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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes ou les planches trop grandes pour dtre reproduites en un seut clichd sont filmdes d partir de Tangle supdrieure gauche, de gauche d droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la mdthode : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 V y^m. mmm ETCHINGS FROM A PARSONAGE VERANDA ■/ W^- -s < a ETCHINGS FROM A PARSONAGE VERANDA BY MRS. E. JEFFERS GRAHAM. Illustrated by J. W. BENGOUGH. * TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGQS, WESLEY BUILDINGS. C. W. COATES. Montreal. Que. S. F. HUESTIS, Ha,.,kax, N.J 1895- Iff»^lisi»MI»lll Entered, according to the Act of the Parhament of Canada, ui the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-flve, by William Brioos, Toronto, in the Oflice of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa t'REFACE The variety incident to the life of a minister brings him in contact with people of every description. He lives in the midst of stirring, thrilling events. Tragedy and comedy follow each other in quick suc- cession. He cannot live a conventional life He must rejoice with the joyful and w. ep with the sorrowful. He must be all things to all men. His wife shares his labors. It is her delight to be his helper, to hold up his hands, to make his home bright. In these sketches I have avoided the darker experiences of parsonage life. There is so much that is bright and beautiful that I have preferred to write in the sunshine, under God's smile. In these glimpses of shine and shade from the life of Catherine Wiseacre, I know I am but reproducing what has happened in many other lives. We know that Truth is often stranger, sadder and sweeter than Fiction. E. J. G. ( I 1 F I CONTENTS The Pak.sonaoe - Solomon Wiseacre Two Women - Marion Fuller - Jacob Whinely Carlo - - . . A Pensioner Mrs. TaJtety The Knight and the Dove A Cross Under a Cloud - Joy in the Morning - A Supply - . . . Only a Child Miss Prim pert y - A Temperance Meeting A Dinner Party - Au Revoir - - . . Parting - . . . Paob 11 14 20 28 38 46 54 66 72 97 103 119 126 140 147 155 164 176 182 c t p 11 b b ETCHINGS FROM A PARSONAGE VERANDA. Zbc tt>arsonage. t T^HE parsonage is an old house, so old tihat the wind whistles and moans and sighs through the many cracks and crevices in its sides and corners. If at any time you feel too warm, you have only to sit near one of its closed windows, and tiny ripples of air will 'refresh you. This is pleasant in summer, but when the thermo- meter marks ten degrees below zero, you begin to ask for what purpose the house was built in this fashion. '■woi!mwai« «- . - «it aT i 12 The Parsonage. One stormy night I lay wondering if the builder was as " loose " in character as his work. I felt a curiosity to see him, hoping to find a reason why, for twenty years, the poor parson has had to endure the effect of his make-up. I felt sure that he was built upon the sand — that his mental clothes hung by one button, or were tied up with a string. I felt sure that his wife was a slave, having constantly to pick up after him and listen to his chronic grumblings. I was also afraid that his children would "take after" him, and continue to build loose, shaky houses and aay weak, wretched things, till the end of time. I woke Solomon and asked him why such men were allowed to live. He answered in a deep, drowsy voice, " Who made you a judge of the poor fellow ? Go to sleep, or you will do some * loose ' building to-morrow." •■•■^m'-A^^i^>Stfii.'i^t^'-^^'-%<^^^KmfBKK9l^am*>1(^ "iJ^i' The Parsonage 13 So reproved I fell asleep, in spite of rat- tling windows and shaky walls. There is one bright spot, however, about this old house. It is the wide, old-fashioned veranda, which stretches across its front and redeems it from complete ugliness. It was an after-thought. The ''loose" man who built the house did not tender, or, public con- fidence being shaken, he did not get the work. I have an old chair, cushioned and fitted up for a tired or lazy person. Here I spend my leisure hours in the warm weather. Here I sew, knit, and etch. I see so many people come and go, to and from the town — I hear so many things, good and evil — that I cannot help making small sketches. They are only small, for how can I, Catherine Wiseacre, do a great thing ? but such as they are I give them to you, dear reader. "-.' :.iWMk±'^\' '. :rt''t>^."'.ti-«.c;m^t^«ii^." He moves uneasily in his chair, and jerks his shoulders. I ask again, " Solo- mon, do you not hear me ? " " Whv, in the name of wonder, Catherine, did you not whip him yourself? " He always calls me " Catherine " when he is sad or cross, but " Katie " when he is in his honeymoon state. "I thought it was a father's work to whip the boys," I answer. '' That was the way papa used to do." CATHERINE WISEACRE. I Rev. Solomon Wiseacre. '7 ^' Now I know " — a suspicious twinkle in his eye — '' why you are such a watery, unstable character. Your mother should have handed you over to your father. Desperate diseases need heroic treatment." I snatch his paper from him and throw it on the lawn ; his Guardian I twist into a knot ; his letters I whirl up on the house, where the}^ each stick lovingly to the old, rough shingles, and I return to my chair. Solomon goes away with a sad, preoccupied air, which means ''thorns in the flesh," ''pa- tience," " despair," and many other Christian states and graces. I have not yet etched Solomon. In bodily presence he is not the counter- part of St. Paul, and mentally he is of good stature. He is strong, true, and brave. Many women reverence him, and listen to his ser- mons ; some are made better by them. Young 2 in lifi J:ii i8 Rev. Solomon Wiseacre. \ ii men look upon him as a friend, and confide to him their hopes and discouragements. He is a wise man, not saying one year that which he will have to retract the next. He has a strong will. Some men have called him " stubborn." I do not like that word ; it applies to mules rather than to men. He is strong to resist what he considers evil, is true to God, to himself, and the world. I know when the time comes for Solomon to leave this world, the gate of heaven will open wide to let him in. N.B. — After I had written these good things about him, ' heard a voice as of some one pleading. I ran round the house, and — alas, for my sketch ! there was Solomon, forcing Arthur up on the roof of the house to get his letters. Arthur is seven years old, and a coward. He begged to be excused, but his - ■' ^m -__a^ Rev. Solomon Wiseacre. 19 father, in a solemn, determined voice, declared that '* Mamma must have intended him to go, when she threw the letters there." Arthur climbed the ladder with fear and trembling, crawled over the shingles, and threw the letters, one by one, on the grass. As he was coming back to the ladder his foot slipped, and he came sliding and screaming down the roof, then, with a yell of despair, he fell — into his father's arms. I want to say, in conclusion, I do not think Solomon is perfect. He has traces of the carnal mind, and shows, at times, a disposi- tion to win which does not savor of that sweetness which should mark "the perfect man. J) JLvoo Women. 'I'i' /'^NE day I sat in my old chair on the ^-^ veranda. I was mending Nellie's apron, which she had torn while lighting with Arthur concerning the owneiship of some fishing-tackle. It was a large rent, and I was bending all my energies to its repair. What wonderful things we women weave into the patches and darns of our children's clothes ! So much of our time — I mean, sa much of the time of ordinary women — is spent in mending broken garments, that if anything worthy the name of '' idea " ever visits us, it must be then. I wonder if we know how readable we are, as we sew and knit. 11 Two Women. 21 I was out " pastoral calling " with Solomon one day. «We came to the house of Mr. Smith, one of our members. With him his widowed sister makes her home. I begged her not to stop sewing, as I knew she earned her living by dressmaking ; so she left the machine and began to work some button-holes. As I sat by her she told me her history. She had been one of a large family, and had married her *' first chance." Her husband wrought hard for years, but, in an evil hour, signed a note for a friend, and lost everything. He died soon after and left her alone — with nothing. I knew from her unhappy eyes and compressed lips that she had not lived happily with him. As her needle flew to and fro her mind was constantly going over every event of her married life. I was not surprised when she exclaimed : i: il 22 Two Women. " If I had only been kinder to him ! I can never forgive myself! " She knows now in the loneliness of widow- hood, that her husband was her best friend. She remembers his kindness, while his rough storminess is forgotten. She has not even the refuge of his having been a drunkard. There would then have been some excuse for her sharp words. No, she must carry that burden — the burden of her failure as a wife — and never, till she meets her husband in another world, can she ask his forgiveness. She may have bent over his body and called ever so loudly, but he did not answer. She may have laid her face against his dead face and cried in agony, " Speak, only one word ! " but the man who had wrought so hard to make her a home, and failed, was dead. What mistakes we women make ! Two Wor>tcn. n How we chase after marriage as though it would bring us something wonderful ; and when we are married, how we fail to meet its requirements. We hold lightly our husband's love, while we become wildly rapturous over a bit of fancy work. We think not often of the tired man who is toiling all day in office, shop or field ; but we give many thoughts to our hats and dresses. We ask Mrs. Lighthead, " How is your husband?" and she answers, " He is not very well, I think ; he works too hard. I am always scolding him for it." Then she adds : '^ How do you like my new bonnet ? I was so fortunate. Mrs. La Mode had partly sold it, but I offered her a dollar more and got it." A few years later and the Mrs. Lightheads find themselves widows, with nothing to re- member but the neglect and shallowness of their wifehood. 24 Two Women. V; It is a dark and bitter day when a man wakes from his dream of happiness and com- fort to see that his wife only looked on him as '' a chance," and married for the profit she could make from his labor. I do not wonder that men become drunkards, embezzlers and suicides, or that they turn into mere money- makers at any cost ! Solomon and I often go to see an old couple who live in a cottage in the eastern part of the town. Their children have all left them for homes of their own. They are not wealthy, for they have done well by their boys and girls. They have kept enough for their own comfort and are contented and happy. They have loved one another through a long married life, spending the most of their time together, working, talking and worshipping. Solomon and I often take tea with them. The place of places I love tc go is " Father ■# % M. S Two Women. 25 Moody's.'' I can do just what I like. I always take my work, and while the old man and Solomon read their papers, Mrs Moody and I work and talk. How^ much I learn, sitting at her feet ! What a history I read as her needles click and snap ! How they speak of her energy and thrift, of her conquest in all the battles of her life ! When I see how neatly she is rounding the heel, how carefully she counts her stitches, I know that the 'true, steadfast love of her heart is knit into that sock. I. know, when her husband dies, though her heart may break, she will have no despairing wailings over weakness and cruelty — only a calm waiting for the touch of the angel's hand, coming to bid her go to him again. 1 ■', i w\ 26 Two IVomen. I was startled to see t^vo tears fall. Solo- mon, who was sitting near nie, said : " Katie, I have been watching you for fif- teen minutes. You have had twenty different expressions in that time, and the finale is two big tears. What does it mean ? " *^ Oh," I answered, '' if, when I grow old, I find I have not done right, that I have wasted my life and " — Solomon looked grave. '' That is a serious thought ! Suppose you make some biscuit for tea, then we will take the children for a drive." I made my biscuit, and in the cool of the day, as we drove home, God talked to us in the questions the children asked concerning the heavens and the earth. This is a wonder- ful universe, but the most wonderful of all God's handiwork is a little child. it Two Women. 27 They asked many questions which Solomon, though he is a wise man, could not answer. That night, as I tucked them in their beds and kissed them, I heard God's good-night to me: ''Whosoever shall not receive the Kingdom of God as a httle child shall not enter therein." As I buried my head in my own pillow, the vexed question of the day became clear. If I am as a little child in faith, I shall not greatly err. As sleep fell on me, His words came like far-off music: ''Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not." Surely God's " Eoyal Household Guards " are the children. flDarion Jfullcn T DKEBSED myself with care one after- ^ noon, for a young lady was coming to take tea with us. I arranged all the draperies in my little parlor with fresh effects ; I put flowers in the vases, and made a cake. Marion Fuller was a favorite with both Solomon and myself. Once a month she spent the afternoon with us. She was an accomplished girl, with sceptical tendencies. I think that was one reason I grew to love her. In listening to her doubtings I lived over again my own. She and I talked much with each other. I 'iiii \ m i?§ Marion Fuller. 29 That afternoon, as I seated her in the par- lor, in the best chair, she said, '' Mrs. Wise- acre, let us sit on the veranda; it is so pleasant there." *' Come," I answered, " I am of the same mind." * A few minutes later found us busy with our work. The women of our church were going to hold a " bazaar," and all the spare time of all the female members was employed in concocting useful and useless articles for that event. I was putting some elaborate stitches in a mat, while Marion wrought patiently on a table-cover. It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud was to be seen, except a few fleecy ones, which relieved the intensity of the blue sky. The sun shone gloriously on the earth. The robins and sparrows were singing merrily over our heads in the old maple trees. I could 30 Marion Fuller. hear the laughter and shouting of merry chil- dren at their play. *' What a happy thing life is on such a day ! " I exclaimed. Even as 1 said this a man appeared. *' Only man is vile," added Marion. Up the street came that strangest of all maniacs — a drunkard ! When he drew near he took off his hat, made a low bow, then fell against a tree-box. ''Mornin', ladish." We did not speak. "I all'us s'hite — ^ladish — when I see 'm," he said, with a thick utterance. '' The Sun's havin' a — ball — to-day, ladish. I'm to take the Moon out to supper — hie. Good-bye, ladish — hie. All'us s'lute ladish when I see 'm. Very sorry, 'm sure — hie." And he stag- gered on. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. — I" I. 1 '! Marion Fuller. 31 We stitched in silence, until, glancing at Marion, I saw that she was deadly pale. " Are you ill, my dear ? " I asked. " Did you not know, Mrs. Wiseacre, that -.V; my brother Tom is no better than that poor fellow?" '* No, Marion, I did not. Is he not at home? " ^* He has not been for several years," she 32 Marion Fuller. |i! I answered. ** Papa turned him away. That is the cause of mamma's heart trouble. Oh, Mrs. Wiseacre, what a terrible curse the liquor traffic is ! " *' Curse ! " I exclaimed ; '^ that is too mild an expression." *'Yet," Marion said, ''it has always been so. Men have always made it, and rejoiced in it." *' They will continue to do so, my dear. This evil began in the Garden of Eden. It is closely related to the juice of the forbidden fruit." " You are not joking ? " asked Marion. "No, my dear," I answered. "Even as Satan planted the craving for forbidden things in human nature — things which are pleasant to the taste, and which make men and women wise concerning evil — even so shall not this taste be eradicated unless He who is to bruise Marion Fuller. 33 the serpent's head come in power and set man free." " Many Christians believe it to be a good thing. I should not have thought it wrong to drink moderately if Tom had not become such a slave to it. Now I see the evil." "I should like to know more about your brother," I said; '^ that is, if you care to tell me. n " There is not much to tell,'* she answered. ''Father will not allow him to come home. We dare not mention his name, and mother is wearing her life away. Once in awhile we hear of him, but he is always drinking, and sinking lower and lower." She threw her work away, and began to walk up and down the veranda. " Can nothing be done for him, Mrs. Wise- acre?" I shook my head. ''Why did you not 3 34 Marion Fuller. If ) ' I ^ I tell me of this before ? " I asked. " I was ashamed," dropping her head sadly. *' We never talk of him to anyone." *' Where is he now, Ma- rion?" ** He is in Albion, in a law- yer's office. He is clever, if he would not drink ; but he is going to destruction, and I am powerless to save him ! " We sat in silence. The sun still shone, but there was a lurking shadow. The birds still sang, but there was a minor note in the music. The children still shouted and played, but I shuddered when I thought that some of those little boys were beginning their race to destruction. Tom Fuller going to ruin, and we powerless TOM FULLER. Hi Marion Fuller. 35 to save him ! Father, mother, sister, friends, looking helplessly on as he drifts away — away into the darkness of eternal night ! *'If I had the power," said Marion, "I would close every distillery ; I would pour out on the ground every drop of the horrible stuff. When I see Mrs. Macbeth, the distil- ler's wife, driving past with her white horses, I feel like telling her what a fearful price has been paid for them." *'Ah, my child" I replied, ^* she would answer, ' If your brother drinks to excess, it is not my fault.' She would tell you that her husband's business is lawful, and she has as good right to use the profits of it as you have to clothe yourself with the profits of your father's business. It is because you suffer that you feel so bitterly against these people. I, like you, do not envy them their luxuries, for I also know the price paid for 36 Marion Fuller, them ; but I have learned to judge righteous judgment. I know there are many good women whose husbands and fathers do not think of the effects of the traffic. They look upon the business as lawful, and therefore right." ** But can nothing be done, Mrs. Wiseacre. Why does not every Christian, seeing the evil, act ? I sometimes think they are all asleep, or that they do not care." ''A great many Christians, Marion, are as you were. They do not think it any harm to drink moderately, while we, who eschew it utterly, receive more than our share of the world's scorn. There is a glimmer of hope for the world : young people are putting on the armour. They have heard the call of Christ, and have risen to answer. Even women are waking from their sleep of cen- turies to see that there is much to be done if HJjpggg Marion Fuller. 37 this world is to be rescued from the power of evil. Yes, my dear, it will take all God's children, men and women, to do the work. You cannot escape, Marion. You have some- thing to do ; you must save your brother." "Hov/? Tell me how the work is to be done," she said, clasping her hands. " I do not know now," I answered. " You and I must ask God about it. I am certain of one thing — He has not decreed that your brother shall be lost, and lost he must not be." I kissed her and went to get tea, wonder- ing, as I laid the plates on the table, when — when in the history of this world men were going to rise and put this evil from the earth. Jacob Mbinel?* ill, what's got a white 'tar on his face, yike my papa's." ''Children," I said, "I've told you all the stories, fairy and real, that I have ever heard or read. I wonder what you think I am ? Do you suppose I can make them ? " "Can't you think of just one little story, mamma?" asked Nellie. "Something you read when you were a little girl." A short silence followed, during which I searched my memory diligently. " I do remember one," I said, " but it is not very exciting. Boys, if you would like to go you may." " No, no, let us stay ! " they all cried. Solomon brought a basket of apples which Mrs. Moody had sent, and put it at my feet. " Now, children," I said, " you must chew very quietly or the Fairy will fly away." " All right, we're ready," said Arthur. i I >'i It 74 The Knight and the Dove. *' Once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, there lived a knight whose name was Sir Launcelot. He was a hrave man, and often fought for his master, the king." "Had he a gate big b'ack horse?" whis- pered Freddie, dreamily, " with — white 'tar — on — face ? You'll tell me — after — won't you, mamma — if horse — had — white — 'tar — on " — Freddie was asleep. " He had a beautiful wife, the Lady Godiva, who was so much beloved by the poor that they called her ' The Angel Lady.' She was not only loved by her people, but even the lower animals, the birds and insects loved her. She would not allow her servants to kill , flies, spiders or any other little creatures which found their way into the castle. She gave directions that they should remove them gently, so that their legs or wings might not be injured. I .1 II SIR LAUNCELOT, II if 76 The Knight and the Dove. ill " When her sister, the haughty Lady Fer- inda, laughed scornfully at what she called her ' folly,' Lady Godiva answered : ' What right have we to destroy creatures that are smaller and weaker than ourselves. They harm us not ; why should we be cruel to them ? ' " When the hounds were wounded in the chase she visited their kennels daily, often feeding them with her own hand, until they were sound again. " All the horses in the stables knew her voice and whinnied when she drew near, for she always carried in her hand comfits or bits of sugar, which horses dearly love. When she rode through the village on her white palfrey, the little children crowded around her, hoping that a smile or a gentle pat of her hand might fall on them. The hard, rough men, who toiled all day that they might The Knight and the Dove. 77 have food for their wives and chihiren, blessed her. In times of sickness she was the good angel who brought wine and broth, who placed her cool hand on their fevered brows and breathed a prayer for their recovery. '* Old Dame Crocker declared there was a halo of light around her head. She could see it sometimes, though her eyes were old and dim. '' Good, jolly Friar Monckton laughed and said that she was guarded by angels ; the glistening of their wings caused the light which Dame Crocker saw. " When a little boy appeared one morning at the castle, great was the rejoicing. Huge bonfires were built on all the hills surrounding the lands of the knight. Oxen were roasted whole, and the peasantry were feasted. Sir Launcelot bestowed many gifts on the poor as a thanksgiving for a sou and heir. I 78 The Knight and the Dove, " The baby grew to be a fine boy. He was named Hugh, and promised to be brave like his father. Often he longed for the time when he could wear armor, buckle on his sword, and fight for the king. *' The Lady Godiva loved her boy, but in her heart she sighed for a little daughter. One day an angel left a little creature at the castle, a girl — so tiny, so pretty, so sweet, that the servants wondered as they gazed on her. Sir Launcelot tcok her in his big hands, kissed her, and said to the Lady Godiva, ' She is from heaven. Thou mayest call her what thou wilt, I name her '' Love." ' *' When she was a few months old she was christened Elfrida, after her grandmother ; but her father kept his word. There were no bonfires built, no public rejoicings, as when her brother was born, yet she was very dear to her father and mother. Daily the Lady iii The Knight and the Dove. 79 Godiva carried her little daughter in her bosom, played with her, or soothed her when she cried. As she grew older she was taught to love everything, as her mother had done. *' One day they were sitting in the Lady Godiva's bower. Elfrida was putting some new stitches in her sampler, while her mother wrought on a woollen petticoat for Dame Crocker, who had the rheumatics. '* ' My mccher,' said Elfrida, ' thou hast ever taught me to be merciful. Must I be kind even to Jeremy Stokesby and Dame Marlebone ? ' " Her mother smiled. ' Even these, my child. If thou wouldst make this earth a heaven, thou must love — love always and ever. 'Tis hatred that causes blood to flow, that makes the widow's tears to fall, and fills this fair earth with darkness and woe.' " ' Mother,' said the girl, ' my father fights ; 8o The Knight and the Dove. he loves war as thou lovest peace. Why is it so?' *' ' It is because of the king's enemies, my child. There are men who would take our country from us, drive our good king from his throne, and usurp his place. It is to defend us from oui* enemies that thy brave father fights.' " ' Why do thoso men, my mother, hate our king and wish to get our lands for their own ? Why do not all people love, as thou dost ? ' '' ' Ah, my Elfrida, it is because of one great act of rebellion which took place some thou- sands of years ago. I wUl ask the good father to instruct thee concerning it. '* Sir Launcelot had been summoned to join his king. Word had been received that ships laden wfth men, well armed with bows and battle-axes, were on their way to Albion, the Ill )S id The Knight and the Dove, 8i beautiful island-country where Sir Launcelot lived, and over which the king ruled. Cou- riers were sent in every direction to summon all the knights, squires and yeomen to defend their homes and the throne of their king. " Sir Launcelot hdd confessed — had em- braced his wife, and promised his sou that in the next war he should bear sword and battle- axe. " Elfrida stood with her mother and the maids, and watched the train go forth. The horses ^awed the ground, impatient of re- straint, the trumpeter gave the signal for starting, yet the knight lingered. *'He spoke to one of the squires, who went to Elfrida. *' ' Thy father would speak with thee, come.' *' She ran across the court, stepped lightly on the hand of the squire, and was lifted by her father to a seat on the saddle. 6 r 82 The Knight and the Dove. % " 'I would have a last word from thee, Love,' he said. * Thy father is loth to leave thee and thy mother, twin angels of my life.' " ' My father,' whispered Elfrida, ' I would have thee fight for the king, but not kill — not kill.' '*' What is this sword for but to kill, little one ? ' he asked, smiling. ' Our enemies have axes, and use them, so must we. But come, put thine arms around my neck, child, and wish me " Good-speed." ' " ' My father, my father, I cannot let thee go ! ' sobbed Elfrida. ' An arrow may pierce thee, the cruel axe may hew thee down, and my mother will die. Oh, rny father^ leave us not ; we love thee ! ' " Tears stood in the eyes of Sir Launcelot as he pressed the maiden to his heart. * God keep thee, little one, and thy sweet mother. The Knight and the Dove. 8 My life would be as nothing, if I had not the light of thine eyes to guide me. Come, take this kiss to thy mother. Tell her, if I fall in battle, the thought of her and thee shall cheer my last hours.' " The squire lifted her to the ground and the cavalcade wound out of the castle gates, over the draw-bridge, through the great park, until finally it disappeared from view. *' The Lady Godiva went to her chamber to pray for the success of the king's army and the speedy return of her husband. Elfrida went into the garden and sat down under an old oak tree. She was very sad. She could think of nothing but her father's last words. A great longing filled her heart to go with him, to be near him in danger. Suddenly the branches of the tree shook, the leaves rustled, and a tiny old woman appeared. She was such a funny little creature that Elfrida felt like m. i >i I ^ :> > > '>' y /A A^ :1>^ :\ \ i^ ^\ ^\ rv <««>>. "-^s ^^^ C-?^ r 1^ ■ W.i B 'a 92 Tke Knight and the Dove. *' One day the Lady Godiva sat in her chamber by the side of the sleeping Elfrida. Every day —all day long — she sat and waited. She did not forget the words of the fairy : " ' When thirty morns do break She shall awake.' This was the thirtieth day that Elfrida had slept. " She arose and went to her chamber win- dow, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of some messenger who mayhap might come with tidings of the ^i^c. " She heard the blast of a trumpet. Nearer and nearer came the sound of horses' feet and the clanking of armor, until she saw through the trees of the forest the coming of Sir Launcelot. *' Then one of the doves that she thought dead flew swiftly toward the castle and en- tered her chamber window. 1) w The Knight and the Dove. 93 ^'Elfrida rose from her bed and clasped her mother's hand. " 'Child,' said her mother, ' thou hast slept since thy father went away.' '" I am glad to come back to thee, mother. My father returns ; let us go and meet him.' "When the drawbridge was let down and the great castio gates opened, Sir Launcelot entered. The Lady Godiva wept tears of joy because on the same day both husband and child were given back to her. ''Sir Launcelot made a great feast, to which he invited many guests. Minstrels sang praises of the man who had saved the life of the prince and slain the enemy with his sword ; but the knight and many of his yeomen knew that it was the little snow- white dove that had won the victory and brought peace to the land. 94 The Knight and the Dove. \\ • •' Several years after, the young Prince Dagobert paid a visit to Sir Launcelot. He could not forget the man who had saved his life. He was received in great state by the noble knight and his beautiful wife. When Elfrida was broughl: before the prince, his heart went out to her. He could not keep his eyes from her lovely face. *' The next day he told Sir Launcelot that 'ne'er had woman showed such grace.' He asked her hand in marriage, and the father promised, if Elfrida's heart went out to him, he should wed her. '* Prince Dagobert sought and found her in her mother's bower. '*' Fair Elfrida,' he said, taking her hand, * wouldst thoa like to be a queen some day ? ' " ' Nay,' she answered, ' I love not so much pomp.' " * Wilt thou, then, be my wife ? ' The Kni^kl and the Dove. 95 '' ' Yea, I will be thy wife,' she said. "After two years the lovely Elfrida was taken to the king's palace, where she and the prince were married. The sun never shone on fairer bride or braver prince. They lived together ever after so happily that when Dagobert became king and Elfrida queen, it came to be a proverb among their people, 'As happy as the king and queen.' **Now, children," I said, ''you may go home. Sometime I want you to tell me what you think of my story." 'M know what I think of it now," said Bobbie Jones. "I look upon Elfrida as a sham, a fraud. She pretended to be so gentle, 80 good, yet she caused the death of the giant and many of his men. That is ruling by love, isn't it?" "It was right," said Minnie Willmott. mm 96 TAe Knight and the Dove. "• She saw that the enemy had to be fought and killed, or her father and the prince would be slain." "I like your story," said thoughtful Jack Newton, the rector's son ; "it shows that we must fight to defend ourselves. It shows, too, how beautiful love makes everything. Thank you for your story, Mrs. Wiseacre." " Good-night, dear children, good-night." H (Iro06. /^ NE afternoon I put on my bonnet and ^-^ went to Mr. Fuller's office. He had a lumber-yard in the suburbs of the town. His office was in one corner of the yard. ''Are you alone?" I asked, as he opened the office door. " Yes," he answered, and placed a chair for me near the little window. I was trembling, and my heart was beating fast. I had never gone on such an errand before. • "Mr. Fuller, I have come to talk with you about your son." 98 A Cross. 1 ,1 " Who has told yoii anything about him ? " he asked quickly. '* I think everyone knows that he is away from home — and — the cauae." ''Well," he said, crossly, ''let everyone mind their own busir^ss, and I will mind mme. n " Do not be angry with me, Mr. Fuller. I am very fond of Marion, and know that she t 1^ A Cross. 99 feels inteDsely about her brothv^r. Your wife, also, is slowly dying. Will you call the prodigal home ? " "' No," he answered. "• It's all very well to talk sentiment — that's woman's way. Tom is a disgrace to me. I'm not going to see his madness before my eyes every day." ''Mr. Fuller," I asked, "who taught your son to drink? " "He taught himself. ^ have never been drunk in my life — never ! " "Have you not always kept wines in your house ? " I asked. ''Yes, and I intend to. I have drunk moderately all my life. I am not going to turn fanatic because Tom is a fool." "I have heard, Mr. Fuller, that he was a clever boy, a good boy, until he became a slave to this habit," m 'u:::-: lOO A Cross. I :i-|B.i i I i " I admit that," he said. '' He was as line a boy as any fatJier would wish to own." *^ Mr. Fuller, we who «re strong ought to help the weak. When your son has learned to drink at your table — when he has fallen by a blow from his father's hand — it is your duty to help him rise again. God will hold you responsible for your son's downfall." " How dare you come here and talk so to me," he said angrily. "I would not take it from a man." '* You do not know how hard it is for me," I answered, '' but I am thinking of your son's peril." ^' He has made his bed, let him lie on it." " Won't you think of your wife and Ma- rion ? " I asked. " Yes, it cuts me to see my wife fretting her life away, but I believe it would be worse for her to see Tom every day." I A Cross. lOI "Will yon not call him home ?" I asked again. '' If he were to reform, would yon allow him to come ? " ''Yes; if he gives up drinking he may come." " I forget," I said ; '' how can he reform at home? He will be tempted every day. It would be folly for him to come here. Home would be no better than a bar-room in which to reform." Mr. Fuller pulled his whiskers, scratched his head, and looked angry. " What would you have me do ? " " If I had a son," I answered, " who stood in such peril as yours, I would make any sacrifice for him. I would not send him wounded out in the world to die. I would take him to my heart ; I would shield him as far as I could. Above all, I would put far away the accursed stuff that has wrought so u ill I02 A Cross. much evil. I know your pride is wounded, Mr. Fuller, and I am sorry lor you, but your son's soul is wounded, and I am more sorry for him. Perhaps now, when his father has forsaken him, the Lord will take him up." I left him standing in the door of his office, as I bade him ''good-day." He did not speak nor take my offered hand, and I went home burdened with a sense of failure. I thought I was doing right to talk to him, but I had made a mistake. I stood that night on the veranda. Look- ing up to Heaven, I asked God to forgive me, if I had done wrong. I did not dare to tell Solomon what I had done, lest he, too, should condemn me. My heart was heavy and sad as I went to my room, and it was the " wee sma' " hours before I fell asleep. THn&er a (Tloub. XT OT many weeks ago, one of the rare ^ ^ spirits of this little town of Stokedon called on me. She is a negress. She calls herself Missie Linkiim, and her patrons and friends call her *' Auntie." I knew her first as my laundress, but as time went on I grew to love and reverence her as a child does a wise teacher. On the day she called I was sitting in my old chair sleeping. I had been busy all the morning canning berries, and when, in the afternoon, I sat down to read the Stokedon Weekly Neivs. the soft, warm breeze was too much for f II WM 104 Under a Cloud. me. I was soon in dreamland — back to my childhood, wandering among the berry bushes on the farm, laughing and shouting as in the old days I was wont to do. I had just disturbed a large garter-snake from one of the bushes, and was screaming loudly for help, when I was aroused and brought back to the realities of life by a voice saying : '^ Missie Wise-e-ky, I'se in trouble." Aurtie Linkum had been in good repute until lately. She is a member of Solomon's church ; her place ha^ never been vacant in Father Moody's class-room — that is, until lately. Her hands have, for years, washed, clear- starched and ironed the linen of the profes- sional men of Stokedon. When the clergymen stand up in their respective pulpits every Sunday and present to the admirmg gaze of their congregations Under a Cloud, 105 a display of spotless bands and ties, it is Aimtie Linkum's glory that it is so. The doctor's pleasant face looks doubly bright as he smiles above the snow-white linen on his neck. The Stokedon lawyer tells her that when he goes abroad to plead a case, the opposing counsel grows green with envy when he beholds his white cuffs stretched forth in declamation— and she beheves him. She has received more comphments for her laundry- work .than any lady in the town for her beauty or wit—until lately. For years she has basked in popularity and has prospered. She has a tidy sum in the bank for rainy weather; while, spiritually, she and " de good Lawd are alius on de mountain-top a communin'." The townspeople have wonderod at the serenity of her temper and the strength of her 'Hi 106 Under a Cloud. faith. Their doors were open to her at all times ; their children gathered around her when she came, to hear her quaint speech ; their wives were kind, and always sent her home with a well-filled basket — until lately. When she sat down, in answer to my invitation, she said again in a low voice : *' I'se in trouble, now, shuah enuff, Missie." She wiped the perspiration from her face, smoothed her white apron, and groaned. I knew she was in trouble ; at least I had heard the rumors that were floating through the air. I have learned to despise " rumors." They are ugly bats that fiy around our heads in the dark. Sometimes they fasten on us and frighten us if we are weak c: cowardly. When the daylight of fact appears and the sunshine of evidence pours on them, they cower and steal away, leaving faith in ''public Under a Cloud. 107 J5 opinion " weakened, but our own character strengthened. "Faith in ourselves," which was only a bud before, blossoms into a sturdy flower, and ''Great Heart" walks with us the rest of our journey. So I said to her : " Will you not tell me of your hfe, Auntie. I have often wished to know?" '' What you want to know 'bout my life foh, Missie ? " " I may be able to help you." She shook her head. '' No. de debil got me now, shuah. De good Lawd's down on his poo' old sheep dis time." " What is your real name ? " I asked. " Neber had no name. Down on de ole plantations dey called me jes' Dinah. Affer de wah, when dere war no mo' slaves, I call myself ' Harriet Beecher Stowe Lincoln.' " io8 Under a Cloud, " Your name, then, is Mrs. Lincoln ? " *' Yah, Missie Liriku.^7." " Why did yon choose that name ? " " Why ? " she asked, " 'cos dey sot ns free. No better woman dan Missie Stowe ; no bigger man dan Ab'm Linknm, nohow." *' Tell me of your slave life," I said. '' I dursn't." She pushed her sleeve up from her left arm, showing a long purple scar. '' What is that ? " ** Where young Massa stabbed me, 'cos I sassed him. My back is full o' ridges where I was flogged. I had a bad temper, Missie, but it was made bad." ^' Did you ever have any children ? " ^' Yah, two little boys?" Her voice grew husky, and her dark eyes burned like fire. '* Dey sold 'em, Missie — neber seed 'em since. One of 'em died from a whippin' ; Under a Cloud. 109 t'other— little Mose— 'dim know; p'raps gone to kingdom come." " I have been reading," I said, '' that Mrs. Stowe was very much mistaken in her views of the slave-holders; they were not all bad, Auntie?" ^ '' No, honey; if dey had been de lightnin' would a come down from heben and burnt 'em up, same as it did Sodom and Go-to- morrow. Dere wus some good uns, chile, dat kep dere slaves on affer de wah, and paid 'em, and de niggahs wouldn't leave 'em. ''But, oh, Missie Wise-e-ky, de half isn't knowed of all de goin's on and doin's of de traders. But de good Lawd knows, and dere will be a reckonin' on dat day when He sits on His whiLe frone." " Were you ever sold in the slave-market ? " I asked. " Yah, I was stood up on a block. Dey i' 14 I lO Under a Cloud. 11 pounded me an' pinched me, an' bet on me 'cos I was so strong and" harndsome, Missie. Las' I was sold to Miss Eliza King. She kep' me till de wah." *' Why did yon not stay with her ? " '* She sold my chill'en, an' dat broke my heart. When she ask me to stay I tol' her I was goin' to de seashoah foh my health." " Where have you been since, Auntie ? " *' I worked in Brooklyn foh three years, den I came to Detroit. Dey tol' me dere was work in Stokedon, and I come. I've lived heah nigh onto twenty yeahs." ^' How old are you ? " I asked. " Dunno ; nobody neber kep' no count. I'm ole, Missie Wise-e-ky, and de good Lawd has forsook me." '* Where is your faith ? " ** Clean gone." '* You were a poor slave," I said, '* whipped '■ i! ^ Under a Cloud. I II and degraded; your children were sold from you, yet you loved God." '' Yes," she cried, " Missie St owe and Ab'in Linkum taught me." ''Now," I said, ''you lose your faith in God because some one says you steal. Don't you thmk He can bring you out of this as He brought you out of slavery ? " ''Dere ain't no Missie Stowe, no Ab'm Linkum, to sot me free." " Yes, Auntie, promise me that you will be happy, and all will be well. Why, the whole town have been watching your faith. You have been teaching us all these years. Promise me." She began to cry. " You no' b'lieve I steal, Missie ? " *' No, no. I believe in you with all my heart." I kissed her on both cheeks, \ I 12 Under a Cloud. *' Dear Auntie, you are only under a cloud. Your good Lord will lift it in His own good time." ' *' I loill trust Him, Missie," she sobbed, ''though He break all my bones and tear my spirit in strings. I'll neber say again dat de good Lawd has forsook His chile. I'se been on de mount'in top a good long while a communin' ; if* He wants me to go troo de fiah and de watah wid Him, I'll go." After she had gone, I went to Solomon's study and told him that something must be done to clear Auntie Linkum's character. He closed the study door, and began to walk up and down the floor, as he does when he is troubled. " Father Moody has been telling me that he thinks it would be wise to drop her name quietly from the class-book. He has been talk- ing to her, but she would give him no answer." Under a Clotid, 113 de )) " No wonder ! " I cried, *' when those who sat with her in the church have turned against her, and have believed that she could steal." ''Have you got any confession from her, Catherine?" " There is none to get," I said. ^' She has promised not to lose heart, and I have pro- mised to do all I can to find the real culprit." He smii&d on me. " You are very Quixotic, but you will not have to go far. She has been seen at night creeping in and out of her neighbors' henneries." '' Who has seen her ? " '' Some man Ward, who lives on the same street." " How did he come to be up at night watching his neighbors' henneries ? " '' Public opinion is strongly against her. I s ifpr mum 114 Under a Cloud. 11 .. think the best thing is to drop her name from the church book." *' Solomon!" I cried, "I thought you were good and strong and true. Don't leave this poor woman till you have done all you can. Has anyone else seen her ? " " Yes, several have seen her, late at night, going through the back streets." " If the people think she has stolen, why do they not have her tried for theft ? " " She has been so popular, and she is so old, that they dislike doing it." " Will you do one thing ?" I asked, " before you give up, before you blot her name from the class-book? " '* What do you want me to do ? " '' Let a detective be employed to watch secretly for one week, then we shall see." He promised, and I returned to my chair and the Weekly Neios. Under a Cloud. 115 Three days after, Auntie Linkum came to me with her old-time happy face. I was tying up one of the vines at the end of the veranda when I heard her voice crooning up the street — " Sound de loud timbril O'er Egypt's dark sea ; Jehovah hab triumphed, His people am free." I ran to meet her. *' What is it ? " I asked. '' De good Lawd hasn't forsook His chile. I'se glad I promised before not to mistrust Him." *^Tell me," I demanded, '^ what has hap- pened? " Low ripples of laughter came from her heart and shook her body. ''He was dressed in ole woman's clothes— shuah— he didn't look no mo' like me dan I do like you, Missie Wise-e-ky. He'll not ■■; I "'. i ■ J 1; liil AUNTIE LINKUM. Under a Cloud. 117 steal no mo' chickens," and she laughed so cheerily that Solomon heard her and came out. '' The real culprit has been found," I said. "Yah, an' I came heah first to tell my ministah," she said proudly. " Mr. Ward has been perscivered, sah, an' taken to de jail." Solomon looked surprised. " And you, Mrs. Linkum ? " he asked. "No, sah, I'm not a thief, sah. Praise de Lawd, He's cleared me." Solomon took her by the hand, led her into the parlor, and shut the door. I did not intrude, for I knew he was humbling himself before this daughter of the King. When she came out, her eyes were shining. *'Dat's a good man, Missie," she said; " he'll walk in white on de top o' Mount Zion. De good Lawd bress him and cause His face to shine down on him ! " it ' ii8 Under a Cloud. Thus the cloud was lifted from Harriet Beecher Stowe Lincoln. Her last days are likely to be her best, for old and young vie with each other in atoning for their unjust suspicion. Yesterday I met her, and she said, "I don'o lean on an arm o' flesh any moah, honey — 'taint no good — only on de strong arm ob de livin' God." 3o? in tbe flDorning. I "HUKSDAY was the day of my weekly -*- baking. I was taking some pies out of the oven, when Marion Fuller entered. "I came right to the kitchen, Mrs. Wise- acre ; I could not wait." **Well," I cried, '^you must wait. My fingers are getting beautifully burnt." She helped me, then I wiped the flour from my hands and took her to the veranda. "Now," I said, "I shall rest, and you will tell me your news." " I could scarcely wait to get my breakfast, I was so eager to let you know." " What is your good news ? " I asked. Jng 120 Joy in the Morning. " I have a letter from Tom. May I read it to you ?'^ ''Yes, my dear, if you will." She took it from her bag and read (I could see withered places on the paper, where her tears of joy had dropped and dried) : u My Dear Sister, — I have been very sick with fever. The people here have been kind, and I am better. " I want to tell you, Marion, that I am changed. A good old man used to come and sit with me when I was down. He read to me from the Bible, and sang the hymns that I have often ridiculed. He was like a father to me. When I got better, he cam.e to me one day and said, ' See here, my boy, I can't let you go out in the world again with no stronger irm than your own to lean on. I want you to take Christ for your Saviour.' "I told him I was too weak where drink was concerned to ever be strong, no matter what help I got. *' ' Have you ever tried Christ ? ' he asked me. I said I never had. foy in the Morning. 121 " Then he told me his story — how he used to he ill the gutter all night ; how the land- lord kicked him out of the bar-room when he had drunk all he could hold ; how his wife went in rags and his children were always hungry. At last he was taken by a woman to a meeting, where he signed the pledge. He kept it for a week, then fell. One day, an old minister took him to his study, and told him if he gave his heart to God it would be an easy matter to give up drinking. He knelt with the minister and they both prayed, until strength came to him that he never had before. From that time he drank no more. '' I told him if there was any such power I should be glad of it, for I was a disgrace to vou all. Then and there the old man — God bless him ! — prayed. We did not rise from our knees till I felt the same power come to me— felt that I could conquer through Christ. '' This is all I have to write, Marion. I should like to see you and mother, if father could bear me around. Tell him I don't blame him for turning me away, I hope to be a better son in the future." 122 Joy in the Morning, Marion folded her letter. "I have some- thing else to tell you, Mrs. Wiseacre. Of course I gave father the letter. He said nothing when he had finished reading it, but last night I was wakened by strange mufiled noises in the cellar. I slipped on a wrapper aL . went down to see what was the matter. Father was emptying his ale and wine into a LI i III I ilil i w Joy in the Morning. 123 bucket. I ran away, for I knew he would not like me to see him. This morning he had all the bottles and kegs carted away, and our house is free from the horrible stuff. I have written to Tom to come home. Mother is like another woman. What are you crying for, Mrs. Wiseacre?" "I am so glad," I said — " glad for you and you r mother, but gladdest of all because Tom is coming home, and your father has put the evil thing from his house." The next Sunday morning I stood on the veranda, drawing on my gloves, when Marion and Tom came up the street. "What a handsome boy ! " I thought ; "no wonder your mother was breaking her heart for you." " My brother," said Marion, as she drew near. i^i 124 Joy in the Morning. i! " My dear boy, I am so glad to see you. Won't you call Mr. Wiseacre ; he will be late for the service." ''Where shall I go ? " he asked. " Upstairs," I an- swered. " You will find him in one of the rooms. If he is talking to the ceiling or furniture, do not be alarmed. It is a habit of great men." He ran laughing up the stairs. In a few minutes they came down together. I do not think I ever loved Solomon so much. His eyes shone as he gave me a smile, which said, '' Satan is cheated ; one more soul for God." i i •iji»lJrFli' w Joy in the Morning, 125 )> I never heard him preach such a sermon as that morning. His voice trembled as he told of the joy in heaven when a soul decides for God. We all broke down and cried, not so much at Solomon's words as because Tom Fuller was sitting by his mother, clothed and in his right mind. A thousand blessings on the good old man who went to him in his sickness ! We, his friends, stood aloof from him like Pharisees, holding our garments away from his polluted touch. This good man went down to him, bound up his wounds, and sent him on his way — healed. "I was sick and ye visited me." Yes, he *^ shall shine as the stars forever and ever." Ill a suppi?. I SOLOMON had been invited to preach in a neighboring town. He accepted the invitation gladly, as it came from one of his old circuits. Armed with two of his best sermons he departed, leaving me to entertain his '^ sup- ply," who was a young graduate and divinity student. I never looked so old as when I stood before the little glass in the hall-rack and gave a final touch to my hair before the 'bus should come. There were many grey hairs in my head ; there were wrinkles under my eyes and h\\ A Supply. 127 across my forehead, while little eddies rippled around the corners of my mouth. I try to be stoical, but somehow I do feel sad when I put my glasses on and see that I am growing old. Not really old, but on the borderland. I can stretch my left hand back to the young, and say, " I know— I have been there— it is delightful." I can reach my right 128 A Supply. '!I ! hand to the aged and call, " Wait, I am com- ing." The best of all is, young, middle-aged and old are marching hand-in-hand to a land where youth sings forever. While I was looking at myself in the little rack-mirror the 'bus arrived, and my guest came up the walk. I knew his name, it was Rev. John Smith, B.A., B.D. Sometime in the future he would be an M.A. and D.D. I almost trembled as I took his hand and ushered him into the parlor. He wore a fawn overcoat and lemon kids. His hat was in keeping with his coat. He was altogether nice. " I am very dusty, Mrs. Wiseacre," he said, " and will be glad to go to my room." I escorted him there, when — horrors ! Carlo was soundly snoring in the centre of the bed, much mud and many burs clinging to him ! Freddie was also lying by him, his curly head resting on the dog's back. I i! A Supply. 129 I was speechless. What a prospect for the titled divinity student. I lifted Freddie from his resting-place. Carlo, who knew that he was trespassing, fled precipitately. I was going despairingly from the room, Freddie's hand in mine, when Mr. Smith asked : '' You are not going to punish the little fellow? Don't, please; I do not object to little boys and dogs as companions." He took an orange from his valise and gave it to Freddie, who ran away, well pleased. That was the way I came to know my guest. When tea was over and the spare bed freshly spread, the cloud disappeared from the domestic sky. In the evening we went to the veranda. It was warm and the air was delightfully refresh- ing. He asked and I answered many ques- tions concerning the town and its inhabitants. 9 I30 A Supply. " Does Mr. Wiseacre ever read his sermons to you? " he questioned, cautiously. '' He used to," 1 answered, " when we were first married. I think that custom departs with tha honeymoon." '' Why should it ; " he asked. *' For various reasons. I think my hus- band found that I was not an oracle of wis- dom, as he had fondly hoped. I had a silly, irritating fashion, which I could not wholly conquer, of giggling at the most solemn and tragic passages." Mr. Smith looked puzzled and slightly dis- gusted. '' I must be truthful," I said. '' When Mr. Wiseacre came to rehearse the latter part of his sermon, his hair standing up in sympathy with his ideas, his eyes rolling at me as though I were the chief of sinners — 11 — cuddled up in a chair with my embroidery, A Stipply, 1^1 trying my best to take in the situation-the truth must be told-I invariably laughed, and was turned out of the study in disgrace. \' After a few years, when I became a soberer and wiser woman, I often took one of the children to the study and begged my husband to read to me. He always said, ^ Wait till that child is asleep ; ' then I was too tired myself to care. The custom has fallen into disuse, and I am not sorry." " May I read you my sermon ? " he asked. " Yes, if you do not read too loudly." ** I heard that your people were very intel- ligent," he said, -so I have chosen my most thoughtful sermons." He began to read and I to listen. He had a musical voice and read well. His thoughts were deep and high. They were Clothed in deep and high language-so deep m 132 A Supply, that I could not fathom, so high that I could not reach them. When he had finished he said : *' I want you to give me an honest opinion of my style." '< Why," I asked, '* do you want my opin- ion ? I am only a very ordinary woman." He paused, then said in a low voice : " Mrs. Wiseacre, I have been preaching three years, and I do not think I have converted one soul. I have been thinking lately that perhaps the fault is in my style. If I cannot solve the mystery I must give up. It is a burden I cannot bear. I sometimes think that higher education is not necessary to save sovils — the more ignorant we are the better." *' If I were your mother," I said, " I should box your ears." He looked shocked. *' I mean your mental ears, If I were your A Supply. J,, Chairman, I would put yo,i back to learn first principles." " You speak bluntly," he said. " ^^'■'^°» nie, but you asked me to be honest with you. You know that any man, however ignorant, may lead a soul to Christ, if he know the way himself; but is any education too high, any knowledge useless, that helps us to make rough places smooth, dark places plain ? If science unfolds the ways of God, is it not a servant of God? If education leads us heavenward, can we climb too high ? " Let me be truly honest with you. "In your audience to-morrow you will have tired, sorrowful people ; you will have giddy, thought'.Pss youth ; there will be women whose loved ones are going astray ; there will be old people who are tired of life ; there will be disobedient children and hard, unrelenting fathers. Preach to them, Mr. Smith, as IP 1' 134 A Supply. though God had given you one message and you would deliver it. Forget about the 'olo- gies and 'isms ; forget that you ever read Kant and Strauss. Only remember that this great world has one great need — a Saviour. " There is a poor little hunchback, Tim Giles, who is sure to be there. He cannot see why God should make him crooked and others straight. He suffers much agony of spirit and is very wicked at times. Give him a word '^f hope and comfort." *• Shall I not preach this sermon?" he asked. .^ ^* I cannot decide, Mr. Smith ; only, give thought that will lift your hearers above the cares of the world, that will help the weak to be strong and the sad to be joyful." ** I asked your opinion," he said, *' and you have given it. I had a thought that you might be plearsed with my style, and perhaps A Supply. 135 me me a little flattery. If you will excuse me, I will go to my room for the mght." ''Good-night," I responded, ''and don't forget that I need reproof and help." The next morning there was a large audi^ ence to hear the young B.A. He preached thirty minutes, from the text, " Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Only thirty jninutes, yet I received my reproof and help. Tim Giles listened intently. After the service I went to speak to him and saw Mr. Smith coming on the same errand. He shook his hand and spoke kindly to him. " Tim," I said, '' I would like you to come home with us to dinner; you have never visited me yet. Come " " Me ! " he cried, '' to visit you ? " " Yes," I laughed ; " come, dearie ; Mr. 136 A Supply. c. Smith wants you, and Arthur. I want you, too — come ! " While I was getting dinner I could hear Tim laughing at something Mr. Smith told them ; then I heard them singing together. In the afternoon Mr. Smith and Tim went for a walk. I knew they were going to a little grove where Tim often spent his dark hours. When the evening service Was over, I carried a cup of coffee to the veranda. '* Are you tired ? " I asked my guest. *' No, not tired, and so thankful that I shall not leave the ministry. I have tad a convert to-day." " Is it Tim Giles ? " *' Yes ; we had a long talk in the grove. We prayed, and God heard us." '^ You did the work I could not do," I said. **I have often talked to him, but he always :ni| A Supply. 137 answered: 'God made your little boys straight ; you don't know anything about it.' " ''Poor little fellow!" he said, "he is my .... / first spiritual child. I have found that he is Yery fond of music, and I intend to educate him, to make him a musician. Can you help me, Mrs. Wiseacre ? " li! . t 138 A Supply. "We have a good teacher," I answered. '' His father is very poor, but he may practise on my piano." '* Will you allow him ? " he asked, his eyes shining. *' We'll be co-workers, then." He rose, went out on the lawn and lifted his face to the sky. " This has been the best day of my life. I have brought a soul to Christ. Father, I thank Thee." He stood with his head uncovered for a moment, then went to his room, leaving his coffee untouched. When he went away the next morning we were all on the veranda to see him off. Tim was there; with a bouquet of golden-rod and ferns. When he was told of our plan for his education, he looked earnestly at his bene- factor. " Ministers ain't rich ; you can't do it." -¥ A Supply. 139 '' Yes, I'll manage it. When I have a home of my own, you shall live with me, if your father will let you. When you become a pro- fessor, you may pay me. Is that a bargain ? " Tim assented joyfully. His last words were : "• Remember, you're my boy." And Tim answered: ''I couldn't forget, sir." He went away, the young divinity student, leaving a bright track of light behind him ; many hearts blessed and made strong by his sermons, and one dark, rebellious soi lifted into the light N.B.— In a few years Tim will repay his friend. We have discovered that poor, ne- glected, deformed Tim Giles is a genius ! ;rS !i \ \ riNTER has passed. Another spring is ^ ' here. I am so glad to put my chair in its old place on the veranda. Nature has finished her house-cleaning. The snows of winter have melted and washed away all her impurities. She has put a fresh carpet of green on the earth ; she has planted her flowers and fruits ; her choir of birds are chanting and carolling in the trees ; the scent of lilacs and apple-blossoms is in the air. Why am I not happy ? Why ? There is a little grave in the cemetery ; on the head- stone is carved '* Fkeddie." He died when the snow was deep on the Only a Child. 141 % all are ;ent IS a jad- the earth. What is there to say of him, only that we loved him — that he was onrs. He was often naughty, often wilful. He inherited the faults of his parents; but he was so sturdy, so loving — such a darling ! Now he is dead — buried — lost to us in this world ! Shall I see my child again ? Shall I clasp him in my arms ? Shall I look into his eyes and know that he is my child ? My heart is sore. Solomon has been very patient, and the women have surrounded me with their love. Mrs. Whinely often comes to see me, and her soft, quiet ways are so restful. Dear Mrs. Moody takes me for drives in her old chaise. When I am with her I feel as though my mother had come back from Paradise to com- fort me. The doctor tells me I am too quiet. He says I sit and think too much ; I must be 142 Only a Child. roused. He does not understand. I only want to feel that it is better for Freddie to be in heaven with God than on the earth with me. I think my trouble is, I will persist in look- ing on this world as Iwme. I cannot really believe that this is such a temporary, transi- tory life. I know, in time, I shall be glad that I have a child safely housed in the heavenly home — but not yet. I still feel the blank ; I see his enjpty chair, his clothes and toys. These remind me of the sturdy little fellow who was so near, so dear. Mrs. Taffety came in one afternoon. She told me that she wondered at my '' fretting so long for a little child " — me, '^ a minister's wife, and so well up in years." '' Have you ever lost a child ? " I asked. **No," she answered, *^ I always take a disease in time," Only a Child. 143 '' The doctor said that nothing could have saved Freddie." '' Nonsense ! " she cried, - it is not the first time he has said the same. No, I have never .""■^ lost a child. There is no need of children dying if the disease is taken in time." She went away, leaving a sting behind. How I shrink from her! How I dread to I \ ...«, 144 Only a Child. meet her, 1p"^ another dart be driven into heart and brk .1 ! The heavens and earth are beautiful, but the loveliest thing in heaven is my spirit-boy; the dearest spot on earth is the little grave in the cemetery. N.B. — W ^ I was writing, Solomon came quietly out and sa ''own by me. *' What are you doing? " he asked. I handed him my paper. He read it and laid it on my lap again. He looked very grave ; his eyes blinked and his lips quivered. •' Katie, have you no love left for the other children?" *' What can you mean ? " I asked. " You act so," he said. " I loved the boy, Only a Child. ,^. but I try not t„ be selfish in «,y grfet: Have you noticed that Nellie is not well 'P She eats scarcely anything. If she should die you iJiight have something to regret." He went aw.ay, and the cloud lifted. I saw how foolish was my grief, how precious my hving children were ! Wherefore should I weep ? The child is not dead, but in heaven. I will hold sacred iny trust to those left. In the evening, Arthur, Nellie and I went for a walk. We visited several stores I stood treat while the children devoured ice- cream and cake. We ramo k„. i j **® ^*»ne home laden with bags of oranges and sweetmeats. The next day I sent out invitations for a children's party. I shall not spare ar.y trouble It shall be a merry time for them all If i find it hard to keep back the te^rs for th« 146 Only a Child. little boy gone, I know the good angel who lifted the cloud will help me to see him — not lying in the grave, but happy, far happier than we are. Yes, I k low that now he is playing by the fountains and laughing in the sunshine of heaven. !i» niM66 primpcrt?. A yr ISS PKIMPERTY was a maiden lady ^^ -^ who lived in the town. The people said of her: "She a is learned woman ; she has studied Latin and mathematics; she is, of course, much superior to the ordinary woman who learns house- keeping and fancy work ; if Miss Primperty had been young in the latter part of the nineteenth century, she would certainly have been an M.A. or LL.D. ; what man could accomphsh Miss Primperty could ; she tolerated married women—only tolerated them; children were a general nuisance, while babies were her special abhorrence; if '■\ 1 Wt S'l >?J"*^ "'l.Ji.-'a^'^^ ~ ,«' £6^ vf-jufs « ■V«i"^'^^JtV«*^l|t3»«.5i»v ,'-»Vp ^a 1 84 Parting. The people say she is getting young again. His children have all joined the Church. The hoys were influenced very much by Tom Fuller. I am so glad that it was not neces- sary for Jacob Whinely to die in order that his family should be happy. It was hard to say good-bye to Mrs. Moody. Shall I ever forget her ? Never. Her sweet old face will come often to cheer me when I am among strangers. Her words of counsel can never die. Her last words to me were, '' My dear, try to please God, and you'll be sure to please the people." Ah, she knew my besetting sin! Always thinking of men and women more than of Him. I shall try to remember. Marion Fuller came and sat with me an hour this afternoon. Her mother died two months ago. Her wish was granted. Marion is very lonely. Her father goes to his office Parting, 185 every morning. He attends to his business with his usual faithfuhiess, but he is so strangely quiet that Marion is troubled. She has persuaded him to go with her to the sea- side for the summer months. '' I shall devote myself to my father while he lives," she said; ''then, if I am young enough, I shall offer myself for mission work." '' No, dear," I said, "you will marry. Only let him be worthy. Do not give yourself to a second or a third-rate man, be he a mil- lionaire." She smiled. " Thank you for your opinion of me, but I have no such thought. My mother's life and death have been too much for me. I would like to decrease the sin and misery of the world. I have long wished to be a missionary. Now that mamma is gone, of course, my duty is with my father." So we parted on the old veranda. God IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // €<■/ ^^< ^"^ M ^ % 1.0 I.I 11.25 |45 |28 1^ 25 22 1.8 14. IIIII16 ^. v] <^ n. o ei <^1 v: ^V^^'^ />^ // y >^ # ,v a? r \ ^\ r^^ ^/o % 1 86 Parting. bless thee, brave Marion Fuller ! Whether thou livest quietly at home, making bright thy father's last days ; or, taking Christ's message, goest forth to teach benighted ones the way of Life — thou shalt be blest ! The moon is shining in calm majesty. Her children, the stars, are laughing and twinkling around her. Earth's children are sleeping, carousing and suffering. I am still writing in the moonlight. I am so glad we have lived here — so happy that we have known all these good, iieroic, sweet characters. We need not read novels to find heroes. They are living all around us. We are talking to them every day. They pass us on the street, they sit by ns in church and hall. There is no historian to write of them. Only a book of remembrance in heaven, where all their good deeds are recorded. Parting. 187 Good-bye, old veranda ! May you afford a resting-place for many tired feet ! Good-bye, good and true hearts, who have given to us a friendly hand and looked on us with loving eyes. We go to a new place, to new faces and new hearts. Will they be as kind as you have been ? Will they be blind to our faults, and see only our excellences ? Will we do much good there ? Will Solomon have souls for his hire ? Will death meet us there as it has here ? Will our sky be bright ? I cannot tell. I only know that God will be there, heaven will be above us and whitened fields around. Is not that enough ? Yea, verily. Good-bye, honest hearts and true ! God with us, God with you, we shall not live apart. FINIS. i K; n SECOND EDITION. MISS DEXIE: A /ROMANCE OF THE PROVINCES. By STANFORD EVELETH {MRS. W. J. DICKSON). Paper, 50 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. " ' Miss Dcxie ' is a really excellent example of that form of domestic narrative with which Miss Yoiige and Miss Alcott have deliKhted two generations. The writer shows herself very skilful in handling and keeping distinct the numerous characters she introduces. . . . The book is written in an easy, pleasant style, is thorouj^hly healthy in tone, and should attract a large number of readers. Parents could lotdo better than put it in the hands of their children ; and we fancy, as we remem- ber was our case with the children in 'The Pillars of the House" and in *' Little Women," that the characters in " Miss Dexie " will, for a time, become members of the home circle."— T/ie fVeek. OTHER NEW STORIES. Only Ten Cents. By " Pansy." |o 70 What She Couldn't. By " Pansy.". . -. 70 Elizabeth Glen, M.B. By Annie S. Swan 1 00 Oowikapun : or, How the Gospel Reached the Nelson River Indians. By Rev. E. R, Young 1 00 Lion, the Mastiff. Companion to "Black Beauty.".. . ,net 50 At Last. By Mrs, Maria Elise Lauder 1 25 WILLIAM BRIOOH, Piibli^sher, 29-33 Richmond St. West, Toronto- Montreal : C. W. COATES. Halifax : S. F. HUESTIS. f!!|:{ff^';E4as:ai;U.i!;.^;i3-'g^ fflt;j!»t^-:r4CT^ SOMK OK OUR REGENT PUBLICATIONS. A Veteran of 1813. 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CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITION OF THE STORIES OF ANNIE §. SWAN. A BITTER DEBT. A Tale of the Black Country. THE GATES OF EDEN. A Story of Endeavor. ST. VEDA'S ; or, THE PEARL OF ORR'S HAVEN. • 1.25 1.00 l.OO SHEILA. 1.00 BRIAR AND PALM. A Stndy of Circumstances and Influences. - 1 .00 MAITLAND OF LAURIESTON l.OO AYRES OF STUDLEIOH. 1.00 WHO SHALL SERVE 7 1.00 THE GUINEA STAMP. A Tale of Modern Glasgow. .... 1.00 A LOST IDEAL. 1.00 ELIZABETH GLEN, M.B. 1.00 "5 iJents. CARLOWRIE; or, AMONG LOTHIAN FOLK. A VEXED INHERITANCE. 60 CentH. ALDERSYDE. A Border Story of Seventy Years Ago. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE, AND THE GENTLE ART OF HOME- MAKING. A FOOLISH MARRIAGE. A Story of Edinburgh Student-Life. 50 Cents. DORIS CHEYNE. A Story of a Noble Life. HAZELL & SONS, BREWERS. WRONGS RIGHTED. TWICE TRIED. 50 Cents. SHADOWED LIVES. SECRET PANEL. MISTAKEN, & MARION FORSYTH. THOMAS DRYBURGH'S DREAM, & MISS BAXTER'S BEQUEST. SUNDERED HEARTS. ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON. ACROSS HER PATH. DOROTHEA KIRKE ; or, FREE TO SERVE. A DIVIDED HOUSE : A STUDY FROM LIFE. URSULA VIVIAN, THE SISTER- MOTHER. A BACHELOR IN SEARCH OF A WIFE, AND ROGER MAR. CHAM'S WARD. AIRUE'S MISSION, 35 Cents. WIliLIAM BRICSGS, Publisher, 29-33 Richmond St. West, Toronto. MoNTRijAL : C, W. COATEJS, Halifax : S, F. HUESTIS, CHEAP CANADIAN EDITION OF THE STORIES OF EMMA JANE WORBOISE Thornycroft Hall MiLLICENT KeNDRICK St. Beetha's Violet Vaughan Margaret Torrington The Fortunes of Cyril Den- ham Singlehurst Manor Overdale Grey and Gold Mb. Montmorency's Money Nobly Born Chrystabel Canonbury Holt Husbands and Wives The House of Bondage Emilia's Inheritance Father Fabiav Oliver Westwood Lady Clarissa Grey House at Endlestone IN UNIFORM BINDING, SI.OO EACH. These splencliil stories have hitherto, owing to the high prices of the English edition, had but a limited sale in Canada. Fortunate in being able to place on the Canadian market this cheap edition of Mrs. Worboise's books in our own strong, durable binding, we look for a wide constituency of admiring readers. Robert Wrkfobd's Daughter The Brudenells op Brudk The Heirs of Ebrinoton Joan Carisbroke A Woman's Patifivcb The Story of Penelope SiSSIE The Abbey Mill Warleigh's Trcst Esther Wynne Fortune's Favourite His Next of Kin Married Life ; or. The Story OF Phillip and Edith. Our New House; or, Keeping UP Appearances. Heartssase in the Family Maudk Bolingbroke. Amy Wilton Helen Bury WILLIAM BRIOOS, Publisher, 29-33 Richmond St. West, Toronto. Montreal : C. W. COATES. Halifax : S. F. HUESTiS. mmiim 1 m 'ii A " «^2i; Barrie " — a: " second Stevenson!* S. R. CROCKETT We are fortunate in securing the introduction to the Canadian public of this brilliant writer, whose two books have carried by storm the citadel of public favor in England, and secured hira a place in the front rank of living authors. CANADIAN COPYRIGHT EDITIONS. THE STICKIT MINISTER PAPER. And Some Common Men. - 50c. CLOTH, - $1.25. Contents.— The SMckit Minister— Accepted of the Beasts— Trials for License by the Presbytery of Pitscottie- " The Heather Lintie '—The Split in the Mai row Kirk — The Probationer— The Lammas Preaching— The Tragedy of Duncan Duncanson, Schoolmaster— Why David Oliphant Remained a Pre^' '♦erian— The Three Maister Peter Slees. Miiisters in the Parish of Couthy- Court- ship of Allan Fairley, of Earlswood— John Smith of Arkland Pre. j,re8 liis Sermon— A Day in the Life of the Rev. James Pitbye, Minister Nether Dullarg— The Glen Kell's Short Leet. THE RAIDERS: Bbino Some Passages in the Life op JOHN FAA, Lord and Eart. OF Little Egypt. PAPER - 60c. CLOTH, - $1.25. Chapter Headings.— Moonlight pnd May Mischief— John Heron of Rathan. Duwn on Rathan Sands— The Cave of Adullam— Auld Wives Clavers- The Still Hunter— The Red Cock Crows ar, Craigdarroch— Night on the Moor— In Ramsay Bay— Smuggler and King's Man —The Great Cave of Isle Rathan -Morning in the Cave— The Defence of the Cave— The Hill Gypsies-The Dry Cave— The Camp of Silver Sand— Council of War— To Introduce MistressCrummie- On the Track of the Raiders— The Great Fight at the Bridge Head— Sammle Tamson Fetches a Rake of Water— I get the Right SUle of Eppie Tamson. The Forwan- dored Bairn— A Meeting with Billy Marshall— The Dungeon of Buchan— The Wolf's Slock— By the Blessing of Providence I Lie Bravely— The Black Sea Chest- The Murder Hole— A Wooing not Long A-doing— May Mischief Proves her Mettle— I Salute the Lady Grizel— Jen Geddes' Sampler Bag— Sweet Cake and ^Conserves- Silver Sand's W-liite Maglc--The Barnng of the Door— The Silver Whistle Blows— The Second Crowing of the Red Cock- The Earl's Great Chair— The Breaking of the Barrier -A Race for Life upon the Ice— The Fast- ness of Utmost Enoch— The Auchty on the Star Hill The Sixteen Drifty Days —Alien and Outlaw— The Brownie— The Last of tlie Outlaws— The Earl's Great Chair Once More. WILLIAM BRIGGS, Wesley Buildings, Toronto. VA *l!:,-.iKi**Bt»fci.«--''i^'« iZyiA.-uM»aMkSm-* r *« public of ;itadel of of living 1 ' !!-'»-| or License le Mai row if Duncan ■ '♦«rian— Court- e, j,re8 his Nether D EART< 1 of Rathan. •s— The Still -In Kamsay Morning in Cave— The raie- On the mle Tamson Dhe Forwan- tuchan— The Black Sea shief Proves -Sweet Cake 3 Door— The Earl's Great ;e— The Fast- Drif ty Days 1 Karl's Great foronto. v\