette as she spoke, and was jerking off her coat.
+“Well, I declare if you aint all sticky with candy!” she exclaimed, in a
+tone of disgust. “What on earth did you let her have it for, Coote?”
+
+“’Twas none o’ my doing,” he replied; “their uncle gave it to ’em, but I
+can tell you it’ll be one while before they get any more.”
+
+At that Nannette looked up piteously, and with quivering lip, into
+Ethel’s face, but did not dare to so much as whimper. It was a very
+faint and watery smile Ethel gave her in reply.
+
+They were hurried into the dining room, a barely furnished apartment
+with whitewashed walls, green paper window blinds, and rag carpet;
+exquisitely neat and clean, but wearing like its mistress a cold and
+cheerless aspect in striking contrast with the beautiful homes of their
+uncles, which the children had left but a few hours before.
+
+The table was covered with a very white and smoothly ironed but coarse
+cloth, and on it stood a pitcher of milk, a plate of bread, and four
+bowls of heavy ironstone china, each with a silver-plated spoon beside
+it. The children were quickly seated, told to fold their hands and shut
+their eyes while repeating a short grace after Mrs. Coote. Then milk was
+poured into each bowl, a piece of bread laid beside it, and they were
+ordered to break the bread into the milk, take up their spoons and eat,
+which they did, Mrs. Coote seating herself opposite them and watching
+with eagle eyes every movement they made.
+
+No one of the four ventured a word, much less to refuse obedience to the
+order given. Both bread and milk were sweet and good, and after the
+first taste the little folks ate with appetite, Mrs. Coote refilling the
+bowls and supplying the bread without stint.
+
+“Eat all you want,” she said in a slightly softened tone; “I was never
+one to starve man or beast; you’ll not be fed on dainties here, but
+shall have all you can eat of good, wholesome victuals.”
+
+Presently the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall was followed by the
+opening of the door of the dining room, and Mr. Coote put in his head,
+saying: “Here’s the trunk, Sarah; what’ll you have done with it?”
+
+“They’ll sleep in the room over the kitchen; have it carried up there,”
+she replied.
+
+When the children had finished their meal, “Now,” she said, “you shall
+go up to your room and beds,” and they followed submissively as she led
+the way through the hall and up a back staircase.
+
+The room into which she presently ushered them looked as scrupulously
+clean and orderly, and also as bare and desolate, as the dining room.
+There was a double bed which she told the little girls they were to
+occupy, and in another corner a cot bed which she said was for Harry.
+The remaining pieces of furniture were a washstand with bowl and
+pitcher, a chest of drawers with a small mirror over it, two wooden
+chairs of ordinary height and two little ones.
+
+“Sit down on those chairs, every one of you, and keep still while I take
+out your night clothes from this trunk,” said Mrs. Coote. “Where’s the
+key?” looking at Ethel.
+
+“In my pocket, ma’am,” returned the little girl, producing it with all
+possible despatch. “The nurse told me she had put all our nightgowns
+right on top.”
+
+“Yes, here they are; looking well rumpled too. Plenty o’ folks in this
+world that don’t care whether they do a thing right or wrong. I hope
+you’ll not make one of that sort, Ethel.”
+
+“I’ll try not to, ma’am,” replied the little girl meekly.
+
+“Well, help your sisters and brother to undress, hang their clothes up
+neatly on those pegs along the wall there—so they’ll get a good airing
+through the night—then undress yourself and do the same with your own
+clothes. Don’t forget your prayers either. I’m going downstairs now, but
+I’ll be in again presently to see that you are all snug and comfortable,
+and to finish unpacking your trunk.” With these concluding words she
+hurried out, closing the door after her.
+
+“Oh, me don’t ’ike dis place; me wants to go home,” sobbed Nannette.
+
+“So do I,” said Harry, tears rolling down his cheeks. Blanche too was
+crying, though softly, and Ethel’s eyes were full of tears. But she
+tried to be cheerful and brave.
+
+“We’ll make haste to bed and to sleep, and in the morning we’ll all feel
+better,” she said, trying to speak cheerfully. “Blanche and I will
+undress you little ones, then get undressed ourselves, and soon we’ll
+all be in bed.”
+
+And so they were, Ethel last of all; the other three were asleep when at
+last her weary little head was laid upon its pillow. Her young heart was
+sad and sore, for it seemed a cheerless sort of home they had come
+to—oh, so different from that which had been theirs but a few short
+months before, with the dear parents whom she would see never again upon
+earth. With that thought in her mind she wept herself to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+In the meantime Mr. and Mrs. Coote were in the dining room, partaking of
+a much more elaborate meal than had been given to their young charges.
+
+“Well, what do you think of them?” queried Coote, stirring and tasting
+his tea, then reaching for the sugar bowl and helping himself to another
+spoonful of its contents.
+
+“I can tell more about that when I’ve had time to make their
+acquaintance,” she answered dryly.
+
+“The boy’s an impudent little rascal,” remarked her husband, reddening
+with anger as he spoke; then, in reply to her enquiring look, he went on
+to tell the story of the candy.
+
+She listened in silence and with a look of growing contempt.
+
+“Well, have you nothing to say?” he at length demanded in an irate tone.
+
+“Nothing, except that if I was a man—or called myself one—I’d be a
+little above robbing such a mite of a child of his sweets.”
+
+“No; in your great kindness of heart you’d prefer to let him make
+himself sick eating them,” he retorted in a sarcastic tone.
+
+“I think I’d as lief risk it for him as for myself,” she returned
+significantly; “specially as the stuff had been given by the uncle to
+them, not to me.”
+
+“Young children haven’t the same digestive powers that a hearty grown
+person has,” he said rather angrily, “and I maintain that it was neither
+more nor less than an act of kindness to make away with some of the
+dangerous stuff by eating it myself.” A slight, scornful laugh was the
+wife’s only reply; then she began questioning him with regard to the
+amount to be paid them for the board, care, and education of the
+children. She was well pleased with his reply, for the terms offered by
+the uncles were liberal.
+
+“They being so young, of course most of the care and labor will fall to
+your share, my dear,” remarked Coote suavely.
+
+“Oh, of course! when was it otherwise with any of your undertakings?”
+she asked with withering sarcasm.
+
+“Well, that’s exactly what you should do. What was Eve made for but to
+be Adam’s helpmeet?” he returned with an unpleasant laugh.
+
+“Yes, a helpmeet, and that implies that he was to do his share. However,
+I expect and intend to do more than mine for these little orphans. They
+shall not be neglected if I can help it, and I’ll keep them out of your
+way as much as I can; for their sakes as well as yours. They shall have
+their meals and be out of the way before we take ours. I’ll not pamper
+them, but they shall have abundance of good, wholesome victuals. They
+shall be kept clean and neat too, comfortably dressed according to the
+weather, though I shall not pay much attention to finery and fashion. I
+don’t expect to pet and fondle them—I haven’t any of that motherly
+instinct—and I intend to bring them up to be neat and orderly, but they
+shall have their plays and fun too, for children need it; they can have
+their games in the garden in pleasant weather and in their own room when
+it storms.”
+
+“Very well; you may do as you like,” he returned graciously. “I’m
+particularly pleased to hear that they are to be kept out of my way.
+Children are troublesome animals in my estimation; so the less I’m
+obliged to see of them the better.”
+
+“It’s something to be thankful for that we’ve never had any of our own,”
+she returned dryly. “Better for them and better for us.”
+
+Mrs. Coote had several domestic duties to attend to after the conclusion
+of the meal, and the children had been in bed fully an hour before she
+re-entered their room. She was careful to make no noise as she opened
+the door, came softly in, and lighted the gas.
+
+Harry’s breathing told that he was sleeping soundly. So were Blanche and
+Nannette. Ethel too slumbered, but with tears upon her pillow and her
+cheek, while at intervals her young bosom heaved with a long-drawn,
+sobbing sigh.
+
+An emotion of pity stirred in the heart of the stern, cold-mannered
+woman as she looked and listened.
+
+“Poor little thing! I dare say she misses her dead father and mother,”
+she sighed to herself as she turned away, “and she seems to try her
+prettiest to supply a mother’s place to the younger ones. I don’t
+believe I’ll have any trouble with her, unless on account of the rest;
+but I’ll do my duty by them all.”
+
+The unpacking of the children’s trunk and re-arranging its contents in
+closet and drawers took but a few minutes, for Mrs. Coote was a rapid
+and energetic worker, a quiet one also, and the children slept on while
+she finished what she had come to do, then turned off the gas and went
+out, softly closing the door after her.
+
+It was broad daylight when Ethel woke amid her new and strange
+surroundings, for a moment forgetting where she was. But only for a
+moment, then memory recalled the events of yesterday, and she knew that
+she and her little sisters and brother were strangers in a strange
+place.
+
+Her little heart grew heavy with the thought; then recalling the
+teachings of her departed mother and Mrs. McDougal, that God, her
+Heavenly Father, was everywhere present, as near to her in one place as
+in another, and ever ready to hear the cry for help, even from a little
+child, she slipped from the bed to the floor and, kneeling there, poured
+into His ear all her sorrows, fears, and desires; asking for help to be
+good, to do right always, and to know how to comfort and care for
+Nannette, Harry, and Blanche.
+
+Having thus rolled her burden on the Lord she felt stronger and happier,
+and rising from her knees made haste with the duties of the toilet, then
+helped the others, who were now awake also, with theirs. She had just
+finished when the door opened and Mrs. Coote looked in.
+
+“Ah, so you are all up, washed and dressed, I see,” she remarked in a
+pleased tone. “That is right; and now you may come down to your
+breakfast.”
+
+With that she led the way, the children following.
+
+They found hot baked potatoes, bread, butter, and milk awaiting them;
+all excellent of their kind, and they ate with relish.
+
+“Don’t you eat breakfast, ma’am?” asked Harry innocently.
+
+“Of course,” replied Mrs. Coote. “I had my breakfast along with my
+husband half an hour ago or more. Grown folks should always be served
+first, children afterward.”
+
+“Mamma and papa didn’t do that way,” remarked Harry, “’cept when papa
+was too sick to come to the table.”
+
+“But I like it best,” said Blanche, with a timid glance at the stern
+face of Mrs. Coote.
+
+“It’s all the same to me whether you do or not,” she returned in an icy
+tone. “I’m the one to decide what is best, and it’s not my way to
+consult children’s fancies. Now be quiet, all of you; don’t waste time
+in talk or you’ll not be ready for prayers when Mr. Coote comes in.”
+
+After prayers Ethel was directed to put their outdoor garments upon her
+little brother and sisters and take them out to play in the yard, while
+she put in order the room they had occupied and made the beds. She
+obeyed promptly.
+
+“Oh, children, don’t for the world do any mischief,” she said anxiously,
+when she had led them out and taken a hasty survey of their
+surroundings, “for you’d be sure to get punished for it, and that would
+’most break my heart. Don’t go on the grass either till the sun dries up
+the dew, or you’ll be sick, and oh, dear! what could I do for you then?
+And there’s nobody here to be good to any of us.”
+
+“Don’t be afraid, Ethel, we’ll be good,” said Blanche, “we won’t get our
+feet wet and we won’t meddle with the flowers or anything.”
+
+The other two made the same promise, and Ethel hurried back to the
+house, for Mrs. Coote’s sharp voice was calling her in impatient tones.
+
+“You’ll have to learn to be quicker in your movements,” she said as the
+little girl reached her side. “Come right upstairs now, and I’ll show
+you how to make the beds properly and put the room to rights.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ethel meekly, and at once set to work, doing her
+best to follow directions.
+
+“Now notice and remember exactly how I want you to do everything, so
+that after this you can do it all without instruction or help,” said
+Mrs. Coote, adding: “you’re none too young to learn to make yourself
+useful, and just as like as not you’ll have to earn your own living all
+your days.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, I mean to learn all I can,” returned the little girl
+meekly, then sighed to herself: “Oh, if we could find our dear, kind
+grandma and grandpa, they would take care of us all, and have me
+learning lessons, ’stead of doing house-work while I’m such a little
+girl.”
+
+Mrs. Coote was very neat and particular and required everything done
+exactly in what she deemed the best manner, but when all was
+finished—the floor carefully swept, the beds made, the furniture dusted,
+she spoke a few words of praise which sounded very pleasant in Ethel’s
+ears.
+
+“Now,” she added, “you can go out and play with the others. I approve of
+play for children when work’s done, for—as the saying is—‘all work and
+no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ I don’t mean to be hard on you or the
+younger ones, and we won’t begin lessons till next week.”
+
+“Thank you, ma’am; you’re very kind, and I’ll try not to give you any
+trouble,” returned Ethel gratefully. “I think I can make the bed and
+tidy the room by myself another time.”
+
+“I daresay, for you seem a bright, capable child,” was the not
+ungracious rejoinder.
+
+The ice of Mrs. Coote’s manner seemed to be thawing under the influence
+of Ethel’s patient efforts to please and to make herself useful.
+
+Ethel hastened out into the grounds in search of her brother and
+sisters, for she had been feeling anxious about them, lest, without her
+care and oversight, they should get into mischief, or in some way incur
+the displeasure of Mrs. Coote.
+
+They were all three at the dividing fence between the parsonage yard and
+that of the next neighbor. A prettily dressed and attractive looking
+little girl, about the age of Nannette, stood near by on the other side
+of the fence, and the four seemed to be making acquaintance.
+
+“What oo name, little girl?” Nannette was asking as Ethel drew near.
+
+“I’se Mary Keith. What all of you names?”
+
+“I’se Nan, an’ dis is Blanche nex’ to me,” was the reply.
+
+“And I’m Harry, and here comes Ethel, our big sister,” announced the
+little boy. “What made you stay away so long, Ethel?”
+
+“I had to do some work. I’ve just finished,” she answered; “but now I
+have leave to stay with you till we’re called to our dinner.”
+
+Two ladies seated on the porch overlooking that part of the grounds were
+watching the little ones with interest.
+
+“Who are they? I never saw any children there before; did you, Flora?”
+asked the elder one.
+
+“No, mother, but Mrs. Coote’s girl told ours that they are some orphan
+little ones whom the Cootes have taken to bring up. Poor little dears,
+they are very young to be both fatherless and motherless!”
+
+“Yes, indeed! and they are very attractive looking children, too.”
+
+“So they are, and my heart aches for them, for there is nothing motherly
+in Mrs. Coote’s looks or ways—nothing the least fatherly about him.”
+
+“Indeed, no! though he might perhaps have been different if they had
+been blessed with children of their own.”
+
+“Ah, Hannah is baking ginger snaps! How good they smell! Mary and her
+little new friends must have some;” and with the words Mrs. Keith rose
+and went into the house.
+
+She returned presently with a heaping plateful, which she handed first
+to her mother Mrs. Weston, then carried out to the garden where she
+bestowed a liberal supply upon little Mary and her new friends. Mary
+introduced them.
+
+“Mamma, dis little dirl is Nan; de boy is named Harry; he is Nan’s
+bruver, and dose big dirls is Ethel and Blanche; dey’s Nan’s and Harry’s
+big sisters.”
+
+“Not so very big, I think,” said Mrs. Keith, smiling kindly upon them.
+“Where are you from, my dear?” addressing Ethel. “And have you come to
+stay here with Mr. and Mrs. Coote?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” answered Ethel as clearly as she could speak, in spite of
+the lump rising in her throat; “our uncles in Philadelphia sent us here
+to be taught. They didn’t say for how long, but Mr. Coote told me we are
+to stay till we grow big enough to take care of ourselves.”
+
+“Well, dear, I hope you will be happy and prove pleasant playfellows for
+my little Mary,” returned the lady kindly. “If you are the good children
+I take you for, I should be glad to have you with her a good deal,
+because it will be pleasant for her, and you, too, I hope.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ethel, dropping a little courtesy, “thank you. It
+will be very pleasant for us, I’m sure, for she seems a dear little
+girl; so we will come sometimes, if Mrs. Coote will let us.”
+
+“Mayn’t dey tum in now, mamma?” pleaded little Mary.
+
+“Certainly, if Mrs. Coote says they may,” replied her mother; then
+seeing Mrs. Coote near at hand she called to her and preferred the
+request.
+
+“It’s no matter to me if you like to be bothered with them,” was the
+almost surly rejoinder. “To my way of thinking children are little else
+than a torment and pest, and I’m willing enough to have them out of my
+way if I know they’re safe.”
+
+“As I think you may be pretty sure they will be with us,” returned Mrs.
+Keith in a slightly indignant tone, and with a glance of pity directed
+toward the young strangers. “Poor little orphans!” she added in a lower
+tone, “it will be really a pleasure to me if I can put some brightness
+into their lives.”
+
+The next two hours passed very delightfully to the little Eldons,
+playing with their young hostess about the garden and in the porch of
+her father’s house, and making acquaintances with her mother,
+grandmother, and baby sister, her dollies and other toys, of which she
+possessed a goodly number.
+
+In a kindly, sympathizing way Mrs. Weston questioned Ethel about her
+parents and her former home, and she was both greatly interested and
+much moved by the pathetic story told with the artless simplicity of a
+young and trustful child.
+
+“My dear little girl,” she said, softly stroking Ethel’s hair when the
+tale had all been told, “truly I feel for you. It was a sad thing,
+indeed, to part so early from your dear parents, but God our Heavenly
+Father knows what is best for us, and loves His children more than any
+earthly parents can. The Bible tells us that He is a Father of the
+fatherless, and He can never die, will never leave nor forsake those who
+put their trust in Him. Go to Him with all your sorrows, all your
+troubles and trials, and He will be sure to hear and help you.”
+
+Ethel listened with tears in her eyes. “I will, ma’am,” she said; “I do
+tell Him all my troubles and my little brother’s and sisters’ troubles,
+too, and ask Him to help us, and I’m sure He does. But oh, ma’am, why
+did He take away our dear father and mother while we are so little and
+need them so badly?”
+
+“Perhaps to teach you to keep very near to Him, loving and trusting Him
+instead of any earthly creature,” the lady answered tenderly. “It is a
+grand lesson to learn; one that will make you better and happier all the
+days of your life. Jesus said to Peter, ‘What I do thou knowest not now,
+but shalt know hereafter’; and I think he is saying the same to you,
+dear child. When we get home to heaven we shall see and know just why
+all our trials were sent us—just how necessary they were and that our
+kind, wise Heavenly Father sent each one for our good.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” returned the little girl thoughtfully, “I will try to
+remember it all and to be very patient and good.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+Mrs. Weston had hardly finished what she was saying to Ethel when Mrs.
+Coote’s harsh voice was heard summoning her young charges to their
+dinner. They hastened to obey, quite as much for fear that any delay
+would anger the woman and bring dire consequences upon themselves, as
+from a desire to satisfy their appetites.
+
+The meal, like those that had preceded it, was plain but palatable, and
+the healthy little folks found it enjoyable.
+
+“Now go out to your plays again,” was Mrs. Coote’s order when they had
+finished; “this is Saturday and I’m very busy, a great deal too busy to
+be tormented with a pack of children; so don’t venture to come in again
+till you’re called.”
+
+“Let’s go back to that other house,” proposed Harry, when they had
+obeyed the order and were out upon the gravel walk leading to the front
+gate.
+
+“Oh, no!” said Ethel, “don’t you remember that our mamma used to tell us
+not to go too often to any of our neighbors’ houses, because we would
+make them tired of us? There was a Bible text she used to repeat about
+it: ‘Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor’s house lest he be weary of
+thee, and so hate thee.’ We want them to love us and feel glad to see us
+when we go there; so we won’t go very often when we’re not invited. The
+grass is dry now on this side of the yard and we can have a nice time
+playing here together.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” said Blanche, “we can play ‘Pussy wants a corner.’ That’s
+good fun and we’ll be careful not to run too hard and do mischief.”
+
+“And not to make too much noise,” added Ethel; “we mustn’t shout or
+laugh too loud, lest we vex Mrs. Coote.”
+
+“Oh, dear!” sighed Harry, “I do like to make a noise. I guess all boys
+do, and I do wish we didn’t have to live where the folks want us to be
+quiet all the time.”
+
+“But we can’t help it, Harry,” sighed Ethel, “we will just have to try
+to be quiet and good all the time.”
+
+“Me will,” assented Nannette; “I is doin’ to be very dood.”
+
+“So’ll I,” said Harry, “but I don’t like it a single bit.”
+
+They played several games; then Nannette began to cry. She was tired and
+sleepy. Mrs. Coote heard her, came to the door, and understanding what
+was the matter, bade Ethel take her little sister up to their own room
+and lay her on the bed.
+
+“And when she wakes up,” added Mrs. Coote, “it will be time for you all
+to have your Saturday bath; for everybody must be particularly clean for
+Sunday.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” returned Ethel, “our own mamma always had us bathed on
+Saturday.”
+
+“In which she showed her sense,” said Mrs. Coote. “Now hurry up to your
+room every one of you, and see if you can keep quiet there. You may as
+well all take a nap, for you have nothing better to do.”
+
+“There, there, don’t cry, Nan dear; we’ll soon get up to the top of
+these stairs and into our room,” Ethel said in soothing tones, doing her
+utmost to help her baby sister in the weary task of climbing the rather
+steep flight of stairs that led to that desired haven.
+
+“I so tired,” sobbed Nan.
+
+“Yes, dear; and these stairs are high for your poor little legs. But
+never mind; we’re most up now. Ah, here we are, and you shall lie down
+and have oh! such a good sleep, with Blanche on one side and me on the
+other and Harry on his own bed over there in the corner.”
+
+Nothing loth, the baby girl cuddled down on the bed; the others climbed
+into their places, and tired with their play the whole four were
+presently sleeping soundly.
+
+The nap was followed by the promised bath, that by their supper, and
+directly upon leaving the table they were sent to bed.
+
+They were taken to Sunday-school the next morning, then brought back to
+the house and ordered to stay within doors until the return of Mr. and
+Mrs. Coote from church, the latter remarking that she had no intention
+of being bothered with other people’s children, and directing Ethel to
+teach some Bible texts to the younger ones and commit to memory several
+verses herself, all to be recited to Mr. Coote in the afternoon.
+
+Ethel felt dismayed, for it would be a new thing for Harry and
+especially so for baby Nan, of whom nothing in the form of lessons had
+ever yet been required.
+
+“I’ll try, ma’am,” she said, “but please don’t be hard with them if they
+can’t say a verse perfectly, for they’ve never had to learn lessons
+before, except to say their A B Cs.”
+
+“High time for them to begin then,” was the curt rejoinder. “Now mind
+what I say and do exactly as you’re told, or you’ll wish you had when
+Mr. Coote gets hold of you.” With that she walked away, Ethel looking
+after her with frightened eyes.
+
+“O Blanche, whatever shall we do?” she exclaimed tearfully. “I’m afraid
+Nan can’t learn a verse.”
+
+“Oh, yes, Ethel, she can; so don’t you cry,” returned Blanche, putting
+her arms round Ethel’s neck and giving her a kiss. “Don’t you remember
+that little one that’s just two words? ‘Jesus wept.’ Nan can learn that
+I’m sure; so can Harry.”
+
+“Course I can,” said Harry, straightening himself proudly. “I’m not a
+baby, I know that verse now: ‘Jesus wept.’ But, say, why did He do that,
+Ethel? what was He so sorry about?”
+
+“Because Lazarus, the man He loved, was dead and his sisters, Mary and
+Martha, were so full of grief. He loved them, too, and was sorry for
+them.”
+
+“Tell us the story ’bout it, Ethel,” requested the little fellow.
+
+Ethel complied, and then he and Nan repeated over and over the short
+verse, “Jesus wept.”
+
+“Now we must learn ours, Blanche,” said Ethel.
+
+“I’ve thought of one that mamma used to teach us,” returned Blanche: “‘I
+love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.’”
+
+“Yes, I remember that mamma taught us that, and that she said they were
+God’s own words. Let’s all love Him and He will love us and care for us
+even if nobody in all this world does. I’ve thought of a verse too:
+‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of
+such is the kingdom of heaven.’ Mamma said they were Jesus’ own words
+and they meant that I might pray to Him, telling Him all my joys and all
+my troubles, and He would listen even more lovingly than she did when I
+told them to her, and would give me strength to bear them or help me out
+of them. Oh, I have often been so glad, since dear mamma and papa went
+away to heaven, so glad to know that; and I have told my troubles to
+Jesus and I’m sure He has heard me and helped me to bear them, and that
+He will help me, and everybody that tries it, to bear every trouble and
+trial He sends.”
+
+“But what for does He send troubles and trials?” asked Blanche. “I
+should think if He loves us so much He wouldn’t let us have any at all.”
+
+“I remember I asked mamma that once,” replied Ethel thoughtfully, “and
+she said it was to make us good and to keep us from loving this world
+too well; just as she sometimes punished us to make us good, because to
+be good is the only way to be happy; and she taught me this verse, ‘As
+many as I love I rebuke and chasten; be zealous therefore and repent.’
+Oh,” added the little girl, with a burst of tears, “if we only had mamma
+now to help us to be good!”
+
+“She and papa have gone to be with God, you know, Ethel, and don’t you
+believe they ask Him to help us to be good?” asked Blanche, tears
+shining in her eyes also.
+
+“Yes, yes, indeed!” returned Ethel, “and it makes me so glad to think of
+that.”
+
+“O Ethel, you have to say more than one verse, haven’t you?” asked
+Blanche.
+
+“Oh, yes, so I have. ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
+saved,’ is another one that mamma taught me. I’ll say it. Such a sweet
+verse, isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” returned Blanche.
+
+“Saved from what, Ethel?” asked Harry. “I don’t want to live here with
+these horrid folks. I wish He’d saved us from that.”
+
+“But it would be a great deal worse to live in that dreadful place where
+the devil and his angels are,” said Ethel with grave earnestness; “and
+that’s what mamma said Jesus would save us from; that and the love of
+sin. Oh, now I remember some verses she taught me about heaven: ‘And God
+shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more
+death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain;
+for the former things are passed away.’ Oh, just think, children! never
+a headache, or backache, or heartache, or hurt feelings, or any sort of
+pain or ache, but always to feel bright and happy and well. And that’s
+where papa and mamma are—well and glad all the time.”
+
+“O Ethel, how delightful!” exclaimed Blanche. “And then oughtn’t we to
+be glad for them?”
+
+“Yes, indeed! though we can’t help being sorry for ourselves and each
+other, because we must do without them till we get there too.”
+
+Jane, the servant girl, opened the door and looked in at that moment.
+“Come, you young uns, and eat your dinners,” she said. “You’s to eat
+fust this time ’fore de folks gits home from church.”
+
+The children obeyed right willingly, but were disappointed to find only
+the usual plain fare.
+
+“I ’spected a nice dinner to-day,” grumbled Harry; “chicken or birds,
+and mashed potatoes and cranberries and good pie and cake.”
+
+“O Harry, dear, hush, hush!” Ethel said warningly, but half under her
+breath. “I’m afraid you’ll get beaten or starved if—if they should find
+out that you talked so.”
+
+“Oh, it’s too hard!” sighed Blanche. “I didn’t want to stay with that
+hateful, cross old Aunt Sarah though.”
+
+“I didn’t either,” said Harry. “But ’most everybody’s bad to us since
+papa and mamma went away.”
+
+Here Jane, who had gone back to her kitchen, poked in her head at the
+communicating door. “You’d better stop talkin’ and get you dinners eat
+up ’fore the folks gits home from chu’ch; ’cause ef ye don’t maybe
+you’ll have to stop hungry.”
+
+The thought of that alarming possibility at once silenced every
+complaint, and hardly another word was spoken till their appetites were
+fully satisfied. A hasty washing of hands and faces followed and was
+scarcely over when the Cootes returned, and the little folks were
+summoned to the study and required to recite their verses of Scripture
+to the frowning, loud-voiced, impatient dominie, while the dinner for
+him and his wife was being set upon the table. It seemed a dreadful
+ordeal to the trembling little ones, and a great relief when it was over
+and they were ordered up to their own room for the remainder of the day.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+Considering her extreme youthfulness, it was a hard and toilsome life
+that had now begun for Ethel. Day and night she had charge of her little
+brother and sisters; she must wash and dress them—or teach them to do
+those things for themselves, and see in every way to their comfort and
+amusement; also teach Nannette and Harry their little lessons. Besides
+she must learn her own, keep their room in order, and spend an hour or
+two every day in the use of her needle, under the instruction of Mrs.
+Coote, who was very strict and exacting, though she occasionally
+bestowed a few words of warm praise when she considered it to have been
+well earned.
+
+On such occasions Ethel’s cheek would flush and her eyes brighten as she
+listened, a feeling akin to love for the usually cold-mannered woman
+tugging at her heart strings; but ere she could summon up courage for
+the expression of her pleasure and budding affection, the cold, distant
+manner had returned, and chilled and disappointed she could say no more
+than, “Yes, ma’am; thank you for praising my work. I mean to try always
+to do it as well as ever I can.”
+
+Meantime the intimacy between the Eldons and little Mary Keith grew and
+increased. From the first they seemed to take great pleasure in each
+other’s society, and would play together in unbroken harmony by the
+hour; generally in Mr. Keith’s grounds as Mrs. Coote was entirely
+willing to have them there, Mary’s mother and grandmother no less so;
+and when Ethel’s tasks were finished she was allowed to join the others.
+Her gentle, quiet, ladylike manner made her a great favorite with the
+ladies and she was sometimes allowed to do her stint of needlework
+there, sitting quietly with them while the younger children romped and
+played about the garden or on the porches.
+
+There were some pictures on the wall of the pretty sitting room where
+the ladies spent most of their time, one of which particularly attracted
+Ethel’s attention; it was a woodland scene—a little valley, a small
+creek with a dam, running through, it, near by a horse tethered to a
+sapling, and at a little distance, partly hidden by a thicket, a noble
+looking man in Continental uniform, on his knees in prayer.
+
+“Mrs. Weston, who is that gentleman praying there in the woods?” Ethel
+at length ventured to ask.
+
+“That is a picture of our Washington at Valley Forge,” answered the
+lady, bestowing a look of loving admiration upon the kneeling figure.
+
+“Washington?” repeated Ethel enquiringly. “I think I never heard of him
+before. He was a good man, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes, my dear, and a great one also. I think there was never a better or
+greater mere man. He is called the father of his country because, with
+the help of God, he did more to gain her liberties than any other man.”
+
+“Oh, if it isn’t too much trouble, will you please tell me about him and
+what he did?” Ethel asked eagerly, adding, “I’m only a little girl, you
+know, ma’am, and haven’t lived in America very long; so I don’t know
+much about its history.”
+
+The lady smiled, and softly stroking the child’s hair, “Do you call
+yourself English, my dear?” she asked in a pleasant tone.
+
+“No-o, ma’am,” returned Ethel doubtfully; “papa was English but—but
+mamma, you know, was born on this side of the ocean, so I suppose I’m
+only half English, and Cousin George told me I’d have to be an American
+now, as I’ve come to live in this country.”
+
+“And you don’t object?”
+
+“Oh, no, ma’am; America seems a very good country and my cousins are all
+Americans, because they were born here.”
+
+“Yes; the generality of us Americans think these United States, taken
+all together, make the best land the sun shines on, as it certainly is
+the freest.”
+
+“Are all the people in it good, ma’am?” queried Ethel innocently.
+
+“No, my dear, I am sorry to have to acknowledge that that is far from
+being the case. True very many of the wicked ones—burglars, murderers,
+and the like—are of foreign birth or parentage, but some are natives and
+the children of natives. But I must answer your question about
+Washington. He was the great-grandson of a gentleman named John
+Washington, who came over from England and settled in Virginia, which
+was then an English colony, as were the other twelve States. There were
+thirteen in all of those that formed the Union in the beginning. Do you
+know anything about how the colonies were settled in the first place?”
+
+“No, ma’am.”
+
+“Well, then, I must tell you that one of these days. But now you want to
+know about the picture. What you see there occurred during the first war
+with England, the war which set us free and made the colonies States.
+This country was then far smaller and poorer than it is now; for we have
+now many large and flourishing States; more than three times as many as
+there were then.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am; Cousin George told me I ought to be glad to be an American,
+because this was the very best and freest country in the world.”
+
+Mrs. Weston gave the little girl a pleased smile. “I entirely agree with
+Cousin George,” she said, “and ever since I can remember have been glad
+and thankful that God gave me my birth in this dear, Christian land,
+many of whose people came here when it was but a desolate wilderness, in
+order that they might be free to worship God according to the dictates
+of their own consciences.
+
+“But I must tell you about the picture. Washington was the
+commander-in-chief of our armies during the war of the Revolution, which
+ended in making us free States.
+
+“That war began in the year 1775; the Declaration of Independence was
+made in the summer of 1776; but it took years of fighting to induce the
+King of England and his Cabinet to acknowledge that we were actually a
+free and independent people, no longer subject to their oppressive acts;
+a long and terrible struggle was necessary to bring that about.
+
+“By the fall of 1777 a good many battles had been fought; one of
+them—the battle of Saratoga—won a great victory for the Americans; but
+things had not gone so well for us farther south. Washington had
+suffered defeat at the battle of the Brandywine and in consequence the
+British had got possession of Philadelphia. Our troops must if possible
+be kept together through the cold winter, and that in some place from
+which the British could be watched and prevented from getting away to
+any great distance, to do mischief to the people of the land.
+
+“There was no town that would answer the purpose, and the place that
+suited best was Valley Forge on the Schuylkill River, twenty-one miles
+above Philadelphia. It was a little valley lying between two ridges or
+hills and covered by a thick forest. The poor soldiers had no tents and
+were in sore need of clothes, also of blankets and shoes. They—even the
+officers—were astonished when Washington ordered the trees cut down and
+log huts built of them. But they spent their Christmas holidays at the
+work and were much surprised and delighted at their success, when they
+found that they had changed the forest into cabins thatched with boughs,
+in the order of a regular encampment.
+
+“But oh, what suffering they still had to undergo for lack of food and
+clothing! Many were almost, some entirely, naked.
+
+“For more than two years the war had been going on and for four months
+they had been fighting the enemies of their country, marching and
+counter-marching day and night in order to baffle the designs of the foe
+against their dear native land; and they had come to this spot with
+naked, bleeding feet and destitute of supplies of every kind.
+
+“It was a dreadful winter for that poor army. Washington did all he
+could, but it was out of his power to relieve anything like all the
+suffering; and Congress was strangely apathetic, and slow to do what it
+might have done to give relief.
+
+“Because of their sad neglect the condition of the poor, patient
+soldiers grew worse and worse so that men died for want of straw or
+other bedding to raise them at night from the damp, cold earth; and
+sometimes they had no fuel to make fires, for want of shoes and
+stockings to enable them to go through the snow and cut it in the woods
+near at hand; often they had no meat, sometimes no bread, and there was
+danger that they would perish with famine or have to disperse in search
+of food.”
+
+“And why didn’t they?” asked Ethel. “I should think anything would be
+better than staying there freezing and starving to death.”
+
+“Because they loved their country and her liberties better than they
+loved themselves,” replied Mrs. Weston. “They were fighting for her, for
+their own homes, wives, and children, yet, as I have said, Congress was
+most shamefully neglecting them, while most of the people in the
+vicinity of their camp were Tories—that is in favor of the British,
+unwilling to do anything for the cause of freedom, and ready to help the
+foes of their country, for which these poor, starving, bleeding,
+freezing men were willing to lay down their lives.
+
+“But Washington was their friend, doing all in his power for them,
+showing a fatherly concern and fellow-feeling for all their troubles and
+privations, exerting himself in every way to help and encourage them,
+and urging Congress to come to their relief.
+
+“Washington was a Christian man; so he carried the troubles and
+distresses of his poor soldiers, and the woes of his bleeding country to
+God, who is the hearer and answerer of prayer. Probably the woods were a
+more private place than any other to which he had access at that time;
+and I presume he never knew that any earthly creature had ever seen him
+at his devotions.”
+
+“Who was it that saw him, Mrs. Weston?” asked Ethel.
+
+“The man at whose house he was lodged: Mr. Isaac Potts. He owned the
+dam, and one day was strolling toward it, along the bank of the creek,
+when he heard a solemn voice, and walking quietly in the direction of
+the sound, he saw Washington’s horse tied to a sapling and near by, in a
+thicket, the dear man himself on his knees in prayer, with the tears
+coursing down his cheeks.”
+
+“Did Washington see him—Mr. Potts?” asked Ethel, gazing with eager
+interest into the lady’s face.
+
+“No; doubtless his eyes were closed, and Mr. Potts, feeling that he was
+on holy ground, stole quietly away, back to his own house, with eyes
+full of tears. His wife noticed them as he entered and asked what was
+the matter. Then he told her what he had just seen, adding, ‘If there is
+anyone on this earth whom the Lord will listen to, it is George
+Washington; and I feel a presentiment that under such a commander there
+can be no doubt of our eventually establishing our independence, and
+that God in his providence has willed it so.’”
+
+“And that’s what the picture is about?” Ethel said musingly, gazing upon
+it with redoubled interest. “I’m glad the Americans had such a good man
+for their general, and that God helped them to get free.”
+
+“Yes, as one of our poets has said:
+
+    “Oh, who shall know the might
+      Of the words he utter’d there?
+    The fate of nations there was turned
+      By the fervor of his prayer.
+
+    “But wouldst thou know his name
+      Who wandered there alone?
+    Go, read enroll’d in Heaven’s archives,
+      The prayer of Washington.”
+
+“Ah, I like those verses,” Ethel said, her eyes shining. Then turning
+them again upon the picture, “He was praying for his poor soldiers then,
+wasn’t he? I think you said so.”
+
+“No doubt; I know his heart bled for them in their sore extremities, for
+they were sore indeed. I have read that one day a foreign officer was
+walking with Washington among the huts where his soldiers were
+quartered, when they heard voices coming from between the logs of which
+they were built: ‘No pay, no provisions, no rum!’ and one poor fellow
+whom they saw going from one hut to another, was naked except that he
+had a dirty blanket wrapped about him. Then that officer despaired of
+ever seeing the Americans gain their freedom.”
+
+“They did though, and I’m ever so glad of it!” Ethel said with
+satisfaction. “But—but you said they wanted rum. Were they drunkards,
+Mrs. Weston?”
+
+“In those days, my dear, almost everybody took a little and did not
+think it wrong,” replied the lady, adding, “though now we think it is.”
+
+“I hope God heard Washington’s prayer and soon made that bad Congress
+take better care of the poor soldiers who were fighting for them,” Ethel
+said enquiringly, still gazing earnestly at the picture.
+
+“I am sorry to have to say that it was some time before Congress did
+much for their relief,” returned Mrs. Weston. “Indeed two winters later
+they—the poor soldiers—were in much the same condition at Morristown,
+where they were encamped at that time, having only beds of straw on the
+ground and but a single blanket to each man; while still their clothing
+was very poor and some had no shoes.
+
+“It was a very severe winter, the snow early in January being from four
+to six feet deep and so obstructing the roads that they could not travel
+back and forth to get provisions, and in consequence were often for days
+at a time without bread, then again as long without meat; and the cold
+and hunger made the poor fellows so weak that they were hardly fit for
+fighting or for building their huts.”
+
+“Oh, the poor, poor things!” exclaimed Ethel, tears starting to her
+eyes. “Did they ever try to run away or to steal something from the
+farmers to eat, when they were so dreadfully hungry?”
+
+“Yes, they sometimes did steal sheep, hogs, and poultry; but since they
+were starving and their just wages kept back from them, one can hardly
+feel like blaming them very severely for taking a little food from those
+whom they were defending.
+
+“There was only one decided mutiny; that was on the 1st of January,
+1781, by about two thousand men of the Pennsylvania troops, stationed at
+Morristown and under the command of General Wayne.
+
+“They had made their preparations secretly, appointing a sergeant major
+their commander, calling him major-general. At a preconcerted signal
+all, excepting a part of three regiments, paraded under arms without
+officers, marched to the magazines and supplied themselves with
+ammunition and provisions; then they seized six fieldpieces and took
+horses from General Wayne’s stables to draw them.”
+
+“And nobody tried to stop them?” exclaimed Ethel enquiringly.
+
+“Yes; hearing what was going on their officers tried to do so, calling
+on the men who did not join in the revolt to help. But the mutineers
+fired, killing a captain and wounding several others; then they ordered
+the men who had not revolted to come over to their side, threatening
+that if they did not they would kill them with their bayonets; and they
+went over. Then General Wayne tried his influence with the men, who all
+loved him, using both persuasion and threats to bring them back to their
+duty. But they refused to listen even to him, and when he cocked his
+pistol at them they pointed their bayonets at his breast, saying, ‘We
+respect and love you; you have often led us into the field of battle,
+but we are no longer under your command; we warn you to be on your
+guard, for if you fire your pistol or attempt to force us to obey your
+commands we will instantly put you to death.’
+
+“Wayne then tried to persuade them, speaking to them of their love for
+their country. They answered by reminding him how shamefully Congress
+was treating them. He spoke of the pleasure and encouragement their
+conduct would give to the enemy. In reply to that they called his
+attention to their tattered garments and how thin they themselves were
+from starvation; they told him they dearly loved the cause of freedom
+and wanted to fight its battles, if only Congress would see to it that
+their sore need was relieved.”
+
+“I don’t think that was asking too much, do you, Mrs. Weston?” asked
+Ethel.
+
+“No, not at all.”
+
+“And did General Wayne give them what they asked and had a right to
+ask?”
+
+“He could not do that, but he supplied them with provisions and then
+marched them to Princeton, where he heard their demands and referred
+them to the civil authority of Pennsylvania.
+
+“In the mean time the British general, Sir Henry Clinton, heard the
+story of the revolt, and not understanding the spirit and motives of the
+troops, sent a British sergeant and a New Jersey Tory named Ogden, with
+a written offer to them that if they would lay down their arms and march
+to New York they should receive in hard cash the money owed them by the
+American Congress, be well clothed, and have free pardon for having
+fought against the King of England; and not be required to fight on his
+side and against their country, unless they chose to do so of their own
+accord.”
+
+Ethel looked intensely interested. “And did they do it?” she asked half
+breathlessly.
+
+“No, indeed,” replied Mrs. Weston; “they were not fighting for money,
+but for liberty, their homes, their wives and little ones; but the money
+Congress owed them, the food and clothes, were necessary even to keep
+them alive, so that they felt justified in using their weapons in
+redressing their grievances while still looking with horror upon the
+armed oppressors of their country, and feeling that they would rather
+die than prove traitors to her. ‘See, comrades,’ one of them said to the
+others, ‘he takes us for traitors. Let us show him that America can
+furnish but one Arnold, and that America has no truer friends than
+ourselves.’
+
+“The others approved his sentiments. They immediately seized Clinton’s
+spies and papers and took them to General Wayne, stipulating that the
+men should not be executed till their own affairs with Congress were
+settled, and that if their complaints were not attended to the prisoners
+should be delivered up to them again when they demanded them.”
+
+“Did Congress do what they asked of them?” inquired Ethel.
+
+“Yes; then the spies were executed, and the reward which it appears had
+been offered for their apprehension, would have been given to the men
+who had seized them, but the brave, patriotic fellows refused to accept
+it, poor as they were, saying that necessity had forced them to demand
+justice from Congress, but they wanted no reward for doing their duty to
+their bleeding country.”
+
+“I like them for that!” exclaimed Ethel, “and I don’t think they were at
+all to blame for making that Congress pay them what they had earned by
+working and fighting so long and so hard.”
+
+“No, nor do I,” returned Mrs. Weston, “and I am proud to own them as my
+countrymen.”
+
+“It is a very interesting story; thank you for telling it to me, Mrs.
+Weston,” said Ethel. “I’d like to know more about that good General
+Washington and that war. All the English people didn’t want the
+Americans abused so, did they?”
+
+“Oh, no, my dear! Some of them tried hard to have their wrongs
+redressed. Some day I will tell you more about it, but now I hear Mrs.
+Coote calling you.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+Ethel had been greatly interested in Mrs. Weston’s story of Washington
+and the Revolution. She was eager to hear more, and found both ladies of
+the Keith family kindly ready to gratify her whenever she was allowed to
+carry her needlework over there instead of doing it in the room in the
+parsonage appropriated to the use of herself, brother, and sisters. She
+was given very little time for recreation, so could not read much for
+herself on that or any other subject; perceiving which, Mrs. Weston
+often read to her, pausing now and then to explain anything the little
+girl did not seem to entirely comprehend, so helping the child to a
+great deal of information which at that time she could have gained in no
+other way.
+
+Ethel was very grateful; and, loving, generous little soul that she was,
+wanted others to share her pleasure; so repeated to Harry and the little
+sisters all she thought they could understand of what she had learned
+from the ladies. Also, supposing that Mrs. Coote was well read on the
+subject, she ventured to ask some questions of her.
+
+“I know nothing about those old times in this country, and what’s more,
+I don’t want to know; so let me hear no more about it,” was the
+ungracious rejoinder, and Ethel dared not venture another word.
+
+“You’re no American,” Mrs. Coote went on presently, “so why should you
+care about those old stories?”
+
+“I—I believe I’m half American,” Ethel returned hesitatingly. “I was
+born in Jamaica and so was my dear mamma.”
+
+“Eh! I didn’t know that before. But Jamaica is only a tolerably large
+island, and though it’s on this side the ocean it belongs to England.
+And your father was born in old England, wasn’t he?”
+
+“Yes: and I like England, but Cousin George says as we’ve come to
+America to live for the rest of our lives, we’re Americans now.”
+
+“Humph! So as you behave well I for one don’t care whether you are
+Americans or English,” returned. Mrs. Coote; and there the conversation
+dropped.
+
+Whenever the weather was at all suitable the three younger children were
+sent out of doors to play, Ethel joining them when her task was done,
+and usually they were all invited into Mrs. Keith’s yard or house.
+
+But stormy days had to be spent shut up in their own small room, and
+poor little Ethel was almost at her wit’s end to keep Harry and Nannette
+from making such a disturbance as would bring reproof and sometimes sore
+punishment upon them.
+
+They had little or no love for Mrs. Coote, who never lavished any
+demonstrations of affection upon them, and from her husband they shrank
+as from a dangerous foe. Fortunately they rarely saw him except when
+summoned to a recitation of the verses of Scripture which they were
+compelled to learn for the express purpose of enabling him to show off
+to chance visitors as one who was successfully training up in the way
+they should go the young orphans committed to his fatherly care.
+
+As their Uncle Albert had promised, they were remembered at Christmas
+time by the relatives in Philadelphia, a box being sent direct to Ethel,
+in Mr. Coote’s care. Fortunately it reached the house one day in his
+absence, and Mrs. Coote put it privately away, never breathing a word to
+him of its arrival.
+
+On Christmas morning, soon after breakfast, she opened it herself in
+presence of the children, first telling them whence it had come and
+cautioning them to be perfectly quiet, or they might lose some of the
+contents.
+
+There were fruits, cakes, candies, and toys; all in such plentiful
+supply that the children were almost wild with delight.
+
+All four urged Mrs. Coote to share with them. She looked pleased that
+they should wish it, accepted a very little, then saying, “If you like
+you can, after a bit, carry some over to your friends at Mr. Keith’s;
+and, Ethel, to-morrow you may write a little letter of thanks to your
+uncles and the rest in Philadelphia, and I will mail it for you,” she
+left them to the enjoyment of their gifts.
+
+If anything could have added to their felicity it was the note from Mrs.
+Keith, presently brought in by her servant girl, inviting all four to
+take their Christmas dinner with little Mary, and to come as early as
+possible with Mrs. Coote’s consent.
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Coote, can’t we go this minute?” asked Blanche and Harry in a
+breath, while Nannette piped, “Me wants to go, dus now; dis minute,” and
+Ethel’s soft brown eyes made the same request.
+
+“Yes, yes; I’ll be only too glad to be rid of your noise and chatter for
+the rest of the day,” was the rather ungracious reply. “But you’ve all
+got to be dressed in your best first,” she added, going to the closet
+and taking down the dresses the little girls were wont to call their
+“Sunday frocks,” in which she presently proceeded to array them.
+
+That did not take long, and they were soon at the door of Mr. Keith’s
+hospitable dwelling, exchanging a merry Christmas with the ladies and
+little Mary, displaying the toys sent by their relatives in
+Philadelphia, and offering a share of their sweets from the same source.
+
+Then they were led into the parlor where was a beautiful Christmas tree
+loaded with ornaments and gifts.
+
+“Oh,” cried Ethel, tears starting to her eyes as she spoke, “how it
+reminds me of Christmas times when our dear papa and mamma were with
+us!”
+
+“Yes, I remember the one we had last Christmas,” said Blanche; “and I
+think this one is just as pretty as it was.”
+
+“So do I,” said Harry. “Oh, thank you, ma’am!” as Mrs. Keith took down a
+bag of marbles and another of candy and handed them to him.
+
+“And this is for dear little Nannette,” she said, disengaging a doll
+from the tree and putting it into the hands of the baby girl, who
+received it in almost speechless delight.
+
+There was another almost exactly like it for her own little Mary, a
+larger one for Blanche, a neat housewife and pretty book for Ethel, and
+a bag of candies for each of the five; for little Mary had waited for
+hers until the coming of her guests.
+
+What a happy day it was to the children! The grown people seemed to lay
+themselves out for their enjoyment; games and stories filled most of the
+time not taken up with the partaking of the grand Christmas dinner of
+turkey and all the usual accompaniments for the first course—plum
+pudding, ice-cream, fruits, and cake for the dessert.
+
+The Eldons were sent for by Mrs. Coote at their usual early bedtime, and
+obeyed the summons without a murmur.
+
+“Dear Mrs. Keith, you and Mrs. Weston are so good and kind to us; we’ve
+had such a pleasant time,” Ethel said as she bade good-night.
+
+“You are very welcome, dear child,” was the kindly response, “and I hope
+you and my little Mary will have many a pleasant time together while you
+are living so near us.”
+
+“Thank you, ma’am; I hope so, too,” returned Ethel gratefully, then
+hurried away with her little brother and sisters.
+
+Mrs. Coote met them at the parsonage door. “Go right up to your room and
+to bed everyone of you,” she said, and they silently obeyed.
+
+“Strange that their uncles didn’t send some Christmas remembrance to the
+children,” remarked Mr. Coote to his wife as they sat together at the
+tea table.
+
+“Possibly they may have thought they had enough to do in providing for
+their own, and that you and I might find some little thing for those you
+promised to treat as if they were your own,” she rejoined in a slightly
+sarcastic tone.
+
+“Humph! we’re not in circumstances to do much for our own if we had
+’em,” he sniffed angrily; “so I don’t consider myself pledged to do
+anything of the kind.”
+
+“And the children didn’t expect it, I’m sure; nobody would ever mistake
+you for a Santa Claus,” she returned with a not particularly pleasant
+laugh.
+
+He colored and flashed an angry look at her, but let the remark pass in
+silence. Neither then nor afterward did his wife let him know of the
+Christmas box sent to the children. She had given them only a part of
+the sweets that day, but they received the rest in small instalments
+till all were gone.
+
+So long as the weather was pleasant a part of nearly every day was spent
+at the house of their kind neighbors, but when it stormed their only
+refuge for the greater part of the time was the small room appropriated
+to them over the kitchen in their temporary home. It was hard for all,
+but especially for Harry and Nannette, to be so constantly confined to
+such close quarters, and Ethel could not always keep them quiet; they
+sometimes played noisily, at others fretted and cried aloud because they
+were so tired of staying in that little room where there was so small
+space for running and romping.
+
+Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Coote would tolerate such noise, and again and
+again the hearts of Ethel and Blanche were made to ache by the sore
+punishment meted out to the little brother and sister. And sometimes
+they themselves were in disgrace and severely dealt with for failures in
+their tasks, or anger or too much sympathy shown the other two when they
+were punished.
+
+These were great trials, as also was the reciting of their Bible verses
+to Mr. Coote, and being made to repeat them before company. They were
+warned not to tell any tales to the neighbors, and threatened with dire
+consequences if they disobeyed. So most of their troubles were kept to
+themselves.
+
+Ethel looked and longed for the promised visit from her uncle Albert,
+but he did not come; he seemed to have forgotten his promise. Then after
+a while Mr. Coote took to reading to the children letters which he said
+came from their uncles, reproving and threatening them with punishment
+for rebellious conduct toward those who now had them in charge, and
+bidding them be very obedient and submissive.
+
+Those letters were deliberate forgeries, but the innocent little ones
+never dreamed of such deceit and wickedness on the part of the man who
+professed to be so good, and poor Ethel was well nigh heartbroken that
+her uncles should think so ill of her and her dear little brother and
+sisters, and write so cruelly to them.
+
+She tried very hard to be good and industrious at her tasks, wanting the
+time to come as soon as possible when she would be able to support
+herself, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette.
+
+Thinking of that she put forth every effort to learn the various kinds
+of needlework Mrs. Coote undertook to teach her, with the assurance that
+if she became expert in them all she could some day earn money in that
+way.
+
+At times the child’s heart beat high with hope that when she was grown
+up she would be able to make with her own earnings a little home for
+herself, brother, and sisters. Remembering the unkind treatment they had
+often received at the hands of the aunts and cousins in Philadelphia she
+was not at all sure that they would be much better off could they return
+there—and if they could go back how hard it would be to bid farewell to
+the kind friends next door—but what could be more delightful than to get
+away from these stern guardians often so unkind and unjust. And then,
+when she was old enough to know how to set about it, perhaps she could
+find her maternal grandparents, and they would give a good home to their
+daughter’s orphan children.
+
+Their uncle Albert did at length make them a hasty visit, but Mr. Coote
+took good care that they should not be left for a moment alone with him.
+Also he treated them with the greatest and most effusive kindness in
+their uncle’s presence, so that Mr. Eldon left them there feeling
+assured that they had a very happy home.
+
+Thus two years rolled slowly away to Ethel and Blanche, Harry and
+Nannette, bringing little change except that they all grew older and
+taller; wiser too in some respects and more than ever fondly attached to
+each other, and the next-door neighbors who treated them so kindly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+At length a change came suddenly to the little orphans. One unfortunate
+day Mr. Coote was in an unusually bad humor, and under a very slight
+provocation from Harry, who was more inclined for play than study, the
+weather being warm and fields and garden seeming far more inviting than
+books, he flew at the child in a rage and gave him a most unmerciful
+beating; making it all the more severe because the little fellow
+screamed so loudly that more than one neighbor came running to enquire
+what was wrong with the child, supposing some dreadful accident had
+befallen him, and Ethel, Blanche, and Nannette, lingering in the hall
+without, wept and sobbed as if their hearts would break.
+
+“Stop beating that little fellow! stop this instant, you inhuman wretch,
+or I’ll go for a policeman and have you arrested for cruelty to
+children,” exclaimed a very decent looking woman, the wife of the grocer
+at the next corner, rushing up to the window of the room where the
+beating was going on.
+
+“You mind your own business,” retorted Coote, letting go the child and
+pushing him angrily away from him. “He’s had no more than he deserves;
+no, nor half so much, the idle, good-for-nothing little rascal.”
+
+“I only wish I had the strength to give you your deserts,” returned the
+woman in indignant tones. “I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute, and you’d
+find yourself good for nothing but bed for at least a week. The idea of
+such a wretch as you calling himself a Christian! You’re worse than a
+heathen; and I declare I will have you arrested if you dare to strike
+that child again.”
+
+Coote tossed his whip into a corner and glared at the woman, while poor
+little Harry slunk away out the room, moving as if he had scarcely
+strength to walk.
+
+His sisters instantly gathered about him, crying bitterly. Ethel caught
+him in her arms and held him close, sobbing out her grief and pity.
+
+“O Harry, Harry, dear little brother, I am so, so, _so_ sorry for you!”
+
+“I, too,” sobbed Blanche. “Oh, I wish our uncles would take us away and
+put us with somebody that would be kind and good to us.”
+
+“So do I,” chimed in Nannette, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, I
+wish, we could live with Mrs. Keith and little Mary; if only they wanted
+more children over there.”
+
+“Oh, hush, hush, Nan,” said Ethel warningly; for Mrs. Coote was coming
+toward them, having just seen the last of the enquiring neighbors out of
+the gate, dismissing them with a promise that she would see to the
+welfare of the children and not permit them to be abused.
+
+“You needn’t be afraid,” she said to Ethel. “I’ve no intention of adding
+to Harry’s punishment, for I think he has already had quite enough. I
+will help him upstairs, and the rest of you had best come along.”
+
+Taking the child’s hand she led him a little way, but finding he was
+hardly able to stand or move, she lifted him in her arms and carried him
+up the stairs to the children’s room, the others following. Laying him
+on his bed she went from the room, to return almost immediately with a
+basin of warm water and some soothing ointment, with which she proceeded
+to make the poor little fellow as comfortable as possible, undressing
+him and laying him in his little bed again, handling him almost as
+tenderly as though he had been her own, though she said very little,
+leaving the children in some doubt whether she did or did not approve of
+her husband’s barbarous treatment.
+
+“I’m going down now,” she said when she had finished. “You needn’t have
+any more lessons to-day, any of you. I think it would be as well for you
+girls to stay here with Harry. You may play, sleep, or do whatever you
+please so that you don’t get into mischief or make a racket that can be
+heard down in the study.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” returned Ethel, “we’ll be quiet as mice and as
+good as we know how.”
+
+Mrs. Coote had hardly gone when the little boy raised himself in the bed
+and looking with tearful eyes at his sisters grouped together beside
+him:
+
+“I’ll be a man some o’ these days,” he sobbed, “and then if I don’t take
+that old rascal down and beat him harder’n he beat me to-day—it—it’ll be
+queer. Yes, I’ll just thrash him till he can’t move, so I will.”
+
+“I couldn’t feel sorry for him, I couldn’t,” sobbed Ethel, “but, O
+Harry, dear, we must try to forgive him; because the Bible says,
+‘Forgive your enemies. Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.’ And we all
+need to have forgiveness from God. So we will ask our Heavenly Father to
+help us to forgive this cruel, cruel man, and to help us to get away
+from him so that he can’t ever hurt us any more.”
+
+“Yes,” said Harry, “after he’s had one good, sound thrashing from me. I
+just ache to give it to him, and I will, just as soon as I’m big
+enough.”
+
+“Maybe God will punish him before that,” sobbed Blanche. “I’m sure I
+hope so.”
+
+“Me too,” said Nannette, wiping her tearful eyes. “I’ll ask God to
+punish the naughty man every time I say my prayers.”
+
+“Oh, no,” said Ethel persuasively; “instead of that let’s all ask Him to
+take us away from here and put us in a good home where we’ll never see
+these cruel people any more.”
+
+While this talk was going on among the children Mrs. Coote had gone down
+to the study, where she found her husband striding angrily to and fro.
+He glanced at his wife as she came in and read scorn and contempt in the
+look she gave him.
+
+“So you, I see, are ready to uphold that young rascal in his wrongdoing;
+and the meddlesome neighbors who come interfering here, as well,” he
+said wrathfully.
+
+“The neighbors were perfectly right,” she answered in an icy tone, “and
+I’m not at all sure they haven’t saved you from murder and the hangman’s
+rope. That’s what your awful temper will bring you to some of these
+days, if you don’t learn to exercise some self-control.”
+
+She paused for an instant, then went on in a tone of stern
+determination: “And I warn you to beware how you lay a hand on one of
+those orphan children again; for as sure as you do I’ll let the uncles
+know all about this thing, and they’ll be promptly taken away out of
+your reach, inhuman brute that you are.”
+
+“Take care how you talk, woman,” he said menacingly, though his cheek
+paled at her threat. “I’m the stronger of the two, and you may live to
+regret it.”
+
+“The stronger, but by far the more cowardly,” she returned with a
+disagreeable laugh. “I’m not afraid o’ you, Patrick Coote; you’re too
+well aware of my worth to you to try doing me any deadly harm.”
+
+“Deadly harm?” he repeated, “who talks of deadly harm? ’Twas you that
+said it, not I. But I’ll have you, as well as those unruly youngsters,
+to know who’s master in this house.”
+
+So saying he took up his hat and walked out through the front yard and
+down the street, Mrs. Coote standing at the window and sending after him
+a glance of mingled contempt and disdain.
+
+“I haven’t wasted any fondling on those children,” she said to herself,
+“but I’d sooner take a beating myself than give that bit of a boy such a
+thrashing for next to nothing, and I’ll see that it isn’t done again.”
+
+Mr. Coote stalked on down the street in by no means a happy frame of
+mind, everybody he met seeming to him to regard him with contempt and
+aversion; for the whole neighborhood was roused by the story of his
+abuse of the little orphan boy unfortunately committed to his care—a
+story quickly circulated by those who had heard Harry’s screams and
+rushed to the house to discover the cause and aid the sufferer.
+
+One of his own parishioners, meeting, accosted him:
+
+“See here, sir, you’d best be careful how you abuse those little orphans
+in your care, for we Americans don’t approve of any such doings and
+you’ll get yourself into trouble, you may depend on it.”
+
+With a muttered, “You will please attend to your own affairs and leave
+me to attend to mine,” Coote pushed past the speaker and stalked on his
+way.
+
+Harry’s screams had been heard at Mr. Keith’s, and the grocer’s wife had
+stopped at their gate on her way home to tell the story of the brutal
+treatment the poor child had received. The two ladies shed tears over it
+and longed to go to the rescue of the poor little ones, yet refrained
+for the present, and took time to consider what would be the best plan
+to adopt for their relief. They talked the matter over together, and
+finally decided that the uncles must be informed of the true state of
+affairs, when doubtless they would take steps to secure the children
+from a repetition of such cruel treatment.
+
+“Ethel writes a very neat hand,” remarked Mrs. Keith. “I wonder she has
+not complained to them long before this.”
+
+“Doubtless her letters, if she has written any, have all passed through
+the hands of Mr. or Mrs. Coote and been suppressed if she ventured any
+complaint of their treatment,” returned Mrs. Weston.
+
+“Yes, I dare say that is so,” said Mrs. Keith. “Well, the very next time
+Ethel comes over here I shall ask her if she would like to write to any
+of her relatives and knows their address, offering her writing materials
+and postage stamp and promising to mail the letter for her.”
+
+“A very good plan if she knows the address, which I doubt,” returned
+Mrs. Weston.
+
+They did not know it, but Ethel in her room watching beside Harry, who
+had sobbed himself to sleep, was considering the same question, namely,
+how she could let her uncles know how badly she and her little brother
+and sisters were being treated. She had been ignorant of the address
+until the day before, when Mrs. Coote had bidden her carry out the
+scrap-basket from the study and empty it into the coal scuttle in the
+kitchen, and in doing so she had seen and secured an envelope bearing
+the address of the firm of Eldon Brothers. It could do no harm to take
+it, she thought, as otherwise it would only be burned up; and having an
+ill-defined feeling that some day it might prove of service to her, she
+had hastily put it in her pocket. It was there still, and now taking it
+out she gazed at it with her tear-dimmed eyes, trying to think how she
+could get writing materials and postage stamp, make use of them, and
+post her letter, when written, without the knowledge of Mr. or Mrs.
+Coote, who, if they knew, would be sure to prevent her from sending it.
+
+“I will ask God to help me,” she said to herself, and at once dropping
+on her knees sent up a silent but most fervid prayer that a way might be
+opened for the accomplishment of her wish.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+It was some days before Ethel’s prayers seemed to be answered or the
+kind plans of Mrs. Keith and her mother could be carried out, for the
+children were forbidden to go over there. They were permitted to be out
+for only a short time each day for exercise, and were under strict
+orders to keep to the side of the parsonage grounds farthest from Mr.
+Keith’s, though no reason was assigned.
+
+But at last, it having occurred to Mrs. Coote that the very fact of the
+children being so suddenly and entirely deprived of the privilege of
+paying frequent visits to the home of little Mary—their favorite
+resort—would tend to confirm any evil report that might have reached the
+Keiths, she gave them leave, one afternoon, to go over there for an hour
+or two; a permission of which they promptly availed themselves.
+
+They received a hearty welcome from both, the ladies and little Mary,
+accompanied with kind enquiries in regard to their health and why they
+had stayed away so long.
+
+“We weren’t allowed to come,” replied Harry; “they ordered us to stay
+over there in their yard ever since that horrid man gave me such an
+awful beating for just nothing at all ’cept that I couldn’t study; ’twas
+so hot, you know, and I wanted to be out-doors under the trees.”
+
+“Ah, you were lazy, were you, Harry?” said Mrs. Weston, with difficulty
+repressing an inclination to smile.
+
+“Yes, ma’am, I s’pose so,” returned the little lad, “but boys can’t help
+that sometimes when it’s warm and they’re tired of lessons and the birds
+are singing and the bees humming and all the little creatures out-doors
+having such a good time.”
+
+“Ah, but the bees are gathering honey and the birds building their
+nests, hatching their eggs, or rearing their young; they catch worms and
+insects for them to eat, don’t you know? I think all the creatures God
+has made have something to do.”
+
+“But they don’t work all the time, do they?” he queried. “And oughtn’t
+boys to have some time to play?”
+
+“Oh, yes, indeed! some time—after the lessons have been learned and
+recited.”
+
+“Well, I believe I’ll go and play now with the girls out there under the
+trees,” he said, and ran out whistling and laughing.
+
+But Ethel lingered behind. She had brought no work with her, but seemed
+inclined to stay with the ladies.
+
+“Sit down in this low rocking-chair, dear, and tell us what you have
+been doing with yourself for the last week or two, that you have not
+been in to see us,” said Mrs. Keith, in a kindly, caressing tone.
+
+“Oh, thank you, ma’am, I have wanted to come over here so badly! But it
+is just as Harry said, we weren’t permitted,” said Ethel, taking the
+offered chair. “Mrs. Coote always ordered us to stay on the other side
+of the garden. She didn’t say why, and we are never allowed to ask that
+question.”
+
+“And that has been ever since the day we heard such dreadful screams
+from Harry and saw people running to the parsonage door and windows to
+find out what ailed him,” said Mrs. Keith. “We were told that Mr. Coote
+was beating him, and it seems it was true?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” replied Ethel, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, I thought
+he was just killing him! and for next to nothing. He’s such a little
+fellow, and wanted to play when he was told to study his lesson. It was
+hot and close in the house, you know, and looked so pleasant out of
+doors!”
+
+“Yes. The little fellow ought to have attended better to his work, it is
+true, and taken his recreation when school hours were over,” said Mrs.
+Keith, “but I cannot think he deserved treatment so severe as was given
+him, and if I were in your place, Ethel, I should write to my uncles and
+tell them all the facts. I think they would manage in some way to
+prevent a repetition of such severe punishment, especially for so slight
+an offence.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, I have been wanting to write to my uncles and tell them
+everything about it, but I couldn’t, because I have no pen, ink, or
+paper, no postage stamp, no money to buy anything with, and even if I
+had I wouldn’t be permitted to send a letter without Mr. or Mrs. Coote
+reading it first. And if they found I’d written all that to my uncles
+they’d whip me for doing it and tear my letter up instead of sending it,
+or maybe put it in the fire.”
+
+“Well, dear child, if you want to write such a letter, I will furnish
+you now with all the materials needed, and mail it for you when it is
+done; because your uncles ought to be informed of the cruel treatment
+received by their nephew and nieces.” Mrs. Keith rose as she spoke,
+opened her writing desk, took from it pen, paper, and stamped envelope,
+and made Ethel seat herself at the table.
+
+Ethel’s eyes sparkled. She took from her pocket the envelope containing
+the address of the Eldon brothers, and was about to seat herself before
+the desk; but a sudden thought seemed to strike her.
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Keith,” she exclaimed, “I can’t write fast, and I’m ever so
+afraid that Mrs. Coote will call us to come home before I could possibly
+get the letter done!”
+
+“Well, then, suppose I write it at your dictation, and you sign it when
+finished,” said the lady.
+
+Ethel gave a joyful assent, dictated quite rapidly, telling of Harry’s
+sore punishment for his slight fault, and the severity to which they
+were all subjected more or less, and begging that they might be taken
+from the care of those who treated them so ill; adding that she was
+almost sure Harry would be a good boy if he were with someone who would
+be kind and patient with him; but Mr. Coote was never that.
+
+“There, I believe that is all I need to say, Mrs. Keith,” concluded the
+little girl.
+
+“Well, dear child,” said Mrs. Keith, “suppose you sit down here and add
+in your own handwriting that this has been, written at your dictation,
+and sign your name to it.”
+
+Ethel did so, Mrs. Keith directed an envelope, enclosed the letter in
+it, and sent it by a trusty messenger directly to the post-office.
+
+“Oh,” asked Ethel, “do you think, Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith, that my
+uncles can be angry with me for doing this?”
+
+“No, dear, I am very sure they would never be willing to have their
+brother’s orphan children so ill treated,” said Mrs. Weston, “and I
+think they will not let many days pass before they come to see about
+it.”
+
+Mrs. Keith expressed the same opinion and the little girl gave a sigh of
+relief; then her face clouded.
+
+“But oh, I shall be so sorry to go away where I can never see you dear
+ladies!” she exclaimed, looking lovingly into their faces, while tears
+gathered in her eyes—“or little Mary again.”
+
+“Don’t worry about that, dear child,” said Mrs. Keith kindly; “we are
+not so very far from Philadelphia, and I think your uncles will let you
+come sometimes to see us.”
+
+That comforted Ethel and she grew quite cheerful.
+
+The Eldon brothers entered their office together the next morning and as
+usual found a pile of letters, brought by the early mail, awaiting them.
+
+“Ah, where does this come from, I wonder!” remarked Mr. George, taking
+up one directed in a delicate female hand.
+
+He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “a
+post-script signed by our little niece Ethel. The letter was written by
+her dictation, she says, because she cannot write very fast, and every
+word in it is true. Dear, dear, what a wretch is that Coote!” Then he
+read the missive aloud to his brother.
+
+“The scoundrel! the unfeeling monster!” exclaimed Mr. Albert in hot
+indignation. “He shall not be allowed another opportunity to abuse those
+poor little ones. I’ll go for them at once and have them safe in my own
+house before night. I shall take them out of his clutches without a
+moment’s delay.” He drew out his watch as he spoke, and glancing at it,
+“There is barely more than time for me to catch the first train,” he
+said, “but I need no preparation.”
+
+“Except some money, I presume,” said his brother, handing him a roll of
+bank-bills which he had just taken from the safe.
+
+“Ah, yes! that is very essential!” he returned, pocketing them and
+taking up his hat. “Good-by; you may look for my return this afternoon
+with the four children.”
+
+“Yes, I hope so,” said his brother, “and in the meantime I shall do what
+I can to prepare our wives to receive the poor little things and give
+them a kind and cordial welcome.”
+
+Ethel and her little brother and sisters had just finished their dinner
+when the door bell rang and their Uncle Albert’s voice was heard in the
+hall asking for them.
+
+Ethel’s heart beat fast with mingled hope and fear. Had he come in
+response to her letter? and if so was it in anger toward her oppressors?
+Her eyes turned enquiringly upon the face of Mrs. Coote, where she read
+both surprise and suppressed wrath.
+
+“Is this some of your doing?” she muttered menacingly; but before the
+frightened child could reply the door opened and Mr. Coote put in his
+head, saying:
+
+“Mr. Eldon is here, asking to see the children. Let them come right in.
+No help for it, Sarah,” he added in a lower tone and with a look of
+suppressed anger and apprehension. “I can’t say yet whether it’s any
+tale-telling that’s brought him; but if that’s the case somebody’ll have
+to suffer for it.” And he too looked menacingly at poor trembling little
+Ethel.
+
+“There then, go along all o’you,” said Mrs. Coote, who had just finished
+wiping their hands and faces, “and mind what you say and do, or you may
+get yourselves into trouble.”
+
+Then Ethel spoke up bravely, “Don’t be afraid, Nan,” for the little one
+looked sadly frightened and ready to cry; “we needn’t any of us be
+afraid of our own dear kind Uncle Albert,” and with that they all
+hastened into his presence.
+
+He received them most affectionately, hugging and kissing them in turn.
+
+“I have come to take you home with me,” he said, “and we will start just
+as soon as you and your luggage can be got ready. You may go and pack
+all your belongings, for you shall never spend another night in this
+house.”
+
+Then turning to Coote:
+
+“And you, sir, may be thankful that after your brutal treatment of my
+little nephew I allow you to escape with no greater punishment than the
+loss of the salary that is due you for the care—such care as it has been
+too! of these poor little helpless children—my deceased brother’s
+orphans. My blood boils with indignation when I think of it, and I feel
+that it would be a satisfaction to thrash you within an inch of your
+life. But I have decided simply to take the children where it will be
+out of your power to torment and ill-use them as you have been doing,
+leaving your punishment to Him who has said: ‘Ye shall not afflict any
+widow or fatherless children. If thou afflict them in any wise, and they
+cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry; and my wrath shall wax
+hot and I will kill you with the sword.’ I wonder you are not afraid of
+God’s judgments lighting upon you, for in His Word He is called the
+deliverer of the fatherless, their judge, their helper, and their
+father. And you who profess to be His minister ought to be well
+acquainted with His Word.”
+
+“And you who are only a layman, should not dare to so accuse and abuse
+me—one of the clergy!” exclaimed Coote wrathfully, yet paling visibly as
+he spoke. “Pray, sir, what proof can you bring of your insulting
+accusations? which I declare to be false, for I have—according to
+promise—treated these ill-behaved, rebellious children with all the
+lenity and fatherly kindness I should had they been my own offspring.”
+
+The children were still lingering in the room listening in round-eyed
+wonder to the strange and excited colloquy between the two men.
+
+“Ethel, dear child,” said her uncle turning to her, “do not fear to
+speak out and tell me in the presence of this man how he has beaten and
+abused you all, particularly your brother.”
+
+“You are going to take us away, uncle?” she asked, with a timid glance
+at the wrathful countenance of Coote.
+
+“Yes, at once; so that he will never again have an opportunity to
+ill-use any one of you.”
+
+“He has been very cruel to us, uncle,” Ethel said in reply; “to poor
+Harry most of all. I’m afraid he would have killed him that last time if
+the people hadn’t come to the doors and windows and made him stop. Poor
+Harry could hardly walk for days afterward,” she added with a burst of
+sobs and tears.
+
+“Yes, uncle, he ’most killed me, and I’ve got some of the marks on me
+yet,” said Harry, pulling up his coat-sleeve and displaying some marks
+on his arm. “Guess he would have killed me if folks hadn’t come and
+stopped him. But I’m going to pay him back well when I’m a big man. I’ll
+just thrash him till he can’t stand.”
+
+“I think you’ll forget about the smart and be willing to forgive him
+before that,” returned Mr. Eldon with a half smile, drawing the little
+fellow to him and smoothing his hair caressingly.
+
+Coote was striding angrily to and fro across the floor, clenching his
+fists, grinding his teeth, and scowling at the little group as though
+fairly aching to knock them all down.
+
+Mrs. Coote was not there; she had lingered but a moment in the hall,
+then, having heard the announcement of Mr. Eldon that he had come to
+take the children away, had hastened to their room and set to work with
+much energy and despatch to gather together and pack up all that
+belonged to them.
+
+“There now, my dears, go and get ready for your journey,” said Mr.
+Eldon, releasing Harry from his embrace and smiling kindly upon all
+four. “Gather up all your possessions—at least all that you care to
+keep. No doubt Mrs. Coote will help you with the work, and as soon as
+you are ready we will start for the station.” Then noting the look of
+apprehension on each young face, he said: “Harry and Nannette may as
+well stay here with me; so many of you would only be in Mrs. Coote’s
+way, and their hats and coats can be put on here.”
+
+“But they don’t look so very well dressed, uncle,” said Ethel
+hesitatingly; “and wouldn’t you like them to have their best clothes
+on?”
+
+“Ah, yes; that is well thought of,” he replied. “Well, get them ready
+first and send them down here to me; then follow as soon as you and the
+trunk are ready.”
+
+At that all four hurried obediently from the parlor and up to the room
+in which most of their time had been passed since their coming to the
+house. Mrs. Coote was there, down on her knees, packing their trunk with
+great expedition. She turned her head and looked grimly at them as they
+entered.
+
+“Somebody’s been telling tales, I reckon,” she remarked gruffly. “Well,
+it’ll rid me of a good deal of care and bother. I shall breathe freer
+when you’re gone, for you’ve been no end of trouble.”
+
+“I’m sorry if we have, ma’am,” said Ethel. “I’ve really tried to be good
+and helpful.”
+
+“Yes, you have, Ethel, and I’ve been fonder of you than I ever thought
+to be of any child,” returned Mrs. Coote, her voice softening. “But I’ve
+got to give you up now, and there’s no use fretting. There, children,
+I’ve laid out all your best clothes on the bed. Get into them as fast as
+you can while I finish packing your trunk.”
+
+They made haste to obey, Ethel and Blanche helping the younger two, and
+in a very short time they and their trunk were ready.
+
+In the meanwhile Mr. Eldon had settled with Mr. Coote in full for all
+that was owing on the children’s account; a carriage was waiting at the
+gate, and the moment they appeared for their journey, he rose, told them
+to say good-by, then took his leave, leading Nannette, while the other
+three followed.
+
+Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Keith, and little Mary were out on their own porch,
+watching with interest what was going on next door, fearing they were
+about to lose their little friends.
+
+“Oh,” cried Blanche, “there are our friends who’ve been so good to us
+and whom we love dearly. Uncle Albert, mayn’t we run over and say
+good-by to them before we go?”
+
+“Yes, certainly,” he said. “I will go too and thank them for helping
+Ethel to send me word that you were not well treated or happy here.”
+
+It had been a hasty farewell, as it was near train time, and some tears
+were shed, but Mr. Eldon tried to comfort them all with the hope that
+the separation need not be for so very long, inviting the ladies and
+little Mary to visit his nephew and nieces at his house, and promising
+some day to bring Ethel, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette to see them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+For more than an hour after his brother’s departure Mr. George Eldon was
+very busy in his office, buying and selling; then came a lull for a
+short space, giving him time to think again of Ethel’s letter and what
+might be done to secure a kindly welcome for the little orphans at his
+own house and that of his brother.
+
+“Albert will be back with them before night, and our wives ought to have
+warning that they are coming. It would be hardly fair to take them
+entirely by surprise. I promised my brother too, that I would endeavor
+to prepare them for the unexpected arrival,” he mused. “Well, I think I
+can spare the time now as easily as later.”
+
+At that instant the door into the counting room opened and his eldest
+son came in.
+
+“Ah, George,” said the father, “I was just about to call you. I am going
+up home to see your mother and aunt, to tell them of the contents of
+this letter,” handing Ethel’s missive to him as he spoke.
+
+George took it, glanced rapidly over the contents, then turning to his
+father with flushing cheeks and flashing eyes, “The inhuman scoundrel!”
+he exclaimed, “You will take the poor little things away from him as
+soon as possible, I hope.”
+
+“Yes; your Uncle Albert has gone for them and will doubtless have them
+here before night. I must go up home at once with the news, leaving
+matters here in your care until I get back.”
+
+“Yes, sir, I think I can attend to them to your satisfaction,” returned
+the son. “And I hope you will find mother and Aunt Augusta entirely
+willing to take those poor little orphans in to share our homes. That
+Coote has always seemed to me a fawning hypocrite, and I am sure of it
+now.”
+
+“I am of pretty much the same opinion, and he shall never again, with my
+consent, have an opportunity to abuse those little ones, or any child
+committed to my care.”
+
+There had been some changes in Mr. George Eldon’s family in the last two
+years. A fall on the icy pavement one winter day had so injured Mrs.
+Eldon’s spine as to make her a cripple for life, never able to leave her
+room unless carried from it. At first she felt the trial well-nigh
+unendurable, but gradually she had grown submissive; gentle, patient,
+and resigned; thankful too for the blessings still hers—a good home,
+kind and affectionate husband, sons, and niece, a competent and
+efficient housekeeper and abundant means. Also that she still had the
+use of all her senses, her hands and eyes, so that she could read, sew,
+and crochet, making herself useful to her family and helpful to the
+needy.
+
+In the family of Mr. Albert Eldon there had been little change except
+such as time inevitably brings to all; the boys and girls were growing
+up, Albert and Arabella were beginning to go into society, and the
+younger ones had a governess, Miss Annie West, who also gave lessons in
+music and the languages to Dorothy Dean, Mrs. George’s niece.
+
+Mrs. Augusta still devoted much of her time to novel-reading and what
+she deemed the claims of society, yet paid a little more attention to
+those of household, husband, and children.
+
+Mrs. George, in an easy-chair and propped up with cushions, was busily
+crocheting when she heard the front door open and shut, then her
+husband’s step on the stairs.
+
+“Ah! I wonder what brings George home at this time of day?” was her
+mental exclamation, and as he entered by the open door of her room she
+turned toward him with a welcoming smile.
+
+“A pleasant surprise, my dear!” she said.
+
+“Yes, to me as well as yourself,” he said, returning the smile. “How are
+you now? Free from pain, I hope.”
+
+“Yes, quite comfortable, thank you. Ah, I see you have a letter,” as he
+drew it from his pocket, at the same time taking possession of a chair
+close at her side.
+
+“Yes, from my little niece Ethel.” And without further preface he began
+reading it aloud.
+
+“Why, the poor little things!” she exclaimed when he had finished. “We
+must send for them, George, and provide them with a better home, either
+here or elsewhere. I never thought the Cootes could be so cruel.”
+
+“No, nor I. The letter came this morning. My brother and I were roused
+to indignation by its perusal, and he has gone for the children—will
+have them here, I confidently expect, sometime this afternoon.”
+
+“They shall be welcome,” she returned. “Fortunately Mrs. Wood is fond of
+children, and I dare say, being two years older, and having been so
+cowed and kept down, they will be much more easily managed than they
+were before.”
+
+“Yes, I hope so; and you need have no trouble whatever with them; our
+good housekeeper and Dorothy can certainly do all that is needed. Will
+you order the necessary preparations, or shall I?”
+
+“I do not want to take too much of your valuable time,” she replied,
+“so, if you like to trust Mrs. Wood and me, I will talk matters over
+with her and get her to do what is necessary.”
+
+“Very well, then, I will go at once to Augusta with the news, that she,
+too, may have time for needed preparations.”
+
+He found Augusta in her dressing room, the older three of her daughters
+and Dorothy Dean engaged in examining fashion plates and discussing
+weighty questions in regard to what materials they should purchase for
+their fall dresses, and in what style they should have them made up.
+
+“Ah, I see I am interrupting a solemn council,” said Mr. Eldon with
+playful look and tone, “but do not be too much distressed; I shall take
+but a very few minutes of your precious time, my own being equally
+valuable.” With that he opened and read aloud Ethel’s letter.
+
+All present seemed excited to indignation, Dorothy perhaps the most of
+any.
+
+“The poor little things!” she exclaimed. “Uncle, do have them brought
+here at once, even if we must take the whole four.”
+
+“We’ll not let you do that. We’ll do our share,” said Mrs. Augusta. “I
+should never have been in favor of sending them to the Cootes if I had
+dreamed they could be guilty of treating the poor little creatures with
+such barbarous cruelty.”
+
+“No, nor would any of us,” said Arabella. “Has papa gone for them, Uncle
+George?”
+
+“Yes, and will probably have them here in a few hours. I did not want
+you or my wife taken by surprise, Augusta, so came up to forewarn you of
+their expected arrival. And now I must hurry back to my business; so
+good-morning to you all,” and with the last word he bowed himself out of
+the room.
+
+“Dear me, what a shame it is!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I’d just enjoy having
+that cruel wretch of a Coote thrashed within an inch of his life.”
+
+“I, too,” said Olive. “How I wish papa and Uncle George had found him
+out long ago; still more that they had never given him a chance to abuse
+those poor children.”
+
+“I’m afraid we were none of us quite so kind to them as we might have
+been,” said Arabella, “but now we are going to have a chance to make it
+up to them.”
+
+“Yes, remember that, all of you,” said their mother. “Minnie, go and
+tell Miss Norris I wish to see her at once if she is at leisure.” Minnie
+hastened to do the errand, the housekeeper came, listened with evident
+interest to the story of the little orphan nephew and nieces expected to
+arrive that afternoon, received Mrs. Eldon’s directions in regard to the
+necessary preparations, and at once set to work to carry them out.
+
+So the little party, arriving in due time, received a hearty welcome in
+both families and were made very comfortable, very happy; for though
+domiciled in the two houses, they were together a great deal through the
+day. Also they enjoyed their studies under the tuition of the kindest
+and most patient of governesses.
+
+Mrs. Wood too was very kind to Blanche and Harry; so were their uncles,
+Cousins George and William, and Dorothy Dean. They seldom saw their Aunt
+Sarah, but when they did, found her far kinder than she had been when
+they were with her before. So were the relatives in the other house
+also, and to the four young orphans life was far more enjoyable than it
+had been since the death of their parents.
+
+Yet there were days when things went wrong with them and they longed for
+a home of their own where they could all be together. Ethel in especial
+looked forward to such a time, and tried to learn all she could that
+would enable her to earn money to make a home and support herself and
+the others; and when any one of them was in trouble, she tried to cheer
+and comfort that one with the hope that some day the bright dream would
+become a reality.
+
+She still indulged a faint hope that some day they would find, or be
+found by their maternal grandparents; but lest they should not, she was
+careful not to slacken her exertions to prepare for self-support. She
+was obliging and helpful by nature, and her older cousins soon fell into
+the habit of calling upon her to do their errands about the house, then
+occasionally at the stores, and to assist them in dressing for parties
+and calls, at length making quite a Cinderella of her. Her dress was
+simple and inexpensive, while they wore silks and rich laces and
+diamonds. She bore it all without murmur or complaint, making herself as
+useful as she could, never confiding her plans and wishes to them, but
+using her spare moments for the beautiful needlework taught her by Mrs.
+Coote, hoping that at some future time she would be able to dispose of
+it for money which would help in the carrying out of her plans for the
+future of herself and dear brother and sisters.
+
+Thus two years passed, bringing no remarkable event. Then one October
+day—it was in the year 1859—Ethel, who had continued to feel a great
+interest in the history of the country she now esteemed her own, was
+much excited by the conversation she heard going on among her older
+relatives, who were discussing the exciting topic of the raid of John
+Brown into Virginia, and his seizure of the United States arsenal at
+Harper’s Ferry.
+
+She was only a listener to the talk, but afterward she searched the
+newspapers for information on the subject, and felt very sorry for John
+Brown because he lost his life in trying to set men free, which she
+thought was a noble thing to do—for to be a slave must be very dreadful,
+and surely God had given everyone a right to freedom, unless he had
+forfeited that right by some dreadful crime.
+
+It was a time of great excitement among the Eldons as well as others;
+the sons, who had been born in America, feeling it even more than their
+fathers, who were but naturalized citizens. But they, as well as their
+boys, were opposed to slavery and anxious for the preservation of the
+Union.
+
+George and William, the sons of the older Mr. Eldon, were frequently in
+at their Uncle Albert’s, talking over the subject with him and his
+oldest son Albert; and George at length noticed the deep interest taken
+by Ethel in all they were saying.
+
+“Well, little coz,” he said at length, “what do you think of it all?”
+
+“Oh,” she returned excitedly, “I do hope this great, grand big Union
+won’t be broken up! Do you think it will, Cousin George?”
+
+“Oh, no,” he said with a reassuring smile. “The Southerners are only
+talking, I think; they would hardly be so foolish as to begin a war when
+the far greater part of the Union would be opposed to them.”
+
+“Oh, I am glad to hear that!” she said with a sigh of relief, “for war
+must be a dreadful thing.”
+
+“Yes; especially a civil war.”
+
+“Civil?” she returned in a tone of surprise. “I thought civil—was—was—I
+understood that it was right and good manners to be civil to people.”
+
+“Ah, yes,” he said, smiling and patting the small hand she had laid on
+his knee, while gazing earnestly and enquiringly into his face; “it
+sometimes means to be courteous, polite, well-bred, but when applied to
+war it means a fight between people of the same race and country.”
+
+“And a dreadful kind of war it is when brother fights against brother,”
+sighed his father, sitting near. “But I can hardly think it will come to
+that in this case. I think there are few besides the leaders in the
+South, who would be willing to imbrue their hands in the blood of their
+brethren.”
+
+“And they are not oppressed, uncle?”
+
+“No, not by any means; they have been having only too much, of their own
+way and domineering over the rest of the nation. Slavery has had by no
+means a good effect upon them; it has made them proud, haughty,
+heartless, selfish, and cruel.”
+
+“No,” said her Uncle Albert, “they have been the oppressors rather than
+the oppressed; caring only for getting and keeping wealth and power for
+themselves, and treating their fellow-citizens of the North as beneath
+them; ‘the mud-sills of the North,’ they are calling us.”
+
+“It is easy to call names,” remarked William; “that sort of warfare
+requires neither courage nor talent; and so long as they content
+themselves with that the North will, I think, let them alone severely;
+but let them secede and attempt to set up a separate government and it
+is at least doubtful if the loyal North will continue to let them
+alone.”
+
+Ethel listened eagerly and her fears were relieved for a time. But the
+very next day came the news that South Carolina had seceded, and it
+seemed no one could tell what would follow. The daily papers were read
+with eager interest. The Southern leaders seemed to be crazed, and
+whirled their States out of the Union one after another without pausing
+to learn the wishes of the rest of the people; many of whom were
+strongly opposed to their action and certainly had as indisputable a
+right to remain in the Union as those leaders to go out.
+
+Ethel hardly understood what was going on, but continued to read the
+papers and listen to the talk of her elders with a dazed and confused
+feeling that a great danger was drawing near.
+
+But one Saturday evening, April 13, 1861, news came flashing over the
+wires that almost struck the hearers dumb with astonishment and dismay.
+This was the despatch: “Fort Sumter has fallen after a terrific
+bombardment of thirty-six hours.”
+
+People heard it with sinking of hearts. Was the Union to be destroyed?
+Was it, could it be possible, that those who should have loved and
+honored the dear old flag—the beautiful, starry emblem of our
+liberties—had so insulted it? It was a bitter thought, and men wept as
+at the loss of a dear and honored friend.
+
+The Sunday that followed was a sad one; but by Monday morning a reaction
+had come; at whatever cost the nation should live was the verdict of the
+people; the President had written with his own hand a proclamation, and
+the telegraph was flashing it east and west to every city and town:
+
+“I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, in virtue of the
+power in me vested by the Constitution and the laws, have thought fit to
+call forth, and do call forth, the militia of the several States of the
+Union to the aggregate number of seventy-five thousand, in order to
+suppress this combination against the laws, and to cause the laws to be
+duly executed.”
+
+At the call patriotism awoke and showed itself in a furor of love to the
+Union and the flag as the emblem of its power and glory, and rapid
+voluntary enlistments for its defence followed, soon furnishing more
+troops than the President had called for.
+
+The young men in the Eldon families were as full of patriotic excitement
+as any others, George and Albert being among the first volunteers in
+their State, their fathers giving a ready consent, mothers and sisters
+also, though many and bitter tears were shed over the parting, by Ethel
+as well as the nearer relatives, for she had grown to love them both,
+especially her cousin George.
+
+Then the mothers and older girls joined the aid societies and busied
+themselves with work for the soldiers—making shirts, knitting stockings,
+scraping lint—and Ethel, full of interest for the cause and of pity for
+those who must do the fighting for the Union, spent as much time as
+could be spared from lessons and waiting upon her aunt and cousins, in
+sharing in those labors; doing so gladly and without any urging or
+solicitation; she only wished herself old enough to be a nurse, since,
+being neither boy nor man, she could not enlist as a soldier.
+
+The younger children, too, were anxious to help and took such part in
+the work as their tender years permitted. It was hoped the war would not
+last very long; almost everybody thought it would be over in a few
+months; yet no one could be certain that his or her dear ones might not
+be killed or sorely wounded in the meantime, or that the struggle might
+not be prolonged far beyond the time for which enlistments were made at
+the start.
+
+Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Keith had not forgotten the Eldon children or
+ceased to feel an interest in them, and occasionally Ethel had a letter
+from one or the other, which she answered with great painstaking,
+telling frankly such news of herself, brother, and sisters as she
+thought they would care to hear.
+
+A letter from Mrs. Weston came for her about the time that her cousins
+left with the other Philadelphia troops in response to the President’s
+call, and from it she learned that Mr. Keith, too, had enlisted; also
+some of his brothers living in Indiana.
+
+“And now,” continued Mrs. Weston, “we women who cannot do the fighting,
+are banding together to do all in our power to add to the comfort of our
+soldiers engaged in the struggle to save our dear country from being
+rent in pieces. We expect to be very busy, but not too busy to be glad
+to see you and your brother and sisters if you are allowed to pay us a
+visit this summer. Mrs. Rupert Keith will probably be with us for a
+time, perhaps all summer, but that need not interfere with a visit from
+you little folks.”
+
+That invitation Ethel and the others were allowed to accept in the
+summer vacation. How much had happened meantime! the attack on the
+Massachusetts troops as they passed through Baltimore in response to the
+President’s call; the seizure of Harper’s Ferry and Norfolk Navy Yard,
+besides several battles, some in the East and some in the West.
+
+And the very day of their arrival at Mr. Keith’s came the sad news of
+the battle of Bull Run, speedily followed by the President’s call for
+three hundred thousand more men to suppress the rebellion.
+
+It was a time full of excitement, of almost heart-breaking distress,
+over the disaster, followed by the determination that the rebellion must
+and should be crushed, cost what it might.
+
+Mrs. Rupert Keith was in sore anxiety and distress till the welcome news
+arrived that her husband, though in the battle, had been neither wounded
+nor taken prisoner. The other ladies, though in deep distress for the
+land they loved, were suffering less keenly than she, as they knew that
+Mr. Donald Keith was too far West to have been in the battle.
+
+Ethel and Blanche wept bitterly, fearing that their cousins George and
+Albert had been in the fight and were killed or wounded. But in a day or
+two a letter from Dorothy brought the welcome news that though among the
+troops engaged, they had escaped unharmed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+As the war went on and Ethel heard frequent allusions among the older
+people to its great expense and the rapid rise in the price of all the
+necessaries of life, she felt an increasing desire to be able to support
+herself, and her brother and sisters. Except to them she said nothing to
+any one of her relatives of that ardent wish, though constantly
+revolving plans in her mind and asking help of God to carry out some one
+of them.
+
+She was so young, however, that for several years praying, thinking, and
+trying to learn every useful art that those about her could teach, was
+all she could do.
+
+Every summer she, Blanche, Harry, and Nannette had the great pleasure of
+a visit to Mr. Donald Keith’s; and to the ladies there Ethel opened her
+heart, earnestly asking advice as to her future course.
+
+Both replied, “You are too young yet to go into any kind of business,
+and are doing the right thing in trying to learn all you can.” That gave
+her great encouragement, though she felt it hard to wait, and often
+wished she could grow up faster.
+
+The Cootes had moved away in less than a year after the children were
+taken from them, and another and very different man, with a lovely wife
+and several children, had taken charge of the church and possession of
+the parsonage; all of which added very much to Ethel’s enjoyment of her
+visit to that neighborhood.
+
+Both there and at home the war was ever the principal and most absorbing
+topic of conversation; each victory for the National arms brought
+joy—alas! not unmingled with poignant regret, often almost
+heart-breaking sorrow for the slain—to each family. George and Albert
+Eldon were in many engagements, both were wounded at different times,
+yet they escaped without loss of life or limb. First one and then the
+other came home on a short furlough—for they had re-enlisted for the
+war—were made much of by friends and relatives, their parents and
+sisters in particular, and wept over anew when at the expiration of
+their time of leave they went back to rejoin their regiment; for they
+belonged to the same one.
+
+Mrs. Keith or her mother occasionally wrote to Ethel. In March of 1865 a
+letter came, telling the young girl they would be in the city the next
+day to get a sight of Mr. Rupert Keith—who had been at home for a time,
+a paroled prisoner, but was now returning to his regiment, having been
+exchanged—and of his nephews, Percy Landreth and Stuart Ormsby, lads of
+seventeen, who had just enlisted and were with their uncle on their way
+to the seat of war—and inviting her to meet them at the station, as they
+would like to see her and felt sure she would like to see the soldiers,
+who were ready to give their lives for the salvation of their country.
+
+Ethel was delighted and easily obtained permission to go.
+
+The troops dined in Philadelphia, and the Keith party had time for a
+brief interview with their relatives and friends with whom Ethel was.
+She was introduced to and shook hands with them. She was pleased with
+the looks of both uncle and nephews, and their evident ardent devotion
+to the cause of the Union for whose defence they had enlisted.
+
+She and others watched with tear-dimmed eyes as again the troops took up
+their line of march for the South, keeping step to the music of the
+band. Would they ever tread those streets again? or were they doomed to
+die on some battlefield, or starve and freeze in those filthy
+prison-pens of Andersonville, Belle Isle, and Libby? Ah, who could say?
+And when would this dreadful war be over?
+
+The last soldier had disappeared from sight, and with a sigh Mrs. Keith
+turned to Ethel.
+
+“We have a little shopping to do, my dear,” she said; “so will have to
+bid you good-by unless you may go with us and care to do so.”
+
+“Thank you, ma’am, I think I must go home now, when I have done an
+errand or two for Aunt Augusta and Cousin Adelaide,” replied the young
+girl. “But aunt told me to invite you ladies to go home with me to
+dinner. Won’t you?”
+
+“No, my dear; we must finish our shopping and hurry home to our little
+folks, who are sure to be wanting mother and grandma. Take our thanks to
+your aunt, and tell her we hope to see her at our house one of these
+days.”
+
+So the good-bys were said, and the two ladies walked away in one
+direction and Ethel in another.
+
+She visited several of the larger stores, making small purchases with
+which she had been entrusted, then turned into a side street and was
+pursuing her homeward way, when passing a drygoods retail store some
+little fancy articles in the window attracted her attention, and she
+went in to look at them more closely and price them.
+
+She was waited on by a middle-aged woman of very pleasing countenance,
+with whom she presently fell into conversation. There were ready-made
+articles of women’s and children’s wear on the counter and in the show
+case, and in the back part of the store was a sewing machine with a
+partly finished garment upon it.
+
+“I see you have some very pretty aprons and other ready-made things for
+children,” remarked Ethel, “and you make them yourself, I suppose?”
+glancing toward the machine as she spoke.
+
+“Yes, miss, but I don’t get much time for sewing since I have no one but
+myself to tend the store; except when mother finds time now and then to
+wait on a customer. That’s not often, though, for the house-work and the
+children keep her busy pretty much all the time from daylight to dark.”
+
+“Then I should think it might pay you to have a young girl to wait on
+customers.”
+
+“Yes, miss, if I could get the right sort; but most young things are
+giddy and thoughtless, some inclined to be saucy to customers, and
+others not perfectly honest. I’ve had several that tried me in those
+ways; then I had a really good, honest, and capable one; but she had to
+leave because her father and brothers went off to the war, the only
+sister left at home took sick, and she—Susy, the one that was with
+me—had to go and help the poor mother to do the work and take care of
+the invalid.”
+
+A thought—a hope that here might be an opening for her—had struck Ethel,
+and timidly she put a few questions in regard to the work required, the
+time that must be given to it, and the wages paid.
+
+The woman answered her queries pleasantly and patiently, then asked her
+if she knew of someone who wanted such a situation and would be at all
+likely to suit.
+
+“No, I—I am not certain, but I think perhaps she might if—if her friends
+won’t object,” stammered Ethel confusedly and with a vivid blush.
+
+“Is it yourself, miss?” asked Mrs. Baker, the storekeeper, smiling
+kindly into the sweet, childish face. “I feel right sure we could get
+along nicely together if you’re willing to make the trial, though to be
+sure you’re rather young.”
+
+“Oh, I should like to,” returned Ethel in eager delight. “I—I’m an
+orphan, and have a dear little brother and two little sisters, and I
+want to earn something to make a home for us all, so that we can be
+together and be independent.”
+
+“That’s right; independence is a grand thing. But if it’s not an
+impertinent question, where and how do you live now?” asked Mrs. Baker,
+with a look of keen interest.
+
+“We have two very kind uncles who give us homes—two of us in one house
+and two in the other. We see each other every day, but that’s not just
+the same as living together.”
+
+“Well, but, dear child, you couldn’t support four—yourself and two
+others.”
+
+“Not now, but maybe after a while, if—if I learn how to make money and
+work very hard and don’t spend any more than is really necessary.”
+
+“Your wish to do all that does you a deal of credit, but I’m afraid you
+can hardly accomplish so much. My husband is gone to the war, and it’s
+almost more than I can do to make a living for mother and the children
+and myself. So you see I couldn’t pay a big salary to a young thing like
+you or to anybody; especially till you, or whoever it was, had learned
+something of the business.”
+
+“Oh, no, certainly not! But I’d willingly work for a little till I learn
+enough to be really worth more,” returned Ethel half breathlessly; for
+she seemed to see some hope—some prospect of an opportunity to begin her
+long-desired effort to attain to the little home she and Blanche, Harry
+and Nannette, had been talking of for years.
+
+“Well, I like your looks, and—perhaps we might try it,” Mrs. Baker said
+after a moment’s cogitation, “though I’m afraid maybe your folks may not
+be quite willing.”
+
+Ethel colored at that. “I think I’ll try it, if you are willing,” she
+said. “I think I could sell goods—wait on customers, I mean, make
+change, and all that; and I know how to use the sewing machine—we have
+one at my uncle’s where I live, and I’ve learned on it. So I could help
+with that, if you want me to. Indeed, I’d try to make myself so useful
+that you wouldn’t want to get rid of me,” she added with a smile.
+
+“I don’t believe I should,” returned Mrs. Baker pleasantly. “Well, you
+may come and try it, if you like.”
+
+“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed Ethel, her eyes shining. “When shall I
+begin?”
+
+“To-morrow, if you like; but if you’re really decided to come we’d
+better settle about the terms. You’d expect to board and sleep here, I
+suppose?”
+
+“I suppose so, if you want me to,” returned Ethel with a sigh, thinking
+of Nannette’s distress on learning that she was to be left alone at
+Uncle Albert’s.
+
+“Yes, I’d rather you would,” said Mrs. Baker. “I’ve a right nice little
+bedroom for you opening into mine. Shall I show it to you?”
+
+“Yes, if you please.”
+
+They went into the back part of the house, leaving the store in the care
+of Mrs. Ray, the mother of Mrs. Baker, up a narrow winding stairway and
+into a small room opening on one side into the hall, on another into a
+larger bedroom. Everything looked neat and clean, but the furniture was
+scant and plain, by no means an agreeable contrast to the room Ethel now
+occupied at her uncle’s, or indeed with any room in his large and
+commodious dwelling.
+
+Ethel was conscious of some sinking of the heart at the thought of the
+not pleasant exchange, but independence was sweet; still sweeter the
+thought of getting even one step nearer the realization of her dream of
+the little home of their own for herself, brother, and sisters.
+
+And it was quite as good a room—as well furnished at least—as the one
+they had occupied at Mr. Coote’s.
+
+Mrs. Baker could almost read the young girl’s thoughts in her speaking
+countenance.
+
+“I dare say your room at your uncle’s must be far better furnished and
+larger than this,” she remarked. “I wish for your sake I had a nicer one
+to offer you.”
+
+“But one can’t have everything in this world,” returned Ethel, forcing a
+smile, “and I had rather be independent even in a small and poorly
+furnished ten by ten room than living on somebody else in a palace.”
+
+“That’s a right feeling, I think,” said Mrs. Baker. “I don’t have any
+great amount of respect for folks that are willing to live at other
+people’s expense when they might take care of themselves.”
+
+With that she led the way down the stairs and into the store again,
+where they continued their talk till they came to a definite
+arrangement. It was that Ethel should come in a day or two and try how
+she liked the business, and how well she could suit her employer. She
+told of the needlework she had been doing at odd moments for the past
+years since her return to the city, and of which she had now accumulated
+a large supply, and asked if Mrs. Baker would like to buy them of her
+for sale in the store.
+
+“I don’t know,” was the reply in a meditative tone. “Bring them along if
+you like and let me see them. I’m inclined to think your better plan
+would be to buy some muslin and make up the garments; then sell them on
+your own account here in the store; you may do it and welcome.”
+
+“Oh, thank you! how kind you are!” exclaimed Ethel joyously. Then with a
+promise to be there early the next day, she bade good-by and hastened on
+her homeward way in a flutter of excitement. She was, oh, so glad that at
+last a prospect was opening before her of being some day able to earn
+money for the support of herself, and her brother and sisters. And how
+delightful that she could at once relieve her uncles of all expense for
+her own maintenance. They would surely be pleased that she was to become
+at once self-supporting; for only a day or two before this she had
+overheard some talk between her cousins Arabella and Olive in which they
+spoke of the expense their father and uncle were at in supporting their
+orphan cousins, pronouncing it a shame that it should be so now when
+everything was so costly in consequence of the war.
+
+It had made Ethel feel very badly, and greatly increased her longing
+desire to be able to earn her own living; and surely, taking all this
+into consideration, her uncles must approve of the effort she was about
+to make.
+
+And it could hardly be worse to work in that store for so pleasant and
+kind a woman, as Mrs. Baker evidently was, than to be expected to wait
+at all times and seasons upon her aunt and cousins, meekly receiving and
+obeying all their orders, and bearing fault-finding and scolding without
+retort or remonstrance, no matter how unkind and unjust she might feel
+it to be. The only hard part would be the separation from her brother
+and younger sisters, particularly Nannette, who was so accustomed to
+lean upon her and had been so long her special charge. The tears would
+fall as she thought of that.
+
+But suddenly realizing that she had certainly been out much longer than
+she had expected, and would probably be assailed with a torrent of
+reproaches on her arrival at home, she hastily wiped away her tears and
+quickened her steps.
+
+Her reception on her arrival was even worse than she had feared.
+
+“Mrs. Eldon wants you up there in her dressin’ room right away, Miss
+Ethel,” said the girl who opened the door and admitted her in answer to
+her ring.
+
+“Very well,” Ethel replied, and tripped lightly up the stairs, though
+her heart beat at the prospect before her.
+
+She found her aunt lying idly on the sofa in her dressing gown and
+slippers, her hair in curl papers, and a paper-covered novel in her
+hand. “Well, miss,” she exclaimed, “a pretty time you have been gone,
+leaving me lying here with nobody to read to me; for your cousins are
+all too busy of course, and not one of them has a voice so well suited
+to allay the nervousness that drives me so nearly distracted.”
+
+“I’m sorry, Aunt Augusta,” replied the young girl in a patient tone. “I
+did not mean to stay so long, but I had some errands——”
+
+“Oh, did you match that lace?”
+
+“Yes, ma’am,” Ethel answered, taking a little roll from her pocket.
+“Here it is.”
+
+“Then make haste and carry it to the sewing room, and tell Miss Finch to
+baste it in the neck and sleeves of that new black silk of mine. Then
+leave your hat and sack in your own room and come here and read to me.”
+
+Ethel, though longing to go in search of Nannette, from whom she must
+part, in a large measure, so soon, also to consider and gather together
+what she would need to take with her to Mrs. Baker’s, obeyed the order
+without any show of reluctance, and spent the next hour in reading to
+her aunt.
+
+By that time Mrs. Eldon had fallen asleep, perceiving which the young
+girl stole silently from the room and went to her own.
+
+But she had scarcely reached it and shut herself in when the door was
+opened again by someone on the outside and Arabella put in her head,
+asking, “Where’s that sewing silk I told you to get me? and the buttons?
+did you match them?”
+
+“Yes; here they are,” returned Ethel, taking them from her pocket and
+handing them to her cousin.
+
+“And why did you not bring them to me at once when you got home?”
+
+“Aunt Augusta has kept me busy ever since.”
+
+“You are not in her room now, are you?” queried Arabella sarcastically.
+
+“No, but I have just come from it, and I really forgot all about the
+purchases for you, Arabella.”
+
+“Well let me advise you not to forget so readily another time,” was the
+haughty rejoinder, and Arabella hurried away; but Ethel heard her remark
+to Minnie and Olive as she went into the room across the hall, “That
+girl isn’t worth her salt, and papa doing everything for her—feeding,
+clothing, and educating her. Really it would be a fine thing for him and
+us if she’d show spirit enough to go off and earn a living for herself.”
+
+“She’s too young,” said Olive, “papa wouldn’t think of letting her do
+it; and after all she is quite useful to us—doing many a little job of
+mending and fixing that we wouldn’t care to do for ourselves.”
+
+“Well, yes, she does; but if she were not here we’d do them ourselves
+and papa would be saved that much needless expense.”
+
+“Needless?”
+
+“Yes; for she is now old enough to earn her own living. There’s many a
+younger girl than she doing that.”
+
+“Nonsense! you know well enough, that neither papa nor Uncle George
+would let her do it,” Ethel heard her cousin Minnie exclaim; but then,
+with a sudden recollection that she was hearing what was perhaps not
+intended for her ear, she closed the door with tears of wounded feeling
+rolling down her cheeks, and began her work of gathering together
+articles of clothing and other things she must take with her to her new
+abode.
+
+She was glad that she had said positively she would go, for if her
+uncles should object she could tell them she had made a promise and must
+be allowed to keep it. Yet, oh, how she dreaded the telling!
+
+At the six o’clock dinner she was very silent and a close observer might
+have detected traces of tears on her cheeks, but her uncle’s thoughts
+were upon the news of the day and some business transaction, and he
+failed to notice anything peculiar about his little niece.
+
+On leaving the table he went into the library and took up the evening
+paper. His wife and older daughters had gone to their own apartments to
+dress for an evening party or concert, the younger children to the
+playroom, and he was alone till Ethel stole quietly in after him.
+
+He glanced up at her as she drew near his chair.
+
+“What is it, Ethel, my dear? have you something to say to me?” he asked
+pleasantly, “something you want no one else to hear?” Then noticing how
+her color came and went, that her eyes were full of tears and she was
+trembling visibly, “Why, what is it, child?” and he drew her near to his
+side, put an arm about her as he spoke, and bade her not to be afraid to
+tell him all that troubled her.
+
+“Oh, uncle, you are so kind!” she sobbed, the tears now rolling down her
+cheeks; “I do love you so, but—but I can’t bear to stay here and be such
+an expense and burden to you when you have so many children of your own
+to provide for and I ought to be earning my own living.”
+
+“Tut, tut, who has put all that nonsense into your head?” he asked in a
+tone of mingled amusement and irritation. “I won’t have it. I am
+entirely able to take care of my brother’s little girl as well as my
+own. So stop crying, dry your eyes, and be as happy and merry as you
+can, nor ever think that uncle grudges you your home, victuals, and
+clothes.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t, I don’t think that, dear Uncle Albert,” she said, putting
+her arms about his neck and kissing him with ardent affection; “but I’m
+almost a woman now and I want to earn my own living and, as soon as I’m
+able, to help my brother and sisters; and, and—oh, please don’t be angry
+with me, but I—I’ve made an engagement to be a clerk in a little store
+with a very nice kind woman who will treat me just like one of the
+family and——”
+
+“Is it possible, Ethel!” exclaimed Mr. Eldon, and his tone was full of
+displeasure. “Indeed I shall allow nothing of the kind. Let my brother’s
+daughter go into a store? No, indeed! not while I have abundant means to
+support her as well as my own family.”
+
+“But, uncle, I’ve promised,” sobbed Ethel, “and you know we must keep
+our promises.”
+
+“I dare say the woman will release you from the promise; at least for a
+consideration, if not without. Ah, here comes your Uncle George,” as
+just then that gentleman entered the room.
+
+“What do you think, brother? This foolish child has—without consulting
+you or me, or anybody else for that matter—engaged herself as clerk to a
+woman keeping a little thread and needle store.”
+
+“Well, that’s astounding news!” exclaimed Mr. George Eldon, seating
+himself and looking very hard, with something of a frown on his face, at
+Ethel. “Come here, child, and tell me all about it.”
+
+Ethel obeyed, wiping her eyes and saying pleadingly, “Please, uncle,
+don’t be angry with me. I—I can’t bear to be such an expense to Uncle
+Albert now when I’m getting so old, and so——”
+
+“Ay, yes, very big and very old,” he returned, taking her hand and
+drawing her to him; “so big and so old that it must cost a great deal to
+feed and dress you. Uncle Albert ought to be very glad to get rid of
+such an expense. And you are never of any use; don’t do any errands for
+Aunt Augusta or her daughters or make yourself useful in any way.” He
+looked so grave and spoke in such a serious tone that Ethel felt
+puzzled.
+
+“I have tried to be of use, uncle,” she said humbly, “but I know they
+can do very well without me. And I want to learn to make money, so that
+I can help Blanche and Harry and Nannette; because after a while it will
+cost a great deal to clothe and feed and educate them; and you and Uncle
+Albert have your own children to take care of.”
+
+“Well, really! she’s not so much of a baby as I had thought,” he said,
+looking searchingly into her face with a grim sort of a smile on his
+own. “How old are you, Ethel, my sage niece?”
+
+“In my sixteenth year, uncle. So you see I’m not a baby but almost a
+woman.”
+
+“Ah, well! let us hear all about these plans and prospects.”
+
+Thus encouraged, Ethel went at once into all the particulars of her
+interview with Mrs. Baker, what she had engaged to do, and what she
+hoped to accomplish. Her uncles listened attentively, and finding they
+could not persuade her to a willing relinquishment of her project,
+finally consented to allow her to make the trial; stipulating however
+that if she found the exertion too great, or for any reason was unhappy
+or uncomfortable in her new quarters, she should at once give up the
+effort at self-support, and return to her present home; Uncle Albert
+assuring her of a warm welcome there.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+From the library Ethel went up to the schoolroom, where Nannette and the
+younger cousins were engaged with their tasks for the morrow.
+
+“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come at last, Ethel, dear,” said Nannette. “It
+always seems lonesome without you, and besides I want your help with
+this lesson; it’s so hard, and you always know how to explain things and
+make them easy.”
+
+Ethel’s eyes filled. What would Nan, dear little Nan, do without her big
+sister, who had always tried to bear every burden for her? But
+conquering her emotion by a great and determined effort, she took a seat
+by her little sister’s side and gave the needed help.
+
+The children were required to study only one hour in the evening, and
+soon books were laid aside and they ran off to the nursery for a game of
+romps before going to bed. But Ethel lingered behind, and Miss Olney,
+the governess, presently enquired in a kindly tone if there was anything
+she wanted to say to her. Then Ethel’s story came out, and with tears
+she confessed that the hardest part was the leaving of Nannette without
+her sisterly care and assistance with her tasks.
+
+“Never mind that, dear child,” Miss Olney said, softly stroking the
+young girl’s hair; “I will take your place in that. And though I am
+sorry indeed to part with so docile and industrious a pupil as yourself,
+I think you are doing just right; and I believe the Lord will bless and
+help you. And you know you will not be far away and we may hope to see
+you frequently. From what you tell me of Mrs. Baker I feel assured that
+she will prove a kind and pleasant employer, making you feel yourself
+just one of the family—not a stranger about whom they care nothing. Also
+I think the knowledge that you can come back to your home here at any
+time if you will, sure of a welcome from your kind uncle—and I dare say
+all the family—will make it all the easier for you to be happy in your
+new surroundings.”
+
+“Yes, ma’am, my uncles are very, very kind to me, to my brother and
+sisters too; and Harry and the girls can come to Mrs. Baker’s sometimes
+to see me; any of the rest of course, but I hardly suppose my aunt,
+uncles, or cousins will care to do that.”
+
+“But possibly I may, one of these days,” returned Miss Olney with a
+smile.
+
+“I’d be delighted to see you,” Ethel said, her eyes shining. “Oh, I
+don’t think I need feel unhappy or as if I were alone in the world.
+Would you tell Nan about it to-night, Miss Olney?”
+
+“No, I think not. Let her sleep in peace. I wouldn’t tell her until
+after breakfast to-morrow.”
+
+Ethel intended to act in accordance with that advice, but on going to
+her own room found Nan there standing with her eyes fastened upon the
+trunk her sister had been packing.
+
+“Why, what’s this trunk doing here?” she asked. “Are we going away,
+sister? Oh, I hope it’s to visit at Mr. Keith’s again, though I didn’t
+suppose we’d be going there so early in the season.”
+
+“No, we are not, Nan, dear,” returned Ethel in trembling tones, and
+catching her little sister in her arms she held her close, kissing her
+again and again while the great tears rolled down her cheeks and sobs
+almost choked her.
+
+“O, Ethel, what’s the matter?” cried Nan in affright. “Oh, don’t say
+you’re going away from me! If you are going you must take me along, for
+I could never, never do without you! You know I couldn’t.”
+
+Ethel struggled with her emotion, and presently finding her voice, “I’m
+not going very far, Nan, dear,” she said with a fresh burst of sobs;
+“and I ought not to cry for it’s best I should go—it will be the best in
+the end I’m sure, and our uncles are willing.”
+
+“Going where?” asked Nan wildly. “Oh, you shan’t go! I can’t do without
+you, you know I can’t!”
+
+“But it’s to make the home for you and Blanche and Harry and me;
+besides, I’ll not be far away and we can often visit each other, and
+when at last we get the dear home, oh, how happy we shall be!”
+
+“But where are you going? and how do you expect to make the home?”
+
+In answer to that Ethel told the whole story, winding up with, “You see,
+Nan, dear, it will not be so very hard; in fact, I think I shall like it
+very much—it will be so nice to feel that I am earning money toward the
+dear home we shall surely have some day. The worst of it is leaving you;
+but then it is not at all as if I were going far away; we can see each
+other very often, perhaps almost every day, and you can tell me all your
+little secrets just as you always have, and whatever I can do to help
+you I will. You’re sure of that, aren’t you, darling little sister?”
+
+“Yes, yes; but oh, I shall miss you so much! I don’t see what I can do
+without you.”
+
+“You won’t be all alone, dear,” returned Ethel soothingly; “the dear
+Lord Jesus will be just as near and able to help and comfort you as
+ever, and just as ready to hear your prayers as if you were a woman. You
+won’t forget that?”
+
+“No; but oh, I shall want you too!” wailed Nan, hiding her face on
+Ethel’s shoulder.
+
+“But, remember, I’m not going far away, dear Nan, and we may see each
+other very often,” repeated Ethel. “Besides, you will be here with dear
+Uncle Albert; and the cousins are almost always kind nowadays. Now let
+us kneel down and say our prayers and then get into bed and go to sleep,
+and you will feel better in the morning.”
+
+“O Ethel, is this the last time we’ll sleep together?” sobbed Nan,
+creeping into her sister’s arms as they laid themselves down upon the
+bed.
+
+“For a while, I suppose,” returned Ethel, trying hard to speak
+cheerfully. “But don’t think about that, dear Nan, but about the good
+time coming, when we shall have our own home—all four of us together—and
+oh, such a good, happy time!”
+
+“But oh, it will be so long to wait,” sighed the little girl, and Ethel
+felt like echoing the sigh, for her heart was very sore over Nan’s
+distress as well as her own sorrow, that they must now learn to live
+apart, at least for a time. But both at length wept themselves to sleep.
+
+The situation did not look very much brighter to them in the morning,
+and there were traces of tears upon the cheeks of both when they took
+their places at the breakfast table.
+
+Their aunt had not come down. She was seldom present at that early meal.
+But all the cousins except Arabella were in their places, and it seemed
+that all the older ones looked askance and with no very pleasant
+expression at her.
+
+But her uncle said good-morning in a very kindly tone, and heaped her
+plate and Nannette’s with the most tempting viands the table afforded.
+
+Ethel’s heart was very full. She ate with but little appetite and had
+finished her meal before any of the rest had satisfied their appetites.
+Her uncle saw it, and on leaving the table called her into the library,
+where he could speak to her alone.
+
+“Well, my child,” he said, “I hope you have thought better of it by this
+time and do not want to leave us.”
+
+At that Ethel’s tears began to fall. “I’m sorry, oh, so sorry, to leave
+you, uncle,” she replied, “but you know promises have to be kept, and I
+did promise to try it. So please don’t be angry with me.”
+
+“I am sorry, like yourself, my dear child,” he said; “but do not blame
+you. Perhaps it is best you should try the plan; for as you can come
+back whenever you wish, it will not be risking a great deal, and I fear
+you will never be content until you have made the experiment. Your aunt
+and cousins all know about it and naturally are rather displeased,
+thinking it a proof that you do not value your home here as you might.”
+
+“Oh, uncle, how can they think that! I am very, very grateful for your
+kindness in giving me such a home for so many years; but it would be
+asking too much of you to keep on supporting me and my sister Nannette
+now when I have grown old enough to do something for myself and may
+hope, if I begin at once to learn to make money, that in a few years I
+may be able to help her and Blanche and Harry till they too are able to
+earn their own living. Don’t you really think, uncle, that it is what is
+right and best for me to do?”
+
+“That is a question we need not discuss now, since you are decided to
+try it,” he said, looking at his watch. “Well, child, I must be off to
+my business now; so let me kiss you good-by, and do not forget that if
+you want to come back at any time, your Uncle Albert’s door is always
+open to you—his dead brother’s daughter.” He took her in his arms and
+caressed her tenderly as he spoke.
+
+“Dear uncle, you have always been so good, so good and kind to me!” she
+sobbed, clinging about his neck. “Oh, don’t ever think for one minute
+that it’s because I don’t love you dearly, dearly, that I’m going away.”
+
+“No, I do not think that,” he said soothingly, caressing her hair and
+cheek with his hand, “but if you come back soon to stay with me, I shall
+think that is a proof that you do love me.”
+
+“Indeed, indeed, I do!” she exclaimed earnestly, the tears coursing down
+her cheeks as she spoke. “And mayn’t I come here to see you when I wish
+and can be spared from the store?”
+
+“Certainly; and it is possible I may some day call in upon you. Give me
+your address.”
+
+She gave it, and he wrote it down in his notebook.
+
+“How soon do you go?” he asked.
+
+“I promised to be there by nine o’clock this morning,” she replied.
+
+“So soon? Well, then I think it will not be best for you to see your
+aunt before starting. She is not likely to be up and would not wish to
+be disturbed, and you will be in again soon. So just leave your good-by
+with the girls.”
+
+Ethel was well content with that arrangement, for she had dreaded the
+parting interview with Mrs. Eldon; besides she was pressed for time to
+finish her packing and take leave of the others.
+
+The adieus of her cousins were very coldly spoken, and no interest shown
+in her new enterprise. That saddened her, though she had hardly expected
+anything else. But the parting with Nannette, who wept and clung to her
+in an almost frantic abandonment of grief and despair, was the hardest
+thing of all. Blanche and Harry also were much distressed over the
+parting, but forgot their own sorrow in efforts to soothe and comfort
+poor little Nannette. At last Blanche succeeded in doing so in a measure
+by promising that when they were out for their walk that afternoon they
+would all go to see Ethel in her new abode.
+
+“Oh, yes, so you must! That’s a good idea, Blanche,” exclaimed Ethel. “I
+don’t think Mrs. Baker will mind, and I shall be just as glad to see you
+as you will be to see me.”
+
+“But are we sure to be able to find the place?” asked Harry, standing
+near. “Here, I’ll write it down—street and number, I mean,” taking a
+small blank book from his pocket as he spoke, “and then we’ll be sure
+not to forget.”
+
+“That’s right, Harry,” Ethel said with a faint smile. “I think you are
+going to make a good business man, as Uncle Albert says.” She gave the
+requested information, then a hasty and last good-by to each and hurried
+away, leaving Nannette in tears, the other two looking distressed and
+woe-begone.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+Ethel left her uncle’s house in tears, but before reaching her
+destination had wiped them away and assumed an air of determined
+cheerfulness. Mrs. Baker gave her a kindly reception, said she was glad
+to see her, hoped she would never find reason to regret having come, and
+bade her sit down by the stove and get well warmed before taking off her
+hat and sack, for it was a cold, blustering March day.
+
+“We’ll not be likely to have much custom to-day,” she remarked
+presently; “it’s so raw and cold out that I should think folks that have
+no particular call to go abroad would be likely to stay at home. Perhaps
+it’s a good thing for us, as we’ll have time to look over the bits of
+needlework you were telling me of. You have brought them along, I
+suppose?”
+
+“I put them in my trunk,” replied Ethel.
+
+“And that’s come and been carried up to your room; and when you’re right
+warm you may bring them down, if you choose.”
+
+Ethel presently availed herself of the permission, and Mrs. Baker and
+her mother, Mrs. Ray, both examined the work with interest. “I think
+they are very handsome indeed, and shouldn’t wonder if she’d find a
+customer for them—some of them, anyhow—directly,” remarked the old lady.
+“I never saw as pretty work done by one so young.”
+
+“I quite agree with you, mother, and hope she’ll make a good deal on
+them,” returned Mrs. Baker, with a pleasant smile into Ethel’s face, now
+rosy with pleasure at their warm commendation of her work. “I advise you
+to keep on, Ethel, as you tell me you have been doing, using spare
+moments in adding to your stock, and I think you’ll find it paying you
+well one of these days,” she continued, addressing the young girl. “If
+you wish, I’ll buy a piece of muslin for you some day soon when I’m out
+purchasing goods for the store. I think maybe I can get a better bargain
+than you could, seeing you are so young and not used, as I am, to such
+business; then I’ll help you with the cutting out of the garments, so
+that they’ll be ready when you can find time to work on them.”
+
+“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” exclaimed Ethel, tears of gratitude springing to
+her eyes, “you are very kind to me.”
+
+“Tut, child, I haven’t done anything yet to speak of,” laughed the
+kind-hearted woman. “But I want to do by you as I’d want anyone to do by
+my little Jenny, if she should ever be left fatherless and motherless,
+poor little soul!” glancing with moistened eyes at her four-year-old
+daughter, who was playing about the floor.
+
+“Dear little thing!” Ethel said, holding out her hand to the child, who
+had paused in her play to look wonderingly from one to the other, “she
+reminds me of what my little sister Nan was when God took our father and
+mother to heaven.”
+
+“My papa aint gone dere,” lisped the little one, gazing up into Ethel’s
+face; “he’s gone to de war to fight de rebs.”
+
+“Has he?” said Ethel; “so have two of my cousins. Oh,” turning to Mrs.
+Baker, “I hope this dreadful war will soon be over!”
+
+“So do I,” was the emphatic rejoinder; “or rather I wish it; things
+don’t look so very hopeful just at present. But folks seem to think the
+new general may be expected to make better progress against the rebels
+than the others did, I think myself it’s more than likely, considering
+what he has done out West.”
+
+“And we are all praying for him, that the Lord will give him wisdom and
+success with his plans, so that this awful war may come to an end, and
+the country be saved,” said Mrs. Ray. “The men at the head of the
+rebellion have a great deal to answer for. They were not oppressed, but
+were dreadful oppressors—of the negro first, then of the whites both
+North and South, in order to hold on to slavery, which they found so
+profitable to their pockets, besides ministering to their wicked pride.”
+
+“Well, I am sure the backbone of the rebellion is broken now; they know
+it can’t succeed, and I for one can’t see how the consciences of the
+rebel leaders can allow them to go on with the struggle—sacrificing so
+many lives to no purpose,” sighed Mrs. Baker. “Now, Ethel, I will show
+you round the store and make you acquainted with the places of the
+different articles we have for sale, so that you will be able to find
+them when called for.”
+
+“And I must go and see to household matters,” her mother said, hurrying
+away in the direction of the kitchen.
+
+Ethel was kept very busy all day, except for a little while in the
+afternoon, when Blanche came with Harry and Nannette to see her in her
+new quarters.
+
+Mrs. Baker received them kindly and invited them to come again for
+Ethel’s sake, and though some tears were shed by the three girls at
+parting, they all felt better contented than they had before.
+
+As the days, weeks, and months rolled on, Ethel was more comfortable and
+found things going more smoothly with her at Mrs. Baker’s than she had
+dared to hope. Waiting upon customers was not repugnant to her, she was
+fond of her needlework, and not averse to using the sewing-machine;
+though Mrs. Baker was kindly careful not to let her do too much of that
+last, lest she should injure her health; also she kindly contrived some
+errand for her every day, squares away from the store, that she might
+have the benefit of outdoor air and exercise.
+
+And there were many exchanges of visits between herself and her younger
+sisters and brother; occasional letters from Mrs. Keith and her mother
+to be read and replied to, and interesting news from the seat of war,
+the daily papers being eagerly searched for it by Mrs. Kay, Mrs. Baker,
+and herself.
+
+With what a thrill of horror they read of the awful massacre by the
+savage Forrest and his troops at Fort Pillow, taken by a resort to
+trickery under a flag of truce; the terrible battles of the Wilderness,
+Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, and others of the sanguinary conflicts of
+that last year of the war of the rebellion!
+
+These divided Ethel’s attention with her needlework, waiting upon
+customers, doing errands for Mrs. Baker, and chatting with the little
+ones, who were a source of entertainment, and of whom there were two
+boys in addition to Jenny. They were but little fellows, going to school
+until the summer holidays began, but full of fun and frolic when at
+home, and Ethel and they soon became fast friends.
+
+One day early in the fall Ethel received a letter from Mrs. Keith, in
+which she told of the coming home of her husband, a paroled prisoner
+from Andersonville, where he had been for some time, suffering so
+terribly that his health seemed ruined for life. His parents and other
+near relatives in Indiana were anxious to see him, she added, and they
+had decided to go out there for some weeks, taking the children with
+them. She hoped the trip would prove of benefit to Mr. Keith, and that
+he would return home looking and feeling more as he did before going
+into the army, for now he was so pale and thin that it almost broke her
+heart to look at him and hear his sad story of the barbarous treatment
+he and his fellow-prisoners had received at the hands of their cruel
+jailors; then from that she went on to tell of the starvation, filth,
+exposure to the weather, and shooting down on the slightest protest,
+which made of Andersonville prison-pen a veritable hell upon earth.
+
+Ethel read that part of the letter first to herself, then aloud to Mrs.
+Baker and Mrs. Ray, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, while her
+hearers wept with her.
+
+“Ah,” sighed Mrs. Baker, “God grant this cruel war may soon be over, and
+that my poor husband may never be a prisoner in the hands of those worse
+than savage men!”
+
+“And oh, I hope my poor cousins, George and Albert, may escape it too!”
+exclaimed Ethel. “How very, very dreadful it is! how can men be so
+cruel? worse than any wild beast.”
+
+“Oh, hark!” exclaimed Mrs. Baker. “What is it that newsboy is crying?
+Atlanta taken? I must have a paper!” and she rushed to the door,
+beckoned to the lad, and in a minute was back again with the paper in
+her hand, and reading aloud to her mother and Ethel.
+
+They rejoiced together in this new proof that the Union cause was
+gaining, the rebellion nearing its end.
+
+Ethel had come to feel very much at home with these good women; though
+her wages were but small, she had succeeded so well in the disposal of
+the garments she had made on her own account and adorned with the
+specimens of needlework she had brought with her, that she felt in good
+spirits and very hopeful of being, at no very distant day, able to carry
+out her plan of starting in a business of her own and making a home for
+herself, her brother and sisters.
+
+She was extremely desirous of doing that; yet she had become so attached
+to the two good women she was with that it gave her something of a
+heartache to think of leaving them.
+
+She had thought she might be able to accomplish her desire at the end of
+her first year with Mrs. Baker, but her means were not sufficient, and
+all the friends she consulted esteemed her too young for such an
+undertaking; they also thought that while the war lasted she would not
+be so likely to succeed as in the better times to be hoped for at its
+close. So she waited and worked on with patience and perseverance,
+comforting herself with the thought of the future.
+
+In April came the glad news of Lee’s surrender, which virtually ended
+the war. It was glorious news to her and those she was with, as well as
+to all other loyal Americans, filling their hearts with joy and
+gratitude to the Giver of all good; but alas! how quickly followed by
+intense grief and indignation over the cruel and cowardly assassination
+of him who had guided the ship of state through the breakers and the
+fearful storm that had raged about her, threatening her destruction for
+the last four years.
+
+On Saturday morning, April 15, the news reached Philadelphia,
+telegraphed from Washington, that President Lincoln had been shot the
+previous night and had just died of his wound.
+
+The early breakfast was over at Mrs. Baker’s, the store was in order,
+and Ethel sitting behind the counter engaged upon a bit of needlework
+while awaiting the coming of customers. Mrs. Ray was busy in the back
+part of the house, little Jenny playing about on the pavement in front
+of the door, and Mrs. Baker had gone to market, taking the two boys with
+her.
+
+As Ethel’s needle flew in and out, her thoughts were busy with the glad
+news of a few days before—that Lee had surrendered to Grant.
+
+“The war must be just about over,” she said to herself, “and how glad
+dear, good President Lincoln and all the people that love the Union must
+feel! I don’t think one wants to punish the rebels now, much as we have
+lost and suffered through the efforts of the Confederates to destroy
+it—the grand old Union—we just say ‘They’ve given up now, and we will do
+all we can to help them to repair their losses and begin to prosper
+again.’ But, oh, hark! what’s that the newsboys are crying?”
+
+With the last words she dropped her work and ran to the door.
+
+The newsboy, drawing nearer, was literally crying, sobs mingling with
+the words, “President Lincoln shot——”
+
+“Oh, what—what’s that he’s saying?” cried Mrs. Ray, rushing in from the
+back room and through the front door. “Here, boy, bring me a paper! Oh,
+it can’t be possible that anybody’d be so wicked as to fire at the
+President! Was he much hurt?” as she took the paper from the hand of the
+weeping boy and gave him the money for it.
+
+“Oh, ma’am, he’s dead! he’s dead! He was shot last night and died just a
+few minutes ago. And they’ve murdered two or three more o’ the big men
+in Washington,” and with the last words, accompanied by a sob, the lad
+passed on, repeating his mournful cry.
+
+“Oh, I can’t believe it! I don’t know how to believe anybody, even a
+reb, could be so wicked,” sobbed Mrs. Ray, hastily glancing over the
+headings. “Yes, yes: here it is! but I can’t believe it; it’s surely a
+hoax; for who could be so wicked as to murder such a good, kind man as
+dear Mr. Lincoln?”
+
+“I can’t believe it either!” exclaimed Ethel, tears raining down her
+cheeks, “but read it aloud, won’t you, Mrs. Ray?”
+
+“I can’t—I can’t! the tears come so fast. You—you may,” thrusting the
+paper into Ethel’s hand.
+
+The young girl did as requested, but with many a pause to wipe away the
+falling tears and check the sobs that well-nigh choked her utterance.
+
+She had not finished when Mrs. Baker and her boys returned, all three
+weeping.
+
+“Oh, mother, mother, so you’ve got the news! I thought you would before
+we could get home, for it has gone over the city like wildfire, and
+almost everybody’s heartbroken!” cried Mrs. Baker, laying on the counter
+a parcel she carried and wiping her streaming eyes.
+
+“Not just everybody, mother; you forget that mean, bad woman we saw get
+paid off so well in the market,” exclaimed Mark, the eldest boy, his
+eyes flashing through tears. “You and Miss Ethel should have seen it,
+grandmother. We were buying some fish for dinner, the fishwoman and
+everybody round talking about the dreadful news, and most of them crying
+to think of dear, good President Lincoln being murdered, when up came a
+woman dressed in her best—at least I should think it might be her very
+best—and she says to the fishwoman, ‘How much do you ask for these fine
+shad? I’ll buy one, for I’m bound and determined to have an extra good
+dinner to-day to show how delighted I am at the good news I’ve heard.’
+‘And what may that be?’ the other woman asked. ‘Why, that that old
+tyrant, Abe Lincoln, is killed!’ and she’d hardly got the words out when
+that big shad was flapping round her ears in the liveliest kind of a
+way; and it went on flapping till it was all broken to pieces, her face
+smeared with the fish, and her bonnet crushed and broken and soiled till
+nobody would ever want to wear it again.”
+
+“Just what she deserved,” said his grandmother. “I can’t pity her in the
+least.”
+
+“And nobody did,” said Mark exultingly; “the crowd around just cheered
+the fishwoman, and groaned and hissed at the other, till she was glad to
+hurry away as fast as she could. There, mother, now you tell about what
+we saw and heard on Walnut Street.”
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Baker. “As we were coming home along that street a
+servant girl was scrubbing off the pavement in front of one of those
+big, handsome residences, and, a gentleman going past, she hailed him
+with, ‘An’ it’s the good news we’ve got this marnin’, sor; that ould
+Lincoln’s shot to death an’ won’t nivver——’ But there he interrupted
+her, his eyes fairly flashing with anger and his fists clenched. ‘If you
+weren’t a woman I’d knock you down!’ he said in a tone as if it would be
+a great satisfaction to him to do it. Then the gentleman of the house
+came to the door (I had seen him step to the parlor window as the girl
+began her remark) and said in a tone as if he would enjoy knocking her
+down, ‘You may consider yourself dismissed from my service, Bridget. You
+shall never enter my doors again with my knowledge and consent. I’ll
+have your clothes sent out to you and you may go at once.’”
+
+“I don’t blame him,” said a lady customer who had just come in; “it was
+exactly what she deserved. Think of anybody being so heartless as to
+rejoice in such a murder—the assassination of a man so patient and kind
+to all, desirous to have rebels forgiven who in any other country would
+be speedily executed for their attempt to destroy the government.
+People’s hearts are very sore,” she went on, weeping as she spoke, “and
+no wonder they cannot and will not stand hearing any rejoicing over this
+terrible calamity that has befallen the country—the dear land just saved
+from the dismemberment which threatened it! They are draping the public
+buildings with black, putting all the flags at half mast, and tying them
+with crape. Men shed tears; some women will wear deep mourning as for a
+near relative; others rosettes of the national colors and black ribbon.
+I came in here to look for the ribbons needed for mine.”
+
+Ethel waited upon her and while she did so another customer came in on
+the same errand. Her eyes were also wet with tears.
+
+“Oh, isn’t it dreadful?” she sobbed. “I think I could hardly feel worse
+if I’d lost my own father. And to think that some folks talk of the
+awful deed as if they were delighted that it was done. The heartless
+wretches! They might know, if they had any sense, that the loyal
+people—who were just rejoicing that the dreadful fight was over and the
+country saved—can’t and won’t stand it. I don’t know whether it’s true
+or not, but I just heard that a fellow who was so heartless as to be
+openly rejoicing over the dastardly deed, was knocked down for
+expressing his exultation and kicked along the pavement by the
+exasperated crowd till he was dead, and that a soldier shot down another
+such rejoicer at one of the depots and nobody made any attempt to arrest
+him for it.”
+
+“Oh, those are dreadful things!” exclaimed Mrs. Kay. “It is certainly
+wrong to kill a man for expressing his opinion; but they should have
+sense enough to keep such opinions and feelings to themselves while
+loyal people’s hearts are so sore over this dreadful, dreadful thing.”
+
+“Well there is one comforting thought—that the dear man was certainly a
+Christian, ready to die, and is now done with all earth’s troubles and
+trials,” said Mrs. Baker, tears of mingled joy and sorrow shining in her
+eyes. “How sweet the rest and peace of heaven must be to him—so worn and
+weary as he was with the griefs and cares of the last four dreadful
+years. We must weep for our own great and irreparable loss, and for all
+he suffered before God took him home, but at the same time we may
+rejoice in the blessedness that is now his in that better land.”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” responded the two lady customers, one of them adding, “I
+don’t know how anyone can doubt that he was a Christian man, well
+prepared to die; for he certainly displayed a Christian spirit toward
+all—even the rebels who were his deadly foes and had planned to murder
+him on his way to his first inauguration. It must be a blessed change
+for him; but oh, what is the country to do without him!”
+
+“Oh, ma’am, our God still lives,” said Mrs. Ray. “He is our Rock and
+Refuge, a very present help in trouble.”
+
+“Oh, mother, all the stores are putting black over their doors and
+windows,” exclaimed Mark, peering out into the street; “tying their
+flags with crape too. Can’t we do the same with ours?”
+
+“Yes, yes, to be sure,” she replied. “I’ll go at once and buy some yards
+of black stuff and we’ll fasten it along under the windows of our second
+story and around the doors here.”
+
+“Get some crape for the flag, too,” said her mother. “Here, I’ll pay for
+it,” taking out her purse as she spoke. “And hadn’t you better lay in a
+fresh supply of black, red, blue, and white ribbons for making the
+rosettes? I feel sure that a great many folks will be putting them on as
+a sign of mourning for him—the dear, murdered President!”
+
+“Yes, mother, I’ll lay in a fresh stock, and the sooner I get off to see
+about it the better; for I’m pretty certain that there will be a great
+demand for it before the day is over,” replied Mrs. Baker—and hurried on
+her way.
+
+A busy day followed—a day full of sad, heart-breaking excitement. Troops
+were in hot pursuit of the murderers—the one who had slain the
+President, and his confederates, him who had attacked Secretary Seward,
+and those who had aided and abetted them.
+
+The newsboys’ cry of “Extry! Extry!” was frequently heard, and the
+papers sold rapidly. All loyal hearts rejoiced that though evidently it
+had been the intention of the conspirators to slay Secretary Seward,
+perhaps General Grant also, both had escaped with life, though the
+secretary had been severely wounded by his would-be assassin.
+
+Cavalry and a heavy police force were speedily sent out in pursuit of
+the criminals, who were finally taken and brought back to Washington to
+receive the punishment due to their crimes—with the exception of Booth
+who, refusing to surrender, was shot and killed in the barn which, he
+had made his hiding place.
+
+When it was known that he was no longer at large, had not escaped with
+impunity after his awful deed—people seemed to breathe more freely,
+their hearts to be a little less sore, though they still mourned deeply
+for the loss of their martyred President, who was borne to the grave
+amid the tears and lamentations of almost the entire nation. There were
+few who did not mourn for him as for one very near and dear; one whose
+place could never be filled.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+Those were very bright faces which gathered about Mrs. Baker’s breakfast
+table one morning early in the next June.
+
+“Father’s coming home from the war to-day!” cried the children
+exultingly; “the fighting is all done and father’s coming home to stay.”
+
+“Yes,” returned their mother, tears of mingled joy and thankfulness
+shining in her eyes. “Oh, how thankful I am that he has never been
+wounded or taken prisoner—to starve and freeze to death, as so many of
+our poor, dear soldiers did. Oh, children, let us thank God every day of
+our lives for that!”
+
+“Yes, yes, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Ray. “You will all want to go and see
+the train come in with the soldiers,” she added, “but I’ll stay at home
+and get the best dinner for John that he ever had in his life.”
+
+“Thank you for that kind offer, mother, dear,” said Mrs. Baker. “I’ll be
+very glad to go and take the children.” Then turning to Ethel, “And what
+are you going to do, young woman?” she asked in a sprightly tone.
+
+“To go to the station to meet my cousins and the Keiths, if I can be
+spared,” returned Ethel, with a smile that told of a light and happy
+heart.
+
+“Yes, indeed, you are at liberty to go,” was the kindly rejoinder; “I
+was sure you would wish to, and so have engaged your friend Carry Brown
+to take your place in the store here for to-day.”
+
+Ethel expressed her warm thanks, adding, “I will see that everything
+about the store is in perfect order before I go, and will show Carry the
+places of things likely to be called for.”
+
+“That will be well,” returned Mrs. Baker, as they left the table
+together.
+
+Ethel was flitting about the store, dusting and putting things in place,
+humming a tune in the gladness of her heart at the thought that the war
+was over and the poor, weary, homesick soldiers about to be restored to
+their dear ones—particularly that her cousins George and Albert, were
+expected among the arrivals that day—when, glancing through the window,
+she saw the postman coming.
+
+She ran to the door to meet him. He handed her a letter bearing her own
+name in the well-known handwriting of her kind friend, Mrs. Donald
+Keith. Ethel hastened to break the seal and read the enclosed note.
+
+It was a brief one, telling her that they—Mr. and Mrs. Keith—would be in
+Philadelphia that morning in time to meet the train from Washington on
+which their brother, Colonel Rupert Keith, and his wife and two nephews,
+Stuart Ormsby and Percy Landreth, were expected to arrive. They would
+probably be at the depot for an hour or more before the Washington train
+would come in, and would be pleased to have Ethel spend that hour there
+with them, if she could be spared from the store.
+
+This was good news to Ethel, who had not for months seen Mrs. Keith, one
+of the best and kindest friends she and her orphan brother and sisters
+had ever known.
+
+She made haste with what must be done before leaving the store to Miss
+Brown’s care, then hurried to the depot, reaching it some minutes ere
+the train from New Jersey was due; so that she and Mrs. Keith had time
+for a good long chat before the arrival of that from Washington,
+bringing their homeward bound soldier friends and relatives.
+
+It came at last, there was a joyous meeting between the Keith brothers
+and other relatives, then the young men shook hands with Ethel,
+remembering having met her before on their way to the seat of war.
+
+As they told each other in after years, Ethel and Percy Landreth each
+noted a change in the other; both had grown in stature, she nearing
+beautiful womanhood, he thought, while the impression she gained of him,
+in the few minutes of their brief interview, was that he was becoming a
+noble-looking man, one of whom his parents, sisters, and other relatives
+might well feel proud; and she rejoiced for him and them, that he had
+escaped wounds and imprisonment in any one of those earthly
+hells—Andersonville, Libby, Belleisle, Danville, Charleston,
+Salisbury—and other notorious rebel prison-pens.
+
+They were all eager for home and could not be persuaded to miss the
+first train that would carry them on their westward way; therefore the
+interview was brief.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Keith returned to their home by a train that left only a
+few minutes later, and Ethel, after a short but very joyful interview
+with her returned soldier cousins, went back to her work at the store.
+
+She found the Baker family rejoicing over their returned soldier with
+joy too deep, on the part of the older ones, for anything but tears.
+
+Mr. Baker proved a pleasant-tempered, kindly-mannered man, and in no way
+interfered with Ethel’s comfort as a member of the family. He was a
+mechanic, and in a few days was working busily at his trade again, while
+his wife, with Ethel’s assistance, still carried on her business.
+
+Thus a year passed away during which Ethel gained in stature, in
+self-reliance, and knowledge of the work by which she hoped one day to
+support herself, and her brother and sisters. Her day-dreams were
+constantly of the little home she longed and hoped to provide for them
+and herself.
+
+Her friend Carry Brown had similar aspirations, and finally they decided
+to go into business together. Their means were not large, but their plan
+was to buy goods in small quantities and on short credit, paying for
+them partly by sales, partly by doing a good deal of machine-sewing;
+Ethel also to continue her fine needlework as time and opportunity were
+afforded.
+
+They found a suitable place only a few squares distant from Mrs.
+Baker’s, a small house with one room back of the store, which they
+decided should be their parlor, three bedrooms in the second story with
+an attic over them, a basement kitchen, a cellar, and a small dining
+room.
+
+The house was in pretty good repair. They rented it, freshened the
+appearance of the rooms with some cheap but delicately tinted paper on
+the walls, putting it on themselves to save expense, bought a scant
+supply of cheap, second-hand furniture, oilcloths and carpets for the
+floors, and the necessary utensils for the kitchen and dining room. The
+house and its furnishings were indeed small and mean in comparison with
+those of Ethel’s uncles, yet she, her friend, brother, and sisters took
+very joyful possession of it one summer afternoon, feeling that at last
+they had a home of their own, and the next morning the store was open
+for customers.
+
+Blanche, now in her sixteenth year, undertook the housekeeping under her
+older sister’s direction and superintendence. They would decide the
+night before what they might spend on their three meals and what they
+wanted that would come within their means, and the next morning would
+make the purchases. Blanche liked doing the marketing, and she soon
+learned to economize and to prepare dainty little dishes at small
+expense, developing quite a talent for cookery.
+
+They could not afford to keep a servant, and most of the house-work as
+well as the cooking fell to her share; Ethel and Carry devoting
+themselves to making articles for sale in the store and waiting upon
+customers.
+
+Harry and Nannette too made themselves very useful out of school hours,
+doing errands and helping with the work about the house.
+
+But Ethel did more than anyone else, so anxious was she to succeed in
+paying her way and making a living for them all. She was cheerful and
+happy, but greatly overworked; always very glad of the Sabbath rest, as
+they all were indeed, but eager to begin her labors again on Monday
+morning.
+
+There was no one to watch over and warn her of the danger of overtasking
+her strength. Her uncles were so displeased that she was so determined
+to earn her own living and that of her younger brother and sisters, that
+they would not visit or assist her in any way, and naturally it was the
+same with their wives and children.
+
+They saw nothing of each other on the Sabbath, Ethel choosing to attend
+a nearer church of the same denomination. They were all regular
+attendants upon the church services and at Bible-class and
+Sunday-school. Ethel and Blanche were in the same class and soon became
+greatly attached to their teacher, Miss Seldon, a lovely Christian woman
+who was deeply interested in all her scholars, but especially in this
+little family of orphans, struggling so hard to make their own way in
+the world. It soon became no unusual thing for her to call at their
+humble little home, invite their confidence, and, being a woman of
+means, in the kindest and most delicate manner render them assistance
+when she discovered that they were in any financial difficulty. But of
+that Ethel, in her pride of independence, would accept very little.
+
+Miss Seldon did not know how hard and constantly the young girl worked,
+therefore did not warn her, as she certainly would had she known.
+
+So things went on for nearly a year—all working industriously, but Ethel
+bearing the heaviest end of the burden, both physical and mental; for it
+was she who must plan how to meet all necessary payments. Often on
+waking in the morning she found it required a great effort to rise,
+dress, and resume her daily duties, and at last there came a time when
+the effort to do so was utterly vain; she could scarcely stir, and to
+rise from her couch was an impossibility.
+
+She called to Blanche, and with her assistance finally succeeded in
+getting into her clothes and crawling downstairs to the store. Her
+breakfast was brought to her there, and having eaten it she took up her
+needlework, but it required a great exertion of will-power to do even
+that, while to run the sewing-machine was impossible.
+
+“Oh, what ails me? what shall I do?” she exclaimed at length, dropping
+the work into her lap and clasping her hands together with a gesture of
+despair.
+
+“You have been working too hard and constantly,” said Carry, “and will
+just have to take a rest.”
+
+“I can’t; there’s too much to do,” groaned Ethel.
+
+“You’ll have to have a doctor,” said Blanche, her eyes full of tears.
+“But you must; you shall,” in reply to Ethel’s mournful, dissenting
+shake of the head. “I’ll go this minute for that one round the
+corner—Dr. Jones; I’ve heard people say he’s a good one.”
+
+“We can’t afford it,” sighed Ethel.
+
+“We certainly can’t afford to let you die, or break down so that you
+can’t do anything; so I’m going for him now, this minute,” returned
+Blanche, snatching up her hat and putting it on as she went.
+
+She was so fortunate as to find the doctor in and was back again in a
+very few minutes, bringing him with her. After examining and
+cross-questioning his patient, he pronounced the trouble utter
+exhaustion from overwork, and ordered entire rest for weeks to come. She
+must go at once to her bed and stay there, refraining from any exertion
+of mind or body.
+
+He was very kind and sympathetic, half carried her up to her room
+himself, and saw her comfortably established there; then repeating his
+order to her to refrain from every kind of exertion of body or mind, and
+promising to call again the following day, he left her.
+
+“Is there much the matter, doctor?” asked Carry, as he passed through
+the store on his way out.
+
+“She is utterly worn out,” was the reply. “With absolute rest she may,
+and I hope will, recover completely in time; but it is very important
+that she should be relieved from all care and anxiety.”
+
+“I don’t see how we are to manage that,” sighed Carry to herself, as he
+passed out, and she said the same thing to Blanche when she came into
+the room a few moments later.
+
+“I don’t know either,” returned Blanche, tears filling her eyes,
+“unless—unless my uncles will help us a little.”
+
+“I’d go to see them and tell them all about it, if I were you,” said
+Carry.
+
+“To be sure; that’s just what I will do,” exclaimed Blanche,
+brightening. “I’ve got to do some errands out anyway, and, after
+attending to them, I’ll go right on to my uncles’ store and tell—‘my
+tale of woe,’” she concluded with a vain attempt at mirthfulness.
+
+With that she ran up to her room and hastened to attire herself neatly
+for her errand. She had left Ethel in bed and alone, the physician
+having enjoined it upon her to go to sleep as speedily and soundly as
+possible.
+
+Blanche found her uncles in their office. They looked somewhat surprised
+at sight of her, but greeted her kindly, asking if she and her brother
+and sisters were all well.
+
+At that Blanche burst into tears and sobbed hysterically for a moment.
+
+“What is it, dear child?” asked her Uncle Albert, taking her hand and
+drawing her to a seat upon his knee. “I fear you are having a hard time
+of it, trying to support yourselves. Is some one of you ill?”
+
+“Yes, sir; Ethel—Ethel has—has broken down,” sobbed the little girl.
+“Oh, uncle, I’m so afraid she’ll die! The doctor says she’s all worn
+out; for she has just worked, and worked, and worked from early in the
+morning till late at night every day but Sunday; and she can’t get out
+of her bed now—and—and oh, I don’t know what we will do, for she’s the
+head one that directs all the rest of us.”
+
+“Ah, she should not be so wilful,” remarked Mr. George Eldon grimly.
+“However, you needn’t fret, child; of course we, your uncles, will see
+that you do not come to want; that you are provided with all necessary
+things.”
+
+“Of course we will,” said Uncle Albert, “and Ethel must do as the doctor
+advises—not exert herself in the least till he pronounces her entirely
+recovered. I will go back with you, Blanche, see Ethel, and do what lies
+in my power to make her easy in body and mind. And you may feel sure
+that none of you will be allowed to want for anything your uncles can
+supply.”
+
+“Yes, that will be well,” said his brother, “and tell Ethel from me that
+I shall be round to see her before long, probably either this evening or
+to-morrow morning. But she is not to stay awake expecting me,” he added
+with a slight smile. “Come here, Blanche, and give your old uncle a kiss
+before you go. There,” putting an arm about her as she stood at his
+side, and kissing her affectionately, “don’t fret, little girl, while
+you have two uncles able and willing to provide you and the others with
+whatever may be needful to make you comfortable.”
+
+At that moment his son George coming in exclaimed: “Why, is this you,
+Blanche? I have not seen you for months; and how you have grown, child!”
+and he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Why, you have been crying! Is
+anything wrong with you or the others?” he asked. “I hope not, I am
+sure. I was thinking only this morning that I must hunt you up and see
+how you were getting along.”
+
+“Thank you, Cousin George,” returned the little girl in tremulous tones;
+“we were doing right nicely till—till now that Ethel has broken down
+because—the doctor says it is because she’s been working too constantly
+and hard.”
+
+“Ah! why, she shouldn’t do that when we’re all able and willing to help
+her. But don’t fret, little coz; she’ll probably be all right in a few
+days, and we’ll tell her she must not work so hard any more.”
+
+“You’re very kind, Cousin George,” returned Blanche, smiling through her
+tears, “and so are my uncles, but we don’t like to be a burden to them
+when they have so many children of their own to provide for, and it has
+seemed very pleasant for us to be all together in a little home of our
+own, even though it is very plain and humble.”
+
+“Well, yes, that’s a very right sort of feeling,” he said, “and makes
+one all the more willing to help you.”
+
+“There, that must do for the present, George,” said his father. “You can
+call round to see Ethel and the rest any time after business hours, but
+your uncle is going to take Blanche home now and see what is needed.
+Good-by, child,” taking her hand for a moment and giving her a parting
+caress, “and don’t ever be afraid to come to your Uncle George for help
+when you are in trouble.”
+
+“Good-by and thank you, uncle. Good-by, Cousin George, and do come to
+see us,” she said, and slipping her hand into that of her Uncle Albert,
+they went out together.
+
+Ethel had just waked from a comfortable nap when Blanche returned
+bringing their Uncle Albert with her.
+
+The interview was a pleasant one, for Mr. Eldon was very kind,
+sympathetic and appreciative of the efforts his young niece had put
+forth in order to earn a living for herself and her sisters and brother;
+he praised her for it, yet added: “But now you see, Ethel, that you are
+too young and feeble for so great an undertaking. However,” noting with
+concern the cloud of care and disappointment his words called to her
+tell-tale countenance, “we will not talk any more of that to-day. Try,
+my dear child, just to dismiss all vexing thoughts; trust to your uncles
+to ward off from you, your brother, and sisters, all danger from want of
+means, and with a mind at ease get well and strong again as soon as
+possible. When you have accomplished that it will be time enough to
+think of those other matters.”
+
+“You are very, very kind, uncle,” she returned with tears shining in her
+eyes. “I will try to put away anxious and vexing thoughts and trust in
+you—but still more in the Lord—till I’m able to work again.”
+
+“Only till you are able to work again?” he said with a slight smile.
+“Really I fear my niece Ethel has some obstinacy in her nature; yet that
+is not altogether a bad thing; it is much to be preferred to
+vacillation, I think; yet young people should be willing to be guided
+and controlled to some extent at least by older ones who have claims to
+their respect and obedience.”
+
+“Yes, sir, I acknowledge that,” she said with a slight sigh, “and I
+intend to try to obey you and Uncle George in all that I can.”
+
+“That is right,” he responded with a pleased look, “and remember you
+have no need to be troubled with anxious cares, for your Uncle George
+and I will see that you and the rest are provided with all necessary
+things. Now I will leave you to take another nap. Good-by, dear child,”
+giving her a parting kiss; “I shall be in again in a day or two to see
+how you are getting along. Now, Blanche,” as he and his younger niece
+left the room together, “show me about the house and let me see how
+comfortable you have managed to make yourselves.”
+
+Blanche obeyed very willingly, for she was right proud of Ethel’s
+success in making so good and comfortable a home for them all, and Uncle
+Albert noted and commended all that was worthy of it, and made no
+remarks about the defects that he perceived. He said truly that he
+thought they had done wonders, while at the same time he mentally
+resolved that if they persisted in staying there, many a comfort and
+convenience should be added to their slender store.
+
+In taking leave he put some money into Blanche’s hand, bidding her see
+that Ethel was well fed, for he was sure she needed nourishing food and
+rest more than anything else.
+
+“Oh, uncle, thank you!” Blanche exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with
+delight. “Yes, indeed, I’m sure she does, and I’ll see that she has it.”
+
+At that moment Nannette came rushing in through the store, Harry
+following.
+
+“Oh, Uncle Albert!” they cried at sight of him, Nannette springing
+forward and holding up her face for a kiss, adding, “It’s such a long
+while that I haven’t seen you, and I’m so glad you’ve come to see us at
+last.”
+
+“Ah, little one! I thought you had forgotten all about Uncle Albert,” he
+returned, giving the caress with hearty good will. “But how you have
+grown! Harry also,” shaking the boy’s hand heartily. “Well, I am just
+going, but I hope we will see each other oftener in the future.”
+
+With that he was hastening toward the outer door, when seemingly struck
+by a second thought he turned toward them again, saying: “Harry, my boy,
+put down your satchel of books and come with me. I want you to act as my
+errand boy for once in a way.”
+
+“Do you, uncle? Oh, I’d like to,” cried the boy, hastening to obey.
+
+“It strikes me that you are growing out of your clothes, laddie,” his
+uncle remarked, with a scrutinizing glance down at Harry as they walked
+briskly along the street.
+
+“Yes, sir,” Harry returned, blushing, “I can’t help growing fast, and of
+course Ethel can’t make enough money to be always buying new clothes for
+me. But I can stand it,” he added cheerfully, “and I hope one of these
+days I’ll be able to make enough to dress myself and all my sisters,
+too.”
+
+“Great expectations, my boy,” his uncle said with a smile; “but if you
+make use of all your advantages I dare say they may be realized some
+day. And by the way, Harry, if you do make yourself fit for the place,
+I’ll take you into the store one of these days, should you happen to
+fancy the business.”
+
+“Oh, uncle, will you?” cried the boy. “I’d like it so much, and I’ll try
+my very best to qualify myself for it.”
+
+While this conversation was going on between Mr. Eldon and Harry,
+Blanche was giving Nannette a detailed account of the doings of that
+afternoon—her calling in of the doctor, the visit she had afterward paid
+to her uncles at their place of business and their Uncle Albert’s call
+upon them, his talk with Ethel and then with herself as she conducted
+him over the house. Nannette listened to it all with intense interest,
+then, after a moment’s silence, burst out:
+
+“It’s just too bad that Uncle Albert doesn’t know how Ethel and I were
+always treated by his daughters—as if we weren’t their equals; if he did
+he wouldn’t blame Ethel for trying to make a home for us and herself.
+But she couldn’t tell him, of course.”
+
+“No, no, indeed! I’m sure neither Ethel nor any of the rest of us would
+be willing to give him the pain of knowing about it; yet it does seem
+right hard that for that reason we can’t show him the reasonableness of
+our desire for a home of our very own.”
+
+“Yes,” sighed Nannette, “it does seem hard, because it looks as if we
+were ungrateful to him for all his kindness; but maybe some day they’ll
+feel sorry for treating us so and tell him of it themselves.”
+
+“I hope so,” said Blanche, but her tone and the accompanying sigh seemed
+to indicate that the hope was but faint.
+
+“I think I’ll go up now to see Ethel,” said Nannette. “I hope she’s
+feeling better for uncle’s visit.”
+
+“Yes, so do I,” returned Blanche; “but I wouldn’t go up just yet, she
+may be asleep; besides it’s time for us to be getting supper. You’ll set
+the table, won’t you, while I make the toast and tea?”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” answered Nannette cheerfully, and they set to work.
+
+Just as everything was ready for the meal, Harry came rushing in with a
+joyful little shout.
+
+“Hello, girls! look at me!” and he danced about the kitchen, clapping
+his hands and acting like one fairly wild with delight. His sisters
+looked up and uttered simultaneous exclamations of surprise and delight.
+
+“O Harry, how fine—how nice you look! Why, where did you get that new
+suit?”
+
+“It’s a present from Uncle Albert!” exclaimed the boy half breathlessly,
+“coat and pants; and aren’t they splendid? And this isn’t all; he’s
+given me a handsomer suit than this for Sunday. Oh, but he’s a brick!
+now isn’t he? And see what he’s bought for Ethel and the rest of us,” he
+added, stepping to the door and bringing in a good-sized basket. “I
+didn’t show it at first, because I wanted your undivided attention given
+to my clothes.”
+
+“Oh! oh! such elegant grapes and peaches and pears!” cried Nannette,
+peeping into the basket; “and—and what’s that at the bottom?”
+
+“Why, what do you think?” laughed Harry.
+
+“We’ll have to take it out of the basket and the paper it’s wrapped in,
+before we can tell,” replied Blanche, proceeding to lift out the fruit
+and place it carefully on a large dish. “Oh, birds picked and cleaned
+all ready for the gridiron! They must be for Ethel; and how good of
+uncle to buy them for her.”
+
+“He said they were for all of us,” returned Harry, “that there would be
+enough for each of us to have one, and leave one for Ethel’s breakfast;
+and to-morrow he’s going to send us some more or something else quite as
+good.”
+
+“He’s just as kind as he can be!” was Nannette’s rejoinder, Blanche
+adding, “Indeed he is! I do love him and wish everybody had as good and
+kind an uncle.”
+
+“Some folks have fathers, and I suppose they do just as well as uncles,”
+laughed Harry.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+“You have been gone a good while, Albert; I hope it was not because of
+finding the child ill?” Mr. George Eldon remarked enquiringly when his
+brother re-entered their office.
+
+“She is worn out and a long rest will be very necessary, I think,” was
+the reply in an anxious tone, “and I for one shall do what I can to make
+her take it. She is certainly a bright girl and one to be proud of,
+George. There are none too many who would exert themselves as she has
+done when they might live at ease, depending on relatives able and
+willing to care for them.”
+
+“No, I dare say not, but I have sometimes felt that I should prefer to
+have her a trifle less independent. But,” glancing at the clock, “sit
+down and give me an account of your visit, and the state in which you
+found her and the others. I see we have time enough for a chat before
+starting for home.”
+
+The request was complied with, a consultation held as to how much, and
+in what way Ethel and the others should be assisted, then, still
+conversing together on the subject, the brothers started for their
+homes.
+
+It was the topic of conversation at the dinner table at Mr. George
+Eldon’s that evening, and Dorothy and the two young men seemed much
+interested.
+
+“She is a brave, industrious little woman,” said George. “I doubt if
+there are many girls who would have voluntarily undertaken all that she
+has.”
+
+“There are certainly a great many who wouldn’t,” said William, “and I
+own that I am more proud of her than of my very dressy, fashionable
+cousins next door.”
+
+“Or of the one sitting here, I presume,” laughed Dorothy. “I don’t blame
+you, Will; but perhaps I might try going into business too if your
+mother did not insist that she needs me here.”
+
+“Of course she does, and so do we,” said her uncle. “There must be
+somebody to sew on buttons and strings and attend to various other small
+matters affecting our comfort.”
+
+“And certainly Dorothy deserves the credit of attending faithfully to
+those small but necessary matters,” said George.
+
+“That’s true,” said his brother, “and of making quantities of garments
+for other people besides. She’s a regular Dorcas, as I’ve heard mother
+say more than once.”
+
+“Be careful, young men, or you’ll have me so puffed up there’ll be no
+living in the same house with me,” returned Dorothy with merry look and
+tone, “and then who’ll sew on your buttons and strings?”
+
+“We’ll carry them to mother,” replied William with gravity. “She can’t
+go round the house and hunt things up, but we will do that part, and
+she’ll be both able and willing to tack the things on for us.”
+
+“And you, of course, are not likely to tire of your part of the work,”
+returned Dorothy, “nor ever to forget to hunt up the garments and carry
+them to aunt in good season to have them got ready for wear when wanted.
+I should really like to see that poor girl—Ethel,” she continued
+presently. “I wonder if she would care to see me.”
+
+“I am going round there this evening—in about an hour from now,” said
+her uncle. “Would you like to go with me?”
+
+“Yes, sir; yes, indeed, if I may.”
+
+“I shall be pleased to have you,” he returned, “as I am partial to
+ladies’ society and your aunt cannot go with me.”
+
+“Have you told mother of Ethel’s break-down, sir?” asked his son George.
+
+“Not yet, but I am going up to do so now,” Mr. Eldon replied, as they
+all rose from the table.
+
+Mrs. Eldon heard the story with interest, her husband recounting to her
+all that his brother had told him of the little home Ethel had made for
+herself and the younger ones, its comforts and conveniences, and what
+was lacking in that line; also how completely she had overworked herself
+in her determined effort to provide for her little family.
+
+“Now what can we do to help her?” she asked when he had finished. “She
+is worthy of help, for she has shown herself wonderfully brave,
+self-reliant, and industrious.”
+
+“She has indeed,” he responded, “and must be prevented from beginning
+work too soon. I am going to warn her to be careful, assuring her that
+Albert and I will provide all that is necessary, at least until she has
+fully recovered her health, and strength; and I shall insist that she
+allows us to do so. Her father would certainly have done the same by my
+children had the situation be reversed; and so I shall tell her.”
+
+“Yes; and lest she should doubt my willingness to have you do so, tell
+her I think it no more than one brother should do for the children of
+another, if he finds himself as able as you are.”
+
+“Thank you, my dear. And now I will go at once that I may get back to
+you the sooner.”
+
+He found Dorothy ready, waiting for him in the parlor below, and they
+set off at once.
+
+They were joyfully welcomed on their arrival at their destination. Ethel
+was surprised and touched at this evidence of feeling for her on the
+part of her Uncle George and Dorothy. They found her awake, talked very
+kindly to her, showing much interest in her and the younger ones, but,
+perceiving that her greatest need was rest and sleep, left early,
+promising to come again soon. Her uncle bade her an affectionate
+good-by, telling her not to fret or worry about anything, but to take
+matters easily, trusting in Providence, and her uncles as His
+instruments. He took her hand as he spoke and left something in it,
+which on examination she found to be a five-dollar bill.
+
+“How good in him!” she murmured; glad, grateful tears chasing each other
+down her cheeks.
+
+“Uncle,” said Dorothy, as they walked along together, “I think those
+children need some clothes; excepting Harry, perhaps. Did you notice
+what a neat, new suit he had on?”
+
+“Yes; it was a present this afternoon from his Uncle Albert. It would be
+no more than my share to provide for the girls whatever may be needed.”
+
+“Well, uncle, if you’ll furnish the money I’ll do the work. Aunt and I
+have been working for the Dorcas society—helping to clothe the poor—and
+it really seems to me that the needy ones of our own family have the
+very first claim.”
+
+“That is my view of the matter,” he said, “and I am ready to pay for all
+the material you and your aunt may think it best to buy and make up for
+them.”
+
+“Oh, thank you, sir! Shall we not have a talk with aunt about it when we
+get home?”
+
+“Certainly. She will be apt to know just what should be bought, and, if
+you like, you can do the buying to-morrow. I will furnish the funds.”
+
+On reaching home they went directly to Mrs. Eldon’s room, gave a
+detailed account of their visit and the discoveries made regarding the
+needs of Ethel and the others, then of their plan for affording relief,
+of which Mrs. Eldon highly approved, and which she and Dorothy began
+carrying out the next morning.
+
+The result was a joyful surprise to the three girls and a lightening of
+Ethel’s burden of care which greatly assisted her recovery. She strove,
+and with some measure of success, not to think of business cares and
+anxieties for some days, but as soon as she was able to be up and at
+work again, she proposed to her partner that they should go over their
+books, take an inventory of goods on hand, and find out exactly how they
+stood with their creditors. They did so and discovered to their dismay
+that, so far from having made anything, they were in debt.
+
+“There,” exclaimed Carry, “I shall just stop right here; for if we go on
+I’ll only get deeper and deeper into debt.”
+
+“Oh, no!” said Ethel. “I see where we have made mistakes. We’ll avoid
+them after this and will make something next year.”
+
+“I shan’t try,” said Carry, in a despairing tone. “You, of course, will
+do as you like, but I’m done with the business.”
+
+“I don’t think I am,” said Ethel.
+
+“Then suppose you buy me out; I’ll sell cheap,” said Carry, forcing a
+laugh to keep from crying.
+
+“Yes, if you’ll wait a little for your money,” replied Ethel, a sudden
+conviction coming to her that she could do better alone, as she and
+Carry did not always agree in regard to the wisdom of proposed measures.
+
+“Yes,” said Carry, “I think it would be only fair that you should settle
+with the creditors first, and I know you will pay me as soon afterward
+as you can.”
+
+So it came about that Ethel was soon sole proprietor of the little
+store, and could manage all parts of the business to suit herself. She
+bought goods on short credit and was very careful to pay promptly. She
+did not know that her uncles privately went security for her, and was
+rather surprised to find the wholesale merchants with whom she dealt so
+willing to trust her to any amount, though she never bought very
+largely, being far too cautious for that. She managed so well that in
+less than a year she was entirely free from debt and had a good run of
+custom; for so pleasing was her manner, so thoroughly well done her
+work, her stock of goods so carefully selected, that those who bought of
+her once were very apt to come again; also to recommend her to others.
+
+Her uncles were kind, though her continuance in business did not meet
+with their warm approval. Dorothy came in occasionally to see her and
+her sisters. Harry was given the half-promised place in his uncle’s
+store, and Miss Seldon was a not infrequent visitor and customer as
+well. She was very kind, bought of them herself, and recommended the
+store to others. She would sometimes accept an invitation to stay and
+take tea with them, all esteeming it a delight to entertain her—she was
+so kind-hearted and showed such an interest in them and their affairs.
+
+She was in easy circumstances, had travelled a good deal in this and in
+foreign countries, and her conversation was both interesting and
+instructive.
+
+One evening a casual mention of having some years before spent a number
+of weeks on the island of Jamaica aroused a degree of excitement among
+them that surprised her.
+
+“Jamaica!” exclaimed Blanche. “Oh, Miss Seldon, did you meet any of the
+well-to-do people? any of the rich planters?”
+
+“Yes,” was the reply, “I had letters of introduction to several families
+and found them very hospitable; some of them most interesting and
+agreeable people. I particularly remember one old couple, of English
+descent, without children, I think—at least I did not hear of any—who
+made my visit of a couple of days very enjoyable, indeed.”
+
+“What was their name, Miss Seldon?” asked Ethel half breathlessly, for
+her heart was beating fast between a newly aroused hope and the fear
+that it might not be realized.
+
+“Eyre,” returned Miss Seldon. “But why do you ask? Oh, what is it?” for
+every face at the table had brightened visibly, and there was an
+exchange of rejoicing, exulting, excited glances.
+
+“I think they must have been our grandparents,” said Ethel, scarcely
+able to speak from emotion, “mamma’s father and mother, whom we have
+never been able to find because we did not know their address. Oh, how
+glad—how glad I am!” and she wept for joy and thankfulness.
+
+Harry and the others were scarcely less excited; they could talk of
+nothing else while together at the table, but soon after leaving it,
+Ethel, taking Miss Seldon with her, accompanied by Harry as escort, set
+out for her old home to inform her uncles of the discovery just made,
+and ask their advice in regard to the best way of opening communication
+with her grandparents.
+
+“This is good news, Ethel—at least I hope it will prove so,” said her
+Uncle George when the story had been told; “but I am extremely doubtful
+if your grandparents are still living; for in that case they would
+surely have been hunting up their daughter’s children. But we must set
+on foot such enquiries as will remove all doubt, and in case of their
+death recover for you and your brother and sisters any property they may
+have left.”
+
+At that Ethel’s eyes filled. “I want my dear grandparents a great deal
+more than I do their property,” she said.
+
+“I have no doubt of that, Ethel,” said her Uncle Albert, “but in case of
+their death the property will be yours by right, and not to be despised;
+and they of course would have wished it to fall to their daughter’s
+children rather than to anyone else.”
+
+“I should think so; yes, I am quite sure of it,” she said, adding with a
+smile, “and it will be a great help to us all in getting a start in the
+world.”
+
+“Yes,” he returned, “and for that reason I shall be very glad if it
+turns out that there is a good deal of it.”
+
+“We will make enquiries for you, Ethel,” said her Uncle George, “and set
+about it at once. So you need give yourself no farther trouble, my
+dear.”
+
+“Thank you both very much, indeed, uncles,” was her reply in a tone full
+of grateful affection. “I think, though, that I will write a letter to
+my grandparents to say how dearly I love them, and how I have longed
+ever since dear mamma and papa died to be with them in the sweet old
+home I can just remember, but did not write till now because of not
+knowing their address. Shall I not do so?”
+
+“I do not believe they are living, child,” replied her Uncle George.
+“Had they been, you surely would have heard from them in some way before
+this.”
+
+“But they have not known where we were,” she returned, tears starting to
+her eyes again. “So I think I had better write.”
+
+“Yes, do so if you wish. It cannot do any harm,” said her uncle Albert.
+
+Blanche and Nannette eagerly awaited the return of their brother and
+sister, and on their coming besieged them with questions, asking what
+their uncles thought and said, and what was going to be done to find
+“Grandpa and Grandma Eyre.” Neither Ethel nor Harry was disposed to keep
+anything back, but the others were disappointed that there was so little
+to tell, and were almost indignant that it should be thought that their
+grandparents were dead. They urged Ethel to write at once and find out
+certainly whether they were or not.
+
+“It is just what I intend doing,” she said, “and now, if you will be
+quiet, I will set to work at once. I’ll make my letter short, promising
+to write again as soon as we hear from them.”
+
+The letter was written, read to the others for their approval, and
+mailed by Harry before they went to bed that night.
+
+Some weeks of anxious suspense followed, then news was received of the
+death, some years before, of both Mr. and Mrs. Eyre. They had left
+property which, their daughter’s children heired, but only a part of it
+was recovered for them.
+
+In the meantime the young people had talked much together of their dear
+old home in Jamaica, and the grandparents who had so loved and petted
+them in their babyhood; Ethel, at the request of the others, repeating
+again and again all that she could remember of the lovely place, and
+their life there, so different from that they were now leading, and, as
+they talked, the desire to return to that beautiful home and those
+doating grandparents grew apace.
+
+It was therefore a sore disappointment when they learned that death had
+robbed them of the dear old people, orphaning them a second time. For
+the first few days after hearing the sad news they were almost
+inconsolable in their grief and disappointment, but gradually they
+recovered from that and felt glad and thankful because of their
+increased means; for though by no means sufficient to free them from the
+necessity of exertion, life was made easier and advantages were secured
+which without it were beyond their reach.
+
+A capable woman was found who took Blanche’s place as housekeeper and
+cook, so that she could go back to school and resume her studies, and a
+young girl, who did errands and sometimes waited upon customers, was
+also added to the establishment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+Several years had passed, bringing to the members of our little family
+scarce any changes except such as time brings to the young and growing
+everywhere. Ethel was more mature in looks and manners, Harry becoming
+quite manly in appearance, and in character also, the two younger girls
+were budding into lovely womanhood, Nannette being especially winsome in
+manner. They were all strongly attached to each other and made a very
+harmonious and happy little household.
+
+But a change came: Nan took cold in the spring, and all through the
+summer was feeble and more or less ailing.
+
+The others were troubled and anxious about her, but she was almost
+always cheerful, said there was not much the matter, she only felt
+languid and weak, but hoped to be strong and have more energy when the
+cool autumn weather came. But alas! instead, her feebleness increased
+till at last she was forced to take to her bed. Then Ethel, greatly
+alarmed, at once let her uncles know, and without delay the best medical
+advice was furnished and everything done that loving care and solicitude
+could do to improve her condition. She grew a little better for a time,
+so that she was able to be about the house again, but never went out
+except when one of her uncles or cousins took her for a drive as they
+sometimes did.
+
+They were very kind and affectionate, coming often to see her, even when
+the weather was such that she could not be taken out. Dorothy was
+frequently there too, sometimes in the capacity of nurse, when business
+or domestic cares kept Nannette’s sisters away from the sick room, and
+showing herself very kind, thoughtful, and skilful.
+
+Miss Seldon did likewise, evidently feeling deep interest in the young
+invalid; bringing dainties to tempt the failing appetite, and
+interesting books to make the time pass pleasantly.
+
+Their pastor came too, and by his sympathy and kindness endeared himself
+greatly to the little family. He succeeded at length in so winning Nan’s
+love and confidence that she became very open and communicative with
+him; talking freely of her thoughts, feelings, and desires, her hopes
+and aspirations; and very gently and tenderly he, after a time, told her
+that her physicians thought it very unlikely she would ever be restored
+to health in this world, but was slowly and surely nearing that blessed
+land where the inhabitants shall never say “I am sick”; the land where
+pain and sickness, death, sin, and sorrow are unknown.
+
+It was a new idea to Nannette, for she had looked confidently forward to
+final restoration to health, and for some moments she seemed stunned
+with surprise and affright.
+
+“Do not be afraid, dear child,” said the minister in tones tremulous
+with emotion; “remember those sweet words of the psalmist, ‘Yea, though
+I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil;
+for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.’ Trust in
+Jesus—Jesus only—and He will be with you, and carry you safely through
+the valley, and over the river of death, to the beautiful Celestial
+city, where you will dwell with Him in such bliss as eye hath not seen
+nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.”
+
+“And where my dear father and mother are,” she said softly, the big
+tears coursing down her cheeks. “Oh, I shall not be sorry to go! How
+good; oh, how good the Lord is to let me go there so soon!”
+
+“Yes, dear child. Is it because He sees any good in you, do you think?”
+
+“No, sir; oh, no, there isn’t any, not any of my own righteousness: but
+I think, I believe, oh, I know that He has covered me with the beautiful
+robe of His perfect righteousness, so that when God looks upon me He
+will see only that and none of the filthy rags of my own. And He will
+wash away in His precious blood all my sins, all the evil that is in me,
+and make me fit for a home in that blessed land. With Jesus and like
+him! Oh, how happy I shall be!” Then after a moment’s pause, “Do my
+brother and sisters know?” she asked.
+
+“I think not,” he said, “though doubtless they will not be greatly
+surprised to learn the truth in regard to your serious condition.”
+
+“Then tell them; please tell them,” she entreated; “Ethel and Blanche at
+least, and perhaps they will tell Harry when he comes home from the
+store to-night.”
+
+Just then footsteps were heard on the stairs, the door opened, and
+Dorothy entered.
+
+“How do you do, sir?” she said, holding out her hand to the minister,
+then turning toward Nannette, “Ah, little coz, you are better, I think!
+Your cheeks are like roses and your eyes are very bright. What is it,
+dear?” as the beautiful eyes filled with tears, “are you in pain?” and
+she bent over her, softly caressing her hair and cheek.
+
+The minister had slipped away unobserved. Nannette put an arm round
+Dorothy and drew her down closer. “I—I know it now,” she panted. “He has
+told me, and—and oh, I—I’m afraid Ethel’s heart will break, for—for she
+loves me so dearly!”
+
+“What is it, dear? You haven’t told me yet,” returned Dorothy in half
+tremulous tones. “You—you are not worse?”
+
+“I shall never be any better,” faltered Nannette; “never till—till I
+reach that land where the inhabitants shall not say ‘I am sick.’”
+
+“O Nan, you don’t know! I—I think you are getting better,” Dorothy
+returned, tears streaming from her eyes. “And how could we ever do
+without you? I have grown to love you very, very dearly since I have
+been with you so much, seeing how dear and good and patient you are in
+all your pain and weakness. Cheer up, for I do think you will be
+stronger when the warm weather comes.”
+
+But Nannette shook her head. “No,” she said, “the doctors say I will not
+be here long; that I am going home to heaven to be with Jesus and the
+dear father and mother who went so long ago. O Dorothy, though the news
+was like a shock at first, I am very glad now, if—if only I did not have
+to leave Ethel and Blanche behind; Harry too, and you and my uncles and
+cousins. Oh, how sweet it would be if we could only all go together!”
+
+“O Nan,” cried Dorothy, weeping, “I can’t help hoping the doctors are
+mistaken; you know they sometimes are, and perhaps you will get well
+yet. I’ll tell Uncle George, and perhaps he will take you south to
+Florida or the West Indies. I think it would do him good to go himself,
+for he has a cough of late.”
+
+“You are very kind, Dorothy,” Nan said with a grateful look up into her
+eyes, “and so are my uncles. I believe they would do anything in their
+power to save my life; but I fear it is too late, and if I am to die I’d
+rather die here at home with all the dear ones about me.”
+
+“But, O Nan, we can’t go with you!” exclaimed a voice half choked with
+grief; “and how can we let you go alone!” for Ethel had come in
+unperceived and dropped on her knees close by the bedside. “Oh, my
+darling, darling little sister, what can I ever do without you? You have
+been my special charge almost ever since you were born. I don’t know how
+I can live if you are taken from me!”
+
+“You know the others will need you, dear,” said Nan, clinging about her
+neck, “and papa and mamma and I will be waiting for you all on the other
+side of the river; and oh, what a happy time it will be when we are all
+there together!”
+
+“But oh, darling, it seems so long to wait!” groaned Ethel, holding her
+close, and weeping as if her heart would break; “so long to live without
+you!”
+
+“Maybe it won’t be so long; perhaps He will soon let you follow me.”
+
+“When her work for Him on earth is done,” said Dorothy, weeping with
+them. “But, Ethel, dear, you know He never sends a burden without the
+strength to bear it. Don’t forget the sweet promise, ‘As thy days, so
+shall thy strength be,’ or the sweet assurance, ‘We know that all things
+work together for good to them that love God.’”
+
+“Oh, it is so easy to forget!” sighed Ethel. “I am glad you reminded me.
+I have need to pray as the disciples did, ‘Lord, increase our faith.’”
+
+A moment’s silence, while the sisters, closely clasped in each other’s
+arms, mingled their tears together, then Ethel asked, low and
+tremulously, “Nan, dear, you are not afraid?”
+
+“No, sister, dear, for though you can’t go with me, Jesus has said that
+He will. Don’t you remember those lovely texts in Isaiah, ‘But now thus
+saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O
+Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy
+name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be
+with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when
+thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall
+the flame kindle upon thee.’ I was reading those verses only this
+morning, and they seemed so sweet.”
+
+“They are for us both,” sobbed Ethel; “for when I think of parting with
+you, my darling little sister, doing without you all the rest of my
+life—the waters seem very, very deep, the floods overflow me. Oh, what
+should I do if I had not Jesus to cling to?”
+
+“‘And a man shall be as a hiding place from the wind, and a covert from
+the tempest,’” repeated Nan in low, tender tones; “‘as rivers of water
+in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.’ I know
+it means Jesus, and if we cling close to him he will be all that to us.”
+
+“Yes; oh, yes! and you are clinging to him, Nan, dear?”
+
+“Yes; oh, yes! I have no other refuge; and what other need anyone want?
+for ‘He is able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him,
+seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them.’ You remember that
+Jesus said, ‘And this is the will of Him that sent me, that everyone
+which seeth the Son and believeth on Him, may have everlasting life: and
+I will raise him up at the last day.’ I believe; oh, I have not the
+least doubt that Jesus is God, that He is able and willing to save, for
+He invites all to come to Him for salvation—‘Look unto me, and be ye
+saved, all the ends of the earth.’ ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no
+wise cast out.’ I know I cannot do anything to deserve salvation—that
+all my righteousness is as filthy rags; but He has offered me His, and I
+have accepted it, so that now it is mine and I feel the truth of what
+the Bible says, ‘And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the
+effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance forever.’ Oh, I am full
+of joy at the thought that I am so soon to be with Jesus and to be like
+Him.”
+
+“Yes, I am glad for you, dear Nan,” Ethel said, amid her fast falling
+tears, “but my heart is almost broken for myself and our brother and
+sister; for we all love you so dearly that it will be terrible for us to
+see you go.”
+
+“Should we not let her rest now?” asked Dorothy gently. “She is looking
+very weary.”
+
+“Yes, I fear I have talked too long,” returned Ethel, with an anxious
+look at the face on the pillow, “and it is time she had something to
+eat,” and with that she left the room.
+
+She found Harry seated in the little parlor below, looking over the
+evening paper.
+
+“How is Nan?” he asked, glancing up at her as she entered. Then noticing
+that she had been weeping, “O Ethel, is she worse?”
+
+At first Ethel answered only with tears and sobs; then in low, tremulous
+tones she said, “She is nearing home, Harry. The doctors say she can be
+with us only—a little longer—a few weeks or—perhaps but a few days.”
+
+Harry had dropped his paper, and tears were coursing down his cheeks. “I
+don’t believe it! Dear little Nan! we can’t let her die. What could we
+ever do without her? something must be done to save her.”
+
+Blanche had come in just in time to hear Harry’s last words, and was
+standing as if struck dumb with astonishment and dismay. “What is it?
+oh, what is it?” she asked wildly. “Nan can’t be so very ill with that
+lovely color in her cheeks and her eyes so bright. Oh, I’m sure she’ll
+soon be better! quite well, perhaps, when the warm spring days come and
+the flowers are in bloom.” But tears fell fast from her eyes even as she
+spoke.
+
+“It’s an old saying that while there’s life there’s hope,” said Harry,
+trying hard to make his tones steady; “so we’ll just hope on, at the
+same time doing everything that can be done to—to prolong her precious
+life; for she’s just the loveliest and dearest little sister that ever
+anybody had.”
+
+“Yes,” said Ethel, “and nothing is impossible with God. Oh, let us all
+three pray that she may be spared to us if it is best for her and for
+us. I must go now and get her supper ready and carry it up to her.”
+
+“It is ready now; broiled bird, toast, fruit, tea, and cake. I thought
+they would all taste good to her, and you know the doctors say she may
+eat anything and everything she fancies.”
+
+“That seems to show that they don’t consider her so very, very ill,”
+remarked Harry hopefully. “Let us all go up with the supper. I haven’t
+seen her since morning, you know.”
+
+They did so, and were so cheerfully and pleasantly greeted by the dear
+young invalid that Harry was more than ever convinced that the doctors
+had sounded a false alarm.
+
+The sisters too grew hopeful, Dorothy also, and they made quite a
+cheerful little party about the tea table; the maid-of-all-work sitting
+with Nannette while they all ate.
+
+But not so with the uncles, to whom the same report of the doctors’
+opinion had been carried. They came in together just as the young people
+rose from the table, and though they did not express their fears,
+something in their air and manner remarked those of the others; Ethel’s
+especially. She knew they had come to see Nannette, and quickly led the
+way to her room.
+
+The face on the pillow brightened visibly on their entrance. “Oh, Uncle
+George and Uncle Albert,” she exclaimed, holding out her hand with a
+bright, sweet smile, “how good in you to come to see me to-night! I’m so
+very glad to see you.”
+
+“Are you, dear?” said Uncle George, bending down to kiss the sweet lips.
+“I think not more glad than we are to see you—our own dear little niece;
+and if there is anything you want—anything that would add to your
+comfort—you must tell us so without the least hesitation.”
+
+“Yes, indeed, dear child,” added Uncle Albert, caressing her in his
+turn, “we are ready and desirous to do anything and everything we can to
+relieve and make you better.”
+
+“Thank you, dear uncles,” she returned with a very grateful look up into
+their faces, “you are both so good and kind to me always. I don’t know
+of anything more that I want, but I love you both so dearly, dearly.
+Please remember that, whenever you think of me after—after I’m gone.”
+
+“We won’t think of that; we will hope to keep you for a long time, dear
+little Nan,” returned her Uncle Albert, his voice betraying some
+emotion.
+
+Nan gave him a look of yearning affection and slipped a hand into his.
+
+“I know I haven’t very long to stay in this world, dear uncle,” she said
+softly, “but no one need be sorry, because I am not; for oh, it will be
+so sweet to go and live with the dear Saviour, free from sin and sorrow
+and pain. And I think it will seem only a very little while till all my
+loved ones will come to be there with me.”
+
+“God grant none of us may miss it!” he exclaimed low and feelingly.
+
+“I’m very glad to find you so free from fear of death,” remarked her
+Uncle George, taking her other hand and holding it in a tender, loving
+clasp, “for it will be easier for you on that account, whatever the
+future may have in store for you. Try, dear child, just to leave the
+whole matter in the Lord’s hands and be ready to go or stay as He may
+see fit to appoint.”
+
+“And if I am taken, you will try to comfort my dear sisters and brother,
+won’t you, uncles? for I know they will be full of sorrow, for a time at
+least.”
+
+Both gave the promise she asked; then after a little more tenderly kind
+talk they bade her an affectionate good-night and went away, for they
+saw that she was weary and in need of rest.
+
+But they and some of the cousins were there frequently during the few
+weeks that she lingered on this side of the river of death, doing all in
+their power to add to her comfort and happiness. But the nursing fell to
+Dorothy and the brother and sisters, who one and all esteemed it a
+privilege to be with and wait upon the patient, uncomplaining sufferer.
+
+They were all about her when, one lovely spring morning, she passed away
+to the better land, going so peacefully and quietly that they scarcely
+knew the precise moment when the redeemed spirit took its flight.
+
+It was Dorothy who first perceived that the change had come.
+
+“Dear blessed one!” she sobbed, her tears falling like rain as she bent
+down over the still form, laid a hand tenderly upon the cold forehead,
+and gently closed the eyes. “She has left us to be forever with the
+Lord, and is even now singing the song of redeeming love.”
+
+“Yes; it is a blessed change for her,” sobbed Ethel, kneeling on the
+other side of the bed with one cold hand fast clasped in hers, “but oh,
+how can we ever learn to live without her!”
+
+“Oh, how can we!” cried Blanche, weeping as if her heart would break,
+while Harry, with a groan of anguish, rushed from the room to lock
+himself in his own.
+
+“Dear girls,” said Dorothy softly, “be comforted with the thought that
+though she cannot come back to you—and oh, she would not if she
+could—you may one day go to her—to that blessed land where parting is
+unknown.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+The uncles, themselves grieving over the departure of their dear young
+niece, were most kind to the bereaved brother and sisters; doing all
+they could to comfort them, attending to the arrangements and expenses
+connected with the funeral and the putting on of mourning by Ethel and
+Blanche.
+
+Nor did they stop at that, but perceiving that the sisters were worn out
+with the long nursing, and needed rest and change of scene, counselled
+them to go away for a time, offering to bear for them all the expense
+involved in so doing.
+
+A very kind and sympathetic letter had been received from Mrs. Keith
+only the day before, urging them to come to her for a few weeks, and now
+they decided to accept the invitation, closing their store and letting
+their maid-of-all-work take a holiday also.
+
+Harry went with them for a few hours’ stay, then returned to his
+business, taking up his abode, for the time of their absence, in his old
+home at the house of their Uncle George.
+
+It was at first something of a disappointment to Ethel and Blanche to
+find that Mrs. Keith had other guests than themselves—her husband’s
+sister Mildred and her two daughters Marcia and Fanny—but a few hours in
+their pleasant society more than reconciled them to this unexpected
+addition to the little party; both mother and daughters proving very
+kind, congenial, and sympathetic; listening with evident interest to the
+loving remembrances of Nannette indulged in by the sisters and Mrs.
+Keith and her Mary.
+
+The girls grew very intimate, and Marcia and Fan talked a great deal
+about their brothers Percy and Stewart and their cousin Stuart Ormsby,
+sometimes reading aloud portions of letters received from them. They
+talked of their home too, expressing a hope that some day Ethel and
+Blanche might visit them there, of their father, grandparents, and other
+relatives, in a way that showed them to be warm-hearted, affectionate,
+happy girls.
+
+Industrious ones also they evidently were, very apt to have a bit of
+work of one kind or another on hand as they talked. Marcia had a decided
+and well cultivated talent for drawing, and when out driving or walking
+would often be taking a sketch from nature; at other times drawing
+designs for engravers or patterns for manufacturers of dress goods, wall
+papers, or carpets. Fan too employed much of her time in the same way,
+though her taste and talent seemed hardly so strong in those directions
+as were her sister’s, and she proved a help to her aunt and cousins in
+remodelling dresses and bonnets and fashioning new ones. Blanche had her
+sewing also, and Ethel some of the fine needlework taught her years
+before by Mrs. Coote. They could not forget their recent bereavement,
+and often when alone together their tears would fall as they thought or
+talked of Nannette, rejoicing for her that she had safely reached the
+better land, but mourning for themselves that they would see her dear
+face no more upon earth.
+
+Thus two weeks had passed and they were thinking of going home, when one
+evening two young men walked in who proved to be Percy Landreth and his
+cousin Stuart Ormsby. Their coming was a surprise to all, but they
+received a joyful welcome. “I am very glad to see you, boys,” their aunt
+said when greetings had been exchanged all round; “that is if you
+haven’t come with the intention of taking sister Mildred and her
+daughters away from us.”
+
+“I must confess that that was our design in part, Aunt Flora,” returned
+Percy, “and if you can’t do without mother and my sisters we will gladly
+carry you back with us; indeed be rejoiced to do so whether you feel
+prepared to spare them or not.”
+
+“That is right, Percy,” said his mother. “I should like nothing better
+than to carry the whole family—from your uncle Don down to the baby back
+with me and keep them there for a long visit. What do you say to it,
+brother?”
+
+“Thank you kindly, Milly,” Mr. Keith returned. “I should like dearly
+well to accept your invitation, but cannot leave my business just at
+present, yet am willing to spare wife and children to you for a time, if
+mother Weston will come and keep house for me while they are gone.”
+
+“She is not here now?” Percy said half enquiringly, and glancing about
+as if in search of her.
+
+“No; she has been with one of her other daughters for some weeks past,”
+replied his uncle.
+
+“Well,” said Mrs. Keith, “let us just give ourselves up to the enjoyment
+of each other’s society for to-night and settle all these questions
+to-morrow or later. Now, lads, tell us all about the dear ones left
+behind you.”
+
+“Especially my dear old father and mother,” added her husband.
+
+“We left them and all the others quite well,” replied Stuart Ormsby,
+“and were sent off with many injunctions to bring Aunt Mildred and the
+girls back with us; also as many of you as we could prevail upon to
+come.”
+
+With that the conversation became general, though Ethel and Blanche did
+little more than listen. Ethel was thinking with some concern that the
+house would surely be very full now, and wishing she had not delayed her
+return home. After a little she stole from the room, thinking she would
+at once make some preparation for departure early the next day; but Mrs.
+Keith had divined her thoughts, and followed her to her room.
+
+“Ethel, dear,” she said, putting an arm round the young girl’s waist,
+“yours is such a tell-tale face that I know what you have been thinking
+of since the arrival of our nephews. But you need not be troubled; there
+is plenty of room for them and you and your sister also. There is a room
+in the third story, which can be made very comfortable for the
+lads—especially compared with their quarters when in camp during the
+late war—and I want you and Blanche to get well acquainted with them and
+know what bright, good, promising young fellows they are.”
+
+“Dear Mrs. Keith, you are and always have been so very kind to us,
+though we never had the slightest claim upon you,” returned Ethel,
+grateful tears shining in her eyes; “but our visit here has already been
+longer than we expected to make it when we came. Besides I know so large
+a family must cost a great deal in both work and money.”
+
+“Never you mind about all that,” laughed Mrs. Keith; “we don’t need to
+count the pennies, and must always expect to pay in more ways than one
+for the pleasures we have.”
+
+“Oh, please believe that I—I did not mean to be impertinent,” stammered
+Ethel with a blush; “but I’ve had to count pennies almost ever since I
+can remember, and it has made me feel very reluctant to use up those of
+other people.”
+
+“My dear girl,” said Mrs. Keith with a smile, “I’ll forgive the
+impertinence if you will promise to stay another week or two.”
+
+It did not take much persuasion to win Ethel’s consent, for she dreaded
+going back to the home where Nannette was not, and that seemed so
+desolate without her sunny presence.
+
+The ten days or more that followed seemed to the young people to fly
+very fast in each other’s pleasant society, and by the end of that time
+their acquaintance had progressed beyond what it might in years of more
+ordinary intercourse. Percy and Ethel, Stuart and Blanche, felt that
+they knew each other well, had become mutually attached, and there was a
+double betrothal and a looking forward to a double wedding when a year
+or so should establish the young men more fully in business, increasing
+their means, and bring to the girls a feeling that the mourning
+garments, now worn in memory of Nannette, might be willingly and with
+propriety laid aside.
+
+The relatives of the young men, including Percy’s mother and sisters,
+were all pleased, for having for years heard a great deal of these young
+girls, through their New Jersey relatives, they felt that they already
+knew them well.
+
+“Dear girl, I want you to feel that you are no longer motherless,”
+Mildred said, taking Ethel into a close, loving embrace when Percy had
+told his story, in the privacy of her own room, “for I shall be glad to
+claim you as one of my daughters, as I am sure Percy’s father will also;
+so that you must no longer feel yourself an orphan.”
+
+“Thank you, dear Mrs. Landreth. It will be, oh, so sweet, to have a
+mother again,” returned Ethel in low, tremulous tones, “though I do not
+feel worthy of such an one as you.”
+
+“Quite as worthy as I am of such a daughter as yourself, dear girl,”
+Mildred said with a smile and another caress; “one who has shown herself
+such a brave, capable, energetic little woman, preferring to earn her
+own living rather than to live idly dependent upon others.”
+
+“It is very, very kind in you to say that, dear Mrs. Landreth,” returned
+Ethel with a blush and a smile. “I know there are many who would despise
+me for having worked with my own hands for my daily bread, as do even
+some of my own dear kindred.”
+
+“Well, dear girl, I should not let that trouble me, since God’s command
+is ‘Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work,’ and Paul bids us
+‘Work with your own hands,’ and again, ‘This we command you, that if any
+would not work, neither should he eat.’ The Bible—and the Bible only—is
+our God-given rule of faith and practice.”
+
+“Yes, I have tried to make it mine,” Ethel said, “and not to care for
+the cold and scornful looks of those who despise others who labor with
+their hands. I must go back to my work to-morrow,” she added with a
+smile, “for I have now been absent longer than was intended when we left
+home.”
+
+“And I am going with her, mother, to ask her uncles’ consent. She thinks
+they will give it without hesitation,” he added with an admiring smile
+into the eyes of his betrothed; “and should they not, I will try
+argument and persuasion; which should be quite in a lawyer’s line.”
+
+“Yes; but I hardly fear you will need to use much of either,” replied
+his mother with a look that seemed to say anyone might be proud to claim
+relationship to her boy.
+
+But a gentle tap on the door of the room interrupted the conversation at
+that moment, and at a quiet “Come in” from Mrs. Landreth, Stuart Ormsby
+entered with Blanche upon his arm.
+
+“We have come for your blessing, Aunt Mildred, as the nearest
+representative of my father and mother,” he said, turning a beaming face
+upon her, “for this dear girl has promised to be mine; if her uncles do
+not object, which she assures me they will not. And, perhaps she will
+give herself to me even if they should prove so unreasonable and
+unkind.”
+
+“Don’t be too sure of that, Mr. Ormsby,” said Blanche demurely; “one
+should show great respect for the opinions of one’s elders. Do you not
+think so, Mrs. Landreth?”
+
+“Yes, dear child,” returned Mildred, drawing the young girl to her and
+bestowing upon her a tender caress, “and I think we need scarcely fear
+to do so in this case; for my sister’s son seems to his Aunt Mildred
+worthy to mate with the best and greatest lady in the land.”
+
+Stuart’s eyes sparkled as he said heartily, “Many thanks, auntie; I
+could not ask for a higher recommendation than that.”
+
+“Now,” said Mildred, leading the way, “suppose we go downstairs and see
+what your Uncle Don and the other relatives here have to say about it.”
+
+Uncle Don had no objection to offer, nor did he or anyone else seem
+other than well pleased with the turn affairs had taken.
+
+Ethel and Blanche returned home the next day accompanied by their
+suitors, who were not long in entering their plea with the uncles who,
+knowing all about them as relatives of the Keiths, and fellow-soldiers
+and intimates of their own sons during the last year of the war, at once
+gave a hearty consent, and claimed the privilege and pleasure of
+entertaining the young men during their stay of a day or two in the city
+of brotherly love.
+
+Ethel and Blanche were also persuaded to become for a few days the
+guests of their uncles, and it was only after the departure of Percy and
+Stuart that they went back again to their own little home and reopened
+their store.
+
+Harry returned to them, and it was hard at first to feel that Nannette
+would never again make one of the little family, yet gradually they
+learned to do without her dear presence and to go cheerfully about their
+daily tasks—the care of house and store and the making up of garments,
+daintily adorned, for the trousseaus likely to be wanted for the coming
+year.
+
+Harry was not displeased at the prospect before his sisters, yet felt,
+and sometimes remarked, that their gain would be his loss. Hearing him
+talk in that way one day, his Uncle George said:
+
+“You must come back to your old home with us, my boy, when your sisters
+go. And if that does not satisfy you, perhaps we may decide to open a
+branch house in their town and put you in charge of it.”
+
+“Oh, Uncle George, what a delightful idea!” exclaimed Blanche; “for then
+all our little family would be together.”
+
+“And you won’t miss your uncles at all,” he returned half sadly, yet
+with a faint smile, and laying a hand caressingly upon her shoulder as
+she sat on the sofa by his side.
+
+“Oh, uncle, yes; yes, indeed!” she answered earnestly, tears springing
+to her eyes, “you have been so very, very good to us. And oh, I shall be
+sorry to leave Dorothy, who nursed Nannette so kindly and has been such
+a lovely comforter and helper to us in all our sorrow and cares.”
+
+“Yes, Dorothy is a good, kind-hearted, helpful girl,” he responded,
+“almost as dear to me as my own nieces; even the two who have no father
+to love and care for them.”
+
+“Dear uncle, it makes me feel very happy to hear you say you love Ethel
+and me. I don’t remember that ever you told me so before, though I
+always thought you did—at least a little bit,” Blanche returned, her
+eyes shining, while she ventured to put an arm about his neck and touch
+his cheek with her lips.
+
+“A good big bit, my dear child,” he said in reply, putting an arm about
+her and returning her caress with interest. “I hope you will be very
+happy in the new home which that young man is getting ready for you, but
+that you won’t entirely forget your old uncles who have loved and tried
+to provide for their dead brother’s children.”
+
+“Not dead, uncle dear, but only gone before to the better land,” Ethel
+said in tones tremulous with emotion. “No, no, indeed; we could not
+possibly forget you or Uncle Albert, who has been so very kind to us; if
+we could we ought to be considered the basest of ingrates.”
+
+“I agree with you there, Ethel,” said Harry. “And Uncle George, I am
+delighted with the idea you have advanced. I think I should like nothing
+better; and in case you decide to try the experiment I promise to do my
+very best to make it a success.”
+
+“Well, my boy, I will talk to my brother about it. Ah, here he is,” as
+at that moment Mr. Albert Eldon entered the room.
+
+“What was that you were talking of as I came in?” he asked when he had
+exchanged greetings with his nieces and taken an offered armchair.
+
+At that his brother told of the suggestion he had made to Harry,
+concluding by asking his opinion of the matter.
+
+“I think it might be very well to try it,” returned Mr. Albert, “but we
+will be better able to decide that question after learning more about
+the place from Percy and Stuart; their fathers too, who will probably be
+the better judges of the wisdom of such an undertaking.”
+
+“Very well, then, we will take the thing into consideration; and in the
+meantime let you, Harry, make the needed enquiries,” said Mr. George;
+then turned the talk upon other topics, asking his nieces what was the
+time fixed upon for the weddings.
+
+“It is not fixed yet, uncle,” replied Ethel with a blush and smile, “but
+we talk of some day early in June.”
+
+“The month of roses!” he said. “There is no lovelier time in the year to
+my thinking, and I hope weather and everything else may prove
+propitious. But what about the trousseau for each of you? Your Uncle
+Albert and I wish to provide that.”
+
+“Thank you very, very much, uncles!” exclaimed both the girls in a
+breath; “but we think you have already done more than we had any right
+or reason to expect.”
+
+“Not more by any means than we are disposed to do for our dead brother’s
+children,” he replied, Mr. Albert adding, “No, nor nearly so much. I
+will give each a hundred dollars to be laid out in that way.”
+
+“And I will do the same,” added their Uncle George, “and I want the
+double wedding to take place in my parlor, Albert and I dividing the
+expense between us. We have talked it all over calculating the probable
+cost.”
+
+“Oh, how kind and generous you are, uncles!” exclaimed Ethel, her eyes
+full of grateful tears; “but it will make so much work for——”
+
+“No matter for that,” interrupted her Uncle George with simulated
+gruffness. “Mrs. Wood and Dorothy will be only too glad of the
+opportunity to make a grand display of refreshments and so forth, and
+will enjoy seeing how the brides are dressed, how pretty they look, and
+how they behave—with what modest grace they carry off their honors.
+Besides your Aunt Sarah wants to see the ceremony and cannot well get
+out to look upon it in any other place.”
+
+“And there is no place that I should like better, uncle,” said Blanche,
+her face beaming with pleasure. “It is my old home, where I was always
+so kindly treated by you, and no other place could be more like a
+father’s house for me to be married from.”
+
+“But mine I hope would not be less like a father’s house to you,
+Blanche?” remarked Mr. Albert Eldon, looking affectionately into her
+eyes.
+
+“No, uncle, dear, yours would be just about the same, for I cannot make
+up my mind which of you I love the best,” returned Blanche, giving to
+him also a look of ardent affection. “I have only one regret in going
+away to my new home—that I must leave you two, and other dear relatives
+behind.”
+
+“That is my case also,” said Ethel, “but we will hope for many a good
+visit from the dear ones we must part from for a time when we go.”
+
+“And the visits must be returned,” said Uncle Albert, “and you two being
+so much younger than my good brother and I, must expect to give two to
+one.”
+
+“Yes, that would be only fair,” said his brother. “Ah, Ethel, I hear
+that my prospective nephews are making ready some pretty cages for their
+birds.”
+
+“They are both building, sir,” replied Ethel with a smile and a blush;
+“but the cages are to accommodate themselves as well as their mates, and
+each is to be a gift from the father of the future owner. They have sent
+us the plans, and we are delighted with them.”
+
+“They are submitted to us for any alteration we may desire to suggest,”
+added Blanche, “but we can think of scarcely any improvement. They are
+to be side by side, the gardens running together, and face the river,
+which we are told is a beautiful stream of clear, rapidly flowing water,
+the banks green to its very edge. And the houses of the parents of the
+male birds,” she added with a merry laugh, “are less than a square away.
+Would you like to see the plans, uncles?”
+
+The reply was a pleased assent from both, and she brought them. They
+examined them with evident interest, making favorable comments, asking
+some questions, and suggesting a few slight alterations which they
+thought would be improvements.
+
+“Very desirable residences they seem likely to be,” was Mr. George
+Eldon’s comment when they had finished their inspection, “and I trust
+they will prove happy homes to my nieces.”
+
+“Ethel and I mean to try to make them such to their owners,” remarked
+Blanche with an arch look and smile. “Of course, having never seen the
+place ourselves, we can only take the word of those who have as to the
+beauty of the surroundings; but I feel sure I shall better enjoy gazing
+upon a beautiful, clear, swiftly flowing river, grass, flowers, and
+trees, than upon brick pavements and white shutters, white marble
+doorsteps and the like, so trying to the eyes.”
+
+“No doubt of it,” said her Uncle Albert, “but life will have its
+troubles and trials, whether it be passed in city or country. You must
+not expect paradise, even in a snug little home of your own with a kind
+husband indoors, and clear flowing waters, flowers, and other lovely
+things outside.”
+
+“No, I do not, uncle,” she said laughingly, “yet I cannot divest myself
+of the idea—the hope—that the contemplated change will be for the
+better, even if I have the troublesome charge of a man’s happiness
+committed to my care; his happiness at least so far as a neat, well-kept
+home and well-spread table can secure it.”
+
+“Well, my dear child, though not everything, they are a great deal to a
+man, and if you add a cheerful, sunny temper, and all needed care and
+attention to his comfort in other matters, I think he will be blessed
+with a happy home and a wife whom he can respect and love, probably with
+increasing affection as the years roll by, your own love for him
+increasing also.”
+
+“You are looking very grave, Ethel,” he added, turning to her, “do you
+not agree with me in the sentiments I have expressed?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir; yes, indeed!” she answered in earnest tones, “and I have
+a very ardent desire, a very determined purpose to do all in my power to
+make a happy home for Percy—to be as good a wife and housekeeper as his
+mother is. I think there could not be a better, judging from all I have
+heard from him and the relatives we were with this summer—and I am
+resolved to learn all I can on those subjects from her. I wish you and
+Uncle George knew her, she is so lovely, so dear and good and kind. Oh,
+I think it will be delightful to be numbered among her
+daughters—especially after having been so long motherless.”
+
+“Yes; I am glad for you, my dear,” he said, then turning to her sister,
+“But you, Blanche, it seems have not seen your future mother-in-law
+yet?”
+
+“No, sir; but I am willing to risk the danger of finding her
+disagreeable, for Stuart has assured me she is no less lovable than his
+aunt, whom I like fully as much as Ethel does. Indeed _like_ is hardly a
+strong enough word to express my feelings for either her or her
+daughters. I love them—all three of them—dearly.”
+
+“That is right,” he said. “When do you give up here?” he asked, turning
+to Ethel. “Your year is out in April, is it not?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And the wedding is to be in June. I want you to come to my house to
+spend the weeks that intervene. You can make your preparations there,
+having all the help you want from dressmakers and seamstresses.”
+
+“Don’t take more than your fair share, Albert,” said his brother; “a
+part of their time should be spent with us.”
+
+“But you are going to give the wedding. Ah, well! they may come and go
+between the two houses as may suit their convenience and inclination,
+and you must let me bear my share of all the expenses.”
+
+“Yes, brother, we will have an amicable settlement when all is over,”
+returned Mr. George as he rose to take leave, for it was nearing
+bedtime; and with an affectionate good-night to the nieces and nephew
+the two took their departure.
+
+“Who has kinder uncles than ours?” exclaimed Blanche, as the door closed
+upon them. “It fairly gives me a heartache to think of going where I
+shall perhaps never see them again!” and she heaved a sigh which seemed
+to come from the bottom of her heart.
+
+“Yes,” sighed Ethel, “how few earthly pleasures there are that do not
+bring some sorrow with them. But oh! it will not be so in the better
+land, for the Bible tells us there shall be no more death, sorrow,
+crying, or pain.”
+
+“And Nan is there; dear, dear Nan, so peaceful and happy! Oh, I am sure
+she would not come back to earth if she could,” said Blanche softly, and
+wiping away a tear.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+Dorothy came in the next morning soon after breakfast, looking cheerful
+and bright.
+
+“You two girls are to come to our house directly after shutting up
+here,” she said. “I arranged it all with your uncles last evening—that
+is Aunt Sarah and I; we both want you, and so do uncle and the boys.
+They say you have hardly been there to make any stay at all, Ethel, and
+that it is Blanche’s old home; so of course you ought both to come, and
+we have coaxed Uncle Albert to consent. You see I told him I wanted to
+help with your sewing and that you could run in to have a talk with him
+in the evenings, or he come into our house; and as he couldn’t see much
+of you at any other time—being down at his store all day—he finally gave
+up with pretty good grace and said I might have it my own way. I am sure
+it is only right that I should, for I really care more about you than
+any of his girls do. Now tell me honestly wouldn’t you be as willing to
+spend those last weeks with us as with them?”
+
+“Well,” returned Ethel with a smile, “I cannot deny that I should. I do
+not know which of my uncles I love best; and you, Dorothy, are more
+congenial and seem to care more for us than Uncle Albert’s daughters. So
+I am well pleased with the arrangement you propose. It is very kind in
+you to offer your help with our sewing too.”
+
+“Yes, indeed,” said Blanche. “You are more like an own cousin to us than
+any one of the girls in the other house; and I’m very fond of Uncle
+George and his boys; of Aunt Sarah too, for she has been really kind to
+us for years.”
+
+“Then you’ll come to us?”
+
+“Yes, gladly,” returned both girls, Blanche adding, “I am sure it will
+be the best and pleasantest plan that could be thought of; especially as
+we can see about as much of Uncle Albert as if we were spending our days
+and nights in his house.”
+
+“Good girls!” said Dorothy. “And you’ll let me help with your shopping,
+won’t you?” A glad assent was given to that, for Dorothy was an
+excellent shopper, and Ethel and Blanche felt that to have her taste and
+judgment to rely upon would be a great help to them. They said as much,
+and Dorothy looked highly pleased.
+
+They were in the back part of the store, Blanche running the
+sewing-machine while Ethel busied herself with a bit of needlework, for
+no customer was in at the moment.
+
+“I don’t think I have seen all you have been at work upon for your
+wedding outfits,” said Dorothy.
+
+“No,” replied both girls, “we have not shown you nearly all,” Blanche
+adding, “You take her upstairs and show her both yours and mine, Ethel.
+I will stay here to attend to any customer who may happen to come in.”
+
+“No, sister,” said Ethel, “it would hardly be fair for me to have all
+that pleasure, leaving you to do all the work. I will show my own, then
+come down and let you go up and exhibit yours.”
+
+“Very well,” laughed Blanche, “anything to please you, sister mine.”
+Then to Dorothy, “Isn’t she the most unselfish, girl you ever saw?”
+
+“I never saw one who had less selfishness in her, and I think Percy
+Landreth a most fortunate fellow,” replied Dorothy, giving Ethel a look
+of mingled admiration and affection.
+
+“And I think I am the fortunate one,” Ethel said with a joyous smile.
+“Percy Landreth is no common man, and how he came to fancy me passes my
+comprehension.”
+
+“Ah, there is no accounting for tastes, my dear,” laughed Dorothy as
+they left the room together. “Ah, what lovely work!” she exclaimed as
+Ethel took garment after garment from a bureau drawer and spread them
+about on the bed, for her inspection. “You must have been very
+industrious to have accomplished so much in so short a time.”
+
+“No,” said Ethel, “some of it was done months ago and intended for
+sale.”
+
+“Oh, yes; before your engagement?”
+
+“Yes; you see I had no other employment for my fingers while chatting
+with Mrs. Landreth and the others in Mrs. Keith’s parlor or on the
+porches during the day. Of course in the evening, after sundown, we all
+gave our eyes and fingers a rest.”
+
+“But not ears and tongues, I presume,” laughed Dorothy. “Well, it seems
+there will hardly need to be much more sewing done except on the
+dresses. The shopping for them will be very enjoyable, I think; for I
+dearly love to look at pretty things. Suppose we make a beginning this
+afternoon. The uncles will supply the needed money if we go down to the
+office for it. Indeed we can buy a good deal from them, telling them
+they are to let us have the goods at wholesale prices; and if they
+object that they are not retailers, we will consent to take them in
+wholesale quantities.”
+
+“That might do very well,” Ethel said with a smile, “if you will engage
+to be bridesmaid and wear a dress off the same piece with Blanche’s and
+mine.”
+
+“No objection in the world to that, if Blanche agrees to it,” said
+Dorothy. “But what a pity your uncles haven’t kept the kind of goods you
+sell! It might have been such a help to you. Now please run down and
+send Blanche up to show me her pretty things. After that, if you like,
+we will start out on our expedition.”
+
+Ethel did as requested. Blanche’s garments were displayed, and received
+as high commendation as those of her sister; then Ethel dressed for the
+street, and she and Dorothy started out for the proposed call upon the
+uncles, and the shopping that was to follow.
+
+“Ah, young ladies, how do you do? Whatever may have brought you, I am
+pleased to see your bonny faces,” was Mr. George Eldon’s greeting as
+they entered his office, where they found him alone, his brother having
+gone out on some errand connected with their business. “Sit down and
+tell me your errand; for I presume you have one.”
+
+“Yes, uncle, we are out shopping for wedding dresses,” returned Dorothy
+laughingly.
+
+“And want some money, I suppose,” he said, turning to his desk.
+
+“Yes, sir, or goods; we would be willing to take a whole piece of white
+silk or satin at wholesale price, if you will let us have it out of your
+store and provide the money to pay for it.”
+
+“Would you, indeed?” he asked with a grim smile. “Well, perhaps I might
+as well close at once with so good and desirable an offer as that—really
+such an one I never had before. Come along, both of you, into the store
+and we will see what we can find.”
+
+He showed them the goods himself, looking gratified with the delight
+they manifested in gazing upon them, commenting upon their beauties,
+exclaiming again and again, “Oh, how lovely! What a beautiful dress
+might be made of that!” “Oh, that is fit for a queen!”
+
+“Well, Ethel, which will you have?” he asked at length.
+
+“Oh, uncle,” she said, “I fear they are all too beautiful and expensive
+for me; something not so——”
+
+“Whichever you choose is to go at wholesale price, remember,” he said,
+not allowing her to finish her sentence, “and your uncles are to settle
+the bill, so take whichever you prefer without reference to the price.”
+
+“Oh, uncle, you are too good and kind!” she said, her eyes filling with
+tears of gratitude.
+
+“Not a bit, my dear,” he returned in kindest tones. “But choose quickly,
+for my time is precious. How would this answer?” indicating a beautiful
+grosgrain silk. “I think it contains about three dress patterns and
+would make up prettily for you, your sister, and Dorothy here. Will it
+suit you both?”
+
+“Yes, sir; oh, yes! It is only too lovely, too costly for—for me.”
+
+“Not a bit of it!” cried Dorothy, “though it may be for me, as I am to
+be only a bridesmaid.”
+
+“In that case you can lay it aside for use when you become a bride
+yourself,” said Mr. Eldon. “Here, Smith,” to one of the clerks, “take
+charge of this package and see that it is sent up to my house some time
+in the course of the day. Now, young ladies,” leading the way to another
+part of the store, where he showed them some beautiful laces, saying,
+“Select whichever you like best for trimming the dresses and bridal
+veils.”
+
+“Oh, uncle, it is too much!” exclaimed Ethel humbly. “It would be
+lovely, but we can do very well without such things.”
+
+“Yes,” he said, “I presume the knots could be tied just as tight without
+any such adornment for the brides, but I must acknowledge that I shall
+take some pride and pleasure in seeing my nieces suitably adorned for
+their bridal. Nor am I going to ruin myself doing it. I have no
+daughters of my own, you know, so may well afford it for you and
+Blanche; Dorothy, also, when her turn comes.”
+
+“Thank you, uncle,” laughed Dorothy, “but I am doubtful of ever wanting
+bridal attire; good men and true are so scarce, you know—out of the
+family, I mean, of course—but I am exceedingly obliged for the
+bridesmaid’s dress you have so generously bestowed upon me.”
+
+“You are most welcome,” he replied. “Will you take the lace with you? or
+shall I send it with the dress goods?”
+
+“Oh, I will carry it myself if you’ll let me,” said Dorothy. “Blanche
+must see it, and I promise to take the best possible care of it.”
+
+“Very well,” he returned. “We will go back to the office now, for I must
+give you some money to do such shopping as must needs be done
+elsewhere.”
+
+“I feel as if I were really in danger of impoverishing you, uncle,
+dear,” said Ethel as he put a roll of banknotes in her hand.
+
+“Not at all, as you don’t marry every day,” he said laughingly. “In that
+case it might do some damage. I wish you success with your shopping, and
+shall be glad to see you, Blanche, and Harry too whenever you see fit to
+close out your business and come to make your home with us until you
+want to change for the western one in prospect before you. Your Aunt
+Sarah and I are both ready to give you a warm welcome.”
+
+“Dear uncle,” Ethel said with emotion, “you could scarcely be kinder to
+us if we were your own daughters.”
+
+“I almost wish you were,” he returned, “though that would make it all
+the harder to part with you for the benefit of those young men from the
+West. Good-by now for the present, and I wish you success with your
+shopping. Give my love to your sister, and tell her I hope the silk and
+lace will be suited to her taste.”
+
+“O Dorothy, isn’t he kind? whose uncles are better than ours?” exclaimed
+Ethel as they walked up the street.
+
+“Who, indeed!” said Dorothy. “Uncle George has always been good as gold
+to me. O Ethel, what perfectly lovely silk and lace he has given us! I
+shall be surprised if Blanche does not go almost wild with delight when
+she sees them.”
+
+“Yes, they seem too beautiful and costly for girls so poor as we are.
+Yet I can’t help feeling greatly pleased to have them. The Landreths are
+wealthy, as perhaps you know, and I own I did feel a little reluctant to
+go among them poorly dressed, especially as a bride.”
+
+“Well, you see you won’t have to, and I am sure your uncles never meant
+you should; they have too much family pride for that, even if they did
+not love the girls and Harry also, and I am sure they do.”
+
+“Yes, I know they do,” said Ethel, “and I esteem their fatherly
+affection a very great blessing; as I should even if they were not able
+to help us at all.”
+
+“I do not doubt it in the least. But to change the subject—you must have
+a travelling dress, and I think a certain shade of gray, with a hat and
+feather to match, would be the very thing.”
+
+“I agree with you,” said Ethel, “and they would be pretty for Blanche
+too.”
+
+“Yes; but hers might be of a slightly different shade, as you don’t—at
+least I presume you don’t want to dress exactly alike and have people
+taking you for twins,” she concluded laughingly.
+
+“No, not exactly, except in our wedding dresses,” returned Ethel with a
+smile. “But if we choose, we can have them made up a little differently;
+the way of putting on the lace might be different if nothing else.”
+
+“Yes, and that will be quite enough difference to prevent you or anybody
+else from mistaking one for the other or thinking you a pair of twins. I
+think you ought each to have a handsome black silk too, and some pretty
+home and morning dresses. But fortunately we don’t need to purchase, or
+even to decide on, everything to-day.”
+
+“No, we don’t, and it is well, for I want to consult my sister first.
+She has as much right as I to decide these questions.”
+
+“I agree with you,” said Dorothy, “but you are better than some sisters
+or you wouldn’t be so ready to own it; some would say, ‘I’m the eldest,
+and things ought all to be as I want them.’”
+
+“Blanche always wants me to have my own things exactly as I want them,
+and reserves the same privilege for herself, which I think is the better
+way; for what is becoming to one is not always equally so to the other.”
+
+“No, your complexions are different, but both beautiful. I have never
+been able to decide which was the prettier, and would be only too
+thankful to exchange with either of you,” said Dorothy in her merry
+tones.
+
+“O Dorothy, how can you say that?” exclaimed Ethel. “I call you very
+pretty; you are not fair, but your skin is so smooth and soft, and you
+have such a lovely bright color in your cheeks, such large handsome eyes
+with long, silky lashes that curl so prettily, such beautiful teeth
+and——”
+
+“Oh, stop, stop, you little flatterer!” exclaimed Dorothy. “You’ll have
+me as vain as a peacock, which will entirely spoil any pretensions to
+beauty that I may be supposed to have. Ah, let us go in here. They have
+the loveliest dress goods, and I dare say we can find the very shade of
+gray cloth wanted for your travelling suit.”
+
+Several hours were spent in shopping; then they returned to Ethel’s
+little home laden with parcels, though the heavier bundles had all been
+left to be sent, either there or to Mr. George Eldon’s.
+
+“Oh, I am glad to see you!” cried Blanche as they entered, “and though
+you do look tired, I know by your happy faces that you’ve been
+successful, and by the looks of your satchels that you have a good many
+pretty little things to show me; but dinner’s just ready and I can wait
+till you have refreshed yourselves with food. We will all enjoy the
+exhibition better after that has been attended to; so come out to the
+dining room,” and she led the way as she spoke.
+
+“Really I don’t know whether we can wait to make our important
+communications,” said Dorothy, laying down her satchel and removing her
+hat and coat. “However, Ethel, it may be the wisest plan, if we consider
+Blanche’s good; since what we have to say and to show might destroy her
+appetite for this dinner, which certainly smells very nice and
+appetizing. I think you will discover that I have not lost, by the way,
+my relish for good, substantial, well-prepared food. Partaking of it
+will doubtless greatly assist me in abstaining from unwisely making
+prompt revelation concerning the doings and happenings of our late
+expedition—the raids we have made upon merchants, wholesale and retail.”
+
+“And the plunder you have brought off, eh?” queried Blanche sedately,
+but with a twinkle of fun in her eye.
+
+“That is included, of course,” returned Dorothy.
+
+“It is not according to one’s strongest inclinations—this proposed
+waiting,” Ethel said laughingly, “but let us show how bravely we can
+battle against them when we feel called upon to do so. Shall I help you
+to some oysters, Dorothy?”
+
+“Indeed you may, my dear girl. I am particularly fond of oysters when
+well prepared, as I have always found them here, and hungry enough to
+eat almost anything.”
+
+“I am glad to hear it,” said Blanche, “since it will tend to cause you
+to more highly appreciate our humble fare.”
+
+“Now don’t put on any airs of mock humility, if you please, Miss Eldon,”
+returned Dorothy. “I say this dinner is fit for a king; sufficient
+variety, and everything done to a turn. These oysters, this Sally Lunn,
+these baked potatoes are all delicious; and I never drank a better cup
+of coffee. So what more could any reasonable mortal ask?”
+
+“I don’t know really,” returned Blanche, “except in my case—that I may
+be told what you two have seen, and done, and bought. Did you find our
+uncles in?”
+
+“The senior partner was there in his office, the other out; so that we
+missed seeing him altogether. You will hear the rest after we have fully
+satisfied our appetites; but remember, my lady, it was not your things
+but Ethel’s we were buying to-day. You have probably been told more than
+once in the course of your short life, that older people must be
+attended to first, younger ones wait patiently till their turn comes.”
+
+“Yes, I remember to have been told something of the sort several times
+in my life,” said Blanche; “but I venture to predict that I shall not
+hear it very often after a certain ceremony expected to be performed
+within the next two or three months.”
+
+“Ah, after that you will probably consider yourself a much more
+important personage than—such of your sex as see fit to live in single
+blessedness.”
+
+“Possibly,” returned Blanche with an arch look and smile.
+
+So they chatted on for some little time, then Dorothy exclaimed, “There,
+we are all done eating, I see, so suppose we proceed now, Ethel, to
+display our purchases to Blanche’s astonished eyes.”
+
+“Yes,” Ethel replied, “but let us carry them into the parlor so that we
+can be on the watch for customers while Bridget eats her dinner.”
+
+They did so and Dorothy was in her element, opening packages and
+displaying the contents to Blanche’s delighted eyes.
+
+“Oh, everything is just lovely!” she said, her eyes dancing with mirth.
+“I doubt if you could have done better even with my assistance and
+advice—valuable as my friends have always found them.”
+
+“Possibly not,” returned Dorothy; “but wind and weather permitting, and
+nothing else interfering, I hope to take you out to-morrow, my little
+dear, and give you the opportunity to show your talent in this line. Now
+we have shown you everything we bought to-day except the wedding dress
+and its trimmings.”
+
+“Oh, did you get them? Let me see them!” cried Blanche in an eager,
+excited tone.
+
+“Unfortunately we cannot show the dress, or rather dresses—for Uncle
+George gave us a whole piece of the loveliest white silk, enough to make
+three gowns—one for Ethel, one for you, and one for myself, and——”
+
+“Oh, did he? How kind and generous!” cried Blanche half breathlessly.
+
+“Yes, and this lace to trim them with,” said Dorothy, taking the last
+remaining package from her satchel, adding as she undid it, “but I can’t
+show you the silk because it was ordered to be sent right up to his
+house. I dare say it’s there by this time, and you can call and look at
+it when you will. There! what do you think of that?” throwing open her
+package and holding up a portion of the lace to view.
+
+“Oh! oh! oh! it’s the loveliest thing I ever saw!” was Blanche’s excited
+exclamation. “Did you say Uncle George gave it to us! I don’t see how he
+could afford it, for it must have cost a mint of money.”
+
+“He said we were to have it at wholesale price and take the money to pay
+for it from him.”
+
+“Oh!” gasped Blanche, “I hope he won’t ruin himself.”
+
+“No danger, my dear; for though very, very generous he is exceedingly
+careful too; as a business man should be.”
+
+“Or a business woman, or any other kind of man or woman,” added Ethel
+with a smile. “I think both our uncles are exceedingly kind to us all. I
+often wish it were in my power to make them some adequate return.”
+
+“Perhaps it may be some day,” said Blanche; “or, if not to them, to
+their children.”
+
+“Yes,” said Dorothy, “there are so many ups and downs in this world;
+perhaps I might say particularly in this country. I must go home now,
+girls; it won’t do to leave Aunt Sarah alone all day. But see that you
+are ready for your turn at shopping early to-morrow morning, Blanche, if
+the weather is at all suitable. Better make out a list of necessary
+articles, so that we won’t forget and spend the money on the wrong ones.
+By the way, girls, I shouldn’t buy any more handsome dresses—except of
+course Blanche’s travelling suit—till we see what your Uncle Albert will
+do to get even with his brother in that line.”
+
+“Yes, he too is exceedingly generous,” said Ethel; “but I think he
+should remember that he has more children of his own to provide for than
+Uncle George has.”
+
+“Yes; and not the most economical ones in the world either,” laughed
+Dorothy as she stood before the glass, putting on her hat. “I must go
+now,” she said, picking up her satchel, “and I’ll expect you bright and
+early in the morning, Blanche. You’d better come for me so that you can
+take a look at the silk for the wedding dresses.”
+
+“So I will; I want to see it, as who wouldn’t if she expected to be
+married in it?” returned Blanche as she and Ethel went with Dorothy to
+the door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+“There’s Blanche now!” exclaimed Dorothy at the breakfast table the next
+morning, as she filled her uncle’s coffee cup for the second time. “Ah,
+Blanche,” as the door opened and the young girl walked in, “you are good
+in obeying orders, and I’m glad to see you.”
+
+“As we all are,” said her uncle. “Come, take a seat here by my side and
+have a cup of coffee.”
+
+“Thank you, sir, I have been to breakfast,” she said, taking the
+indicated seat and exchanging a morning salutation with her Cousins
+George and William. “And oh, uncle, I want to thank you for the lovely
+lace you have given me, and the beautiful dress. I know it’s beautiful,
+though I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it yet.”
+
+“Well, you shall have that pleasure presently, when we are all done with
+breakfast,” he said. “I am glad you like my gift, but I expect some
+return for it.”
+
+“And I will be delighted to give anything in my power,” she replied,
+smiling up into his eyes. “Please tell me in what coin you will take
+your pay.”
+
+“The same that Johnnie, who stayed so long at the fair, wanted to have
+for the fair ring he promised to bring his lady-love.”
+
+“And will you buy me a bunch of blue ribbon to tie up my bonny brown
+hair?” she asked with a merry look and smile.
+
+“Not brown, Blanche, darling, it’s pure gold,” laughed her Cousin
+William.
+
+“And gold and blue look quite as pretty together as blue and brown,”
+remarked Dorothy.
+
+“I’ll buy you as many bunches of blue ribbon as you want and are willing
+to pay for in the same kind of coin,” said Uncle George, laying aside
+the napkin he had just been using, turning toward Blanche, taking her
+face between his hands, and bestowing several kisses upon the rosy
+cheeks and red lips.
+
+“There, uncle, you helped yourself, but I didn’t give you any,” she said
+laughingly, as he released her, then putting her arms around his neck
+she returned his caresses.
+
+“That’s the right kind of coin,” he said, “and I think I must spare you
+a few minutes of my valuable time. We are all done eating, and we will
+go up now to your aunt’s room to say good-morning to her and show you
+the wedding silk; for she wants the pleasure of seeing how you like it.
+Come along, Dorothy, George, and Will, if you care to see what
+impression it makes.”
+
+All accepted the invitation and followed quickly after him and Blanche
+as he led her up the stairs and into Mrs. Eldon’s room, where she sat in
+her invalid chair, looking over the morning paper. She turned toward
+them as they entered, saying in a pleasant tone, “Ah, good-morning,
+Blanche, I am glad to see you. Good-morning, my sons. Help your cousin
+and yourselves to seats. My dear, you are as much at home here as I am.
+I’m pleased that you found time to come up again before leaving for the
+store. Dorothy, will you please get out the packages and let Blanche see
+what she thinks of the goods?”
+
+Dorothy opened a closet door and brought out several packages done up in
+brown paper, handing one to her uncle. “I think you are the one to show
+this, sir,” she said with a smile.
+
+“Very well,” he replied, and in another moment Blanche was gazing with
+delighted eyes upon the rich folds of the white silk intended for her
+wedding dress.
+
+“Oh, I think it is the very loveliest thing I ever saw!” she exclaimed,
+clasping her hands in an ecstasy of admiration. “Thank you, uncle, thank
+you a thousand times! Oh, what a beautiful dress it will make trimmed
+with that lovely, lovely lace you have given Ethel and me for that
+purpose.”
+
+“Yes, it is very handsome, and you must have veils too,” said her aunt,
+enjoying the sight of the young girl’s pleasure almost as much as she
+did that of the silk. “Show her the material for them, Dorothy.”
+
+Dorothy obeyed, saying, “This is Aunt Sarah’s own gift toward your
+trousseaus.”
+
+“Oh, auntie, thank you very much,” cried Blanche, examining it
+critically, “it is just lovely, and I am sure will make up beautifully.”
+
+“I am glad you like it,” Mrs. Eldon said with a gratified look.
+
+“And these two dress patterns, of different shades of gray silk, are
+from Uncle Albert,” remarked Dorothy, opening another package. “He
+thought you would not want to be always dressed exactly alike, and says
+you are to decide for yourselves which shall have which.”
+
+“Ethel, as the eldest, should be the one to settle that question,” said
+Blanche. “I think them both so beautiful that I shall not care which is
+left for me. Oh, how kind in Uncle Albert to give them to us!”
+
+“And here is enough handsome black silk to make a dress for each of
+you,” continued Dorothy, opening still another package and displaying
+its contents. “It is Aunt Augusta’s wedding gift.”
+
+“I—I am almost overwhelmed!” cried Blanche, scarcely able to speak from
+emotion. “I who never before had even one perfectly new silk dress! Oh,
+Uncle George, I am afraid you and Uncle Albert will ruin yourselves
+doing so much for us!”
+
+“I have no great apprehensions of that, my little girl,” he returned
+with a fatherly smile. “You are the only nieces we have to provide
+for—except Dorothy here for me, and I don’t mean to let her go for a
+good while yet,” smiling affectionately upon her; “so it would be a sad
+pity if we couldn’t open our hearts enough to give you a few wedding
+clothes. But I must go now, and I think it would be well for you and
+Dorothy to start out pretty soon to attend to that important shopping
+which I hear you have on hand.”
+
+With that the three gentlemen withdrew from the room, and after a few
+minutes’ chat with their aunt about the purchases to be made that
+morning, Dorothy and Blanche started out also.
+
+They returned to Ethel at dinner time to report as good success with
+their shopping as hers of the previous day. Blanche had bought a gray
+travelling dress of a different shade from that of her sister, a hat and
+gloves to match it, besides various smaller articles needed to complete
+her trousseau, and Ethel admired and approved to the entire satisfaction
+of the purchasers.
+
+“Now,” said Dorothy, “I think we need do very little, if any more,
+shopping for some weeks, when the spring fashions have come out; but
+there is plenty of sewing connected with what we have already bought to
+keep us all three busy. How I wish you were ready to come to us at once,
+so that we could get fairly to work immediately.”
+
+“Dorothy, how very kind you are,” said Ethel, giving her a bright look
+and smile. “I doubt if many girls in your place would think it any
+concern of theirs whether our sewing was done in season or not, or offer
+us any assistance with it.”
+
+“Ah, but you see I am naturally fond of such doings as you have on hand
+at present,” laughed Dorothy. “Now, can’t you decide to close out
+earlier than you have been intending to—say in two or three weeks, if
+not sooner? I know perfectly well that aunt and uncle would be delighted
+to have you come to them so much sooner than you have intended, to say
+nothing of the boys and the girl Dorothy.”
+
+“Then perhaps you may be glad to hear of something that occurred this
+morning while you two were shopping. A woman called in to say that,
+hearing I was going to give up the house this spring, she would like to
+look at it with a view to taking it. So I took her over it from attic to
+cellar. She seemed to think it would exactly suit her, and if it would
+not inconvenience me to move out sooner than I had intended—say in a
+week or two—she would be very glad to take it off my hands, buying the
+fixtures, most of the furniture, and the goods also—as she means to keep
+the same kind of stock—and settling for the rent I should have to pay
+the landlord if I had stayed on as long as I had intended.”
+
+“Oh, delightful!” cried Dorothy. “I hope you closed with the offer at
+once?”
+
+“No, not exactly,” replied Ethel, smiling at Dorothy’s earnestness, “but
+I told her I would give her my answer to-morrow or next day. I wanted
+time you see to consult my uncles, and to make sure I should not
+inconvenience anybody by accepting the invitation from Uncle George and
+Aunt Sarah so much earlier than they and we had expected.”
+
+“I can assure you you needn’t hesitate one minute about that,” returned
+Dorothy. “Suppose you come up and talk with Aunt Sarah and the uncles
+this evening and have it settled. Then you can see some pretty things we
+were showing Blanche this morning.”
+
+“Oh, yes, Ethel; some lovely gifts to us from Uncle Albert and the two
+aunts.”
+
+“Oh, hush!” cried Dorothy, “don’t tell what they are, but let her be
+surprised as you were this morning.”
+
+“Why, you cruel thing! the idea of keeping her waiting so long!”
+exclaimed Blanche in simulated wrath.
+
+“Oh, I can wait,” laughed Ethel; “mysteries and expectations are really
+delightful things sometimes. Now I think of it, as we do not often have
+much custom in the evenings, Harry and you and I, Blanche, might go to
+Uncle George’s after tea and talk the matter over with him and Uncle
+Albert; see the pretty things too, and thank them and the aunts for
+their gifts.”
+
+The others thought well of the plan and it was duly carried out
+
+The uncles highly approved of the immediate closing up of Ethel’s
+business, and the coming to their houses of both nieces and nephew
+without any unnecessary delay. In consequence they were all, in less
+than a fortnight, installed as temporary members of their Uncle George’s
+family, the girls very busy with the necessary preparations for their
+approaching nuptials, and Dorothy equally so as their most kind helper.
+
+The young lady cousins next door took a languid interest and prepared
+some little wedding gifts for each of the prospective brides, but that
+was the utmost of their helpfulness.
+
+Busy though they were—very busy with their preparations—Ethel and
+Blanche managed to find time to carry on a brisk correspondence with
+Percy and Stuart, whose letters kept them informed of the progress made
+from week to week in the building of their houses and the laying out of
+the grounds, assuring them that they confidently hoped to have the
+pretty homes ready in good season for their occupants. Their fathers, so
+they wrote, would give them, not the grounds and houses alone, but
+furniture for them also, and it was their intention to buy carpets,
+curtains, and parlor furniture at least, in Philadelphia when they went
+on for their brides. These would be sent immediately to Pleasant Plains,
+as their town was called, and arranged in the houses by their Aunt Annis
+and others of the family who intended to remain at home while the bridal
+party made their wedding trip, visiting various places of note in the
+Eastern and Middle States.
+
+“Oh, how pleasant!” exclaimed Dorothy on hearing of these arrangements;
+“you can go right into your own homes just as soon as you reach the
+town. I should like nothing better if I were in your place.”
+
+“It suits us exactly,” said Ethel.
+
+“Aunt Sarah was saying only this morning that it was time to be
+preparing invitations to the wedding and sending them out,” remarked
+Dorothy, “and she wants you girls to make out a list of the relatives
+and friends of the bridegroom that are to be, who ought to receive
+cards, so that she can attend to the business, which is just in her
+line, as she can do it sitting in her chair and with very little
+exertion.”
+
+“It is most kind in aunt, and we will write at once for such a list,”
+replied Ethel, looking highly gratified; for both she and Blanche wished
+to show every attention to the relatives of Percy and Stuart, but had
+not thus far felt that they had any right to invite them, or anyone, to
+the house of their uncle; and he had expressed a wish to have the
+ceremony performed in his own parlor.
+
+The letters were promptly written, sent by the next train for the West,
+and a reply containing the requested list came by the return of mail.
+
+It gave the names of relatives only, few besides the Keiths, Aunt
+Wealthy Stanhope, and such of the Dinsmores as were related to Mrs.
+Marcia Keith, the maternal grandmother of Percy and Stuart, including,
+of course, those of New Jersey who had for years so kindly befriended
+Ethel, Blanche, and their younger brother and sister.
+
+The girls had few friends or acquaintances outside of the families of
+their two uncles, and desiring a quiet wedding because of their recent
+bereavement, none others were invited.
+
+They were very busy with their preparations, yet had time enough to take
+matters easily and not be so overworked as to mar their good looks or
+exhaust their strength. They were almost at leisure and looking rosy and
+happy, when their intended partners for life walked in upon them some
+days before the one appointed for the important ceremony.
+
+The arrival was not unexpected, for it had been agreed upon that they
+should come in good season to allow time for each young couple to make
+their purchases of household goods and have them shipped for Pleasant
+Plains before the wedding.
+
+Some two or three days were spent most enjoyably in this fascinating
+work of choosing the adornments of their future homes, Dorothy sometimes
+accompanying them, by invitation, that they might have the benefit of
+her excellent taste and judgment.
+
+In the meantime letters of acceptance or declination, accompanied by
+gifts—principally of handsome jewelry or silver ware—came pouring in
+from the invited relatives, causing the most pleasurable excitement
+Ethel and Blanche had ever known.
+
+Dorothy heartily rejoiced with and for them, fairly going into ecstasies
+over a diamond pin for each, from Mr. Horace Dinsmore and his father,
+and lovely bracelets from Mr. Travilla and his wife, the dear Cousin
+Elsie of whom they had often heard Mrs. Landreth speak.
+
+These handsome gifts were accompanied by letters expressing kindly
+interest and the hope of making the acquaintance of the young brides at
+some future day, but declining to attend the wedding, as it was not
+convenient for any of them to leave home just at that time.
+
+Aunt Wealthy, too, declined for the same reason, and because of her
+advanced years, but sent a piece of silver ware to each of the brides
+and a warm, even urgent invitation for a visit to her on their homeward
+way.
+
+“Dear old auntie!” exclaimed Percy on reading the letter, which Ethel
+had handed to him, “I think, Stuart, we should try to manage it; if our
+brides are willing,” he added with a smiling glance at the two girls
+sitting near. “It will not take us very much out of our way, and would
+be such a gratification to her.”
+
+“With all my heart, if the ladies do not object,” returned Stuart with
+an enquiring look at them. “I do not believe either of them would regret
+it, for she is, as you say, ‘a dear old lady.’ A very amusing one, also,
+at times,” he added with a mirthful look.
+
+“Oh, yes; I have heard your mother and sisters speak of her, Percy, and
+I should like nothing better than to pay her a little visit in her own
+house, and engage her to make a return, if possible,” Ethel said, her
+eyes sparkling with pleasure at the very idea.
+
+“I, too,” exclaimed Blanche. “Oh, it would be lovely! better than going
+to the Eastern States, if we cannot do both.”
+
+“Oh, we can do both,” said Stuart, “if we do not stay too long at any
+one place.”
+
+“Yes, of course, we do not expect ever to have another honeymoon,”
+laughed Percy. “If nobody objects, I’ll write at once to Aunt Wealthy
+that we hope and expect to accept her invitation.” A moment of silence,
+then Blanche said:
+
+“I think you are safe in doing so, as we have all expressed a desire to
+make the visit.”
+
+“Yes; then I’ll write to-night,” said Percy. “Oh, by the way, I received
+a letter from Cousin Horace Dinsmore, junior—who is about my own
+age—accepting an invitation I sent him the other day to be one of our
+groomsmen.”
+
+“I am pleased to hear it,” said Ethel. “Having heard a great deal about
+the family I have wanted very much to see them.”
+
+“Which I intend you shall one of these days, if I have to take you all
+the way down there,” laughed Percy.
+
+“Possibly you maybe able to induce them to pay us a visit this coming
+summer or fall,” said Stuart. “I own to a strong desire to see them
+myself; so many years having passed since there was an exchange of
+visits that I have no recollection of any of the family.”
+
+“I should think not,” laughed Percy; “for if I am not mistaken none of
+them have visited our part of the country since you were born. I was
+taken down there in my babyhood, but, of course, have no recollection of
+the circumstances, or of the relatives I saw there. But we have heard so
+much talk about them, and read so many of their letters, that it almost
+seems as if we had seen and known them.”
+
+“Yes, I believe you are right,” Stuart said musingly. “I shall be
+pleased to make the acquaintance of Horace, junior, so am very glad he
+is coming. It brings up the number of our groomsmen to six—Horace, Harry
+Eldon, Stuart Landreth, and the three cousins of the brides—George,
+William, and Albert.”
+
+“And we have the same number of bridesmaids,” remarked Blanche; “your
+sister and Percy’s two, his and your cousin Mary Keith, our cousin
+Minnie Eldon, and Dorothy. Aunt Sarah says we must have a rehearsal
+to-night.”
+
+“Yes,” said Stuart, “and another after Horace Dinsmore gets here, as he
+will to-morrow, I think.”
+
+“And we expect all our party from Pleasant Plains to be here in the city
+by that time,” added Percy; “so that we may hope to get all the intended
+bridesmaids and groomsmen together for that second one.”
+
+“I think they will get in to-night,” said Stuart; “and it will be well
+if they do, as that will give them—I mean the girls, particularly—time
+to rest a bit before going through the ordeal.”
+
+“The rehearsal will be scarcely an ordeal, but——” It was Blanche who
+spoke, but she paused without finishing her sentence, and assuming a
+comical expression of pretended fright and apprehension.
+
+“The actual ceremony will?” queried Stuart laughingly.
+
+“Yes; remembering that I have heard more than once that men are
+deceivers,” she sighed. “Alas! if I should be mistaken in the one to
+whose keeping I commit my happiness.”
+
+“It would be dreadful,” returned Stuart regarding her with admiring,
+laughing eyes, “and perhaps equally so should I be mistaken in the
+little woman to whom I commit mine. But I am not afraid.”
+
+“Nor need you be, Blanche, let me assure you,” said Percy. “Try to be as
+reasonable and trustful as Ethel, who I feel convinced is not the least
+afraid of me,” he added with a happy little laugh, and a glance of
+ardent affection at his betrothed.
+
+“Ah, who shall say that that is not because she is a brave—if not
+particularly bright woman?” laughed Ethel.
+
+“I,” said Percy; “you, Miss Eldon, are the only person who will be
+permitted to utter such a slander concerning her in my presence.”
+
+The next few days seemed taken up by a whirl of pleasurable
+excitement—introductions to new friends, soon to become relatives, the
+reception of many beautiful presents, the rehearsals of those who were
+to take part in the ceremony, the trimming of the house with flowers,
+the trying on of wedding finery, and selecting of flowers—orange
+blossoms—for the adornment of the brides.
+
+There was scarcely time to think of the pain of the coming partings from
+brother, uncles, and other relatives; pain it would be, yet not to be
+compared with that of many a young bride who must leave father, mother,
+home, and more than one loved brother and sister.
+
+The wedding was a pronounced success; brides and bridesmaids looking
+their best—groom and groomsmen also—and each going through his or her
+part of the ceremony in an altogether creditable manner.
+
+A wedding feast followed; then came the leave-takings and the scattering
+of the guests and the bridal party, the latter taking the cars for New
+York, where they spent some days in sight-seeing; from there they went
+on to Boston, where a week was spent visiting places in the city and its
+vicinity interesting from a historical point of view. Then they returned
+to New York, went up the Hudson on a fine steamer to West Point, where
+they spent a day and a night; then by boat again up to Albany, where
+they made but a brief halt, then took the cars for Saratoga, spent a few
+days there, during which they visited the battlefield—all being
+intensely interested in everything connected with the struggle that had
+made us a nation.
+
+Their next pause was at Niagara, where they made a brief stay to see the
+Falls. From there they went to Lansdale, O., to pay the promised visit
+to Aunt Wealthy, which would be their last halt on their homeward way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+It was on a lovely June morning that our bridal party arrived in
+Lansdale. They were met at the depot by Aunt Wealthy’s nephew Mr. Harry
+Duncan, and driven directly to the pretty cottage which had been for so
+many years the home of the dear old lady. She met them on its porch with
+both hands outstretched in cordial greeting to the dearly loved
+grandnephews, and their wives of whom this was her first sight, gave
+them the tenderest of greetings, then led them within doors and gave
+them in charge to Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Lottie Allison, who conducted
+them to their respective rooms and left them there to refresh themselves
+by the removal of the dust of travel and a change of raiment.
+
+An excellent dinner, served in Aunt Wealthy’s dining room and partaken
+of by all the members of the three families, followed in due season, the
+dear old lady herself taking the head of the table and doing the honors
+as gracefully as though she had seen but half the years which had
+actually passed over her head.
+
+Ethel felt strongly drawn to her and the attraction seemed mutual.
+
+“I am greatly obliged to you, boys,” Aunt Wealthy said in her sweet,
+silvery tones, glancing from Ethel to Blanche and back again, “for
+furnishing me with two such sweet and lovable grand-nieces. I only wish
+I could keep you and them near me without robbing our dear ones in your
+native town. Now if you could persuade your parents and grandparents to
+leave Pleasant Plains for Lansdale and you to settle here also, it would
+be very delightful to your old auntie.”
+
+“It would be very delightful for us to have her near at hand,” returned
+Percy with a smile, “but surely much easier to carry her there with us,
+than to bring all our numerous tribe here. What do you say to the idea
+of joining our party when we start for home again, Aunt Wealthy?”
+
+“Ah, no, laddie! I’m too old a fixture to be moved,” returned the old
+lady, shaking her head. “I am only living from day to day with the
+feeling that home is all ready for me in that better land and that I may
+at any moment hear the glad summons to go to it and the dear Master who
+has prepared it for me.”
+
+“And yet how very peaceful and happy you look, auntie,” remarked
+Blanche. “Do you not dread that summons at all?”
+
+“Oh, no, child. Why should I or anyone dread a call to go home to the
+Father’s house on high? I can truly say I do not dread it half so much
+as I should the earthly journey from here to Pleasant Plains. That would
+cause me much weariness; the other none at all.”
+
+“I think you are to be envied, Aunt Wealthy,” said Blanche. “I don’t
+think it is altogether because you are old and weary of life either,
+because our dear young sister Nannette seemed as glad to go to that dear
+home as anybody could be.”
+
+“I hope you will tell us all about her while you are here,” remarked
+Mrs. Duncan, with a look of interest.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. Allison, “and also about your wedding, for we have
+heard absolutely nothing so far.”
+
+“Our mothers, and the rest at Pleasant Plains, have been too busy to
+write, I presume,” observed Stuart; “but you shall have all the
+particulars you care for from us before we leave.”
+
+“Yes, you must please tell us all about it this evening when Dr. and
+Mrs. Prince will be in to hear it too.”
+
+“Now, Aunt Wealthy, do you know that, as usual, you have lowered my
+father’s rank?” queried Mrs. Allison with an amused look and smile. “You
+will forget, you dear old soul, that he is a King—not merely a prince.”
+
+“Ah, yes; it is a sad mistake and one that I make very often, and I fear
+I’m too young now to hope to reform in that respect.”
+
+“Ah, well, auntie, do not be discouraged,” said Mr. Duncan; “you know
+you are getting older every day and may hope to arrive finally at years
+of discretion.”
+
+“Ah, Harry, Harry, you are a sad fellow, considering that you belong to
+the family of such a fine young father; such an one should never think
+of making game of his old auntie in that fashion,” returned Miss
+Stanhope with affected gravity, but a twinkle of fun in her eye. Then
+turning to Percy, “Did Mr. Travilla and Elsie get to your wedding?” she
+asked.
+
+“No, ma’am; none of the family except young Horace, who was one of our
+groomsmen. I own that I was disappointed, for I have a great desire to
+meet them all; especially Cousin Elsie. She has been here several times,
+has she not?”
+
+“Yes, years ago when she was quite young—eighteen—and Mr. Travilla came
+after her, but was not her—yes, he was her lover, but she thought of him
+only as a kind of uncle. Then her father brought her again when she had
+found out that she cared for Mr. Torville, and engaged him to marry her.
+Ah, he’s as pleasant a gentleman as ever you saw!”
+
+“You were at the wedding, were you not, Aunt Wealthy?” asked Stuart.
+
+“Yes, indeed! They wouldn’t have missed me for a good deal, and from the
+sole of her head to the crown of her foot she was the loveliest bride
+that I ever saw.”
+
+“So mother has often told me, and that she was as lovely in character as
+in person,” said Percy.
+
+“An assertion which no one at all acquainted with her would hesitate to
+confirm,” said Mr. Allison. “I know her well as the daughter of my
+esteemed brother-in-law, Mr. Horace Dinsmore, and have known her since
+she was a little lass about nine years old.”
+
+“How I should like to see her!” exclaimed Blanche.
+
+“We have photographs at home,” said Stuart. “I think them lovely, but
+mother and the others who remember her say they do not do her justice.”
+
+“We have some very good ones here,” said Aunt Wealthy, “and everyone who
+cares to look at them can do so.”
+
+They were leaving the table as she spoke and Blanche, speaking aside to
+Stuart, urged him to ask his aunt to show them the old-fashioned
+treasures in her parlor of which she had heard him and Percy tell.
+
+“Yes, dearest, I will,” he said with a mirthful look. “I own to a great
+desire to see them myself, having heard so much about them from mother,
+grandma, and Aunt Mildred.”
+
+But there was no need to prefer the request, as it was to the parlor
+Miss Stanhope now led the way, and she was presently exhibiting with
+pardonable pride the old furniture that had been in the family since
+before her time, her grandmother’s sampler framed and hanging on the
+wall, the embroidered chair cushions which she said were filled with
+that grandmother’s own feathers, and were valued by herself more than
+their weight in gold, though much faded and somewhat worn in spite of
+the excellent care she had always taken of them—the old, old portraits
+on the walls, the cabinet of curiosities brought from over the seas by
+an ancestor who had been a sea captain.
+
+All these were examined with interest, then Percy enquired for the
+photographs.
+
+“Ah, they are here,” replied Miss Stanhope, taking up a photographic
+album and handing it to him. “Let us see if you can pick out your Cousin
+Elsie.”
+
+“Easily,” he returned, “since I have often seen one in mother’s
+possession;” and as he opened the album his wife, Blanche, and Stuart
+drew around him to gaze with eager curiosity upon the lovely face which
+he pronounced an excellent likeness of Mrs. Travilla, judging from those
+he had seen and the description of her often given him by the members of
+the family who knew her.
+
+Our little bridal party spent some days at Lansdale, then urgent
+messages from home hurried them away. They reached Pleasant Plains about
+the middle of the afternoon of another lovely June day.
+
+As they alighted from the train they were greeted most rejoicingly by
+their fathers and mothers—Dr. and Mrs. Landreth and Mr. and Mrs.
+Ormsby—each couple being conducted to a waiting carriage, and presently,
+when the baggage had been attended to, they were whirled away to the
+house of the young men’s grandfather, Mr. Keith, where they found the
+other members of the connection waiting to greet and welcome them.
+
+Then, after a few minutes’ chat, they were conducted to their own new
+homes, which had been thoroughly cleaned and furnished with the carpets,
+curtains, and other articles bought in Philadelphia for that purpose.
+
+All four were filled with delight at the neat and tasteful appearance of
+each dwelling, and the many comforts and conveniences that had been
+provided through the thoughtful love and effort of parents and friends.
+
+The grounds were prettily laid out, sodded and planted with trees,
+shrubs, and flowers, and presented an attractive appearance for places
+so new to cultivation, giving promise of great beauty in coming years;
+and from porches and balconies charming views might be obtained of the
+surrounding country and the beautiful swiftly flowing river.
+
+Ethel and Blanche were evidently greatly pleased, and their young
+husbands scarcely less so.
+
+When all these things had been viewed and rapturously commented upon,
+the young couples were left to themselves, with an injunction to come
+over to their grandfather’s again when ready for tea, as all the family
+were to be assembled there to rejoice together over their safe arrival,
+and that those to whom the brides were strangers, as yet, might have an
+opportunity to make their acquaintance.
+
+It proved a delightful family party, but as the travellers were somewhat
+weary with their long journey, and the watchful mothers divined that
+they were longing for the privacy and rest to be found in their own
+little homes, they proposed at an early hour that the old father should
+lead them all in a short service of prayer and praise, then all disperse
+to their several abodes, hoping to meet again on the morrow, when rested
+and refreshed by sleep.
+
+They separated with kind good-nights, and a few moments later Percy and
+his Ethel were standing together on their own porch gazing out upon the
+moonlit landscape.
+
+“What a beautiful river it is!” she said in tones tremulous with
+emotion, “and, oh, what a dear, lovely home you have brought me to! I
+had hardly hoped ever to have one so sweet and fair, or to be so loved
+as I firmly believe my husband loves me.”
+
+“You deserve it all, dearest,” he said with feeling; “yes, far more than
+I deserve the happiness of having so sweet a wife for my very own. And
+God grant we may live and love together here for many years, should it
+please Him to spare our lives.”
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+THE MILDRED SERIES
+
+
+A Companion Series of the “Elsie” Books
+
+By MARTHA FINLEY
+
+(Martha Farquharson)
+
+    MILDRED KEITH
+    MILDRED AT ROSELANDS
+    MILDRED AND ELSIE
+    MILDRED’S MARRIED LIFE
+    MILDRED AT HOME
+    MILDRED’S BOYS AND GIRLS
+    MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MILDRED’S NEW DAUGHTER ***
+
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