THE

HARVEST OF YEARS

BY

_M. L. B. EWELL_

NEW YORKG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS182 Fifth Avenue1880

Copyright byG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS1880

TO MY FAMILY

THIS RECITAL OF MY LIFE IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 

Old friends and other days have risen about me as I have written, recalling, through my pen, these treasured experiences; and the picturedcharacters are to me as real as earthly hands, whose touch we feel. Ihave written as the story runs, with no effort at adorning, and thosewho love me best will not bring to it the cold criticisms that may comefrom other readers. To illustrate the truth of "a little leaven'sleavening the whole lump" has been my purpose, and if this purpose canbe even partially achieved, I shall deem myself sufficiently rewarded. To those whom in previous years I have met in the field of my mission, whose heart-felt sympathy and interest became the tide which bore me on, as from public platform (as well as in private ways) I have, for truth'sdear sake, been impelled to utterances, to these friends I may hope thisvolume will not come as a stranger, but that through it I may receive, as in the days gone by, the grasp of their friendly hands. 

 M. L. B. E. 

New Haven, Conn. , _June_, 1880. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE

I. --Emily Did It 1

II. --From Girlhood to Womanhood 5

III. --Changes 11

IV. --Our New Friend 18

V. --Louis Robert 31

VI. --A Question and a Problem 49

VII. --Wilmur Benton 60

VIII. --Fears and Hopes 71

IX. --The New Faith 84

X. --Matthias Jones 95

XI. --The Teaching of Hosea Ballou 109

XII. --A Remedy for Wrong-talking 123

XIII. --Perplexities 137

XIV. --Louis returns 150

XV. --Emily finds peace 164

XVI. --Mary Harris 177

XVII. --Precious Thoughts 210

XVIII. --Emily's Marriage 226

XIX. --Married Life 240

XX. --Life Pictures and Life Work 254

XXI. --John Jones 274

XXII. --Clara leaves us 290

XXIII. --Aunt Hildy's Legacy 317

THE HARVEST OF YEARS

CHAPTER I. 

"EMILY DID IT. "

Among my earliest recollections these three words have a place, comingto my ears as the presages of a reprimand. I had made a frantic effortto lift my baby-brother from his cradle, and had succeeded only inupsetting baby, pillows and all, waking my mother from her little nap, while brother Hal stood by and shouted, "Emily did it. " I was only fiveyears of age at that eventful period, and was as indignant at thescolding I received when trying to do a magnanimous act, take care ofbaby and let poor, tired mother sleep, as I have been many times since, when, unluckily, I had upset somebody's dish, and "Emily did it" hasrung its hateful sound in my ears. To say I was unlucky was not enough;I was untimely, unwarranted and unwanted, I often felt, in early yearsin everything I attempted, and the naturally quick temper I possessedwas only aggravated and tortured into more harassing activity, renderingme on the whole, perhaps, not very amiable. Interesting I could not be, since whatever I attempted I seemed fated to say or do something to hurtsomebody's feelings, and, mortified at my failures, I would draw myselfcloser to myself, shrinking from others, and saying again and again, "Emily, why _must_ you do it?"

Introducing myself thus clouded to your sympathy, I cannot expect myreader would be interested in a rehearsal of all my early trials. 

You can imagine how it must have been as I marched along from childhoodthrough girlhood into womanhood, while I still clung to my strange waysand peculiar sayings; upsetting of inkstands at school, mud trackingover the carpet in the "best room" at home, unconscious betrayal ofmischief plans, etc. , etc. , made up the full catalogue of my days andtheir experiences, and although I did have a few warm friends, I couldnot be as other girls were, generally happy and beloved. 

Mother was the only real friend I had; it seemed to me, as I grew older, she learned to know that I was too often blamed, where at heart I waswholly blameless, and when sometimes she stroked my hair, and said, "Mydear child, how unlucky you are, " I felt that I could do anything forher, and she never, to my remembrance, said "Emily did it. "

From my father I often heard it. Hal rarely, if ever, said anythingelse, and if I did sometimes darn his stockings a little too thick, itwas not such a heinous crime. He was handsome, and I was as proud of hisface as I was ashamed of my own; I know now that my features were not sobad, but my spirit never shone through them, while Hal carried everythought right in his face. My face also might have looked attractive ifI had only been understood, but I blame no one for that, when I wascovered even as a "leopard with spots, " indicating everything but theblessed thoughts I sometimes had and the better part of my nature. Theinterval of years between my fifth and sixteenth birthdays was too fullof recurring mishaps of every kind to leave within my memory distincttraces of the little joys that sometimes crept in upon me. I number themall when I recall the face of my more than blessed mother and the mildeyes of Mary Snow, who was kinder and nearer to me than the others of myschool-mates. 

Hal grew daily more of a torment, and being five years my senior, "bossed" me about to his satisfaction, except at such times as I grewtoo vexed with him to restrain my anger, and turning upon him would pourvolleys of wrath upon his head. On these occasions he seemed reallyafraid of me, and, for a time after, I would experience a little peace. Learning from experience that keeping my thoughts to myself was the bestmeans of quiet, I grew, after leaving school, less inclined to associatewith anyone except sweet Mary Snow. One blessed consciousness grew dailyon me, and that was that I came nearer my mother's heart, and as I wasnever lazy, I shared many of her joys and trials and learned to keep myrebellious nature almost wholly in check. Father was a good man, butunfortunate in business affairs, and the first time he undertook tocarry out an enterprise of his own, he pulled everything over on to hishead--just as I did the baby. This was of course a misfortune of whichhis wife had her share, but she never complained. The lines about hereyes grew darker, and she ceased to sing at her work as before, and Iknew, for she told me, that in the years that followed, I grew so closeto her, I became a great help to her and really shared her burdens. Mylittle brother, Ben, varied Hal's "Emily did it, " and with him "Emilywill do it" was a perfect maxim. Kites I made without number, and gavemy spare time to running through the meadows with him to help him flythem and to the making of his little wheelbarrows, and I loved himdearly. I seemed now to be less unlucky, and at home, at least, contented, but society had no charms for me and I had none for society;consequently we could happily agree to let each other alone, but, without repining, I had still sometimes, oh! such longings--forsomething, I knew not what. 

CHAPTER II. 

FROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD. 

The old adage of a poor beginning makes a good ending, may have beentrue in my case; certain it is that my sorest mishaps, or those I hadleast strength to bear, came between my fifth and sixteenth birthdays. After this came the happy period in which I was helpmeet to my mother, and the gaining of an almost complete victory over my temper, even whenteased by Hal, who at that time was developing rapidly into manhood andwas growing very handsome. 

I was not changed outwardly, unless my smile was more bright andfrequent, as became my feelings, and my eyes, I know, shot fewer darkglances at those around me when mishaps, although less frequent, camesometimes to me. My good angel was with me oftener then, I thought, andas I often told mother, it seemed to me I had daily a two-fold growth, meaning that there was the growing consciousness of a nature pulsatingas a life within my heart that seemed like a strong full tide constantlybearing me up. I scarcely understood it then, but now I know I had, asevery one has, a dual nature, one side of which had never been allowedto appear above its earthly covering. 

My daily trials, coming always from luckless mistakes of my own, wereequal in their effect to the killing of my blossoms, for if any dared toshow their heads an untimely word or deed would bring a reproach--ifonly in the three words, "Emily did it"--and this reproach was like thestamping of feet on violet buds, breaking, crushing and robbing them oftheir sweet promise. The life then must go back into the roots and along time elapse ere they could again burst forth; so all my betternature, with its higher thoughts longing to develop, was forced down andback, and now, in the enjoyment of more favorable environment, I wasbeginning to realize the fruitful life which daily grew upon me, andwith it came strength of mind and purpose and an imagery of thought thatfilled my soul to a delicious fullness. 

What a power those conditions were to me! I drank joy in everything. Mymother's step was as music, and her teachings even in household affairsa blessing to my spirit. I remember how one day in September I wasdishing soup for dinner, the thought--suppose that she dies--camerushing over me like a cold wave, and I screamed aloud; dropping mysoup-dish and all, and frightening poor mother almost out of her senses. 

"Have you scalded yourself, dear?" she cried, running toward me, and Iwas nearly faint as I replied:

"Only a thought. I am so sorry about the soup, but it was a terriblethought, " and then I told her. 

No word of chiding came from her lips. I thought I saw tears in her eyesas she said: "I should not like to leave you, dear. We are very happyhere together, " and I know my eyes were moist as I thought, "Emily didit, " but her mother understands her. 

How necessary all those days of feeling, full and deep, combined withthe details of practical life were to me, and although I shall neverdate pleasant memories back to my earlier years, still if I had been toocarefully handled and nursed I never could have enjoyed those days somuch. 

Nearly twenty-four months of uninterrupted work and enjoyment passedover me--and here is a thought from that first experience in soulgrowth; I cannot ever believe that people will enjoy themselves lazilyin heaven more than here; I have another, only a vague idea of how itwill be, but I cannot think of being idle there--when a little changeappeared, only to usher in what proved to be a greater one, and the daysof the June month in which the first came I shall never forget. It waswhen Hal came to me, hemming and thinking under my favorite tree in theold orchard, while beside me lay my scrap-book in which I from time totime jotted thoughts as they came to me. Hal sat down beside me and saidat once:

"I'm going to try it, Emily. " I dropped hemming and thinking together, and said:

"Try what?"

"Try my luck. "

I was only bewildered by his answer, and he continued:

"Emily, I'm determined to carry out the desires of my life, and now I amintent on a Western city as the place best calculated to inspire me withthe courage and strength I need to carry out my aims and purposes, andI thought I'd tell you now that I feel decided, and you will tell motherfor me; will you?"

Never before in my life had I felt Hal so near to me. His manner towardme had changed, of course, as he grew into manhood, and "Emily, will yousew on this button?" or "Emily, are my stockings ready?" were given inplace of "Emily did it, " but now, as he looked full in my face, and evenpassed his arm about me with true brotherly affection, he seemed sonear, that the hot tears chased each other down my cheeks, and I satspeechless with the feelings that overcame me. I thought of the handsomeface--always handsome in whatever mood--opposite me at the table, of themanly form and dignified carriage I had watched with pride, and when Icould speak, I said, "Hal I cannot let you go. " Hal was brave, but I knew he felt what Isaid, for his looks spoke volumes as he said, "Shall you miss me so much?"

"Oh! Hal, " I cried, "we love you, mother and I, I never knew how muchtill now. " His head dropped a moment, and then he suddenly said, "You are the best sister a fellow ever had, " and swallowing somethingthat rose in his throat, marched off through the fields directly awayfrom the house. I gathered up my work and scrap book, went in andprepared the supper, showing outwardly no emotion, but with my heartthrobbing as if it would tell the secret on which I pondered, while Iwondered how I should tell my mother. 

Hal came in late to supper. I rushed from the table when I heard hisfootsteps, and sought my room until I heard him coming up to his room, when I went down stairs and busied myself with my work as usual. 

I washed the milk pans three or four times over that night, and wasabout carrying them into the "best room, " when mother said, "Why, Emily, we keep our milk pans in the buttery. "

"Oh!" I said, turning suddenly and letting my pans fall and scatter. Andwhen I picked them up and collected my senses, I thought, "I cannot tellmother to-night after all, Hal will stay with us. " When things were atlast in their places, I sauntered out through the lane in the beautifulmoonlight, and coming back met Hal who took my hand in his andwhispered, "Tell mother to-morrow, please, I want to go away next month and somethings are necessary to be done. "

"Have you told father yet?"

"No, but he will not care. "

"Father _will_ care, " I replied, "but you know since his misfortune, andhis conclusion that he cannot do anything but carry on the farm, heseems to have lost his sprightly step and his cheery ways of old. "

"Well, Emily, " said Hal, "I am no help to him on the farm, and could notbe if I tried, and the work I am doing now is anything but satisfying tome. "

Then the thought occurred to me, I had no idea of what the boy desiredto accomplish, and the question what would you do Hal? was answered inthis wise--

"Wait till I've been away six months. "

"To build mud houses and fill them with mud people, was your favoriteamusement when you were a boy, I remember, " I said, and he gave me sucha queer look that I started with the impression that came with it, butsaid no more, and we walked along and went into the house together. 

The next day after dinner, when we were cleared up and alone in quiet, Itold mother. She was of course covered with surprise, but her words camein wisdom and she said:

"I can imagine what Halbert desires to do, and although the way looksanything but clear, still I know I can trust him anywhere. He is ablessed son and brother, Emily, and I doubt not I am selfish to feelsaddened by the thought of his leaving home (and a tear drop fell as shespoke). I only fear he may be sick. His lungs are not very strong. "

"What will father say?" I asked. 

"Father's heart will miss him but he will not seek to stay an endeavorof his earnest, ambitious boy. "

So my trial was not so hard as I had expected, and father was just aswise as mother, and I alone rebellious concerning his departure. I criednight and day whenever I could get a moment to cry in, and I could nothelp it. How perverse I felt, although doing all I could to forward hisdeparture, which was daily coming nearer, and when the 4th of July cameand with it the gala day which the entire country about us enjoyed, Icould not and did not go to the pic-nic, or the speech ground, and Isucceeded in making all at home nearly as unhappy as myself. 

CHAPTER III. 

CHANGES. 

Some people believe in predestination (or "fore-ordering, " as Aunt Ruthused to call it), and some do not. I never knew what I believed aboutevents and their happening, but it was certainly true I learned to knowthat my efforts to hurry or retard anything were in one sense entirelyfutile--that is, when I did not work in unison with my surroundings, andmade haste only when impelled. If I could have felt thus concerningHal's departure, I should have been of more service to him, and savedmyself from hearing "Oh, Emily, don't, " falling as an entreaty from hislips, at sight of my swelled eyes and woeful countenance. I think he washeartily glad of the innovation made in our family circle, which, ofitself, was as wonderful to me as the story of Aladdin's Lamp to themind of a child. It happened so strangely too. Before I tell you of thisevent I must explain that our family circle consisted of father, mother, Halbert, Ben and myself. It was half past six in the evening of July 8, 18--, and we had just finished supper, when a loud knock was heard atthe back door, and opening it we received a letter from the hands of aneighbor, who came over from the post-office and kindly brought our mailwith him. We received a good many letters for farming people, and I hadkept up a perfect fire of correspondence with Mary Snow ever since shewent to the home of her uncle, who lived some twenty miles distant, butthis appeared to be a double letter, and mother broke the seal, while weall listened to her as she read it. It is not necessary to quote thewhole of it, but the gist of the matter was this: A distant cousin offather's who had never seen any of us, nor any member of the family towhich her mother and my father belonged, had settled in the city of----, about thirty miles from our little village. Her husband dyingshortly afterward, she was left a widow with one child, a son. In someunaccountable way she had heard of father, and she now wrote telling usthat she proposed to come to see us the very next day, only two daysbefore Hal was to leave us. She went on to say that she hoped her visitwould not be an intrusion, but she wanted to see us, and if we couldonly accommodate her during the summer she would be so glad to stay, andwould be willing to remunerate us doubly. Mother said simply, "Well, shemust come. " Father looked at her and said nothing, while I flew at thesupper dishes attacking them so ferociously that I should have brokenthem all, I guess, had not mother said gently, "Let me wash them, Emily, your hands tremble so. " Then I tried toexorcise the demon within, and I said:

"How can we have a stranger here, putting on airs, and Hal going away, and our home probably too homely for her. I know she never washed herhands in a blue wash-bowl in the world, much less in a pewter basin suchas we use. She'll want everything we haven't got, and I shall tipeverything over, and be as awkward as--oh, dear! Mother, how I do wish Icould be ground over and put in good shape before to-morrow night. " Inever saw my mother laugh so heartily in my life; she laughed till I wasfairly frightened and thought she had a hysteric fit, and when she couldspeak, said:

"Emily, don't borrow trouble, it may make Hal's departure easier for us. It must be right for her to come, else it would not have happened. Youare growing so like a careful woman, I doubt not you will be the veryone to please her. "

Those words were a sort of strengthening cordial, and before I went tosleep I had firmly determined to receive my cousin as I would one of myneighbors, and not allow my spirit to chafe itself against the wall ofconditions, whatever they might be. 

So when the stage came over the hill, and round the turn in the roadleading to our house, I stood quietly with mother in the doorway waitingto give the strange guest welcome in our midst. I was the first to takeher hand, for the blundering stage-driver nearly let her fall to theground, her foot missing the step as she clambered over the side of theold stage. She gave me such a warm smile of recognition, and a momentafter turned to us all and said, "My name is Clara Estelle Desmonde, call me Clara, "--and with hearty hand-shaking passed into the house asone of us. Her hat and traveling mantle laid aside, she was soon seatedat the table with us, and chatting merrily, praising every dish beforeher, and since her appetite did justice to her words, we did not feelher praise as flattery. I had made some of my snow cake, and it was thebest, I think, I ever made. Mother had cream biscuit, blackberry jelly, some cold fowl, and, to tempt the appetite of our city visitor, a few ofthe old speckled hen's finest and freshest eggs, dropped on toast. Shedid not slight any of our cooking, and my cake was particularly praised. When mother told her I made it, the little lady looked at me so brightlyas she said, "You must keep plenty of it on hand as long as I stay, I amespecially fond of cake and pie, " and although I well knew her daintyfingers had never been immersed in pie-crust, still she had made herselfacquainted with the _modus operandi_ of various culinary productions andtalked as easily with us about them as if she were a real cook. Sheseemed from the first to take a great liking to Hal, and, seated in ourfamily circle, this first night of our acquaintance, expressed greatregret at his early departure, and remarked several times during theevening, that it would have been so nice if Halbert and her son LouisRobert could have been companions here in "Cosy Nook, " as she called ourhouse. It seemed anything but a nook to me, situated as it was on highground, while about us on either side, lay the seventy-five acres whichwas my father's inheritance, when he attained his majority; but, to her, this living aside from the dusty streets and exciting novelties of thecity, was, I suppose, like being deposited in a little quiet nook. Whenwe said "good night, " all of us were of one mind regarding our new-foundfriend. I was perfectly at ease that first evening, and felt noinclination to make an unlucky speech until the next day, which wasSunday, came, and with it the question, "Are you going to church?" Itwas always our custom to go to the village church each Sabbath, and Ienjoyed the sermons of Mr. Davis, then our minister, very much. He was aman of broad soul and genial spirit, and very generally liked. Hissermons were never a re-hash but were quickened and brightened by newideas originally expressed. Now, however, when this little lady asked, "Are you going to church?" I did not think at all of a good sermon, butof the shabbiness of my best bonnet, and I bit my tongue to check thespeech which rose to my lips--"We generally go, but I'd rather not gowith you"--while mother answered, "Yes, Mrs. Desmonde" ("Clara, if you please, " the lady interposed), "wealways go; would you like to go with us?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, it is a delightful day. "

I kept thinking about those shabby ribbons and wondering if I could notcover them up with my brown veil, and after breakfast was over, Iactually did re-make an old lemon-colored bow to adorn myself with. Ifelt shabby enough, however, when we were all ready to start and my poorcotton gloves came in contact with the delicate kids of our guest, whenshe grasped my hand to say, "You cannot know, Emily dear, how happy Iam. "

Somehow she made me forget all about how I looked, but the sermon thatday was all lost. My eyes divided their light between herself andHalbert, and my heart kept thumping heavily, "Hal goes away to-morrow. "I think Hal knew my thoughts, for he sat next to me in our pew, and oncewhen tears were in my eyes, tears which came with thoughts of hisdeparture, he took my hand in his and held it firmly, as if to say, "Ishall come back, Emily, don't feel badly. " I looked him the gratefulrecognition my heart felt, and I crowded back the tears that were readyto fall, and when we drove home, our little lady chatting all the way, Iwas happier than before I went. 

Monday morning came and with it Hal's departure. We were up betimes. Ithink Hal slept little, and I heard the old clock strike nearly everyhour, and was down stairs before either mother or father were up. He wasto take the stage at half-past eight, and ride to the nearest station, and our breakfast was ready at half-past six. It was a sad breakfast, and though mother tried hard to keep up a conversation on differenttopics, it was useless. Tears would fill our eyes, and brother Ben, though at that time only about thirteen, was forced to leave hisbreakfast untasted, and, rising hastily, to take himself out of Hal'ssight; but the stage came rumbling down the road, and almost ere we knewit, our good-byes were said, and Hal was waving his handkerchief fromhis high seat beside the driver, from whence he could see the old homefor a long distance. 

Everything, so far as his plans were concerned, worked favorably, and achance inquiry, resulted in a good offer as book-keeping clerk in awholesale warehouse in Chicago. Chicago was in her youth then. Manychanges have passed over the city of the West since those days, but hermercantile houses were never in a more flourishing condition than duringHal's stay there. Father had informed himself regarding the man withwhom he was to be connected, and was well satisfied of his integrity, ability, etc. 

When Hal was fairly gone I went to my room and cried disconsolately, andgroaned aloud, and did everything but faint, and I might haveaccomplished that feat if Clara (for she insisted on that appellation)had not come in upon me, resolved to bring about different conditions. She succeeded at last, and the afternoon found us quietly sittingtogether in our middle room apparently enjoying ourselves, though I didnot forget Hal was gone, and a cloud of woe overspread my mentalhorizon. 

CHAPTER IV. 

OUR NEW FRIEND. 

We could not object to the stay of our cousin, and she planned to remainindefinitely. I always smiled at the relationship, and I don't knowexactly how near it was, but this I believe was it--father's mother andMrs. Desmonde's grandmother were cousins; that brought me, you see, intovery near kinship. She laughed at it herself, but, nevertheless, I was"her dear cousin Emily" always. "Little Lady" was my name for her, butshe forced me call her "Clara. " Her mother, it seemed, had married agentleman of rank and fortune of French descent, and although she toldme she was the picture of her mother, the graceful ways of which she waspossessed, her natural urbanity and politeness, together with herfascinating word-emphasis accompanied with so many gestures, were alldecidedly French, "Little lady" just expressed it. She was, when shecame to our home, only thirty-seven years of age, and looked not morethan twenty. Her complexion was that of a perfect blonde; her hair waslight and wavy, clear to the parting; she had a luxuriant mass of it, and coiled it about her shapely head, fastening it with a beautifullycarved shell comb. Her eyes were very dark for blue, large andexpressive; she had teeth like pearls, and a mouth, whose tenderoutlines were a study for a painter. She seemed to me a living, breathing picture, and I almost coveted the grace which was so naturalto her, and hated the contrast presented by our two faces. She called mycomplexion pure olive, and toyed with "my night-black hair" (her ownexpression), sometimes winding it about her fingers as if to coax it tocurl, and then again braiding it wide with many strands, and doing it upin a fashion unusual with me. She was a little below the medium size, I, a little above, and though only turned nineteen, I know I looked mucholder than she. We were fast friends, and I could do her bidding everand always, for her word was a friendly law, and I am sure no familyever had so charming a boarder. She bought gingham, and made dressesexactly alike for herself and me, made some long house-aprons, as shecalled them, and would never consent to sit down by herself but helpedabout the house daily until all the work was done, then changed herdress when I changed mine, and kept herself close, to us, body andsoul--for she seemed in one sense our ward, in another our help, makingher doubly dear, and I many times blessed the providence that broughther to us just as we were losing Hal. She was sensitive, but nevermorbidly so, apparently anxious to have every one about her happy, and Inever saw the airs that I expected her to assume, for she was eversmiling and happy in her manner. 

As the days passed over us, we took long walks in the woods together, and she unfolded to me leaf by leaf of her life history. 

The deep love she had borne her husband remained unchanged--and nightly, with perfect devotion, she looked upon and pressed to her lips hisminiature, which was fastened to a massive chain hanging on her neck;never in sight, but hidden from other eyes, as if too sacred for theirgaze. Her husband was of French parentage, but had, when at the earlyage of sixteen she married him, been alone in this country. He wastwenty years older than herself, and her parents passing away soon afterher marriage, he had been husband, mother and father. Her son, LouisRobert, eighteen years of age, was named for him, and both she and herson had fortunes in their own right. It seemed that Mr. Desmonde had anillness lasting for months, and knowing it must prove fatal, hadarranged every thing perfectly for his departure. It was his wish thatLouis Robert should, if agreeable to his mind, pursue a course of study, to prepare him for professional work of some kind. 

In a letter written on his death-bed he impressed upon his son thenecessity of dealing honestly with his fellow-men, and exhorted him toendeavor to be always ready, as opportunities presented themselves forsmall charities and kindnesses; these, as his father thought, are oftenmore praiseworthy than donations to public objects, and the giving ofalms to be seen of men, as many wealthy people do. 

In accordance with these last wishes, Louis was placed under the care ofa worthy man, who was principal of a seminary a little distance from thecity where their home was. Clara desired him to come to us about thetwentieth of August and stay two weeks, and also urged me to go to herhome with her and meet him, then returning together. 

I hardly wanted to do so, but her sweet urgency persuaded me, and Iconsented, reflecting mournfully over those shabby ribbons and thatlemon-colored bow. If there is anything like help in the world that Ireceive most gratefully, it is the prompt recognition of a need, andunobtrusive aid for it. A short time before the day appointed for us togo to the city, our Clara came down stairs dressed in a beautiful darkshade of blue Foulard silk, with a lace ruff about her throat, fastenedwith a lemon-colored bow. 

The blood rushed with a full tide to my face when my eyes fell upon heras she entered. Simple, I presume, to those accustomed to elegantcostume would her attire have seemed, but to me, as yet uninitiated inthe mysteries of society, dress, etc. , she was the perfection ofloveliness, and the impression made upon me was an indelible one; Inever saw anything half so lovely and perfect as she at that momentappeared to me. 

It was an unusual thing too for her to be dressed so nicely for anafternoon at home. She had, I knew, many beautiful dresses, and had toldme sometimes of the elaborate toilets of the city, but had heretoforedonned as an afternoon dress the gray mohair she wore when she came, anda light blue scarf over her shoulders was the only color she wore abouther. The weather was warm but the heat was never oppressive to her--herblood, she said, had never felt as it were really warm since the nighther husband died. On this particular afternoon, we were talkingprincipally of Hal, and my eyes unconsciously riveted their gaze on thefolds of her dress hanging so gracefully about her, and trailing softlyon the carpet if moved. 

I wondered too a little at it, for I noticed it to be quite long infront as well as behind. The afternoon was far spent, and it was nearlytime for Ben and father to come in to supper. Before she made anyallusion to her extra toilette, extra for our little home, and noddingat me as I raised my eyes from the soft blue folds to meet the light ofthe blue eyes above them, she said:

"How does my dress please Mademoiselle Emily?"

"Oh!" I replied, "I never saw so beautiful a dress. " She smiled one ofher bright quick smiles as if some fancy struck her, and said, layingher hand over the bow at her heart, "And this too?"

"Both are beautiful in my eyes, " I said, "and so suited to you Clara. "

After supper we were going to take a walk, and Clara went to her room, doffed the blue Foulard and came down in the grey mohair. We had abeautiful walk out from under the shade of the o'erarching chestnuttrees before our door, along the grassy highway leading to the uppermeadow, over the smooth newly-cut field on to the edge of the birchwoods beyond. There we rested quiet, coming back when the moon rose overthe hills and the stars hung out like lanterns on our track. 

We talked. Clara had her seasons of soul-talk as she called it, and thatnight she read me a full page of her inner self the purport of which Ishall never forget. The more she revealed to me of herself the more Iloved her, and her words suggested thoughts that filled mysoul--thoughts which, in depths within myself I had never dreamed of, found and swept a string that ere long broke its sweet harmonies on myspirit. I seemed, all at once, to develop in spiritual stature and tohave become complex to myself. 

When we said "good night" to the folks below and went up stairstogether, Clara caught my hand and said, "Come, mademoiselle, come to my room, please, " and of course I went, making a mock courtesy as if I were a queen, and she my maid. Sheunpinned my linen collar and unhooked my dress, while I sat wonderstruck, saying nothing until I felt the fleecy blue silk being thrownover my shoulders, when I essayed to articulate something. But when myhead emerged from the dress, she playfully covered my mouth with herhand, and proceeded to fasten the dress which seemed just to fit; thencame the delicate lace and the lemon bow. Taking my hand she led me tothe glass, surveyed me from head to foot, clapped her hands like a gladchild, and cried, "A perfect fit, but I was afraid. "

"Why, Clara, " I said, "how, what?"

"Never, never mind, you like it, I did it myself, and I wore it firstonly to see how it struck you. 'Tis yours, my dear, go and put it away. "

I did not say thank you even, for she would not let me. I just kissedher and went to my room, to my little room with its high-post bedstead, three wooden chairs and shabby hair-cloth trunk, and dressed in thatbeautiful blue dress with that new silk bow. I could not help taking theold one out of the drawer to contrast it with the new, and although itdid look soiled and shabby, I thought I was almost wicked to have feltso troubled at my little adornments, and then resolved to keep thatlittle old faded lemon ribbon as long as I should live, and I have itnow. 

Carefully I unpinned that new bow, laying it, with the first real lacecollars I had ever owned, in a mahogany box, as tenderly as though theywere pearls, and hung the blue Foulard in my closet between my bestmuch-worn alpaca and my afternoon gingham. 

That night I dreamed that when father went to feed the chickens in thebarn yard, a beautiful bird with silky wings of blue fluttered downamong them to be fed. How impressible my artless brain! As great anevent was this to me, as the inauguration of our highest potentate tothe people. 

Next morning I opened the closet door before dressing, and looked at thenew dress. The more I thought about it the more I wondered when or whereI should ever wear it, and not until a traveling suit, the fac-simile ofClara's, was dropped upon me did I realize how the blue Foulard wasfitted to my shoulders. In her own sweet way she told me, that though wewere to remain only a few days at her home in the city, yet her friendswould surely call, and I must take the Foulard to wear in theafternoons. Dear little soul, how tender she was of everybody'sfeelings, and with what true womanly tact she turned, as far aspossible, every one into a pleasant path! Quick to notice needs, shealways applied her gifts with the greatest grace and tact, and withoutmaking any one feel under obligation to her. 

The morning of August thirteenth dawned upon us not altogether smiling, since the sky looked as if inclined to weep. We started, however, on ourintended journey, and more than once the old stage-driver looked aroundto catch a glimpse of my darling friend, who was quite a wonderment tothe country folk. Inaccurate rumors of Clara and her fortune had beentalked about among them--yet none knew just how it all was, except ourfamily, and we would betray no secrets that she wished kept. I hardlyrecognized myself when at last we arrived at our journey's end, and Iwas in Clara's home. Never before had I seen myself reflected in a longpier-glass, and never on earth did I seem so homely; my hands were toolarge and awkward, and I sat so uncomfortably on the luxurious chairs. 

Clara noticed my discomfort and kept me changing from one position toanother, until I was so vexed with myself I insisted on sitting in acorner and persuaded Clara that my head ached. The compassionate soulbelieved it and was bathing my temples, when a light step aroused usboth, and a moment later she was in the arms of her beloved son, whomshe proudly introduced to me. 

I was surprised at his appearance--I thought him a boy, and so he was inyears, but if Clara had not told me his age, I should have guessed himto be twenty-five. He had large dark eyes, a glorious head, perfect inits shape, an intellectual forehead, and the most finely chiselledmouth, most expressive of all his feelings; his lips parted in suchloving admiration of his mother and closed so lovingly upon her own. After a profound bow to myself and a hearty grasp of the hand, he drewher to the crimson cushions of a tête-à-tête standing near, and passinghis arm around her held her closely to him, as if afraid he would loseher. I envied her, and any heart might well envy the passionate devotionof a son like Louis Robert Desmonde. 

I wanted to leave them to themselves, but as I could not do this, Icovered my head, which really ached now, with my hands, and tried hardnot to listen to their audible conversation, but from that time Iappreciated what was meant by the manly love of this son, differing sowidely from anything I had ever before known. Like his mother, he hadgreat tact, and suited himself exactly to conditions and persons. 

I moved as in a dream. Everything that wealth could lavish on a home washere. I occupied Clara's own room with her, and it seemed at night as ifI lay in a fairy chamber; there were silken draperies of delicate blue, a soft velvety carpet whose ground was the same beautiful blue, coveredwith vines like veins traced through it, and massive furniture withantique carving, and everything in such exquisite taste, even to thedecorated toilette set on the bureau. Everything I thought was inperfect correspondence except the face on my lace-fringed pillow. Iseemed so sadly out of place. I wondered if Clara was really contentedwith her humbly-furnished room at our house. Callers came as she hadpredicted, and it was all in vain my trying to keep out of the sight ofthose "_city people_. " Insisting on my presence, and knowing well Ishould escape to our room if left by myself, Louis was authorized toguard me, and I had no chance of escape; I felt myself an intruder uponhis time, every moment until during the last evenings of my stay, whenin the lighted parlors quite a happy company gathered. I then had anopportunity of seeing a little of his thought, running as anundercurrent to his nature. Clara had been singing with such sweetnessof expression and pathetic emphasis, that my eyes were filled with tearsof emotion. Miss Lear, a young lady friend, followed her, and sang withsuch a shrill voice, such unprecedented flying about among the octaves, that it shocked me through every nerve, and I trembled visibly anduttered an involuntary exclamation of impatience. Louis caught my hand, and the moment she ended, whispered:

"Are you frightened?"

"Oh!" I said, "she is your guest, but where is her soul?"

"In heaven awaiting her, I suspect, " he replied, "but, Miss Emily, sheis a fair type of a society woman. I have just been thinking thatto-morrow at sunset I hope to be among the birds and beneath the sky ofyour native town; one can breathe there; I am glad to go. "

"I don't want you to go, " I said, impetuously (poor Emily did it). 

He turned his full dark eyes upon me, and I felt the tide that floodedcheek and brow with crimson. 

"Explain to me, Miss Emily, " he said, "you love to keep my motherthere. "

"I did not mean to say it, Louis, but it is true. "

"Why true?"

"I am so sorry--"

My dilemma was a queer one; I had to explain, and the tears thatgathered when his mother sang, came back as I described our plain home. 

"I love my home, it is good enough for me, I could not exchange it evenwith you, but you will think us rude, uncultivated people, I fear; youwill find no attraction there; everything is as homely there as I ammyself!"

And I never can forget how his bright, dark eyes grew humid withsympathy, to be covered with the sunlight of his smile at the earnesthonesty of my remarks, especially the last one. 

"Ah! Miss Emily, you know not your friend; I am more anxious than everto go, and care not if you are sorry. "

"I am glad now of my unexpected speech, " I replied, "and feel as if Ihad really been to the confessional; your mother is so sensitive, Icould not tell her, and I have kept this thought constantly before me, 'He will not stay if he goes, and I am sure he cannot eat rye bread andbutter. '"

"You will see, Miss Emily, how I shall eat it, but we are to beinterrupted; here comes the soulless girl that shocked you so; mother iswith her; excuse me for a moment, " and he made his way to a corner ofthe parlors, seating himself alone as if in reverie. 

"Mademoiselle Emily, my friend, Miss Lear, desires an introduction toyou; be seated, Miss Lear, " and Clara took the chair on the other side;the disappointment of Miss Lear, in not finding Louis, was visible, evento my unpractised eye, and her tender enquiries of his mother regardinghis health etc. , were amusing. 

I saw her furtive glances at my plain toilette, and knew she thought mea lowly wild flower on life's great meadow, a dandelion, unnecessary tobe included in a fashionable nosegay, and while these thoughts werepassing through my mind, Clara left us to ourselves, and, feeling induty bound to say something to me, she began:

"Mrs. Desmonde tells me your house is in the country; how sublime thecountry is! You see sunrises and sunsets, do you not?"

"I hope I do, " I replied. "There is great pleasure in watching nature. "

"Oh! the country is so sublime, don't you think so?"

"Well that depends on your ideas of the sublime; I do not imaginemilking cows and butter-making would correspond with the general ideasof sublimity. "

"Oh!" and she tossed her befrizzled head in lofty disdain, "that isperfectly horrid, I cannot see how human beings endure such things; oh!dear, what a poor hand I should be at living under such circumstances. "

"You would perhaps enjoy the general housework more, leaving the problemof the dairy to another. "

"Housework?--I--ah! I see you are unlearned--beg your pardon--in societyways. Do my hands betray symptoms of housework?" and she laughedironically. 

At this moment Louis came to take the seat his mother had left, andheard of course my reply to Miss Lear's last remark. 

"Yes, I know I am verdant in the extreme, and must plead guilty also tothe charge of milking, churning and housework; I take, however, somepride in trying to do all these things well, and I believe the mostfastidious can partake of the creamy butter rolls, we make at home. "

"Bravo, " exclaimed Louis, "pray tell me what elicited Miss Emily'sspeech?"

"We were talking of the country, " I replied, growing bold; "Miss Learthinks the country is sublime, but the butter-making, etc. , horrid. "

"Well, " said Miss Lear, "it may be my ideas are rather crude, but reallyI cannot imagine I could ever make butter! Do you think I could, Mr. Desmonde?" leaning forward to catch Louis' eye, and plying her flashyfan with renewed energy and great care to show the ring of emeralds anddiamonds that glistened on her right fore-finger. 

"I cannot say, Miss Lear, I am going up to find out the ways and expectto be Miss Emily's assistant. I imagine it takes brain to do farm work. "

Miss Lear waited to rally a little and said only, "Complimentary in theextreme! Pray tell me the hour, I think my carriage must be here;" thenthe fashion-plate shook hands with us both and departed. 

I felt almost ashamed, and repeated verbatim to Louis our conversation;he laughed, and, patting my shoulder, said:

"You spoke quite rightly, she was impertinent, pardon her ignorantvanity. "

Then I stood with Louis and Clara in the centre of the parlors andreceived the adieux of their friends. Louis carried his mother in hisarms up stairs and soon dreams carried me home to green fields andbutter-making. 

CHAPTER V. 

LOUIS ROBERT. 

Gloriously beautiful was the morning of August twenty-first. We were upearly, for the old stage would not wait for us, and we had much to dojust at the last moment. I say we, for I tried to do all that waspossible to assist Clara in packing the two large trunks we were totake. One thing puzzled me. I had heard Clara say so many times toLouis, who went over the house with her during the early part of eachday, "Now leave everything in shape to be taken at any moment. " And thislast morning all the chairs were covered, and Louis worked with old Jim, time-honored help, to accomplish it all. I had a secret fear that theywere planning to go away to seek another home somewhere, and it troubledme. I wondered the more because Clara said nothing to me, and she wasnaturally so ingenuous and apt to tell me her little plans freely. Itseemed to take less time than it takes to write it ere we were landed atthe door of my home, and found father and mother waiting to welcome us. There was a look of surprise on the faces of my parents as Louisdescended from the stage and turned so gallantly to his little mother, as he often called her. He was not the boy they expected to see, but aman to all appearance, tall and handsome, and the embodiment of apoliteness which is founded, as I believe, on a true respect for theopinions and conditions of others. I felt gladly proud of our suppertable that night, and I knew Louis looked in vain for rye bread. He didample justice to our creamy butter, however, and after supper remarkedto me that Miss Lear might like a few pounds of such. 

Days passed happily along, and the two weeks allotted for Louis' staycame nearly to a close. I dreaded to have the last day appear. Like hismother, he had dropped into his own appropriate niche, and came into ourfamily only as another ray of the sunshine that brightened our home. Ihad Halbert in my mind much of the time, and talked of him to Louisuntil he said he felt well acquainted with him, and looked forward tomeeting him as one looks to some happiness in store. 

Louis was original in his expressions and different from all others ofhis age. One evening when we were talking of Hal, as we sat on the olddoorstone in the moonlight, he said:

"I have something to do for your brother, Miss Emily, I cannot tell youhow, but we shall see, we shall never lose sight of each other, we arealways to be friends, Miss Emily. "

And the light of his dark eyes grew deep and it seemed as if I lookedinto fathomless depths as he turned them full upon me for a moment. 

"Only a few hours between this long breath I am taking and the school towhich I go (mother has written the professor, asking if I can staylonger--we shall have an answer to-morrow). It is doing me good, mymind goes over the country round us here, and I am gathering longbreaths that give my mind and body strength. Ah! Miss Emily, " he said, as he rose and walked to and fro, "I shall sometime breathe and act as Iwant to. I pray every day that my little mother may live to see me doingwhat I desire to do, and, also, for strength. I need great strength, Miss Emily. You will help to keep little mother alive, I know you will. "

And he came back, took both my hands in his own; I felt almost afraid--Icannot tell you how powerfully expressive his look, voice and gestureswere, and he continued:

"I like you--like you more than you know; you are true, you can bedepended on; you call my little mother your fairy cousin, and I call youher royal friend. Do me a favor, " he continued, "unbind your massivehair and let it trail over your shoulders. " And before I realised it myhair swept the doorstone where I sat. "There, " as he brushed it backfrom my face, "look up and you are a picture; wear your long hairfloating--why not?"

"Oh, Louis, " I said, "how could I ever work with such a heavy mass aboutme. If, as you say, I look like a picture, I certainly ought not to, forI am only a country dandelion even as a picture, " and I laughed. Helooked at me almost fiercely, as he said:

"Miss Emily, never say it again; you are full of poetry; you haveglorious thoughts; you dream while at work; some day you will knowyourself;" and then there came the far-away look in his eyes. Clara cameto sit with us, and the evening wore itself into night's deep shading, and the early hour for rest came to us all. The professor was amiableand willing to accord two weeks more of freedom to Louis, who seemed toenjoy more every day; and when he entered upon his fourth week, said:

"He wished that week might hold a hundred days. "

It seemed to me that since Clara came to us she had been the constantcause of surprise either in one way or another. In herself, as anindividual, she was to me a problem of no little consequence and noteasily solved, and she was continually bringing forth somethingunexpected. 

The last of the third week of Louis' stay was made memorable by one ofher demonstrations. It was Wednesday evening, the last of our ironingwas finished, and mother and I were folding the clothes as we took themdown from the old-fashioned horse, when we heard her sweet voiceclaiming us for special consultation. 

"Mrs. Minot, " she called, and we left our clothes and went into thesquare room, as we called it. Father and Louis were there, and when wewere seated she began:

"Now, my dear friends, I propose to ask a favor of you. I love you threepeople, and you have made me so happy here I do desire to call this spothome for always. It seems to me I cannot feel so happy in another place, and now you know I have many belongings in my old home in the city. Iknow a lady who has met with misfortune, an old friend of my husband'sfamily, who is worthy, and forced at present by circumstances to earnher living. Now may I ask you, my dear friends, to let me bring myfurniture here. Will you give me more room, that I may establish myselfjust quite enough to make it pleasant, and then I can let my friend havemy house (upon condition of her retaining my old help, which I shall notpermit to be a trouble to her financially), and through your favor I mayhelp another. I should have asked it long ago, but I waited for my boyto come and taste the air of your home here, and since he loves you aswell as I do, may we stay?"

And she held her little white hands toward us, and opened her blue eyeswide. 

Of course we all gladly consented. 

Then she clapped her hands, and turning to Louis, said:

"Louis Robert, thank them. "

And he bowed and said in his own expressive way:

"We will try to appreciate your kindness. "

I knew then what the covered chairs meant, but I secretly wondered "Howon airth, " as Aunt Hildy used to say, all those moveables were to be gotinto our house. This thought was running through my head when Claraspoke, crossing the room as she did so, and taking my father's hand--andhe was such a reserved man that no one else would ever have dreamed ofdoing so. 

"Mr. Minot, I have not finished yet. Would you grant me one thing more?May I have a little bit of your ground on the west side of your house, say a piece not more than eighteen by twenty-five feet, with which to dojust as I please?"

Father looked thunderstruck, as he answered:

"What can you do with it, Clara?"

"Oh, never mind; may I?"

"Yes, yes, " he said in a dreamy way. 

And mother looked up, to be met by the eyes which sought her own, whilethe sweet lips queried:

"Will you say so too if you like my plans?"

"I'll try to do what is best for us all"--and that meant volumes, for mymother was thoroughly good, and as strong in what she deemed to be rightas mortal could be, and she never wavered a moment, where right wasconsidered. Unfaltering and true, her word was a law, and Clara at herquiet answer felt the victory won. Now for the sequel, thought I, andthen Louis asked me to take a stroll in the moonlight, and although alittle curious at the revelation awaiting us, I could not deny him andwent for my hat and shawl. What a lovely night it was, and how the starsstealing one by one into the sky seemed like breathing entities lookingdown upon us. It seemed that night as if they heard what Louis said, andyou would not wonder had you seen the youthful fervor of this dark-eyedyouth; this strange combination of man and boy. When with him I feltawed into silence, and though his thoughts always brought response frommy soul, yet did I hesitate for expression, language failing me utterly. How many beautiful thoughts he uttered this night, and how strangely Ianswered him! He was young and had not learned the lesson of waiting, ifeffort of his own could hasten the development of any loved scheme. Icannot, will not try to tell you all that he said, but he spoke sopositively, and commanded as it were an answer from my very soul. Hetold me of his love for painting, of his great desire to do somethingworthy of the best, as he expressed it. 

"And my first picture is to be yourself, " he said; "you shall speak oncanvas. You think yourself so plain; oh! you are not plain, Miss Emily;I love you, and you are my wild flower, are you not? Speak to me, callme your Louis! Love me, as I do you. Ah! if you did not love me I couldnot stay here till to-morrow--you think me young and presumptuous--yousay I do not know myself and I will change--I will not change--I am notyoung--I want great love, such as comes to me through your eyes, to helpme--and you love me--you are my precious wild flower--I shall live foryou and my little mother. "

No word had escaped my lips, and now he paused, and looking at me, said:

"Tell me if you do not love me!--tell me, Emily. "

Why did I--how could I answer him as I did--so cold; my voice fell uponmy own ear as I said slowly:

"I don't know, Louis--you are so strange. "

What an answer! He quivered and the tears came to his eyes; he dashedthem aside and said:

"How long shall I wait for you? say it now and help me; your spiritloves me; I can hear it speak to me. "

I thought for the moment he was crazed. He divined my thought and said:

"No, not crazy, but I want your help. "

"Oh, Louis!" I cried, "I don't know, I am so ignorant--why was I bornso? don't treat me unkindly, you are dear to me, dear, but I can'ttalk. "

"Never, never say so again. "

He seemed taller as he paused in his walk, and released the firm hold hehad kept of my arm, said slowly:

"God waits for man, and angels wait, and I will wait, and you will tellme sometime--say no word to my little mother"--and he kissed myforehead, a tear-drop falling on me from his eyes, and we walkedsilently and slowly home. 

I sought my room, and crying bitterly, said to myself, "Emily Minot mustyou always do the very thing you desire not to do?"

When my eye met Louis' at the table next morning, I felt as if I hadcommitted an unpardonable sin. My whole being had trembled with the deeprespect and admiration I had felt for him since the moment we met, and Icertainly had given him cause to understand me to be incapable ofresponding to his innermost thought. I felt he would treat medifferently, but a second look convinced me that such was not the fact. His noble nature could not illtreat any one, and I only saw a look ofpositive endurance, "I am waiting, " photographed on his features, andmade manifest in all his manner toward me, and a determined effort toput me at ease resulted at last in forcing me to appear as before, whileall the time a sharp pain gnawed at my heart, and, unlike most girls, Iwas not easy until I told my mother of it all. 

She stroked my dark hair and said:

"You and he have only seen nineteen short years. Wisdom is the ripenedfruit of years; you cannot judge of your future from to-day. "

That comforted me, and I felt better in my mind. I planned something tosay to Louis, but every opportunity was lost, and the last week of hisstay had already begun. The plans of his little mother had been confidedto me, and work had commenced. 

There was to be an addition of four large rooms on the west side of ourhouse, and they were planned in accordance with Clara's ideas. She didnot call them her's, and started with the understanding that theimprovements were just a little present for her dear cousins. Best ofall, we were to have a bow window in one of the rooms, and this wassomething so new, so different, it seemed a greater thing to me than thearchitecture of the ancient cathedrals. A bow window, and the panes ofglass double, yes, treble the size of the old ones!

I heard father say to mother that this new part would make the old onelook very shabby; but Louis had told me his mother intended to do allfather would allow her to, and encourage him a little, etc. And we wereto have a new fence. You cannot imagine how fairy-like this all seemedto me, and I could hardly believe what I saw. It seemed as if we were ina wonderland country, and I had moved as in a dream up to the last hourof my walk with Louis. Then I seemed to awake, as if shaken by a roughhand, and since then I had been striving to appear what I was not, allthe time thinking that Louis misunderstood me, and here we were in thelast week of his stay and no word as yet in explanation. I had thoughtit over until it became a truth to me that after all he had not meantthat he loved me other than as a sister, and it also seemed to me thatwas just what I needed. What remained was to have it settled between us, and to do that I must clothe my thoughts with words, else how could heknow how I felt. It seemed, too, that it was sheer boldness on my partto dream for a moment that Louis spoke of life's crowning love. He meantto be as a brother to me, and again I sighed, as I stood at the ironingtable, "Ah, Emily Minot, you are a born mistake, that's just what youare!" and as I sighed I spoke these words, and, turning, found myselfface to face with Louis, who had just come from the village. He nevercould wait for the stage to come, and had been over as usual forletters. 

"The only mistake is that you don't know yourself, " he said. 

And the tears that had welled up to my eyes fell so fast, and I was sochoked, that I turned from work, thinking to escape into mother'sbedroom and hide myself; but my eye caught sight of a letter in his handunopened, and love for Hal rose above all my foolish tears, and so Istood quietly waiting the denouement. 

"Come into the other room with me, Emily; I have something to tell you. "

He sat down on the little chintz-covered lounge, and I beside him. 

"Emily, you are a strong woman, your heart will beat fast, but you willneither scream nor faint when I tell you; your brother is ill. There wasa letter in the office and also a telegram at the depot. What will bedone, who can go to him?"

I did not scream or faint as he had said, but I clasped my hands tightlyand shut my eyes as if some terrible sight was before me, while my poorheart grieved and brain reeled, as I thought, "Oh! he will die, poorHal! alone among strangers, and how would our patient mother bear it, and what should we do!"

My face was white, I know, for grief always blanched my face and broughtthose terribly silent tears, that fall like solemn rain drops--each atongue. You must remember that I was a smothered fire in those days. 

Louis put his strong arm around me, and stroked my forehead as if I werea child and he my mother. 

"He will not die, little flower, thy brother will live; you must go tohim, and I will go with you. You must not go alone to a great city. "

"Oh Louis!" I said, "he had only just begun to love me when he wentaway, and now if he dies, what shall I do without him? Prayers have butlittle weight, they ought to have saved him, I have prayed so long, sohard, Louis, for his safety. But I must tell mother. " And when she heardme, and I said I must go to him, she sat down as if in despair; but amoment after looked almost cheerful as she said:

"You must start to-night, my dear, and I must get all the littlemedicines I can think of ready for you to take, and as soon as he isable he must come home. If it is a fever, I fear for his lungs. "

Clara waited until our talk was over, and then came and said Louis mustgo with me; put into my hands a well filled purse, and said:

"Bring the brother back, dear cousin; don't wait for him to get well;bring him back on a bed if necessary; he will never get well amongstrangers. "

When father came he was pained beyond expression, and his first thoughtwas for means to do all that must be done. 

"Clara has provided that, father, " and he was too thankful to reply. 

Everything was ready; Louis and I said "good-bye" to all, and droverapidly away, for in order to reach the station below ours, where wecould take a night train West, we must ride thirty miles. The train wasdue at eight-forty-five, and it was four o'clock when we started; aneighboring farmer (Mr. Graves), who had a span of fleet horses took us, and we dashed over the ground rapidly, having full five minutes tobreathe in at the depot ere we took the train. No luxurious palace carsin those days, you know, just the cushioned seats, but that was enoughfor me; I thought I could have sat on a hard wooden seat, or on anythingif I only could reach that suffering boy. Louis tried to arrange ourbaggage so that I could sleep. 

"Sleep will not come to my eyelids to-night, Louis, I shall not sleepuntil I see Halbert, and know how he is and is to be. "

"Now, Miss Emily, " he said as he took my hand in his, "I say you mustsleep. Watching will do him no good until we get there, and more thanthis, it may do him much harm, for if you get so tired, you will be illyourself when you arrive and then he will have no sister. For Hal'ssake, Miss Emily, you shall go to sleep; lean on my shoulder, and Ibelieve I can help your nerves to become quiet. "

I knew he was right, and yielded myself to the strong control hepossessed over me, and I slept I know not how long. When I awoke Louissaid we were getting along at good speed. 

"Day will break soon, and then comes a change of cars, and in a littlewhile we shall see the great city. "

I was for a few moments at a loss to realize everything; when I did Isaid:

"Selfish girl to sleep so long, and you have sat here watching me, andnow you are so tired. "

"Not so tired, --so glad for your rest--I can sleep to-morrow, and whenwe get to Chicago you shall watch him days and I will watch nights; weshall go to him armed with strength, which is more than medicine; I toldyou long ago I had something to do for Hal, you see it is coming. "

The whole journey was pleasant, and sometimes it seemed wicked when Halwas so sick for me to feel so rested and peaceful, but here I wascontrolled, and it was blessed to be. I might never have come back to mymother had it not been for the power of Louis' strong thought and will. 

The journey accomplished, it was not long ere we saw the dear face of myblessed brother. I will not detail all the small horrors that met me inthe house where we found him. It might have seemed worse to me than itreally was, but oh! how I needed all the peace that had settled upon me, to take in the surroundings of that fourth story room. Soul and senserevolted at the sickening odors of the little pen, where, on a wretchedcot, my brother lay. I thought of our home, and drew rapid contrastsbetween our comfortable beds, and the straw pallet before me; our whiteclean floors, home-made rugs, and, --but never mind. Then I said in myheart, "God help me to be more thankful, " and with brimming eyes Icaught both Hal's hands in my own, and looked in his flushed face, trying vainly to catch a look of recognition. He did not know me. Louishad kindly stepped aside to give me all the room, but he watched meclosely, and caught me as I staggered backward feeling all the strengthgo suddenly from my limbs, while from my lips came the words whichburned into my soul, "He will die. " I had never in my life fainted, anddid not now. Louis drew a little flask of brandy from his pocket andforced a few drops into my mouth. My will came back to me, and in a fewmoments I could think a little. "A doctor, Louis, oh! where is thereone--what shall we do?" Even as I spoke, Hal's employer entered and withhim Dr. Selden. The merchant did not come as near to me as did the olddoctor with his good-natured, genial face, and quiet but elastic step. Iforgot everything but the sufferer, and turned to him with upraisedhands and streaming eyes, saying:

"Oh! tell me quickly what to do, don't let him die, he has a good homeand friends, we love him dearly, help me to get him there, " adding, inanswer to his look of inquiry, "I am his sister, and this gentleman, "turning to Louis, "is our friend Mr. Desmonde. "

The doctor laid his hand on my head and said:

"I have not seen the patient before; an examination will doubtless helpme to answer your question, and to give you the help you ask. Restyourself, Miss, you will soon need a physician's aid yourself, " and hedrew a chair close to the foot of the bed for me. Then he felt Hal'spulse, stroked his head a little, and sat quietly down at the foot ofthe bed just opposite me, and laid one hand over Hal's heart, leaningforward a little, and looking as if half mystified. The few minutes wesat there seemed to me an hour, waiting, as it seemed, for decisionbetween life and death. Suddenly Halbert sprang up and shouted:

"Here! here! this way, almost finished--hold my heart--hold it still;I'll make Emily's eyes snap when I get home, ha, ha!" and then a sort ofgurgling sound filled his throat, and he placed both hands over hischest, and sank back, while for an instant all the blood left his face. I put my hand into Louis', and groaned, trying hard to control myself, for I knew we were close to the shadows, and perhaps, "Oh, yes, " Icomfortingly thought, "perhaps we need not pass through them all. "

Doctor Selden moved to the head of his bed, and held both hands on Hal'stemples; for a few moments it seemed as if no one breathed, then Haldrew a long breath as if he were inhaling something, and whispered:

"That feels good; my head is tired, tired, tired. "

This gave me courage. It seemed then as if he were feeling the power ofan uplifting hand, and soon--

"Emily, Emily!" passed his lips. "Tell her to come to me, she will helpme, tell her to come. " Then for a few moments all was still, and heslept. Dr. Selden looked at me with hope in his eyes, and tears ofgratitude gathered to run like a river of rain drops over my cheeks. Heslept twenty minutes, and as he stirred the doctor motioned me to comewhere he could see me. His eyes opened and met mine. 

"Emily!" he said, and putting both arms around my neck, drew my headdown to his pillow, and whispered:

"Don't cry--I'll go home with you--all right, the end will be allright. " Fearing for his strength, I said softly:

"Don't talk, you're too weak, Hal; lie still for a little while and shutyour eyes. " I raised my head and put my hand on his forehead, and soonhe was asleep. Then in a low, kind tone the doctor told us the crisiswas past, and now we must wait for the changes, which were one by one tofall on him. Hal's employer urged me to go to his house, and let Louisremain with Halbert, and at last it was arranged that at night I shouldsleep there, and Louis stay with Hal. Several hours would elapse, however, before night, and during this time Dr. Selden, Louis and Iwould stay with Hal. 

I had time during his long sleep to think of something to be done forhim, and realized, as I recovered from the first shock his situationgave to my nerves, the importance of a different room, betterventilation, etc. , and when Dr. Selden motioned to Louis to take hisseat near Hal's head, where he could lay his hand upon him when he woke, I whispered to him my thoughts. His answer, though somewhat comforting, bade me wait until he could decide what was best. He took my hand in hisand called me "little girl, "--just think of it, I was five feet sixinches high, my face looked every day of forty that minute, --told me Iwas too tired to plan, and he would attend to it all, adding, at theclose of his dear good talk:

"His artist soul has nearly used up his physical strength. I feel therehas been great pressure on the nerves. If so there must be, according tothe course of nature, rapid changes up to a certain point, and thenthere will be a thorough change slowly wrought out. Do not doubt myskill, 'little girl, ' he will come out all right; you and I have a surehold on his heart-strings. "

I could hardly wait to ask the question, "What do you mean by his artistsoul? what is he doing? and the doctor's eyes were looking in wonder atme, and his lips parting with a word, when Hal's voice startled us with:

"Emily, who is this?" and we turned to see him looking at Louis, whosehand was on his head. 

I answered, "The dear friend Hal who brought me here. "

"What a beautiful hand he has. Oh! how it rests my tired, tired brain, "he said. "Water, Emily, sister, a little water. "

Dr. Selden gave him a glass, saying, "Drink all you like. "

"I am faint, " said Hal. 

"Take this, my good fellow, " and the doctor held a glass of cordial tohis lips. 

He was perfectly lucid now, and his voice natural. Dr. Selden, anticipating questions from him, answered them all; told him I had cometo stay until he could go back to the old home with me, and of Mr. Hanson's kind tender of hospitality to both Louis and myself, andsettled every vexing question for the patient, who looked a world ofthanks, and with "God be praised" on his lips passed again intounconsciousness, with Louis' hand still passing over his head. I thoughtthen if Louis should ask me to jump into the crater of Vesuvius for himI could do it out of sheer thankfulness; and I marvelled at him, thechild of wealth and ease, only a boy in years, here in this miserableroom a strong comforting man, seeming as perfectly at home as if alwayshere. Then the thought of the artist came back to me and I leanedforward to ask Dr. Selden what it all meant. 

"Why, little girl, your brother is a sculptor born. He has sat up nightsworking hard to accomplish his work, and has succeeded too well in hisart, for unconsciously he has worn his nervous power threadbare. Youwill see one of his little pieces in Mr. Hanson's library when you godown there. He has a friend here who--Ah!" said the doctor, turning atthat very moment toward the slowly-opening door and grasping the hand ofa tall stately man with dreamy eyes, who seemed to be looking thequestion, "May I come in. "

"Yes, yes; come in, professor, " whispered the doctor, and he introducedme to Hal's teacher and friend, Wilmur Benton. Then offered him the onlyremaining chair. 

The professor seated himself quietly, and raising his dreamy brown eyessaid, "Will he live?"

The doctor smiled and bowed a positive "yes" as he said:

"The crisis is past, care and patience now. "

At this moment Hal awoke, and this time more naturally than before. Hewas quiet, looked upon us all with the clear light of reason in hiseyes, and would have talked if it had been allowed. He wanted us allclose to him, and smiled as he held tightly Louis' hand in one of his, and with the other grasped that of Professor Benton, to lay bothtogether in a silent introduction. I think Hal felt that Louis had savedhis life, and he clung to his hand as a drowning man would to a lifepreserver. One sweet full hour passed over us, and the doctor madepreparation to leave him, whispering to me:

"The young man you brought to your brother is giving him wonderfulstrength, and he must leave him only long enough to rest a little. Thecrisis is past and the victory won. "

And here began and ended a wonderful lesson in life. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A QUESTION AND A PROBLEM. 

The details of our stay in Chicago as a whole would be uninteresting, and I would not weary the reader with them. Hal improved so rapidly thaton the fourth day after our arrival, he was carried in comparativecomfort to Mr. Hanson's residence, and placed for a few days in apleasant chamber to gather strength for our journey home. One littleincident I must tell you, connected with my introduction to Mr. Hanson'sfamily. We were seated at the supper table, talking of Hal, his sicknessand the cause of it, when Daisy, a five-year-old daughter, spokequickly, "Mamma, mamma, she looks just like the 'tree lady, ' only shedon't have her sewing. "

I did not realize it as the child spoke, but when Mrs. Hanson chided thelittle one, saying, "Daisy must learn not to tell all her littlethoughts, " it all came so clearly, and I trembled visibly; yes, I guessit was rather more than visible, since an unfortunate tilt in my chair, an involuntary effort of trying to poise brain and body at once, upsetcup and saucer and plate, and before I knew it Mrs. Hanson had delugedme with bay rum. They said I nearly fainted, but I realized nothing savethe ludicrous figure I presented, and I thought desparingly "Emily didit. " After supper I went to the library, and there it was--this piece ofwork which Hal had done, representing me sitting under that old appletree, hemming and thinking. It was so perfectly done, even to the plainring on my middle finger, a wide old-fashioned ring which had been mygrandmother Minot's, and bore the initials "E. M. " I could not speak whenI saw it, and if I could I should not have dared to for fear of someunfortunate expression. I wished in my heart it had been any one elsebut me. 

"If my face had been like Hal's, " I thought, and I stood as one coveredwith a mantle and bound by its heavy folds, until the gentle voice ofMrs. Hanson roused me, saying:

"Take a seat, Miss Minot, you are very tired. " Yes, I was tired, thoughI did not know it, and taking the chair she proffered, I covered my facewith both my hands and drew long breaths, as if to deliver myself fromthe thoughts which overwhelmed me. Mrs. Hanson's womanly nature divinedmy feelings, and she left me to myself, but after a while Daisy drew anOttoman near, and seating herself on it put her little hands in mine andwhispered:

"I think you're awful pretty. Don't you?"

I drew her into my lap and kissed her, and my dreams that night werehope and peace. Louis was with me there, and although constantlyattentive to Hal, he gave no signs of weariness, and Hal would look intohis eyes, as he sat beside him, with a look of perfect devotion. Ithought so many times, as he lay back among his pillows looking atLouis, he was mentally casting his features, and how nice it would bewhen his deft hands moulded the clay with face and form like that of ourbeautiful Louis Desmonde. What a joy to Clara's heart, and my own wouldbeat like a bird in its cage, thrilled with rapture at the prospect ofdeliverance! Had he not saved the life of my darling brother, and in myheart down deep, so deep I could bring no light of words upon thethought, I felt that I loved them both. The tenth day (since our removalto Mr. Hanson's) arrived, and then came our departure. I cried everyminute, and only because I was glad. Mr. And Mrs. Hanson and Louisthought it due to over-exertion, and when I tried to explain I made anunintelligible murmur, and only succeeded in bringing out onethought--my gratitude to them and the hope that I might one day repayit. Oh, how kind they were! Everything to make the transit easy for Halwas cared for, even to the beautiful blanket Mrs. Hanson gave him, whichwas doubly precious since her grandmother span the wool and colored andwove it with her own hands. It was a happy party which left Chicago onthat memorable morning, and our journey was delightful. Father waswaiting for us at the old home station, and instead of the old stage werode home in an easy carry-all behind our own horses. Mother and Claramet us with outstretched hands, and the latter, as she stood in thedoorway, looked a perfect picture. 

Hal was very tired, and for days after our return was threatened with arelapse, which was averted only by the unvarying care and strength ofLouis. When this risk was over and he was fairly started on the road ofrecovery, came the departure of our friend and his return to hisstudies. Oh, how we dreaded it! Hal said afterward the thought of hisgoing sent a chill to his head. The evening before his departure wewalked over the hill through the pleasant path his mother and myselfalways chose when we walked and talked together. I said:

"Go with us, Clara, " as we sauntered along the yard path toward thegate, but Louis looked at her and she turned gaily from us with thewords:

"I will look after the invalid. "

It seemed to me I was made of stone that evening, and we walked longbefore the silence was broken. At last Louis stopped, and taking both myhands looked into my heart (it seemed so to me) and said:

"I leave to-morrow. "

My eyes grew moist, but only a sigh escaped my lips. I did not even sayI was sorry. 

Then we sat down on the mossy trunk of our favorite tree, and he said:

"Are you sorry, Emily? Will you miss me, and will you write to me, andwill your dark eyes read the words I send to you?"

Dumb, more dumb than before, I sighed and bowed my head, and again hespoke, this time with that strange, terribly earnest look in his eyes Ihad seen before. 

"Oh, Emily! my dear Emily! I am only a boy in years, but I love you withthe strength of a man. I have saved the life of your brother because Iloved his sister; and, " he added in a low tone, "I love him too, but notas I do the dark eyes of his sister. Oh! Emily, do you love me? Can youand will you love me, and me only?"

And he drew me to him almost fiercely, while I quivered in every nerve, and answered:

"Louis, do you know me well? Can you not understand my heart? How can Ihelp loving you?"

He loosened his grasp about me, and as his arm fell from my waist, tearsfell at his feet. Oh, what a nature was his! Then turning again tome--"Will you wear this?" and a ring of turquoise and pearls was slippedon my finger, while in his hand he held a richly-carved shell comb. 

"This is for your midnight hair Emily, wear it always, " and he placed itamong the coils of my hair. 

Silence followed for a little time, and then Louis with his soulful eyesfixed on something afar off, spoke with great fervor of the life helonged for. 

"Emily, you do not know me yet, " he said. 

"I know you better than you know yourself, but I am to you a puzzle, andoh, if I could skip the years that lie between to-day and the day whenyou and I shall really understand each other! Perfect in peace that dayI know will come, but there are clouds between. My father willed that Ishould have this education I am getting. I need it, I suppose, but Ihave greater needs, and cannot tell you about them till I am free. "

"Two years--twenty-four months;" and his eyes fell, as he addeddespairingly, "What a long time to wait. " Then turning to me, "But youwill love me, you have said so?"

I looked my thoughts, and he answered them. 

"Do not ever think so of me, I am only too sane, I have found my lifebefore the time. "

"Oh! Louis, " I cried, and then he answered with the words, "My little mother knows it--she knows I love you. She knows my inmostsoul, and answers me with her pure eyes. But ah! her eyes have not thelight of yours; I want you to myself, to help me, and I will love youall my life. "

I was amazed, and wondered why it was--this strange boy had been much insociety, and why should I, an unsophisticated, homely girl, bring such ashower of feeling on myself. 

"Could it be real and would it last?"

He comprehended my thought again and replied:

"You are not homely; I see your soul in your eyes; you are younger thanI am; I have never seen your equal, and I know years will tell you I amonly true to my heart, and we will work together--ah! we will work forsomething good, we will not be all for ourselves, _ma belle_, " and on myforehead he left a kiss that burned with the great thoughts of hisheart. 

I could only feel that I was in the presence of a wonderful power, andat that moment he seemed a divinity. The moon came over the hill, andwith his arm in mine we turned our steps homeward, and Clara met ushalf-way, and putting her hand fondly in Louis' said:

"My boy is out under the moon. I feared he was lost. "

"My little mother!" and he gathered her under his wing, as it seemed, and we were soon at the gate of home. Louis and his mother passed in atthe side door. As they did so, I fell back a step or two, turned mysteps toward the old apple tree, and there, sitting against its oldtrunk, I talked aloud and cried and said:

"Have I done wrong, or is it right?"

Oh! what strange thoughts came over me as I sat growing more and moreconvinced that Louis' talk to me was a boyish rhapsody, and yet I knewthen, as I had before known, that my own heart was touched by hispresence. If he had been older, I should have felt that heaven hadopened; as it was, I longed to be full of hope and to dream of days tobe, and still I feared and I said aloud, "I am afraid, oh, I am afraid!"and at that moment Louis stood before me, and in quiet tones spoke asone having authority:

"Emily, you will get cold, you should not sit here. "

And as I rose the moonbeams fell on my tear-stained face, and he said asif I were the merest child:

"Why do you fear I shall ever be different toward you; but you need notfeel bound even though you have said you will love me. "

"Louis, " I cried, "you are cruel; you trouble me; I can't tell how Ifeel at all, " and then realizing his last sentence I took off the ring, but ere I could speak he put it back, saying:

"No, no, Emily. I will wait one year, and then if you are afraid I willgo away; but keep the ring, for that is yours, and yours alone. "

I went up to my little room without bidding any one "good-night, " andthought those old three words right over, "Emily did it. " I had coveredmyself up because I dared not be known, and if, after all, it was right, how good it would be to be loved by one capable of such wondrous love ashe possessed. 

I dreamed all night that I was alone and ill, and in the morning Idreaded to meet Louis, but he gave no sign of any troubled thought, andwhen the stage came was ready with his bright "good-bye. " He folded hislittle mother to his heart and held her there for a few seconds. When hecame to me his hand's grasp was firm and strong. His kiss and whispercame together, "I will write. " A moment later and he had gone. Clarawent to her own room, to cry a little softly as she afterward said, andso the time wore on till the evening found us again all around thetable, and old grey Timothy, our cat, had the boldness to sit in Louis'chair, which made Clara laugh through her tears. Joy and sorrow go handin hand, and while we felt his loss so keenly, his letters were a greatpleasure. 

Hal had his share as well as Clara and I, and mother used to read everyone of Hal's. It seemed strange to me to have anything to keep frommother, and had she opened the door I would have told her all, but shenever asked me about Louis' letters, and until I overheard aconversation between my father and her I was held in silence; then theice was broken, for father said:

"I do not know what to do. It is possible that this bright young fellowwill play the part that so many do, and our innocent Emily be made thesufferer. When he comes again we will try and manage to have her away. She is a good girl and capable beside. Her life must not be blighted, but we must also be careful not to hurt Clara's feelings. Clara is agood little woman, and how we should miss her if she left us!"

"Well, " said my mother, "I do not feel alarmed about our Emily, but, ofcourse, it is better to take too much precaution than not enough, " andtheir conversation ended. 

When an opportunity presented I talked with mother, told her what I hadheard, and all that Louis had said to me, almost word for word, and theresult was her confidence. When our talk closed, she said in her ownimpressive way:

"I will trust you, my daughter, and only one thing more I have to say:Let me urge upon you the importance of testing your own deepest, bestfeelings in regard to this and every other important step--yes, andunimportant ones as well. There is a monitor within that will prove anunerring guide to us at all times. If we do not permit ourselves to behurried and driven into other than our own life channels we shall gatherfrom the current an impetus, which comes from the full tide of ourinnate thought. Such thought develops an inner sense of truth andfitness, which is a shield ever covering us, under any and allcircumstances. It holds us firmly poised, no matter which way the windmay be, or from what quarter it strikes us. "

This thought I could not then appreciate fully, but I did what I couldtoward it, and it was, in after years, even then, an anchor. My mother'seyes were beautiful; they looked like wells, and when thoughts likethese rose to mingle with their light, they seemed twice as large andfull and deep as on ordinary occasions. I never wanted to disobey her, and in those days we read through together the chapters in life's bookthat opened every sunrise with something new. Our souls were blent asone in a delightful unity, that savored more of Paradise than earth, andnow with Hal's returning strength, there was a triple pulsation ofmingled thought. Oh, Halbert, my blessed brother, no wonder my eyes arebrimming with tears of love at these dear recollections! Louis had senthim a large box of material for doing his work, and Clara had insistedon his having one of her new rooms for a studio, and everything was asperfect as tasteful appointments could make it, even to thedressing-gown she had made for him. 

She made this last with her own hands, of dark blue cashmere, cordedwith a thread of gold. He had to wear it, too, for she said nothingcould be too nice to use. 

"Why, my dear Halbert, " she added, "the grass is much nicer and you walkon that. "

The rich rosy flush came slowly enough into his pale cheeks, but itfound them at last, and I do believe when we saw the work grow so fastunder his hands, we were insane with joy. To think our farmer boy whofollowed the cows so meekly every night had grown to be a man and asculptor, throwing such soul into his work as to model almost breathingfigures! His first work was a duplicate of the piece at Mr. Hanson's, and was made at Louis' especial request. His next work was a study initself. It was an original subject worthy of Hal's greatest efforts, arepresentation of our good old friend Hildah Patten, known to all ourvillage as "Aunt Hildy. " We called her our dependence, for she was anever-present help in time of need; handy at everything and wasteful ofnothing. Her old green camlet cloak (which was cut from hergrandfather's, I guess) with the ample hood that covered her face andshoulders, was a welcome sight to me, whenever at our call for aid shecame across lots. She lived alone and in her secluded woodland home leda quiet and happy life; she was never idle, but always doing for others. Few really understood her, but she was not only a marvel of truth butpossessed original thought, in days when so little time was given in ourcountry to anything save the struggle for a living. It is only a fewyears since Aunt Hildy was laid away from our sight. I often think ofher now, and I have in my possession the statuette Hal made, which showscamlet cloak, herb-bags and all. I desire you to know her somewhat, since her visits were frequent and our plans were all known to her. 

CHAPTER VII. 

WILMUR BENTON. 

The fall is a busy time in a farmer's household--with the gathering ofgrain, clearing up of fields, and making all due preparations for thecoming winter; and it is beautiful also. This year, however, the manycolored leaves had sought the ground unnoticed by me; for my days hadbeen absorbed in thought and, instead of looking at things about me, ifI had a spare moment I wandered in the realms of feeling. 

November had come to us with Louis' departure, and the weeks between hiscoming and going seemed, as I looked back, like a few hours only, crowded together as a day before me with the strange events, andstranger thoughts, whose existence from that time onward has forced meto own their supremacy and power. Hal's artist friend, Professor Benton, was coming to see him--and I wished it were May instead of November, forit seemed to me the outer attractions of our country home were muchgreater than the inner, and I could not see how he was to beentertained. Clara's side (as we called the four rooms she had added)would be the only attraction, and since Hal was domiciled there, thatwould be the right place. Many paintings adorned the walls, and to methere was such a contrast between our middle room and its belongings, and the sunny chamber occupied by Hal, that whenever I looked on themassively-framed pictures there, they seemed out of place. Clara wasfond of having them in sight, and labored hard to have her loves ours. Every other evening we were forced to occupy that side of the house andI wonder, as I look back, that my father could have been so obedient toher wishes. She would sit on an ottoman between him and my mother andoften with her head resting against the arm of his chair, talking withus of our farm, the plans for winter, and the fences to be built withthe coming spring; and she was never satisfied unless allowed to bereally one of us. The building she had done was accredited to my father, for she would not have it otherwise, and when his spirit of independenceprompted him to refuse her board-money afterward, she looked at him withtears in her eyes and said:

"Why must I be repelled, Mr. Minot? Please let me stay here always. Ihave no comfort if I have no one to be happy with, and you must takethis from me. "

She was no trouble, and such a small eater that she must have paid usfour times over for all she had. Father thought at first her impulsivegifts would be of short duration, but months had revealed her to us, andwe realized that she was a marvel of goodness. Not only interestingherself in us but in others. Weekly visits were made by her to the poorin our parish, and blessings fell on her head in prayers rising from thelips of her grateful friends. The semi-monthly sewing circle she causedto be appointed at our house (her side), and with her own hands madeall the edibles necessary on every occasion. She shrank from makingcalls upon those who were not in need of her services, and never wentwillingly to any public gathering. I never knew why, but she wasmorbidly sensitive on this point. Once she was over-persuaded, and wentto an old-fashioned quilting party with mother, and she came home in afainting condition, and we worked over her until after midnight. 

"I am so cold here, " she said, placing her hand on her heart--"I willnot go out any more, Mrs. Minot; it hurts me. "

We never afterward urged her, nor explained her suffering to the friendswho inquired. She exacted a promise to that effect. 

What a strange being our lovely Clara was! She grew to our hearts as ivyto the oak, and the tendrils of her nature entwined us, creeping alittle nearer daily, until the doors of our hearts were covered withtheir growing beauty. I should be writing all about her, and not bringmyself into my story at all, but the promise I made you must befulfilled. At some other time I may write out for you the life and workof this beautiful friend. My own experience seems to me only abackground against which her picture ought to rest. I have beenrambling, for you remember I began to tell you about the coming of Hal'sartist friend from Chicago. I believe it was the fifteenth of Novemberwhen he came, and his presence was not a burden as I feared, for hefound and filled a place held in reserve for him, and all united with mein saying: "What a splendid man he is!"

Brother Ben, who was now at an interesting age, called him "a man tostudy, " and he seemed to be fascinated by him. His eyes followed everymotion, and his ear was keenly alive to every expression of thought. Isometimes thought Hal wished Ben did not like him as well, for he wasconstantly availing himself of his society. Some work fortunately had tobe done, else Hal would have been very much troubled to gain anaudience. Clara did not like the artist quite as well as I did, thoughshe said with the rest, "What a splendid man!" and betrayed by no wordor act any disregard for his feelings, still I intuitively felt asomething she did not say; and when I told her he had made anarrangement to stay all winter, she clasped her white hands togethertightly, and between two breaths a sigh came fluttering from her lips, while tears gathered in the blue of her eyes, as the white lids fell tocover what she would not have me notice. Although a pain and wonderfilled my heart for a moment, I knew if Clara wished me to divine herfeelings she would explain herself, and her silence left me to my ownconjectures. I said to myself "Some thought of the past has come overher, " for I could not see how the stay of Wilmur Benton could affect herhappiness. He treated her with great deference and seemed to realizewith us that she had a rare organization. His stay was a matter of greatinterest with Hal, as Hal was to gain from him the instruction heneeded, and they expected to get much enjoyment from working together. Louis would be with us through the holidays, and Mr. Benton would, Iknew, enjoy that, for he insisted that it was the magic of his hand thathad saved Hal's life, and he looked on him as a real blessing. The twoartist souls blended as one, and drank daily deep draughts from thefountain of an inspiring genius, and as I watched the work grow undertheir hands, and the plastic and senseless clay become a fair statue, lacking nothing save breath and motion to reveal an entity, I questionedif the power was really theirs, or if their hands had touched a secretspring and were guided outside of themselves. It really never seemedlike exertion, and to sense this wondrous art was to me the asking ofquestions deeper than any among us could answer. 

Hal's statue of dear Aunt Hildy was copied, and improved also by Mr. Benton, who considered it a masterpiece, and the respect we bore ourfriend was not lessened, even though there were those among us who mightspeculate as to the motive that prompted it. 

We never called her funny, but original, and good as gold. Our familynumbered now seven people, and with the farm work in addition to thedaily preparation of meals, the clearing up and upsetting again ofthings, there were many steps to take, and Aunt Hildy was installed asour help in need. 

These were the days of help--not servants--when honest toil was wellappreciated by sensible people, and no hurried or half-done work fellfrom their hands, but the steady doing resulted in answering the dailydemands. 

"It's a bunch of work to do; it is, indeed, Mrs. Minot, " said AuntHildy. 

"But we'll master it. "

"I ain't never going to be driven by work, nor aristocracy neither. It'sa creepin' in on us, though, like the snake in the garden, just to makefolks think they can get more comfort out of fixin's than they can outof the good old truths. I can't be fed on chaff; no, I can't. "

And her sleeves would go up to her elbows, and she would march throughwork like a mower through a field. 

Her coming gave me a chance to do some sewing, and with Clara's helpabout cutting (and she sewed with me), the needed spring and summerapparel and house linen were fashioned and made ready for use. The dayspassed pleasantly to us all, and though I had watched Clara closely, shebetrayed neither by word nor sign anything that savored of disliketoward Professor Benton; and still, sometimes, I felt that unexplainablesomething that once in a while tried as it were to shape itself beforeme, and as often vanished in mist. We had long evenings, and many newtopics were introduced and discussed. I had access to Clara's large andwell selected library, and I improved every opportunity to inform myselfon doubtful subjects. Sometimes I despaired of knowing anything new, andagain my brain would seem clearer, and would take in the new thoughtswith keen perception. When, however, we came to talk upon these samesubjects, I sat nearly dumb; I could summon no thoughts nor words toframe them. Even this stupidity had its advantage, for Mr. Benton (Halcalled him Will) was a good talker, and had, as all talkers have, agreat respect for a good listener, and he often said to me:

"You have a heart to appreciate rare truths, Miss Minot. "

Clara was gifted in conversation, but did not always express hersentiments with great freedom. 

If we touched on things nearest her heart, and I believe the doing ofgood each to the other was her highest thought, she was at home, and herblue eyes would glow with light, as in her own sweet way she talked longand earnestly. I shall never forget the first time Mr. Benton noticedthis point in her organization. The newsmonger of our town had been tosee us, had spent the afternoon and taken tea, and while it wasamusement for me to hear her gossip incessantly about this thing andthat, this person and the other, Clara was greatly annoyed by it. Itcaused a righteous indignation to rise within her, and when after thevisit we were seated by the antique centre table in her sitting-room, the conversation turned upon the peculiarities of this scandal-lovingJane North. 

Clara expressed herself freely on the subject of small talk, as shetermed scandal. Her eyes dilated, her small hands were folded tightly, and when she closed it was with this last feeling sentence:

"I can only say, 'Father, forgive them, they know not what they do, ' whoscatter the theme of contention where roses should appear, and intearing down the habitation of their neighbors lose also their own; forthey who have respect for themselves will have respect for theirneighbors. May we yet live to understand the meaning of the words, 'Loveye one another. ' When this shall be, oh, my more than friends, when thisshall be, we shall know each other, even as we are known! No secretblight shall cover any life, no worm of regret gnaw at the tree of ourunfolding lives! We shall all be as a unit, and our Father who seeth usin secret shall then reward us openly! Yea, more, for are not weourselves capable of holding communion with this part of God within us?We know our souls are with us to-day, and it is only because the rootsof thought are covered, and the feet of envy, hatred and malice arepressing, the hard soil against them, that the tendrils of our lovingnatures are never asked to climb, and the eternal ivy of our great lovereaches not the windows of expressed thought, else our hands would bemade strong to do daily that which is found to do with all our might. "

Her last beautiful utterance finished, she closed her eyes as if coveredwith the mantle of her holy thoughts, and we all sat in a breathlesssilence. Aunt Hildy who sat in the corner (by preference) stirred not amuscle from the beginning to the close of her talk, and Mr. Bentonlooked first in wonder then in admiration, and when our silence wasbroken by a fervent "Amen" from Aunt Hildy, he added:

"'Even so let it be. ' Those thoughts are beautiful. "

Clara looked at him with an almost reproachful glance, the import ofwhich I could not understand. 

I was not sensitive like Clara; perhaps intuitive would express itbetter. She seemed to understand every one's nature on the firstmeeting, and I had marvelled many tunes at her accuracy in readingcharacter. 

She told me that her heart went out to Aunt Hildy at their firstmeeting, and I felt convinced now there was something about this newfriend that no one save herself could detect, and whether it had shapewith her or not was a question. 

Three weeks of Mr. Benton's stay had passed when this incident occurred, and from that hour there was a marked change in his manner toward her. I could see, ignorant as I was of the phases of life, how he wasattracted to her. This glimpse of her wondrous nature had opened hiseyes, and perhaps touched his heart. His age must be about hers, Ithought, and how strange if it should be that he loved her. But here Irun into a mist where nothing was plain. Days will tell the story, Ithought, and we were sure of days and changes while life lasted. Itbecame plain to me after a little that Clara felt the change in hismanner toward her, and in every quiet move of hers I detected thedisposition on her part to repel any advances. She gave him noopportunity to be with her alone, and if by chance this happened, hersweet voice would call "Emily, come in this way, we are lonely withoutyou, " and her eyes would turn on me when I entered with a sort ofwistful glance. It always reminded me of a child looking confidentlyinto the eyes of its mother, expecting the help it was sure to find. Ihardly enjoyed this, for I knew Mr. Benton thought me old enough todiscern a little, and he must have believed us to be in league together, whereas no word had passed between us on the subject until just beforeChristmas, when Louis was expected. 

Clara and I were sitting busily sewing and talking of the coming of "herdear boy, " when she let her sewing fall and sat as in thought a fewmoments before she spoke. 

"Emily (and she spoke slowly and with earnestness. I felt frightened forher cheek grew white as the words fell from her lips), when Louis comeskeep close to me all the time, will you? Oh! I know you will, and sinceI ask such a favor, it is only right I should tell you all about it. Iknow, for I feel it in here (and she laid her hand on her head), thatProfessor Benton desires to talk to me. He must not be allowed to, Emily, for if he does it will hurt me so much. I will tell you why, andI know you will tell it to no one. "

I looked an assent and she continued:

"He thinks that he might like me so well that he would wish me near himfor ever. But he does not know that I cannot let him say this to me. Itwould be hard to make him understand me; he never could. And then if heshould know me very well, it would be all wrong. I love my Louis Robert, and he is waiting on the hills for me. Yes, my dear Emily, he waits forme there. Did he not say so when he died, and will he not come for mesome day when I shall be a little more weary, and this beating heartgrows colder? He says he will and I am always with him in my thoughts. It almost hurts me to live at all. Can you see, Emily, can you know howit is because I need you all _so_ much that I must stay with you?Professor Benton has a good heart, but it feels cold to me. His artobscures from him all else; he can love no one as he loves a picture. Now you will promise me, no not with words--I would only feel your armaround me, and with my hand in yours feel you are my trusted one--mysoul friend and my great help. "

Silence was ill suited to my feelings at that moment. I gathered hergentle form to me, and held her tight while those ever ready tears ofsympathy filled my eyes full, and I spoke honestly when I said:

"I don't care a fig for Mr. Benton, and if he troubles you I will sendhim back to Chicago, and I wish he had never come at all. "

"Oh! oh! do not say it; I shall fear to have you know my heart, it makesyou rebellious. It is well that he came, as your brother needs him, andyou do wrong to say such words. Wait, Emily, keep quiet, you are like awind when your thoughts are stirred, and time, my love, will help you tomake your hand strong, and your heart also. It is on a full tide andwith a steady wind that vessels find the sea, while changeful blastswill shipwreck them, and then cast their wrecks upon the shore. And soit is with mortals; we have to keep saying, wait! while we pray to beguided aright. "

"I am always running off the track, Clara, I know; teach me to knowmyself and let me help you; you are so different; I shall never be likeyou, " I said. 

"And you do not wish to be, I hope, " was her reply. 

"I would like more of your quiet spirit, but that belongs to you, and ifI wait and work hard to do it, I shall always be upsetting what I wishto do, and plaguing others instead of helping--" Mother came in and ourtalk was at an end. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

FEARS AND HOPES. 

Many thoughts filled my mind after what Clara had said, and I thoughtmuch of her beautiful faith as to her husband and his waiting for her;of her trust in his coming, and of the reality with which came into herexistence this wonderful future that waits for us all if (and sometimesthis little conjunction assumed wonderful proportions) immortalityreally be ours. My heart told me we were to live, and in my higherthoughts I could sometimes see the light that flooded those old hillsnear our home, reaching far on to where all those of our household werewaiting. I never at these times could think of our beloved friends, myblessed grandmother, of whom we did not even possess a daguerreotype, asan angelic and unearthly something with wings, but rather as a realbeing, whose face I should recognize, whose hands should touch my own, while her lips would move, and in her dear old way she would say "Comein, Emily, " just as she used to when I went as a child to her door, andlooked in at her, as she lay on her bed, partly paralyzed. Her hair waswhite with the cares of seventy-four winters, and her eyes filled thenwith such a pleasant light. She had lived with us, this dear GrandmaNorthrop, for years. Hal had always been her special charge; she calledhim her boy, and up to the last month of her life mended his stockingsfirst; she would go to the door and watch him go for the cows, and whenhe came back over the west meadows, would say with admiration:

"That boy is worth a dozen such as Ben Davis; he'll do something greatbefore he dies. "

My mother spoke often of her, and also recalled her saying, "I hopeangels can see men, " meaning that she could not bear the thought ofleaving Hal. 

I was only five years old when she left us, still her memory was sacredto me, and through the summer days I covered her grave with everlastingflowers and daisies. I remembered her as genial, though somewhatpeculiar in her ways; she had a warm appreciation of wit, and was everready with answers. Mother remembered and told me so many of her happysayings that it kept her memory fresh among us all, and if angels couldboth see and hear men, she must have felt grateful that we rememberedher with such pleasure. I treasured the hoop ear-rings which she wore, and which bore her initials, "E. L. N. " Her name was Elizabeth, but shewas called by all "Betsey. " To Hal she had left two silver spoons andher snuff-box. He had it among his little treasures, and kept the samebean in it that was there when she died. I wished a thousand times andmore that my name might be Elizabeth, but Emily was given me by a sisterof father's who desired me to be her namesake, and if I had been morelike her in my young years I should never have been likened to a "fiercewind, " as Clara so truly termed me. This Aunt Emily had gone to herheavenly home, as had many of my mother's family. She was one of elevenchildren, and at this date only one brother, Peter, and a sister, Phebe, were living. Mother had a beautiful sister, Sallie, who died young, andwhom I loved to hear about. She painted her picture in words for me, andI could see her dark blue eyes, her brown hair that looked like satin, and her pink cheeks, almost as if I had really seen and known her. Andwhen this heaven, that sometimes seemed so like far off mist, grewnearer, I imagined the meeting of them all, and enjoyed the pleasantpicture which lay before my mind's eye like a waiting promise of whosefulfillment I felt sure. Clara and Aunt Hildy had long conversations onthese subjects, and Aunt Hildy said to me when speaking of these talks:

"Oh! I love her white soul, Emily; she allus brings heaven right down toairth, and even when she don't talk I feel so kind of blessed when I sitnear her. Few such folks are let to live, and somehow I'm almostconvinced she can't stay long, " and the corner of her blue-checked apronwould touch her humid eyes, as she turned again to her work. 

Work was a matter of principle with her, and to neglect one dutyunnecessarily, no light offense. She was as true to her highestconviction of right as the needle to the pole, and held the truth closeto her heart--so close that all her outer life was in correspondencewith her interior perceptions. Truly her light was not under a bushel. 

I hoped her fear of Clara's death would not soon be realized, for it didnot seem as if we could bear to lose her presence. Never in any waycould she intrude herself, for her nature moved her in perpetual lines, whose shadow never fell on the path of another. I felt sorry that sheshould be troubled, and I fear my dark eyes now and then shot tellingglances at Mr. Benton. 

The more she tried, even in her graceful way, to repel his advances, themore determined he was to gain access to her heart. In this I coulddetect the selfish part of his nature, and while I could not blame himfor loving her, I knew that my love for her was so great that I wouldnot knowingly give her any pain, and it seemed to me his love must beless than it should be, for he could not fail to know it troubled herand should have desisted. In a few days after our conversation Louiscame. 

Clara had, since she realized Mr. Benton's feelings toward her, beenvery careful in the selection of her wearing apparel, choosing for herdaily use the plainest dresses. But on the day of Louis' arrival shesaid to me, as we went up stairs after dinner was cleared away:

"Emily, will you put on the dress that becomes you so well?" It was agarnet merino she alluded to, a gift from herself. 

"We should make a pleasant picture for Louis when he comes; the dear boyloves to see his little mother in blue, and our royal Emily in becomingcolors. "

"Of course I will, " I said, and as I fastened the lace collar, whosepattern was roses and leaves, with the pin she gave me, and looked in mylittle glass, I thought what a poor resemblance to royalty I bore, andlaughed at the appellation. 

Supper was ready, but we waited for the stage, and when it came we wereall at the door. Hal met Louis first and then came Mr. Benton; Clarakept drawing me back with her, and he was obliged to greet mother andfather and Aunt Hildy also, ere we were visible. 

"Little mother! blessed little mother!" and he held her close, kissingher with passionate fondness, then turning to me he took both my handsand whispered softly:

"Last but not least, " and we followed the rest to the supper table. 

Mr. Benton was more than polite during the meal, and afterward delightedLouis with showing him an unfinished portrait of Clara, which he hadcommenced painting on canvas. 

This information was conveyed to me at the first favorable opportunity, and when Louis enjoined secrecy upon me, he expressed great pleasurewith Mr. Benton, and said:

"Oh! Miss Emily. Little mother is so beautiful; she is always a picture. When the artist adds to the charming portrait the dress and the littlepearls she wore to receive me, it will be so real I shall want to ask itto speak to me, and when she leaves me I can look at it, and in my hearthear her say 'Louis my dear boy. ' You love her very much, do you not, Emily?"

"Oh, Louis!" I cried, "do not talk so, everybody says she is too goodand beautiful to live, and it is a thought too bitter, I cannot bearit. "

He turned the conversation into another channel, and talked so stronglyabout his great desire to master this art of painting, while I wonderedto myself how it had happened that these hearts were gathered to ourown and had become members of our household, coming, as they did, likerare exotics, to live and blossom among us plain hollyhocks anddandelions. Hal I could liken to a rare flower, but then he was only oneamong our number, and in all our family and friends there were nonepossessing the gifts of these two souls which had come to us sostrangely. 

Aunt Hildy said, "The ways of life are past all comprehending. " Ithought so too. Christmas came on Sunday in this year of our Lordeighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, and for this I rejoiced and was glad. When it came on a week-day, it seemed like Sunday, and although now andthen we had some really interesting sermons, there was not enough tofill two sabbaths coming so near together, and it gave me a restlesssort of feeling, especially so, when I knew how quiet and solemn myfather used to be all day, and also his great desire that we shouldimitate him. 

I had been a member of our old church three years, and while I desiredto live a Christian life, I could never feel that a long face, andsolemnly pronounced words made any difference in my real life. Fatherdid not believe any more in long faces than I did, still, I think fromfear of neglecting any part of his duty, he maintained a seriousdemeanor from the break of our Sabbath days to their close. He had anunusually beautiful way of asking a blessing that always gave me a happyfeeling. He merely said in a pleasant way, and with open eyes: "Weshould be very thankful for this meal; may we have wisdom to prepare nounsavory dishes, and strength to earn for ourselves, and others ifnecessary, the bread we daily need. " This gave us a thought (that nevergrew old with me) of the needs of our neighbor, and also seemed sorational, and fitted our needs so perfectly. Aunt Hildy called it acommon-sense blessing. I remember well how she spoke of it, in contrastwith Deacon Grover's long-drawn-out table prayers, saying with emphasis;"The man, if he is a deacon, has a right to grow better, and we know heasks God to bless things cattle couldn't eat. "

Christmas, we all went to church, and although it was more than a mile, aunt Hildy refused to ride. 

"Let me walk as long as I can, time enough to ride by and by, and I'monly fifty-eight years old, Mr. Minot, " she said. 

It was useless to urge her, and she came into church a few minutes laterthan we did, and sat in her own pew next ours. This church was anold-time affair, having been built by the early settlers. It had, as allthose old churches had, square pews, a stove in its central portion withhuge arms of pipe that stretched embracingly in all ways; and its pulpitwas so high that I prevailed on father to sit back from the centre asfar as we could and be comfortably warm, for it was breaking ones' neckto look at the minister, and the sermon was half lost if you could notsee the play of his features. Our worship was of the Presbyterian order, and our present pastor a worthy man. This was all the church thatbelonged to us really. In the village which nestled in the valley twoand a half miles south-west of us, like a child in the lap of itsmother, there were three churches, Baptist, Methodist, andPresbyterian, and many who attended our old church would have likedbetter to go to one of those, and at times did so, but it was quite aride in winter, and for this reason our church was better filled at thisseason than in the summer days. 

A new branch of belief had latterly developed itself somewhat in ourneighborhood, and this embraced the thought of universal salvation. There had been meetings held at the houses of some of our friends, andonce or twice mother and myself had attended. 

The sermon on this Christmas day did me no good, for our minister chosefor his subject false doctrines, and the pointed allusions andpersonalities savored greatly of a spirit that was not calculated toremind us of the humble Nazarene and his lowly spirit. 

Tearing the roof down over our heads would not give one an idea of acomfortable home; and surely charity's mantle should at least cover thesins of ignorance, and that certainly was the hardest verdict we couldrender against those of our number who had become interested in theseideas, for that they were good and true people appeared from theirdoctrines. The only difference was this: That the love of God was sogreat for his children that not one of them would be lost or cast intothe terrible fires, which, according to our old belief, burned for theguilty through endless time. And now as I reflect I can surely see itwas more through fear of being thus cast off, and not because I couldput my hand on anything so terribly wicked in myself or my acts, that Iearly desired and had communication with the church. Somehow I felt moresecure to know I was approved of by men, and my name enrolled on thechurch list. As I grew older this was a troublesome thought that now andthen, asked for a hearing. As we came out of church, Deacon Grover withhis small black eyes peering into aunt Hildy's face, said to her:

"Smart sermon; good talk, Miss Patten, how did you enjoy it?"

"Well as I could, " and I nearly laughed in his face, although I knew hedid not realize what she meant. She never liked fiery sermons, as shecalled them, and believed that the only way to heap coals of fire on thehead of the unrighteous, was by living so rightly as to make themashamed of their ways and do better. Mr. Benton and Louis walked withBen and aunt Hildy, and our ride home was a nearly silent one. I knew myfather had not been any more edified than myself, but it was not his wayto talk of it, and not until the next evening was the subject mentioned. The fire of reproof was begun by your humble servant, and I said manythings which were unnecessary, and expressed my determination toinvestigate the new doctrine. If father had been with us I should havespoken less freely, and as it was I shocked my mother and almost myself, so severely did I denounce the minister. Louis sat in silence, also hismother, but aunt Hildy spoke as follows, after waiting a few moments tosee if any one else had pent up wrath to give vent to:

"Well, as the youngest has spoke, I suppose I may express my feelin's, and I must say I never heerd a worse sermon. I have been a steddymeetin-goer for forty years, and have tried to hold a peaceful spiritthat would be jest such as the Master would recommend if he was amongus; but I believe we all allow we are sinners more or less, and afterall do daily the things we should not do. Still if anybody wanted myhelp, I should hate to have 'em chase me with a broomstick, for Icouldn't do a thing for 'em if they did; and if we think anybody isgoing into a ditch of a wrong idee, we'd better not scare 'em to deathhollerin at 'em, it would be apt to send 'em in head first, while if wecould kinder creep along behind, and speak a few words kindly, theywould turn round, and we could tell 'em of their danger. " Her simileswere original, and we involuntarily smiled an approval of her sentiment, when Mr. Benton said:

"Do you not think the fear of hell helps to hold people in the rightpath sometimes, Mrs. Patten?" Aunt Hildy looked at him with a wondrouslight in her eyes, as she answered:

"_No, sir_, I don't; my Bible says perfect love casteth out fear. Thewoman that's afraid of her husband can't love him if she dies for it, and the boy who hates his father through fear, can't muster up respectenough to love him if he tries. " And her knitting needles clicked againas if to say, "that's the truth. "

A few moments and then Clara spoke (Aunt Hildy stopped knitting themoment she began, as if expecting a treat). "We are taught, " she said, "that our Father loves us; that he rejoices with great joy in the returnof a prodigal to his fold. The truth that he loves us better than we canever love each other here, that none of us shall ask for bread andreceive a stone, neither fish and receive a serpent, was spoken to usfrom the ages past. Christ came into the world as the bearer of allessential truths. His enemies, the Jews, knew he told the truth andhastened to crucify him, saying in plain words--'If he live, all menwill believe on him, crucify him, crucify him, ' and it was done, but heleft behind him the great token of his love, and he hath said, 'Whosoever believeth on me, even though he were dead yet shall he live, 'etc. If we can understand him, he means us all, every child of ourFather, and are we not all his? The law of Moses was buried when the lawof Christ was given, which is the law of our omnipotent Father. I amready, " and down her cheeks tears coursed their way; "I do so want toknow more of this beautiful faith, for it has ever been my own; I say toyou to-night and I have already said it to my heavenly Father, I willyield my life, if I can help the poor, tired hearts, the needy souls ofmen, to embrace this glorious truth, 'Love ye one another. '" Tearsfilled the eyes of all save those of Wilmur Benton, who sat as ifcovered with astonishment, and I could see that he was puzzled; and ifhe spoke his thought might have said, "What manner of woman is this, andhow can I touch the strings of her heart. "

Clara's eyes grew large and full of light as she continued:

"I care not for the name, for what manner of difference can thatmake--we are to be known and know each other by and by; we can andshould have our heaven below; we can and should have love for one andall; and while my loyal friend Emily speaks harshly of the minister, who, fearing a new path before some of his people, feels it his duty tonot only call, but drive them back into the square pen of the old ideas;yet we must not condemn him, neither measure his heart exactly by thewords of his text or sermon. The circumference of the tree is more thanthree times its diameter, and yet we know the width of the board we useis found in the diameter. Words are a circumference which encircle thebreadth of a diameter, and we may feel and know that this man, standingas he does within the bounds of a belief whose main foundation embracesthe two thoughts, heaven and misery, cannot, if he believes this to betrue, do less than urge it upon us all. But if we stop and think, we cansay, perhaps the heart of this religious tree he represents may not besound, and when the axe of advancing ideas trims its branches and buriesits blade within its trunk, we shall, as I believe, have proof of this;and then, perhaps his eyes will turn with ours to the outstretched armsof a noble oak, whose leaves are green, whose heart is sound, and atwhose base we all may gather, against whose sides we all may rest. Ithas waited long, and grown in our father's forest until at last itsgiant dimensions have been apparent. The leaves of its upper branchescaught the eye of a ranger on truth's high mountain, and the underbrushmust now be cut away to make a path for our feet. Let the windsannihilate the dogmas of a creed, let our hearts open to all goodthoughts, and let this one also be as the anchor of our souls, thisglorious thought of our Father's love, this binding together of hischildren. Patience and work both are needed: will not my dear boy helpme? I know he will, and our Emily; God give to me the help I need fromthese two young hearts, " and she held out her hands to us. 

I said "Oh, Clara!" and sank on the floor beside her, put my head in herlap, and let the tears fall as they would, unmindful of all else save mydear, beautiful friend. Louis sat on the other side of her with his armaround her waist, and her head lay on his shoulder. The curtain of theevening slowly fell, and in slumbers I drew her thoughts close to myheart, Aunt Hildy's "God help us" floating like music through mydreams. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE NEW FAITH. 

"Emily will help me!" Oh, how those words haunted me! I would help her;yes, if I could, but when should I ever stop making blunders, whenshould I lose the impetuous nature that drove me too often on the beachof thought, with shipwrecked sentences that fell far short of mythought, and expressed nothing of my real self. Why was it, as I grewolder, I came to realize, that if I had been born a little later, itwould have been easier? I was standing on tip-toe trying in vain totouch that which lay beyond my reach; of course I must be constantlyfalling, and the security of growth I could not then wait for. I mustkeep reaching and falling, covering myself with disappointments, whilein the hearts if not on the lips of those about me must rest the sameold words, "Emily did it. "

Clara says I can do something, and having grown to feel that her wordswere almost prophecy, I felt sure there was something ahead, andrepeated again and again, "Emily will do it. " Mr. Benton was lookingbeyond his depth, and still did not hesitate to try and swim across thedifficult waters that lay between himself and Clara, and before Louisleft us, something occurred which I must tell about. I had been calledover the hill on an errand, was obliged to go alone, and was thendetained somewhat, and when I came back, Louis met me, and taking myarm, said:

"Walk slowly, I have something I must say. "

I thought of Clara at once, and it was a true impression, for he said:

"My little mother is in trouble; I have heard what I would never know ifI could avoid it--Professor Benton has been telling her that he lovesher. He has forced this upon her, I know, for these are his words towhich I unwillingly listened: 'Why, Mrs. Desmonde, do you shun me, whyturn you eyes whenever they meet my own, why call Miss Minot to yourside when an opportunity presents for us to be alone together? I cannotbe baffled in my love for you; no woman has ever before touched thesecret spring of my heart, no voice has ever reached my soul--yours ismusic to me; and, Mrs. Desmonde, I need great love and sympathy; I amnot all I want to be; my lot in life has been in some respects very hardto bear; I never knew my mother's love, and when old enough to desirethe companionship man needs, I had an experience which killed the flowerof my affection--I thought its roots were as dead as its leaves, until Imet you. Oh! Mrs. Desmonde, do you not, can you not return this feeling?My life is in your hands. ' It was hard for my little mother, and I stoodriveted to the spot, Emily, expecting to be obliged to enter and catchher fainting form, for I knew in my heart each word was a thorn, buthere is her reply:"

"Professor Benton, I had hoped to be spared this pain, I have avoidedyou, because I could do no other way. I am so sorry! I can never, neverlove you as you desire! I have a husband--my Louis Robert waits for mein heaven, and he is my constant guide here. He will always be near mewhile I tarry, and I have no love to give you in return for yours. I canbe your good friend always, I can help you as one mortal helps another. I can call you a brother, and I can be your sister; but do not dreamfalsely. I shall not learn to love you; my heart is full, and it isthrough no fault of mine that you have raised false hopes in your bosom, but I am very sorry--more sorry than I can tell you. "

"Is that all, and is it final?" I heard him say. 

"It is all that I can ever say, " she said. 

"I drew back from the door, and, passing through your middle room, cameinto my own, in time to see Professor Benton step into Halbert's studio. I entered then the room where little mother sat, and held her in my armawhile, saying no word to her of what I had heard. She was notexhausted, and after a little time I left her to come and meet you. Tellme, Emily, if you know about it--has she said anything to you?"

Of course I told him all, and then added her, "'Say no word to Louis, 'but under these circumstances she could not blame me, could she, Louis?"

"No, no, Emily, " he replied, "but what can we do?"

"I do not know, " I said, and he added:

"Do you like Professor Benton?"

"I cannot see anything in him to like very much, Louis, " I replied;"when I met him in Hal's sick-room, he seemed really beautiful. His eyeslooked so large and dreamy, and he had such sympathy for Hal, and Ilike him now, for that, but otherwise he jars me so I say all sorts ofuncomfortable things, and his talk always irritates me. No, I could notimagine your mother loving him, for she is so much better than I am, andI could never love him in the world. "

Louis' hold on my arm tightened, and he said:

"Ah! Miss Emily, you are beginning to know yourself, you are learning tounderstand others, and I am glad, " and to his eyes came again thatearnest look, "for I long to be known by you; I have brought you aChristmas present, and the New Year is at hand before I give it toyou--wear this in the dark, until your heart says you love me, then letthe light fall on it. "

He put a box in my hand, and when I opened it in my own room I found asmall and finely linked chain of gold, and attached to it a locketholding Louis' picture. One side was inlaid with blue enamel in a sprayof flowers, and on the other the name "Emily. " My heart told me that Idid love Louis, and then there came so many changeful thoughts, that Ifelt myself held back, and could not express myself to Louis. 

This evening was spent in our middle room, and Mr. Benton, being obligedto write letters, was not with us. Of this I was glad, for it gaverelief to the three who were cognizant of what had passed. The subjectof universal salvation was again brought before us, and this time mymother expressed herself greatly in favor of giving the new thoughts ahearing, and to my utter astonishment and pleasure, my father proposedgoing sometime to hear the Reverend Hosea Ballou, who was thenpreaching over his society in Boston, and came sometimes to preach forthe few in a town lying to the north and east of us. There were nohouses of worship dedicated to the Universalists nearer than the one Ispeak of, and though it was a ride of ten miles, that was nothing for aspan of good horses. 

"When can we go?" rose to my lips quickly. 

"Are you also desirous of hearing him, Emily?"

"Oh, father!" I said, "I want something beside the fire of torment tothink of. You know the Bible says, 'He that is guilty in one point, isguilty of the whole. ' If that is true, father, I am not safe; but ifthese new thoughts are truths, I am; and can you blame me if I want toknow about it. I am afraid I knew very little of what I needed when Iwas united to our church. "

"It is not singular, Emily, " my father said, "and I desire only to helpyou, if you really want to know. We need not fear to investigate, for ifthe doctrines are erroneous, they are too far below our own standard oftruth to harm even the soles of our feet, and if they are true, it mustbe they lie beyond us, and we shall feel obliged to reach for them, andbe glad of the opportunity. Halbert, have you nothing to say? are you togo with us? the three-seated wagon will hold us all. "

"Yes, " added mother, "and we will take our dinner and go to cousinBelinda Sprague's to eat it. "

Halbert looked a little puzzled and then replied:

"I guess the rest of you may go the first time, and I will stay at homewith Will (Mr. Benton), for I know he would as soon stay at home asgo. "

Then said Ben, "Let me go, father, I'm young and I need starting right;don't you think so?"

We all laughed at this, and my father looked with fondness at his boy, as he answered:

"Ben, it shall be, and a week from next Sabbath, the day, if nothinghappens. "

I believe it was a relief to my father, this hope that there might besomething more beautiful beyond than he had dared to dream; and Clarawas absorbed with the prospect of his getting hold of the truth, which, though unnamed by her, had always been, it seemed, her firm belief. Shesaid nothing to me of what had occurred, and the days wore on until themorning came when Louis said "good-bye, " and left us for school. 

Directly after his departure, Aunt Phebe (mother's sister) wrote us shewas coming to visit us for a few days. Of this I was glad, and Irehearsed to Clara her virtues, told her of her early years, the sorrowswhich she had borne, the working early and late to maintain the littlefamily of four children (for at the age of twenty-eight she was leftwidowed and alone in a strange city). Her native town was not fardistant from the one in which we lived, and when she came I expected atreat, for together these two sisters unshrouded the past, took off theveil of years that covered their faces, and walked back, hand in hand, to their childhood--its years, its loves, its friends, its home--and itwas never an old tale to me. 

I loved to hear of grandfather Lewis, who went as minister's waiter inthe War of Seventy-six, going with old Minister Roxford, whose name hasbeen, and is still to be handed down through generations as a good oldman of Connecticut. Grandfather was only sixteen years at that time, andthough he saw no hard service, but was dressed up in ruffled shirt, etc. , received through life a pension of ninety-six dollars per year, having enlisted for a period of six months, whereas some of his friends, who saw hard service, and came out of the contest maimed for life, received nothing. 

Grandfather was of French extraction, and he boasted largely of this, but I could not feel very proud of the fact that he traded with theBritish, carrying to them hams, dried beef, poultry, and anything inshape of edibles, receiving in return beautiful silk stockings, bandannahandkerchiefs, and the tea that the old ladies were so glad to get. Several times he was nearly captured, and once thrust into a stone wall, in the town of Stratford, a quantity of silk stockings, with which hispockets were filled. He was so closely pursued at that time, that he laydown close to a large log and covered himself with dead leaves, and oneof his pursuers, a moment after, stood on that very log and peered intothe distance, saying, "I wonder which track the scamp took. "

I must not tell you more about this grandfather, whose history filled mefull of wonder, but must hasten on to meet Aunt Phebe, who cameaccording to appointment, and found a warm reception. She had a fineface, was tall and well-formed, her hair was a light-brown, and her eyesa bright, pure blue; she had a pleasant mouth and evenly set teeth, andshe was a sweet singer. She is yet living, and sings to-day a "Rose treein full blooming" with as sweet a cadence as when I was a child. 

Clara was drawn toward her, and brought some of her best thoughts to thesurface; read to her some of her own little poems, and wrote one forher, speaking tenderly of the past and hopefully of the future. AuntPhebe had a nature to appreciate the beautiful, and ought herself tohave been given the privilege of a later day, that she might haveexpressed her own good and true thoughts. She was a member of theBaptist church, and while we had no fear of condemnation from her lips, we knew she had not as yet tested this new thought that was nowagitating our minds. She said she would like to go with us to hear"Father Ballou, " as he was called by the Universalist people, and Clara, said:

"Well, Mrs. ----, the day is coming when all shall see and rejoice atthe knowledge they have long desired; this will be the real fruit thathas been promised by the hope of the soul for years; and it is not new, it is an old, old truth, and for this reason there will be lesspreparation needed to accept it. The soil is ready, and the hand of theage will drop the seed in the furrows which the years have made. "

"This talk is as good as a sermon, " said Aunt Phebe, "I would like tohear you every week. Learning the work of wisdom is not an easy task, and all these thoughts come as helping hands to us; we are never too oldto learn. "

Aunt Phebe was free from all vanity; she dressed simply, and was trulyeconomical. Her hands were never idle; she had always something to do;and during the few days she spent with us she insisted on helping. Ahuge basket of mending yielded to her deft hands, and patches and darnswere made without number. These were among our great necessities, for, as in every other household, garments were constantly wearing out, andstitches breaking that must be again made good, and nothing could beappreciated more than her services in this direction. Mother felt, however, that she was doing wrong to let her work at all. 

"Phebe, " I heard her say one afternoon, as they sat in our middle roomtogether, "you have stitches enough to take at home, and I feelcondemned to see you so busy here. You should have every moment to restin; I wish you could stay longer, for I believe when these carpet ragsare cut you will find nothing more to do, and then we could rest andtalk together. How I wish Sally and Polly and Thirza could be with us, and our brothers too! Have you heard from Peter lately?"

"I heard only a few days before I left; one of the girls came down, andshe said Peter was well, but oh, how they miss their own mother! Peter'sfirst wife was the best mother I ever knew; those little girls looked asneat as pins, with their blue and iron-rust dresses, and she taught themto do so much--not half do it, but to finish what they began. I think ofher with reverence, for her ways were in accordance with her ideas ofduty, and she was no ordinary woman. It seems too bad she could not havelived. "

And Aunt Phebe sighed, and then added:

"You ask what makes me work? Work has been my salvation. In the needs ofothers I have forgotten my own terrible experiences, and although thefirst time I washed a bedquilt I said 'I can never do that thingagain, ' I have since then washed many; and done also the thousand kindsof work that only a woman can do. Force of circumstances has made meself-reliant, and so long as I can work I am not lonely, and if therecomes a day when the labor of my hands is less needed, I shall be onlytoo glad to take the time for reading I so much desire. "

"Oh, Phebe!" said my mother, "I often think of you as you were whenyoung; slender and lithe as a willow, with a cheek where the rose'sstrength did not often gather; and then I think of all you have donesince, and looking at you to-day, you seem to me a perfect marvel; foryou have lived, and borne hard work and sorrow, and your face is fresh, your fingers taper as of old, and on your cheek is the tinge of pinkthat becomes you so well. You are only five years younger than I, andyou look every day of twenty; you may outlive me--yes, I'm sure youwill. "

There was silence for a few moments, and then Aunt Phebe said:

"Speaking of work makes me think to tell you about an old colored manwho came to my door last winter. He was so cold he could hardly talk, but seeing some coal before the door wanted to put it in for me. I askedhim in, and he grew warmer after a little. I made a cup of hotcomposition tea for him, and while he was putting in the coal hunted upan old coat that one of our neighbors had given me for carpet rags, andwhen the poor old man told me his story I felt like proclaiming it tothe city. Never mind that now. He lived through the winter and did notfreeze, and last summer found considerable work, but I have thought forsome time how valuable his help would be to William, my father, and Iwonder if he could find a place to live in here among you. His name isMatthias Jones, and he is faithful though slow, but the constantdropping, you know, wears a stone. I like the old man, and you would, for he is honest and ambitious. He might have owned a farm himself ifthe evil of slavery had not crushed under its foot the seeds of growththat lay within him. Mr. Dutton has helped to get him work. "

"Phebe, " said mother, interrupting her, "are you going to marry that Mr. Dutton?"

"I can't say, " said Aunt Phebe, and their conversation closed, forfather came in and supper-time drew near. 

CHAPTER X. 

MATTHIAS JONES. 

Father was consulted regarding the coming of Matthias Jones, and hethought it would be a good plan, for our farming people had often causeto hire help, and it had always been scarce, since it was only in thebusiest time there were such needs. 

Aunt Phebe and myself were delegated to go over to the house of JacobLattice and Plint Smith, who were the only colored people among us, andwho lived about a mile to the west of our house. We thought there mightbe a chance for a home among them, and so it proved. 

Jacob Lattice's wife had no room; "hardly enough for themselves, " Mrs. Lattice said depreciatingly, "much less any place for strange folks";but Mrs. Smith, known to us all as Aunt Peg, gave us a little hope. Shehad a peculiar way of addressing people, and sometimes her talk seemedmore like the grunting of words strangely mixed. When she saw Aunt Phebewith me, her face radiated in smiles (and as her mouth was large, thesesmiles were broad grins) and, jerking her small wool-covered head whileshe hastily smoothed out her long apron, she said:

"Come in, Miss Minot. "

"This is my aunt, --you have seen her before, " I replied. 

"Yes, seen her to meetin' with ye; come in, mam, " and she dropped a lowcurtsey and set forward two chairs, whose sand-scoured seats were whiteand spotless, for Aunt Peg was a marvel of neatness. 

I told our errand, and with one of her queer looks, she said:

"Is he clean?"

Aunt Phebe replied, "Why, I think the old man does the best he can, alone man can't do as well as a woman, you know. "

"Well, there's that ground room of mine he kin have if Plint is willin', and if he ain't, for that matter; for Plint himself arn't good fornothin' but fiddlin', and you see if I want bread I get it. I s'posewimmen ought to be a leetle worth mindin', 'specially if they get theirown bread, " and a look of satisfaction crept over her face as if pleasedwith this thought. 

"Well, " said Aunt Phebe, "I would like to see the room, and also knowthe price of it; of course, you must have some pay for it, and then, ifMatthias should be ill, or prove troublesome to you in any way, it willnot be so hard for you. "

"Oh, the pay, bless the Master, mam, I never get pay for anythinghardly, not even the work I did up to Deacon Grover's for years! I jistwish I had that money in a chist in the cellar. He kep' it for me, hesaid, an' so he did, an' he keeps it yet, and--oh! but the room, comeright along, this way, mam, " and we followed her steps. 

She led us out of the little door, which in the summer was covered withthose dear old cypress vines my mother used to have, and though thelattice was made by her own hands of rude strips, when it was wellcovered with the cypress intergrown with the other vines, there wasgreat beauty round that little door. 

When Clara saw it, and I told her of its construction, and remarked onAunt Peg's love for flowers, she said:

"Ah, Emily, it is typical of our nature! We do seem so rudely made inthe winter of our ignorance, and through the lattice of our untutoredthoughts the cold winds of different opinions blow and we are troubled. But when the summer of our better nature dawns, and the upturned soilcatches seed, even though dropped by a careless hand, the vines of lovewill cover all our coldness, and the scarlet and white blossom of ourbeautiful thoughts appear among the leaves. Aunt Peg's earthly hand madethe lattice, and the love of her undying soul planted the cypressseeds. "

I thought of it this cold winter's day, and told Aunt Phebe, as wepassed out of the door, how many flowers she had in summer and howpretty the vines were. Aunt Peg heard me, and smiled graciously. Then wewent around to a side door, which opened into the ground room, as shecalled it. 

Her house was on a bank, or at least its main part, and while a valleylay on one side, the ground rose upon the other. The door-sill of thisroom was, therefore, even with both the ground and the floor, and oneither side of it were two windows, both door and windows facing thesouth. The sides and back of the room had no windows, the back partitionbeing that which divided it from Aunt Peg's little cellar; and the eastand west sides were hedged in by the bank which came sloping down fromboth front and back doors. 

"This is a very comfortable little room, " said Aunt Phebe. "Now, whatwill be the rent?"

"Well, if you are bent on payin', I don't want to say less than tendollars a year. "

"I would call it twelve, and that will be one dollar a month, Mrs. Smith. "

"Thank you, mam, it'll be a great help; I have the sideache sometimes, and can't do nothing for a day or so, not even get the wool rolls off mywheel, and that is jist play when I'm smart: he may come neat or notneat, Plint or no Plint, " and the bargain was finished, and MatthiasJones was to appear on, or near, the first of March. 

My rehearsal of our visit at the dinner-table provoked great mirth, andMr. Benton smiled on me more kindly than ever before, but I could notbut think, whenever I looked at him, that he must die pretty soon, because Clara could not love him, and he had told her his life wasdependent on her love. 

The days of Aunt Phebe's visit drew too quickly to their close, and thetime to go came on a bright sun-shiny morning. Father carried her to therailway station; we filled a large trunk with the farm products, sowelcome to those who live in cities. Aunt Hildy put in a bundle thecontents of which she did not even want me to guess. She was a firmfriend to Aunt Phebe, and shook her hand when she left, as if loath tolet it go, and said:

"Come again as soon as you can, and if I am in my own little nest, comeand stay with me, and we'll have some more good sensible talk that helpsour wings to grow; we are only covered with pin-feathers so far. "

Aunt Phebe appreciated this good old soul, and said, earnestly, "Godbless you, Mrs. Patten, " as my father started the horses. 

Aunt Hildy watched them until they were out of sight, saying as she camein, "That woman will have an easier time before she dies. My Bible says, 'He that is faithful over a few things shall be made ruler over many. 'She will have a home of her own, jest as true as preachin' is preachin', Mrs. Minot. "

"She ought to, " said mother. "May the day be hastened!" and again thatnever-to-be-neglected work claimed our attention. 

Since Louis' departure Clara had had several "pale" days, as she calledthem. After Aunt Phebe left us, she seemed to grow weak. I felt worried, and could not refrain from asking her what troubled her. She turned herbeautiful eyes full on me, and putting both her hands in mine, said:

"I know that Louis heard it, and that he told you, and your secretsympathy has been a strength to me. It will pass over, Emily, butProfessor Benton is not satisfied. He will not be content that I may notanswer his demand for love. Yes, Emily, his words were soft, but a bladewas beneath them and I could feel that it would have cut myheart-strings. I thank our Father that I do not love him; I should be sostarved. Emily, I can love your brother, --no, no, not with that bestlove, " she said quickly, noting, I suppose, the look of wonder in myeyes, "but I can have that love for him that is founded on great respectand faith in his pure heart. It is only their art draws them together;they are not alike, and they will not come too near. The days willsunder them, and it will be better that they should. But, Emily, I must, I fear, call Louis back to give me strength. He is a great help to me. On his heart as on his arm I can rest myself, and I need him so much. Icannot tell you now, but you will know some time when you are no longeras strong as now, how the spirit feels the darts that are shot from themind of another, and bury their poisoned points in the quivering life. "

She looked so weak as she spoke, her face was so transparently white, that I trembled with fear. 

That night we slept together--she alone slept, however, for my eyes wereopen, their lids refusing to close until after midnight, and it was longafter that hour before I fully lost consciousness. I felt wretched thenext day in both body and mind, and my spirit was roused within me. 

"I will avert it, " I said to myself--thinking first to ask mother how, and afterward saying aloud "No, I'll do it myself, Emily will do it, "and the harder I thought the faster I worked. 

I never washed the dishes so quickly; milkpans were despatched speedilyto the buttery shelves, and at last Aunt Hildy, who was kneading bread, stopped, and looking at me, said:

"What on airth are you going to do? you work as if you was a gettin'reddy to go to a weddin', or somethin'--Is there doins on hand among thefolks?"

"No, mam, " I replied, "but I have been so full of thoughts I could nothelp hurrying. "

"I hope you're on the right track, Emily; sometimes ideas that stir oneup so aint jest the kind we ought to have. "

"I'm on the track of truth, Aunt Hildy, and that is the right track. "

"Well, it ought to be, but sometimes truth has to wait for sin to get bybefore it can move an inch. I've seen it so many a time, " and a sort ofsigh fluttered to her lips, but the look of resolution that followed itclosely gave it no time to linger, and the lines about her mouth grewfirm as she resumed her bread-kneading. 

Clara was better during this day, and while she took her after-dinnernap, I came quickly down into Hal's studio, and seated myself in hischair with a book. 

Hal was in town all day on business, and I expected Mr. Benton to bethere, and he appeared, saying:

"You look very comfortable, Miss Minot; am I an intruder?"

"No, sir, you are the person I wish of all others to talk to. " Where wasmy guardian angel then?

"In need of advice, are you?"

"No, sir, not at all; I have some to give, however, " and his eyes openedwidely, as he seated himself almost directly opposite me on a lounge, taking a very artistic position, with his head resting on his hand, andhis arm supported by that of the lounge. 

"Proceed, Miss Minot, for I assure you I am much in need of comfort, andif you had been ready before, I might have been thankful to receive it. "

I had begun more abruptly than I meant, and already felt I was steppingon dangerous ground. I thought for an instant I would turn it aside in ajoke, then Clara's pale face rose before, and I said impetuously:

"I came to speak for another, though without her authority or knowledge. I desire to ask you not to trouble Clara, by persisting in your suit. "

He started to his feet as if a hand had struck him, walked a few steps, and then turned toward me with a blanched face, and eyes that seemed tobe leaping from their sockets; he was struggling between anger andpolicy. The latter prevailed, as he said:

"You are much interested in me; you fear that I shall have a friend. Isthat it?"

"I suggested nothing of that kind; I fear my lovely Clara may die. " Hesmiled derisively. 

"Am I then such a monster that I am feared? Really, Miss Minot, yourpicture of me is rather different from anything I have before known. "

"I ought to have known you would not understand me. It would have beenequal folly for me to try to explain Clara's nature to you, for you donot and cannot appreciate it. "

"We are getting into deep water, " he interrupted, but I continued:

"I have never called you a monster and have treated you as well as Iknew how to. You were my brother's friend, I have not doubted youresteem for Clara, for how can any see her without loving and respectingher; that is not the point. Your feelings, she has told you, she cannotreciprocate; why can you not respect her feelings, even at the sacrificeof your own? If you would do this, Mr. Benton, you would be stronger. "

"Miss Minot, you are braver than I imagined. Let me disarm your fear; Ihave no intention of intruding myself where I am not desired. How youcame in possession of these interesting facts is a mystery (insinuating, I felt, that I had been eavesdropping). Nevertheless I admit them all, and I admire you greatly. You are, however, as impulsive as a changefulsea, and you made little preparation for this conversation. Allow me tosuggest that in affairs of the heart you should be a little less stormy. I am your friend, and I say this in kindness. "

"I thank you, sir; you have lived longer than I have, and I know by theexpression in your eye to-day that you can, if you choose, govern allthe love in your nature at the will of your intellect; I cannot, and Inever want to; I like to be impulsive, I like to be true, I hatepolicy. " As I spoke, my eyes were, I know, like dark fires. 

He looked like a man of marble as he said, "Your fears are ungrounded;you might have spared yourself this trouble, " and turning, left me. 

"There, 'Emily did it, ' and didn't do it all, " I said to myself. "Now hewill be more determined than ever, Clara will die, Louis will hate me, and I shall be bereft doubly. Oh! dear, dear! Emily mistakes--my nameshould be. " Then the tears came and I sat with my face buried in myhands, and cried like a child. A hand touched me, an arm crept roundme, "Hal, " I said, starting. 

"No, " said Wilmur Benton in his sweeter tone, "It is I. "

"Oh!" I screamed almost, making an attempt to rise, but his arm held mefirmly as he said:

"Forgive me, Miss Minot, if I have caused you pain--I spoke harshly, Ifear. "

"You are forgiven, " I said, "let me go. "

"You are my friend still?" he asked. 

"Yes, yes, " I said quickly, "do let me go, " and I fled to my own room, and endeavored to wash away the stains of tears, to make my appearancedown stairs, for it was already late and mother would be looking for me. 

I felt unlike myself and feared all would discern my uneasiness. Mr. Benton had, I knew, a mistaken idea, and his polite attentions weretorture to me; he evidently thought my tears needed his commiseration, whereas, I was only sorry I had not delivered a forcible speech inClara's behalf, and caused him (as I had intended) to realize thenecessity of a change in his conduct toward her. I expected him to bevexed with me and was willing he should be, if it would relieve Clara. Now, however, he seemed to feel I was entitled to his sympathy. Therewas one thought, however, that gave relief; while he was occupyinghimself with me, Clara would not be annoyed. Mother said she had abasket to send to Aunt Peg, and I volunteered to take it. Mr. Bentonsmilingly said:

"Let me accompany you, Miss Minot, it will be quite dark ere youreturn. "

"I am not afraid, thank you, and it will be moonlight, " then thinkingof Clara I added, "still I might encounter an assassin on the road. "

This did not help the matter any, and only furthered the mistakenthought of Mr. Benton; nevertheless for the sake of that dear friend, for whom I knew I could have borne anything, I had, after all, a secretdelight, in being misunderstood. I was a willing martyr to a just cause, and we started together. 

"Take my arm, Miss Minot. "

"Thank you, walking is second nature to me, and very easy, " I replied. 

After walking a little further he said, "I am very glad of thisopportunity to talk with you, Miss Minot; I fear, from what I gatheredin our talk of this afternoon, your idea of me is one which I would fainalter--it is not pleasant to feel that one is misjudged--"

"I know that, " I interrupted. 

--"And especially when the charge is a serious one. I cannot understandwhy I was so feared; rude enough I must have seemed, and your firstwords gave me a shock; I hardly know now how to explain it, and what Idesire is light. Pray tell me by what act of mine, you came to such anunwarrantable conclusion. "

"It was no act of yours at all. Common sense, I suppose, told me youwould not be foiled if you could help it. All men are selfish. "

"Are not women?"

"No, sir, " I replied, "they are foolish. "

"Excuse the question, but has Mrs. Desmonde complained to you?"

"No, sir, " I said quickly--that was a little story and then again it wasnot, I reasoned. 

"So I must conclude that you feared for the safety of your friend, reading, as you thought you did, the terrible selfishness of my heart. 

"I guess that is about right, " I said. 

"You admit this as a fact?"

"Yes; before a judge, if you desire, " I said. 

"That being the case, let me here say from my heart I am not as much inlove with Mrs. Desmonde as I might be, and one reason is that I find hermore and more enveloped in the strange fancies peculiar, I judge, toherself alone. "

"What am I to understand from this? Strange fancies, indeed! If truthand love are strange fancies, she is indeed enveloped. My darling Clara!She is a light leading to the eternal city. I knew you could notunderstand her. "

"Well, Miss Minot, let me explain. I know she is graceful, andbeautiful, and truly good, but none can know positively there is aneternal city, and I must say I do not feel interested in the dreamytalk, which is, after all, only talk. "

"Goodness!" I exclaimed, "are you an infidel?"

"I cannot vouch for anything beyond this life. "

"If I felt I could not, I'd commit suicide to-morrow. "

He laughed heartily at this, and, as we were at Aunt Peggy's door, couldnot answer until we turned toward home, when he said:

"Instead of taking my life, I desire to keep it as long as I can, andget all the enjoyment possible on this side the grave. I hope I havemade myself understood, and disarmed every fear of your friendly heart. "

"The days will tell, " I replied, and our walk at last was ended. 

It had been thoroughly uncomfortable to me, although he had seemed to beenjoying every step. I went to my room that night, and in my dreamstried to find the garden of Eden somewhere in our town, while a snake, with eyes like Wilmur Benton's, seemed to be crawling close behind me, and with the daybreak, I said:

"That dream means something. "

Aunt Peg told me she should go to work and clean up the ground-room, andif father had any old "chunks of wood he could spare, Plint could comeover and get 'em, and when that new nigger came, there'd be a prospectawaitin'. "

I carried the message, and father thought it would be a good plan tohave Matthias Jones appear, as he had more wood cut in the forest thanhe could haul with Ben's help, and doubtless this poor man would be gladof the job. Mother said the room could be made ready, she thought, inasmuch as there was an extra high-post bedstead in our attic chamber. Aunt Hilda added, "I've got a good feather mattress to put on it, and astraw-bed is easily fixed. "

So I wrote a letter to Aunt Phebe, and Plint came over for the chunks ofwood, riding back on a load of things we had gathered. When theground-room was ready for occupancy, it was not a cheerless place. Anicely-made bed in its north-west corner, a deal table at the east sideof the room, two rush-bottomed chairs, and a straight-backed rocker, two breadths of carpet lying through its centre, the wide-mouthedfireplace, with well-filled wood-box at its right hand, --all savored ofcomfort. To cap the climax, Clara put up to the windows some halfcurtains of unbleached cotton, bound with bright French red. It reallylooked nice, and Aunt Peg said: "I do hope, mam, he's clean. "

The days sped on quickly, and Clara felt better. Mr. Benton hadevidently dropped all thought of her, and his uniformly kind treatmentof us, began, after a little, to make me feel ashamed of the suspicionswhich had crossed my mind. Letters from Louis came as usual, and I wishI could give them now--such beautifully-expressed thoughts, such tendertouches did he give to his word pictures, that I read and re-read them. Treasures they were, and I have them all yet; not one but is too sacredto lose. My heart grew strong in its love for him, and his thoughts wereall as hands reaching for my own. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE TEACHING OF HOSEA BALLOU. 

February first brought Matthias Jones. Father met him at the village, and our curiosity which was aroused regarding this new comer, wasthoroughly gratified at his appearance. A better specimen of a southernnegro was never seen. He was above the medium size, broad-shouldered;his hair thick and wooly, sprinkled with grey, and covering a large, flat surface on the top of his head. His nose was of extra size, mouthin proportion, and his eyes, which were not dull, expressed considerablefeeling, and you would know when you looked at them he was honest. Hisgait was slow, slouchy as I called it, and, as he walked leisurely alongthe path, Ben whispered, "My soul, what feet!" Sure enough, they seemedto stretch back too far, and they were immense. 

He took supper with us, and then father and Ben both went over to hisfuture home with him, and introduced him to Aunt Peg and Plint. He wasto work for father, and would be over in the "mornin', " he said. 

"I wonder if he was a slave, Emily?" said Ben. 

"I think so, " said I. "We will question him to-morrow if we get achance, " and we did, for the day was stormy, and father did not go tothe woods, but kept Matthias at work in the barn cleaning up, etc. Aboutfour o'clock his work was finished, and we invited him to come in andsit awhile. 

"Now, Ben, " I said, and we seated ourselves for a conference. 

"Mr. Jones, " said I, "you came from the South, did you?"

"'Pears like I did, Miss, an' it's a mighty cool country yere; I'm nighfroze in de winter, I is sartin. "

"Were you a slave?"

"Yes'm, " and the old man gave a long sigh. 

"Would you mind telling us about it? Ben and I never saw a person beforefrom the South. "

"Never did? There's a heap on 'em, wud 'jes like ter see ye. Long timeawaitin', but de promise ov de Massa mus' be true, " and again athoughtful look came over his dusky face. "I don't mind tellin' ye alittle if I ken. I was a slave in Carlina, an' I had a good massa, Miss;a fus-rate man, but he done tuk sick an' died, an' then--wh-e-ew, " andhe gave a long, low whistle, "thar cum sich a time thar; de ole womanshe done no nuthin' 'bout de biznis, an' de big son he sell all deniggers an' get _all_ de money, an' dars whar my trubbel begin. De nex'massa had de debbil fur his father, sure; nothin' go rite; made me goan' marry, fus thing, an' to a gal I didn't like, nohow. Little niggerscome along, an' I done bes' I cud by 'em, but what cud I do? Nothin' atall; an' fus thing I knew--he'd done gone an' sold ebery one ob datfamily, and den he mus' hab me marry agin. Dis secon' marriage wasbetter'n that; fur I did like de gal mighty well. 'Pears like we'sgwine to take sum comfort, and when we'd had de meetins to our cabin, oh! how we did jes pray fur dat freedom we hear'm tell 'bout--pray mos'too loud, for dat old Mas'r Sumner tink we's alltogeder too happy, an'den, he up and sold dat pretty gal ob ourn, what was jes risin' uv herfourth year, Miss, an' as pretty as could be. Dis broke my wife's heart, an' den he sold one more to a trader; and not long fur de wife an' twolast' chilun was gone. Den I jes swore rite up, Miss--rite into datMasr's face an' eyes--'I'm neber gwine to hab no more chilun, ' an' hesays to me, 'Matt, you got to do jes as I say, ' an' I swear agin, an' hecuss and swear, an' then, I got sich a floggin'--Miss, but I didn'tkeer, an' I would never done as dat man sed, an' I 'spected to die, buta New Orleans trader cum dat way, an' I was sold, and Mas'r Sumner said, de las' thing, 'You'll get killed now, Matt. ' 'All right, Mas'r, ' I sed, 'de Lord is a waitin' an' He's a good fren, too, ' an' off I went. Dar wewur in a pen in New Orleans, waitin' fur we didn't know what, an' oncome a fever an' dat trader know he's got to die. Den, to make peace widde Lord at the las't jump he done giv us all freedom, an' money to gitus into dat great city ov New York; an' mine lasted me clean up to MisseHungerford's door (Aunt Phebe), an' las' night, when I see dat nice roomover thar an' that good fire, oh! my, " and the old man buried his facein his hands and wept like a child, then looking up, he said, "Ef I cudonly ahad my chilun in thar; 'pears de Lord Himself might ahelped me aminnit sooner--but dey is gone, all done gone, an' 'taint no use. "

"You may meet them again, Mr. Jones; I hope we shall know each otherthere in that better country, and if we do you'll surely know and findthem. "

"Oh! Miss, that's the bery thing, it takes a load right off yere, when Ithink about it, " and he laid his hand on his heart, "but I'd better beshufflin' off home, an' I'll tell you a heap more sometime, " and as hewent through the yard, I heard him singing "dat New Je-ru-sa-lem, "prolonging the last word, as if it was too musical to lose. 

I told it all to Clara, and she said:

"Oh! Emily, is he not one of God's children, and is it not true that allhave that within which points to better things? How could the soul ofthis poor negro stay within his body if it were not for this hope thatcovers his troubles, and, like a lantern-light, throws a gleam into thepath which lies before? I hope he will live now in comfort and die inpeace. He must have been sent to you. Next time let me listen to hisstory. " And she did, for the next evening we walked together over to hishome, and spent two hours pleasantly enough. 

Clara could not rest until sure of just how he could get along there, and finally made an arrangement with Aunt Peg to give him his meals whenhe should be there. The voice of the old man--he looked more than sixtyyears, but said his age was fifty, I think he did not know--quiveredwith emotion, as he said:

"Thank yer, mam, thank yer kindly, I'll tote a load forty miles for yeany day, and I kin tote pretty 'harbaneous' loads too. "

"Never mind that, Mr. Jones, I like to see you comfortable. "

"Strange talk, mam, " he said; "these yere ole ears been more used to, 'git up thar, yer lazy nigger, this yere cottin mus be got into demarket. '"

He proved a valuable acquisition to my father, and before this month ofFebruary, whose beginning brought him to us, had passed, father said tomother:

"I hardly see how I could get on without Matthias. He is so trusty, andhe is smart too. If the poor fellow had been given half a chance, hewould have made a good business man, for he has good ideas as tobringing things around in season. "

"Truth is stranger than fiction, " said mother. "Two classes of societyhave been perfectly represented in those who have been brought to usduring this last year. "

"How strangely things work, and there seem to be ways under them allthat will work out in spite of us, " said father. 

The Sabbath on which we had expected to go to hear the Reverend HoseaBallou preach proved cold and rainy, and a month would elapse ere hecame again. We were impatient waiters, but the time came at last, on theSabbath after the arrival of Matthias, and he was to come over andattend to the early milking, while Hal and Mr. Benton would have supperready for us on our return. 

That day was to me like a never-to-be-forgotten sunrise. Although gleamsof light had before this crossed my vision, never had so radiant amorning of perception opened the door of my soul. New yet old, unknownyet longed for, those words fell like golden sun-rays into the room ofmy understanding; they bathed me with light, and baptized me withtenderness, while I stood at the fount of living inspiration. That grandold man, then about seventy-two years of age, talked to the assembledcongregation from this text: "For we know that if our earthly house ofthis tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God; an house notmade with hands, eternal in the heavens" (Second Corinthians, fifthchapter and first verse). It was all as natural as a part of himselfcould be, and he was a power. Pure and dispassionate, the plea he maderested on the ground of revealed truth. He told us of what the historyof the past furnished, and carried us clear on into the life beyond. "The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life; as in Adam all die, soin Christ shall all be made alive. "

It seemed to me then, and still seems, that he spoke with a power thatwas divine. The tide of earnest thought and feeling that carried himwith his subject out on the depth, carried also his hearers, and we wereshown the way to the port of eternal life. Oh, how he strengthened me!His touching invocation reached, as it seemed, the very doors of heavenand swung them wide open, and when the people joined in singing the goodold hymn, written by Sebastian Streeter, whose first verse runs asfollows:

 What glorious tidings do I hear From my Redeemer's tongue! I can no longer silence bear, I'll burst into a song. 

I cried almost aloud for great joy. My father and mother were moved, andwhen they saw my tears united their own. To our great surprise, afterthe service we learned that the professor was the guest of our cousin, Belinda Sprag, and at her house after dinner I had an opportunity to sayto him:

"Mr. Ballou, call me your child, for you have to-day baptized me. I am aUniversalist, I know, for I love your doctrine. "

"Bless you, my daughter, " was his reply. "God finds His own throughtime. May your young heart be made strong, and your life blossom withroses that have no thorns. "

That was great honor to me; the touch of that hand on my head; thosewords addressed to me. We all went home, having had a feast of goodthings, and our blessed Clara, who had been the means of leading us tothe light, sat all the way as in a dream, only saying:

"I have long known it was true. "

Ben added his testimony to the rest. 

"When I die, " said he, "I want that man to preach my funeral sermon, ifhe will, and if he can't, I don't want any at all. "

Dear boy, he had a loving heart; he was born later than either Hal orme, and had an earlier spiritual development. Is it not always so?

I could not enjoy my new thoughts in silence as Clara did, and gave ventto my theme in the strongest terms. Hal did not ridicule me at all: hewas too sensible for this, but he smiled at my strong expressions, andsaid:

"You will preach yourself if you keep on, and I believe you would makeconverts. Your eyes are as large again as they were this morning. "

"Then it must improve my looks, Hal, " I said. "If so, I am glad, for inthat respect I have always stood in the background. My brother is anartist, and must, of course, have the handsome face. "

He laughed again, and added:

"He will never be ashamed of his sister, I think, and never say 'Emilydid it, ' even if she turns preacher. "

Mr. Benton enquired--with his eyes--the meaning of those words. 

I answered:

"Oh! Hal was forever shouting that in my earlier years at my manymistakes, until I almost hated the sound of my own name, for I wasalways doing the very things I tried not to, and I fear I have notfinished all yet. And I thought, for a little, of the wrong light inwhich Mr. Benton held my strange talk with him. 

I was each day more troubled regarding this, and especially so, since Ihad no one to talk with about it. Clara I must not tell, and I hadresolved for her sake to be misunderstood indefinitely, for if I hadfailed in one point, I had gained in another. The burden was lifted fromher, and she had told me the cloud was broken and she felt better, andadded the strange words, "It may yet come near me; it seems as if afringe of the cloud must yet touch me: but I am relieved for thepresent. "

I feared to worry my mother, who, during all these days, was very busyand full of care. Aunt Hildy would hardly understand me, and as I waswaiting for something to move as it were, to make room for me to step, Imust still wait, and thought what a pity it was I had not waited in thebeginning, and then when I did move make all things plain. But then itlay before me, around and within me, this strange compound of goodthought and impulsive will, and I must reach and fall until, ah! I couldnot tell when I should graduate in this school. 

I had now power to restrain myself in many ways, and that had been givenin the days before described, when I passed from girlhood to womanhood, but to sit satisfied and wait, I could not yet do. It seemed as if thewings of my thought must grow, and wanted to help me fly, and I was likea bird longing to get into the freedom that waited, and like the birdtoo, did not realize that my attempts would be in vain, and I couldnever get out of the cage until a hand opened its door. Therefore, fulloften I battled unwisely, but I certainly came to know those times, andnever made a mistake that I did not realize just a moment too late. Howfoolish it was!

I prayed for strength, and after the baptism of Mr. Ballou's preaching, I thought, "This will help to make me stronger; now I shall make fewermistakes. "

This was a comfort and a light before me, but my heart sank a little, thinking I might have penance to do for those already committed, --comingevents cast their shadows before. 

So full of this thought my heart grew, that I asked Aunt Hildy one dayif she ever felt trouble before it came, and if that feeling had everhelped her to avoid any part of what was to come. 

"Well, " said she, --she was coring and paring apples for pies, --taking upthe towel and wiping one apple three or four times over in an absentway, "Well, Emily, I've had a host of troubles in my day. They beganearly, perhaps they'll end late, but there is one thing, the things weexpect are agoin' to kill us, most allus turn out like the shadder of agate post. You know the shadder sometimes will be clean across the road, but when you find the post itself 'taint more'n five feet high. Thenagain the things we don't expect 'll come some morning like a greatharricane, and kill the marigolds of the heart in just a minit. "

I was sorry for her sake I had asked the question, for I knew there wassomething she thought of that pained her dear old heart, and I kissedher wrinkled cheek and said:

"I hope you will always be with us, and trouble have no part in thematter. "

"There, there, child, don't talk so; never mind kissin' my old faceneither, I've allus said it only made it worse to think of it, and I'veshut up my heart tight and done the best I could as it comes along. WhenI get in that new body I shall have over there, " and her tearful eyeswere looking upward then, "perhaps I can hope to have some love that'lltouch that empty spot. "

I turned to my work and left Aunt Hildy with the shadows of the pastclinging about her, her feelings being too sacred for the gaze even of afriend. Every heart knoweth its bitterness, I thought, and secretlywondered if every heart had to bleed a little here, holding some sorrowclose to itself. If so, our duty in life would ever be a struggle, whereas it seemed to me the world was so beautiful, and if every lifecould reflect this beauty, all would be easy, and the pleasure ofwell-doing be always at hand. 

Aunt Peg said 'twas easy enough to preach, but hard work to practise. Ibegan to realize it a little, and the teacher who gave me the mostpractical illustrations was myself. 

I wrote a long letter to Louis, telling him of our going to hear Mr. Ballou preach, and of Matthias' coming among us, and I felt like makinghim my confessor, and wanted to tell him all about the frantic endeavorI had made for Clara's sake; but my letter was long enough when I feltthis impulse, and I thought I could talk it all over with him when hecame, and concluded to wait. And here is another lesson, for me to stopand reflect on. As time proved, that impulse was right, and I shouldhave followed its guidance, while the sober second thought which Iobeyed and of which I felt proud, led me to just the opposite of what Iought to have done. How was I to find myself out? If I yielded toimpulse I was so often wrong, and in that instance I should certainlyhave been impulsive. Again comes in the text, "the ways of life are pastcomprehending. "

Mr. Benton improved every opportunity to talk with me, and while I didnot like the man at first, I became gradually interested in what hesaid; and when, in confidence, he informed me that Hal was in love withMary Snow, I had a secret joy at receiving his confidence. He waseighteen years older than myself, and after my mind was settledregarding the wrong estimate in which I had held him, I treated hisopinions with more deference than over before, and came to regard him asa good friend to us all. 

I intimated to Clara one day that he was a much better man than I hadthought, and she gave me no reply, but looked on me with a light ofwonder in her eyes. 

"He does not trouble you now, Clara, does he?"

"Not as before, Emily. "

"Well, does he at all?"

"I cannot say I feel quite at ease, Emily dear, " she replied. 

And I said: "It is your beautifully sensitive nature, darling; youcannot recover the balance once lost, and the tender nerves that havebeen shaken are like strings that after a touch continue to vibrate. "

"Perhaps so, Emily, but I shall be so glad when the day comes when nomask of smiles can cover the workings of the heart, so glad; when we canreally know each other. "

"Those are Louis' sentiments. "

"Oh yes, my dear boy! he has a heart that beats as mine, Emily, andafter many days it shall come to pass that the desires of his heartshall be gratified. "

Something in her tone and manner made me feel strangely; a chill creptover me, and for a second I felt numb. 

It passed away, however, and through the gate of duty I found work, andleft these thoughts. 

When March came to us, father insisted that mother should go to AuntPhebe's, if we could get along without her--she had a little hackingcough every spring, and he knew she needed the change. It was decidedthat she should go and stay a month, if she could keep away from home solong. Aunt Hildy said: "Why, Mis' Minot, go right along. Don't you takeone stitch of work with you neither. Go, and let your lungs get full ofdifferent air, and see what that'll do for you. Take along someeverlasting flowers I've got, and make a tea and drink it while you'rethere, and let the tea and the air do their work together. "

So, although it was a trial to mother to leave home, she went, and wewere to be alone. There were a good many of us, but it seemed to me, thefirst week, that her place would not be filled by twenty others, andwhile I enjoyed the thought of her being free from care, I walked out inthe cold March wind alone every night after supper, and let the tearsfall. If I had been indoors Clara would surely have found me. It was onone of these walks that Mr. Benton overtook me, and passed his armwithin mine, saying:

"What does this mean, Emily, " he dropped "Miss Minot" soon after thefirst talk, "this is the fifth time I have seen you go out at this houralone; what is the matter? Are you in trouble?"

"And if I am, " I said, "what have you to do with it?" at the same timetrying to release his arm from mine. 

"I have the right of a dear friend, I hope, " he said, and the tears thatwould keep falling forced a confession from me and provoked hislaughter, which grated on my ears at first, but he begged pardon for itsseeming rudeness, and said he was thinking only of my going over thehills to cry, when I could have a whole house to fill with tears. 

We walked farther than I intended, and Matthias passed us on his wayover to his "ground room. "

I said, "Good evening, Mr. Jones, " and he saluted me with uncoveredhead, saying:

"De Lord keep you, miss, till mornin'. "

Realizing how far we had walked, I turned hack so suddenly that Mr. Benton came near being pushed into the stone wall on the old roadcorners. On our return he spoke of Matthias. 

"I don't like that fellow anyway, Emily. "

"Don't like him! why not, pray?"

He gave a sort of derisive ejaculation, and added:

"You are a little simpleton, Emily, so good and true, you take all forgold. "

"Well, " I replied, "Matthias is good, I know; but why do you dislikehim?"

"Oh! he belongs to a miserable, low-lived, thievish race, and he knowsenough to be a dangerous fellow to have round. If I were you I'd notencourage his hanging round; he'll do something to pay you for yourkindness yet. "

CHAPTER XII. 

A REMEDY FOR WRONG-TALKING. 

I could not believe what Mr. Benton said of Matthias, and did notrefrain from speaking of it to Clara, whose opinions were golden to me, and her reply was perfectly in accordance with my own feelings. Eachtook her own route to the conclusion, but her interpretation came as anintuitive perception, while mine was more like something which fell intomy mind with a power whenever his eyes met my own. 

"Emily, " said Clara, "I have taken his dark hand in mine. I have comeclose to his white heart, when from his lips have fallen the wordstelling his history, and I would trust him everywhere. If any troublecomes to you, Emily, trust Matthias; he is as true as truth itself, andhis soul is pure--purer, perhaps, than the souls of many who have hadgreat advantages, and whose forms have been molded in a more beautifulshape. Our Father judges from within; let our judgment be like his. "

This was good for me to hear. I felt glad that I could sometimes come sonear to Clara's thoughts. I was greatly wrought upon by Matthias' talesof the South; and yet he venerated the people of that country, andsaid:

"The Northerners are too cold-blooded: they didn't invite folks to havea bite without first feelin' in their pockets to see if they could findmoney there. "

I knew nothing from experience of Southern hospitality, but believed allhe told me, and I thought it the greater pity that such a lovely landshould be so marred with this terrible trade in lives, and I said toClara, when we were discussing this subject:

"Is it not too bad, and does it seem possible that this great evil willbe suffered to endure forever?"

"No, " said Clara, "neither possible nor probable. I may not live to hearwith these earthly ears the glad news, but you, Emily, will live to seethe bond go free, and the serpent of slavery lie at the feet of America, who will place her heel on its crushed and bleeding head. This will be, must be, and the years will not number so very many between now andthen. "

"Why do you think so, Clara?"

"Oh! I do not think it; I know it to be true; I have long known it; itstands by the side of the beautiful truth we have heard from the lips ofthat venerated preacher, Emily, and I cannot see why we may not all bein some measure the recipients of these truths, for they lie all aroundus on every hand. Did you ever read, Emily, of the man called Dr. DeBenneville?"

"Never, " said I; "tell me, please, his history. "

"It was printed about 1783. I think I have it. "

"Well, tell me, Clara, a little; I cannot wait for that now. "

She smiled and said:

"Dear child, how glad I am that you have so good a heart, and some daythese impulses will drive your boat on the shore of peace that lieswaiting for us on the bay of truth. But you are anxious and I will tellyou. Dr. George De Benneville was the son of a Huguenot, who fled toEngland from persecution, and was employed at court by King William. Hismother was a Granville, and died soon after his birth in 1703. He wasplaced on board a ship of war--being destined for the navy--at the earlyage of twelve years, and received on the coast of Barbary singularreligious impressions, induced, it is said, by his beholding thekindness of the Moors to a wounded companion. He had great doubtsregarding salvation, but after suffering for months with doubts, thelight was made clear to him, and he held to his heart the faith in auniversal restitution. His great sense of duty led him to preach, and hecommenced in the Market-house of Calais in his seventeenth year. He wasfined and imprisoned, but did not desist. He sought and foundco-laborers, and persisted two years in preaching in the woods andmountains of France. At Dieppe he was seized, and with a friend, Mr. Durant, condemned. Durant was hanged, and while the preparations forbeheading De Benneville were in progress, a reprieve from Louis IXarrived, and after a long imprisonment in Paris, he was liberatedthrough the intercession of the Queen. "

"Good, " I said, "she had a heart. "

"He then spent eighteen years in Germany preaching and devoting himselfto scientific studies, and at the age of thirty-eight he emigrated tothis country. He claimed no denominational name, but preached thisglorious truth. I can come nearer to him than any other whose history Ihave known, for was he not called of God, and did he not fulfil hismission gloriously? He was ill on board the ship which brought him toAmerica, and when it arrived in Philadelphia, a man by the name ofChristopher Sower came on board, saying he was looking for a man who wasill, and whom he wished to take to his house. This man Sower was alsodivinely led, for he received a commandment in a dream to go seven milesfrom his home in Germantown to a certain wharf in Philadelphia, andinquire on board a ship just arrived for a man who was ill, to take himhome and to specially care for him. He hitched his horse to hiscarriage, and followed the instructions of his dream. "

"Were these facts the doors that led you out into light?" I asked. 

"I never read these facts, Emily, until after my vision was made clear, and I saw the future that lives and waits for all. "

"Girls, " called Aunt Hildy, "ef you've got through with the meetin', Iwant to ask about these biscuit; I'm afraid they're going to be poor;come look at 'em, Emily. "

"The biscuit are all right, Aunt Hildy. Did you hear what the preachersaid. "

"No, not really, heard all I could without neglectin' of my work. "

"She has been telling me a story of a good man. We will ask her topreach again. "

"Perhaps, " said Aunt Hildy, "more'n just you and I will hear her. Ican't see how all these ideas are comin' out, and 'pears to me, it looksas ef we'd got to meet, and have a battle somewhere before long. Thetroubles are simmerin' over the fire of different minds, and I shallnever sell my birthright over a mess of pottage; that's jest what Ishan't do. It has stuck to me where everything else has failed, and I'mnever agoin' to let go of it. "

I knew to what she alluded, for our good minister had stirred the waterswith his sermons, and they were, of course, induced by his fearing theprogress of liberal thought in our midst. We had ourselves received asermon evidently directed at us, which described the act of going tohear Mr. Ballou as a wrong step. Even if we had not been clear-sightedenough to have taken the sermon to ourselves, we should have beenreminded of it by the looks of some of the congregation, who sought outour pew with strong reproof in their eyes; among those whose eyes metmine in this manner, I remember most distinctly Jane North and DeaconGrover. I smiled involuntarily, and with a glance of horror at mywickedness, they turned their faces toward the preacher. 

Clara was not with us that Sabbath, for which I was glad. I wonderedwhat would be done, and the week after mother left us, Jane North cameover, and I expected to hear some talk concerning it. 

She brought her knitting in a little gingham bag on her arm, and therewas no way to get rid of her or of her coming talk, which, I confess, Idreaded. 

"Oh, dear!" I said to Clara, "that wretched meddler is coming. Whatshall we do with her?"

"I will try and help you, Emily. Perhaps she has a good heart after all, and meddles only because her conditions in life have fitted her fornothing better. "

"It isn't so, Clara; she tells stories about everybody; I would notbelieve her under oath. "

"Charity, " she said softly, and through the door came Jane. 

"Good afternoon, Emily. "

"Take a seat, " I said, bowing. 

"Good afternoon, Mis' Densin, " to Clara. 

"Mrs. _De-mond_, " I said, pronouncing the name rather forcibly. 

"Oh! _De_-mond is it?" with accent on the first syllable

"That is more like it, " said Clara. "How do you do to-day? let me takeyour things. "

"Don't feel very scrumptious, and ain't sick neither, kinder so so. Howare all here? I heard Mis' Minot was gone. Ain't you lonesome?"

"We do miss her sadly, " said Clara. 

"Gone to a weddin', ain't she?" I laughed aloud. 

"Only for a change, " said Clara. 

"Why, Mis' Grover"--

Clara waited for no news, but said quickly:

"You were very kind, thinking we were lonely, to come over and see. Comeinto the other side of the house, " and she led the way to hersitting-room. 

"Oh! ain't this be-yoo-ti-ful! What a wonderful change from the old sideof this house! I declare, I should think Mr. Minot would be thankfulenough for this addition to his house. "

"Oh! I am the one to be thankful, " said Clara, "he was so kind as tobuild it for me. "

"Oh! he built it, hey; with his own money, did he?"

"Certainly, he never would use any other person's. Cousin Minot in avery nice man. "

"Is he your cousin?" said Jane in astonishment. 

"Why, of course he is. Did you not know of it?"

"Never heard of it before. "

"What are you knitting?" said Clara. 

"Stockings, " was the monosyllabled reply. 

"Did you ever knit silk?"

"Shouldn't think I did. I ain't grand enough to afford that. "

"You could, though, I know, " said Clara. 

"Why, I dunno, --praps so. " Jane North was foiled, and she succumbed asgracefully as she could, although awkwardly enough; but Clara went on:

"I have some beautiful silk thread, I have had it for years. Mygrandfather's people, over in France, were silk weavers. It is throughmy mother that I am related to Mr. Minot; my father's people wereFrench, " she said, noticing an incredulous look in the eyes of Jane. "Ihave a lot of silk in thread and floss: I'll get the box and show it toyou, " and she did. 

My own curiosity led me into the room--I had stood back of the door allthis time--and the silk was beautiful; rich dark shades and fancy colorsmingled, and a quantity of it too. Although kept so long, it was strong, having been of such fine material. 

"Sakes alive! I should be scar't to death to own all that, " said Jane. 

"Well, " said Clara, "if you will show me how to knit some for myself, Iwill be willing to scare you a little. I would like to give you enoughto make a pair or two of stockings for yourself. Chose your own colors, "and she emptied the contents of the box on the lounge at her side. 

"You don't mean it, Mis' De-mond. "

"Certainly I do, take any shade you prefer, and if Emily has needles, wewill go right to work on our cutting. "

The right string was touched, the cutting started, and when Jane Northleft us, she whispered to me:

"I like that woman, and I don't care whether she is a Baptist, or whatshe is, she's a lady. "

Those stockings averted much, for her head was full of wonder talk. 

I reminded Clara of the indignation she felt at her expressions, whenshe first saw her, and told her I did not suppose she ever would desireto look at her again. 

"Why, Emily, " she said, "I never feel like annihilating people whoseideas are all wrong. They are but representatives at the most, and Iwould rather desire to help these eaters of husks to find the true breadthat shall bring to them comfort and peace. I should wish to fill theirhearts so full that the rays of this inner light shall radiate aroundthem, touching with the magic of good deeds all the suffering our worldcontains. This would leave no empty rooms in the house of ourunderstanding; all would be filled with tenants of good-will and lovingfaith, bearing charity and love each toward the other; and uncultivatedfields would be found no more. I thought if I could touch Miss North inthe right spot, I might fill her mind, for a few brief hours at least, with something beside her gossip. If this could be done every day in theweek, she would lose sight of it altogether, and like a tree engraftedwith better fruit, on these new thought-branches beautiful wisdomapples might grow and ripen. If she comes again I will find somethingas new to her, I hope, as I have found to-day. "

"What a wonderful compound you are, Clara, " I said, "and what perfectsymmetry nature has given to you, while I am your antipodes. "

"What's that you are calling yourself?" said Aunt Hildy. 

"Oh, something just different from all that is good and true enough tobelong to Clara!"

"'Pears to me you're gettin' some dretful big word now-a-days; when youwant me to understand you, talk plain English. "

Hal, who had entered that moment, laughed heartily. "So I say, AuntHildy. Our Emily is going to be a blue-stocking, I fear. Housework willsuffer before long, for housework and book cannot go together. "

"No more than ploughs and plaster, " I added. 

"Not a bit more, sister mine, " and he passed his arm around mywaist, --he often did this now-a-days, --and whispered, "give me a chanceto say something to you. "

I nodded an assent, and he passed on through the room, whistling tohimself "Bonny Doon. " I embraced the first opportunity to follow him, and found him alone in his studio. He seated himself beside me, took onehand in his and passed an arm around me. I wished he could have been mylover then, in fact, I often wished it, for he was as good as he washandsome, both noble hearted and noble looking. He was to me theembodiment of all that was good and all that went to make the best manin the world. 

"Emily, " he began, "you have been a blessed sister to me; I have lovedyou always, even though I plagued you so much, and you have beenfaithful to me. I entrusted to you the first great secret of my life, when I sought you under the apple tree. "

"Why could you not have told me more?" I said. 

"For the sole reason it would have been hard for you to have kept itfrom mother, and I wanted to surprise you all at home. Your hand, Emily, was the one that held the cup of life to my lips; and Louis, " he addedin a tender tone, "with his sympathy and the power of his heart andhand, led me slowly back to strength. Louis is a grand boy. Now, Emily, "and he drew me still closer, "I have something else to tell you. "

"Don't go away, Hal. "

"I desire to stay, but, Emily, I love Mary Snow. I want to tell you ofit. I cannot speak positively as to what may happen, but I love her verydearly. Could you be glad to receive her as a sister?"

Selfish thoughts arose at the thought of losing Hal, but I banished themat once, and my heart spoke truly when I said:

"Mary Snow is good enough for you, Hal. I have always liked her so much, but how stupid I am, never to have dreamed of this. "

"No?" said he, as if surprised. "Never dreamed of it? Do you think itstrange that I should tell you, Emily? I have seen the time when itwould seem very silly to me, but I have learned to realize how great isthe tie that binds us, and I hope through all the years you and I willnever be apart. I ask of you, too, one promise. Do not tell even Clara, and if ever you have such a secret, tell me frankly, for we should loveeach other, and our joys should be mutual. "

I said not a word, but I thought of Louis, and I longed to show him thechain and locket, which I constantly wore, but I could not, and I havewished since that I might have been wiser. At this moment Mr. Bentonentered, and our position did not escape him. 

"Truly, Hal, " he said, "you make a capital picture. Courting, eh?"

"Call it that if you please; we are very near in spirit, thanks to theFather. "

The thought of work came over me, and I left them to help about gettingsupper. To be in Hal's confidence and to feel the trust he reposed in mehad made me very happy. Precious indeed did this seem to me, and if allbrothers and sisters were as near, how much of evil would be averted. Young men might find at home the love and society they need, and lesstemptation and fewer penalties to pay would be the good result. 

Mother's absence was nearly at an end, and father had gone on Saturdayto Aunt Phebe's to spend the Sabbath, and was to bring mother back onMonday. 

Sabbath evening Hal went over to Deacon Snow's, Clara was in her roomwriting to Louis, Ben reading in the kitchen, and I was left with Mr. Benton in Hal's room. This night was never to be forgotten, for althoughfrom time to time I had been forced to notice the great change in hismanner toward me, I was unprepared for what occurred, and unconsciousthat he had so misunderstood and perverted my motives in that fatedtalk. I cannot tell you all he said, nor how he said it, but I wasthoroughly confused and startled by his protestations, and could onlysay:

"Mr. Benton, I do not desire to hear this; I cannot understand it; youhave been mistaken, " etc. 

To all of which he replied as if deeply pained, and I believed in hissorrow and despised myself. I could not and did not tell him of Louis, for when I thought of it, it seemed too sacred, and he had no right tothis knowledge. I was overwhelmed with strange and unpleasant feelings;there was no satisfaction in the thought of having heard thesedeclarations; it was an experience I would fain have avoided. His talkto Clara, too, came to my aid, and rallying a little, I said:

"It is not long since you felt you could not live without the love ofClara's heart; how strangely all your feelings must have changed. Thisperplexes me, Mr. Benton. "

He raised his head from his hands--he had been sitting some moments in adespairing attitude, evidently struggling with great emotion--andanswered:

"It is natural that this should perplex you, and I am prepared for it. Years of lonely waiting and yearning for the love of a true heart, have, perhaps, made me seize too readily on any promise of hope and sympathy. I was certainly fascinated with Mrs. Desmonde, and told her of myfeelings, prematurely as it proved, for the more I knew of her, the moreconvinced I grew of her unfitness, I might almost say for earth, although she still is beautiful to me. But you, Emily, are a woman ofstrength and will, of a strength that will grow, for your years do notyet number twenty-one; these years have already given you maturity andpower, and I respect and admire you, and I believe I could worship youif you would let me. "

This was stranger talk than I could endure, and I broke outpassionately:

"You need not ever try; I do not want you to, for I shall never loveyou, and you are also old enough to be my father. " I cannot tell why Ishould have made this great mistake for which I immediately reproachedmyself. 

The lines in Mr. Benton's face grew a little sharper, and the gleam ofhis eye for a second was like a fierce light, and he answered gravely:

"My years do number more, but in my heart I stand beside you. I wouldhave waited longer to tell you, but I am going away. " I lookedwonderingly. "A friend is ill. I go to him; then to Chicago to see someof our statuettes, and then if your parents will board me here, shallreturn for the summer, unless, " and his eyes dropped hopelessly, hisvoice trembled, "unless, " raising his eyes to mine appealingly, "I shallbe too unwelcome a friend to remain. "

Dear Hal and his art rose before me, and pity and love caused me to say:

"Oh, come back, Mr. Benton! Hal needs you. "

"We will consider then that we are friends, Emily?"

"Certainly, " I said, glad enough to pass out of this door. Would it hadbeen wider!

Advancing to me he took my hand, and said:

"My friend always, if I may never hope for more. I leave to-morrowmorning, let us say good-bye here. "

This was a strange scene for a plain country girl like Emily Minot. Don't blame me if I was bewildered, and if I failed for a moment tothink of the snake I had dreamed about: neither wonder that in this lastact in Mr. Benton's drama, he seemed to have gained some power over me. He knew, for I was no adept at concealing, that he had won some vantageground, and that I blamed myself and pitied him. 

Morning came, and he left us, and Aunt Hildy said: "Gone with his greateyes that allus remind me that still water runs deep. Can't see howHalbert and that man can be so thick together. "

Matthias, who was there early, ready to go to work, said to himself asthe stage rolled away: "De Lord bless me, if dat man don't mos' allusset me on de thinkin' groun. Pears like he's got two sides to hisself, um, um. "

I heard this absent talk of Matthias', and also Aunt Hildy's words, andI marvelled, saying in my heart, "Emily Minot, what will be done next?"

CHAPTER XIII. 

PERPLEXITIES. 

We were all glad to see mother, and she had enjoyed her visit, which hadimproved her much. 

"Hope you haint done any work?" said Aunt Hildy. 

Mother said nothing, but when her trunk was unpacked she brought forth, in triumph, a specimen of her handiwork. 

"Aunt Hildy, " I called, "come and give her a scolding. "

She came, and with Clara and myself, was soon busy in trying to find outhow the mat--for this was the name of the article--was made. 

"How on airth did you do it, and what with?"

"Why don't you find out?" said mother. 

"For only one reason, _I can't_, " said Aunt Hildy. 

"It is made of pieces of old flannel and carpet that Phebe got hold ofsomehow. We cut them bias and sewed them on through the middle, thefoundation being a canvas bag, leaving the edges turned up. "

"Well, I declare, " said Aunt Hildy; "but you had no right to work. "

My mind was sorely troubled, and when, in about a week after Mr. Benton's departure, I received a long letter from him, I felt worse thanbefore. I blamed myself greatly, and still these wrong steps I had takenwere all only sins of omission. It was for Clara's sake; for Hal's sake;and last, but not least, I could not say to Mr. Benton, as I would havewished to, that my love was in Louis' keeping, for you remember I hadmet Louis' advances with fear, and he had said, "I will wait one year. "How could I then say positively what I did not know? Louis was growingolder, and my fears might prove all real, and I should only subjectmyself to mortification, and at the same time, as I really believed, cause Mr. Benton sorrow. 

"Poor Emily Minot, " I said, "you must condole with yourself unless youtell Halbert, " and I resolved to do this at the first opportunity. 

Clara was delighted at Mr. Benton's absence. She went singing about ourhouse all the time, and the roses actually tried to find her cheeks. Ourdays seemed to grow more filled and the hearts and hands were welloccupied. 

Hal was busy with his work and hopes, and I had been over with him tosee Mary, and had looked with them at the picture of their coming days. I enjoyed it greatly. They were not going to be in haste, and Mary'sfather was to talk with our people concerning the best mode of beginninglife. I think some people end it just where they hoped to begin. Maryhad a step-mother, who was thrifty, and that was all; her heart hadnever warmed to infant caresses, and she would never know the love thatcan be felt only for one's own. It was sad for her, and I can see nowhow she suffered for this well-spring of joy which had never been found. To Mary she was kind, but she could not give her the love she needed. Mary was timid. Hal always called her his "fawn. " It was a good name. Hemade a beautiful statuette of her little self and christened it Love'sFawn, and while he never really meant it should go into strange hands, it crossed the Atlantic before he did, and received highcommendation--beautiful Mary Snow. 

Instead of my visit helping to open my secret to Hal, it seemed to closethe door upon it, and only a sigh came to my lips when I essayed tospeak of it. Once he asked me tenderly as we walked home:

"It cannot be our happiness that hurts you, Emily?"

"No--no, " I said, "it gives me great joy to see you so happy. "

I told mother when he wished, and a talk ensued between her and father, then a conference of families, and a conclusion that the marriage whichwas to occur with the waning of September, should be followed, as thetwo desired, by their going to housekeeping. 

Father had a plot of thirty acres in trust for Hal, and he proposed toexchange some territory with him, that his house might be nearer ours. Hal was named for Grandfather Minot, and was a year old when he died. Ina codicil to the will, grandfather had bequeathed to Hal these thirtyacres, which was more than half woodland. Hal was glad to make anexchange with father, and get a few acres near home, while he wouldstill have nice woodland left. Acres of land then did not seem to beworth so much to us, and it was a poor farmer in our section, who hadnot forty or more acres, for our town was not all level plains, andevery land-owner must perforce have more or less of hill and stubble. These new ideas of building and "fresh housekeeping" as Aunt Hildy said, gave much to think about, and while Clara and I were talking togetherwith great earnestness one afternoon in April, we were surprised by aletter of appeal from Louis. We, I say, for Clara read to me everyletter he sent her, and this began as follows:

"Little mother, bend thy tender ear, and listen to thy 'dear boy' whodesires a great favor; think of it one week, and then write to him thouhast granted it. "

The entire letter ran in this strain, and the whole matter was this: hefelt he could not stay in school his appointed time. He had done inprevious months more than twice the amount of work done by any onestudent, and when the vacation came with the coming in of July, he wouldstay with the professor through the month, and thus work up to a certainpoint in his studies, then he wanted a year of freedom, and at itsclose, he would go back and finish any and every branch Clara desiredhim to. 

"Emily, " said Clara, "he will be twenty-one next January, but he will bemy boy still, and he will not say nay, if I ask him to return again. Ihave expected this. If Louis Robert had not left so strong a message--"and she folded her hands, and with her head bent, she sat in deepthought and motionless for more than half an hour. Then rousingsuddenly, said:

"It will be well for him, I shall send the word to-morrow. "

My heart beat gladly for in these days, I longed for Louis. Thoughts ofMr. Benton vanished at the sight of Louis' picture, and his letter I didnot answer. He wrote again. The third time inclosed one in an envelopeaddressed to Hal, who looked squarely at me when he handed it to me, andafterward said:

"Emily, do you love Will?"

I shook my head, and came so near telling him, but I did not, and againcommitted the sin of omission. 

While all these earthly plans were being formed about us, the stirringof thought with the people on religious matters grew greater. Regularlynow several of our people went ten miles to the church where we heardMr. Ballou. A donation party for our minister was to be given the lastday of April, and the air was rife with conjectures. Jane North made herappearance, and her first salutation was:

"Good afternoon, Mis' Minot. Going to donation next Monday night?"

"I think so, " was mother's quiet reply. 

"Well, I'm glad: s'pose there's a few went last year that wouldn't carryanything to him now?"

Aunt Hildy stepped briskly in and out of the room, busy at work, andtaking apparently no notice of the talk, when Clara came again to thefront with:

"Oh! come this way, Miss North, I have something to say, these goodpeople will excuse us. "

"Oh! yes, " said mother, and they went. I could not follow them for I wasbusy. Two hours after, I entered Clara's sitting-room, and Jane sat asif she had received an important message from some high potentate, which she was afraid of telling. She sat knitting away on her silkstockings, and talked as stiffly, saying the merest things. Clara leftthe room a few moments, and then she said:

"Ain't she jist a angel; she's give me the beautifullest real lacecollar for myself, and three solid linen shirts for our minister; saidper'aps she should'nt go over; and two or three pieces of money for hiswife, and a real beautiful linen table-cloth; you don't care if I take'em, do you?"

"Oh, no!" I said, "Mrs. Desmonde is the most blessed of all women. "

"_So she is_, but here she comes, " and again Jane sat covered with newdignity. It was rather a heavy covering, but I thought of Clara'sphilosophy and said to myself, "Another batch of scandal pushed aside. "This way of Clara's to help people educate themselves to rise above theconditions which were to them as clinging chains, was to me beautiful. If all could understand it, it would not be long before our lives wouldunfold so differently. "_Emily will help me. _" These words came fulloften before me, and now if I could only see my way through thedifficulties which entangled me, then my hands would, perhaps, led byher, touch some strings which might vibrate sweetly. Then, and not tillthen, could I be satisfied, and unconscious of any presence, I sangaloud:

"How long, oh, Lord! how long?"

"Dat's de berry song I used to sing down thar, an' I dunno as I could'spected any sooner, " said Matthias, who came in unexpectedly. 

"Oh, Matthias!" I said, "do you know I believe your people will all gofree?"

And his large, honest eyes opened widely, as he said:

"'Way down in yer, I feel sometimes like I see freedom comin' right downon de wings of a savin' angel, and den I sings down in dat yer grown'room, Miss; I sings dat ole cabin-meetin' song, 'Jes' lemme get on mylong white robe, and ride in dat golden chariot in de mornin' rightstraight to New Je-ru-sa-lem. ' 'Pears like I get great notions, MissEmily. "

"The Lord will hear you as well as me, Matthias, and some day slaverywill die. What a good time there will be then above there, " said I, pointing upward. 

"Yes, " said he, "good for de righteous, but dat old Mas'r Sumner, he'lljes' be down thar 'mong dem red-hot coals. "

"Oh, Matthias!" I said, "there are no red-hot coals. "

"Sure, Miss, I dunno but dat 'pears like I can't hab hevin' wid dat manthar. "

"He will be changed and good. "

"Can't think so. Dat man needs dat fire; preachin' could'nt do him nogood, noway. "

"We will agree to let each other think as they feel, but our Father mustlove all his children. "

"Ef dat's so, " said he thoughtfully, "I hope he'll hab more'n one roomfor us, rather be mos' anywhar dan in sight ob dat man, " and he trudgedoff with his literal Heaven and Hades before him. 

Poor ignorant heart! let him hold to these thoughts; he cannot dream ofa love so liberal as that which delights my heart to think of; he cannotknow that we, being God's children, must inherit some of his eternalgoodness, and that little leaven within will be the salvation of us allthrough time that knows no end. Poor Matthias! his eyes will be openedover there; and tears filled my own at the glorious prospect waiting. Hewas living in his ground room truly. 

The donation came off happily. Our minister had been many years with us, and was a good man, to the extent of his light, and worthy of all wecould bestow on him. He owned a small farm, and had also practised alittle in medicine, and had always tried to do his duty. I suppose hisfiery sermons were preached honestly, and that his duty, as Clara said, led him to hang out a signal lantern. To me it was a glow-worm light, that only warned me in a different direction, and although my fiercetreatment of that Christmas sermon was past, down deep in my heartstrong truths had been planted. I felt I must have a talk with both mypastor and my father before I could again partake of the communion. 

Clara did not go with us to the donation. We went after supper, meetingat the house about six P. M. , and stayed until nine. Many goodand sensible gifts were brought them, and Clara's was not least amongthem. Jane North proudly displayed the four five dollar gold pieces, anddescanted long on "such fine linen, " and that beautiful lady who sentit. 

Several said to us: "Why, we didn't know as you would come"--to which Isaid:

"Oh, yes! of course we proposed to come;" and for once I was wise enoughnot to ask why. I told Clara, she certainly had planted good seed, fornot one word of scandal escaped the lips of Jane that evening, onlypraise of the beautiful Mis' Desmonde. 

It was only a few days after the donation, that Mr. Davis, our minister, came over to spend the evening, and we had a long talk, one that endedbetter than I anticipated. When he came he inquired particularly forClara, who insisted on our going into her sitting-room, and all but Halfollowed her thither, his steps, after supper, turning as usual towardthe house of his "fawn. "

Mr. Davis alluded to his donation visit, and he desired especially tothank Clara for her most welcome offers to his wife and himself, adding, "And the greatest wonder to me is that the shirts fit me so well. "

"You know my dear boy is a man in size, " said Clara, "I thought theywould be right, and he has now left four more that are new and like theones I sent you, but please do not thank me so much, Miss North did mefull justice in that line. "

"She was a willing delegate, then?" said Mr. Davis. 

"Oh, very!" said Clara, "and she is a lonely soul in the world. "

"So she is, more lonely than she need be if our people could understandher, " he replied; "but I confess my own ignorance there, for I neverseemed to know just what to say to her. "

"Clara does, " said I, but Clara looked, "Emily don't, " and I said nomore. 

At last the conversation turned on religious matters, and to mysurprise, Mr. Davis came to explain himself instead of askingexplanations, as I had expected. 

"I have understood, " said he, "that you, Mr. Minot, think my sermonalluding to false doctrines, and also the one in which I spoke ofpreachers of heresy, were particularly directed to you, and that Ibelieved you had done very wrong in leaving for one Sabbath your ownchurch to hear a minister that preaches new and strange things. "

"I never have intimated as much, Mr. Davis. I did suppose you intendedsome of the remarks in your last sermon should apply directly to myselfand family; but of the first one, I had only one idea. As I have beforesaid to you, the thought of a burning hell always makes me shudder. Inever could conceive of such torture at the hand of a wise and lovingGod. If there is punishment awaiting the unrighteous, it is not ofliteral fire. I am well persuaded of this, for if it were a literalfire, a body would soon be consumed; hence, the punishment could not beendless as supposed; while upon a spiritual body, it could have noeffect. The fire in the stove burns my finger, but touches not my soul. "

"You know the tenets of our belief embrace both eternal comfort andeternal misery, " said Mr. Davis; "it is what we are taught. "

"I know, " said my father. "I have considered my church obligationsseriously, and am prepared to say, if it is inconsistent for me, in theeyes of my preacher or of his people, that I, holding these thoughts, should remain in fellowship with them as before, I can only say I havegrown strong enough now to stand alone, and I should think I ought tostand aside. I cannot see why we may not agree on all else. "

"I believe we do; I respect your opinions, Mr. Minot; we cannot affordto lose you either. May I ask with what denomination you would proposeto unite?"

"None at all, " said my father, "unless the road comes clearer before me. I love our old meeting-house, Mr. Davis; my good old father played theviolin there for years, and when a youth, I stood with him and playedthe bass viol, while my brother, now gone, added the clear tones of theclarionet, and the voice of my sweet sister Lucy could be heard aboveall else, in the grand old hymns 'Silver Street' and 'Mear. '" At theserecollections my father's voice choked with emotion, and strange forhim, tears fell so fast he could say no more. 

"Brother Minot, " said Mr. Davis, rising to his feet and taking his hand, his eyes looking upward, "let the God who seeth in secret hold us stillas brothers; keep your pew in the old church. This one difference ofopinion can have no weight against either of us. This is all the churchmeeting we need or will have, and if I ever judge you falsely, may I_be_ thus judged. "

Aunt Hildy said: "Amen, Brother Davis, your good sense will lead you outof the ditch, that's certain. "

Clara's eyes were looking as if fixed on a far-off star. She was lost ingazing, the thin white lids covered her beautiful eyes for a moment ortwo, then she turned her pure face toward Mr. Davis, and said:

"It is good for us all to be wise, and it is not easy to obey thescriptural injunction, 'Be ye wise as serpents and harmless as doves. 'Ever growing, the human mind must reach with the tendrils of its thoughtbeyond the confines of to-day. The intuition of our souls, this Godlikeattribute which we inherit directly from our Father, is ever seeking tobe our guide. None can be so utterly depraved that they have notsympathy either in one way or another with its utterances. Prison barsand dungeon cells may hold souls whose central thoughts are pure asnoon-day; and sometimes hard-visaged men, at the name of home andmother, are baptized in tears. The small errors of youth lead along theway to greater crimes, and I sometimes ask myself if it is not true thatliving with wants that are not understood, causes men to seek the verythings their souls do not desire, and they are thus led into deepwaters. If Mr. Minot's soul reaches for a God of compassion and mercy, is it not because that soul whispers its need of this great love; and ifit asks for this, will it not be found; for can it be possible with thisspark of God within us, the living soul can desire that which is notnaturally designed for it?

"Why, my dear friends, " she continued, "this is the great lesson we needto make us, on this earth, all that we might and should be. It is nottrue that the thought of eternal love will warrant us in making mistakeshere; on the contrary, it will help us to see all the beauty of ourworld, and to link our lives as one in the chain which binds the presentto the enduring year of life to come. Duty would be absolute pleasure, and all they who see now no light beyond the grave, would by thisunerring hand be led to the mountain top of truth's divine and eternalhabitation. In your soul, Mr. Davis, you ask and long for this. Doctrinal points confuse you when you think upon them, and you have lainaside these thoughts and said, 'the mysteries of godliness may not beunderstood;' but my dear sir, if this be true, why are we told to beperfect even as our 'Father in Heaven is perfect;' for would not thatstate be godly, and could there be mysteries or fear connected with it?"

"_Never, never_, " said Aunt Hildy. 

Then, with her hands stretched appealingly toward him, Clara said:

"Oh, sir, do not thrust this knowledge from the door of your heart! Letit enter there. It will warm your thoughts with the glow of itsunabating love, and you will be the instrument in God's hand of doinggreat good to his children. "

She dropped her hands, the tender lids covered again those wondrouseyes, and we sat as if spell-bound, wrapt in holy thought. 

"Let us pray, " said Mr. Davis, and we knelt together. 

Never had I heard him pray like this, and I shall ever remember the lastsentences he uttered; "Father, if what thy handmaid says be true, giveme, oh, I pray thee, of this bread to eat, that my whole duty may beperformed, and when thou shall call him hither, may thy servant departin peace. "

Mr. Davis shook hands with us all just as the clock tolled nine, and toClara he said:

"Sister, angels have anointed thee; do thy work. "

This was a visit such as might never occur again. Truly and strangelyour life was a panorama all these days. I dreamed all night of Clara andher thoughts, and through her eyes that were bent on me in that realm ofdreams, I read chapters of the life to come. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

LOUIS RETURNS. 

It would be now only a few days to Mr. Benton's return, and I dreadedit, never thinking of him without a shudder passing over me; Aunt Hildywould have called it "nervous creepin'. " I felt that this was wrong, andespecially so since I knew I was thus hindered in the well-doing forwhich I so longed. 

"Happiness comes from the inner room, " said Aunt Hildy; "silver and goldand acres of land couldn't make a blind man see. "

Her comparisons were apt, and her ideas pebbles of wisdom, clear andwhite, gathered from experience and polished by suffering. Both she andClara were books which I read daily. How differently they were written!and then how different from both was the wisdom of a mother whose lightseemed daily to grow more beautiful. It seemed when I thought of it asif no one had ever such good teachers. And now if I could only breakthese knots which had been tangled through Mr. Benton's misunderstandingof me, there seemed no reasonable excuse for not progressing. Churchaffairs had been happily regulated, so far as Mr. Davis and our fewnearer friends were concerned, and the sermon on good deeds which hepreached the Sabbath after his visit to us was more than worthy of him. 

Clara said, "He talked of things he really knew; facts are morebeautiful than fancies. "

"And stand by longer, " added Aunt Hildy. 

Louis was to come on the first of July, his mother not deeming itadvisable for him to study through that month; but Mr. Benton precededhim and came the first day of June. It was a royal day, and he enteredthe door while the purplish tinge of sunset covered the hills and layathwart the doorway. 

"Home again, " was his first salutation. 

"Very welcome, " said Hal and father; mother met him cordially, and Icame after them with Clara at my side, and only said:

"How do you do, Mr. Benton?"

He grasped my hand and held it for an instant in a vice-like grasp. Idarted a look of reproof at him, and the abused look he wore at our lasttalk came back and settled on his features. 

It seemed to me the more I tried to keep out of his way the more fatewould compel me to go near him. Hal was very busy, and it seemed as ifClara had never spent so much time in her own room as now, when I neededher so much. Mother was not well, and every afternoon took a long nap, so I was left down stairs, and no matter which side of the house I wasin he was sure to find me. The third day after his arrival he renewedhis pleading, trying first to compliment me, saying:

"What a royal woman you are, and how queenly you look with your massivebraids of midnight hair fastened with such an exquisite comb!" (Louis'gift). 

"Midnight hair, " I said. "I've seen many a midnight when I could read inits moonlight; black as a crow would be nearer the truth, " and Ilaughed. 

The next sentence was addressed to my teeth. He liked to see me laughand show my teeth; they looked like pearls. 

"I wish they were, " I said, "I'd sell them and buy a nice little housefor poor Matthias to live in. "

"Ugh!" he said, and looked perfectly disgusted; but he was not, for hesaid more foolish things, and at last launched out into his sobersentiment. Oh, dear, if I could have escaped all this!

"Have you not missed me? You have not said it. "

"I have not missed you at all, " I said, "and I do wish you would believeit. "

"You have no welcome, then, no particular words of welcome?"

"Mr. Benton, you know I am a country girl. "

"Yes, but you remind me of a city belle in one way. You gather heartsand throw them away as recklessly as they do, throwing smiles and usingyour regal beauty as a fatal charm. I must feel, Miss Minot, that itwould have saved me pain had we never met. "

This touched a tender spot. "Mr. Benton, " I cried, "cease your foolishtalk, you know that I never tried to captivate you, that I take nopleasure in an experience like this. You say that I am untrue to myself, false to my highest perception of right and justice. If you claim for mewhat you have said, you do not believe it, Wilmur Benton; you know inyour soul you speak falsely. "

"Why, Emily, " he said, "you are imputing to me what you are unwillingto bear yourself; do you realize it?"

"I think I do, " I replied, "and further proof is not needed to convinceme. "

"Really, this is a strange state of affairs, but (in a conciliatorytone), perhaps I spoke too impulsively, I cannot bear your anger;forgive me, Emily. "

"Well, " I answered merely. 

"Can you forget it all?" he said. 

"I will see, " I replied, and just then I saw Halbert coming over thehill, and I was relieved from further annoyance. I cannot say just howthis affected me. I felt in one sense free, but still a sense ofheaviness oppressed me and all was not clear. My mental horizon wasclouded, and I could see no signs of the clouds drifting entirely away, but on one point I was determined. I would give no signs of even pityfor Mr. Benton, even should I feel it as through days I looked over mywords and thoughts. He should not have even this to hold in his hand asa weapon against me. I would say nothing to Hal, for Louis would come, and in the fall, the year of his waiting would be at an end. He wouldtell me again of his great love, and I would yield to him that which washis. Oh, Louis, my confidence in your blessed heart grows dailystronger!

While these thoughts were running through my mind, Matthias' voice washeard, a moment more and he was saying:

"Guess he's done gone sure dis time; he drink an fiddle, an fiddle an'drink; and nex' ting I knowed he's done dar at the feet of dem stars allin a heap by hisself. "

"Who's that?" I cried. 

"Plint, Miss. He's done gone, sure, an' I came roun' to get some help'bout totin' him up stars. Can't do nothin', an' Mis' Smith she's jesgone scart into somebody else. She don't 'pear to know nuthin', an' whenI say help me, she jest stan' an' holler like mad. "

"I'll go over, " said Aunt Hildy, wiping her hands, and turning for sunbonnet and cape. 

"I'll go, " said Hal. 

"Me, too, " cried Ben, and off they started. 

Poor Plint was gone, surely enough; dead, "a victim to strong drink andfiddlin', " Aunt Hildy said. His funeral was from the church, for we allrespected Aunt Peg and pitied Plint, and Mr. Davis only spoke of God'sgreat mercy and his tenderness to all his flock; never putting a word ofendless torment in it. 

Poor Aunt Peg had great misgivings concerning Plint, and groaned audiblythroughout the entire service. Matthias was a great comfort to herthrough her trouble, and she told Clara and me when we called on her, that he was not as clean as she wished, but he was a mighty comfort toher, and the greatest blessing Aunt could have sent. Plint's fiddle hungagainst the wall in her little room with whitened floor andstraight-back chairs, and I could not keep back the tears when I noticedthat she had a bunch of wild violets tied to the old bow. She noticed itand burst into tears herself, crying:

"That there fiddle was no use no way, but seems now I kinder reckon on't. " She was true to these intuitions of the soul, these thoughts thatcover tenderly even the remembrance of a wasted life, and we could notbut think that if Plint had not loved cider so well, he might perhapshave developed rare musical talent. 

I had been true to myself as far as Mr. Benton was concerned, and sinceour last stormy interview, treated him with respectful indifference. Hehad two or three times attempted to bring about a better state ofaffairs, but I could not and did not give him any encouragement. I feltwronged and also justified in the establishment of myself where I shouldbe safe from greater trouble at his hands. 

The first day of July, the day for Louis' coming, dawned auspiciously, and I was as happy as a bird. It seemed to me my trouble was nearlyover, and Louis, when he came in at our door that night, lookedadmiringly at me, and after supper he said:

"Emily, you are growing beautiful, do you know it?"

"I hope so, " I said honestly, "you know how homely I have always been. "

"No, no, I do not, you have been to me my royal Emily ever since I firstmet you. "

"I must have compared strangely with your city friends and theirbewildering costumes. "

"It was more strange than you know; you made the picture and they werethe background, " he said, and I thought, perhaps, he was going to cutshort the year of waiting and say more. Instead, he looked off over thehills, and held my hand tighter. We were in Hal's room, and Mr. Bentonentered, saying with great joy in his tones:

"Louis, I have made a success, take a little walk with me and I willtell you about it. "

Louis looked at me a moment, as if to tell me it is the picture, andwith a tender light in his eyes, went out under the sky, which wasbeautiful with the last tinge of sunset clinging to it, as if loath toleave its wondrous blue to the rising moon and stars. 

As they passed out, I thought I saw Matthias coming, but must have beenmistaken, as he did not appear. An hour passed and Louis and Mr. Bentonreturned, the latter looking wonderfully satisfied and happy, Louisthoughtful, and I should have thought him sad had I not known of Clara'spicture. 

The days passed happily, but through them all I was not as happy as Ihad expected. Louis must be sick, I thought; he was so quiet, and almostsad. Perhaps he had met with less, and I longed to ask him but couldnot. I was annoyed also by Mr. Benton, who would not fail to embraceevery opportunity that offered, to talk with me alone, holding me insome way, for moments at a time. If I was dusting in Hal's studio, andthis was a part of my daily duties, he was sure to be there, and severaltimes Louis came in when we were talking together, I busy at work andMr. Benton standing near. 

Clear through the months that led us up to the door of October, thesealmost daily annoyances troubled me. It was not love-making, for sincethe day of my righteous indignation he had not ventured to approach meon that ground; but any thought which came over him, sometimes regardinghis pictures and sometimes a saying of Aunt Hildy's, --anything whichcould be found to talk upon, it seemed to me, he made a pretext todetain me, and since he did this in a gentlemanly manner, how could Iavoid it! It was a perfect bore to me, and yet I thought it too foolisha trouble to complain of. That was not the summer full of joy to which Ihad been looking, but it was full of work and care, and over all themist of uncertainty. 

Hal's house had been built; it was a charming little nest, just enoughroom for themselves and with one spare chamber for company. 

"Don't git too many rooms nor too big ones, " said Aunt Hildy. "If sixchairs are enough, twenty-five are a bother. One loaf of bread at a timeis all we want to eat. I tell you, Halbert, you can't enjoy more'n youuse; don't get grand idees that'll put your wife into bondage. There areall kinds of slavery in this world, " and between every few words amilk-pan went on the buttery shelf. She always worked and preachedtogether. 

Hal had a nice room for his work; then they had a sitting-room, kitchenand bedroom down stairs, and two chambers. It was a cottage worthowning, and Clara, as usual, did something to help. 

"Allus putting her foot down where it makes a mark, " said Aunt Hildy. 

She furnished Hal's room entirely, and gave Mary so many nice andnecessary things that they were filled with thanksgiving. The marriageceremony was performed at Deacon Snow's, and I cried every moment. I satbetween Louis and Clara, notwithstanding Mr. Benton urged a seat upon menext himself; and on our return home he appeared to think I needed hisspecial care, but I held close to Clara, and Louis, whose arm was hislittle mother's support, walked between us. He was sadly thoughtful, saying little. 

The wedded pair left our town next morning for a brief visit with Mary'sfriends, and returned in a few days to their little house, which was allready for occupancy. Aunt Hildy and mother had put a "baking ofvictuals, " according to Aunt Hildy, into the closet, and the evening oftheir return their own supper table was ready, with mother, Clara, Louisand me in waiting. Louis remarked on Mr. Benton's coming over, and Iforgot myself and said, in the old way:

"Can't we have one meal in peace?"

Mother said:

"Why, Emily, you are losing your mind; what would Hal think if Mr. Benton were left alone?"

Father and Ben came over, but not till after supper, and Aunt Hildypersisted in staying at home and doing her duty. 

"Let him come, and stay, too, " I added, still feeling vexed; and howstrangely Louis looked as Mr. Benton came in. "Fairy land, " he said. 

Mother made some reply, but I sat mute as my thought could make me. 

The stage came. Our first supper was pleasant both as a reality and as atype of their future. Hal and Mary were truly married, and through theensuing years their lives ran on together merged as one. When we stoppedto think over the years since his boyhood, to remember the comparativelyfew advantages he had enjoyed, the ill luck of my father in his earlyyears, and his tired, discouraged way which followed, --it was hard torealize the facts as they were. Grandma Northrop often prophesied ofHal, saying to mother:

"That boy's star will rise. I know his good luck will more than balancehis father's misfortune, and in your old age you will see him handsomelysettled in life. "

It seemed as if the impulse of his youth had all tended to bring himwhere the light could shine on his art, and from the time he entered Mr. Hanson's employ his good fortune was before him. There is anotherthought runs by the side of this, and that is one induced by theknowledge of the great power of gold. Mr. Hanson was a man of wealth andgood business relations. Liking Hal for himself, and interested in hisart, it was easy for him to open many doors for the entrance of hiswork. Mr. Benton was a help to Hal in his art, and his reward wasimmediate almost, for Hal had told me Will's pieces had never beenappreciated as now. It was astonishing, too, how many people had moneyto buy these expensive treasures, --but the sea was smooth. 

"Every shingle on the house paid for, " said Aunt Hildy; "aint that thebeginning that ought to end well?"

And now the road of the future lay, as a fair meadowland, whose flowersand grasses should be gathered through the years. Truly life isstrangely mixed. 

The look of perplexing anxiety had vanished from my father's face, forwith Hal's prospects his own had grown bright, and you cannot know howClara lifted him along, as it were; paying well and promptly and savingin so many ways, was a wondrous help to a farmer's family. There wasalso the prospect of a new street being opened through the centre of thetown, and if my father wished he could sell building lots on one side ofit, for it would run along the edge of his land. 

"Trouble don't never come single-handed, neither does prosperity, Mr. Minot, " said Aunt Hildy. 

"Love's Fawn" was a famous little housekeeper, everything was in goodorder, and I certainly found a well-spring of joy in the society ofthese two. If Mary needed any extra help, Hal said, "Emily will do it. "This was a very welcome change from the old saying. 

Ben was a daily visitor, and spoke of sister Mary with great pride. Hewas a good boy and willing. Hal felt anxious to help him, if he desiredit, by giving him more schooling, but he was a farmer born, and hisgreatest ambition was to own a farm and have a saw mill. He went to thevillage school, and had as good an education as that could give, for hewas not dull. I was glad for his sake he liked farming; it seemed to mea true farmer ought to be happy. Golden and crimson leaves werefluttering down from the forest trees, for October had come upon us andnearly gone, and while all prospects for living were full of cheer, Ifelt a great wonder creeping over me, and with it, fear. Louis had saidno word to me as yet, and could it be he had forgotten the year was atan end? Surely not. Could his mind have changed? Oh, how this feartroubled me! He was as kind as ever, but he said much less to me, andseemed like one pre-occupied. One chance remark of Clara's brought thecolor to my cheeks, as we sit together. 

"Louis, my dear boy, what is it? A shadow crossed your face just then. "

He looked surprised, and only half answered:

"The shadow of yourself. I was thinking about you. "

Mr. Benton did not talk of leaving us; he had some unfinished pieces, and my father had said:

"Remain as long as you please, if my wife is willing. "

After Hal left, I felt his studio marred by Mr. Benton's presence, forhe had become a perfect torture to me, and I began to believe hedelighted in it, secretly. Then again, I had the room to attend to, andI must in consequence be annoyed. Of this I was tired, and when dayafter day passed and brought no word from Louis, save in common with therest, I said, hopelessly:

"Let it go. I will try to love no one but father and mother and Claraand Hal, and oh, dear! when shall I ever be ready to say, 'Now Clara, let me help you'?"

She said to me through these days I was not happy. "Wild flower, whattroubles thee?" one day, and again, "Emily, my royal Emily, art thousighing for wings?"

November came and passed, and the gates of the new year were opening, still all the way lay dark before me. Night after night my tear-stainedpillow told my sorrow mutely, and day after day I sighed. Mother was notwell, and I felt that everything was wrong. I was worrying myself sick, I knew, and could not help it. 

It was a cold, bitter day, and in my heart lay bitter thoughts whenMatthias came over to tell us, that "Peg was right sick, 'pears likeshe's done took sick all in a minit, onions and onions, mustard andmustard, an nothin' don't do no good. Here's a piece of paper I foun' inde road, 'pears like you mus' want it, " and he handed it to me. 

I put it in my pocket and went to ask Aunt Hildy what to do for AuntPeg. She proposed to go over, and Ben went with her. 

While they were gone I read the paper, which proved to be a letter, evidently written to Mr. Benton, and the signature was plainly, "yourheart-broken Mary, " I could only pick out half sentences, but readenough to show me the treachery and sorrow, aye, more, a life cursedwith shame, and at the hands of Wilmur Benton. 

"Thank God, " I cried aloud--I was in the sitting-room alone--and thentears fell hot and fast, and I sobbed and cried as if I had found a widewhite path that led from the night of my discontent, out into themorning of the day called peace. I could not stay there and cry, I mustpass Clara's door to go to my room, and throwing a shawl over myshoulders I rushed out, and fairly flew over the frozen ground to thatdear old apple tree. What a strange place to go to, standing under thosebare limbs, or rather walking to and fro, but I could not help it! Thissame old tree had heard my cries and seen my tears for years. I coveredmy face with both hands, and wept aloud. I could not have been therelong, when I felt a presence, and Louis was beside me. 

Putting an arm around me, he said tenderly, "Come in, Emily. "

"Oh, Louis!" I cried, "I cannot, they will see my face, what shall I do?how came you here?" and I still kept crying and sobbing as if my heartwould break. 

"Why Emily, my royal Emily, come into little mother's room, --she haslain down, --and tell me why you weep. "

I yielded gratefully, not gracefully, and we were seated alone, allalone, and he was saying to me:

"Emily, tell me what it is, you have troubled me so long, your eyes havegrown so sad. Oh! Emily, my darling, may I not know your secret sorrow?I can wait longer, my year has flown, and three months more, and stillmy heart is waiting; tell me your sorrow, and then let me say to youwhat I have waited in patience to repeat. "

It was not a dream, my heart beat like a bird, and I could tell him, only too gladly. "Emily will do it. "

CHAPTER XV. 

EMILY FINDS PEACE. 

As soon as I could control my voice I said, "I cannot tell you why I cryso bitterly. I felt so strangely when I read this terrible letter, whichMatthias had picked up in the road and given to me. Instead of sorrowcovering me, as would seem natural, sorrow for another, not myself, Isaid, 'thank God, ' for it seemed as if I had looked at something thatwould lead me from darkness to light. I have been so miserable, Louis;Mr. Benton has tormented me so long, that I have been filled withdespair, and I begin to believe I shall never be worth anything again;oh! I am grieving so, and yet feel such a strange joy;" and I shook asif with ague. 

Louis looked as if wonder-struck, and holding both my hands in one ofhis, drew my head to his shoulder, and with his arm still round me, puthis hand on my forehead. 

"Your head is like fire, Emily; the first thing is for you to get quiet;a terrible mistake has been made, and we may give thanks for the helpthat has strangely come. "

I knew it would appear but did not know how. I still grieved and sighedand was trying hard to control myself. 

"Emily, " said Louis, in a tone of gentle authority, "do not try to holdon to yourself so; just place more confidence in my strength and I willhelp your nerves to help themselves, for you see these nerves you aretrying to force into quiet, are only disturbed by your will. Let therein fall loosely, it will soon be gathered up, for when you are quietyou will be strong, and the harder you pull the more troubled you willbe. You must lean on me, Emily, from this day on as far as our earthlylives shall go--you are mine. It is blessed to claim you. "

I tried to do as he said, and after a little, the strength he gave creptover me like a tide that bore me up at last; my grieving nerves werestill, but my face was pale, as he said again:

"Now, Emily, let me hear from your own lips, 'I love you, Louis, '" andhis dark eyes turned to meet my own, which were filled with tears thatwere not bitter--holy tears that welled from the fountain of my tiredand grateful heart. 

"I do love you, Louis--and Louis, " I cried, forgetting again, impetuously, "I thought you had forgotten. I have suffered so long andyou did not know it, and I dared not tell. "

"Emily should have done it, but never mind, you say you love me, andshall it be as I desire? will you be my wife, Emily?"

I bowed my head and he continued:

"Thank you, Emily, and I do hope that listening angels hear and know itall. Their love shall sanction ours, and we will do all we can for eachother, and also for those who unlike us see not the love, the comfort, and the faith they need. Now you shall be my Emily, --you are christened;this is your royal title, --my Emily through all the years. "

Oh, how glad I felt! From the depths of my spirit rose so strong andfull the tide of feeling that told me one love was perfect, and it castout fear. 

I said: "Louis, let us wait. Do not look at the dreadful letter now, itwill mar this pleasant picture which rests me so, and I have been tiredtoo long. I hope I may never again have to say to myself, 'Emily didit, ' or its companion sentence, 'Poor Emily did not do it. ' Let mebreathe a little first, for I shall be again wrought up. "

"Perhaps not, " said Louis. 

"Oh! I must be, it cannot be avoided, there is a dark passage throughwhich we must pass, but if we go together it will not be so hard. "

"As you say, my Emily, " and at that moment Clara entered. 

"Come in, little mother, " said Louis, "come in and seal my title foryour royal cousin with a motherly kiss, for she has promised to be mywife--my Emily through time. "

And she glided toward us, kissed my forehead tenderly, and then taking ahand of each in one of hers, she turned her eyes upward and said:

"Father, bless my children; they were made for each other. May theirlives and love continue, ever as thine, through endless time. Let ourhearts be united and thy will be ours, " and she knelt on the floor atour feet, her head resting in my lap, and her hand in Louis', whoseface was radiant with the thoughts which sought expression in hisfeatures. I marvelled, as I looked on his beauty, that plain Emily Minotcould have become so dear to him. 

The thought of father's fear, too, came over me, and while we were thusin thoughtful silence, the old corner clock gave warning of the supperhour being near, and I said:

"The supper I must see to, Louis. "

He smiled and said:

"My Emily can get supper, I know, for she makes both bread and butter, and is loyal to her calling ever, as to her lover. "

Mr. Benton looked sharply at me during the meal, and it seemed to me asif my eyes betrayed the thought which, filled my heart. Aunt Hildy hadreturned from her errand of mercy, and she said it was "nervousrheumatiz. "

"Poor creature, she's broke down with her hard work. "

"Perhaps she'll marry that old fellow, Mat Jones, " said Mr. Benton. "He'd make a good husband if she isn't too particular, " and he laughedas if he thought his remark suggestive of great cunning. No one gave iteven a smile. He did not like Matthias, and often spoke slurringly ofhim. This was strange, for I could see no harm coming to him from thisharmless soul who was good and true and faithful as the sun. He was tous the very help we needed, and father could entrust the care of hiswork to him whenever he desired to rest a day, or it was necessary forhim to be absent from home. This was no small consideration, and wellappreciated by those who knew what the care and work of life on a farmmeant. Mr. Benton's remark called forth from Louis after a time oneconcerning the great evil of slavery. 

"And if we suffer from any error this race commit, we must remember itis our own people who have brought it to us, " said he. "Africa neverwould have come to us. "

Mr. Benton, apparently nettled, said:

"I imagine you would not enjoy a drove of these people in your care. Ihad a little taste of the South during two years of my life, and my wordfor it, Louis, they are not attractive creatures to be tormented with. They are a perfect set of stubborn stupidities, and driving is the onlything to suit them, depend on it. "

Louis looked more than he said, only recalling that the blame for thiscould not rest on the slave alone. "I do not imagine I could enjoyslave-owning. I feel the majority of slave-owners lower themselves untilthey stand beneath the level of the brutes. "

Father said, "It is all wrong. "

Aunt Hildy added, "All kind of bondage is ungodly, and the days willbring some folks to knowledge. "

"Out of the depth into the light, " said Clara, and our meal was over. 

The days flew by on wings, each wing a promise, and it was a week afterwe plighted our vows ere I felt ready to read that letter and hear whatLouis had to say. Then something came to prevent, and another week hadpassed when Louis said:

"My Emily, I must have a talk with your father and mother. I cannotfeel quite satisfied, and it is only right they should be consulted, foryou are their own good girl. I would wait for their hearts to say, 'takeher, ' if I waited years, but then, my Emily, it is neither giving nortaking, for every change that is right does not ask us ever to giveourselves or our loved ones away. I dislike that term. "

"You may wait, Louis; I will tell mother, and she can tell father. "

"No, no, Emily! It is I who ask for your hand, and is it not myprivilege as well as duty?"

"What a strange man you are growing to be, Louis! Hal couldn't bear thethought of telling mother or father his heart affairs, and I was themedium of communication between them. "

"He feels differently about it, " said Louis, "and yet he has thetenderest heart I ever knew within the breast of a man. "

"He is a good brother, Louis. I could not ask a better. "

"Nor find one if you did. "

At that moment Matthias came in. Taking off his hat and saluting us inhis accustomed way, he said:

"'Pears like I'll have to ask some of yere to go out in de woods apiece--thar's a queer looking gal out thar, an' she's mighty nigh frozeto death; she is, sartin. "

"Where is she, Matthias?"

"Clean over thar; quite a piece, miss. "

"Near any house?" I said. 

"Wall, miss, she mout be two or three good steps from that tharbrick-colored house. "

"Oh, clear over there? Well, " I said, "I'll go over if Lou Desmonde willgo with me. "

"I will go, only never call me that again. Matthias calls me Mas'rLouis, and he says I remind him of a mighty nice fellow down in SouthCarliny, " said Louis. 

"Yis, sah, you does, " said Matthias. 

Telling mother and Aunt Hildy what we were going out to find, westarted. 

It was a very cold day, and through our warm clothing the winds of Marchpierced the marrow of our bones. We found the woman, who proved to be, as Matthias had said, nearly frozen. Louis took her right in his arms tothe nearest shelter, Mr. Goodwin's, the brick-colored house, and hisgood, motherly wife had her put into the large west-room, where thespare bed was made so temptingly clean, and with such an airy feathermattress, that, light as she was, the poor girl sank into it almost outof sight. Matthias brought wood and made a fire on the hearth, and Mrs. Goodwin, Louis and I worked hard for an hour chafing her purple limbs, her swelled feet and hands, and at last she turned her head uneasily, and murmured:

"The baby's dead--she is dead and I am going to her. "

Then a few words of home and some pictures. 

"Myself! myself!" she'd cry, "my picture; yes, my hair is beautiful; mygolden curls, he said; and my baby's hair; let me put it here. "

And she passed into a sleep from which it would seem she could neverwaken. We sent Matthias back to tell mother, and say that we should bothstay all night if necessary. This girl could not be more than twenty, we thought. Her fingers were small and tapering, and on her right handshe wore a ring set with several diamond stones. Her dress was of silk, and her shawl fine but thin. Her head covering had doubtless fallen offand then been carried by the wind, for we saw nothing of it. She was abeautiful picture as she lay there, for the blood had started and hercheeks were flushed with fever, her lips parted, showing a set of teeth, small, white and regular. Who could she be? Where did she come from? Itwas about an hour after she fell asleep that she stirred, wakened, andthis time opened her eyes in which a conscious light was gathering. 

"Where am I? What is it?"

Mrs. Goodwin stepped near her, Louis retreated from the room, and I keptmy seat by the hearth. 

"Dead, dead, I was dying but I am not dead; do tell me, " she said, putting both her hands out to Mrs. Goodwin. 

"You are sick, my child. We found you in the road and took you in. Youhad lost your way. "

"Oh! oh!" she murmured, "can I stay all night?"

"Oh, yes, stay a week or two, and get rested!"

"May I go to sleep again? Who knows me here?" and again she fell asleep. By this time Aunt Hildy appeared on the scene, and commanded me to gohome and stay there. 

"'Tain't no place for you; I've brought my herbs to stay and doctor her. You go home and help your mother. " I obeyed, of course, and when I left, kissed the white forehead of the poor girl, and sealed it with a tearthat fell. 

She murmured: "Yes, all for love, --home, pictures, mother, --all left forlove, and the baby's dead. I'm going there. "

I went out into the crisp air with Louis' arm for support, and athousand strange thoughts whirling in my brain. "Great, indeed, musthave been the sorrow which could have driven so tender a plant fromhome. "

"Yes, " said Louis, "God pity the man whose ruthless hand has killed theblossoms of her loving heart. She looks like little mother, Emily. "

"So she does, Louis. " And we talked earnestly, forgetting everything butthis strange, sweet face. Supper was ready, and the rest were at thetable. 

"What have you been up to?" said Ben, "you look like two tombstones. " Irelated briefly the history, and concluded by saying:

"She looks as frail as a flower. " To which Mr. Benton added:

"Doubtless her frailty, Miss Minot, is the cause of her presentsuffering. "

"Poor lamb, " said Clara, "how thankful we should feel that Matthiasfound her. "

"Yes, " said Louis, "and if he only could have thought to have carriedher into Mr. Goodwin's, and then come over after us, she would not haveso hard a struggle for life. "

"Do you think she can live?" said Mr. Benton. 

"Oh, yes!" said Louis, "the blood has started, and with Aunt Hildy byher bedside she will be, by to-morrow, very comfortable. I think she hadnot been there long when we found her. "

"Perhaps she will not thank you for bringing her back to life, however. "

"Perhaps not, " said Louis, "still it seems a sacred duty, and in myopinion, not finished with her mere return to life. She looks verybeautiful--looks like little mother, " turning in admiration to Clara, whose eyes reflected the love she held in her heart for him. 

Father and mother were silent, but after supper mother said they wouldride over and see if anything was necessary to be done that they couldattend to. My mother was too silent and too pale through these days. Ilooked at the prospect of less work for her with pleasure, and after Mr. Benton left there certainly would be less. Louis would have Hal's room, and Clara then would see to their apartments almost entirely. This wouldbe a relief, and now that my mind was at ease, I knew I could be of moreservice, while Aunt Hildy would still remain, for she said she wouldmake "Mis' Minot's burden as easy as she could, while the Lord gave herstrength to do it. "

After father and mother were gone, Louis sat with me in oursitting-room, while Clara absented herself on the plea of something veryparticular to attend to. I mistrusted what it might be, and looked ather smilingly. "My Emily guesses it, " she said, "something for thelittle lamb. Emily will help me too, have I not said it?" and she passedlike a sweet breath from the room. 

"Now Louis, " I said, as we sat together on the old sofa, --ourold-fashioned people called it "soffy, "--"let us look at that letter. "

He produced it from the pocket where it had lain in waiting, and weread. Many lines were illegible entirely, but together we decipheredmuch of it. "The baby is dead--she was beautiful, and if (here were twowords we could not make out), it would have been so nice (then two linesblurred and indistinct, and another broken sentence). Where can yourletters ---- I am sure you write. If ---- then I shall go to find ----. My father will give us ----" and from all these grief-laden sentences, we gathered a story that struck us both as being almost made to coincidewith that of the poor lamb. 

"Louis, " I said, "if this is the very Mary, what shall we do?"

"We will do right and let problems be solved as best they can. First letus understand about ourselves, then we can better act for others. Howdid Mr. Benton annoy you?"

Then I told him. 

"And you did not even think you loved him?"

"Louis, " I cried, "how could you think so, when my heart has been yoursalways? How could you think of me in that light?" And those old tearscame into my eyes. 

"I could not convince myself that such was the case, but Wilmur Bentongave me so to understand--said you were a coy damsel but a gloriousgirl, and would make a splendid wife--'just such as I need, ' he said, 'congratulate me. '

"When, Louis, did he say this?"

"The night of our walk; and it was this instead of the picture he talkedof. "

"You were cruel not to tell me, " I said. 

"I waited for my year to finish as I had said I would, and then, Emily, I waited longer for fear you did not know your heart. Matthias said tome one day, 'Masr' Louis, dat man neber can gain de day ober thar; MissEmily done gone clar off de books, an he's such a bother--um--um. ' Thisset me to thinking; I asked him how he came to think so. 'Dunno, can'thelp it, 'pears like dat gal's eyes tell me 'nuf. ' All this was good tohear, and I had watched you very closely for days, thinking everymorning, 'I will tell her before night;' and several times went intoHal's room purposely, but Mr. Benton was always before me. It wasbecause you felt all this that the letter made you feel truly an openingpath--your tearful talk by the old apple tree was the 'sesame' thatopened the way to the light. "

"I do not like to feel that man is such a character as all these thingsindicate, " I said, adding dreamily, "but I never came very near to him. He is a splendid artist, and still the canvas does not speak of hissoul. "

"How utterly void of feeling for those in bondage he seems to be! What acold crust covers him! Emily. "

"It hurts me to think you could for a moment believe I preferred him toyou. "

"You must not for a moment believe that in my soul I did, for it is nottrue; but I knew your artless, loving heart, and I knew also Mr. Bentonhad the power to polish sentences of flattery that might for a littledazzle you, as it were. "

"And they did sometimes, Louis, " I said, for I wanted the whole truth tobe made plain, while I felt his glittering eyes fastened on me, "butnot long. When I was alone, I saw your face and longed to hear again thewords you had said to me. We are both young, Louis, and I feared you didnot love me as you thought. I had no right to defend myself against Mr. Benton's attacks by using your name with my own. And when the year waspast, then I still felt no right, and further, " I added slowly, "to memy love was a sacred picture I could not ask him to look at. "

"My Emily forever, " said Louis, folding me closely to him. "Your fearswere groundless as to the changing of my love for you, but, as you say, the picture was not for his eyes. Your suffering causes me sorrow, butlet us hope it has not been in vain. "

"It is all right, Louis, now, and I have said to myself, let 'Emily willdo it' be the words hereafter, for 'Emily did it' has passed, and withthis lesson, too, I hope, the second sin of omission, which in my heartI characterize as 'Emily did not do it. ' And now your little mother'swords lie just before me, reaching a long way through the years, 'Emilywill do it. '"

"Amen, " said a sweet voice, which was Clara's. "Emily has begun, andwhen she goes to see the little lamb here are some things to take. "

"Do you want to see her, little mother?"

"Not now, Louis; I cannot now look upon her sorrow. By-and-by, " and overher face came a shining mist, and through sweet sympathy's pure tearsher eyes looked earnestly, but she did not tell us of what she wasthinking. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

MARY HARRIS. 

I think we must all have dreamed of the lovely face over among thepillows in Mr. Goodwin's west room, for we were hardly seated at thebreakfast table ere Ben said:

"Wonder how that pretty girl is this morning?"

"She was better when we left last night, " said mother, "I thought sheappeared as if ready for a comfortable night; but shall hear soon if sheis better, Aunt Hildy will be home, and if not, Matthias will be over. "

"Wish I could see her--will she go right away?"

"That I do not know, " said mother, "we have yet to learn her history. Mrs. Goodwin wanted Matthias to come over to-day, for after you left, Emily, she called for 'Peter, colored Peter, ' looking as if expecting tofind him. Matthias came into the room and brought some wood, while shewas awake, and when she saw him, she said, 'Oh, Peter! stay till I getrested--I want to tell you. ' He dropped his wood heavily, it gave himsuch a start. He says no one ever called him that except some youngpeople down in Carolina, and it seems he named himself Peter, to theirgreat amusement, telling them that he 'cakilated to treat his old Mas'rjust as Peter treated de good Jesus. '"

"Why, can it be possible he knows her?" I said. 

"He thinks not, " said mother, "but this calling him Peter is singularenough. "

"It seems very strange, and hardly possible she can have come so far, "said father. Louis' eyes as well as my own had been covertly scanningMr. Benton, and he was ill at ease. At the name of Peter his face grewpale and his hand trembled; no one else noticing it, he rallied, butmade no remark whatever. Afterward Louis said to him:

"What a strange experience this is of the girl we found!--truths arequeer things; I feel a real anxiety to find out about her. Do not youfeel interested?" His eyes fell as he answered:

"Can't say that I do. You have more enthusiasm than myself. Having knownmore years, I am taught to let people look out for themselves very much. But that old Matthias I don't like. It may be all a put upjob--something to bring credit or money to himself--you can't trust thatdarky. "

"Why, " said Louis, "_I_ would trust him, and so far as this young ladyis concerned, a different person from Matthias is at the root of thematter. I have a desire to know the truth and help the girl. "

"She may be your fate, Louis. "

"No, " he replied, "Mr. Benton, that is not possible, my 'fate, ' as youcall it, is my Emily. "

"Miss Minot?" said Benton, "great heavens! Has that girl played mefalse?"

"I think not, " said Louis calmly, "and since the subject is broached, perhaps it will be best for me to tell you that Emily is to be my wife, her parents being willing. "

"You _are a gentleman_, truly! I gave you my confidence and expected"--

"Do not say more, " said Louis, raising his hand deprecatingly againstthe coming falsehood, "do not help me to despise you. I am too sorrythat I am forced to know what you said to me was untrue, and also torealize what my Emily has suffered and kept in her own heart. "

"Louis Desmonde, " said Mr. Benton, "do you realize what you are saying?"

"Only too well, sir; do not force me to say more. I admire your art. Iam willing to help you to be a man. "

"_Indeed!_" replied Mr. Benton. "Philanthropic _boy_! who talks to a manof years and judgment!"

It was a bitter pill for him, and I believe it was the knowledge ofLouis' money, and of his own great need of it, that forced him toretreat in silence, while Louis sought and told me of their interview. 

"How could you help telling him of the letter, Louis?"

"I did not have to try to help it, for I want to be sure of all I say tohim, and as far as I spoke I had perfect authority. He may at some timeneed my help, though he spurned the aid of his 'philanthropic boy. '"

"_Boy_, " said I, "you are old enough to be his father in goodness, buthere comes Aunt Hildy. The poor lamb must be better, else she would notcome back so soon, " and I opened the door for her entrance. 

"I know what you're after, " she said, "she's better; the poor thingwill get well. Oh dear! land! I wonder, when'll the same old story end. "

"Has she told it to you, Aunt Hildy?"

"Partly to me and partly to Mis' Goodwin. " (Aunt Hildy never said Mrs. ---- married or single, it was always Miss. ) "She'll tell you all aboutit, I guess, for she wants to see you. She remembers your dark eyes, andMatthias she calls Peter--yes, she does, now she's come clean to hersenses, and when she gets a little more strength, she says she must seehim, and the dark eyes too; so you'll have to go over. Mis' Goodwin saidmebbe you'd better wait till to-morrer, and so says Brother Davis. Hecome over and brought a few of his powders--he wanted to do something. Itold him we could fetch her out straight--Mis' Goodwin and me--and Ithink he'd better tend to himself--says he's got a dreadful pain underhis shoulder blades; acts as if he's goin' to be sick. "

"Could the young lady eat anything, Mrs. Patten?" said Louis. 

"Mercy! yes, I've made gruel twice for her and she's all right, onlyshe'll be lame and sore-like for a good while, but I must go to work, I've been gone long enough. Where's your mother?" And the dear old soulhastened to her duties. 

Our supper table was enlivened by the news that Aunt Hildy brought, allbeing interested with the exception of Mr. Benton, who was well coveredwith dignity. Part of that evening, Louis and I spent with Hal and Mary. I longed to tell them all about the letter and Mr. Benton's deceit, butas we entered, Louis whispered, "Let us be discreet, " and I answered, "Emily will do it. " He was so much wiser that our years told a storywhen they said "only a month's difference in their ages. " Hal and Marywere much interested in the poor lamb, and like ourselves hoped to learnher history, and help her as she must need. Our visits here were alwayspleasant, and when we said "good night, " a sincere "God bless you" rosefrom our hearts. We entered our sitting-room, to find Clara sittingbetween mother and father, and the three evidently enjoying a home talk. After we were seated, and a lull in the conversation came, Louisstartled me by saying:

"Mr. And Mrs. Minot, I want to ask of you a favor--greater than the onegranted my little mother; perhaps so great that you will fail to grantit; but it is worth the asking, worth the waiting for through years. MayI call Emily my wife?"

My father looked strangely, and did not reply for a moment, whilemother's face was covered with that pleasant smile, which from earliestyears I had considered, "_yes_. " Louis' eyes were bent on my father, who, when he answered, said:

"You are both young, Louis. "

"Yes, sir, I know it, and I do not ask to make her my wife now. But Ilove her, Mr. Minot, and it is not right we should hold a position notsanctioned by you. I shall feel better if you are willing to considerus, as we feel, pledged to each other. "

"I cannot say _no_, but I have thought--Mr. Benton has asked me the samequestion, and I hardly know what to say--I said to him, 'If Emily iswilling, I will not oppose your suit. '"

"Oh!" I cried, "father, he has told such stories!"

Louis said: "We can explain that satisfactorily, Mr. Minot, but if thereare other objections in your mind, let us know what they are. "

My father was not a man who expressed himself freely, and Louis was sounlike other young men that he was embarrassed evidently, and there was, as it seemed to me, a long silence ere he said:

"I have no objections, Louis. I believe you mean what you say, and alsohave enough of your mother in you to treat our girl well. I cannot seewhy your plans may not be carried out so far as I am concerned. "

He looked at mother, who smiled a consent, and Louis stepped toward themboth, shook their hands heartily, and said:

"I thank you. "

His way of manifesting feeling was purely French, and belonged tohim--it was not ours, but we came to like it, and as my father oftensaid, when Clara came she unlocked many a door that had been shut foryears. Too many of our best ideas were kept under covering, I knew, andthe hand of expressive thought was one which loosened the soil abouttheir roots, giving impetus to their growth and sweetness to theirblossoms. We knew more of each other daily, and is not this true throughlife? Do not fathers and mothers live and die without knowing theirchildren truly, and all of them looking through the years for that whichthey sorely need, and find it not? Their confidence in each otherlacking, lives have been blasted, hopes scattered almost ere they wereborn, and generations suffered in consequence. It was the blessedbreaking of day to me, the freedom to tell my mother what I thought; andafter Clara, became one of us, I could get much nearer to my father. Thefull tide of her feeling swept daily over the harbor bar of our lives, and we enjoyed together its great power. Her heart was beneficent, andher hand sealed it with the alms she gave freely. She was alwaysunobtrusive, and anxious in every way to avoid notoriety. 

Deacon Grover who had heard and known with others of her numerouscharities, offered advice in that direction, and said to Aunt Hildy, "If that rich lady would just walk up and give a few hundreds to thechurch fund it would help mightily. "

Aunt Hildy had replied:

"Yes, yes, Deacon Grover, it would be nice for lazy folks to let theminister do all the saving, and somebody else all the paying. I believefaith without works is jest exactly like heavy bread, and will not beaccepted at the table of the Lord. "

"He never said another word to me, " said she; "that man knows he has aright to be better. "

This was a conceded fact, and it always seemed to me he ought not to becarrying his deaconship in one hand, and his miserably small deeds inthe other. Hypocrites were in existence among all people, and whilethoroughly despised by them, still held their places, and do yet, as faras my knowledge and experience go. 

Early the morning of the next day, Matthias came over to tell us aboutthat "poor gal, " as he called her. 

"She wants to see you, Miss Emily, and they say she wants to talk to metoo. Mis' Goodwin said ''pears like you'd better come over thar 'boutthree o'clock to-day, if you can. ' She's right peart, an' by 'nuthermornin', 'spect she'll call loud for me. "

"Do you think you know her, Matthias?"

"Can't say I do, Miss, but seems queer enough, she 'sists on callin' ofme 'Peter'--um--gimme sich a feelin' when she spoke dat word, " andMatthias looked as if his heart was turning back to his old home, andits never-to-be-forgotten scenes. 

Mother sent a basket of delicacies over by him, and Aunt Hildy said:

"Tell Miss Goodwin I'm goin' to bake some of my sweet cookies and sendover, and we can make some bread for her; 'twill help along--don'tforget it Matthias. "

"No, marm, I'll 'member sure, " and off he started. As he passed alongthe path I thought of a word I wanted to say, and ran out of the door intime to see the shadow of a form which I knew must be waiting in the"angle" as we called it. It was where the east L ended, about ten feetfrom the main front. In the summer I had a bed of blue violets here, andnamed it "Violet Angle. ' I stopped, for I heard a voice, and sawMatthias turn to this spot instead of passing on to the gate as usual. The first salutation I did not hear, but Matthias' reply was "yaas sah. "The voice was Mr. Benton's, and I stood riveted to the spot. 

"Who is that girl, Matt?" he said. 

"Dunno, sah. "

"Don't know? Yes, you do know; you can't play your odds on me. I'm notready to swallow all I hear. I want you to tell me who that girl is, and how she came here. "

"I dunno, sah, sartin. "

"Matt, I don't believe a word you say; first tell me the truth. "

"Massar Benton, you're a queer man. Dis niggah shan't tell you no lies, but de Lord's truf, I dunno noffin 'bout. "

"You don't know me either, do you?" and he laughed ironically. 

"Never thought I did, " said Matthias; "'pears like long ways back I seesome face like yours, but I dunno. Good many faces looks alike roun'yere. "

"Yes, yes, " says Benton, "you've said enough, you black rascal; and you_mark my words_, if you've raised the devil, as I think you have, I'llcowhide you. I'll give you something to remember me by, you old fool;and you a'nt a fool either; you're as cunning as Satan is wicked. "

"De Lord forgive you, " said Matthias, "you're done gone clar from yoursenses. I dunno who dat gal is, an I dunno who you is, an' what more kinI say?"

"I know who you are, and I know you were the slave of Sumner down inSouth Carolina. "

"Yaas, " said Matthias, "dat's so; but how does you know 'bout me? Didyou come down thar? 'Haps dat's de reason you're face kinder makes melook back, an it mos' allus does; 'pears like you mout explain. "

"Yes, s'pose I _mout_, " said Benton, "and I reckon you will before weget through. "

"Wal, " said Matthias, "if you wait till you gits evidence fo' you givesdat hidin' you talks 'bout, I've got plenty ob time to go over to degroun' room, " and he walked off at his old gait, slow but sure, while I, turning, ran into the house and told mother what I had heard. 

She raised her hands in a sort of holy horror, but only said:

"What does it mean?"

"It means, " said Aunt Hildy, "that man's a rascal; I told you, Mis'Minot, he was when I first set eyes on him, and I've kept good track ofEmily, for when he see he couldn't get the 'rich widder, ' that's what hecalls our good little creetur Clara, then he tacked round and set sailfor Emily, and he's been a torment to her, and I know it. Thank theLord, he's shown his cloven foot; I wish Mr. Minot had heard it. _He_laughs at me, thinks I'm a fool, but I've seen through him if I do wearan old cloak. It's mine, and so is my wit, what little I've got. "

Aunt Hildy stepped up lively and worked every moment, keeping time toher thoughts and giving great expression by her peculiar accenting ofwords. Clara heard us, and came in "to the rescue, " she said, "for itsounded as if somebody was getting a scolding. "

I repeated my story, and although she rarely used French expressions, this time she clasped her little hands together, sank into a chair, andsaid:

"Oh! Emélie, j'ai su depuis longtemps, qu'il nous ferait un grand tort. Le pauvre agneau! Le pauvre agneau!"

"What will father do?" I said to mother. 

"I cannot think of anything to do except to help the poor girl; his ownpunishment is sure, Emily; we are not his masters. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, '" she quoted calmly. 

"Yes, " said Aunt Hildy, "that's the spirit to have, but I believe if Ihad really heard it as Emily did, I'd have risked it to throw a pan ofdish water on him. "

I could not help laughing--we were having a real drama in the kitchen. Great tears had gathered in Clara's eyes, and I said to her:

"Now this will upset you. I'm sorry you heard it. "

"No, no, " she said, "but the poor lamb, I can hardly wait for the timewhen I may see her. "

"Can you ever speak to Mr. Benton again?" I said to mother. 

"I should hope so, Emily. I feel great pity for him; he might be abetter man. We are taught toleration not of principles, but certainly ofmen, and I think if our Heavenly Father will forgive him, we can affordto, and then it would be very unwise to let him know we are cognizant ofthis. "

My mother reminded me so many times of the light that burns steadily ina light-house on a ledge. The waves, washing the solid rock, and wearingeven the stone at its base, have no power to disturb the lamp, which, well trimmed, burns silently on, throwing its beams far out to sea, andfanning hope in the heart of the sailor, who finds at last the shore andblesses the beacon light. 

I admired her calm and steadfast trust in the truth, that bore her alongin her daily doing right toward all with whom she mingled, but I wellknew she would be righteously indignant toward Mr. Benton, and alsothat the whole truth, with the letter and the story of "the lamb, " wouldsoon be forthcoming. I could hardly wait for the recital which Iexpected to hear in the afternoon, and entered Mrs. Goodwin's door atthree o'clock precisely. 

She was glad to see me, and said cheerily:

"Take off your things, Emily, and I'll show you right in, for MissHarris is waiting anxiously. "

I thought she looked beautiful the night we found her, but to-day shewas a marvellous picture, sitting among the white pillows. Her cheekswere touched here and there with pink, as if rose leaves had left theirtender stain--her eyes beautifully bright, and such depths of blue, witharched brows above them, and long brown lashes for a shield. Her hairrippled over her shoulders in brown curls, and around her was thrown thelight India shawl she had about her on that sad night. She smiled withpleasure as I entered, and beckoned me to her bedside, while Mrs. Goodwin said:

"Take the old splint rocker, Emily. I am going to let you stay two longhours. "

How gratefully the poor lamb's eyes turned upon the good woman!

"This young lady's name is Harris. "

"Yes, " said Miss Harris "Mary Abigail Harris, after my mother. "

I kissed her forehead, and then took the seat proffered, sitting so nearher that I could lean on the side of the bed as I listened to the story. 

Mrs. Goodwin left us alone, and the recital began:

"I remembered your eyes, Miss Minot, and I wanted to tell you all aboutit--how I came to be here, needing the help you so kindly gave. Oh, Ishudder, " she said, "as I think how it might have been that never againmy mother could have seen me!"

Her face grew pale, but no tears came, and I could see a resolute lookthat gave signs of strong will, and for this I felt inwardly thankful. 

"I came from my home, " said she, "in search of my husband. Three yearsago I was married in my father's house to Wilmur Bentley, who came Southfrom his Northern home on an artist's tour, selling many pictures andpainting more. He lived in our vicinity for some months with a friend, awealthy planter by the name of Sumner. " I started involuntarily. "Therewere two of these gentlemen--brothers--and they owned large plantationswith many colored people. Mr. Bentley had every appearance of agentleman of honor, and none of us ever doubted his worth. My fathergave him a pleasant welcome and a home, and for three brief months wewere happy. Suddenly a cloud fell upon him; he appeared troubled, andsaid 'Mary, I must go North--I have left some tangled business snarlsthere, which I must see to. ' He left, promising an early return. Theletters I received from him were frequent, and beautifully tender intheir expressions of love for me. I was happy; but the days wore intoweeks, and his return still delayed. I began to feel anxious andfearful, when I received a letter from Chicago, saying he had beenobliged to go to that city on business, and would be unavoidablydetained. He would like me to come to him, if it were not for fear ofmy being too delicate to bear the journey. My parents would have beenquite unwilling also, for the promise of the days lay before me, andwith this new hope that it would not be so very long ere he would come, I was again contentedly happy. The letters grew less frequent, and thedays grew long, and when September came my little girl came too, and howI longed for her father to come. 

"My parents telegraphed him of the event, saying also, 'Come, ifpossible--Mary is in a fever of anxiety, ' but he did not come; thetelegram was not replied to, and although dangerously ill, I lived. Nowthe letters came no more, and I, still believing in his goodness, feltsure that he was either sick or dead. My little Mabel lived one year. Oh, how sweet she was! and one month after her death I received a letterasking why I was so silent, telling me of great trouble and overwhelmingme with sorrow. I answered kindly, but my father was convinced by thisthat he was a 'villain, ' to use his own expression. The fact of his notwriting for so long, and then writing a letter almost of accusationagainst me, made me feel fearful, and as I looked back on my suffering, determined, if it were possible to some day know the truth. My answer tothe letter I speak of was received, and he again wrote, and this timetold me a pitiful tale of the loss by fire of all his artistpossessions, and his closing sentence was 'we may never meet again, forin the grave I hope to find refuge from want. If you desire to answerthis, write 'without delay. It is hard to bear poverty and want. '

"I felt almost wild, and gave father the letter, hoping to receive agenerous donation from him, but my father said, 'Molly, darling, (thatis my name at home), the villain lies! no, no, pet, not a cent. ' I criedmyself ill, and sent him my wedding ring, a diamond, his gift, sincewhich I have heard nothing. 

"I told my father after it was gone, and if he had not loved me so much, I should have felt the power of angry words. He was angry, but hethought of all I had suffered, and he took me right up in his arms, andcried over me. 'Mollie, darling, it is too bad; you have a woman'sheart. I would to God the man had never been born. 

"I had a dear friend to whom I had confided all my sorrow--a Virginialady, married and living in Boston. Her husband, Mr. Chadwick, is amerchant there, and every year she spends three or four months with herSouthern friends. One brother lives in Charleston, my home. We have beenattached to each other for years, and my father and mother love herdearly. Three weeks ago she arrived at her home in Boston, having beenSouth four months, and at her earnest solicitation I came also. She knewmy heart and how determined I was to find Mr. Bentley, and felt willingto aid me in any way possible. We went about the city, and I devotedmyself especially to looking at paintings and statuary. I found at lastby chance a picture with the name, not of 'Bentley, ' but of 'Benton' onit. I traced it to Chicago, and proved it to be his, and there from hisown friends gathered the facts which led me on his track. "

"Oh!" I cried. 

"Wait, " said she, "More, Miss Minot; he has a wife, or at least thereis a poor woman with two boys living in poverty in the suburbs ofBoston, to whom he was married ten years ago. I have been to see her, but did not disclose my secret. Mrs. Chadwick has known of this for along time, but dared not tell me until I got strong, and was in theNorth with her. I gave that woman money to help her buy bread, and Mrs. Chadwick will see to her now. She is a lovely character. Benton's homeis near this place where she lives, and he goes there once in a greatwhile. Now about my clothes--when I started for this place I was wellclad, and the first of my journey quiet and calm, but I think myexcitement grew intense, and I must have lost myself utterly. I know itwas a week ago when I left Boston, and now as I look back, I rememberlooking at my baby's picture and everything growing dim in the cars. This India shawl was thrown about my neck, but it seems when you foundme I had no other covering. I found the purse where I had sewed it in mydress, but my cloak and bonnet and furs, all are gone. 

"I can remember how the name of this place kept ringing in my ears, andI must have asked for it and found it, even though I cannot remember oneword. After the baby's picture your eyes came before me, and then oldPeter. "

Looking at the clock, she said:

"It is only half an hour since you came in, and will you ask Peter tocome in and see me? I'm sure I hear him talking in the other room. "

I stepped to the door, and there was Matthias. 

I said to Mrs. Goodwin:

"Miss Harris wishes to see Peter, she says. "

She looked at Matthias, and then said:

"Well, come in, and we'll find out what she means, if we can. "

He walked solemnly along to her bedside, and stood as if amazed. 

"Peter, " said she, "you know me; I am Mary Harris, and you lived withMr. Charles Sumner--do say you know me. You said you would deny yourmaster, and you did it, " and she held her hands to him. 

He reached forth his own and took the jewelled fingers tenderly in hisdark palm as if half afraid; then the tears came, forcing their way, andwith an effort he said:

"Oh! oh! honey chile--can't be pos'ble--what's done happin to ye, andwhar was ye gwine?"

"Never mind, Peter, but do you remember the man who painted beautifulpictures, and stopped awhile with your master's brother?"

"Sartin, I does. "

"William Bentley he said was his name, but it was Benton; he told us astory. "

"De great Lord, Molly chile, you's foun' him, sure--de debbil's got ahold on dat man, an'--"

But I looked a warning, and he waited. 

"You remember him then, Peter; he had a light moustache, a pleasingmouth--a very nice young man we thought him to be. "

"Yas, yas, dar's whar de mistake come in, wit dat 'ar mustaff, " saidMatthias dreamily. 

"What mistake?" she said. 

"Oh! de good Lord bress you, honey, what does you want of dis man?"

"I want to tell him something, and I heard he was here, and now will youfind him for me?"

"I will, Miss Molly, 'ef I dies dead for it--de Lord help us. "

"Do you think you can?"

"I knows dat ar to be a fack. "

"Oh, Peter! I am glad; where is he?"

Poor Matthias looked at me, and I said, "Now, Miss Harris, you must nottalk anymore, and I will help Matthias, for I think I know where thisman is. "

She shut her eyes and sank back among her pillows, looking tired andpale--the knowledge that this destroyer of her hopes was so near was, though looked for and expected, more than she could really bear. 

Mrs. Goodwin left the room, motioning to Matthias to follow, and I satquietly thinking of what to do, when she opened her eyes and said to me:

"I have written to Mrs. Chadwick, and also to mother, and she will sendmother's letter from Boston. I cannot write to her of this; it wouldworry her so; and now, as I can see Wilmur and say to him what I desire, I shall leave you. "

"It will kill you to see him. "

"You are mistaken. I know I look frail, but I can endure much, and I donot love him any more though he was my Mabel's father. I want him to goto his poor wife and do right if he can. She loves him and is deludedinto believing the strangest things. Robberies and fires and anythinghe thinks of are an excuse for not sending her money. "

"Oh! he needs hanging, " I said. 

"No, no, Miss Minot; if he is unfit for our society he certainly wouldfind nobody to love him there; I am not seeking revenge, though hispunishment is sure enough. In two days more I shall be strong enough tosee him. Oh, I do hope Peter will find him!"

She needed rest, and I said:

"Now it is best for me to go, and when I come again I would like tobring a beautiful friend. "

"Oh, yes, " she said, "and do come to-morrow!"

She bade me a reluctant "Good bye, " and I told Matthias, I wanted him towalk home with me. 

My walk homeward with Matthias gave me the needed opportunity to talkwith him, where naught save the air wandering off to the hills couldhear us. I told him of the conversation which I had overheard, and alsothat I proposed to take the burden on my own shoulders of revealing toMiss Harris the fact of Mr. Benton being with us. "For, " I said, "Matthias, it will hardly be safe for you to bear all this. He believes, I think, that you have helped Miss Harris to find him, and has beenlooking out for trouble since you came to us, for he warned both Louisand myself, and told us not to trust you. He did not, of course, say heknew you; that would not have done at all. But I will do all she asks, then your poor old shoulders will be relieved a little. "

"Jes as you say, Miss Emly, pears like its queer nuf an' all happin too, an' ef he had worn just dat mustaff, without de whiskers, I'd know himyere straight off. I said long nuf, he set me on de tinkingroun--um--um--here come Mas'r Louis lookin' arter his gal, I reckin, mighty wise he is; I'd tote a long ways ef 'twas to help him. "

Louis went to the village early and had returned to hear from Clara'slips my morning discovery, and came to meet me, anxious to learn thestory of the poor lamb, which I rehearsed, having time to tell it allduring the rest of the walk, and ending with "it is strange enough tomake a book, " just as we entered our gate. 

Louis said the cloud must break ere long; and when Matthias left Ifollowed along the path behind him, feeling that Mr. Benton might againassail him, and I was not mistaken. 

"Look here, " came from the angle, and "yas, sah, " from Matthias as heturned to answer. 

"What did you come home with Miss Minot for?" said Benton. 

"Kase she axed me too, sah. "

"Whom has she been to see?"

"Dat poor gal. "

"Who is that girl, do you know?

"Yas, sah, " said the honest old man. 

"You know more to-day than you did yesterday. "

"Yas, sah. "

"Why don't you tell me who she is. "

"You did'nt ax me, you said did I know?"

"I don't want any of your nigger talk. I want her name, and by the great----"

"Look yer, Mas'r Benton, if you's gwine to dip in an' swar, I'll totelong by myself. "

"Well, tell me who she is. "

"She tole me she was dat little Molly Harris dat lived down inCharleston, an--"

"How in thunder did she get here?"

"Dunno, sah. "

"You do know, and I tell you you'll make money to tell me all about it. "

"Dunno nothin' moah. I said dat same word, how you git yere, and she saynever min 'bout dat. "

"What else did she say, what does she want?"

"Wall, de res ob what she tell me, 'pears like she didn't 'spect metell. I'll go over thar, an' tell her you wants to know, an--"

"The devil you will, you impudent rascal--all I want to know is if shewants to find me. "

"De good Lord, dat's de berry secret I don't want to tell. "

"Ah! ha! my fine fellow, caught at last. "

"Well, " said he, "ef de Lord was right yere in dis vilit angil he'd sayMatt dunno nothin' 'bout how de poor lamb got roun' to dis town. "

"I don't know how to believe this, but now look here, Matt, if you'll goover there and tell her I've gone to Chicago, I'll do something nice foryou. I'll get you a suit of nicer clothes than you ever had, and a shinyhat--hey, what do you say?"

"Mas'r Benton, " said Matthias slowly, "I'm never gwine to tell a lie an'set myself in de place whar Satan hisself can ketch a holt an me. No, sah, 'pears like I'm ready to do what's right, but dat ain't rightnohow, an' 'pears, too, its mighty funny you's so scart of dat poorlittle milk-faced gal. Trus' in de Lord, Mas'r Benton, an' go right onover thar--she can't hurt you nohow. "

"Don't talk your nonsense to me; you're on her side, she's bought you, but I'll be even with you; I'll slap your face now to make a goodbeginning. "

"No, sah, " said Matthias, "I'm done bein' a slave jes now, an' ef youwant to make me hit you I shall jes do it; fur you no bizness in de lawspecially tryin' to put it on a poor ole nigger who can't go by ye'thout your grabbin' at him jes ready to kill, an' all kase you's donesuthin' you's shamed of an' tinks he knows it. I'm gwine over to thegroun' room. "

I feared Mr. Benton would strike him, and I ran to the gate, and stoodthere while Matthias passed out and along the road. Mr. Bentondisappeared suddenly. 

Supper-time was at hand, and there had been no time to tell mother whatI had heard of Miss Harris' history. At the table Ben, as usual, hadinquiries to make, and I said, "Oh! she is better, Ben; you shall seeher, for she will stay a long time. "

"Where did she come from, Emily?"

From Charleston, South Carolina. 

"Well, ain't that funny?" said he; "that's the very place Matthias camefrom, and perhaps she does know him after all. "

"Oh! yes, she does, " I replied, and raising my eyes to meet Mr. Benton'sgaze, I shot the truth at him with a dark glance; his own eyes fell, andhe looked as if overwhelmed with confusing thoughts; and theconsciousness of being foiled roused the demon within him. This, however, was not the time or place to unbottle his wrath, and it mustswell silently within. 

My father began to feel the shadows thickening round him, and he kindlyforbore to say a word regarding the matter, as did also mother. AuntHildy moved a little uneasily in her chair, and I knew she could havesaid something as cutting as a knife, but did not. As for me, I couldand did talk on other things, and congratulated myself on anothervictory. I afterward told mother all Miss Harris said, and she remarkedquietly:

"I am very thankful she is his wife. "

"Well, but she isn't, " I said. 

"Yes, I know, Emily, the previous marriage would be held as the onlylawful tie, but it is much better than it might have been. She has agood home and parents, and is young. Years will restore her. I cannotsee, however, why she should have taken the pains to find him here. "

"For the reason that she desires to plead with him for the wife and boysthat are in need, and is a strong noble woman too, --why, she will havethe strength of a lion when she gets well, and there is a resolutedetermination on her part to place before Mr. Benton a plain picture ofhis duty. "

"Hem!" said Aunt Hildy, "she can get her picture all ready and put onthe prettiest paint in the market, --that man will be gone in less thantwenty-four hours. Can't I see which way his sails are set?" Our backdoor-sill never was swept cleaner than where this sentence fell. 

"That may be, " said mother; "I hope he will, for it seems to me we havetoo great a duty to perform if he stays. I feel ill able to undertakethe task. "

Aunt Hildy turned to hang up her broom, saying as she did so:

"I'd like to have your sister Phebe give him a lecture--she'd tear himall to pieces jest as easy as shellin' an ear of corn. I like to hearher talk; she ain't afraid of all the lies that can be invented. What agood hit she give Deacon Grover that night when he come in with hisideas of nothin' spillin' over. She talked good common sense, and hew asthe subject, for it was all about a hypocrite. He did'nt stay to see ifhe could get a mug of cider to save his own, but set mighty uneasy andwas off for home before eight o'clock. That done me good. "

That evening was spent by me in conversation with Louis. Next morning atthe breakfast table the subject of the poor lamb was not broached, anddirectly after, when the stage came along, Mr. Benton took it to go tothe village on business. 

"There, " said Aunt Hildy, "he never'll step on to this door-sillagain--but I would'nt throw a horseshoe after him if I knew it would begood luck. He don't deserve any. "

"Why, he hasn't taken as much as a carpet-bag, " said my father, "ofcourse, he will be back again. "

"No, sir, Mr. Minot; that feller is up to snuff--he ain't going to stopnow for any duty pictures, " and she turned to her work as if satisfiedwith having made a true prophecy. 

I spoke to Clara about going over to see Miss Harris, and she feltinclined to go that morning. 

"Louis, too, may go, " she said. "Come, dear boy. "

We were very welcome, and found Miss Harris seated in the old rush-chairbefore the fire-place. Her dress was a most becoming wrapper of blue(she found it in Clara's bundle) her hair falling as on the previousday in natural curls, and the same India shawl thrown over her slopingshoulders. She was exactly Clara's size, and when the two came together, Clara said, "We are sisters surely. " But afterward, as they sat side byside, I could see such a difference. Alike in form and complexion, alsohaving regular features, yet the light in our Clara's eyes wasincomparably purer, savored less of earth. Miss Harris' face was sweet, truthful, the lines of her mouth alone defining her powerful will andcourage. She was very beautiful, but earthly, while over my own Clara'sface there fell the unmistakable light of something beyond. Oh! mysaving angel, how my heart beat as I sat there drawing the comparison, giving to Miss Harris a place in the sitting-room of my womanly feeling, and yielding to my beloved Clara the entire room where lay the purestthoughts which had been boon to my spirit, coming to life at the touchof her tender hand! She was a beacon light in the wilderness of thought. 

"Tell me, Miss Minot, " said Miss Harris, "tell me all you know, for Ifeel you do know much. "

I explained Mr. Benton's coming to stay with us, and when I said he tookthe stage this morning for town, and will be back, I suppose--

"Never, " she interrupted, "he has heard I am here. "

"Yes, " I said, and repeated his conversation with Matthias. 

"I am then foiled, but he will not elude the truth that goes with him. He may have gone to his waiting wife. Mrs. Chadwick will write me, forshe will not lose sight of her. "

No tears came to her eyes, but the determined look deepened as it wereinto strength, and she said:

"It is too bad. I did hope to be able to make him do his duty. Now Imust hasten to become strong, and go back to Boston. I will find himyet--I'm sure I will. "

She talked freely of her Southern home, and expressed comfort at thehope of one day seeing us there. 

"I need a little help to get there myself, " she said; "I have nocloak--can you get one for me, Miss Minot? I am fortunate enough to beable to pay for it, my purse being with me. "

Louis looked admiringly at the girl-woman (for such she seemed to be), and when our call ended said to her:

"When you are strong enough to leave, may you receive great help to dowhat seems to be your whole duty; and if little mother or myself can aidyou, please command us. "

"Thank you, " she said, "you remind me much of my dark-eyed Southernfriends. " We took our departure. It was only one week after that the oldstage carried her from our sight; but we did not forget her, nor the sadexperience which had developed in her so great a strength. 

Mr. Benton did not return, as Aunt Hildy predicted, and the stagebrought a note for Hal, in which he said he was unavoidably detained, having found important letters at the village. He would write him a longletter, and the letter came after ten days' waiting, bearing thepostmark of ---- (he was with his wife). He wrote that he was with afriend, and some unexpected business relations would keep him there fora time. He desired his belongings sent to him, if it would not troubleHal too much. He feared that it would be a long time ere he would beagain situated amongst such pleasant surroundings, "and they are, as youwell know, so much needed by an artist, " he said. I do wonder what theman thought. Hal and Mary had not known Miss Harris' story, but Louishad read the letter to Hal, and his perfidy was apparent to all. No wordhad been said, however, and I presume he (not learning about theletters) thought Hal still a good friend, which was in fact the case. Hal said:

"I would not lose sight of him for the world. Emily, his hand was one ofthose which led me across the bridge of sighs when my art was coming tolife, and I shall help him. He may yet need more than we know. "

"We can afford to pity him, but what about his wife, Hal?"

"His wife I intend to see. Let us hope he will yet prove of someassistance to her. "

"Good brother! blessed brother! I have felt so angry with him, Hal, butI will try to be good. Of course Mary will be with you. "

"She thinks he needs a little punishment, but I tell her to be patient, and to let the days tell us their story. "

"Amen, " said the voice of our Clara, who was always in the right place, "and may we not hope for all the suffering ones. There are bruisedhearts all around us. Let the precious nutriment of our love and carefall on them as the dew, calling forth tender blossoms, whose perfumemay mingle with their lives. Wisdom and strength, my Emily, will help usto these things, and the prayer of England's church be not so sadlytrue. "

It was a relief to us all, and we could take long breaths now that Mr. Benton had gone, and mysteries solved had opened before us a vista ofquiet days, into which our feet would gladly turn. We had to talk himover thoroughly, and I was glad to be able to say at last:

"Peace to his memory; let him rest. "

The letter we expected from the sweet girl-woman came, and we heard eachweek of her and her unrewarded search going on. At last, when out fromthe snows blue violets sprang, there came a letter, saying, "It is done. I found him looking at a lovely picture, one of his own. Itwas a fancy sketch, but the face, eyes and hair, those of Mrs. Desmonde, I know. He had clothed her in exquisitely lovely apparel, and she waslooking out over a waste of waters, but I cannot describe it justly. Ifher son were here, he would secure it at any price. I touched hisshoulder; he turned, and with the strangest look in his eyes. He soughteven then to avoid me, thinking probably I might prove a tempest in ateapot, and make a terrible scene. I said quietly, 'I am only desiriousof two hours' conversation with you;' introduced Mrs. Chadwick to him asto a friend, and invited him to call; gave him my card and turned away, naming an hour the ensuing day; for I knew he would come. My mannerdisarming him, I really believe he felt relieved to know I was not onhis track with weapons of law. He came, and I received him almostcordially. The parlor had been left for us, and my friend, at myrequest, sat outside the door where she could hear all that passed. Ofcourse, I cannot tell you what I said, but my revelations werestartlingly true, and he could not gainsay them, neither did he try to. He seemed rather astonished that I no longer desired his companionshipand the great love which every true woman needs. I answered with spirit, and just as I felt, that while his love might be boundless, it could nolonger be anything for me. I knew his soul was capable of maintainingthe appearance of purity of thought long enough to delineate its outlineon canvas, and while I admired his talent in verse, I had tasted thebitter dregs of his falseness, and was now thoroughly undeceived as tohis character. Never again could I be misled by the semblance of a lovewhich had no reality beneath its honeyed words. I told him also that ourangel Mabel had been orphaned by his cruelty. And oh! how strong I feltwhen I said, 'Go to your own wife, whose burden I would not increase byrevealing my own terrible secret. Live for her and those two boys. Redeem yourself in the eyes of your God as well as before those whom youhave so foully wronged. If you will do this, I will say the peace ofwell-doing be with you. ' He really felt the power of my words, andhonored me for them, I know, and when he left my presence, he said:

"'If life should hold for me henceforth some different purposes, wouldyou be my friend? and if in the great hereafter we shall meet, willMabel be with me there? I wish I could have seen her. Forgive me, Mary;you are heaping coals of fire on my head. I thought you sought my utterdestruction. '

"'My father would have appealed to you only through the law, ' I said, 'but that would have been wrong, and would leave you no chance to growbetter. Go, and do right, and there is yet time for redemption. '

"'But you--what of you?' he asked. 

"'I rise from beneath the weight of sorrow that covered me so early inlife, to find there is yet much worth living for. I shall live and behappy. ' They were not false tears, the drops that fell on my hand atparting; and I said, after he had gone:

"'Thank God who giveth me the victory. ' My friend expected me to faintor moan, or make some sign of distress. No, I felt a great joy within, and I believe he will do better. I inclose to you some verses he sent meat the time he wrote me the terrible letter of want and despair. Theyhad their effect, as I told you. Monday I leave for the South; I shallwrite you immediately after my return. God bless you all. 

Mary. "

We read the letter together, Clara, Louis and I--and here is the poetry, which speaks for itself of the talent this man possessed, and tells us, as Clara said, how fruitful the soil would have proved if it had beenproperly tilled. 

 I was a poet nerved and strung Up to the singing pitch you know, And this since melody first was young Has evermore been the pitch of woe: She was a wistful, winsome thing, Guileless as Eve before her fall, And as I drew her 'neath my wing-- Wilmur and Mary, that was all. 

 Oh! how I loved her as she crept Near and nearer my heart of fire! Oh! how she loved me as I swept The master strings of her spirit's lyre! Oh! with what brooding tenderness Our low words died in her father's hall, In the meeting clasp, and parting press-- Wilmur and Mary, that was all!

 I was a blinded fool, and worse, She was whiter than driven snow, And so one morning the universe Lost forever its sapphire glow; Across the land, and across the sea, I felt a horrible shadow crawl, A spasm of hell shot over me, Wilmur and darkness, that was all!

 Leagues on leagues of solitude lie, Dun and dreary between us now, And in my heart is a terrible cry, With clamps of iron across my brow. Never again the olden light-- Ever the sickly, dreadful pall; I am alone here in the night, Wilmur and misery, that is all!

 For the solemn haze that soon will shine, For the beckoning hand I soon shall see, For the fitful glare of the mortal sign That bringeth surcease of agony, For the dreary glaze of the dying brain, For the mystic voice that soon will call, For the end of all this passion and pain, Wilmur is waiting--that is all. 

The letter and poem finished, we talked long of our new friend, and thestrange experiences brought into our quiet lives, and Clara said:

"Oh! how long must all the good in the world of thought wait for thehand of love to open the avenues of work for willing doers! Cannotstrong men weep; and must not angels sorrow to realize the darkness andthe errors where light should dawn, and in a morning of new life men andwomen stand as brothers and sisters in the grand work of helping eachother to do all that lies on either hand! Fields whiten for the harvest, but the reapers are not many. These experiences come to us as teachers, and oh, Louis and Emily, let your hearts search to find these sorrowingones! May your hands never be withheld from the needed alms, and may youwork in quiet love and patience through the years! The mists will shroudthe valley, and ere long, my dear ones, I shall leave you, for I cannotstay too long away from all that awaits me there. If I had more strengthI could stay longer--but strength is what we need to hold the wings ofour soul closely down, and when the physical chain grows weak, all thatis waiting comes nearer. Spiritual strength grows greater, and thewaiting soul plumes its wings for flight. It does not seem so far, andLouis, Emily, when my visible presence goes from you, your prayers willcome to me. I shall hear, perhaps I shall answer you also, for I shallbe your guardian angel. Then--is it not beautiful to think of the long, long years, and no death for evermore?"

She closed her eyes, and looked serenely happy, but I was weepingbitterly, and Louis' eyes swam in tears, as he said:

"Little mother, wait still longer, we cannot let you go. "

"Oh! Louis, my dear boy, it is not now, it may be just a few years yet, but it is sure to come--and I love to talk with you of this change. Itis natural for us to pass into the next room. If I go I must say all thethings I need to first. "

Aunt Hildy and mother entered, and we talked again of our new friendMary. When God touched me that night with his magic wand, I dreamed offairies, and saw wondrous changes at their hands, earth and heavenstrangely mingling. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

PRECIOUS THOUGHTS. 

I like to drift with the days, and scan them one by one, but as I recallall that I have written, I say to myself: "Emily must take some longstep now, else the tale of her life will never be told, even though thechanges came day by day, falling drop by drop into the lap of thewaiting years. "

Mother was feeling better, and when the rose-covered days of June cameover us our hearts were singing. Clara seemed well (for her) and Iforebore to grieve over her prophecy of leaving us, though for a fewdays after she had said those words, an icy feeling crept over me as Ithought on what they foreboded. I could not see how we could bear tolose her presence; life without her would be an empty vial, not only forus, but for all. We loved her devotedly. In this beautiful June I feltyounger than ever before, and believed that the constant saying tomyself, "I will do right, " was brightening all the world for me. 

I was twenty-one years old the previous March, and it seemed to me Ilooked much younger than when two years ago we saw for the first timethe face of our Clara Desmonde. March was a sort of wild month to findone's birthday in, and I never think of it without recalling the sayingof one who had seen hard work and sorrow as well. It was a lady I metonce at Aunt Phebe's, who came to bring a book for her to read, and inthe course of conversation she said:

"Mrs. Hungerford, I was born in March, and have come to the delightfulconclusion that all who dare to be born in this month must fight thebeasts at Ephesus. "

This year I had certainly fought Mr. Benton, and perhaps I should findanother experience in the next March month that came. 

Ben was seventeen years old in January, and this was a great year forhim; he had sought and obtained father's consent to manage a farm forhimself. Hal could not, of course, till the land he owned, and Ben hadmade arrangements to do it. He wanted the entire care, and Hal told himto go right ahead the same as if he owned it all and see what he coulddo. This was quite a step, and, as it proved, a successful one. He wasat home in his old room at night, but ate at Hal's table, and Mary saidhe was so good they could never keep house without him. I rejoiced thathe could fill a position for which he was fitted, albeit father and Halwere both disappointed that he could not have book knowledge enough toplace him in some position in public life. 

"That was mere ambition, " mother said, and Aunt Phebe remarkedconcerning him, that he should be let alone, and to help him to be anhonest man was the wisest course possible. 

"So I think, " said Aunt Hildy; "common sense has got power to last agood while, and high ideas sometimes kill everything. "

Louis was enjoying the summer "hugely, " as he expressed it, and Clarawas very willing to aid him in everything he undertook, and he was notan idle dreamer, for though he did dream beautifully, and talked oftenof the fairy land, as he called the home of his pure, good thoughts, hewas a worker in all ways. If a sudden shower threatened the meadow, hewas there with the men, doing all he could to aid them, and not slow tolearn the use of rake and pitchfork. If Aunt Peg needed attention he wassoon over to see her, and when he went to the village, he was the errandboy for any and all. He became well known among us, and the dear oldhome among the hills gave him a hearty welcome. Even Deacon Grover cameto the conclusion that the city chap didn't put on airs, and told me heshould think I'd almost want to catch him, laughing heartily at his ownwords. I always disliked this; it is a mark of a small brain to tell astory or say something witty, and crown your own talk by laughing atyourself--that would spoil the best joke in the world for me. 

One August afternoon I called Clara to the window to watch Louis andMatthias coming along slowly together in a close and evidentlyinteresting conversation. They came in together, and the face of ourdusky friend was covered with the light of a new thought. 

"Why, how happy you look!" I said. 

"He feels happy, " answered Louis; "they are going to have a wedding overat Aunt Peg's, and I am first man. "

"Yes, " said Matthias, "'pears like I kin get married now. Miss Smith, she feels lonesome, and I bother her 'bout my vittles, an' we kin set byone fire jes' as well. "

"I shall write Aunt Phebe to-morrow, and ask her, " I said, laughing. 

"Um--um, " said he, "reckon she's 'gaged to make me two white shirts'reddy. "

"Why, when did she know it?"

"Oh! she dunno nothing definite, but she said long ago she'd make 'emfor me when I git married, an' I done come over to see ef you'd sen' aword about it to her. "

"I will most certainly, but how long before you will be married?"

"'Bout tree weeks, I guess; haint set on no day. Let Miss Smith dothat. "

"And you'll have a wedding?"

"No, Miss Em'ly. For de lan' sake, you don't 'spect we's gwine into datyere meetin' 'ouse for de folks to call it a nigger show, duz ye? We'stoo ole to be gwine roun' to be laf at. "

"I didn't mean to plague you, Matthias; please excuse me, " for he lookedthe least bit provoked. "I'll make some cake, though, and you'll wantwitnesses, so Louis and I can come, anyway. "

"'Spect you two need to get used to dat yere ceremony more'n de rest ofde folks yere; yas, you kin come. "

Oh! how Louis laughed at this, saying:

"There, Emily, Matthias knows too much; look out for breakers when youtalk to him. "

The old man laughed heartily also, and left us to talk over the comingevent. 

"Two shipwrecked lives trying to keep close to the shore of content forthe rest of the journey, that's what they are, " said Louis, "and we willhelp them, and do God's service by ministering to their small needs, for'Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these, ye do it unto me. '"

He had so many Scriptural quotations at his tongue's end nowadays, Ioften told him he would be a minister, I knew. Many of his days werespent in the society of Mr. Davis, and they read the Bible throughtogether. Louis said the New Testament had great charms for him, and Mr. Davis said to Clara and myself when we called upon him, that theScriptures had never been so blessed to his heart as now. 

"Your son, " turning to Clara, "is not my student; he has the most lucidperception, and transfers his thoughts to my heart with wonderfulstrength, and yet he stirs the soil of years with tender hand, and neverforgets I am growing old. Some day he will have a pulpit of his own. "

"Do you think so?" I said. 

"Oh, it must be! He is like his mother; chosen for the good work. Idelight in his society, and hope never to miss it while I stay. I am notstrong, and some day I fear I shall not be able to preach when theSabbath dawns. If I do fail at any time, I shall secure his help. " Claraonly said:

"My dear boy shall do that which he can do well, for there will be nostumbling blocks laid in his path; if he starts right, and I believe hehas, the way will be made plain, and as day unto day shall utter speech, so night unto night shall show its knowledge. "

"He seems benevolent, " said Mr. Davis, "and he will devote much of histime, and substance as well, to the uplifting of the degraded, and theexalting of mankind through daily practice. "

"So be it, " said Clara; "I shall be glad if he can uplift the lanternlight of truth, that it may shine over all the dark and devious ways ofignorance, and when my feet shall walk beside his father's on the hills, may our souls call to him, and his heart receive from us the strengthwhich our love can give--angels to minister to his wants. Oh! this isbeautiful to think upon. "

The eyes of our good minister filled with tears, and I thought howwisely and well Clara sows the seed. I felt ashamed to think howunmindful of this tolerance of ideas I had been when his fiery sermonaroused my spirit, and I have often since felt that we all possess toomuch intolerance each toward the other. Mr. Davis was original inthought, and had always regilded as it were the old texts in his sermon, until they could not fail to interest us; and when, yielding to pressureof conviction regarding eternal punishment, he warned his flock, Clarajudged him rightly, and I was wrong; for while the idea was horrible tome, I had not wisdom or judgment to express myself, whereas Clara hadopened wide the door of love to his heart, and he received andacknowledged the baptism of pure and elevating thought. 

His absolute fire died away into the description of conscience torment, and through his later years the mellow ripeness of new thought took inlarge part the place of the old. Mr. Davis was very anxious concerninghis health, and we did not wonder, for his cheeks grew pale and thin. Heseemed much older than he really was, and in two years of time hadgained ten in the defining face lines. These were, it seemed, ineffaceable, and as the months wore on grew deeper still. 

Matthias' marriage came off in September, and our whole household wereinvited. Aunt Hildy said she'd send them something, "but no weddins forme, " and she shook her head when I asked whether she was going. 

Mother was busy and did not feel like sparing the time, so at last, Clara, Louis and I went over, and Mrs. Davis came with her husband, whoperformed the ceremony in a pleasant way. I think no couple ever hadjust such wedding presents. A blanket and some home-spun towels fromAunt Hildy; a large silk bandana handkerchief, a chintz dress pattern, and a little bead purse with some bits of gold from Clara (how much Inever knew), and from Louis a load of shingles, and the services of acarpenter to re-shingle the little house, with some sensible gifts fromHal and our people. Aunt Peg was beside herself with joy which she couldnot express to suit her, and at last she said, "won't try to tell younothin'--can't do it. "

Mr. And Mrs. Davis stayed only a few minutes after the ceremony, but wethree had a long chat with our good friends, and when we left them atthe door, tears of gratitude fell from Aunt Peg's eyes. I looked back, after we had started toward home, to see them sitting on the door stoneside by side, and their dark faces resting in the shadow of the Cyprusvine was a pleasant picture. 

"Their cup runneth over, " said Louis; "I am glad and 'we shall rejoicewith those that rejoice, and mourn, with those that mourn. '"

"Another Bible quotation, Louis?"

"Yes, " said he, "and why may we not have these truths, like blessedrealities, walk side by side with us through life. Every day might letthe sunshine into the room of our thought, through the bars ofunderstanding that stand as defining lines between them. 

"Mr. Davis says you are to be a preacher. I believe you are already, "said I. 

"Would my Emily object? I think not, for has not little mother said, 'Emily will do it, Emily will help you?'"

I did not answer with words, but my eyes spoke volumes, and he read themtruly. 

Letters came to us monthly from our Southern Mary, and Clara often saidshe had hope of seeing her again. Mrs. Chadwick had kept track of Mrs. Benton, and that strange compound of villainy and taste--herhusband--had really been touched by Mary's plea and was living with hisfamily. I could hardly believe it, and when Hal stepped in one eveningwith "love's fawn" at his side, and a letter from that veritable Benton, we had a grand surprise. I will not try to tell you of this well writtenepistle, but this interesting item I will relate; here are his words:"You will doubtless be surprised when I say I am married and keepinghouse. I found my wife here; she has two nice boys. If you come to thispart of the globe, as I hope you will, call on us. You will bewelcome. "

"My soul!" said Aunt Hildy, "if the other world did have a fiery pit forliars, that man would have the best seat, and nearest the fire. "

Mother smiled and said, "He does not know, of course, that we have heardof this wife, for how should he?"

"Why, certainly not, " said Hal, "and I shall never tell him. Let him doright if he can, and we perhaps can hardly blame him if he does want tohold on to the few who have proven their friendship, for I think hisfriends do not number many. He needs them all. "

"Judgment is mine saith the Lord, " said Aunt Hildy. 

"Well, that may be true, but I cannot feel that we are His direct agentsfor cursing the man. "

"Neither are we, " said Louis, "and if we obey the commandment, 'Love yeone another, ' where can the curse come? No, no, Mrs. Patten, we mustwait for the spirit of the man to grow good and true, and the weaknessof the flesh by this will be overcome; he cannot forget all the wrong, and probably might recall the words, 'The spirit is willing but theflesh is weak. '"

"Well, " said Aunt Hildy, "I 'spose that's the Gospel good and true, butI do get riled at his cuttings up. I've seen 'em before, yes I've seen'em before. "

And she sat as if feeling her way back through the mist of years. Iwondered what she had suffered, but she kept her own secrets close toher heart and held steadfastly to the truth doing much good. Her busyfingers through the long winter evenings kept adding to the store ofstockings she was knitting for somebody who needed--and the needy wouldsurely come in her path. 

Aunt Peg and Matthias were quietly happy, and they came out of churchevery Sabbath and walked with a pleasant dignity homeward. Matthias hadmemorized the old hymns and he could pick many of them out, havinglearned to designate them by their first word or line, and this hecalled reading. 

"'Pears like I kin read a few himes, Miss Emily, " he said. This is theway with us through life. It seems to me we get the first word or lineand then go blindly on making mistakes and grievously sinning in ourignorance, unknowing of the great beauty that awaits us in the perfectrendering of life's beautiful psalm. 

Clara said we were like children running through a meadow, trampling thedaisies and clovers under our feet, and with breathless impatiencehurrying on through the long day to the fall of night, and when thesunset of our earthly life came on, pausing then at the corner of themeadow, we gathered the few tired blossoms at our feet and passed outinto the unknown. 

"Oh, my Emily!" she said, "if our steps could be even and slow we shouldpick our comfort-daisies and our love-clovers on either side, while ourfeet still kept the one small path of our greatest duty; and this to meis the straight and narrow path spoken of. "

Her types of thought were so purely beautiful, and yet she drew themfrom the plainest facts. She was growing nearer heaven daily, or perhapswe were seeing her soul more clearly through the days. I thought andcomforted myself that we should not lose her. 

Louis and I talked sometimes of the coming time when we should receivethe sacred seal of marriage, and when the year for which he asked hadexpired and the fall term opened in the seminary, he said:

"Little mother tells me she cannot let me go back, she is too tired tolive without me. I knew it before she told me; her strength is verylittle without mine, and, " he added, "even if we do all we can, thatlittle mother must leave us before many years. You know, Emily, how Ihave wanted all my life to be an artist. Perhaps I shall, sometime, butnow before me I can see a need that will bring me into different work, and it may be also (his eyes were far away) I can, after all, do betterservice by painting living faces. "

"What do you mean, Louis?

"I mean, Emily, that when the tired hearts we find, feel comfortcreeping over them, the work shines through the eyes and glows withinthe smiles that beam upon us. Did we not paint a pleasant picture at thewedding, and are not these works of art appreciated through endlesstime? Will they not repay us with something better than the gold whichwe may lose, the earthly things that perish? And again, I have seriouslythought that it is not right for me to take the work that others whoneed might have. Side by side with our great love must walk thesetruths. I cannot see yet how our future plans are to be arranged, orwhere our home will be. What does your good heart say, Emily?"

"Oh! I cannot tell you, Louis. I sometimes imagine a little cosy homelike Hal's, and then it dissolves beyond my reach and I say 'Time willtell it all. ' Your mother taught me that one of the greatest lessons inlife is to learn to wait, and move with the tide if we can instead ofagainst it. These hills are very dear to me. "

"May they never be less!" said Louis, gathering me to himself; while Ireverently thought, "How glorious a manhood is his! how great the lovehe gives me!"

Time passed rapidly. Ben's first season as a real farmer had passed, andstorehouse and barn were filled. His hands grew strong and his blowswere telling. A handsome woodpile was one of the things he was trulyproud of, and everything was done in good season and with perfectsystem. Hal said that he and Mary were living with Ben. Father wassurprised at his success, and when, in the winter, he walked in with adozen brooms of his own make, Aunt Hildy said:

"Industry and economy were two virtues that the Lord would see wellrewarded. You'll be a rich man and a generous one too. Wish your AuntPhebe'd come up to see us. "

"She's coming, " said Ben. "I've written to her to come to our house andstay a week. I want her to come and see my broom-corn room. I'll betshe'll be interested in it, and I'm going to give her six brooms to takehome with her. But did you know Deacon Grover's very sick?"

"Why, no, indeed!" said I. 

"Well, he is, and Mrs. Grover wants Louis to come over. He'd better goback with me. They expect he'll die; he is troubled to breathe. "

I called Louis and he went over. He came back to supper and told us hewas going to stay with him all night. 

"Mr. Davis says he cannot save his life, and they are to have Dr. Brownfrom the village. The man is terribly frightened; he knows he must go. He says he's afraid he has been too mean to get into heaven, and hemoans piteously. His poor wife is nearly distracted. "

"Shall I go with you, Louis?" I said. 

"You might go over but I hardly think I need you all night there. He hasbeen ill more than a week. I should not be surprised if he left usbefore morning. "

"Small loss to us, " said Aunt Hildy, "but if the poor critter knows he'sbeen mean, perhaps he'll see his way through better. I'll go over if itwont torment him. "

"You are just the one, " said Louis. 

"Well, I hope I sha'nt set him to thinking about--never mind what I say. Let me get my herb bag and start along. "

We found the poor man no better, and wise Dr. Brown shook his headominously. He was a regular grave-yard doctor, and I thought it a pityto set up the deacon's tomb-stone while yet he breathed. His poor wifewas taking on terribly (as Aunt Hildy expressed it). When Deacon Groversaw Louis he tried to speak. Louis went near and took his hand, and hewhispered:

"Peace, you bring me peace. "

"It is all right over there, " said Louis; "do not fear. "

"All right, " said the sufferer, and then, looking at his wife, he said, "Be her friend. " A smile passed over his face, his eyes closed, andDeacon Grover was dead. 

Mr. Goodman and Matthias came over to help Louis lay him out, and hisfuneral took place from the church the following Sunday. Louis was agreat help to Mrs. Grover and she needed all the aid he could give. Herspirits were broken in her early days, and she followed the deacon in alittle less than a year, her brain failing rapidly, her body having beenweak for years. 

Many changes had occurred during this year of my life, and when thebeads upon my rosary of years numbered twenty-two, it seemed hardly aday since I had counted twenty-one. How little time from one birthday toanother, and in childhood how long the time between!

I was growing older, and the days challenged each other in theirswiftness, but they were all pleasant to me, even though the church-belloften tolled the passing of souls, and the quiet of our hills was brokenby the ringing of improvement's hammer as it fell on the anvil of ourpossessions. Long lines of streets passed through the meadow-lands, andwhere, in less level places, rocks and stones were in the path, thepower of inventive genius was applied and the victory gained. Some ofour people felt it keenly. To father it was an advantage, but to AuntHildy, the opposite. 

"Goin' to pass right through my nest, Mr. Minot, and I tell you it aintso easy to think of that spot of ground as a grave-yard. 'Twont benothin' else to me, never. Oh, the years I bury there!"

Father ventured to suggest remuneration. 

"No, no, nothin' can't pay; they don't know it, Mr. Minot, but it's abitter pill. " And a shadow overspread her resolute features. Shedetermined on making our house her home "forever and a day arter" shesaid, and bore it as patiently as she could; but I saw great drops fallfrom her eyes as she looked over to that little home and watched itsdemolition. She said she had prayed for a strong wind to do the work, but this was not granted. My own heart leaped to my throat in sympathy, but knowing her so well I said nothing. 

Louis was more than busy. I wondered when my birthday came if he wouldremember it. He did, and all the evening of that day we sat together andtalked of our future. 

"Emily, I am feeling glad to-night; my heart sings loud for joy. Youcannot think how beautiful you have grown in my eyes; even though youfilled my heart long days ago, that heart-room does expand with growth, and your queenly beauty still fills it to completeness. Let your hairfall over your shoulders; look out over the future days with yourspeaking eyes as if you were a picture, my Emily. " And as he said thismy shell-comb was in his hand and my long and heavy hair lay about melike a mantle. He liked to see it so, and I sat as if receiving ablessed benediction. 

"Can you see nothing before you?" he asked. 

"Mists, like drapery curtains, shade the days, " I said: "What is it youwould have me find?"

 "Find the month of June's dear roses, Find a trellis and a vine; Ask your heart, my queenly darling, If the sun will on us shine, And my heart, love's waiting trellis, Then receive its clinging vine. Have I spoken well and truly? Does your soul like mine decide? And, with June's dear wealth of roses, Shall I claim you for a bride? Do the old hills answer, darling? Unto me they seem to say: 'Two young hearts in truth have waited; Emily may name the day. '"

As the words of his impromptu verse died away, the moon, looking throughthe rifted clouds, beamed an affirmation, and I said:

"Let June be the month, Louis; the day shall name itself. "

Clara called: "It is nine o'clock, my dear ones;" and we said "goodnight. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

EMILY'S MARRIAGE. 

Louis' birthday came on the 24th of June, and it seemed very appropriateto me that this should be the day of our wedding, and, as I said to him;the day named itself, and it also came on Sunday. I had no thought ofbeing married in the old church, but Louis was positive that it would bebest. 

"You know, " he said, "that all these good people around us feel aninterest very natural to those who are acquainted with everybody intheir own little town. They will enjoy our marriage in the church whereall can come and none be slighted, and the evening after they can beinvited to call on us at home. "

"Oh, Louis!" I said, "I would much rather go quietly over to Mr. Davis'. "

"Yes, Emily, " he replied, "to take one of our pleasant walks over thehill and step in there; but after all I can see how it will be wiser forus not to be selfish in this matter. Never mind how we feel: thesefriends of ours are of much account, and the many new thoughts thatbrighten their existence as well as our own must fall, I believe, on usas a people as well as individually. A private wedding will cause unkindremarks, and perhaps unpleasant feelings, and idle conjectures may growto be stern realities. Let us avoid all this, and as we have heretoforebeen among them, let us still keep our vessel close to the shore oftheir understanding, though we may often drift out into the ocean unseenby them, and gather to ourselves the pearls of new and strengtheningthought 'Let him who would be chief among you be your servant. ' Do youunderstand me?"

"I do, Louis, and 'Emily will do it, ' for she knows you are right; but Ishould never have thought of it; and now another importantconsideration. "

"The bridal robe?" said Louis. 

"Yes, " I said, "just that; the thought of being elaborately dressed isdistasteful to me as well as unsuited to our desires, for a weddingdisplay would certainly arouse the spirit of envy if nothing more. "

"Trust that to little mother, Emily; she desires to have that privilege, I know. "

"Let it be so. "

And here we fixed the arrangement for the birthday and wedding day to beone; but it came on a Sunday, and hence the necessity of a talk with Mr. Davis, which resulted in the arranging for a short afternoon sermon, andafter it the ceremony. We were not to enter the church until the propermoment, and Ben said he could manage it, for when the minister began hislast prayer he would climb the rickety ladder into the old square box ofa belfry and hang out a yard of white cloth on a stick. 

"And then, " he added, "you can jump right into the wagon and be there inthree minutes. "

He was the most perfect boy to plan at a moment's notice, but Louistold him not to hazard his life on the belfry ladder for we could manageit all without. 

"And besides, " he said, "you, Ben, must walk into church with us; we arenot going unprotected. Hal and Mary, Ben and little mother, and Mr. Minot with his wife and Aunt Hildy. That is the programme as I have it. "

You should have seen those eyes of the young farmer dilate with surpriseas he gave a long and significant whistle and turned toward home, doubtless thinking to surprise Hal and Mary with this new chapter in hisexperience. 

The 10th day of June brought us a letter from Aunt Phebe with news ofher marriage. 

"Weddins don't never go alone more'n funerals, " said Aunt Hildy. "HereMiss Hungerford's been married since February, and we've just heard tellof it. Hope she's got a good, sensible man, but 'taint likely; no twovery sensible folks get very near each other, that is, for life. She's agood woman. What does he do to git a livin'?"

"Teaches school, " I replied. 

"Hem!" said she, "school teachers don't generally know much else. Eddicated men aint great on homelife; they want a monstrous sight ofwaitin' on. "

"Let us hope for the best in this case, " said I. "Here comes Matthias;he knows Mr. Dayton, I believe. "

"Yas, Miss Em'ly, I does, " said Matthias, who heard my last remark. 

"Is he a nice man?"

"Um, um! reckin that jes' hits dat man; why, de good Lord bress us efdat man ha'nt done, like he was sent, fur de slaves, Miss Em'ly. Heknows jes' whar dat track is, --de down-low track, I means, whar de'scapin' from de debbil comes good to dese yere people when dey gitsfree. Mas'r Sumner an' a'heap mo' on 'em would jes' like fur to kill datMas'r Dayton ef dey could cotch him. Preaches like mad his ablishundoctrine, as he call it, an' down on rum, sure sartin. He works jes' allde time fur de leas' pay you never heard tell of. Is he comin' up yere?"

"I hope so, some time; but he is Aunt Phebe's husband now, and we wantto know something about him. "

"I reckin dat ye needn't be oneasy, honey, 'bout dat, fur MissHungerford is 'zackly de one fur to take ker ob dat man; he's got hishead 'way up 'mong de stars, an' 'way down in de figgerin' mos' all detime. "

"Do you mean that he is an astronomer, Matthias?"

"Dunno nothin' 'bout dat, but he looks into de stars straight through ashiny pipe, Miss Em'ly, dat he sticks up on tree leg; an' when dem peartfellers In dat college where dey lives, gits into figgerin whar dey'sdone stuck and can't do it no how, dey comes right down to dat man, an'he trabbles 'em right out ob all dese yere diffikilties. Um, um! dat manknows a heap ob dem tings. Miss Hungerford's all right. 'Pears likedere's good deal ob marryin' roun' de diggins. "

"You set the example, " I said, "and the rest must follow. Louis and Iexpect your hearty congratulations when our day comes to step out of theworld. "

"You kin 'pend on good arnest wishes for a heap o' comfort, Miss Em'ly, but 'stead o' leavin' the world you jes' gits into it; dunno nothin''bout livin' till ye hev to min' eberything yourself. But I 'spectyou'll walk along purty happy-like, fur Mas'r Louis he's done got hevinright in his soul, an' you, Miss Em'ly, 'pears like you's good enoughfur him. "

And the old man stood before me like a picture, his eyes beaming withthe thoughts which filled his soul, utterance to which he could notwholly give; and I thought they grew like a fire within him, and thatsome day, beyond the pale of human life, they would speak with force andpower, and all the buds of beauty there burst into flowers of eternalloveliness. And I said to him, as he rose to go:

"Your good wishes are worth much to me; I want you always for myfaithful friend. "

"Dat's jes' what I'se gwine to be, " he replied, and as he passed alongthe path, I thought I saw the corner of his coat sleeve near his eye. 

The 24th of June was a royal day. The blue sky flecked with fleecyclouds sailing over us like promises; the air sweet with the minglingbreath of flowers (we had multitudes of them about us). The south windcame up to us as pleasant breaths that sought our own, and the robinsand blue-birds sang in the trees all day the song, "It is well. " Myheart echoed their music, and I moved in a dream, and when I feltClara's fingers wandering over my hair I could not realize that hernoble Louis was waiting to claim me as his wife--plain Emily Minot. Butthe blue-birds' "It is well" covered all these thoughts. 

"Just a white dress, Emily, and violets to fasten your hair, " saidClara, "which I will coax to curl for this one day. "

And so, from under her hands, I came in a simple toilette of white mull, with my much-loved violets fastened at my throat and nestling among myblack hair. Not a jewel save the ring that Louis had given me in thedays before, and the chain, which was just one shining thread about mythroat. I must have looked happy, but more than this I could not see, even though I hazarded a long, full look in Clara's mirror. 

But Louis, ah! he should have stood beside a princess, I thought. It wascontrast, not comparison, when I stopped to realize the difference. Itwas not his garb that made him regal, for he was clad in a suit ofsimple black with a vest and necktie of spotless white. 

"A violet or two in your coat lappel?" said Clara. 

"No, no, little mother; my royal rose begirt with violets will standbeside me. Put them in your own brown hair. "

And he smiled, as taking them from her hand he placed them in her hair. 

"Just a veil over your head, little mother; no bonnets among the weddingparty. "

Aunt Hildy insisted at first that she could not "parade around thatchurch and stand up there before the minister. I'd feel like a reg'laridiot, Louis. "

At last she changed her mind, but preferred to walk with Ben, and he, who always loved her well, did not object. 

So our entrance by one of the side aisles (the body of the church wasfilled with pews) was in the following order: Father, mother and Clara, Louis and Emily, Hal and Mary, and Ben and Aunt Hildy. The latter wouldwalk to the church anyway, and when our old carryall reached the door, Ifelt like screaming to see her sitting there on the steps fanningherself with her turkey-feather fan and waiting for us to appear. We allentered with uncovered heads, and as our feet crossed the threshold thechoir sang one verse of "Praise ye the Lord. " Mr. Davis had descendedfrom his pulpit and stood before it upon a little elevated platformarranged for special occasions. Mother, father and Clara passed himwhere he stood, leaving the place for Louis and myself before him, withHal and Mary, Ben and Aunt Hildy at Louis' left. It was a short andbeautifully-worded ceremony, and when my eyes, already moist, lookedupward to the pulpit and noticed a drapery of rose and vine whichencircled it, those same tears fell fast over my cheeks, and whileLouis' "I will" fell as a clear and strong response upon the air, my ownassent was given silently and with only a slight bowing of my head, mylips murmuring not a syllable. After pronouncing us man and wife, Mr. Davis, at Louis' request, gave an invitation to all our friends to callon us the following evening, and again the choir and the people sangsweetly and with great feeling, as, turning, we passed down the oppositeaisle toward the door. 

When about half way to the door I was conscious of seeing Aunt Peg andMatthias; a moment more, and she with her white apron, and he with hishigh hat full of roses, were walking before us and throwing them in ourpath. 

When we reached the door they stepped to either side, and still throwingroses, Matthias said in a tone I shall never forget:

"May de days do for ye jes' what we's doin' now, scatter de roses rightafore ye clear to de end ob de journey. "

This touched our hearts, and when we got into the carryall all eyes weremoist, and I of course was crying as if my best friend were dead. AuntHildy said:

"Lord-a-massy! wonder he hadn't hit us in the head; that's the queerestcaper I ever did see. "

We all laughed heartily, and Louis said:

"My Emily, you are a rainbow of promise; the sun shines through yourtears. "

We had made preparations to receive our friends Monday evening, and hadhuge loaves of cake awaiting with lemonade, and something warm for thosewho desired it. An ancient service of rare and unique design was broughtout by Clara for the occasion. It belonged to her husband's family inFrance and came to him as an heirloom. The contrast between it and themulberry set which mother gave me struck me as singular, but the flowersand figures of the mulberry ware did not fall into insignificance. Theywere to me the embodiment of beauty. Among my earliest disappointmentswas the giving of grandmother's china to Hal, and I cried for "just onesaucer, " and this was a fac-simile and met a hearty appreciation. Ibedewed it with tears, and Aunt Hildy said it was dretful dangerous togive me anything, and she should'nt try it. 

"You'll want two or three handkerchiefs to cry on to-night, for thefolks'll bring over a lot o' things to you. "

"I do not expect a single present, neither desire any if I have to makea speech, " I said. 

"Keep close to me, Emily, " said Louis, "and I will make the speeches ifit becomes a duty. "

I feared Clara would get tired out, but she said:

"Oh, no, they will come early, you know, and go away early also, andwith you and Louis to hold me up I shall be borne on wings!"

At six o'clock they began to appear. We had our supper at four, and wereready to receive them. Louis and I sat in Clara's sitting-room, and AuntHildy said:

"It's my business to 'tend to the comin' in. 'Better to be a door-keeperin the house of the Lord, than dwell in the tents of wickedness;' sothat's settled. " And with this she established herself in a chair beforethe open door. Mother was near to assist, and I smiled to hear AuntHildy repeat:

"Good arternoon; lay by your things, " until I thought her lips must beparched with their constant use. I was not prepared for thedemonstration of love and friendship coming from these people of ourtown; for, until Louis and Clara came to us, I had, as I told you in thebeginning of my story, not longed for their society, and had found fewfor whom I really cared. It was only from learning my duty, when myeyes, with the years and the wisdom Clara brought, were opened, that Icould see the advantage gained by considering with respect even thosewhom I had dominated as selfish. Miserly and mean Jane North had growninto a different woman, and Deacon Grover had left us, blessing the loveand strength of this wisdom which brought peace to cover the last hourof struggle; and many hearts, in the quiet ministering of one angel, hadbeen touched. Home friends were growing round us I knew, but I had norealization of things as they really were, and the events of thisgreeting gave me a substantial evidence which was to my soul a platform. On it I reared a temple of love, and in the windows of my temple everyface and heart and gift were set, as pure crystal in the sash ofdelightful remembrance. 

First came the Goodins, and their hands yielded to us thoroughlyappreciated gifts: one dozen linen towels spun, woven and bleached bythe hands of Mrs. Goodwin; her husband adding for Louis the solid silverknee and shoe buckles his grandfather wore when a revolutionary officer, the trusty sword that hung by his side, and his uniform coat with itshuge brass buttons, with the trunk of red cedar where for years theyhave been kept. 

"Thank you, " we both said simultaneously, and they passed along forothers to come near. Not one of all that country town forbore to comeand bring also tokens of their kindly feeling. Among the early arrivalswas Jane North. I heard Matthias say:

"Be ye goin' to tote it in there?" and, as Jane answered resolutely, "Icertainly am, " I looked toward the door to see what it was that wasapproaching. At my feet Matthias dropped his burden, and the donor said:

"There is a goose-feather bed and a pair of pillows, and I picked everyfeather of 'em off my geese; them two linen sheets and two pair ofpiller-cases done up with 'em I made myself. I want you to use that bedin your own room, Mis' _De_-Mond (I started to hear that name applied tomyself), and for the sake of the good Lord who sent salvation to methrough your blessed mother-in-law, in prayer for yourself don't neverforget me. I've said all the hateful things I ever mean to. "

She held her hands out to us both, and we mingled our tears of gratitudewith those that filled her eyes. 

"Thank you, " I said. 

"God bless your true heart, " said Louis, "and may your last days be yourhappiest. "

"Amen, " said Jane, and she passed into the next room, Matthias puttingthe present in a corner where it would take less space. Mr. Davisfollowed her, and beside him stood a clock which father had helped himto bring in. 

"This clock, my young friends, is the one which has stood in the cornerof my study for years. I have taken an especial pride in its unvaryingcorrectness, and the man in the moon is unfailing in his calculation, showing his face at the appropriate season. The clock's tick is strongand well becomes the old veteran, and the coat of mahogany he wears isone that can never need a stitch. To you, above all others, I wouldyield this treasure; it is worth far more to me than any gift I mightpurchase, and I know that you, " turning to Louis, "rejoice in keepingbright the old-time landmarks linking forever the past and the present. "

This brought Louis to his feet, and Clara and myself rose too, for hisarms encircled us. 

"Mr. Davis, " he said, grasping his outstretched hand, "you have done megreat honor; may I have the pleasure to retain through endless ages theconfidence you place in me and my blessed wife, my Emily. "

"The years will brighten the lustre of your true heart, " said Mr. Davis; and here his wife handed me a patchwork quilt, while her husbandsaid:

"May your lives and loves be welded by a double chain as long as mywife's handiwork shall last. "

It seemed to me I could not bear all this, and when father came forwardat this moment and handed me a deed of some of his best land, I should, I believe, have screamed had not Louis' hand held me tightly. Giftsmultiplied like flakes of falling snow, until we were surrounded bythem. I can only mention a few more, and before me rise plainly now thefaces of Aunt Peg and Matthias, as bowing low before me they laid at ourfeet their offerings. 

"Only jest a little intment; that's all they is when we looks at therest; but we wanted to bring you sunthin', " said Aunt Peg. 

A beautiful mat bordered with her own choice of bright colors, aclothes-basket made by Matthias, and in the latter three pairs ofbeautifully-knitted wool stockings for Louis. 

"Peg spun dis wool, " said Matthias, "an' de stockins is good: disbaskit, " he added despairingly, "I tried my bes' to put some sky coloron, but I reckin ef de bluin' bottle had jes' spill over it 'twould domore colorin' and better too. May de Lord help ye to live an' war itout, and then I'll make another. "

"That was a good speech, " said Louis, and we shook hands with these twowhite-hearted friends, and they also passed on out of sight, leaving mestill at the mercy of the coming. 

It seemed to me there could be nothing more to come, when a loud "baa, baa" started us, and Ben appeared, leading the whitest little lamb youever saw. He had tied a blue ribbon about its neck, and it trotted alongup to us as if pleased with the novelty of its situation. 

"Your namesake and my gift, " said Ben. I was truly surprised, butthanked him heartily, and the friends about us laughed immoderately. This caused the lamb to look for some way out, and Ben went with it at aquick pace, shouting back, "I raised Emily myself, and she's a beauty. "The next surprise was from Hal and Mary--two pieces from the hand of myartist brother, "Love's Fawn, " and "Aunt Hildy. " Duplicates of thesewere at that time hastening across the water with Mr. Hanson, who wasanxious to take a venture over for Hal. When they were placed before us, Louis and myself exclaimed admiringly:

"How beautiful!"

Aunt Hildy, who stood near, said, "There, Halbert Minot, you've done itnow!" and passed, like a swift wind through the room. I feared she felthurt, but was disarmed of this thought, for she returned in a moment, and over the statuette she threw her old Camlet cloak. 

"That is my present to you two, " she said, standing beside it as ifempowered with authority. "To God's children I give this, and you shallshare it with 'em. I make one provision, " she added. "Mis'Hungerford-Dayton is to have the sleeves for carpet-rags; you can cut itup when she comes. It's all I've got to give; but the Lord will make itblest. " We took this as a crowning joke; and still to me it seemed toembrace a solid something, and set me dreaming. 

When the hour of ten arrived the last of our guests were leaving; and, as I stood at the door with Louis saying "Good-night, " the echo of thewords went ringing over the hills; and when it fluttered back, seemed tomy heart to say, "It will be morning soon. "

As we went into the sitting-room, Clara said: "Now that the guests haveall examined my gifts, it will do for my dear ones to look also, " andshe led the way into our old middle-room, and pointing to the antiqueservice, said:

"These are yours; I have them for my boy. There are false bottoms to thethree largest pieces, and within them you will find the gift your fatherleft you, Louis, to be given to you when you should become a man. I didnot tell the others of this, " she added. "Here, my Emily, is somethingyou I know will prize, --the set of pearls my Louis Robert gave me on mywedding day. They are very valuable. Keep them; and if changes shouldever bring want before you, you have a fortune here. See how beautifulthey are. " And she held up a string of large, round pearls to whichclung an ornament, in shape somewhat like an anchor, of the sameprecious gems, two of which were pear-shaped and very large. Theear-rings and brooch were of the most exquisite pattern. I had neverseen anything so beautiful, and had no word for expression, and Clarasaid:

"Your eyes tell it all, my royal Emily; you are tired, and the night ishere. "

Then, kissing us both good-night, Louis gathered her in his arms andcarried her over the stairs, saying, as he turned to come down:

"Pleasant dreams, my fairy mother; your hand is a magic wand. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

MARRIED LIFE. 

I could hardly see where we had room for all the gifts that came to us, for Clara's part of the house was well filled, and Aunt Hildy'sbelongings took nearly all the upstairs room we could spare; but bymoving and shifting, and using a little gumption, as Aunt Hildyexpressed it, they were all disposed of properly. 

The clock occupied a corner in Louis' room, which had been Hal's studio, and was now to belong, with one other on Clara's side, to us two. Motherhad said before our marriage:

"I can never let Emily go unless it be absolutely necessary. The boysare both settled, and I desire Emily to remain here. It would be lonelyfor her father and myself should she leave us. "

I had no wish to do so, and Louis and Clara were as one in this matter;so we were to live right on together, and the convenient situation ofthe rooms made it pleasant for all concerned. 

"Don't want no men folks round under foot, " Aunt Hildy said, and therewas no need for it, for Louis' room, while accessible, was out of theway, and it seemed to me as if the plan had fallen from a hand that knewour wants better than we knew ourselves. What Louis' work would be, Icould not say, neither could he. To use his own language, as we talkedtogether of the coming days, "I am to be ready to do daily all that myhand finds to do; and the work for which I am fitted will, I trust, falldirectly before me. " He had a right to be called the "Town's Friend, " Ithought, for his active brain and tender heart were constantly bringingbefore him some errand of mercy, or act of charity, all of which werewillingly and well performed. 

It was not long after our marriage that he was called on to fill Mr. Davis' place in the pulpit. I trembled to think of it; but you shouldhave seen Clara when, as we entered the church together, he passed thepew door to follow Mr. Davis to the pulpit; for the latter, though fromweakness of the bronchial tubes unable to speak, was anxious to be bythe side of his friend, as he verified his prediction. There was a glorycovering Clara's face, and her eyes turned full upon her boy with anunwavering light of steadfast faith in his power and goodness, as fromhis lips fell the text, "If a man die shall he live again?"

His opening prayer was impressively simple, and the text, it seemed tome, just like a door which, swinging on its hinges, brought full beforehis vision the picture of the life that is and the life that is to come. His illustrations were so naturally drawn, and so beautifully fitted tothe needs of our earthly and spiritual existence, that I knew no wordshad ever thrown around the old church people so wondrous a garment ofwell-fitted thought. 

"If this is all, " he said, "this living from day to day, oppressed withthe needs of the flesh, we have nothing to be thankful for; but if, asI can both see and know, man lives again, we have all to give greatpraise, and also rejoice through our deeds, that we are the children ofthe eternal Father. "

Not a word of utter darkness, not a terrifying picture of a wrathful andimpatient God did he draw, but it was all tenderness and love that foundits way to the hearts of all his hearers; and when, in his own blessedway, he pronounced the benediction, I felt that a full wave of kindnesscovered us all, and I said in my heart:

"Oh, Louis, Emily will help you; Emily will do it!"

Mr. Davis' eyes were bright with gratitude and great joy as he greetedus after the service, and he whispered to me:

"You are the wife of a minister. "

This was only a beginning, and for months after, every other SabbathLouis occupied the pulpit, and to the surprise of Mr. Davis, all thosewho had become interested in the dispensation of Mr. Ballou, and who hadnow for a long time been to the church where we had heard the sermonwhich came as dew to my hungry soul, began to come again to the oldchurch. Louis' preaching drew them there, and they settled in their oldplace to hear, as they expressed it, "the best sermons that ever werepreached. " This was pleasant. Louis had said:

"I cannot subscribe to the articles of your creed, or of any other, butam willing and anxious to express to others the thoughts that are withinme. "

This made no difference, for they knew he spoke truly, and also that thearmor of his righteousness was made of the good deeds which he performeddaily. It helped Mr. Davis along, and after a time his health becamebetter; but even then he insisted on Louis preaching often, which hegladly did. 

On the Christmas of this year, 1846, there was service as usual at ourchurch, and both Mr. Davis and Louis occupied the pulpit. A Christmasservice was not usual save in the Episcopal church, but Mr. Davis askedthis privilege. His father had been a strict Episcopalian, and he hadlearned in his early years to love that church. Our people were not lothto grant his request, and I think this Christmas will never beforgotten. 

We took supper at Hal's with Aunt Phebe, who had come with her husbandto pay us, what Mr. Dayton termed, "a young visit. " He had perfectknowledge of the English language, and power to express himself not onlywith words, but with a most characteristic combination of them. He saidhis wife felt anxious that he should be on amicable terms with herconsanguineous friends, but he expected we should attribute less ofgoodness to him than to her, for "Phebe Ann" was a remarkable woman. "And this, " he added, "is why she appreciates me. "

Ben tried in vain to interest him more than a few moments at a time, even though he displayed his young stock and invited him into thebroom-corn room. 

It was not till he espied a Daboll's Arithmetic in Hal's studio that hebecame interested in the belongings of that house, albeit Hal and Maryhad shown him the statuary they so much prized. He looked at thestatuettes and remarked to Hal:

"You do that better than I do, but what after all does it amount to? Itnever will save a man from sin; never break a fetter, or dash away awine-cup. But what do you know about figures? Do you think you know verymuch?"

"Not as much as I wish, " Ben answered, as Hal smiled at the plainquestion. 

"I thought so, " said Mr. Dayton; "and the very best thing you can do, young man, is to come down to my house, or perhaps I can come up here, and gather some really useful and necessary information about figures. It will make a man of you. I guess you're a pretty good boy, and youonly need brightening up a little. "

Hal replied: "I wish you would, Uncle Dayton; that is just what I shouldlike. "

"Well, " said he, "it wouldn't do you any hurt to come with him. "

"I should come, too, " said Mary. 

"Come right along, " was the reply. At supper time he said he preferred asimple dish of bread and milk, which he seemed to enjoy greatly, and allthe niceties Mary had prepared were set aside unnoticed. 

"Do you know what day you were born on, Ben?" he said. 

"I know the day of the month, sir, but not the day of the week. "

"Tell me the day of the month and year and I will tell you the day ofthe week. "

"September 6, 1828. "

"Let's see, " said the philosopher, turning his eyes to the ceiling;"that came on Saturday. "

We all asked the solving of this problem, and the instantaneous resultseemed wonderful. After supper, at our request, he told us his history, and when we realized that this man had gained for himself all hisknowledge, we looked on him as one coming from wonderland. It was hardlycredible that he should have power to solve the most difficultmathematical problems, calculate eclipses, as well as do all that couldbe required in civil or hydraulic engineering, and that he hadaccomplished this by his own will, which, pushing aside all obstacles, fought for the supremacy of his brain life. His father desired him tohave no book knowledge, and he told us that when a young boy he wouldwait for sleep to close his father's eyes, and would then, by the lightof pitch-pine knots and birch-bark in the fireplace, pursue his studies. This was pursuing knowledge under difficulties which would have provedinsurmountable to many. But not so to Mr. Dayton, for he steadilygained; and though to an utter disregard for his unquenchable thirst forknowledge was added the daily fight for bread, he rose triumphantlyabove these difficulties, and mastered the most intricate mathematicalcalculation with the ease which is born only of a superior developmentof brain. Matthias had told us truly, and when he left us for his homewe felt that in him we found new strength for much that was good andtrue, and for abhorrence of evil. 

During this visit the Camlet cloak was brought out, and Aunt Phebe and Itogether ripped out the sleeves. She said they would make a splendidgreen stripe in a carpet, and in her quiet, careful way she sat removingtheir linings, when she started as if frightened, exclaiming:

"Why, Emily, what on earth does this mean?"

"What is it?" I said, and she held before me in her hand a long brownpaper, and within its folds were two bills of equal denomination. 

"I wonder if this one has anything in it?" I said, and even as I said itmy fingers came upon a similarly folded paper, and two more bills werebrought to light. They were a valuable gift, and Aunt Phebe's gratitudegave vent in a forcible way, I knew, for Aunt Hildy told me afterwardshe thanked her "e'en a'most to death. " I could hardly wait to rip thebody of the cloak, and my surprise was unbounded when I discovered itscontents. 

There were two sums of money left in trust with us, and in her dear, good way she had made us wondrously grateful to her for the faith shehad reposed in us; a deed of some of her land, which the street had cutinto, which she desired us to use for some one who was needy, unless weourselves needed it; and in the last sentences of her message to us shesaid:

"If ever anybody belongin' to me comes in your path, give 'em a lift. Ican trust you to do it, and the Lord will spare your lives, I know. Don't tell any livin' soul, Emily. " This was a sacred message to bothLouis and myself, and I should feel it sacrilege to write it all outhere, even though I much desire to. 

Dear Aunt Hildy! when we essayed to thank her, she said:

"There, there, don't say a word; I've allus said I'd be my ownexecutioner, (I did not correct her mistake), and I know that's the way. You see, some day I'll go out like a candle, for all my mother's folksdied that way, so I want to be ready. The other side of the house livelonger, more pity for it too. They've handed down more trouble than youknow, but I aint like one of 'em; it's my mother I belong to. "

It seemed to me now that the years went like days and the first fiveafter our marriage, that ended with the summer of 1851, were filled forthe most part with pleasant cares. I was still my mother's girl, andhelped about the house as always before. Of course, some sorrows came tous in these years, for changes cannot be perfectly like clear glass. Haland Mary had held to their hearts one beautiful Baby blossom, who onlylived four months to cheer them, and then passed from their broodingtenderness on to the other side. We sorrowed for this, and "Love's Fawn"had pale cheeks for a long time. Hal feared she would follow her child, and it might have been had not a somewhat necessary journey across theAtlantic brought great benefit to her. 

The venture Mr. Hanson had made had proved so eminently successful, thatwhen, this year, he again went to the Old World, it was deemed wise andright for them to accompany himself and family. I almost wanted to go, too, and when Hal sent back to us his beautifully written account of allhe saw, I stood in spirit beside him, and anticipated many of hisproposed visits. They both returned with improved health and addedfortune. 

The mining fever of 1849 took a few of our townspeople from us. AuntPhebe wrote us that her second son had gone to find gold, and Ben had alittle idea of trying the life of a pioneer; but the sight of thewaiting acres, which he hoped some day to call his, detained him, and hestill kept on making a grand success of farming, for he was doing thework he desired and that which he was capable of carrying to asuccessful end. 

Louis' work had lain in all directions; helping Mr. Davis still as hisvarying strength required, interesting himself in the improvements aboutus, etc. Gradually widening the sphere of his influence, slowly butsurely feeling his way among human hearts, he could not fail to berecognized, and after a time to be sought for among such as needed help. No appeal was ever made in vain from this quarter. 

Capitalists, who had reared in the village below us a huge stone milldesigned for the manufacture of woolens, had made advances which he didnot meet as desired, for their system of operating was disloyal, hesaid, to all true justice, encroaching, as it did, upon the liberties ofa class largely represented in this, as well as in all other towns. Three gentlemen, who represented the main interests, called on Louis, and he expressed to them what seemed to him to be the truth regardingthis, and said:

"The years to come will be replete with suffering, and vice, degradation, and misery are sure to follow in the steps you are taking. I do not say that you realize this, but if you will think of it as Ihave, you cannot fail to reach the same conclusion. You cause to be runga morning bell at five o'clock, that rouses not only men from theirslumbers, but the little growing children who need their unbrokenmorning dreams. These children must work all day in the close andstifling rooms of your mill. Their tender life must feel the dailydropping seed of disease, and with each recurring nightfall, overworkedbodies fall into a heavy slumber, instead of slipping gradually overinto the realm of peace. The mothers and fathers of these childrensuffer in this strife for daily bread. Fathers knowing not theirchildren, and entire families living to feel only the impetus of adesire to satisfy the cravings of hunger, and to shield themselves fromthe cold of winter or the summer's heat. What does all this mean? If welook at the elder among your employees we shall find men, who, not beingstrong enough to work twelve hours a day, naturally, and almost ofnecessity, have resorted to the stimulant of tobacco, and the strengthof spirituous liquors. 

"I can personally vouch for the truth of all I say regarding it. Thepractice of fathers is already adopted or soon will be adopted by theirchildren, and by this means the little substance they may gain throughhard toil, for you well know their gain is small if your profit is whatyou desire, falls through the grated bars of drunkenness and waste, intothe waiting pit of penury and pauperism. Bear with me, gentlemen, if Ispeak thus plainly, and believe me it is for your own comfort as well asfor the cultivation of the untouched soil in the minds of your workmen, that I feel called upon to address you earnestly. 

"You do not ask, neither would you permit, your wives and children towork in the mill beside these people, and only the line of gold drawsthe distinction between you. There are sweet faces in your mill, thereare tender hearts and there is intellect which might grow to be a powerin our midst. But the sweet faces have weary eyes, the tender heartsbeat without pity, and the strength which might exalt these men and usas their brothers, becomes the power of a consuming fire, which as timeflies, and our population increases, will burn out all the true andloyal life that might have developed among us. When our village becomesa city, we, like other denizens of cities, must see prison houses risebefore us, and to-day we are educating inmates for these walls. Rememberalso, that the laces our wives shall wear in those days of so-calledprosperity, will be bought with human life. I will not stand amenablebefore God for crime like this. 

"If you will drop your present schemes, if you will be content to sharewith these men and children a portion of your profits, to let them toileight hours instead of twelve per day, and if on every Saturday you willgive to them one full long day in God's dear sunlight, I will invest theamount of capital necessary to cover all which you as a body haveinvested, and I will stand beside you in your mill. I would to God, gentlemen, you were ready to accept this offer, for it comes from myheart, but I can anticipate your reply. You will say I am speaking aheadof my time, that the world is not ready for these theories, much lessfor the practice I desire. And in return I would ask, when will it everbe? Has any new and valuable dispensation sought us through time, whenhands were not raised in holy horror, and the voice of the majority hasnot sounded against it. You are to-day enjoying, in the machinery youuse, the benefit of thought which against much opposition fought its wayto the front. And shall we rest on our oars, and say we cannot even tryto do what we know to be right, because the world, the unthinking, unmindful world, sees no good in it? It would be easier for many actingas one man, to move the wheels, but if this cannot be, I must wait asother hearts have waited, but I will work in any and in all ways tobreak the yokes which encircle the necks of our people. "

He paused and looking still earnestly at them, waited a reply. Theeldest said in answer:

"Mr. Desmonde, while you have spoken that which we have never beforeheard, I think I may say for my friends as well as myself, that yoursentiments do not fall on entirely barren soil. While you were talking, it seemed to me the way looked plain, and I felt to say, Amen. But Iknow we are not ready for such a movement as this. Perhaps we ought tobe, and if your picture is a true one, I say from the bottom of my heartI will for myself try to be of some good. I am willing to be taughthow. "

Louis crossed the room, and offering his hand, said with emotion:

"Thank God, the truth I uttered found soil. May the years water with thedews of their love, the one seed fallen on rich ground, and may we, sir, live to be a unit in our thought and action, and you too, gentlemen, "turning to the two who were silent. 

A short and pleasant conversation followed, and they took theirdeparture. As they left us, Clara said:

"Well done, Louis. Here is a work and Emily will help you do it. "

Louis had grown grandly beautiful through these years, and never had heseemed for one moment careless or unmindful of any simplest need. Wewalked together truly, keeping pace through the years whose crown wewore as yet lightly. He said I grew young all the time, and often, whenthoughts of his work filled his mind, as he sat looking on into thefuture, finding one by one the paths which, like small threads runningthrough a garment, led to the unfoldment of life, he would hold my handsin his, and when, like a picture, the way and means all made plain, hewould say:

"My Emily, do you see it? Oh? you have helped me to find it, and stillyou see it not; then I must tell you, " and he would unfold to me thework not of a coming day only--but sometimes even that of months andyears. 

He kept the promise made to the mill-owners, and the hearts of thelittle operatives knew him as their friend. When the work he was doingfor them commenced, Aunt Hildy had said:

"That's it; put not your light under a bushel but where men can see it, Louis, for I tell you the candles you carry to folks' hearts are run inthe mould of the Lord's love, and every gleam on 'em is worth seein'. "

Aunt Hildy's step we knew was growing less firm, and now and then sherode to the village. Matthias got on bravely, and gloried in the depositof some "buryin' money, " as he called it, with Louis, who took it to thebank and brought him a bank-book. 

"Who'd a thought on't, Mas'r Louis, me, an old nigger slave, up heah inde Norf layin' up money. "

Ben had a saw-mill now of his own, and was an honest and thrifty youngman. Many new houses had been built in our midst, and with them came ofcourse new people and their needs. 

We had, up to this time, heard often from our Southern Mary, and herletters grew stronger, telling us how noble a womanhood had crowned herlife, and the latter part of 1851 she wrote us of a true marriage withone who loved her dearly. Her gifts to Mrs. Goodwin had been munificent, and well appreciated by this good woman. We hoped some time to see herin the North. She had never lost sight of Mr. Benton, and he still livedwith his wife and boys. This delighted the heart of Mary, and I grew tothink of him as one who perhaps had been refined through the fire ofsuffering, which I secretly hoped had done its work so well that hewould not need, as Matthias thought Mas'r Sumner would, "dat eternalfire. "

CHAPTER XX. 

LIFE PICTURES AND LIFE WORK. 

The pictures Louis painted were not on canvas, but living, breathingentities, and my heart rejoiced as the years rolled over us that thebrush he wielded with such consummate skill was touched also by my hand;that it had been able to verify Clara's "Emily will do it, " and that nowin the days that came I heard her say "Louis and Emily are doing greatgood. " I think nothing is really pleasure as compared with theblessedness of benefitting others. 

My experience in my earliest years had taught me to believe gold couldbuy all we desired, but after Clara came to us and one by one the burdenof daily planning to do much with very little fell out of our lives, andthe feeling came to us that we had before us a wider path, with moreprivileges than we had ever before known, I found the truth under itall, that the want of a dollar is not the greatest one in life, neitherthe work and struggle "to make both ends meet, " as we said, the hardestto enforce. 

It was good to know my parents were now free from petty anxieties, thatno unsettled bills hung over my father's head like threatening clouds, and that my mother could, if she would, take more time; to herself. Indeed she was forced to be less busy with hard work, for Aunt Hildyworked with power and reigned supreme here, and I helped her in everyway. It was the help that came in these ways, I firmly believed, thatsaved mother's life and kept her with us. This was a great comfort, butnone of us could say our desires ended here. 

No, as soon as the vexed question of how to live had settled itself, then within our minds rose the great need of enlarged understanding. Millions of dollars could not have rendered me happy when my mind wasclouded, and now it seemed to me, while strength lasted, no work, however hard it might be, could deprive me of the happiness and lovethat filled my heart. I loved to read and think, and I loved to workalso. 

Sometimes when my hands were filled with work and I could not stop towrite, beautiful couplets would come to me, and after a time stanzaswhich I thought enough of to copy. In this way I "wrote myself down, " asLouis termed it, and occasionally he handed me a paper with my versesprinted, saying always:

"Another piece of my Emily. "

May, 1853, brought Southern Mary and her husband to us. We met them withour own carriage, and within her arms there nestled a dainty parcelcalled "our baby, " of whose coming we had not been apprised. What abeautiful picture she was, this little lady, nine months old, theperfect image of her mother, with little flaxen rings that covered herhead like a crown. I heeded not the introduction to her father, but, reaching my hands to her, said:

"Let me have her, Mary, let me take her. I cannot wait a minute. "

Louis gently reminded me that Mr. Waterman was speaking to me, and Iapologized hastily, as I gathered the blossom to my heart, where she satjust as quiet as a kitten all the way home. Clara was delighted with the"little bud, " as she called her. 

"Tell me her name, " I said. 

"Oh! guess it, " said Mary. 

"Your own?"

"No, no, you can never guess, for we called her Althea, after kind Mrs. Goodwin, who nursed me so tenderly, and Emily, for another lady weknow"--and she looked at me with her bright eyes, while an arch smileplayed over her face. I only kissed the face of the beautiful child, andLouis said:

"My Emily's name is fit for the daughter of a king. God bless the littlenamesake, " and Althea Emily gave utterance to a protracted "goo, " whichmeant, of course, _yes_. 

You should have heard her talk, though, when Matthias came over to see"Miss Molly. "

"Come shufflin' over to see you, " he said, "an' O my! but aint she jestas pooty. O"--and at this moment she realized his presence, both herlittle hands were stretched forth in welcome, and "ah goo! ah goo!" camea hundred times from her sweet mouth as she tried to spring out of hermother's lap. 

"Take her, Matthias, " I said. 

"Wall, wall, she 'pears as ef she know me, Miss Emily--reckon she's gota mammy down thar. "

"She has, indeed, " said Mary, "and I know she will miss Mammy Lucy. Shewas my nurse, and she cried bitterly when we left, but I do not needher, Allie is just nothing to care for, and I like to be with hermyself, for I am her mother, you know, " she added proudly. 

"I mus' know that ole Mammy Lucy, doesn't I, Miss Molly?"

"Certainly you do, Matthias, and she has sent a bandanna turban for yourwife, and a pair of knitted gloves for you. She told me to say shedidn't forget you, and was mighty glad for your freedom. Father longsince gave her her's and she has quite a sum of money of her own. "

All this time white baby fingers were pawing Matthias' face, as if inpity, and losing their little tips among his woolly hair. 

When he rose to leave she cried bitterly, and turning back he said:

"Kin I tote her over to see Peg to-morrer?"

"Oh! yes, " said Mary "give her my love and tell her I am coming over. "

"Look out for breakers, " said Aunt Hildy, when she saw the child, "thishouse'll be a bedlam now, but then we were all as leetle as that once, Ispos'e, " and her duty evidently spoke at that moment, saying, "You mustbear with it. " But she was not troubled. 

Allie never troubled us, she was as sweet and sunny as a May morning allthrough, and even went to meeting and behaved herself admirably. Shenever said a word till the service ended, when she uttered one single"goo" as if well pleased. Aunt Hildy said at the supper-table shedidn't believe any such thing ever happened before in the annals of ourcountry's history, "She's the best baby I ever see. Wish she'd walk afore you leave. "

"She has never deigned to creep, " said Mary; "the first time I tried tohave her, she looked at me and then at her dress as if to say, "Thatisn't nice, " and could not be coaxed to crawl. She hitches alonginstead, and even that is objectionable. I imagine some nice morning shewill get right up and walk. " At that moment Allie threw back her head ofdainty yellow rings, and laughed heartily, as if she knew what we said. 

Mrs. Goodwin claimed the trio for one-half of the six weeks allotted totheir stay, and she said afterward:

"They were three beautiful weeks with three beautiful folks. "

Louis at this time was working hard with the brush of his activegoodness, and had before him much canvas to work upon. The days wereplacing it in his view, and we both dreamed at night of the work whichhad come and was coming. 

It was a sunny day in June when he said: "Will my Emily go with meto-day? The colors are waiting on the pallet of the brain, and our handsmust use them to-day. "

"Your Emily is ready, " I replied, "and Gipsy (our horse) will take us, Iguess. "

We went first to Jane North's, and Louis said to her;

"Jane, are you ready now to help us as you have promised?"

"Yes, sir, " she replied; "I am. "

"Will you take two boys to care for; one eleven years of age, and theother twelve?"

"I'll do just what you say, or try to, and if my patience gives out Ican tell you, I 'spose, but I'm bound to do my duty, for I scolded andfretted and tended to other folk's business fifteen years jist becausemy own plans was upset, and I couldn't bear to see anybody happy. Well, 'twas the power of sin that did it, and if some of the old Apostles fellshort I can't think I'm alone, though that don't make it any better forme. When are they coming?"

"To-night, I think. Give them a good room and good food, and I willremunerate you as far as money goes. I would like you to take them; youare so neat and thrifty, and will treat them well. When they get settledwe will see just what to do for them, " said Louis, and we drove on tothe village. Our next stopping-place was found in the narrowest streetthere, and where a few small and inconvenient dwellings had been erectedby the mill owners for such of their help as could afford to pay onlyfor these miserable homes. They looked as if they had fallen togetherthere by mistake. And the plot of ground which held the six housesseemed to me to be only a good-sized house lot. We stopped at the thirdone and were admitted by a careworn woman, who looked about fifty yearsof age. She greeted us gladly, though when Louis introduced me, I knewshe felt the meager surroundings and wished he had been alone, for herface flushed and her manner was nervous. I spoke kindly and took thechair she proffered, being very careful not to appear to notice thescantily furnished room. 

"Well, " said Louis, "Mrs. Moore, are you ready to let your boy go withme?"

"Oh, sir, " she said, "only too willing; but I have been afraid you wouldnot come. It seemed so strange that you should make us such an offer--sostrange that you can afford to do it, and be willing, too, forexperience has taught us to expect nothing, especially from those whohave money. But Willie's clothes, sir, are sadly worn. I have patchedthem beyond holding together, almost; but I could get no new ones. "

"Never mind that, " said Louis. "We will go to the mill for him and hislittle friend, too, if he can go. "

"Oh! yes, sir; he can, and I am so glad, for the father is a miserablydiscouraged man. He drinks to drown trouble, and it seems to me he willdrown them all after a little. A pleasant man, too. His wife says poorhealth first caused him to use liquor. "

We then called on the woman in question and obtained her tearfulconsent, for while the promise of a home for her boy was a bright gleam, she said:

"He is the oldest. Oh! I shall miss him when we are sick. "

"He shall come to you any time, " said Louis, "and you shall visit him. "

And in a few moments we were at the mill. Entering the office, Louis wascordially greeted by one of the three gentlemen who had called on us. Heevidently anticipated his errand, for he said:

"So, you are come for Willie Moore and Burton Brown?"

"Yes, sir, " Louis replied. "Can I go to the room for them?"

"As you please, Mr. Desmonde, I can call them down. Their room is not avery desirable place for a lady to visit. "

Louis looked at him as if to remind him of something, while I said:

"My place is beside my husband. "

"Yes, " added Louis, "we work together. Come, Emily, " and he led the wayto the fourth floor, where, under the flat roof in a long, low room, were the little wool pickers. I thought at first I could not breathe, the air was so close and sickening. And here were twenty boys, not oneof them more than twelve or thirteen years old, working through longhours. The heat was stifling, and the fuzz from the wool made it worse. They wore no stockings or shoes, nothing but a shirt and overalls, andthese were drenched as with rain. 

As we entered Louis whispered, "See the pictures, " and it was a bright, glad light that came suddenly into all their eyes at sight of theirfriend. He spoke to them all, introducing me as we passed through thelong line that lay between the two rows of boys. When we came to Willieand Burton, Louis whispered to them:

"Get ready to go with me. "

They went into the adjoining hall to put on the garments which they woreto and from the mill, and in less time than it takes me to write it, they stood ready for a start. As we passed again between the lines ofboys Louis dropped into every palm a silver piece, saying, as he didso:

"Hold on, boys, work with good courage, and we will see you all in adifferent place one of these days. "

"Thank you, sir;" and "yes, sir, we will, " fell upon our ears as wepassed out. Our two little protegés ran out in advance. And as I lookedback a moment, standing on the threshold of the large door, I said:

"It is a beautiful picture, Louis. You are a master artist. "

After again stopping in the office for a few words of conversation withMr. Damon, Louis was ready, the boys clambered into our carriage, and wewere on our way to their homes, first stopping to purchase for each ofthem a suit of clothes, a large straw hat, and a black cap. The boyssaid nothing, but looked a world of wondering thanks. 

Louis made an arrangement for the boys to live with Jane, and to go toour town school when it began in the fall. 

"This summer, " he said to their mothers, "they need all the out-door airand free life they can have to help their pale cheeks grow rosy, and togive to their weak muscles a little of the strength they require. Idesire no papers to pass between us, for I am not taking your childrenfrom you, only helping you to give them the rest and change they need tosave their lives. They are the weakest boys in the mill and this is whyI chose them first. Every Saturday they shall come home to you, and stayover the Sabbath if you desire, and they shall also bring to you as muchas they could earn in the mill. Will this be satisfactory?"

Both these mothers bowed their heads in silent appreciation of the realservice he was rendering, and I knew his labor was not lost. I felt likeadding my tribute to his, and said:

"Your boys will be well cared for, and you shall come often to see us. We expect you to enjoy a little with them. "

"Oh! mother, will you come over and bring the children?" said Willie. 

"And you, too, mother, " echoed Burton. 

Weary Mrs. Moore said:

"I would like to breathe again in the woods and on the mountains, but Ihave five little ones left here to care for;" and Mrs. Brown added:

"I could only come on Saturday, and the mill lets out an hour earlier, and your father needs me on that day more than any other. "

Her sad face and tearful eyes told my woman's heart that this was theday he was tempted more than all others, and I afterward gathered asmuch from Burton. 

"Well, we must turn toward home, " said Louis, and the boys kissed theirmothers and their little brothers and sisters, and said "good-bye, " andeach with his bundles turned to the carriage. Louis untied Gipsy, and Isaid to the mothers:

"Were they ever away over night?"

"No, never, " said both at once. 

"I will arrange for them. You shall hear to-morrow how the first nightpasses with them. "

"I was just thinking of that, " said Mrs. Brown; "God bless you for yourthoughtfulness, " and getting into the carriage, we all waved ourgood-byes, and turned toward home. We told Jane all we could to interesther, and particularly asked her to make everything pleasant for them, that they should not be homesick. Louis went to their room with them, and when we left them at Jones' gate, Willie Moore shouted after us:

"It's just heaven here, ain't it?"

He was an uncommonly bright little boy, and yet had no educationwhatever beyond spelling words of three letters. He was twelve years ofage, and for three years he had worked in the mill. Clara and all athome were delighted with our work, and Aunt Hildy said:

"Ef Jane North does well by them boys, she oughter have a pension fromthe Gov'ment, and sence I know that'll never give her a cent, I'll do itmyself. I've got an idee in my head. "

Then Southern Mary and her husband laughed, not in derision, for theyadmired Aunt Hildy, and Mr. Waterman said:

"If men had your backbone, Mrs. Patten, there would be a different stateof things altogether. "

"My husband is almost an Abolitionist, " said Mary. "Some of our peopledislike him greatly; but my father is a good man and he does notilltreat one of his people. He is one of the exceptional cases. But thesystem is, I know, accursed by God. I believe it to be a huge scale thatfell from the serpent's back in the Garden, and I feel the day will dawnwhen the accursed presence of slavery will be no longer known. "

"Good!" said Aunt Hildy, "and there's more kinds than one. Them littlechildren is slaves--or was. "

"When you get ready to make out your pension papers, Mrs. Patten, " saidMary, "let me help jest a little; I would like to lay a corner-stonesomewhere in this village for some one's benefit. You know this is thesite of a drama in my life; I pray never to enact its like again. "

"I'll give you a chance, " said Aunt Hildy. 

Louis went over to Jane's in the morning, and the boys returned with himto tell us what a good supper and breakfast they had had. 

"And such a nice bed, " added Burton. "When we looked out of the windowthis morning I wished mother could come. "

"Poor little soul!" I said, "your mother shall come. We will move everyobstacle from her path. "

"If father could find work here it would be nice, " and a little whileafter, he said in a low tone:

"There ain't any rum shops here, is there?"

He was a tender plant, touchingly sensitive, and when I told him we wereto send word to his mother that he liked his home, his joy was apleasure to witness. 

"Miss North says we may have some flowers, and we'd better go back, Willie, and see about getting the spot ready--she had her seed box outlast night, but I guess she'll give us plants too, to put in theground. "

He was very thoughtful, and would not stay too long for anything, hesaid. Aunt Hildy looked after them, and sighed with the thoughts thatrose within, but said no word. 

The three weeks of Mr. And Mrs. Waterman's stay were at an end. 

"On the morrow, " said Mary, "we go to Aunty Goodwin's. I want to go, anddread to leave. But is that Matthias coming over the hill? It is, and Ihave something to tell him. I have meant to do it before, but there wasreally no opportunity. Come out with me, and let's sit down under theelm tree while I tell him. Come, Allie, " and she lifted the blue-eyedbaby tenderly. Oh, how sweet she was! and I wondered how we could bearto lose her. She crowed with delight at Matthias' approach, and atMary's suggestion he took a seat beside us. 

"I have something to tell you now; open wide your ears, Uncle Peter. "

"What's dat you say, Miss Molly; got some news from home?"

"Yes, I have news for you from your own. "

"Oh, Miss Molly, don't for de Lord's sake wait a minit!"

"Your wife, whom Mr. Sumner so cruelly sold for you, is very happy now, for she is free, Matthias. "

"Done gone to hevin, does you mean? Tell it all, " said the old man, whotrembled visibly. 

"She did not live two months, but she was in good hands. I accidentallymet her mistress, who told me about her. She said she had kept her inthe house to wait on her, for she liked her very much. But she seemedsad, and grew tired, and one morning she did not appear, and they foundher in her little room, next that of Mrs. Sanders, quite dead andlooking peaceful and happy. Her mistress felt badly, for she meant to dowell by her. They thought some heart trouble caused her death. "

"Oh, my! oh, my! dat heart ob hern was done broke when dat man sold ourlittle gal. Oh, I knowed it ud neber heal up agin! but tank de Lordshe's free up dar. Oh, Miss Emily! can't no murderers go in troo degate? Dat Mas'r Sumner can't neber get dar any more, Miss Molly?"

"Yes, Matthias. Dry your tears, for I've something good to tell. Youroldest boy, John, has a good master, and is buying his freedom. Theyhelp him along. He drives a team, and is a splendid fellow. He will befree soon, and will come to see you, perhaps to live with you. This isall I know, but isn't it a great deal?"

Matthias stood on his feet, his eyes dilating as they turned full onMary, his hands clenched, his form raised as erect as it was possiblefor him, and his breast heaving with great emotion, as from his lipscame slowly these words:

"Do you mean it, Miss Molly? Is you foolin, or is you in dead earnestfor sartin?"

"It is truth, every word I say. "

"Oh, oh, oh!" and he sank on the seat beside us, covering his face withboth hands, while tears fell at his feet, and as they touched the grassthey shone in the sun like large round drops of dew. I thought they wereas white and pure as though his skin was fair. And he wept not alone, for we wept with him. 

Allie reached to bury her fingers in his mass of woolly, curling hair, and as he felt their tender tips, he raised his head and put out hishands to her, saying:

"Come, picaninny, come and help me be glad. Oh, Canaan, bright Canaan!Oh, de Lord has hearn my prayer an' what kin I say, what kin I do, an'how kin I wait fur to see dat chile? He's jes like his mother, pooty, Iknow. Oh, picaninny, holler louder! le's tell it to the people that myJohn is a comin' fur to see me, dat he haint got no use fur a mas'r anymore, " and up and down he walked before us, while Allie madedemonstrations of joy. 

It was a strange picture. "Oh, Canaan!" still he sang, and "De NewJerusalem, " until I really feared his joy would overcome him, and wasglad to see Louis coming toward us. He took a seat beside me, and I wasabout to tell him the wonderful news, when Matthias, who noticed him, handed Allie to her mother, and falling on his knees before Louis, criedaloud:

"Oh, Mas'r Louis, help me, for de good Lord's sake! will you help me, Mas'r Louis?"

"Oh, yes, my dear fellow!" and he laid his hand on him tenderly; "tellme just what you want me to do. "

"Oh, my boy! Miss Molly tells me my own boy John have got his freedommos out, an' he's comin' to find me. I can't wait, Mas'r Louis; 'pearslike a day'll be a year. I mout die, he mout die too. I'll sen' him myburyin' money, an' ef tant enough, can't you sen' a little more? an'I'll work it out, I will, sure, an' no mistake; fur de sake of theright, Mas'r Louis, an' for to make my ole heart glad. Will you do it?"

"I certainly will, Matthias; but you are excited now. "

"Bless ye. May de heavins open fur to swallow me in ef I don't clar upebery cent you pays fur me. But you can't tell. Oh, ye don't know!" andagain he walked, clapped his hands, and sang, "Oh, Canaan, brightCanaan!" till, pausing suddenly, he said, "Guess I better shuffle oberto tell Peg--'pears like I'm done gone clar out whar I can't knownothin';" and with "good arternoon" he left us, swinging his hat in hishand, and singing still "Oh, Canaan!" as he traveled over the hilltoward home. 

We were all glad for Matthias, and Clara said:

"Let us rejoice with them that rejoice; and Louis, my dear boy, write atonce to the gentleman who owns John, and pay him whatever he says isdue. We can do it, and we should, for the poor, tired heart of hisfather cannot afford to wait when a promise lies so near. Let us helphim to lay hold upon it. "

"Amen, " said Aunt Hildy. "I'll help ten dollars' worth; taint much. "

"But you shall keep it for John, " said Clara; "he will need somethingafter he gets here. "

The next morning Matthias came to deliver his bank-book to Louis, saying:

"Get the buryin' money; get it and send it fur me, please. "

Louis told him to keep his bank-book. 

"You shall see your boy as soon as money can get him here. "

"Oh, Mas'r Louis!" and he grasped both his hands; "de Lord help this olenigger to pay you. I's willin' to work dese fingers clean to de bone. "

Our two boys got on bravely. The first Saturday night we sent them homewith loaded baskets, and each with a pail of new milk, which we knewwould be a treat to the children, and in their little purses the amountpromised by Louis. Matthias took them to their homes, and Louis wentfor them on Monday morning, and when he returned he said:

"The pictures are growing, Emily. Bright eyes and rosy cheeks will comesoon. "

Mr. And Mrs. Waterman were leaving us. We were kissing "our baby"good-bye. How we disliked to say the word! And when looking back atMatthias after we started, she cried, "Mah, mah!" I laughed and criedtogether. Louis and I parted with them reluctantly at the depot, and ourlast words were:

"Send John right along. "

"We will, " they answered, as the train rode away and baby Allie pressedher shining face against the window. It was only two weeks and two daysfrom that day that Louis, Clara and I (she said after our marriage "Callme Clara, for we are sisters--never say 'mother Desmonde;' to say motherwhen you have such a blessed one of your own is robbery to her") droveto the depot to meet John. Matthias said to us, "You go fur him, ef you please, fur I can never meet him in de crowd; Iwant to wait by de road an' see him cum along. Mighty feared I'll make anoony o' myself. "

The train stopped, and Louis left us in the carriage and went to findhim. My heart jumped as I thought he might not be there, but ere I hadtime to say it to Clara, he came in sight, walking proudly erect by theside of Louis, as handsome a colored man as could be seen. He was quitelight, tall as Louis, and well proportioned, his mouth pleasantly shapedand not large, his nose suited to a Greek rather than to a negro, andover his forehead, which was broad and full, black hair fell intight-curling rings, --resembling Matthias in nothing save perhaps hiseyes. It did not seem possible this could be a man coming from the powerof a master--how I dislike that term, a slave--this noble lookingfellow; I shuddered involuntarily, and grasped his hand in welcome witha fervent "God bless you, John; I welcome you heartily. " Clara stretchedforth her little hand also, saying:

"John, you can never know how glad we are. " He stood with his hatraised, and his large beautiful eyes turned toward us filled withfeeling as he answered:

"Ladies, you can never realize the debt I have to pay you. It seems adream that I am here, a free man with an old father waiting to see hisson; oh, sir, " and he turned to Louis, "my heart is full!"

"We do not doubt it, dear fellow, but get into the carriage and letGipsy take us to the hills. She knows your father waits. Now go, Gipsy, "and the willing creature seemed inspired, going at a quick pace as ifshe understood her mission. 

I saw Matthias sitting on a log a little this side of our home, shadinghis eyes with his hand, and when John spied him, he laid his hand on hisheart and said:

"Please let me get out and walk; excuse me, sir, but I cannot sit here. "

We respected his feelings and held Gipsy back, that he might with hislong strides reach his father before us, which he did. When Matthias sawhim walking toward him, he rose to his feet and the two men approachedeach other with uncovered heads. At last, when about ten feet apart, Matthias stopped and cried:

"John, oh, John!"

"Father, father, I am here, " and with one bound he reached him, threwhis arms about him, while Matthias' head fell on his shoulder; and here, as we reached them, they stood speechless with the great joy that hadcome to them. Two souls delivered from bondage--two white souls bathedin pure sunlight of my native skies. I can never forget this scene. Wespoke no word to them, but as we passed them John spoke, saying:

"Sir, will you take my father's arm? He feels weak and I am not strong. "I took the reins and Louis, springing to the ground, stepped between, and each taking his arm they walked together up to the door of our homewhere Aunt Hildy, mother, father, Ben, Hal and Mary, Mrs. Davis, JaneNorth and Aunt Peg, waited to receive them. When Matthias saw Peg hesaid:

"Come, Peg, come and kiss him; this is my John sure enuf. " Supper waitedand the table was spread for all. Mr. Davis gave thanks and spokefeelingly of the one among us who had been delivered from the yoke ofbondage, saying:

"May we be able to prove ourselves worthy of his great love, andconfidence, and be forever mindful of all those both in the North andSouth who wait, as he has waited, for deliverance. " Matthias grew calm, and when they left us to walk home, Louis and I went with them. On theroad over John said to Louis:

"Sir, I am greatly indebted to you, and I am anxious to go to work atonce and pay my debt. "

"You owe me nothing, " said Louis; "I have no claim upon your money ortime; I will help you in every way possible, and my reward will be foundin the great joy and comfort you will bring to your father in his oldage. "

"This is too much, " said John. 

"Not enough, " said Louis, and at Aunt Peg's vine-covered lattice 'neathwhich he stood, we said good-night and turned toward home, while in ourhearts lay mirrored, another fadeless picture. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

JOHN JONES. 

How the days of this year flew past us, we were borne along swiftly ontheir wings, and every week was filled to overflowing with pleasant careand work. John was called in the South after his master's name, but nowhe said, inasmuch as he had left him and the old home in Newbern, itwould seem better to him to be called by his father's name, and so hetook his place among us as John Jones. He went to work with a will, became a great friend to Ben and helped him wonderfully, for between thesaw-mill, the farm with its stock-raising and broom trade, which reallywas getting to be a good business, Ben was more than busy. 

John was a mechanic naturally; he was clever at most anything he put hismind on, "and never tried to get shet of work;" and his daily workproved his worth among us. Matthias worked and sang the long daysthrough, and all was bright and beautiful before him. He tried to thinkJohn's angel mother could look down from "hevin" on him, and it gave himpleasure to feel so. 

When the fall came John said to Louis:

"I want to know something. I promised the boys and gals that when I gotfree I'd speak a few words for them, and I must learn something. "

So he came regularly to Louis through the winter evenings, and in alittle time he could send a readable letter to the friends down South. Newbern was a nice place, had nice people, he told us, and he had beenwell treated and permitted to learn to read, but the writing he couldnot find time to master; he was skilful in figures, and Louis was veryproud of his rapid improvement. 

In our meetings he gradually came to feel at home, and at last surprisedus one evening by a recital of his life, and an earnest appeal toChristians to forget not those who looked to the star in the North as toa light that promised them freedom and the comforts of a home. Hislarge, expressive eyes grew luminous with feeling, and as he stood, raptin his own thought, which carried him back to the old home, he seemedlike a tower of strength in our midst, and when at the close of themeeting, as we walked behind them, he took his father's arm, I heardMatthias say:

"John, you's done made me proud as Loosfer. "

And his handsome son bowed his head as he answered:

"Thank the God who made us all to be brothers that I have the power totell these thoughts that rise within me. You feel just as I do, father, only you can't express it, because they did not let you grow. The heavyweight of slavery has held you close to the ground, and this is thefoundation of the system. The ignorance of the chattel is the life thatfeeds the master's power. Like horses, if slaves knew this power, theycould break their bondage, and no hand on earth could stop them. "

Among the pleasant occurrences of this summer were the picnics of themill children, who enjoyed two days in July and two days in Augustrambling in the woods and taking dinner in the old hemlock grove, wherethe trees had been so lavish of their gifts that a soft carpet of theirfallen leaves covered the ground the long year through. The coolness ofthis beautiful shelter was most refreshing, and it seemed as if natureknew just how much room was needed to spread our lunch-cloth, for therewas the nicest spot in the world right in the heart of the grove, and aswe sat around our lowly table every third or fourth person had asplendid hemlock tree to lean against. This was a rare treat to the millchildren, and oh, the faces of the pictures we painted in these days. 

Willie and Burton both had their own friends with them, and when inconversation Louis spoke of the work of repairing the church and puttingin new pews, Burton Brown said:

"My father can do such work. "

"Can you, Mr. Brown?" said Louis. 

"Yes, sir, " he replied; "working in lumber is my trade; change and hardluck forced me into the mill. "

I cannot tell you of all the events that occurred among us, but when thesmoke from a new chimney rose in the very spot almost where Aunt Hildy'scottage stood, it was due to the fact that a new double house had beenerected on a splendid lot, and Willie and Burton were living there withtheir parents. 

Mrs. Moore had grown young looking, though the grey hairs that mingledwith the brown still held their places. Mr. Brown did not meettemptations here, and as Aunt Hildy said:

"Headin' him off in a Christian way was the thing that saved him; poorcritter, his stomach gnawed, and he needed just them bitters I made forhim, and Louis' kind treatment and planning to help him be born agin, and its done good and strong, jest as I knew it would be. "

Two more little mill boys were brought to Jane to take the places ofWillie and Burton, and Louis kept walking forward, turning neither tothe right nor left, bringing the comforts of living to the hearts thathad known only the gathering of crumbs from the tables of the rich, andthe few scattering pennies that chanced occasionally to fall from theirselfish palms. 

Clara's glad smile and happy words made a line of sunshine in our lives, and the three years following this one, which had brought so manypleasant changes, were as jewels in the coronet of active thought andwork, which we were day by day weaving for ourselves and each other. 

When Southern Mary left us, she gave to Aunt Hildy something to helpmake out Jane North's pension papers, and the first step Aunt Hildy tooktoward doing this was in the fall of 1853, when she painted Jane's houseinside and out. Then in the next year she built a new fence for her, andinsisted on helping Louis make some improvements needed to give moreroom, and from this time the old homestead where Jane's father andmother had lived and died, became the children's home, with Jane as itspresiding genius, having help to do the work. From six to eight childrenwere with her; three darling little girls whom Louis found in thestreets of a city in the winter of 1855, were brought to the Home byhim, and he considered them prizes. 

To be independent in thought and action was Louis' wisdom. He had regardfor the needs of children as well as of adults, for he remembered thatthe girls and boys are to be the men and women of the years to come, andto help them help themselves was his great endeavor. 

"For this, " he would say, "is just what our God does for us, Emily. Heteaches the man who constantly observes all things around him, that theproper use of his bounty is what he most needs to know, and to live bythe side of natural laws, moving parallel with them, is the only way totruthfully solve life's master problem. Yea, Emily, painting pictures isgrand work; to see the ideal growing as a reality about us, to know weare the instruments in God's hands for doing great good; and are not theyears verifying the truth of what I said to you, when a boy I told you Ineeded your help, and also that you did not know yourself? I knew thedepth of your wondrous nature. My own Emily, you are a glorious woman, "and as tenderly as in the olden days, with the great strength of hisundying love, he gathered me in silence to his heart. How many nights Ipassed to the land of dreams thinking, "Oh, if my Louis should die!"

Father and mother were enjoying life, and when Aunt Phebe came to seeus, bringing a wee bit of a blue-eyed daughter, she said, "If I shouldhave to leave her, I should die with the knowledge that she would find ahome among you here. "

"I don't see why we haint thought out sooner, " said Aunt Hildy; "you seefolks are ready, waitin', only they don't know whar to begin such work, and now there's Jane North, I'll be bound she'd a gone deeper and deeperinto tattlin', ef the right one hadn't teched her in a tender spot, andnow she's jest sot her heart into the work, and as true as you live, she's growin' handsome in doin' it. I'm ashamed of myself to think Ihave wasted so much time. Oh, ef I'd got my eyes open thirty years ago. "

"Better late than never, " said Aunt Phebe; "live and learn; it takes onelife to teach us how to prize it, but the days to come will be full offruit to our children, I hope. "

"Wall ef we sow the wind we reap the whirlwind sure, Miss Dayton. "

Aunt Phebe was very desirous that John should see Mr. Dayton, which hedid, and an offer to study with him the higher mathematics was gladlyaccepted, and between these two men sprang a friendship which wasenduring. 

Uncle Dayton had helped many a one through the tangled maze of Euclidproblems and their like, and when John walked along by his side in easeand pleasure, Mr. Dayton was delighted; and when he came to see us, hesaid:

"The fellow is a man, he's a man clear through. 

"Why, " said he, "I was just the one to carry him along all right. I wasthe first man to take a colored boy into a private school, and I did itunder protest, losing some of the white boys, whose parents would notlet them stay; not much of a loss either, " he added, "though theybehaved nearly as well as the colored boys I took. I belonged at thetime to the Baptist Church; the colored woman, whose two sons I receivedinto my school, was a member of the same church; three boys, whoseparents were my brothers and sisters in the faith, were withdrawn, andthe minister who had baptized us all, and declared us to be one in thename of the humble Nazarene, also withdrew his son from my school, beingunwilling to have him recite in the class with these two boys, whoseskin was almost as white as his own. The natural inference was, that heconsidered himself of more consequence than the Almighty, for hecertainly had given us all to him, and I had verily thought the manmeant to help God do part of his work, but this proved conclusively thatthe Lord had it all to do--at any rate that which was not nice enoughfor the parson--and it took a large piece of comfort out of my heart. Iwas honest in trying to do my duty, and it grieved me to think he wasnot. Another young colored boy whom I took, is a physician in our cityto-day, and another who came to my house to be instructed has beengraduated at the Normal School of our State with high honors, beingchosen as the valedictorian of the class, and he is to-day principal ofa Philadelphia school. 

"I tell you this truth has always been before me, and I have run therisk of my life almost daily in practising upon it. My school was reallyinjured for a time, and dwindled down to a few scholars, but I keptright along, and the seed which was self-sowing, sprang up around me, and to-day I have more than I can do, and the people know I am right. "

The blue eyes of Mr. Dayton sparkled as he paused in his recital, running his fingers through his hair, and for a time evidently wanderingin the labyrinthine walks of the soul's mathematics, whose beautifullydefined laws might make all things straight, and it was only the sightof John's towering form in the doorway that roused him, and he said:

"I have brought to you Davies' Legendre. I thought he would receive morethanks in the years to come than now, for is it not always so? Are notthose who move beyond the prescribed limits of the circle of to-day, unappreciated, and must we not often wait for the grave to cover theirbodies, and their lives to be written, ere we realize what their heartstried to do for us? It is a sad fact, and one which shapes itself in themould of a selfish ignorance, which covers as a crust the tender growingbeauty of our inner natures. 

It was a cold day in December, 1856, when we were startled to see Janecoming over the hill in such a hurried way that we feared something wasthe matter with the children. These children were dear to me. Hal andMary had a beautiful boy two and a half years old, but no bud had as yetnestled against my heart. 

I met her at the gate and asked, "What's the matter with the children?"

"Go into the house, Emily _De_-mond, 'taint the children, it's me. " Shewanted us all to sit down together. 

"Oh! dear, dear me, what can I do? I'm out of my head almost. "

We gathered together in the middle room, and waited for her to tell us, but she sat rocking, as if her life depended on it, full five minutesbefore she could speak--it seemed an hour to me--finally she screamedout:

"He's come back!"

"Whom do you mean?" I cried, while mother and Aunt Hildy exchangedglances. 

"He came last night; he's over to the Home, Miss Patten, d'ye hear?"

"Jane, " said Aunt Hildy in a voice that sounded so far away itfrightened me, "do you mean Daniel?"

"Yes, yes; he's come back, and he wants me to forgive him, and I musttell it, he wants me to marry him. I sat up all night talkin' andthinkin' what I can do. "

"Jane, " said Aunt Hildy, in that same strange voice, "has he got anynews?"

"Both of 'em dead. Oh, Miss Patten, you'll die, I know you'll die!"

"No, I shan't. I died when they went away. "

"What can I do, Miss Patten? Oh, some of you _do_ speak! Mis' _De_-mond, you tell; you are allus right. "

Clara crossed the room, and kneeling on the carpet before her, said:

"My dear soul, is it the one you told me of?"

"Yes, yes, " said Jane, "the very one; gall and worm-wood I drank, andall for him; he ran away and--"

"Yes, " added Aunt Hildy, "tell it all. Silas and our boy went with him, father and son, and Satan led 'em all. "

"Has he suffered much?" said Clara. 

"Oh, yes, marm, but he says he can't live without me! He hain't neverbeen married; I'm fifty-four, and he's the same age. "

"Jane, " said Clara, "I guess it will be all right; let him stay withyou. "

"How it looks, " interrupted Jane; "they'll all know him. "

"Never mind. The Home is a sort of public institution now; let him stay, and in three weeks I'll tell you all about it. "

"Get right up off this floor, you angel woman, and lemme set on the sofywith you, " said Jane. 

Louis and I left the room, and after an hour or so Jane went over thehill, and Aunt Hildy stepped as firmly as before she came. Poor AuntHildy, this was the sorrow she had borne. I was glad she knew they weredead, for uncertainty is harder to bear than certainty. I wondered howit came that I should never have known and dimly remembered somethingabout some one's going away strangely, when I was a little girl. Mymother had, like all Aunt Hildy's friends, kept her sorrow secret, andshe told me it was a rare occurrence for Aunt Hildy to mention it evento her, whom she had always considered her best friend. 

If Jane had not herself been interested, it would have leaked outprobably, but these two women, differing so strangely from each other, had held their secrets close to their hearts, and for twenty-five longyears had nightly prayed for the wanderers. 

Aunt Hildy's husband was a strange man; their boy inherited his father'speculiarities, and when he went away with him was only sixteen years ofage. 

Daniel Turner was twenty-nine, and the opinion prevailed that he lefthome because he was unwilling to marry Jane, although they had been forseveral years engaged, and she had worked hard to get all things readyfor housekeeping. He was not a bad-looking man, and evidently possessedconsiderable strength. 

Clara managed it all nicely, and when the three weeks' probation ended, they were quietly married at Mr. Davis', and Mr. Turner went to work onthe farm which Jane had for many years let out on shares. He worked wellthrough the rest of the winter, and the early spring found him busydoing all that needed to be done. 

He was interested in our scheme, and felt just pride in the belongingsof the Home, which was really settling into a permanency. We sometimeshad letters of interrogation and of encouragement as well, from thosewho, hearing of us, were interested. 

Louis often said the day would come when many institutions of this kindwould be established, for the object was a worthy one, and no great needcan cry out and not finally be heard, even though the years may multiplyere the answer comes. 

"Changes on every hand, " said Mr. Davis, "and now that the pulpit hascome down nearer to the people, and I can send my thoughts directly intotheir hearts, instead of over their heads, as I have been so oftenforced to do, we may hope that the chain of our love will weld ustogether as a unit in strength and feeling. I almost wish our town couldbe called New Light, for it seems to me the world looks new as it liesabout us. The lantern of love, we know, is newly and well trimmed, and Ifeel its light can never die; it may give place to one which is larger, and whose rays can be felt further, but it can never die. I reallybegin to believe there is no such thing as death. I dislike the word, for it only signifies decay. I call it change, and that seems nearerright. "

"So it is, Mr. Davis, " said Clara, as he talked earnestly with us of hisinterest in the children and the people about us, "for, even as childrenare gradually changing into men and women, so shall our expanding livesforever climb to reach the stature of our angelhood, which must come tous when we let the perishable garments fall, and the mortal puts on itsimmortality. If we all could only see that our Father will help us toshape these garments even here; could we know that stitches daily takenin the garment that our soul desires are necessary that it may be readyfor us when we enter there, --how great would be the blessing! This wouldrelieve death of its clinging fears, and our exit from earth andentrance to the waiting city would be made as a pleasant journey. 

"Louis, dear boy, feels all this, and if the cold hearts of speculativemen could be warmed and softened into an unfolding life, he would notconstantly do battle with the wrong; but truth is mightier than error. God's love must at last be felt, and when the delay is over, how manyhearts, now deaf to his entreaties, will say with one accord, 'we aresorry, if we could live our days over, we would help you!'"

Louis did do battle, that is true; he paid due respect to people of allclasses, but fearlessly and trustfully he dealt, both by word andpractice, vigorous blows against all enslaving systems. He said to ussometimes, that when he went to the mill--as he constantly did, workinguntil every one of the twenty boys to whom he promised liberty, foundit--he came in contact with three different conditions; he classifiedthem as mind, heart and soul. "When I talk to them, " he said, "or if Igo there on my mission and speak no words, I hear their souls say 'he isright and we are wrong;' I hear the earthly hearts whisper hoarsely, 'curse the plans of that fellow, he is in our way;' and the worldlypolicy of the mind steps forth upon the balcony of the brain and says, 'treat him well, it is the best policy to pursue, for he has money. 'Yes, my Emily, I thank God for the fortune my father left me, hidden inthe silver service. It shall all be used. You and I will use it all. Andwas the bequest not typical, its very language being 'a fortune in thyservice, oh, my father!'"

"I never thought of this; how wonderful you are, Louis, " I said. 

"And you, my Emily, my companion, may our work be the nucleus aroundwhich shall gather the work of ages yet to be, for it takes an age, youknow, to do the work of a year--almost of a day. "

Our lives ran on like a strong full tide, and all our ships were bornesmoothly along for four full years. An addition had been made to Jane'shouse, and her husband proved loyal and true, so good and kind andearnest in his work that Aunt Hildy said:

"I have forgotten to remember his dark days, and I really don't believehe'd ever have cut up so ef Silas had let him alone. "

Good Mrs. Davis had sought rest and found it, and a widowed niece cameas house-keeper. John Jones was growing able to do the work he promisedthe girls and boys down South, and lectured in the towns around us, telling his own story with remarkable eloquence for one who had no earlyadvantages. He was naturally an orator, and only needed a habit ofspeaking to make apparent his exceptional mental capacity. Aunt Hildywas not as strong when 1860 dawned upon us, and she said on New Year'sevening, which with us was always devoted to a sort of recalling of thepast:

"Don't believe I'll be here when sixty-one comes marchin' in. "

Clara looked at her with a strange light in her eyes, and said:

"Dear Aunt Hildy, wait for me, please; I'd like to go just when you do. "

It was the nineteenth day of April this year, when an answer to a prayerwas heard, and a little wailing sound caused my heart to leap ingratitude and love. A little dark-eyed daughter came to us, and Louisand I were father and mother. She had full dark eyes like his, Clara'smouth, and a little round head that I knew would be covered with sunnycurls, because this would make her the picture I had so longed to see. 

"Darling baby-girl, why did you linger so long? We have waited till ourhope had well-nigh vanished, " and the dark eyes turned on me for ananswer, which my heart read, "It is well. "

Louis named her "Emily Minot Desmonde. " It was his wish, and while, as Ithought, it ill suited the little fairy, I only said:

"May she never be called 'Emily did it. '"

"May that be ever her name, " said Louis, "for have you not yourself donethat of which she will be always proud, and when we are gone will theywho are left not say of you, 'Emily did it'?

"Ah! my darling, you have lost and won your title, and it comes backshaped and gilded anew, for scores of childish lips have echoed it, and'Emily did it' is written in the indelible ink of the great charitywhich has given them shelter. "

"Louis, too, " I said, and he answered:

"Had I not found my Emily, I could never have undertaken it. You cannotknow how I gathered lessons from your happy home. In my earliest years Iwas dissatisfied with the life which money could buy. I did not know thecomforts of work and pleasure mingled, and it was here, under thesegrand old hills, while communing with nature, I sought and found thepresence of its Infinite Creator; and your smile, your presence, was apromise to me which has been verified to the letter. "

When Clara held our wondrous blessing in the early days of its sweetlife, she looked sometimes so pensively absent that I one day asked herif she did not wish Emily had come sooner. 

"Ah! my Emily, mother; 'tis a wrong, wrong thought, still I cannot denyit;" and a mist covered her tender eyes. My heart stood still, for Iknew she felt that her hand would not lead our little one in the firststeps she should take, and the thought embittered my joy. I supposeeverybody's baby is the sweetest, and I must forbear and let everymother think how we cared for and tended the little one, and how ourheartstrings all vibrated at the touch of her little hand, and if shewas ill or worrisome, which she was earthly enough to be, we were allrobbed of our comfort till her smiles came back. 

Aunt Hildy was an especial favorite, and she would sit with her socontentedly, while that dear old face, illumined by the sun of love, told our hearts it was good for baby's breath to moisten the cheek ofage. 

Little Halbert, as we called Hal's boy, was as proud of his cousin ascould be, and my old apple tree, which was still dear, dropped leavesand blossoms on the heads of the children, who loved to sit beneath itsbranches. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

CLARA LEAVES US. 

The year 1861 had dawned upon us, and Aunt Hildy had not left us as shehad expected to. 

I said to her, "I believe you are better to-day than you were one yearago. " She folded her hands and looking at me, said:

"Appearances is often deceitful, Emily; I haint long to stay, neitherhas the saint among us. Her eyes have a strange look in them nowadays, and the veins in the lids show dreadful plain; we must be prepared forit. "

I could not talk about this, and how was I to prepare for it? I shouldnever love her less, and could I ever bear to lose her, or realize howit would be without her? "Over there" was so far beyond me, I could onlythink and sigh and wait; but the symptoms of which Aunt Hildy spoke Inoticed afterward, and it was true her eyelids seemed more transparent, and her eyes had a watery light. 

I knew she was weak, and since the snow had fallen was chilled moreeasily than before, and had ventured out but little. I did not desire topain Louis, but feeling uneasy, could not rest until I talked with him, and he said his heart had told him the little mother would leave us erelong. "If she lives till the fall, we will go down and see SouthernMary, if we can. " Little Emily clung very closely to Clara, and if I hadnot insisted on having the care of her, I believe she never would haveasked for me. Mother said we should spoil her, and Ben declared she"would make music for us by and by. " Ben was still interested in hiswork, and as busy as a bee the long days through. 

"Thirty-three years old, " I said to him, "are you never to be married?"

"Guess not, " he would reply laughingly, "I can't see how Hal could geton without me, and I, in my turn, need John. What a splendid fellow heis! They all like him around us here, and I believe I shall sell out themill to him and buy another farm to take care of. He handles logs aseasily as if they were matches. He is a perfect giant in strength. "

"Yes, I know, Ben, but he never will live in a saw-mill. John isdestined to be a public man; he will have calls and by and bye willstand in the high places and pour forth his eloquence. He may buy asaw-mill, but he will never keep himself in it, no matter how hard hetries. "

"So my cake is all dough, you think, so be it, sister mine;" and babyEmily received a bear hug from Uncle Ben, who, a moment later, waswalking thoughtfully over the hill. 

The eighteenth of March was a cold day, extraordinarily so, tempestuousand stormy. Louis had been in Boston three days, and we thought thewinds were gathering a harsh welcome for his return. His visits toBoston were getting to be quite frequent nowadays, for he had foundsome warm friends there, who had introduced themselves by letter, andnow they were making united efforts to found a home forchildren, --foundlings who were to be kept and well cared for, untilopportunities were presented to place them with kind people in goodhomes. He was getting on wonderfully, and I could hardly wait for thenews he would bring to us. 

He came at last, and with him an immense square package looking in shapevery like a large mirror or a painting, and I wondered what it could be. Baby Emily had to be saluted cordially, and both her little arms wereentwined around his neck. 

"Now, now, little lady, " said Louis, "go to thy royal mother, I havesomething to show thee, " and taking off the wrappings of the mysteriouspackage, he placed two life-size portraits before us, saying as he didso:

"Companion pieces, my life's saving angels--behold yourself, my Emily, see my fairy mother, " and sure enough there we were. A glance at Claracaused me to exclaim:

"Wilmur Benton painted them. "

"Yes, both, " he replied. "Are they not beautiful?"

"Mine is not, I am sure, Louis; but your mother's, --oh, how lovely itis, and as natural as life! It must be the one to which Mary referred. "

"It is, my Emily. I secured it long ago, and Mr. Benton has been a longtime at work on yours. He is sadly afflicted, and does not look like thesame man. His wife is dead, and I think he will not himself stay long. Ihave been to see him always when in Boston, and would have told you allbefore, had I not feared you might, by getting hold of one thread, findanother; Hal knows all about it. But see, Emily, just see yourself asyou are. I told you your eyes should speak from the canvas, and is itnot as well as if my own hand had held the brush?"

I looked the words I could not say, and wondered how it came that thislikeness should have been painted without my being before the artist. Itwas years since Wilmur Benton left us, and the picture represented me atmy present age, I thought, and I asked:

"How did he get the expression, Louis?"

"Oh, Emily, he remembered every outline of your face, and with thegreatest ease defined them! Then from time to time, I sat near andsuggested here or there a change, until at last the work was perfected, which in all its beauty only tells the truth; you do not see yourselfwhen your face lights up with glorious thought; the depth of your eyeswas to me always a study, and this man, Emily, carries in his heartto-day the knowledge of your worth; he holds you and my little mother infond remembrance. His soul is purified by suffering, and this last visitI made him has given him strength to tell me his whole life. When with asigh he ended his story, he looked at me sorrowfully, and said:

"'I suppose you will despise me now, but I feel that after all yourkindness I must tell you, for it is right you should know. Halbert, Ihave never told--it is as well not to do so. '"

"Poor fellow, " I said, "and we knew it all before. "

"No, not all; his life has been a drama with wonderfully wild, sadscenes, and the great waves of his troubles and errors have, at times, driven him nearly crazy. His eldest son is an artist like himself, andfinely organized. The other is in the West with an uncle of hismother's. Are you sorry I have done all this? Speak, my beloved. "

My eyes told him that my heart was glad for the little comfort he couldgive this man whose perfidy had given me sorrow, and Clara said:

"To help one lost lamb to find the fold is the blessed work my boyshould always do. "

Aunt Hildy raised both hands at sight of our pictures, exclaiming:

"Beautiful! beautiful! Splendid! Louis could not have brought us all agreater surprise, or one that would have been more highly valued. "

Little Emily patted and kissed the faces, and soon learned to designatethem, "pit mam and mam Cla, " for pretty mamma and mamma Clara. 

A few weeks after this we were sitting together in earnest conversation;the small, dark cloud hung over us that threatened civil war, and whileI could hardly believe it possible, Louis and Clara said it must come. Matthias came in of an errand, and sat down to hear us talk, and whenfather said, "Oh, no, we shall not have war; those Southerners are toolazy to fight, " he raised both his hands and exclaimed:

"Excoose me fur conterdictin' ye, but, Mr. Minot, ye dunno 'bout dat;dey'll fight to de end ob time for dar stock. A good many on 'em ownsmorin' two hundred, an' its money; it's whar de living comes from. Efyou gib 'em a chance dey'll show you a big streak, an' fight dey willfor sartin. "

The words had hardly left his lips, when Clara said:

"Oh! take me quick, dear boy!"

We all sprang to her side. Ere Louis could put his arms around her, shefell from her chair like dead. 

"Fainted! Water!" said Louis. 

"Camfire!" said Aunt Hildy, and I stood powerless to move or speak. Isaw Louis lay her on the sofa, and thought she was dead; the room grewdark, and I forced myself to feel my way to the door, and leaningagainst it would have fallen had not father put his arm about me and ledme through into the entry where I could get some air. When the sickeningswimming feeling left me, and the mist fell from my eyes, I was strongenough to do something, and kneeling by the side of the motionlessfigure, felt her pulse, or rather tried vainly to find it, and put mycheek to her mouth, whence came no breath. 

"Oh! Clara darling, little mother, speak to us, our hearts are breaking!Oh, Louis! get hot water and flannels, chafe her limbs, put a hot clothover the stomach and chest; she is not dead, " and putting my head down, I breathed full, long breaths into her nostrils. 

"'Taint no use, " said Aunt Hildy, "but we must do it, " and she workedwith a will. 

"That poor angel woman is done gone, " said Matthias. "She couldn't stan'it. Oh, de Lord!" and he looked the picture of despair. 

We were losing hope of resuscitation, and I sank on the floor besideLouis, who still knelt at the head of the lounge, when a faint soundcame from her lips. We held our breath and listened, and now in a low, weak voice she said:

"I'll go back, Louis Robert, to say good-bye; I can stay a littlelonger; oh! they feel so badly--yes, I must go back, " and then long, deep sighing breaths were taken. A little longer and her eyesopened--"Louis, Emily, baby, friends, I am here. "

"Oh! little mother, " said Louis, "where is the trouble?"

She tried to smile, as if to cover all our fears, and said with effort:

"I am weak; I could not hold together; get some of Aunt Hildy'sbitters, " and when the glass containing it was held to her lips, shedrank eagerly. 

"Take both hands, Louis; let the baby touch me. "

"Oh, Clara, don't go!" I said, as I held little Emily near her. 

"No, no, not now, but I want help to stay; keep the baby close. 

"Matthias, don't go home, " she said, and then, closing her eyes, lay sostill and motionless I feared she would never move again. 

A half hour had passed and she still looked so cold and white, whensuddenly her eyes opened, and her voice was strong as she said:

"I am better now, I have come clear back, --help me to get up, dear boy, "and Louis put his arms around her to raise her; as he did so I saw astrange look pass over her face, and her hands were laid on her limbs. She turned her beautiful eyes upon me, as if to say "don't befrightened, " and said, "Please move my limbs, there is no feelingthere--they are paralyzed, and I am so glad it is not my hands. " I movedthem gently, and thought when she was really herself she would be ableto use them. She seemed now bright and cheerful as before. 

The evening wore on; Matthias went home, and at Clara's request AuntHildy occupied a room with her down stairs, Louis carrying her tenderlyto her couch as if she were a child. 

Sleep came toward us with laggard steps through the long night; Louisseemed to realize it all so plainly, and my heart was in my throat. Itried to hope, and when at last I fell asleep I wandered in dreams to awondrous fountain, whose silvery spray fell before me as a gleamingpromise, and I thought its murmuring music whispered, "she will live, "and her Louis Robert, who stood near me, constantly sang the same sweetwords. I believe my dream really comforted me, for when I woke it clungto me still, and "she will live" rang in my ears like a sweet bellchime. 

We found her better and like herself, but the lower limbs were cold asmarble, heavy also and without feeling, and we knew it was, as she hadsaid, "paralysis. "

"Now I am to be a burden, my Emily mother, and oh, if you had not calledme back, I would have gone to the hills with Louis Robert! It was notfancy nor delirium, for I knew that my body was falling. I saw him whenhe came and whispered 'now, darling, now, ' and when I lost your faces, he raised me in his arms, and I was going, oh! till somebody breathedupon me, and warm drops like rain touched my cheek, and I heard yourhearts all say, 'we cannot have it. ' This like a strong hand drew meback, and I thought I must come and say good-bye for a comfort to youall. So Louis Robert, with his great love waiting for me there, drewhimself away and kindly said, 'I will wait, '--then a mist came betweenus, and I opened my eyes to see you all around me. "

"Oh, Clara! how can we ever let you go?"

"Ah, my beloved ones! I only go a little before you, and if you knew howsweet it will be to be strong, you would say, because you love me, 'Imay go. ' I have many things to say--and I shall remain with you a time, and may, I fear, weary you. I am glad Louis is strong. "

It was pitiful to see the patience with which she bore her suffering. There was no pain, she said, but it was a strange feeling not to bealive--and she would look at her limbs and say, "Poor flesh, you are notwarm any more. " We had one of her crimson-cushioned easy chairs arrangedto suit her needs, and in this she could be rolled about. She sat at thetable with us and I kept constantly near her, and tried to shield herfrom any extra excitement. When on the thirteenth day of April, newsreached us of the blow which, the day before, had fallen on Sumter, wefeared to let her know it. But her spirit quickened into the clearestperception possible, divined something, and obliged us to tell her. 

She said: "I knew it would come, I have felt it for years, and when thecruel sacrifice is finished, liberty will arise, and over the ashes ofthe slain will say, 'Let the bond go free. '"

Ben's eyes looked as Hal's did, when he left us for Chicago, and hewhispered to me:

"I must go. Hal must stay here; Louis cannot go. John will see to everything for me, and I am going. "

Six days later he had enlisted, and oh! how filled these days were! WhenMatthias heard of it, he came over, and happening to meet me where hecould talk freely, he said:

"Dis is jes' what I knowed was a comin', an' I have tole Ben fur to killdat Mas'r Sumner, de fus' ting, for he's the one dat ort fur to bekilled. "

"Why, Matthias, you are in a great hurry to kill him, and you reallybelieve he is to drop right into that terrible fire; why, I could nothurry a dog out of existence if I thought everlasting torment awaitedhim. "

"Look a yere, Miss Em'ly, ef dat dog wuz mad, you'd kill him mightyquick, wouldn't ye?"

I did not know what to say, and he answered the question himself:

"Yas, de Lord knows, dat man needs tendin' to, an I'se mighty anxiousfur de good Lord to take him in han'. We'll live to see ebery black manfree, Miss Em'ly, --we shall, shure, --an' dere'll be high times down inCharleston. Wonder what little Molly'll do?"

"I have been thinking about her, " I said. "You know the last letter wereceived they were fearful of war, and thinking of coming to herhusband's friends in Pennsylvania; but she feared her mother would die;she has been poorly for a long time. "

"Reckin she'll die, then, fur de 'sitement'll kill her, ef nuffin elsedon't. "

The days wore on and Clara still lingered with us. Ben was as yetunhurt, and first lieutenant of his company. He wrote us that battle wasnot what he had thought it; he was not shaky at all, and the smell ofpowder covered every fear; he had only one thought and that was to dohis duty. A letter full of sorrow came from Mary. Her mother had passedfrom earth, and her father was going on to a little farm they owned afew miles from the city, and she, with her husband and Althea Emily was, trying to get into Pennsylvania. "I am in momentary fear, " she wrote, "for my husband is watched so closely, his principles are so well known, I think we shall have great trouble in getting through, but we cannotstay here. "

The dewy breath of May was rising about us; violet angle was alive withits blossoms, and the birds sang sweetly as if there were no sorrowinghearts in the land. 

Clara had failed of late, and the evening of the fifteenth we weregathered together at her request in her sitting-room. 

"Do not feel troubled, " she said, "for when I am out of sight, you willsorrow if you feel I have not told it all. Come, baby Emily, sweet birdsit close to mam Cla, while she tells the story. "

Louis and I sat on either side, Aunt Hildy with mother and father verynear, so that we formed a semi-circle. 

"I am losing my strength, as you all know, " said Clara "and the day isvery near when I shall reach for the hand that will lead me to thehills. Now, Louis, my dear boy, here is the paper I have written, wherein I give to you all the things I believe you will prize. I believeI have remembered all who have been so kind and so dear to me, and Iknow you will comply with every wish, and I desire no form of the law tocover my words. " Louis took the papers with a trembling hand, and shecontinued: "It is wise and right for me to tell you about the layingaway of this frame of mine, for I know if I do not tell you about itmany questions will arise, and we will have them all settled now beforeI go beyond your hearing. I shall hear you and see you all the time. 

"First, buy for me a cedar coffin, since it will please you to rememberthat this wood lasts longer in the ground than any other. Do not haveany unnecessary trimmings for it, and I would like to wear in this lastresting-place the blue dress I prize the most. You will find in my largetrunk the little pillow I have made for my head; just let me lie there alittle on one side, and put a few of Emily's sweet violets in my handthat I may be pleasant to look upon. Leave no rings upon my fingers;these I wear, my Louis Robert gave me, and you must keep them for hisgrandchild, " and as she said this, she unfastened the shining chain thatshe had worn hidden so many years, and putting it around our littleEmily's neck, said: "Let her always wear the chain and the locket, " andwhile the baby's eyes reflected the gleam of the gold that dazzled them, we were all weeping. "Do not feel so, " said Clara; "it is beautiful togo; let me tell you the rest. All these people whom I have known willdesire to look at my face, and for their sakes let me be carried intothe old church which has become to me so dear. I have asked Mr. Davis topreach from the text, 'I am the resurrection and the life. '

"Be sure that the children from the Home all go, and I would like youwith them to occupy the front pews. I have a fancy, " and she smiled, "that if you sit there it will help me to come near to my desertedtenement. I know I shall be with you there, and I hope you will nevercall me dead. My house of clay is nearly dead now, and the more strengthit loses the stronger my spirit feels. Mr. Minot said, long since, thatI might own part of his lot in the churchyard, and I would like to beburied under the willow there. I like that corner best. Do not ever telllittle Emily I am there; just say I'm gone away to rest and to be welland strong, and when she is older tell her the frame that held thepicture is beneath the grasses, and that my freed soul loves her andwatches her, for it will be true. If you feel, Louis, my dear boy, likebringing your father's remains to rest beside me, you can do so. It willnot trouble either of us, for it matters little; we are to be together. This is all, except that, if it be practicable, I should like the burialto take place at the hour of sunset; this seems the most fitting time. While the grave is yet open, please let the children sing together, 'Sweet Rest;' I always like to hear them sing this. To-morrow evening Ihave something to say to the friends who really seem to belong tome, --Hal and Mary, Mr. Davis, Matthias, Aunt Peg and John, Jane and herhusband. Please let them come at six o'clock. "

She closed her eyes wearily, and looked so white and beautiful, hersmall hands folded, and the fleecy shawl about her falling from hershoulders, and it seemed as if the material of life, like this delicategarment, was also falling from her. Desolation spread its map before me. I could think of nothing but an empty room and heart, and with Louis'arms about me, I sobbed bitterly. Then I thought how selfish I was, andsaid: "Louis, take her in your arms; she is so tired, poor littlemother. " The blue eyes looked at me with such a tender light, and shesaid, "Yes, I am tired. " Louis gathered her in his arms and seatedhimself in a rocker. Aunt Hildy went for some cordial. Mother and fathersat quietly with bitter tears falling slowly, and with little Emily inmy arms, I crossed the room to occupy a seat where my tears would nottrouble her. It was sadly beautiful. 

She drew strength from Louis, and was borne into her room feeling, shesaid, very comfortable. I wanted to stay with her through the night, butshe said:

"No, the baby needs you; so does Louis; I know how he feels; my nightwill be peaceful and my rest sweet; Aunt Hildy will rest beside me. "

"Yes, yes, I'll stay, and we shall both rest well, " said Aunt Hildy. 

In the morning she was weak, but we dressed her, and after eating alittle she felt better, and in the afternoon seemed very comfortable andhappy. We had our supper at a little after five o'clock, and at sixo'clock, as she had wished, all were in her room. 

"Louis, roll my chair into the centre of the room, and let me face thewest, for I love to see day's glory die. Now come, good friends all, andsit near me, where I can see your faces. I want to tell you that I amgoing out of your sight, and I have left to each of you what seemed goodand right to me. I hope, yes, I know you will remember that I love youall so much I would never be forgotten. You are grown so dear to me thatI shall not forget to look upon you; and please remember that I am notdead, but shall be to you a living, active friend, who sees and knowsyour needs, and to whose heart may be entrusted some dear mission foryour greatest good. Mr. And Mrs. Turner, " and she held her hands toJane and her husband, "be true and faithful to each other. Leave no workundone, love the children, and ask help from the hills, whence it shallever come. You will, I am sure;" and her eyes turned inquiringly uponthem. 

"Oh, Mis' _De_-Mond, " said Jane, "I will, oh, you blessed angel woman!"

"I will, so help me God!" said Mr. Turner, and they took their seats, while Clara, with a motion that said please come, called:

"Matthias and Aunt Peg, and you too, John, don't think I can ever forgetyou. You will come to me, and you will know me there, and, John, youhave a wonderful work to do; your words will bear sweet tidings to yourrace, and your reward shall be that of the well-doer. "

"Oh, de good Lord! white lamb, how kin we ever let you go; you's donegot hold on our heart-strings! Oh, de good Lord bless ye, ye snow-whitedarlin', an' ef it's de Mas'r's will, den we mus' lib all in the darkwidout ye, but de light ob your eyes is hevin to dis ole heart!"

"Oh, that's true' nuf!" said Aunt Peg, "God'll take care on you, butwhat'll we do?" and their groans fell like the wailing winds upon theears of us all; our hearts were touched to their inmost chords. 

"Mr. Davis, " said Clara, and her eyes dilated with a wondrous lightwhile her voice grew unnaturally strong, "I am to see your wife. Shall Isay you are looking forward to meeting her?"

"Just that, and it will not be long, " and he bowed his head as he heldin both his own her white hand. 

"Halbert and Mary, come and let me bless you. My brother and sister, youare so dear to me. You, Halbert, have a wondrous touch; you stand beforethe shrine of art, and ere many years a people's verdict shall more thanseal your heart's desire; a master artist you shall be, my friend. "

"Oh, Clara, Clara!" said Hal--

"Yes, " she continued, "Love's fawn has won the prize for you at home andabroad; I leave to you a friend, --Louis will attend to it all, --andamong the little ones who come there will be some who have, like you, talent; help them as you shall see fit. "

He could only bow his head, while Mary, sobbing as if her heart wouldbreak, said:

"Do not go; oh, do not leave us!"

Clara closed her eyes and sank back among her cushions almostbreathless. We took her hands, Louis and I, and I feared she would neverspeak again. Tearful and motionless these beloved ones sat about her, and at last, when the crimson and gold swept like a full tide of glorythe broad western expanse that lay before us, she raised herself, lookedinto all our faces, held her lips for a last kiss from us of thehousehold, and said in tones as clear as silver bells:

"I am going now; he is coming. Aunt Hildy, you will come soon. Emily, love my Louis. Louis, kiss me again; fold close the falling garment. Baby, breathe on me once more--Louis Robert. Oh, this is beautiful!"

Her head dropped on Louis' shoulder. Slowly the eyelids covered thebeautiful eyes. 

She was dead. Clara, the purest of all, dead and how beautiful thetransition! What a picture for the sunset to look upon, as with the fulltide of sympathy flooding our hearts, we stood around her where she lay!John, in his strong dark beauty, with folded arms, and eyes like wellsof sorrow; Matthias and Aunt Peg, with tears running over their duskyfaces; good Mr. Davis, with his gray hairs bending over her as if tohear her tell the message to his loved one; Aunt Hildy standing like onewho is only waiting for a little more to fill the cup, which is alreadynear her lips; my father and mother with their tender sympathiesexpressed in every feature, with Jane and her husband near them like twostatues; Hal and Mary beside Louis and me, wrapt like ourselves in themantle of a strange and new experience. How long we stood thus, I knownot; the last sun-rays were dying as Aunt Hildy said: "We must wait nolonger; Jane and Aunt Peg, you'll help me, the rest of you need'ntstay;" and so we left our beautiful dead, still in the hands of herfriends. 

The day of her burial was a perfect one--calm in its beauty, the blue ofits skies like the eyes of our darling. The little pillow made by herown hands was of blue, covered with a fine web of wrought lace, and withedging that had also been her handiwork. We dressed her as shedesired, --in a plain dress of pale blue, --the violet blossoms she lovedwere in her hand, and it seemed to me as if I could never see her laidout of sight--she was so beautiful in this last sleep; she looked notmore than thirty; there were no gray hairs among the brown, and no linesof care or sorrow marked her sweet, pure face. 

All things were as she desired, and when the sun burned low on thehills, we laid her under the willow, while the children sang "SweetRest. "

"Will there ever be another like her?" I said. 

"Never, " said Aunt Hildy. 

"No, never, " said the hearts of all. 

My father missed her as much as if she had been his daughter, and I wasglad of little Emily's presence; it was a star in our night. Louis wascalm and strong, and spoke of her daily, and insisted on her plate atthe table, saying:

"I cannot call her dead. Let us keep a place for her. "

It was a tender recognition which we respected. He looked after her, itseemed to me, and almost saw her in her new home. The months wore on, and our cares were still increasing. News of battles lost and won cameto us daily, and at last a letter telling of Lieutenant Minot havingbeen wounded seriously. It was impossible for any one to reach him atpresent, and we must wait until he got to Washington, whither he wouldbe sent as soon as he was able. Our fears were great, but at last aletter came from Washington, stating he would start for home on thetwenty-first of October, and he desired Hal to meet him in New York. Halfound that the wound was in the shoulder, and the ball was still in it. Unsuccessful probing had caused him great suffering, and we shouldhardly have known him. 

When the real state of the wound was known, Aunt Hildy said:

"I can get that ball out, " and she went to work energetically. She cutcloth into strips and bound all about the place where the ball entered, and then she made a drawing "intment, " as she called it, and applied itdaily, and in about four weeks, to our great delight, the ball came out. Ben had the receipt for that wonderful "intment, " and he calls it "AuntHildy's miracle. "

When the cold days of the fall came upon us, Aunt Hildy felt themgreatly, and the morning of December tenth we awoke to find her gone;she had gone to sleep to wake in a better home. 

It seemed as if we could not have it so, but when I remembered all shehad told me of her hopes and fears, when I knew she had found Clara andwas glad, I said we were selfish; let our hearts say "Amen. "

The town mourned Aunt Hildy, and again our church was filled tooverflowing, and the sermon Mr. Davis preached was a just and beautifultribute to our beloved friend, the true and faithful Hildah Patten. 

The day after the burial, father said to us in a mournful tone:

"Now I have a duty to perform, and when she talked to me about it, shesaid, 'Do it right off, Mr. Minot; don't wait because you feel kinderbad to have me laid away. It's the best way to do what you've got to do, and get it over with. '

"So to-night we'll read the papers, and then we will carry out herdesires--good old soul; I do wish she could have stayed longer. I canhardly see how we're going to live without her. "

The evening drew near, and Halbert, Mary and Ben, with little Hal, wereseated in the "middle room, " while my father, with a trembling hand, turned the key in a small drawer of the old secretary, and took out aroll of papers and a box. As he did so a thought struck him, and heturned suddenly, saying:

"Why are not all here? She told me to have Matthias and Peg and Johncome over. I believe a few more sad partings would make me lose mymemory. "

"I'll go over for them, " said Ben; "it is early yet. "

"Yes, there is plenty of time, " said father. "The sun sets early; theshortest day in the year will soon be with us, " and his eyes closed asif he were too tired to think, and he sat in silence until the sound offeet on the walk aroused him. 

"Hope we hain't come over to see more dyin', Miss Em'ly. 'Pears like itsgettin' pooty lonesome round yere, " and as our friends seatedthemselves, the old clock tolled the hour of seven. 

Little Emily was asleep in Louis' lap, and her cousin Hal curled himselfup in one corner of the old sofa, as if he, too, felt the presence ofthe god of sleep. 

"Now we are ready, " said my father, "and here is the paper written byAunt Hildy which she bade me read to you all, and whose instructions wemust obey to the letter, remembering how wise and good our kind friendhas ever been. It is written in the form of a letter, " and he read thefollowing:

"My dear friends, I am writin' this as ef I was dead and you still inthe land of the livin', as we call it; I feel now as if when you read itI shall be in the land of the livin', and you among them who feed mostlyon husks. I know by this stubbin pain in my side that I shall go tosleep, and jest step over into Clary's room before long, and all thatain't settled I am settlin' to-night, and to Mr. Minot's care I leavethese papers and this box. You have been good and true friends to me, and I want to help you on a little in the doin' of good and perfectwork. When Silas left me alone he took with him little money. I don'tknow what possessed him; but Satan, I guess, must have flung to thewinds the little self-respect he had. He took one boy off with him to bea vagrant. Silas' father was a good man, and he left a good deal ofproperty to this son of his, and we had got along, in a worldly sense, beautiful; so when, he went away he left considerable ready money and alot of land, and I've held on to it all. Sometimes I've thought one of'em might come back and want some of it; but now I know they are dead. From time to time I've sold the land, etc. , and you see I've added towhat was left. I now propose to divide it between Emily and Louis, asone, Jane North Turner and her husband, and John Jones. "

As this name fell from my father's lips, John's dark eyes spoke volumesand his broad chest heaved with emotion, but he sat perfectly erect, with his arms folded, and I thought what a grand picture he made. 

Matthias groaned:

"Oh, de good Lord ob Israel, what ways?" Aunt Peg gave vent to one ofher peculiar guttural sounds as father concluded the unfinished sentencewith the names of Ben, Hal and his good little wife. 

"Now, you can't do a great deal with this money, but it will go a littleways toward helpin' out. I believe there is just three thousand dollars, and that figgers only six hundred dollars apiece. Now, ef Ben'sshoulder prevents him from workin', and he needs to have it, Halbertmust give him half of what I leave to him, and I know he'll do it. Benwants to get married, and I can see which way the wind blows in thatquarter, and I think sense he's been half killed you'd all better helphim. When that comes to pass, give to him all the furniture and beddin'that I leave, for his wife will be sensible enough to be glad of it. Halbert's likeness of me in marble is a great thing they say, and sellswell, and he will please to put me up again in that same shape, and thensell the picter and use the money to help the poor. He'll do jest whatI'd like to have him. 

"Emily and Louis will know jest what to do with their share; and now, John Jones, to you, --as a child of our father, as a brother to me, --Isay, help yourself with what little I bestow in the very best way youcan. Ef I didn't know you would look well after Peg and Matthias Ishould have left it to them and not to you. They won't stay here verymuch longer, any way--and its all peace ahead, blessed peace. You, perhaps, are wonderin' why Jane and her husband ain't here in this list. This is the reason: I wanted to tell you jest how I come to have thismoney, and I thought her husband would feel bad at the explanation. Ishould like to have you all go over there, and let Mr. Minot read to Mr. And Mrs. Turner and the children the paper I have left for them. Now I'mcontented to go, and ef they do put a railroad track through my woodlot, it can't make me feel bad. The things of earth that I held so closethrough long years, will not seem to me any more as they have, too holyto be teched. "

When father concluded the reading, we sat in such silence that the tickof the old clock, was to our ears the united beating of our hearts. Ourthoughts were all centered on the wisdom and goodness of our unselfishfriend who, through her life had been ever mindful of the needs of herfellow-men, and who, when standing before the gate of her eternal home, threw behind her her last treasure, thinking still of the poor heartswho needed its benefit. 

We were to assemble at Jane's the next afternoon at five o'clock, andwhen we said "good night, " John looked up at the stars and said:

"If the spirit of that good woman sees me, she reads what I cannot tellyou. "

The next afternoon found us in Jane's large square room, which faced thewestern sky, and no less than twenty children were seated there with us. This number seemed to be the complement of the Home, --as many as couldcomfortably be accommodated. It was a pleasant care to Jane, for herheart was in the work, and she looked younger now than before the workbegan. The wishes of the boys were consulted, and each one as nearlyfitted to the place he occupied as possible. Jane said, when they firstbegan to multiply, the care troubled her some; but she began to talk toherself, and to say: "There now, don't be foolish enough to notice everylittle caper of them boys, " and then, she said: "I began to practisewhat I preached to myself. It worked first-rate, for I give overwatchin' 'em, and we get along splendid. "

There was a breathless silence when Louis said:

"We are here at the request of your friend, children, the blessed AuntHildy who has left a word for you. You know she loved you, and Iimagine at this moment you are each wearing a pair of stockings whichwere knit for you by her. Now listen, please, while Mr. Minot reads toyou her letter. "

Then, in a slow and impressive manner, father read as follows:

"My dear folks at the Home. I'm about to leave this world for a better, and on the borders of that blessed land I think of you. I think of yourhappy faces and of Mr. And Mrs. Turner, who love you so much, and Ishould like to have you know that I expect to meet you all over there. You boys will grow to be good men, and you girls, who are like sweetpinks to my mind, I want you to make blessed good women every one ofyou. Now I think the good folks who take care of you would be thankfulto have a school-house of their own, and teachers who are interested inthe work of helping you along; and to give a little help, I leave to Mr. And Mrs. Turner eight hundred dollars--two hundred is in the box in onedollar gold pieces--to build a school-house with. You know I own a pieceof land next to yours, and here in this plot of two acres I want you toput up this school-house. Give Mr. Brown the work, and let him draw upthe plan with Mr. Turner; I've figured it out, and I think there'senough to build a good, substantial building such as you need; and thedeed of the two acres I give to the children. Each one of their names isthere, including those of the two that came first. Let each one, ef oldenough, do as he or she pleases with the ground. Ef they want to raisemarigolds, let 'em, and ef they want to raise garden sass, let 'em. Ishould think Burton Brown would like to step in as a teacher, and Ibelieve he will, but the rest you can manage. 

"Now this is all. When you get the school-house built you'll want a walkaround it, and ef you should have a border of flowers, you may put insome 'live forever' for me, for that means truth, and that is what Iwant you to find. If Fanny Mason feels like goin' over to Mis' Minot'sto live with her, I'd like to have her go, and if she does, she'll findtwo chests and a trunk full of things I've left that she needs, but shemust have her piece of ground here just the same. The deed I have madeis recorded, and I would like to have Mr. Dayton survey the land, andmake the division of it. Then you can each one of you hold your own aslong as you live, Mr. And Mrs. Turner keepin' it in trust till the lawsays you're of age. "

The hearts of the children were touched at this token of love. Brighteyes reflected happy thoughts. Fanny Mason was the first to speak. Shelooked at my mother, while her eyes swam in tears. 

"May I come, Mrs. Minot?--I would like to help somebody, and it must beright or she would not have written it. "

Mother held her hand to her, and I thought I never saw gratitude moreplainly written than upon the face of Fanny. She was one of the threegirls whom Louis found in the city streets, the eldest of the flock, andso good and amiable we had always loved her. When mother held her handout to her in answer to her question, little Emily thought it time tospeak, and putting out both her own, said:

"Tum, Panny, et, you outer. "

"I will, " said Fanny, as she gathered her in her arms. 

"I'm goin' to have flowers, " I heard one little fellow say. 

"I'm goin' to raise corn, " said another. 

Mr. Davis was with us this evening, and after the children had givenvent to their joy, he rose, saying:

"I have a word to say of our dear good friend, Mrs. Patten. About fourweeks before she left us, I had a long talk with her. She told me of herpleasant anticipations and also that she expected to see me there erelong. Her last words on that memorable occasion were, as nearly as I canremember, these: 'I go from death to life, from bondage to freedom. AllI have of earth I want to leave where it shall point toward heaven, or ahigher condition of things. If you were to stay, Brother Davis, youshould do some of this work, but you must get yourself ready, and youneed no more to dispose of. ' I feel that this is true, and I ask you, children, to feel that I shall hope to be remembered by you throughtime. The lesson of harmonious action has been taught upon these hills, and when the years to come shall brighten our pathway, tired hearts willstill be waiting. The angel of deliverance will be present then, as now, and the munificence of those who have gone from us, as well as of thosewho are yet in the body, has made the strong foundation on which tostand; and in the blest future your hands will be helpful, while yourhearts shall sing of those whose hearts and hands did great service forthe advancement of love and truth. My heart is glad; I have learnedmuch; I know that our Father holds so closely his beloved, that no oneof his children shall call to him unheard. "

We had a real meeting, as Jane expressed it, and I said to Louis:

"What a great fire a small matter kindleth!"

He replied: "We have claimed the promise and brought to our hearts thestrength we need 'where two or three are gathered together. ' You know Ioften think of this, and also of the incomparable comfort the entireworld would have if the eyes that are blinded could see; if the heartsthat beat slow and in fear were quickened into life. Ah! Emily, theyears to come hold wondrous changes. The cruel hand of war would neverhave touched us had the first lesson in life's book been well read andunderstood. "

"That is true, " said my father, as we entered the gate at home, andlooking up I saw two stars, and said:

"Clara and Aunt Hildy both say 'Amen!'"

CHAPTER XXIII. 

AUNT HILDY'S LEGACY. 

It was the spring of 1862, when "Aunt Hildy's Plot" was the scene ofhappy labor. Uncle Dayton made the survey of the land and a map of it. All the children knew the boundaries of their individual territories;and the youngest among them, five-year-old Sammy, strutted about withhis hands in his pockets, whistling and thinking, now and then givingvent to his joy. When he saw Louis and me coming, for we all went overto see the ground broken for the schoolhouse, he came toward ushurriedly, saying with great earnestness:

"I shall raise much as three dollars' worth of onions on my land. Do yous'pose I can sell em, Mr. Desmonde? I want to sell 'em and put the moneyin the bank, for when I get money enough I'm going to build a house, andget married, too, I guess. "

Louis answered him kindly, as he did all the rest, and when we went homehe said he held more secrets than any one man ought to. 

The dedication of our schoolhouse was a grand affair. It came off on theseventeenth of June. Uncle Dayton and Aunt Phebe came, and we gatheredthe children from the town and village, clothed them in white with blueribbons streaming from their hats, and had them marched in line into thebuilding--the first two holding aloft a banner which Louis and I hadmade for them. Many came from the surrounding town, and three of ourfriends from Boston. There were speeches made by Mr. Davis, UncleDayton, Louis, John, and others, and singing by the children. It was aglorious time, and we felt that our beloved Aunt Hildy must now belooking down upon us with an approving smile; and when the marblestatuette of her dear self was placed in a niche, made for itsreception, it seemed to me I could hear Clara say, "It is beautifullyappropriate. "

The mode of operation was to be decided on, and when Louis spoke withfeeling of the coming days, he said to the children:

"You are our children; we are your friends; and together we mean to beself-supporting, instead of going about among the people solicitingalms. We will be pensioners on each other's bounty, and when we arestrong enough to aid others who need our assistance, we will send forthgladly comforts from our home. Some little boys who are to raisestrawberries on their patch of ground, will be glad to carry a dish ofberries to some poor invalid; and so with everything you do, rememberthe happiness of doing something for those around us, for the poor wehave always with us. I have been thinking about a teacher. Mr. Brown, our little Burton from the mill, has engaged to teach school in anadjoining village, and for a time cannot come to you. He will be able tobe your teacher after awhile, and I understand that is his wish. Inever taught school myself, but I have been wondering if you would likeme to try until he is ready. All those who would like me to come, sayaye. "

I rather think Louis heard that response. I started, for such a sharp, shrill sound rent the air that the window glass quivered as if about tobreak. "

"Now all who do not wish me for a teacher, say no. "

A calm like that of the Dead Sea ensued, to be broken after a second bylittle Sammy, who cried:

"Oh, pooh! There ain't nobody. "

"Agreed, " said Louis; "then I am elected, am I?"

"Yes, sir!" shouted the children. 

"Then we'll hear you sing 'Hail Columbia, ' and separate for the day. Ihope the summer will be a happy one for you all!"

It will be impossible to fully describe "Aunt Hildy's Plot, " as itappeared in the days when everything was settled, and the children atwork in earnest, each with an idea born of himself. 

I thought I saw little that spoke to me of original sin and of thedepravity which, according to an ancient creed, grew in the human heartas a part of each individual. There were strawberry beds and raspberryrooms, patches of lettuce and peppergrass, long rows of corn withtrailing bean-vines in their rear, hedges of peas and string beans, andyoung trees set out in different places, like sentinels of love and carereaching toward the overarching sky. 

Little Sammy had his onion patch as he desired. It was a happy sight, and one that touched the heart, to see each one progressingmethodically day after day. They worked an hour before breakfast, and aslong as they pleased after supper. They took great comfort in "changingworks, " as they called it; you would hear them say:

"Now, let's all go over to Joe's land this afternoon, and to John'sto-morrow;" and in this way they sowed and reaped together. 

The plot measured considerably more than two acres, and there was aspace of about twenty square rods for each. 

This, when properly cared for, made for them nice gardens to take careof. Louis succeeded, of course, in the school. The building had costconsiderably more than six hundred dollars, for we knew it was wise tobuild it of brick rather than wood, and also to have room enough for anincrease of pupils. 

Louis said, when it was being built:

"I can see, Emily, the days to come; the harvest that shall arise; andfor years, perhaps, the hands of the reapers will not number many. Someof the seed will fall on barren soil, and some of the grain that waitsfor the reaper will spoil; but in the end, yes, in the gathering up ofall, the century shall dawn that lights the world with these dearthoughts that feed us to-day. Work and pleasure go hand in hand with theprogressive thought that after a time shall blend the souls of men withthose of angels, for 'the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. 'I feel that I have escaped so much in coming here when I did. Thesehills have, with your presence, my beloved, made it the shrine ofpurity, and the vows here taken have absolved my soul. The littlethings that arise to annoy us may not be called trouble, and we shalllive here till our hair is gray; till Emily Minot shall take in her ownhands the reins that fall from the hands of her mother; for I feel thatall the unfinished pictures which we shall leave will be completed, someat the hands of our daughter, and others by those whose hearts we shalllearn to know. 

 Before we leave this lower state To join the well-beloved who wait, Our little mother helps us here, Our guardian angel through each year. She was as beautiful as fair; How glorious an angel there!'"

And the face of my Louis, transfigured by his thought, shone with alight that seemed to come from afar. I loved so well to hear him preach, that when Mr. Davis' health became too precarious for him to occupy thepulpit longer, I was glad to hear Louis say he would accept the placetendered by Mr. Davis and by all the people of our town. I say all thepeople, although perhaps there were a few who, liking to be busy andfailing to look for anything better, occupied themselves with the smalltalk which made sometimes great noise without really touching anybody;but we did not count this in life's cost, and were not affected by it. 

Louis treated all with uniform kindness, and taught them the lessonsthey could not fail to appreciate, though, as he had said, some of theseed must fall on barren ground. It is not to be supposed that themill-owners were glad to lose the work of the children, for it wasworth much and cost little; but since they were not powerful enough toestablish monarchical government, they were forced to submit, and theysubmitted gracefully, too, from the policy which, as Louis had said, whispered "He has money, " and they might sometime desire favor at hishands. 

It seemed to me sometimes that Louis' money would not last as long ashis life; but when I said something of the kind, he answered:

"Yes, yes, Emily; we shall not be embarrassed financially, for weconsult needs, and these you know are small compared to wants. A littleready money will go a long way; we shall not suffer from interest norfrom high rates of taxation here; give yourself no uneasiness. "

When the school was started we were surprised, as well as pleased, toreceive calls from some of our good people, who desired to have theirchildren go to the Home School as pupils. They felt moved to take thisstep from two considerations; one, the more thorough education which thechildren would receive; and the other, an interest felt in our work, anda desire to help the school to become one of the best. 

They proposed paying a tuition fee, to which we all consented, reservingto ourselves the right of taking those who might desire to attend andnot be able to pay; and through their really generous contributions inthis way, when Burton Brown came to assume the duties of a schoolmaster, there was a fund sufficient to pay him well for his services. 

We named this the Turner Fund, although Jane insisted it should be_De_mond. 

John desired to donate his gift from Aunt Hildy to the Turner Fund, butLouis objected, saying:

"John, you have no right to do this; you need to get a house foryourself before you help others. It would not be right to take yourmoney, and we cannot accept it. "

Matthias says:

"'Pears like I kin tote ober to de 'Plot' an' tinker roun' thar wid dechilun. John's done boun' I shan't do no moah work, an' I can't stopstill no how, for it 'pears like I'm dead 'fore de time. "

He made himself wonderfully useful there, and the children loved him. John got along splendidly, and bought the saw-mill; for Ben, althoughbetter, could not do any work at the mill, and John was very glad to ownit. 

I am ashamed to say that now and then a small-souled individual wouldventilate his miserable prejudices, and expressions like the followingcame to our ears:

"Wonder what'll happen if the niggers all get free; got one for asaw-mill owner already;" all of which fell, to be sure, at John's feetwith an ignorant thud. Still, when we looked at him and realized hisnoble nature, it seemed too bad to think there could be one such wordspoken. 

How fortunate it is that our hearts do naturally retain the perfume ofthe roses, and forget the presence of the thorns! The wiser we grow themore natural we become; and on the rock of truth we can stand, feelingno jar, when the missiles of a grovelling mind are hurled against itsbase. When we get tired, however, and are forced by the pressure ofmaterial circumstances to wander down into the valley, while we standeven then in the shelter of our mountain, still we find our feetsometimes soiled by the gathered mud. 

Here is where the weak-hearted of our earth fail, and, looking not tothe mountains, become at last settled in the valley, and suffer even tothe end, borne down by the fettering chains of a life which is, at best, only breathing. Their wings held close, they cannot rise beyond theclouds and fog into the clearer atmosphere of a higher condition. 

My fortieth birthday is upon me. I am sitting in the room where, sincethe day of our wedding, all of my best thoughts have been written. Sharpwinds blow around our dwelling, but our hearts heed not their harshvoices. Louis and I have been retrospecting to-day, reading together thejournal of the past two years. We have kept it together, devoting twopages to each day, each of us writing one. It is not uninteresting; manychanges have been dotted down; and still, to look in upon us, you couldnot see them. Here is the date of one, the death of good Mr. Davis, andan account of the sermon preached by Louis at his funeral, thewitnessing of his last experience among us, and the blessed comfort itgave us, as with his death-cold lips he murmured, "My wife. " Clara andall, he saw their beckoning hands and angelic faces. He heard sweetmusic blending with our voices as we sang to him at his request. 

"It is enough; let us rejoice together, " said Louis, "for he has gone tohis own, and he shall have no more pain forever. "

On another page we read of the children's harvest gathered, and also oftheir Christmas festivities, of the prosperous condition of the school, and the untiring diligence of the scholars; extracts from lectures givenby John at the schoolhouse, and the date of his first lecture in theQuaker city, Philadelphia; sorrowful records of the battles fought andgained; a sad story of Willie Goodwin, who was taken prisoner by theConfederates, and came home, poor fellow, only to die; news from ourSouthern Mary in her Pennsylvania home, and an account of her visit tous, bringing with her Louise, a pet girl, once owned by her father. Isaw John looking at her sharply, and with undisguised admiration, and Ithought, perhaps, when Ben's wedding day had passed, John might haveone. I could say truthfully, "I hope he will. "

No matter how many or great the changes, the robins still build theirnests in the elm tree, and the grass still grows to cover the earth ofbrown with its emerald mantle; for what care the daisies and the grapes, if the hand of the reaper bids them bow before his trusty blade? Thelife is at their roots, and their flowers and blades will come again. Sowith our hearts; they are as hopeful as in the earlier days, ere we hadlost sight of some of our jewels, and it is true our love has deathlessroots. 

Louis grows more blessed all the while. The step of my mother is slow, and father bends to bear the burden of his years, while the voice of ourFanny, who will be my sister through all time, cheers them in theirdaily walk, as she holds in peace the place of little house-keeper. Sheloves her home, and we love her. Louis and I have just been looking atthe pleasant picture in our middle room, where our Emily Minot, sittingbetween gray hairs, holds in her lap a year-old brother (Louis), whileFanny, sitting on the old sofa, sings the song of "Gentle Annie. "

Matthias, Peg and John are coming over the hill; Jane and her husbandwill be here soon, for I am to have a birthday supper. Ben will be withus, but Hal and Mary, with little Hal, are across the sea. They sailedlast June to find "Love's Fawn, " or rather strength for Mary. AuntHildy, "done up in marble, " went with them. They will come to us inJune, the month of roses; I love it best of all. 

"Hope dey will; but 'pears like you's jes' gone an' done it. "

It is morning again. No clouds skirt the horizon; broad, beautifuldaylight beams lovingly upon us. The wind, which yesterday blew suchfierce breaths, journeyed southward during the night, and returned ladenwith good-tempered sweetness, whispering of warmer days. We had apleasant birthday supper, and by request I read aloud a few of theforegoing chapters. Matthias rose in terror as he listened to therecital of our united lives, and interrupted me, saying:

"De good lansake, 'fore de Lord ob Canaan! but you ain't gwine to put_me_ down in rale printed readin', is ye?"

One would have supposed I had been reading his death warrant, orsomething equally portentous, as he stood before me with dilated eyesand upraised hands. I smiled at the picture and answered:

"Certainly. "

"Wall, " he said, in a despairing tone, "it'll jes' kill de sale ob datbook. All de res' is good nuf, but dem tings I'se said don't have nolarnin' to 'em, Miss Em'ly. 'Spect de folks'll tink you's done gonecrazy puttin' me down by de side ob de white lamb. It's mighty quare an'on-reasonablelike, 'tis sartin'. "

"Oh, Matthias, " I replied, "the people will like it!"

"Hope you's in de right ob it, but what kin you call it when it's alldone printed out fur ye?"

"That is the question. Louis says 'call it _The Harvest of Years_. '"

The look of quiet wonder which had succeeded the terrified expressionhis face at first revealed merged gradually into one of happy certainty, his large eyes filled with honest tears, and he said with much feeling:

"Mas'r Louis knows what's right sure nuf. De good Lord had taken into dekingdom some ob de bes' grain an' lef de ole stubble still. 'Pears like'twas cuttin' a big field fur to take Miss Catten an' de white lamb too. Ah! Miss Em'ly, dis harves' ob years is a gwine on troo all de seasons;hope dis ole nigger'll be ready when de Lord comes roun' fur him. "

The child of my thought is christened by the recognition which comesfrom the heart of one who is "faithful over the few things, " andtherefore claims the promise which many with enlarged privileges fail toacknowledge. Can I regret the choice Louis made? My heart says "never, "and my narrative shall be called "The Harvest of Years. "

"Yes, " said Louis, "I think so too; but my name for the book is 'EmilyDid It. '"

Transcriber's Notes:

Pg 164--moved closing quote from 'shook as if with ague. "' to'feel such a strange joy;"'