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diff --git a/79054-0.txt b/79054-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..286f653 --- /dev/null +++ b/79054-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11242 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79054 *** + +Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. + +New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain. + + + + OLDHAM + + OR + + BESIDE ALL WATERS + + + BY + + LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY + + AUTHOR OF "LOVEDAY'S HISTORY," "LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS," + "IRISH AMY," ETC. + + + NEW YORK + THOMAS WHITTAKER + 2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE + + 1886 + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1885 + BY THOMAS WHITTAKER. + + + + ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED + BY RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY + BOSTON. + + + + PREFACE. + + I THINK this book tells its own story, such as it is. It is simply a +tale of quiet country life in a New England parish, with some of its +oddities and advantages, and a little of the tragedy which is found +everywhere. It is not meant specially either for old or young, though I +hope both classes may find entertainment and profit in it. + + One word as to the Bible-class service. I believe such neighborhood +meetings would be found of the utmost advantage both in city and +country parishes. In the city especially may always be found a large +class of women who have been brought up to attend church regularly, but +have fallen out of the habit, at first, perhaps, kept at home by the +cares of young children, and afterward from indifference. Such persons +may often be induced to attend a service in a neighbor's house or some +such place, of an evening, when they would not go to church. My idea +of such services would be to make them "Bible-readings," in which all +should be invited to take part. I do believe that a great deal of good +might be done in this way. + + LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY. + + + + CONTENTS. + + —————— + + CHAPTER I. + + THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE + + CHAPTER II. + + NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS + + CHAPTER III. + + KIT AT HOME + + CHAPTER IV. + + STRANGERS + + CHAPTER V. + + THE MEETING + + CHAPTER VI. + + THE ENEMY + + CHAPTER VII. + + THE SPRINGING GRAIN + + CHAPTER VIII. + + THE SNAKES + + CHAPTER IX. + + TWO TEA-PARTIES + + CHAPTER X. + + THE BIRDS OF THE AIR + + CHAPTER XI. + + NEW PROJECTS + + CHAPTER XII. + + HARMONY AND DISCORD + + CHAPTER XIII. + + KIT'S VICTORY + + CHAPTER XIV. + + MISS VAN ZANDT + + CHAPTER XV. + + MORE CHANGES + + CHAPTER XVI. + + THE TEA-PARTY + + CHAPTER XVII. + + MRS. ORME + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + TROUBLE AT HOME + + CHAPTER XIX. + + OLDHAM AFFAIRS + + CHAPTER XX. + + WARNING + + CHAPTER XXI. + + THE NET CLOSED + + CHAPTER XXII. + + THE END + + + + OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. + + [Illustration] + +CHAPTER I. + +THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. + +IT was not in the least like the red schoolhouses one may see every day +in the city. They are great piles of brick, usually all the uglier for +the attempts at ornament bestowed upon them. They have any number of +rooms for any number of grades, with A classes and B classes, and all +the other machinery for grinding out scholars by the hundred, all done +to one pattern. My red schoolhouse was more like the little "custom +mill," built by the side of a dashing, flashing mill-stream, with +trees growing about it, and a row of sheds where stand steady, sober +old horses, patiently waiting while their owners sit inside or about +the mill-door discussing politics and neighborhood news and waiting +in their turn for their separate "grists" of sweet-smelling meal and +flour. There was just such a mill not far from the red schoolhouse; +and the hum of the machinery could be heard in the schoolroom when the +boys and girls were particularly quiet, as was the case on the special +occasion when my story begins. + +There had been a talk two or three times, in school-meeting, of +re-furnishing the schoolhouse on modern principles, but it had never +been carried out. A long desk ran around two sides of the room, with a +bench before it where the elder scholars sat; in front of this bench +was another, mostly used for recitations; and before all, a still lower +seat for the little ones who were just learning their letters. The rest +of the furniture consisted of the teacher's desk and chair, standing +on a platform by themselves; a good serviceable blackboard, a little +the worse for wear; and a map of the world, and another of the United +States, which was so many States behind the times that it must needs be +an old inhabitant. + +There were not more than twenty scholars present that June afternoon. +And those were mostly girls or very little boys, for the big boys of +the district were busy with another branch of their education,—helping +their fathers on the farm. All the children were seated with their +faces toward the teacher, and the room was so still that the hum of the +mill sounded like the drone of a big bumble-bee. Miss Armstrong was +standing on the platform, her hand resting upon a book which she had +apparently just laid down. She could not be called a very pretty woman, +and yet there was that in her face and manner which made one look at +her again. She had a certain air of peace and cheerfulness overlying +steadiness and resolution,—what you would call a face to be trusted. + +"She looks as if she had come through the wars, and 'beat,'" said +Patience Fletcher, who, poor thing, had been beaten many times in her +warfare. + +[Illustration: All the children joined in the repetition + of the Lord's Prayer with one exception.] + +"Now, let me hear you say that verse all together," said Miss +Armstrong; "and then we will join in repeating the Lord's Prayer. I +hope I shall hear every voice. Stand up, if you please." + +Every voice was heard as the children repeated, in tones that were +reverent from feeling,— + + "'Like as a father pitieth his own children, so the Lord pitieth them +that fear him.'" + +All the children joined in the repetition of the Lord's Prayer, with +one exception. A thin, dark little girl with black, crispy hair, stood +looking down at her closely clasped hands with a curious movement about +her lips. You would say she had much ado not to burst out crying. + +As the school was dismissed, and this little girl made her courtesy at +the door (for this school was so far behind the times that "manners" +were still taught therein), she suddenly raised her eyes, and looked +her teacher in the face. Those eyes of Kit's were always a kind of +surprise. They were dark violet-blue, with black level brows, and very +long black lashes,—Irish blue eyes,—and had an extraordinary brilliancy +about them, like precious stones or sunlit water. They now flashed upon +Miss Armstrong with a look of love and thankfulness which went to the +teacher's heart. + +"'She' has taken in something, at any rate," thought Miss Armstrong. "I +must talk more with her. I wonder why she did not join in the prayer." + +Somebody else wondered also; for the moment she was outside the door, +Kit was met with the sharp question,— + +"Kit Mallory, why didn't you say the Lord's Prayer?" + +"I don't know it," replied Kit, coloring up to the roots of her hair. +And then, after a moment, she added, as if with an effort, "Our folks +don't believe in such things." + +"You wicked girl!" exclaimed the first speaker, a pretty well grown +girl of sixteen, very neatly dressed. "You wicked child, not to believe +in the Lord's Prayer!" + +"I didn't say I didn't believe in it: I said I didn't know it," replied +Kit with some spirit. "How can I believe in what I don't know any thing +about?" + +"Well, you ought to know it, then," said Selina. "You could have +learned it if you had chosen, I know." + +Kit did not seem disposed to pursue the subject. She walked a little +way down the road, climbed the bars, and was soon ascending the rocky +hill-pasture. + +"I declare, I don't think that girl ought to be allowed to come to +school," said Selina. "Phin Mallory is a regular infidel, and Melissa +makes all kinds of fun of religion. Kit isn't Phin's niece, either, +though she calls him uncle. She is only a little foundling taken out of +the poorhouse; Melissa told me so herself." + +"If she had been out of the orphan-asylum, it would have been all +right, I suppose," said a girl who had not yet spoken. + +It was now Selina's turn to color. Her eyes flashed, and she turned +absolutely white with anger. + +"For shame, Sarah!" said Faith Fletcher. "It isn't Selina's fault." + +"Nor Kit's either." + +"Oh, don't trouble yourself to take my part, Faith," said Selina in a +voice which trembled with anger. "If Sarah—" But here she stopped; and, +tying on her bonnet, she walked rapidly away in a direction opposite to +that which Kit had taken. + +"You are too bad, Sarah," said Faith. "Now she will go home and cry +half the night." + +"Why am I too bad, any more than she?" asked Sarah. "What did she say +about Kit?" + +"Two wrongs don't make a right," said Faith, very truly. + +"And as to her crying, what is there to cry about?" continued Sarah. "I +think she might be thankful that she has a good home. Nobody would ever +think of her being an adopted child if she did not put on such airs. I +must say I do like to take her down." + +"And how do you like it when somebody takes you down?" asked Faith. + +"When it happens, I will tell you," said Sarah lightly. "Where is that +child?—Come, Gerty. You can't stay to play to-night: I promised to come +home early, and help mother." + +"And I must go home and help sister," said Faith, with a little sigh, +as if the prospect were not the most alluring in the world. "Come, +children. Eddy, see how you have mussed up your clean apron; and Eben +has got his knees all green on the grass. What do you think sister will +say? Take hold of hands now, and walk along pretty." + +The prospect of what sister would say seemed to have a very sobering +effect on the little boy and girl—twins of six years old. They at once +gave up their play, and marched off in the most orderly manner. Faith +followed them. + +And when Miss Armstrong came out of the schoolhouse and locked the +door, there was not a human being in sight. She hesitated a moment, +and then took the same road that Kit had followed. She had gone about +a quarter of a mile, when she stopped, and looked about her with a +puzzled expression. As she did so, a light figure sprang over the stone +wall, and Kit Mallory stood beside her. + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, ain't you taking the wrong road?" said she as +soon as she could gather breath enough to speak. "Don't you want to go +to Mr. Weston's to-night?" + +"To be sure I do, Kitty," answered Miss Armstrong. "I was just thinking +I had made a mistake. Have I come very far out of my way?" + +"Well, quite a piece," answered Kit, "but if you don't mind going +cross-lots, I could show you a shorter way than the road. It's real +pretty, too, only it is kind of steep part of the way." + +"I don't mind the steepness at all, and I love to go cross-lots," +answered Miss Armstrong. "I am not sure that I can climb that wall +quite as easily as you did, however." + +"There are bars only a little way from here," said Kit: "I can take +them down for you." + +"How did you come to my help so opportunely, Kitty?" asked Miss +Armstrong as they walked along toward the bars. + +"I saw you from the hill," answered Kit as she took down the bars, and +then carefully put them up again. "There is a little hollow up yonder, +where I always stop to rest. It is real pretty when you get there. Now +we have to go up, you see, but it isn't so steep very far." + +Miss Armstrong not only saw, but felt, the steepness of the path, which +taxed all her strength for a few minutes, for she was not used to +mountain-climbing. Presently, however, they came to a kind of break or +niche in the steep rocky ledge which crowned the hill like a rampart. +The grass in this hollow was short and fine, and beautifully green; +and lovely tufts of lady-fern and maiden-hair grew about the rocks. +A low, wide-spreading oak-tree stood at the entrance of the nook; +and a bright, clear spring, bursting to light from under the ledge, +made quite a deep pool, and then prattled cheerfully away down the +mountain-side. The view from the spot was lovely enough to have pleased +a more cultivated eye than Kit's. The long valley, with the river and +the road winding through it, was spread out like a map; and the "folded +hills" rose one behind the other, till the prospect was closed by the +top of a great blue mountain. Almost at their feet lay the schoolhouse, +and Bassett's mill with its flashing mill-dam. Miss Armstrong uttered +an exclamation of delight. + +"I'm glad you think it pretty," said Kit. "Please sit down and rest." + +As she spoke, she pointed out a flat rock as a desirable seat. And +then, disappearing for a little, she presently came back with one hand +full of young wintergreens, and the other of the last year's stems, +each with its coral berry. + +"I can get you a drink if you like," said she. And searching in a +hollow among the rocks, she brought out a cracked teacup, which she +filled at the spring-head, and offered to Miss Armstrong. + +"Thank you, my dear; this is very refreshing," said Miss Armstrong. +"You have made me a nice little treat. I do not wonder you like to stop +here." + +"I think it is pleasant," said Kit: "you can see so far, and the colors +are so nice. Folks say red houses are ugly and old-fashioned, but +somehow the red schoolhouse and mill seem just to fit in—I don't know +how to say what I mean." + +"I understand you," said Miss Armstrong. "They do just exactly fit in, +as you say. You have an eye for color, Kitty." + +"I love colors, I know that," said Kit; and then, her face darkening +as if with an unpleasant recollection, "Melissa says I am a fool +because I love flowers, and because I am always picking up stones, and +snail-shells. She threw away all my pretty stones that I got up on the +mountain, but I'll be even with her some day." + +"You should not speak like that," said Miss Armstrong gently. "Don't +you know that it is wrong to wish for revenge?" + +"Is it?" asked Kit. + +"Yes, my dear. Do you never read the Bible?" + +"I never saw only the outside of one," answered Kit. "Uncle Phin won't +have one in the house. He says all pious people are humbugs, and that +it was religion that made aunt Martha crazy." + +"Is your aunt crazy?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"Yes, ma'am. She isn't raving crazy all the time, but she just sits +still in her chair, and takes no notice of any thing. Sometimes she +would not eat any thing for days together if Symantha or uncle Phin did +not coax her. They are real good to her, but Melissa hasn't a mite of +patience with her." + +"And would you like to read the Bible, Kitty?" + +"Yes, ma'am, if there are nice stories in it," answered Kit doubtfully. +"I love stories." + +"And so do I," said Miss Armstrong. "Yes, there are plenty of beautiful +stories in the Bible. But that is not the reason we love it: it is +because the Bible is God's word,—his letter or message to us, to teach +us about him. If you had a kind friend out in California, and he should +write you a letter saying he had a delightful home all ready for you, +and telling you what you must do in order to come to that home, you +would think a great deal of that letter, wouldn't you? You would want +to read it over and over, and learn all it had to tell you." + +"I guess I would!" said Kit with emphasis. "I would learn it off by +heart, and think about it all the time." + +"Well, the Bible is very much such a letter to us. In it, our Heavenly +Father tells us about Himself, and all He has done for us, and +especially how He sent His Son to take our nature upon Him, and die for +us on the cross, and then to rise from the dead, and go into heaven to +make ready a place for those who love Him." + +Kit looked puzzled for a moment, and then her eyes lighted up. + +"I believe I read about Him in the 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" said she. +"Isn't He the Lord that it tells about?" + +"Yes," answered Miss Armstrong. "So you have read the 'Pilgrim's +Progress'?" + +"Not all of it. I found an old, torn book of it up in the garret when +we came here; and it was a story, so I read it. Uncle Phin said it was +all a heap of nonsense, like 'Bluebeard' and 'Jack the Giant-Killer,' +but it always did seem to me more than that. So there really is such a +person?" + +Miss Armstrong looked at the child for a moment in amazement. With all +her experience, she found it hard to realize that here, in the midst +of a Christian community, was a child of twelve who could ask such a +question. Kit did not understand the teacher's glance, and took it for +one of displeasure. + +"I don't know any thing, hardly," she said humbly, "only to read and +write a little. Where we lived out West, there was hardly ever any +church or meeting, and we only had school three or four months in the +year. When we came here, Miss Celia Claxton called, and asked uncle +Phin to let me come to Sunday school, but he wouldn't: and he talked +so to her she has never been near us since. He says religion is all +priestcraft and lies, and that nobody really believes in it." + +"That is a great mistake, and one that I fear he will be very sorry for +some day," said Miss Armstrong. "Kitty, my dear child, before I go, I +want to teach you a verse out of the Bible. Listen, and say it after +me." + +It was with a very serious face that Kit repeated after her friend,— + + "'God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that +whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting +life.'" + +One or two repetitions enabled her to say the verse perfectly. + +Then Miss Armstrong took out of her pocket a pretty little card, on +which was printed that time-honored and always beautiful prayer which +begins,— + + "Now I lay me down to sleep,—" + +and also a verse for the morning. + +"I will give you this for your own," said she. "Learn these verses, +and say them night and morning. But, Kitty, if you want your Heavenly +Father to give you any thing else, you can ask Him in your own words. +He will always hear you if you ask for the sake of Jesus Christ our +Lord." + +"And will He always give it to me?" asked Kit eagerly. + +"Yes, if it is best for you to have it. But He knows better than we do +what is good for us; and when we ask for what we ought not to have, He +does not give it." + +"I see," said Kit thoughtfully. "Just as if a baby should want a sharp +knife: its mother would not let it have the knife, if the baby cried +ever so hard." + +"I see you understand me, my dear. Now we must walk on, or we shall be +late. + +"Have you always lived with your uncle, Kitty?" asked Miss Armstrong as +they walked down the hill. + +"No, ma'am. Melissa says uncle took me out of the poorhouse, but I +don't believe it," said Kit in a confidential tone. "I remember a place +that was not a bit like the poorhouse." + +"What was it like?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +Kit stopped for an instant, seeming to send her thoughts inward. "It +was a room with a bright carpet on the floor," said she. "I used to +sit on the floor, and run my fingers over the figures. And there were +plants, like Miss Claxton's, and a big bird. That is all I can remember +when I am awake. Sometimes I dream about another place where I have +been, but I can't tell what it is like. And it doesn't seem to me as if +my name was Keturah, either." + +"Perhaps it was Catherine," suggested Miss Armstrong. + +"I can't tell," said Kit, knitting her brows. "It doesn't seem as if +that was it exactly. I asked Symantha one day, but she hushed me up, +and told me never to talk about it, because uncle Phin would be very +angry if he knew. But I think about it a great deal," concluded Kit +with a kind of triumph in her tone. "They can't keep me from thinking." + +"Here is Mr. Weston now," said Miss Armstrong as they came out of the +pasture into the lane which led out to the road beside a great barn. + +"Well, I declare! I was just going to hitch up, and go after you," said +Mr. Weston. "You staid so long, I thought you must be lost." + +"That is exactly what happened to me," replied Miss Armstrong. "I +stupidly took the wrong turn coming out of the schoolhouse; and I don't +know where I should have been by this time if Kitty had not come to my +rescue, and brought me over the hill. We should have been here long +before, only that we sat down for a rest and a chat." + +"Did you put up the bars, Kit?" asked Mr. Weston. + +"Yes, sir, I always do when I take them down, but I generally climb +over," answered Kit. "I must be going," she added with an effort. +"Symantha will want me." + +"Wait a minute," said Mr. Weston. He went into the barn as he spoke, +and came back with a basketful of June russet apples. + +"There! You don't see many such apples this time of year," said he. + +"Oh, thank you!" said Kit gratefully. "Aunt Martha will eat an apple +sometimes when she won't touch any thing else." + +"That child has hard times, I am afraid," said Mr. Weston, as Kit +disappeared behind the barn. "But what has become of Selina?" + +"I have not seen her at all," replied Miss Armstrong. "I supposed she +came directly home." + +"Here she is now.—Why, Selina! How was it you did not wait for Miss +Armstrong?" + +"I forgot," answered Selina, coloring; "and when I went back, she was +gone." + +"Your wits were wool-gathering, as usual, I guess," said Mr. Weston. +"Only for Kit Mallory, Miss Armstrong might have been halfway to +Oldbury by this time. However, all's well that ends well. Run into the +house now, and help ma. Aunt Betsy Burr and Miss Claxton have just come +in, and will stay to tea." + +"Just my luck, exactly," said Selina to herself. "Somebody always gets +my chance. I wanted to walk home with Miss Armstrong, and have a nice +talk with her; and now she will think me a perfect fool. It is all +Sarah Leet's fault, putting every thing out of my head. And now Aunt +Betsy has come, and no one else will have a chance to put in a word. It +is too bad!" + + + +CHAPTER II. + +NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. + +"WELL," said Aunt Betsy as she finished buttering her biscuit, and +began stirring up her tea, "well, and how do you like your school?" + +"Very well, so far," answered Miss Armstrong, "but these are early +times, you know." + +"Yes, I know," said Aunt Betsy, with a solemn shake of the head. "New +brooms sweep clean. There was Malvina Spencer: she was going to do +great things, but she almost broke up the school with her nonsense. And +there was that Miss O'Hara. But what could any one expect of 'her?'" +added Aunt Betsy with scornful emphasis. "Any one might have known how +it would turn out." + +"Yes, it was easy to see how it would turn out," said Mr. Weston +dryly. "So long as so many were prejudiced against her beforehand, and +determined not to see any good in her, whatever she did, it was no +great wonder she failed." + +"Why were they prejudiced against her?" asked Miss Armstrong. "She had +a pretty name in her favor, and a distinguished one, if that is any +thing." + +"Pretty, indeed!" said Aunt Betsy with a sniff. "Why, her father was an +Irishman,—just a regular Irishman,—who came here, and hired out to old +Judge Davis down at the cross-roads. No, it was to Abner Davis, up at +the Corners, he went first, come to think. When he had saved a little +money, he bought the Mudge place, and mended up the old house so it was +quite smart. But he was a regular Irishman, for all that, and came from +Ireland, for I heard him say so. And he said he wasn't ashamed of it, +that's more!" And Aunt Betsy looked triumphantly at her host, as if to +defy him to dispute her position. + +"He was a Protestant, and very regular at church and communion; and he +was a clever man, too," said Mr. Weston, using the word "clever" in its +New England sense. "I remember how he used to do your chores for you, +Aunt Betsy, when Uncle Jonathan had the fever." + +Aunt Betsy became suddenly busy with her tea. + +"But what had the fact of Miss O'Hara's being Irish to do with her +success in the school?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"Well, you see, it rather set people against her," answered Miss Celia, +a mild elderly lady, who had not yet spoken. "We think a great deal +of descent in these parts, Miss Armstrong; and though I had nothing +against Miss O'Hara myself,—indeed, I always thought her a very nice +girl,—yet it did 'not' seem as if she were a fit person to be set over +children whose ancestors are buried all over Oldfield County,—the +daughter of a new-come-over Irish man." + +"According to that, our first teachers in this country must all have +been very unsuitable persons," said Mrs. Weston. "They were all +new-come-over then, you know." + +"To be sure," said Miss Celia. "Really, cousin Abby, I don't know +that I ever looked upon it in that light. Certainly, we were all +new-come-over once,—at least, our ancestors were, unless they were +Indians like old Abner Kettle." + +"Indians, indeed! I wonder at you, Celia Claxton," said Aunt Betsy +indignantly. "You, whose grandfathers and great-grandfathers are buried +in this very graveyard, to compare yourself to old Abner Kettle, whose +daughter married a Feejee Islander or something like that! But, as to +the school, I am glad Miss Armstrong likes it, though these are new +times, as I said. There are some dreadful wild girls in the district. +There's—" + +"Excuse me, Aunt Betsy, but suppose we leave Miss Armstrong to find out +for herself," interposed Mr. Weston. "What is this I hear about the +stone house? It seems we are to have new neighbors before long." + +Aunt Betsy tossed her head, but the bait was too tempting not to be +taken. + +"Why, yes, haven't you heard? Of course you know all about it, Celia. +You have a right if any one has; for that place ought to belong to you +and Delia, if every one had their dues." + +"We have never laid the least claim to it," said Miss Celia calmly. +"Richard Van Zandt was only a very distant relation, and we had no +expectations whatever from him." + +"Not in 'that' line, perhaps," said Aunt Betsy with an ill-natured +laugh. + +Miss Celia's fair old face flushed a little, but she took no notice of +the remark. + +"Anyhow, Dick was your mother's own second cousin, if you call that +very distant. I don't." + +"It is not very near, at any rate," said Miss Celia. "We were always +friendly with Richard, but we saw nothing of him for many years. His +sister-in-law, Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt, was very kind to him, and he +died at her house; so it is no wonder he left his property to her. +Delia and myself would hardly have known what to do with such a house. +It would have been a great trouble to us." + +"You would have known what to do with the money, though." + +"We have enough," said Miss Celia with dignity, "and that is as good as +a feast." + +"I don't suppose there was much money in the case," observed Mr. +Weston. "Dick Van Zandt was never rich, and he was one who gave away +with both hands whatever he had. I understand from Squire Davis that +the place was left to Mrs. Van Zandt, who is very wealthy, on condition +that it should be kept up, and that some member of the family should +now and then spend a summer there." + +"Yes: the old lady and two or three of her nieces or grand-nieces are +coming pretty soon, so Aunt Aggy told me," said Mrs. Weston. "I was +up there yesterday, and found her sweeping and clearing up at a great +rate. She took me through the house, and it was quite a wonder to see +the order it was in. I would not have believed it had stood empty so +long. Even the carpets looked as good as new." + +"The house was handsomely furnished, to begin with. And was Aggy +pleased with the prospect?" asked Miss Celia, much interested. + +"Oh, yes! She says she and Mrs. Van Zandt were girls together." + +"Mrs. Van Zandt's father was a Butler, I know, but her mother was +a Bogardus, and connected with all the Dutch folks over there in +Rockvale," said Aunt Betsy, who was very strong in the matter of +genealogy. + +"I have heard that Mrs. Van Zandt is a very nice lady," observed Mrs. +Weston. + +"She is," said Miss Armstrong. "I know her well. And I am glad she is +coming here: she is as blessing wherever she goes." + +"Do tell!" exclaimed Aunt Betsy. "Real liberal with her money, I +expect." + +"Yes, and better than that,—very kind and judicious with it." + +"She won't have very nice neighbors on one side, at any rate," said +Aunt Betsy. "I shouldn't like to live next to those Mallorys." + +"I don't suppose they will trouble her very much, unless the poor woman +gets one of her screaming fits," said Miss Celia. "Is it true that +the little girl—Kitty, or whatever her name is—comes to school, Miss +Armstrong?" + +"Yes, she was at school to-day; and a very bright, interesting child +she seems." + +"Well, I don't think it ought to be allowed," said Aunt Betsy: "her +folks are regular infidels." + +"So she tells me." + +"She doesn't know the Lord's Prayer: she said so to-day," observed +Selina. "She said her folks didn't believe in such things." + +"Just so. Who knows what mischief the children may learn of her?" + +"I do not think there is much danger in that direction," said Miss +Armstrong. "From what little talk I had with her to-day, I should say +Kitty is rather a heathen than an unbeliever: she is as ignorant of the +Christian religion as any little South-sea Islander. But she seemed +much interested in what I told her. It would be a great pity to deprive +her of any chance, when she has so few. How does it happen that a +family like the Mallorys should be found, in such a place as this?" + +"Well, as to that, you know there are heathen everywhere," replied Mr. +Weston. "Tom Mallory, the grandfather, was a great disciple and admirer +of Tom Paine. Phin was always a wild fellow. But the women of the +family were communicants of the Church, and old Tom never interfered +with them; he said religion was a safe plaything for women. And to do +him justice, he was really kind to his daughter-in-law and her boy, for +Phin's father was killed before he was born. Phin went away West, and +nobody heard any thing about him till he came back and took possession +of the place last fall, when the old man died. There was another +grandson, who was a favorite with old Tom, and some say the farm was +left to him, but he has never turned up, and Phin says he died out +West." + +"Maybe Phin murdered him, to get the property," said Aunt Betsy. "Who +knows?" + +"Nobody knows, and therefore we won't suppose so," said Mr. Weston +somewhat sharply. "He and Phin were always good friends. I always +supposed Kit was his child, but Phin says she is not related to them at +all. He says Symantha took a fancy to her, and adopted her." + +"Yes, that is very likely, that she would go adopting a child," said +Aunt Betsy. "Depend upon it, there's more than that about it." + +"Melissa says they took her out of the poorhouse," said Selina. + +"I wouldn't have much to say to Melissa if I were you," observed Mrs. +Weston. "Well, ladies, if you have finished your tea, we will go into +the other room, where it is cooler.—You may clear the table, and put +away the things, Selina; and I will help you with the dishes by and by." + +"Yes, that is always the way," muttered Selina: "always something to +remind me that I am not one of the family." + +It did not occur to Selina that if she had been one of the family, the +same work would naturally have fallen to her share. She had lately +taken to looking out for affronts; and affronts are like the spooks of +the old Dutch proverb,—those who go to look for them can always find +them. + +"You are going to have other neighbors this summer," remarked Miss +Celia as she took out her company knitting, a child's fine white +stocking. "The Richmonds are coming back to Mrs. Gleason's." + +Mr. and Mrs. Weston exchanged looks which were not by any means +expressive of joy. + +"I thought they said last summer they would not come again," said Mrs. +Weston. + +"It seems they have changed their minds; for Agnes Gleason told me she +had just taken from the office a letter from Miss Amelia Richmond, +in which she announced her mother's intention of passing the summer +months in this neighborhood, and entering into negotiations for Mrs. +Gleason's rooms. I confess I was sorry to hear it. I do not consider +the influence of that family a very desirable one in this neighborhood." + +"I quite agree with you, cousin Celia," said Mrs. Weston. "I am sorry +they are coming back. I do not think the rush of summer boarders we +have had of late years has been any special advantage, as you say." + +"They bring a deal of money with them, if that is all," said Aunt +Betsy, clicking her needles in a very different style from Miss Celia's +rapid, noiseless manner of working. + +"That is not quite all." + +"And I don't think they have done Agnes Gleason any harm," continued +Aunt Betsy: "she perfectly hates Milly Richmond." + +"It is not very good for us to perfectly hate people," said Mrs. +Weston, smiling. "I hope Mrs. Van Zandt's family will not be like the +Richmonds." + +"'Tain't likely we shall have a chance to see what they are like," said +Aunt Betsy. "I hear they hold their heads very high. The pride of those +Dutch folks in their families is perfectly ridiculous." + +"For the matter of that, we think a good deal of our families in these +parts," said Mrs. Weston, smiling. + +"That is different," returned Aunt Betsy. + +"From what I know of Mrs. Van Zandt and her nieces, I venture to +predict that you will see them in Sunday school the very first Sunday," +said Miss Armstrong. + +"Then I think they might just as well wait till they are asked," +retorted Aunt Betsy. "We don't want city folks poking in their noses, +and finding fault with their betters, and with folks old enough to +be their mothers." All of which Aunt Betsy delivered with a vengeful +rattle of her knitting-needles, and a glance at Miss Armstrong which +seemed to include her in the number of obnoxious "city folks." + +"Mrs. Van Zandt is a Christian woman, then?" asked Miss Celia. + +"That she is, and a very excellent and energetic one," answered +Miss Armstrong. "It is the delight of her life to fit up boxes for +missionaries and their families. I have known her to buy four or five +dozen each of napkins, towels, sheets, and so forth, have them all +hemmed by hand by some poor old ladies she knows (for she has never +become reconciled to machine work), and within a month send them all to +different missionaries' wives in the West and South, or in the city. My +only wonder is, that she can make up her mind to remove so far from her +beloved shops." + +"Well, I didn't suppose there were many people of that kind in New +York," said Aunt Betsy. "I supposed they were all given up to dress and +fashion and frivolity." + +"There are as many good Christian people in New York as in any place +in the world," said Miss Armstrong with some emphasis. "Why, Mrs. +Burr, who do you suppose keeps up and manages all the charities,—the +hospitals, and missions, and schools, and orphan-asylums, and +nurseries, and all the rest?" + +Not having any answer at hand, Aunt Betsy took a pinch of snuff,—a +practice not desirable in itself, but a convenience in such cases. + +"I am glad to hear such an account of Mrs. Van Zandt," said Miss Celia, +busily binding off her heel. "I felt disposed to like her, from what I +heard of her kindness to Richard Van Zandt in his last days. But does +not Mrs. Van Zandt work at all, herself?" + +"She hems napkins, and knits," replied Miss Armstrong. "I should say +she must use up a hundred weight or so of wool every year, in one way +or another." + +"That is a great deal, almost two pounds a week," said Miss Celia, who +took every thing literally. "To be sure, she may use double wool." + +"Double, treble, and single, and every other kind. She is sure to wish +to convert you to the Welsh fashion of shaping heels, Miss Celia." + +"There I 'cannot' agree with her," said Miss Celia with emphasis, and +yet with a little apology in her tone, as if she felt it a liberty to +disagree even with an unknown Mrs. Van Zandt. "I do 'not' like the +Welsh heel: it is much harder to run and to mend, and it wears no +better." + +"I wonder what has become of Selina," said Mrs. Weston, rising. + +She went into the wide, airy kitchen, which served as a dining-room in +summer, and found Selina just finishing the last of the dishes. + +"Why, my dear, you need not have washed the dishes," said she. "I told +you to put them together and leave them, and I would help you." + +"Oh, I could do them well enough: it is the hired girl's place, I +suppose," said Selina in a voice which trembled in spite of her. + +Mrs. Weston took no notice of this speech for the present. + +When the company was gone, and family prayers were over,—a custom never +omitted in the family in the busiest season,—she followed Selina to her +own neat, pretty room. + +"Selina," said she gravely, "you have two or three times lately used +the expression 'hired girl.' I want to know what you mean by it." + +Selina was already growing ashamed of her ill humor. Perhaps it would +be more correct to say she was growing tired of it, more especially as +its exercise had deprived her of the pleasure of hearing the remainder +of Aunt Betsy's news. She twisted her handkerchief, and answered in a +somewhat embarrassed tone,— + +"Oh, well, every one knows what a hired girl is." + +"A hired girl, as I understand it, is a woman who works for money in +a place which is not her home. It is a very useful calling, and, when +faithfully fulfilled, worthy of the highest respect," said Mrs. Weston, +who had been a "school-ma'am" herself, and was habitually choice in her +use of words. "Is that your condition? Do you work for wages? And are +you in a strange family?" + +"No, mother," answered Selina in a low tone. Her better self was +getting the upper hand, but she was not quite ready to give way. + +"Do you think you have more work put upon you than usually falls to the +eldest daughter? More than Agnes Gleason, for instance?" + +"I don't have so much to do as Agnes," replied Selina frankly. "She +never gets to school before half-past nine when the Richmonds are +staying there." + +"And do you think that the things provided for you are given you as +wages? Is this room, for instance, such as people usually give to +servants?" + +"No, mother," replied Selina. She paused a moment, and then added +frankly, "I was cross, I suppose. Something happened at school which +put me out." + +"And so you came home and revenged that annoyance on me by saying +something untrue to hurt my feelings. Was that right?" + +"No, mother. But I did not think it was as bad as that. I am a wicked +girl, and I always shall be," said Selina, bursting into tears. "I wish +I had never been born." + +"You will not mend matters by looking at them in that way," said Mrs. +Weston. "A little sober, honest self-examination and repentance will do +you more good than any amount of that sort of passion." She paused a +moment, and then added very seriously,— + +"Selina, Mr. Weston and myself have treated you as a dear daughter ever +since you came to us. We have tried our best to make you happy and +good. But for the last year, you have made us both very uncomfortable." + +"I don't see how," murmured Selina. + +"You can see well enough if you choose," replied Mrs. Weston. "Your +father is very much displeased with you; and though we shall never cast +you off, more than if you were our own, I fear, unless you turn over +a new leaf, we shall have to make some different arrangement. My dear +girl, why won't you trust your best friends, and try to be what they +would have you?" + +Selina sobbed that she was very sorry. + +And Mrs. Weston, thinking she had said enough, kissed her good-night, +and left her. + +Selina, left alone, cried for some time longer, told herself how hard +it was to be an orphan cast on the cold charities of the world, and +shed a great many tears, as she imagined to the memory of the mother +she had never seen. Then, growing tired of this mood, she said to +herself that no doubt Mr. and Mrs. Weston meant to be kind to her in +their way, and that it was her duty to be grateful. She would show that +she was so, by being amiable and affectionate, and bearing the trials +of her lot patiently. If her own dear mother had lived, it would have +been very different, but, as it was, she must be resigned. And feeling +by this time very virtuous indeed, she went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +KIT AT HOME. + +KIT MALLORY went swiftly over the high pasture till she reached the +little spring; and then taking an oblique direction, she descended till +she came to an old wooden house standing on the lowest ridge or terrace +of the hill. It had once been a roomy, comfortable farmhouse with a +well-house, sheds, and barns; but the buildings were out of repair, +and the whole place looked as if it had suffered from a long course +of neglect. Nevertheless, the stones at the back-door were white and +clean, and the windows bright; and a row of milk-pans turned up on a +shelf showed that some one in the house was neat and pains-taking. + +The back-door stood open. And as Kit approached, a middle-aged woman +appeared in it, making a sign for silence. She was tall and dark, and +would have been handsome but for the look of hopeless weariness and +despondency which had settled on her face. + +"Is aunt Martha bad again?" asked Kit in a whisper. + +"Yes, I have had a terrible time with her all the afternoon. She has +just dropped asleep, and I hope she will not wake for a good long +while. What kept you so late?" + +Kit gave a short account of herself. + +"That was all right," said Symantha. "Is Miss Armstrong a nice lady?" + +"She is just lovely!" answered Kit with enthusiasm. + +"I hope she will be a good friend to you. You must try to learn all you +can, and make the most of your time while we are here." + +"Ain't we going to stay here, then?" asked Kit in a tone of anxiety and +disappointment. "I thought uncle Phin owned this place." + +"So he does—at least—yes, I suppose he does," answered Symantha with +a curious tone of hesitation, which made Kit look at her in surprise. +"But I have moved so many times, and about every time for the worse, +that I don't believe I shall ever feel settled any where. What nice +apples!" she added, as if hastening to change the conversation. "Where +did you get them?" + +"Mr. Weston gave them to me, and I brought them home for aunt Martha. +Where are all the folks?" + +"Pa has gone over to Oldbury after a load of lumber. And Melissa is +down at the Corners, I suppose: I haven't seen her since morning. She +always goes away if she can, you know, when ma gets one of her bad +times; and perhaps it is just as well." + +"How tired you look!" said Kit. She hesitated a moment; and then, +postponing a plan she had meant to put in execution as soon as she +reached home, she added, "You lie down and rest, and let me get the +supper. I can do it as well as not." + +"Well, you may if you like," replied Symantha. "You are a good little +thing, Kit. I don't know what I should do without you sometimes." As +she spoke, her face softened; and she bent down and kissed Kit, who +returned the embrace with interest. + +"I'm sure I don't know what I should do without you," said she. "If it +wasn't for you, I'd run away and seek my fortune." + +"Hush," said Symantha sharply. "Don't ever let father hear you say such +a thing as that: I don't know what he would do to you. Yes, you may get +the supper ready, and I will rest till milking-time." + +Left to herself, Kit went about her work, doing every thing with +marvellous quickness and quietness. Just as she had finished her +preparations, she heard the sound of wheels and horses' feet; and +presently a man entered the back kitchen. Kit made a sign for silence. + +"Where's Symantha?" was the first question. + +"She's lying down. Please don't make such a noise, uncle Phin: aunt +Martha has just gone to sleep." + +"Has she had a bad time?" + +Kit nodded. + +"Where's Melissa?" + +"I don't know; I haven't seen her. Symantha says she has gone to the +Corners." + +"I'll teach her to run off and leave all the work for her sister," +muttered Phin Mallory to himself. And then aloud, "Here, child, here's +a reader and spelling-book for you. Halloo, what's that?" + +"A picture-paper, I guess," said Kit; "and a little book," she added, +taking out of the parcel an illustrated Sunday school paper, and a copy +of that time-honored tract, "The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain," with a +pretty woodcut on the cover. + +Mr. Sandford at Oldbury was fond of this method of sowing seed, and +seldom sold a book or parcel of books without putting in some similar +document to that which Kit held in her hand. + +"What stuff is that?" said Phin. "I'll teach old Sandford to be sending +his rubbish into my house." He made a step toward the stove as he +spoke, as if to throw the papers into the fire. + +"Oh, please don't burn them up," entreated Kit, holding his hand. "I +don't hardly ever see a picture, and these are so pretty. Please let me +have them." + +Phin still held the papers over the fire, but something in the +pleading, upturned face seemed to move him, for he put them into her +hand. + +"Here, child, take them, then. You don't see many pretty things, that's +a fact. There, put the supper on the table; I'll be back in a minute." + +Kit carried her prizes off in triumph to her own little room up-stairs, +and hid them away till she should have leisure to examine them. Then +she hastened to finish her supper preparations, and had a comfortable +meal ready on the table when Phin returned. + +He was a lithe, alert little man, looking as if he had seen some +hard times and some dissipation. And there was a watchful, furtive +expression in his face, not pleasant to see. + +"So you got beat out," said he to Symantha, as she appeared and took +her seat at the table. "It was too bad in Melissa to run off and leave +you with all the work. I'll tell her what I think about it when she +comes home." + +"She is just as well out of the way when ma has one of her bad times," +replied Symantha. "But I don't see how any one can like to go visiting +so, forever. I like to let other folks alone, and have them let me +alone." + +"Yes, you and pa would like to shut me up from one year's end to +another," said Melissa, speaking for herself, as she came into the +room with her hat on. "It has always been just so. But I'm not going +to stand it. I like company, and I'm going to have it, so there!— Kit, +take my things up-stairs, and get me a chair." + +"Sit still, Kit," said her father. "You just wait on yourself, my girl. +Kit has been at work while you have been at play." + +Melissa muttered something, but it seemed as if she did not care to +provoke a dispute. She threw her hat and shawl into a corner, and took +a seat at the table. + +"We're going to have new neighbors at the stone house," said she after +a little silence, "some people from New York,—Van Zandt, or some such +name. + +"It was a Van Zandt that owned it before," remarked Symantha. + +"Yes; he has left it to some old lady in New York, and she is going to +have it all fixed up for a summer house. She has got no end of money, +and is going to bring her horses and servants and carriages, and some +young ladies, from New York; so we shall have quite a gay time." + +"I don't see how 'we' shall have much to do with it," said Symantha. "I +don't suppose you mean to go and call on them, do you?" + +"Why not?" asked Melissa. "I should just like to know." + +"Because I say you sha'n't, and that's enough!" exclaimed her father, +striking the table with his hand so as to make all the dishes rattle. +"I won't have you go near them, do you hear? Not one of them. You mind +me, too, Kit: don't you go near the house." + +"Don't, pa; you will wake mother," said Symantha. + +"Dear me, what a fuss about nothing!" said Melissa. "One would think +pa thought these people had the small-pox, or that he was afraid they +would find out something." + +Phin gave his daughter such a menacing glance that she evidently +thought it better to say no more, and the meal was finished in silence. + +Kit washed the dishes, brought in wood, and arranged matters for the +next morning. By that time it was dark, and she was weary enough to go +to bed. + +Tired as she was, she did not forget to take out the card Miss +Armstrong had given her, and read over the little prayer. She stood for +a moment after she had finished, as if thinking, and then said, half +aloud,— + + "Please, our Father in heaven, I should like to have a Bible." + +Then she crept into bed, and was asleep in a minute. + + +The next morning Kit was up early, so early that the sun was only just +gilding the very top of Blue Mountain. Nobody else was stirring in the +house. It was a good time to put her plan into execution. + +There was a large, high garret to the old house, in which was stored +the-accumulated rubbish of a hundred years. Here was a tall eight-day +clock, the case of which would have thrown a collector into ecstasies, +side by side with a broken and disused loom; there, a shelf full of +bottles and more or less disabled crockery. A little room was roughly +partitioned off at one end, and made a famous playing-place on a rainy +day. It was in this garret that Kit had found her precious fragment of +the "Pilgrim's Progress" lying on the top of a box full of old books +and papers. It had occurred to her that in this same box she might +possibly find a Bible. + +She took out the volumes one by one, and looked at the titles. They +were mostly old books of theology and collections of sermons; but there +were two or three volumes of travels and memoirs, which looked, Kit +thought, as though they might be interesting, and she laid them aside +for future consideration. At last, near the bottom of the box, she +found a small volume handsomely bound and closely printed. She looked +at the title page. + + "The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." + +Was that the same as the Bible? Kit thought so, but she was not sure. + +"I'll take it to school, and show it to Miss Armstrong. Anyhow, it +tells about 'Him.' What is this, I wonder? Never mind, I can't look at +it now." + +Kit brushed the dust from her dress, washed her face and hands, and sat +down to examine her new treasure. The first chapter seemed to be all +hard names, so she opened about the middle of the book, and read about +the shepherds who were watching their flocks by night, and were sent +by the angels to find the babe lying in the manger, who was Christ the +Lord. She read slowly, and had to spell some words; but the story lost +nothing of its force by that. + +"The very one Miss Armstrong was talking about," said Kit. "How +strange! If he was a little baby once, and grew up into a man +afterward, there must have been a time when he was just as old as I am +now." + +Kit had no time to follow out her meditations. A call from below +summoned her. + +"You can't go to school to-day," was the salutation which met her as +she entered the kitchen. "Symantha's sick, or thinks she is, and I want +you to help me." + +"Oh, dear! And I did want to go so much!" said Kit. "Can't you do +without me, Melissa? I hate to be so irregular." + +"Let her go, Melissa," said Symantha's voice from the little bedroom. +"I sha'n't want any thing. I dare say I shall be able to get up +presently; it is only one of my dizzy headaches." + +"Yes, that is very likely,—that she is going to school, leaving me +with you and ma to wait on, and all the work to do. I don't believe pa +will let her go, anyway, when he finds out about Miss Armstrong. They +say she is a regular Methodist, has prayers in school, and teaches the +children out of the Bible. I mean to tell pa about it; and then he +won't let you to at all, Miss Kit, and serve you right too." + +Kit was used to Melissa's tongue, and generally gave her back her sharp +words with interest. But the prospect of losing her precious schooling +and the society of her new friend was too dreadful, and she burst into +tears. + +"Hush, Kit; don't cry," said Symantha, raising her head, but obliged to +drop it again. "Pa won't take you out of school. Oh, my head!" + +"Is it so very bad?" asked Kit, forgetting her own trouble for the +moment. "Can't I do any thing for you?" + +"You may look in the front-room cupboard, and see if you can find the +alcohol bottle," said Symantha, pressing her hand over her eyes. "I had +it up there, I know." + +Kit sped up-stairs, and found the bottle. As she passed the door of +her own little room, she remembered her prayer of last night, and also +that she had forgotten her promise to say one in the morning. "What a +shame!" she said to herself. "And when He was so good, and gave me the +Testament." + +She went into her room, shut the door, and reverently repeated her +little verse,— + + "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, + Look upon a little child; + Pity my simplicity; + Suffer me to come to Thee." + +"Jesus! That is the very one I was reading about,—that very one that +was a little baby. I wonder if He ever had to do things he didn't +like. Perhaps He had to stay at home sometimes to help His mother, but +I don't believe she was one bit like Melissa. But they were poor, I +guess, and He must have had a great deal of trouble in His life, so He +knows all about it. Perhaps He would like it if I was good-natured, and +staid at home." + +Kit had not been gone ten minutes when she came back with the bottle, +and set herself to bathe Symantha's head and brush her hair. But in +that ten minutes a great, change had come over her. She had entered +into a new life. The little untaught, ignorant heathen had found her +Saviour, had entered into conscious relations with Him, and made a +sacrifice for Him. The little seed dropped by a skilful sower into her +heart had taken root and sprung up. The plant was young and tender as +yet, one would say, easily crushed by a careless foot, or nibbled off +by some passing animal; but ONE was watching over it who is greater +than all the changes and chances of this mortal life, and who makes +them all work together for good to them that love Him. + +Kit said no more about going to school. She went into her aunt's room, +washed her face and hands, and coaxed her to drink a cup of coffee and +eat a bit of toast. Mrs. Mallory must once have been a beautiful woman, +judging by her regular features and still-fair complexion, but her hair +was streaked with gray, her large dark-blue eyes, very much like Kit's +in shape and color, were wild and wandering, and she had a despairing, +anxious expression, pitiful to see. + +"There, that is real good," said Kit, speaking as one would to a sick +and wayward child. "Now you shall have a nice apple." + +She produced one of the apples she had brought from Mr. Weston's, and +the poor woman took it with some show of pleasure. Something about Kit +seemed to arrest her attention, for she held the child's hand, and +looked earnestly into her face. + +"Who are you, little girl? Haven't I seen you somewhere?" + +"Why, yes, aunt Martha. I am Kit. You remember Kit, don't you?" + +Mrs. Mallory gazed at her a moment with a gleam of intelligence, and +then, dropping her hand, sank back on her pillow. + +"I don't know," said she. "It all goes away from me. Every thing went +when they took Him away." + +"Well, never mind," said Kit soothingly. "Eat the nice apple, and by +and by you shall have another." + +Seeing her aunt's attention diverted for the moment, Kit slipped from +the room. + +Melissa was by this time in a better humor. Her moods were very much +the result of her bodily feelings; and she felt better, now that she +had made her coffee as strong as she liked it, and eaten her breakfast. + +Kit waited on Symantha, and brushed her hair softly till she fell +asleep, got her aunt up and dressed her, and brought her some flowers +from the neglected garden. The last Mrs. Mallory had been fond of +flowers, and a few of the hardy perennials she had planted still +struggled for existence; while in one corner, the dear old-fashioned +rose of May, neglected and forgotten now, opened its pretty pointed +buds. Mrs. Mallory loved flowers, and a nosegay would keep her quiet +and amused longer than any thing else. Certainly Kit did her full +share of the work, and more; for Melissa was an accomplished "shirk," +and if she did not work herself, she was the cause of work in others. +Symantha's nap carried off her headache, and she was able to get up to +dinner. + +"Halloo, what are you doing here?" asked Phin as he came in and found +Kit dishing up the dinner. "I thought you took your dinner to school." + +"I didn't go to school," answered Kit, busily stirring her gravy. "I +staid at home to help Melissa." + +"Then don't do it again, do you hear?" said her uncle angrily. "I am +not going to have you staying out of school for every little thing." + +"I didn't want to stay, I'm sure," returned Kit. And then, as some +thought crossed her mind, she added in a gentler tone, "Symantha +couldn't sit up, and Melissa wanted me to help her, so I did." + +"It wasn't her fault," added Symantha: "Melissa kept her. Kit was very +good-natured about it, I must say." + +"Good-natured or not, it isn't to happen again.—Do you hear, Melissa?" + +"Hear what?" asked Melissa from the next room. "I don't know what you +are talking about." + +"Then I'll make you know," said her father. "I say you are not to keep +the child at home from school for any thing and every thing. I want her +to go every day this summer. I've taught school myself, and I know what +a nuisance it is to a teacher to have scholars so irregular. Mind, I +won't have it happen again." + +"Oh, of course you won't," replied Melissa sulkily: "you care for every +one more than you do for me. Never mind, I am not going to be made a +slave of forever. I shall look out for myself some day." + +"You do that now pretty well," said Symantha. + +No answer was returned, and the family sat down to dinner. + +"Did you really keep school once, uncle Phin?" asked Kit. + +"Yes," replied her uncle, "when I was a young man, I taught one winter +in that very red schoolhouse. I was a good scholar once, thanks to my +mother." + +"Was your mother a nice woman?" asked Kit, who was always hungry for +any thing like a story. + +"That she was,—as good a woman as ever breathed," replied Phin, his +hard face softening a little. "She had a great many notions that I +don't believe in, but she was just as good as they make." + +"What a pity her grand-daughters are not like her!" said Melissa +sarcastically. + +"It is a pity," replied her father dryly. + +"Perhaps Kit may take after her if she keeps on going to school," +continued Melissa. "Miss Armstrong is very pious, teaches the +children verses out of the Bible, and talks to them like a Methodist +class-leader." + +"Maybe she will have to stop that some day," said her father. "But, +anyhow, the red schoolhouse is the only one near here, and Kit shall go +to school if the teacher talks all through the Old Testament, and the +New Testament too." + +"Am I to go to school this afternoon?" asked Kit as Phin rose from the +table. + +"It is hardly worth while, I guess: you won't more than get there +before school is out. However, you can do as you like," said Phin. + +Kit knew she should be in time for at least a part of the afternoon +session, so she made herself tidy, and skipped away rejoicing, her +precious little Testament safe in her pocket. She entered school +somewhat out of breath, and slipped into her seat as quietly as +possible. + +"You are late, Kitty, and you were away this morning," said Miss +Armstrong. "How does that happen?" + +"Melissa kept me at home to help do the work," answered Kit. "Symantha +had one of her sick headaches, and couldn't sit up a minute. But uncle +Phin says I mustn't do it again. He says it is bad for me and bad for +the teacher." + +"How impudent she is, to answer Miss Armstrong so!" thought Selina. An +undefined feeling of anger at Kit had been lurking in her mind ever +since the day before, and she was glad to find something to justify it. + +Miss Armstrong, however, did not seem the least disturbed. + +"Your uncle is right," said she: "irregular and tardy scholars hurt +both themselves and the school. Now you may take your book, and study +your spelling and reading lessons." + +It was with a feeling of satisfaction that Kit produced her nice new +reader and spelling-book. The Red Hill district stuck to Webster's +spelling-book, which was, perhaps, one reason why most of the children +really learned to spell. The day before, Kit had been obliged to borrow +her neighbor's books, which did not please her at all, for she had an +independent spirit. She was tempted to look at all the pictures, and +read all the stories, but she reflected that she could do that as well +after school, and applied herself to her lesson with such zeal that she +went up several places in the spelling-class. At recess, she brought +her books to Miss Armstrong. + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, will you write my name in my new books?" + +"Certainly, my dear. What shall I write?" + +Kit's face darkened a little. "That's just the trouble," said she. "I +hate 'Keturah,' and I don't believe it is my name either." + +"Suppose we write it 'Kitty,'" said Miss Armstrong: "that is short for +Catherine, buy it will do quite as well for Keturah. But you should not +hate the name of Keturah, my dear. She was a great lady, I suppose; at +least, she was the wife of a very great man." + +"Was she?" asked Kit, much interested. + +"Yes: she was the second wife of Abraham, one of the most distinguished +men that ever lived. Abraham was called the friend of God, and talked +with Him face to face. So you see Keturah is not a bad name, after all." + +"I shall like it better, now I know about it; but I don't believe it is +my right name, for all that," said Kit. "But please, Miss Armstrong, +may I ask you about something else?" + +"After school," said Miss Armstrong, smiling. "I suppose, Kit, it never +occurs to you children to think that a teacher likes her recess, as +well as her scholars." + +"I am real sorry I bothered you," said Kit penitently. "I won't say +another word." + +And, putting her books away, she went out to the playground, where a +lively game was in progress. + +"Here is Kit; she'll be it, I know!" exclaimed Sarah Leet. "You will, +won't you, Kit?" + +"Of course, when I know what you are playing," answered Kit. "What do +you want me to do?" + +"Oh, to be king. We are playing king's land; and it is Selina's turn, +but she won't." + +"I will, and I'll catch you too," said Kit, darting after Sarah, and +catching her on the verge of her own territory. "There, I'll let you +off, because it was not quite fair to catch you before you had time to +get off.—Now, girls, look out for yourselves." + +"What a nice, good-natured little thing she is, after all!" said Faith +Fletcher as Kit darted hither and thither, always on the watch, and +turning up where she was least expected. + +"Oh, yes, very nice indeed!" said Selina, to whom the remark was +addressed. "I wonder how long it will last." + +"Well, I don't see how you can wish to spite the poor little thing so," +said Sarah. "I should think you would have some feeling for her, trying +so hard to make something of herself." + +"I don't spite her, and you have no business to say so," said Selina +angrily. + +"Well, that's the way it looks to me. When a person never can say a +good word for another, and never likes to hear any one else do it, it +looks a good deal like spite. However, it is no business of mine.—I'm +on the king's land; the king—Ah, you little spirit! I might have known +you would catch me. There is the bell, so I don't care." + +The verse Miss Armstrong gave the children that evening was rather a +long one,— + + "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that +whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting +life" (St. John iii. 16). + +She asked a few questions, which were answered intelligently, even by +the little children, though the Fletcher twins could not tell where +Christ was born. + +"Sister is so busy, she has hardly any time to teach them," said Faith +apologetically, after school, "but I thought they knew that." + +"Cannot you teach them, Faith? Have you no time to tell these little +ones about the Saviour who died for them?" + +"They go to Sunday school always," said Faith, "every Sunday unless it +is bad weather." + +"Sunday schools are very good things, but they can never take the place +of home teaching. Don't you help them learn their lessons?" + +"There is always so much to do Sundays and Saturdays," answered Faith. +And then she added frankly, "I guess the truth is, I never thought of +it, but I'll try to get time before next Sunday." + +"Do," said Miss Armstrong; "and Faith, when you go to bed, read the +parable of the sower, and remember that the cares of this world choke +the Word, and make it unfruitful, quite as often and quite as surely as +the deceitfulness of riches. Good-night, my child.—Now, Kitty, what can +I do for you?" + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, is the New Testament part of the Bible?" asked +Kit. + +"Certainly, my dear, and a very important part. It contains the history +of our Lord Jesus Christ. Why?" + +"I was looking for a Bible up in the garret, and I found this," +answered Kit, producing her treasure. "I read some in it this morning +about Mary and Joseph, and the baby that was Christ the Lord. Was He +really?" + +"Really and truly, Kitty,—as really and truly as that He now sits at +the right hand of God the Father, ready to hear and help us in all our +troubles." + +"That is very strange," said Kit. "But I think it is lovely, too," +she added, her eyes lighting up with their peculiar sapphire-like +brilliancy. "Isn't it wonderful to think that He knows all about us?" + +"The more you know of the matter, the more strange and lovely it will +appear to you, my dear. Now, let me advise you to begin here at this +second chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and read this book through, and +at the same time ask God to teach you to understand it." + +"And will He?" + +"Yes: He has promised He will, and He always keeps His word." + +"I'm sure I'm glad of it," said Kit in her matter-of-fact way; "because +I don't have any help only what you give me. I can't go to church and +Sunday school, like the others." + +"If you could, my dear, if you had all the human helps in the world, +you would need God's help just as much. The most learned man in the +world needs it just as much as you do. Now, see here; I have something +else for you. Here is a card with the Lord's Prayer printed on it in +nice plain letters; I want you to take it and learn it, so you can say +it with the others. It is in your Testament too." + +"Is it called the Lord's Prayer because He made it?" asked Kit. + +"Yes, for that very reason." + +"Here is something else printed on the card, 'The Apostles' Creed,'" +said Kit, spelling out the word with some trouble. "What is that?" + +"That is what all Christians believe,—a kind of summing-up of all the +truths of the Bible," answered Miss Armstrong. "Learn that too. Suppose +you read it over to me." + +"I have heard that somewhere, I know," said Kit when she had finished +reading the Creed. "Seems to me it was in a church out West, but I +can't tell exactly. I guess it was in the Indian church. But, Miss +Armstrong, I shall have to learn these in school, I guess." + +"Very well; we will make time for them. Now I must not keep poor Selina +waiting any longer. Good-night, my dear, and God bless you!" + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +STRANGERS. + +"ARE you tired of waiting, Selina?" asked Miss Armstrong as she locked +the schoolhouse door, and put the key into her basket. "You need not +have staid. I don't believe I should be so stupid as to lose my way +twice." + +"I liked to," said Selina with a great effort: "it is pleasanter than +walking home alone. But I think it is too bad to keep you after school +so." + +"Oh, I am used to that," answered Miss Armstrong, smiling. "I usually +get 'kept after school' oftener than my scholars do. I am pleased when +the girls come to me with questions. I am very much interested in poor +Kitty; I hope to be able to do something for her." + +"They must be an ignorant, low set," said Selina. "Fancy any one not +knowing that the New Testament is a part of the Bible!" + +"A good deal more than half the people in the world are in the +same condition, including various kings, nobles, and others of +unquestionable gentility," said Miss Armstrong. "I have met with many +such cases in the city, but I was surprised, I confess, to find one +here." + +"Oh, well! Phin Mallory has not always lived here. He has lived out +West, and in all sorts of wild places," replied Selina, jealous for the +reputation of the neighborhood. "If he had grown-up in Oldham, I dare +say he would have been different." + +"I think it altogether probable that one might find people who have +grown-up in Oldham whose cases are still more remarkable," said Miss +Armstrong, "though such cases are so common that their peculiarity does +not strike you unless you consider the matter." + +"I don't know what you mean," said Selina. + +"I am thinking of people who have been brought up to know a great deal +about both the Old and New Testaments, who are carefully instructed in +the Bible, and profess to believe it, and who yet behave as if there +were no such thing." + +Selina blushed. She knew very well that this was very much her own +case. "Do you think that is so much more strange?" said she. + +"Which would be the more remarkable,—that a man should walk off a +precipice in the dark, or that he should do so in the daytime with his +eyes open?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"That he should do it in the daytime, of course," replied Selina, "but +that is different." + +"It is a fair illustration, I think," said Miss Armstrong. "A man +professes to believe that there is no salvation for any one who does +not accept the Lord Jesus for his Saviour, and give himself up to Him; +and yet he does neither." + +"I don't understand what people mean by that," said Selina,—"I mean, by +what they call a saving faith." + +"A saving faith, as distinguished from a merely historic faith, is a +faith that leads to action. To give you a homely illustration: Mr. +Bassett, here in the mill, believes that school will open at nine +o'clock to-morrow; that is, if he thinks of it at all. But it makes +no practical difference to him: he will not rise an hour earlier, or +make any change in his arrangements, on that account. But to me it is, +so to speak, the central fact of my day; and all my plans are made in +reference to it. So a man has a kind of belief in the Saviour; that is, +he believes that there was such a person, and that He did the works +ascribed to Him: but he does not make any alteration in his life on +that account. But let that man be once waked up to the truth that he is +a lost sinner, with no hope of deliverance except in this same Saviour, +and he will not rest till he has made that Saviour his own." + +"Then all people want is, to be waked up," said Selina. "If that is the +case, I wonder true Christians don't talk to people about such things +more than they do." + +"It is, no doubt, a duty grievously neglected," said Miss Armstrong, +"but it is not all, by any means. People go on in sin, not because +they don't know any better, but because they love sin. They know that +if they become really Christians, they must do many things which they +don't like to do, and give up many things they don't like to give up; +and they cannot make up their minds to such a course. The cross looks +very hard and heavy, and they don't like to meddle with it." + +"Some people say there is nothing but joy in the life of a true +Christian," observed Selina. + +"The life of a true Christian must be very unlike that of his Master, +then," replied Miss Armstrong. "The very sight and thought of so many +going the broad way to destruction must hinder any true Christian from +being perfectly happy at all times. 'The disciple is not above his +Master, nor the servant above his Lord.' But, Selina, how is it with +you? You ought not to need any arousing on this subject." + +"One may sometimes have too much of a good thing," said Selina lightly. +And then, willing to dismiss the subject, she exclaimed, "I wonder +whose carriage this is, coming up the hill! I am sure it does not +belong about here." + +"It is Mrs. Van Zandt's," said Miss Armstrong with an expression of +pleasure. "She wrote me that she meant to drive over from Oldbury." + +As she spoke, the carriage came up to them and stopped. And the +coachman, touching his hat, asked Selina if they were in the right road +to the Van Zandt mansion. + +"You are right so far, but you must turn to the left by that red +house," said Selina. + +She looked round for Miss Armstrong, and saw that she was already at +the carriage window, exchanging greetings with the persons within. +One was an old lady with beautiful white hair put up in puffs under a +shady bonnet. The others seemed to be young, but Selina could not see +them distinctly. She felt a sense of being forlorn and neglected, as if +Miss Armstrong had somehow done her an injury by being acquainted with +these strangers, while she was not. It was not very reasonable, but it +is a feeling which almost every one has experienced at some time. Miss +Armstrong hastened to catch up with her. + +"What made you run away?" said she. "I wanted Mrs. Van Zandt to see +you." + +"She is a handsome old lady, isn't she?" said Selina, not answering the +question, which, indeed, she would not have found easy. "How prettily +she was dressed! I do love to see an old lady dressed like an old lady." + +"And so do I," answered Miss Armstrong. "There is no more pitiable +spectacle, to my mind, than that of an old woman trying to look young." + +"Some old people 'feel' young," observed Selina. "There is Miss Delia +Claxton standing at her gate now. She says she does not feel any older +than she did when she was twenty, but she does not dress young." + +"I dare say not. People who feel young seldom do. How very pretty she +is!" + +Miss Delia did indeed look wonderfully pretty as she stood under the +great tree at her own gate, with the flickering lights and shadows +glancing over her delicate calico dress, and the white Shetland shawl +she had thrown over her head. She was an alert little body, with a +clear, dark complexion, plenty of color, and bright hazel eyes, made +still brighter by the whiteness of her abundant wavy hair. + +"Good evening, Miss Armstrong," she said in a cheery voice as soon as +that lady came within hailing distance. "I am out staring after our new +neighbors, you see. That isn't very dignified, is it? But, dear me, one +sees so little here, that a travelling-carriage is quite a sight. Celia +says you know these ladies, Miss Armstrong, and that they are very nice +people." + +"That they certainly are," said Miss Armstrong, smiling. "I think you +will like them very much." + +"Well, I am glad to hear that," said Miss Delia emphatically, "because, +you see, being connections in a kind of way, we must call upon them. +Dick Van Zandt's mother was first cousin to our mother. She was a +Butler, you see, and her mother was a Ring belonging to the Rings of +Rollock, the same family that our maternal grandmother came from; so, +of, course, we must call. You will smile at that, though," added Miss +Delia, breaking in on herself with a good-natured laugh: "strangers +don't understand how much we think of relationship and descent in these +parts." + +"I am Scotch, and an Armstrong," replied Miss Armstrong, smiling in her +turn; "and you know the Scotch count kindred to the tenth degree, at +least. But I assure you, Miss Delia, you will like Mrs. Van Zandt very +much. She is odd,—at least, most people consider her so,—but she is +very lovely." + +"I am considered odd myself, so I can't quarrel with that," replied +Miss Delia. "You see, we don't often call on the summer boarders," she +added: "one does not know much about their antecedents, as a rule, and +some of them are not very nice.—I hear that the Richmonds are coming +back, Selina." + +"They are, I believe," answered Selina rather shortly, as though the +subject were not very agreeable. + +"Well, if they do, I hope you won't go making an intimate of that +Amelia," said Miss Delia: "she is not a nice friend for you. Well, +there, child, don't color so: I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.—Miss +Armstrong, won't you and Selina come in and stay to tea? I am sure +Celia would be delighted to have you. You will excuse my not having +called. The fact is, I had been coloring carpet-rags, and I never can +do that without coloring my hands at the same time; so I told Celia she +must do duty for both. But I should so like to have you stay to tea!" + +"Not to-night," replied Miss Armstrong, seizing the chance when Miss +Delia stopped for lack of breath. "Some other night I shall be very +happy." + +"Any time; stop in on your way home from school.—Here, wait a minute." +She went into the house as she spoke, and returned with a plate of +cakes. + +"Here, Selina, take these to your mother," said she. Then to Miss +Armstrong, in explanation, "They are old-fashioned ginger-nuts made +with honey. It is a family recipe, and they do say nobody but a Claxton +can make them properly, but I will give you the rule if you like." + +"And I will give you the recipe for short-bread, which they say none +but a Scotchwoman can make properly; and we will both try to disprove +the rule," answered Miss Armstrong. "Come, Selina; we ought to be +at home. Your mother will think I am lost again.—Good-night, Miss +Delia.—What a bright little lady she is!" added Miss Armstrong as they +walked away. "She seems quite different from her sister." + +"Most people like Miss Celia best," remarked Selina: "Miss Delia is so +sharp, and she makes such queer remarks. One day Mrs. Blandy—she lives +in that big house on the corner next the church—she said one day at the +society that she didn't believe in foreign missions. + +"'Well,' said Miss Delia, 'if every one had been of your mind, Mrs. +Blandy, you would be going about dressed in a neat-fitting suit of blue +paint instead of that handsome black silk, and hiding away that fat +little boy of yours to keep him from being burned alive as a sacrifice +to Bel.' + +"'What do you mean, Miss Delia?' asked Mrs. Blandy. + +"'Nothing, only that was what your ancestors were doing in the time +when the Church at Jerusalem sent out so many foreign missionaries,' +answered Miss Delia; 'and if the apostles had been of your way of +thinking, you would probably be doing the same now.'" + +"I don't see any thing odd in that," remarked Miss Armstrong: "it was +only a simple statement of facts. And what then?" + +"And then Mrs. Blandy said it was a very different thing, sending +missionaries to England, from what it was sending them clear off to +India. + +"And Miss Delia said, 'Yes, very different: a much harder and more +perilous journey, and much more trouble and danger when they got there.' + +"You see, Miss Delia is a great reader, and she never forgets any +thing: so, when people talk against missions or any such thing, she +always gets the last word." + +"I should say she deserved it, if she always argued as well as in this +case," said Miss Armstrong, much amused. + +"Yes, ma'am; but you see people don't like to be put down, and shown to +be in the wrong. I'm sure I don't." + +"What! Not when you are in the wrong?" + +"I think that is the time when one likes it least of all," replied +Selina frankly. + +"But how are you ever to be set right, in that case?" + +"I don't think Mrs. Blandy cared about being set right, very much," +replied Selina. "She said again that charity began at home. And then +Miss Delia began to talk about the orphan-asylum at Oldbury, and poor +Mrs. Graves who has a sick husband and four little children. And she +asked Mrs. Blandy if she had not a frock to make over for the little +girls, so they could be decent to come to Sunday school. But Mrs. +Blandy said she was calculating to make a rag carpet pretty soon, and +she had to save all her old clothes for that, because she meant to take +the prize for it at the State fair." + +Miss Armstrong smiled and sighed. She had met a great many Mrs. Blandys +in her lifetime. + +"I think I should like to be a foreign missionary," said Selina, after +they had walked a little way in silence. + +"Why?" asked Miss Armstrong. "Oh, because there would be some adventure +and romance about it. It would not be all prose, like one's life here." + +"My dear, if you allow your life to be all prose here, it would be +prosy anywhere. And the prose of a mission-life among heathen is +much more disagreeable than that of a daughter's life at home in New +England. I know, because I have tried it. What would you think, for +instance, of combing and washing a dozen children who never were combed +or washed before in their lives?" + +"I did not suppose missionary ladies did such things as that," said +Selina. + +"They do a great many such things as that, and worse, such as I don't +care to tell you about just before supper," replied Miss Armstrong. "I +have often wished that our missionaries would give us more of just such +details, that people could see what the life really is." + +"Why don't they?" asked Selina. + +"Well, for various reasons. They are afraid, for one thing, of +disgusting and discouraging people; making them think there is no use +in doing any thing." + +"I should think, the worse the people were, the more need there was for +teaching them better," observed Selina. + +"That is a very just remark, but a great many people do not see it in +that light. Then these matters of personal experience become every-day +occurrences, and they do not think of them as being any more novel or +interesting to others than to themselves." + +"I think they are interesting, though," said Selina. "Little things +like that are just what make a story seem real." + +"Very true, again. But, Selina, you would never make a missionary if +that is to be your only motive. The romance and adventure soon wear +off, and the hard and prosaic duties remain. You need a much stronger +and purer motive than that, even the love of God in your heart, the +same that sent the early Christians everywhere preaching the Word, and +that now sends hundreds of men and women every year to preach the glad +tidings to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death. Have you +that love in your heart?" + +"I am afraid not," answered Selina. "But, suppose I had, do you think I +should make a good missionary?" + +"I could hardly say that on so short an acquaintance," replied Miss +Armstrong. "Consider, my dear, that I have not known you quite a week. +I do not see, however, any reason why you should not make as good a +missionary as another. But, Selina, let me say one word more: unless +you have that love in your heart, you are no more fit for a life here +at home than you would be for a life in India. You want Him just as +much in one place as another, and you can no more be happy without Him. +Won't you think about that, my child?" + +"Yes, Miss Armstrong, I will," answered Selina; and at the time she +fully meant what she said. + +She was much more pleasant all the rest of the week, and her mother +rejoiced over the change. "Girls are full of moods and fancies," she +said to her husband. "We must have patience, father." + +"I never knew you to have any thing else, mother," was the reply. Mr. +Weston had full confidence in his wife's judgment, and he was very fond +of his adopted daughter. + + +It had long been the custom to hold a service in the red schoolhouse +on Friday evenings. This service was usually called the Bible class, +because a portion of Scripture, usually the Epistle or Gospel for the +next Sunday, was given out beforehand to be talked over. The minister, +if he was present, read a short service; and a hymn was sung to a +familiar tune. Then the discussion was opened by the pastor, or whoever +supplied his place; and every one spoke who had any thing to say. +Even the little children were encouraged to repeat texts, and verses +of hymns. This service had been started by old Dr. Munson, who had +preached, and also practised, in Oldham for forty years. He had been +dead for a quarter of a century, but the Bible class he had begun lived +after him. + +The meetings of the class were usually tolerably well attended in +winter. But the numbers fell off in warm weather, when, truth to tell, +the red schoolhouse was apt to be warm and close. Those who came on +this particular evening, however, were destined to find it much more +comfortable than usual. + +"Now, who will stay and help me put the schoolroom in order?" asked +Miss Armstrong, as the afternoon session drew to a close. + +The girls looked at each other in surprise. + +"The Bible class meets here this evening, Miss Armstrong," said Ruth +Jewsbury. + +"I know it, my dear. That is just the reason we want to put the room in +nice order." + +"I don't see it," answered Ruth bluntly. + +"Don't see what?" + +"I don't see the use of sweeping, when the people will put all out of +order again." + +"Suppose some distinguished person—Mr. Longfellow, say, or the +Bishop—were going to be here." + +"Oh, well! Then, of course, we should want things to look neat. But +there will be nobody like that coming to-night." + +"Are you sure?" asked Miss Armstrong. "Who is it that says, 'Where two +or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them'?" + +"I never thought of that," said Sarah Leet. "But, Miss Armstrong, why +don't they keep the church cleaner, then?" + +"You must put that question to somebody besides me," answered Miss +Armstrong. "Now, who will help me?" + +Half a dozen volunteered at once, of whom Kit Mallory was one. There +was a large old-fashioned fireplace in the room, which had been closed +with a fireboard when the increasing scarcity of wood had made a stove +necessary. Miss Armstrong had persuaded Mr. Weston to remove this +board, and leave open the great chimney, which thus made an excellent +ventilating-shaft. She had found a tall pickle-jar among Mrs. Weston's +stores, which she placed on the hearth, and filled, with the children's +assistance, with sweet-fern, cedar-boughs, and brakes. The windows were +opened at top and bottom, the room carefully swept and dusted, and a +glass of fresh, sweet flowers placed on the table. + +"How nice it looks, and how fresh and sweet it smells!" said Kit, who +had been one of Miss Armstrong's most efficient helpers. "Isn't it too +bad, Miss Armstrong, that I can't come to the meeting?" + +"Can't come to the meeting? Why not?" asked the voice of Mr. Bassett, +the miller, from the open door. "Why can't you come, child?" + +"Uncle Phin won't let me," answered Kit. She did not care to be further +catechised about her uncle and his ways, and slipped away without even +bidding Miss Armstrong good-night,—an omission which Selina did not +fail to notice, and register in her private account of Kit's misdeeds. + +"Poor little young one!" said the kindly miller. "What a shame that she +can't come, when she wants to so much! I feel for that child. I wish +one could do something for her." + +"I hope something may be done, but it seems one of the cases where one +must proceed with caution, for fear of doing more harm than good." + +"I guess you are about right there. We must keep her in mind, and +perhaps a way will be opened. Well, Miss Armstrong, I came over to fix +things for the Bible class, but I don't see that you have left me any +thing to do. That is a first-rate idea,—getting that chimney open. I +don't blame people for getting sleepy when the room is hot as an oven, +and so close you couldn't slip in a flax-seed sharp end first. I feel +as if we were going to have a real good time." + +"What about lights?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"I always calculate to provide them. We don't have many in summer.—I +hope you will all come, girls, and all have a verse at least. Will your +sister be out, Faith?" + +"I don't believe she will," answered Faith: "she has so much to do." + +"She would do it a deal easier, and better too, if she would take some +rest now and again,—that's my opinion," said the miller. "Between the +mill and the farm and the blacksmith-shop, I have plenty of irons in +the fire, and I don't let them get cold, either; but I couldn't afford +not to take time for the Bible class. You tell her what I say. And you +come along with me: I've got some nice early pease to send her. The +folks laughed at me for buying them,—they're some I sent for to Flower +City,—and said the old-fashioned ones were good enough. + +"'You have the laugh,' says I, 'I'll have the pease.' + +"Now I've got the laugh, and the pease too. Come along, little ones, +and see if Ma Bassett hasn't got some gingerbread. You leave the key, +Miss Armstrong, and I'll see to the rest. I feel as if we were going to +have a real good time." + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE MEETING. + +IT appeared that Mr. Bassett's prophecy was going to be fulfilled; so +far, at least, as numbers were concerned. The children carried home the +news that Miss Armstrong had the schoolhouse all swept out, instead of +leaving it to be done at noon on Saturday; that she had helped to dust +the desks and seats with her own hands, and had put flowers on the desk +and in the fireplace, because she said the room ought to be made neat +and pleasant for the service of God. Truth to tell, this idea, which +would not be considered very original in many places, was one which had +not found entrance to the minds of people in Oldham. + +"She had better go and talk to Mr. Archimball, the sexton at the +Corners," said Mrs. Gleason, when Agnes told her what Miss Armstrong +had said. "I do hate to wear my black silk to church Sundays, because I +get it just covered with dust. I believe I will go to Bible class this +evening." + +"Do," said Agnes. "I'll take care of the milk if you will." + +"Oh, we can both go. It is only to have supper a little earlier. Set +the table, and I'll have it ready directly." + + +"Won't you go to the class to-night, sister?" asked Faith Fletcher when +she had put away the children's books, and put on their home aprons. + +"How can I go?" asked Patience. "There is the milk to take care of, and +the dishes to wash, and Eddy's new frock to finish so she can wear it +on Sunday. It is easy to talk about going to class." + +"Well, I can wash the dishes and take care of the milk as well as you, +if you would only think so; and there will be time enough to finish +Eddy's frock to-morrow. Besides, if she don't have it, she can wear her +old one: it looks as well as it did last Sunday. Come, sister, do go +for once. Mr. Bassett says he knows it will do you good." + +"Yes, much he knows about my work." + +"Well, there is one thing 'I' would like to know," said Faith, who +was not easily put down when she once took a fit of "arguing," as her +sister called it: "I should like to know where is the use of being a +Christian when one does not get any comfort or help out of it. Seems +to me, if I was a church-member, and professed to love the Lord better +than any one else, I'd go where I was sure to meet Him, even if I had +to put my dishes in cold water to soak, and didn't wash them till next +morning." + +"What a girl you are to talk!" said Patience, half vexed, half +laughing. "It is a pity you were not a boy, so you could be a preacher. +I suppose I ought to go sometimes, that's a fact." + +"Mr. Bassett says it would do you good," persisted Faith. "He says, +with all he has to do, he finds it a rest to go to the class. Come, +sister, do try it for once. I'll put the children to bed, and do all +the work, if you will." + +"Don't you want to go yourself?" + +"Yes, I should like it well enough, but I don't suppose we could both +be spared. Pa couldn't put the twins to bed." + +"What is that pa can't do?" asked Mr. Fletcher from the door. He was a +tall, spare, elderly man, with a somewhat careworn, considerate face, +grave but not unkindly, and with a sparkle of humor in it. "What is +that you think pa can't do? Put the children to bed? He can do it as +well as you or any old woman in Oldham; and if he should happen to +stick the pins in with the heads west instead of east, sissy can alter +'em when she comes home. They won't disturb the balance of the solar +system much for that time. Just run down and let in the cows, Faithie: +they are mooing at the bars; and look on my work-bench, and see if I +left my other glasses. + +"The fact is, sister, Faith is more than half right," he added more +seriously. "I don't like to say any thing that sounds like blaming you, +considering all you do, but just look at it. You say you wish Faith +cared more about religion, but how can you wonder that she thinks it a +matter of no great consequence, after all, when she sees us let every +thing come before it,—when she sees us, who, as she says, profess to +love God, so wrapped up in the little things of this world that we +haven't any time for His service? I must say, when I heard the child +talking just now, I felt reproved." + +"Oh, well, I'll go," said Patience in a somewhat aggrieved tone. "But +I think it is rather hard on me, when I make a slave of myself for you +and the children, to be called worldly and all that, as if I spent my +whole time dressing and visiting, like Mary Blandy." + +"In the first place, I didn't call you so, not as I remember," replied +her father. "I said we were too much taken up with the things of the +world, which I take to be all things that perish in the using, whether +they be dresses, or rolls of butter, or bean-threshers. In the next +place, daughter, we should none of us be slaves, but the Lord's free +men and free women." + +"Why don't you go yourself, then, pa, if we are going to do so much +good by it?" asked Patience, already ashamed of her little burst of +temper, which, in truth, was more nervous fatigue than any thing else. + +"Because I think you need rest and refreshment rather more than I do, +my daughter. A man's work is less tiring than a woman's, seeing he is +out in the fresh air most of the time; at least, that is my opinion." + +"Everybody isn't like you, pa," said poor Patience, who felt the +moisture uncomfortably near her eyes. "Ezra makes more steps in a day +when he is at home than you do in a week, though he is always saying, +'Oh, don't trouble yourself!'" + +"Ezra is only a boy, but he is a pretty good boy, after all, and we are +both prouder of him than a hen with one chicken," returned her father. +"Come, sister, go to the class, and take Faith; and let me put the +little ones to bed. Maybe the child might get just the word she needs." + +"Well, I don't care if I do," said Patience; and she went. + + +The room at the red schoolhouse was really full,—an uncommon sight at +any time, and especially in summer. All the Westons and Bassetts were +there, of course, as well as Miss Celia and Miss Delia: these were the +standbys always on hand. What a blessing it is that there are always a +few such standbys belonging to every parish! Patience Fletcher came in +with Faith, and sat down by the window. Then there were the Jewsbury +girls, who did not often go to church even on Sunday; and old Miss +Wright who eked out a scanty living by bleaching and trimming bonnets, +and who had never been to church at Oldham since the last rector's +sister bought her bonnet ready trimmed at Oldbury; and almost all the +children of the school who were big enough to sit up till eight o'clock. + +Just as it was time for the service to begin, there was a little +movement at the door, and Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt came in, followed by +her two young nieces, Miss Bogardus and Ida Van Zandt. Mrs. Van Zandt +wore a large, soft white wrap, and had put a light, fleecy summer hood +over the widow's cap she always wore. She was a very handsome old lady, +with those bright-gray eyes which have a way of looking black from the +dilation of the pupils, and which no age or sickness ever quenches. She +was one of those people of whom one naturally says, on seeing them, +"Who is that?" She accepted the chair set for her, with a kindly smile, +and bent her head for a few moments in prayer. Ida and Amity slipped +into seats beside Patience and Faith Fletcher. + +"What a plain little body!" thought Patience. "Nobody would take her +for a great heiress. But she looks good, as if one could depend on her." + +"What a fine face, if it were not so tired and worn!" thought Amity. +"She must be carrying a great weight, somehow. I wish one could do +something to help her." And Amity did something for Patience then and +there, though Patience never knew it. + +The meeting was opened in the usual way. There was no rector in Oldham +at present, so Mr. Weston read a part of the evening service, and gave +out the hymn, "Jesus, lover of my soul." There was a little delay: +the young man who usually started the hymn was not present. But in a +moment, a new voice began the beautiful Spanish Hymn,—such a voice, for +power and cultivation, as had never been heard in the red schoolhouse +before. People almost held their breath to listen, and it seemed at +first as if Ida would have all the singing to herself, but presently +one and another joined in, till every one in the room was singing, +children and all. + +"Wasn't that lovely!" whispered Faith, getting hold of her sister's +hand, and squeezing it. + +Patience smiled, and returned the pressure; but she did not speak. + +When the hymn was done, Mr. Weston read a part of the tenth chapter +of St. John, and called upon Mr. Bassett to begin the lesson. Mr. +Bassett had what he would have called a good common-school education. +He knew Brown's Grammar from beginning to end, and could have parsed +any sentence you liked to give him: but, like other people, when he +was in earnest, he went back to his native idioms; and he was much in +earnest to-night. He spoke of the Shepherd's love, not only for His +obedient sheep, but for the others who were not of His fold,—for those +who, ignorant and misled, had gone astray, and were lost on the dark +mountains. He spoke of the duty of true disciples toward such lost +lambs; and of how much might be done by kindness, and watchfulness +of opportunities, to lead them back to the Shepherd's arms. There +was just such a lost lamb—nay, the very one the good man had in his +mind—listening under the window at that moment. Mr. Bassett did not +know that, but the Shepherd did. + +The children repeated their verses more or less correctly, and two +or three, who had not learned any, determined to do so next time. +Miss Armstrong repeated two verses of the old Scotch version of the +twenty-third Psalm, "The Lord's my Shepherd; I'll not want." Miss +Celia Claxton said a few words on her verse, "I will guide thee with +mine eye" (Ps. xxxii. 8). She spoke of the service of God setting free +from the corroding cares of this world, and how those who kept close +enough to the Shepherd to see His face were spared many distressing +doubts and perplexities, because His loving and warning glance made all +things plain. Patience Fletcher repeated a verse from the one hundred +and nineteenth Psalm, "My soul cleaveth unto the dust: quicken Thou me +according to Thy word." + +There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Van Zandt's voice was heard, a +little tremulous with age,— + +"Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest." Mrs. Van Zandt said a few words on the need and sweetness of +rest, and the impossibility of finding it anywhere but in Christ, and +then only by making a full surrender and consecration of the heart and +all the powers to Him,—by ceasing from our own works, and doing all to +Him. It was very simple and obvious, but it went home to more than one +heart. + +There were two more short addresses, and another hymn was sung,— + + "Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear." + +Ida was a little shy of beginning this time, till Mr. Weston said, +"Perhaps the young lady will start the tune again." When she raised her +glorious voice once more, and every one joined with a hearty good-will +refreshing to hear. + +There was a collect, and then the class was dismissed. + +People lingered for the usual neighborly greeting. And before the first +one issued from the door, a little dark figure, which had been crouched +under the window, rose, and sped away over the hill. + +Miss Celia and Miss Delia had already called upon the new-comers. "They +are really our cousins, you know, by way of the Rings and Butlers," +they had said, in a kind of half apology, when questioned on the +subject. The two sisters now shook hands with Mrs. Van Zandt and the +young ladies, and Miss Delia remarked that she was glad to see them out. + +"I never willingly miss such a service," said Mrs. Van Zandt. "I always +feel, apart from the enjoyment, that one owes a duty to such an effort +made in one's own neighborhood." + +"I wish every one felt so," said Mr. Bassett. "I want to thank this +young lady for helping us out in the singing." + +"I am sure you are very welcome," replied Ida simply. "I am choir +leader in our little mission chapel at the Works, so it comes quite +natural to me. I really did it upon impulse the first time. But when I +came to think, it seemed like 'taking on,' as the children say, for a +stranger." + +"I don't think one ever ought to feel like a stranger in the house of +God," remarked Miss Celia. "We are all of one family there, you know, +my dear." + +"That is very true," said Ida. + + +"Well, Miss Armstrong, I told you we were going to have a good time," +said the miller, as he locked the door, and gave Miss Armstrong the +key. Then, as he walked homeward between his wife and Aunt Betsy, he +added, "I feel to be thankful that our new neighbors turn out to be +such good Christian folks, ready to take their share in our meeting." + +"Well, I must say I think they took their full share to-night, and a +little more," said Aunt Betsy, who had regarded the new-comers with +suspicion and disfavor. "I don't think I care about having strangers +from the city coming here and setting up to teach us,—folks whose +fathers and grandfathers sat under old Dr. Munson. To see that old lady +coming to meeting with that thing on her head like a heap of beaten-up +white of egg! I'll be bound she would never think of wearing such a +thing on Broadway. And that girl with her singing: of course it was +very fine, but it was far too operatic and theatrical for my taste." + +"How many operas and theatrical performances did you ever see, Aunt +Betsy?" asked Mrs. Bassett, who had a tongue of her own, and did not +stand as much in awe of the old lady as most of her neighbors. + +"Come, come!" said Mr. Bassett. "Seems to me some of them fowls of the +air that picked up the good seed in the parable have lit down among +us. This isn't the spirit we should be in after such favor as has been +shown us to-night. I was so glad to see Patience Fletcher out. Poor +thing! She looks very tired." + +"Well, she makes a great deal harder work of life than she needs to," +said Mrs. Bassett. "She just makes herself a slave to the house and the +children; and after all, she doesn't do any more for them than I do for +mine." + +"Not as much," said her husband. + +"Well, I don't think she makes things as pleasant, if I say it that +shouldn't. I had the twins down to spend the afternoon not long ago, +and the poor things were afraid to make a natural motion, for fear of +spoiling their clothes, till Myra dressed them up in some old things +of Ben's and Sally's. For my part, I like to take the comfort of my +children, and have them take comfort as we go along, instead of toiling +and slaving to do some grand thing for them by and by, when maybe they +won't want it. I guess I'll send up for them again to-morrow: it will +take them off Faith's hands, and give her time to learn her Sunday +school lesson in peace." + +"And how about yours?" asked Aunt Betsy. "I should think you had enough +on your hands now, with all them great tearing boys of yours." + +"Oh, two or three children more or less don't matter at our house," +answered Mrs. Bassett. "And as to the Sunday school lessons, Myra and +I learn ours, and teach the children theirs, on Sunday afternoon; then +we go over them again Saturday evening after tea, and so they are all +ready for Sunday. Good-night, Aunt Betsy. Come down to-morrow, and I'll +give you a green-currant pie." + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE ENEMY. + +KIT hoped she might reach home and go to bed without being missed. She +had often played out on the hillside till after dark, and no questions +had been asked as to where she had been. + +But fate was against her—or rather the Devil, acting by one of his +most harmful agents, a malicious woman, determined neither to be good +herself, nor let any one else be so if she could help it. Melissa +Mallory was not indifferent to religion, by any means: on the contrary, +she hated the very name of it. She had not succeeded in making herself +an absolute unbeliever, though she had tried very hard. There always +would stay by her, hid in some inner recess of her soul, a terrible +lurking dread,—the conviction, that, after all, there was a superior +power, a great Being who knew of all her sins, and would some day exact +a full account of them; and she felt toward this power as the Eastern +king in the story might be supposed to feel toward the lion which he +knew was shut up somewhere in his palace, and which might break out any +day and devour him. There were people all about, wherever she went, +who professed to be friends with this great enemy of hers, to hold +intercourse with and receive benefits from Him; and all such persons +she held as her own foes. + +Melissa had never loved Kit; she considered her an interloper, taking a +share of the common funds which she might have enjoyed if Kit had not +come into the family. Moreover, she was jealous of Kit's undeniable +beauty and wit; and strange to say, of the child's growing influence +over poor Mrs. Mallory. Melissa had never loved her stepmother, and +she was habitually unkind to her, professing to believe that half her +insanity was affectation, and declaring that it might be driven out of +her if Symantha did not indulge and coddle her so. Mrs. Mallory was +afraid of Melissa, and always worse when left to her care, but she +liked Kit though she did not always know her, and unless when at the +worst, was usually docile, or at least passive, in her hands. Melissa +felt this to be a new injury. She liked, as Symantha said, to get a +handle against the child; and now she flattered herself that she had +found one. She had suspected Kit's purpose, had watched her go, and +seen her return, and was all ready to catch her when she came in. + +"Well, Kit, did you have a good meeting?" + +Phin Mallory had been to Oldbury, and had come home in a very bad +humor,—a circumstance on which Melissa had fully calculated. He was +reading his newspaper by the light of a very dismal kerosene lamp, +which burned viciously sideways when he turned it up, and smoked +sulkily when he turned it down,—a circumstance which did not improve +his temper in the least. + +"Meeting!" said Phin, dropping his paper. "What do you mean?" + +"I haven't been to meeting," said Kit. + +"You didn't go into the house, but you stood and listened under the +window," said Melissa. "You needn't deny it, for I saw you with my own +eyes." + +"Well, suppose I did: where was the harm?" said Kit boldly, though she +trembled as she saw her uncle's eyes fixed on her. "I like to hear the +singing. There was one of the young ladies at the stone house, and she +sang beautifully." + +"Come here," said Phin sternly. + +Kit dared not disobey. Her uncle took her by the shoulder, and shook +her till she was giddy, ending with a sharp box on the ear. + +"Take that for a sample of what you will get if you ever go to that +place again," said he, pushing her away. "I won't have you go near +these people. Do you hear?" + +Kit looked at him with a white fact and blazing eyes, but did not +answer. + +"Just look in her pocket, and see what you will find there, pa," said +Melissa with a sneering laugh. "You didn't know what a saint you had in +the family. See here!" + +She caught hold of Kit's dress as she spoke, and, despite her +struggles, pulled out her precious Testament, which she handed to +her father. Phin took it, and threw it into the fire. With a cry of +anguish, Kit sprang to rescue her treasure, but only succeeded in +setting fire to the sleeve of her dress, and burning her own hand +severely. + +"Serves you right," said Phin. "You let me see you have such a book +again, and I'll put you where you won't see book or school either. I've +had enough of pious folks, without your taking up the dodge,—a set of +hypocrites who set themselves up above everybody else, and look down +on their betters. I won't have it. Do you hear? Stop that noise, and +answer me." + +Quite beside herself with pain and anger, Kit turned on her uncle, and +would have returned his blow, if Symantha had not caught her hand. +At that moment, there came a cry from the inner room,—a wail of such +despairing anguish as might have come from a lost spirit,—"They have +taken away my Lord. They have taken Him away, and I know not where they +have laid Him." + +"There, now you have done it," said Symantha angrily. "Now we shall +have no rest all night, and perhaps have the neighbors coming in to see +what is the matter.—Don't cry, Kit. Come here, and let me do up your +hand.—Just see there, father!" she added indignantly, holding up Kit's +arm for his inspection. + +The hand and wrist were fearfully scorched, and already covered with +blisters. + +"Why didn't she mind, then?" said Phin sullenly. "I'm sure I didn't +mean to burn her." To do him justice, he was already ashamed of his +outburst. He was not usually so ill-natured, but he had had a hard time +in Oldbury that day. He had, so to say, fought for his soul, and lost. + +"There, don't cry any more," said Symantha after she had covered the +burnt arm thickly with flour, and done it up in cotton. "I'll help you +to bed. And maybe you will get another Testament some time: Who knows? +Don't cry if you can help it, that's a good girl: you will make ma +worse, and then I shall not know what to do." + +"I'll do any thing for you, because you are so good, and I love you," +said Kit, trying hard to restrain her sobs. "But I hate Melissa, and I +hate uncle Phin. So!" + +"Hush, hush! There, try to go to sleep. Pa will be sorry to-morrow. He +was dreadfully put out when he came home. I'm afraid—" + +"Afraid of what?" asked Kit, as Symantha checked herself. + +"I'm afraid ma is going to have a dreadful night," answered Symantha +hastily. "There, don't cry any more, but try and lie still, and lay +your hand on this pillow; and I hope you will go to sleep. Poor child! +It was a bad day for you when you came to us." + +Kit's hand was badly burned, and smarted terribly. But her tears, +which had full way when Symantha left her, were caused more by anguish +of heart than by bodily pain. She was furious against her uncle and +Melissa, especially the latter, whom she justly considered the cause +of all the trouble; and Kit was one of those natures to whom rage +was grief. But that was not the worst. The little wild girl who had +so lately set out in the Christian pilgrimage had already met with +Apollyon in his worst form. + +"And I was trying so hard to be good!" she sobbed, talking to herself +as lonely, neglected children so often do. "I was trying so hard to do +what I thought He would like! And Miss Armstrong said He would help me, +and that old lady said the same in the meeting; and He didn't help me, +oh, He didn't help me a bit. He let Melissa tell of me, and uncle Phin +shake me, and burn my Testament. Oh, dear, oh, dear! What if uncle Phin +should be right, and there shouldn't be any such person, after all?" + +Kit sobbed anew, and even cried aloud, in the anguish of this doubt. +The story which had brought such light and comfort, such wonderful and +glorious possibilities, into her dark and sordid life, which had added +such new beauties to what she loved best,—if that story were nor true, +after all! + +"Oh, I don't want to live, I don't want to live," cried Kit aloud. "If +there isn't any Lord Jesus, I don't want to live at all." ¹ + + ¹ A fact. + +"Stop that noise, Kit, or I'll whip you," said Melissa, opening the +door. "You little fool, to make such a fuss about an old book full of +silly stories!" + +Somehow this appearance and assault of her enemy seemed to give Kit +a little comfort. Satan is always easier to fight when he comes in a +bodily shape. + +"It isn't a book full of stories: it is the truth, and you know it, +Melissa Mallory. You 'know' it is true. There 'is' a God, and He is my +Father; and if you abuse me, He will punish you. He can see all you do. +Don't you dare to touch me!" + +And she did not. That something she had never dared to search out, and +had never been able to silence, stirred in her heart. What if it should +be true, as Kit said? She contented herself with a threatening gesture, +and withdrew, shutting the door. + +Kit's sturdy profession of faith had at least comforted herself. Yes, +she would believe in Him. If He was good, as Miss Armstrong said, +perhaps He would make some good come out of this trouble, after all. +Then Kit remembered that she had not said her prayers. She rose softly +from her bed, and kneeling down in the bright moonlight, she said her +little hymn, and as much of the Lord's Prayer as she remembered, for +she had not yet learned it quite perfectly. There was something in it, +she knew, about forgiving trespasses. + +"That means sins, Miss Armstrong said; if we don't forgive people, +He won't forgive us. But, oh, dear! How can I forgive uncle Phin for +burning my book? And Melissa—it was all her fault." + +Kit thought a little, and then knelt down again. Her prayer was very +simple: + + "I can't forgive them myself, but if it is true, what teacher says, +you can make me. Please do, and help me; for I haven't got any friends +only Miss Armstrong." + +Kit's faith was but weak and faltering, like that of the poor father, +"If thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us." But +the same compassionate ear is ready to hear, and the same hand to save, +now as then. + +Kit lay awake a long time. But at last, the pain in her hand grew less, +and she fell asleep. She slept longer than usual, and when she waked +the sun was shining into her room. + +"It must be ever so late," thought Kit. She started up, and her first +move reminded her of all that had happened the night before. + +"How shall I ever get dressed?" she thought. + +She made out to put her clothes on, but to fasten them was beyond her +power, so she went down to find Symantha. + +Symantha was moving softly about the kitchen, busy in setting things to +rights. She held up her finger as Kit opened the door. + +"Is aunt asleep?" asked Kit in a whisper. "Did she have a bad night? I +thought I heard her." + +"Yes, she did not go to sleep till sunrise. Pa has gone out to the barn +to get a nap on the hay, and Melissa is not up yet." + +"Oh, yes, they can all sleep but you; that is always the way," said Kit +indignantly. + +"I'm used to it," answered Symantha, smiling rather grimly. "Here's +your coffee hot on the stove, and I'll fry you an egg. How does your +hand feel?" + +"It doesn't smart so much, but it is 'awful' sore," said Kit, wincing +as she tried to move it. "I can't bear to put it down, it hurts so." + +Symantha found a large handkerchief, with which she made a sling +for the wounded arm, which she did up again in fresh, clean +cotton-wool,—the very best dressing for a burn. + +"That is more comfortable," said she. "You must be careful not to hurt +it or get cold in it, or you will have a bad hand." + +"Can't I go to school?" asked Kit in dismay. + +"Oh, yes, if you will be careful, and not hurt yourself playing. You +will be as well off there as here. Eat your breakfast or dinner, +whichever it is, and you will be in good time for afternoon." + +"Is it as late as that?" asked Kit. + +Symantha pointed to the clock, which stood at half-past eleven. + +"I never thought it was so late," said Kit. "Why didn't you call me?" + +"Because you needed the sleep, child. There, eat your breakfast while +it is hot." + +Symantha took her sewing, and sat down by Kit in the window. + +"How good you are to me!" said Kit gratefully. "You do love me, don't +you, Symantha?" + +"Yes, child, I do," answered Symantha with sudden earnestness. "You are +about the only comfort I have, but I love you so much that I should +like to send you a thousand miles away, where I should never see you +again, if I could only get you a good home by it." + +"But I don't want to go a thousand miles away," said Kit. "I want to +stay with you, and help you, for I love you." + +"Then, Kit, if you love me, promise me one thing," said Symantha. +"Promise me that you won't let any one—pa, or Melissa, or anybody—drive +you, or coax or bribe you, to do any thing wrong. If you have any doubt +about the matter, come and ask me." + +"I won't," answered Kit earnestly. "There isn't much danger with +Melissa, because I don't like her a bit, but uncle Phin is real good to +me sometimes. I don't see what ailed him last night." + +"He was put out about something when he came home, and he was vexed +about your going to meeting. And, Kit, that is a thing you must not do +again, at least, not now. Nothing makes father so angry." + +"I won't, then," said Kit, "but I should like to." She was silent a +while, and then asked, in a half whisper, "Symantha, was it religion +that made aunt Martha crazy?" + +Symantha nodded. + +"I thought it might be, because she always says 'that,'" said Kit. "How +was it?" + +"She was brought up to be very religious, and to go to church, and +all that," replied Symantha in the same low tone. "She was a regular +church-member when she married pa, and, oh, such a pretty, bright +creature! Kit, whatever happens, you must always be good to ma. There +is more reason for it than you know." + +"I will," said Kit. "I think she likes me too. But, if aunt Martha was +such a religious woman, how came she to marry uncle Phin? Wasn't he the +same that he is now?" + +"Yes, very much the same, so far as that goes; only he was not so rough +in his ways. He was very handsome in those days, and could make himself +very agreeable; and ma thought she was going to influence and convert +him, but it worked the other way." + +"Seems to me I should rather convert a man first, and marry him +afterward," said Kit. "And what then?" + +"Well, there isn't much to tell. She used to try to argue with pa, but +she was no match for him that way. She used to get vexed, and then he +would laugh at her. By and by, she got to not going to church; and then +pa coaxed her to go out riding with him Sundays, and do other things +that she thought were wrong. After a while, she began to be melancholy +and queer, and at last, one day she tried to kill herself. Ever since +then she has been as she is now." + +"Seems to me it wasn't her religion that made her crazy, so much as +losing it," said Kit shrewdly. + +"Sometimes I have thought that, myself. It was a bad day for her when +she got acquainted with our family." + +"What was aunt Martha's name before she was married?" asked Kit. + +"I don't remember," answered Symantha, getting up and going into the +pantry. "Don't you want to run out and see if you can find some fresh +eggs? If you can, I'll make ma a custard." + +"Why, my dear child, what is the matter?" said Miss Armstrong as Kit +made her appearance at school with her arm in a sling. "What has +happened to your hand?" + +"I burnt it," answered Kit, coloring painfully; for she saw the girls +looking at her, and felt, as one is apt to do at such times, as if they +must know all about it. + +"You look hardly fit to come to school," remarked Miss Armstrong +kindly. She did not ask how the accident happened; guessing, with +the happy instinct that belongs to some people, that there was some +unpleasant story connected with it. "Do you feel able to learn your +lesson?" + +"Yes, ma'am, I would rather study than not," answered kit. "My arm does +not hurt me so very much now when I keep it still." + +Kit was quite sincere in what she said. She felt, rather than thought, +that the labor of fixing the column of words beginning with "Abase, +Abate," would be a relief from the tormenting thoughts which had driven +her almost wild. She set herself to work in good earnest to master her +lesson. But her mind would wander, in spite of herself; and when she +came to recite, she missed two or three times, and went down to the +very bottom of the class. Kit was tired and nervous for want of sleep, +and very unhappy besides; the consequence of which was, that as Faith +Fletcher went above her, she lost her temper, gave Faith a push, and +called her by a very naughty name. The children looked at each other in +horror. Miss Armstrong only said,— + +"Kitty may go and sit down. I will talk to her by and by. The children +may have a recess." + +"Well," said Selina as soon as they were out of doors, "I hope Miss +Armstrong has got enough of her favorite. It is lucky for Kit she had +not Miss Martin to deal with. Wouldn't she have caught it!" + +"Maybe she will catch it as it is," remarked Agnes Gleason. + +"I don't believe Miss Armstrong will do any more than talk to her. I am +sure I hope not," said gentle Faith. "Poor Kit is half sick: any one +can see that by looking at her. And it isn't as if one of us had said +it. I don't believe she has ever been taught any better." + +"Well, for my part, I hope Miss Armstrong will send her home," said +Selina; "she has no business here, using such language, and teaching +the children it. But, girls, didn't we have a good meeting last night? +I think that old Mrs. Van Zandt is just lovely. Miss Armstrong says she +is a great missionary woman; perhaps she will start a society here." + +"Then she will do what nobody else has done," remarked Agnes Gleason. +"I remember how hard Miss Martin tried. But what does this Mrs. Van +Zandt do, Selina? Did Miss Armstrong tell you?" + +"Oh, she is always sending boxes to poor missionaries in the +West; and she keeps two ladies in India, and pays all their +expenses,—Bible-women, Miss Armstrong called them. I wish she would +send me. I should love to go, dearly." + +"Yes, you would be a fine hand!" said Sarah Leet. "I suppose, the first +time a little Chinese or African child said a bad word, you would send +it home, and not let it come to school any more." + +"That would be very different," said Selina, coloring, as the girls +laughed. + +"Yes, very different; having a whole village full of children who never +learned even the commonest decency, and having one poor little thing +who is trying her best to be good," returned Sarah. "Suppose she did +forget herself for once: we all do it sometimes; if not in one way, +then in another. Don't you ever forget yourself, and say things you +ought not to?" + +"Yes—you—did—you—know—you—did!" chimed in from the ring of little ones, +who were "counting out" for a game of tag. All the girls laughed, the +words came so pat. + +"Yes, we did, we know we did," repeated Agnes. "But, Sarah, you need +not be so hard on Selina, either," she added, as Selina walked away. +"You think she ought to have patience and charity with Kit. Why can't +you have a little for her, instead of always poking her up?" + +"Well, she puts on such airs. I like to make her show her true colors." + +"You don't always make people show their true colors in that way," +remarked Agnes. "Suppose I should slap your face, and make your eye all +black and blue: would those be your true colors?" + +"Well, no, perhaps not," returned Sarah, whose frankness was her most +promising trait, "but then, you know, I don't pretend to equal St. +Agnes." Sarah had read somewhere of a St. Agnes, and liked to tease +Agnes with the name. + +"I am not a saint. I wish I were," replied Agnes, coloring. "But I +will tell you one thing, Sarah and Faith," she added, with an evident +effort: "if by a saint, you mean a true Christian, I am going to try +and be one. I have been thinking about it a good while, and I made up +my mind last night." + +"Well, I only hope you will stick to it, that's all," said Sarah, while +Faith got hold of Agnes's hand and squeezed it. "The trouble of these +sudden conversions is, that people don't hold out." + +"Well, I don't know; St. Paul held out pretty well, and so did St. +John." + +"Oh, well, they were saints." + +"What is a saint, anyhow?" asked Faith. "I have heard the word all my +life, and don't know, really, what it means." + +"I thought a saint was a person who never did any thing wrong," said +Sarah. + +"Then I am sure none of the apostles were saints, for they all did +wrong. Let us ask Miss Armstrong after reading-class. It will come in +easily enough, for the lesson is about Polycarp, and he was called a +saint, I know. Come, there is the bell." + +Kit's ill temper, if it deserved so harsh a name, found vent in a +flood of tears as soon as she reached her desk. She expected and half +hoped that Miss Armstrong would scold her, and perhaps punish her, for +bad language was justly looked upon as a grievous offence. But Miss +Armstrong did nothing of the kind. She waited till the first violence +of the storm had spent itself, and then said in that firm, kindly tone +of hers, which somehow carried obedience with it,— + +"There, Kitty, don't cry any more: you will only make yourself worse. +Wash your face and hands, and then I should like to have you run down +to the mill, and ask Mr. Bassett to send me some chalk; we are quite +out. As to this trouble of yours, we will talk about it after school. +You need not hurry; I will excuse you if you are a little late." + +"How good she is!" thought Kit, with a feeling of absolute wonder, as +she bathed her red eyes and aching head at the spring which boiled up +in a corner of the yard. "Oh, if I could only be good, like that!" + +As she was going out of the yard, she met Faith, who spoke to her +pleasantly. + +"Where now, Kitty? Going home?" + +"No; Miss Armstrong sent me of an errand." She was passing on when it +occurred to her that here, at least, was something she might do. She +called "Faith!" + +And as Faith turned back, she said, with a quiver in her voice, "I am +sorry I called you that name. It was real mean, for it was not your +fault that I missed." + +"Never mind," said Faith, kissing her. "I'm sure I don't bear malice. +But, Kitty dear, I wouldn't say such words if I were you." + +"I won't—not if I can help it; but you don't know how hard it is to be +good." + +"Don't I!" said Faith. "It is as hard for me as any one, I guess. But +there, don't cry," for Kit's tears were running over once more. "I'm +sure you won't do it again." + +Kit went on her way with her heart greatly lightened. She found Mr. +Bassett busy, as usual, but not too busy to lend an ear to her request. + +"Chalk, eh? Oh, yes; I've got plenty, if I can only find it. Let me +see. Here's an apple for you, anyhow. If we don't find one thing, we +find another, you see. Don't you want this little box to put your +pencils and things in? Well, here's the chalk, and plenty of it; and +here is a little paper for you. Let me see; I didn't see any of your +folks at the schoolhouse last night." + +"No, sir; I wanted to go, but I knew they wouldn't let me. I did listen +under the window, and uncle Phin did not like it a bit." + +"Poor child!" said the miller kindly. "Well, well, you must take your +troubles to the right place, and you will find help somehow. You know +that, don't you?" + +"Yes, sir: I heard Miss Armstrong say so. But I must hurry back now, +because she will want the chalk." + +"Poor little young one!" repeated Mr. Bassett to himself. "I must talk +over her case with ma, and see what can be done for her." + +"Just in time, Kitty," said Miss Armstrong pleasantly, as Kit entered, +somewhat out of breath. "Now, as you cannot very well do sums with your +left hand, you may take this book, and learn the hymn I have marked; +and we will hear you repeat it in the reading-class." + +Kit took the book with pleasure, for she loved learning verses. The +hymn was the time-honored one beginning,— + + "Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour, + Once became a child like me." + +"I suppose that is so," thought Kit as she laid down the book to repeat +the first verse to herself. "He was just as old as I am, once, but He +never would say such words. + + "'All my nature is unholy; + Pride and passion dwell within.' + +"I'm sure 'that' is true enough. But I don't see how I am to help it: +the more I try, the worse I am. I never knew I was half so bad till I +began to read in the Testament. + + "'Lord, assist a feeble creature.' + +"That means me, I am sure. There isn't any one more feeble than I am. +'Assist' means 'help,' I know. Oh, dear! I do wish He would help me." + +And Kit put her head down on the desk, and cried a little. But the +tears did not scorch her eyes, like the others: they were cool, and +seemed to take some of the weight off her heart which had lain there +ever since the night before. + +"Now we will have Kitty's hymn," said Miss Armstrong as the +reading-lesson was finished. "And then, if there are any questions to +be asked, I shall like to hear them." + +All the girls looked at Kit, some of them expecting that she would +refuse to obey. They were mistaken. Kit repeated her hymn with a +somewhat unsteady voice, it is true, but without hesitation and without +a single blunder. Then, with a visible effort, she said,— + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, I am sorry I was so naughty in the +spelling-class. I won't do so again." + +"That is right, Kitty," said Miss Armstrong, much gratified. "But there +is one thing more for you to do." + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, she did tell me she was sorry," said Faith +eagerly. "She said so in recess." + +"So much the better. And you do forgive her, Faith, I am sure." + +"Yes, indeed!" answered Faith heartily. "I didn't mind much about it, +anyway. I don't believe she would have done it if she hadn't felt sick." + +"That wasn't any excuse," said Kit. "I was just as cross as I could be." + +"We will let the matter drop now," said Miss Armstrong. "I should like +to talk with Kitty a few minutes after school. Now, are there any +questions to be answered?" + +"Please, Miss Armstrong, what is a saint?" asked Agnes. + +"Can any one answer that question?" asked Miss Armstrong. "What is a +saint?" + +"A very good person; one that never does any thing wrong," said one of +the girls rather doubtfully. + +"That is what I said, but Faith thought it was not right, because the +apostles all did wrong things." + +"A saint is somebody who pretends to be better than other folks," said +Lucinda Hurd, who always resented any praise bestowed on another person +as so much taken from herself. + +"I think not," said Miss Armstrong, "or St. Paul would hardly have told +the Corinthians that they were called to be saints. He would not have +told them that they were called upon to pretend to be better than their +neighbors." + +"Of course not," said Selina. "But I always thought a saint was +somebody like the people we read about who went and lived in caves and +hermitages, and never married, or had any families, or ate any meat." + +"That will not answer the conditions, either," remarked Miss Armstrong, +"because the Corinthian Christians were not called on to do any such +thing as that." + +"I can't remember that any one in the Bible was called on to do that," +remarked Faith. "But, Miss Armstrong, won't 'you' tell us what a saint +is?" + +"I will tell you what I think," said Miss Armstrong. "A saint is a +person whose life is consecrated to God; that is, given to Him to be +His entirely. Or, to put it in other words, a saint is one who has +made up his mind to serve God with all his powers of body and mind. +Such a person may be faulty and imperfect, often stumbling and even +falling, but he keeps his purpose always in view. When he falls, he +confesses his sin, and asks forgiveness, and begins again, humbled but +not discouraged. When he sees a duty, he strives to do it at whatever +inconvenience or sacrifice to himself. He tries always to keep alive in +his heart a sense of the presence of God and his Saviour, and to see +every thing as they would see it. That is my idea of a saint." + +"But could any one be like that?" asked Faith doubtfully. + +"'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me'" (Phil. +iv. 13), quoted Miss Armstrong. "There is the secret, depend upon it. +Now we must not talk any longer. Take this matter home, and think about +it." + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE SPRINGING GRAIN. + +"NOW, Kitty, let us get at the bottom of all this trouble of ours," +said Miss Armstrong. "Agnes, do you wish to see me?" + +"Yes, please, Miss Armstrong. But I will wait: I haven't so far to go +as Kit has. Or I don't know why I should mind speaking before her," +said Agnes, coloring. "It isn't any thing I need be ashamed of. I have +made up my mind to try to be a real Christian, Miss Armstrong. I don't +know whether I shall have strength to persevere, but I am going to +begin." + +"You will surely have strength to persevere if you only look in the +right place for it, my dear child," said Miss Armstrong, kissing her. +"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say this, Agnes. Tell me, +when did you make up your mind?" + +"Last night, after I went home. I have been thinking a great deal about +the matter lately, and somehow what that old lady said seemed to bring +me right to the point. I seemed to realize that the Lord died for +me, just as much as if there had been no one else to die for; and I +couldn't hold out after that." + +"You were led to see the truth, and the truth has made you free," said +Miss Armstrong. "He did die for you, and for me, and for little Kitty +here, just as much as if there had been no one else to die for; and He +loves us as much as if He had no one else to love. Have you told your +mother, Agnes?" + +"No, ma'am; I am going to tell her to-night. Ma isn't a church-member +herself, but I think she will be glad. She always wants me to go to +church and Sunday school, and she never would let me go walking on +Sundays with Milly Richmond. Oh, dear! I wish the Richmonds were not +coming." + +"Don't borrow trouble, dear child. Trust your best Friend to do what is +best for you, and make all things work together for your good. I will +talk with you again as soon as I can. Good-night." + +"Who do you mean by Agnes's best friend?" asked Kit, as Agnes left the +room. + +"Her Father in heaven, and her Saviour," answered Miss Armstrong; "you +know I told you that before, Kitty." + +"Well," said Kit with a deep sigh, "I wish He was my friend, that's +all. But I don't think He is." + +"Why not, my poor child?" + +"If He had been, He wouldn't have let Melissa put uncle Phin up to +shake me, and burn my book, all because—I—" The recital of her wrongs +was too much for poor Kit, and she burst into a fresh agony of crying. + +Miss Armstrong took her on her lap, pressed the hot head against her +bosom, and by and by began gently to soothe and check the outburst. + +"Tell me all about it," said she when Kit was quiet enough to speak. + +Kit sobbed out the story of her wrongs. + +"And you think He does not love you, because He lets you have trouble? +My dear, that is a great mistake. He has never promised us freedom from +trouble in this world: on the contrary, He has expressly said, 'In the +world ye shall have tribulation.' But He adds in the same breath, 'Be +of good cheer; I have overcome the world.' He says in another place +that He sends us trouble, or lets trouble come, to make us more fit for +heaven, just as the kindest parents sometimes punish their children." + +"Then I don't see how Christians are any better off than other folks, +after all," said Kit, "if they have troubles just the same." + +"They don't have them 'just' the same, Kitty. It is not just the same +whether a child is a slave, and beaten by a cruel master, or whether it +is punished to cure it of its faults by a kind and loving father." + +"That is so," answered Kit. + +"And there is another thing about it," continued Miss Armstrong. +"Suppose I should say to you, 'Kitty, if you will bear all your +troubles patiently, and do your work as well as you can for one week, +then I will take you home to live with me, and be happy all the rest of +your life.' Would the time seem long or hard to you then?" + +"No, indeed!" said Kit, with kindling eyes. "I would work my fingers to +the bone, and never say a word, whatever happened." + +"Well, that is the way our Father treats his children. He lets them +have plenty of trouble and sorrow here,—sometimes it seems as if the +best people had the most of it,—but He promises them a home with Him +in heaven, where they shall never know any pain and grief, but be +happy and holy for ever and ever. Just think! When we look back on our +present life, after we have been in that blessed place a million years, +it will not look very long or very hard to us." + +"No, indeed!" said Kit, drawing a long breath. "A million years without +any trouble, happy all the time! It just takes my breath away." + +"And then to be no nearer the end than before," said Miss Armstrong. "I +used to hear an old hymn sung, of which this was the last verse,— + + "'When I've been there ten thousand days, + Bright shining as the sun, + I've just as long to sing God's praise + As though I'd just begun.'" + +"Yes, it is nice for you, and I am glad you are going there," said Kit, +her face darkening again, "but it won't do me any good. 'I' shall never +get there, I know." + +"And why not, my little girl?" + +"I shall never be good enough," answered Kit. "I have tried and tried +to be good. Every morning since I came to school, I have said to +myself, 'Now, I won't do one wrong thing to-day;' and I do all the +time. And, if I don't act wrong things, I think them. I never can be +like what it says in the Testament,—like what He was." + +"Poor Kitty! I don't wonder you are discouraged. Why, my child, if +people were to be saved by their own goodness, there would not be one +in paradise at this minute. It is because Christ died for us that we +are saved, because He bore our sins for us when He was nailed to the +cross; because He died for us, and rose from the dead for us, and +pleads for us at the right hand of God. We are not to be saved because +we are good, but we are to be good because we are saved." + +Kit's face brightened a little. "I don't quite understand," said she. + +"It is just this, Kitty: you have not to earn eternal happiness. You +never could do that, and you have no need to try. The Lord Jesus has +done that for you. He bore the punishment of all our sins when He was +here on earth; and what we have to do is, to believe that He has done +so, to put our trust in Him, and give ourselves to Him to be His. See +what the Bible says about it: + + "'God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that +whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting +life.' (St. John iii. 16) + + "'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet +sinners, Christ died for us.' (Rom. v. 8) + + "'He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.' (St. John iii. +36)" + +"Then all the goodness is in believing," said Kit. + +"Not at all, my dear. There is no more goodness in believing than in +any thing else, but we shall not ask Him to save us unless we believe +He can do it. Just so, you might be drowning, and some one might throw +you a rope: unless you believed that the rope would save you, you would +not take hold of it; and yet there would be no goodness in taking hold +of it." + +"I see now!" exclaimed Kit. "Just as there might be a doctor in Oldbury +who could cure aunt Martha, but unless uncle Phin believed it, and went +after him, he would be of no use to her. But, Miss Armstrong, will God +save 'me' like that?" asked Kit with a tone of deep reverence, and a +far-off look in her great blue eyes. "Will He do all that just because +I ask Him,—a poor little naughty, ignorant girl, like me, that don't +know any thing about Him hardly? It seems too good to be true." + +"It is not one bit too good to be true. You have only to ask Him, and +the work is done, now and forever." + +"And won't I ever do any thing wrong again?" + +"I cannot say that, Kitty. As long as we are in the world, we have to +fight with temptations from without, and with the sinful nature that is +born in us. But, if we are faithful in asking, He will give us strength +to conquer; and, if we do fall into sin, He will help us out. + + "'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our +sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' (1 John i. 9). + +"He not only forgives us our sins, but He washes them away, and makes +them as if they had never been. Only God can do that." + +"I can see that," said Kit. "Men can't make the least thing to be as if +it had never been, if they are ever so sorry about it." + +She sat still a moment, and then turned to her friend with a great +light shining in her sweet face. "Well, then, Miss Armstrong, I don't +see but I 'am' saved, after all, because I do want Him to save me, and +I do believe He can." + +"Then you certainly are, my precious child," said Miss Armstrong, her +own eyes overflowing. "Let us thank Him, Kitty, for all His goodness." + +About an hour after this conversation, two young ladies, walking over +the hill, came to Kit's favorite haunt, and stood still in admiration +at the picture presented to them. Kit was lying on the ground, her +head pillowed on the mossy flat stone which was her favorite seat, +fast asleep. Her hat lay on the grass beside her, her long dark lashes +rested on her cheeks, and the soft summer wind was gently playing with +her black curls, as if it feared to wake her. It almost seemed from her +attitude that she had been kneeling by the stone, and had sunk down +overpowered with sleep. + +"What an exquisite picture!" whispered Amity. "What a pity Percy is not +here with her sketchbook." + +"It is lovely," answered Ida in the same tone. "But she ought not to +lie there: she will take cold. Her hand is hurt too. Poor little dear, +I wonder who she is. I am sure I don't know her, and yet it seems as if +I had seen her before." + +"I was just thinking the same. But we must not leave her here. She +might sleep till dark, and awake frightened out of her senses, and with +rheumatic fever into the bargain." + +As Amity spoke, she bent down and kissed the little sleeper. Kit awoke, +and started to her feet with a little cry of pain, as the sudden +movement shook her burned hand. + +"My poor child, did you hurt yourself?" said Amity kindly. "I am sorry +I gave you such a start. I only meant to wake you, and keep you from +getting cold. What ails your arm?" + +"I burned it; but it is not very bad now, only I twisted it a little, +getting up," answered Kit. "I can't think how I came to go to sleep, +only I was so tired. Ain't you the lady that sung at the meeting last +night?" she ventured to ask shyly. + +"Yes, my dear. Were you there?" + +"No, ma'am, but I stood under the window and listened. Uncle won't let +me go to meeting. He don't believe in God or any such thing." + +"And don't you believe in Him?" + +"Yes, ma'am, I do," answered Kit, with a quiet decision which made +Ida and Amity exchange glances. "I feel as though I had just 'got' to +believe in Him, for He's all the friend I've got, only Miss Armstrong +and Symantha." + +"He is the best you could have. What is your name?" + +"Kit Mallory, ma'am; at least, that is what every one calls me, only +Miss Armstrong calls me Kitty." + +"Well, Kitty, can you direct us a short way to Mrs. Van Zandt's house? +We have walked farther than we meant, and are both tired." + +"You are near by now," said Kit; "you can see the house when you are +past this ledge, and I'll show you a cow-path that goes close by the +barn. Wouldn't you like a drink?" she added. "This is real nice water, +and I've got a cup I keep here." + +"Thank you, that will be very refreshing," said Amity. + +Kit produced her cup, washed it in the stream, and filled it at the +spring-head. Both the girls drank, and praised the cool, sweet draught. + +"What a lovely spring!" said Amity, bending down to look into its +depths. + +"It has great bubbles in it," said Kit. "If you watch, you will see one +presently. There! Isn't that pretty?" + +"It is, indeed," said Amity. "Look, Ida." + +"I see," replied Ida, bending down in her turn. "I see, too, that the +sun is getting low, and aunt Barbara will be uneasy about us. So this +is the way, is it?" + +"Yes, ma'am. Keep in the path, and you won't get into any of the soft +places." + +"Thank you, my dear. Good-night." + +As Kit bent over the spring to dip a cup of water for herself, she saw +something red and golden lying under the great tuft of lady-fern which +partly overhung the water. She picked it up. It was a beautifully bound +little book, bearing marks of a great deal of careful wear. And on +opening it, Kit saw that it was a New Testament. + +Her heart gave a great bound at the sight. She had been asking for a +Testament before she went to sleep, and here it was. Then came another +thought. One of the young ladies must have dropped it. Kit could read +writing. She turned to the fly-leaf, and read, written in a clear +though somewhat tremulous hand,— + + "Amity, with mother's love, on her tenth birthday." + +Underneath was written, in another hand,— + + "The very day my dear mother died." + +"It is that plain young lady's, the one they say is so rich," thought +Kit. "Well, she can buy plenty more, and I haven't any. But then she +must think every thing of it, because her mother gave it to her. Oh, +dear! I wish I knew what to do. It does seem as though I ought to have +it." + +Just then something seemed to whisper in Kit's ear a verse she had read +in her own Testament only the day before,—"Whatsoever ye would that men +should do to you, do ye even so to them." + +"'He' said that," said Kit, speaking aloud. "Suppose I had a Testament +that mother gave me, and I should lose it, and some one should find it." + +Kit did not hesitate another moment. She ran down the hill as fast as +she could, and overtook the young ladies just at their own gate. + +"Why, here is our little friend again," said Amity. "My dear child, how +you have put yourself out of breath!!" + +"Isn't this yours?" asked Kit, producing the book. "I found it down by +the spring." + +"It is, indeed!" replied Amity. "My dear child, how can I thank you +enough? I would rather have lost almost any thing else that I possess." + +"I thought you would be sorry to lose it, because it had your mother's +writing in it," said Kit, feeling very happy as Amity kissed her. "I +know, if I had a Testament that my mother gave me, how much I would +think of it. But I must hurry home." + +"Wait a minute," said Amity. "Kitty, I want to give you something, not +as a reward, but as a keepsake. What shall it be?" + +Kit's carnation cheeks grew more beautiful than ever, between eagerness +and bashfulness. + +"If it wouldn't be impudent to ask, if you had a little old Testament +you could give me," she said. + +"Would you rather have a little one than a large one?" asked Amity. + +"Yes, because I could hide it easier." + +"Wait just a moment," said Amity. "So she has to hide her Testament," +she remarked to Ida as they went into the house. + +"They are a dreadfully hard family, from all I hear," answered Ida. +"One of aunt Barbara's soft-covered Testaments will be just the thing +for her." + +Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt was sitting by the parlor window, hemming a +napkin with an exquisite overhand hem. She was almost always hemming +napkins when she was not buying them or packing them in neat parcels +to send away, and she had brought abundance of her favorite fancy-work +with her to the country. + +"You are late," said she as the girls entered. "I began to think you +were lost." + +"So we were," said Ida; "and I don't know where we should have landed, +only for a little girl such an odd, lovely child!—whom we found asleep +on the hill-top." + +"And, aunt Barbara, will you give me one of your nice Testaments for +her?" added Amity. "She says she would rather have a little Testament +than any thing; but it must be a small one, because she has to hide it." + +Aunt Barbara rose with alacrity. "Poor child, how sad! Yes, I have just +the thing for her. In that cupboard by the fireplace, Amity. No, not +that; the one with soft covers. Where is the child?" + +"Out by the door," answered Amity. "She says she dare not come in. Do +come and look at her, aunt Barbara, and tell us who she is like." + +"So you are the little girl who would rather have a Testament than any +thing," said Mrs. Van Zandt in those peculiar deep, soft tones of hers. +"Well, here is a nice one for you. Look up, my dear." + +"Who is she like, aunt?" asked Ida. "I can't think, and I am sure I +have seen that face before." + +"Do you remember the picture which hangs in my sewing-room at home?" +asked Mrs. Van Zandt. "She is the living image of my poor lost Kathleen +Joyce." + +"Please, ma'am, would you say that name again?" asked Kit, trembling +with eagerness. + +"Kathleen Joyce," repeated Mrs. Van Zandt. "Did you ever hear the name +before?" + +"That was my name! That was it!" exclaimed Kit exultingly. "Kathleen, +that is it! I knew it was not Keturah, I knew it wasn't." + +"Kathleen? Kathleen what?" asked Mrs. Van Zandt as eagerly as herself. + +"I don't know. I mustn't stay another minute," said Kit in a tone of +alarm as the clock struck. "I forgot uncle Phin told me never to come +here." + +"Don't keep her, Mrs. Van Zandt," said Aggy, an elderly colored woman +who had taken care of the house for years, speaking in an undertone. +"He is an awful man, and there is no telling what he might do." + +"Well, good-night, dear child. Perhaps we shall meet again. I must see +her somehow," added Mrs. Van Zandt, looking after Kit as she hurried +away. "If she is not Kathleen Joyce's child, there is nothing in +resemblances." + +"And she said her name was Kathleen," observed Ida. "How strange!" + +"I wonder if this man is really her uncle," said Amity. + +"Melissa Mallory says not," replied Aggy. "She says her father took Kit +from the poorhouse, but there is no telling any thing by that.—Miss +Ida, do come in out of the dew, and let your aunt get her tea. She'll +be having one of her headaches again, and your hand will be paining you +all night." + +"Kathleen, Kathleen," repeated Mrs. Van Zandt as she sat down to the +table. "I must contrive to see that child again." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE SNAKES. + +"WHERE is Miss Armstrong?" asked Mrs. Weston, as Selina came home alone. + +"I suppose she will be here presently," answered Selina. "Kit Mallory +was naughty, and she kept her after school. I would never do that: I +would whip them, and let them go. I wouldn't punish myself too." + +"That would be very well if one thought only of one's own convenience," +remarked Mrs. Weston, "but I imagine that is not Miss Armstrong's way. +What did Kit do?" + +"She called Faith Fletcher bad names because Faith went above her in +spelling. I hope Miss Armstrong will have enough of her, that's all." + +Mrs. Weston gave Selina a look which checked her, before she said, +"Poor Kit needs to have allowance made for her. She has had very +few advantages. But you may set the table, Selina; I dare say Miss +Armstrong will not be long." + +Selina had not really meant to tell an untruth,—that is to say, she +had not deliberately said to herself that she would tell a lie: that +is something which people seldom do,—nor had she told a lie in direct +words. It was in consequence of her naughtiness that Kit had staid +after school. But Selina was under the dominion of what might be called +her ruling passion,—a passion which makes people do as mean things as +any which belongs to humanity: she was jealous. She had taken a great +liking to Miss Armstrong when that lady first came, and had said to +herself, that, as Miss Armstrong boarded at her father's house, she +(Selina) would see more of her than any one else, and would therefore +be the teacher's particular friend. + +Now, there was no harm in Selina's wishing the teacher to like her; +the trouble was that she did not want Miss Armstrong to like any one +else. This passion of jealousy had been the bane of Selina's life. Mr. +and Mrs. Weston had another adopted daughter, who had married and gone +to live in Oldbury about a year before our story begins. Elizabeth +had never been any thing but kind to Selina from the first day of her +coming into the house, a rather forlorn little girl of ten years old. +It had not given her a single pang when she was told of Mr. and Mrs. +Weston's determination to adopt another child: on the contrary, she was +glad that some one else should have the same happy home as herself. And +when Selina was brought from the Oldbury orphan-asylum, the only home +she could remember, Elizabeth, then a womanly girl of sixteen, had done +her best to make her feel contented. + +But no kindness can make a jealous person happy. In the asylum, Selina +had always watched the other children's meals, to see whether some one +had not a larger bit of butter, a fatter doughnut, a redder apple, than +herself; and she brought the same spirit into her new home. She soon +became quite sure that mother loved Lizzy the best, all because Lizzy +had curly hair and red cheeks. Lizzy had a new summer frock, while +hers was mother's last summer's dress made over; Lizzy had mother's +beautiful gray merino made over for winter, while she had a woollen +plaid out of the store at the Corners: and one was just as much a +grievance as the other. She was glad when Lizzy married and went away. +But now Lizzy had a boy baby which was named after Mr. Weston, and +Selina was quite sure that father and mother would never care for her +again. + +Miss Armstrong had been very kind to her, that she must needs allow, +but then, she had been just as kind to all the others, and Selina was +quite sure that she liked Agnes Gleason's reading the best. That was +always the way, she said to herself with a sigh. It was her fate, and +she must bear it. Some time, perhaps, she would find some one who would +love her best of all. + +"So you had a case of discipline," remarked Mrs. Weston as the family +sat down to the tea-table. + +"I thought you'd find it wasn't all such plain sailing," said Aunt +Betsy Burr, who had happened in to borrow a cup of maple molasses. +Aunt Betsy's errands generally did bring her to her neighbors about +meal-times. "There's some dreadful bad children about here. Those +Bassett boys yelled right in front of my door last night when they were +coming home from hoeing potatoes up to the hill farm." + +"It was not a case of discipline, though it might have been if the +culprit had not put discipline out of the question by her own act," +replied Miss Armstrong. "The poor child did forget herself, but she +acknowledged her fault, and asked pardon before the whole school, and +that of her own motion. There was no room for discipline after that. +I did keep her, but it was to comfort and help her a little. She has +burned her hand badly, and was feeling very unhappy over the loss of an +old Testament she had found somewhere." + +Mrs. Weston looked at Selina, who looked at her plate. + +"I am sorry for that child. I think she has hard times," said Mr. +Weston. "I met Phin Mallory at Oldbury yesterday, and he told me he was +going to make a fuss at the next school-meeting about having the Bible +read in school." + +"And what did you say?" asked his wife. + +"Well, I tried to reason with him at first, but I found there was no +use in that, so I told him to make all the fuss he wanted to." + +"I don't know, though," said Aunt Betsy. "I ain't sure it is lawful to +take up the time of the scholars with Bible lessons." + +Miss Armstrong only smiled. + +"And so poor Kit has lost her Testament," remarked Mr. Weston. "Well, +we must try to let her have another. Does she think so much of it as +all that?" + +"She does, indeed," answered Miss Armstrong. "I have never met any one +who seemed to have a greater craving for the truth. I believe that +child is going to grow up a true Christian in spite of her adverse +circumstances." + +"I should think she took a queer way to show it,—calling the other +girls names," said Aunt Betsy. "For my part, I don't believe she will +ever be any thing but a regular little reprobate." + +"Who is calling names now, Aunt Betsy?" asked Mr. Weston, smiling. + +Aunt Betsy maintained a dignified silence, and betook herself to the +consumption of canned cherries as if that were the only object in life +worthy her notice. + +"The truth often finds readier entrance into such a heart as Kit's +than into one which had heard the gospel preached, and remained closed +against it," remarked Miss Armstrong; "at least, that has been the +result of my observation both with the heathen and among the mission +children in the city." + +"You are right," said Mr. Weston. "The hardest sinners to melt are +gospel-hardened sinners. I thought a good many people seemed touched +last night. The Jewsbury girls were very attentive, I observed, and so +was Agnes Gleason. That is another child I feel great interest in." + +"I must not violate confidence, but I may just say I have reason to +hope we may hear good news of Agnes," said Miss Armstrong, smiling. "I +had a nice little talk with her, which was another thing that kept me." + +"Well, I hope her mother won't put no stumbling-blocks in her way if +she really is trying to be a Christian, that's all," remarked Aunt +Betsy. "Almira is a dreadful worldly woman, and always was. The way she +'nips' into church on Sunday with that black silk dress of hers, and +brushes off the seat before she sits down! You needn't laugh, Abby. +I've seen her do it with my own eyes, so there!" + +"I don't so much blame her for that," said Mrs. Weston. "I never go +into the building, that I don't want to go to house-cleaning." + +"Wouldn't it be fun to make a 'bee,' and clean the church before the +new minister comes?" said Selina. "We might do it next week." + +"I declare, daughter, that is an excellent idea," said Mrs. Weston. +"It wouldn't be such a very great piece of work if we all took hold of +it.—What do you say, father?" + +"I agree with all my heart," answered Mr. Weston. "I don't believe the +place has had a thorough cleaning in twelve years, and it is longer +than that since the old house was painted. How long is it, Aunt Betsy?" + +"Twenty-five years this coming July," answered Aunt Betsy. "Don't you +remember, it was the year old Dr. Munson died. He 'was' a man! It will +be a long time before we have any one to fill his pulpit. This Mr. +Brace isn't going to do it. Why, Dr. Munson's folks were among the +first settlers of Oldfield County." + +"Well, if you come to that, Mr. Brace's great-grandfather was one of +the first settlers of Rivermouth County," said Mr. Weston. "You may +find his name in Barber's 'Historical Collections.' Though, as he is to +preach, and not his great-grandfather, I don't see what difference it +makes." + +"Well, anyhow, he ain't going to fill Dr. Munson's pulpit," persisted +Aunt Betsy. "Just hear him read the lessons! And he sings himself, for +I saw him." + +"And I heard him, and thought he had a very fine voice. Why shouldn't +he sing, as well as any one else?" + +"Dr. Munson never did. I remember him as if I had seen him yesterday." + +"Dr. Munson was a fine man, no doubt, but he has been dead and buried +this many a year, and I only wish his ghost did not walk," said Mrs. +Weston. "Every time we have a new minister, somebody compares him with +old Dr. Munson, and says he never will fill Dr. Munson's pulpit." + +"If Dr. Munson wanted to keep the pulpit himself, he should have taken +it away with him," said Selina rather pertly. + +"I don't believe he did," said her father. "He was by far too good and +too humble-minded to wish to remain a standard for the measurement of +all who should come after him.—But as to this plan of the child's, +mother, you talk it up with the women, and I'll do the same with the +men; and we'll see what can be done." + +Selina went to her room in a comfortable frame of mind. She had escaped +the blame which she had expected, and she had been commended for her +idea of cleaning the church, and might expect still more praise, for +her mother would be sure to say it was Selina's notion in the first +place. Her self-complacency began to sink a little as she heard her +mother coming up-stairs, and remembered how she had misrepresented the +matter of Kit's staying after school. + +"Now mother Weston will be coming to talk to me," she said to herself. +She had a great dread of these talks, which always left her feeling +very small in her own eyes. + +But mother Weston had no such intention this night. She began to think +there was no use in talking to Selina: so, like Christian in the dark +valley, she betook herself to another weapon, called All-prayer, which +was very familiar to her hand, as it is, thank God! to the hands of +most Christian mothers. + + +Selina was destined to hear of her fault from another quarter. + +"Selina, how did Mrs. Burr know about Kitty's fault yesterday?" asked +Miss Armstrong as they met on the way to school next morning. + +Selina had not been without her fears on this point, and she had set +out before Miss Armstrong by a different route expressly to escape this +interview. But as so often happens when we try to avoid a person, she +came plump upon her about a quarter of a mile from the schoolhouse. + +"Oh, Aunt Betsy—every one calls her Aunt Betsy about here—she hears +every thing!" answered Selina with assumed carelessness. "And she +thinks all young people are dreadful. You heard what she said about the +Bassett boys, and they are forever doing things for her." + +"Yes, I heard. But that is not the point," said Miss Armstrong, seeing +Selina's object, but not to be diverted from her purpose. "Your mother, +too, spoke of a case of discipline. What did you say about it?" + +"I am sure I don't remember," answered Selina. "Mother asked me where +you were, and I said you had staid after school with Kit Mallory. Then +she asked what Kit had done, and I told her. I did not see that Aunt +Betsy was there, or I should not have said it. Why, Miss Armstrong, +don't you want me to tell mother what happens in school?" asked Selina, +thinking she saw a way of "getting out of it," as she said. "I always +do tell mother every thing." + +"And you are careful to tell her every thing just exactly as it +happens, of course," said Miss Armstrong, with a look which made Selina +feel that she was seen through. "For instance, you told her last night +that Kit had of her own accord confessed her fault, and made all the +amends possible, before I said a word to her on the subject." + +"I didn't say any thing but what was true," said Selina somewhat +sullenly. + +"Yes, but did you tell all the truth? It is possible to deceive even by +silence; and it is the deception that makes the lie, you know, my dear." + +"I will thank you not to call me a liar, Miss Armstrong," said Selina, +feeling that she was in a tight place, and trying to get out of it by +means of a fit of virtuous indignation. "That is what nobody ever did; +and I am not going to stand it, even from you." + +"I have not called you a liar, Selina, as you know very well. What your +own conscience tells you, is another matter. Only remember this, that, +while I make no objection to your telling your mother every thing that +concerns yourself, I shall be very much displeased if I hear of any +gossip outside about matters that go on in school." + +With these words, Miss Armstrong went into the schoolhouse, leaving +Selina very angry with the teacher, herself, and all the world. There +is nothing so exasperating as an accusing conscience when one is +determined not to listen to it. Selina had no mind either to join Miss +Armstrong in the schoolhouse, or to be left to the company of her own +thoughts. And seeing the Fletcher children coming down the road in +company with Myra Bassett, she went to meet them. + +"Why, Myra, are you coming to school?" she asked in surprise, for Myra +was a grown-up girl, and had been to boarding-school in Oldbury. + +"Well, no; at least, I am not going to begin Saturday morning, though +I am not sure I should not do it if ma could spare me," answered Myra, +smiling. "I have taken a great liking to your Miss Armstrong. I think +you are greatly favored in having her for a teacher." + +"I guess we all think so, don't we, Selina?" said Faith. + +"Of course, though I don't see any thing so very wonderful about her," +answered Selina. "But all new brooms sweep clean, with some people." + +"Why, what is the matter now?" asked Sarah Leet. "I am sure you began +with thinking her a regular 'tarragon,' as poor James Davis says. What +has she done to you?" + +"I did not say she had done any thing to me," answered Selina somewhat +angrily. "I can have my own opinion, I suppose. I haven't any fault to +find with Miss Armstrong, only I do think she makes a ridiculous fuss +over that little Kit Mallory." + +"Oh!" said Sarah in a tone which implied, "Now I understand." + +"I don't see that she makes any great fuss over her," said literal +Faith. "Of course we all feel interested in Kit. I don't know how any +one could help it, seeing how hard she tries to be good. Wasn't it +sweet to hear her ask pardon in the class, as she did yesterday?" + +"Oh, very sweet," answered Selina with what she meant to be a tone of +sarcasm, but which was, in fact, an ill-natured sneer. "She thought she +was going to get a whipping, and took that way to get out of it, and +get round Miss Armstrong." + +"Well, I don't believe that," said Agnes Gleason, who had joined the +group in time to hear the remark. "In the first place, Kit gets too +many whippings to care very much about them; and in the second place, +she couldn't possibly know that she would get out of it in that way. I +believe she really was sorry, and said so." + +"I think so too," returned Faith. + +"And so do I," said Sarah. "But, Agnes, I didn't expect to see you so +early, or looking so happy." + +"Why not? Oh, I know: because the Richmonds have come. Well, mother +says I shall not be hindered as I was last summer. She told Mrs. +Richmond last night that she and Milly must get up to breakfast with us +at half-past seven, as she could not keep me at home to cook a second +breakfast. Wasn't I glad!" + +"And what did Mrs. Richmond say?" + +"Oh, she didn't like it at first, and talked about finding another +boarding-place. And mother told her she could do as she pleased about +that. I don't think she would be very sorry if they did go, only we all +like poor Cordelia." + +"And is poor Cordelia to get up at half-past seven too?" asked Selina. +"That is rather hard, I think, considering what bad nights she has." + +"Of course not," replied Agnes with some indignation in her tone. +"Cordelia always has her breakfast in bed, and never takes any thing +anyway but a cup of tea and a bit of bread or toast. That is a very +different thing from getting a second hot breakfast, an hour after we +have finished our own, for two healthy women." + +"Very different," said Sarah. "But I thought Milly alone would be +enough to bring a cloud to your placid brow, as the magazine-writers +say." + +"Oh, well, perhaps I have been hard upon Amelia," replied Agnes. "She +does come across me in so many ways, she makes me feel like a cat +stroked the wrong way. But I don't mean to quarrel with her if I can +help it. There comes Kit. How pale she looks! I wonder if her arm is so +bad." + +At this moment, the conversation was disagreeably interrupted. It is +a fact that Oldfield County, and especially the town of Oldham, has +always enjoyed, and what is worse, has deserved, a very bad reputation +in the matter of snakes. It is a snaky town at all times; and there +are certain years, when, for some reason unknown, snakes do much more +abound than at other times. This was a "snake summer." + +The men wore their thickest and highest boots when they went into the +mowing-lots and the low meadows, and the children were cautioned to +keep a bright lookout in their expeditions after wintergreens and wild +flowers. Mr. Bassett had killed a big rattlesnake in his own pasture; +there were stories of copperheads; and old Miss Jewsbury declared +that she had seen a serpent as thick as a clothes-post and as long as +a well-sweep, crossing the swamp at the foot of her garden. But Miss +Jewsbury was given to seeing wonderful sights under the inspiration of +a certain black vial in the corner of her cupboard, and nobody believed +very deeply in the accuracy of her snake story. + +The Fletcher twins, Eddy and Eben, had run on before to meet Kit, who +was a famous playmate, and very fond of the younger children. Just as +they came near her, Ednah stood still literally, and, fortunately for +herself, too much scared to move; while Eben screamed,— + +"A snake, a snake! O Faithie, come!" + +Faith stopped, frozen with horror, and pointed to the child. + +A brown snake had actually wound itself round her ankle. Before any one +could move, Kit turned, saw the situation, and was mistress of it. + +"Don't move, Eddy; stand still!" said she in a crisp, clear tone of +command. Then, reaching the spot with one of her agile, panther-like +springs, she bent down, caught the snake with her thumb and forefinger +just behind the head, and, throwing it on the ground, set the heel of +her thick boot on its head. ¹ + + ¹ This is no fiction, but an actual incident. + +"Quick, girls!" she cried. "Kill it before it gets away." + +Agnes and Sarah sprang to the spot, and the snake was soon despatched. +Faith snatched up Ednah, and began stripping down her stocking. + +"Oh, it didn't bite her: it didn't have a chance," said Kit, with a +laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. "But it was a close shave, +wasn't it, Eddy?" + +"I should think it was, you dear, blessed child!" exclaimed Sarah, +sitting down on a stone, and taking Kit on her lap. "There, sit still a +minute. How you tremble! And no wonder.—Agnes, get her some water." + +"I don't think there is any thing to be so scared at," said Selina. "It +was only a garter snake." + +"Garter snake! So are you a garter snake!" said Sarah contemptuously. +"Did you ever see a garter snake that color?—Mr. Bassett!" she added, +calling to the miller, who was just passing, "Please come and tell us +what kind of snake this is." + +"It's a real copperhead, and no mistake," pronounced Mr. Bassett. "It +is rather a young one, but there is no mistaking the nature of the +animal. See its poison teeth. Take care! Don't touch 'em: the least +scratch might do for you. Who killed it?" + +Agnes told the story, while Miss Armstrong fanned Kit, who was leaning, +very white, against Sarah's shoulder. + +"Well, you are a brave child," said Mr. Bassett. "How came you to think +of acting so?" + +"I didn't think: it just came to me," said Kit, sitting up. "I can't +think what makes me feel so queer, only I didn't sleep much, my hand +hurt me so." + +"There isn't one man in a hundred would have had the presence of mind, +even if he had the courage," said Mr. Bassett. "Myra, hadn't we better +take her over to our house, and let her lie down a while. I'll carry +her." + +"Perhaps that will be the best way," said Miss Armstrong. "Wouldn't you +like to go with Mr. Bassett, and rest a little?" + +"And have a nice cup of coffee?" added Myra. + +Kit shook her head. "I should like it," said she, with a loving and +grateful look at Myra and her father, "but uncle Phin wouldn't. He has +told me never to go into the neighbors' houses for any thing, and I +think I ought to mind him." + +"Of course you ought," replied Mr. Bassett, exchanging glances with +Miss Armstrong. + +"I'll run home and get the coffee, anyway," said Myra, whose kindness, +like her mother's, was apt to take a substantial form. "I am sure she +needs something. + +"And do you sit quietly here in the shade, and rest," said Miss +Armstrong. "Sarah shall sit with you, lest you should be faint again." + +"What do you think about Kit now?" asked Agnes of Selina, in a low +tone, as they were hanging up their hats. + +"I think a great fuss is being made about nothing," said Selina. "I or +anybody could have done as much." + +"Why didn't you, then?" asked one of the little girls, who was near. +"You were as close to Eddy as Kit was; and you just stood still and +screamed, for I saw you." + +Selina found it convenient not to hear this remark. She was listening +to the hissing of a snake in her own heart, worse than any copperhead +that ever crawled in Oldham,—the serpent of envy and jealousy. The +copperhead could, at worst, only have killed the child's body, but her +bosom companion was poisoning her very soul. + +"Don't I tire you?" said Kit as Sarah settled her into an easier +position. + +"Not you, you little shrimp; I could hold a dozen of you. Sit still if +you like it." + +"I do," said Kit. "It seems so good to be babied a little," she added +with a little tremor in her voice. + +Sarah drew Kit's head closer to her, and kissed the brown cheek. But +she did not speak, and Kit lay in a kind of dreamy content. + +"Sarah," said she at last, rousing herself just as she seemed to be +falling asleep. + +"Well, dear." + +"Do you think it was the Lord put it into my head,—how to catch the +snake, I mean?" + +"I suppose so," answered Sarah, who was a girl who thought about +things. "Every thing good is from Him. I don't see where else it could +have come from." + +"I am so glad I could do it," said Kit. "How dreadful it would have +been if the snake had bitten Eddy! She might have been dead by this +time." + +"And suppose it had bitten you?" + +"Well, that wouldn't have mattered so much, for I am not anybody's girl +as Eddy is. I suppose Symantha would have been sorry, though, because +she loves me. She said she did, yesterday." + +"She must be a queer woman if she didn't," said Sarah. "See, here is +Myra with some nice coffee for you." + +"Did you think I was ever so long?" said Myra, setting down her basket, +and taking the cover off a little tin pail which gave out a delicious +odor. "Ma made fresh coffee, and cut some cold chicken, because she +says you ought to try and eat a little. There, drink, little one. What +are you looking at?" For Kit was regarding the mug Myra handed her, +with a dazed expression, knitting her brows as if trying to recall +something. + +"At the mug," said Kit. "Somehow it makes me remember something, and +I can't tell what it is. It is just as if I had seen it before. I +remember those little blue folks on the bridge, and somebody telling me +a story about them." + +"I dare say you may have seen something like it," said Myra "It is very +old china. Ma's grandfather used to be a sailor, and he brought a great +many curious things from China and India. There, do drink your coffee: +it will be cold." + +"How good it is, and how good you all are to me!" said Kit. "I am so +glad uncle Phin came here to live! I hope we shall never move away. +Symantha says so too. She says she has been about the world all she +ever wants to." + +"Then you have moved a good many times?" said Sarah, who shared in +the general curiosity about Phin Mallory,—a curiosity not at all +unnatural in a place where everybody knew everybody, and everybody's +grandfathers, to the third and fourth generation. + +"Oh, yes! We have lived in five different places since I can remember. +St. Louis was the first I know. Then we went farther west to a new town +in Kansas, and then into the Indian country. I liked it there." + +"Were you not afraid of the Indians?" asked Myra, whose notions of that +people were derived from legends of the French and Indian war, still +current in Oldfield County. "I should be." + +"Oh, no, you wouldn't, not of those Indians. They were real nice folks, +and so kind to us, especially when aunt Martha was sick. They were +good Christians too. Uncle Phin was away a good deal; and sometimes, +when he staid over Sunday, I used to go to their church. I was very +little then, but I remember the beautiful singing, and the prayers they +used,—little bits of them. 'We have strayed like lost sheep,' that was +one; I knew it the minute Mr. Weston read it last night. And the people +used to say, 'Good Lord, deliver us,' when the minister prayed. But we +didn't stay there long. Uncle Phin says the Indians are treacherous +dogs, no better than wolves, but I like them." + +"Have some more coffee," said Myra. "Well, where did you go then?" + +"We didn't stay long anywhere; we just travelled about. Finally we came +here, and I do hope we shall stay!" + +"So do I," said Myra. "You must learn all you can, in case you have to +go away again. Do you feel better?" + +"Oh, yes! I am quite well now. I guess I will go into school. Thank you +for the coffee and for being so good to me." + +"Please ask Miss Armstrong to step to the door," said Myra, gathering +up her basket and other matters. "Mother sent me on an errand to her, +and I nearly forgot it." Myra's errand was, to ask Miss Armstrong to +come to her mother's house to tea that afternoon. + +"Mrs. Weston is coming, and so are Miss Celia and Miss Delia: that's +all, only I suppose Aunt Betsy will turn up, as usual; oh, yes! and +Patience Fletcher, if she can get away. Do come, Miss Armstrong. Ma +wants to see you so much, and I want you to see grandma. She is such a +dear old lady!" + +Miss Armstrong smiled, and promised to come. She would have preferred +to spend her half-holiday quietly. But she knew this party was made for +her, and she had been used, all her life, to putting herself out of the +question. + +Of course, all the children went home with their heads and mouths full +of the snake story, which lost nothing in the telling. Kit was the only +one who did not mention it. + +Agnes Gleason told of it at the table. She had gone to her mother's +room the evening before, and opened her heart to her with some +misgivings, for Mrs. Gleason was not a woman who made any profession +of religion. She was agreeably surprised at the way in which her +communication was received. + +"I am just as glad as if you had given me a fortune, and more," said +Mrs. Gleason. "I always have hoped you would be a Christian." + +"You never said any thing about it to me, ma," said Agnes. "I've +wondered sometimes why you didn't." + +"Well, I thought it wouldn't sound very well coming from one who made +no profession of religion herself. But you know, Agnes, I always have +kept you at Sunday school, and I have taken pains to have you learn +your catechism." + +"Yes, I know. Mrs. Martin used to say she wished all mothers would do +as much. I'm so glad you are pleased, ma. It makes me happier than I +was before," said Agnes, her eyes overflowing with joyful tears. + +"Well, I 'am' pleased," said Mrs. Gleason with emphasis. "But I want to +tell you one thing, daughter: I want you to join the church the very +first time there is a confirmation; that is, if you are sure you know +your own mind, and I guess you do. You are pretty apt to, I will say +that for you." + +"I think so," said Agnes. "I should like to be confirmed. It seems as +if that and the communion, and all, would be such a help and safeguard. +I thought perhaps you would think I was too young to come forward." + +"I don't," replied her mother. "Your grandfather Gleason was a minister +of great experience, and I have heard him say that the proportion of +backsliders among young church-members is much less than among those +who wait till middle life. And it stands to reason, too, because they +are not so fixed in bad habits." + +"How did it happen, ma, that you never were confirmed yourself?" asked +Agnes. + +"Well, it was just that way. We had a large class confirmed when I was +about your age. I was very serious at that time, and I wanted very much +to come forward. Dr. Munson was in favor of it; and probably, if my +parents had been alive, I should have done so. But I was living with +Aunt Betsy then, and she was against it. She said I was too young to +understand what I was about, and not serious-minded enough, and so on; +and she wouldn't give her consent. Then I went away to Elmsbury, and +there I fell in with a good deal of gay society; and—Well, I don't know +how it was, but I lost my hope, and never found it again. And sometimes +I think I never shall," added Mrs. Gleason sadly. "Aunt Betsy always +says it shows she was right about me." + +"I think it shows she was wrong," said Agnes. + +"And so do I. I have got to answer for myself, of course, but I can't +help blaming her for part of it. And I made up my mind that I should +take a very different course with you." + +"I am so glad!" said Agnes. "But, ma," she added timidly, "why don't +you come forward now? It would be so sweet for us to go together. We +always have been together in every thing, you know, ever since I was a +little girl." + +"Yes, I always have made a companion of you. Sometimes I'm afraid I put +too much on you." + +"No, you don't either," said Agnes, with some indignation. "There isn't +a girl in Oldham has better times than I do, only for—" + +"Only for the summer boarders," said Mrs. Gleason as Agnes paused. +"Well, I hope we shall not have to take them again. I have calculated +that this season will pay off the mortgage, and after that we shall be +easy enough." + +"But won't you think about it, ma?" + +"Child, I have thought enough, if that would do any good. But, I don't +know how it is, my heart seems as hard as the nether millstone, or like +the Bald Rock on Indian Hill, where neither sun nor rain will make any +thing grow." + +"But we can 'do' right, whether we 'feel' right or not," said Agnes. + +"There is something in that," replied her mother. "But we must not talk +any more to-night. Go to bed, dear, and I will come as soon as I have +set the bread.—Bless the child! I only wish her dear father knew it," +added Mrs. Gleason to herself as she went about her bread. "I wish that +Milly Richmond wasn't here: she is one of those birds of the air we +read of in the parable. But I don't think my girl is a wayside hearer." + +"I shall not dare to step out of doors all the time I am here," was +Milly Richmond's comment on the snake story. + +"You will get rather tired of that," said Mrs. Gleason. "I have known +several 'snake summers' since I have been here, but I have seldom +known of any one's being hurt. It was a narrow escape for little Eddy, +however, and for Kit herself. I can't think how the child should know +just what to do." + +"She asked Sarah if she didn't think it was the Lord who showed her," +said Agnes, "and Sarah said she didn't doubt it." + +"Oh, I didn't know Sarah had taken up the pious dodge," remarked Milly, +with a sneer. "Does the new teacher go in for that kind of thing?" + +"What kind of thing?" asked Agnes. Then, as Milly only laughed, she +added, "Miss Armstrong is a Christian woman, if that is what you mean; +and we like her the better for it." + +"Of course she is. Don't you know, Milly, we heard all about her from +Miss Brown? She is a great friend of old Mrs. Van Zandt and that set," +said Mrs. Richmond, who would have given one of her fingers for a call +from aunt Barbara at her fine new house. "I wonder what brought her up +here." + +"Perhaps she came on a mission to convert the natives," said Milly, who +never lost an opportunity of showing that she looked down on the people +where she spent her summers. "Maybe she will convert you, Agnes." + +"Maybe she has," said Agnes. "So much the better for me." + +"Grandfather Gleason used to say that conversion is not the work of +man, though man may be the honored instrument," said Mrs. Gleason. +"Agnes has got a great deal of good from Miss Armstrong already, and I +hope she may get more. It is a pity you would not try going to school +to her yourself, Milly. Perhaps she might do something, even for you." + +Milly curled her lip and tossed her head. But she had come off second +best in more than one encounter with her hostess, and she did not care +to try another. She made up her mind, however, that if Agnes had taken +up any such notions, she would soon laugh her out of them. Mrs. Gleason +had rightly called her one of the birds of the air. But such birds have +no power over the seed sown in good ground; it is only that which falls +on the hard-trodden wayside which becomes their prey. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +TWO TEA-PARTIES. + +WHEN Mrs. Weston and Miss Armstrong entered Mrs. Bassett's front +parlor, they found the rest of the company assembled, and were welcomed +by their hostess with "Why, how late you are! I was most thinking you +were not coming. I'm afraid you're growing fashionable, Abby." + +"Not a bit," answered Mrs. Weston. "It was not fashion that kept me, +but flour. Mr. Bassett was so late with the grist that he made me late +with my Saturday's baking; and I didn't like to leave it all to Selina." + +"Do tell!" said Mrs. Bassett. "Pa has been very much driven with work, +and Mr. Cook being sick puts him about. But where is Selina? I thought +she would come too." + +"I left her to keep house. She has to be elder daughter, now Lizzy is +gone." + +"Well, she must come another time.—Do take off your things, Miss +Armstrong. I'm so glad to see you! I believe you know everybody here +only Patience. Where is she? Oh, here she comes.—Patience, let me make +you acquainted with Miss Armstrong." + +"I feel as if I knew Miss Fletcher already through the children," said +Miss Armstrong, cordially shaking hands with Patience. "I hope Ednah is +none the worse for her adventure this morning. Poor child, she had a +terrible fright." + +"Oh, yes, with the snake," said Mrs. Bassett. "The scare was enough to +kill her." + +"I don't think she was as much frightened as Faithie was," answered +Patience. "She says herself she didn't have time. But it is dreadful to +think what would have happened only for Kit," she added, shuddering. "I +little thought, when I was fretting about that child's coming to school +with our young ones, what she was to do for them." + +"Which shows what I am always telling you, Patience,—that there is no +use in fretting and borrowing trouble," remarked Mrs. Bassett. + +"Kit seems a well-disposed child in every way, I think," said Miss +Celia, whose knitting-needles were pursuing their rapid, even rounds in +the corner. "She brought home my tortoise-shell kitten when it strayed +away. I can hardly think she belongs to these people." + +"She don't," returned Aunt Betsy, who had fulfilled Myra's prediction +by 'dropping in' a little before tea-time. "If she was a Mallory, we +should know something about her, at any rate. They took her out of +the poorhouse. I don't suppose anybody even knows whether she had a +grandfather." + +"It seems probable that she had one of some sort," said Mrs. Bassett. +"Folks don't often come into the world like mushrooms, without any +ancestors at all." + +"She must have come of a good family somehow," said Miss Celia with +mild persistence. + +"I do not think that so certain," remarked Miss Armstrong. "I have had +a good deal of experience with children in all positions, from what +might be called the top of the social ladder to the bottom; and I have +found all sorts of dispositions in all sorts of places. I have seen +most beautiful growths of goodness and self-sacrifice in the midst of +vice and ignorance such as you can have no idea of unless you have seen +it, and I have seen very extraordinary tendencies to wickedness among +children who had been most carefully brought up." + +"Well, you won't persuade 'me' that it don't make any difference +whether folks are respectable, decent folks, or loafers," said Aunt +Betsy. "Nobody will ever make me think 'that.'" + +"Anybody would be very foolish to try," said Mrs. Weston. "All Miss +Armstrong says is that good and bad dispositions do not depend entirely +upon family, or even upon training." + +"Exactly so," assented Miss Armstrong. "Other things being equal, +well-trained and well-nurtured children are likely to be better than +those who are neither; but there are exceptions in all cases." + +"To read some books, one would think that all people need, is to be +shown the right way, and they jump into it at once," said Miss Delia. +"I was reading one the other day, in which a young girl went to stay at +a country village for the summer, and converted everybody in it. Just +as if all one had to do was to catch folks, and do good to them!" + +"I know the class of books you mean, and I have a special objection to +them," said Miss Armstrong. "Old-fashioned people complain of novels +because they give false views of life, and I find fault with these +books for the same reason. Enthusiastic young people reading them are +apt, as you say, to think that all one has to do to reform people is to +set the good before them, and they take to it at once; whereas the fact +is that sinners in general are not wicked because they know no better, +but because they like wickedness the best." + +"Just so," assented Mrs. Weston. "Look at the case of Harry Burchard, +for instance," alluding to a somewhat famous burglar. "That fellow had +a good bringing-up, and learned a good trade; and the same enterprise +and ingenuity which made him such a successful burglar would have made +him an equally successful business-man." + +"And it was no want of grandfathers in his case," observed Miss Delia. +"He is a great-grandson of old Mr. Wheeler, who used to preach in +Oldbury in Revolutionary times. I've noticed in these same books, that +in all the church work, the pastor is of no account whatever: it is the +young folks that do every thing." + +"Talking of pastors, is it true that Mr. Brace is coming in two weeks?" + +"Quite true, I am glad to say," answered Mrs. Weston. "And that reminds +me of something I want to talk about." + +And Mrs. Weston forthwith plunged into the subject of the +church-cleaning. All present took up the matter with enthusiasm except +Aunt Betsy,—who was constitutionally opposed to every thing,—and +Patience Fletcher. Aunt Betsy thought it would never do to make such a +fuss about cleaning up the church: it would be as much as saying right +out that it was dirty; that would hurt Mr. Archimball's feelings, which +would be a shame after all the years he had taken care of the church. + +"All the years he hasn't taken care of it, you mean," said Mrs. +Bassett. "If Archimball had done his duty, things wouldn't be in the +state they are. I don't think we are bound to sit in the dirt all our +lives, to spare his feelings.—Well, Patience, what do you think?" + +"I think it is an excellent plan," answered Patience, "and I only wish +I could promise to help about it. But I don't see how I can, I've got +so much laid out to do next week." + +"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Bassett, laughing. "It is a pity, Patience, +that you hadn't a baker's dozen of children, so you could get a little +leisure. What is it that presses so dreadfully? Maybe I can help you a +little." + +"Well, I calculated to clean the spare bedroom, for one thing; and +there are the curtains to wash and do up, and the children's clothes to +see to. Eben and Eddy do make so much washing!" + +"Sakes alive! What would you do if you had my two big boys, besides Mr. +Bassett and the little ones? Come, Patience, let the spare room rest a +week. I tell you it isn't good for any one to work all the time in a +half-bushel. That's one reason why I am in favor of missionary work: it +gives one an outlook,—makes a window into the world, as it were.—Don't +you think so, Miss Armstrong?" + +"I certainly do, but perhaps I am an interested party," answered Miss +Armstrong, smiling. "I have been busy with missionary work of some sort +ever since I was eighteen, and even before, for my father and mother +were missionaries before me. But I think with you, Mrs. Bassett, that +we all need outside windows in our lives. I believe many an overworked +housekeeper would find her life lightened if she would interest herself +in something outside her own household." + +"Yes, it is easy to say that," said Patience, a little peevishly. "But +there is only just so much time, anyhow; and if it is full, it is full." + +"Very true," replied Miss Armstrong. "In that case we must consider +whether there is not something that can be turned out." + +"A man is to provide first for his own household," said Patience. + +"Very true again; but to provide what? That is the real question, you +see. Is a man bound to spend so much time heaping dollar upon dollar +for his sons that he has no time to know what sort of companions they +have, or where they pass their evenings? Or is a mother obliged to +spend so much time and labor providing Sunday finery for her little +daughter that she has no time to teach the child her catechism, or see +that she understands her Bible lesson?" + +"That is an extreme case," said Patience. + +"It is a very common case, I am sorry to say," answered Miss Armstrong. +"I know more than one mother of moderate means who thinks she has no +time to attend to her daughter's lessons, because she must dress the +child as finely as somebody else who has five times her income." + +"I don't think I put much finery on our children," said Patience. "But +I do like to have them look nicely,—as their mother would like to have +them look if she could see them." + +"I think you do keep them very nicely," said Miss Armstrong. "It is +easy to see that Eddy and Eben are not neglected for the sake of any +thing. I never saw two better-trained or pleasanter children." + +Patience's pale cheek flushed with pleasure. These two babies, left her +by her fair young stepmother, herself a dear friend and playmate, were +as the apple of her eye. + +"Pa and Faithie deserve most of the credit of that," said she frankly. +"Perhaps I do think too much about my housekeeping and all that. You +see, I was left in charge when I was very young, and I felt such a +responsibility. Even when mother Hester came, she was such a delicate +little thing, I felt I ought to spare her all I could. And she staid +with us such a little time,—only a year and a half—" + +"It was a dreadful foolish thing of your father, marrying that child, +and when every one knew her family was consumptive," said Aunt Betsy. + +"I don't think so," returned Patience. "It was one of the best things +that ever happened in our house. Hester was like a sunbeam, or like an +angel that came to make a visit, and then went back to heaven again. +Eddy is just like her." + +"Yes, I expect she'll inherit the disease," rejoined Job's comforter. +"She has just Hester's clear blue eyes and red cheeks." + +"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Bassett. "Eddy is as tough as a little knot. +That is another notion that does no end of harm,—I mean, thinking a +girl must needs have the consumption because her mother had it. My +grandfather was bitten in two by a sperm whale, but I don't expect that +is going to happen to me." + +"Whales don't run in families," said Aunt Betsy with dignity, while all +the rest laughed: "consumption does." + +"Whales have run in my family for a good many generations,—ever since +Nantucket folks took to catching them," said Mrs. Bassett. "But, as to +Ednah, I do hope nobody will put such an idea in the child's head. I do +believe prophecies of that kind sometimes bring their own fulfilment." + +"I think you are right, Mrs. Bassett," said Miss Armstrong. "I have +known of at least one case in which melancholy insanity was brought on, +apparently from no other cause than the one you mention." + +"Talking of insanity brings us round to Kit again," said Mrs. Weston. +"I do wish something could be done for that child. I spoke to Symantha +about her coming to Sunday school; and she said she should have no +objection herself, but there was no use in talking to her father: he +would never allow it, and would only be angry. I think she feared, +though she did not say so, that he would visit his anger on the child." + +"Yes, I know," added Mrs. Bassett. "He told pa he hated the very name +of God. + +"'That's queer,' says pa, 'to hate somebody you don't believe in. I'd +never trouble myself to hate a man if I believed there was no such +person,' says pa. + +"And Phin never said another word. Well, we must just bear poor Kit on +our minds, and maybe some way will be opened. She seems to have a sense +of religion, too, from all I hear. Myra says she asked Sarah Leet if +she didn't think the Lord told her how to catch the snake." + +"No doubt He did," said Miss Delia, "but it isn't every one that would +have minded as quick as she did. Some folks would have said, 'Oh, dear! +Lord, I can't: I'm afraid.'" + +"Good-afternoon, ladies. Settling all the affairs of the parish, I +expect," said Mr. Bassett, appearing at the parlor door in his dusty +miller's coat, his hair and face white with flour. + +Mrs. Bassett looked scandalized. + +"Now, pa, what do you mean coming in like that? Do go and dress +yourself. There's your clean things all laid out for you, and you come +in all over flour. I do declare, I never saw such a man! Go and get +dressed, there's a dear, for I expect Myra has got tea all ready." + +Mr. Bassett indulged in a jolly laugh as he withdrew, which was echoed +from the great kitchen where Myra and her little sisters were getting +tea. Such laughs were common in the Bassett family. The household was +one of those through which a fresh, warm gale seems always blowing, +making a good deal of noise and stir, but keeping every thing bright +and sweet. + +"Did you ever see such a man?" said Ma Bassett, appealing to the +company in general, with wifely and motherly pride shining all over her +comely face. "And he makes the children as bad as he is. Such hands to +laugh, I never saw." + +"The crackling of thorns under a pot, that's what Scripture calls it," +said Aunt Betsy, who always resented a laugh as though it must needs be +directed at herself. + +"That is the laughter of fools," returned Miss Delia, bristling a +little in defence of her host. "And I, for my part, would rather hear +thorns crackling under a pot than the east wind screeching through a +keyhole." + +Aunt Betsy betook herself to her snuff-box, her usual refuge when +worsted. + +"Never mind, Delia; we all know Aunt Betsy's bark is worse than her +bite," said Ma Bassett. "Ladies, will you walk out to supper?" + +At the tea-table, the subject of the church-cleaning was renewed. Mr. +Bassett approved heartily. + +"Such a piece of work ought to be easy here," remarked Miss Armstrong: +"you all seem so united." + +"Yes, we are very fortunate in that," answered Mr. Bassett. "There has +never been any church here but ours. There is a small Methodist society +over at the cross-roads; very nice folks they are too, I must say." + +"I don't see how you can say that," interrupted Aunt Betsy. "Joe Hilton +belonged to them, and he got drunk at the county fair, and gambled away +his cow." + +"There are black sheep in every flock," said Miss Delia. + +"And they took him back again, and he belongs there now," continued +Aunt Betsy triumphantly, as though she considered the niceness of the +Methodist folks forever disproved. + +"Yes, they restored him in the spirit of meekness," said Mr. Bassett. +"Poor Joe was a very hard case for many years before he joined the +Methodists; and it was no wonder, perhaps, that the old temptation +overcame him. He has worked for me all the spring, and I don't want a +better man." + +"Mr. Martin said the Methodist society was the natural refuge of the +lower classes," observed Myra. + +"Yes, I know he did; and that foolish remark repeated did more harm +than he would ever do good. What business had he talking about upper +and lower classes? His father was a foundryman, and his mother kept a +little candy-shop to help them along." + +"That was no disgrace to them," observed Miss Delia. + +"Not a bit. It was an item to their credit, and ought to have kept him +from talking such nonsense." + +"What kind of a man was he?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"Well, he was a man of a good deal of talent and reading, but he did +not get on, somehow," replied Mr. Bassett. "I don't know as I could +tell what the matter was—" + +"The matter was, that he was always feeling abused, and complaining +because, as he said, he had no congenial spirits to associate with," +struck in Miss Delia. "He had a great notion of himself and his own +consequence, and thought himself buried in a country parish; and you +see no church likes to be looked upon in the light of a tomb," added +the little lady, laughing. "I hope Mr. Brace is not like that." + +"He is not," said Miss Armstrong. "He is not a man to think himself +buried anywhere, so long as he has work to do for his Master." + +"Then you know him?" + +"Oh, yes, I know him," answered Miss Armstrong: "we used to work +together in New York years ago. I think you will all like him very +much. He is very strong upon the proprieties of public worship," she +added. "I could not help thinking of him last Sunday when I happened to +notice that great cobweb in the corner over the organ." + +"And that brings us to the church-cleaning again," said Ma Bassett, +whose womanly eye saw that Miss Armstrong was a little bit agitated. + +The subject was discussed in all its length and breadth. And before the +party broke up, it was quite settled that the two church-wardens should +take the first step toward calling a parish meeting. + +When the friends separated, Mrs. Weston and Miss Delia were deep in +some occult mystery concerning the coloring of carpet-rags, an art for +which the little lady was renowned, and Miss Armstrong and Patience +Fletcher walked on together. + +"How easy Mrs. Bassett does take every thing!" said Patience. "I wish I +was like her." + +"Is she always so?" asked Miss Armstrong. + +"Just the same, whatever happens. Even when her children were little, +and they were not as well off as they are now, she never fretted. She +always would take time to rest and read. I staid there once for three +weeks when father had small-pox. Every day after dinner, when she had +washed up the dishes and got the baby to sleep, she used to take her +Bible or some other book, and lie down for half or three-quarters of an +hour. Sometimes she would read, and sometimes she would take a little +nap, but she always got up as fresh as a daisy." + +"I suspect that is one secret of her cheerfulness," said Miss +Armstrong. "She takes time to rest, and to feed her spirit." + +"Well, I wonder if that is what ails me," said Patience. + +"Does any thing ail you?" asked Miss Armstrong. "I thought you were a +happy woman." + +"Well, I am not," answered Patience. "I don't know what the matter is, +either. It is all right enough outside, if I did not have quite so much +to do. But I don't know how it is, I don't have any peace or joy in +religion. I pray, of course, and go to communion, but I don't have any +comfort in it. My prayers never seem to get outside of the room." + +"Since the Hearer of prayer is undoubtedly in the room, there is, +perhaps, no need of their getting out," said Miss Armstrong. "I +understand the feeling, however, and it is a very sad one. But, Miss +Fletcher—" + +"Call me Patience, please. Everybody does." + +"So I will, for it is a favorite name of mine. Are you sure, Patience, +dear, that you are not starving your soul all this time? It must have +nourishment, you know, as well as the body. Excuse the freedom of the +question, but do you take time enough for your devotions?" + +"I don't suppose I do," answered Patience. "I am so hurried in the +morning, and at night I am so tired." + +"But during the day, while the children are at school—" + +"Yes, I know, but there always seems some sewing or cleaning to do, +that takes up the time." + +"Are you sure that all that sewing and cleaning are necessary? Or, if +it is, why not leave some of it for Faith when she comes home? She +ought to help you a good deal." + +"Well, she does; and she would like to help me a great deal more. +She isn't a bit of a shirk, Faith isn't. But—Well, the fact is, Miss +Armstrong, I have my own ways and plans; and, if things are not done +just exactly so, it puts me out, and makes me uncomfortable." + +"Isn't it possible that you are making idols of your own ways and +plans?" asked Miss Armstrong gently. + +"Idols?" repeated Patience, as if a little offended. "I don't know what +you mean." + +"An idol is any thing which comes between us and God," said Miss +Armstrong; "whatever we set up in His place is an idol. Your ways and +plans may be ever so good; but if you allow them to take all your time +and thoughts—" Miss Armstrong paused, and added, "The cares of this +world, you know, can choke the Word as well as the deceitfulness of +riches." + +"Yes, I know," said Patience, "but if He sends the cares?" + +"The cares He sends don't often have that effect. It comes from +the cares we make for ourselves. Let me tell you a little story to +illustrate my meaning. I once attended a missionary meeting in a +certain city, and staid with a very kind lady with whom I was slightly +acquainted. The first meeting was in the afternoon, and I asked Mrs. +M— if she did not mean to go. She said it was impossible: she had been +busy all the morning, and expected to be busy all the afternoon. I +brought back with me another lady, who had been assigned to the same +quarters. When we sat down to tea, we had four kinds of cake and two +kinds of biscuit, besides a strawberry shortcake and some hot dish +or other. We could not have eaten the four kinds of cake and the +strawberry shortcake without risk to our lives; yet she must make them, +though she lost the whole day's meeting. Now, were that lady's cares of +the Lord's sending?" + +"I suppose not," said Patience, laughing, as it seemed in spite of +herself. "I don't think I am so bad as that, and yet I don't know. +Perhaps I am. But, Miss Armstrong, I talked to Mr. Martin when he +was here, and told him how I felt, and how little interest I had in +religion; and he said it was the state of my health,—that people always +felt so when they were not well, and that he was the same way himself." + +"I think that excuse is used far too often," replied Miss Armstrong. +"It seems your health does not hinder your taking such an interest in +your household matters that you can allow no one to help you. And if +so, why should it prevent you from being interested in your devotion?" + +"There is something in that," observed Patience. "Mr. Martin himself +was in a terrible taking because my Leghorn chickens were heavier than +his. Besides that, it seems as if our religion can't be worth much +if it is going to fail us when we want it the very most. Well, Miss +Armstrong, I should not wonder if you were right. Anyhow, I will think +it over." + +"And pray over it," said Miss Armstrong. "And, dear Patience, +remember that He who said, 'Seek first the kingdom of God and His +righteousness,' was one who knew every one of our burdens and +hinderances as well as ourselves, or better." + +"If one could always remember that," said Patience rather sadly. "Well, +good-night, Miss Armstrong. I am ever so much obliged to you." + +And Patience went home so full of thought that she actually failed +to remark that Faith had hung up the dish-towels endways instead of +lengthways, and had set up the teacups in twos instead of threes. + + +Another tea-party had been held that afternoon, quite as pleasant, +though smaller and more informal. + +"Kit," said Symantha after dinner, "don't you want to go up and play on +the mountain this afternoon? I'm going to clean up the kitchen, and I +want it all to myself." + +"Yes, indeed, I should like it!" answered Kit. "But I thought perhaps +you would want me to sit with aunt Martha." + +"No, she had a bad time this morning, and she will be sure to sleep all +the afternoon. I'll give you some gingerbread and a bottle of milk, so +you can have a picnic and a nice time reading. Wait a minute: I've got +something else for you." + +She left the room, and presently returned with a book bound in colored +calf, old but still in good preservation. + +"That was my grandmother's book," said she as she put it into Kit's +hands. "I found it this morning on the top shelf of a cupboard in the +back room. Take good care of it." + +Kit opened the volume, which proved to be a copy of the "Pilgrim's +Progress" and "The Holy War" bound together. + +"Oh, how glad I am!" she exclaimed. "Now I can read it all. Thank you, +Symantha." + +"I was looking for a Bible for you; and perhaps I shall find one yet, +somewhere," said Symantha. "There ought to be one about the house, I +should think." + +"I have got a Testament," said Kit timidly. + +"Have you? Where did you get it?" + +Kit told the story. Symantha listened with her face turned away. + +"Don't let pa or Melissa see it or know any thing about it," was her +comment. "Keep it hid away. After all, I don't see why he should care," +she added, speaking more to herself than to Kit. "If it is all a dream, +at least it is one that gives people comfort; and there is not too much +of that in the world." + +"But it isn't all a dream, I am sure it isn't," said Kit with tearful +earnestness. "I don't know as I could tell you why,—I am only a little +girl,—but I am just as sure it is true as that I am alive." + +"Well, child, think so if it does you any good. I wish I did, though I +am badly off if it is," Symantha added with a bitter smile. "But there, +run along, and have a nice time. Pa and Melissa have gone to Oldbury, +and won't be at home till night, so you can stay as long as you like." + +Kit kissed Symantha, and betook herself to her favorite place on the +hill. + +As she came round the end of the ledge, she saw two figures ascending +from the other side, carrying a basket between them. And her heart beat +with pleasure as she recognized the two young ladies from the stone +house. + +"Oh, I do hope they are coming here!" she said to herself. She was not +mistaken. + +"Here is our little hostess," said Ida. "I hoped we should find her. +Kitty, my dear, will you lend us the use of your summer parlor this +afternoon, and join us in a picnic? You see we have brought our basket." + +Kit never knew exactly how she answered. But certain it is, neither of +her guests found any fault with their welcome. + +"Now, where shall we put our provisions, to keep them fresh and cool +till we want them?" asked Amity. + +For answer Kit moved away a thin slab of stone, and showed a deep, +shady cavity, which seemed to be of some size. + +"I call that my spring-house," said she. "There really is a spring in +there. If you listen, you will hear it." + +Both the girls bent down, and distinctly heard the silvery plash of +water-drops in the little cave. + +"How very pretty!" said Amity. "If we lighted a match, we might see the +whole of it." + +"I don't know as I want to," replied Kit a little shyly. "I like to +think it is a great, deep cave with jewels and all kinds of beautiful +things, and a lovely lady like the one in my old fairy-book." + +"Exactly," said Ida. "I understand. You and I like to imagine, while +Amity wants to go to the bottom of every thing with a match and a +candle. However, we won't disturb your romance, Kitty. And now what +shall we do to amuse ourselves? What book have you there?" + +Kit displayed her treasure. + +"What a nice old copy!" said Amity. "See, Ida, what a beautiful title +page, with the warriors of 'The Holy War' winding down one side, and +Christian and Hopeful toiling up the other. Suppose we take turns in +reading aloud, Ida: I dare say Kitty will like to hear some of her +book. And then you shall give us some music.—You will like that, won't +you, Kitty?" + +"Oh, yes, ma'am!" answered Kit with sparkling eyes. "But perhaps you +and Miss Van Zandt would rather read your own books," she added with +instinctive politeness, glancing at the volumes the girls had taken +from their basket. + +"No, indeed!" answered Ida. "The 'Pilgrim's Progress' is just the book +for such a place and such an afternoon." + +"Well, don't let us waste all our time getting ready," said practical +Amity, producing her knitting, which her friends were wont to consider +as much a part of herself as her fingers. "Begin at the beginning, Ida." + + "'As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a +certain place where was a den; and I laid me down in that place to +sleep.'" + +How many children during the last two hundred years have had their +attention arrested, and their imaginations charmed, by these words! +I know of no book which gains more by being well read aloud than the +"Pilgrim's Progress." And Ida read aloud uncommonly well, having been +thoroughly trained in that most desirable accomplishment by her mother +and aunt Barbara. I do not mean to imply that she was that fearsome +creature, an elocutionist. On the contrary, she read like a lady, in a +clear, soft voice, with due emphasis, and attention to stops. + +Kit sat with folded hands, and listened as in a happy dream. The +weather was perfect, sunny but not too bright, with fleecy clouds +passing over the blue sky,— + + "Shepherded by the soft, unwilling wind," + +which did not reach the sheltered hillside. She felt a pleasure in +the pretty calico dresses and well-suited colors, the glossy hair +and becoming hats, of the young ladies, in their well-trained voices +and manners, and above all in the wonderful story. She did not, of +course, understand it fully,—it is a book wherein the most experienced +Christian may find much to ponder,—but she had a general idea of the +meaning; while to her Christian and his wife, Obstinate and Pliable, +Mr. Worldly Wiseman and the keeper of the wicket gate, were as real as +uncle Phin and Mr. Bassett and all the other people she saw every day. +Kit often looked back on that day as one of the happiest of her life. + +"Now we will have some music," said Amity after they had got Christian +safely to the House Beautiful. "What will you sing, Ida?" + +"What would Kitty like to hear?" asked Ida. + +"Please, would you sing the hymn they sang in the schoolhouse the other +night?" asked Kit with bashful eagerness. "The first one, I mean." + +Ida complied, and sang that most beautiful of hymns all through; Kit +listening meanwhile as if her life depended on not losing a note. + +"That is lovely!" she said, more to herself than to Ida, when the hymn +was finished. "I think I could sing it now if I knew the words." + +"Can you sing?" asked Amity. + +"Yes, ma'am, I could always sing every thing I heard; but I never had +a chance to learn many hymns. I can sing 'Swing low, sweet chariot,' +through." + +"Sing it," said Amity. + +And Kit complied. Her voice, of course, was quite uncultivated. + +"You ought to take singing-lessons," remarked Ida. "I suppose you never +had any." + +"No, ma'am. I never had lessons in any thing till I came here, only +Symantha taught me to read and write, and to sew; and sometimes I would +go to school a few weeks at a time, but not very often." + +"You don't remember any thing about your mother?" + +"No, ma'am, not really. Sometimes when aunt Martha is pretty quiet, +and especially when I look at her asleep, she makes me think about +my mother, but I can't tell why. Melissa says my mother died in the +poorhouse, but she is such a liar I never believe any thing 'she' +says," concluded Kit in a matter-of-fact tone which scandalized Amity. + +"Hush, hush!" said she. "Little girls should not call people liars." + +"Not when they tell lies?" asked Kit. "Melissa does; you 'can't' +believe a word she says about any thing." + +Ida bent down to hide a smile, and Amity found it convenient to change +the subject. + +"Does not Symantha tell you any thing about your mother?" + +"No, ma'am. I asked her once or twice, but she did not answer; and I +saw she did not like it, so I didn't say any more. Symantha has so much +trouble, and she is so good to me, I don't like to do any thing to +bother her." + +"Quite right," said Amity. "But you say you do not think you lived in +the poorhouse. Why?" + +Kit knitted her brows, and her eyes assumed the far-off look they +always took when she tried to recall her faint recollections of her +former home. + +"Because of things I can recollect," said she. "I remember sitting on +the floor, and tracing out the pattern of the carpet with my finger. +When I saw Mrs. Blandy's carpet hung out, I thought of it. And I +remember a gray bird in a round cage, and—I know that can't be true +though—it seems just as if it could talk." + +"I dare say it did," said Ida. "Probably the bird was a gray parrot. +But don't you recollect any lady that took care of you, and that you +called mamma or mother?" + +"No, not really," said Kit. "Whenever I try, it seems for a minute as +if I did; and then she gets all mixed up with aunt Martha. Only there +is one thing I have thought of since you said that name Kathleen," +added Kit eagerly. "I know that is my name; and somebody, I don't know +who, used to sing a song about Kathleen,—'Kathleen My—' something. I +think I should know the tune if I heard it: I always do remember tunes." + +"Was this it?" asked Ida. And she sang a verse of the beautiful Irish +song,— + + "Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking." + +She had not finished the verse when Kit broke in, her eyes and cheeks +blazing with excitement,— + +"That is it, that is it! I have dreamed it sometimes, but I never could +remember it when I was awake. Oh, I know it was my mother that sang +that!" And she burst into such a passionate fit of crying and sobbing, +that the girls were alarmed. + +"Hush, my dear. Don't cry so; you will be sick," said Amity, putting +her arm round the child. "There, try to quiet yourself." + +Kit made a violent effort, and succeeded in regaining some degree of +composure. "I can't think what makes me cry so easy," she said as she +wiped her eyes. "I cried about the snake this morning. I think it must +be because my hand keeps me awake nights." + +"Perhaps so. Is your hand so bad?" + +"Yes, ma'am; it is very sore." + +"What was it about the snake?" asked Ida, looking nervously about her. +She was dreadfully afraid of snakes, and was always suspecting them in +every possible locality. + +"Oh, there are none here," said Kit, seeing Ida's movement. "I never +saw a snake on this hill. It was down at the schoolhouse. I think it +did scare me, for I have felt shaky ever since." + +"But what was it?" persisted Ida. + +Kit told the story in as few words as possible. + +"You dear, brave little thing!" exclaimed Ida. "How could you do it? It +makes me shudder to think of it." + +"Well, it wasn't 'nice,'" said Kit emphatically: "it felt so cold and +horrid! I felt as if I wanted to wash my hands a dozen times over." + +"I don't wonder. But don't let us talk about it any more now," said +Amity. "I think we had better have our tea. I don't know how you two +feel, but I am hungry." + +"I have got some gingerbread and milk, if you like it," said Kit +modestly. "Symantha makes real nice gingerbread." + +"That will be a fine addition to our feast. Come, Ida, let us set the +table; and Kit shall be the company, and look on." + +Never was any thing so pretty, Kit thought, as the little china plates +and cups produced from the basket, never any thing so wonderful as +the spirit-lamp over which Amity heated up the tea, or so nice as the +sandwiches and sponge-cake. + +When all was ready, Ida made a sign to Amity, who bent her head and +said a simple grace. Kit looked on with awe. It was the first time she +had ever seen or heard of such a thing. + +The girls ate their supper with abundance of jokes and laughter. Kit +had not much appetite, but she enjoyed the delicate sandwich, and the +fragrant cup of tea which helped the headache she had carried all day. + +"Well, we have had a very nice time," said Amity after she had repacked +the basket. "Now, Kitty, what can we do for you?" + +"You have done too much for me now," replied Kit. "I never had such a +nice time in my life. Only—" + +"Only what?" asked Ida. + +"I wish I had the words of that hymn," said Kit, blushing. "I think +I could sing it sometimes if I knew the words. And that about the +shadow of the wing is so nice: it makes me think of the little chickens +running under the old hen when it rains, or they are scared." + +"That is what it means," said Ida. "Let me tell you a verse in the +Bible about that: + + "'He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou +trust' (Ps. xci. 4). + +"You shall have the hymn, Kathleen. I will send you a little book +which has it and a good many more. I will give it to Miss Armstrong +to-morrow. Good-night, my dear. I hope we shall have another nice +picnic some time." + + +When Amity and Ida reached home, they told Mrs. Van Zandt what Kit had +said, and how she remembered the song. + +"I do believe she is Kathleen Joyce's child," said aunt Barbara. "But +how should she come into these people's hands, and why should they wish +to keep her away from every one?" + +"I was struck with one thing she said," remarked Ida,—"that when she +thought of her mother, she always got her mixed up with aunt Martha. Do +you suppose it possible that she can be Mrs. Mallory's child?" + +"It does not seem likely," said Mrs. Van Zandt. "Why should they wish +to conceal it?" + +"There might be some money in the case," said Ida. + +"It is possible. I heard that Kathleen's husband became quite wealthy +at one time, from some fortunate speculation." + +"Did she never write to you after her marriage?" asked Amity. + +"Never," answered Mrs. Van Zandt sadly. + +"Perhaps her husband would not allow it." + +"I think that very likely; he never forgave my opposition to the match. +And some notion of loyalty to his memory might have kept her from +writing afterward." + +"It seems loyalty to his memory did not prevent her marrying again," +said Amity. + +"That is different, as the children say," replied Mrs. Van Zandt. "And +besides, we do not know that it is the same person." + +"Some people would consider poor Kathleen's conduct as an argument +against the adoption of children," said Amity. + +Mrs. Van Zandt smiled rather sadly. + +"I have heard of other than adopted daughters making runaway matches," +said she. "Moreover, on looking back, I can see where I was myself to +blame in Kathleen's case. I indulged and petted her beyond all reason. +I allowed her to please herself in all things, and never taught her to +exercise self-denial or self-control. Spoiled children are not often +grateful to their spoilers; and, indeed, I do not know why they should +be. Well, my dears, we must keep our eyes on this poor little girl, +and try to befriend her. Whoever she may be, she is one of the Lord's +little ones. Perhaps the truth may come out some time. I am glad that +you have given her at least one pleasant afternoon." + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. + +KIT had hardly reached home when she saw her uncle drive into the yard, +and presently he entered the kitchen with Melissa. + +Phin's brow was dark, and he had an uneasy expression, as though (so +Kit said to herself) he had been doing something he was ashamed of. +Melissa, on the contrary, was in excellent spirits, and wore a decided +expression of triumph. There was something in the way she looked at Kit +which made the child feel uncomfortable, she did not know why. + +Phin hardly spoke, except to inquire for his wife, till after supper. +Then he turned to Kit, and asked, not unkindly,— + +"Well, Kit, how is your hand?" + +"It is very sore," said Kit: "I can't use it a bit, and it ached all +night almost." + +"What is it about the snake?" asked Melissa. "We stopped at the tavern, +and some one told pa a great story about your saving Fletcher's girl +from a snake." + +"It wasn't any great story," answered Kit composedly. "A copperhead +snake twisted round Eddy's leg, and I pulled it off and killed it." + +"Yes, that's a likely yarn," said Melissa contemptuously. "How did +you pull it off, I should like to know? And how did you know it was a +copperhead?" + +"I took it with my thumb and finger right behind its head, and +then stamped on it," answered Kit. "And Mr. Bassett said it was a +copperhead. But I knew it just as soon as I saw it." + +"I don't believe a word of it," said Melissa. + +"And I don't care whether you believe it or not," retorted Kit. + +Somehow Melissa always aroused all that was unamiable in the child's +disposition. + +Melissa delighted in teasing her, and found great amusement in the fits +of passion she sometimes provoked. + +"Well, well, you were a brave child, but you had no business to run +such a risk," was Phin's comment. "Suppose the snake had bitten you?" + +"Then I should have died, I suppose," replied Kit simply. + +"We don't want you to die just yet," said Phin with some show of +feeling. "You must hurry and get your hand well." + +"Why?" asked Kit, struck with something unusual in the tone. + +"Oh, because. Maybe I shall want you to do something for me," answered +Phin with assumed carelessness. + +"What is the use of mincing matters, pa?" asked Melissa. "The long and +the short of it is that we have got a place in Oldbury for Kit; and she +is going to it as soon as her hand gets well, so there!" + +And Melissa threw herself back in her chair with a glance which spoke +of satisfied and malicious triumph. + +"There will be two words to that," said Symantha dryly. "What sort of a +place?" + +"A place to wash dishes and wait on table at Stillwell's confectionery +and dining hall," answered Melissa. "They will give her a dollar and a +half a week, and perhaps more if she earns it." + +"Oh!" said Symantha in the same dry tone. "And what are they going to +give me?" + +"You?" said her father. "What do you mean?" + +"Kit, run out and let in the cows," said Symantha. "I mean what I say, +father," she continued firmly as Kit left the room. "That child is not +going to any such place as Stillwell's, or to any place at present; or +if she does, I go with her." + +"You do? And who is to take care of Martha and the work?" + +"I'm sure I won't," said Melissa. + +"That is your affair," answered Symantha. "All I know is, that, if Kit +goes to work in Oldbury, I go too." + +"What nonsense!" said Phin peevishly. "What is the child to you? +Besides, Melissa is going to work in the same place; and she can see to +the child if she needs any seeing to." + +"Melissa will have enough to look after herself if she goes to that +rum-hole," returned Symantha. "I should think, if she wants a place, +she might at least take a decent one." + +"I am not going into any one's kitchen when I can get four dollars a +week and lots of presents by standing behind a counter," said Melissa. +"However, you can settle it between you," she added, rising from the +table. "I am going over to Mariette Jewsbury's. I have been doing some +shopping for her." + +"I think you might stay and help do up the work," said her father. + +But Melissa only laughed as she slammed the door behind her. + +"See here, father," said Symantha gravely. "I want to talk about this +matter sensibly. You promised me, when I gave up every thing—as you +know I did—to stay with you, and take charge of ma, that I should +always have my own way about Kit. Haven't I kept my part of the +bargain?" + +"I don't deny that you have," answered Phin, "but a man can't always +keep his promises." + +"You must keep yours in this case, or I shall not keep mine," said +Symantha. "Just as surely as Kit goes to Oldbury, I shall go too. You +know best how you would get on without me." + +"You are a fool," said her father roughly, but evidently moved. "I tell +you, we ought to get her away from here. She grows more like her mother +every day. This old lady, Mrs. Van Zandt, is sure to see her; and then +there will be an inquiry, and all will come out, about the property and +all." + +"Well, let it come. It was foolish to make a secret of it in the first +place. You are not accountable for the property." + +"That is all you know about it. I tell you the child must go." + +"Then I must go, too, that's all," was the calm rejoinder. "And there +is another thing: I can't spare Kit. She can manage ma better than +anybody, and sometimes when I can't do any thing with her; and it is +every thing to keep her quiet." + +"That is true; and, if Melissa goes away, you will need her help about +the work," said Phin, evidently wavering in his purpose more and more +as he saw the steadfastness of his daughter. "Perhaps you had better +keep her out of school." + +"I don't want to do that. She is getting on nicely, and making good +friends." + +"Yes, that is one trouble. She makes too many friends." + +"It won't be a trouble if you don't make a fuss about it. Please listen +to me, father. I have been a dutiful daughter to you, haven't I? I +don't set up for goodness, but you know whether I have been that." + +"Yes, my girl, you have," said her father with feeling. "I don't deny +it. You have stuck to me through thick and thin, as very few girls +would have done." + +"Then, if I have, give me my way in this," pleaded Symantha. "Let me +keep Kit. If I can find the right kind of place for her, I will let +her go by and by. But let me keep her now. Don't send her straight to +ruin. Melissa is a woman, and must go her own way. But don't send the +innocent child into such a place as Stillwell's." + +And, to her father's amazement and alarm, Symantha burst into tears. He +had never seen her cry before, since she was a child. + +"There, there, my girl, have your own way, and don't cry," said he. "I +didn't think you cared so much about it. Her arm is too sore to do any +thing now, and I can make that an excuse to Stillwell. There, do stop +crying. I won't say any thing more about it just now, at any rate." + +"Thank you, father," said Symantha, trying to check her sobs. + +Phin's lip twitched. "It is little you have to thank me for," he said +in a husky voice. "I've thrown away your life as well as my own." + +"You needn't throw it away,—any more of it, I mean," said Symantha. +"Now we have got this place, why can't you settle down and be steady? +The farm isn't a bad one for dairy-work, and the cows are good and +growing better. I'll do my share if I work my fingers off." + +"Yes, I dare say you would, but—Well, there is no use talking," said +Phin gloomily. "There is no such thing as a man's breaking away from +his past life. It will come after him. But never mind that. You shall +have your way about Kit. Poor girl, you don't have much comfort of your +life, anyhow." + +A few minutes afterward, Phin had occasion to go to the barn-loft. +There was a small, roughly finished room in one end, which was a +favorite playing-place of Kit's in bad weather. Phin thought he heard a +voice, and peeped through a knot-hole. What did he see and hear? He saw +a young child on her knees, almost on her face, in an agony of prayer, +and heard over and over again,— + + "Oh, don't, don't let me go to that dreadful place, away from Symantha +and Miss Armstrong and all! Please do make uncle Phin let me stay here, +and do make him be a good man and believe in the Bible; and please +forgive him for burning me, for I don't think he meant to do it." + +When Phin reached the lower floor, he stamped his foot, and muttered as +if in anger, but his anger was not directed against Kit. + +When Melissa, in the course of the evening, said something about the +place at Stillwell's, she was promptly silenced. + +"Kit can't go now: her arm is too bad. And I don't know that I shall +let her go at all. We can't spare the only saint in the family. Eh, +Kit? Come here." + +Kit came trembling, for she never knew what to expect. + +"So you don't want to go and earn wages, and have all the candy you can +eat? You would rather stay with Symantha?" + +"Yes, I would," replied Kit, taking courage. "I don't care about candy, +and I don't want to go away. Please, uncle Phin, don't send me." + +"Well, I won't, then, not just now, at any rate. I thought perhaps you +would like a change. Is your arm so sore?" he asked, as Kit winced on +his touching it. "Let me see." + +He undid the arm tenderly enough. It was red and angry, and had the +peculiar odor of a bad burn. Phin looked grave over it. + +"If this is not better by Monday, we must take you to the doctor," +said he, carefully replacing the bandage. "You don't think I did it on +purpose, do you, if I did burn the book?" + +"No," answered Kit. "Anyhow, I cared more about the book than I did +about my arm." + +"I'll get you a prettier book than that some day. There, give me a +kiss, and go to bed." + +"Oh, very well," said Melissa in an affected tone of carelessness, +which nevertheless trembled with anger. "I'm sure I don't care. If pa +thinks he can afford to quarrel with Stillwell, it is nothing to me." + +Phin made no reply, and the matter was dropped. + + +Sunday morning rose warm and beautiful, with that indescribable +atmosphere of tranquil repose which belongs to Sunday in the country, +and especially in New England. By ten o'clock, however, the roads +were alive with teams of all sorts, from Mrs. Van Zandt's phaeton +and Mr. Weston's roomy family carriage, to old Miss Jewsbury's +venerable "one-horse shay," and Mr. Bassett's long wagon, with its +straight-backed, splint-bottomed wagon chairs, with its crickets and +cushions put in here and there for the accommodation of the smaller +fry, for Mrs. Bassett always took her children to church by the time +they were three years old. + +Manifold were the greetings and hand-shakings as groups of friends and +relations alighted at the horse-block by the door of the old church +on the green, and many and kind the inquiries for this or that one +detained at home by illness in their families. + +"No, Celia isn't out this morning," said Miss Delia. "She had one +of her bad headaches last night, and they always leave her kind of +prostrated for two or three days. Who is going to preach?" + +"I am not sure we shall have any one," answered Mr. Weston, to whom the +question was addressed. "Mr. Martin sent word the last minute that he +could not come—" + +"Just like him," interposed Miss Delia. + +"Oh, come, you mustn't be hard on him. Perhaps he couldn't help it," +said Mr. Weston. "Dr. Chase drove over to Oldbury last night to see if +he could find any one, but whether he succeeded or not, I don't know. +However, we shall soon find out." + +"Well, I shall be glad when we have a settled minister again.—How is +your mother, Agnes? I see she isn't out." + +"No: Mrs. Richmond and Milly wanted to come, so ma staid at home with +Cordelia. I am going home after Sunday school, so she can come this +afternoon." + +"How do you do, Mrs. Richmond?" said Miss Delia as that lady sailed up +the steps attired in a silk which had once been rich and handsome, but +was now decidedly the worse for wear. + +Mrs. Richmond had a way of wearing out her old finery in the country. +She seldom went to church in Oldham, or, indeed, anywhere else. But she +had a desire to get, as she said, a good look at Mrs. Van Zandt. She +acknowledged Miss Delia's greeting with great condescension; while her +daughter did not notice it at all, but hastened on to speak to Selina +Weston. + +"Well, Selina, how have you been? I've been looking out for you all +the way. I have wanted to see you so! You don't know how often I have +thought of you." + +"Yes, you must have thought of me very often," answered Selina coolly, +"you wrote to me so many times." + +"Oh, my dear, you don't think how many engagements I have in town. +And besides, I don't know how it is, I haven't any taste for writing +letters: I can't express what I feel, and writing seems so cold and +heartless. But I have thought of you, whether you believe it or not. +I should have come over to your house yesterday, only we were so busy +getting settled, and poor Cordelia was so tired with the journey." + +Amelia Richmond was one of those people whose very voices are +suggestive of flattery; a "palaverer," Miss Delia called her, but Miss +Delia was a little apt to be severe. + +"Do you sing in the choir now?" asked Amelia. Then, as Selina nodded, +"I mean to sit up there this morning, and then we can get together in +sermon time. Oh, you needn't look so shocked. I don't mean to talk, of +course, but just for the pleasure of sitting by you." + +"Come, then," said Selina; "it is time we were in our places." + +"Wait just a minute. I want to see the Van Zandts come in. Well, they +don't mean to hurt themselves dressing, but I suppose any thing is +good enough for the country, as ma says. Anyhow, if I was heiress to +half a million, like Miss Bogardus, I would wear something better than +satteen." + +"Her dress is elegantly made, though," said Selina, feeling all the +time that she ought not to be discussing such matters in church. "See +that other young lady. Doesn't she look like a cloud in all that soft +cream-color?" + +"You goose! It is only nun's veiling, and did not cost a cent over +fifty cents a yard," said Amelia, who estimated every thing by the +price. "Well, they are no great sight, after all. Here comes the +preacher, I suppose. Who is he? Some stupid old country parson, I dare +say." + +"Do be quiet," whispered Selina: "everybody will hear you. Come, we +must go up-stairs." + +"On second thoughts, I believe I will sit with ma," said Milly. "I want +to get a nearer look at Miss Van Zandt's dress." + +Selina was not sorry. She had been brought up to behave properly in +church; and greatly under Milly's influence as she was, she could not +bring herself to believe that whispering and laughing in the sanctuary +of God were any marks of high breeding. Selina had come to church more +than usually disposed to serious thought. She could not, perhaps, have +given any reason for her state of mind that day, but she felt almost +ready to say, once for all, that she would take a decided stand, and +enlist openly under the banner of her rightful King. She took her seat +quietly, arranged her books, and then opened her Bible to look over her +lesson. + +Oldham church was a simple, pretty building, quite plain but +comfortable, and perfectly adapted to the purpose for which it was +used, if it had been kept in order. But the green blinds were faded, +and rusty with the dust of many summers. The high white-glass windows +cast a light which, though dim, was by no means "religious," as the +poet has it, being darkened, not from being "richly dight," but by +successive deposits of dirt and cobwebs. Dust and flue lay in corners, +yes, even of the chancel itself. The chimneys of the kerosene lamps +were dark with smoke and fly-specks, and the lamps themselves looked as +if the wicks had not been changed since kerosene was invented. + +Of all the notable housewives who came thither to worship Sunday after +Sunday, not one, probably, would have allowed such a state of things, +even in her garret; yet they saw it in the house of God without even +a thought of incongruity. Now and then somebody would make a remark +about the dust or the smoke, but that was all. It was Mr. Archimball's +business. He was a most respectable man and a church-member, and nobody +liked to hurt his feelings by suggesting to him that his business was +not attended to. + +But somehow that clean-swept, well-aired schoolhouse had waked people +up wonderfully. Mr. Bassett sniffed the air as he entered, and said to +himself that it was "stuffy." And his wife saw the dust in the corner +by the stove as she had never seen it before. Patience Fletcher looked +at the windows, and thought she should really enjoy washing them. +And Mrs. Weston had to make an effort to withdraw her mind from a +calculation relative to the number of yards of new carpet which would +be required for the chancel and aisles. It is to be feared that more +than one feminine mind was a little distraught during the service. + +But dust and cobwebs and carpet were all forgotten when the preacher +began his sermon. He was an old gentleman, very plain and quiet in +appearance; and his voice, as he gave out the text, was somewhat low +and tremulous: + + "Come up hither, and I will show thee things which must be hereafter" +(Rev. iv. 1). + +He had not spoken five minutes when the attention of the whole +congregation was fixed as one man. It was not the brilliancy of his +style, which was simple with the simplicity of much reading and study: +it was his intense earnestness, and his evident deep conviction of +the awful truths which he set forth. The discourse was upon the "last +things,"—death and judgment, hell and heaven. Even poor, frivolous Mrs. +Blandy forgot to study the dress of the strangers in church, and almost +resolved that she would think more of these matters. To many of the +congregation, the words were as the bread of life. + +To say truth, Oldham had not of late been greatly favored in the matter +of preaching. Mr. Martin, the late rector, had prided himself on being +liberal and broad in his views. A clergyman, he thought, should keep +up with the interest of the day; so he talked much of science and +criticism, and gave his hearers hashes of certain monthly magazines, +slightly warmed and mildly seasoned with Scripture quotations, or +preached mild little moral essays, adapted, as he was wont to say, to +that class of minds which make up most country congregations. In truth, +Mr. Martin felt himself thrown away in Oldham; and he did not make +things any more pleasant for himself by saying so, and by his continual +complaints of the hardships of his position. He had at last given up +that position for the place of assistant in a large city church, but +the large city church had not found Mr. Martin any more congenial than +he had found the people of Oldham, and he was at present living at home +with his mother. + +But this present preacher spoke of things which every one wished to +hear. Agnes Gleason drank in every word, only wishing that her mother +was there. Selina listened intently, forgetting for the time to wonder +whether some one did not think Myra Bassett's voice better than hers. +She had naturally a fine taste, and she had read good books. She +appreciated the finished elegance of the discourse, but that was not +all. + +As the preacher, with the solemnity of deep conviction, set forth "the +things that must be hereafter," Selina felt that these were indeed the +real things which make life worth living, which give to worldly things +all the significance which they possess, which must have a being after +all the triumphs and treasures, the battles and victories, of this +world, are but forgotten dreams. She made up her mind that she would no +longer live as she had done; she would strive to live as a Christian +should, to fulfil the vows of her baptism: and then—here the little +mean bosom snake of envy reared its head—then father and mother would +think as much of her as they did of Lizzy. Selina was not to blame +for the voice of the tempter any further than that she had given him +encouragement before. She might have silenced him by refusing to listen +to him, but she did not. She began thinking, how much more devoted she +would be than Lizzy had ever been, how she would teach others, how she +would influence Milly Richmond, and make her a Christian, and, perhaps, +go on a mission, as Miss Armstrong had done. + +"But I won't come home the first minute I get sick. No, indeed! I +will die on the field of battle," she said to herself. And then she +recollected herself with a blush, and found she had lost the thread of +the discourse. + +"I won't be so silly again," she said to herself. "I believe I 'am' +always thinking about myself, as father says." + +She managed to elude Milly when she came down, and went straight into +Sunday school. + +"Wasn't that a noble sermon?" whispered Faith as Agnes and Selina came +into the class. "Don't you wish we could have him all the time?" + +"Yes, indeed. Who is he?" + +"Dr.— Somebody from New York, I did not catch the name. See, Mrs. Van +Zandt is speaking to him." + +"I wonder what we shall do for a teacher," said Agnes. "I am so sorry +Miss Celia isn't here. I wanted to see her particularly." + +"Perhaps Miss Armstrong will teach us," observed Faith. + +"No, she won't. The doctor has forbidden her teaching in Sunday school +this summer," replied Selina. "See there, girls; father is speaking to +Mrs. Van Zandt. I wonder if he is asking her to hear us. I wish she +would. She is so sweet-looking." + +"You will have your desire, then," said Agnes, "for here she comes." + + +"O mother, how I wish you had been in church!" said Agnes after Sunday +school, coming into the room where Mrs. Gleason was pouring out an +after dinner cup of tea for her boarders. "We did have such a noble +sermon!" + +"Is that so?" asked Mrs. Gleason. "Mrs. Richmond did not like it." + +"You see, it is not the kind of preaching I am used to," said Mrs. +Richmond in a tone which always seemed to say, "See how superior I +am." "In the city, one hears such a different style. You should hear +Dr. Madison,—that is an intellectual feast, though I admit that he is +rather old-fashioned. And such a congregation as he has! You can't hire +any kind of a pew for less than five hundred dollars." + +"It was Dr. Madison who preached this morning," said Agnes quietly, but +with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. + +"Nonsense!" said Milly. "A likely story, indeed, that Dr. Madison would +be preaching in a place like this!" + +"It could not be 'our' Dr. Madison," added Mrs. Richmond. "Very likely +that might be his name, however: it is not an uncommon one." + +"All I know is," said Agnes, "that Mrs. Van Zandt taught our class. Dr. +Madison came into Sunday school, and Mrs. Van Zandt introduced him to +us. He said a few words on the lesson. Afterward I asked Mrs. Van Zandt +where he preached, and she said in St. Timothy's Church in New York. +She goes there, so she ought to know." + +"Dear me!" said Mrs. Richmond. "I am so very short-sighted, and I am +sure the dear doctor did not do himself justice this morning. But he is +growing old, poor dear man." + +"Well, I never wish to hear a better sermon than he gave us this +morning," said Agnes. + +"You are a judge, no doubt," sneered Milly; "you have had so many +opportunities of forming a taste." + +"It is not a matter of taste exactly," said Agnes, getting hold of her +temper, which was in some danger of escaping from her control. "Dr. +Madison's sermon was just what I wanted to hear. It went straight to +the right spot, as poor Aunt Betsy says about her coffee. And what he +said in Sunday school was so nice. He did not talk baby-talk, as some +do, or tell funny stories, but spoke as if the children were rational +beings. You must go this afternoon, mother. Do get ready. I will do up +the work." + +"I believe I will go too," said Milly. "I want to see whether it was +really Dr. Madison." + +"I thought you would stay with Cordelia," remarked Mrs. Richmond. "I +want to lie down a while. My head aches very badly." + +"Oh, she won't want any thing," replied Milly carelessly. "You can just +as well lie down in her room." And, without saying more, she went away +to get ready for church. + +Her mother looked after her with a sigh. She often had occasion to +deplore Milly's selfishness, but it never occurred to her to think that +it was the direct result of her own training. + +"I will stay with Cordelia, Mrs. Richmond," said Agnes. "I will put the +dishes to soak, and wash them after supper. And you can lie down in my +room, and have a good sleep. I am sure you need it." + +This was something of a sacrifice for Agnes. She had been looking +forward to a quiet afternoon with her Bible. She was fond of Cordelia, +and sorry for her. But the poor, feeble child was often fretful and +hard to please, and Agnes sometimes thought she invented wants to keep +her attendants from sitting still. But Agnes had a new principle of +action within, which made her apply to herself the Golden Text she had +recited that very morning,—"For even Christ pleased not Himself." + +"Thank you, my dear; you are really very kind," said Mrs. Richmond. +Hard, worldly woman as she was, nothing touched her so quickly as +kindness shown to her sick child. "But I don't like to deprive you of +the pleasure of hearing your favorite preacher." + +"Oh, I shall hear him again some time," answered Agnes: "he is going +to stay at Oldfield all summer. And, besides, I did not mean to go to +church this afternoon, at any rate. My room is shady and cool, and I +hope you will have a nice nap. Don't you think I might draw Cordelia +out on the veranda? IL is sheltered on that side of the house, and the +air is lovely." + +"I should be very glad if you can persuade her to go out," said Mrs. +Richmond. "The doctor says she must have as much fresh air as possible, +but it is hard to get her to move." + +"You will have your hands full," said Mrs. Gleason as Agnes helped her +to put on her shawl. "The poor child is worse than I ever saw her." + +"Cross?" asked Agnes. + +"No, not exactly, but nervous and full of fancies. It seems she did +not want to come away from home. She says she knows she shall never be +well, and it is just tormenting her for nothing." + +"I believe she is right there," said Agnes. "She has failed a great +deal this winter. I wonder her mother doesn't see it." + +"Folks can't see what they won't see," was Mrs. Gleason's remark. +"Perhaps Cordelia may go to sleep, and then you can have a nice time +reading." + +But Cordelia had no mind to go to sleep. She had always been a delicate +child, and was now fading away in one of those mysterious "declines" +for which no reason can be given, suffering much at times from +neuralgia, and always from that nervous weakness which is still harder +to bear. + +"Where is mother?" was her first question. + +"She has a bad headache, and has gone to lie down. You can stand it +with me a little while, can't you?" asked Agnes cheerfully. + +"Why don't you go to church?" was the next sharp inquiry. + +"Because I staid at home to let mother go, and to take care of you." + +"I am sure that was very good of you," was the somewhat unexpected +answer. "I don't think I am very entertaining company." + +"We don't expect sick people to be entertaining," said Agnes. "But, +Cordelia, I wish you would let me put you in your chair, and take you +out of doors. You don't know how lovely it is." + +Cordelia objected at first, but suffered herself to be persuaded. + +Agnes wrapped her up carefully, and, putting her into her wheeled +chair, drew her out upon the broad old-fashioned "stoop" before the +front-door, which commanded a lovely view of field and mountain. + +"Isn't this nice?" said she as she settled her charge in the +pleasantest, shadiest corner, and arranged her wraps, for Agnes was a +born nurse. "Look, you can see the people going into church." + +"I wish I could go," said Cordelia with a deep sigh. "But I shall never +go anywhere again: I know that very well, for all they say about my +getting better." + +Agnes did not answer, except by a kiss upon the pale forehead. She knew +how to be silent when there was nothing to say. She brought her Bible, +and sat down on the step by Cordelia; and the two were quiet for some +time. + +"Who is that very dark, very old-looking man walking up the street?" +asked Cordelia at last. "There, he is just going up the church steps." + +"That is old Abner Kettle," answered Agnes. "He is the last +full-blooded Indian left anywhere about here. He is a hundred at the +very least. We know that, because he remembers the Revolution quite +well. He has a very nice little place of his own over on Indian Hill, +and works in his garden as well as any one, besides walking to church +every Sunday. We must ask him up here some day. You would like to hear +him talk." + +"And I am only fifteen, fifteen my next birthday, and I shall never +walk again anywhere," said Cordelia in a tone of deep sadness. "But +there, I won't bother you. Read your book in peace. What is it?" + +"The Bible," answered Agnes. "I was going to look over my Sunday school +lesson, but I can do it another time if you would rather talk." + +"I don't mind," said Cordelia. She was silent a while, and then spoke +again,— + +"Agnes, isn't there a chapter in the New Testament somewhere about +'many mansions,' or some such thing as that?" ¹ + + ¹ This may seem improbable, but I have met with worse cases. An elderly +lady asked me if "Do as you would be done by," or "something like it," +was not in the Bible. This same lady, by the way, could talk quite +glibly about "the latest results of German criticism." + +"Yes: in the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel. Shall I read it +to you?" + +"Yes, please." + +Agnes read the chapter. She had a pleasant voice, and read well and +reverently. It seemed to her as if the wonderful words had never seemed +half so wonderful before. + +"Thank you," said Cordelia when she had finished. She was silent a +little, and then said, with a kind of abruptness,— + +"Agnes, how should you feel if you knew you were dying, as I am?" + +"I don't know," answered Agnes. "I never was dangerously ill a day in +my life. But what makes you think you are dying, Cordelia? The doctors +do not say so, and your mother thinks you are better." + +"What do 'you' think?" asked Cordelia with a kind of fierceness. Then, +as Agnes did not reply, she said more gently,— + +"Do tell me just what you think. I can't say a word to mother, because +she cries so; and Milly only laughs, and says, 'Oh, you are notional.' +Do tell me." + +"I think you are not as well as you were last summer," answered Agnes. + +"But now, suppose I were your sister," persisted Cordelia, "would you +have any hopes of me?" + +"No," answered Agnes, "I don't think I should." + +"Thank you," said Cordelia. She was silent a little, and then asked,— + +"Agnes, would you be afraid to die?" + +"I don't know," answered Agnes. "People are not always afraid. There +was Jenny Bassett, Myra's cousin, who died last summer of consumption: +she had no more fear than you have of coming out here. And it was the +same with young Mrs. Fletcher." + +"But it is so dreadful," said the poor girl, shuddering, "to go away +from every one you have ever known, out into another world, one doesn't +know where; and that fearful judgment!" + +"I will tell you what I think, Cordelia, if you will try to be quiet, +and not agitate yourself," said Agnes. "I am only a girl like yourself, +you know." + +"Never mind. Tell me what you think." + +"It is just like this," said Agnes: "if we are children of God, we +don't go out into a strange world among strangers. We go home to our +Father's house, as the chapter says, where He is, and where our Saviour +has gone to prepare a place for us. We don't know very much about it, +to be sure; sometimes I wish He had told us more. But we know that +there will be no more pain, or sorrow, or death; that our Lord will be +there, and He will wipe away all tears from our eyes. So we shall not +go among strangers. And, as to the judgment, I don't think we need fear +that, because He says—See here." Agnes turned to the first chapter of +the First Epistle of John, and read,— + + "'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our +sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.' + +"And there are other places where it tells of our sins being blotted +out, and remembered no more. I don't think we need fear the judgment, +after that." + +"But that is for Christians, and I am not a Christian." + +"But you may be, Cordelia." + +"I don't know how." + +"The Bible tells us. We have only to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, +and we shall be saved." + +"That seems very simple and easy," said Cordelia doubtfully. + +"That is what St. Paul said to the jailer when he asked what he should +do to be saved,—believe on Him, and take Him for your Saviour; that +is all. Oh, do try! You don't know what a difference it will make. I +am not fit to teach you,—I have only just begun myself," said Agnes, +blushing. "But I know how different every thing looks to me from what +it did a week ago to-day. But, Cordelia, doesn't your minister ever +come to see you?" + +"We haven't any, not really," answered Cordelia. "Mother and Milly +don't belong to any church, and they don't go anywhere regularly. They +just run about from one church to another to hear any famous preacher, +or for the sake of the music. A lady we know—Miss Little—did use to +talk to me sometimes when I was first sick, and she used to read good +books to me, but mother did not like it. Last winter, I wanted to see a +minister, but she said he would only put gloomy thoughts in my head. ¹ +As if the gloomy thoughts did not come of themselves!" + + ¹ A literal fact. + +"I hope I have not hurt you," said Agnes. + +"No, indeed. You have done me good," said Cordelia. "You don't know +what a comfort it is to open my mind to some one. But, Agnes, are you +sure that is all,—just believing?" + +"I am as sure as that I sit here." + +"But why doesn't every one do it, then?" + +"Well, you see, it involves a good many things. People have pet sins +that they don't like to give up." + +"That would be just my trouble," said Cordelia thoughtfully. "I know I +am horridly cross and selfish a great many times; and I try not to be, +but I always get beaten sooner or later." + +"There is just where the help comes in," said Agnes eagerly. "If you +ask Him, He will give you help to conquer those very things. Of course, +we can't do it alone, but St. Paul says, 'I can do all things through +Christ who strengtheneth me.'" + +"How much you know about the Bible!" + +"I ought to; I have had pains enough taken to teach me. But, Cordelia, +I dare say Dr. Madison will come to see you if you ask him. He is going +to stay in Oldfield all summer." + +"I will speak to mother about it. Agnes, you don't know how much good +you have done me." She coughed as she spoke, and Agnes's quick eye saw +that she was tired. + +"Don't talk any more now," said she. "Let me turn your chair back, so +that you can rest. And then I will read to you, and perhaps you will go +to sleep. What would you like to hear?" + +"I would rather hear the Bible than any thing," replied Cordelia, "I +know so little about it. Begin the Gospel of St. John." + +Agnes turned the reclining-chair into a comfortable couch, added +another shawl to Cordelia's coverings, and sat down to read. Cordelia +listened at first with earnest attention, but by degrees her eyelids +drooped, and presently her soft, regular breathing showed that she was +asleep. + +"How like death she looks!" thought Agnes, as she gazed at the white +cheek and almost transparent eyelids. "How can they think she is +better? Well, at any rate, she has freed her mind, poor child. I am so +glad I staid with her!" + + +Meantime, Amelia Richmond had been engaged in a very different fashion. + +"Why, Milly, I didn't expect to see you to-day," said Selina as they +met at the church door. "How quickly you slipped away! I meant to ask +you to come into Sunday school." + +"Thank you," said Milly. "I don't go to Sunday school, and I don't +imagine I should gain very much from your dear cousin Celia's +instructions." + +"You might," returned Selina. "Father says cousin Celia is one of +the best Bible scholars he ever knew. But we had Mrs. Van Zandt this +morning. Cousin Celia is not well." + +"What, the old lady? I would have staid if I had known that," said +Milly. "What was she like?" + +"I thought she was lovely," answered Selina. "She introduced our class +to Dr. Madison, and he spoke to us so nicely. Didn't you like him this +morning?" + +"Not so very much," answered Milly. "I thought it was a canting, gloomy +kind of sermon. I like intellectual preaching, about science and art, +and so on." + +"We don't go to church to hear about science and art, but to hear the +gospel," said Selina. + +"Oh, come, now, don't 'you' begin," said Milly. "Has Miss Armstrong got +you under her thumb already? She might well say she was coming on a +mission to the heathen." + +"I don't believe she said any such thing," returned Selina, coloring. + +"I happen to know that she did. However, it does not matter. I ought +not to have repeated it, I suppose, only I don't like to see people +imposed upon. Miss Van Zandt's dress is not nun's veiling, Selina," +added Milly, with a sudden change of subject, as Mrs. Van Zandt's +carriage came in sight. "It is real China crape. I should not think she +would wear such an expensive dress to church in the country, especially +as they are not rich, but I dare say her aunt gave it to her." + +"I must go to my seat," said Selina, feeling, for once, a desire to get +rid of her companion. + +"I will go with you," said Milly. "I like to sit up-stairs: one can see +every one so nicely." + +Selina was not pleased, but she had so often asked Milly to sit with +her, that she did not know how to decline her company. Milly made +herself very much at home, rather to the annoyance of Myra Bassett, +with whom she was no favorite, and she indulged herself very freely in +making remarks upon the congregation. + +"Do look at that woman in the blue bonnet with green and red flowers. +I wonder where her milliner lives. I should like to employ her. Who is +she?" + +"Mrs. Bettys. Do be quiet, Milly." + +Milly was silent for a moment, and then began again. + +"Do look at Mrs. Chase. What a figure she does make of herself! With +all her husband's practice, she might dress decently, one would think. +Who are those girls in white, Selina? I never noticed them before." + +"The Jewsburys. They live in our district, but they hardly ever come to +church. They were at the Bible class Thursday night, I remember." + +"Oh, they are some of Miss Armstrong's heathen converts, I suppose. She +means to get you all under her thumb." + +This was a little too much for Myra's patience. + +She leaned forward, and said in an energetic whisper,— + +"Miss Richmond, will you please be quiet? We are not used to hearing +such talk in the house of God." + +Milly tossed her head, but she saw the eyes of some of the elders fixed +upon her, and she did not venture to say any more. All through the +sermon, which was a continuation of the one in the morning, she did her +best to distract Selina's attention by writing notes and passing candy. + +Myra Bassett was furious. With all her good qualities, she had not her +tongue under the most perfect government in the world. And the moment +service was over, she turned upon Selina. + +"The next time you bring a stranger into the choir, Selina, I hope it +will be some one who knows how to behave at least like a lady. I never +was more ashamed in my life. I wonder what your father will say. It was +a regular disgrace." + +"Don't distress yourself, Miss Bassett," said Milly, taking the words +out of Selina's mouth, as she was about to answer. "You are not +responsible for my conduct. I hope every one could see that I do not +belong here." + +"I hope so too," returned Myra. "I should be sorry if they could not." + +"Do be quiet, Myra," said Selina "What a fuss you do make about +nothing! I should think scolding and quarrelling in church was as bad +as any thing Milly or I did. If you had been attending to the sermon, +you would not have known any thing about us." + +Myra blushed. She felt, that, though her cause was just, she had put +herself in the wrong by her hasty speech. She began to say something +more, but Milly interrupted her. + +"Oh, you need not apologize: I shall not bear malice," said she with +a lofty tone of condescension. "We all know you are a well-meaning +young woman, but you should think before you speak. When you have had +more opportunities, you will know better.—Come, Selina." And she drew +Selina away, leaving Myra wondering how she had been put down, and why +she should be so angry at being called "a young woman." She did not +consider that the simplest epithet may be made abusive by the way it is +applied. + +"Didn't I shut her mouth nicely?" said Amelia, laughing, when they +reached the stairs. "She won't begin on me again in a hurry." + +"Well, she was right," said Selina with some spirit; "I was ashamed, +myself. What did make you act so, Milly?" + +"What did I do?" asked Milly. "Are you going to set up too? But I see +how it is," she added. "They have fairly conquered you, and broken your +spirit among them, so that you don't care for me any more. The next +thing, mother Weston will say, 'Selina, you must not go with Milly any +more,' and then farewell to our friendship. You will never speak to me +again." + +Selina did not quite know what to say to this. She knew in truth that +mother Weston did not approve of the intimacy. + +"You will be setting up to be very pious next," continued Milly, as +Selina did not reply. "We shall hear of you speaking in meeting, +perhaps preparing to go on a mission, like dear Miss Armstrong." + +Selina blushed, and Milly saw that her random shot had hit the mark. +This conversation had taken place in a little recess under the gallery +stairs, where the girls were out of sight. At that moment, Selina heard +her father's voice calling her, and went forward, Milly remaining where +she was. + +"Are you too tired to walk home, Selina?" + +"No, father: I should like it." + +"Then I shall take Mrs. West. Don't hurry, there is plenty of time. Go +round by the brook, and you will have it shady all the way." + +"Are you going to walk? Good! I will go with you," said Milly, joining +Selina on the green before the church. + +"I am going round by the brook," remarked Selina. "It will be longer +for you." + +"I don't care for that, unless you want to get rid of me. If you do, +say so," returned Milly. + +Selina would have liked to say so, but she had not the courage. And the +two walked on in silence for a few minutes. + +Then Milly began again:— + +"So you really mean to give me up, Selina?" + +"I have never said so," replied Selina. + +"Actions speak louder than words," said Milly with a sigh. "Well, I +suppose it is all right. You are dependent on Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and +of course you ought to please them. Oh, yes, it is all right, but I am +sorry. I thought we were going to have such a nice time this summer. +But if you are going to set up for a saint—However, you ought to please +Mr. and Mrs. Weston, of course." + +"I have never said either that I was going to give you up, or to set up +for a saint," said Selina somewhat angrily. "I don't know what you want +me to do, Amelia." + +"I want you to be your own independent self, and not take all your +opinions—your likes and dislikes, and all the rest—from some one else; +no, not even from Mrs. Weston or dear Miss Armstrong," replied Milly. +"If Mrs. Weston were your own mother, it would be different, though +even then I think you would have a right to a mind of your own. But +come; as you say, we won't quarrel. I do hope you won't give me up, +Selina. You are the only friend I have. I never can get on with Agnes +Gleason; and Cordelia is worse than nobody, poor thing. I wanted mother +to leave her at the Sanitarium with a nurse, and take me to Newport +or Saratoga, where I could have some advantages of society, but every +thing is Cordelia with her. She would put me in the stove and burn me +up to warm Cordelia's feet. But you won't give me up, will you, Selina? +I will promise not to say a word against religion. I am sure your +mother would do me a great deal of good if she would only be kind to +me. Come, now, say you will be friends." + +What could Selina do but say she would always be friends with Milly? +The two girls sealed their league on the spot with a sentimental +embrace; and Milly began at once to exert her powers of conversation, +which were not small, for the benefit of her companion. She began +with a description of a grand ceremony she had attended at the +Roman-Catholic cathedral. From that, the divergence was easy to the +park, and from thence to various gayeties, ending with a masked ball +in which Milly had sustained a prominent character, had danced a +minuet, and, according to her own account, had been the observed of all +observers. + +When Selina reached home, all serious thoughts were completely +dissipated. Her head was full of visions of that gay world in which +Milly moved, and her heart of murmurs that she should be so wholly +shut out of it. When she retired to her room after tea, it was not, +as usual, to study her lesson for the next Sunday. The Bible lay +untouched; while she indulged in dreams in which her own mother figured +in the character of a lady of wealth and fashion, whom circumstances +had compelled to abandon her child for a time, but who now turned up to +claim her, and re-instate her in the splendor to which she was born. +The birds of the air had picked up the seed pretty thoroughly. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +NEW PROJECTS. + +KIT'S arm was better on Monday, but nothing more was said about her +going to Oldbury. Symantha had an argument with Melissa on the subject +of the place at Stillwell's, but Melissa was not to be moved. She knew +her own mind, she said, and she could take care of herself. Symantha +need not be troubled about her. She gathered her possessions together +on Monday morning, and departed. The two sisters had never got on well +together, and Melissa did not express any regret at parting. She did +not speak to Kit; and Kit, on her part, made no secret of her pleasure +on the occasion. Melissa had been her tyrant and torment ever since she +could remember. It was she who had destroyed her cherished fragment of +the "Pilgrim's Progress," and had instigated Phin to the burning of her +beloved Testament. She felt sure that the proposition to send her to +Stillwell's had come from Melissa in the first place. She did not feel +safe till the wagon containing Melissa and her uncle was finally out +of sight, and then it was with a rejoicing heart that she began to get +ready for school. + +"Well, Kit, I suppose you are perfectly happy to think that you +are going to school this morning, instead of in the wagon going to +Oldbury," said Symantha. + +"Ain't you glad too?" asked Kit. + +"Yes, I am. I don't want you to go to any place just now, certainly not +there, to sell whiskey and beer." + +"I never would do it," said Kit firmly. "They should cut me to pieces +first. I hate the very name of drink. I don't believe uncle Phin would +ever be ugly to me if he let the beer alone." + +"I believe you are right," said Symantha, sighing. "I wish all the beer +in the world were poured into the sea." + +"Then the fishes would all get drunk," replied Kit, laughing. Then, +with a sudden change of tone, as she glanced at Symantha's face, "Don't +you want me to stay at home this morning? You will be alone all day." + +"I thought you liked to go to school better than any thing," observed +Symantha. + +"Well, I do, but I would stay at home to help you." + +"I know you would, but I would rather you went to school. I want you to +learn all you can, now you have such a good chance." + +"I wish uncle Phin would let me go to Sunday school, as the other girls +do," said Kit. "There is not a girl in our school but me who does not +go to Sunday school, and they get such nice books. I don't see what +harm it would do." + +"Nor I," answered Symantha. "You should go, Kit, if it depended upon +me, but I don't think you had better say any thing about it at present. +I am sure pa would not let you go, and it would only make a fuss. Make +the best of your day-school, and learn all you can. There, good-by." + +Symantha kissed Kit,—an unusual demonstration of affection,—and the +child went on her way with a light heart. + +She was happier than she had ever been before in her short life. She +was used to the shadows of her home,—to her aunt's wretched state of +health, and her uncle's varying humors, and Symantha's occasional +impatience,—and did not mind these things as another child would have +done. She loved with a kind of passion the beautiful things about her; +all the more, that the last two years of her life had been spent in a +wretched street of a wretched Western town, which had been left behind +by an exhausted mine and an abortive railroad. She loved her school and +her teacher, and found keen pleasure in the acquisition of knowledge +for its own sake. And, above and beyond all, she rejoiced in her +new-found inheritance in the kingdom of heaven. She had received it, +indeed, as a little child, without a doubt or question. + +She could never be quite forlorn or alone again: for, let what would +happen, she had a Father and a Saviour in heaven, who would never +leave nor forsake her; and a home, sure to be hers some time, where +she should never be unhappy, and never do wrong again. For there were +times when the sense of sin pressed heavily upon her. She had never +known that many things were wrong which now appeared very dreadful to +her. Like older people, she found herself hindered by "the bands of +those sins which, by her frailty, she had committed," and from which +she longed to be released. The temper would rise at any obstacle or +annoyance; and the hard names and wicked words came to her mind, and +fell from her lips, almost unawares. Now she felt these thing to be +sins, and grieved over them, but there was comfort even there. That +same Father in heaven, whose name and nature had been so lately made +known to her, hated sin, but then, He loved her, and therefore, Kit +reasoned, He would help her to get rid of what He hated. It was a very +happy little girl who went singing over the hill-pasture that morning. + + +Three or four weeks went on very quietly in Oldham, and especially +in the red schoolhouse district. In the village, indeed, there was a +little stir, occasioned by the startling proposition brought forward +by the church-wardens, in a parish meeting called for the purpose in +the parlor of the hotel, namely, that the church should be cleaned and +painted before the arrival of the new minister. + +If it had been proposed to blow up the church with dynamite, some +people could not have been more astonished. And the most astonished +of all was Mr. Archimball, the shoemaker, who had been sexton for +years. He had, for the most part, confined his duties to ringing the +bell, making fires in winter, and dusting the great Bible and other +books, and sometimes the pulpit-cushions, on a Sunday, and filling +and trimming the lamps when they absolutely refused to burn any more +without. + +"Such a lot of new-fangled notions!" said he sulkily. "Always the way +when women-folks take hold of things. What's the matter, anyhow?" + +"The matter is, that the church is dirty, and needs cleaning," said Mr. +Weston. + +"Where's the dirt?" snarled the sexton. + +For answer Mr. Weston pointed to the windows. + +"They 'are' kind of cloudy, that's a fact," said Mr. Andrews, the +storekeeper. + +"'Kind of cloudy!' I should think so," said his wife. "I wonder what +you would say, Mr. Andrews, to see such windows in your own house." + +"Well, you know, Harriet Anne, you never thought of the windows +yourself till last Sunday," said Mr. Andrews mildly. + +"That's true, and more shame for me. Anyhow, I'm ready to do my share +of the work." + +"And so am I," "And I," added several voices; and more than one notable +lady felt a thrill of joy at the thought of a house-cleaning upon so +large a scale. + +"The sisters seem to be all sound upon the cleaning question," said Mr. +Weston, smiling. + +"The women-folks are for any thing that will make a fuss, and give 'em +a chance to gossip," muttered the sexton. + +"Now about the painting," continued Mr. Weston, without noticing the +interruption. + +"That's another thing," said Mr. Blandy. "That will cost money." + +"Most things do," said Dr. Chase. + +"And how are you going to raise it? That's the question," continued Mr. +Blandy. + +"Yes, that's the p'int," said Aunt Betsy. "How are you going to raise +it?" + +"By subscription among ourselves," answered Mr. Weston. "I have made a +calculation that two hundred dollars will cover the whole expense." + +"Two hundred dollars is a good deal of money," said Mr. Andrews. +"Still, if every one will do his share—Would that cover the blinds, +think, squire?" + +"Yes, I think so. As you say, if every one will do their share, the +thing can be accomplished; not otherwise." + +"Yes, but you'll see they won't," said the sexton. "It's one thing to +stir up a lot of women, and another to get the men started." + +"We have made a good beginning already, I am happy to say," remarked +Mr. Weston, taking up a paper which lay before him on the table. "Dr. +Chase has headed the list with twenty-five dollars; another person +has put down the same; and the ladies at the stone house will give us +twenty, and more if it is needed." + +"Seventy dollars; that 'is' a good beginning," said Mr. Bassett. "Put +me down ten anyhow, Squire Weston. I will do more if I can, but that +freshet which knocked down my dam has made it a kind of an expensive +year for me." + +"Put me down five," said Mr. Fletcher. + +"Eighty-five dollars. Who next?" + +"My sister and myself will give five dollars between us," said Miss +Celia. + +"Seems to me that's a good deal for you," said Mrs. Burr. + +But Miss Celia did not answer. It was a good deal; but the two old +ladies had consulted together, and had agreed to give up their annual +summer visit to Elmfield if needful. + +"I don't believe in this subscription business anyhow," said Mr. +Blandy. "We might get up a fair, or dinner, or something, and raise the +money that way, or at least a part of it; and the rest might wait till +it came handy to pay." + +"And so saddle ourselves with a debt," said Dr. Chase. "No, thank you; +I have seen enough of that." + +"Every one does it," persisted Mr. Blandy. "That fine new church in +Oldbury has a twenty-thousand-dollar mortgage on it this minute." + +"Yes, and what is the consequence? Every time they try to raise money +for some church or benevolent object, there comes up the debt. There is +so much interest to be met, that great debt to be provided for, they +can't even raise funds for a new Sunday school library. No, no! Bad as +the church looks, I would rather it should stay so than that we should +run in debt." + +"That fifty dollars we raised for missions would come handy just now," +said Mr. Blandy with a sneer. "I always thought charity began at home." + +"It is to be hoped the charity of this church is not to begin, after +an existence of nearly a hundred years," said Mr. Weston. "For my own +part, I do nor regard the money given to support my own church as given +in charity, any more than that I use to pay my bills at Mr. Andrews's +store. I get it all back, and a great deal more. Which of us would be +willing to do without the help we get here, even if it cost twice as +much to keep the church going?" + +"Nobody, I guess," answered Mr. Andrews. "I don't know but you are +right, squire, though I must say I never looked at it in that way +before. Well, you may put me down for twenty dollars, to begin with." + +A few more subscriptions were given in, and a committee appointed to +canvass the town. The ladies decided upon a day to begin operations, +as a good deal of cleaning was absolutely needful before the painting +could be commenced. And the meeting was about to be adjourned when Mr. +Archimball rose up to fire his great gun, which he had kept till the +last moment. He had much to say about his long and faithful services, +extending over a period of twenty-five years. Twenty-five years he +had rung that bell for service, and tolled it for funerals, yes, for +the grandfathers and grandmothers of some of the folks present. But +it appeared that folks were not satisfied. Very well. If he, Joseph +Archimball, did not suit them, let them get somebody that did. He +washed his hands of the whole business. He resigned his place as +sexton. There were the keys of the church. He shook off the dust from +his feet. + +So saying, he threw down the keys on the table, and departed, rather +wondering that no one tried to detain him. + +"But they will be after me," he said to himself. "They won't find it so +easy to do without me. They will come asking me to take the keys again. +But I won't—not unless they offer me at least ten dollars a year more +than I have had before." + + +As the time went on, however, and nobody came after him, Mr. Archimball +began to wish he had not been so hasty. As it drew toward the end +of the week, he decided that he would not say any thing about that +increase of salary. And on Saturday morning, he made up his mind that +he would go down and get the keys, open the windows, and even air out +the cellar. The women-folks must be out of the way by that time. Lo +and behold! When he reached the church, the windows were already open, +and a young person of the colored persuasion was going about with a +duster,—actually with a duster, and a feather duster at that,—daintily +passing this unheard-of instrument over the backs of the old pews. + +"Halloo!" said Mr. Archimball. "Who are you? And what are you doing +here?" + +"I am Edward Kettle, at your service," returned the stranger, with his +best bow, which was, indeed, a very fine one. "As to what I am doing, +I am putting the church in order for Sunday, seeing that the gentlemen +has made me sexton." + +Mr. Archimball felt that his great gun had "kicked," as sportsmen say. +He could hardly believe his own senses. + +"'You!'" he gasped, like the caterpillar in "Little Alice." "Who are +'you'?" + +"I've told you my name already. As to my family, I am old Abner +Kettle's grandson; and me and my wife has come to live near the old +gentleman. As I said before, the church has given me the appointment to +take charge of this building, which the ladies has just cleaned up in +the most elegant manner; and I calculate to do it." + +So saying, Mr. Kettle hung up his duster, and producing a sickle from +his basket of tools, began a vigorous attack upon a colony of burdocks +and thistles which had flourished at the side of the church steps from +time immemorial. + +To say that Mr. Archimball was disgusted, is to give a faint idea of +his sensations. He was stunned. To think that he, he whose grandfather +and great-grandfather were buried in that very burying-ground, should +be turned out, supplanted by a colored man, and one who was half Indian +at that! And for what? Just because people had taken some new notions +into their heads about dust and air, and so on. It was too bad! He went +home almost resolved never to enter the church doors again. + + +The subscription went on prosperously; and by Sunday, Mr. Weston was +able to announce that the money was raised, and every thing ready to +begin the work. It was with no little satisfaction that the ladies who +had been engaged in the cleaning looked at the clear glass, and noticed +the difference in the air. + +"Isn't it delightful to have the church so clean! And won't it be fine +when it is all painted!" said Faith Fletcher to the other girls as they +stood at the door for a moment before Sunday school. "And, oh, isn't it +nice to have Dr. Madison again!" + +"I wish we could have him all the time," said Agnes. "Don't you, +Selina?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I think I shall like Mr. Brace quite as well," +answered Selina indifferently. "I don't see any thing so very +remarkable about Dr. Madison's preaching. He just says the same things +that one has always heard." + +"He tells 'the old, old story,'" remarked Faith. "What do you think, +Agnes?" + +"I think the old story is better than any new one," replied Agnes. +"What else could he tell us about? I thought you liked him ever so much +last Sunday, Selina." + +"I haven't said I didn't like him," said Selina rather shortly. "All +I say is, that he isn't any thing so very wonderful. Why didn't Milly +come this morning, Agnes?" + +"I don't know that she had any reason, only that she did not care about +it. She got a parcel of new books last night, and I fancy she preferred +to lie abed and read. Mrs. Richmond staid with Cordelia." + +"How is Cordelia?" asked Faith. + +"Her mother will have it that she is better, but we think she fails +all the time," answered Agnes. "Cordelia has given up all hope of ever +getting well, herself. She wants to see a minister, and I asked Mrs. +Richmond if I should not ask Dr. Madison to come over, as he is staying +at Mrs. Van Zandt's, but she won't hear of it." + +"How cruel!" said Faith. + +"Well, no, she does not mean it for cruelty. She says she can't have +Cordelia's mind filled with gloomy ideas. She must be kept cheerful. +She didn't like it a bit because I read the Bible to her last Sunday, +and she hasn't let me be alone with her since." + +"She is as bad as Phin Mallory with Kit," said Faith. "That poor child +would give her eyes, almost, to come to Sunday school; and he won't +let her. I do wish we could do something for her. She looked so sad +when we were fixing the schoolhouse for meeting last Friday. You can't +scold her now for not knowing the Lord's Prayer, Selina, she reads her +Testament every chance she finds." + +"I suppose she does not have many books of any sort," remarked Faith. +"But I do believe Kit is a real Christian. I never saw any child try +harder to be good." + +"She knows how to flatter Miss Armstrong, and get on the blind side of +her," said Selina. "You needn't look so shocked. I do think so. Miss +Armstrong thinks any one is perfection who can talk about religion. +Amelia says she is just so in the city, and that it is the same with +all the city missionaries. That is the way all sorts of humbugs impose +upon them." + +"Amelia knows all about city missions, no doubt," said Agnes. "How many +mission Sunday schools do you suppose she ever saw? I don't believe +Miss Armstrong has any blind side, to begin with; and I don't believe +poor Kit ever thought of looking for it. She is a good, honest little +thing, worth a hundred of Milly Richmond, and not so very much more +ignorant, either. Just think! Milly did not know that our Lord and the +apostles were Jews, and she thought the ancient Romans worshipped the +Virgin Mary." + +"O Agnes!" + +"She did, really." + +"And you told of it," said Selina. "I don't think that is very nice,—to +go telling of things that were said in your own mother's house, just to +get people laughed at. I wonder what your dear Miss Armstrong would say +to that?" + +Agnes colored, and her eyes flashed. She did not speak for a moment, +and in that moment, she had gained a victory. + +"She would say I was wrong, and so I was," said she quite gently. "You +are right, Selina: it is not fair to tell tales. Come, we ought to be +in our places." + + +The painting began next day, and, of course, took longer than any one +expected. It was discovered that some other very essential repairs were +needed. Indeed, when the committee appointed for the purpose came to +examine the tower, they found it in a really dangerous condition. + +"So you are going to repair the tower, too," said Aunt Betsy. "That +will cost more money. It is always the way; when folks begin to tinker, +there is no end to it. When the tower is done, you will find something +else to do." + +"There would be an end to somebody if we didn't begin to tinker," +replied Mr. Weston, "and that pretty soon. A very little would have +brought the bell crashing down into the porch. Suppose such a thing had +happened when the tower-room was full of the little children?" + +"It makes me shudder," said Mrs. Weston. "Who noticed it first?" + +"Edward told me, the very first time he rang the bell, that he thought +there was something wrong. But I had no idea things were so bad till I +came to look into them." + +"Archimball never said any thing about it, did he?" + +"Not he. I don't suppose he has been into the belfry for years. The +fact is, we have all neglected our duty. Selina did not think what a +very large kettle of fish she was going to stir up, when she made that +proposition about cleaning the church." + +"Yes, that is always the way when folks go to stirring up things," said +Aunt Betsy. "Let well alone, I say." + +"A great bell hung on a rotten beam over people's heads can hardly be +called well," said Mr. Weston. "We may be thankful it was looked to in +time." + +"And what are we going to do for a church while all this fuss is going +on?" asked Aunt Betsy. + +"We shall meet in the large room at the academy." + +"Well, nobody need think I am going there, to sit on those hard +benches," said Aunt Betsy. "I shall just stay at home till things get +in decent order again.—Abby, I should like to know what price you gave +for this tea," she added, lifting to her nose the cup of black tea Mrs. +Weston had just filled. "Seems to me you must have got cheated." + +"It is the same tea we have been drinking all winter, Aunt Betsy. I am +sorry it does not suit you." + +"Oh, I can drink it, I suppose," said Aunt Betsy with an injured air. +"I calculate to get some myself as soon as I can go over to Oldfield. +Mr. Andrews hasn't any that's fit to drink. He gave me a quarter of a +pound, and I was glad when it was gone." + +"That old lady isn't burdened with gratitude, is she?" said Miss +Armstrong when Aunt Betsy had finally taken her tea and departed. + +"I doubt whether the idea of gratitude has ever occurred to her mind," +replied Mrs. Weston. "She thinks she has a right to all she gets, and a +great deal more." + +"Mrs. Richmond says she wonders the church don't put her into the +widows' asylum at Oldbury," remarked Selina. "She was talking to Mrs. +Blandy about it yesterday, and they both agreed it would be cheaper. +Her place would sell for enough to pay her entrance fee and more." + +"There would be several objections to that," replied Mr. Weston. "In +the first place, she would never consent to go." + +"She would have to go, I suppose, if people left off helping her." + +"I doubt it; and, in the second place, there is no reason why she +should go. Her land brings her in something, and the neighbors must +do the rest. Why should we turn one of our old church-members over +to the Oldbury folks to take care of, when we are able to do for her +ourselves? There are a great many more poor people in Oldbury than +there are here." + +"But she is so cross and disagreeable." + +"Well, she may as well be cross and disagreeable here as in Oldbury," +said Mrs. Weston. "If she is so trying when she only comes in now and +then, what would she be to those who lived with her all the time? The +poor old soul is as much attached to her home and her church as if she +were the pleasantest person in the world, and it would be cruel to send +her to finish her days among strangers." + +"According to that, there need be no asylums of any sort, if people +only took care of their own neighbors," said Selina. + +"Perhaps we could not go so far as that, but certainly much fewer +would be needed. You are quite right there," said Miss Armstrong. +"As to poor Mrs. Burr, I can assure you, my dear, she is a very mild +specimen of her class compared to some that I know. There is a woman +in an aged-women's home that I know of, who regularly tells every +one who comes to the house, never to get into that place if they can +go anywhere else. I have known her, when the matron was conducting +visitors through the house, to come out into the hall, and ask in the +humblest tone if she might not have just a crust of bread, she was so +faint and hungry, or if she might not have an old carpet or something +to put on her bed, she was so cold at night. And yet she is really +better off than ever she was before in her life." + +"I dare say." + +"Oh, well, we must not be too hard on Aunt Betsy," said Mrs. Weston. +"She is old and lonely, and we can very well bear with her humors. We +are none of us any too grateful for what we receive." + +Selina chose to take this remark to herself, though nothing was farther +from Mrs. Weston's thoughts than such an application. + +"If you think I am so ungrateful and unthankful, mother, I think I had +better go and live somewhere else," said she, rising from the table, +and bursting into tears. "I suppose I could earn my living; and, at any +rate, I should not—" The rest was lost in sobs. + +"What is the matter now?" said Mr. Weston in surprise. + +"If you want to find fault with me, you might speak out, and not keep +talking at me," sobbed Selina. "I wish you had never taken me from the +asylum." + +"Take care you do not make other people wish so," said Mr. Weston. "Now +stop that noise at once. Go and wash your face, and then come and sit +down to the table, and finish your supper. Do you hear me? And do you +mean to mind me?" he added more sternly than before. "Come, we have had +enough of this. If you will behave like a spoiled child, you must be +treated like one. Do as I tell you." + +Selina was frightened. Never had Mr. Weston spoken to her in such a +tone before. He was one of the most even-tempered men in the world, +and generally left the whole interior government of the family in his +wife's hands. He had always been very indulgent to Selina, and, on +that very account, his severity was more effective now. As he kept his +eye fixed on her, she felt that there was nothing for it but to obey. +Not another word was addressed to her till supper was over, and Miss +Armstrong had left the room. + +Then Mr. Weston turned to her. + +"You will help your mother do up the work, and then you will stay +at home," said he. "Don't let me see you running away up to Mrs. +Gleason's, as you have done every evening this week. You must turn +over a new leaf, Selina, or I shall have to do it for you. I will not +have your mother and the whole family made uncomfortable by you. Now, +remember." + +Never in all the seven years she had lived at the farm had Selina met +with such a reproof. She felt small enough as she went about clearing +the table, and worst of all was the growing feeling that she had made +herself ridiculous. She did up the work sulkily, and then, retiring to +her own room, she threw herself on the bed without a word of prayer, +and cried herself to sleep. + +"I don't see what has come over Selina," remarked Mrs. Weston as she +took her knitting and sat down with Miss Armstrong in the wide hall, +which was much used as a summer sitting-room. "She is certainly in a +bad state of mind. I don't think Milly Richmond does her any good." + +"From the little I have seen, I should not think Miss Richmond's +society was calculated to be useful to any one," said Miss Armstrong. +"She did me the favor to come to school as a visitor one afternoon last +week, and certainly I never wish to have her visit repeated. It seems +to me that poor Selina's great stumbling-block is her disposition to +jealousy." + +"Yes, that is the great trouble, and always has been," replied Mrs. +Weston, sighing. + +"It is a hard fault to deal with, because the person possessing it is +so apt to take it for a virtue, or at least a mark of superiority," +said Miss Armstrong. "However, it is a comfort that grace can conquer +that as well as every other infirmity." + +"I hoped that Selina was coming under the power of religion," said Mrs. +Weston. + +"And so did I. The first week or two after I came, she seemed much +interested in the Bible lessons, and talked quite freely on the +subject, but latterly I cannot get her to speak a word, and hardly to +answer a question." + +"Sometimes I think she is resisting conviction, and that makes her +more irritable than she would be," remarked Mrs. Weston. "How does she +behave in school in other ways?" + +"I see an unfavorable change there, too," answered Miss Armstrong. "The +first week she was a great help to me. I cannot say as much now." + +"She is at a trying age," said Mrs. Weston, using the universal +mother's excuse, which suits all ages from one to twenty-one. +"Sometimes I think the fault must be in my management, and yet I don't +know. I have never made any difference between her and Lizzy, and Lizzy +never gave me an hour's anxiety in her life except from illness. I hear +that Agnes Gleason means to be confirmed." + +"Yes, she has quite decided to take the first opportunity. Her mother +seems very much pleased." + +"I was a little surprised when she said as much to me on Sunday," said +Mrs. Weston. "Mrs. Gleason has never made any profession of religion. +We thought she would do so when my sister and myself united with the +church, and I dare say she would if her own mother had been alive. But +she was boarding with Aunt Betsy at that time, and she held the child +back. I think it was a great mistake." + +"I believe it is a mistake in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred." + +"I quite agree with you. Who is this coming in?" + +"It is Ida Van Zandt and her cousin," said Miss Armstrong, rising. "You +will like these girls, Mrs. Weston. They are as thoroughly genuine as +any I ever knew." + +Mrs. Weston was quite prepared to like her young neighbors. She went to +call Selina, but Selina had gone to bed, and pretended to be asleep. +The girls had two errands besides their desire to see Miss Armstrong. +One was, to procure some guinea-hens' eggs. Amity had heard that Mrs. +Weston had a very superior breed of guinea-hens, and she wanted to send +some home to her grandfather, who was a great fowl-fancier. + +"You had better let me give you a pair of the fowls when you go +home. That will be the best way," said Mrs. Weston. "Eggs are rather +uncertain, but I can let you have some to eat if you think your aunt +would fancy them. They are very delicate." + +"Thank you very much," said Amity. "I shall be glad of any thing to +tempt aunt Barbara's appetite, for she is not very well just now. But, +Mrs. Weston, I did not mean to beg your beautiful fowls." + +"Oh, you are quite welcome. We should not keep them, and I am just so +silly I would rather give the poor things away than have them killed, I +have made such pets of them." + +"I don't think it silly at all. I have just the same feeling," said +Amity. "But if you please, Mrs. Weston, we will make it an exchange. I +see you keep ducks, and I will have O'Connor send you a pair of our new +Pekin ducks. They are the present rage in our parts.—And now for your +errand, Ida," said Amity when these matters had been satisfactorily +settled. + +"Oh," said Ida, blushing. "Perhaps I ought to begin with an apology +for 'assumacy,' as old Alice calls it. It has occurred to me, Miss +Armstrong, that, as almost all the children seem to come to the Friday +evening service, it would be rather a nice thing to meet them some time +during the week and practise upon the hymns. What do you think?" + +"I think it an excellent plan," answered Miss Armstrong. "I have been +regretting, ever since I came here, that I cannot sing. I suppose you +mean to teach the class yourself, Ida?" + +"Oh, yes: I am to be professor." + +"I proposed something of the sort to Selina," said Miss Armstrong, +turning to Mrs. Weston, "but she seemed to think it would not do." + +"I don't see any objection to it," said Mrs. Weston, "that is, +supposing Miss Van Zandt is willing to take the trouble." + +"Oh, I shall like it," answered Ida. "I do think I have some gift that +way, too, though I say it that shouldn't. I have taught singing in our +mission school for two winters; and really, they do very well, don't +they, Amity?" + +"Indeed they do, but I fancy you will find it rather different teaching +Miss Armstrong's children." + +"I should imagine so," said Ida, laughing. "I heard a lady on Sunday +talking about those little Irish children in the infant-class, and +saying they ought not to be allowed to come in such a state. I wondered +what she would say to your infants, Amity." + +"Oh, my infants are not so bad. Even the Flynns come with clean faces +now and then. Norah had a patch on her dress the last Sunday, and +actually a clean apron." + +"Mrs. Weston opens her eyes," said Ida. + +"Oh, I have seen mission schools, though I never taught in one," +said Mrs. Weston, smiling. "I should think it might be trying work +sometimes." + +"Well, it is; and yet it has its rewards too." + +"Where is Mr. Weston?" asked Miss Armstrong. "We must have his sanction +before we do any thing." + +"What a lovely woman!" said Ida as Mrs. Weston went out to call her +husband. "Is she as sweet as she looks?" + +"Sweeter, if any thing." + +"Her daughter does not look at all like her," said Amity. "She is +a handsome girl, too; but she has a discontented, almost envious +expression. She has a fine voice: I noticed it on Sunday." + +"Yes, I think she would sing uncommonly well if she would take more +pains. Mr. Weston is as good as his wife. I never met two more +excellent people." + +"Is Selina the only child?" + +"No, they have a married daughter in Oldbury,—a very lovely woman in +all respects. Both she and Selina are adopted children; and they had +another, a very fine young man, who died a year or two since. They have +had several children of their own, who all died in infancy. Here comes +Mr. Weston. You must sing for him, Ida: he loves music, and understands +it too." + +Mr. Weston listened attentively while Ida unfolded her plan, which was +to meet the school-children twice a week, and sing with them the hymns +and tunes used in Sunday school and at the Bible class, and any other +music which might be deemed desirable. + +"It seems a very nice plan," said Mr. Weston, "but it is a good deal +for you to do." + +"I shall enjoy it," said Ida. "I love children, and the practice will +keep my hand in. Of course I shall not give them much instruction in +the theory of music, but perhaps they may learn to read notes. I think +children pick that up pretty easily." + +"Well, Miss Van Zandt, I will talk it over with the other trustees," +said Mr. Weston. "I can't think any one will object, but there is no +telling. I expect we are going to have a fight over the Bible-reading +at the next school-meeting. Phin Mallory says he means to put a stop +to it; and like as not Tom Jewsbury will support him, just to show off +what he calls his liberal ideas." + +"If they turn the Bible out, they will turn me out," said Miss +Armstrong. "I will never teach in any school where the Bible is shut +out." + +"Oh, they won't succeed,—we have not many of that sort,—but they will +make a fuss." + +"Perhaps it will be better not to have any connection between the +singing-school and the day-school," remarked Amity. "Ida might just ask +for the loan of the schoolhouse for her class to meet in." + +"And I will have it directly after school, because then the children +are together, and it is the most convenient hour for me," said Ida. +"Yes, that will be best." + +"People will be asking what your terms are," said Mr. Weston, smiling. + +"But I haven't any terms," said Ida. "I don't propose to ask any thing, +Mr. Weston. It is just because I like children, and because it is so +nice for them to know how to sing." + +"Well, I will let you know in a day or two. Meanwhile, perhaps you will +sing something for me." + +Ida complied at once, and sang song after song, grave and gay. She had +a noble voice which had received every advantage of cultivation, and +had "not" been spoiled thereby. + +"That is grand!" said Mr. Weston. "I'll tell you what, mother, if any +one makes an objection, we'll just ask Miss Van Zandt to come in and +sing for them." + +"One thing more," said Miss Armstrong; "that is, if you are not tired, +Ida." + +"Not at all. I am never tired of singing." + +"Then sing 'I know that my Redeemer liveth.'" + +"I am not sure that I can do it justice," said Ida: "I have not tried +it in some time. But I will do my best." + +There was a moment's silence after that most beautiful of all sacred +songs was concluded, and then Mr. Weston and his wife both drew a long +breath. + +"That is wonderful!" said Mrs. Weston. "How I wish Selina could sing +that!" + +"I dare say she could learn," replied Ida. "She has a fine voice. I +noticed it in church. It is a pity it should not be cultivated." + +"I have always meant Selina should have some good singing-lessons," +said Mr. Weston. "I have thought of sending her to her sister's in +Oldbury. They have an excellent professor in the school there, or so I +have been told." + +"Really, Ida, we must go," said Amity: "it is growing dark. Aunt +Barbara will think we are lost." + +"I will walk with you, if you will allow me," said Mr. Weston. "I was +going over to the Corners, at any rate, and your house is but a few +steps out of my way." + +"What charming girls!" said Mrs. Weston. "Miss Bogardus's money does +not seem to have spoiled her." + +"Not a bit. She is one of the hardest-working, most self-denying girls +I ever knew. Ida is a good child too." + +"It shows that wealth and beauty do not of themselves hurt people. I +hope this singing-school may be a success, for Selina's sake," said +Mrs. Weston. + +But Selina had already made up her mind on that point. She had been +waked by the singing, and had been listening with all her ears. Envy +and jealousy are reptiles that can find food anywhere,—even in heaven, +if they could get there. + +"Her voice isn't one bit better than mine," Selina said to herself: "it +is only that she has had such good lessons. I don't think she sings so +much better, either. I don't see what call she has to be setting up a +singing-school here. We don't want any of her patronage." + +And Selina resolved, that, if she could help it, the singing-school +should not be a success. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HARMONY AND DISCORD. + +THE trustees made no objection to the singing-school. And in two or +three days Miss Armstrong announced that Miss Van Zandt would meet +after school such of the children as would like to learn to sing. + +"Any of us? Little ones and all?" asked Ednah Fletcher. + +"Little ones and all; every one who would like to learn to sing nicely +in church and Sunday school. Miss Van Zandt is very kind to give up so +much time to you, and I hope you will reward her by being very good and +attentive." + +"I am sure I will," said Kit. "I think she is awful good." + +"Yes, very kind indeed," said Selina when school was dismissed. "For my +part, I am not so fond of being patronized by city people." + +"If city people want to do me a kindness, I am willing they should," +said Faith. + +"Well, I don't know," answered Selina. "I don't think we were quite +ignorant heathen before Miss Armstrong and Miss Van Zandt came here, +though one would think so to hear them talk." + +"Why, what do they say?" asked Lucinda Hurd. + +"Oh, Miss Van Zandt says she is used to teaching in mission schools, +and wants to keep her hand in. And Miss Armstrong says she would not +teach here at all if it were not for teaching the Bible." + +Faith and Agnes exchanged a glance which annoyed Selina. It seemed as +if they were laughing at her. + +"Where did you hear all this?" asked Sarah. + +Selina thought there was some incredulity in the tone, and she answered +positively,— + +"I heard her in our house, the very night Miss Van Zandt came there to +talk about this singing-school concern." + +"Oh," said Sarah demurely. "I thought I heard somebody delivering +a lecture to Agnes on Sunday about repeating what was said in her +mother's house, that was all." + +Selina colored scarlet, and wished she had held her tongue. + +"If you have such a dislike to being patronized by city people, I +wonder you should care to go so much with Milly Richmond," continued +Sarah. "She is patronizing. I could hardly help laughing at the tone in +which she talked to Miss Armstrong about her little country seminary +and her 'little rustics.'" + +"What 'is' 'patronizing'?" asked Kit, who had been listening to the +conversation with wide-open eyes. + +"'Patronizing,' little one? Why, I hardly know how to define it," said +Sarah. "It really means, to defend or support. But I suppose, as Selina +uses it, it means to do good to any one in a condescending way, as if +you were a great deal better than they." + +"Then I am sure Miss Van Zandt is not a bit patronizing," said Kit +eagerly. "She doesn't put on one bit of airs." + +"Pray, what do 'you' know about it?" asked Selina. "Where have you seen +Miss Van Zandt, I should like to know?" + +The tone was rude enough to bring the color to Kit's face. But she +answered quietly,— + +"I have seen her two or three times. She and Miss Bogardus have been +very kind to me. They gave me my Testament and my hymn-book." + +"Well, I must say I agree with Selina," said Lucinda Hurd. "I don't +want any stuck-up city folks coming and doing good to 'me.'" + +"I don't believe you are in any danger of being done good to," said +Sarah. "For my part, I mean to learn all I can. Miss Van Zandt does +sing splendidly." + +"Ezra says he never heard such a voice in his life," said Faith +Fletcher. + +Now, Ezra Fletcher was a college senior, and a great personage in the +red schoolhouse district. + +"Oh, very well; go and be patronized if you like," said Selina. "I +shall not, that's all." + +"Selina, are you ever coming home?" asked Milly Richmond, appearing +round the turn of the road just by the schoolhouse. "I have been +waiting for you half an hour at least," she added, putting her arm +through Selina's, with a condescending nod to the rest of the girls as +she walked away. + +"There's distinguished city breeding for you," said Sarah. + +"What is the use of calling it 'city' breeding?" asked Agnes. "It is no +more city than country. One sees underbred people everywhere." + +"City folks always are stuck-up, anyway," said Lucinda. "They always +look down on country folks." + +"I don't think so. Dr. Madison did not talk to us in Sunday school as +though he looked down on us." + +"Not half as much as Mr. Martin used to," observed one of the girls. +"It used to make me sick to hear him begin, 'Now, my dear children,' +and then go on to talk baby-talk for half an hour. I just hated to go. +Dr. Madison talks sense, and so did Mr. Brace when he was here. And +Mr. Martin was no such great man: his father used to keep a little +candy-shop over in Oldfield when my mother went to school there." + +"It is nothing against Mr. Martin if he did," said Sarah. "Keeping a +candy-shop is an honest trade." + +"It is a sweet trade anyhow," said Faith. "I should like to keep a +candy-shop myself, and then I could have all the candy I wanted." + +"But, suppose it wasn't an honest trade, would that be any thing +against Mr. Martin?" asked Kit. "He wouldn't be to blame for what his +father did, would he?" + +"Well, no, I suppose not," answered Faith rather doubtfully; "but +people think a great deal of family about here." + +"Of course he would not," said Sarah decidedly. "If a man is good, he +is good, and if he is bad, he is bad, whatever his father was. Mr. +Martin was a good man, but he was no hand to manage a Sunday school." + +"If I could go to Sunday school, I don't think I should care very much +who managed it," said Kit sadly. + +"Can't you?" asked Eddy. + +"No: uncle Phin won't let me. I couldn't help crying last Sunday when +I sat up on the hill, and watched the children coming out with their +books." + +"Think of that, Eddy," said Faith. "Somebody I know cried last Sunday +for a very different reason from that." + +Eddy blushed at the recollection, and made up her mind that she would +never quarrel with her Sunday school lesson again. + +"You will come to the singing-school, won't you, Kit?" said Sarah. + +"Yes, if they will let me. I think it is lovely in Miss Van Zandt to +teach us, don't you?" + +"I think it is very nice of her. Good-night, little one." As she kissed +Kit she added, "Don't be down-hearted, Kit; I hope better times will +come for you by and by." + +"Won't you please ask God to let me go, Sarah?" whispered Kit as she +returned Sarah's kiss. + +"You love Him, don't you?" said Sarah. + +"Yes; and I love you too," answered Kit, "you are so kind to me." + +"It would be a hard-hearted creature that could be any thing but kind +to such a kitten as you. Come home with me, and I will give you some +flowers." + +"Oh, thank you!" answered Kit gratefully. "Aunt Martha loves flowers +better than any thing." + + +"What were you all talking about?" asked Milly of Selina as they walked +down the road together. "You seemed wonderfully interested." + +"About Miss Van Zandt's singing-school. She is going to set up a +singing-school for the enlightenment of us ignorant savages here in the +country." + +"A singing-school! What do you mean?" + +Selina told the story, adding, "But I am not going, I can tell her. I +don't want any of her patronage." + +"I think you will be very silly if you don't," was Milly's unexpected +rejoinder. + +"I don't know why I should take lessons of her," said Selina. "I don't +know why I can't sing as well as Miss Van Zandt." + +"Because you have not her voice nor her training," returned Milly. +"Why, Selina, the idea of comparing your singing with Ida Van Zandt's! +She is Signor A.'s crack pupil; and I know Professor G., who trains the +Handel Chorus Society, considers hers the best female voice he has. +Not but you do sing very well, considering. But the idea of comparing +yourself to Ida Van Zandt!" + +Selina had often admired and defended Milly's bluntness, which she +called frankness and sincerity. But she did not find this same +frankness so pleasant when it was applied to herself. She had a great +opinion of her own powers; and to have that opinion so coolly set aside +was almost more than she could bear, even from Milly. + +"You were talking the other day of your voice making you independent," +continued Milly. "If I thought of any such thing as that, I would not +lose such a chance as this of singing with Miss Van Zandt. I have no +more voice than a crow, and no talent for music anyway; but if I had, I +would go down on my knees to her to let me come." + +"I am not in the habit of going down on my knees to people," said +Selina loftily; "I am not so fond of being patronized." + +"I call that nonsense," replied Milly, who possessed a certain +common-sense which might have made her a valuable woman under good +training. "In the first place, nobody wants you to go down on your +knees, or to be patronized either. I dare say Miss Van Zandt never +thought of such a thing. All Mrs. Van Zandt's set are engaged in +missions or some such work. Ida teaches in the St. Timothy's School, I +know, when she is in town, and in another in the country; and so does +Miss Bogardus." + +"That is just what I say," persisted Selina. "I don't want to be made a +mission of." + +"Anybody might make a mission of me who would teach me to sing like +that," said Milly. "And, as to patronage, you ought to see how ladies +in society will contrive and plan and scheme to get invitations from +those who are a little more fashionable than themselves. I believe ma +would not only go on her knees, but walk on them across Fifth Avenue, +to get a card for Mrs. Anderson's Fridays or one of Mrs. Van Zandt's +quiet lunch-parties." + +"I call that downright mean," said Selina. + +"Oh, well, every one does it. I wouldn't go as far as some do, myself; +but I would like to know the Van Zandts." + +"How is Cordelia to-day?" asked Selina, willing to turn the +conversation. + +"She is about the same; I don't think she is quite as well. Mother left +her with Agnes on Sunday, and Agnes must go to reading the Bible and +talking pious to her. And ever since, she thinks she is going to die, +and is always wanting to have Dr. Madison come to see her. Mother won't +hear of it, though; and she was angry enough with Agnes for putting it +into her head." + +"But if she should die, Milly, your mother would be sorry she did not +let her have her own way." + +"She isn't going to die," said Milly angrily. "I believe she would be +a great deal better if she would exert herself a little. Not but what +I would let her have her own way in this, and so I told ma," she added +in a gentler tone. "Dr. Madison is a nice old gentleman, and I don't +believe he would hurt her. But, as to this singing-school business, +Selina, you will be very foolish if you don't go." + +"I can judge for myself, I suppose," said Selina. + +"All right; judge for yourself all you like. It is the last time I +shall ever offer you any advice, you may be sure of that," returned +Milly. "I had no idea you were such a grand personage, or I would +not have ventured on such a liberty. Good-afternoon, Miss Weston, or +whatever your name is. I won't trouble you any further." + +And Milly turned and walked away. + +Selina was confounded for the moment. Like other passionate people, she +was always surprised and aggrieved when any one else showed any temper. +To do Milly justice, such outbreaks were rare with her. She had not +reached home before she told herself that she had been silly to mind +Selina's tantrums, and resolved that she would make up on the first +opportunity. She forgot that she had dealt Selina a cruel and cowardly +blow in the allusion to her name, knowing, as she did, how sensitive +Selina was on that point. + +Selina stood still a moment, and then, turning round, walked rapidly +toward home. + +"I will never speak to her again,—never," she said to herself. "And I +will not go to the singing-school either, if I can help it. I suppose, +though, I shall have to, or make a fuss at home. They are all bewitched +with this Ida Van Zandt, and Milly is as bad as the rest. I wish she +had never come here." + +The singing-school began prosperously with a full attendance. All the +children came; and a good many grown people would have liked to do so, +but Ida good-naturedly but firmly declined having any pupils outside of +the school. + +"It is only for the little ones," she explained. "And I find they do +their best when I have them by themselves. Besides, I am not setting up +for a teacher—I am only practising a little with the children." + +Selina made up her mind to attend the class, partly because she could +not contrive any valid excuse for not doing so, and partly because on +consideration she was obliged, however unwillingly, to own that Milly's +advice was good. It would be foolish to throw away such a chance for +improvement; and moreover, if she did, Mr. Weston might make it a +reason for refusing to let her have singing-lessons in Oldbury. As may +be guessed, she was not in a very good frame of mind for profiting by +the lessons, since her chief end and aim was to show that she could +sing as well as her teacher. + +To Kit the singing-lessons were a source of unmixed joy. She had a real +genius for music, and a wonderfully quick ear, which caught in a moment +all the beauties of Ida's style, and reproduced them in a manner quite +marvellous to the other girls. + +"Kit will beat us all," cried Faith in honest admiration. "What a +beautiful voice she has!" + +"Yes, she is going to make a fine singer," said Ida. "But we must not +let her practise too much for a year or two, or she will hurt her +voice. She sings with a great deal of expression. Now, you must all be +very attentive, because I am going to give you a lesson on reading the +notes." + +Symantha made no objection to Kit's singing-lessons, and nothing had +been said to Phin about them. He was away in Oldbury a good deal of the +time, and often came home in a very bad humor. Kit kept out of his way +at these times as much as possible. She noticed that Symantha's face +began to assume the old anxious expression, which it had almost laid +aside for a few months past. And she shrewdly guessed, that, as she +said, "uncle Phin was going wrong again." + +One day she came home with a very grave, not to say scared, expression, +and followed Symantha into the pantry. + +"Symantha, do you remember that man who used to keep the saloon in our +street in Goldsburg,—the one they said shot the peddler?" + +"Yes," answered Symantha, startled. "What of him?" + +"I saw him this afternoon," said Kit. + +"Impossible, child! He is in State-prison, and long may he stay there!" + +"He is not in State-prison now," persisted Kit. "I tell you I saw him +this afternoon. I met him down by the bars, and he walked part of the +way home with me. I was scared, I can tell you." + +"What did he say to you?" + +"He asked the nearest way to Oldfield, and I told him: and then he +asked who lived in Mr. Weston's house, and in Mrs. Van Zandt's; and I +told him. Then he said he supposed Mrs. Van Zandt was very rich, and I +said I didn't know any thing about it. He asked if I had ever been in +the house, and I said, 'No.' Then he offered me a quarter, and I told +him I didn't take money from strangers." + +"Quite right," said Symantha. "But, Kit, I think you must be mistaken. +Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure, and I will tell you how. He has bleached his hair, and +got white whiskers, but don't you remember one of his eyes was of two +colors? He could not change that, and I knew him by it directly." + +Symantha's face grew dark. "I thought he was out of the way, at least," +said she. "I wonder what brings him here." + +"He said he was going to Oldfield, and wanted to know the shortest +road. I was glad when he walked on, for I am always afraid of him." + +"He is a wicked wretch," said Symantha. "I have heard that he was born +somewhere about here. Well, don't say a word, Kit. You were quite right +not to answer his questions." + +"I hope he won't get hold of uncle Phin," said Kit. "I thought he would +get out of his old ways when he came to this nice place, and had the +farm and all." + +"And so did I; but, when people are bound to go to destruction, they +will go," said Symantha, with a sigh which was almost a groan. + +"It is too bad of uncle Phin, because he is so nice when he is good," +said Kit. She paused, and then added timidly, "Symantha, why don't you +ask our Father in heaven to make uncle Phin good? Don't you believe He +could?" + +"I don't know, child; I suppose so. Do you believe it?" + +"Yes, I do. There was the thief on the cross: I read about him this +morning. And I know other wicked people have been made good." + +"Well, child, pray for him, then, and for me too, if you like. I am +sure I am glad if you take comfort in that or any thing else. How do +you get on with your singing-school?" + +"Oh, nicely!" replied Kit with animation. "We have learned 'Jesus, +lover of my soul,' and 'There is a green hill far away,' and 'Onward, +Christian soldiers.' That is splendid. They are going to sing it in +meeting to-morrow night," said Kit with a sudden change of tone. "Don't +I wish I could go!" + +"Don't you wish you could go where?" asked Phin. He had left his boots +at the door and come quietly in, in his stocking-feet, so that no one +had heard him. + +"To meeting," said Kit, rather alarmed, but standing her ground, and +half hoping her uncle might relent. + +"Well, you won't do any such thing." + +"I don't see what harm it would do," said Kit. "If it is all nonsense, +as you say, it would do no more hurt than going to the circus or the +theatre; and you used to let me go there. And if it is true—" + +"Hush, Kit," said Symantha. + +"True or false, you won't go. And you are not going near that +schoolhouse for any thing again. Do you hear?" + +"Not to school?" faltered Kit. + +"No!" thundered Phin. "Not to school nor for any thing else. If you say +another word, I will take you over to Oldbury, and set you to drawing +beer at Stillwell's. I was a fool not to do it before." + +Kit's own temper flamed up. "I'll never draw beer at Stillwell's nor +anywhere else," said, she. "I hate the beer,—it is that makes you so +ugly, uncle Phin,—and I'll never touch it." + +"You won't, eh? You will go down cellar and get me a glass this minute." + +"I won't." + +"Father!" said Symantha warningly, but Phin was not to be controlled. + +He had come home from Oldbury vexed at losing money in gambling, +irritated as a weak man always is at the slavery to which he was +reduced by his own weakness, and ready to visit that irritation on the +first helpless object that came in his way. He took Kit in his arms +despite her struggles; and, carrying her down-stairs, he set her down, +and ordered her to draw the beer. But Kit was by this time quite beside +herself with rage, and the old habit asserted itself, as old habits +will with the best of us at times. + +The beer-keg stood on a table at quite a height from the floor. With +a volley of hard words, Kit seized it, and, by a sudden exertion of +strength, flung it violently to the ground. The head, coming in contact +with a large stone, was smashed in, and the beer poured out on the +cellar-bottom. + +"There's your beer drawn for you," said she. "Now drink it." + +Phin's rage was something fearful. He whipped Kit till her screams +alarmed him. + +"There, now go to bed; and don't let me see you again to-night," said +he, releasing her at last. "Come, we'll know who is to be master." + +Kit crept away to bed, trembling so she could hardly stand. Sorely +beaten as she was, the pain was the least of her troubles. + +That which she had most feared had fallen upon her. To stay away from +school,—that was the worst. To have no Miss Armstrong to go to in her +troubles, to have no one to answer her questions, and explain to her +what she did not understand,—oh, it was too dreadful to think of! + +Symantha watched her chance, and brought the child some supper, but she +could not eat. + +Even her prayers seemed to bring her no comfort. She had been so +wicked! She had been so angry, and used such bad words! What if she +should never be forgiven? She slept only in snatches till the cocks +began to crow, and the light to shine into her uncurtained windows. + +Then she rose, and sought her Testament in the place where she kept it +hidden. As she read, her face became calmer, and she ceased her sobs. +Yes, she had been very naughty, but He would forgive her as He had +forgiven Peter, who cursed and swore. Hope was not all gone, as she had +thought the night before. Her Guardian was still in heaven. He saw and +knew it all. He would forgive her, and take her part. Kit kneeled and +poured out her heart in prayer; and then, lying down, she fell at last +into a deep, quiet slumber. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +KIT'S VICTORY. + +WHEN Kit came down-stairs, she found breakfast ready, and her uncle +just come in. + +"Halloo! Here's the saint," said he roughly. "Come, let us hear some +more of those pretty words you said last night,—those nice lessons Miss +Armstrong teaches you down there." + +"Uncle Phin," said Kit, growing pale, but speaking firmly, "I never +learned those words from Miss Armstrong, and you know it. I am sorry I +said them; it was very wicked. And I am sorry I struck you." + +"Humph!" said Phin, considerably taken aback. "And what about the beer? +Are you sorry for that too?" + +"No," answered Kit. "I should like to do as much for all the beer-kegs +in the world. You are never ugly to me only when you have been drinking +beer." + +"Humph!" said Phin. "There, hold your tongue, and eat your breakfast. +But mind, you are not going to school." + +Kit dared not say any more. Phin did not go to Oldbury, but staid about +the house doing odd jobs of repairing, and waiting upon his wife, who +had been very unwell for several weeks. His fondness and tenderness for +her was one of his best traits. He never spoke harshly to her in his +worst moments, and would take any amount of pains to give her a little +comfort. Symantha brought out her basket of mending, and asked Kit to +help her with the stockings; saying, with a meaning look,— + +"You can take your work up in your own room, if you like. I am going to +clean the floor." + +Kit understood, as well as if the words had been spoken, that Symantha +meant to give her a chance to read. She fastened her door, and, having +despatched her task of mending neatly and quickly (for, thanks to +Symantha's training, she was an expert needle-woman), she drew her +precious "Pilgrim's Progress" from its hiding-place, and read for a +long time. + +Then she got out her Testament, and read the two last chapters of St. +Luke's Gospel. She was going through the book in course, wondering and +delighted more and more at all she found there. Her lively imagination +and quick sense of the beautiful gave reality to all the stories; and +she pondered over them as she walked to and from school, or drove up +the cows from their pasture, or helped Symantha with the sewing. + +This morning she was deeply impressed with the story of the +Resurrection. She seemed to see it all,—the women coming to the +sepulchre (something like the burial-vaults she had seen in the +cemetery at St. Louis, she thought) in the early morning, while it +was yet dark; the visit of the apostles; Mary mourning by herself, +not recognizing her risen Lord in the perplexing dusk of the early +twilight, till he called her by name. + +Her meditations were interrupted by a call to dinner. + +"Where is uncle Phin?" she asked. + +"He is sitting with ma. She is very bad to-day." + +"I have not heard her." + +"No, she has not spoken at all; and I cannot persuade her to eat a +mouthful.—Come, father; come to dinner." + +The meal passed almost in silence. + +"Let me wash up the dishes," said Kit after it was finished. "You look +so tired!" + +"I did not suppose such a fine lady as you are could wash dishes," said +Phin. "I dare say Miss Armstrong never washed a dish in her life." + +Kit made no answer. She was determined not to be provoked again if she +could help it. She did up the work neatly. And then, taking her hat and +her book, she went up to her old resting-place on the hill, from whence +she could see the schoolhouse. + +It would be something even to look at the roof which held Miss +Armstrong, and where had been passed the happiest hours of her life. +She knew just what was going on, and could almost see the larger girls +engaged in preparing their grammar lesson, and the little ones taking +it in turn to read their small tasks by Miss Armstrong's side. It would +be about Jenny Hurd's turn now, she thought. She would lean against +Miss Armstrong. Perhaps Miss Armstrong's arm would be around her. What +would she not give to be in her place! Jenny did not like to come to +school, and would rather play all day; and yet Jenny could have the +privilege from which she was shut out. It was very strange, Kit thought. + +"Anyhow, uncle Phin can't ever take away from me what I have learned. +He never can make things as they were before I knew Miss Armstrong; +nothing in the world can do that. And they are things which will last +for ever and ever," said Kit, half aloud, realizing in her sorrow the +truth which has come to so many other people in times of change and +bereavement,—that the things which are seen are temporal; while it is +only the things which are not to be seen by mortal eyes, or handled by +mortal hands, that are real and eternal. + +Then another thought occurred to Kit, which made her take out her +little Testament, already showing signs of the wear it suffered by +being carried in her pocket. She turned to the second chapter of St. +Matthew's Gospel, and was soon so deeply engaged in study that she +started as if she had been shot when Ida spoke to her. + +"Why, Kitty! How does it happen that you are not in school?" + +"Uncle Phin won't let me go," answered Kit, with a quivering lip. "He +says I shall not go any more." + +"But that is a great pity, when you were getting on so nicely," said +Amity. "Why did he say that?" + +"He got angry at me," said Kit. "I was naughty, I know, but I don't +think that was the reason. It was just because he was put out about +something else. I was in hopes he had forgotten all about it this +morning,—he does that way very often,—but he says I shall never go +there again." + +"We will hope that he will change his mind, as you say he has done so +before. What are you doing now?" + +"Learning verses out of the Testament," answered Kit. "I was thinking +that uncle Phin nor any one else could take away the things I had +learned. And then I thought, 'What if I should lose my Testament again, +or go where I couldn't have any teaching?' So I made up my mind to +learn as many verses as I could; because, don't you see, nobody can +take away the things I have in my mind." + +Ida and Amity exchanged glances. + +"Other people besides you have done that, little Kitty," said Amity. +"Last summer I went to visit a mountainous country in Europe, where +live a brave and good people who for many hundred years were dreadfully +persecuted on account of their religion. The popes, and the governors +of that country, were determined to make these people give up reading +the Bible, and worshipping God as they thought right. They wanted them +to become Roman Catholics; so they made war on them, and burnt their +houses, and shut many of them up in prisons and convents, and put +others to cruel deaths." + +"That was a queer way to make them like the Roman-Catholic religion," +said Kit. + +"It was a way which did not succeed very well," said Amity. "The more +these people were persecuted, the more closely they clung to their own +religion, and the more they loved the Bible. But, because they were +liable at any time to lose their books, they used to do as you are +doing. All the children were taught to commit to memory the whole of +the Gospels. As they grew up, they learned more and more, till many +grown men and women could say the New Testament from beginning to end. +They had very few books; and so the little children used to walk miles +upon miles to their schools, over rocks and mountains, and ice and +snow, through places which it made me giddy to look at, in order that +they might learn the Bible." + +"And are they persecuted now?" asked Kit. + +"No: they have their liberty, and can read the gospel as much as they +like. Now they are sending out missionaries to teach other people to +read and love the Bible." + +"That is nice," said Kit. "Miss Armstrong told us about the +missionaries. I thought then I should like to be one, but I shall never +know enough to be any thing if I can't go to school." + +"Oh, you must not despair," said Ida. "I hope things will take a turn +for the better some time. See here, I want you to look at this picture, +and tell me if you ever saw any one like it." + +Kit took the photograph Ida offered her, and regarded it long and +earnestly. + +"It looks very much like aunt Martha, only it is younger," said she. "I +think she might have looked like that when she was a girl." + +The girls exchanged glances again. "I suppose nobody sees your aunt," +said Amity. + +"Nobody ever comes to our house," replied Kit. + +"Uncle Phin doesn't like to have them, because aunt Martha is afraid +of strangers. At least, he says that is the reason, but I don't really +think so," she added, after a moment's reflection. + +"Why not?" + +"Because she was not afraid on the cars, when we came here," said Kit: +"she liked it. She used to look out of the window. And sometimes she +would say quite sensible things. She did not have a single bad time all +the way." + +"How has she been since she lived here?" asked Amity. + +"She has not been as well. She has grown thin, and coughs at night. +Symantha thinks she has got the consumption." + +"And about her mind?" + +"Well, sometimes she is better, and then she is worse; but, on the +whole, she is worse. She cries a great deal, and some days she will not +eat at all. But I must be going," said Kit, looking at the sun. + +"One thing more," said Amity. "Excuse me for asking so many questions, +Kit; I have a reason for them. Are your uncle and Symantha kind to her?" + +"I am afraid that is hardly a fair question, Amity," said Ida. + +"Oh, yes, they are very kind to her," replied Kit. "Symantha is good +to everybody, and uncle Phin would do any thing in the world for aunt +Martha. I never heard him speak a hard word to her, even when she was +the most troublesome. And even Melissa never dared to be cross to her +when he was in the house. I don't think uncle Phin would be cross to +any one if he would let the beer alone. When we first came here, before +he began to go to Oldbury, he was just as good as he could be. But I +must go. It must be nearly five o'clock." + +"Yes; we won't keep you any longer," said Ida. "That is an excellent +idea of yours, about learning the Gospels by heart. Good-night, little +one." + +"I believe that aunt of hers is really Kathleen Joyce," said Amity as +she and Ida turned homeward. + +"So do I. And I believe, moreover, that she is the child's mother. I do +wish aunt Barbara could see her, but I don't know what excuse she could +make for forcing herself in, especially as we have no proof that the +poor thing is ill-treated." + +"Miss Celia says she screams dreadfully at times, and that the +neighbors have talked of interfering," remarked Amity. "If they should, +something might be done. At any rate, it will be a comfort to aunt +Barbara to know that the poor thing is kindly treated." + + +As Kit came down the hill behind her uncle's house, she stopped and +listened as the sound of wild and piercing screams, poured forth in +quick succession, fell on her ear. + +"Aunt Martha is bad again," she thought. + +And quickening her steps, she reached the house, and entered her aunt's +bedroom. The poor woman was sitting up in bed, uttering scream upon +scream, and making frantic efforts to escape from her husband's arms, +and throw herself on the floor; while he and Symantha strove in vain to +soothe her. + +"What 'shall' we do?" said Phin, glancing at his daughter with a look +almost of despair. "She will hurt herself, and rouse the neighbors +besides." + +"Let 'me' try," said Kit, unable to keep quiet any longer. An idea had +darted into her head which she longed to put in practice. + +"Well, do," said Symantha. "You can't do any harm. She is as bad as she +can be, now." + +Kit seated herself on the side of the bed, and without a word of what +she was about to do, she began singing,— + + "Jesus, lover of my soul,—" + +to the tender, pleading music of the Spanish Hymn. + +The poor woman's screams and struggles ceased at once. She leaned back +on her husband's breast, and listened like one entranced till Kit sang +the hymn all through. + +"I used to sing that," said she when Kit was silent. "I used to sing +a great many hymns before they took away my Lord. But they have taken +Him away, they have taken Him away; and I know not where they have laid +Him." + +"Oh, no, aunt Martha!" said Kit cheerfully. "They haven't taken Him +away: nobody could do that. You know Mary thought they had, but she +was mistaken. He had risen from the dead, and was close by her all the +time, only it was so dark she couldn't see to tell who it was. But when +He spoke to her, then she knew Him." + +"But He won't speak to me," said the invalid. "He never speaks to me +now. Do you think He ever will?" + +"Yes, I know He will. I am going to read you what He says." And +forgetting every thing in her desire to comfort the sufferer, +forgetting even her fears for her chiefest treasure, Kit took her +precious Testament from her pocket. And opening it at random, she began +to read from the third chapter of St. John. + +Mrs. Mallory listened with evident pleasure. Presently, however, her +eyelids began to droop, her fingers ceased to pick at the bed-clothes, +her head sank back. She had fallen into a quiet slumber. Phin gently +laid her head on the pillow, while Symantha darkened the window. + +Presently, he went to the door, and beckoned out Kit, who was still +reading in subdued tones. + +Kit obeyed, though she was terribly frightened when she thought of what +she had done. + +"But I don't care," she said. "I know it was right." + +To her amazement, Phin lifted her in his arms, and kissed her. + +"You are a good girl, Kit. You shall do as you like. You may go to +school, and to meeting too, if you want to." + +"O uncle Phin! Do you mean it?" + +"Yes, I mean it. There, child, don't strangle me," as Kit threw her +arms round his neck in a vehement hug. + +"And may I really go to meeting and to Sunday school?" asked Kit. + +"I didn't say any thing about Sunday school. However, I don't care," +said Phin. "Yes, you may go, though I don't see what pleasure you find +in it." + +"Go yourself, and you will find out," said Kit. + +"See here! You are one of the folks, that when you give them an inch, +they take an ell. Go to meeting, if you like, but don't take to +preaching, yourself. But see here, Kit; how did you dare get out that +Testament? Wasn't you afraid I would burn it up, as I did the other +one?" + +"I didn't think any thing about myself, anyway," answered Kit: "I only +thought of comforting aunt Martha. And, you see, it did comfort her. +You won't burn it up, will you, uncle Phin?" + +"No, child. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt your precious book. Where did +you get it?" + +"Miss Van Zandt gave it to me. I found a book she lost up on the hill, +and took it to her. And then she gave me this one." + +"All right," said Phin, apparently not caring to pursue the subject. +"There, run out to the barn, and find my pipe; I have left it out there +somewhere." + +"Just to think that I can go to meeting!" said Kit to Symantha that +night as she was helping her wash up the dishes. "It seems too good to +be true. Ain't you glad, Symantha?" + +"Yes, child, I am glad to have you take all the comfort you can," +answered Symantha wearily. "There is none too much going in the world, +anyway; and you have had less than your share." + +"I have had more than you have," said Kit. "I wish I could do something +for you." + +"You do a great deal for me. I don't know how I should live without +you; and yet, if I could get you such a home as Selina Weston has, I +would let you go." + +"Selina is not contented, though," said Kit; "at least, I think not. +And only fancy, Symantha, she does not like Miss Armstrong and Miss Van +Zandt. She says they are patronizing, and feel above her." + +"And you don't think they feel above you, I suppose?" + +"I never thought any thing about it," answered Kit. "Of course they +are above me. Just think how many things they know, and I am only an +ignorant little girl. But I don't think that is all the trouble with +Selina. She liked Miss Armstrong ever so much at first. It seemed as if +she did not want to have her speak to any one else." + +"Perhaps 'that' is the trouble. If Selina has a jealous disposition, +she will never be happy anywhere. There, go to bed, child. You have had +a hard day." + +"It has turned out good, so I don't care," said Kit. "I am so glad I +thought of singing to aunt Martha!" + +"Yes, it was a happy thought. What put it into your head?" + +"I don't know, unless God did," answered Kit with an odd kind of +matter-of-fact reverence. "But I am so glad I can go to school! I shall +feel like dancing all the way." + + +But Kit did not go to school next morning, after all. Mrs. Mallory +slept late, and the moment she waked, she asked for the child. + +"Was somebody singing to me? Or did I dream it?" she asked of Symantha. + +"You did not dream it," answered Symantha gently. "Kit was singing for +you." + +"And can she sing again?" asked the invalid imploringly. "Will she come +and sing for me again? Won't your father let her?" + +"Oh, yes! She shall sing for you again," said Phin, answering for +himself. "Try what you can do," he said to Kit. "Perhaps you can coax +her to eat something. She did not touch a bit yesterday." + +Kit glanced at the clock in some dismay. It was almost school-time. + +"'He' would want me to stay with aunt Martha, I know," she thought, +"and I believe Miss Armstrong would too." + +Without a moment's hesitation, she sat down by her aunt, and began to +sing again. + +"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Mallory; "you have done me a great deal +of good. But I feel very weak and faint." + +"That is because you haven't eaten any thing," said Kit. "Let me give +you your breakfast, and then I will read to you as I did yesterday. I +will wash your face and hands, and then you will feel more like eating." + +Mrs. Mallory submitted to all Kit's toilet offices without resistance, +and even with some show of pleasure. As Kit tied on her cap, she held +her hand for a moment. + +"Who are you, little girl?" she said, gazing wistfully at her. "I seem +to remember you." + +"Why, yes, aunt Martha: I am Kit. Don't you know Kit?" + +"I don't think that is what I used to call you," said the poor woman, +"but my mind is a good deal confused. I don't think I understand any +thing very well." + +"That is because you are sick and weak," answered Kit with ready tact. +"When you are better, you will know all about it. See, here comes +Symantha with the nice breakfast." + +Mrs. Mallory ate with some appearance of appetite. "Now sing to me if +you are not tired," said she. + +"Oh, I am not tired," answered Kit. "I love to sing." She sang two or +three hymns, and then read till Mrs. Mallory fell asleep again. + +"She is asleep," Kit reported, stealing out of the room. "And, +Symantha, you don't know how sensibly she talked." + +"What did she say?" asked Symantha. + +"Oh, not much; only she asked me if I thought any one could be saved +who had denied their Lord. And I told her yes, and read her what it +says about Peter. Then she tried to remember a verse; and I found it, +and read it to her. It was about the blood of Christ cleansing us from +all sin, you know." + +"Well?" + +"Then she asked if I knew a hymn about that; and I told her I did, and +sung it for her. Then she whispered to herself a little while. I think +she was praying," said Kit with a look and tone of awe. "And finally +she went to sleep." + +"That does seem as if she were getting better," said Phin. "Kit, if she +does, there is nothing I won't do for you." + +Symantha shook her head sadly. "Her mind may get better, but her body +won't," said she. "Can't you see how it is, father?" + +"You think it is the lighting-up for death?" + +"I think so," said Symantha; "and I don't know that we ought to wish it +otherwise, if she dies happy." + +Phin sighed deeply. "Well, no, I suppose not, but this world will be an +empty place when she is gone. Symantha, I haven't been a good father to +you, I haven't been good at any thing that I know of; but I do thank +you for your kindness and patience with that poor thing." + +"Then, if I have done any thing for her, do something for me," said +Symantha: "stay away from Oldbury, and let the drink alone." + +Phin shook his head, but he said no more; nor did Symantha pursue the +subject any further. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +MISS VAN ZANDT. + +GREAT was the amazement of all the school-girls to see Kit, neatly +dressed, and book in hand, walk into the schoolhouse Friday evening, +and seat herself among the children. + +"There is Kit," whispered Ruth to Selina. "I wonder if she has run +away." + +"I dare say she has. I know she said her uncle would not let her come." + +"Well, for my part, I believe in children doing as they are told, about +going to meeting or any thing else. I wonder why she has not been in +school." + +"Her aunt is worse," replied Selina. "Dr. Chase went up to see her this +morning. He told father she was in the last stage of consumption." + +Never had the Friday evening services in the red schoolhouse district +been so well attended as they were this summer. Perhaps this increased +attendance might be partly owing to the fact that the red schoolhouse +had never before been so comfortable. Certainly it was much more +agreeable to spend an hour in a clean, well-aired, cool room, fresh and +fragrant with the smell of flowers and green leaves, than to pass the +same time in a hot, fusty apartment, unventilated since the afternoon +school session, with air heavy enough to have put hundred-eyed Argus +asleep. Miss Van Zandt's singing might also be an attraction. But +I am inclined to think there was more in the case than either, and +that a gracious influence was stirring the air, not only in the red +schoolhouse district, but in the whole parish of Oldham. + +Kit had counted on a word with Miss Armstrong either before or after +the meeting, but neither she nor Mrs. Van Zandt was present. Mr. +Bassett opened the service, as usual, with a hymn: and some of the +elder people smiled at the earnestness with which the children joined +in the singing; and more than one turned to look at Kit, whose voice +sounded out beautifully clear and full of expression. + +"Did you ever!" whispered Ruth. "Who ever would have guessed that poor +child had such a voice?" + +Selina did not answer, but her face wore any thing but a pleased +expression. + +The service went on as usual, except that more people spoke, and almost +every one of the children had a text, or a verse from some favorite +hymn. Miss Celia made a few remarks, in her silvery, tremulous voice. +They were very simple. She said she had been young, and now was old; +she had passed through many severe trials, some of which were well +known to her friends, and others only to her heavenly Father: but she +wished to say that in all of them she had been helped and comforted +by Divine Love. It was a support which had never failed her. She had +enjoyed it all her life, and she hoped the dear children and young +people present might be as happy in this respect as she had been. + +That was all she said. It was commonplace enough, if such a subject can +ever be commonplace. But it was spoken with an expression of inward +conviction which sent it home to almost every heart present. + +"Are there any more remarks?" asked Mr. Bassett. + +There was a short silence; and then a clear little voice sounded from +the low bench in front, where the little children sat:— + +"Please, Mr. Bassett, will you ask the people to pray for aunt Martha, +because she is very sick, and the doctor says she won't live but a +little while." + +Everybody looked round in surprise. Kit had risen to her feet in her +earnestness, and stood with her shining eyes fixed on the good miller's +face, while the carnation color mantled beautifully in her cheeks. More +than one mother felt the tears very near her eyes as they rested on +the poor little motherless child, who stood so evidently thinking of +nothing but the request she had made. And more than one prayer went up +then and there on her behalf and that of the invalid. + +There was the usual little pause for neighborly chat when the service +was over. + +"Why, Kit! How did you come here?" asked Sarah. + +"Uncle Phin let me come," answered Kit. "And only think, Sarah, he says +I may go to Sunday school!" + +"How glad I am!" said Sarah, bending to kiss the face turned to her. +"But where have you been these two days?" + +"I could not leave aunt Martha. She is very sick, and she likes to have +me sing and read to her." + +"Is she sensible?" + +"Yes, almost all the time now, though she isn't quite right. She thinks +I am her daughter, and she can't bear to have me away from her when she +is awake. But she isn't unhappy, as she used to be, and she prays a +great deal. But, Sarah, I wonder where Miss Armstrong is. I thought I +should see her this evening." + +"I don't know, I am sure. Let us ask Selina.—Selina, where is Miss +Armstrong?" + +"She has gone to New York with Mrs. Van Zandt. They had a telegram that +some friend of theirs is very low,—not expected to live. Miss Armstrong +thought she could not go at first. But Miss Van Zandt must needs offer +to teach the school while she was away, so she got ready, and started +off in Mrs. Van Zandt's carriage to catch the train at Oldbury." + +"I don't see why you should speak so scornfully, Selina," said Faith. +"For my part, I think it is very kind of Miss Van Zandt." + +"Well, I don't want to be going to school to a girl only two or three +years older than I am." + +"What difference does her age make, so long as she knows more than we +do?" asked Faith very sensibly. + +Selina made no reply. + +"I'll tell you what it is, Selina, you will end by hating Miss Van +Zandt, if you don't mind," continued Faith earnestly. "I don't see how +you can feel so. What harm has she ever done to you?" + +"I never said she had done me any harm," returned Selina. "I think she +puts herself forward, and makes herself ridiculous by taking so much on +herself. But as to hating, I never troubled myself enough about her to +do that." And yet Selina did hate Ida, and she knew it. + +"Where is Patience to-night, Faith?" asked Mrs. Weston. + +"She isn't very well, and she had so much to do she thought she +couldn't come. I wanted her to let me do up the work, but she wouldn't." + +"That is a pity," said Mrs. Weston. "It would have done her good.—Come, +Selina; we must be going." + + +The children were early at the schoolhouse next morning, eager to see +their new teacher, whom they were all prepared to like. + +"Who do you think came to Bible class with me last night?" said Agnes +as she joined the group of older girls. "No less a person than Milly +Richmond." + +"Milly Richmond!" exclaimed Selina. "I don't believe it. She laughs at +the very idea." + +"She came, for all that. We sat close by the door, and went away the +very first minute we could." + +"But how did it happen?" + +"Well, I asked her. You see, Milly and I have never been very good +friends," said Agnes with some embarrassment; "and I think perhaps +I have been hard upon her, so I have been trying to make up. I did +not believe she would come to the service: but I remembered what Dr. +Madison said about charity at home, and I thought there would be no +harm in trying. So I asked her, as I said, and she asked me if I really +meant it. + +"'Of course,' I said. + +"And then she said, well, she did not mind for once, only she would +like to sit by the door, because it was so warm." + +"How did she like it?" asked Sarah. + +"I asked her, and she said she didn't know, herself; she should have to +think about it. And after that, she never said another word all the way +home." + +"Is it true, Agnes, that you are going to be confirmed next time the +Bishop comes?" asked Faith. + +"Quite true," answered Agnes. + +"I should think you were pretty young to take such a step," remarked +Ruth. "Why don't you wait till you are older?" + +"Why should I?" asked Agnes. "I am fifteen, and I don't think I shall +know my own mind any better if I wait till I am twenty or forty." + +"Perhaps you would not know it as well," observed Sarah. + +"If you think it so nice in Agnes, why don't you come forward +yourself?" asked Selina with something of a sneer,—an expression which +was becoming so habitual to her that it threatened to spoil her pretty +face. + +"I mean to," said Sarah briefly. She paused a moment, and then added +with an evident effort, "And, girls, I want to say something: I want to +ask your pardon, and especially yours, Selina, for all the sharp and +hateful things I have said. I know that is my besetting sin, as Mr. +Bassett said last night, and I am going to try and do better; so I hope +you will all forgive me." + +The girls looked at each other in amazement. Sarah was a very proud +girl, and such an acknowledgment had a double force coming from her. + +"I am sure I do, if there is any thing to forgive, though I never laid +up any thing against you," said Faith. "You are so nice in other ways +that I never minded your sharp speeches." + +"And you, Selina?" + +"Oh, I forgive you, of course, since you ask me, though I do think you +have treated me shamefully," said Selina coldly. "I only hope your +goodness will last, that's all." + +And Selina turned and went into the schoolhouse. + +"That's a queer kind of forgiveness," said Faith. "I think Selina is +queer, anyhow." + +"Oh, well, never mind," said Sarah. "I have been aggravating to her, +I know. Here comes Miss Van Zandt. Doesn't she look pretty in her +brown-linen dress and blue ribbons? We must do all we can to help her, +girls. I don't suppose she has ever taught before." + +But those of the school—they were very few—who were inclined to take +liberties with their young teacher, soon found that they had reckoned +without their host. Miss Van Zandt had a ready wit and a quick eye, +besides a fund of imperturbable good-nature. In the geography class, +she delighted the girls by her descriptions of places she had seen in +England, and promised next day to bring some photographs of cathedrals +and of natural scenery. + +"Of what place were we just speaking?" asked Ida, turning to Selina, +who was making an elaborate display of taking no interest in the lesson. + +"I don't know," replied Selina: "I was not listening." + +"Next," said Miss Van Zandt. + +"York," was the instant answer. + +And to Selina's infinite disgust, and the amusement of the other girls, +Ruth Jewsbury went above her. + +"I don't think that is fair, Miss Van Zandt," said Selina. "I knew the +answer." + +"I dare say you did; but you said yourself, you were not paying +attention. Next: For what is Newcastle noted?" + +And that was all Selina gained by her manœuvre. + +When noon-time came, Ida requested the elder girls to remain for a few +minutes. + +"I have a few words to say to you, young ladies," said she. "As you +know, I have taken the place of my friend Miss Armstrong for a little +time, in order that the school may not be closed while she is away. +I have not much experience, at least in a day-school; and it is very +likely that I may make some mistakes. What I have to ask is, that you +older girls who are the leaders in the school, will help me by throwing +your influence upon the side of law and order. Little girls are apt to +follow the lead of large girls; and, if the children see you desirous +to maintain the character of the school during your teacher's absence, +they will do the same. Not that I have any thing to complain of," she +hastened to add: "on the contrary, you have all been very kind to me." + +"I don't see how we could be any thing else," said Sarah. "I don't +think you will have any trouble with the children, Miss Van Zandt: they +are good little things." + +"I don't believe I shall have any trouble with anybody," said Miss Van +Zandt. "Does any one know where Kitty is?" + +"I suppose she is at home," answered Sarah. "Her aunt is very sick. +Dr. Chase says she can only live a few days. And she has taken such a +fancy to Kit, she cannot bear her out of sight. She thinks Kit is her +daughter." + +"Poor woman!" said Miss Van Zandt. "Well, girls, I don't know that I +have any more to say, and I am keeping you from your dinners. I hope +and believe that we shall have a very pleasant report to make to Miss +Armstrong when she comes home." + +"How long will she be gone?" asked Faith. + +"The time is uncertain, because it depends upon her friend's +health,—probably not more than ten days, possibly two weeks." + +"And are you going to teach the school all that time?" asked Selina +with an emphasis on the "you." + +"I fully intend to do so at present," answered Miss Van Zandt, not in +the least ruffled. "Why do you ask?" + +"Oh, nothing; only, if Miss Armstrong is going to be away so long, I +should suppose the trustees would engage some grown-up person to take +charge of the school." + +The girls looked at each other in indignant amazement as Selina gave +vent to this piece of impertinence, but Miss Van Zandt only smiled. + +"How much taller would you like me to be?" she asked, erecting her +beautiful figure to its full height. "If the trustees get any one much +more grown-up, they will have to raise the roof or lower the floor. +Pray, how old are you, Selina?" + +"She is fifteen," said Agnes, as Selina did not answer. + +"Exactly, and I am nineteen. You seem to feel tolerably grown-up +yourself, I think; and so you see, I have a right to feel four years +more grown-up than you are." + +"Please, Mith Dan Want, ma says will 'oo tome to dinner, because ith's +all weady," said a small child, inserting a curly black head into a +crack in the door. + +"Thank you, my dear; but who is ma?" asked Ida. + +"It is Emma Bassett," said Faith. "What a shame of me! Mrs. Bassett +called me this morning, and told me to be sure to tell Miss Van Zandt +to come to dinner; and I forgot it." + +"Well, ith's all weady," said the curly head; "and there's chewy-pie." + +"Indeed! Then I must certainly come, and some of you must eat the lunch +Aggy put up for me. There are some nice bananas in the basket, girls, +if you like them." + +"Well, Selina, I do hope you feel better," said Ruth Jewsbury. "You +have made a nice figure of yourself, I must say. I should think you +would be ashamed." + +Selina was surprised and vexed; for Ruth had hitherto been somewhat +rebellious to Miss Armstrong, and she had looked to her for support in +her attempt to put down Miss Van Zandt. + +"She didn't make much by it, anyway," said Faith, "only to turn the +laugh on herself." + +"Selina, what does make you act so?" asked Agnes seriously. "I should +think you might be pleased at having such a pleasant young lady for a +teacher, instead of some one like—Miss Priscilla Davis, for instance." + +"Dear me! What did I do?" asked Selina. "One would think I had murdered +some one, at the very least." + +"You tried to insult Miss Van Zandt, and only succeeded in making +yourself ridiculous,—that's what you did.—Didn't she, girls?" + +"That was what it came to," answered Agnes, "but I don't think she will +make much by it.—Come, Selina; do think better of it. I don't see why +we should not have a very good time with Miss Van Zandt, if we all turn +to and support her. I am sure nothing could be nicer than her ways this +morning. And how interesting she made the geography class!" + +"Oh, yes, of course. It is all Miss Van Zandt now, and dear Miss +Armstrong is nobody and nowhere," said Selina. "Last week you thought +there was nobody like Miss Armstrong." + +"And I think so now," returned Agnes. "I have a right to, for she is +the best friend I ever had, except my mother. I never could pay her +for what she has done for me, if I were to live a hundred years. But +I think the best way I can show my love for her in her absence is to +respect and help her friend who has taken her place." + +"Agnes talks like a book, and she is right," said Ruth. "I never was so +wonderfully fond of Miss Armstrong as some of you,—as Selina was when +she first came, for instance,—but I think she is an excellent teacher; +and, as for Miss Van Zandt, think she is lovely." + +"Yes, because she let you go up in the geography class,—a thing you +never did before," retorted Selina. "Oh, well, I don't propose to have +any words about it," she added loftily. "You can all flatter and bow +down to Miss Van Zandt as much as you please, for all me. I shall not, +that's all." + +And certainly Selina kept her word by doing all in her power to make +Ida's work as disagreeable as possible. + +Ida tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance, but it did no good. + +Selina denied having done any thing wrong. And when one instance after +another of disrespect and disobedience was brought home to her, she +burst into tears, declared that every one was against her because she +was an orphan, and because she would not pretend to be religious. She +was in every one's way, nobody loved her, and she wished she was dead. + +Much perplexed, Ida sought a private interview with Mrs. Weston, and +laid the case before her. + +"I don't think I have been unjust to Selina," said she. "She is the +only one I have any trouble with. But really, she is so disrespectful +that I do not know what to do with her." + +"I can understand it," said Mrs. Weston, sighing. "Selina is very +trying when she takes one of her perverse fits, and I hardly know how +to manage her myself. It is not fair, however, that you should be +troubled with her. And I think I will keep her at home for the present." + +"That seems a pity," remarked Ida. "Perhaps if you were to talk to her—" + +"I fear that would do no good; she seems only to resent it. But I will +consult her father, and see what he thinks it best to do." + +The result of the consultation was, that Selina found herself taken out +of school, and set to work about the house and dairy. The change was +not at all to her taste. But she was too proud to complain, and took +great pains to show that she did not care. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MORE CHANGES. + +KIT had not been able to attend the school regularly since it had been +under Ida's administration, though she had managed to slip away two or +three times for an afternoon. Mrs. Mallory was failing rapidly. Dr. +Chase came to see her, and told her friends there was nothing to be +done. + +"She may last six weeks, or she may drop away at any moment," said he, +in answer to a question from Phin. "Get her to take nourishing food and +the tonic I have left her, and keep her as quiet as possible. I should +not be surprised if her mind should clear at the last. I am glad to see +her so well taken care of." + +"She has had all I could give her," said Phin. "I don't amount to much, +but I have tried to be good to her." + +"It is easy to see that, by the way she confides in you," replied the +doctor kindly. "But I don't see, Mr. Mallory, why you should not amount +to as much as any one in the county. Why not?" + +"Too late," said Phin. "When a man has sold himself to the devil, he +can't break the bargain." + +"Perhaps not; but there is One who can, and who will if you turn to +Him." + +Phin shook his head. "I don't know," said he; "sometimes I think so, +but—Well, there we won't talk about it. It is too late for me, anyhow, +but I'd like to think there was a good time ahead for that poor thing +in there." + +"I believe there is, as surely as I believe in my own existence," said +the doctor. + +"Well, I hope so. You will call again, doctor?" + +"I will if you wish it; but I tell you frankly, I can do nothing for +her." + +It was a solemn, but, on the whole, not an unhappy time for Kit. Phin +staid at home, not drinking at all, but attending to his farm-work, and +taking care of his wife. As Kit said, he was always good-natured when +he did not drink. Kit helped Symantha with the work, waited on Mrs. +Mallory, and when she had a little time, studied her school lessons, +and read in her Testament, which she now produced without fear in her +uncle's presence. Phin did not even laugh at her. + +And when Melissa, who came home for a Sunday, began her old fashion of +teasing, she was promptly silenced by her father. + +"Let the child alone. She is doing the work you ought to be about, by +rights; and she shall read what she pleases. Perhaps it would be all +the better for you if you read something of the same kind, instead of +the stuff you do." + +"Dear me, how good we are, all at once!" said Melissa, with a toss of +her head. But she did not venture any further, knowing, that if she +came to an out-and-out contest with her father, she was sure to get +the worst of it. She took her departure on Monday, unregretted by any +one. Mrs. Mallory was afraid of her, and she and Symantha were never +comfortable together. + +The next week a letter was received from her, saying that she was going +to a place in New York; and that was the last that was heard of her for +many a long day. + + +Mrs. Mallory failed every day. And as so often happens in such cases, +as her body decayed, her mind grew clear and calm. The old despairing +wail was never heard now. Kit had learned to watch and anticipate her +moods, and as soon as she saw the cloud coming, she would begin to +sing, or read in the Testament; and the remedy was always successful. + +After a while, Kit ventured to ask the meaning of things which she did +not understand, and was surprised at the clearness of the explanations +she received. + +"I do think aunt Martha is as sensible as anybody now," Kit said one +day to Symantha. "You don't know how nicely she explained my Sunday +school lesson to me. But, Symantha, she seems to think I am her little +girl; and she wants me to call her 'mother.' Isn't it funny? Did she +ever have a little girl?" + +"Yes, she had a child who would have been about your age," answered +Symantha, bending over her work. "Call her 'mother' if it pleases her. +It won't do any hurt." + +"I do," said Kit. "But isn't it queer that she should be crazy about +that, when she seems all right about every thing else?" + +"Not at all," replied Symantha: "people often are that way. I read of +a man who thought he was a glass bottle, though he was straight enough +about every other subject. He was always afraid people were going to +break him. Isn't this the day for your singing-class?" + +"Yes; but I didn't know whether you could spare me." + +"Oh, yes, I will manage. I will tell ma you have gone to learn some +new hymns for her. Put on your other frock, and run along while she is +asleep; and you will have a little time in school." + + +Kit had carried her point about going to Sunday school, and a very +happy though very shy little girl it was who presented herself at the +church door the first Sunday morning in August. + +For the church repairs were quite finished now. The painting was done, +the belfry made secure, the aisles carpeted, and the weedy, brambly +graveyard reduced to such order and neatness, that, as Edward Kettle +said, it wouldn't know itself. The ladies regarded the result of their +work with great satisfaction, and Mr. Blandy remarked with great +complacency that "we" had made a good piece of work of it. + +"Whose class would you like to be in, Kitty?" asked Mr. Bassett, the +superintendent. + +"I don't care," answered Kit; "only I think I had better go with the +little ones, because I don't know any thing hardly." + +"I think I shall put you in my wife's class," said the superintendent. + +And Kit was quite content, for like every child that came near her, she +dearly loved "Ma Bassett." + +"Well, how did Kit get on?" asked Mr. Bassett of his wife after school. + +"Nicely," answered Mrs. Bassett; "no child could behave better. And as +to her not knowing any thing, she has more Scripture in her head, and +her heart too, than half the grown people in town. It is wonderful to +see such a growth of grace in a child who has had so little teaching." + +"Grace is not dependent on human means, happily," remarked her husband. +"Did she say any thing about her aunt?" + +"Only that she is failing. Dr. Chase says she cannot live many days. He +says, too, what I was glad to hear, that they are very kind to the poor +thing, and that it is easy to see, by the way she depends, upon her +husband, that he is habitually good to her." + +"Well, I am sorry for Phin Mallory," observed Mr. Bassett. "I don't +think we have treated him quite right, either. After all, nobody really +knows any harm of him, so far as his conduct goes, except that he +drinks now and then. Can't you make an errand up there, ma? Perhaps you +might get a chance to talk to him." + +"I can try, at any rate. If he is so fond of his wife, he won't be +likely to insult any one who comes to do her a kindness." + +Accordingly, next day Mrs. Bassett presented herself at Phin Mallory's +door with a little basket of ripe apricots, the first of the season, +and some other dainties, for the invalid. But she could not flatter +herself that her visit had any very particular result. She did not see +Symantha, who was lying down with a headache. Phin took her into his +wife's room, and she exchanged a few words with the invalid, who was +much pleased with the prettily decorated basket of fruit, and made her +acknowledgments in a way which showed her to be a cultivated, well-bred +woman. + +Mrs. Bassett's womanly eye remarked with pleasure the delicate neatness +of every thing about the sick woman, and the gentleness of her +husband's manner toward her. But Mrs. Mallory was so weak that she did +not venture to prolong her visit. + +"Good-by, Mrs. Mallory. I hope you will let us know if we can do any +thing for you." + +"Thank you," answered Mrs. Mallory, "but I have the best of care. And +it is an unspeakable comfort to have my little girl with me again." + +"Whom does she mean by her little girl?" asked Mrs. Bassett when they +had left the room. + +"She means Kit," answered Phin. "She thinks Kit is her daughter; and we +let her think so, since she takes comfort in it. There isn't much use +in arguing with crazy people." + +"Not a bit of use," agreed Mrs. Bassett. "Kit is a dear child. I am so +glad you let her come to Sunday school! Miss Celia Claxton was saying +Sunday, she remembered your sister Chloe coming to church and Sunday +school when she was just about Kit's age." + +"Yes, Chloe was a good girl: she took after my mother. But she died +young." + +"So Celia was saying. She was telling me how happy she was in her last +sickness and death. It is a blessed thing, Mr. Mallory, to have one's +dying pillow smoothed by such a hope." + +"Well, perhaps it is," replied Phin, with something of a sigh. "But +what if it turns out all a delusion, and there should be no such thing +as heaven and the rest of it, after all?" + +"Well, what if it does?" answered Mrs. Bassett with spirit. "Then I +shall be just as well off as you are, and there won't be much danger of +your laughing at me, as somebody says. But if I am right, and you are +wrong, you will be making rather an awful mistake, Mr. Mallory." + +"There is something in that," admitted Phin. "Anyhow, I am willing +folks should take all the comfort they can." + +"But won't you think about it yourself, Mr. Mallory? Won't you come to +our Friday evening meeting?" + +"Well, no, I guess not. Folks wouldn't want me there." + +"You are very much mistaken," answered Mrs. Bassett eagerly. "We should +all be very glad to see you. Only come, and see if you don't have a +welcome." + +"I will see about it. Well, Mrs. Bassett, I am very much obliged to +you for coming to see my wife, and for your kindness to Kit. You and +your husband live up to what you profess, anyhow; and that is more +than most folks do, even according to their own showing. I heard two +church-members talking in Oldbury the last time I was there, and it was +all about the worldliness of the churches, and how little they were +doing." + +"They might have been better employed." + +"I thought so myself. It was a little too much like the ill bird that +spoils its own nest. I'd stick up for my own side, anyhow." + +"Well, Mr. Mallory, if you need help any time, I hope you won't +hesitate to ask for it. Celia and Delia Claxton told me to say that +they would come and sit up any night." + +"Much obliged, but I take care of my wife myself nights.—Old cats! +They just want to satisfy their curiosity, and find something to talk +about," muttered Phin to himself as he returned to his wife's room. +"And yet I won't say that, either. It was kind of them to offer, +anyhow." + +But Mrs. Mallory was soon to be beyond the need of earthly aid. That +night she seemed better and brighter than usual. She talked to Kit +about her Sunday school lesson, and heard her read and sing, as usual. +After Kit had gone to bed, Mrs. Mallory called her husband, and had +a long private conversation with him,—so long that Symantha became +uneasy, and went to the door. + +"I am afraid ma is talking too much," said she. + +"I have done now," said the invalid, smiling sweetly as Symantha kissed +her. "I shall not talk much more. Good-by, Symantha. You have been a +kind friend to me; and I have tried you sadly, I know. Be kind to my +child, as you have been to me. Will you promise me that?" she asked, +holding Symantha's hand, and looking wistfully at her. "Yes, ma, I +promise you I will always be kind to Kit as long as it is in my power. +Now lie down and go to sleep." + + +Phin remained with his wife, as usual, through the night. The sky +was just growing bright with the approaching sunrise when he opened +Symantha's door. + +"Come quick!" said he. + +Symantha lost not a moment. She called Kit, and hastened to the bedside. + +Mrs. Mallory seemed to be still sleeping, but her face showed the +approach of the shadow that never falls but once. Kit saw the change, +and was awe-struck. + +"Is she worse?" she whispered, taking hold of Symantha's hand. + +"Speak to her, Kit. Call her mother," said Phin hoarsely. + +"Don't you feel so well, mother? Shall I get you something? Dear +mother, speak to your own Kitty." + +The blue eyes were opened, and lighted up for a moment with unearthly +brilliancy. "Dear child, hold fast to your Father in heaven. Never let +go—never—" Her voice faltered. + +"Don't you know me, Matey?" asked Phin, bending over her. + +The eyes rested on him with a look of unutterable tenderness, but the +power of speech was gone. There was a sweet smile, a long, soft sigh, +and all was over. The tired and troubled spirit had found rest. + + +Mrs. Bassett and the two Claxton sisters came with offers of neighborly +assistance, which were accepted by Symantha; and the last offices +were kindly and tenderly performed by their friendly hands, as is the +beautiful custom of the country. Long may it continue! + +When the old ladies returned to their home, they found Aunt Betsy +sitting on the front steps. + +"So you have come at last," said she. "Here I've been a-waiting and +a-waiting as much as half an hour. Seems to me it is pretty early for +folks to be going a-visiting." + +"I think as much, Aunt Betsy. What brought you here before eight +o'clock in the morning?" returned Miss Delia. + +"I came to borrow some ginger and some molasses," snapped Aunt Betsy. +"And I expect I've got my death of cold waiting for you. Where have you +been?" + +"Oh, we have been out on business," answered Miss Delia, calmly +proceeding to kindle her fire. "Now we are going to have some breakfast +if we can get a chance.—Celia, will you have tea, or coffee?" + +"Just as you like," said Miss Celia, who never had any choice in +household matters. Delia used to say it would never do for her to go +away for a whole week, since Celia would starve because she could not +make up her mind what to cook. + +"Where 'have' you been, anyway?" demanded Aunt Betsy in a tone of +exasperation. + +"We have been up to Phin Mallory's, helping to lay out his wife," +answered Miss Celia. "The poor thing died at sunrise, and Symantha sent +Kitty down for us." + +"Do tell! Was she alone?" + +"No: her father was there." + +"Do tell! Well, and how did you find things? Folks say they kept the +poor thing tied down to her bedstead and half starved, and beat her to +make her quiet." + +"Folks say more than there is any call for," answered Miss Delia. "It +is easy to see that poor Mrs. Mallory has been well done for. Her bed, +and every thing about her, was as neat as wax. Besides, Dr. Chase has +been to see her several times, and he told me himself that it was plain +she was well treated." + +"Well, I don't know. Folks are very deceitful," said Aunt Betsy, +evidently disappointed. "I don't believe she would have screamed so if +she hadn't been abused. And when is the funeral to be?" + +"On Friday, I believe." + +"That's awful quick, seems to me." + +"Two days, and you know it is very hot weather." + +"And where will she be buried?" + +"Here, I presume." + +"Are any of her own folks coming to the funeral?" + +"I'm sure I don't know. It is no business of mine," answered Miss +Delia, whose patience, never her strongest point, began to grow +threadbare. "Celia, do come and get your breakfast. You will be +fainting away.—There is your ginger, Aunt Betsy; but we haven't any +molasses, and sha'n't have till I get a chance to send down to the +store. I suppose you have had your breakfast, of course, long before +this time. Good-morning." + +"Mean, stingy old maid!" said Aunt Betsy as she went away with her +ginger. + +"You might have asked her to breakfast," said Miss Celia, coming from +the pantry. "Why didn't you?" + +"Because I wanted you to have your breakfast in peace. You are like +a cat without claws, Celia. It is well you have me to do a little +scratching for you now and then." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE TEA-PARTY. + +TWO days after her death, Mrs. Mallory's body was laid in the old +churchyard beside the grave of her husband's young sister. Mr. Brace, +the new minister, officiated; and a great many people came to the +funeral. Phin was deeply affected, and broke down entirely at the grave. + +"Won't you come into my house, and rest a little before you go home, +Mr. Mallory?" said kind Mrs. Andrews, who lived close by the church. + +"Yes, do; you and the girls," added Mr. Andrews. + +"You are very kind, but I think pa will be best at home," said +Symantha. "He is quite worn out with watching." + +"Well, if we can do any thing for you, you must let us know," said Mr. +Andrews as he shook hands with Phin. + +"And just let me say one word to you, Phineas," said old Mrs. Bassett. +"I knew your mother and your grandmother, so you will excuse an old +woman's freedom. Don't go to seeking comfort in drink. There may be +forgetfulness in it, but there is no peace; and it will only leave you +worse than you were before. Don't go looking for comfort in the world, +my son, but turn to your wife's God and your mother's God. He has +stricken, and He can bind up. Don't touch the drink, whatever you do." + +"I won't," said Phin, pressing her hand; and at the time he meant what +he said. + + +For at least a month he staid quietly at home, working diligently on +his farm, mending the fences, and repairing the house and barns. He +even went twice to the Friday evening service, at Kit's entreaty, and +joined his splendid bass voice to the singing. Symantha's face began +once more to lose its expression of care and apprehension; and as to +Kit, she was never so happy in her life. She went to school every +day, and to church and Sunday school on Sunday. Melissa, hitherto the +greatest disturber of her peace, was out of the way; and uncle Phin was +always kind nowadays, and let her read her Bible and sing her hymns +as much as she liked. Her mind expanded every day, and she was one +of those happy people to whom the acquisition of knowledge is a keen +delight for its own sake. All the girls liked her. + +And even Aunt Betsy allowed that "that Mallory young one" behaved very +well when she was in sight, but made herself amends by adding, "But +she'll show out what is in her yet, you may depend upon it. What's bred +in the bone stays long in the flesh." + +"Very true," said Miss Delia, to whom the remark was addressed. "We've +all got total depravity bred in our bones, Aunt Betsy. And I, for one, +haven't got rid of it yet, altogether." + +"And there's Phin Mallory coming to the meetings," pursued Aunt Betsy. +"We shall have all the riffraff in town coming in next." + +"I am sure I wish we could," remarked Mr. Brace, the new minister. "I, +for one, should enjoy the sight, as our Lord did when the publicans and +sinners came together to hear Him. What is the Church for, Mrs. Burr, +if not to gather in just such people as those you call riffraff?" + +"I think, sometimes, the Church doesn't do as much of that sort of work +as it might," said Miss Delia. + +"Of course not. The Church does not do as much work of any sort as +it might. Nevertheless it does most of the work that is done in that +line. Who sustains all the city missions and charities, all the mission +Sunday schools in low city districts and faraway Western towns, all +the frontier missionaries and those in foreign parts, if not the +Church? You talk about riffraff, Mrs. Burr: I should like to take you +to New York, and show you the lady visitors going fearlessly into +neighborhoods where even the policeman looks carefully to his revolver +before he ventures. I should like to take you into one tenement-house I +know of, where I found a district nurse, a well-educated lady, making +a fire in a cracked stove, and cleaning floor and windows with her own +hands, because no ordinary charwoman would venture into the place. Who +does all these things but the Church in some of its branches,—that +Church which is the blessed company of all faithful people? The Church +does not accomplish half, no, not a tenth, of what it might if every +member thereof were faithful in his and her vocation and ministry; but +the world would be badly off without it." + +Mr. Brace spoke with a good deal of earnestness, possibly with some +little heat, as people are apt to do when they feel warmly. + +And Aunt Betsy was confirmed in her opinion that he had no proper +ministerial dignity, and would never fill Dr. Munson's pulpit. + +Phin staid at home, as I have said, for nearly a month. Then he felt +himself obliged to go to Oldbury with a load of hay. + +"Why don't you sell your hay in Oldfield?" asked Symantha. + +"Because I promised it to Stannard at the tavern, and I don't want to +break my word. Don't you be scared, my girl: I'm not going to make a +fool of myself any more. I've turned over a new leaf about that. Keep +up a good heart, and I'll bring you and Kitty each a new frock if I +have good luck with my hay." + +"I want a piece of cotton sheeting, more than a new frock. Kit needs +a dress or two, but I thought I should get them just as well at Mr. +Andrews's: he has some nice black-and-white checks. Anyhow, father, do +keep away from Stillwell's." + +"I'm not going near Stillwell's," said Phin rather angrily. "I believe +you think your father is a fool." + +Then, softening as he saw his daughter's evident distress, "Don't +you borrow trouble. I don't much wonder at your doing it, all things +considered. But you'll see I'll come home all right. I'm no such +tow-string of a man as you think me." + +But alas! What man is not a tow-string when assailed by old appetites +and old temptations, and old companions ready to do the Devil's work, +and take the Devil's wages? Phin came home silent and morose. He +brought no new frocks for anybody. + + +And when Symantha asked him, next day, for money to make some needful +purchases at the Corners, he replied shortly that he had none. + +"I thought you sold your hay," said Symantha. "Didn't Stannard pay you?" + +"No—yes, partly. But I had to use the money another way. Take some of +the butter-money, or get Andrews to trust you: I'll make it all right +with him." + +"I thought we agreed to save the butter-money for ma's grave-stone," +said Symantha. + +"I can't help it," answered Phin, turning suddenly away. "I'd give you +the money if I had it, but I haven't, and there's no use talking." + +Symantha sighed, but said no more. + + +In a few days, Phin went to Oldbury again, and came home so drunk +that Symantha and Kit had to take care of the team. His visits became +more and more frequent, often lasting two or three days at a time. He +brought home another keg of beer, and from that time was hardly ever +sober. He began to talk of selling the farm and going West again, and +Symantha was in despair. + +"I did think we were settled at last," said she. "I thought I was to +have a home." + +"Well, have a home. Who hinders you?" said her father roughly. "You and +Kit can hire a room somewhere, and take care of yourselves." + +"You know I won't do that, father. I shall never leave you." + +"Maybe I shall leave you," said Phin. "It don't follow, because I am +going to destruction, that I need drag you after me.—Well, there, you +needn't cry, Kit: I haven't gone yet." + +"I can't help crying when you talk so," sobbed Kit. "O uncle Phin! Do +be good. You have been so nice lately, and gone to church, and all. I +did think you were going to turn out a Christian." + +"I almost thought so, myself, Kitty, but it's no go," said Phin, with +a hard laugh. "You see, I'm one of those stony-ground hearers that you +read about the other day, and nothing good will grow in me. But you and +your friends believe in prayer: why don't you pray for me!" + +"I do," replied Kit with emphasis, "every day and every night; and I am +going to keep on. You don't believe in God, uncle Phin, but you can't +get away from Him, not in Oldbury nor anywhere else." + +Kit kept her word; and her prayers were heard, but not in the way she +expected or would have chosen. + + +Meantime, the school was prospering in Ida's hands. And every one was +satisfied, except Aunt Betsy, who never was satisfied with any thing. +Ida and Amity, partly from real compassion, and partly, I fear, for the +joke's sake, had set themselves to work to conciliate the old woman. +Ida, who had a genius for millinery, made her a pretty cap, and Amity +carried her a pound of very fine green tea, such as she liked, but all +to no purpose. Aunt Betsy admitted that the cap looked tolerably well, +considering: she supposed it was fudged up out of some of Mrs. Van +Zandt's old ones. As to the tea, she thought it was a queer color. + +"That is because it is not colored at all," explained Amity, always +sweet and unruffled. "Most green teas are dyed, you know; but my +aunt had this tea in a present from a Chinese gentleman who was a +correspondent of my uncle's for many years, and who understands about +such matters. He sends my aunt a chest of this tea every year. It +cannot be bought in this country." + +"Oh, yes, I dare say he makes her think so," was Aunt Betsy's reply. "I +always heard them Chinese were up to all kinds of tricks.—They thought +they were going to coax me round," she said to Miss Jewsbury afterward, +in relating the interview, "but I let them know that I wasn't going to +be patronized." + +"Well, I'm sure I wish she would patronize me that way," said Miss +Jewsbury, who loved green tea, and did not often get it. "Do give me a +drawing of it, Aunt Betsy. You might let me have it all if you don't +want it. My girls don't like green tea, and I hardly ever have any." + +"I never said I didn't like it, and you are as well able to buy tea as +I am," was the reply. "However, I suppose I can let you have a cupful. +You can pay me in cheese." + +But, though Aunt Betsy was not to be won over, Ida had plenty of +friends. Even the Jewsbury girls liked her, and behaved better in +school than they had ever done before. The truth was, that Ruth had +grown secretly tired of her rebellion against Miss Armstrong, and was +glad of a pretext for giving it up; and her younger sister followed +her lead, as a matter of course. Ida had the teaching gift. She loved +the children and the work for their own sake. She enjoyed success +and popularity, as who does not? And it was a source of exquisite +pleasure to her to see the eyes brighten and the cheeks flush as she +told them some story of heroism or self-sacrifice, growing out of and +illustrating the history or geography lesson. + +The children began to repeat these stories at home. Miss Priscilla +Davis, who had wanted the school for herself, pronounced it queer kind +of teaching,—making a geography lesson like a novel. But Mr. Bassett +declared he meant to put on a roundabout and pinafore, and come to +school himself. + +"I have a very interesting letter to read to you, girls, if you like to +stay a few minutes after school," said Ida one day. "You can do just as +you please about it." + +All chose to stay; and Miss Van Zandt produced her letter, which was +from a friend engaged in the flower mission in New York. + +"What is a flower mission?" asked Ednah Fletcher. + +Ida explained the matter as well as it could be explained to children +who had never seen a tenement-house or a city court, and whose notions +of the state of poor people were taken from Aunt Betsy and others like +her. + +"How dreadful!" said Faith "But, Miss Van Zandt, what makes people stay +in such places?" + +"Many are obliged to do so. They must live near their work, and rents +are fearfully high in New York. Others know no better, and if they did, +have no means to get away. But, suppose you lived in such a place as my +friend describes, would not you be glad to see some one who came to you +with a bunch of flowers or a nice little plant?" + +"Yes, indeed!" answered several voices. + +And Ednah added regretfully, "I do like to go to Ma Bassett's in +winter, and see her plants. They look so nice when there is nothing but +ice and snow outside!" + +"Then you can think how nice such plants would be if there were nothing +but dirty streets and courts to be seen outside," said Ida. "But, +Ednah, does not your sister keep plants?" + +"No, ma'am. She says they make so much dirt in the house." + +"Miss Van Zandt, why couldn't we send a box of flowers to your friend?" +said Ruth Jewsbury. "The golden-rods are beautiful now, and they last a +long time." + +"I declare! That is an excellent idea," said Agnes. "If we sent buds, +they would bloom out in water." + +"Golden-rod is so common, I should not think that they would care for +that," said one of the children. + +"Not very common in New York, my dear." + +"Don't it grow by the side of the road in New York?" asked Eben +Fletcher innocently. + +The older children laughed, and Miss Van Zandt explained the matter. + +"Well, I wouldn't live in such a place, not if you was to give me fifty +dollars," said the little boy positively. + +"Nor I, not long at a time," replied Miss Van Zandt. "But you +must remember, Eben, that there are advantages and disadvantages +everywhere.—I will talk this matter of sending flowers over with my +aunt, girls, and we will see what can be done." + + +The next day, Ida again asked the girls to stay after school. + +"My aunt is much pleased with your idea of sending a box of flowers, +girls," said she. "Now, how many of you are willing to take your +holiday to-morrow afternoon instead of Saturday, and give the time to +gathering flowers and ferns?" + +All the children were more than willing, only Faith Fletcher demurred. + +"I should like it very much," said she, "but I was counting on Saturday +afternoon to help sister. She isn't well at all, and I thought I could +take some of the work off her hands on Saturday." + +"What ails your sister?" asked Ida. + +"She won't allow that any thing ails her," replied Faith, "and she will +keep at work all the time. But she grows thin and pale, and I know she +has a pain in her side. Father wants to have a girl, but she won't hear +of it." + +"She will find that very poor economy in the end," remarked Ida. +"Well, I will tell you what we can do. You can come to school at +half-past eight, instead of nine, and we will have only half an hour's +intermission at noon, and no recess. Then I can let you go at three +o'clock, which will give plenty of time for the flower-gathering. And I +must not forget to say that aunt Barbara hopes you will all come to her +house to tea at six o'clock, and bring your flowers." + +"Sha'n't we go home and get dressed?" asked Jenny Hurd. "We sha'n't +look very nice." + +"By no means," answered Ida. "Come straight from your flower-gathering. +Soap and water are plenty, and that is all you will need." + +"What kind of flowers shall we bring? Any thing but golden-rod?" + +"Oh, yes! All the flowers you can lay hands on,—yarrow and daisies and +cockle, and, above all, plenty of green." + +"I think a parcel of ferns would be nice," observed Kit. "I know where +there are lovely ones,—ever so many kinds." + +"They will be just the thing." + +It was a very pretty sight that greeted the eyes of Mrs. Van Zandt +and her nieces as the children presented themselves the next evening +at six o'clock, laden with flowers of all sorts, wild and tame. Mrs. +Bassett had not dared to let little Emma, who was a delicate child, +go out with the others. But to make amends, she had cut almost every +flower in her garden,—dahlias, foxgloves, great spears of hollyhocks, +and a huge bunch of lemon-thyme and sweet basil. Others brought sheaves +of golden-rod as big as themselves. There were not many flowers in +Oldfield County that were not represented in the collection. Kit +brought a basket of ferns of all sorts, and a bunch of lady's-slippers, +which she had found in a shady hollow, and another of the branching +"bear's-grass," or lycopodium. Finally, to crown the whole, appeared +Edward Kettle with half a wagon-load of laurel. He had heard what the +young ladies were about, he said, and he and his wife took the liberty +to help them. + +"What lovely laurel!" said Amity. "I thought it was all gone long ago." + +Edward explained that he had found it, by his grandfather's direction, +in a shady hollow far up on Indian Hill. "You see, the old gentleman +has always lived right there. And there ain't many plants nor animals +round these parts that he don't know." + +"I should like to make his acquaintance," said Amity. "I have often +seen him in church. Do you think he would be pleased to have us come +and see him?" + +"Oh, yes, miss. He's like other old folks, the old gentleman is," said +Edward: "he loves to tell over his old stories. Some folks thinks it +tiresome, but I don't,—I think it is real interesting; and anyhow, it +pleases him." + +"Well, you will see us up on Indian Hill some day soon," said Amity. +"Meantime, I should like to send him some tobacco-money, if he won't be +affronted. I know he smokes sometimes." + +"Oh, yes, miss. I don't think it's a very good habit, myself, but +grandfather has done it all his life. And I says to Maria, says I, +'When an old man, and especially an old Indian, gets to be a hundred +years old, it ain't much worth while to try to teach him new tricks,' +says I. Not that Maria would want to interfere either,—'tain't her +way. But Mrs. Hills had been talking to her about it, and saying she +wouldn't have it if it was her. I can stay and wait on the table, miss, +if it would be any accommodation." + +"I dare say Aggy will be glad of your help," said Mrs. Van Zandt, to +whom Amity referred the matter. + +And having thus carried the point he had in mind when he started from +home, Edward proceeded to display his gifts in that line, which were +not small. Never was a more successful tea-party, after the first +shyness of the children wore off. Old Alice had made a bountiful +provision of sweets and substantials. Mrs. Van Zandt had sent to +Oldbury for a supply of candy, which was put up in pretty boxes, and +given to the children to carry home, with the addition of some nice +little present to each. + +"I wonder if Aunt Betsy would be offended if I were to send her some +cake," said Ida to Myra Bassett, who had been specially invited, as she +was putting up a parcel of good things for old Abner. + +"Oh, yes, she'll be offended. But she will eat the cake, all the same," +answered Myra, laughing. "That's her way. I'll take it to her if you +like: I'm used to her." + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +MRS. ORME. + +MISS ARMSTRONG had not returned with Mrs. Van Zandt, finding business +to keep her in New York, and hearing that the school was not suffering +from her absence. When she did come back, she was able to tell the +children of the safe arrival of their box of flowers. And she brought +an urgent request from the lady to whom they had been consigned, for +another box of leaves when the foliage should begin to turn. She also +brought a quantity of missionary documents, which the children carried +home to their parents, and talked over among themselves. + +"Ma," said Myra Bassett as she finished reading one of these same +papers, "why can't we have a mission band in our Sunday school? Just +think! Here is an Indian church in Minnesota, as poor as poverty, +giving eighteen dollars in money and beadwork for the cause of +missions; ¹ and our school don't give a cent." + + ¹ The White Earth church, which is a pattern in more ways than one. +See Bishop Whipple's reports. + +"We take up a collection every Sunday," said Mrs. Bassett; "to be sure, +it goes to keep up the library." + +"Exactly; and I don't call that giving, at all. It is just like taking +money out of one pocket and putting it into another. In Oldfield, the +Sunday school supports a Bible-woman in China." + +"It wouldn't do to undertake quite as much as that at first, but we +might do something," said Mrs. Bassett. "I expect we should have +opposition from some quarters." + +"So we did about cleaning the church, and yet we did it," said Myra. + +"Very true. Well, I'll talk to your father. And if he don't see any +objection, I'll ask him to speak to Mr. Brace." + +"I wish Mr. Brace had a wife," said Myra, who had "a true lover and +a sweetheart of her own" sailing on the seas, and was therefore not +afraid to speak. "It would seem so much more natural and easy to go to +him." + +"It is just possible your wish may come to pass," said Mrs. Bassett. +"But, as to this notion of the mission band, I must say I like it for +the children's sake. How much they were interested in the flowers they +sent to New York!" + +"Yes, and their interest did them good too." + +Ma Bassett talked to her husband, and he in turn to Mr. Brace. The +subject was then brought up in teachers' meeting. Miss Armstrong was +present, and being called upon, said what she thought,—that such +efforts were as beneficial to those who made them as to those for whom +they were made. Mr. Brace seconded her warmly, and gave anecdotes from +his experience in other places. There was some opposition, of course. +But most of the teachers took up the idea with enthusiasm, and in +the course of a few weeks, the Oldham mission band was a fixed and +prosperous fact. + + +But we must now follow the fortunes of another of our Oldham +acquaintances. Selina was down at Oldbury staying with her sister, and +taking singing-lessons of Mr. Schultz, the professor in the famous +Oldbury schools. Lizzy was fond of Selina, and had begun by being much +pleased with the arrangement. But she was growing uneasy, and wishing +her sister at home again. Selina had made the acquaintance of a certain +Mrs. Orme, who had come up from New York, and taken a house for the +summer. Mrs. Orme was apparently rich,—at least, she spent her money +freely,—she was handsome, and had a frank, not to say free, manner, +which took Selina's fancy greatly. + +There was nothing to be said against the woman, but Oldbury did not +take to her. Mrs. Orme's garden joined Mr. Woodbury's, and at her first +coming, Lizzy had shown her some neighborly civilities, though she had +never responded to her attempts at intimacy. Nevertheless, the two +families spoke together, and Mrs. Orme introduced herself to Selina +over the garden hedge. She had heard her singing, and been struck +with her fine voice. Mrs. Orme had a piano, and was no mean performer +herself. She asked Selina to sing with her, and lent her the latest +music. Mrs. Orme was in ecstasies over Selina's voice, and threw out +broad hints of having her young friend to spend the winter with her, +that she might have proper instruction. + +"With that voice, and a few lessons in elocution, you might do any +thing," said Mrs. Orme. "You might make your fortune." + +"Singing at concerts, do you mean?" asked Selina. + +"Yes, of course, or on the stage. You needn't look so shocked, child. +A great many society ladies go on the stage now, just for fun. And, if +you don't care to do that, there are always church choirs in New York +where they will pay almost any price for a good soprano voice. You +must practise diligently, and especially singing at sight, for that is +all-important." + +"Mr. Schultz says I improve in that, but he was very severe on me at +the last lesson," observed Selina. "He said, 'Miss Weston, you do not +improve in style. You are imitating your friend Mrs. Orme, or whatever +you call her, who sings in the manner of the beer-garden.'" + +"Spiteful old hunchback!" said Mrs. Orme, coloring. "His mind is +as crooked as his body, and his own style is that of a broken-down +church-organ. But never mind. Wait till I get you to New York, my dear." + +"I don't believe my father and mother will ever let me go," said Selina +regretfully. + +"They are not your own father and mother, and I don't see that you +are bound to obey them," returned Mrs. Orme. "According to your own +account, you have done work enough to pay for all they ever gave you. +I don't doubt that they are very nice people," she hastened to add, +seeing that Selina looked rather shocked: "I am sure Mrs. Woodbury is +charming, if she would condescend to be friendly. But she seems to have +taken a dislike to me, for some reason. Ah, well, my dear, take pains +with your music, and improve as fast as possible; and we shall see what +can be done." + +Mrs. Orme was right. Lizzy did not like her, and she was annoyed at the +intimacy that Selina had struck up with her. + +"I do wish you would not go to Mrs. Orme's so often," she said to +Selina one day. "I am sure mother would not approve of it." + +"What have you against Mrs. Orme, I should like to know?" asked Selina +in a tone which said, "What business is it of yours?" + +"I have nothing against her personally; that is, she has done nothing +to me," answered Lizzy gently. "But I do not like her manners, and I +don't like such intimacy with a stranger. We know nothing at all about +Mrs. Orme." + +"There spoke all Oldham," said Selina. "We don't know her, therefore +she must be bad." + +"I did not say she was bad," returned Lizzy. "But I do say that it +is better to know something of a person's antecedents and present +standing, before rushing into a violent friendship with them." + +"Don't you see what an advantage it is to me to sing with her?" + +"I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Orme has a fine voice, and plays well. +But I don't think she has improved your style at all. Just compare her +singing with Miss Van Zandt's." + +"Oh, Miss Van Zandt! I hate the very name of Miss Van Zandt; and I wish +she and her model, Miss Armstrong, had never come near Oldham. They +have set father and mother against me, and got me into disgrace; and +all for what? Because I would not play the hypocrite, and pretend to be +religious. I believe Miss Armstrong is a humbug, if ever there was one; +but then, she can talk pious, and whoever can do that goes down with +mother." + +"I have no more to say, Selina," returned Lizzy. "Only I hope the +time will never come when you will need the love and kindness you +despise. But one thing I must add: I will not have my mother treated +disrespectfully under my roof by any one. Remember that." + +"Who treats her disrespectfully?" said Selina. "I guess I love mother +as well as you do, any day, and would do as much for her, if I don't +flatter her, and swear that every thing is right because she does it. +But everybody is against me," she added, bursting into tears. "I have +always been alone in the world; and when I make a friend, I can't be +allowed to enjoy her, because you are jealous of her. I should think +you would be ashamed to show such a spirit." + +"Heyday! What is that?" asked Mr. Woodbury from the other room, where +he was taking off his boots preparatory to reading the evening paper in +comfort. "I don't allow any one to scold my wife but myself, Selina. +What is that Lizzy is to be ashamed of?" + +Selina deigned no answer, but retreated to her own room to have her +cry out. Having accomplished this act to her satisfaction, having +told herself what a sad thing it was to be an orphan; having said to +herself that every joy had its sting, and every rose its thorn, and +that, while she must expect an ordinary person like Lizzy to be jealous +of her musical talents, it was very hard that she should be placed in +her power,—having said all this to herself, and a great deal more, she +began to think, which is quite a different thing from talking to one's +self. She reflected that she would be very foolish to quarrel with +Lizzy and her husband. Suppose Mr. Woodbury should say that he would +not keep her any longer; suppose he should complain to her father: +there would be an end of the singing-lessons, for which she had longed, +and on which she built so many hopes. + +She had already thrown away one chance of improvement,—that of singing +with Ida Van Zandt. Would it not be the greatest folly to lose another? +Then another voice began to make itself heard,—that of conscience; a +voice which Selina had not succeeded in silencing, and had not yet +learned wholly to disregard. She was an orphan, with no claim of +relationship to any human being that she knew of. She had never known +of any home but the asylum in Oldbury, till Mr. and Mrs. Weston came +and took her home to the ease and plenty of the Oldham farmhouse. But +for them, she might still be living in the red-brick house on Elm +Street, dressing on week-days in pink or lilac calico, and walking to +church on Sunday with the other children, if indeed, she had not been +bound out as a servant somewhere. She could not deny, even to herself, +that Mr. and Mrs. Weston had always treated her like a daughter, that +there was not a girl in Oldham who had more pretty things or more +chances for education. + +Mr. Weston had bought the piano expressly for her, for Lizzy was not +musical, and he had given her every advantage that the place afforded; +while Mrs. Weston and Lizzy had done more than their share of the work, +that she might have time to practise. Pursuing the subject with the +obstinacy which belongs to that inconvenient counsellor, conscience +further informed her that she had heretofore made a very inadequate +return for all that had been done for her, that she had been often +ill-natured and disrespectful, often careless, and always jealous lest +perhaps Lizzy might have something which she had not. She knew that +Mrs. Weston had made a great sacrifice in letting her come to Oldbury +in the very busiest time of the year, that she might have the benefit +of Professor Schultz's instructions before he went to New York. + +Mrs. Weston, like many notable housewives, disliked having hired help; +yet she had taken in Mariette Jewsbury to assist through harvest-time, +in order that she, Selina, might have a nice time in Oldbury; only +making the condition that she should be guided by Lizzy in all things. +What sort of a return was she making? + +But Selina did not care to listen to the voice of conscience. She said +to herself that she would be more cautious; that she would not quarrel +with Lizzy, or come across her prejudices. It was perhaps only natural +that Lizzy should be jealous of her friendship with a superior person +like Mrs. Orme, and she must be careful not to annoy her. She would +go to work that very evening, and knit a pair of shoes for the baby, +and that would make every thing right. She had just arrived at this +conclusion when Lizzy called her to tea. She bathed her face and eyes, +smoothed her hair, and went down prepared to be amiable. + +"Horace and myself are going up to see mother Woodbury a little while," +said Lizzy, after tea. "Will you go with us? Mother sent word this +afternoon that she would like to have us come over." + +"I don't think I will," answered Selina. "But I will go as far as +Smith's: I want to buy a little yarn. But what about baby?" + +"Oh, Jane will look after him. She likes nothing better, you know." +Jane was the girl whom Mr. Woodbury, asserting his authority, had +insisted on his wife's keeping,—a proceeding severely commented upon +by Aunt Betsy and old Miss Jewsbury as an extravagant and "up-setting" +proceeding. + +"You know mother will be very glad to see you, Selina," remarked Mr. +Woodbury. "You are a favorite with her, and she loves to hear you sing." + +"She is very kind, I am sure," said Selina. "I will go some other time, +but to-night I have something I want to do." + +"I hope she won't go into Mrs. Orme's," said Lizzy as they walked away. + +"And so do I. The fact is, Lizzy, that intimacy must be broken up, if +Selina goes home to do it. I don't like the woman; and I like still +less the style of visitors she has, the men especially." + +"Some of them are not nice-looking, certainly. However, I don't think +Selina has ever been there when Mrs. Orme has had company. Well, we +will think about it, and try to see our way. I rather wish we had not +left her at home alone. However, I don't believe she will go there +to-night." + +Nevertheless, Selina did go to Mrs. Orme's. She persuaded herself that +there was something she did not understand in the pattern for a baby's +shoe that Mrs. Orme had lent her, and that it was necessary for her to +seek information. It could do no harm to run in just for a minute. + +Mrs. Orme received her with open arms, and introduced her to a friend +of her own from Boston,—Mr. Pyncheon, a member of one of the oldest +Beacon-street families. No, she said playfully, they would not waste +time over the stupid knitting; Mr. Pyncheon was an excellent judge of +music, and he must hear her sing. + +Mr. Pyncheon seconded his hostess. He was a comparatively young-looking +man, with very white hair and whiskers. He delighted Selina by his +praise of her music. + +"I have not heard such a voice since I lost my own daughter," said he. +"Miss Weston reminds me of her." + +"She is like poor Angelina," said Mrs. Orme. "I noticed it myself. +Isn't it a shame, Mr. Pyncheon, that such a voice should be buried in +the wilds of Oldfield, and never heard except in the village choir?" + +"It is indeed. Miss Weston ought to go to some of the great German +schools. Even now her voice would be noticed in New York." + +It is useless to repeat any more of the compliments by which Selina was +fooled to the top of her bent. + +She sang song after song, alone and with Mrs. Orme, till, warned by the +striking of the clock, she returned just in time to meet Mr. and Mrs. +Woodbury as they returned from their evening visit. Lizzy was greatly +annoyed, and spoke more sharply than was at all common with her. + +"I only went in to get a pattern Mrs. Orme promised me," said Selina, +restraining herself by a great effort. "Mrs. Orme had some new music, +and kept me to try it. I am sorry you are vexed, Lizzy, but you know I +can't break off with her all at once, when she has been so kind to me +in lending me music, and so on. I won't go there if you don't want me +to, though I must say I can't see any harm in her." + +Already sorry for her severity, Lizzy said no more. + +And Selina, warned by what had happened, actually staid away from Mrs. +Orme's for three whole days. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +TROUBLE AT HOME. + +"WHERE have you been all this time?" said Mrs. Orme to Selina, +waylaying her as she came from her music-lesson. "I have not had even a +glimpse of you." + +"It hasn't been my fault, Mrs. Orme," answered Selina. + +"Call me Eva," interrupted her friend: "'Orme' sounds so cold and +formal. Why haven't you been in? Mr. Pyncheon was so anxious to hear +you sing again. I wanted you to be friends with him, Selina: he has +neither chick nor child, and he has no end of money. He said, after you +went out, 'How I wish that child belonged to me! I should be so glad to +give her a first-rate musical education.'" + +"Did he?" asked Selina. "I know he said my voice was like his +daughter's." + +"Yes. Poor thing, she went to the bad,—made a runaway match, and he +never saw her afterward; though he heard that she died somewhere +in this neighborhood, and left a child. It was that brought him to +Oldbury,—to see if he could find any trace of her. Just think, Selina, +if you should turn out to be Mr. Pyncheon's grand-daughter, what a +grand thing for you!" + +"I don't believe there is any chance of that," said Selina. "I never +asked any questions, but I always supposed my parents lived here, and +were very poor people." + +"They would naturally want you to think so," said Mrs. Orme +reflectively, more as if she were addressing herself than speaking +to Selina. Then, catching herself up, "But that might be true too. +Poor Matilda married beneath her; as I said, a very common sort of +man,—her father's coachman, in fact, and I dare say she might have died +very poor. It was a terrible blow to her parents, and fairly killed +her mother. After the first natural heat of his anger was over, Mr. +Pyncheon made every effort to find his daughter, but without success. +Then he went abroad, and has just come home. He has gone back to Boston +now, but when he returns, we will talk to him. Come in and spend the +evening with me. I have a lot of new songs for you to try." + +"Mr. Schultz does not want me to sing any more songs just now," replied +Selina. "He has given me a parcel of scales and exercises to practise." + +"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Orme. "However, singing scales is very good +practice. But you can come over and see me, all the same." + +"I don't believe I can, but I will see. I must go now, at any rate, +Mrs. Orme,—Eva, I mean: it is dinner-time." + +"Barbarous hours!" said Mrs. Orme. "Well, good-by, dear. I will +contrive to meet you somehow." + +Selina went home as if she were treading on air, her imagination all +on fire with the news she had heard, and the brilliant prospect which +seemed opening before her. As she said, she had never asked about her +own parents, being restrained by a vague feeling that she might hear +something she would not like. It was pleasanter to dream of wealthy and +distinguished relatives coming to claim her, than to know for certain +that her mother was a poor laundress or something of that sort. + +And now it really seemed as if her day-dreams were coming true. Mr. +Pyncheon's grand-daughter! Pyncheon was such an aristocratic name, that +of one of the oldest New England families. It was worth while to have +such an ancestry as that, Selina said to herself. She did not reflect +that this grand ancestry had not kept her mother from running away with +the coachman, who certainly could not be considered a very aristocratic +connection. Still less did it occur to her to suspect, what was the +fact, that Mrs. Orme had invented the whole story to serve her own +purposes. Mrs. Orme had a plan with regard to Selina, and she was not +likely to spare any amount of lying needful to carry it out. + +Selina saw a great deal of her for the next week. Old Mrs. Woodbury was +ailing; and, as she had no own daughter, Lizzy naturally devoted as +much time as possible to waiting upon and comforting her mother-in-law. +Whenever she went out, Mrs. Orme popped in, or called Selina into her +own house. As the two grew more intimate, Mrs. Orme was more off her +guard; and she did and said some things which certainly struck Selina +as peculiar. For example, she drank wine and beer very freely, and on +several occasions there was an odor of tobacco-smoke about the house +which Selina could not account for. Selina, who had been brought up on +strict total-abstinence principles, ventured to remonstrate. But she +was met with a torrent of ridicule, which speedily silenced her. + +"You poor little chicken, brought up in a coop among the daisies! It is +really refreshing to meet with such innocence. But you must put these +straitlaced Puritanical notions out of your head before you come to New +York, or we shall have you making a laughing-stock of yourself. Fancy +any one talking like that to my friend Mrs. Robert Livingstone on Fifth +Avenue! Why, the wine alone at Mrs. Livingstone's last lunch-party cost +three hundred dollars." + +The idea of making herself a laughing-stock to an unknown Mrs. +Livingstone on Fifth Avenue was enough to silence Selina. But happily +for her, even the name of that great lady could not make her break her +Sunday school pledge by taking the glass of champagne Mrs. Orme urged +upon her. + +"I can't, Eva; I have promised not to touch it, and I can't break my +word." + +"Oh, well, if you have promised, of course that is all about it," said +Mrs. Orme, adding to herself, "I will drive all that nonsense out of +you, my lady, before I have had you long." + +But Selina was not destined to enjoy any longer the dangerous delights +of Mrs. Orme's society. The very day after the temperance lecture, Mr. +Bassett came for her. Mr. Weston had fallen from the barn-loft, and +broken his leg. It was a bad fracture; he was perfectly helpless, and +Selina must come home and help wait upon him. There was nothing for it +but to go. And to do Selina justice, she never thought of any thing +else till she ran in to bid Mrs. Orme good-by. + +"What a shame," said that lady, "to take you away from your music and +all, just to wait on that old farmer, who is not related to you!" + +"I should not have had many music-lessons only for that old farmer, as +you call him," said Selina indignantly, her better nature roused for +the moment. + +"Well, don't be angry. I did not mean any disrespect," said Mrs. Orme, +perceiving she had overshot her mark. "Of course it is very kind and +self-sacrificing in you to go. I suppose you will be back before long." + +"I can't tell. It will depend upon how father is. Good-by, Eva; I must +not keep Mr. Bassett waiting. + +"Don't you want something to read?" asked Mrs. Orme, hastily gathering +together and tying up a quantity of paper books, with which her room +was always strewed. + +"I don't believe I shall have much time to read, but I will take them," +replied Selina. "Good-by, Eva, and thank you for all your kindness." + +"Good-by, dear, till I see you again. I shall write to you. And see +here, Selina, don't hamper yourself by any more pledges and promises. +And I wouldn't say any thing about Mr. Pyncheon, if I were you. Your +friends would not like it, and might put obstacles in your way. And you +must see, that, if he is really your grandfather, he has the best right +to you." + +"Of course," said Selina. "I really must go, Eva. Good-by." + +Selina could not restrain her tears as she took her seat in the +miller's comfortable carriage. + +And Mr. Bassett, respecting her grief, was silent for the first mile or +two. By that time Selina had recovered her self-control, and began to +ask questions. + +"Is Miss Armstrong at our house?" + +"Oh, yes! Ma wanted her to come to us, and Mrs. Van Zandt sent for her +up there. But she left it to your ma, and she said Miss Armstrong made +no trouble in the house, and was such a comfort she couldn't bear to +part with her." + +"Well, I wonder she should care to stay," said Selina. "She and +Mrs. Van Zandt are such great friends, and she would be much more +comfortable up there." + +"Miss Armstrong isn't the woman to be always thinking first of her own +comfort," replied Mr. Bassett. "She and I together took care of your pa +last night, and persuaded your ma to go to bed; and a better nurse, I +never saw. She knows where to put her hand every time. Symantha Mallory +was down in the afternoon to see if there was any thing she could do." + +"I should not think mother would care to have 'her' about," said Selina. + +"Oh, well, I don't think there is any harm in Symantha. Every one +agrees that she took good care of her stepmother. And she keeps Kit +just as neat as a pin, though she hasn't much to do with, I fancy, for +Phin isn't going on very well. Kit comes to church and Sunday school +regularly now; and ma says she never had a better scholar, only she +asks such queer questions. We have another new scholar, too,—a great +friend of yours." + +"You don't mean Milly Richmond!" exclaimed Selina. "What brings her to +Sunday school, of all people?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure, unless she wants to learn something. I can't +think how she has grown-up to know so little about the Bible. Poor Kit +is a good Bible scholar compared to her. But she behaves very well, I +must say that for her, and seems interested in her lessons." + +"I should not think Mrs. Richmond would allow it," said Selina, "she is +so very liberal in her views." + +"So liberal that she doesn't want her daughter to have any opinion of +her own, eh? Isn't that a funny kind of liberality?" + +"Perhaps so. But I have heard her say that she did not wish to bring up +her daughters to any religion; when they were old enough, they could +choose for themselves." + +"That might do, perhaps, if trouble and death would only wait till +people are grown-up," remarked Mr. Bassett. "But they don't, as Mrs. +Richmond ought to know by this time. Poor Cordelia is failing fast, as +Mrs. Gleason thinks. But her mother won't allow it at all." + +"I suppose Agnes was confirmed last Sunday." + +"Yes; and her mother too, and Sarah Leet, and my Abner, and about ten +more. It was a blessed day, I can tell you. We all wished you were +there, Selina." + +"What makes you turn up this way?" asked Selina as Mr. Bassett turned +his horses into a cross-road. + +"Well, it cuts off quite a piece of the distance, and it is good enough +this time of year. It is rather lonesome, but we needn't mind that as +long as we take daylight with us." + +"I don't mind it: I like it," said Selina, "the woods are so pretty. Do +you think father will be laid up long?" + +"Well, yes, I'm afraid he'll have a tedious time. You see, he is +getting an elderly man; and beside the broken bone, it was a pretty +severe shake for him. I hope he will get well, I'm sure; for beside +the blow to his own family, he would be a dreadful loss to the +neighborhood. But he is in the Lord's hands, my girl, and there we must +leave him." + +"How is mother?" + +"Just what she ought to be, neither more nor less," said Mr. Bassett +with emphasis: "never thinking about herself, always doing and saying +the right thing at the right time. I'll tell you what, Selina, if +you don't turn out a good girl, you'll have a great deal to answer +for. Never girl had a better father and mother than you have, nor a +pleasanter home." + +"Well, I hope I shall turn out a good girl," said Selina. "Why should +you think I won't, Mr. Bassett? I don't think I have been a very bad +girl so far." + +"I don't say you have,—far from it," answered Mr. Bassett. "Only, if +you'll excuse my plain speaking, Selina, I don't think you have always +appreciated your advantages. But then, none of us do that; and perhaps +it isn't to be expected of young folks. I tell my boys, sometimes, I +believe they think money grows on bushes, like blueberries." + +"How did Miss Van Zandt get on with the school?" asked Selina, willing +to turn the conversation. + +"Oh, famously,—as well as Miss Armstrong herself. That young lady has a +genius for other things beside music. She knows how to teach what she +has learned. The children think her perfection." + +"Yes, she gets on nicely with little ones," said Selina. "She knows how +to amuse them, and she is so childish herself she is like a companion +to them." + +"Childlike, if you choose, not childish," replied the miller. "There is +a difference." + +"I don't see it." + +"Well, it seems others do. St. Paul says, when he became a man, he +put away childish things; but our Lord says we must become as little +children, or we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. There is just +the same difference between 'childish' and 'child-like' as between +'womanish' and 'womanly.' 'Womanish' implies all the weakness, and +'womanly' all the strength, of a woman. Miss Van Zandt has all the +simple, frank, unaffected ways of a nice child. She never seems to +think whether any one is looking at her or not." + +"There it goes!" thought Selina. "I never was so tired of any one's +name in my life." + +"Isn't there some one on the road there before us, Selina?" said Mr. +Bassett. "I am rather short-sighted, and I have forgotten my glasses." + +"Yes, two men; one looks like Phin Mallory," said Selina, bending +forward to look. "Yes, it 'is' Phin Mallory. There, they have turned +into the woods. Why!" exclaimed Selina in a tone of great surprise, and +then she checked herself. + +"Why, what?" + +"I thought the man with him looked like a gentleman I saw in Oldbury; +but it couldn't be, of course." + +"Well, they won't interfere with us," said Mr. Bassett. + +They had now come to the place where the two men had disappeared, and +discovered Phin in the act of lighting a cigar, but nothing was to be +seen of his companion. + +"Halloo, Phin! Have a ride?" said the miller, pulling up. + +"No, thank'ee, Mr. Bassett; I'm going up through the woods to look for +a stray critter of mine. You didn't see him, did you,—a red steer with +a ball on one horn?" + +"I saw him in your pasture-lot when I drove by, this morning." + +"All right, then: he has got home before me. No, thank'ee, I won't +ride. My cigar might annoy the young lady. How's the squire?" + +"Much about the same, only his head is all right to-day." + +"Tell his folks I'll come and sit up any night. I used to be reckoned a +good hand in sickness." + +"I dare say. I'll tell Mrs. Weston. Well, good-by, if you won't ride. +Take care of that cigar of yours in the woods, for every thing is as +dry as tinder. By the way, who was that you were talking with just +before we came up?" + +"Talking with? Nobody," replied Phin with a curious tremor in his +voice. "Oh, yes: a tramp asked me the way to the village. You'll pass +him farther on, I dare say." + +"Poor Phin! He has good streaks in him, after all," said Mr. Bassett as +they drove on. "They say he was kind to his wife. And it was neighborly +in him to offer to sit up with your pa. You might have thanked him, +Selina." + +"I was thinking of something else," said Selina, with perfect truth. + +It could not be possible, she thought, and yet certainly the man she +had seen talking with Phin Mallory bore a very strong resemblance to +Mrs. Orme's aristocratic Boston friend, Mr. Pyncheon. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +OLDHAM AFFAIRS. + +WITH the atmosphere of home, Selina's better nature revived for a time. +The sight of her father's resolutely endured suffering, and of her +mother's pale, cheerful, patient face, brought back the old respect +and affection. Then, she felt herself to be a person of consequence, +and that was agreeable to her, as it is to most people. She took the +whole care of the dairy, and most of the housekeeping, off her mother's +hands, and attended to it with an efficiency and quietness which +equally pleased and surprised Mrs. Weston. She spoke of the matter to +Miss Armstrong. + +"I always thought Selina had great capabilities," said Miss Armstrong. +"All she needs is to forget herself; and you see she can do so when the +motive is strong enough. Certainly her style of doing things is very +unlike Mariette's. I shall never have any opinion of that girl again." + +For Mariette had taken herself home at the very beginning of the +trouble, alleging, as an excuse, that she never could endure to be +where there was sickness, it made her feel so bad to see any one suffer. + +"What can you expect?" said Mrs. Weston. "Those girls have been brought +up to think of nothing on earth but pleasing themselves,—having a good +time, as they say; and no better motive than self-pleasing has ever +been put before them. The notion of duty has never entered their heads. +Their aunt is just the same. When she was young, she found pleasure in +finery and such dissipation as came within her reach. Now she finds +it in the laudanum-bottle. I do think that a passion for dress and +amusement is almost as ruinous to women as drink is to men." + +"You might say so if you had seen what I have," replied Miss Armstrong. +"More girls are utterly destroyed by the passion for finery than from +any other one cause." + +Selina had begun by heartily wishing Miss Armstrong away. And she had +even ventured, in her mother's absence, to give some broad hints that +she thought Miss Armstrong would be much more comfortable somewhere +else, and, in fact, that her room would be better than her company. +But Miss Armstrong paid no attention to these hints. She knew that her +presence in the house added nothing to the work, and was a comfort +to Mr. and Mrs. Weston, for whom she had conceived a very earnest +friendship. She was very careful not to interfere with Selina in +any way, and to lighten her labors whenever it was possible. And by +degrees, Selina became reconciled to her presence, and even admitted to +herself that Miss Armstrong was a great help in the sick-room. She had +been at home more than a week, and Mr. Weston had been pronounced out +of danger, when Mrs. Weston called Selina into the dairy, or milk-room +as they call it in those parts. + +"Daughter, suppose you take a pitcher of this nice buttermilk up to +Cordelia Richmond," said she. "Mrs. Gleason was telling me yesterday +that it is almost the only thing the poor child fancies. It will be a +nice walk for you, and you can stay and have a visit with the girls." + +"Well, I will," answered Selina. "I have not seen Milly since I came +home. And I will come round by the post-office, and get the mail. What +do you think of my churning, mother?" + +"It is beautiful," answered her mother. "I don't see but I may give up +the care of the milk to you altogether, Selina: you manage every thing +as well as I could myself. But you must let Jerry lift the pails for +you. God bless you, my child! You are a great comfort to us." + +Selina took up her jug of buttermilk, and went on her way, well +satisfied with herself and with all the world. She found Milly and +Agnes sitting together on the porch, their heads closely bent over +a large book which they held between them, and their attention so +absorbed that they did not hear her till she spoke to them. + +"What in the world are you so busy with?" asked Selina. "You started, +when I spoke, as if you had been shot." + +"Studying in my grandfather's old 'Matthew Henry,'" answered Agnes, +closing the volume, and laying it aside. + +"That is something new for you, Milly. You did not use to care much +about the Bible." + +"No," answered Milly with none of the embarrassment which Selina had +expected, and perhaps had hoped to see. "One doesn't care for things +that one knows nothing about. But I am beginning to find out that it +is worth reading as a story-book, if for nothing more. What have you +in that pretty old blue-and-white pitcher? If mother sees it, you will +hardly get it back. She has a mania for blue-and-white." + +"It is a very old pitcher, but I never supposed there was any thing +precious about it," replied Selina. "It is only earthenware, not china." + +"Only earthenware! Just hear her! Lovely old Liverpool blue, and an +American piece at that. Do let me look at it. See, Agnes, here is the +State-house on one side, and—let me see what—actually Faneuil Hall on +the other." + +"Don't spill Cordelia's buttermilk in your admiration of the pitcher. +It is just churned, and mother thought she might like it. How is she?" + +"I don't see that she is a bit better, though mother thinks so," +answered Milly sadly. "I think she fails all the time. She likes the +buttermilk, and it seems to suit her. I am ever so much obliged, +Selina." + +"I am sure you are very welcome. I wish I could do more than that for +her, poor thing." + +"There is one thing I wish you or some one would do for her," said +Milly as Agnes carried away the blue jug to dispose of its contents, +"and that is to persuade mother to let Cordelia see a minister. The +poor child wants it so much!" + +"Why, won't your mother allow it?" asked Selina. + +"No, she won't hear of it. ¹ She would not see Mr. Brace herself when +he called. I was in hopes Dr. Madison would come, but he has gone back +to New York. I think perhaps mother would have seen him for the fashion +of the thing." + + ¹ I wish this were an exaggeration; but it is a literal fact, occurring +within my own knowledge. + +"Miss Armstrong told me she called to see Cordelia, but your mother +said she was not fit to receive company." + +"I believe it was for the same reason. She is so afraid some one will +say a word to Cordelia about dying. She won't let Agnes, or even Mrs. +Gleason, stay with her. I read the Bible to her, and she likes it, but +of course there is a great deal I can't explain." + +"Is she afraid of dying?" + +"Not always. She said to-day, if she could know her sins were forgiven, +she should be happy. But she does not see how she can be sure, so Agnes +and I were looking out the texts about it. I'm sure I should like to +comfort her if I could, poor thing. Do sit down a little, Selina. I +have hardly seen you since you came home, and I want to hear what kind +of time you had in Oldbury." + +"Here is your pitcher, Selina. But you will have to excuse me," said +Agnes, re-appearing: "My bread has come up so suddenly that I must +mould it up directly, or it will be running over." + +"Why, where is your mother?" + +"She has gone up to see Patience Fletcher, who is sick in bed." + +"Is she? What is the matter?" + +"Only overwork, the doctor says. You know she always would do every +thing herself,—never would let Faith or any one help her, for fear they +would not set all the teacups with the handles the same way. So now +she can't set them up at all. Martha Jane Kettle is staying there to +help, and she told me she wouldn't mind the work a bit if only Patience +wouldn't fret so." + +"Does she suffer so much?" + +"Oh, it isn't that. She bears her pain like a martyr, but she is so +afraid Martha Jane won't do every thing just in her way, though she is +as neat as wax, and a splendid cook. + +"Martha Jane said to her one day, 'See here, Miss Patience, if you was +in heaven, do you think you would be worrying about the work all the +time?' + +"And Patience said, No, she supposed not. + +"'Well, then,' says Martha Jane, 'try to think you are in heaven, and +leave me and Faith to manage the things on earth.' + +"But there, I must go; my bread will be walking about the floor. Stay +to tea, Selina, and see what nice rolls I'll have for you." + +"So you are really going to Sunday school, Milly?" said Selina when +they were left alone. + +"I really am; and, what is more, I like it." + +"Whose class are you in?" + +"Miss Celia Claxton's, only old Mrs. Van Zandt has it now." + +"Oh," said Selina, as who should say, "Now I understand." + +Milly colored. + +"Yes, that was it exactly, to begin with," said she frankly. "I did +want to be acquainted with the Van Zandts, and I thought it would be a +good way to bring it about. So, when I heard that Miss Celia had gone +to Elmfield for a month or so, and Mrs. Van Zandt had taken the class, +I told Agnes I would go with her." + +"A fine motive for going to Sunday school, I must say," said Selina +sarcastically. + +"Wasn't it? Well, that was the beginning. But I got interested in spite +of myself. Madam Van Zandt makes every thing so real; and she was very +kind to me, and made me feel so mean—'that' wasn't nice a bit, I can +tell you. So one day when she walked home, I walked with her; and then +I just told her all about it." + +"Amelia Richmond! You didn't." + +"I did, then, just as I am telling you." + +"What did she say?" + +"I can't tell you all, only she was just as good as she could be, and +didn't despise me as I was afraid she would. She talked about the +danger of loving the world, and how little it was worth, after all." + +"Yes, it is very well for her to say so, when she has every thing that +money can buy," interrupted Selina. + +"But think how many things money can't buy, Selina. It can't give her +back all the children she has lost. Just think! Nine children she has +had, and not one left. All the money in the world won't make Cordelia +well again. Well, I can't tell you all she said, but she asked me to +keep on coming; and I have, because I like it, as I said. And, after +all, Selina, if religion is any thing, as Agnes says, it must be every +thing." + +"What does your mother say?" + +"I don't think she likes it very well; but it is Mrs. Van Zandt, so she +won't say I shall not go." + +"And do you really mean to be a Christian out-and-out?" + +"That is just the point. You see, if I do, I am afraid I shall have to +give up a great many things that I should like to keep. To be sure, I +know a great many church-members who are just as gay as those who are +not, but I could not be like that. It would be all or nothing, with me. +But now tell me about yourself. Did you have a nice time? Your mother +said you had made a great friend of some New York lady. Who was she?" + +Selina poured out the story of her intimacy with Mrs. Orme. + +Milly listened seriously. + +But when Selina came to the story of Mrs. Robert Livingstone's +lunch-party, she broke out,— + +"Nonsense, Selina! The Robert Livingstones are the most straitlaced +temperance people in the world, and never give wine at all. Mrs. +Livingstone gives beautiful lunch-parties,—or so I have heard, for of +course I never went to one: she is a long way above our mark,—but every +one knows how they feel about wine." + +"Perhaps it was some other Mrs. Robert Livingstone," said Selina. "Mrs. +Orme said they lived on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Nth Street." + +"It is the very same, but I don't believe 'she' ever visited them. She +has been humbugging you," said Milly with her usual bluntness. "Did she +bring any letters of introduction, or any such thing?" + +"Not that I ever heard of. The ladies in Oldbury don't like her, and +don't visit her much. But she has a good deal of company,—gentlemen +friends from New York." + +"And she has asked you to spend the winter with her?" + +"Yes; and she says she will give me every advantage of lessons from the +best masters, and introduce me to all her friends in society." + +"Well, Selina," said Milly seriously, "if you will take my advice, you +will let this Mrs. Orme alone; at least, till you know something more +about her. I must say I don't think it very nice for her to try to get +you to leave Mr. and Mrs. Weston for her. And as to society, you had +better know what kind of society she keeps. She may be the mistress of +a beer-garden, for aught you know." + +An uncomfortable remembrance of Mr. Schultz's remarks upon Mrs. Orme's +singing returned to Selina's mind, and kept her silent. In truth, since +she had been away from Mrs. Orme's personal influence, a good many +things in that lady's conduct and conversation had come back to her in +a new light, especially when she compared her with Miss Armstrong and +the Van Zandts. The dreams of life in New York as Mrs. Orme's guest, +or in Boston as Mr. Pyncheon's grand-daughter, had been too agreeable +to be at once relinquished, but they had been of late gradually fading +away in the clear, bright light of her refined Christian home. + +Certain misgivings had arisen in her mind as to the gentlemen she had +met at Mrs. Orme's, and the way in which Mrs. Orme treated them and was +treated by them. Milly's plain-spoken remarks chimed in with these same +misgivings, and irritated her accordingly. + +"You have taken up the true Oldham cant, Milly," said she: "'I don't +know her, therefore she must be bad.'" + +"'I don't know her, therefore I won't be intimate with her,' would be +a better way of putting it," answered Milly, not in the least ruffled. +"But, Selina, I don't think your father and mother would let you go, +at least, till they know more about this Mrs. Orme. Have you said any +thing about it to them?" + +"No, of course not. It would be a nice time to talk about it now, +wouldn't it? What do you take me for?" + +"For a goose," was Milly's inward reply, but she did not utter it. She +was silent a moment, and then turned the conversation into another +channel by inquiring about Selina's musical studies. The seed which +Mrs. Van Zandt had sowed in Milly's heart had already brought forth +fruit in the shape of some consideration for the feelings of other +people. + +"I must go, Milly," said Selina, starting as the clock struck five. "I +have to go to the village on my way home." + +"I wish you could stay to tea." + +"I wish so too, but, you see, I have the care of the dairy now. Come +and see me." + +"I will. I would walk part of the way with you, but Cordelia is sure to +ask for me the minute she wakes. She has taken a great liking to me, +poor thing; I'm sure I don't know why, for I have never been very kind +to her." + +Selina was not very sorry to be left to a solitary walk. She had been +vexed at Milly's remarks about Mrs. Orme, and as I have already said, +all the more because they chimed in with her own misgivings. + +"But I don't care, I will believe in her anyhow," she said to herself. +"Milly says that the Livingstones are above their mark, and I dare +say Eva knows more about them than she does. I do hope I shall have a +letter from her!" + +Selina's hope was destined to fulfilment. She found a long letter from +Mrs. Orme, written on the most elegant perfumed paper, in the most +fashionable of hands,—so very scratchy and sharp-pointed, indeed, as +to be almost illegible. She took the short way home, which led through +a somewhat deep and shady ravine by the side of the river. Once in the +shadow of the woods, she walked along reading her letter. It was full +of protestations of affection. Mrs. Orme told how she missed her young +friend, and how she longed for the time when she should have that same +young friend all to herself. + + "Of course you cannot leave Mr. and Mrs. Weston, as things are at +present," she wrote, "but it is absurd to think of your being bound +to them forever. The idea of a girl of your sort being bound an +apprentice! The very idea is degrading; and your own self-respect, +if nothing else, ought to make you throw off such a yoke, laid upon +you without your own consent. To think of my noble, beautiful Selina +apprenticed like a boy from the workhouse put out to learn a trade!" + +There was much more to the same effect in Mrs. Orme's letter, which +filled no less than three sheets of paper. + +Selina had always known that she had been legally bound to Mr. Weston +at the time of her adoption,—a precaution usually very advisable in +such cases. It had never occurred to her to think of this binding +as any degradation, or as any thing more than a legal form, always +observed when a child was put out from the Oldbury asylum. Now, as she +read Mrs. Orme's letter, her cheeks flamed, and she clenched her hands, +and stamped her foot, in shame and anger. + +"I am a slave,—that is the truth. Mother scolds me for calling myself +a hired girl, but it seems I am not even that. But I won't endure it: +I will never be a slave, never! I wonder why Eva does not say a word +about Mr. Pyncheon." + +As she spoke, Selina came to where the path made a sudden turn round +a projecting angle of the rocky bank. As she did so, she started +violently; for she stood face to face with a man, and that man was Mr. +Pyncheon himself. For a moment, he seemed as startled as herself. Then +he recovered his presence of mind. + +"My dear Miss—I beg pardon, I have forgotten the name. But I am sure I +met you in Oldbury." + +"Miss Weston," said Selina, feeling as she spoke, a pang of +mortification that Mr. Pyncheon should have forgotten her already. +"Have you seen Mrs. Orme lately? I have just received a letter from +her." + +"Mrs. Orme? Oh, yes, our friend in Oldbury," said Mr. Pyncheon, +recovering his usual ease, not to say freedom, of manner. "That was +where I met you. No, I have not seen her in some time. Did you say you +had a letter from her? I hope she is well." + +"She is very well," answered Selina. "I wonder she did not tell me you +had returned. Are you staying at Oldbury?" + +"No—yes, for a day or two. I drove over with a friend who will be +waiting for me, so I must ask you to excuse me. Perhaps we shall meet +again at Mrs. Orme's. Good-afternoon." + +He held out his hand. + +And Selina, though deeply mortified, could not refuse it. + +At that moment, Kit Mallory came down the path singing as usual. The +moment she caught sight of Mr. Pyncheon and Selina, she stopped short +an instant, as if petrified. Then turning, she fled up the path, as if +pursued by a wolf. + +"Who is that child?" asked Mr. Pyncheon, looking after her with an +expression which seemed to Selina equally compounded of fear and anger. + +"Her name is Kit Mallory. She is a kind of adopted child of a family +who live up on the hill. You can see the end of the house a little +farther on. Do you know them?" she could not help asking, remembering +what she had seen or fancied on the cross-road. + +"Mallory? No. In fact, I don't know anybody about here. Good evening, +Miss Wilson." + +And turning round the rock, he was out of sight so quickly that +Selina could not help thinking he must have climbed the bank and +hidden himself among the bushes. Thoroughly confused by this strange +interview, she walked hastily homeward, till, just where the path came +out into the open field, she found Kit evidently waiting for her. + +"Selina," said Kit, speaking under her breath, and looking around her, +"you must not talk to that man: he is a very wicked, bad man." + +"Nonsense, you little goose! He is a gentleman from Boston whom I met +in Oldbury. His name is Pyncheon." + +Kit shook her head. "He is no more Mr. Pyncheon from Boston than you +are. I know him, if he changes his hair a dozen times a day. He is a +bad, wicked man, and if you talk to him you will be sorry." + +"Nonsense!" said Selina again. "You are a very silly little girl, and +very impertinent besides, to say such things about a gentleman. Don't +you think my friend Mrs. Orme knows him?" + +Kit shook her head, but said no more. She had apparently discharged her +conscience. And bidding Selina good-night, she turned again toward the +village,—not by the ravine this time, but by the high road,—and Selina +saw her look behind her more than once, as if fearing pursuit. + +Selina took her own way homeward, a good deal mortified and still +more puzzled by the conduct of her late acquaintance. Certainly his +recognition of her, such as it was, had not been flattering. He had +seemed in a great hurry to get away; and if Kit had been scared at the +sight of Mr. Pyncheon, Selina could not get rid of the idea that Mr. +Pyncheon had been equally scared at her. In short, she could not tell +what to make of it. And between the meeting and Mrs. Orme's letter, she +returned home in any thing but a comfortable frame of mind. + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +WARNING. + +KIT did her errands at the village store, gathered her parcels +together, and not without fear and trembling, prepared to set out +on her homeward walk. At the door, she found Abner Bassett with his +father's team and wagon. + +"Halloo, Kitty! Want a ride home?" was his cheery greeting. + +The offer of a ride was an ordinary civility; and Kit was a great +favorite with the family at the mill, from Ma Bassett down to the +latest baby. Kit gratefully accepted the offer, and climbed into the +rattling lumber-wagon with as much pleasure as if it had been the +finest coach in the land. + +"I have to go round by Aunt Betsy's to take home her molasses-jug, so +I can set you down right at your own gate," said Abner as he took his +seat, and started up his horses. "Well, and how are you getting on at +your house? Your uncle doesn't come to Bible class any more?" + +"No," said Kit sadly, "I can't coax him to come, but he lets me go, and +he doesn't say a word against my going to Sunday school. Last Sunday he +took my library-book, and read it all through. That was nice, wasn't +it?" + +"Very," said Abner encouragingly. "I'll tell you what, Kitty: next +Sunday I'll pick out a real interesting book, and you shall take it +home to him." + +"Oh, thank you! Perhaps he will come after a while, if he likes the +books." + +"Perhaps so. You love your uncle, don't you, Kitty?" + +"Yes, I do," said Kit with emphasis. "Uncle Phin is always good to me +when he doesn't drink, and he was always good to poor aunt Martha. It +seems to me sometimes as if he was two men; and one man wanted to be +good, and the other wouldn't let him. I don't know as you understand +what I mean." + +"Yes, I do: I've felt that way myself a good many times." + +"Well, I can't help hoping that the good man will get the best of it +some time," said Kit. + +"We will all hope so," returned Abner. "Here we are at Aunt Betsy's, +and here she is looking out for us. Now she will have something nice +and pleasant to say. Can you hold the lines while I get out the +parcels?" + +"Oh, yes: I am never afraid of horses," replied Kit. "When we lived in +the Indian country, I used to ride the ponies bare-backed." + +"Good for you! I'll give you a ride on my black colt some day.—Halloo, +Aunt Betsy! Here's your shopping." + +Aunt Betsy appeared at the door, candle in hand. + +"Dear me, Abner! You needn't holler so. I never did see such boys for +yelling in all my born days. Did you get the coffee? Seems to me it +feels dreadful light for half a pound. Where's the molasses? Now, you +didn't go and forget that molasses-jug, Abner Bassett? There never was +any thing like boys." + +"Hold on, Aunt Betsy. The jug is in the wagon all safe. Here it is, you +see; and here is some ham, or something, Mrs. Andrews sent you." + +"Why couldn't you say so, then?" snapped Aunt Betsy. "Ham, is it? Just +like Harriet Anne Andrews. Why couldn't she send me some fresh meat?" + +"On the whole, I believe it is beefsteak, and not ham, Aunt Betsy." + +"There is a slice of ham in with the beef," observed Kit from her perch +in the wagon. + +"Yes, I dare say you looked at it. What business had you a-peeping and +a-swooping into my parcels, Kit Mallory?" + +"I didn't look into it," answered Kit indignantly. "I was in the +kitchen, and saw Mrs. Andrews do it up. She told me last Sunday she +would give me some nice papers if I would come after them, so I did. +And I had to wait a little, because she said she was just doing up some +things for Aunt Betsy Burr." + +"Yes, that's a likely story; not but that it would be just like Harriet +Anne Andrews to tell everybody what she was doing.—Well, there, I guess +you've got every thing, for once. You can tell your ma, if she has got +more plums than she wants, I should like a few to make sauce of." + +"Aunt Betsy is rather worse than usual," said Abner as he drove away. + +"What does make her so cross?" asked Kit. "Is it because she has had so +much trouble?" + +"She has never had any great trouble that I know of," replied Abner. +"Her husband, Uncle Jonathan, was one of the best and kindest men that +ever lived, and always waited on her like a slave. But he was not one +of the kind that make money, and that vexed her. I do think she fairly +worried the old man into his grave. Since then, all the neighbors have +looked after her and done for her, but she is never satisfied, and +never would be, whatever they did." + +"I often think she must be lonesome living by herself so." + +"Well, that is her fault too. Lucinda Jane Peabody went to stay with +her, but after she had tried it a month, she told ma she would rather +go and keep house for old Kettle on Indian Hill than stay with Mrs. +Burr. And I am sure I would," concluded Abner. "The old Indian is +good-natured, at any rate. Well, here we are, Kitty. Have you got all +your papers? Good-night, and thank you for your company." + +Kit had been in some measure diverted by Abner's chat and Aunt Betsy's +scolding. But as she climbed the somewhat long and steep ascent from +the bars to the house, her fears returned upon her with double force. +And it was with a very anxious and troubled face that she sought out +Symantha, whom she found taking care of the milk. + +"Well, Kit, did you have a nice walk, and get your papers? Why, what +ails you, child? You look as if you had seen a ghost." + +"I have seen something worse," answered Kit in a low tone. "Symantha, +what do you think! I have seen Gale again, and he was talking to Selina +Weston." + +"Are you sure?" asked Symantha. + +"Just as sure as that I see you. I went down the brook-path; and when +I came round the corner, there he stood talking with Selina. I saw him +shake hands with her." + +"Impossible!" + +"Yes, he was. He has got white hair and whiskers, but I should know +him by his eyes and the shape of his face if he were to paint his face +black." + +"What did you do?" + +"I turned and ran till I came to the road. And then I waited for +Selina, and told her who he was." + +"And what did she say?" + +"She called me silly and impertinent, and said he was a gentleman from +Boston that she had met in Oldbury. But I knew him well enough; and +what is more, I believe he knew me." + +"I hope not," said Symantha, evidently much discomposed. "I do wish I +knew what was going on. I believe that man is making a tool of father, +and drawing him into some scrape." + +"Then you believe it was Gale?" + +"Yes, Kit, I do, because I think I saw him myself down in our woods the +day the steer was lost,—the day Selina Weston came home. He was dressed +very smart, and had white hair, as you say; but I thought of Gale in +a moment. More than that, I believe some one has slept in the barn +chamber more than once, and that father has carried provisions to him. +What can he be about?" + +Kit thought a moment. And then she drew Symantha into a little room +which opened from the pantry, and shut the door. + +"Symantha," she whispered, "I don't know what you will say, but do you +suppose they can be planning to rob Mrs. Van Zandt?" + +Symantha dropped on a seat, her face as white as her apron. + +"Kit, what do you mean? What makes you think so?" + +"Well, a good many things. It is the only house round here that would +be worth the risk, for one thing. And there is another reason. You know +uncle Phin would not let me go near Mrs. Van Zandt's for ever so long. +He did not like it because I went to the flower party; and he would not +let me go again, though Miss Van Zandt asked me, and offered to teach +me to make lace. Then all at once, he turned round, and wanted me to +go." Kit sank her voice still lower. "And ever since I began, he has +asked me such queer questions when I am alone with him." + +"What sort of questions?" + +"Well, about the silver,—how much they used, and where they kept it. +And yesterday, when I was helping him pick the harvest apples, he asked +me if I had ever been in the ladies' rooms, and where they kept their +jewels." + +"And what did you tell him?" + +"I told him I didn't know any thing about it, and that I had never +been in any of the up-stairs rooms only Miss Bogardus's when she was +teaching me the lace stitches. And I didn't believe they had any jewels +with them only the diamond ear-rings Madam Van Zandt always wears. And +then he muttered that he knew better, and that folks ought to have more +sense than to bring such things to lonely country houses. And it is +lonesome," added Kit. "The house stands so far back from the road, with +no other anywhere nearer than this, except Miss Claxton's; and I don't +know what good they could do. You don't think uncle Phin would be led +away to do such a thing as that?" + +Symantha pressed her hands hard together. + +"I don't know, Kit. If he were left to himself, he would cut his hand +off before he would do any thing to injure Mrs. Van Zandt. But he is in +this man's power,—at least he thinks so,—and there is no telling—Hush! +There he is." + +And at that moment Phin's voice was heard, calling harshly, "Here, +Symantha, Kit, where are you all?" + +"Don't say a word, for your life," whispered Symantha. Then aloud, +"Here I am, pa. What is it?" + +"Where's Kit? I want her.—See here, Kit, what do you mean by hanging +round Andrews's store, and being out after dark?" + +"I was not out after dark, uncle Phin," answered Kit. "I have been home +this half-hour. I went to get some papers Mrs. Andrews promised me, and +caught a ride with Abner Bassett." + +"Yes, I know you did; and a nice figure you made, perched up on his +wagon-seat. I won't have you riding round with young fellows in that +way. Do you hear me, or not?" + +Kit could not well help hearing, for Phin spoke very loud; and hard +as his language was, Kit could not help thinking that his anger was +assumed. She answered quite meekly,—"I am sorry, uncle Phin. I didn't +mean any thing wrong." + +"Oh, no, you never mean any thing wrong," returned Phin in the same +loud, harsh tone. And glancing toward the window as he spoke, "You go +to bed, and stay there,—that's what I want of you. Go this minute," +as Kit cast a glance toward her papers. He paused a moment, and then +added, with a curious irresolution in his tone and manner, "There, you +can take your books and a light, if you like. But go up-stairs, and +stay there.—Symantha, I want you to take a light, and look up in the +back chamber for the bottle of horse-liniment. I know I put it up there +somewhere, but I can't find it." + +"Here's the bottle on the shelf by the clock, uncle Phin," said Kit, +taking it down as she spoke. + +Phin snatched it from her, and set it back with such a trembling hand +that he dropped it, and it broke to pieces on the hearth. + +"There! See what you made me do. That is not what I want. It is a large +green bottle with a wooden stopper. I know I put it up in the back +room. Kit, why don't you go to your room, as I told you?" + +"I am going, uncle Phin," said Kit, gathering her papers together. "And +I'll tell you what I am going to do when I get there: I am going to +kneel down, and ask God to keep you away from wicked men who want you +to do wicked things." + +Then coming close to her uncle, she threw her arms round his neck, and +whispered in his ear,— + +"Uncle Phin, don't, please don't. Just think what aunt Martha would say +if she knew. And God loves you more than she did,—I know He does. O +uncle Phin, don't!" + +"Don't what? Don't be a fool," said Phin. "There, I am not angry with +you, child," he added with the same curious irresolution in his tone, +unclasping, but not ungently, the arms which clung round his neck. "Go +to bed, like a good girl, and pray as much as you like. You sit up too +late, and that is what makes you so thin.—Symantha, are you going to +find that bottle? Or do you want the colt to die before I get it?" + +"I don't think I can, father," said Symantha, who had dropped on the +nearest chair. "I have had one of my headaches all day, and I am so +dizzy just now I can hardly stand. I was going to ask you to help me +up-stairs." + +She tried to rise as she spoke, but nearly fell to the floor. + +Phin caught her in his arms. "I'll carry you up," said he. "Come, Kit: +you hold the light, and then go to bed yourself." + +Phin laid his daughter on the bed, and kissed her tenderly enough. + +"There, Kit will help you to get settled," said he. "You will be better +when you have had a good rest." + +As soon as Symantha had dismissed Kit, she rose, and though blind and +giddy with pain, she crept to the other side of the house, where a +small window looked toward the barn. She had waited only a few minutes +when she saw her father leave the house with a basket. And presently +she saw, or thought she saw, a gleam of light from the loft. Yes, there +it was again; and then she saw it, but only for a moment, from the +window of the little bedroom over the stable, which Kit had used all +summer for a playroom. Phin had lately taken possession of this room +for a harness-room, as he said, and had fitted it with a stout lock and +key. + +Symantha sighed deeply, and even groaned. She was like one who sees a +friend in horrible peril, and is unable to lift a finger to save him. +She knew there was no use in talking. Like other weak people, Phin had +an abundant fund of obstinacy, and was excessively jealous of being +governed. Such people are sometimes said to be easily led; and so they +are in some directions, as a stone is easily started down hill. But try +to roll your stone up hill, and you will find that a very different +matter. + +Symantha had wondered at her father for taking Kit's remonstrance so +quietly. But then, he had been exceedingly kind and indulgent to the +child ever since his wife died, even going so far as to attend the +schoolhouse meetings with her two or three times, where he had been +made very welcome. But all the good in the universe is of no use to a +man so long as it is outside of him, as the wise old German has it. + +Phin's feelings had been touched, and his natural musical taste pleased +by the singing, but his will remained the same. He had made a solemn +promise to his dying wife, which at the time he fully meant to perform. +But he was waiting from day to day, "till things should be different," +he said. Meantime, Satan was not idle, but was working by one of his +most active agents, now awaiting Phin in the barn chamber. + +"Well, here you are at last," was the salutation Phin received as he +entered the room. "I thought you were never coming. What kept you?" + +"Well, I had to get the women-folks out of the way." + +"Bother the women! Why don't you send them adrift? That young one will +bring you into trouble yet. I believe she knew me this afternoon." + +"Nonsense! How could she know you? She has not seen you since she was a +baby. But say, Harry, I wish you would give this thing up." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, because. I have a feeling that harm will come of it. And besides, +the old lady was kind to my poor wife." + +Gale poured out a flood of abuse upon cowards and soft-heads who did +not know their own minds, ending with, "But I'll tell you what, Phin: +if you play me false, I'll have your life, just as sure as you live. +I have planned to do this thing, and I am going to carry it through. +And you are going to help me, or you are not going to see sunrise +to-morrow." + +"Who said any thing about playing false?" asked Phin sulkily. "You do +well to bully me, don't you? Where would you be this minute but for me?" + +"I know, and I don't forget it, but I won't be played fast and loose +with." + +"And as to playing false, you had better look out for somebody besides +me," continued Phin. "Much need to talk to me, when you put your head +in that woman's pocket." + +"What, Sally? She's as true as steel. You ought to see her playing the +fine lady there in Oldbury. Well, there, go and get a nap, and I'll do +the same. But keep one eye open, and call me at one: and remember, no +fooling!" + +Phin crept back to the house ashamed, enraged, wretched as a man could +be, feeling himself a slave, and lacking courage to make a stroke for +freedom. A French writer has said, that to reap any benefit from sin, a +man must be altogether wicked; and Phin was not that. His conscience, +though blunted, was not dead. Since he had lived in Oldham, a good many +things had happened to bring to mind the teachings of that Christian +mother and sister whose memory he still revered. He had more than half +made up his mind to give up all his old courses, and betake himself to +a decent, sober life. + +But then the tempter had come in his way,—the man who, as he believed, +had him in his power,—and the weak will had yielded to the strong one. +He had been led into more than one piece of wickedness in his absences +from home. Now came the crowning atrocity, for so he felt it. He was +being made a tool of to rob, perhaps murder, the woman who had been a +mother to his wife. To be sure, Gale had promised that there should be +no violence, but what was his word worth? The fright alone was enough +to kill such an old lady. There was not a man about the place, he knew, +for the coachman had gone to Oldtown to meet some friends of Mrs. Van +Zandt's who were coming by the early morning train. Nobody was there +but three or four weak women. + +Phin flung himself down in the rocking-chair,—his wife's chair,—and +groaned almost aloud. + +"Talk of going to sleep!" he said to himself. "You might as well tell a +man to go to sleep when the Indians were pouring hot coals on his head." + +The clock struck nine—ten—eleven. How dreadfully fast the hours were +going on! It would soon be time to call Gale. + +Suddenly a thought flashed across him. What if he should send them +warning? If they were all awake and up, and the house lighted, surely +Gale would never dare go near it. + +Nothing is so dear to a weak mind as a compromise. Phin rose to his +feet in an instant, found his way softly up the stairs in the dark, +and opened Kit's door. He dared not strike a light, lest a ray should +betray him. But it was a starlight night, and the large window was +wholly uncovered, so that his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, saw +the bed and its occupant. As he bent over, and laid his hand on her +arm, Kit, who was always a light sleeper, started up broad awake on the +instant. + +"Uncle Phin, what is it?" + +"Hush!" said Phin sharply. "Kit, listen. Are you afraid to run up to +Mrs. Van Zandt's? You can go along by the trees, and nobody will see +you. Are you afraid to go—to save Mrs. Van Zandt and the young ladies?" + +"I'm afraid, but I'll go," was Kit's characteristic answer. "But how +shall I get out without—any one seeing me?" + +"Go down the front stairs, and out at the little side door: that is out +of sight from the barn. Keep along the road in the shadow of the trees +till you come to the turn by Crossett's red barn, then go across lots. +Quick, now, if you are to do any good." + +Kit was up and dressed in an instant. "What shall I say?" she asked. + +"Tell them to get up and have lights burning, and to make as if they +had company. Tell them—Oh, bother! Tell them what you like, but be +quick if you are going to do any good." + +"Wait one minute," said Kit. + +For a brief space, which did not seem long even to Phin's impatience, +she knelt by her bedside. + +Then taking her shoes in hand, she crept down-stairs, slipped out of +the little side door, leaving it ajar behind her, and glided like a +shadow out at the gate, and up the road shaded with maple-trees of +sixty years growth. + +Phin watched the little figure as far as he could see it, and then went +to the other side of the house, and looked toward the barn. All was +quiet there. And he returned to his chair, to be tormented by a hundred +misgivings, and to wish he had let the child alone. He had sent her +into terrible danger, for he well knew that Gale would never hesitate +to murder Kit if he caught her. + +The hour set, one o'clock, was drawing very near. Why could he not have +thought of it before? Kit would never have time to reach the stone +house. And perhaps she could not succeed in waking the ladies, even if +she did. He wished he had gone himself, or let the matter alone. Poor +Phin! A great part of his life had been spent in doing things, and then +wishing he had not done them. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE NET CLOSED. + +KIT sped swiftly and silently as a mousing-owl under the shadow of the +great maple-trees, where the soft, short grass returned no sound to her +tread. It was not till she reached a spot out of sight of house and +barn that she stopped to put on her shoes, without which she dared not +try to ascend the stony path. It was soon done; and she took her way up +the hill, stopping more than once to look round, and strain her eyes +through the darkness. She could not resist the conviction that some one +or something was following her, stopping when she stopped, and moving +when she moved. Her blood chilled at the thought. Could it be Gale, who +had seen her, after all? Or was it—what? + +Kit had heard plenty of wild stories, and had abundance of +superstitious fears. She had heard from her Indian friends, of +creatures which roamed at night to entrap unwary travellers, first +scaring them out of their senses, and then tearing them to pieces. She +had heard, too, from the school-children, about the great snake, which +at least once in the year crossed the town of Oldham from Indian Hill +to the Big Swamp, and back again,—who should say on what errand? She +had heard, too, of panthers (or "painters," as the children called +them),—wild animals, but endued with more than animal cunning and +malice; and like every old New England town, Oldham had plenty of +legends of goblin and ghost, witch and what not. + +"But they can't hurt me unless He lets them, and I don't believe He +will," said Kit sturdily to herself, after a longer pause than usual, +during which she was sure she had heard the breaking of a dry twig +under some one's foot. "I don't believe Gale saw me, and I'm sure +nobody about here would hurt me." + +So saying, she hastened on more rapidly, as if to atone for her delay. +But it seemed an age to her before she reached the turn by her favorite +ledge, and saw the stone house not far away, and a dim light burning +in Madam Van Zandt's window. The next room was Amity's, she knew. But +how to rouse them? She stood a second to consider, and then took up a +handful of gravel, and threw it against the window. + +Waked by the noise, Amity started up. But before she could strike a +light, the sound came again, and a soft voice called, "Miss Bogardus!" + +She sprang to the window, and, opening it, saw a little dark figure +below. + +"O Miss Bogardus, hurry and let me in!" said Kit in a tone of entreaty, +for her courage was fast giving way. "Oh, do hurry! I am sure I hear +them." + +"What is it, Amity?" asked Ida sleepily from the next room. + +"It is Kit, and she wants to come in," answered Amity. + +And again came the agonized entreaty, "O Miss Bogardus, do hurry!" + +It seemed an age to Kit, though it was not more than a few minutes, +before she was admitted to the side hall, where were assembled Mrs. Van +Zandt, Amity, and Ida, and another tall young lady whom Kit did not +know. + +"Fasten the door, quick!" were Kit's first words. "Fasten all the doors +and windows." + +"Yes, yes, we will fasten them," said Amity soothingly. "My dear child, +what is the matter?" + +"Fasten the doors; never mind me. Oh, do be quick! They will be here." + +"Who will be here?" asked Ida. + +"The robbers. Uncle Phin sent me to tell you. They are coming to rob +the house to-night. Don't ask me any more questions, but hurry and +fasten up every thing. They will be here: I heard some one coming up +the hill: Oh, do hurry! They will kill you." + +Ida, never very courageous, looked at Amity in dismay. The tall young +lady, whom Kit did not know, stepped into her room, and brought out a +neat little case, which she began to unlock. + +"There will be two words to that," said she coolly. + +"How many are there?" + +"Only two that I know of, but there may be more. Uncle Phin sent me to +tell you. Oh, why 'don't' you hurry and fasten up every thing?" said +Kit, clasping her hands in an agony of impatience, as the girls looked +at each other. + +"My dear child, I don't understand you," said Mrs. Van Zandt +soothingly. "I almost think you must have been dreaming." + +Kit stood up, and strove to speak calmly. + +But before she could answer, Percy broke in,— + +"Excuse me, Mrs. Van Zandt, but I think we are the dreamers. If the +child's story is true, we have not a moment to lose. If it is false, we +shall only have lost our labor. Don't stand staring, girls, but collect +the valuables, and carry them to some safe place.—Aggy, get together +Mrs. Van Zandt's jewels and laces. Amity, you and Ida take the spoons +and silver. Is there any money in the house?" + +"Only a few dollars." + +"So much the better. Come, girls, be quick." + +"Wouldn't it be better to dress, and run down to Miss Claxton's?" +suggested Amity. + +"And so run right into the arms of these men, as likely as not," said +Ida. "Besides, aunt Barbara could not do it. No, Amity, Percy is right. +Don't waste a moment.—What are you going to do, Percy?" + +"Stand here and keep guard for the present," answered Percy, examining +the charges of her revolver, and changing a doubtful-looking cartridge. + +"But you won't shoot anybody?" said Mrs. Van Zandt. + +"Not if I can help it. Dear Mrs. Van Zandt, do let Aggy take you +up-stairs." + +"How cool you are!" said Ida, pausing a moment, with her lap full of +spoons. "I wish I were like you. I am horribly frightened." + +"So am I," answered Percy. "But if you had lived two years and a half +in Arizona, you would know that the more scared you are, the cooler you +need to be." + +In a very few minutes, every thing of value was stored in a strong +closet built for such purposes, and not easy to find unless the +searcher knew where to look. And the ladies betook themselves to the +front bedroom over the door, and awaited their unwelcome visitors. They +had not long to wait. In less than half an hour, stealthy steps were +heard, and the handle of the door was carefully tried. + +To Ida's terror, Percy opened the window and called, "Who is there?" + +"Let us in," was the response. + +"Not till I know who you are." + +"Look here, young woman, just you let us in peaceably, and we won't +hurt you: if we have to let ourselves in, perhaps we shall. We mean to +have what is worth having in this house, and you can't help yourself." + +"That's Gale," whispered Kit. "He'll kill you all, as likely as not, if +he gets in. He doesn't care what he does." + +"He won't get in," answered Percy. Then speaking to the men outside, +"We have fire-arms, and know how to use them. The first man who enters +this house is a dead man." + +"Do come away, Percy: he will shoot you," urged Ida. + +"No, he won't. But I have said my say, so I'll shut the window." + +"Hark! What are they doing now?" + +"Sawing out the panel of the door," answered Percy. "Don't you hear +them? I must unfasten this door so as to meet them before they can get +up the stairs. Did you lock all the doors below, Amity?" + +Amity held up the keys. + +"Good! Then they can't do any thing 'but' come up-stairs. What are they +stopping for, I wonder? Hark! What is that?" + +There was a little silence, then the sound of a scuffle. And a shot was +heard, followed by a heavy groan. Percy ventured to open the window and +look out. She saw two figures stretched on the ground, surrounded by +two or three more. + +"What is it?" she called. + +"All right, ma'am," answered a cheery, manly voice from below. "We got +here just in the nick of time. Please open the door: there's no danger +now." + +"Who are you?" persisted Percy. + +But before she could receive an answer, two more figures appeared upon +the scene, and a voice she well knew called out, "Halloo! What does +this mean?" + +"What are you going to do, Perry?" asked Mrs. Van Zandt as Percy sprang +to the door and unlocked it. + +"Don't be in a hurry, Percy," chimed in Ida. "It may be all a plot to +get in." + +"A plot, you goose! Do you think I don't know Abram's voice?" Percy ran +down the stairs. + +And Amity advanced to the head of them in time to see her unlock and +unchain the front-door, and throw herself upon a tall, stalwart figure, +with a cry that had something decidedly shaky in its sound. + +"There, there, my girl, don't go into hysterics. What's the matter?" + +"No wonder the lady is scared," said a voice from behind, as a stout +man in a blue uniform entered the hall: "it was enough to scare any +one. But the danger is all over now, only we must get this wounded man +under cover. There is a heavy thunder-gust coming up. If the lady will +tell me where to find a small mattress, it will be easier for him." + +"In the little blue room, Aggy," said Mrs. Van Zandt. + +"With your leave, I'll help her, ma'am," said the stout man, stepping +up the staircase with two strides, as it seemed. "Ah, yes, this is it. +Careful now, men; mind the other fellow.—Perhaps you and your friend +will bear a hand, sir." + +In another minute or two, a desperately wounded man was laid on the +wide sofa in the hall, and Kit had thrown herself on her knees beside +him with a cry of anguish. + +"Uncle Phin, O uncle Phin! Speak to Kitty." + +"Kitty," said Phin, opening his eyes. "Is Kit safe? Then it's all +right." He sank back with a sigh, and closed his eyes. + +"Oh, do some one go for the doctor!" cried Kit, wringing her hands. +"Don't let him die. O uncle Phin!" + +"Hush, my child. I am a doctor, and I will see to him," said the second +new-comer, advancing to the sofa. "Ladies, please step out of the way. +Policeman, I shall need your help. Take the child away, Ida.—Yes, my +dear, you shall see him again directly." + +"And now what is all this about?" asked Abram van Alstyne, depositing +his wife on the sofa. "Frank and I walked over from the railroad, and +the first we knew found ourselves in the midst of a battle." + +Ida told the story as far as she knew it. "As for the rest, you must +ask our champions themselves," she concluded. "They may have come out +of a cloud, for aught I know. I am sorry poor Mallory was the one to be +shot, for it was he who sent us warning." + +"So much the better for him," remarked the tall policeman. "But it was +none of us who shot him: it was that fellow Gale, or Burchard—he has a +dozen names or more. We have been watching for him for a week. His wife +put us on his track at last. We came up just as they started out, and +followed them every step of the way.—But what brought you up here, sis?" + +"Uncle Phin sent me," sobbed Kit. "He told me to come up and tell the +ladies. Oh, do you think he will die?" + +"I don't know, child. He is badly hurt, I am afraid, but we shall hear +what the doctor says. Here he comes now.—Well, doctor?" + +"It is a desperate case," said Dr. Van Alstyne. "He may last till +morning, or even a little longer if kept perfectly quiet, but it would +be instant death to move him. He knows his condition, and is very +anxious to see Mrs. Van Zandt and his daughter." + +"Potter, you might go down for the woman," said the tall policeman. +"Get out the horse, and bring her up." + + +"Well, my poor man, this is very sad," said Mrs. Van Zandt, seating +herself beside the wounded man. "Dr. Van Alstyne says you wish to speak +to me." + +"You are Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt, who adopted Martha Kathleen Joyce?" +said Phin. + +"Yes, my friend." + +"She was my wife," said Phin, speaking slowly but quite clearly. "She +was my cousin's widow,—David Selkirk's widow. He died, and left her and +her child to my care; for I was pretty steady then, and was helping him +in his business. Afterward, I married her. There was quite a good deal +of money coming to her and the child, but I fooled it away gambling and +horse-trotting. Gale got most of it. Then my wife went crazy; and I was +afraid a fuss would be made about the money, so I passed off Kit as an +adopted child. Her mother never knew her till just at last. Then she +made me promise to put the child into your hands, and I meant to do it, +but I kept putting it off: I hated to part with her. And there was the +money." + +"I should not have troubled you about that," said Mrs. Van Zandt. "O my +poor little Kathleen! To think of her dying so near me!" + +"There was more about it than that," said Phin. He paused a little, +and then added, "The farm is Kit's by rights. Grandfather left it to +David. I found the first will at Mr. Green's in Oldbury, and proved it. +Afterward, I found the second in grandfather's desk. It is there now. +Symantha don't know any thing about it. You'll be kind to Symantha, +won't you?" said Phin, turning his eyes wistfully on the old lady. "She +is a good girl, and she was good to Matey." + +"Indeed I will!" answered Mrs. Van Zandt. "As kind as if she were my +own daughter. Oh, if you had only come to me at once!" + +"Well, I meant to," said Phin feebly, "but, you see, I kept putting it +off. I felt so ashamed. David left them ten thousand dollars, and I +just fooled it away. I've been a fool all my life, but I was good to my +wife, wasn't I, Kit?" + +"Yes, indeed!" sobbed Kit. "Always." + +"He must not say another word if he is to live to see his daughter," +said Dr. Van Alstyne in a low tone. "He is sinking fast." + +"Just one thing more," said Phin. "I want to see Gale." + +The prisoner was brought forward strongly guarded. He gazed at the +dying man without a sign of emotion in his hard, cruel face. + +"Gale, do you think I sold you?" + +"I know it," answered Gale. + +"You are mistaken," said Phin eagerly. "I did send Kit up to warn the +ladies, but I never betrayed you, did I, Cap?" + +"No," answered the policeman, "you had nothing to do with it. Some one +else put us on the track at last." + +"Who?" asked Gale, changing color for the first time. + +"Never mind, my man: you'll hear all about it in time." + +"Not—not Sally?" Then, as it seemed reading an assent in the man's +face, he set his teeth hard. + +"Phin, I'm sorry," said he, suddenly turning to the dying man. "You've +saved my life, and I've taken yours, but I was mistaken. I'm sorry, +that's all I can say.—There, take me out of this." + +Phin was silent for a little, and seemed to fall into a doze, from +which he waked with a start. + +"Where am I? Oh, I know. It's most over, I guess. Kit, can't you sing +that hymn you sung for aunt Martha? Seems to me I should like to hear +it." + +Kit tried hard to sing, — + +"Jesus, lover of my soul,—" + +but the effort was too great. Ida took it up; the two gentlemen joined +her, and they sang it all through. + +Phin listened quietly. + +"My mother used to sing that," said he. "She believed in Him. She +taught me to say my prayers, too, but I can't remember them now, it is +so long ago. Kit, what was that verse you said at the Bible class that +night I went with you? Say it for me." + +"'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin,'" repeated +Kit. "O uncle Phin, do believe in Him! He will save you, I am sure He +will.—Won't He?" she asked, appealing to Mrs. Van Zandt. + +"Yes, indeed He will, if you look to Him," answered the old lady. "It +is never too late to turn to Him in this world.—O Frank! Pray with him." + +All knelt, while in a few plain, earnest words, Frank Van Alstyne +commended the dying man to the Fountain of all mercy. + +Phin evidently followed, and understood the words. + +"Thank you," said he faintly. "I guess ma was right, after all. I am +a poor wretch, but He can save me if He is what you say.—There, don't +cry, Kit. Be a good girl, and mind Mrs. Van Zandt.—Lord, have mercy on +me!" + +These were his last words. He lay in a sort of slumber, starting now +and then, till Symantha came in. He evidently knew her, for he pressed +her hand, and tried to put it into Mrs. Van Zandt's. The old lady +understood the movement, and bent over him. + +"Have no fear, Mr. Mallory: your daughter shall have every care and +help." + +Phin smiled, sighed once, and all was over. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE END. + +OF course, by nine o'clock the whole town of Oldham was ringing with +the news of the robbery and the capture. Aunt Betsy burst in upon Mr. +Weston's family at the breakfast-table. But, before she had time to +tell her tale, Miss Delia Claxton popped in at the other door. + +"Oh, 'have' you heard? Isn't it dreadful! And that poor man to be taken +so!" + +"It serves him right," said Aunt Betsy grimly. "I only hope folks will +have enough of those Mallorys," with a fell glance at Miss Armstrong. +"I always said it was a shame to let that young one go to school with +decent folks' children." + +"But what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Weston. "What has happened?" + +"Why, a gang of robbers, with Phin Mallory at their head, have robbed +Mrs. Van Zandt's house, and would have murdered every one in it only +the police came and caught them," said Aunt Betsy. "And that Kit showed +them the way, and told them where all the jewels were, and all. Only +last night she was at my house riding on the wagon-box with Abner +Bassett, just as bold as brass. I hope he feels proud of his company, +that's all." + +"You are very much mistaken, Aunt Betsy," said Miss Delia: "it was Kit +who gave them warning. Phin sent her on purpose." + +"Yes, that's likely. I should like to know how you know so much better +than any one," snapped Aunt Betsy. + +"Because I had the news from headquarters," answered Miss Delia. "Mrs. +Van Zandt sent Aggy down for me by daylight this morning. And when I +was helping to lay poor Phin out, Aggy told me the whole story;" which +story Miss Delia repeated with great precision. + +"So Phin is dead," said Mrs. Weston. "Poor fellow!" + +"Yes, he is dead, but I can't help hoping he had grace to repent +at last, from what they told me. The other robber was—who do you +think?—Harry Burchard. Yes, that very little curly-haired boy that I +dressed in the first trousers he ever had on. It seems his wife has +been living in Oldbury, pretending to be a great lady from New York; +and he has been visiting her off and on, calling himself Pyncheon, and +disguised like an old gentleman. She took that Whitman cottage, and +they say it was she who betrayed him, to try to get off herself, but +she didn't, for the house was just full of stolen goods." Miss Delia +stopped for want of breath. + +"Selina," said Miss Armstrong, "would you mind going up to my room to +shut my window? I left it open, and my papers will be blowing about the +carpet." + +"Selina looks pale," observed Miss Delia as Selina disappeared. + +"She has not been well for a day or two," answered Miss Armstrong. "I +think she has worked too hard for her strength. So it was Kitty who +carried the warning?" + +"Yes. It seems poor Phin's heart misgave him at the last; so he put +Kit out at the front-door, and the poor child ran all the way over the +hill, and got there just in time." + +"There! I knew she had a hand in it somehow," said Aunt Betsy +triumphantly. "Well, give me folks that one knows something about. What +could you expect from a poorhouse young one like that?" + +"But that she should risk her life to save her friends," said Miss +Armstrong, finishing the sentence. + +"And as to knowing about people, I am sure we know all about Harry +Burchard," said Miss Delia. "His grandfather was minister of +Rivermouth; and his father was old Mr. Burchard of Pentaquam, as good +a man as ever lived. Such sacrifices as they made to send that boy to +school and college!" + +"They used to indulge him awfully, though," returned Aunt Betsy. "His +mother used to let him put sugar in his bread and milk. I have seen him +do it." + +"And as to Kit's family, it turns out to be as good as anybody's," +continued Miss Delia. "Her father was Phin's own cousin, David +Selkirk,—you remember him, Abby,—and her mother was a Miss Joyce, +daughter of an excellent Irish minister who emigrated to this country. +His wife died of cholera on the ship, and the poor man only lived a few +months after her. Mrs. Van Zandt adopted the little girl, and brought +her up. But when she was eighteen, she got acquainted with David: so +marry him she would, and did, and went out West with him; and Mrs. Van +Zandt never saw her afterward." + +"Yes, that's the way," said Aunt Betsy. "Adopting children is flying in +the face of Providence, anyway." + +"Mrs. Van Zandt told me she was struck with Kit's resemblance to this +poor thing the first time she saw her," continued Miss Delia. "She is +going to keep the child for her own, only Kit stays with Symantha for +the present." + +"How did Symantha take it all?" asked Mrs. Weston. + +"Very hard, poor thing. She closed her father's eyes, and kissed him. +But she never shed a tear, and her face was like ashes. + +"Presently she says to Mrs. Van Zandt, 'Did pa tell you about the child +and the money?' + +"And Mrs. Van Zandt said yes, but not to mind about the money: she had +plenty. + +"And then Symantha said, 'I should like to keep Kit with me for a few +days.' + +"And Mrs. Van Zandt said Kit should stay as long as she liked; and she +kissed Symantha, and thanked her for all that she had done. And they +got her to crying at last. Then she went home, and I went with her, and +got her to lie down and take some tea. Celia is up there now, helping +Ma Bassett put the house in order." + +"I should think she'd be afraid," said Aunt Betsy. + +"Oh, there's nothing to be afraid of: an officer or policeman is +staying there. They searched the house and barns, but they didn't find +a thing but what belonged there. And nobody thinks Symantha was any way +mixed up in it. Of course she may have had her suspicions, but nobody +could expect her to betray her own father, even if she had known for +certain." + +"Poor thing! And poor Phin!" said Mrs. Weston. "I hope he had grace to +repent. + + "Between the saddle and the ground + If mercy's sought, mercy's found." + +"Maybe so, but I don't believe in death-bed repentances," said Aunt +Betsy. "I never knew one to come to any thing." + +"I never knew many people 'after' their death-beds, so I can't judge," +said Mrs. Weston dryly. "I guess I'll send Ezra up to Mallory's with a +loaf of bread and the chicken-pie I made yesterday. I can get something +else ready for Sunday, and it will save them trouble in cooking." + +Selina went up to Miss Armstrong's room, and closed the window. Then +she retreated to her own, and sat down, not so much to think as to +stare aghast at the gulf which had opened at her feet, and into which +she had been so near falling. For she had been very near it: only last +night, sitting in that very chair, she had made up her mind that she +would write to Mrs. Orme, and arrange to return to New York with her. +She would have done so then and there, but that, on opening her desk, +she found she had used all her paper. + +Suppose she had done so. Suppose the exposure had been delayed a few +days, long enough for her to leave her home, and meet Mrs. Orme at +Elmfield, as that person had proposed. The thought turned her cold and +sick. It never occurred to her to doubt the truth of the story. On the +contrary, a hundred things went to confirm it. She had had more than +one fit of cold misgiving as to the character of her friend, since her +return home; and her talk with Milly had shaken her more than she had +been willing to own to herself at the time. + +But then, the net had been such a very tempting one, and it had +been so skilfully laid in the sight of the silly little field-bird, +discontented with its nest, and longing for a wider flight. And now +it would all come out, and every one would know. Kit would tell how +she was talking with that murderer. What should she do? Where could +she hide? She rose to her feet with some wild idea of running away, +and hiding from the disgrace. But her limbs trembled so, she could not +stand, and she dropped down again. + +She was sitting with her head hidden on her folded arms, conscious +of nothing but a crushing load of shame and misery, and that vague, +unreasoning wish to die which so often seizes on young people in the +presence of their first overmastering trouble, when a gentle hand was +laid on her arm, and a gentle voice said,— + +"My daughter." + +"O mother, don't!" moaned Selina. "Oh, send me away somewhere, where I +shall not be a disgrace to you. Oh, I wish you had never seen me." + +"Hush, my dear, hush. Don't say such things," said Mrs. Weston gently. +"Why should I send you away? Suppose you have been foolish, and made a +mistake: what better place than mother's house could you find?" + +"I have been more than foolish," said Selina, raising her head. "You +don't know half how wicked and ungrateful I have been. Only last +night—Oh! I can't tell you. Oh, what shall I do?" + +"Don't try to say any thing," said Mrs. Weston. "Drink this coffee, and +lie down; and by and by you shall tell me the whole story. Don't be +afraid, dear: mother will always stand by her girl." + +Selina was thankful for the permission to stay out of the reach of +prying eyes and questioning tongues. Mrs. Weston undressed her, and +bathed her hot head. + +"God help you, my child!" said she, kissing her. "Try to compose +yourself, and to look to your heavenly Father. Trust Him, my dear. +Whatever happens, your father and mother will not forsake you; and His +love is stronger than theirs." + +"How good, how lovely, she is!" thought Selina, with a feeling of +absolute wonder. "She knows I am mixed up in this horrible, disgraceful +business, and yet she never gives me a word of reproach or unkindness. +And I was ready to leave her for that—How could I be such a fool? But I +have always been a fool. How shamefully I have treated Miss Armstrong, +and how kind she was this morning! I do believe I should have dropped +in another minute." + +It was a very long day that Selina spent in her room, but it was the +most profitable of her whole life. The flinty rock of her heart, which +refused to be softened by the rain, was crushed and powdered by the +hammer. The trodden path was hard, but the ploughshare could turn it, +and make it fine for the seed. Her eyes were opened to see herself, in +some degree, as she was. She could hardly have endured the sight, but +that the same One who showed her sin showed also her Saviour. + +That night, Selina opened her heart to her mother as she had never done +before, and received her full and free forgiveness. + +"You have had a hard lesson, my child, but we will not grudge it," said +Mrs. Weston. "It will be worth all it costs if it leads you home to +your Father's house." + +"I hope it has," said Selina. "Do you think it is wrong for me to hope +that He has forgiven me?" + +"No, my dear. Why should it be wrong for you to take Him at His word?" + +"Well, you know, Mr. Martin used to say he had no faith in sudden +conversions, and that the religious life must be a gradual growth." + +"How many conversions can Mr. Martin find recorded in the New Testament +that were not sudden?" asked Mrs. Weston. "If I am lost on the mountain +in a fog, and the sun comes out and shows me that I 'am' lost, it may +take me a long time to get home, but it will not take me a minute to +turn round and set off in the right direction. Thank Heaven, you have +turned round! It makes me shudder to think of the horrible danger you +have escaped." + +But Selina's trials were not all over, by any means. It was known in +Oldbury that she had been on very intimate terms with Mrs. Orme, as +she called herself. And on examination, Kit was obliged to reveal the +fact that she had seen Selina talking with the prisoner. What was known +in Oldbury was known in Oldham, and Selina knew that the whole town +was talking about her. Moreover, she was called as a witness on the +trial; and though her testimony amounted to nothing, except to show how +she had herself been victimized, it was a terrible ordeal, and when +at last she was dismissed, she felt as if she could never hold up her +head again. As she dropped into a seat beside her mother, a little hand +sought hers, and a soft voice whispered,— + +"O Selina! Don't be angry with me. I didn't mean to tell, but they +would make me." + +"You couldn't help it," returned Selina, pressing Kit's hand. + +"You see, I knew him the minute I saw him," continued Kit. "You don't +know how it made me feel to see him talking to you,—just as it did to +see the copperhead twisted round Eddy's ankle. I was scared to death, +for I thought he knew me, but I was determined to warn you." + +"You were real good, and I have always treated you so badly too," said +Selina. + +"Never mind," returned Kit. "It has all come right at last, only for +poor uncle Phin; and I can't help hoping it is right for him too. Uncle +Phin wasn't naturally so bad, only he never had any mind of his own. He +was always so easy to lead away. But somehow these people who are so +easy to lead wrong don't seem to be so easy to lead right." + +"Are you really going to live with Mrs. Van Zandt in New York?" asked +Selina as they walked away from the court-room together. + +"I am not going to live with her at first," answered Kit. "She says her +house is too dull for a little girl: so I am to stay with Miss Ida's +mother, and take lessons of her this winter." + +"You will like that," observed Selina, "you are so fond of Miss Ida." + +"Yes, it would be lovely only for leaving Symantha. But she says aunt +Martha—mother, I mean: it seems so queer that aunt Martha should be +my mother—Symantha says mother made uncle Phin promise to give me to +Mrs. Van Zandt, before she died, and that is just what she should have +chosen for me." + +"And what is Symantha going to do?" + +"Oh, Miss Armstrong has got her a place as nurse in some institution in +New York where they take weak-minded people. It seems like a very hard +place, but Symantha likes the idea; and she is just the one for the +work, she had so much experience taking care of mother." + +"And when are you going?" + +"As soon as school closes. Selina, do you remember that first day Miss +Armstrong taught, when I could not say the Lord's Prayer?" + +"Yes, indeed; and how I behaved!" + +"That was about the best day of my life," continued Kit thoughtfully. +"I shall never forget how different the world looked to me after Miss +Armstrong told me I had a Father in heaven who loved me." + +"And you believed it the very minute you heard it?" said Selina. "And +you loved Him?" + +"Why, yes, I couldn't help it," answered Kit simply. + +"And I had been taught about Him all my life; and yet, if any one had +made me believe there was no God, I should have been rather glad," said +Selina. "Your heart was the good ground, Kit, but mine was so hard, it +is a wonder that any thing good could ever grow in it." + +There is little more to add to our story. When the school closed, Miss +Armstrong proposed that Selina should accompany her on a visit to her +sister in Colorado. It was a long journey, she said; she should be glad +of a companion, and her sister and niece would make Selina more than +welcome. Mr. and Mrs. Weston gladly consented, willing to remove the +girl for a time from the unavoidable annoyances which surrounded her in +Oldham. + +But we all know the dangers which beset young ladies who go visiting in +new States. Selina found employment as a teacher in one of the schools +which Christian enterprise has set up. She returned home in a year, but +not to stay. A gentleman who owns a great sheep-farm in those parts +came on in the summer, and, overruling all objections on the score of +Selina's youth, carried her off in triumph. + +Aunt Betsy was present at the wedding, of course, and remarked that she +had always known the Westons would never have any comfort out of that +girl. Such sights as they had spent on her! And now, just as she was +old enough to be good for something, off she went. Aunt Betsy hoped he +was a respectable man, but there were queer folks out there, and she +shouldn't wonder a bit if something was to happen. It is not supposed +that Aunt Betsy will grow more amiable as she grows older. + +Patience Fletcher recovered after a long illness, but she was never so +well as before, and she was obliged perforce to give up a great deal +of the work into Faith's hands. Under these circumstances, Patience +learned gradually to believe that the balance of the universe was not +much disturbed though the teacup handles were turned east instead of +west, and even to be resigned when the cat put her kittens in the +second best clothes-basket, and a fly got into the front-room. In a +word, the thorns which had so long choked the good seed, being rooted +up, she found there was room not only for the wheat which is the +staff of life, but for the flowers which beautify it. Faith grew up a +capital housewife, and Patience confessed that Faithie made the house +pleasanter than ever she had done. + +Poor Cordelia Richmond had the comfort of opening her heart before +her death. Mr. Brace conveyed an inkling of the case to Dr. Madison, +who at once called upon Mrs. Richmond with his sister, who was a very +great lady in that world which Mrs. Richmond beheld from afar with +envious eyes. She could not for very shame refuse to let the Doctor +see Cordelia when Milly told her, before him, that Cordelia had asked +for him. The Doctor was a man of experience. He wasted no time in idle +words, but went at once to the root of the matter. And before he left, +he had the comfort of laying the poor trembling child at her Lord's +feet. Even Mrs. Richmond could not be angry when she saw how peaceful +and happy Cordelia was after the interview. + +Three days after, the poor child passed away in great peace and +happiness. + + +The next winter, Mrs. Richmond married a very rich man with a great +house, for which he wanted a mistress, and forthwith plunged into +"society." Her new interest broke the force of her disappointment in +Milly, who has turned out "very eccentric; just like her poor father, +you know," Mrs. Richmond says. "But she is a good child, after all; and +I let her take her own way." + +That way leads Milly to a great many strange places, to an Italian +mission school, and a sewing-school, and not seldom to Mrs. Van Zandt, +whose almoner she is among her poor pupils, a circumstance which almost +consoles her mother for her oddity. + +Kit is staying with Ida Van Zandt at Rockdale, studying, and working +very hard at her music. She spends most of her Sundays with Mrs. Van +Zandt, who finds great delight in her society, and promises to take her +to see Miss Armstrong next summer. + +For Miss Armstrong is settled in Oldham for good. She has actually +married Mr. Brace, and settled down in the Oldham parsonage, which has +been beautified to such an extent that it hardly knows itself. More +than that, the parish has built a fine, convenient Sunday school room, +which it is Mr. Kettle's pride and delight to keep in the best of +order, remarking as he does nearly every Sunday, that he don't grudge +the work so long as it keeps the wear and tear of the school out of +"his" church. For Mr. Kettle looks upon the church and the minister, +not to mention the minister's wife, cow, horse, and pig, as his own +private property, and the best in their several ways to be found in +the United States, and pays no heed to the remark of Aunt Betsy (also +repeated every Sunday), that Mr. Brace may be all very well, but he +will never fill Dr. Munson's pulpit. + +We must now take our leave of Oldham and its people. Perhaps some +time or other we may visit there again. I hope the moral of my story +is clear enough to tell itself. To all of us comes the sower bearing +precious seed. Shall we let it lie by the wayside, the prey of every +wandering bird? Shall we let the thorns grow up, and choke it, so that +no fruit shall be brought to perfection? Or shall we receive it into an +honest and good heart, that it may bring forth fruit unto everlasting +life? + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79054 *** |