Mildred and Elsie

CHAPTER IX

 
"Labor in the path of duty,
Gleam'd up like a thing of beauty."
 

Cranch.

"My dear child, you have improved wonderfully," Mrs. Keith said, as Mildred concluded a much longer and more difficult piece of music than the one with which she had begun.

"She has indeed! I'm quite proud of her performance," echoed Mr. Keith.

"She does make terrible fine music," put in Celestia Ann; "but I wisht she'd stop a bit, or them dishes o' mine 'll never git washed."

"And I must go to the office," said Mr. Keith, looking at his watch, and glancing about in search of his hat.

"And I to my sewing," added Mildred, rising.

The children entreated somewhat clamorously for more, but yielded their wish at once on mother's decision that they must wait till after tea.

"Oh, the books!" cried Mildred, springing toward them with an eager gesture. "But no," turning away with a half sigh, "I must not take time to even look at them now."

"Yes, you may," her mother said smilingly; "glance at the titles, and dip in here and there, just to whet your appetite; read this note from your uncle, too, and then we can talk over your plans for mental culture, while busy with our needles."

"Always the same kind, indulgent mother," Mildred said, with a look of grateful love. "I will do so, then, and try to work fast enough afterwards to make up for lost time."

Half an hour later she joined her mother and sisters, who were all sewing industriously.

"Such a nice note, mother. Shall I read it to you?"

"Yes, if you like. I always enjoy uncle's letters."

"It sounds just like his talk," Mildred said when she had done reading, "saying the kindest things half jestingly, half earnestly. But the idea of his thinking I must have wondered that he gave me no special parting gift! – when he was all the time heaping favors upon me."

"But it was Cousin Horace who gave the piano," said Ada.

"Yes; uncle the books. And now I must strive to show my appreciation of their kindness by making the best possible use of both presents."

"For your own improvement and that of others," added her mother. "I want you to lend them, one at a time, to Effie Prescott and poor Gotobed Lightcap."

"What about him, mother?" Mildred asked, taking up her sewing. "The children told me he had been elected sheriff."

"Yes; I was very glad. He deserves every encouragement, for he is trying hard to educate himself, and I really hope some day may be able to enter one of the learned professions."

"Poor fellow!" Mildred exclaimed feelingly, tears starting to her eyes as memory brought vividly before her the sad scenes connected with the loss of his right hand, "he is welcome to the use of any or all of my books. I will gladly do anything in my power to help him."

"Now, suppose we talk about ourselves and our own affairs," Zillah suggested in her sprightly way. "I'm extremely anxious to learn to play on that lovely piano, but don't see how either you, mother, or Milly is to find time to give me lessons, for you are both busy as bees now from morning to night."

"And I want to learn too," put in Ada imploringly.

"So you shall, dears, both of you, if you continue to be the good, industrious, helpful girls you have been for the past year," the mother said, with her cheery smile. "Milly and I will manage it between us. Almost all our winter clothes are made now, so that we will not need to give so much time to sewing as we have for the past month or more."

Mildred seemed to be thinking. "I believe we can manage it," she said presently. "I hear the recitations from nine to eleven now, you know; we must begin at eight after this, and then from ten to twelve can be spared for the two music lessons."

"And the afternoons and evenings you must reserve for yourself – your exercise, study, reading and recreation," added Mrs. Keith, "while I oversee the practicing and the preparation of lessons for the next day. Two music lessons a week to each will be all sufficient. Yes, I am sure that with system and rigid economy of time – making good use of each golden minute as it flies – we can accomplish all that is necessary, if not all that is desirable."

Again a few moments of thoughtful silence on Mildred's part, then, "Mother," she said, "do you think I ought to take that Sunday-school class? I don't feel fit, and – and besides, it will take a good deal of my time to attend right to it – prepare the lessons, and occasionally visit the children through the week."

"I would have you consider the question carefully and prayerfully, and in the light of God's holy word, which is our only rule of faith and practice, daughter. 'As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men.' 'He that winneth souls is wise.'"

"But, mother, I am not wise."

Mildred's tone was low and humble.

"'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.' Ask for it and search the Scriptures for it, for we are told, 'The entrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth understanding to the simple.' And while you study it for the benefit of others, you will be cultivating your own soul – a matter of even greater importance than the culture of your intellect."

"And I could not do the first without at the same time doing the last."

"No; that is very true. Also I trust, daughter, that your great motive for improving your mental powers is that you may thus be prepared to do better service to the Master?"

"I hope so, mother; it is, if I know my own heart," Mildred said, looking up with shining eyes. "I know it is said that duties never conflict, yet it does seem sometimes as though they did."

"As, for example?" and her mother's eyes smiled encouragingly and sympathizingly into hers.

"Why, there is the weekly church prayer-meeting to take one whole evening out of the six."

"Only from an hour to an hour and a half," corrected Mrs. Keith.

"But it breaks into the evening so that one can hardly do much with the leavings," Mildred said with a slight laugh. "And then the young girls' prayer-meeting breaks up one afternoon of every week, and besides – O mother! it is a real trial to me to lead in prayer, and I am sure to be called on."

"I hope you will never refuse," Mrs. Keith said gently, and with a tender, loving look. "We should never fear to attempt any duty, looking to God for help, for it shall be given, and a blessing with it."

"It is a great cross to me."

"Greater than that the Master bore for you?"

"Oh no, no! nothing to compare to it, or even to what many a martyr and many a missionary has done and borne for him."

"And is it not a blessed privilege to be permitted to do and bear something for his dear sake?" Mrs. Keith asked with glistening eyes, and in tones trembling with emotion.

"O mother, yes!" And Mildred's head bowed low, a tear fell on her work.

"O my darling, be a whole-hearted Christian!" the mother went on, speaking with intense earnestness, "consecrate yourself and all you have to the Master's service – time, talents, influence, money – everything you possess. He gave himself for us; shall we hold back anything from him?"

"Oh no! But mother – "

"Well, dear?"

"Shall I not do better service by and by, perhaps, by now giving my whole time, energy, and thought to preparation for it?"

"Do you find that you can always do a given amount of mental work in a given space of time?"

"No, mother; sometimes my brain is so active that I can do more in an hour than at some other times I can accomplish in a day."

"And cannot He who made you, and gave you all your mental powers, cause them at any time to be thus active? My child, he never lets us lose by working for him; in some way he will more than make it good to us. 'He that watereth shall be watered also himself.' 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.'"

Mildred looked up brightly. "I think – I am sure you are right, mother; and I will take up all those duties, trusting to the dear Master to help me with them and with my studies. My time is his as well as all else that I have."

"'Yes, ye are not your own, for ye are bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's.'"

"Who, mother?" asked little Fan, playing with her doll near by.

"All God's children, my child."

"I want to be one, mother. But who bought them? and what with? what price?"

"Christ bought them, dear, with his own precious blood."

"Mother," said Ada softly, "how good he was! I wish I could do something for him; but I'm not old enough to teach in Sunday-school, or pray in the prayer-meeting."

"No, darling; but you can pray at home, kneeling alone in your own room, and join with your heart in the prayers at family worship and at church; you can pray in your heart at any time and in any place; for yourself and for others. In his great kindness and condescension God listens to our prayers at all times, if they come from the heart, and just as readily to those of a little child as to those of the wisest and mightiest of men."

"O mother, I'm glad of that! but if I could do some work for him I'd love to do it."

"Do you remember, dear, that once when Jesus was on earth the people asked him 'What shall we do that we might work the works of God?' and Jesus answered and said unto them, 'This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent.'"

"That was Jesus himself," the child said thoughtfully, staying her needle in mid air, while her eyes sought the floor. "Mother, could you tell me just what is meant by believing on him so as to be saved? It can't mean only believing all the Bible says about him is true, because it tells us 'the devils also believe, and tremble.' I heard father read it from the Bible at worship this morning."

"Yes, my dear child, it does mean much more than that," the mother said, and silently asked help of God to make it clear to the apprehension of all present, even to little Annis, who leant confidingly against her knee, the blue eyes gazing earnestly into her face.

"The devils know the truth, but they don't love it," she said; "God's children do: they are glad that he reigns and rules in all the universe; but the devils gnash their teeth with rage that it is so, and would tear him from his throne if they could."

The two little boys were in the room, Cyril whittling, Don poring over a new book that Mildred had brought him from Philadelphia. The one shut his jack-knife, the other his book, and both drew near to listen.

"Jesus didn't die for them, did he, mother?" asked Cyril.

"No, my son, there is no salvation offered them, and God might justly have left us in the same awful condition; but of his great love and mercy he has provided a wonderful way by which we can be saved. 'For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.'

"Faith is another word that means the same as believing. The Bible tells us that without faith it is impossible to please God; also, that the faith which availeth anything worketh by love. 'Unto you, therefore, which believe, he (that is, Jesus) is precious.' The faith that pleases God and will save from sin and eternal death, loves the Lord Jesus Christ, and trusts for salvation only in what he has done and suffered for us."

"We can't do anything to save ourselves, mother?"

"We can not do anything to earn our salvation; we can have it only as God's free, undeserved gift. We have all broken God's holy law, but Jesus kept it perfectly in our stead. Our sins deserve God's wrath and curse, both in this life and that which is to come, for it is written, 'Cursed is every one who continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them;' but Jesus has borne that curse for all his people. 'Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us.'"

"I should like to have that right kind of faith if I knew just how to get it, mother," said Ada.

"'By grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God,'" quoted Mrs. Keith. "Ask for it, my child. Jesus said, 'Every one that asketh, receiveth;' and again, 'If ye shall ask anything in my name I will do it.'"

"You know, my child, that though we cannot see him, he is always near. Go to him in prayer, confess your sins, tell him that you are altogether sinful by nature and by practice, and can do nothing at all to deserve his favor; but that you come in his name, and pleading what he has done and suffered for you, because he has invited you so to come. Ask him to take away your wicked heart and give you a new one full of love to him; accept his offered salvation from sin and hell; give yourself to him and he will take you for his own; for he says, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.' He will give you true faith and true repentance – sorrow for sin because it is displeasing to God; a sorrow that will lead you to hate and forsake it, and to be a follower of God as a dear child, doing him service from the heart, striving to please, honor, and glorify him in all things; not that you may be saved, but because you are saved."

"But what can a little girl like me do for him, mother?"

"Or a boy like me or Cyril?" added Don.

"Christ is our example, and one thing the Bible tells us of him is that when he was a child on earth he was subject to his parents; that is, he obeyed and honored them. You must do the same by yours, if you would be his disciples. There are few, comparatively, whom God calls to do what men consider great things for him, but if we do faithfully each little every-day duty – it may be only to learn a lesson, to sweep or dust a room, to make a bed, go on an errand, or something else quite as simple and easy – because we want to please and honor him; he will accept it as work done for him. Men can judge only from appearances – God sees the heart, the motives; and according as they are good or bad is he pleased or displeased with our acts."

"Mother," cried Ada, looking up with a glad smile, "how nice that is! Any work must be sweet when we think of God watching and being pleased with us for doing it just as well as we can because we love him."

"Yes, daughter, love is a great sweetener of labor of whatever kind it may be."

CHAPTER X

 
"True faith and reason are the soul's two eyes,
Faith evermore looks upward and descries
Objects remote."
 

Quarles.

Mr. Keith and Wallace Ormsby were busy, each at his own desk; unbroken silence had reigned in the office for the last half hour, when suddenly dropping his pen and wheeling about in his chair, the elder gentleman addressed the younger:

"Why, how's this, Wallace? I haven't seen you in my house or heard of your being there for weeks; what's wrong?"

Wallace, taken by surprise, could only stammer out rather incoherently something about having had a good deal to do – "correspondence and other writing, studying up that case, you know, sir."

"Come, come, now, you're not so hard pushed with work that you can't take a little recreation now and then," returned his interrogator kindly; "and really I don't think you can find a much better place for that than my house; especially since Mildred's at home again."

"That is very true, sir," said Wallace, "but – I'd be extremely sorry to wear out my welcome," he added, with a laugh that seemed a trifle forced.

"No fear of that, Wallace; not the slightest," Mr. Keith answered heartily: "why, we consider you quite one of the family; we can never forget how kindly you nursed us in that sickly season. And we've a new attraction."

"Yes, sir, so I heard. A very fine instrument, isn't it?"

"Yes; if we are judges. Come up this evening and hear Mildred play. I think she has really a genius for music; but that may be a fond father's partiality."

The invitation was too tempting to be declined: it had taken a very strong effort of will to enable the love-sick swain to stay so long away from his heart's idol, and now under her father's hospitable urgency his resolution gave way.

"Thank you, sir; I shall be delighted to come: and I have no doubt Miss Mildred is quite as fine a performer as you think her," he said; and each resumed his pen.

Mrs. Keith, with strong faith in the wisdom of the old adage, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," always insisted upon each member of her household taking a due amount of recreation. The older girls would sometimes, in their eagerness to finish a piece of work or learn a lesson for the morrow, be ready to take up book or sewing immediately on leaving the tea-table; but their mother put a veto upon that, and by precept and example encouraged a half hour of social chat, romping with the little ones, or gathering about the piano to listen to Mildred's playing: and often a little time before tea was given to music both vocal and instrumental, every one, even down to little Annis, frequently taking part in the latter.

This season of mirth and jollity was over for the evening, Mrs. Keith had taken the younger children away to put them to bed, Zillah and Ada were at their tasks in the sitting-room; but Mildred still lingered at the piano, feeling that she had need of practice to recover lost ground.

Mr. Keith listened a little longer, then remarking that he must see Squire Chetwood about a business matter, donned hat and overcoat and went out.

Rupert stood beside his sister, turning the pages of her music and praising her execution. "I'd like all the town to hear you," he said. "I should prefer a much smaller audience," she returned, laughingly. "Ru, did you remember to mail that letter?"

"No, I didn't!" he cried, in some consternation.

She drew out her pretty watch.

"There's time yet," he said, glancing at its face; "so I'm off."

Hurrying out of the front door, he encountered Ormsby in the porch.

"Hollo! is that you, Wallace?" he cried. "A little more and there'd have been a collision. Haven't seen you here for an age! been wondering what had become of you. Well, walk right in. You'll find Milly in the parlor. But you must excuse me for awhile as I've a letter to mail."

He held the door open as he spoke, and having seen the caller inside, hastily shut it without waiting for a reply to his remarks, and rushed away.

The parlor door stood ajar. Wallace tapped lightly; but Mildred, intent upon her music, did not hear, and he stole quietly in. He stood for a moment almost entranced by the low sweet tones of voice and instrument.

Mildred was thinking of Charlie, and her voice was full of pathos as she sang —

 
"'When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years.'"
 

A deep sigh startled her and she turned hastily to find – not Charlie, but Wallace regarding her with eyes full of despairing love mingled with tender compassion.

He saw that her eyes were full of tears, and coming quickly to her side took her hand in his.

"Dear Mildred, I can't bear to see you unhappy," he said, in low, tremulous tones. "Don't grieve, it will all come right some day. Ah, if only I could have won your heart!" and again he sighed deeply.

"It's the old story, 'the course of true love never will run smooth,' and we can only be sorry for each other," she returned with forced gayety, and hastily wiping away her tears. "Take a seat, won't you, and I'll give you something more cheerful than that sickly sentimental stuff you caught me singing. That is, of course, if you wish to hear it;" and she looked up into his face with an arch smile.

A tete-a-tete with him at that time was not desirable – would be rather embarrassing; she wanted to avoid it, and heartily wished some one of the family would come in immediately; therefore was not seriously displeased at the sudden and unexpected entrance of Celestia Ann.

This very independent maid-of-all-work came bustling in, dressed in her "Sunday best" and with a bit of sewing in her hand.

"Good-evenin', Mr. Ormsby," she said, nodding to him; then turning to Mildred: "I declare, Miss Mildred, your playin' is so powerful fine I couldn't noways stand it to set out there in the kitchen while the pianner was a goin' in here and nobody to listen to it. You see I thought you were alone; but I reckon Mr. Ormsby won't mind me."

Wallace was too well aware of the value of the woman's services and the difficulty of retaining them to make any objection. He merely nodded and smiled in reply to her salutation; then turning to Mildred answered her with, "Indeed I should be delighted. In fact your father invited me to call this evening for the express purpose of listening to your music, and," he added in a whisper, "though I feared my visit might not be altogether welcome to you, I had not the courage to deny myself so great a pleasure."

"There was no occasion," Mildred said, in the same low tone: "we all want you to feel yourself quite at home here. You'll excuse the intrusion of – "

"Oh, certainly: I understand it."

Celestia Ann had seated herself beside a lamp burning on a distant table, and was industriously plying her needle.

"Come, give us a lively toon, Miss Milly, won't ye?" she said. "'Yankee Doodle,' or 'Hail Colomby,' or some o' them toons folks dances to."

"Which or what will you have, Mr. Ormsby?" asked Mildred.

"I?" he said, with a smile; "oh, I own to sharing Miss Hunsinger's partiality for our national airs, and am well satisfied with the selections already made."

Mildred gave them in succession.

A tall man with a book under his arm stood in a listening attitude at the gate. Mrs. Keith, seeing him from an upper window, came down and opened the front door.

"Good evening, Mr. Lightcap," she said in her pleasant voice, "won't you come in out of the cold?"

"I come to fetch back your book, Mrs. Keith," he said, moving toward her with long strides, "and I thought I'd not disturb the folks in your parlor by knockin' whilst that music was agoin'. I'm a thousand times obleeged fer the loan o' the book, ma'am;" and he handed it to her, then lifted his cap as if in adieu.

"No, no; don't go yet," she said. "I have another book for you, and you must have some more of the music, if you care to hear it, without standing in the cold to listen."

Her pleasant cordiality put him at his ease, and he followed her into the parlor.

Mildred was playing and singing "Star Spangled Banner," Wallace accompanying her with his voice, both so taken up with the business in hand that they did not perceive the entrance of Mrs. Keith and Gotobed until they joined in on the chorus; when Mildred looked up in surprise and nodded a smiling welcome to the latter.

"Tell you, that's grand!" he exclaimed at the close, his face lighting up with patriotic enthusiasm; "there's somethin' mighty inspirin' about them national airs o' ourn. Don't ye think so, Mrs. Keith?"

"Yes," she said, "they always stir my blood with love for my dear native land, and awaken emotions of gratitude to God and those gallant forefathers who fought and bled to secure her liberties."

"Ah!" he sighed with a downward glance at his mutilated arm, "I can never lift sword or gun for her if occasion should come again!"

"But you may do as much, or even more, in other ways," she responded cheerily.

"I can't see how, ma'am," he returned, with a rueful shake of the head.

"'Knowledge is power;' intellect can often accomplish more than brute force: go on cultivating your mind and storing up information, and opportunities for usefulness will be given you in due time," she answered with her bright, sweet smile; then turned with a cordial greeting to Lu Grange and Claudina and Will Chetwood, ushered in at that moment by Celestia Ann, who now took her departure to the kitchen – probably thinking Miss Mildred had listeners enough to be able to spare her.

The piano was a new and powerful attraction to the good people of Pleasant Plains, and all the friends and acquaintance of the Keiths, as well as some whose title to either appellation was doubtful, flocked to hear it in such numbers that for two or three weeks after its arrival Mildred seemed to be holding a levee almost every evening.

"How my time is being wasted!" she sighed one evening as the door closed upon the last departing guest.

"No, dear, I think not," responded her mother, with an affectionate look and a kindly reassuring smile; "you are recovering lost ground – perfecting yourself in facility of execution, and giving a great deal of pleasure; and it is no small privilege to be permitted to do that last – to cheer heavy hearts, to lift burdens, to make life even a little brighter to some of our fellow creatures. Is not that so?"

"Yes, mother, it is, and yet I find it very trying to have my plans so often interfered with."

"Ah! my child, we must not allow ourselves to become too much attached to our plans," returned Mrs. Keith, with a slightly humorous look and tone, and passing her hand caressingly over Mildred's hair; "for all through life we shall be very frequently compelled by circumstances to set them aside."

"Is there any use in making plans, then?" the girl asked half impatiently.

"Surely there is. If we would accomplish anything worth while, we must lay our plans carefully, thoughtfully, wisely; then carry them out with all energy and perseverance: yet not allow ourselves to be impatient and unhappy when providentially called upon to set them aside. 'It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps;' and we ought to be not only willing to bend to God's providence, but glad to have him choose for us."

"Ah, yes, mother – yes indeed!" Mildred murmured, a dewy light coming into her eyes; "if one could only always realize that he sends or permits these little trials they wouldn't be hard to bear; for it is sweet to have him choose for us."

It so happened that this was the last of that trial of Mildred's patience. A storm set in that night which lasted for several days, keeping almost everybody at home; then came weeks of ice and snow, making fine sleighing, skating, and sliding; thus furnishing other and more exciting amusement to the residents of the town, both old and young.

The Keiths took their share in these winter pastimes – Mildred as well as the rest: often doing so to please her mother rather than herself, yet always finding enjoyment in them.

'Twas a busy life she led that winter, and by no means an unhappy one, spite of the obstinate refusal of the course of true love to run smooth.

It came to a rougher place, to deeper, swifter rapids, in the ensuing spring.

Through all these months of separation she and Charlie had kept up a correspondence, though at somewhat irregular and infrequent intervals. A much longer time than usual had now passed, and yet her last letter to him remained unanswered. She was secretly very much disturbed in mind, sorely troubled lest some evil had befallen him, though not permitting herself to doubt for a moment that his love for her remained as strong and fervent as ever.

At last a letter came. Rupert brought it from the office at noon, and handed it to her with a meaning smile, a twinkle of fun in his eyes.

"Something to brighten this dull, rainy day for you, sis," he said gayly.

"Thank you," she returned, flushing rosy red, and her heart giving a joyous bound as she slipped the missive into her pocket.

"What! not going to read it after the long journey it has taken to reach you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows in mock astonishment.

"Not now, it will keep; and I must get mother's toast and tea ready for her – there'll be barely time before father comes in to dinner."

"How is she?"

"Better, but not able to be up yet. These bad headaches always leave her weak, and I shall try to persuade her to lie still all the afternoon."

With the last word Mildred hurried away to the kitchen.

The morning had been a very trying one: it was Monday, the day of the week on which Celestia Ann always insisted upon doing the family washing without regard to the state of the weather. She prided herself on getting her clothes out early and having them white as the driven snow, and her temper was never proof against the trial of a Monday-morning storm.

There had been a steady pour of rain since before daybreak, and the queen of the kitchen consequently in anything but an amiable mood. A severe headache had kept Mrs. Keith in bed, and to Mildred had fallen the task of guiding and controlling the domestic machinery and seeing that its wheels ran smoothly.

She had had several disputes to settle between Ada and Zillah on the one side, and the irate maid-of-all-work on the other; also much ado to induce the younger children to attend to their lessons, and then to keep them amused and quiet that her mother might not be disturbed by their noise, and through it all her heart was heavy with its own peculiar burden; besides, atmospheric influences had their depressing effect upon her spirits, as upon those of the others, and more than once a sharp or impatient word, repented of as soon as uttered, had escaped her lips.

"An undeserved blessing," was her remorseful thought at sight of the letter. "It may be ill news to be sure – oh if it should! – yet anything is better than this terrible suspense."

But that must be borne until she could snatch a moment of solitude in which to end it.

Zillah, stooping over the kitchen fire, looked up hastily as her sister entered. "You've come to get mother's dinner, Milly? Well, here it is all ready," pointing to the teapot steaming on the hearth, beside it a plate of nicely browned and buttered toast.

"O you dear good girls!" was Mildred's response as she glanced from the stove to the table, upon which Ada was in the act of placing a neatly arranged tea tray.

"As if it wasn't the greatest pleasure in the world to do a little for mother!" exclaimed the latter half indignantly. "You needn't think, Milly, that the rest of us don't love her just as well as you do."

"I meant no such insinuation," Mildred said, half laughing. "I'm sure our mother deserves the greatest possible amount of love and devotion from all her children. But may I claim the privilege of carrying up the dinner you two have prepared?"