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V.f i^iASt^!id^i,.^j:.f^:^.,i~ •mmmmmsmsm ]-' r «,i..iXiiA ji£* ii_™ ;..v,.W: T mgrnammmsmm ^frn'^mmmmmm ■mmmmmmmmtm / Entcrtd, acoordliiK to Act of Congnu, In tht yatr I8N, bj lh« AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, In th« Oflle* of the Ubruian of Ccn|rew, m WMhlDRton. /j^-dz, llUJi..LLUpupHBM0 1/ I< ' * f i\ \ ., i *,■»■ » 4 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XL '**' . OOKTLIOT AHD YlOTOBT, 130 CHAPTEB XIL Nbd Hatkabs, 127 CHAPTER XIII. Famnib Wbldoh, . . , 188 CHAPTER XIV. Aftbb Many Days, 140 CHAPTER XV. Ethel's Visit, 149 CHAPTER XVI. Nkw Scknks and New Feienss, .161 CHAPTER XVII. The Intalid, 172 CHAPTEB XVIIL A Lesson o» Hope, 177 CHAPTER XIX. Changes, igg CHAPTER XX Laoba Wtndbau , . . 190 CHAPTJs,a XXI. Old Fbibkdships Renewed,' igs r f>AM lao 12T ■ • • • • loo 140 140 . 161 172 177 • . • . 188 190 r THREE GIRLS AND THEIR MOTTO. CHAPTER I. STHEL's PEBPLEXinES. (( T DECLARE, this is the worst room in the J- house to keep tidy !" The speaker was Ethel Gladwyo; the room was the children's room, and Ethel was the children's eldest sister. She was very busy just then, sweeping, stopping often to pick up some cbUdish treasure that had slipped from little fingers and rolled away to an unobserved nook, there to remain snugly hidden till sweeping day Ethel was alone; so her remark was addressed to no one, unless it might have been the big wax doll, MoUie, and she, not in the slightest d^rea disturbed by ii, sat quite straight on the bureau, gazing with wide-open eyes and an amiable smile on Ethel's labors. The state of the room did not seem to trouble the fair sweeper very much, however, for her face was very bright and pleasant, and she caroled a gay little song while she worked. Perhaps, with her sensitive -«% V I ■ i r 6 THBEE QIRU9. nature, that responded quickly to every ohan^ in her surroundings, it wonld have been impossible for Ethel not to be happy on this sunny, spring morning, when all nature was waking to new life. Yet there were times when we might have seen her in a more serious moodj for Ethel was a thoughtful girl, and now that she had left school, and life, with its respon- sibilities, began to open before her, she often found herself face to face with problems more difficult to solve than those of algebra or geometry. Ethel was a Christian and, above all things, desired to live a true Christian life. Yet it was so difficult at times to decide what was right and what was wrong, since even good people held such diverse views! Then too, it was a puzzle to Ethel, how she could be wholly given up to the service of Christ when so much of her time and thought must necessarily be taken up with the aflFairs of this life. In sho.t, it was by no means clear to her how one could live in the world, and yet not be of it. Now, however, she was too busy to do much think- ing. She had just finished her sweeping, when there came a light tap at the door, and some one said: "Ethel, are you there?" " Yes, Grace, come in;" and the next moment a girl about Ethel's age, looking very pretty in a new spring suit, entered the room. It was Grace May- nard, Ethel's dearest friend. " There I I have come to bother you when you are ' ^t't: % )%Ui-' difficult at t was wrong, *rerse views! w she could Christ when t necessarily }. In shc.t, le could live much think- , when there e one said: t moment a :ty in a new Grrace May- hen you are f Ethel's pebplexities. 7 busy, haven't I?" she exdaioKd. "Ann told me you were upstairs, so I came right up." "That is right; you are not interrupting me a bit. I have finished sweepuig. Come to tho sewing room, Grace.'' "I am not going to keep you a minute, Ethel. Could you lend me that ^Etshion plate — the one with the child's pretty dress in it, you know? Mother is having a dress made for Aggie, and I want her to see that pattern." "Yes, certainly; sit down, Grace." "No, thank you; I must go in a minute." "Is that your new suit?" Ethel asked. "Yes; how do you like it?" "It is just lovely; who made it?" " Miss Harbury." And so they chatted on till the minute had ex- tended to nearly half an hour. At last, Grace said: " I really must go. Mother will wonder what has become of me. I went down town to match some braid. I expect she will think I am never coming back with it." So saying, she started to go; then, turning back again, ehe said: "Before you choose your new suit, Ethel, you ought to go into Howard & Denning's shop — they have the loveliest dress goods! Just go in." "Yss; I must," replied Ethel. "What a bother it is, this business of choosing dresses." "Do you think ao? I like it." k/ ! t % THREx aims. "Perhapg you woaldn't, if you had so many to plan for as we have." "Yes, Ethel, I think I should. Mother would not, thouj^h; she gets a sick headache whenever we spend a morning shopping. But I should never get tired of it if I had plenty of money; the lack of that precious article is my only trouble." "I think I should not enjoy shopping if I had all the money I could desire," replied Ethel. « It is not that, Grace, but it seams to me sometimes, as though it was hardly worth while." "W til whUe what?" said Gi-aoe, a little impa- tiently. "Spending so much time and thought on things that perish with the using." "I am sure we would be perfect guys if we did not spend time and thought on them. I hope, Ethel, you will not get any strange notions into your head, and insist on wearing antediluvian garments to prove your detachment from worldly things; for, if you do, I give you fair warning, I shall not own you as a friend," and Grace laughed merrily as she ran down- stairs. Ethel laughed too, because she could not help it; but when she turned back to the sewing room, after bidding her friend good-bye, the serious look stole again into her face. She never spoke of her inmost thoughts to another without r^retting it. It was so hard to make even dearest friends understand just f iVfl^^^aai^ 1>4tf^»*MjdfeiA«;^^!i^l^It^J<(i>-..- Ethel's perplexities. 9 what her thoughts and feelings were I It was the instinctive longing for human sympathy and help in her girlish dilBculties that had led her, somewhat impetuously perhaps, to speak out the thoughts of her heart that morning; and she felt half disap- pointed that they had been treated so lightly. But then she reflected it was no time to discuits serious questions when Grace was in one of her merry moods. She should have chosen some better time. Having thus dismissed the matter, she went about her household duties again. Those finished, she seat(>d herself in a low chair by her bedroom win- dow, with some sewing. This was her favorite seat, for she could look out on a tall elm tree, where every spring the birds built their nests, flow Ethel loved to watch them ! Sometimes one of them would hop along a branch quite near to the window, and then, with head on one side, would watch her curiously. It seemed to be satisfied, after this dose inspection, that Ethel was one to be trusted; and, perhaps in bird language, told the others so; at any rate, they grew more and more tame every day, and would perch oil the window-sill to pick up the crumbs that Ethel scattered there, while occasionally one more venturesome than the rest would snatch a morsel from her hand. As Ethel sat there sewing, her thoughts reverted to the conversation of the morning. As she had said to Grace, there were many to think of beoides herself. 10 THREE OIRL8. Sincy leaving school, she had tried to share with her mother the care of planning for the summer and winter outfit of the five younger brother and sistem who made up the household; and no small care it was, as those who know can testify. Ethel, however entered on her new duties with much energy. She had a knack of putting things together tastefully, and making over dresses to look as well as new— a gift especially acceptable in a family whose means are limited, as was the case with the Gladwyns. Ethel was quite ambitious. She wanted to tuck and embroider all the dresses as elaborately as the ' style then prevailing demanded ; but, sometimes, the question had come to her mind whether these things were worth the time and thought they cost. Now the busy season had come around again, and with it a renewal of all this worry and care. Cer- tainly the perplexity was greater because ways and means had to be carefully considered in this house- hold. But Ethel was far-sighted enough to perceive that added wealth would not necessarily assure dimin- ished care. The question could not be solved by money alone; yet there must be, she thought, some way of solving it. Just then a quick whir, a rustle of leaves, and a rather more than usual twittering and chirping, caused her to look up. Robin Redbreast had brought, in triumph, a long tangle of string to weave into its half- built nest. feqiMgaj^^fltfiiaiWrkitrlfa*:^ BTHKL'S PEBPLEZITIS8. 11 share with her summer and era and sisters small care it Ithel, however, energy. She ler tastefully, ell as new — a tose means are yns. anted to tuck orately as the ometimes, the T these things ost. ad again, and d care. Cer- use ways and in this house- fh to perceive assure dimin- ne solved by hought, some leaves, and a rping, caused I brought, in into its half- Ethel's work dropped on her lap, and she gazed dreamily out, watching the busy little birds, flitting to and fro rmong the sunlit branches; watching the constant interchange of light and shadow, as the sun- beams glided down among the dancing leaves to play on the gnarled trunk and boughs of the old elm tree. How full of life the world of nature was, this bright noontide! Busy life — not anxiaua life. Ah, that made all the difference; that was the reason why the outer world was so full of joy, whilst the inner one was so full of care. Did the Father above intend that his children should be fretted and careworn, while all the universe around was rejoicing? Surely not Had not the Lord of all drawn lessuns from bird and 3ower for anxious mortals ? Had he not said : " Take no thought [anxious thought] for the morrow " ? But how can we help being anxious, how can we help taking thought for or.r raiment, what we shall put on ? And, with the question still unanswered, Ethel turned to her work again. As she drew a thread from her work-basket, a little crumpled piece of paper fell to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. It was one of Georgie's reward cards, torn by busy little fingers. " I declare," said Ethel, half aloud, "that is some of baby's work." She straightened it out, and these were the words that met her eyes : " Seek ye first the kingdom — " the rest had been torn off. She read it over again slowly, as though it contained some new idea, > TH&E£ OIBLS. and almost involuntarily said aloud, "What kinir- i!.thel had known the text ainoe childhood. "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteouanew." How often she had read it I How litUe meaning she had attached to it I But now this little fragmenrof a text suddenly became luminous, arU flashed a ray of brightness on her difficulties. In the light of this command those other precepts bec«iue clear. Ethel had found help for that day, and many days to come. The gkd look came back to her face, and she began to smg, while her busy fingers worked faster than before. It was not long before voices in the hall below announced the arrival of the children from school. I'resently Millie came up to her sister's room. She was just twelve, but already almost as tall as Ethel J^Imgmg down her school-books, she sank into a rockinguchair, and began to fan herself vigorously. Oh, Ethel, you wouldn't believe how hot it is. I am nearly roasted. It's lovely and cool here. I wish I could stay home, instead of going to school " " Stay home and sew I " suggested Ethel, mischiev- ously. She knew MUlie disliked sewing. "Yes, I would sew. 1 would rather do that than study-some things ; and then at home you could leave off when you wanted to.** " I wonder how much wotk would be done, if we always left off whenever we wanted to," said Ethel. ■ ■fe3fe4^--f>h.'3!'-j.' ^t*?.'.,. "What king- d, of amrae. hood. « Seek ighteousnesB." s meaning she fragment of a shed a ray of light of this clear. Ethel iayg to come, nd she began 1 faster than e hall below from school. I room. She tall as Ethel 3ank into a igorously. hot it is. I sre. I wish iool." )1) mischiev- io that than > you coald done, if we tid Ethel. Ethel's pebplexitieb. 13 Millie made no answer to this ; then she sud, ab- ruptly : " Didn't yoo hate algebra when you went to school?" " I don't remember hating it." " Oh, you never hate anything ; but T do dittlike migebra, and I never shall ike it. I got on pretty well at first, and then I missed fractions when I was sick in the winter ; and there is so much to work up, and I cannot understand the reason for half the things I do. Mr. Parkhurst tried to explain things to me this morning, but I could not see them any clearer. The other girls are working problems, and I am just discouraged. I hate to be behind all the time." " Well, then, go on and work problems with them, and we will look over fractions together at home. You will understand the theory better as you practice >i more. "Perhaps I will," said Millie, brightening up. " And now, to change the subject, Ethel, don't you think I could wear my gingham dress this afternoon ? I am so warm in this." " I should think not. Why, you have quite out- grown it, Millie." " Well, then, I wish mother would get a new one, right away." " Miss Fanjoy is coming this week to sew ; bat you needn't fret, there will be more cool weather. This warm day is simply a warning to prepare for summer. But there is the dinner bell. Come, Millie, we must 1 s i ■ w 14 TUBKE QIULS. I. not keep them waiting." And Ethel folded up her work, slipped thimble and scissors into place, and put away her work-basket ; whilst Millie vainly searched for her drawing book, which she afterward recol- lected she had left downstairs. " A place for o very- thing, and everything la its place," was a motto as constantly present to Ethel's mind as it was oonspicu- ously alwent from Millie's. The two girU went down together to the cool, shady dining room, where the rest of the family, with the exception of Mr. Gladwyn, who did not come home until evening, were gathered for dinner. The central figure, of course, was mother, always so serene, so cheerful, so ready to enter into the joys and son-ows of her children. Home would not be home without her. She had reached life's prime, and had borne her share of its cares and burdens; yet her brow was not careworn, and her heart was still youthful. Per- haps some will imagine this was because she had a natural oipacity for throwing off care, or a faculty for taking life easily ; such, however, was not the case. The secret was this : Mrs. Gladwyn had early learne iugs are very inconvenient at this busy season," she said. "Have you anything special to do to-day?" in- quired her mother. " I wanted to finish Bessie's waist this afternoon, and then I thought that perhaps we could do some shopping together ; and I really ought to go in and see Aunt Margaret." " It is not aWlutely necessary to finish the waist to-day. As to the shoppiug, we can go to-morrow morning, which will be a better time ; and I have no doubt you will have time to go and seo Aunt Mar- garet after the meeting. A couple of hours a month is not a great amount of time to give up to a good cause, even at this busy season." tw^ip \i THREE OIBLf>. How very little the time seemed when it was put in that way ! Ethel felt quite ashamed, and jast then the text of the morning came stealing into her mind : " Seek ye first the kingdom of God." Yet she had felt unwilling, for a little time, to turn aside from the cares of earth to unite with others in asking that that kingdom might come, and with them learn of its progress in the world. Ought she not, rather, to be glad of such an opportunity? This thought put a new aspect on missionary meetings. Both Ethel and her friend, Grace Maynard, had decided some months before to regularly attend the meetings of the Woman's Missionary Aid Society in connection with their church, and hitherto hnd kept their resolution pretty faithfully. But I cannot say that either of them felt as much interest in missionary work as she ought, perhaps not so much as she would have liked to fbel. Ethel was soon ready to accompany her mother. On their way they called for Grace, only to find her out." " Perhaps she has foi^otten it, as I did," said Ethel. " Or, possibly, she intends to go, but cannot be there until later." There were not many at the meeting; as Ethel had said, it was a busy time. Some, doubtless, were un^ avoidably detained. Some, perhaps, might have gone if they had only thought so. Yet to Ethel it was a very pleasant ahd interesting meeting. It .seemed quite different from former meetings. Was hen it was put in d, and just then ; into her mind : I." Yet she had rn aside from the asking that that >em learn of its not, rather, to be s thought put a Both Ethel and led some months s of the Woman's tion with their resolution pretty ther of them felt 'k as she ought, ave liked to feel, any her mother, only to find her said as I did," to go, but cannot ig; as Ethel had tbtless, were un~ )S, might have Yet to Ethel it ig meeting. It meetings. Was it not because she realized, as never before, that they had oome together to pray and work for CSiribf s kingdom. If dear to Christ, it surely must be dear to his child — his loyal follower. Yes, Ethel rejoiced to feel it was dear to her ; and she took a new interest in the letters of the missionaries r^arding their work, their trials and joys, their encouragements and dis- couragements. Though Ethel kept hoping that Grace would be there, the hour passed, and she did not come. After the meeting, EtheJ w«nt to call on Aunt Mai^iret, an invalid aunt of Mr. Gladwyn. She was a dear old lady, and was very fond of her nephew and his wife and family. She was particularly at- tached to Ethel. Perhaps it was natural that she should take a livelier interest in the eldest child than in any of the others. She had watched her grow up from childhood into young womanhood, and now no one, she thought, oould do anything better than could Ethel. To Ethel, Aunt Margaret's house was almost the same as homo ; her earliest recollections wore inter* woven with it. How well she remembered the happy days she used to spend there ! How she would sit in the little rocking-chair that belonged to Aunt Mar- garet When she was a little girl, and hold the big doll, almost as large as herself, that had also descended from that remote period. Then dolly would be put to sleep on the so&, while Ethel went to the kitchen f. -»'^»_ hirlit'lii't-'iiliiir SO THREE GIRTJS. to watch her aunt make pies, always sure that she would have a little one all for herself. Then she would put on her pink sun-bonnet, and away she would run to the garden, chasing Frisk, the little dog, round and round the narrow paths, till at last, tired out, she was glad to rest in the shade, and eat a piece of Aunt Margaret's currant cake, better cake, she was sure, never having been made. Ah, those happy careless days of childhood ; how full of sunshine they were I Ethel often looked back to them now, yet not regretful-y. She was glad to be of some use in the world ; she would not be always only careless and happy. Aunt Margaret was not able to go about her house now as once she did, and there was always something Ethel could do ; reading the newspaiier, or arranging flowers, or trimming a cap, or directing Ruth, the faithful domestic, in the preparation of some new and dainty dish, Ethel was always ready, and equally at home in all. To-day Aunt Margaret must have out her last summer's dress, and ask Ethel's advice as to making some alterations in it. Ethel's decision proved satisfactory, and she promised to come some day soon and show Ruth how to make the needed alterations ; for Ruth not having much housework, did most of Aunt Margaret's sewing. Then Ethel told her aunt about the meeting that afternoon, sure of an interested listener J for Aunt Margaret was heartily in i^mpathy with all the good that was doing sveirywheie, and r -. .r T .T^"!lJ ! l l U M I | I sure that she elf. Tbeu she and away she risk, the little iths, till at last, hade, and eat a ke, better cake, bildhood ; how en looked back was glad to be not be always bout her house fayB something I*, or arranging ing Ruth, the some new and and equally at must have out 's advice as to lecisiou proved some day soon sd alterations ; ; did most of told her aunt fan interested Y in sympathy Jirywhere, and SEED SOWING. 81 rejoiced to see the young people taking hold of the work from which she had been laid aside. Ethel went home with something of the pleasure that comes from the consciousness of having " looked on the things of others " for a while. She found time to finish the waist before tea ; so she accomplished the best part of what she planned after all. Tea was only just finished when Grace Maynard came in. She and Ethel read French together, aud this was their evening for study. "You were not at the meeting this afternoon, Grace," said Ethel, as they went up together to her room. " No, I was too busy to go this afternoon; we have a dressmaker at the house, and you know what that means. I have been trying to decide how to have my sateen dress trimmed. I intend to have lace on it, and I wect all over town looking for some to suit. I foimd a pretty piece at last, but it was too late tlieii to go to the meeting." " Would it not look as well without the lace," sug- gested Ethel, who did not care for so much decoration. "Oh, it might do ; but it would not look so dressy. You see the Leslies want me go with them to the seaside this summer. Of course I want to go, and mother would like to have me go; and they are such stylish girls I And Leonore says that Bay View, where they are going, is a \ cry fiwhionable watering- place; 00, of oourse, if I go, I want to look as well as 22 THREE OIRLB. the rest If father only consents, I shall go. Most likely he will, as he generally does everything I want him to do. Now for our French; you had better begin, Ethel." Ethel and Grace had been schoolmates. There was also a stronger bond between them, for they had united with the church at the same time. In dispo- sition, they were very unlike; so much so, indeed, that one almost wondered at the attachment between them. Grace was a gay, lively girl, who liked noth- ing better than to have a good time, and gave little thought to the graver questions of life and its respon- sibilities. But Ethel knew that within there was a real earnestness which would make her a power for gKMl, if it were developed. Grace often laughed at Ethel; called her a philosopher and theorist, and de- clared that her ideals were too high for ordinary mortals, and could not be worked out in a world like this. Yet she really respected them, and tried to realize them, more even than Ethel knew. The reading was finished. The sun had just dis- appeared beneath the horizon, leaving the west all aglow with golden light Swallows wheeled round and round in airy circles and robins poured forth their happy song. The busy day was ended. Nature was ready for rest Looking out on that quiet even- ing scene, Ethel recalled the thoughts of the morn- ing; perhaps they would not have been spoken had not Grace, at that moment, said: '^KtSMfc.t.-v-J ■I 1 BEED 80WIMO. as lall go. Most rything I want f'ou bad better mates. Tbere 1, for they bad Be. In dispo- cb 80, indeed, iment between 10 liked noth- and gave little ind its respou- n there was a r a power for in laughed at H>rist, and de- fer ordinary 1 a world like and tried to had just dis- the west all heeled round poured forth ded. Nature tt quiet even- >f the morn- spoken had "A penny for your thoughts, Ethel." Ethel hesi- tated. It is difficult, often, to express an idea that is dear to one's own mind, so that others can see it too; but after a moment's pause, she said: "I was thinking of a text that came to me with new force this morning,— ' Seek ye first the kingdom of God.' What do you think that moans, Grace?" "Why, I think— oh, you know it means, of course, that we should seek first lo become Christians." "Seek to enter the kingdom," suggested Ethel. "Yes, I suppose so," replied Grace. "Doesn't it mean something more than that? It has seemed to me so, as I have thought about it to- day. The idea came to me as it had never done before, that having entered the kingdom of God we should henceforth make it our chief aim to advance that kingdom." "Yes, certainly; all religious work has that end in view, and I am sure we try to do our share," said Grace, complaceL^iy. « I was not thinking just now of religious work, as you term it, Grace. It seems to me that the king- dom of God touches our lives at every point, that the commonest duties bear some rektion to it, and that by every act and word we are either advancing or hindering its coming." "Do you really think so?" There was almost a look of awe on Grace's faoo as she spoke. " Yes, Grace, I do ; and the thought has been a g^ 24 THKEG OIRI^. ,- t- help to me, for I can spend so little time in so-odM religious work, and so much time must be taken up with ordinary duties that I am glad to know that even in these I can in some way do something for that kingdom. I have been so perplexed lately, and now I feel I have found a guiding prinoiple. It seems to me it simplifies life so, to have this one gi-eat purpose running through it ; and it ennobles it too." "But, Ethel, how can these ordinary duties of every-day life have anything to do with Christ's kingdom?" "I cannot quite tell yet how everything has to do with it; that is something I have still to work out. But I think you will grant that those who j.rofess to belong to Christ's kingdom ought to be actuated by a diflferent spirit from those who do not. What that spirit is we are told in his word, for it says,— ' the kingdom of God is righteousness and peace and joy in tl e Holy Ghost.' Now, these are elemeo*-} that can entor into every act of our lives, and the more of them we have the more fruitful our lives will be, and the more helpful to others." "Yes, I see that; but lam sure there are some things that must occupy our time and thoughts that refer only to this world, and that have nothing to do with spiritual things. Dress, for example." " Why, that is just where my text applies," replied Ethel, her dark eyes brightening as she spoke. Our Lord had been speaKing of those ever-present ques- ae in so-calI<>d it be taken up to know .that iometbing for ed lately, and )rinoiple. It tbis one gi-eat obles it too." iry duties of witb Cbrist's ing has to do to work out. who })rofes8 ) be actuated not. What or it says, — nd peace and are elemec^i ivee, and the til our lives ire are some Noughts that othing to do ies," replied ipoke. Oar resent ques- tions that steal away no much of our time and thoughts. 'What shall we eat? What shall we drink? Wherewithal shall we be clothed?' And we are told that 'after these things do the nations of the world seek ' ; but we should rather * seek the kingdom of God.* If that is our aim we will, with regard to dress, for example, be simply concerned to have it convenient, suitable, and within our means ; and so, whether we can vie with our neighbors or not will be a matter of little concern to us. So, also, many other matters, deemed all-important by the world, will take tlie second place in our thoughts because of this other ruling thought : this higher aim and purpowj." " That ill all very well in theory, but I think one could hardly put it in practice." " Not in one's own strength, certainly ; but with divine help we need not fear to try. For my part, it is my desire and purpose to 'seek first the kingdom of God.' Indeed, how can I, as a Christian, do otherwise?" Ethel spoke thoughtfully and solemnly. It was as though she had anew consecrated herself to the Lord who had bought her. The Christian pathway was opening up before her, and she saw more plainly than ever before, that it would lead far from worldly conformity ; but she unhesitatingly committed herself to it The two girls sat silent, each wrapped in her own m fi 26 THREE QlRJjB. thoughta. In the one heart was peace—the peace that oomes to those who own Christ as all in all. In the other, conflict— conflict between her own will and the higher blessed will that would fain lead her in paths of peace. While they had been talking, the twilight had been deepening, and now eartii lay hushed and still in the gathering darkness, while in the heavens above, the new moon waxed momently brighter, and Htars began to twinkle faintly. At length, Grace rose. « I must go, Ethel," rihe said. " We have sat so long talking, it must be i'ate." "Do not go yet, Grace. I think Harrv has gone for the mail; when he comes in, he will go home with you." "1 cannot stay longer to-night, Ethel; and I do not want any one to go with me. It is only a few steps, you know." "Grace, let us both try to carry out that text in our daily lives. Will you?" Grace hesitated for a moment, then she said: "I do not see the text quite in the light in which you do. I think I do seek the advancement of Christ's kingdom. I will try to do it more faithfully." She spoke in a constrained tone. Ethel turned away disappointed. She was voung and enthusiastic. She wanted those whom she' loved to like the things she liked, to have the same hopes and aspirations, to view truth in the same way. It ice — the peace as all in all. I her own will uld fain lead twilight had ihed and still the heavens brighter, and length, Grace "We have arry has gone ^ill go home H, and I do 18 only a few that text in ihe said: "I in which yoa t of Christ's fiiUy." She 5 was young m she loved same hopes ne way. It pained her that they should think differently. She did not stop ib reflect that her heart had been pr^ pared to receive the truth, while to Grace it had come with a suddenness which made it unwelcome. To say the truth, Christian though she was, Grace had always thought that there vere some things that be- longed to religion, and tlierj were other things with which it had no concern at all ; and because she at- tended with some degree of faithfulness to her re- ligious duties, she failed to realize what inroads the world was making upon her life. And yet nhe would sing most heartily, " All for Jesus, all my days and all my hours"; but, even while she sang, she never thought that cdl meant all. To-night the Good Shepherd, who was leading her ever onwai-d, had given her u glimpse into a life more V holly devoted to him, and her first impulse led her to shrink back. She felt that she did not want to apply Scripture truths so closely to every-day life. She was dimly conscious that the Bible set before Cmistians a high standard of living. She was sure she could not attain to it, so she felt inclined to shut her eyes, and go on as thongh it was not there ; yet the truth would be there all the same, and she would be wronging her soul by turning away from it. Some such thoughts passed through Grace's mind as she walked slowly homeward. Conscience had been awakened by Etiiel's words, and now it told her she might have been at the missionary meeting that If •J 28 THREE GIRLS. afternoon instead of fuflsiug over ihe trimming of a areas. It told her, moreover, that every waking thought, just at present, was given to planning a sum- mer outfit 88 liwhionahle as that of the Leslies. In trutli, conscience sjioke far too loudly for Grace's com- fort, and, as she came in sight of home, she gladly dismissed the unwelcome thoughts. There was a light in the sitting room, and, as it was a warm evening, the windows were open. Aa Grace passed by on the piazza, she paused to look in. Her father was sitting at a table with some accounts spread out before him : her mother was sitting near, sewing. " I hardly expected this bill to be so large," Mr. Mayuard remarked, taking up f somewhat extended account " Nor I, either," returned Mre. M-ynard. " I am sure the portiere was the only expensive thing bought, but Grace does ull the shopping. 1 will ask her to look it over and see if it is all correct." " Perhaps she might economize a little." " I am sure, my dear, she is not extravagant. You know girls at her age must look nice, and she does look pretty, doesn't she?" " Yes ; but to my mind she would look just as pretty witho'-t so many ribbons and laces." " You are no judge; you are so very quiet in your tastes," returned his wife. " Besides it is the fashion, and she must be in the fashion." " mrr "m r i fj ii iiii iii m i 'iu rimming of ■ ivery wuking inning a sum- ! Leslies. In Grace's oora- e, she gladly >m, and, as it re open. Am ed to look in. ome accounts sitting near, > largo," Mr. hat extended ird. " I am hing bought, II ask her to agant. You ind she does ook Just as [uiet in your the fashion, SEED SOWIMG. W " I suppose so," said Mr. Maynard ; and Grace thought she heard him sigh, as he turned back to the pile of papers before him. Poor, dear, patient father, never complaining, only working a little harder when the demands made upon him were greater. Grace saw to-night what she had never noticed before, that he was aging. How gray his hair M'as getting, and how deep were tiie lines of caro on his forehead. She remembered how little recreation he had taken during the past year, and how late he worked, and she realized in that moment, as she never had before, the self-sacrificing devotion of her father to liis family. Strange that such a vision cpmes but seldom. Alas, it sometimes comes too late I None would have guessed that any such emotions had stirred Grace's heart, as she came gayly into the room a moment or two later. She just seemed the same careless, happy Grace that she always was. " Here, you extravagant little girl, look at this. You will ruin your poor father at this rate," said Mr. Maynard. And Grace only said : " You see what a dreadful thing it id to have daughters, papa." And she looked at him with such a merry twinkle in her eye, that he had to smile a little in spite of himself. " Never mind," she added, consolingly, " Perhaps I may be married some day, and off your hands." " I pity the man who gets you, my dear," returned her father. 30 THREE aiRUI. * I "So do I, pe|)a, with all my heart." And ao the lively talk went on; while Grace looked over the atroouut, and for the first time realized how qiiinkly little things count up. She ecriously pondered wlitther many of them were not quite unnecciiaary. Wiien she had finished, she said : " I am going to turn ovrr a new leaf, papa. You will be surprised to see how economical I shall be." " It will be a surprise, I am sure," returned her father. He thought it only a passing resolve, which would give way at the first temptation. How should he know there were really serious thoughts In his gay young daughter's heart. When Grace went to her room, the first thing that met iier eye was the sateen dress, and instantly the conflict began. Here waa an opportunity to put in practice her resolve. She might do without the laco trimmings she had planned. This, however, she found she did not at all wish to do. "It is only a mat- ter of a dollar or two ; how little difierem* timt will make ! " she said to herself. " I can begin to eo(»no- mize on the next thing." Something within whis- pered : " It will be harder next time ; " and she knew that was true — knev ♦•'at if she did not begin now, she would most likely not begin at all. Then she began to think of other things in which she might economize. Ye«j, there was much she might do without, she knew. But theu It meant, she thought, giving up the society of the Leslies j for she never iWBIHssjg^w; And ao the >kcd over the how qiiinkly isly pondered s unnetieoaary. f, papa. You I shall be." returned her resolve, which How should Its in his gay rst thing that instantly the iity to put in hout the lace however, she 8 only a mat- mve tliat will 'gin to eoono- within whis- ind she knew it begin now, ngs in which ich she might , she thought, l>r she never BEKD SOWING. •* oouM go In that set if she di-essed so plainly. Yet »fter all, would that im a very great losa? She knew that the Leslies cared not for the kingdom of which she was a member ; certainly did not »eek it in the way of which Ethel had fl|M)kcn that evening. How much would she be the gainer if she grew to think at they did, and live as they did ? Grace did not care to face that question just now. She would so much rather drift along without thinking about these things. There was one thing, however, she must decide that night ; and that was about the trimming on her dresa. " I think I will give it up," she said to herself; then she took up a little piece of lace she had brought as a sample, and tried it against the dress. How well it looked I She begun to waver. " 1 believe I mud huve it after all," she baid, aloud. Ah, that convenient word " must " ; how often it serves to cover a selfish determination with the cloak of apparent necessity I But just at this moment a thought of her father's careworn and anxious face crossed Grace's mind. It was enough ; she unpinned the scrap of lace, and tossed it aside ; then as she hung up the dress, she said, resolutely: "There, Grace Ma>Dard, you are not going to have one bit of lace on this dress ; not me bit J And this is only the beginning of economy, now mind." Miss Norcross, the dressmaker, felt somewhat disap- pointed when she found that Grace had decided to do •J iJ&Z^^iT^'^^'Wsw^^ ,..^i.j , .,>'-.,i^V ^'^?'^^?S!^Si r THREE OIBT^. without the elaborate trimming they had designed the day before. But as she saw that Grace had made up her mind, she had the ready tact to fall in with her views, saying that the dress would certainly look very quiet and ladylike j which had the effect to make Grace feel quite satisfied with her decision. "I od designed the e had made up all in with her ainly look very effect to make lioo. CHAPTER III. ORACE MAYNARB's BESOLYE. A 8 the days went on, Grace did not find it an easy -^ task to ke^p the resolve she had so firmly made r^arding her expenditures. She had always been indulged in everything, and the idea of giving up anything on which her heart had been set, was quite new to her. She was very desirous now of going to Bay View with the Leslies. She knew it would be an expensive trip, and she had begun to question lately whether her father could afford it; yet, every day, the prospect of spending a few weeks there grew more enticing.* She would see so much more of society there than she possibly could in the quiet town in which she lived. Grace loved gaiety and excitement. She knew too, that she possessed qualities that would make her a social success. It seemed to her, the more she thought about it, that it would be foolish to throw away such a good chancb. The temptation grew eveu stionger when Leonore brought the news that a cousin of theirs from New York, a wealthy young man, had decided to spend part of the summer at the seaside with them. " And I wrote him," she said, archly, " that we should be accompanied by a charm- o M ^i,&femjMag g } 34 THBEE GIRLS. ing young lady. Now, after tb.at, I am sure you will not refuse to go with us." " What a dreadful girl you are, Leonore," said Grace. "lam not at all sure that I can go." " Oh, you must I we will have such splendid times together. This is Saturday ; and you must make up your mind before Monday^ Grace." "Very well. I \s\\\ let you know for certain, then." As Grace .ralked ho-::^rd, she felt her firm reso- Intions of a few days before melting away like snow before a March sun. The feelings that she had then experienced had given way to others. After all, her father could not be very much worried over his busi- ness. The firm was prosperous. Who ever heard of the firm of Maynard & Perry being otherwise? Why should she not have all she wanted? Yet she fancied lier father would rather that she would not go. She resolved to ask him, and find out for cer- tain. It was late in the evening before she had a chance to talk to her father alone; for he was busy in the little room he called his office for some time. When, at length, he had finished, Grace called him out on the vemnda. "It is such a lovely evening, papa," sLe said, "you ought to be out here enjoying it." "Business before pleiosure, my daughter; but it i« damp, child ; you will catch cold." -jiJijV-'.--'^V';i!**>*'^ [ am sure yon Leonore," said can go." 1 splendid times 1 must niake up ow for certain, It her firm reso- away like snow lat she had then , After all, her id over his busi- ^ho ever heard >eing otherwise? inted? Yet she t she would not Snd out for oer- be had a chance was busy in the le time. When, lied him out on " sl.e said, "you lighter; but it is OBACE MAYNARO'S BESOLVE. 35 , "Oh, I am only going to stay a few minutes, and I have a shawl. Now, tell me, like a dear, good fathci, whether I can go to Bay View this summer " She was a good deal disappointed when, after a moment's pante, Mr. Maynard answered, slowly : "I would much rather you would not go, if yon can content yourself elsewhere." " Of course, I will not go if you do not wish it," said Grace. Her father noticed the regret in her voice, and answered : " I do not want you to give it up against your will, daugiiter." Grace made no answer. Her thought was, I can- not give it up in any other way. " You cannot afford it? " siie questioned, after a few moments of silence. " Hardly," was the reply. Nothing more was said. Mr. Maynard was not accustomed to talk of his affairs to his family, and Grace felt no inclination to ask further questions. She went to her room sadly disappointed. She felt that she ought to give up her bright plans for the summer ; yet it seemed very hard for her to do so. Siie had been looking forward to this visit with the highest anticipation. Now there seemed nothing but a blank left. Grace arose the next morning listless and discon- tented, and little disposed for the engagements of the Sabbath. It was a glorious moi-ning, this first Sun- day in June. Earth was bathed in sunshine; the v.*^an t'-.,-,-t:.'A*T'>»',i :. 36 THREE OIBL8. little birds seemed fairly quivering with rapture, fB they trilled their happy lays. But Grace felt out of harmony with all around, as she wallced to churoh that bright morning. At the church door she met Ethel, and they passed in to- gether. As Grace glanced at her friend's face, there flashed into her mind the words, " the kingdom of God is righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost." Something of that joy shone in the face turned toward her. Instinctively, Grace recognized it, and longed that she also might experience it. The first hymn given out was that familiar, old one, containing the words : *'0h, tuay my heart in tane be found, Like David's harp of solemn sound." Tlie hymn, as it iiappened, was sung to a familiar tune. The congregation joined in the singing, and the harmony, borne along by many voices, rolled grandly through the church, bringing inspiration to the soul. AI) ! Grace knew that her soul was out of tune ; that it made a jarring discord, while her voice blended with others in sweetest harmony. She wished it was otherwise, and determined to fix her thoughts on the service ; but before the prayer was ended, she realized that she had completely &iled. In spite of her best efforts, her thoughts wandered far away. Siie hoped for something helpful in the sermon, and felt disap- pointed when the morning i^nnouncements brought U '■ with rapture, fM th all around, as omiiig. At the ey passed in to- iend's face, there the kingdom of oy in liie Holy lone in the face Grrace recc^ized perienoe it. hat familiar, old bund, ound." iting to a familiar the singing, and ly voices, rolled ng inspiration to \aa out of tune ; her voice blended }he wished it was' ' thoughts on the iided, she realized I spite of her best iway. Slie hoped m, and felt disap- icements brought ORA.CE UAYNABD's RESOLVE. to her remembrance that it was missionary Sunday. That meant a missionary sermon, and what help could there be for her in such a discourse. But Grace soon became interested. The text was a familiar one. " Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich." Earnestly and solemnly Mr. Clifford unfolded the text to his hearera. There were many thoughtful listeners that morning, but none more so than Qraoe Maynard. The words sank deep into her heart, and awoke anxious questionings there. The Lord of glory had become poor that be might make her rich ; that he might bring precious gifls to her, and had she ever denied herself anytliing that slie might send the good news to othera. Her heart made answer, " No." What a selfish life hera had been ! And yet she called herself a Christian ; yes, and really wanted to be one too, only she had not realized all it meant to be a follower of Christ. Now, in this hour, there were awakened within her longings after a better and higher life than she had hitherto lived, and a holy purpose was formed in her heart to live unto him who had done so much for her ; a purpose, that by his grace was to grow stronger and stronger, until it became the ruling aim of her life. There was one expression that followed Grace ; it was this: " In the light of eternity, will you r^ret 1^ I { i i/ ;. ~' J'lf?q^kiM^SMiBli»M>:^f^sSkSm 88 TIIRRE GIRLS. having made some aaorifioe for Christ's sake? Ah, my friend, whatever else you regret, you will not regret that" And Grace kept repeating those words over and over to herself: " Whatever else you may regret, you will not regret that." i <, »S^iiL--pj,.i'*!i:-ndered why it gilt there must r for Ned, but t more time for gathered about sr before had ) sure, she had enerally would over the lesson of a busy week ter her return from Sunday-school. But th not enter and affect her heart, so full of other things ; so now she bad no experience to bring to her class, and she fult that her teaching was lifele^^s and formal. She was glad when school was over and she could join Ethel, for she wanted to have a talk with her. "Come Ethel," she said, " I want you to come home with me. I will not keep you long," slie added, as Ethel hesitated. " I know Bessie and Georgie mo- nopolise you on Sunday aflernoons, but Millie can re&d and sing to them just as well as you can, and it will do her good to take charge of them on<« in a while. I want jMrticularly to have one of our talks together." Thus urged, Ethel yielded. It was but a few steps to Grace's home. The girls found a pleasant, shaiiy seat in the ga.ileu. Then Grace began by saying : " Do you know, Ethel, I was almost afraid this morning that I was not a Christian when I thought how I have lived from day to day all for myself, and not remembering how much I owe to Jesus ? Yet I do love him, Ethel, I really do ; only I never realized before how far off I have followed him. I wished so much while listening to the sermon that I could do something more, or. give something more, but I do not know how to do it. You know, Ethel, if I were to deny myself ever so much, it would make no differ- ence. I would not have any more to give away, for I have no stated allowance as you have. To be sure, J f,l tli 1 1 44 THRKB UIRIA I can have money whenever I want it by asking for it, yet it Bcarct-ly eecms lilce giving of my own." " Perhaps your father would give you an allowance if you should aak him." " I did say something about it once, but he did not seem to care to do it. I suppose he thought I was too extravagant to he trusted." " Bui you could agree to buy certain articles of dress with it — that is the way I do, and I think it teaches one to be careful, and so spend money to ad- vantage." " Well, I might try again, sometime ; but that does not help me at present." Grace sighed, and her usually merry face looked troubled. Presently, she said, abruptly : " I do not know what is the good of being tM to do things when we cannot do them." There was a touch of impatience in her voice as she spoke. " There is one thing we can do," said Ethel, quietly j " we can ask God to make it plain to us ; how we can do the good things we desire to do, yet find no means of doing. He will surely show us the right » way The words fell with a calming influence on Grace's restless heart, " Yes, Ethel, we can do that, ' she said ; then ad- ded, " There is so much that puzzles me ; I b^in to wonder whether many things I do am just right— 1 by asking for iiy own. u an allowance but he did not light I wan too ain artiolefl of ind I think it money to ad- ; but that does y face looked being tjld to er voice as she Ethel, quietly ; ) us ; how we >, yet find no us the right oe on Grace's aid ; then ad- e ; I begin to just right — for a Christian to do, 1 mnn. J am sore that I am Dot one of those oonseorated, walous Christians, of whom we sometimes read. I do not know whether it i<* possible to be one in the ordinary circumstanoei of life. What do you think ? " " The grace of Qod can make it poc-ible for you and me as well as for any one else ; perhaps we are afraid to ask for it. I think my text : < Seek first the kingdom of God,' will help us. If we were to ask with regard to every course of action : * Will this advance or binder that kingdom ? ' Surely, it would not be very hard to decide what it would be right to do.'» " Perhnps not. It might be hard to do (he right thing when one had found out." " But we can liave ivine help in our difficulties if we only ask it," suggested Ethel. " I know that ; but, Ethel, I am afraid I am not willing to do whatsoever he saith." The words came slowly and with effort. " It is dreadful to think that, isn't it ; yet what can I do? " "I would tell Jesus all about it," said Ethel, gently. " What I That I am not willing? " " Yes, for he is your best friend. Why should you keep anything back from him? He will help you." "But do you think he will indeed make the way plain, and show me what to do ? " " Surely he will," said Ethel, her own fiiith grow- I. «iti-*^ sr I '? I si ; I; 46 THREE OIRLS. ing stronger, even while Bhe spoke. " Has he not said : 'if any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, . . . and it shall be given him ; ' has he not prom- ised to make crooked things straight, and darkness light before us?" There was a triumphant ring in Ethel's voice that made Grace feel that she was speaking from her own experience. "I have been thinking to-day," Grace said, "of ever so many things that I could not make f'ifferent, crooked things that I could not straighten ; now I will bring them all to our Father in heaven, and I will not be discouraged any more." " That is right, dear. Do not grow discouraged ; you ought not, when you have such promises. None of us should," said Ethol, as she rose to go. Before they parted ut the gate, Ethel said : " Do you intend to go to Bay View ? " "No; I have given that up," replied Grace, quietly. That last remark, or something connected with it, kept Grace thinking for quite a while after saying good-bye; then suddenly her face grew bright, and she turned back to the house with quick steps. Evi- dently some light had dawned on her way. As she '^as about to go into the house, her father, who was sitting on the piazza, spoke to her : " I am afraid I disappointed you last night, little girl, about that pet plan of yours. Mother and I have NEW THOUGHTS AWAKENED. las he not said : Q ask of God, } he not prom- i, and darkness hel's voice that ; from her own race said, "of make <^ifferent, ten ; now I will ven, and I will w discouraged ; 'omises. None go. 1 said : replied Grae^, nected with it, le after saying 3w bright, and !k steps. Evi- r Avay. As she ither, who was »st night, little ther and I have been talking it over, and I have no doubt we can ar- range it ; so you can call that settled." " Father, I have given it up," said Grace, decidedly. " I don't mind one bit, and you must not think I do. Wg will all go away somewhere in the country together, and have a good time. Now, don't say an- other word ; there's a dear, good father. You know when I make up my mind, it is no easy matter to get me to alter it, and you had better not try." " What made you change your mind about wanting to go then ? " said her father. " Oh, one thing and another ; partly that sermon this morning. I felt while listening to it that I did so want to give something to missions ; and I have been thinking that, since I am not going to Bay View, perhaps you would give me a little of the money the trip would have cost, and I could give that." She had drawn a low chair near her father, and was looking up into his face with her earnest, brown eyes. She had seldom looked more lovely to him. A pleased expre^ sion cime over his face. " You are sure you would rather do that ?" he ques- tioned. " Yes, perfectly sure," she replied. He took out his pocket-book, and turned over the bills, " How will that do? " he asked, as he dropped one in her lap. It was a twenty-dollar bill. " Oh, you dear papa," and Grace jumped up, and put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. w . ;l I J 48 THREE GIRLS. ■lii " There, child, it is nothing to make a fuss about. I declare you look more and more Hke my mother every day. You would look more like her if you wore your hair so" — and he parted and tried to smooth down the fluffy bangs as he spoke. " I believe you are going to resemble her in character too. Well, you could not be like a better woman." " How I wish she had lived, so that I could have seen and known b^^r." "I have often wished that che had been spared to enjoy a happy old age, unu see her grand-chil- dren grow up around her; he. \, was not to be, and doubUesH, it was well. She hati always washed to live until we were all grown up, and able to do for our- selves ; and this desire was gran;:ed. The sermon this morning made me think of her very much. Her life was patterned after those teachings more than mine has been, daughter — I usedtothinkhertoo unworldly; I see now sh > diose the better part," and Mr. May- nard gazed mnsingly out on the fiur scene before him. Grace's thought was — " How T wish I might be like her." Just then she caught sight of Ned coming, and went to meet him. " You didn't come to Sunday-school after all, Ned," were her first, half-reproachful words. " Oh, well, you see, when I got through talking to Al, I found school had begun, and I hate to go in late; so I took a walk, but I will go next Sunday, sure. I fuss about. I ly mother every ■ you wore yonr ) smooth down e you are going , you oould not ; I oould have id been spared lei* grand-chil- not to be, and s w'flhed to live to do for our- rhe sermon this inch. Her life ore than mine too nnworldlv ; and Mr. May- r scene before [ might be like ed coming, and after all, Ned," ugh talking to itetogoin late; Sunday, sure. KEW THOnOHTB AWAKENED. 49 I'm going to church to-night, you know, and Til sit downstairs with you, if you don*t scold me." This was quite a concession, for Ned had formed the habit of sitting in the gallery with some of his chums, a habit not very conducive to devotion. It was no wonder, therefore, that Grace was well pleased, while Ned's gracious manner (juite lulled her anxious fean to rest. Very happy she was that evening, as she laid her offering on the collection-plate. Very happy too, as she came to the table of the Lord, for had she not drawn nearer to her Lord, and entered into fuller sympathy with him in his work in the world? Ye^ and though she knew it not, she had taken a step up- ward out of her life of selfishness toward a life of devotion, to Christ. » -ij It "Mm. CHAPTER V. A LITTLE KINGDOM OF GOD. ETHEL stood at the door of the parlor taking a critical survey of everything. It had just been cleaned, the last room in the house to be put in order. Ethel had been helping her mother to put things in place again ; after that was done, she still busied her- self with the finishing touches, without which she de- clared, the room never looked like anything. They were only little things— knotting a fresh ribbon in the scarf on the easy-chair ; training an ivy around a bracket ; setting a vase of flowers here and a picture there, just where they would show to the best advan- tage. But Ethel knew that just such little things give character to a room. At length all was dop" to her satisfaction ; yet as she stood to take one last view, before going to other work, there came to her mind a thought of the May- nards' elegant parlor, furnished in the latest style, and adorned with handsome fancy work, and a teeling of discontent came over her. So when her mother, who was going out, paused for a moment to look in, and said, " Well, Ethel, you have made the room look very pretty," Ethel answered : " It might look pretty if only we had something GO ■MM [)D. parlor taking a It had just been be put in order. > put things in still busied her- it which she de- mything. They sAi ribbon in the 1 ivy around a re and a picture the best advan- ach little things sfaction ; yet as J going to other jhtof theMny- » latest style, and ind a teeling of ler mother, who to look in, and e room look very i had something A UTTLE KHfOOOM 07 OOD. Al new in it. We have not had one new thing for this room this spring. I do get so tired of arrangiiig the same old things over and over again every year." " They are not at all worn," said her mother. " Oh, no ; I do not mean old in that sense, but old- fiisbioned." " The room always looks well to me. Perhaps I do not care about new things so mv^ as you do," said Mrs. Glad wyn, thoughtfully. "And then, you know, Ethel, we cannot afford to keep pace with the chang- ing fashions, just now particularly, when the expenses of our growing family are heavy." " I know that," said Ethel, with a half-suppressed aigh. ' You see what a misfortune it is to be one of a large family," said her mother, merrily. " No, mother, dear, we have ever so much better times, because there are so many of us. After all, the room looks well enough, and we can enjoy onr- selves just as well in it, perhaps better, than if it was handsomer." And Ethel turned away quite in good humor i^in. It was not long after when little Bessie came up- stairs to say that Aunt Annie had come. Aunt Annie lived in Milton, a few miles distant from Melvin. bhe had a young family, and plenty of care, and so did not often find an opportunity to come and see them ; but she was one of those dbeery people whom it is always a pleasure to see. She was a very welcome visitor at the ,'i 'i^: 'i! '■: p fcr"*""^ '^ ii^ 62 THKEB GIBLB. Gladwyns'. Ethel ran down to meet her, and greeted her rapturously. "I will come wherever you are, Ethel," said her aunt. " I was so tired that I just sank down in this rocking-chair to rest. How delightful your parlor looks ! I enjoy this room so much whenever I come here. It is so restful." "I am glad you find it so, auntie," said Ethel. " I was just saying to mother this morning that I wished we had something new in it It is so old- fashioned." ''It is all in keeping, though," said Mrs. Lee. " Nothing can make up for want of harmony in a room. When I was younger, I used to feel very much as you do, Ethel. One day I read something that hel{)ed me. It was this, that it was not such a matter of importance to have our house furnished in the style of any one period, as it was to make the home a little kingdom of God." " Isn't that a beautiful idea," said Ethel. " Yes, I thought it so. It seems to me that that is what we, a.^ Christians, should above all other things desire ; only you must remember, dear, that our Lord says in one place, ' my kingdom is not of this world.' So we must be prepared, oftentimes, to give up the seen for the unseen. Yet it is not very hard to do this when we think how much he gave up to make us inheritors of his kingdom, is it? " Ethel only pressed Aunt Annie's hand for answer. MMMM ler, and greeted the]" aaid her k dovirn in this ful jour parlor lienever I come e." said Ethel, noming that I It is so old- iaid Mrs. Lee. monyina room. ery much as you thutheli)edme. er of importance tyle of any one little kingdom Sthel. > me that that is all other things r, that our Lord b of this world.* to give up the rery hard to do ve up to make und for answer. LITTLK KINGDOM OF OOD. 53 Too many thoughts had been awakened in her mind for words, jubt then. Mrs. Lee could not stay more than two hours, m when Mrs. Gladwyn came in a few minutes later, Ethel went downstairs to set out a luncheon, taking Bessie along to help her, leaving the two mothers to have a pleasant chat by themselves. When all was ready, she called them down to a most delicious little lunch. And then there was so much to talk about, and so many questions to ask, that before they knew it the two hours had passed away. Before Mrs. Lee left, however, she uiged them all to come and see her. " It is lovely weather now, and everything looVs beautiful," she said. " You really ought to come and spend a day at Milton." " Let us make up a picnic," said Eth'J. " Oh, yes, a picnic," cried Millie, enthusiastically ; " when can we go? " " We will leave it to mother and auntie to decide that," said Ethel. " It will be convenient any time for me," said Mrs. Lee. " Some day next week, then," Huggested Mrs. Glad- wyn. "Say Wednesday— that is a good day; the washing and ironing will be out of the way." "Wednesday, then, if it is fine," said Aunt Annie. "And if not fine?" put in Millie. " If not fine, then Thursday or Friday," said her 1 aunt; so »t was arranged, and amid a chorus of good- byes, Aunt Annie left. Did ehe know that the helpful words she had spoken to Ethel that morning were as good seed, which would spring up and bring fortli fruit in after days. Periiaps not; she had only passed along a thought that had helped her. She always tried to do that ; if she ever hud any other kind of thoughts, <>he kept them to herself. Ethei, on her part, always wanted to share every- thing good with Grace ; so that evening, when they met, she told her what Aunt Annie had said, adding: " Is it not strange that it should have been just in line with our verse ? " Grace caught at the idea; it seemed something she couhl get hold of, and work out every day. She pondei-ed it over after she went home, as she was busy over her fancy work ; not without some troubled feelings, for she kept questioning whether tiielr home would answer to that description, whetlier the chief aim was to make it "a little kingdom of God." It was her own dear home — a happy home — but, some- how or other, their family life was not just like the Gladwyns'. Yet Grace's parents wei« Christians, and members of the church ; what made the difference between the two homes? Was it not, that in the Gladwyn home the cliief aim was to do the will of Christ in all things? Grace did not, as yet, fully realize it; only she had a feeling that there was horua of good- rords she had as good seed, li fruit in after assed along a Iways tried to d of thoughts, share every- ig, when they 1 said, adding : '6 been just in something she 5ry day. She le, as she was some troubled ier tiieir home titer the chief of God." It le — but, some- just like the christians, and the difference t, that in the lo the will of as yet, fully lat there was LITTLE KINGDOM OF OOD. U something more unworldly about her friend's home than about her own. Mrs. Maynard, had she been asked, would have said, that certainly religion was the most important thing, and that she wished her children to be Chris- tians ; and that to ' seek first the kingdom of God ' was tlie riglit thmg to do. But iu reality, she was more ooncerned to occupy a prominent place in so- ciety, and to have her children get on in the world. That had been, and still was, the chief aim of her life; though, periiaps, she would not have acknowl- edged it — indeed, she scarcely realized that it was so. There had never been a time in the history of the Maynard family when they could not live in comfort; but Mrs. Maynard aimed at style. Her home must be elegantly furnished, her children hand- somely dressed, and all the demands of society must be rigorously met. It required no little contrivance to do all this in their earlier years of married life, when Mr. Maynard's income was not so large as it afterward became. But Mrs. Maynard was very capable. Her busy fingers fashioned dainty and elaborate garments for her little daughter, filled her rooms with choice fancy work, and made up for the de- ficiencies of the housemaid, oft«n young and inexperi- enced ; meanwhile, the inner life of herself and chil- dren, so much more important than the outer life, was well-nigh forgotten. How often the busy mother told Ned to run away, and not bother her ! how well t TUBKE OlRlJB. pleased she was to have him oat of the way, taking it for graQf«d that h'm ouaipaniona were all right I So it oame about thut now Ned gave hia parents much anxiety in many wuys. These earlier yt^TK of care and worry, and of bear- ing Bi'lf-imposcd burdens, had worn down Mrs May- nard's health; and now she was a frequent sufferer frcm nervous headaohes. Often lilie would say, " I do aot see how Mrs. Glatlwyn keeps her health with Buch a family ns she has. My three have worn me down. Perhaps she raay be otrmger than I; though, for that matter, there never was a healtliier girl Uuin I was." Mr. Maynard lii»d prospered in business, but his family being an ezpenftive "ue, the demands made upon him were heavy, and ho worked early and late to meet t\ m; so he sa-.ir but litUe of his family. To - ttimamtmmmt b e way, taking it ) all right I So a parents much ry, end of bear- awn Mrs May- requeot vufierer would say, " I ber health with have worn me han I; though, Itliier girl than isiness, but his demands made early and late lis family. To gent; with his I had resolved ave theadvan- itage which he owed but little ness at suhool s parents. A atters, and led I of this, Mr. and vexation uly tended to A LITTLE KIKODOM Of OOD. 67 Grace was just becoming old enough to feel these things, and to sliaie in her parents' anxiety ; to feel, moreover, that a diderent course toward Ned would be wiser; yet, withal, not knowing how to help matters, or, as jAxe had said to £thel, " how to roaka crooked things straight." " Well, I can try to do my part in the home, anyway," she said to herself; and that was the outcome of all her thinking. CHAPTER VI. THE THREE FRIEND0. A PICNIC would hardly seem complete to Ethel -^^ unless her friend Grace was there; so Grace and her sister Aggie were asked to join them, ajid gladly they accepted the invitation. The followinp- T-esday found Ethel and Milly busy in the kitchen, making preparations for the picnic. Millie, naturally indolent about household matters at ordinary times, and requiring frequent reminding to keep her up to her duties, always shone forth on spe- cial occasions like the present. So now she whisked eggs, beat batter, frosted cakes, and filled tarts, with commendable zeal. Every little while she would run to the back door to see what the wenthor promised to be. On one of these occasions she observed clouds gathering. " Oh, Ethel, do see those clouds ; what if it should rain to-morrow?" "What did you remark, Millie?" inquii-ed Ethel, who w&<« just looking in the oven at her cakes. " I say, I am afraid it will rain to-morrow ; look at those clouds." " It does not look like rain to me," said Ethel, glancing hastily out of the window, and catching a 68 THE TURBB FBIEM08. ft» glimpse of blue bIcv. " Come, Millie, theiie patties are dune ; you can take them out of the paus while I l)ut the other cake in." You did not look in the right plave to see tiie cloudH," said Millie, in an aggrieved tone. *' Well, I am too busy now ; perhaps they will have cleannl away when I get time to look for them." " They are coming over, I am afraid," said Millie. " Wouldn't it be too bad if it should rain to-mor- row?" "It would be a disappointment, vt^hen we have made all our preparations." " And the grass would be wet ; so it would he of no use to go Thursday,'* continued Millie, dolefully. " Well, it hasn't rained yet," said Ethel. " Rain or shine, we have to take things as they come," remarked Ann, philosophiadly, pausing in her ironing to glunce out of the window. " There's James," cried Millie, suddenly, spying the man who did their gardening. " He knows all about the weather. I'll ask him." And away she went to the garden. " James," she said, " do you think it will rain to- morrow ? " " No, miss, I don't; we are in for a spell of dry weather." " But just look at those clouds, James." The gardener looked in the direction pointed oat, then resuming work, said : i :. '. !!S ! ! 60 THREE QIBLB. ■- V ■■ i "Those clouds don't amount to much. It may sprinkle a little before morning ; but it won't be much, anyway." As J&mes was considered an oracle on weather matters, Millie returned to the house quite in good spirits. By evening, however, it was so dull and cloudy that Millie began to lose faith in the oracle, especially wheti even her father joined the others in expressing the fear that the day would not be fine. Night settled dow^i, dark and still. A patter of raindrops was hoird on the elm leaves, and Millie had to go to bed with her doubts unsatisfied. She WHS the first one to awaken in the morning, and no sooner did she discover chat it was a fine day than she hastened to arouse the other members of the family. Soon all were astir. Then came the business of getting ready. Ethel helped her mother make sand- wiches, and pack the basket. Millie undertook to dress the children, losing her patience a good many times while doing so. At last everything was ready. Grace and Aggie joined them, and they set off for tho train, a merry party, ready to h^ amused and pleased at anything. There were but few passengers in the train that morning. Outside of our young friends, they could be counted on one's fingers. An old gentleman read- ing a newspaper very diligently, a young, and rather tired-looking mother with three little children, a pleas- much. It may it won't be much, acle on weather Lse quite in good i and cloudy that oracle, especially 3rs in expressing ae. 11. A patter of aves, and Millie unsatisfied. She morning, and no fine day than she 3 of the family, the business of :>ther make sand- lie undertook to loe a good many thing was ready. ,ey set off for th«» used and pleased !n the train that lends, they could gentleman read- oung, and rather children, a pleas- THE THBEK FBIENDS. 61 ant-faced, elderly lady, whose little grandchildren were held up to kiss her goodbye before the train started, a pale young girl, in rather shabby mourn- ing, upon whom life's burdens and cares seemed to have fallen early, and a grave and studious-looking young man, who had been wrapped in his own medi- tations before the entrance of the picnic party, but thenceforward ^und the merry group a more interest- ing study. These made up the company. Soon the train was rapidly speeding along through green fields, and past thriving farms. Presently, the speed slackened. "We are coming to West Milton, now," said Ethel. *• The next station after this will be ours." As the train stopped, two women came aboard. Apparently they had plenty to say to each other, for no sooner had they taken their seats, than they began a stream of conversation which flowed on unceas- ingly. Again the whistle sounded. This time the girls gathered together their baskets and wraps in readiness to get off. The brakes were put down hard, and the train came to rather an abrupt standstill. The two wom«ndering whether le car, then gave ilarly enough, he 'OSS the aisle said ed flowers in her Miss Maynard. iven'tyou? Most lest daughter," a ft-iend, who re- ler dress as she make Miranda's the train started, interest they had on. It was not re was Aunt An- i there were the party coming, set the run to meet come, and helped 'onnger membera and the brood of to Ernest on his TH£ THRBG FBIENDS. 63 last birthday, and all the other attractions which made this country home so delightful. The older ones, after a talk with Aunt Annie, Bbt off for »• raml)le. They went through tlie orchard, lingtri.jg a moment to peep in the yellow-bird's nest ; then out into the field, single file, along the path by the fence, stopping to gather some wild roses, and to pick here and there a bright strawberry that shone out tempt- ingly from among green leaves ; and so on up to the grove, which crowned a little height. ' Oh, how cool and shady it was, and how sweet the aroma of fir and pine trees I And how quiet it was, save for the music of a little brook that babbled alonj? its rocky channel in the valley beneath, or the occasional noisy chatter of a squirrel, which eyed the intruders from the safe vantage of some tall tree. Millie went in quest of moss and ferns, and other woodland treasures. Ethel and Grace sat down on a rustic seat, from whence they hafl a view of green meadows and distant wooded hills, while nearer a stream, to which the babbling brook was a tributary, gleamed out here and there between its fringe of trees. For a while the two giris sat silent ; a„ last Ethel spoke: " We do not have so much to say to one another as those two women ou the train,"' she said. "Didn't they talk, though," said Grace; "but Ethel, did you notice how that young man looked at us?" I ■ ijii */ ; J 64 THREE OIBUB. *•' No, I didn't." " Why he scarcely took his eyes from ub. I felt quite provoked at him. Sometimes I would look straight at him, and then he w^uld drop his eyes and appear to be reading his book. I rather liked his face, though thoughtful and grave. I wonder who he can be? He doesn't belong to Melvin, I am sure." '' If he was grave and thoughtful I dare say he set us down as very frivolous and silly." " Why, were "We? " asked Grace, looking rather dis- mayed. " No, of course not. What makes you take every- thing in earnest to-day. Hark I Is that Millie call- ing? Let us go and find her." They followed a path that led through the grove to where' the brouk had worn for itself a hollow, and fell tumbling over the rucks in a series of miniature cascades to the valley beneath. "Come over here," called Millie, " it's just lovely." She was sitting on a broad, flat stone on the opposite bank. " See here," she said, as they crossed over and seated themselves beside her, " all these fern roots for the fernery, and is not this a pretty piece of moss?'* "Where did you get them?" asked Grace. "I must have some too." " Well, there are plenty more where I got these, underneath that bank." " I will not get any ferus until the afternoon, but I will look up some moss now," said Grace. from US. I felt » I would look Irop his eyes and rather liked his I wonder who he in, I am sure.'' I dare say he set oking rather dis- 9 you take every- that Millie call- lugh the grove to If a hollow, and ries of miniature it's just lovely." 3 on the opposite crossed over and ese fern roots for piece of moss ? " ked Grace. « I lere I got these, i afternoon, bnl I irrace. imniiMWffWwwim Mli^M THE THREB FBirNDS. 66 They wandered about for a while, exploring the farthest limits of the grove, and -eturniug with their hands full of moss and trailing vires. " Had we not better go back tc the house now and get our baskets," said Ethel, "it is about time we set out our dinners; the children will be ready for it" "And I will be ready too," said Grace. « I don't know when I have felt so hungry." "I am as hungry as a bear," echoed Millie. "Come, girls."' And away they went, back through the shadowy grove out into the sftnshine. "There's Fannie Weldon, I do declare," exclaimed Grace, "just coming through the gate. Won't she be surprised to find us all here? Come, girls, hurry up." There v. as a flutter of dresses, a race to see who would get there first, and soon Fannie Weldon was sunounded, while a shower of questions was poured on her from every side. "When did you come?" "How did you get here ? " " Where did you spring from ? " they asked, all in one breath. " Why, I have been out at Forest Glen, visiting some friends. I drove in this morning, and finding I would have to wait two hours for a train, I con- eluded to call on Mrs. Lee. That is how I h«i- pened to be here. Now what has brought you all here?" " Oh, a picnic, of course ; not a large one— just we^ us, and company," said Grace. 66 THREE OIRL8. " You are not going in by the one o'clock train ; you mu8* "Stay with us/' insisted Ethel. They were all by this time seated in the cool, pleas- ant parlor, fanning themselvts with their hats; then Mrs. Lee came, and joined the others in urging Fan- nie to stay. " I am sure your invitation is a very tempting one — too tempting, in fact, to resist I suppose I had better enjoy all the recreation I can, for I shall be busy enough next winter, as it will be my last year at college." " You look paler and thinner than when I last saw you, Fannie," said Mrs. Lee, gazing anxiously at the young girl, whose form and face told the tale that it was energy and ambitiia rather than physical strength that enabled her to do all she did. "Yes, I suppose s- I am feeling very well, though only a little tired sometimes; but I expect to jrain strength this summer, for uncle has purchased a cottage at Long View, and we are all going down there for the summer months." " Won't that be delightful," chimed in the other girls in chorus. " Ye«, indeed, we expect to have fine times, just rusticating, quite in camp style, you know, and I want all my friends to come and see me ; it is just a lovely place for picnics." Fannie grew enthusi** ac as she went on to describe the charms of Long View, which was a quiet seaside imm me o'clock train ; lel. in the cool, pleas- 1 their hats ; then rs in urging Fan- rery tempting one I suppose I had Ein, for I shall be be my last year at n when I last saw g anxiously at the old the tale that it er than physical she did. feeling very well, m; but I expect to lie has purchased a re all going down limed in the other ve fine times, just you know, and I >e me ; it is just a went on to describe was a quiet seaside THE TUBES FBIENDS. 67 resort, not >b yet invaded by many pleasure seekers, and therefore all the more delightful to those who enjoy laying aside for a time the conventionalities of city life. She finished up by decbring that Ethel and Grace oJight to persuade their fathers to rent cot^ tages there for the summer. " It would be very pleasant to be all together," said Grace, " but I know it is no use suggesting it, for mother thinks the sea air does not agree with her- besides, she prefers to board when away from home She always says she would likt; M>me quiet country pkce where she can rest. " Well, then, I know just the pkce to suit her," said Fannie, "and that is Forest Glen where I have been staying the past few days. It is almost out of the world, shut in among hills, and not even a rail- way passing within ten miles. You can get good home-like board at a very reasonable rate at the iarm-house where I was. There are plenty of berries m berry time, and there is plenty of cream to eat with them. There are pleasant walks and some pretty drives. I'll give you the address, if you like." "Thank yon, I will tell mother about it. I am sure it is just the place she would like." "If you decide to go, I will drop a line to Mrs. Benton, and tell her you are special Mexula of mine. You will have no trouble then in obtaining board." " You are a jewel, Fannie. I am so glad you had to wait here for a train to-day." ^^ I *> 68 THREE OIRUS, " It was quite a ooinoidence," said Faunie. " Why, here is Bessie. How she is growing ! I hardly knew the child." Bessie came in rather shyly, and shook hands with Fannie ; then hung about her sister. After a while she said, in a half-whisper, " Ethel, when are we going to have the picnic ? " " Why we are having the picnic now, are we not," replied Ethel, laughing. " Yes, but I mean the reed picnic." " I suppose that means unpacking the baskets, and having our dinner ; that is a very important part of the picnic, I am sure." " I vote we proceed at once to have the real picnic," said Grace. " If it had not been for you, Fannie Weldon, w« would have had our dinner set out by this time ; we were coming for the baskets when we saw you, and we have been talking ever since, and leaving the poor children to starve." " No danger of their starving while Aunt Annie is around," put in Millie, laughing. " With my invaluable assistance, girls, you will be able to set out your table in just one-quarter of the time it would have taken you without me," said Fan- nie. " Did I ever hear such conceit," retorted Gitice ; " after that I have a great mind to give you the heaviest basket to carr)*." And so they went gayly to the grove. When all was ready, Aunt Annie was asked to join a Fannie. "Why, g I I hardly knew shook hands with . After a while she lien are we going to now, are we not," c.» ag the baskets, and important part of ive the real picnic," n for you, Fannie jnner set out by this jsketfl when we saw ir since, and leaving ^hile Aunt Annie is e, girls, you will be one-quarter of the lout rae," said Fan- t," retorted Grace; give you the heaviest it gayly to the grove, lie was asked to join THE TMBEB FRIENDS. e» them. I need not describe their dinner, for every one knows how pleasant it is to eat in the open air, under tiie shade of murmuiing pines, even if the milk is full of specks and ants run over the table-cluth. Every- thing was pronounced excellent, and any mishap was only a signal for merriment. At length all were satisfied, the baskets were repacked, the table-cloth Hhakeii, and the ants and flies were allowed undisputed possession of the remains of the feast. Aunt Annie returned to the house; the children went oflF to play; and the girls wandered at will through the grove, making it echo with tlieir merry talk and laughter. At length, Grace, Ethel, and Fannie sat down to rest on the spreading roots of ar old pine tree. Ethel busied herself picking over ai arranging the mosses and ferns she had gathered. Funnie leaned back against the tree, and gazed dreamily out on the sunny meadows and circling hills, hazy in the distance. Grace fanned herself with her large ha. Quiet settled over the group. Grace was the first one to break the silence with the ofr-used quotation, "When shall we three meet again?" "I hope not in 'thunder, lightning, and rain,"' said Fannie. It was only natural after this that they should begin to talk of their plans for the future, and grad- ually, almost without knowing it, they drifted into quite a serious talk. .:ii«i ff ry 70 THBER QIRIJB. I "It seems to me, sometimea, as though I can Bcarcely have patience until I finish my studies. I am 80 auxious to be doing something in the world," .said Fannie; "there is so much to be done." " What do you plan to do after leaving college?" asked Etiicl. " I hardly know what my part will l)e yet ; but I do know that I want to work just where I am most needed, and where I can do most good." " Since I left school," said £thel, " I have many times wished that I had some special work to do ; but I have stronger home ties than you, Fannie, and it was very plainly my duty to share the burdens mother has so long 'Dome alone. But I have felt the need of a stronger and more definite purpose than the general one, to live as good a life as possible. You cannot imagine how perplexed I have been, some- timed, as to what time to give to various pursuits, and I have often wondeied whether things that seemed to be duties were really worth while, after all. One little vei*so has hel{)ed me so much, lately ; it is this : * Seek ye first the kingdom of God.' That places a definite object before me. To bring about that kingdom in my heart and life, and in the hearts and lives of others whom I may reach, should bo my one and continual aim. And you, in the great out- side world, and I, in my little world of home, can equally well seek that kingdom." Fannic's eyei? brightened. " I shall make that verse THE THREE FRIS^DB. n though I can I my studies. I g in the world," e done." eaving college?" II 1)6 yet ; but I khere I am most kI." " I have many iial work to do; in you, Fannie, ihare the burdens It I have felt the purpose than the possible. You nave been, some- various pursuits, ther things that orth while, after so much, lately ; I of God.' That To bring aI>out and in the hearts ch, should be my n the great out- rid of home, can 1 make that verse my motto too, Ethel, for that is what we are in the world for, — we who profess to be Christians, — and we are disloyal to the Great King if we do not use all our energies to extend his kingdom." "I have added another verse to it," continued Ethel, " because I think it helps one to see how to seek that kingdom. It is found in Romans 14 : 17 : ' The kingdom of God is righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.' " Crace, who had taken no part in the conversation hitherto, now looked up, and said : " Why, girls, you make me feel dreadfully. I have never looked upon life in this serious way ; though I have thought a little more about it lately. Not so much as J should, however." " I wanted you to take that text for a motto," said Ethel, " when I spoke to you about it a few weeks ago." " I know. It is since then that I have thought of things differently from what I did before." " Won't you take it for your motto now, then ? " " I am almost afraid to. I am »ure I would for- get about it half the time." " Well, even then, that would not be so bad as for- getting it cdl the time," remarked Fannie. "Jesus has promised that the Holy Spirit shall teach us all truth, and bring to our remembrance all things," said Ethel, gently. "Grace, dear, we know where to go for help ; ' Our sufficieuf^ is of : -'di*??a?i,w::,' / / u THHEE OIRUk Qod.' Without his aid we should certainly fail, out you Icnow we never seelc his help in vain." " Yes, I icnow that," answered Grace, remember- ing with a thrill of gladness how very lately she had received help in trying to walk in the Christian way. " Yes," she added, " I will try, with you, to seek that kingdom ; and let us report to one another BOuietimes. It will help us; at least, it will help me." " It will help us each," said Fannie. " And do you not think," said Ethel, " that, as we try to act upon this principle, we shall see more and more how widely it can be applied ; how, in fact, it touches our lives at every point. Then we can bring together our various experiences, and help one another." " How much it means to be a Christian," said Grace ; " more than I ever thought. I think," she added, a little hesitatingly, " we ought to pray -for one another, that we may be earnest and faithful." " I will," said Etliel, gently. " I will too," said Fannie. " And I will," added Grace, softly. So three young hearts were bound together by strongest ties, pledged to help one another in that which was henceforth to be the one great aim of their lives, the seeking of Christ's kingdom. For a while they sat silent, letting the quiet loveli- ness of that summer afternoon throw over them its spell of restfulness. Through opening vistas of the IK THK THUEB FRIEIOXS. n ertainly fail, uuk vain." race, remember- very lately she in the Christian ry, with you, to rt to one another it will help me." e. iiel, " that, as we ill see mure and ; how, in fact, it en we can bring and help one Christian," said I think," she fht to pray -for ind faithful." ad together by Einother in that eat aim of their 1. the quiet loveli- V over them its ig vistas of the iraes they oaught a glimpse of sunny meadows, and gleaming waters, and far-away liills, over which per- petual peace seemed to . brood. The slumberous soughings of the pines, the murmuring of the little brook in the dell below, the merry voices of oliildren ringing out in the distance, were the only sounds that broke the dreamy quiet. By-and-by lengthening shadows warned them that it was time to prepare for the homeward journey. So they wended their way to the house, laden with ferns, and mosses, and vines. Then came the hunt- ing up of the children, and the guthering together of baskets and wraps. Aunt Annie went with them to the station, trying to think in the last moments of all that she wanted to say to Ethel, and all the me&sages she wished to send to friends. Soon came a whistle, and the rush of the incoming train. Then thei-e wer<' hurried good-byes, a waving of hands as the cars moved away, a short journey, more good-byes as they parted from Fannie, who went on farther, and they were home again, and the bright, happy day was ended. But something remained; for, with the fleeting moments of that day had been interwoven thoughts and wordt of faith, hope, and love; and these, we are told, abidj. CHAPTER VII. 8L0CE8S AND FAILUBE. /^ RACE thought much in the weeks that followed V^ about this kingdom that she had promised to seek. That word about making home a " little king- dom of God " had sunk deep into her heart; and, not waiting for any great work, she began with that whicli was nearest her. So she tried to be more gentle, and kind, and patient than ever before, and cheerful too; for she wished to be as a sunbeam in the house. For the first week it was not very hai'd ; nothing especial happened to tr)' her. Her cheerfulness and good spirits, her readiness to help every one, from Bridget up, seemed infectious, and the wheels of domestic life rolled on with unwonted smoothness. But, alas, the second week came in chilly and rainy. Perhaps the gloomy weather had a depressing effect ; perhaps the various members of the household met with moie to try their patience. Whatever was the reason, every one seemed to be out of sorts. Mr. Maynard was taciturn; Mrs. Maynard, worn out from the effects of her spring sewing, wag nervous and irritable ; Aggie ■^as unusually fretful ; Ned found as much fuult as t dared with everything and everybody; Bridget appeared sulky, in reality she 74 i: f ■IPVI SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 76 :s that followed ad promised to a " little king- iieart ; and, not vith that which lore gentle, and id cheerful too; be house. For lothing especial ness and good ; from Bridget )f domestic life lilly and rainy, pressing effect; household met latever was the sorts. I^aynard, worn g, was nervous fretful; Ned 5 very thing and in reality she was sufi'rtring with toothache, but she said nothing about it ; Grace, blessed with good health •'nd more natural cheerfulness than the others, was the only one who kept on the even tenor of her way. She laughed Ned out of fault-finding, soothed Aggie, and encour- aged her mother, and took no notice of Bridget's sulks. But natural amiability wore down under the strain. There came a day before the end of the week when Grace grew discouraged and tired of being good. Aggie was so unreasonable, Ned so exasperating, Bridget made such stupid mistakes, that Grace felt as though she would like to join the general chorus, and find feult too; in fact, ^e thought she was quite justified in doing so. She had been very busy that day, trying to pake up for Bridget's inefficiency. She had too, a piece of fancy work on hand that she was anxious to finish. Going upstairs, somewhat tire^, she found her room littered with Aggie's playthings. Her hitherto suppressed vexation she could no longer conceal. She did not stop to think about it or she would not have s^joken as she did. She would not have neutralized the influence of the past week, and she would not have stored up unpleasant memories that would be long in taking themselves away. She did not stop to think, ami so she called out imperiously : "Aggie, come quickly, and put your things away. This room looks dreadful." " I'm so tired, Grace ; you might put them away this once." -|-^ 1 ; I, i M 76 THREE OIRLS. " I am busy now, Aggie. Besides, you ougat to do it ; it won't take you long. My ! you have been rummaging over this drawer, and everything is topsy- turvy ; you have no business to do tliat. Now I want the silks to work in thfe cencre of these flowers, and I have to waste all this time loolnng for them, and every- thing is in a tangle." Grace's vexation did i ot sub- side until the missing silks were found. Then Aggie began, not in the very best hi imor, to gather up her dolls and doll clothes. While jallcd cross and disagreeable when I have been p. u^nsant every day, and only just given way now." But when she thought it over that evening, she saw that slie had felt too satisfied with henskif on account of an amiability -.yhich was largely tks ;->/ it of good health ind. buoyant spiriti. Whej icffJ\>t.*Ion had come, she had yielded; but she m^r plaiii', »ow, that slie had no excuse for yielding., mt'l thn'' :,m oould not aiford thus to give way if eht re&.i).v ", 'r.uld be an in- fluence for good in her hoiae. So, f< r^ • t more keenly alike her own responsibility and h r i.\. .. "?akne«>9, she sought anew and ntore earneriil; for hoi; ujm on high. A(? for Ned, he no 800^e^ i-iiuovertd r!om his vexa- t. i> :ii. a he began to feel ashar^^d of himself. "I wond^;," .:. «,:'^ to himself, " if Gmee thinks I leally care f'^. *^^5-.«»t. L / Smythe; why a; o is not half the girl Giu J ., i I was hateful and mean in m* to say what I did, anyway. I'm sorry now." — " Why don't you tell her so ? " conscience whispered. But though Ned knew it would be right, he could not bring him- self to do that just now. ■ He contented himself with saying, " Perhaps I will, some time." )g an attraction »uraged. How leraoon, and all give way to ill provoked Ned, lenoe over him. slf," to be .jailed n p. u:!U3aDt every iveaing, she saw B>A£ on account SiX?*?' itof good teiff)!>tv.*;on had lairi), BOW, that a* iiic could not t^'Uld be an in- ■ t; more keenly iv s!rmkne<>s, she I iiomonhigh. from his vexa- f himBelf. "I i thinks I really hi not half the m in m? to say —"Why don't i. But though not bring him- d himaelf with SUCCESS XND FAILURE. 79 So the golden opportunity was allowed to pass, and the brother and sister for the time being were ferther apart than they would have been had it not all hap- pened. Grace felt this, and it made her all the more regret her hasty words, and seek greater patience for the future. ""^N CHAPTER VIII. FOREST QinSS. GRACE took an early opportunity to persuade her mother to spend a few weeks at Forest Glen. Mrs. Maynard had been very anxious for Grace to go to Bay View, and to that end had planned to give up her own summer outing. To be sure, it was scarcely fashionable not to go away in the hot weather, but then she could tell her friends that she really preferred to stay at home rather than have the fatigue of travel. As to tha rest of the family — Aggie could visit friends ; Ned would probably want to go fishing with some of the boys ; ?nd Mr. Maynard neither cared for nor needed holiuays, at least, so his wife supposed. It must be confessed she was disappointed to find that Grace held so fii-mly to her decision to give up Bay View. When her mother had ai^ued with her, Grace's only answer liad been, " I do not wish to have a holiday at the expense of all tae others. I am sure that you and father need rest and change more than I do." ^ "But you are young," the fond mother said. " I want you to have all the enjoyment you can, now." But Grace onl> laughed, and bending over and kissing her mother, said, " There are two kinds of en- 80 FOKEST OLEN. 81 ^ to persuade her t Forest Glen, ous for Grace to planned to give •e, it was scarcely lot weather, but e really preferred fatigue of travel, uld visit friends j ag with some of : cared for nor ipposed. It must find that Grace B up Bay View, er, Grace's only have a holiday I am sure that je more than I jther said. " I ju can, now." iding over and :wo kinds of en- joy meet, mother dear, and I mean to have the best kind — the kind that will Inst." Certainly Graai did not fail to have the truest en- joyment in the quiet, country hamlet where the next two months w?.re sjient. It was a real pleasure to see the worried expression fade away from her mother's face, and to find that Aggie, hitherto pale aud deliv'site, was becoming sun-burned and hearty. Ned had not wished to come with them. "It would be so dull," he said. However, as he could not gain his father's |)ermission to join a fishing party, he concluded there was nothing to be done but go with his mother «ind sisteni, and find what enjoy- ment he ooiild at Forest Glen. At first, he could scarcely find sufficient adjectives to es»)re98 his disgust for the " polsy little plane,' :e called it. Bui when he found there was capital iibiiing in the lake, and that Mr. Fienton owned a boat, and ha oould hftve the use of it whenever he wished, he concluded Forest Glen was not such a bad place after all. What Gnice'e impressions of the place were can best be told in her own words, just as she wrote them to Ethel : Forest Glen is the quietest plaol I ever saw, and one of the loveliest txto. It is only a little hamlet, and the houses ai« quite scattered. The farmhouse where we are staying is just detlightful. It is an old house, large and roomy, with an ample verauda on one %. ■■^ . ......^j^-^^^A.^MMiMMmAM r^Hl ■--^1 82 THREE OIBL8. side. Mrs. Benton is just as kind as she can be ; she has taken quite a liking to Ned, who docs full justice to her cooking I We spend most of our time out of doors. There is a large, old tree a short distance from the house, with a seat up among the branches. It is just lovely to take one's book or work there, and while away the summer afternoons. I have found something to do in this out-of-the- way place. Here I have found my first music pupil, Little Margie, Mr?. Benton's ten-year-old daughter. There is an organ here which belongs to Mrs. Benton's niece, who is now away in the city. Mai^ie is very fond of music, and proves quite an apt pupil, &ud her father says if she learns to play nicely he will buy her an organ. You would laugh to see me trying to teach read- ing to Joe, a little orphan boy employetl on the farm. I gave him some children's pictui-e books to look at, but found he could not read, and I have since then been trying to instruct him. What success I shall have I cannot yei tell. They have a Sunday-school here. I went to it the first Sunday after my arrival. It is kept up by Miss Alice Gray, the school-teacher here. She is a sweet, gentle girl, and I love her already. This little school seems so different to ours at home. There are only three classes in it, and sometimes Miss Gray has had to teach them all herself. I have undertaken the infant class. I love the little ones dearly, and know I shall miss them when I go back to town again. But Grace found something else to do, of which she said nothing to Ethel. Grace was now Ned's constant .:ii.1 as she can be ; she lo docs full justice of doors. There e from the house, It is just lovely id while away the n this out-of-the- iirst music pupil, y^ear-old daughter, rs to Mrs. Benton's Margie is very apt pupil, hnd her ily he will buy her ng to teach read- loyed on the farm, books to look at, ave since then been ess I shall have I re. I went to it It is kept up by r here. She is a ready. This little home. There are les Miss Gray has ive undertaken the dearly, and know town again. to do, of which she ow Ned's constant FOREST OLEX. 88 companion, and was glad of the opportunity thus afforded of coming to know and understand him better. They made many excursions together. One day, when on one of these excursions, Ned told his sister all his troubles : How he could not like Latin and Greek, and how much he wished to go into business. And Grace began to think seriously whether it might not be better for him to do so, and promised to speak to their father about it. Mr. Maynard occasionally came out to Foi oat Glen to spend a Sunday with his family. At such times Grace besi^ed him with earnest requests to stay a whole week with them. He always declared, however, that he could not leave his business. It was therefore a great surprise to all when, one Tuesday, Mr. May- nard walked in, valise iu hand, and announced that he had come to stay a whole week. This filled Grace's cup of happiness to overflowing. Mr. Maynard left all care behind him, and as fully enjoyed the various excursions as did the young people. Grace had scarcely imagined that her father could un- bend so much. She did not find an opportunity to fulfill her promise to Ned till near the close of Mr. Mayuard's stay ; then, one evening, she asked her father to take a walk to the top of some rocks, not far from the farmhouse, to see the sunset. The sunset, however, was only a secondary consideration with Grace that evening ; her real desire being to have a talk with her father about Ned. So, as they watched the sun '■XV ,M < .Aiksdm&hkMm.^^jJ^hS \J 84 THREE aiBua. sink behind the hills in a golden splendor which dceiiened into crimson, they tallced it all over. Qraoe told of Ned's aversion to college and his longing to enter business life ; Mr. Maynard spoke fully of his ambitions tor his son, and his desire that he might en- joy every advantage. However, he promised Qraoe to think over the matter, and give it hia favorable consideration. When Grace tx)ld her brother this he was well pleased, and said, " If father would only try me, he would find I would do well." So as the days drifted by, Grace hoped and felt that good was being done. 1 splendor which it all over. Grace id his longing to spoke fully of his I that he might en- e promiocd Qi-aoo 9 it liie favorable this he was well d only try me, he Loped and felt that CHAPTER IX. YOUNO HOlSEKEfiPEBS. WHILE Grace was rusticating at Forest Glen, Ethel was having a short experience of house- keeping. In the early part of July, Mrs. Gladwyn reci'l v^d a pressing invitation from a very dear friend nud former schoolmate to spend a fortnight with her. " You had better go," said Mr. Gladwyn. ** There is no reason now why you cannot leave." " Why, mother, you must go, that's all," said Ethel. " Don't you suppose that Millie and I art> able to keep house and look ailer the children while y«)U are away for a while?" So all objections being at last overruled, Mrs. Glad- wyn consented to go, and her elder daughters busied themselves helping her to get ready. It was such an unusual thing fur Mra. Gladwyn to take a holiday without having any of the children with her, that it seemed quite an important event to her family. At last the day came ; the coach was at the door, and with many parting charges Mrs. Gladwyn left. The girls returned to their household duties with a new, strange feeling of importance and responsibility. Perhaps it might be said that these feelings were 85 ...4) Tl ^1 %. ^%. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I m m ,! 5 2.5 IB 2.2 IM ^ 2.0 II AO 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 < 6" — — ► Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 1 L I ? (/J 6 CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/iCMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions h'storiques ^ O^ .<^ 5? I 'it 86 THREE GIRIJ9. divided between them ; Millie feeling the importance, and Ethel the responsibility. Millie threw herself into the work with energy. " Just think how early we shall get through this morning, Ethel," she said, as she flew around putting things in order. " I think I will always get up early in this hot weather." It was eight o'clock when everything was done, and tho girls sat down to rest awhile. " I say, Ethel," exclaimed Millie, " let us have an outing to-day. The children would enjoy it, and Ann could go with as. Ann hasn't much to do, this being Thursday." " It would be pleasant," said Ethel ; " but where can we go ? It must be some place near. How would Marlow Heights do ? " " Just the very place I was thinking of." " Very well ; if we are going, we had better begin to get ready." said Ethel. " We ought to start as soon as possible. Ann can get the lunch ready, and we will see to the children." Ann was by no means reluctant to leave the house for a day in the open air, and in a surprisingly short time she had packed up a nice lunch and was all dressed ready to go. Marlow Heights lay just beyond the outskirts of Melvin. A short, steep climb brougl one to a grassy bit of table-land, bearing clumps of ferns, and here and there a group of fir trees making a pleasant shade. the importance, J threw herself et through this around putting ays get up early ig was done, and ' let us have an njoy it, and Ann to do, this being lel ; " but where »ar. How would ig of." had better begin ight to start as unch ready, and leave the house irprisingly short d was all dressed the outskirts of L one to a grassy ferns, and here a pleasant shade. -'!• Mmi Three Girls and Their Motto. Page 87. H" VOUNG UOU8EKBEPER3. There was always a breeze there that repaid one for the climb, as well as a fine view of the surrounding country. Ethel and Millie had been there often, and knew just the place from which the best view could be obtained. It was a craggy piece of rock at the eastern end of the Heights, from which you could look down a steep slope on the dusty streets and houses below ; or gazing farther out, catch a glimpse of the distant ocean, so fisir away that some people could nut distinguish it from the blue sky. The girls called this rock, " Lookout Point." Up the steep, narrow path they went, in single file. Once at the top, all began to enjoy themselves in their own way. Baby Clarence shouted with glee as he chased the bright butterflies. Bessie and George set to work to gather wild flowers and ferns for Ann. " Come, Millie, let us see if * Lookout Point ' is just the same," said Ethel ; and away went the two girls to their favorite resort to gaze on a landscape that, though always the same, was always new. Just now town and country lay spread out beneath them bathed in shimmering light. The little bit of ocean in the distance shone like silver in the sun's rays. The girls found a shady nook, and sat down to take in the scenery, spread out like a panorama before them, finding real pleasure in pointing out to one another, as they had often done before, places that they knew. " There is Mrs. Pelhain's house; we can look right down on it," said Millie. " Do you know that she fuiii ii n ii i i piiW-..^ 3'"* 88 THREE GIRLS. told me one day when I was there that she had never once been on these Heights? And she lives so near too I -She said, ' she had no time.' I pity that poor, little girl of hers ; she is not allowed to stir off the door step for fear she will get dirty. One day last autumn, when you were away, Ann and I were com- ing up here with Bessie and Greorgie. I asked Mrs. Pelham if Bella could come too. You never saw a more delighted child when ehe got up here. She seemed like one who had entered a new world. Is it not a pity that people should miss so much beauty?" " I suppose Mrs. Pelham is a very busy woman," said Ethel. " She makes herself busy ; she could take time, if she chose to let some things go. I think I would come here sometimes, if I were in her place, if only for the salse of the child." Just then they heard Harry calling them ; and went back to have tlieir lunch, which they all enjoye«l thor- oughly. Then when the afternoon shadows b^;an to lengthen, with Harry for a guide, they wandered over the Heights, exploring every nook and comer. Before six o'clock they turned their steps homeward, as their father returned from business at that hour, and it would not do to keep him waiting for his dinner. They had enjoyed the day so much that they all thought they would like to have such an outing every week through the remainder of the summer. YOUNG HOUSEKEEPERS. 89 t she had never e lives so near pity that poor, to stir off the One day last ad I weie com- I asked Mrs. u never saw a up here. She 7 world. Is it auch beauty?" busy woman," I take time, if hink I would place, if only hem; and went II enjoye«l thor- ;an to lengthen, ered over the iomer. Before leward, as their ir, and it would ner. 1 that they all in outing every imer. The next morning Ethel brought nut the mending basket. Now Lt us begin the meudiag, and we can finish it all to-day." " Very well," said Millie. It was easy to see, however, that she was not very enthusiastic about it. " I do hate darning and patching," she said, after a while ; " I always feel as though I would like to buy new things as soon as everything begins to wear out." "It's not the pleasantest thing in the world to mend," said Ethel. " But it is a good thing to have to do things we do not like to do, sometimes." " It's not a good thing for me, I am sure, for it makes me cross, edpecially on hot days like these, when the needle gets so sticky." "Put it through the emery cushion," suggested Ethel, handing one over as she spoke. Millie took it, and stabbed the needle vigorously through it, then set to work again. "The needle works quite easily now," she exclaimed. All went well for a few moments, then the thread knotted, and Millie, in a fit of impatience, tried to drag it through, with the result that the rent she was trying to mend was made larger. This was enough to aggravate any- body ; however, it aroused in Millie the determination to be revenged on the hole by mending it in spite of itself, as she declared. • It was Avith quite an air of triumph that at last she exclaimed : " There, that's done ; now, Ethel, what next can you give me to do." r 90 THB££ aiBLS. " Here is an apron of Bessie's ; the edging is torn, and there is a button oiF; you can try that." Millie sewed on the button, and then began at the edging; but soon she dropped her work, and ex- claimed : " Do see that little bird down in the yard ; it has fallen from the nest. I must go down and see it." Away she went. Ethel sighetl ; Millie had done so little in the hour they had been at work. She saw it was of but little use to depend on her. Meanwhile, Millie, down in the yard, chirruped away to the Utile bird, and brought it crumbs. I can- not say, however, that the bird appreciated her kind intentions. On the contrary, it seemed quite frightened. Ethel worked away with a growing impatience in her heart. She began to feel quite cross with Millie for leaving her to do the sewing alone. " Oh, look, Ethel, see the little thing try to fly," called >Iillie, from below. " Well, Millie, you may have time to look at it, I have not," said Ethel, with rather more emphasis on the " you " and " I " than was necessary. ** Why don't you leave the mending, and come down here for a while," her sister said. " You needn't fret about the work. I'll help you by-aud-by ; any- way, if we do not finish it to-day, we can finish it to- morrow." " I am not going to leave any to do to-morrow, I e edging is torn, ^ that." i then began at er work, and ex- the yard ; it has wn and see it." little in the hour nras of but little yard, chirruped ; crumbs. I oan- eciated her kind quite frightened, ig impatience in 3ross with Millie le. hing try to fly," ! to look at it, I lore emphasis on lary. iding, and come i. " You needn't by-aud-by; any- ! can finish it to- do to-morrow, I YOUNG HOnSEKEEPERS. 91 shall do it to-day, if I have to put in every stitch my- self." And Ethel tnapped off another needleful of thread energetically. " Very well, suit yourself," returned Millie, with exas^ierating coolness. Ethel shut her lips tightly ; she felt very cross now. The children had come from play, and had gathered around Millie, watohiuj; every movement of the little bird with the greatest interest. Then Ann came out, and took it in her hand, and baby Clarence laughed and clapped his hands. «• See, Ethel, pitty birdie," he called. Ethel looked down ; she could not refuse little Clarence anything, and the bright smile on the baby's face brought an answering smile to her own. " Yes, darling," sha said. " I see." And as she watched the happy, interested group, her impatient thoughts began to give way to more kindly ones. After all, Millie was still a child in many ways, ready enough with offers of help, but soon wearying of her helf-imposcd tasks; Ethel realized that she had ex- pected too much of her j she must take her as she was, not as she might be, and not count too much on her help. " I wonder," she thought, " if I could ever be as patient and wise as- mother is in training her children." "Have you finished everything? Why did you not leave something for me to do ? " said Millie, when about half en hour later she came upstairs. ■fW!" ^ 92 THREE OIRL8. " I have left your own things for you to do, Millie. I expect you will find them enough ; and if you take my advice, you will attend to them to-day." "Perhaps I will; anyway, I'll see to them all right." But Millie was one of those who put things off. In tho afternoon she went to see Fay Wilton, a young friend. When she came home, she was too tired to sew ; besides, she had brought buck with her a book, lent her by her friend, and she was very anxious to begin the reading of it. The book proved so interest- ing that she spent the greater part of the evening upon it. But then, she argued with herself that she had all the next day in which to do her work, and besides, she meant to get up so early that everything she had to do would be finished by breakfast time. With these thoughts she fell asleep, and knew nothing more until aroused by Ethel calling : " Come, Millie, get up ; it is seven o'clock." Millie opened her eyes, dreamily. " Seven o'clock I dear me, how provoking ! " She reasoned, " I cannot get up early now, and I may as well take, another little nap." So she closed her eyes again, with the result that she was late for breakfast. Ethel, on the other hand, had been awake and up early, and had planned out quite an amount of work for the day. There was a little dress which had been cut out for Clarence a week before, and had been laid aside when their mother began to get ready to go away. to do, Millie. I .nd if you take -day." le to them all t things off. In Wilton, a young faa too tired to nth her a book, very anxious to oved 80 interest- :he evening upon f that she had )rk, and besides, 'ything she had i8t time. With }w nothing more o'clock." " Seven o'clock ! oned, " I cannot all take, another again, with the I awake and up imount of work which had been lid had been laid •eady to go away. YOUNQ IIOUMEKKEFKRS. 93 " I will make that to-day," thought Ethel. " It will be a good thing to get it out of the way ; the first of the week is always a busy time." She generally went to see Aunt Margaret on Satur- day afternoons, but she had no intention of leaving that out of her programme ; the dress was to be finished by the middle af the afternoon, giving her ample time for her Saturday visit, as well as for the study of her Sunday-school lesson. Ethel realized that she could not do what she had laid out for the day, unless she could keep steadily on without interruption ; so she planned out work for others, as well as herself. Ann, of ooui'se, could attend to the kitchen work and the cooking, and Millie would be able easily to do tht. other housework, and look after the children, leaving Ethel undisturbed at her sewing. It is one thing to plan for one's self— quite another to plan what others shall do, and Ethel found this out before the day was over. As usual, she had counted too much on the assistance of Millie, who proved au uncertain factor in working out the problem of the day. For a time, things seemed to go on well. Ethel put together the dress, ti-ied it on, and fitted it as well as she could on such a restless little mortal as Clarence. Then just as she was getting on nicely with her work, tiiere came a ring at the door, and shortly Ann appeared with word that Mrs. Bennison was down- stairs. Ethel looked aghast. Of all persons in the mmmmmmmm 94 THRRK aiRtJB. world, Mrs. Benni«)n was the last one she wttiitotl to 800 on ft busy morning, for the good old lady always made a prolonged vinit. " Dear mo, Saturday morning of all others !" sjiid Ethel, with a despairing glance at Ann, who well aware of Mrs. Benninon's i)eculiaritic8, giggled, then asked : " Shall I say you are engaged ? " " Oh, no, I will be down in a moment, Ann," re- plied Ethel, her momentary feeling of vexation pass- ing away, aa she thought how often her mother had been similarly interrupted, and how kindly and pa- tiently she always listened to the oft>told tale of aches and ailments. She reraeralKsred too, how often her mother had said : " What seems an interruption may be more truly my work for the time than what I am obliged to lay aside." With these thoughts in her mind, Ethel was able to give a real kindly greeting to the old lady. When Mrs. Bennison said she had been a long distance to see some one on busineas, and feeling tired had come in to rest for a while, Ethel felt her sympathies aroused ; and remembering what a warm day it was, and recol- lecting too that her visitor was fond of milk, she in- sisted on going and getting some. It did lier heart good to see how thoroughly the old lady enjoyed the glass of milk and the little seed-oakca that she brought for her. " I feel so refreshed," said Mrs. Bennison, when at 10 she wanted to old liuly always ill othcrn ! " snid Ann, who woU ics, giK:Kl('k after the children when you know I am so busy," she complained. " Ann was very busy, and I offered to whip the whites of the eggs for the top of the pp iding. I was doing that when Clarence came in, and he would not stay with me, but must go and find you." " Well, do what you can with him now. Georgie must be washed too, before dinner." " You take the easiest part, sitting here in the cool, while I have to run around and do the work," said Millie, fretfully. '• If you think this is easier, I am sure you are wel- come to do it," returned Ethel. " Don't, Clarence," she exclaimed, rather impatiently, as the little fellow took hold of some embroidery. " What made you undertake that dress on Satur- day?" said Millie. " It is not wanted for to-morrow. I am sure I would put it away, if it made me so cross as it does you." Truth is not always acceptable. It was true that Q >'Mi\ 98 THREE GIRLS. it was unnecessary that the dress should be finished on that day ; it was also true that Ethel was soraewhat cross. But it was quite unwelcome to her to have these facts suggeste 1. " You know, Millie, as well as I do," she said, " that the first of the week is a busy time ; Clarence needs the dress as soon as he can have it. As to being cross— I don't think I am cross." The afternoon proved no better than the morning, Millie had quite forgotten the untidy bedroom ; and when she called it to mind, she felt hot and tired, and complained of her head aching. So Ethel laid aside her work and helped her. Then when Millie gave the children their Saturday bath, she had trouble with them, and Ethel was obliged to go and settle matters. It was no wonder that as she went back to her sewing she felt tired and nervous. In her haste, she sewed a sleeve wrongly, and had to rip it out ; but only the more firmly did she resolve that the dress should be finished that night. Fay Wilton came in after tea, and a game of cro- quet was proposed. <' Come, Ethel, we want you to make up a side," said Harry. " I am really too busy ; can't you get Percy White to ct)me over and play ? " " Percy is away." " Well, Bessie could take a ball." " Oh, Bessie is no good as a player," returned Harry, tiild be f.niBlied on ihel was somewhat le to her to liave lo," she said, " that e ; Clarence needs it. As to being than the morning, idy bedroom ; and hot and tired, and Ethel laid aside when Millie gave le had trouble with and settle matters. back to her sewing ' haste, she sewed a out ; but only the ;ie dress should be nd a game of cro- 1 make up a side," on get Percy White er ," returned Harry, YOUMO HOUSEK££P£B8. 99 somewhat impatiently. "Can't you come and play on 3 game at least ? " " What is the matter?" asked Mr. Gladwyn, look- ing up from the paper he was reading. " We want Ethel to come and play croquet," said Millie. " We can't have sides unless she does ; and she won't. She is bound to finish a dress for Clarence, and I can't get her to do anything." " Gently, daughter, Ethel is our housekeeper now ; we must not expect her to stop for everything. How would I do instead of Ethel ? " " Oh, Mr. Gladwyn, would you play with us ; that would be just lovely," exclaimed Fay. As to Millie and Harry their good humor was quite restored by their father's timely offer ; and all went off to the garden well satisfied. Ethel could hear their merry voices as she sat at work upstairs. She longed to be with them ; she knew it would be better for her; still she kept on, growing more tired and irritable every moment, and getting out of patience whenever the children interrupted her. Darkness was gathering fast when the players came in. Ethel knew that George and Clarence ought to have been in l)ed half an hour before, but she had not insisted on it, because she did not wish to be hindered. Now, Clarence, like all overtired children, was fretful ; Georgie was in very high spirits, and not at all in- clined to go to sleep quietly; Fay Wilton and Millie were still fcdking together downstairs. So Ethel was 100 THREE GIRLS. left alone ; and as she was really tired, it was not much wonder if her patience, taxed to the utmost, often gave way. When at last Millie came upstairs, Ethel's vexa- tion burst forth : *' I do think, Millie, you might have excused your- self from Fay, and put the children in to bed." " I don't know that I could have done it. Anyway, it would not have been much use for me to come, for you know you told me this afternoon tliat I only made trouble with the children, and had better leave them altogether." Ethel could say nothing, as she remembered that in a moment of vexation she had spoken woi-ds to that effect. She could not, however, refrain from re- marking, " You haven't tried to help me much to-day." This was too much for Millie. " I did try, I am sure," she exclaimed, " but nothing satisfied you, Ethel. I wish you had let that dress alone ; it has made you so cross." And with that, Millie picked up her work, the mending she had not done the day before, and went downstairs, leaving Ethel thoroughly put out with herself to think she had been betrayed into fault-finding. Meantime, Millie was doing some thinking as she sat alone at her work. Her heart condemned her, and told her that she might have done more for Ethel; thsit she had been selfish in taking the greater part of a busy morning to finish reading a story book, and Millie felt sorry, and resolved she would do better d, it was not much utmost, often gave lairs, Ethel's vexa> lave excused your- in to bed." done it. Anyway, r me to come, for n tliat I only made better leave them remembered that spoken words to r, refrain from re- ) me much to-day." " I did try, I am satisfied you, Ethel. ; it has made you >icked up her work, le day before, and horoughly put out een betrayed into le thinking as she rt condemned her, Dne more for Ethel ; the greater part of a story book, and le would do better another day. But then she remembered how often before she had resolved to do better, and had failed. Was she to go on that way always ? With that came other thoughts. She had heard it said that our good resolutions are broken because made in our own strength. Was that the reason for failure ? Something within said " Yes," so plainly that Millie could not help but hear, thougii she did not wish to. Why then did she not seek a Saviour's help to overcome these faults of hers ? to make her life what it should be ? what in her best moments she wished it to be ? Often these questions had come to Millie's heart before; but she always had tried to evade them. She did not do so now, but thouglit them over seriously. And so that day of failure was not altogether a failure after all, since in it were awakened thoughts that in due time brought forth good fruit in her life. How little we know of one another's inner life ! Ethel's thought was : " Millie does not care ; she is growing more heedless every day." And for a while this thought chafed and irritated her. But Ethel knew where to take the little troubles and worries of life. Slie laid them down at the Master's feet, realiz- ing as she did so that she ought to have done this before; that because she had not done so she had failed to receive the help she needed. Yet now help came ; g-entler thoughts prevailed ; and she was ready to excuse Millie. " I have expected too much of her," i 102 THUEE aiRLS. she said to herself, " and have found fault with her, because she did not come up to my ideals of what she ought to be and do ; I must be more patient." By-and-by, Millie came upstairs. " Can't I help you, Ethel," she said. Ethel looked up brightly. " No, thank you, dear. Go to bed like a good child ; you must be tired. I have only these button-holes to work now." Still, Millie lingered ; then putting her arras around her sister, she said : " I believe I have been thoughtless to-day. I might have helped you more. 1 am going to try and do better another day." And Ethel said, " I have been a cross sister to-day, haven't I ? 1 will try not to be so again. There, good night, desir." It was late when Ethel had finished. As she thought over the day, she wondered whether it had been a successful day in the truest sense of the word. It had certainly L)een successful in so far that she had accomplished wliat she had planned to do. But then' she called to mind all her hasty words to the children, all her impatient feelings, remembered too, that Aunt Margaret would miss her usual Saturday visit, and that her Sunday-school lesson was still unprepared. And the words came stealing into her heart, " Seek ye first the kingdom of God," that kingdom Avhich is righteousness, peace, and joy* in the Holy Ghost." Ah, read in the light of those words, the day had been a failure. She had missed the best things — the things fault with lier, jals of what she patient." "Can't I help tliauk you, dear. List be tired. I now." her arras around been thoughtless re. I am going OSS sister to-day, ) again. There, iiishcd. As she whether it had ise of the word. far that she had o do. But then" Is to the children, !d too, that Aunt urday visit, and still unprepared. • heart, " Seek ye ngdom which is [oly Ghost." Ah, day had been a ings — the things YOUNG IIOUSEKEKPERS. that abide ; but she had learned a lesson that was not soon forgotten. The following Wednesday, Ethel stood at the din- iig-room window gazing rather abstractedly out, with a shadow on her usually bright face. A few moments before she had been singing as she went about her household duties. The cause of the sudden change was to be found in the little note she held in her hand. It was from her father, to the effect that he would bring home to dine with him Dr. Somerville and his wife. Few words, but quite sufficient to make Ethel feel flurried and nervous. It was not so much the thought of the dinner that troubled her ; though that was, of course, an occasion of some anxiety to a young housekeeper, yet witli Ann's effici«nt help she knew tiiat it could be provided. But to have to entertain a doctor of divinity ! The mere thought was quite over- whelming. Poor Ethel had never as yet been able to overcome a certain embarrassment wlien in company. She was painfully troubled with a self-consciousness from which it seemed impossible to escape, and which made hei' manner constrained. She was told that the remedy was to forget herself, but the harder she tried to do this the worse she became. She had about concluded that it was of no use to try ; that it was impossible for her to be easy and natural like some people. Now you will see why this little note so disquieted her. " If mother were only home," she mused, ** it 104 niRER OIRUS. would not be 8o bad ; but I shall be afraid to speak a word before so learned a man. His wife too, no doubt, is an excellent housekeeper, and will observe anything that goes wrong. Oh, dear I How I wish they had not happened to come this way just now I But there, I must go and talk with Ann about dinner." That arranged, her heart felt a little lighter. While she was bjsy making ready for her expected guests, her favorite text came to her mind ; could that be a help to her in her difficulties ? " After all," she said to herself, " it matters very little what they think of me. I am only a humble member of Christ's great kingdom trying to do his will ; and these friends also belong to that kingdom and serve the same great Kiug, and the little I can do for them I can do in his name I " Even as these thoughts came to Etliel she felt her anxiety give way to calmness. Self was lost sight of and forgotten in the thought of Christ, and the one supreme desire to serve him. So when Mr. Gladwyn came, bringing his guests with him, and Ethel was introduced to the learned doctor and his wife, she felt none of the trepidation so natural to her. After all, they did not prove so very dreadful to en- tertain. Doctor Somerville was very genial, and his wife gentle and unassuming, and Ethel enjoyed every moment of their stay. The doctor was an old school- mate of Mr. Gladwyp's, and the two had many a hearty laugh talking over old times together. e afraid tu speak His wife too, no and will observe ar I How I wish is way just now I nn about dinner." lighter. y for her expected mind ; could that " After all," she e what they think sr of Christ's great these friends also the same great !m I can do in his ame to Ethel she 83. Self was lost ht of Christ, and 1. ringing his guests led to the learned }f the trepidation sry dreadful to en- ry genial, and bis hel enjoyed every was an old school- two bad many a together. YOUNQ HOUSEKEEPERS. 105 " We have had such a very pleasant evening, dear," said Mrs. Somerville, as s'le parted from Ethel. " I am so glad to have met you." The pleasant words were welcome to Ethel, but she felt still more pleased when her father said, after their friends had gone : " You filled J ir mother's place well to-night, my daughter." That was compliment enough for Ethel, for she knew her father thought that her mother ex- celled as an hostess. The days slipped quickly by, and Mrs. Gladwyn came home again, and Ethel was glad to give up the responsibility of housekeeping ; yet she felt that she had learned many helpful lessons during her mother's absence. CHAPTER X. PRINCIPLR TRSTEn. rpiIE last work of August had rome, and the May- -L nanl family prepared to return home. It was very pleasant, certainly, to l«M)k forward to rawting again in thf ir own dear home ; yet they could nut leave the place where they had gpent so many pleasant days without some feelings of regret. Ned was in high spirits, l)ecau8e his father had written tliat instead of going to college he might try business for a year. The boy'" eyes fairly shone as he told his sister about it, winding up with the dec- laration, " It's my opinion, Gract?, that at the end of the year father won't know how to get along without me." Grace wantetl to laugh outright at that, but she managed to keep a straight fiice, for she did not wish to hurt her brother's feelings. Indeed, slie was pleased to see his enthusiasm ; and as she noted the earnest- ness and manliness awakened in the hitherto careless lad, she said to herself, " I believe business is the right thing for Neil." For herself, Grace felt that this had been a very happy Bumnter. She had tried to do something for others. Only a little she felt it to have been, but better than 106 me, and the May- rn luinie. It was rwani to rawting )ey could not leave lany pleasant days !e his father had lege ho might try es fairly slionc as up with the dec- hat at the end of get along without t at that, hut she * she did not wish ed, she was pleased noted the earnest- 3 hitherto careless msiness is the right 1 been a very happy ething for others, n, but better than PUINCIIM.K TEHTKD. 107 nothing. Joe ootild read fairly well— we'l enough to get on himself Margie could jtlay awl Hing a numlwr of hymns now for her father's beneHt. As to the little ones of the infant class, Grace just wished she could take them all with her, she hail gniwn to love them so. The day before she lefl, they came by twos and thre.* to bid her good-bye, and as she looked down iuto the dear little faces, tHw felt it had Imn a great privihige to speak of Jesus to tiiem. And Grace had heljjed in other ways, of which she did not know. She neve." knew how much A lice Gray, who had toiled on faithfully in the Sunday-school amid many discouragements, had been cheered by this fresh, young worker who had come among them. She did not know either how some young girls, as yet without the kingdom, had watched her every word and act, and had come to the conclusion that she was living for something hig!»er and nobler than self. On returning to Melvin, Grace was disappointed to find that Ethel had just gone away. Fannie Weldoii was still at the seaside ; so there was no one to run in and see and talk with. She felt rather lonely, and was genuinely glad when two or three days later she met Leonore Leslie. " Why, I had no idea you had come home again," exclaimed Grace. " We only came this morning," replied Leonore. " We did not stay quite so long as we planned, but cousin Harold promised to sjicnd a few we(!k3 with us 1j 108 TIlRf.R (UniA wlion wfl retiinuKl ; and we thought it wait jiiHt on woU to eotno humo now. Scptcmlwr is such a lovoly month hire. I uni ho doli^htctl tlmt you ure lionie, Graoo. I heard you wore awuy, and was so afraid you nti^ht nut have returned. Of course, wo wish to nmk« (x>UHin I lar- iM'h visit OH plooHAnt an |>oHHihh>, and I want you to help us. I luivo ever ho many phtns in mind now." " I do not know that I (»n add much to the enjoy- ment of your cousin'H visit," Biiid Graw. " I suppoM you had a dehghtful time at Bay View?" " Oh, Grace, you ought to have lt>een with ua ; it waH just splendid. So much gaiety and lite; Home- thing going on morning, noon, and night. And thou we met such nice |)Ci)ple I But there ! I had l)otter not begin, for 1 have so much to tel\ you. I am afraid I would not know when to stop. Now, Grace, yoti must come over on Thursday atYernoon, and have a game of lawn tennis. Harold will be with us then, and he is an enthusiastic toimis-player." " Thank you, Loonoro, I shall be happy to come," said Grace. When, on the following Thursdoy, Gratsc was intro- duced to Harold Winthrop, she wondered whether he oould be enthusiastic about anything. There was no expression on his coimtenance that would indicate that he had ever l)een in earnest about anything ; however, he certainly understood the art of making himself agreeable, and also proved to be a good tennis player. Mr. Winthrop was a good student of human nature, PRIMCIPLK TEOTED. 109 t it wafl jiiHt M well micli a luvcly inontli TP lioirje, (iraoe. I fraiil you might not :oiimku(H>iiHiii Ilur- aiul I want you to uis in iniuil now." mucli to tlifl onjoy- }raw, " I suppose View?" ve been with us ; it .'ty and life; sonie- i night. And thou ere I I had Ijctter jP you. I am afraid Now, Grace, you ernoon, and have a U he with U9 then, lyer.'* be happy to come," ly, Qracic was intro- ondered whether he ng. There was no would indicate that mythinw; however, f making himself good tennis player. It of human nature. and could adapt h!mm>]f with cMe to very different diHpoHitionH. With the frivolouH, he could talk the veriest nonstmse ; and with those of an opposite turn of mind, the most charming sense. He flar>-*.'ilFWS."«^i'rJ>WM(*«il-"'" PRINCIPLE TESTED. Ill the golden autumn* im. 1 looking back over a feeling of shame eeting onro since her 3cn some other en- 'Stion whether there that would lead Mr. to live was Christ — life the seeking of here had not been, cen a more definite 5 for past failures by evening. But Fri- i sore throat; so she intended. Leonore their cousin, came brough the evening. f Grace was accom- I. She had no sooner glance at the com- 3upper was to be juite forgotten that nth ; now a tumult rhat should she do? nance, or go out at Her first thought lorthy to partake of so little thought to her Lord and Saviour through the month past, and hav- ing lived so much unto herself. But then she reflectetl, " I have taken solemn vows upon me, and though I have not luen faithful, yet to turn away now will be Mit another backward step. It would surely be better to seek forgiveness for the past and help for the future." Even while she thought, the words of the text came as a message to her, "Will ye also go away ? " A rever- ent hush fell on her heart. She thought she could almost hear her Lord speak to her, in tones so tender and sad, " Will you also go away ? " The sermon was ended, the benediction had been pronoun(.-ed, the organ pealed forth, and the congrega- tion began to disperse. Grace sat as in a dream, hearing still those words, " Will ye also go away ? " Harold Winthrop was about to go ; but seeing Grace still seated, he turned and said, " Must you remain this evening?" " I wish to," she answered, quietly. " I will wait for you then," he said. " You know my cousins expect you to spend the evening with them." Yes, Grace knew it, though at the moment she had forgotten it ; she knew too what Sunday evening at Elmcroft meant — some singing of sacred music inter- spersed witli a gpcxl deal of worldly conversation — and feeling that it would be anything but helpful to her religiously, she said, " Please excuse me to them ; I cannot go to-night." 112 THREE GIRLS. m There was no time to urge the matter, 30 Harold could but assent, and join the stream of out-goeis. And thus these two who had thought alike on so many subjects, found themselves separated in thought and feeling by a wide gidf. It expressed itself in those two words, "must," "wish "; what appeared to one to l)e merely an irksome duty, was to the other a sweet and precious privilege. In that quiet hour Grace found peace and help, and felt strengthened to meet another month's duties and temptations. She had, indeed, need of grace and strength, if she would keep her heart free from the world and in readiness for Christ's service ; for this was to be for her a month of testing— a testing of the principles by winch she professed to be governed. Would she stand the test ? Harold Winthrop's visit was drawing to a close; and Leonore Leslie was to have a ball, the gmnd finish- ing up of all the entertainments of the past weeks. Now Grace had decided not to go to any more balls. She had come to this decision whils at Forest Glen. When a young girl she had been accustomed to go to gav parties, where dancing formed the only amusement. She enjoyed them, and thought dancing no harm ; so when she received an invitation to one, after her public profession of faith, she never so much as thought of declining it. Remarks were made upon her course by some of the church-members, perhaps not in the PRINCIPLE TESTED. 113 matter, m Harold m of out-goei'S. )ught alike on so parated in thought ;xpressed itself in ; what appeared to was to the other a >eace and help, and Donth's duties and nd strength, if she the world and in this was to be for of the principles by med. Would she rawing to a close ; dl,thegmnd iinish- :" the past weeks. \) to any more balla. la at Forest Glen, .ccustomed to go to ;he only amusement, ncing no harm ; so to one, after her • 80 much as thought ide upon her course perhaps aot in the most kindly manner. These remarks reached Grace'n ears, and instantly a spirit of opposition was aroused. She was not going to be governed by other people's notions of right and wrong ; she would act according to her own judgment. But thenceforward she was not altogether at rest. Still deeper thoughts were stirred that summer. It was after the quiet talk the girls had at the picnic, and before going to Forest Glen, that Grace overheanl Mrs. Sewall say ai a sewing circle that Hetty Cuter thought she might dance, as her Sunday-school teacher went to balls. Grace felt conscience-smitten. Hetty was in her claso, and as slie knew had serious thoughts regarding her soul's salvation. Was she to be hin- dered in entering the kingdom by the worldly example of one who ought to lead her to Christ ? Grace pondered the subject deeply. Her first thought was to give up her class. Then she recol- lected that shecouldnot give up her influrice; th&tmust go on. She b^an to see more clearl) too, that she had been surrounding herself with the wrong kind of influences. The influence of the ball-room was not such as to help her Christward and heavenward. The Christian life was opening out before her, and she was beginning to realize that she could not be conformed to the world, and at the same time transformed into the image of Christ. So she made her choice. It was an easy thing to make the resolve in that quiet nook up umong the hills, where she seemed to II 114 TURBE QIKLiB. breathe a purer atmosphere and felt drawn nearer to God. It was not so easy to carry out that resolve when she came down again into every-day, busy, gay life. When the invitation to the Leslie ball came, Gmce wished it had been given by some other person than Leonore Leslie, and iiad come at another time, if at all. It would have been so much easier for Grace had she taken a decided stand with regard to worldly amuse- ments on first joining the church. It was hard to re- trace her steps. Moreover, her mother gave her no help. " I think you are altogether too scrupulous, Grace," she said. " It does seem too bad to give up going to the Leslies' entertiiinraent ; it will be such a very select affair. If you have objections to dancing, surely you can go and not dance. " No, mother, I could not. You know I like dan- cing, and I would rather stay away than go as a mere spectator. Besides, even if I could be only that, I would still have the name of going ; people would not stop to ask whether I danced or not, and my useful- ness would be just as much hindered." " Well, Grace, of course, you can do as you wish about it. You know I like to see you interested in good works, and do not wish you < be gay ; but I think you might have strained a point this once when the invitation came from such intimate friends as the Leslies. " Supposing I had ; then, having begun the season with the Leslies, how could I refuse the Warings, and PBIXOJPIiE TESTED. 115 It drawn nearer to it that resolve when day, busy, gay life. I ball came, Grace other person than lother time, if at all. p for Grace had she to worldly arausc- It was hard to re- lother gave her no ler too scrupulous, too bad to give up t ; it will be such a bjections to dancing, )u know I like dan- ly than go as a mere luld be only that, I g 5 popls would not not, and my useful- ired." can do as you wish ]ee you interested in u r he gay ; but I point this once when timate friends as the ing begun the season use the Warings, and the Braithwaites, and all the rest of our friends. No, mother, I must decide now." In spite of Grace's firmness it cost her considerable effort to write a note to Leonore, in which she declined the invitation and gave her reasons for doing so. And when the next day Leonore came over, and overwhelmed her with entreaties to come just this once, and gav'e numberless reasons wh> she should, Grace was per- suaded to reconsider the matter. She was honestly perplexed, and wished either Ethel or Fannie at home, so that she could ask their advice. Ethel could not be reached quickly by letter, Fannie could. So Grace wrote to the latter, stating at lengtli all the reasons for and against going to the Leslies, and asking advice. The next day Fannio's answer came ; and this was all she said with referenc« to that part of Grace's letter : ** With regard to your difficulties about the invitation you have received, I have but this word to write — 'Seelr ye first the kingdom of God.'" " i'here ! " said Grace, throwing down the letter with a g.esture of impatience. " Slie has just put tiie re- sponsibility of the decision back on myself again. I wish that she had said soraetiiing that would fit." Here she paused. After all, what could Fannie or Ethel or any one say that would fit her case any better than the words of Scripture. The only trouble was they fitted too well. When she listened to what others had to say on the subject she was very much {lerplexed 116 THREE aiRLS. as to her duty ; when on the other han«l, she looked at the Scriptui-e words lionestly and fairly, her per- plexity vaiiished ; the way was plain before her. Was she willing to take that way ? She would have to give up something? Yes, aa evening's pleasure— but was that anything to be compared to the privilege of being a co-worker with God ? Then the woids of that sermon that had helped her so long before came to her mind, " In the light of eternity, will you regret having made some sacrifice for Christ's sake ; ah, whatever else you regret, you will not regret that." And then and there Grace gave herself anew to Christ and Itis service, and took another step up- ward in the Christian way. Harold Winthropwas much disappointed at Grace's decision, and resolved to try to persuade her to alter it. A magazine to be returned made a good excuse for calling on the following afternoon. Grace knew instinctively the real object of his visit, and as she went down to the drawing room felt somewhat as one might feel who was marching right up to the enemy's guns. However, she tried to appear unconcerned, and chattered away in a very animated manner upon a variety of subjects, skilfully avoiding all reference to the approaching ball. But Mr. Winthrop r heart a conscious- > out of her lift^- PRIXCIIM.E TESTED. ne sometliiug that might have been — yet not for one moment did she regret it. As for Harold Winthrop, he had felt attached to Grai* as he never had been to any other girl. She had beon much in his thoughts of late, and he had resolved to take some favorable opportunity to tell her of his feelings ; but ibe events of the last few days had put a different phfise upon his thouglits. He did not wish to have one for a wife whose religious principles would prevent her going with him into gay society. He saw very plainly that he could not induce Grace to give up her principles, and he was not willing to give up his own ; so he decided it was better that they should be friends only. 1' et he never lost the pleasant impressions received while enjoying the company of this sweet-faoed young girl. J CHAPTER XI. CONFLICT AND VICTORY. IT Uiight be supposed that having once made her decision, Grace would have no more conflicts. Perhaps she expected so herself but, like all mortals, she had her ups and downs. She was not always in an exalted state of mind, and she had yet an even harder battle to fight with liei*8elf. Thursday evening had come and, as it happened, was particularly dull at home. Mr. Maynard had gone back to his off le. Ned had been given permis- sion to go to some entertainment. Mrs. Maynard had the sick-headache ; so after Aggie went to bed, Grace was left alone. She 'ried working, then reading, but felt too restlefes to settle down to anything. At last, yielding to the impulse of the moment, she climbed the two flights of stairs to the upper story of the house, where from a little turret window she could look over to the licslies' residence, and see the gleaming lights and catch strains of music. She knew it was not a wise thing to do, yet she sat there picturing to herself all the brightness and gaiety within the stately rooms at Elracroft. Then she thougiit of Harold Winthrop. Was he all devotion to Clara Prescott to-night ? The thought lao I lis; CONFLICT AKD VICTORY. lai )RY. ig onoe made her 30 more conflicts, t, like all mortals, 18 not always in an yet an even harder i, as it happened, Vfr. Maynard had )een given permis- Mrs. Maynard had vent to bed, Grace , then reading, but nything. At last, tment, she climbed r story of the house, ihe could look over le gleaming lights ew it was not a wise •ing to herself all le stately rooms at inthrop. "Was he jht? The thought stal>l>od her. She turned quickly and went down to her own room, and there sitting alone in the darkness she struggled with herself. A rush of tumultuous thoughts overcame her ; all tiie attractions and allure- ments of this A'orld were presented to her mind in brightest array. Tlie glory of that other kingdom seemed very far away ; she could not lay iioh'. of it in in her weakness. She scarcely knew how to pray ; at last she said aloud, as though she was 8])caking to some one, " Iwill seek the kingdom of God first," and then came peace. It was shaken but once more ; that was the next day at dinner, when Ned said, " Tom Bennett told me that the ball last night was just fine. Clara Prescott was the belle of tiie evening. Mr. Winthrop danced with her a great deal." Ned eyed his sister sharply as he made this last remark, but he got no satisfac- tion. " Indeed ! " was Grace's only reply ; but her inward thought was, " Will they give me no peace — not even at home?" She went out into the garden when dinner was over feeling sad and lonely. She stopped to look at a beautiful passion-flower that had just opened. Flowers have their messages oftentimes for those who will heed. As Grace looked on it she thought of the suffering Saviour ; and then the words came to mind : " I gave My life for thee, What hast thou given for Me," .lli 122 TItRKK (JItlTJ». and lior heart grow glml ut tlic thought that sho hail given up eouiothing of this world for him. As Oraoe passwl into the house she saw a woman wliodid sewing for iier mother, and 8topi)ed to inquire afuM- her family. At any other time it would not have occar to be so ill as he really eoNFr.urr akd vnrr<»UY. 1S3 gilt that bIiu littil r liim. hIio wiw a WDiiiun )toi){HHl to inquire it would not have Jruwn cU)8t'r to her lor uU necHi'vones, man attracted her iH'lings of interest sick l)oy who liad the measles, and d at once. " To mother, in speak- i known about that ir I" the child myself," know he was so ill, I was poorly, and " Mrs. Maynard T this visit might the "many things" 1 a visit to the home er some little deli- ten the appetite of a lounge near the so ill as he really wurt, for hin cheeks wen; flushe*!, unw deeply she r^retteii not having taken a de- cided stand with r^rd to worldly amusements before, and that now her desire was to be consecrated in heart and lite to her Lord und Master, and timt they too, with lier, would follow Jesus. That tender, earnest, serious appeal went to the hearts of the girls, who loved their teacher devotedly ; and from that time her words came with power to them, since s!>e ctuild truly say, " Be ye followers of me, as I also am of Christ" really given up said MissCIemeiia r. "What a pity irrow-mindefl ! I a girl. For my ts" had no thought which shemovi-d; the suffering and made no effort to ig those who were )m upon earth. on. In a very told he- ounday- her feelings; told laving taken a de- musements before, jnsecrated in heart ind that they too, )peal went to the teacher devotedly ; me with power to le ye followers of CHAPTER XII. NED VAYKARD. AS winter drew near, with its long evenings, there was one thought more often present to Grace's mind than any other, and that wa», huw t^ win her brother Ned from the evil influences which gathered around him. He was nearing the age when it was not possible to compel him to stay at home evenings. Home must ih made pleasant enough to attract him. The responsibility, Grace felt, rested upon her. Ned's companions were not the kind he cared to in- vite to the house, or introduce to his sister ; while with Grace's friends he felt awkward and sliy, and when they dropped in of an evening he invariably made his escape as scon rs possible. Grace now devoted herself to pleasing her biother. She laid aside her fancy work to play games with him. She tried to lie interested in anything that intere8ten tire of it." VED MAYNABD. 1S9 " I don't think so. I think he would take a real interest in it, and if only he once became interested in something of that kind it would be so much better than the things he cares for now. I'm so anxious about Ned, ftther!" A stern look came into Mr. Maynard's face ; Ned's conduct was a sore point. He said nothing; and Grace had to take up the conversation again. " You will let him take leauons, won't you, father," she pleaded. He looked down on her earnest face, and smiled : " You will have your way, daughter ; but how can I afford it when I have to supply all your numerous wants — silk dresses, etc." " Now, papa, you know I have not had a silk dress this summer, and I will do without anything if you will only get tlie violin for Ned." " But if I do, it will drive your mother distracted to hear Ned scraping away, morning, noon, and night." " I will undertake to persuade mother," said Grace. " I am sure I can find some out-of-the-way comer where Ned can practise." " Very well, he can try ; but it's my opinion he will soon give it up." " Oh, thank you I I am so glad," said Grace, taking no notice of the latter part of her father's speech. "But, father," she went on, "do you really find us a very exjiensive family ? " % 130 t::i:ee qirijs. KU "Ruinous, my dearl You will bring me to the jKK. -house!" " Now that is the wrv you always put me oft, papa," said Grace, reproachfully. " But I really want to know, because I would do without many things if I tl.ought you could not afford to let me have them. " Well, Grace, times are hard in businebs circles just now ; and I do feel somewhat embarrassed sometimes. But if I can-tide over this season I expect to be all riglit. I do not care to say anything to your mother about these things. She would worry, and she is not strong enough to bear any extra anxiety ; but I have of late been somewhat worried over business matters." " I am so glad you told me," said Grace ; " for now 1 3hall study to be very economical and careful. Poor father, I wish I could help you, you have so many burdens to carry." "Rich father! yon ought to say, with such a daughter ! " returned Mr. Maynard, looking fondly at the bright-faced young girl by his side. Tt was a gvt ' deal for Mr. Maynard to say, and Grace's heart lu/iUed with pleasure at the words. A new bond of sympnthy had been fbrracd between father and daughter. Grace felt honored that her father should have placed confidence in her, and resolved to be worthy of it. She saw too, that when she had thought him taciturn and morose, he had been in- wardly worried and worn, bearing burdens that weighed heavily on him. U bring me to the Iways put me off, "But I really \vant lOut many things if let me have them." 1 businefas circles just barrassed sometimes, expect to be all right, your mother about and she is not strong ; but I have of late ness matters." aid Grace ; " for now •al and careful. Poor , you have so many :o say, with such a ard, looking fondly at is side. Maynard to say, and ure at the words. A fbrracd between father jred that her father 1 her, and resolved to », that when she had •ose, he had been in- bearing burdens that KED MAYNARD. 131 Mr. Maynard thought, as he turned to his writing again, " Wliat a change there is in Grace I She thinks of every one but herself now." Through Carl Hoffman, Ned was able to get a second-hand viohn, and enters i witli ardor on his new pursuit Contrary to his father's predictions he did not give it up, but kept on faithfully practising, and took real pains to improve. Grace felt well satis- fied with the results of the experiment. She had still another plan, about the success of which she felt even more anxious. She and Ethel iiad talked over matters, and decided to have a reading dub, which should include just a few of their most in- timate friends. Grace was particularly anxiotts to have Ned join this. When she spoke to him about it, however, he at first flatly refused. " What do I care about readings, and that sort of thing?" he said. " fiut do come, just this once, Ned. Ethel sent you a special invitation ; and we have refreshments after- ward, and I think it will be a very pleasant evening. Whether it was the invitation, or the prospect of refreshments, or both, it was not known. Suffice it to say that Ned concluded to go, and the appointed evening found him at the Gladwyns', in com{)any with his sister. At first he felt somewhat like a-fish out of water ; but there was something so genial and unaf- fected in the Gladwyn circle that it was impossible not to be influenced by it, and Ned's embarrassment and shyness passed away in spite of himself. He was '^X, 133 TURBB GIRLS. somewhat surprised to find that Mr. Gladwyn was an active member of the reading circle, and took as much interest in it m any one. After the readings were finished, and conversation became general, Mr. Gladwyn managed to have achat with Ned, taking the opportunity to ask how he was getting on with his music. " I hope you will be able to play for us some time soon ; it would add very feuch to the pleasure of our gatherings." Ned felt pleased at the thought that there was some part he could take in making these evenings pass pleasantly, and resolved to practice more ail igentlytlian ever On their way home, Grace said, " How did you like it, Ned?" "Oh, well enough," was the answer, somewhat carelessly given. , u j But, though Ned chose to appear indifferent, he had really felt keenly interested. New thoughts had been awakened ; now ambitions aroused. The opinion and views of ilia own set did not look very well when he contrasted them with those of the circle with which he had found himself that evening. From that time on he became a reguUr attendant at the meetings of the rea.ling circle, and began to take a lively interest in them. As a result some trashy literature found its way into the fire; a result which would have made Grace truly glad, if she had only known. r. Gladwyn was an sircle, and took an d, and oonveraation aaged to have achat to ask how he was ope you will be able it would add very srings." ; that there was some these evenings pass 5 more ail igently than 1, " How did you like e answer, somewhat ear indifferent, he had ew thoughts had been ed. The opinion and ok very well when he the cimle with which ng. From that time it at the* meetings of take a lively interest hy literature found its ich would have made y known. CHAPTER XIII. FAKNIE WELDON. WHILE Ethel and Qraoe were busy with a round of duties and engagements, their friend, Fannie Weldon, was passing through a very different experi- ence. Thebummer vacation had not done all for the young student that she had hoped. Not that she did not have a pleasant summer. It was simply delightful ; hut her very enjoyment of it led her far beyond her strength. Mrs. Lane, Funnie's aunt, was not a strong woman, and she had by degrees come to lean on the young girl who, ever since her mother's death, had made her home with her uncle and aunt. Fannie went out with her little cousins on the shore, and took thera in bathing ; and on rainy days, when their noise made their mother's head ache, she inve:ited games and told stories to amuse them. But there was other work for rainy days also ; for Fannie did most of her own dressmaking, and took advantage of the holidays to put her wardrobe in order. So she had brought with her a good supply of sewing. Then scarcely a week passed without a picnic, for many of their friends came out to see them. And there was baking to be done and other preparations to 188 '4, 134 THKEK niRLA. be made ; and Fannie flew from one thing to another in a whirl of excitement, which she so thoroughly enjoyed that she never stopped to consider whether or not she was tired. A little study, of course, she must sandwich among the other things. So the bright July days passed. Then the close days of August came, and even at the sea-shore the air was heavy and warm. Then Fannie suddenly found all work sc much harder than it had been before. She had to force ber- ■elf to her accustomed duties. The children bothered her, sewing worried her, study had never seemed so irksome. At last, near the end of their stay, Fannie was taken ill. There seemed, however, nothing alarming in her illness, and her aunt was surprised when she pleaded to be taken home. " Why, child, it is only a bilious attack ; you will be better in a day or two." But Fannie did not gut better in a day or two, and when a doctor was consulted he looked serious, and advised immediate removal to her town home. So they took her home, and the family physician was called in. Mrs. Lane was thoroughly alarmed now, for Fannie lay moaning and tossing on her bed, in a semi-conscious state. Dr. Lyons, when questioned looked grave, and said he feared it was meningitis, but that it might not be. His fears came true. For days Fannie tossed in restless delirium, her one piteous cry being, " Take me wsmmmmmm mammmmamsmmmmmBm ^mmmssmmmmm. i^w^^^^ T e thing to another the 80 thoroughly onsider whether or if course, she must So the bright July I of August came, ir was heavy and ill work St much he had to force Iter- e children bothered 1 never seemed so stay, Fannie was p, nothing alarming surprised when she y, child, it is only a in a day or two." a a day or two, and looked serious, and town home, be family physician thoroughly alarmed toming on her bed, ons, when questioned i it was meningitis, rs i'annie tossed in ory being, " Take me • rx - rr-i^ii • V.l L....^...JU I J..X.J JtL ..! 1 . Three OlrU and Their Motto. Pkge 13«. FANNIE WFXDON. 135 home — pleam, take mo borne." For days the struggle botween life und death waged fiercely ; and when at length returning consciouBneM brought to Fiinnio the knowledge that life had oonqu'-red, ahe jould almost have wished it otherwise, so weak and iniserablo did she feel. It seemed bo strange to V unable to do anything but to lie passive and be waited upon ; to feel at every movement that she had a back, and to be so tired wlien people came in and talked ! And then to know that all this must go on for weeks — even to be afraid, sometimes, that it might bo always so. Oh, it was hard, very hard for the young girl, who only a few weeks before had looked forward with joyous antici- pations to life and its duties ! Fannie said little in the presence of her Aunt. She would V add to her care by complaining, but in her heart shu fretted. She could not be reconciled to this strange providence. It was a bright, lovely winter afternoon when Ethel and Grace visit*^ their sick friend. They had often called to inquire after her, but Fannie had not been well enough to see them before. Now they were ushered into the shaded bed-room, where in a large easy-chair sat, or rather reclined, the invalid, wrappeani9 of the future. said, "how we of God? I did K) much for God, art just as eager can do nothing; I fain would help, say that my friends ' me, and no one want to be doing ; II only make yon again," said Grace. say so to myself a have nothing else jr work, end I do t think? And is lesides, I often fear ;ain." Pannie. I do not know I should not tircumstances. But FANNIE WKLIWr. . y«u will be better soon, I am sure," said Grace, smiling so brightly that the patient smiled a little too. " I am telling you my discouraged feelings," said Fannie. *' I don't tell them to everybody, but I felt I must tell them to you and get some help. It seems strange to me, sometimes, when I am so desirous to do good work in the world, and there is so much to he done, and such need of workers, that I should be laid aside so completely." " There is one thing to think of, Fannie," said Ethel, " that is, that no one, sick or well, can be shut out from seeking God's kingdom ; for you know that other verse says, ' The kingdom of God is righteausnes.^, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.* You can seek after those things as well as we." Fannie, turning her large eyes thoughtfully toward Ethel, responded, " I can cultivate the passive virtues, as Mr. Clifford calls them. And they are the hardest, he says. Indeed, they are so hard to me that I often feel I cannot." There she paused ; for, deep in the recesses of her heart, she heard a still small voice say, " I can d. all things through Christ, which stnngth- eneth me." And she wondered whether she had any right to say, " I cannot." Ethel, noticing the pause, and fearful of wearying her, rose to go. " Must you go ? " said Fannie. « We have stayed long enough to-day, dear ; we must not tire you. Try not to be discouraged," she I 3 :1 .1 il J % THREE OIRIJ9. added, as she leaned over for a parting kiss. " You will do work when the right time comes, and remember that time * will never come too late.* " As an answer, Fauuie only presseil her friend's band tightly in her own, and smiled through her tears. Ethel's words started new thoughts in the young invalid, and at once she formed the purpose to pray daily that she might help in tlie upbuilding of Christ's kingdom by her patience, faith, and love. But her faith and patience were to be yet sorely tried. Aa she began to gain '•J-^ngth she took the notion that it only required an exen luj of determination on her part in order to be as well as ever, " I have just made up my mind to be well," she said. " And I am not going to be put back by every ache and pain I feel." So she insisted on doing a little serving for her aunt ; told the children stories when they came to her room on dull afternoons, and even sometimes peejied into her school books, heeding no warning of aching back or head. " I ought to be able to do something now," she said to herself j " aud I will, no matter how I feel." She kept up with so much outward show of cheer- fulness that her aunt really thought her much better, and being very busy hersielf began to forget that Fan- nie had so lately been an invalid. Suddenly the young 'girl was taken down again. She had to give up and lie in a darkened room, her »- ' aU-^>^»tA. -> I --■'■'>■- ■'■■' ■-■■.-I.-.-..... --.j:^A'.:--.y^ ^ '-.. ,,,vj^^ ,^ ,.-^,... L -.-.-.^ .. ^i.-!,^ Mill u^.rMU.1,^^., •j.mm^^ ,iiig kiss. "You les, and remember » isaed her fViend'fl liled through her ;hts in the young purpose to pray uildingof Christ's d love. But her •ely tried. Aa she notion that it only tn on her part in to be well," she put back by every dated on doing a le children stories 11 afternoons, and ool books, heeding " I ought to be 1 to herself; " and ,rd show of cheer- her much better, to forget that Fan- aken down i^in. arkcned room, her FAKNIE WELDON. 13» head aching wildly. "Oh, doctor, when shall I be well again ? " she moaned. "Never," was his reply, "unless you make up your mind to take better care of yourself in the future than you have done in the past." Fannie could entertain no thought except that of obedience to the suggestion; yet she grew sadly dis-^ oouraged. ' •. ,■«■ »■ CHAPTER XIV. H AFTBB UAMY DAYS. a RACE was much pleased, as the winter went oDj to find that her plans for Ned were proving successful. He took a lively interest in his father's business, and seemed determined to make the most and the best of himself. Yet withal, Grace felt anxious, for she knew her brother was without the true safe- guard of youth, since he had not given himself to God. She often tried to persuade him to go with her to prayer meeting, but always in vain. A season of special interest came in the church; many were broupht in, but Ned remained still outside, apparently not even drawing near to the kingdom of God. Grace felt disheartened ; perhaps it was well that she did, for it led her to prayer and dependence on God. And " ' she prayed that Christ's kingdom might come into the heart of her brother, it made her more careful to watch her own life, lest she should cast a stumbling-block in his way ; and so keeping near heir Saviour, she grew in humility, gentleness, and kindness from day to day. Ned was not altogether so unimpressed as he appeared to be. There were times when he wished to be a Christian, but his careless ct^mpanions had a 140 e winter went on, 6(1 were proving }t in his father's nake the most and race felt anxious, >ut the true safe- m himself to God. go with her to le in the church ; ained still outside, ) the kingdom of irhaps it was well and dependence on t's kingdom might it made her more she should cast a > keeping near heir mess, and kindness impressed as he when he wished to mpanions had ▲FT£B MANY DAYS. 141 strong hold on him, and he avoided — he scarcely knew why — those who might have l>een a help to him. It happuld content herself r own happy family he caught up little him, declaring she » without him. As to part with Ethel for Ethel, that some York early in April, lid travel with them, ure came at last, and by a merry party, nd 8iflter^, Grace and it messages as there yes and hand shak- jrsed ! Such charges mum i.n p i m i inwmw m' \ i i i w . ^iiwpii mi<.>p ii ii m > ^ l-.hel'b visit. to be sure aud write soon I Then Mr. Qladwyn cArae with tickets and ba^^ge checks, and Ethel was soon comfortably seated in the car with her traveling com- panions, Mr. and Mrs. Hardangcr, and Miss Brant, Mrs. Hardanger's sister. A few more words, a chorus of good-byes, as the engine bell rang, then the train glided out from the station, the familiar faces vanished, and a feeling of loneliness came over F'.hel as she thought how long it would be before she would see them all again. However, Ethel could not indulge such feelings, for she must converse with Miss Brant, who sat beside her ; and then the rapidly ohpnging scenes continu- ally presented as the train sped along, quite turned her thoughts. She was fond of railway travel, and did not become wearv as the day wore on. Just as twilight began to gather, the train rolled into the station at New York, and Ethel began to feel the nervousness and excitement natural to a young and inexperienced traveler. The ceaseless clanging and clashing and rumbling that reverberated through the building as trains passed in and out ; the restless tramp of feet, and the hum of voices us psissengers went to and fro, all served to bewilder her ; but out- wardly she appeared as calm as though coming to New York wad a matter of every-day experience. It was, however, a great relief when Mr. Hardanger remarked : " There is Mr. Wyndham." And in a few moments %, 148 THREB OIRL8. Ethel had met her cousin. Quiet, grave, with a dig- niflod manuer, yet withal very kind, always knowing, apparently, the right thing to say and do, — such was Clarenoe Wyndham. He vfoa hond of the Wyndham household ; for his father hud been dead for some wars. '« So this is Ethel," he said. " I am very glad to see you. Come this way ; the carriage in waiting." And }ie led the way out of the bustling station into a quiet side street. " I should hardly have known you," he continued. " You were but a child when 1 last saw you. Did you have a pleasant journey ? " " Yes, indeed, I enjoyed it thoroughly. And now, I supjwse," she added, as she seated herself in the carriage, " I shall have my first glimpse of New York." " Yes, although it is getting too dusky for you to see much now ; but before many days are over you will, I hope, have a l)cttcr acquaintance with it. Laura and I are looking forward to showing you all the sights." Lights were gleaming out here and there when at last they drew up before the Wyndham home. " Here we are at last,'' said Clarence. " Welcome home." Ethel was speedily ushered into a pleasant, cheerful sitting room, where an open fire gave a cosy aspect to everything. Here gentle Mrs. Wyndham made her feel at home at once by her kindly welcome ; while f 1 ^ kthkl'h vihit. 149 grave, with a dig- , always knowing, ind do, — such waa of the Wyndham !>i>n dead for aoine am very glad to rriage in waiting." itling station into a uiUy have known hut a child when ilcasant journey ? " >ughly. And now, ited herself in the t glimpse of New ► dusky for you to days are over you quaintanoe with it. to showing you all and there when at dham home, arcnce. " Welcome ) a pleasant, cheerful rave a cosy aspect to Vyndham made her idly welcome ; while Lai ra, the only daughter, a bright, gay, and impul- ■ive girl, insisted on removing her cousin's wraps. Raying as she did so : " You must come to the fire and warm yourself. These spring evenings are so chilly." Ethel was not at all sorry to do su, while she an- swered her aunt's inquiries about hor home circle, and entertained Laura with some of the incidents of her journey. " And now, my dear," said Mrs. Wyndham, after they had talked awhile, " if you feel thoroughly warm, I will ring for Mary to show you to your room." A plcaaant-looking girl ap|>eared in answer to Mrs. Wyndhum's summons, and conducted Ethel up a broad flight of stairs to a spacious and elegantly furnished apartment, and then asked if there was anything she could do for her. " No, thank you," replied Ethel, who was accustomed to wait on herself, and felt that she would much rather be alono. Then she began to consider what to wear that even- ing. Her wardrobe was not extensive, but she had the satisfaction of knowing that it was in good taste; so she soon made her decision. An she glanced around at the elegant appointments of her room, and reflected that this city home was very different in many re- spects from her own, she thought : " I wonder if I shall do everything just right?" And instinctively she began to feel the trepidation so natural to W. But %, THREE OIRi;3. a second thought came: " I can try and please Christ in everything." And that thought brought an in- ward strength that banished all vain and foolish fears. Ethel fourd the days passing very pleasantly. Of course there was much to see, and her aunt and cous- ins took her to every place of interest, and did all they could to make her visit an enjoyable one. It was scarcely possible, however, for her to be long among them without meeting difficulties; for the "Wvndhams had views with regard to some things quite unlike those held by Ethel. And one day, the following week, she undertook to solve one of those difficulties, in a way that would satisfy her own con- science and at the same time gratify her friends. It wafc by no means an easy matter. That morning, at breakfast, Clarence had mentioned that a noted actress was io appear at one of the best theatres. " Isn't that fortunate ! " exclaimed Laura. "I am so glad, Ethel, that you will have an opportunity t. see and hear her." It did not occur to I^ura that her cousin might have scruples about going to such amusements. Ethel veuturetl to say, sora^jwhat faintly, perhaps, that she did not go to theatres. " I suppose," said Laura, •' you have nothing worth going to in that line in Melvin. Now that you are here, you must not lose the opportunity of hearing and seeing all you can." and please Christ brought an in- and foolish fears. pleasantly. Of er aunt and cous- irest, and did all ijoyable one. It T her to be long Bculties; for the d to some things A.iid one day, the jlve one of those sfy her own con- f her friends. It Qce had mentioned it one of the best ed Laura. " I am an opportunity t^ cur to Ijaura that out going to such at faintly, perhaps, lave nothing worth Now that you are nity of hearing and Ethel's visit. 151 Ethel went on to explain, not without some effort, that she did not go to the theatre because she did not consider it was right to do so. " Why," said Laura, " do you really think it any harm to go ? " And Clarence put in : " We only go to the very best, of course ; and I am sure you would enjoy it. 80 you had better lay aside your scruples for once, Ethel, and go with us on Wednesday." Laura took up the conversation, and as she en- larged on the pleasure of seeing really good acting, Ethel felt atrongly tempted to go with them ; and be- fore she left the break tiist room she had promised to consider the matter. " And remember, Ethel, there must be only one answer, and that must be * yes,' or I shall be dread- fully disappointed," said Laura. And Clarence added: " I am sure I hope your decision will be favorable." Ethel passed out, and went to her room with a trou- bled heart. What might she do, what ought she to do about the matter? The question of inclination site quickly put aside, for she had always been taught to think but little of her own wishes. The desire to please •'er cousins, who kindly wished to give her all the pleasure they could, weight more with her. " It surely could not harm me for once," she thought " And as to the matter of influence, that certainly cannot signify, since no one here knows me. But, n fv 152 THREf. n had been at the •e they were. You I was a regular at- iigB, and loved them, a circle more or less if religion, and grad- i of my thoughts, my £T my husband was ie of loneliness and he world could do to id ; and now I wi(?h r hearts which would think iliai if I could Christian, how happy f I should be saved, am sure, but he talks ly believed in Chri j- ith a young man who r for him. Ah, Ethel, Kieties. If I had to do differently. Now « Do not think that ht. JesuH is leading bthkl's visit. « Do you think so ? " said Mrs. Wyndhara. " Oh, if I could be sure of that I would not feel so sad.'*" " I am sure he is." And she addetl, softly : " I believe, if we dsk him, he will lead your dear ones too." Mrs. Wyndhara's eyes were full of tean>. " Dear child," she said, " God grant it may be so." Ethel felt happy and glad that night. She had been drawn nearer to her Saviour ; for one cannot give up anything for Christ's sake without being drawn sensibly near to him. Clcrence scanned his cousin with a searching glance as she entered the breakfast room the next morning. But he saw in her »x)untenance no sign of regret, not even when Laura exclaimed : " Oh, Ethel, you ought to have been with us last night. You do not know how much you missed." °' In my opinion. Cousin Ethel did not miss much," her brother responded. " Neither the play nor the acting came up to my expectations." " Well, I am not much of a critic. The dresses were fine," remarked Laura. " And then you saw Mr. La Blanc," said Clarence. "Waahe there?" said Mrs. Wyndbam, quickly. And Ethel noted the anxiety in her tone. " Yes, mother ; he occupied the box next to ours. Hence Laura's enjoyment of the play." "You are simply absurd, Clarence," ^aid Laura. But she blushed as she spoke. " Now, Ethel," said Clarence, '* it is time that you should give an account of yo--:elf. I should judge from your looks that you had the best of it, after all. You were at prayer meeting, I believe." " I did enjoy my evening very much. And I thiuk aunt did too." "Why, mother, were you there !" exclaimed Clar- ence, in surprise. " What is going to happen ? I believe Cousin Ethe) will revolutionize this house- hold yet." " 1 do not wonder, ray son, at your surprise," said Mrs. Wyndham, gently. " I have felt since last even- ing that had I been more regular in my attendance at such meetings, it would have been better for my household. I fear that tw long you have seen in me only the form of religion." There were teirs in her eyes jus she spoke, and silence fell on all. It was broken at last by I-aura, who said : " By the by, Ethel, Mr. Fulton was at the play last night. He comes from Melvin, I believe, and has been in the city only a short time." Ethel was only slightly acquainted with Mr. Ful- ton; but she knew him as one who, standing aloof from church-membership himself, criticized professing Christians severely. She felt thankful that she had not yielded to the temptation to attend the theatre, and thus add another to his list of inconsistent Chris- tians. When Ethel and Laura were alone that morning, T " it is time that you If. I should judge ! best of it, after all. ilieve." much. And I thiuk i !" exclaimed Clar- )ing to happen? I lutionize this house- your surprise," said re felt since last even- in my attendance at been better for my you have seen in me ■re were teiirs in her I on all. •a, who said : n was at the play last I, I believe, and has e." ainted with Mr. Ful- who, standing aloof f, criticized professing hankful that she had D attend the theatre, of inconsistent Chris- alone that morning, Ethel's visit. 169 Laura said : " It is perfectly ridiculous, the way mother feels about Mr. La Blanc. She can't bear to have me to speak to him, I believe. Did you notice how she looked this morning, when Clarence men- tioned him?" " But, Laura, you would not encourage a friendship your mother didn't approve ? " " Oh, I don't encourage it, particularly, but I can't help talking to him when I have the chance. I think he is i^rfectly splendid ; but mother has ' >.rd things against him, and she is so frightened i. < 1 ty be- come too much intereftted in him. Th ver • ea of such a thing is absurd ! Why, he ie lu Oj.' i.urty— ever so much older than I. I wou* u L ». irry him, even if he should ask me. I am r.oi ii ov • enough with him for that." But girls do not always mean ah ,_> day, and from the way Laura spoke, Ethel thought that she cared more for Mr. I^a Blanc than she wished to confess; and as she looked at the bright, happy young girl be- fore her, an anxiety akin to that Mrs. Wyndham felt sprang up within her heart. " I believe you think more of him than you care to acknowledge," said Ethel ; " but if your mother has reason to disapprove of him, do you not think it is a great mistake to allow yourself to become so in- terested in him ? " "Yes," said Laura, doubtfully. "But I think mother is mistaken. She has a prejudice against him. ■flp 160 THKEE GIRUS. and is ready to believe all she hears;. and you know it does not do to believe everything." "I know that," said Etlwl, •' but I think it is more than likely that the reports which have reached your mother are true. And, Laura, no one could be more anxious for the real happiness of a daughter than her mother ; particularly such a mother as you have." Laura made no reply for a few moments. Then she said : " Anyway, motlier has herself to thank for it; for she was very anxious that I should go to Mrs. De Lacy's ball, and that was where 1 first met Mr. La Blanc. I did not want to go at that time. I do not know what came over me. A religious fit, I suppose. However,! went. Mother said it would never do to refuse." Ethel was silent. She was thinking how hard it was to undo past mistakes. She now understood her aunt's hopeless, discouraged feeling. But Ethel's was a clieerful, hcpeful nature, and she- remembered the blessed words': " The things which are imiwssible with men are possible with God ; with God all things are possible." And henceforth she made it her con- stant prayer that God would lead her cousin to himself. mesmmmmm wmmm^mBf^mmi wmfmamsmmemBm 8. Ears; -and you know ing." >ut I think it is more h have reached your 10 one could be more of a daughter than mother as you have." few moments. Then i herself to thank for 1 1 should go to Mrs. irhere 1 first met Mr. [) at that time. 1 do le. A religi<»us fit, I dother said it would hinking how hard it e now understood her ing. But Ethel's was she* remembered the which are impossible ; with God all things she made it her con- lead her cousin to CHAPTER XVI. K£W BCE.N£S AKD NEW FBIEl^DS. THE days passed quickly and pleasantly, and Ethel felt really sorry when the time came to leave, though she was glad to feel that she would soon be at home again. On her way home she was to stop at Slateville, a large manufacturing town, and spend two or three weeks there with the Carters, her mother's cousins. It was a bright morning when Ethel bade good- bye to New York. Clarence Wyndham accompanied her to the train, and saw her comfortably seated in a parlor car. A ride of a few liours brought her to her destination, where she was met by Adelaide, the eldest daughter of the Carter family, who gave her a hearty welcome. Ethel found the household to which she now came very different from that which siie had just left. There was nothing of the repose here that cliaracterized the Wyndham home; all was bustle and stir. There was always a great amount of wovk on liand, and it seemed trebled by the fact tiiat the Carters treated their guests with the account not only of what they were doing, but also of what they had done and what they intended to do. Still it was a very !• I6i THREE GIRIA br'r^ht family circle, and till were as kind-hearted as could bo. 'i'hcirfuther, whom Ethel hud never seen, wao a sea captain, at prceent away on a long voyage. Mrs. Car- ter was a thin, nervous little woman, who manageiling her hands, they nevertheless owed much to her taste. It was Zella who planned the dresses, trinimid the hats, and made the house pretty with simple and inexpensive decorations. Tiicn there was George, the only brother, who was younger thuu his sisters. It seemed a little singular tliat in this stirring, bustling family the boy should be the quietest of all ; but so it was. George was quiet and slow — provokingly slow, his sisters declared. He, it seemed, took after the Carter side of the family. •• It is too bad ! " said Adelaide to Ethel. " If George only bad half the energy there is in us girls, he might amount to something ; as it is, he never 18 kind-hearted r Bcen, was a »ea j-ttgc. Mr«. Car- who managwi to I spite of much c8t (laughter, had Ethel found that he family. Her I to a masculine i clever girl, very ; and tlien Zella, ur " pretty sister, while we do the listers teased Ztlla ke to wash dishes nevertheless owed who planned the e the house pretty itions. brother, who waa ;da little singular ly the boy should was. George was his sisters declared, r side of the family, de to Ethel. "If there is in us girls, ; as it is, he never NBW SCBNBB AND NEW FRIBNDS. lt>d will. Poor fellow I I do not know what we would do without him, either." Ethel had not bc(Mi with them long before she came to the conclusion that the sisters would indeed vety much miss their brother. He was always ready to do errands for them, as well as to help them carry out their plans ; and he had a quiet perseverance which led him, when a thing was committed to him, to leave no stone unturned tmtil it was accomplished. In fact, ho was one on whom they could depend. Though not |)articularly quick at his studies, Ethel fouud in conversingwith him that he luid n thorough grasp of those subjects in which he took mcmt interest In fact, a little observation soon convtnce formed between Mrs. Allan and Ethel which had a molding influence on all the after life of the latter. Possessed of ample means, Mrs. Allan used it not for her own pleasure, but for the good of f.N 168 THRKE QlRia. those around her. The young people of the Bible class, the literary circle, and the missionary society were often entertained in her pleasant home, and there many of them received their first aspiratiors after that which is noblest and best in life. Many changes were made too in the mission church, and it no longer appeared so unattractive as it did when Mrs. Allan first saw it. Some account of those f'.rst experiences I'lthel gleaned from her friend as they were talking together one day about modes of church work. Ethel remarked : " Th". coutnist must have seemed great to you when you rirt <, -ime, between your own church in tho city, v'lire ; r.^'. had so many advan- tages, and this littlo mi>> ot church. I wonder, almost, that yoti dh'i no*; unite with the older church on the hiJl, where yoii r, )uld have found yourself in many rer^.'eet8 in mi,i'<^ . ?enial surroundingSi" "I was, ir''en'\ siroji.'r ' tenvated to do so," re- plied Mii8 Aliaji, " bia you know, dear, that Mr. Alka beionged fo thi;? church and took a gieat ''aterest in it, and J resolved beiore I came, that it jvi uld be my ohurtih home too, and that I would '' vote my onei^ies !•» its '^ork. Eut I never shall forget my first S'ii;day at Ha;lem Street, I could have cried, it made me so hoTne^ick. I had been used to a beautiful church edificii, fine music, excellent appointments, an inspiring ministry, and fellow-work- ers who were at once devoted and refined Christians. )le of the BiMe issionary society eant home, and first aspiratiors in life. Many tn church, and it as it did when :perience8 I'.thel tallying together c. nust have seemed elween your own so many advan- jrch. I wonder, the older church found yourself in rroundingSi" id to do so," re- V, dear, that Mr. nd took a gieat re I came, that it md that I would But I never shall Street. I could I had been used 3 music, excellent ', and fellow-work- refined Christians. NEW SCENE8 AND NEW FRIENDS. The building in which I then for the first time wor- shiped, was to my eyes plain and unattractive; it was not even well kept. The little organ was squeaky, the singing poor, and the congregation seemed apathetic. " I had been so heroic before coming to Slateville, and had resolved to work in just the corner of the vineyard in which I was placed. But when I reached hone that morning I said to my husband, ' We must attend somewliere else, at least once a day, for I can- not stand this.* He turned a grave, surprised look on me, and said, 'Why, Margie, I did, not expect that from you.' I felt rebuked. How easy it had been to talk I How hard xt wa> to practice I I began to wonder what sort of a Christian 1 was. T. fought the battle out that day. it was harder than ever I had imagined ; but I have never regretted my decision, and Harlem Street Church is very prcious to me now." As Ethel looked into the bright, happy fact^ of hor friend, she k^.^^ that she would never regret that decision ; nay, rather, she would be filled with clad- ness when she should hear the King say, "I'-o"- lanch as ye did it unto one of the least of tiiese m> brethren ye did it unto me." The day came at last when Ethel was mrt from her kind and hospitable friends and a to her home, from which it seemed to her had iKen absent months instead of weeks. It w; with a thrill 170 THREE GIRLS. of gladness that she thought of meeting all the dear ones again. Her journey was not to be altogether a lonely one. It so happened that she had for her coinpanious for a part of the way, Dr, Somerville and his wife, whose brief visit the previous summer had filled her with such dismay. She did not feel at all afraid of them now ; and the journey by steamer was very delightful in their company. After a while they had an addition to their little, party. At one stopping place Dr. Somerville espied among the passengers coming on board a young man of his acquaintance. Frank Raynor, that was the young man's name, was an active worker in a church over which Dr. Somerville, until lately, had been pastor. They were mutually glad to meet, and, of course, the doctor brought him forward to join their little circle. To say the truth, Ethel felt sorry at first ; naturally reserved, it was always an effort to her to talk to strangers, and she could not help wish- ing that Mr. Raynor had happened to be going that •woy some other day. Mr. Raynor, on the contrary, perhaps because h^ was of a different temperament, did not seem at all sorry that the doctor and his wife were accompanied by a young lady ; and he kept up a lively conver- sation in which Ethel soon became interested. She found herself thinking the new accession to their group quite a pleasant one. ing all the dear ler a lonely one. companious for his wife, whose filled her with afraid of them very delightful )a to their little. Somerville espied ird a young man or, that was the )rker in a church lately, had been to meet, and, of f&rd to join their thel felt sorry at ways an effort to Id not help wish- to be going that rhaps because he 1 not seem at all rere accompanied a lively conver- iaterested. She iccession to their NEW SCENES AND NEW FRIENDS. 171 It happened that Ma Raynor found out that they had a mutual acquaintance, a young man who had at- tended school when Ethel did, and who was now study- ing in Grermany. This young man was an intimate friend of Mr. Raynor's, and corresi^nded witli him regularly. Of course, these circumstances naturally made a 6ijbje<;t of conversation interesting to both. Mr. Kavnor recollected that he had some letters from him in his pocket giving graphic descriptions of life in Germany. So he produced them, and read ex- tracts frjni them ; and then the conversation drifted into a discussion of foreign countries in general, and Gerraaiiy in particular. "Dear me, how quickly the time i.as passed!" said Mr. Raynor, as the afternoon drew toward its close. " I usually find these steamboat trips rather tedious, but thanks to my plear ompany, this one has proved quit« the reverse." Then good Dr. Somerville, having left ^hem to themsel ves, returned ; and soon they reached their de-jtinatioK. Here Ethel had to take the train for Melvin, and so parted from her fellow-travelers. A few hours more, and she was home again ; and then such a welcome as she received ! It was little wonder that Ethel felt herself that night to be the huppiest girl in till the world. i 'h CHAPTER XVII. THE INVALID. IT was late in the afternoon of a perfect day in June when a carriage might have been seen coming slowly along the road to Long View. The only occupants, besides the driver, were two ladies, one of whom was evidently an iuA'alid, for she was cushioned in shawls and pillows, and her pale face wore that look of languor and weariness which tells BO plainly of weakness and suffering. It was a fair scene that Jay spread out before them. Stretching away on either side were fields covered with the bright, fresh green of early summer. Daisies and buttercups sprang up everywhere by the roadside. Along the way it was wondered who could be going thus early in the season to Long View. But down in the little hamlet it was well known that Mrs. Lane and her invalid niece were coming to Woodbine Cottage; for Mary, the good-natured maid-servant, had been there through the previous week getting everything in readiueas, and that morn- ing she and the children had come down by train, while Mrs. Lane accompanied Fanny in a carriage, as the latter was not yet sufficiently strong to travel by train. 172 perfect day in have been seen ong View. The were two ladies, ilid, for she was id her pale face iness which tells out before them. Ire fields covered : early summer, very where by the I wondered who )n to Long View, well known that were coming to lie good-natured iigh tlie previous i, and that morn- e down by train, ny in a carriage, f strong to travel THE INVALID. 178 A turn in the road l)rouglit the occupants of the carriage in sight of the sea, and in a few moments they drew up in front of Woodbine Cottage. The driver lifled out Fannie tenderly, carried her into the house and laid her down on the broad, comfortable lounge, in what had been tin; sitting room the year previous, but which was to be Fannie's room this summer. Fannie lay on the couch, looking out on the famil- iar scene and contrasting, as she did so, her present condition with the life and energy she had felt a year before. It was little worn' r that such thoughts filled her with sadness. Just then her aunt said ciieerily : " Doesn't everything look natural, Fannie ? Not a thing is changed. It seems but yesterday since we left it all." It was the last drop making the full cup overflow. Fannie had hard work to keep back the tears and steady her voice, as she answered : " Yes, evervthingr looks natural." " You are tired," said Mrs. Lane, noticing the quiver in her voice. " I will go and get something for you to take, and then you must rest ; " and Mrs. Lane liurried away to prepare a lunch for her patient. Fannie was glad to be left alone for a while. She looked out over the dancing, blue waters, far out on the distant horizon where a sail gleamed white in the sunlight, and thought how, but a few months before, sucli beauty would have thrilled every nerve and % 174 THREE OIRI«. fibre of her being with delight. Now she ^vas almost too weak and weary to look at it. " Nothing changed," she rejieated to herself; "why, everything is changed to me. It seems but yesterday since we left ; to me it seems an age. I can scarcely realize that I am the same being who went in and out so gayly last summer." i i j And with this thought Fannie gave up, and had a good cry, only for a fe^ minutes, however, for through her tears she saw the children coming up from the shore. *' I must not give way any longer," she said, " I must have a cheerful face for the happy, little darlings." So slipping off the sofa, she bathed her face. She had only just time to settle herself again on the lounge, when her aunt came in with a little tray on which were daintily set out the needed refreshments for the invalid. If Mrs. Lane saw traces of tears on the young girl's face she was wise enough not to say anything about it. She gave a lively account of liow Marv and the children had passed the day. " I told the children," slie added, " that they were not to come in here till you felt strong enough to see them."' „ , Fannie felt inwardly thankful to her aunt for her thoughtfulness. By the time she had finished her lunch, however, she felt quite able to see her little cousins. 1 n u They came in, eager to show her the shells they Now she was it it. ♦' Nothing why, everything esterday since we ircely realize that out 8o gayly last ve ?8, up, and had a however, for drcn coming up way any longer," ice for the happy, 3 sofa, she bathed herself again on with a little tray eded refreshments traces of tears on enough not to say ly account of liow the day. " I told :hey were not to s; enough to see her aunt for her had finished her > to see her little !r the shells they THE INVAUD. hud picked up, and to tell her of « lovely place where she could sit and watch all their games. " And will oo play wiv us^ and build sand towers like oo did last year," piped in curly-headed little Amy. " No, darling. Cousin Fannie can't play with you ; but I can watch you playing, and that will be just as good." "We went in bathing," broke in Jesse. "We went out ever so far." " Oh, yes," chimed in six-year-old Harold, " I went away out, where the water was deep. Ticnnie Smith is going to teach me to swim. I can swim now, I guess — almost," he added, a little doubtful whether he really had acquired this accomplishment. We never make an effort to go out of ourselves and enter into the joys of others without reaping a reward. And so when a little Ij'ter the tea bell rang, and the children trooped away to the dining room, and once more Fannie was left to quietness, there was a bright look on her face, and a feeling of peace in her heart as she gazed again on the tranquil sceno before her, over which the quiet light of evening was fulling. She had lost health and youthful gaiety, yet a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, " there remains something better." Had she not always been striv- ing after the " best things " ? Yet tlie " best things " must be those that endure. Health and earthly joys ■"■■■■iBi ^IMI memfmt ■^■■ii ivm'<0^^i&s^mmmmimm^mmmiM»:w-^^i^^> f n.^ &rvj %>^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ' if: IM 2.5 122 20 1.8 14 111 1.6 V] \^ o. CIHM/ICMH Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques iMK*«5iv."*&- she knew were fleeting, but " now abideth faith, hope, love " ; the consciousness that her life afforded ample room for the exercise of these virtues brought with it calm confidence and rest of soul. " Though I may be always an invalid," she murmured softly, " I shall still be able to seek after the * best things ' — to seek that kingdom which is righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost." The sunlight had faded from the scene. In the eastern heavens the rising moon grew momentarily brighter, till it flooded the earth with its mild radi- ance, and cast a shining pathway over the restless waters. W««iry with the day's journey, the young girl sank into quiet slumber. In her heart there was great peace, of which the repose that brooded over nature was but a faint emblem ; even the peace of those who love God's law, and " whom nothing can offend." "V pnMpanp bideth faith, hope, ife afforded ample es brought with it *' Though I may ed softly, " I shall ; things ' — to seek 88, and peace, and he scene. In the grew momentarily vith its mild radi- • over the restless )urney, the young ler heart there mm that brooded over even the peace of whom nothing can CHAPTER XVIII. A. LESSON OF HOPE. ONE bright, sunny morning, a few days after the Lanes had arrived at Woodbine Cottage, Fannie was sitting in an arm-chair by the front door, reading, when she heard the garden gate click, and looking up saw a lady, a stranger, coming in. Fannie's first impulse was to run into the house, for since her ill- ness she had a great dread of meeting strangers. But she instantly reflected that the lady would be at the door before she oonii disengage herself from her shawls and wrappings ; su biie concluded that it was better to sit there and face the ordeal. It was such a very pleasant face that met hers, however, her dread melted away at onco. " Miss Weldoa, I believe," said the lady. " I am Mrs. Allan, and your next-door neighbor for the sum- mer. I have been wanting to call on you, and seeing you sitting out here this morning, there seemed to be a good opportunity to run in and make your acquaint- ance; though indeed I feel as though I was ac^ quainted with yon ; for I have heard so much of you from your friend and mine, Ethel Gladwyn." At the mention of Ethel's name, Fannie felt at ease, and said : "Then you are the Mrs. Allan whom Ethel M 177 rH' 178 THBER GIRUB. |s*;i metat SlateviUe. I remember that she «M«f /«"' la at the time I wished Ile to her u short f definite prospect in the world ; but le sands, when she ords, " Hope thou shed. ilan after that, and re the shaping and ' a wise and loving )ringing health of ng invalid. CHAPTER XIX. OHANQES. ETHEL did not see much of Grace that summer. Mrs. Maynai-d was poorly, and spent all the hot season at the pleasant country resort with which they were so delighted the previous summer. Ethel often, however, received letters from her friend, full of descriptions of pleasant excursions. Evi- dently Grace was more in love with Forett Glen than ever. Mrs. Clifford, their pastor's wife, stayed some weeks -there also, which of course added to Grace's enjoyment. A nephew of Mr. Clifford's spent his vacation at the same plaue, and Grace often made casual mention of him as accompanying them in their various jaunts and ramblts. " I wonder why it is," said Ethel to herself, as she laid down Grace's last letter, in which she spoke of leaving ' dear Forest Glen, where she had passed the happiest summer of her life,' " I wonder why it is that everything has been so charming, so lovely, so delightful to Grace this summer." She found the answer to her question when her friend returned. Grace was engaged. The young man who had won her heart waa Ernest Seaford, 184 TRREB GIBLB. Mr. Clifford's nephew, who was finishing his course at a theological institution. " I don't think I have ever seen him," said Ethel, when Grace confided to her the interesting news. " Yes, you have. You know the day we went to Milton on the picnic. Do you remember that solemn young man I said looked at us so? That was Ernest." " I recollect now that you spoke about him, but I don't remember him particularly. Is he just as solemn now ? " <« Oh, no, he is just splendid when you come to know him; but he will be here for a few days this autumn, and you will have an opportunity then to see him." Ethel had no doubt that Mr. Seaford was all that could be desired, aud was glad for her friend's sake, yet she could not help feeling lonely. AH Grace's thoughts evidently were now wrapped up in another. Ethel, of course, could not enter into her feelings, and she felt that though Grace was the same as ever, she was, in a certain sense, lost to her. " Please don't look so doleful, Ethel," Grace said one day, when Ethel was taking an especially gloomy view of things in r^ard to her leaving the church. « No doubt there will be some one else to take my place in church work. And that reminds me that we are going to gain a Very active member soon ; one who will be quite an acquisition to our staff of church lishing his course him," said Ethel, resting news, e day we went to imber that solemn I so? That was about him, but I ■. Is he just as rhen you come to or a few days this jportunity then to saford was all that her friend's sake, nely. All Grace's ped up in another, into her feelings, sthe same as ever, her. Ethel," Grace said 1 especially gloomy eaving the church, ne else to take my reminds me that we member soon; one > our staff of church ■ 0HANOE8. 186 workers. Ernest writes me that a Mr. Frank Ray- nor, of Brantford, is expecting to settle in Melvin." " Is he ? Oh, that will be veiy nice 1 " said Ethel, heartily. "Why," said. Grace, in some surprise, "are you acquainted with Mr. Raynor ? " " Yes— at least, that is— only slightly. I met him while away." Ethel felt provoked to know that the color mounted to her cheeks as she made this very simple statement. What difference need it make to her, whether Frank Raynor, or any one else came to Melvin? Grarr looked at her quiwically. "You never mentioned him to me," she said. " I didn't think about it," returned Ethel. " Well, Ernest is well acquainted with him, and says he is a splendid fellow." « He seemed very pleasant," said Ethel, trying to appear indifferent, without succeeding very well. Grace said no more, but a smile played around her lips, and she thought, " Perhaps— who knows, Ethel may not miss me very much, after a while." The winter passed and spring came again, and found Grace in a whirl of busy preparations ; for in the early summer she was to become the wife of Ernest Seaford. Mrs. Maynard had at first objected to so early a date being fixed for the wedding. They might wait awhile. Grace was young yet, and she ought to have 1 I I "^ Mdirilltiil 186 THREE OIRIil. a little longer time to enjoy her girlhood. But Grace presented all tl.e arguments: Ernest was so lonely; Aggie was grt>wing up to fill her place in the home; she was no younger than her mother was when she was married; and so at last the m^ter was settled. Ignore I^lie was to be married about the jame time as G.aoe. She had made what was considered in worldly circles a " brilliant match" ; her betrothed being reported very wealthy. Of course, her wed- ding was to be a very fashionable one, and Giaoc, who looked upon Leonore as quite an authority in social matt«r8, was influenced by her views. But suddenly there came a break in the plans and preparations. Grace was sewing one afternoon when she saw Ned coming up the walk to the house. He beckoned to her, and she ran quickly down to meet '"What is the matter, Ned?" she exclaimed; for she knew by his look that something had happened. •' Father has been taken very ill, suddenly— paral- ysis we fear. He is unconscious. They are bring- injr'him home now; and we must break the news to mother as gently as we can." Ned spoke hurriedly in broken sentences. ,.111. • Grace felt like one stunned; mechanically she turned and went into the house with her brother. « Will you tell mother, Ned ? " she asked. " No, you had bettfer do it, Grace." Grace scarcely knew how she reached her mother's lood. But Grace !t was 80 lonely j laoo ill the home ; icr was when she ity^ter was aettletl. about the «aine at was considered \" ; her betrothed course, her wed- > one, and Oiaoe, e an authority in ir views. i in the plans and ne afternoon when to the house. He ik^ down to meet he exclaimed ; for ng had happened. , suddenly — paral- They are bring- break the news to sd spoke hurrieilLy mechanically she with her brother. le asked. «.» Achcd her mother's OBASQtB. 187 room, nor how she told the sad news. Mrs. Maynard bore up under the shock Ume to them. They only felt the dark shadow tiiat had fuUen on their home. Heavily indeed it rested on the hearts of thti»e stricken ones when they gaaed on the unconscious form of their loved one. Was it possible thai those lips might never speak to tliera again ? They could not bear the thought, and clung to the hope that he would recover. "I can think nothing else but that father will get well," said Grace. It was her first sorrow. She ha.l scarcely realized before that sorrow could come to her. Now it seemed strange that the sun would sliine so brightly, and all the outer world go on the same when she was so heavy-hearted. Yet there was comfort even in their sadness. Grace realized it with a thrill of thankfulness, that evening, wlien her brother said : « Mother, shall we have a few words of prayer together?" " Yes, my son," answered Mrs. Maynard, her sad face brightening a little. And each one of the sor- rowing group felt comforted as the son and brother read the forty-sixth psalm, and then in a few simple words brought their needs and their sorrows to tlie Heavenly Father. The next morning Grace brought the Bible and i 188 THBEE OIBLS. laid it before her brother; and from that time forward, family worship, which had been sadly neglected in the Maynaid family, was never omitted. The weeks that followed were very quiet ones; weeks when all the busy preparations that had been going on before, were laid aside and forgotten. Of how^'little consequence they appeared now 1 But many were the lessons learned during those weeks of waiting and watching in the sick chamber. Grace had time to think now, and she saw plainly how her heart had become involved with the world again. This shadow that had crossed her pathway had been needed. She drew near to God again, and consecrated herself anew to him, and came forth from the season of trial a stronger Christian. Mrs. Maynard, sitting by the bedside of her husband, whose lips could frame no sound, thought with a pang how little she had known of him all tnese years; how she had become engrossed with household cares, so wrapt up in her own feelings that she had no time to think of his. She wondered now whether anything had been worth while that had been 80 much to her. She bad glided into worldliness top, unconsciously perhaps, but really. Sometimes con- science had been awakened, but only for a time ; then she had lapsed again into her old way of think- ing that she must do as others did. In these quiet hours she drew nigh to God; so for her also this trial brought blessing. ■ I .iitM»iiTi«M CHANGES. 189 from that time had been sadly as never omitted, very quiet ones; us that had been d forgotten. Of ared now 1 But ig those weeks of chamber. Grace V plainly how her the world again. )athway had been n, and consecrated ;h from the season bedside of her ao sound, thought nown of him all le engrossed with • own feelings that ihe wondered now rhile that had been ito worldliness top, Sometimes con- ly for a time ; then >ld way of th ink- id. In these quiet > for her also this It was a glad day when the doctor gave hoi)e8 of Mr. Maynard's ultimate restoration to health. Slowly, very slowly, he improved. At last when autumn came, it was decided that he was sufficiently recovered for Grace's wedding to take place. A very quiet wedding it was, very di£Ferent from the one planne a « I am finding out now what true happiness is j and oh, Ethel I I met Mr. La Blanc at a reception the other day, and I wondered that I ever cared for him. My eyes are opened now to see how little of true worth there is in him." Ethel's heart was filled with thankfulness as she read this lettei-, and thought of the young Ufe that had been turned away from selfishness into channels of usefulness. "%, CHAPTER XXI. OLD FBIENDSHIPS RENEWED. FIVE years have passed away. Again the Lanes are spending their summer at Long View, and Fannie is with them ; not now an invalid looking wearily on life, but strong and full of health and viiror. It is the last summer she will spend with them ; for Fannie has found her life work, and in a few weeks will leave her native land in company with a band of devoted missionaries for far away China. And now, on this bright, sunny morning when we shall take a last glimpse of her, she is busy prepar- ing for visitors, going from room to room and put- ting finishing touches everywhere, arranging the flowers and vines that Harold and Amy bring her, making their seaside home look pretty and attractive. For Fannie had written to the two other members of the trio of girihood days, saying, "come down to Long View, both of you, and let us spend one more day together— we three and no more." It so happened that Grace was visiting at her old home ; so she left her two little ones in charge of their fond grandparents and auntie, and set ofl" with Ethel to spend a day at Woodbine Cottage, and renew and strengthen the friendship of early days. 190 4.,;. ■* ;* flpiiiH^pwftfi-^ Wi 4> im spu BWED. Again the Lanes ; Long View, and invalid looking ill of health and i will spend with ife work, and in a 1 in company with far away China, morning when we le is busy prepar- to room and put- re, arranging the id Amy bring her, stty and attractive, other members of ;, "come down to us spend one more re." visiting at her oid ones in charge of ie, anil set off with Cottage, and renew arly days. Three Girls ond Their Motto. Page 200. ■^. OLD FBUWIWHIPB BBNEWBD. 197 They could not have had a lovelier day for their brief visit if their wiahea regarding the weather had been specially conaulttsd. It was aimply a perfect wimmer day. Every little leaf thrilled and quivered in the weat wind; every little wave danced and glistened in the sunlight It was a day that in its brightness and beauty recalled that other summer day, long before, when they had sat together under the murmuring pines, and talked and dreamed about a future that had now become the present. The years that had passed away since then had brought but few changes, save that the three had grown into womanhood, and begun to take upon them the cares and responsibilities of life. Yet they aU felt like giris again as they met once more, for one day, at least, care free-and rambled on the seashore, and climbed the rocks, just tui in days of yore. It was long since they had talked together, face to face; so nbw they opened their hearts to one another. Fannie told how the months of sickness and weari- ness and waiting through which she had passed, and which seemed so hard at the time, had really proved a blessing to her. Then she had wanted to work simply because it was her nature to crave activity ; she had made her own plans regarding her life, and her heart was bent on fulBlling them. But in her trouble she had learned to say, "Thy will, not mine, be done"; and, when health and strength were restored to her, she simply asked from day to day. 198 THBER OlRUi. 'M " Lord, what wilt thou hove me to do? " Thus alio had been hA on atep by step, till she had resolved to give her life to work among ihe darkened millions of China, seeking in this wny the kingdom of God, and looking only for the commendation of the Great King. And Grace told how helpful it was to her, amid the many distractions of life, to have one ruling pur- pose ; and since that puqiose was a high and noble one it tended to uplift her in thought and action above the littleness that too often characterizes ordi- nary life. And Ethel confided fully to her two friends all her hopes for the future. Of course they knew ere this, what I tell you now, young friends, that in a few weeks Ethel would become the wife of Frank Eaynor. But Ethel had something more to tell them to-day, and ilmt was that she would be mistress of Elmcroft, the former home of the Leslies. Mr. Leslie had removed to California with his family, and being in somewhat embarrassed circumstances, had offered his property at a great Haciifice, and Frank Raynor had bought it. Grace clapped her hands with delight when she heard the news ; then noticing her friend's thought- ful look, said : " What makes you look so sober over it, Ethel?" " Oh, Grace, it is such a responsibility. I am so afraid, sometimes, that I will not make a right use of all that God has given me." -■■^ fm- do?" ThuBilic e had resolved to kened millions of dom of God, and >f the Great King, was to hor, amid re one ruling pur- a higli and noble ought and action oharacterizes ordi- two friends all her hey knew ere this, ids, that in a few wife of Frank 5 more to tell them lid be mistress of the Leslie. Mr. I with his family, ised circumstances, reat saciiflce, and delight when she r friend's thought- look 80 sober over isibility. I am so make a right use of OLD riUKKD8HIP8 REMKWED. 109 " You are just the oiw who will," wid Grace. " I am afraid 1 could not be entnisted with so much." " Do you wmeraber " ^nintinued Ethel, " that long ago we promised to pray for one another. I feel now how much I need your prayers on my behalf, for you know, Grace, that I shall not only have great opi^r- tunities of usefulness, but also great temptations to live for self and the world." " Yes, I know," replied Grace, her face growing thoughtful as she remembered some of her own \mt experiences. Then Fannie said, " You will remember me, will you not, when you make known your requests unto God. You know how much I shall need strength and help." " Oh, Fannie, when I think svhat a grand work you have given yourself up to do, I feel as though we at home have nothing to do and do nothing," said Ethel. " No, not so," replied Fannie, quickly ; " you have much to do at home. Just think how much interest you'may awaken in missions if you only bear them much on your heart ; and then iu many ways you can be a help and comfort to the missionaries." " I know one thing," said Ethel, her face brighten- ing as she spoke, " as long as we own Elmcroft, it will always be open to workers in Christ's kingdom, and we shall gladly bid them welcome * iu his name.' So," she added, turning to Fannie, " you will know t»r 200 THBGE OIBIfi. where to owne when you return to this country for rest." So they talked on through that long summer after- noon; and running through all, and blending with all in their memories of that day in after years, were the silvery cadence of the waves dashing on the sandy beach, and tlie rush and stir of long grasses, as the breeze swept lightly over them, laden with the mingled sweetness of sea and land. The t.me passed all too quickly. Soon it was tea time, when they spent a pleasant hour with the other members of the Then they were left alone again ; and as tlie clos- ing hours of that happy day drew on, the three, arm in arm, wandered over the grass plot, or stood to look out over the rippling waters, silvered by the beams of the rising moon. And in the hush of that even- ing twilight we will leave then- soon to be widely separated, walking different pathways through life, but each one actuated by the same guiding principle, running like a golden thread through all the days, and binding together in one harmonious who e, the fragments that make up life. And that principle was thTone they had adopted long before, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God." THS END. •Ai] this country for >ng summer after- od blending with a after years, were jhing on the sandy ng grasses, as the laden with the The time passed time, when they er members of the ; and as tfie clos- on, the three, arm at, or stood to look ered by the beams insh of that even- soon to be widely ways through, life, guiding principle, ough all the days, tnonious whole> the 1 that principle was fore, "Seek ye first I I \ i i-