MKttfV 
 
 LIBRARY 
 

 
 H7 
 
MINTA. Page 330. 
 
JUDGE BURNHAM'S 
 DAUGHTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 PANSY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS," "A HEDGE FENCE," "crRTRUDB's 
 DIARY," "THE MAN OF THE HOUSE," "INTERRUPTED," "THE HALL 
 
 IN THE GROVE," "AN ENDLESS CHAIN," "MRS. SOLOMON SMITH 
 LOOKING ON," " FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA," " RUTH 
 
 ERSKINB'S CROSSES," "SPUN FROM FACT," " LITTLB 
 FISHERS: AND THEIR NETS," "EIGHTY-SEVEN," 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 
 T. WOULMER, 2, CASTLE STREET, CITY ROAD, E.C 
 
 AND 66, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. 
 1889. 
 
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL. 
 
 BATMAN BBOTHERS AND ML.1.V, 
 HATTON HOUSE, 113, FARRINGDON ROAU, LONDuN, B.C. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AFTER SIX YEARS I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED . . . 14 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS . . 26 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES .... 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 "FOREWARNED" AND "FOREARMED" . . 51 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DRIFTING 64 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED 77 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SLIPPERY GROUND 89 
 
 030 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE OLD QUESTION IOI 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING . . .113 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "W. C. T. U." . . . . . . 126 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE DEED FOR THE WILL .... 138 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD .... 150 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON" . . . 163 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 "ALL COME! " 176 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY . . 1 88 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING .... 2OI 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 STORMY WEATHER 213 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WAITING 226 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BELATED WORK 238 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TRANSFORMATION 251 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY ! " . . . .275 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 "NEXT MOST" 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A WAITING WORKER 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 UNDER GUIDANCE 31! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AT HOME 324 
 
JUDGE BURNHAM'S 
 DAUGHTERS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 MRS. BURNHAM stood by the west window 
 of the long, low-ceiled room, looking out 
 into the grim and desolate twilight. The day had 
 been rainy, the clouds having hung low and gray 
 ever since the early morning, and the faint gleams 
 of crimson and gold with which the west had tried 
 to lighten the scene just at sunset, had been quickly 
 overcast, and gray mist was fast enveloping the 
 earth once more. 
 
 On the street were to be seen only the hurrying 
 umbrellas of a few belated people, and the fast- 
 running water from overcharged gutters by the 
 roadside. 
 
 Certainly nothing in the prospect need have 
 .held Mrs. Burnham's steady gaze, yet she stood 
 quite still and looked outward with far-reaching 
 eyes that did not seem to see what was spread 
 before them. She was not alone ; a small boy in 
 
2 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 kilts and curls hovered restlessly from her side to 
 the grate, to the south window, to the niche which 
 held the piano, where the firelight made fantastic 
 shadows, back to her side again, ever steadily ply- 
 ing her with questions the while : 
 
 " Mamma, isn't it time to light the gas ? 
 Mamma, why don't Seraph and Minta come ? 
 Mamma, can you see papa coming down the 
 street ? Mamma, isn't it almost time for dinner ? 
 O, mamma! won't you please not look out the 
 window any more, and come and amuse your little 
 boy ? he's so tired ! " 
 
 With the last appeal Mrs. Burnham turned, a 
 faint smile appearing on her pale, grave face. 
 
 " Is my little boy's tongue tired ? " she asked ; 
 " mamma doesn't wonder if it is, you have kept 
 it so busy to-day." 
 
 But she moved from the window, waiting only 
 to draw the curtains close, then crossing the room 
 with the boy by the hand, dropped into an easy 
 chair in front of the fire, which suddenly shot up 
 gleams of light, revealing the fair head of the child 
 as he leaned against her knee. His thoughts had 
 taken a new turn. 
 
 "Mamma, tongues don't get tired like hands 
 and feet, do they? And they don't have to be 
 washed, and have clothes put on them. Wouldn't 
 it be a funny thing if they had to wear clothes ? " 
 
 He laughed merrily at the queerness of his own 
 conceit, and the mother smiled on him, and played 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. 3 
 
 lovingly with the curls about his head ; but after a 
 moment it was almost as trying to the child as the 
 position by the window had been, for she fixed her 
 steady gaze on the fire, and seemed to go on with 
 thoughts which were apart from him. 
 
 To his great satisfaction there was an interrup- 
 tion in the shape of a quick tread down the hall ; 
 the door swung open, and Judge Burnham ap- 
 peared, being greeted by the boy with a shout of 
 delight. 
 
 " Glooming in the dark ? " he asked, as he came 
 forward and touched his lips lightly to his wife's 
 cheek. " What is the matter with the gas ? 
 Young gentleman, why didn't you light the gas 
 for your mother ? " 
 
 This to the happy boy, who was promptly 
 perched on his shoulder, and, under instructions, 
 flooded the room with soft yellow light. A beau- 
 tiful room it was ; evidences of cultured taste and 
 unlimited means were apparent on every hand. 
 A long room, which might perhaps have looked 
 narrow, had not its length been broken into here 
 and there by graceful alcoves and niches ; car- 
 peted in tints of green which bordered on the 
 yellow just enough to suggest the sun at its set- 
 ting ; reveling in couches and easy chairs and 
 low rockers, and abounding in books and magazines 
 and the late papers ; a perfect home room : not 
 stately nor elegant, only easy and graceful. The 
 gaslight revealed more plainly the pallor of the 
 
4 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 lady's face, and her husband, who studied her 
 closely for a moment, seemed to notice it. 
 
 " Are you well to-night, Ruth ? I believe you 
 look paler than ever." 
 
 "As well as usual, thank you." 
 
 Her voice was low and quiet ; composed, rather 
 than cheerful. 
 
 "The weather is wretched enough to make peo- 
 ple feel miserable," he said, standing with his back 
 to the glowing grate, and bringing the boy to a 
 sitting posture on his shoulder; "and you keep 
 housed up altogether too much for your health. 
 Where are the girls ? " 
 
 "They went to Madame Reno's reception." 
 
 "They did ! " spoken in a slightly startled tone. 
 "With whom?" 
 
 "They went quite alone, Judge Burnham. I 
 was given to understand that such was your 
 pleasure." 
 
 The husband laughed slightly. 
 
 " Well, hardly my pleasure ; I should prefer, of 
 course, that they have company. I had forgotten 
 that this was the afternoon for the reception. 
 However, I could not have left the office to-day if 
 I had remembered ; and since you did not go, of 
 course I suppose there was nothing left for them 
 but to go alone." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham looked up at him half depreea- 
 tingly, then gave a significant glance at the deep 
 black of her dress. 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. 5 
 
 "You surely did not expect me to attend the 
 reception, Judge Burnham ? " The sentence closed 
 with the rising inflection, yet had hardly the tone 
 of a question. 
 
 The Judge turned on his heel with a gesture' 
 that might have meant impatience, opened hisj 
 mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better 
 of it. After a moment came this sentence with a 
 half-laugh : 
 
 " No, I cannot be said to have expected it " (with 
 a marked emphasis on the word "expected"). 
 " What I may have desired is another question. 
 Has this boy been out to-day ? " 
 
 The boy answered for himself. 
 
 " No, papa ; it has been an ugly east wind all 
 day, and mamma was afraid of my cough." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You haven't enough cough to hurt 
 a mosquito. You coddle him altogether too much, 
 Ruth ; you will have him as frail as a lily." 
 
 " He was quite hoarse this morning, Judge 
 Burnham." 
 
 The mother's voice was almost beseeching now, 
 but the husband did not notice it. 
 
 " What if he was ? A child has to breathe, even 
 when hoarse ; and to breathe heated air all day 
 vitiates the blood and weakens the lungs. Get 
 your coat and hat, my boy, and I'll take a run 
 with you on the piazzas ; that will be better than 
 nothing." 
 
 As he spoke, he placed the little fellow on his 
 
6 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 feet. But the child, instead of running, turned 
 anxious eyes on his mother and hesitated. 
 
 "I'm afraid it will worry mamma, and I can stay 
 in the house a whole week if she wants me to." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " in a sharp tone now. " Get your 
 hat at once ; it is not necessary for you to decide 
 these questions." 
 
 Then Mrs. Burnham's voice, lower than before, 
 quiet, and perfectly controlled, " Don't keep papa 
 waiting, Erskine ; your little coat is in the lower 
 drawer in papa's dressing-room the gray one, 
 dear." 
 
 It was a heavier garment than had been worn as 
 yet this fall, and Judge Burnham laughed at the 
 boy for being bundled up like a little old man 
 when he came back presently robed in the gray 
 coat. 
 
 " I suppose you will not come with us," he said, 
 his hand on the door-knob. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham shook her head and smiled. 
 
 " Not to-night, thank you ; I don't like the east 
 wind ; it seems to me unusually penetrating." 
 
 " That is because you have toasted yourself 
 beside a coal fire all day." 
 
 Then the door closed and she was alone. She 
 sat still, staring straight into that coal fire with 
 wide-open, grave eyes ; staring away beyond the 
 fire ; seeing images that drew no smile to her 
 face ; listening the while to the boy's merry voice, 
 broken by an occasional cough, as with rapid feet 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. / 
 
 he tried to keep up with his father's long strides. 
 The dinner-bell pealing through the house inter- 
 rupted the promenaders, and at the same moment 
 a carriage returned the young ladies to their own 
 door. A little later and the family gathered in the 
 dining-room. If you have read " Ruth Erskine's 
 Crosses " you possibly remember the first family 
 gathering in the Burnham dining-room. If you 
 do not, may I ask that you will look up the book 
 and glance over its history, that you may have the 
 pleasure of contrasting the two scenes ? 
 
 A more marked contrast, having to do with the 
 same house and the same people, could hardly 
 be imagined. Yet I call it the same house more 
 from courtesy than reality. The framework was 
 the same, and the old-fashioned ceilings were the 
 same, but the house had been added to and taken 
 from, until Mrs. Ferris, whom you will possibly 
 remember, recognized it no longer as " the old 
 place." An L had been built on here, and a bay 
 window thrown out there, and a side porch added to 
 the south door, and broad piazzas surrounded the 
 house. Within, windows reaching to the floor, and 
 paint and paper and furniture, had so changed the 
 original scene that the dining-room of the present, 
 though having the same floor as the one that 
 belonged to the past, had no other external that 
 was the same. A lovely dining-room, with the 
 table set with every possible modern appointment, 
 and served by a trained waiter with exquisite care. 
 
8 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 To these things Ruth Burnham had been used all 
 her life. But of the three she was really much 
 less fastidious than were the young ladies, Miss 
 Seraph and Miss Minta. What pretty girls they 
 were ! Mrs. Burnham, glancing at them across the 
 table, could not help thinking so at this moment. 
 Graceful, well-bred, faultlessly dressed in the very 
 extreme of fashionable attire, and voluble after 
 the fashion of society young ladies, over the last 
 excitement of the day. 
 
 "And, papa, that young Pole was there whom 
 we met at the Harpers, you remember. Seraph 
 made quite a sensation promenading with him. I 
 assure you she was the center of all eyes." 
 
 "That is not surprising," Judge Burnham said, 
 bestowing an admiring glance on the tall, graceful 
 girl, with a wealth of reddish yellow hair arranged 
 with reference to the latest ideas concerning hair, 
 which ideas chanced to be very becoming to her 
 face. 
 
 She received her sister's charge and her father's 
 compliment with equal composure. 
 
 " It was all because of the Pole, papa. If I 
 hadn't been honored with his attentions, I should 
 have been lost to view entirely. Minta was the 
 favorite most of the afternoon. That massive Dr. 
 Dorchester, who offers compliments much as an 
 elephant might, assured me that 'your sister is 
 even more brilliant than usual to-day, and that is 
 unnecessary.' " 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. Q 
 
 The " brilliant " young sister, whose bright eyes 
 flashed fun and fire at once, went off into a series 
 of graceful little giggles over this ponderous 
 compliment. 
 
 "Papa, I didn't say a witty thing this afternoon. 
 I was studiedly stupid, and they laughed over the 
 stupidest things as though they were very amusing. 
 I do think people can be the silliest when they get 
 certain ideas into their minds." 
 
 " You see what it is to have a reputation, my 
 daughter." 
 
 Nothing could be fuller of satisfied pride than 
 Judge Burnham's tones. Indeed, it would not 
 have needed close observation to discover thai 
 this father was both fond and proud of his two 
 beautiful daughters. Whether he occasionally re- 
 membered the frights they were when he brought 
 home his bride, barely six years ago, is doubtful ; 
 men forget so soon and so entirely, when it is con- 
 venient and satisfactory to do so. Yet, remember- 
 ing, I am not sure that he would have thought 
 it very surprising. He might have looked upon 
 it as an altogether natural, and to be expected, 
 development, from daughters belonging to the 
 Burnham name and blood. Fifteen and seven- 
 teen very often give little hint of what twenty-one 
 and twenty-three will be. Mrs. Burnham, how- 
 ever, remembered ; recalled often, vividly and 
 in detail, the picture of those two uncouth, ill- 
 dressed, ill-shaped, frightened girls as they came 
 
 2 
 
IO AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 to her in the rag-carpeted front room, not quite 
 six years ago. She thought of it to-night ; some 
 sudden motion of the head by the beauty, Miss 
 Minta, a motion peculiar to her, extreme in its 
 awkwardness once, softened into an actual charm 
 now, recalled to Mrs. Burnham the hour and the 
 scene in all its embarrassing details, and she did 
 what Judge Burnham in these days never thought 
 of doing in connection with his daughters : she 
 drew a long, low sigh. 
 
 The dinner-table talk went on in much the 
 same strain that I have indicated. Who were 
 at the reception ; who were conspicuous by their 
 dress, or their manner ; what the Harpers thought 
 of the entertainment ; why the Tremaines were 
 not there, and a dozen other trifles discussed 
 with a zest which belongs only to society lov- 
 ers. Always the talk was addressed to papa. 
 Throughout the meal Mrs. Burnham was almost 
 entirely silent, answering the remarks addressed 
 to her, by her husband, only in quiet monosylla- 
 bles. Not apparently, however, for any other 
 reason than because the remarks themselves called 
 for no other answer ; these being confined almost 
 exclusively to questions as to whether she would 
 have more of this or that delicacy. She gave 
 careful attention to Erskine's wants, but did not 
 talk even with him. This, however, was not 
 noticeable, for the boy had been taught to be 
 almost entirely silent at the table, and he was 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. II 
 
 apparently absorbed in listening to and enjoying 
 his pretty sisters. 
 
 Before the second course was concluded, Miss 
 Seraph examined her watch with an exclamation 
 of dismay. 
 
 " I did not know it was so late. Papa, we must 
 call on the Forsythes for a moment to-night ; 
 Tremaine is to leave town to-morrow morning. 
 I told him we would call. Now, papa dear, don't 
 frown ; you really must be the victim to-night. 
 Horace Wells wanted to call for us, but Minta 
 gave him such a decided negative that he didn't 
 dare to say anything about it to me." 
 
 " Well, he is such a bore, papa. I would much 
 rather have you." 
 
 " Thank you, " Judge Burnham said, with a low 
 bow, and an amused smile. " I am not disposed 
 to frown, young ladies ; I am quite willing to 
 attend you. I suppose, Ruth, there is no use in 
 asking you to join us ? " 
 
 Another of those sentences closing with the 
 rising inflection, yet spoken in a tone which makes 
 a negative reply almost a necessity. 
 
 " O, no! thank you. I will remain with Erskine." 
 
 Miss Seraph laughed. " What a question, papa ! 
 I should almost as soon expect one of the marble 
 busts in the library to go out with you as mamma. 
 O, mamma ! that reminds me ; Dr. Westwood 
 asked to-day if you were going into a decline, that 
 you were seen so little in society." 
 
12 AFTER SIX YEARS. 
 
 " Yes, and I was guilty of the only pun I made 
 this afternoon, " chimed in Miss Minta. " I told 
 him you had quite declined society, of late ; that 
 that was all the decline we knew of." 
 
 Judge Burnham did not laugh at this, but be- 
 stowed a somewhat sharp, searching look on 
 Ruth's pale face, where a little touch of crimson 
 was glowing now. " Is Joan disabled, that she 
 can not have the care of Erskine ? " he asked, and 
 there was a curious sharpness in his voice. 
 
 "Joan? O, no! but I do not choose to leave 
 Erskine with her, you know. Shall we adjourn to 
 the library, Judge Burnham ? " 
 
 A few moments more and the father and daugh- 
 ters had departed, leaving mother and son alone 
 together. 
 
 The boy was very quiet and sweet and loving, 
 exerting all his small powers for the manifest 
 purpose of entertaining his mother ; and she 
 smiled on him, and allowed herself to be enter- 
 tained. It was when he was settled in his lace- 
 canopied crib in the lovely pink room which 
 opened out from Ruth's lovely blue one, that he 
 put up his small hand and patted her cheek, and 
 said : " Dear mamma, did it worry you to have me 
 go and walk to-night ? I couldn't help it, you 
 know ; and I'll try not to cough. I wouldn't have 
 gone if I could have helped it." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham stooped and kissed the full, 
 sweet lips, and held the caressing hand in a sud- 
 
AFTER SIX YEARS. 13 
 
 den strong grasp ; but her voice was quick and 
 firm : " Of course not, my little foolish boy ; it 
 is always right to obey papa. Good-night, my 
 darling.' 1 
 
 She went away from him at once, out into the 
 blue room, and sat down before the open grate, 
 and let her hands drop idly in her lap, and let 
 great hot tears plash down on the hands. There 
 must be no tears before the large-eyed boy. But 
 there was no one to watch her now. 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 NOW you know as well as though I had written 
 a volume to tell you about it, that Mrs. Judge 
 Burnham's life had not yet settled into peace. 
 Indeed, it was so very far from peace, that her 
 wise-eyed son, child though he was, understood, 
 perfectly, that his mother was sad-hearted and 
 troubled. Yet had Mrs. Burnham been called 
 upon to tell her life story as it had been lived 
 in the past five years, it would have been diffi- 
 cult, perhaps impossible, for her to have explained 
 how she reached the spot where she now seemed 
 stranded, so insensibly had she drifted thither. 
 You remember with what strong purpose of soul 
 she took up life anew, at the bedside of her baby, 
 when God gave him back to her, after the last 
 hope had vanished ? She had by no means for- 
 gotten it. Eagerly, I might almost say fiercely, 
 had she tried to live the resolves born in that 
 solemn hour. The sorrowful part of it was, that 
 her husband had been through no such experience; 
 had made no such resolves ; did not understand 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 1 5 
 
 his wife, and had no sympathy with the desire? 
 that filled her soul. His sorrow had been heavy, 
 his anxiety intense or, perhaps, fierce would be 
 the best word to describe it but the moment the 
 strain was over, he was ready to take up life again 
 where they had dropped it so suddenly when their 
 fears came upon them. It perplexed and annoyed 
 him to find that his wife was not ready for this ; 
 that a subtle and to him utterly inexplicable change 
 had passed over her. 
 
 Once more Mrs. Burnham was struggling with 
 the problem with which her married life had begun, 
 namely, "How shall two walk together except they 
 be agreed ? " Struggling with it, with immensely 
 greater odds against her than when she first began 
 this divided life. 
 
 You will recall the fact that the husband of a 
 few weeks' standing had succeeded, with one pleas- 
 ant pretext after another, in drawing her away 
 from the prayer-meeting, from the Sabbath-school, 
 from very regular attendance at church. More 
 than that, he had even drawn her away from her 
 Bible and her daily secret communion with God. 
 Not suddenly, so that it startled her ; not con- 
 sciously, perhaps, on his part ; he did not under- 
 stand these things ; how should he ? He did not 
 mean to do his wife an injury. But the excuses 
 were so numerous, so plausible ; the influence was 
 so steady and so agreeable ; it was so hard to 
 break away from his plans, even when they jarred 
 
1 6 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 her conscience ! The tendency had been always 
 downward, but so slight, that it was only dimly 
 felt. Gradually, too, she had been drawn more 
 or less into the whirl of society, and found that 
 Mrs. Judge Burnham had a circle of influence 
 which was more fascinating than any phase of 
 fashionable life which had ever been presented to 
 the girl, Ruth Erskine. 
 
 Then had come that holy thing into the inner- 
 most center of her heart, mother love. You re- 
 member how she made all interests, even the 
 Master's, second to this ? And you remember, 
 perhaps, how closely the shadows had drawn about 
 her on that evening when the little life almost 
 went out ? 
 
 Since that time, now nearly five years in the 
 background, there had been kept up a steady 
 struggle between her Christian life and her hus- 
 band's tastes and plans. Not that she had not 
 tried to explain to him ; but the views which could 
 not be explained during those first few months of 
 married life were much harder to explain now. 
 When she tried to tell him that, as a Christian, 
 she must, and must not, he confronted her with 
 the statement that she was a Christian when 
 he married her, and that she had by no means 
 obtruded her peculiar ideas so offensively then as 
 now. When she tried to make him understand 
 the solemn experience, lived on her knees, beside 
 what she had thought was the dying bed of their 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. I/ 
 
 child, he assured her that that was fanaticism born 
 of fright; and it was beneath a rational woman 
 to make herself disagreeable to her friends because 
 she had been worried, by loss of sleep, and the 
 fear of losing her baby, into taking some rash 
 and preposterous vows ! And this was quite as 
 much as he understood about it. How could she 
 explain ? She ceased to try ; and as much as in 
 her lay determined to live her divided life, and 
 yet have peace. But peace was not what Judge 
 Burnham was waiting for ; he wanted concessions, 
 and an agreeable companion always with him in 
 the life which was most to his tastes. 
 
 As the days went by, it became apparent that 
 those tastes were almost entirely diverse from his 
 wife's. Indeed, there were hours when the poor 
 wife stood appalled before the thought that they 
 seemed to have no ideas in common any more. 
 She had not imagined that there could be so many 
 occasions of difference. But if he was in earnest, 
 so was she. 
 
 He did not set about winning her as gracefully 
 as he had at first ; he had been too successful, 
 during 'his first attempts, to give him other than a 
 feeling of irritation when he thought of those 
 days and the ease with which he had accomplished 
 what seemed now impossible. I shall have to 
 confess, also, that Ruth's old obstinacy came 
 to ner aid or to her hinderance, as you will ; con- 
 cessions which she could have made she would 
 
1 8 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 not ; and when she might have resisted gently, 
 gracefully, she often did it sternly, with a deter- 
 mination to carry her point, which was much more 
 evident to her husband than was the reason for 
 carrying it. 
 
 Thus the breach between them grew and 
 widened. You are not to understand that they 
 quarreled openly and sharply ; both were too well- 
 bred for that. They grew cold toward each other, 
 at times almost haughty ; they held endless discus- 
 sions in cold tones, with abundance of lady-like 
 and gentlemanly sarcasm distributed through them ; 
 they planned in accordance with individual tastes 
 very often, when each might have planned for the 
 other. Oh ! there were constant errors which 
 this poor blundering Christian wife made. She 
 needed help from the human side, and she had 
 chosen a broken reed to lean upon. Is it any 
 wonder that she made mistakes ? Not that they 
 were necessary in view of her position ; I am not 
 excusing her ; she might even under these circum- 
 stances have gone to the Stronghold and received 
 grace sufficient. What I am saying is, that she 
 had made life harder for herself than it need have 
 been ; in other words, led herself into temptation, 
 and was reaping some of the consequences. 
 
 Meantime, many outside influences came to 
 Judge Burnham's aid. For one thing, the gay 
 world sought them out in their seclusion ; not 
 merely their friends, but the fashionable world 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. IQ 
 
 itself. The straggling little village to which Mrs. 
 Burnham had been introduced as a bride, would 
 not have known itself if it had been shown its 
 own photograph after the lapse of these half- 
 dozen years. The town had received one of those 
 sudden booms common to regions of country near 
 great cities. Two rival railroads had built con- 
 necting lines through the place, passing, one of 
 them, within five minutes' walk of Judge Burn- 
 ham's grounds, and making it possible to reach 
 the city in ten minutes instead of two hours. 
 This of itself had established the town on a new 
 basis. Then with the railroads had come specu- 
 lators thoughtful business men who examined 
 the river rolling quietly through the outskirts of 
 the village with an eye not to the aesthetic, but to 
 business. In a brief space of time stock companies 
 were formed, and huge factories were rearing 
 their walls toward the sky. Real estate men 
 came, who bought and laid out town lots, and ad- 
 vertised them in city markets. And city mer- 
 chants and lawyers, looking for breathing places 
 for their families, came out to view the land 
 and were charmed. "So quiet," they said, "so 
 rural, so like the country in every respect, and yet 
 within a few minutes of the city." 
 
 They invested forthwith, and builders came at 
 their bidding, and great four-storied palaces were 
 reared, and the gas company, and the water works 
 company and the sewer company, and I know not 
 
 V 
 
2O PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 what other company, followed hard after, and in 
 an incredibly short time every vestige of country 
 life had departed. Men who had toiled until their 
 hairs were white, over a few acres, cut them up 
 into town lots and retired on small fortunes, and 
 thirty trains a day roared in and out to accommo- 
 date this sudden influx of city life. And all along 
 the river bank for miles out, were rows and rows 
 of tenement -houses, built for the factory opera- 
 tives who had sprung up as if by magic at the 
 first sound of the word factory. Judge Burnham's 
 broad acres which had belonged to the Burnham 
 name for more than half a century, and yielded 
 respectable returns from cabbage and potatoes, 
 brought fabulous prices as " city lots." Job Fer- 
 ris, hands in his pockets, mouth wide open in 
 amazement, stood before two men who were 
 clinching a bargain for a certain knoll, and finally 
 expressed his mind : 
 
 "I'm blest if them two city chaps didn't pay 
 more cash down for that wuthless hill, which has 
 nothing but a few trees and grass on it, than I 
 could make out of the field of turnips lying back 
 of it if I was to raise two crops a year for the 
 next fifty years ! " 
 
 Of course with all this incoming Fashion came 
 also. Not a few from the fashionable world were 
 drawn in this direction in the first place from the 
 knowledge of the fact that Judge Burnham's 
 " country seat " was there, and " Ruth Erskine 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 21 
 
 had been so charmed with it that she had gone 
 there immediately on her marriage, instead of 
 taking a house in town, as the Judge had sup- 
 posed she would wish to do." 
 
 The lady who used to be Ruth Erskine smiled 
 gravely when she heard this, and wondered what 
 her aristocratic acquaintances would have said could 
 they have seen Judge Burnham's " country seat " 
 as it looked when she first came to it. This train 
 of thought always reminded her of his daughters ; 
 and then she would go over again their little past 
 since she had known them, with a feeling almost 
 of bewilderment. When was it that these girls, 
 whose beauty she almost felt as though she had 
 created, stepped quietly, even gracefully, yet with 
 an air of assurance which at times amounted to 
 insolence beyond her into a life of which they 
 seemed to think she knew nothing. When was it 
 that they began to ignore her suggestions and 
 advice, and go where and when they would, and 
 wear what they would ? Often with graceful def- 
 erence to the father, but with an air of apparent 
 forgetfulness that she belonged to the same house- 
 hold. In the early months of her acquaintance 
 with them their deference to her had been almost 
 painful ; it had seemed to her such a pitiful thing 
 that young ladies should appear to have no minds 
 of their own, even in such small matters as how 
 they should dress for dinner in their own home. 
 She had looked forward to the time when they 
 
22 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 would be able to think and plan for themselves. 
 Now, in looking back, she could not remember 
 just when that time had come, but that it had 
 come, was undoubted. In the old days she had 
 been sometimes troubled, sometimes annoyed, 
 because it was always she who was consulted, 
 never the father ; on the few occasions when she 
 had sent them to him for decisions, they had been 
 so thoroughly frightened as to vex him almost be- 
 yond endurance ; and she had therefore abandoned 
 all efforts to force a natural condition of things. 
 Now, as I said, this was strangely changed. Papa 
 was constantly applied to for opinions regarding 
 matters about which he might naturally be sup- 
 posed to know very little ; but as the two bloomed 
 more and more into beauty and prominence in the 
 fashionable world became leaders indeed in their 
 circle Judge Burnham's long slumbering pater- 
 nal pride was nourished with what might almost be 
 called a hothouse growth ; he lavished every adorn- 
 ment on them which a fastidious taste could sug- 
 gest and plenty of money could buy, and seemed 
 to enjoy with daily increasing delight their def- 
 erence to his judgment as to the color of a ribbon 
 or the arrangement of a curl. 
 
 The result of their combined tastes was often a 
 picture. Certainly they had blossomed ! The 
 lady who had surveyed with satisfaction the result 
 of her handiwork on that Sabbath morning when 
 they appeared in the first budding of fashionable 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 23 
 
 attire, looked with a feeling sometimes akin to 
 dismay on the full bloom of the plants she had 
 nurtured. The girls had opinions of their own to- 
 day, and were not timid in expressing them. 
 
 Neither were they like their step-mother in their 
 tastes. Ruth Erskine had not been a leader of 
 Fashion, simply because she would not be. Fash- 
 ion, even in the days before conscience seemed to 
 her to have anything to do with it, had not inter- 
 ested her. Nor had she been a blind follower of 
 prevailing styles. Because "they" wore a thing, 
 had never been a reason for her wearing it. 
 Neither did she lay aside a style which suited her 
 merely because it had ceased to be "the rage." 
 " I wear what I please," had been a sentence often 
 on the lips of the haughty girl when these ques- 
 tions were being discussed among her friends. "I 
 am perfectly willing that others should wear it or 
 not, as they choose." 
 
 Later in life this independence, which in less 
 cultured hands might have been somewhat start 
 ling, toned down into a refinement that aimed to 
 bestow enough regard to prevailing customs not 
 to be a person of mark in any way in connection 
 with them, and yet to enjoy her individual tastes. 
 
 Her step-daughters, as I have said, were not like 
 her. They were quite willing to be marked in the 
 fashionable world. The very extreme of the pre- 
 vailing style was what they aimed to represent ; 
 and if they were the first to adopt "something 
 
24 PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 
 
 quite new and striking," the more were they 
 pleased. 
 
 To be described in a morning paper as having 
 worn the night before at Madame Somebody's 
 reception " the first American representation of a 
 recent Parisian style, which set off their remark- 
 able beauty in a striking manner," etc., would have 
 been a matter of intense disgust to Ruth Erskine ; 
 ro the Burnham girls it was a pleasure. 
 
 Such being the case, you are prepared to under- 
 stand how constantly they differed even in matters 
 pertaining to costume. And, if you understand 
 human nature, you also know that it became natu- 
 ral enough for girls of the type which I think yot 
 discover Judge Burnham's daughters to be, to say, 
 at first to themselves, then more openly : " Mamma 
 does not understand these things now ; she is not 
 in society. Besides, she was always queer; the 
 Tremaines say so." 
 
 Other changes had come to Ruth Burnham. 
 Her honored father, after struggling for three 
 years with what was to him poverty, in a way 
 which had filled his daughter's heart with exultant 
 pride, and after one year more of such marked 
 business success as to make many watchful busi- 
 ness men wonder whether, after all, his way had 
 been the best, and there was such a thing as 
 reward of honor, was suddenly called to that 
 "reward" toward which his heart had tended dur- 
 ing these later years. Very triumphant had been 
 
PLANTS THAT HAD BLOSSOMED. 25 
 
 that home-going ; hushing the outburst of grief 
 even from the lips of his wife, and making Judge 
 Burnham repeat to his heart, unconsciously, the 
 old cry, " Let me die the death of the righteous." 
 
 But the desolation the father had left behind him 
 was very great. His daughter mourned for him 
 much more than she would have done in those 
 early months of her married life. With the pass- 
 ing years and the bewildering changes in her own 
 home, she had found herself drawn more and more 
 closely to him. 
 
 It was not strange, therefore, that on this even- 
 ing as she sat alone in the blue room, and let the 
 tears fall unheeded on her clasped hands, the out- 
 cry from her lonely heart should be wrung from 
 her with a low moan : " O, father, father ! if you 
 could only have taken me with you." 
 
26 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 SUNDAY morning, and a blue sky and sun- 
 shine ; the rain of the night before quite 
 banished. So were the tears. Mrs. Burnham, 
 presiding at the nine-o'clock breakfast-table, looked 
 no paler than usual, and felt more thankful in her 
 heart than she had for a long time. The reason 
 being, that Erskine had coughed but twice during 
 the long night, though the east wind generally set 
 him into a perfect storm of coughing about mid- 
 night, and she had lain awake until long after that 
 hour, watching for it. The boy was radiant, also, 
 this morning ; dressed for church, in a deep blue 
 velvet kilt suit, with a white collar, and a knot of 
 white velvet ribbon at his throat. The young 
 ladies admitted, when alone, that " mamma showed 
 exquisite taste in dressing Erskine." The boy was 
 happy over much the same thought that rested 
 his mother's heart. He had slipped his plump 
 little hand lovingly into hers, on the way down 
 stairs, and questioned, "Did I cough, mamma?" 
 
 " Only two little coughs, my darling ; and those 
 were less hoarse than during the day." 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 2/ 
 
 Then a gleeful little laugh rang out. 
 
 "Goody! I knew I shouldn't; I felt just as 
 sure ! " 
 
 "Why, darling?" 
 
 " Because that is a secret ; " and he reached 
 up on tiptoe and whispered in her ear : " I asked 
 Jesus not to let me cough last night, and worry 
 you, and he said he wouldn't ; and then, of course, 
 I knew he wouldn't." 
 
 And then the boy was kissed ; long, clinging 
 kisses, which had in them an element of pain. 
 Would he grow up to be a comfort, and an inspi- 
 ration to her, spiritually ? Was this lonely mother 
 to have help, some day ? 
 
 The young ladies were in elegant morning cos- 
 tumes, made in a style which Ruth particularly 
 disliked. Still, she admitted that they looked 
 well in them ; that is, as well as persons could 
 look in fashions so devoid of grace as she thought 
 these to be. 
 
 " Papa," said Miss Seraph, as she helped her- 
 self to another muffin, " suppose we go to town to 
 church to-day ? " 
 
 " To town ? What is the attraction there ? " 
 
 " Nothing very special ; only Patty Hamlin sings 
 at St. Paul's this morning, for the first time this 
 season ; and I would rather like to hear her." 
 
 " L would rather like to see her," declared Miss 
 Minta, with a little laugh. " I am never so very 
 particular about hearing her ; but if reports are 
 
28 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 correct, her costume will be something remark- 
 able to-day ; her cousin Harold says it is stun- 
 ning." 
 
 Judge Burnham slightly frowned. " Does young 
 Hamlin frequently indulge in that style of language 
 when conversing with ladies, daughter ? " 
 
 " What style ? Stunning ? Why, dear me ! 
 that is a very common word." 
 
 " So I think ; too common to be agreeable." 
 
 " O, papa dear ! Don't you go to being a 
 what is the masculine for prude, I wonder ? Seraph 
 and I will be undone if you desert us, and get to 
 be over-nice." 
 
 There was a strong emphasis on the pronoun 
 that referred to him. It marked, even in Judge 
 Burnham's mind, the thought that his daughter 
 wished to emphasize the fact that she considered 
 her step-mother a prude. He felt that she ought 
 to be frowned on for such an insinuation ; but she 
 looked so pretty, and her eyes were full of such a 
 winning light, and her voice was so tender over 
 the words " Papa dear," that he merely laughed. 
 After all, she was young ; and Ruth was very dig- 
 nified always had been ; he admired it in her j 
 he would not have her otherwise ; but, of course, 
 she should be able to make allowances for girls ; 
 and they meant no disrespect ; those were not the 
 tones in which disrespect were offered. Never- 
 theless he smoothed his face into gravity again, 
 and said : " I confess I do not like slang, especially 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 2Q 
 
 when addressed to a lady. I would not allow a 
 young man to say much to me about ' stunning ' 
 things if I were you." 
 
 " But about St. Paul's, papa ; if we are to go, 
 you must eat your beefsteak faster than that ; we 
 shall want to take the ten-o'clock train." This 
 from Seraph. 
 
 "Why, I have no objection, since you young 
 ladies are both of the same mind." His eyes hap- 
 pened to look into Erskine's as he spoke, and he 
 noted the sudden, wistful flash in them ; the boy 
 was very fond of the cars, and of the city, and, 
 indeed, of going anywhere with his father. 
 
 "Do you want to go to town with us, monkey ? " 
 
 The child's beautiful face was very bright for a 
 moment, then became grave, and his eyes sought 
 his mother. She was looking steadily at her plate, 
 not even seeming to hear the conversation ; so, 
 with a little sigh, he answered : " Not to-day, papa, 
 thank you ; I will stay with mamma." 
 
 "With mamma? Well, how do you know but 
 mamma will come with us ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I know she won't ; mamma won't ride on 
 the cars to-day." 
 
 There was marked emphasis on the word "to- 
 day." A chorus of laughter greeted him, and the 
 little boy's sensitive face flushed. He looked 
 quickly at his mother to know whether what he 
 had said was a subject for laughter. But she had 
 not laughed. She gave him a rarely sweet smile, 
 
3O LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 and said, " Judge Burnham, will you have another 
 cup of coffee ? " while Seraph was exclaiming, 
 "The idea ! " and Minta added : " You dear little 
 prig ! who have you heard say that ? " 
 
 " Not any more, thank you," said Judge Burn- 
 ham to his wife. Then : " My boy, what is there 
 wrong about going on the cars to get to church ? 
 We can not walk there, you know." 
 
 The child looked puzzled, pained ; turned ques- 
 tioning eyes from father to mother, then back to 
 his father's face again. Ruth did not know how 
 to help him without openly showing discourtesy 
 to his father. 
 
 "I don't know, papa," the baby said at last. "I 
 mean I don't know why it is wrong ; but I know 
 mamma thinks so, and that makes it so." 
 
 The trio laughed again, and Judge Burnham 
 said, " A loyal disciple certainly ; and as good a 
 logician as the majority of overwise people." Then 
 he looked at his watch. " Well, Mrs. Burnham, 
 according to this young champion against error, 
 you will not join the party for St. Paul's ? I advise 
 you to do so ; I do not believe you are equal to 
 Mr. Beckwith's prosing to-day. I confess I hail 
 any excuse for getting away." 
 
 "Thank you," said Ruth, and she tried to keep 
 her voice steady, " I do not care to go to St Paul's 
 to-day." Then she gave the signal for leaving the 
 table. 
 
 An hour later, dressed in deep black, she took 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 3 1 
 
 her little boy by the hand and went down the 
 wide-flagged street to the handsome new church 
 on the corner, that had taken the place of the 
 desolate wooden structure that she had found 
 when she first came. A pretty church it was, 
 outside and in ; from the handsome stained-glass 
 windows .to the soft Brussels carpet on the floor, 
 there was nothing to offend an aesthetic taste or 
 lead worshipers to St. Paul's for relief. The 
 music, too, if not so artistic as that found in city 
 churches, was cultivated, and the sweet-toned organ 
 was well played. Rested and uplifted by the hymn 
 and prayer, Ruth listened eagerly for the text ; 
 she felt so in need of help this morning ! It 
 was suggestive: "This beginning of miracles 
 did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth 
 his glory." This heart-burdened woman felt as 
 though almost a miracle was needed to take the 
 jarring elements of her life apart and set them into 
 harmony. No heavy burdens, so-called, but ten 
 thousand little things, or what in our parlance are 
 named little things, weighed down her heart, fet- 
 tered her lips, filled her with a steadily increasing 
 unrest. If only He would " manifest His glory " 
 by showing his power in her heart and in her 
 home, how blessed it would be ! 
 
 But, alas for Ruth ! she listened in vain for that 
 which would help her troubled soul. The sermon 
 was a well-worded, logical argument in proof of 
 the genuineness of miracles ! Helpful, perhaps, 
 
32 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 for those who needed such proof, if there were 
 listeners of that character. She looked about her 
 curiously, wondering if any habitual attendants at 
 that church had doubts in regard to the Bible mira- 
 cles ! The only one who possibly was skeptical in 
 this direction, as in many others, was at this mo- 
 ment listening to the elaborate music in St. Paul's, 
 and Ruth decided that if he were by her side the 
 sermon would not have helped him, for the simple 
 reason that he had not enough interest in the 
 question to care to be helped. As for herself, 
 she had full and abiding faith in the fact that the 
 Christ of Galilee had lavished miracles many and 
 wonderful upon that favored people eighteen hup 
 dred years ago ; what she wanted was a miracle 
 for her to-day in her heart and life. 
 
 She went wearily out from the church, bowing 
 coldly to the people on either side, stopping not 
 to exchange other salutations with any ; she had 
 held herself almost entirely aloof from the new 
 world which had crowded in on them, and hardly 
 more than recognized even old acquaintances who 
 had become her neighbors. The name given to 
 this, by many of her old friends, was pride ; for 
 the sudden rise of property all through that region 
 had made Judge Burnham, who had been one of 
 the rich men of the city before that time, almost 
 fabulously wealthy in the eyes of the community ; 
 and Ruth Erskine had always been "a proud girl," 
 they said ; " what else could they expect of Mrs. 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 33 
 
 Judge Burnham ? " But Ruth's secret heart knew 
 that the knowledge of the fact that her choice of 
 friends would be so entirely opposed to Judge 
 Burnham's tastes and desires troubled her, and 
 she held back the issue by retiring behind her 
 mourning robes. 
 
 Also she knew that this condition of things 
 must soon be changed. Her very mourning was 
 one of the elements of courteous contention, if I 
 may use such a phrase, between her husband and 
 herself. She had not wanted to wrap herself in 
 black for her father. It was true that she felt 
 desolate enough to describe it to the world by the 
 heaviest crepe it could furnish her ; but, lingering 
 over the death-bed scene, remembering the light- 
 ing up of her father's face as earth receded from 
 him and heaven appeared, remembering the smile 
 of unearthly radiance with which he finally "en- 
 tered in," it had not seemed fitting that she, a 
 Christian, looking forward to the same entrance 
 one day, should array herself in gloom and mourn 
 as those who had no bright side to their sorrow. 
 " If it were wise or kind to make such distinc- 
 tions," she had said to her sister Susan, " I could 
 wish that society would arrange that those whose 
 friends have gone, without a gleam of light, into 
 an unknown future, should wear the crepe and 
 bombazine, and let us, who saw the reflection 
 of the glory, signalize it by wearing dazzling 
 white." 
 
34 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 But Judge Burnham was emphatically of another 
 mind. He not only approved of the custom of 
 wearing mourning, but he believed that it was a 
 mark of disrespect to the dead not to do so ; and 
 for his wife to appear in any other than the deep- 
 est crepe for her father would, he argued, be trans- 
 lated by his acquaintances into a story that there 
 was some hardness between her father and her 
 husband in their business relations ; and in this 
 way she would actually, if she persisted in her 
 strange ideas, bring disrespect upon the living 
 husband as well as the dead father. 
 
 So Ruth did not persist ; she let her mourning 
 be of the deepest, gloomiest sort ; and, truth to 
 tell, was glad to hide her swollen eyes and quiver- 
 ing lips behind the heavy crepe veil. 
 
 But as the months passed it was made apparent 
 that no more emphatic had been Judge Burnham's 
 desire to have the mourning worn than it was to 
 have it laid aside at the earliest possible moment. 
 One year, he argued, was as long as they ever 
 wore mourning for a parent ; and poor Ruth, who 
 had always hated to do things for ho better reason 
 than because "they" did them, found herself 
 shrinking from this change with a pertinacity 
 which sometimes half-frightened her. She could 
 have summoned her Christian faith to the ordeal 
 of facing the customs of society, and worn no 
 mourning at all ; that would have been a tribute 
 to the fact that her father had gone where they 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 35 
 
 did not mourn ; but to elect a certain day and 
 hour in which to appear before the watching 
 world and say, by one's style of dress, " Now my 
 days of mourning are over ; my father has been 
 remembered long enough ; I am ready for the gay 
 world once more" from this she shrank so per- 
 sistently, and dwelt on the disagreeable side of it 
 so much, that she was growing morbid over it. 
 
 This was the way matters stood on this Sabbath- 
 day, now nearly two years since her father had 
 exchanged worlds ; and Ruth, knowing that she 
 must, sooner or later, yield, still hugged her mourn- 
 ing robes, and shielded herself with them from the 
 society which she despised. 
 
 Erskine danced merrily by her side, glad that 
 the restraints of the church service were over, and 
 he could have his mamma quite to himself. 
 
 He and Ruth ate their luncheon alone ; the 
 party from the city could hardly arrive before 
 the three-o'clock train, and would probably lunch 
 in some fashionable down-town resort. 
 
 Despite the mother's earnest effort to put self in 
 the background, and make the Sabbath a delight 
 to her little hoy, she but half succeeded. The 
 afternoon wore away somewhat heavily to the 
 restless child, and he broke into the midst of 
 Ruth's Bible story with this irrelevant question, 
 
 " Mamma, what makes it wicked to ride in the 
 steam cars on Sunday ? " 
 
 Ruth winced. She had no desire to enter into 
 
36 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 minute explanations with this wise-eyed child. 
 Still he must be answered. 
 
 " My darling, don't you remember mamma told 
 you how the poor men who have to make the cars 
 go, can not have any Sunday any time to go to 
 church, and read the Bible, and learn about God 
 and heaven ? " 
 
 " I know, mamma ; but the cars go all the same, 
 and the men have to work, and so why can't we 
 ride on them ? They wouldn't have to work any 
 harder because we went along." 
 
 The old questions, always confronting those 
 who try to step ever so gently on higher ground 
 than that occupied by the masses ; the specious 
 argument which is in the mouths of rumsellers 
 and wine-bibbers and grown-up Sabbath-breakers 
 all the world over. Surely not so astute a question, 
 after all, since this baby presents it evolved from 
 his own baby mind. Ruth could not help smil- 
 ing faintly as she answered : 
 
 " That is true, my boy, but if we kept on taking 
 the Sunday rides because others did, and because 
 the train would go anyway, whether we went or 
 not, how many people do you suppose we would 
 by our actions set to thinking that perhaps it was 
 wrong ? And how long do you suppose it would 
 be before the thinking which we set in motion 
 would help to change the customs of Sunday 
 trains?" 
 
 Deep questions, these, for a boy who had barely 
 
LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 3/ 
 
 reached the dignity of five years. But he had 
 grown up thus far at his mother's knee, and was 
 accustomed to the grave discussion of all sorts of 
 questions. The look in his eyes at that moment 
 showed that he comprehended, at least in a meas- 
 ure, Ruth's meaning. He changed the line of 
 argument : "Papa rides on them." 
 
 Ruth could hardly suppress a visible shiver. 
 Here was the sore spot in her life thrusting its 
 sharp point into her very soul, making it at times 
 seem almost impossible for her to be loyal to her 
 husband and true to her child. How was a wife 
 to answer such a sentence as that ? 
 
 " People think differently about these things, 
 Erskine. You know mamma told you we have to 
 think about them, and pray about them, and decide 
 what we shall do, not what somebody else shall do." 
 
 " Did papa pray about this and decide ? " 
 
 " Won't mamma's little boy leave papa and 
 everybody else out of the question just now, except 
 his own little conscience, and tell me what he 
 thinks is right?" 
 
 " Well, mamma, tell me this : when I get to be 
 a man, will I think as you do, or as papa does, do 
 you s'pose ?" 
 
 He will never understand perhaps, this innocent 
 boy, how his questions probed the mother's heart. 
 " God only knows," she could not help murmuring, 
 and arose quickly with a pretense of rearranging 
 the fire, but in reality to hide the starting tears. 
 
38 LOGIC AND INTERROGATION POINTS. 
 
 " I mean, mamma," he hastened to explain in a 
 half-apologetic tone, dimly aware that he had in 
 some way grieved his mother "I only mean I 
 will be a man, you know ; and do gentlemen think 
 things are right that sometimes ladies think are 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " Erskine," Mrs. Burnham said, resuming her 
 seat and taking both the chubby hands into her 
 own, " tell me this : Did God write one Bible for 
 gentlemen and another for ladies ? " 
 
 " Why, no, mamma." 
 
 " Then let me find a verse in His Bible about 
 this, for us to read." 
 
 The place was found, and the slow, sweet voice 
 of the child repeated after his mother the earnest 
 words : " If thou turn away thy foot from the Sab- 
 bath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day, and 
 call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, 
 honorable, and shalt honor him, not doing thine own 
 ways, or finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking 
 thine own words, then shalt thou delight thyself 
 in the Lord, and I will cause thee to ride upon 
 the high places of the earth, and feed thee with 
 the heritage of Jacob thy father : for the mouth 
 of the Lord hath spoken it." 
 
 The reading closed with a long-drawn, thought- 
 ful sigh on the child's part, but the young logician 
 kept his deductions to himself, for at that moment 
 the party from the city heralded their return with 
 the sound of merry laughter. 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 MRS. BURNHAM was entertaining a caller 
 in her own room ; very few people were 
 allowed the privilege of coming up to that lovely 
 blue room which was the special refuge of the mis- 
 tress of the house. The daughters understood, as 
 by a sort of instinct, that they were not expected 
 to intrude here, and the Judge himself always 
 tapped lightly before entering ; only Erskine was 
 privileged to come when he would. 
 
 But the caller was a special one, even Mrs. Dr. 
 Dennis, and the two who posed before the world 
 as dignified matrons were when alone " Ruth " and 
 " Marion " still. They did not meet very often. 
 Marion, as the wife of a busy pastor, had, of course, 
 her many cares, and her almost overwhelming 
 social duties ; and Ruth had fallen out of the habit 
 of going even among these old friends very often. 
 But the old, warm friendship burned strongly, and 
 as often as they met they assured each other, with 
 equal earnestness and sincerity of purpose, that 
 the time between their calls should never be so 
 
4-O UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 long again. Still it always was, and there was 
 always, consequently, a great deal to say. 
 
 So it was, after Marion had been talking eagerly 
 for nearly an hour, that she suddenly broke off in 
 the midst of a sentence, with the words : " But I 
 really have not time to tell you that ; it is a long 
 story, and I have stayed now longer than I meant. 
 Ruth dear, I came to see you for a special purpose 
 to-day. I couldn't have come merely for pleasure, 
 because we are unusually busy with church work 
 this month ; but I knew I was so old and tried 
 a friend that I might venture to say a word to you 
 about that pretty daughter of yours : the younger 
 one, I think she is." 
 
 Ruth's face flushed a little ; the skeletons in her 
 home if skeletons they really were were never 
 brought out for other eyes to behold. Marion 
 Dennis saw the flush, and hastened her speech. 
 
 " Of course I run the risk of meddling with 
 what is none of my business ; but Mr. Dennis said 
 you would forgive because of the motive, and be- 
 cause it was I myself. He has great faith in our 
 old friendship, you see. It is nothing very for- 
 midable ; only to ask you if you know, if Judge 
 Burnham knows, just what sort of person that 
 young Hamlin is with whom Minta rides and 
 walks occasionally ? Not quite that, either ; for 
 of course you don't know ; but my errand is simply 
 to put you on your guard in time." 
 
 It was very gently put ; Minta' s walks and rides 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 4! 
 
 with the young man in question were much more 
 than " occasional." 
 
 " I know nothing whatever about him," Ruth 
 hastened to say, " and I never heard Judge Burn- 
 han mention his name ; but I supposed, of course, 
 he knew the sort of person with whom he allowed 
 his daughter to associate." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not ; indeed, Mr. Dennis says 
 it is more than probable, engrossed in business as 
 he is, and looking upon his daughters as children 
 all men do that, until they are old enough to be 
 grandmothers he has probably not given the 
 matter a thought ; and, besides, Mr. Dennis says 
 business men really know comparatively little 
 about the men with whom they associate intimately. 
 It is so different with a minister, you know ; he is 
 the confidential friend of so many people, and 
 carries the burdens of others so continually, that 
 he learns to keep his eyes very wide open. More- 
 over, he came very near having a serious lesson 
 of his own, you remember ; and that has made 
 him more watchful over all young daughters, I 
 think." 
 
 " I remember your anxiety about Gracie. How 
 did you manage it, Marion ? " 
 
 There was a wistful note in Mrs. Burnham's 
 voice, which did not escape her caller's watchful 
 ear ; it said, almost as plainly as words could have 
 done, " I thought I knew all about managing, but 
 
 these girls of mine are beyond my control, and I 
 
 4 
 
42 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 don't in the least know how to set to work to right 
 anything which may be wrong." 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't do much of the managing. I 
 couldn't, you know ; she would resent that, nat- 
 urally. I don't think we ought to expect from young 
 people much that is against nature. Her father had 
 to do the talking ; I kept myself as far as possible 
 in the background, only helping with my wits, of 
 course, where I could. It wasn't a formidable 
 thing, though it looked so for a time. Gracie gave 
 me credit for having more to do with it than I 
 had ; that was natural, too ; but she recovered, and 
 I think she has not thanked me for anything more 
 earnestly than she has for ' helping save ' her, as 
 she expressed it, though, as I tell you, I did very 
 little. She went to New York, you remember, 
 and our blessed little Flossy, with her sweet, wise 
 ways, came to the rescue. Then she met Ralph, 
 and that helped immensely. ' The expulsive power 
 of a new affection.' I often think of that sentence 
 in one of our old text books. It works magic with 
 the human heart, Ruth." 
 
 " How is Gracie ? " Mrs. Burnham asked, shading 
 her eyes with her hand, and trying to keep a long- 
 ing sense of envy from appearing in her voice ; 
 Mrs. Dennis had very happy relations with her 
 step-daughter. If Ruth's experience could only 
 have been like hers ! 
 
 " Oh ! she is well ; and happy, and busy. Their 
 letters would fairly make you tired, Ruth, they 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 43 
 
 have so many schemes for their young men and 
 women ; and carry them out, too. It is no day- 
 dreaming. Gracie, with her young Ralph, not yet 
 a year old, to look after, and her housekeeping 
 duties besides, accomplishes more for the cause of 
 Christ in the world than dozens of young wives 
 do, all about her, who are boarding, and have not 
 a care in life." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham sighed. How much she had 
 meant to accomplish for the cause of Christ in the 
 world ! How had it happened that, so young, and 
 with so much leisure, she had become stranded ? 
 
 " But about this young man, " said Mrs. Dennis, 
 stealing a glance at her watch and looking startled. 
 " It seems he is very dissipated ; drinks even to in- 
 toxication, and that quite frequently. Mr. Dennis 
 says he has means of knowing that he is carried 
 helpless to his room three nights out of a week." 
 
 *' Is it possible ? " Ruth said, in disgust. She 
 had always shrunk from people who drank liquor 
 to excess, as belonging to a lower order of beings. 
 
 "Yes, it is true. Of course Mr. Dennis took 
 pains to verify his fears before he mentioned 
 them ; not that it is anything unusual in a society 
 man, but then " 
 
 " Isn't it unusual ? You cannot mean that it 
 is common among young men of the higher 
 classes ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you dear child, I am sorry to say it is. 
 The higher classes are the worse off, perhaps, if 
 
44 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 there is any 'worse' to the scourge; but you 
 know" 
 
 Ruth interrupted her again, glancing around in- 
 stinctively to see if her child was within hearing, 
 as she said fiercely, almost under her breath : 
 
 " Erskine shall never taste the stuff ! " 
 
 " She looked around, " said Mrs. Dennis after- 
 ward, in detailing this conversation to her hus- 
 band, " with almost the eyes of a tigress suddenly 
 brought in contact with a danger which menaced 
 her babies." 
 
 "Then you will have to be on the alert, my 
 dear friend ; it is none too early to begin with your 
 * line upon line, ' for I do assure you I am appalled 
 at the waste of manhood which is going on in 
 secret. I could almost pray, if I had sons, that I 
 might bury them in their babyhood, lest I should 
 live to see them stagger home. 
 
 " But perhaps that is not the worst of this young 
 man's habits. He is a gambler, as well as a hard 
 drinker ; almost a professional one ; at least he 
 uses his skill to decoy others, it is said. But even 
 that is not what I came to tell you this morning, 
 my dear Ruth." 
 
 She drew her chair closer, and her voice sank 
 lower while she told rapidly with as few words as 
 possible, a story of sin which made the matron's 
 face pale with righteous indignation. 
 
 " Now you know, " Mrs. Dennis said, gathering 
 her wraps about her, " why I dropped everything 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 45 
 
 this morning and came out to you. I knew, of 
 course, that Judge Burnham must be quite igno- 
 rant of facts, and that he must be told. And now 
 I have barely time to make my train ; I expected 
 to have taken the one that went up an hour ago." 
 
 Left alone, Mrs. Burnham gave herself up to 
 painful musings. How should she plan so as to 
 save her husband's daughter from a possible experi- 
 ence of misery ? If the relations between herself 
 and that daughter had been what she had planned 
 they should be, the way would have been easy. 
 But now, when she had, in a way which she did not 
 understand, been put one side, been plainly shown 
 each day that her influence was less than nothing, 
 what was there she could do ? 
 
 " Her father had to do the talking," Marion had 
 said, with a bright smile and a wifely pride in the 
 reference to her husband, and Ruth would not for 
 the world have hinted, to another, that this father 
 was not in such hearty sympathy with her views 
 as to talk in accordance with them. 
 
 Not even Marion, intimate as they had been, 
 should ever know from words of hers that there 
 were any shadows in her married life. Yet all the 
 same she knew that Judge Burnham did not think 
 nor feel as she did about many things. Still, in 
 this thing, of course, there would of necessity be 
 agreement. The man was not a fit acquaintance 
 for a lady, and the probability was that her hus- 
 band would know how to put an end to the 
 
46 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 acquaintance; she need not borrow trouble over 
 that. But she shrank from telling him. There 
 were so many things nowadays to jar his nerves 
 and spoil their home talks, it seemed a pity to add 
 yet another. Of course he would be terribly 
 angry. What father would not ? Perhaps he 
 would even blame her. Yet surely he could see 
 how little influence she had. Her musings were 
 broken in upon by the sound of a clear voice in 
 the hall below : 
 
 " Kate, tell Miss Seraph if she inquires for me, 
 that I went to ride with Mr. Hamlin, and that I 
 will meet her at Chester's at three o'clock." 
 
 "Yes'm," returned Kate, and Mrs. Burnham 
 arose in haste and pulled the bell cord. Kate 
 appeared almost immediately in answer. 
 
 "Kate, has Miss Minta gone out?'* 
 
 " No, ma'am, not yet ; she's just going ; the 
 gentleman is waiting in the parlor." 
 
 " Ask her to step here a moment, please, before 
 she goes." 
 
 Ten minutes passed, and then Minta's tap was 
 answered. She swept into the room a beau- 
 tiful girl in her perfect-fitting dress of dark-blue 
 cloth, more plainly made than was usual to her, 
 and consequently more becoming. The glow of 
 youth and health was on her cheek, and as her 
 bright eyes rested with a sort of astonished inquiry 
 on her mother, they said almost as plainly as words 
 could have done, "To what am I indebted for 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 4/ 
 
 such unusual attention ? " It was true enough, 
 though Mrs. Burnham did not realize that she had 
 set, years ago, an excellent example for this indif- 
 ference on the part of her step-daughters, by being 
 herself quite indifferent in regard to their move- 
 ments, so long as they were well-dressed and well- 
 behaved. 
 
 "Minta," she began hurriedly, "I want to speak 
 with you a moment." 
 
 " So Kate told me. Please be as expeditious as 
 is convenient ; I have kept my escort waiting an 
 unreasonably long time now." 
 
 "But I do not know that what I have to say 
 can be told in a few minutes." 
 
 She was visibly embarrassed, and did not know 
 how to commence her appeal. Miss Minta ele- 
 vated her eyebrows. 
 
 " Indeed," she said, the tone being a trifle super- 
 cilious ; " then perhaps it would be as well to 
 reserve it for a more convenient hour, since I am 
 already being waited for." 
 
 " But, Minta, it is about that I wish to speak ; I 
 mean about your escort ; it is Mr. Hamlin, is it 
 not ? I do not think, that is, I feel quite sure that 
 your father would object to your riding with him." 
 
 A perfectly foolish way in which to present the 
 subject ; no one could realize this better than she 
 did herself. The flush on the young lady's face 
 was brilliant, and her eyes flashed indignation. 
 
 " I should like to understand you if I can," she 
 
48 UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 said haughtily. " Pray, why should my father 
 suddenly object to my riding with a gentleman 
 with whom I have rode every other day for a 
 month or more ? And if he objects, pray why does 
 he not tell me so, instead of " 
 
 She paused suddenly, for Ruth was regarding 
 her now with a face calculated to subdue insolence 
 in speech at least. Her voice was less excited 
 than before, but colder. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I was unduly excited in 
 my anxiety, and made an unfortunate beginning ; 
 I mean I have recently heard that about Mr. Ham- 
 lin which leads me to think that your father, when 
 he hears of it, will have very serious objections to 
 your continuing his acquaintance, and in his ab- 
 sence I considered it my duty to warn you." 
 
 " And I am expected to be grateful, I suppose ? 
 Am I to be treated to a dish of this precious 
 gossip, whatever it is ? " 
 
 The girl was very angry ; there was clearly 
 some reason beside the silly pride of being inter- 
 fered with, which flushed her cheek, and made her 
 eyes flash like coals of fire. When Ruth thought 
 it over in more quiet moments she recognized this 
 fact; but now she, too, was angry. What right 
 had this impudent girl who had belonged only to 
 the backwoods until she brought her forward, to 
 characterize the conversation between Mrs. Dennis 
 and herself as gossip ? Still her voice was low 
 and controlled. There had been that trait about 
 
UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 49 
 
 Ruth Erskine, the girl : she had never allowed 
 herself to speak with raised voice or rapid enuncia- 
 tion, even when her anger reached a white-heat ; 
 she had not lost so much power of self-control. 
 
 " I have nothing to say beyond the fact that I 
 have such information concerning the person in 
 question as should make a young lady grateful 
 for a warning, presented in time," she said, look- 
 ing steadily at the angry girl. " What your father 
 may see fit to tell you, I cannot say ; but I cer- 
 tainly shall not trouble with details." 
 
 "You are very kind and very considerate ; I am 
 sure I ought to go on my knees to thank you ; 
 meantime, if you have nothing further to offer, I 
 suppose I may relieve the impatience of my friend 
 who is waiting." 
 
 I can give you the words, but the tone in which 
 they were spoken, and the indescribable manner 
 that accompanied them, you must imagine. It 
 was the most decided rebellion against her inter- 
 ference which Ruth had ever received. Even at 
 that moment she thought of Mrs. Dennis and her 
 daughter Grace. What would she have said or 
 done under circumstances like these ? Would such 
 circumstances ever have arisen between them ? 
 
 Probably not ; I, a quiet outsider, answer for 
 her ; because, in the second place, the two girls 
 were essentially different ; but also because in the 
 first place, Marion had gone to her daughter from 
 her knees ; gone with a loving, tender, sympathetic 
 
5O UNWELCOME RESPONSIBILITIES. 
 
 heart, and with infinite skill and patience had 
 touched the sore point between them. 
 
 Miss Minta's hand was on the door-knob when 
 her mother spoke again ; still in that low, self- 
 restrained voice : 
 
 " I have nothing further to say, but I trust we 
 understand each other ; the world looks upon me 
 as your proper guardian in company with your 
 father, however unreasonable or silly that world 
 may be ; and therefore in his absence I must ex- 
 ercise my judgment, and ask you to suspend 
 further rides with the gentleman until you have 
 your father's sanction ; I shall not, of course, in- 
 terfere further than that." 
 
 The hand was still on the door-knob, but its 
 owner turned and gave a look of mingled rage and 
 amazement at her step-mother. 
 
 " Do you take me for a complete idiot ? " 
 
 This was all she said, and as the question did 
 not seem to require an answer, it received none. 
 The door opened and closed with a very decided 
 bang, and in less than five minutes afterward, 
 Ruth, standing at the front window, saw the blue- 
 robed maiden carefully lifted into the handsome 
 carriage that stood in waiting, and the costly 
 wrappings were tucked carefully about her by 
 young Mr. Hamlin. 
 
FOREWARNED" AND " FOREARMED." 51 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " FOREWARNED " AND 
 
 WHEN Judge Burnham let himself into his 
 own hall that afternoon, it was not his wife 
 who was waiting to meet him, but his daughter 
 Minta, attired faultlessly, with a studied regard 
 to his expressed tastes ; even her hair done in just 
 the way he liked best, but with traces of tears on 
 her beautiful face, and a sort of childlike quiver on 
 her pretty chin which was inexpressibly bewitch- 
 ing to him. 
 
 She reached up both arms, put them around 
 his neck, and held up lovely, pouting lips for a 
 kiss, then suddenly drew back and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " What in the world does all this mean ? " Judge 
 Burnham asked, dropping into one of the large 
 easy-chairs that abounded in the wide hall, and 
 drawing his daughter to his side, where she nestled 
 her head in his beard and cried gently and becom- 
 ingly. " I didn't know such bright eyes as yours 
 ever had time for showers. Who has been bruising 
 my gay little blossom ? " and he drew her face 
 away from its hiding-place, and kissed her tenderly. 
 
52 "FOREWARNED" AND " FOREARMED." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, papa, I did not mean to 
 cry ; Lknow you don't like tears, but I have been 
 so hurt to-day I could not help it." 
 
 " What is it, little sensitive plant ? How did 
 you manage to have such troublesome feelings, to 
 be hurt if the east wind blows on them ? " And 
 for a moment the father went back curiously to 
 the years that seemed almost centuries away, so 
 great had been the changes they had wrought ; the 
 years when these girls of his had been overgrown, 
 ill-shapen, country frights ; and he reflected com- 
 placently that their appearance then was evidently 
 only an embryo condition, and that the real Burn- 
 ham blood "told" at last. " In childhood they 
 were like their mother," he told himself compla- 
 cently ; " but, as they develop, they prove them- 
 selves to be true Burnhams." 
 
 " Papa," the rosy lips close to his, and the voice 
 quivering a little, " I don't like to be talked about." 
 
 " To be talked about ? Of course not ; but I 
 am afraid it is something that you will have to 
 endure, my little lady. Such a pretty face as 
 yours must of necessity attract attention." 
 
 " Ah ! but, papa, I don't mean that." He laughed 
 at the sudden sparkle in her eyes, but he did not 
 understand how much a part of her life it had be- 
 come to be admired and flattered ; nor, under- 
 standing it, was he well enough versed in the 
 human heart to realize what an element of danger 
 it was. 
 
"FOREWARNED" AND "FOREARMED." 53 
 
 " I mean, papa, being gossiped about ill-naturedly, 
 and blamed for little merry things which have no 
 harm in them. You can't think how dreadful it is 
 to a girl to feel that she is been talked over in that 
 way by people who dislike her." 
 
 Judge Burnham's face gloomed instantly. 
 
 " Of what are you speaking, my daughter ? 
 What persons choose to demean themselves by 
 gossiping about you ? I should suppose your 
 father's name was sufficient to protect you." 
 
 " In society, of course, papa, I am not afraid of what 
 can be said, because there is nothing to say ; but 
 don't you know how two women can get together 
 and pick a girl to pieces if they choose ? That 
 Mrs. Dennis has been here all the morning closeted 
 with mamma, and I can just imagine how she 
 opened her great big eyes, and wrinkled her fore- 
 head, and shook her head, and looked owlish and 
 hateful. She was an old maid, papa, before Dr. 
 Dennis married her. and she hasn't any sympathy 
 with girls, and never had. The Armitages say 
 she made the life of Dr. Dennis' daughter per- 
 fectly miserable, and they were really thankful 
 when she married. And now she must come pok' 
 ing herself into my affairs. Do you think I need 
 stand anything of that kind, papa ? " 
 
 " Of course not. Mrs. Dennis has nothing 
 whatever to do with our affairs, and her sense of 
 propriety should teach her better than to interfere, 
 even if there were anything for her to try to 
 
54 " FOREWARNED " AND " FOREARMED." 
 
 manage." Nothing could be haughtier than Judge 
 Burnham's tones ; his daughter had touched him 
 at a sensitive point. He had always, in a silent 
 way, resented Mrs. Dennis' influence over his 
 wife, and had felt, more than once, that he owed 
 some of the discomforts of his life to the unreason- 
 able degree of deference which Ruth had for the 
 opinions of both Dr. and Mrs. Dennis ; he was in 
 no mood to bear patiently with any word from 
 them. 
 
 Nevertheless, he tried to speak reasonably to 
 his pretty daughter. 
 
 "But, my dear little girl, why should you sup- 
 pose that the ladies spent their time in discussing 
 you ? Certainly there could be no object in their 
 doing so. Isn't that a little bit of imagining on 
 your part ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed ; I have only too good reason 
 to believe that I was the subject of their talk. 
 Mrs. Dennis was no sooner out of the house than 
 mamma sent for me, and read me such a lecture as 
 I never received before ; and it was so unlike her, 
 that I knew the source from which it came, even 
 before she mentioned her caller's name." 
 
 Judge Burnham drew himself to an upright post- 
 ure, and the frown on his face would have fright- 
 ened Erskine. 
 
 " I do not understand, Minta ; your mamma lect- 
 ured you ! What was the subject ? And she told 
 you that she had been advised to such a course of 
 
"FOREWARNED" AND "FOREARMED." 55 
 
 action by her friend Mrs. Dennis ! That is hardly 
 possible ; Mrs. Burnham is a lady ! " 
 
 "Not exactly that, papa, but Mrs. Dennis had 
 been telling her some tiresome story about Mr. 
 Hamlin ; I am sure I don't know what ; and 
 mamma said something about it being very im- 
 proper in you to allow me to ride with him, and said 
 I should not. And he was waiting for me at that 
 moment to ride. I told her that as you had never 
 objected to my going out with him, of course I had 
 no excuse to offer this morning ; so I went as 
 usual ; but all the afternoon she has been cold and 
 disagreeable ; I know she will tell you a long story 
 about me ; and I cannot bear to have you think 
 naughty things of me, papa ; and, O dear ! I am so 
 miserable. If mamma didn't dislike Seraph and 
 me so much ! " 
 
 It was put into words at last, this tacit disa- 
 greement between the mistress and the daughters, 
 which had been growing up so long and which 
 Judge Burnham had dimly felt, rather than real- 
 ized. He was man enough to wince under it ; he 
 did not like to hear his wife referred to in that 
 manner. 
 
 " You should not speak in that way of your 
 mamma, Minta ; she is my wife, remember, and it 
 is foolish to say that she dislikes you and Seraph ; 
 there could be no possible reason for such a 
 feeling." 
 
 The beauty sat erect now, and looked full into 
 
her father's face with those witching eyes. She 
 must make the most of this opportunity, for on 
 her skillful handling of the subject might hang 
 much of her future happiness, as she, poor silly 
 girl, viewed happiness. 
 
 " Papa, you don't know ; you are very wise and 
 learned, and Seraph and I are just as proud of 
 you as we can be ; but there are some things you 
 don't understand so well as we two girls. Don't 
 you know mamma is jealous of us ? She wants 
 you all to herself; she cannot bear to share you 
 with two young ladies ; it was well enough when 
 we were children, and she could send us away 
 when she didn't want us in the room ; but in these 
 late years it is different ; and she she doesn't 
 mean to dislike us, perhaps, but she almost can't 
 help it ; especially when she is influenced in that 
 way by her friend Mrs. Dennis ; and don't you see 
 what a temptation it is to find fault with us about 
 every little thing our taste and our company 
 and everything? Why, she even sets Erskine 
 against us ! He told us yesterday that he could 
 not stay up in our room because mamma would 
 not like it." 
 
 She had stated the truth, this truthful young 
 lady, but she had omitted to add what Erskine 
 had, that mamma would not like it, because the 
 clock was striking the hour when he took his daily 
 lesson in her room. 
 
 Judge Erskine sat appalled before these revela- 
 
" FOREWARNED " AND " FOREARMED." $/ 
 
 tions. Was his daughter right ? Was this the 
 explanation of his wife's coldness and dignity, and 
 persistent thwarting of his plans and tastes ? Was 
 she even trying to turn the heart of his little son 
 away from him ? 
 
 Minta, watching his face, eager over his possible 
 thoughts, suddenly put her lovely golden head on 
 his shoulder in a caressing way, and let her white 
 and shapely fingers toy with the beard that was 
 now plentifully streaked with gray, and said in a 
 sweet and plaintive tone, 
 
 " Isn't it hard, papa, when you are our very own 
 father and we have only you ? " 
 
 Had they had even him before this mother, 
 whose place the young lady was now trying to 
 undermine, came into his home ? Was it possible 
 that neither of them thought of the years of abso- 
 lute neglect which that father had given them, 
 until the new wife roused him, rather forced him, 
 to his duty ? 
 
 I really do not think that Judge Burnham 
 thought of it; men are very queer some men; 
 he had let that unpleasant memory drop out of his 
 life as much as possible. These were his daugh- 
 ters now, admired, sought after ; even the famous 
 criminal lawyer congratulated him occasionally on 
 their exceeding beauty and grace ; why should he 
 go back into that awkward past ? As for Minta, 
 she remembered it well ; she was one of those who 
 do not easily forget ; on occasion she could have 
 
58 " FOREWARNED " AND 
 
 confronted her father with a story which would 
 have made his face burn with shame ; but she had, 
 just now, a point to carry; something must be 
 done to forestall her step-mother's story, whatever 
 it was, and leave her free to follow what she 
 thought was happiness. It was not all pride, the 
 motive which pressed her forward ; there was an 
 underlying influence that came from a meaner 
 nature than hers, and which held possession of 
 her heart. 
 
 They were interrupted; Erskine danced through 
 the hall, sprang toward his father for the caress 
 which he always claimed, and then delivered his 
 message. 
 
 " Papa, mamma would like to see you in her 
 room before dinner, if you please, and if you have 
 time." 
 
 It was a most inopportune moment for Ruth's 
 summons. The meaning look half appeal, half 
 terror which Minta gave him, did not escape 
 the Judge's notice. He looked stern enough to 
 have charged a jury in a case of high crime, but 
 his manner was kindness itself to Minta. 
 
 "I must go," he said, rising, and putting her from 
 him gently ; " Erskine, tell your mamma I will be 
 there in a moment ; " and as the child sped away, 
 he added: "And, Minta, my daughter, I hope to 
 hear no more of this nonsense, born of over-sensitive 
 nerves ; it is quite natural for you to have them 
 The Burnhams, unfortunately, are a sensitive race. 
 
"FOREWARNED AND "FOREARMED. 59 
 
 But your mamma has not the disposition which 
 you imagine. From the very first of my intimate 
 acquaintance with her, she took the deepest inter- 
 est in you two girls." 
 
 His daughter sighed, and looked steadily at him 
 with those appealing eyes. 
 
 " As for this gossip, whatever it is," he made 
 haste to say, "of course we desire and will toler- 
 ate no interference from Mrs. Dennis or from any 
 outsider. You may rest assured that no other 
 commands than mine need trouble your con- 
 science very much." 
 
 So saying he ran up-stairs to the blue room. 
 Ruth was waiting for him with a feverish nervous- 
 ness, which was of itself calculated to make her 
 words ill-chosen. She felt the importance of 
 speaking at once, for from her standpoint this 
 was serious business ; and yet she shrank from it 
 with a degree of timidity which humiliated her. 
 Judge Burnham came toward her with his accus- 
 tomed greeting and spoke carelessly : 
 
 "Erskine said you wanted to see me here. 
 What can I do for your comfort ? " 
 
 "Nothing for me, thank you ; I wanted to speak 
 to you about Minta. I have heard that to-day 
 which I am afraid will give you great anxiety. 
 Judge Burnham, do you know this young Hamlin 
 with whom she rides and walks ? " 
 
 " O, yes! I know him as the grandson of one 
 of the most famous lawyers we ever had in the 
 
60 "FOREWARNED" AND "FOREARMED." 
 
 State. Why do you ask ? Has he been so un- 
 fortunate as to come under the ban of your 
 displeasure ? " 
 
 He spoke in a bantering tone, with an evident 
 intention of turning her warning, whatever it was, 
 into ridicule. It did not serve to quiet her nerves. 
 
 " I was aware that you knew his grandfather, " 
 she said, with heightened color. " It was about 
 the young man himself that I was inquiring. I 
 have not the honor of his acquaintance, so my 
 personal feelings are not at stake. What I want 
 is simply to inquire whether you are sure he is the 
 sort of person you desire as an associate for your 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " As to that, I am not so foolish as to suppose 
 that my daughter is going to gauge all her friend- 
 ships to suit my individual tastes. The young 
 man is well enough, I presume." 
 
 " Then I am afraid you are mistaken. Really, 
 Judge Burnham, I wish you would give me your 
 attention a few minutes. I have that to tell you 
 which is certainly not pleasant for me to repeat, 
 but which I think you ought to hear." 
 
 For by this time the Judge had passed on into 
 his dressing-room, and was giving attention to his 
 toilet. 
 
 "I can hear you, " he called, with his face partly 
 submerged in water ; " proceed with your testi- 
 mony." 
 
 It was not a comfortable way in which to talk ; 
 
"FOREWARNED" AND "FOREARMED." 61 
 
 it did not lessen his wife's discomfort. She made 
 her words as few and emphatic as possible. By 
 the time she had finished, he emerged again from 
 his dressing-room. 
 
 "Where did you hear this precious tale?" he 
 questioned, employed, meanwhile, in polishing his 
 shapely finger-nails. 
 
 Ruth felt annoyed, because with her reply came 
 a deep flush that mounted even to her forehead. 
 She knew by a sort of instinct that he did not like 
 her informant. 
 
 "Mrs. Dennis came to see me this morning for 
 the express purpose of warning us of danger," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Very kind, certainly." 
 
 There was that in the tone which was extremely 
 irritating to excited nerves. The utmost his wife 
 could do was to hold herself in silence until he 
 should choose to speak again. 
 
 " Your friend Mrs. Dennis must be kept exceed- 
 ingly busy if she takes the affairs of all the young 
 people of other parishes on her hands, as well as 
 attending to her own. Isn't she aware that we 
 are out of the pale of her ministrations ? " 
 
 " Judge Burnham, I did not suppose this sub- 
 ject would impress you as being simply food for 
 ridicule. Mrs. Dennis's sole motive was the desire 
 to do as she would be done by." 
 
 " I would not question a lady's motives, but her 
 sources of information may often be at fault. 
 
62 " FOREWARNED " AND 
 
 There is a great deal of gossip afloat in this wicked 
 world, that true ladies would do well to avoid. I 
 am sorry Mrs. Dennis thought it necessary to pour 
 any of this into my wife's ears." 
 
 "I hardly know how to answer you." 
 
 Ruth's voice was dropping into a still lower 
 key, and she was struggling hard to maintain her 
 self-control. 
 
 " You receive this warning in such a different 
 spirit from what I supposed you would ! Is it 
 possible that you do not understand Dr. and Mrs. 
 Dennis well enough to know that they would be 
 sure of their facts before they came to me with 
 them ? Do you forget that Dr. Dennis is a cler- 
 gyman, and that his profession gives him oppor- 
 tunities of knowing what may be unknown to 
 others ? " 
 
 Judge Burnham shrugged his handsome shoul- 
 ders in a very exasperating way. 
 
 " I knew, " he said, " that clergymen were rather 
 given, as a class, to prying into other people's 
 affairs ; but I was not aware that they managed a 
 moral sewerage, through which all the scum of the 
 city had to pass. Upon my word, I should want 
 to introduce patent 'traps' into my house to keep 
 out the odor." 
 
 And now I am sure you will almost forgive Mrs. 
 Burnham for being exceedingly angry. Up to 
 this moment she had occupied her favorite seat in 
 the room a low rooker by the south window 
 
" FOREWARNED " AND " FOREARMED." 63 
 
 but she now arose, and, moving a step or two for- 
 ward, confronted her husband with steady gaze as 
 she spoke, "Judge Burnham, I beg you to remem- 
 ber that you are speaking to your wife about the 
 honored pastor of her dead father ; and that she 
 will not tolerate such language concerning him 
 even from you." 
 
64 DRIFTING. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DRIFTING. 
 
 A MORE obtuse man than Judge Burnham 
 was, could have easily seen that he had 
 gone too far. He did plainly see it ; he had no 
 intention of hurting his wife's feelings, but his 
 haughty pride had risen against the thought that 
 Dr. and Mrs. Dennis had been discussing his 
 family affairs, and had even drawn his wife into 
 the discussion. This, coupled with his talk with 
 Minta, had made him unreasonably angry. He 
 chose, however, to pass it all off lightly. 
 
 He came toward his wife, speaking as nearly as 
 possible in his natural tone : " My dear Ruth, 
 don't go into heroics ; sit down and be comfort- 
 able. I beg your pardon if I hurt your feelings ; 
 I had no intention of doing so ; it was your own 
 remark which suggested my unfortunate illustra- 
 tion. Now, let us understand each other. As to 
 the share which your friend Mrs. Dennis had in 
 this matter, I am grateful for her intentions, but 
 not for the fact. She should not have burdened 
 you with anything of the kind. If her husband, 
 
DRIFTING. 65 
 
 as a gentleman, has any information which he 
 thinks I ought to receive, let him communicate 
 with me, not send his wife to gossip with you ; 
 pardon the word, my dear, I mean no offense. In 
 point of fact, I attach exceedingly slight impor- 
 tance to the information. Young Hamlin is not 
 absolutely perfect, I suppose ; few men are ; but 
 he belongs to an excellent family and cannot 
 have gotten very far astray without my know- 
 ing it. The truth is, that clergymen live very 
 secluded lives up in the clouds, most of the 
 time ; or, if you like the idea better, above the 
 clouds, in air so pure that they cannot understand 
 matters which are of the earth, earthy, and are 
 very poor judges of what is going on. They are 
 continually given to making mole-hills into mount- 
 ains. Their ideas of business are simply absurd ; 
 might do for the angels, but not for mortals. Now, 
 I hope I have given your friend a sufficiently exalted 
 character, and also shown you the folly of depend- 
 ing too much on his opinions." 
 
 Ruth had suffered herself to be replaced in her 
 chair, and had so far overcome her excitement 
 that she could answer this half-bantering, half- 
 serious statement with quiet voice and manner. 
 
 " I did not present opinions to you, Judge 
 Burnham, but facts which can easily be proven ; 
 for I gave you names and dates. I was so far 
 impressed with the importance of them, that I did 
 what I could to hold your daughter away from 
 
66 DRIFTING. 
 
 association with the villain, at least until you 
 should know the facts, even to giving what was 
 equivalent to a command ; but it proved of no 
 avail." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that." Judge Burnham's 
 manner was grave now. " Minta should not have 
 disregarded your expressed wishes. As to com- 
 mands, we must both remember that the girls are 
 too old to be treated as children ; being legally of 
 age, they of course have a right to choose their 
 society ; but I trust they are too entirely ladies to 
 often disregard your courteously expressed wishes. 
 Perhaps we must, in this case, make allowance for 
 undue excitement under great provocation. If I 
 am correctly impressed as to family affairs, you 
 do not often notice what callers the young ladies 
 have, and as, in my absence, they are shut up to 
 the necessity of receiving their friends and paying 
 their visits quite alone, perhaps it is not strange 
 that they should sometimes make unfortunate se- 
 lections, nor, indeed, that they should wince under 
 sudden commands." 
 
 " Judge Burnham, am I to understand that you 
 disapprove of having your daughters receive calls 
 and pay visits without me ? Are you not aware 
 that they decidedly prefer my absence ; that, in- 
 deed, they would resent any attempts of this kind 
 as an infringement on their liberties ? " 
 
 Judge Burnham changed the graceful position 
 which he had assumed, before her, with one arm 
 
DRIFTING. 67 
 
 resting on the mantel, and his handsome eyes 
 fixed on her. He ran his fingers through his hair 
 in a weary way, walked to the window and looked 
 out a moment, then turned back and spoke as one 
 bored to death. 
 
 " My dear wife, it is worse than useless for you 
 and me to talk all these things over ; I have no 
 disposition to be a household tyrant toward either 
 my wife or my daughters. I would have them all 
 enjoy themselves in their own way, if they can. 
 That you have chosen a peculiar way, in holding 
 yourself almost entirely aloof from the society 
 which naturally seeks us, is, of course, far from 
 agreeable to me, nor can I fail to see that it does 
 not contribute materially to your happiness. 
 
 " That the girls have become accustomed to 
 receiving their friends, and visiting them, without 
 you, is certainly not strange ; what else would you 
 have them do ? Having perforce educated them 
 to this course it would be unreasonable to expect 
 them to look for, or desire, any other way. You 
 surely know that you have sought your own inter- 
 ests, and left them to seek theirs until naturally 
 enough they have done so : and, after all, Ruth, 
 it is just as well that we should remember it 
 you really are not their mother, you know. 
 
 " However, as to society, there is no occasion 
 for grievance on that score ; I am still in a condi- 
 tion to be glad of having your company ; whenever 
 you shall choose to come out of your recluse state, 
 
68 DRIFTING. 
 
 I promise you society enough, and of a perfectly 
 unobjectionable stamp. And now, cannot we 
 dismiss all disagreeable subjects and go down to 
 dinner ? I think it must be at least ten minutes 
 since the bell rang." 
 
 So this was the end of her honest and painful 
 effort to serve her husband's daughter ! 
 
 " After all, you are not their mother, you know." 
 Yes, she knew it only too well. Did she not 
 know by the loving, clinging kisses of her own boy 
 what it was to be really a mother ? Yet what had 
 she not done for those girls ? Had they known 
 any other mother than herself ? There was cer- 
 tainly in their hearts no idol enthroned into whose 
 place she had rudely come. Minta, at least, did not 
 remember her mother at all ; and Seraph, but as a 
 dim and flitting shadow. Why could not these 
 girls have given to her the loyalty and attention 
 which a mother has a right to expect at the hands 
 of grown-up daughters ? Alas for Ruth, that she 
 did not realize, even yet, how surely some of the 
 fault was her own ! She had taken hold of duty, 
 it is true, with stern hands, and ordered their out- 
 ward lives in a fashion that she had supposed 
 would mean fairyland to them ; but she had been 
 content with this. Into their hearts as a central 
 force moved under the impulse of love, she had 
 never tried to come. She had not planned to have 
 the sweets of fairyland intoxicate them until their 
 brains were too dizzy to look beyond the new, 
 
DRIFTING. 69 
 
 dazzling outward life ; but, left amid its glories to 
 revel for themselves, what wonder that just this 
 thing happened ? I want to emphasize the thought 
 just here, that the grave mistake in this step- 
 mother's life, even now, was in not recognizing 
 and accepting the fact that part of the fault for 
 this condition of things was her own. She did not 
 recognize it ; it seemed to her that she had done 
 her duty full measure, pressed down, and, indeed, 
 sometimes running over by these girls. Had she 
 not given up the joy of that first year of married 
 life alone with one's husband, for their sakes ? 
 Had she not pressed their claims firmly and tri- 
 umphantly, even against his will ? And how had 
 they rewarded her for it ? 
 
 She could have wept bitter tears, but she did 
 not ; instead, she went down with her husband to 
 the waiting dinner, and took her place at the head 
 of the table, and listened as usual to the chatter of 
 a hundred gay nothings. Apparently, Minta had 
 recovered her spirits ; she said not a word to her 
 step-mother, unless her flashing eyes spoke for her ; 
 their language was : " You and I have measured 
 weapons, and, if I mistake not, mine are the keen- 
 est. There is no use for you to try to poison my 
 father against me ; I secured the first hearing." 
 To her father she was all smiles and winning 
 ways, with a pretty little undertone air of grati- 
 tude which sat most gracefully upon her. 
 
 However, to do Judge Burnham's good sense 
 
7O DRIFTING. 
 
 strict justice, he was by no means so much at ease 
 about the young man who had created this breeze 
 as he chose to have his wife think. Not that he 
 credited a third of the story that had come to 
 him. He had much faith in the statements which 
 he had made, that clergymen knew little or nothing 
 about the doings of this world ; and he should 
 quite expect that what was considered fair enough 
 in the business world, might look black to Dr. 
 Dennis. Knowing nothing, practically, of the lives 
 of ministers of the gospel, being unaware to what 
 extent they are trusted by all sorts of people with 
 inner histories, how, indeed, the faithful pastor be- 
 comes, in time, almost a receptacle for all that is 
 sorrowful or terrible in the circle of his influence, 
 and by this very process grows keen-sighted, he 
 actually believed that, of all persons, a clergyman 
 was the one most likely to be imposed upon. 
 Still, this young man must be looked after ; he 
 admitted to himself that it was true enough that 
 he knew a great deal about his grandfather, and 
 very little about him. He must make some in- 
 quiries speedily. 
 
 Pending these, he detained Minta in the library 
 as the others were passing out. 
 
 " See here, daughter, about this young Hamlin ; 
 there is nothing of any importance between you 
 and him, I hope ? " 
 
 " Why, papa, how should there be ? I have only 
 known him a little over two months." 
 
DRIFTING. 71 
 
 " True ; and that is not time enough in which to 
 develop a special interest, eh ? " and he smiled on 
 her pleasantly. " I think you cannot be very seri- 
 ously inclined, and I should not want you to be, 
 you know, with a stranger." 
 
 " Of course not, papa ; nor without telling you 
 about it either. The girls in our set are very fond 
 of riding with him because he drives such magnifi- 
 cent horses, and he seems to be fond of inviting 
 me, and of course I like it ever so much, because 
 it is such fun to have all the girls envy me." 
 
 " That is the whole story, is it ? Very well ; I 
 do not find it alarming. But, see here, daughter, 
 you must make all due allowance for your mamma. 
 It is genuine regard for your interests that actu- 
 ates her nothing else ; she was brought up by a 
 father who had exceedingly strict not to say 
 narrow views about some things, and of course 
 his opinions color all her feelings ; as a true lady, 
 you must respect her views, and even her preju- 
 dices, as much as you can." 
 
 The beautiful lips pouted a little, a very little, not 
 unbecomingly, and made answer, " Very well, papa, 
 I'll try ; but I should think she might trust me to 
 you." The last pronoun pronounced very lovingly. 
 
 The father, fed by pride which was the chief 
 source of his inner strength, smiled on her again, 
 and dismissed the subject with the mental deter- 
 mination to look carefully, nevertheless, into this 
 young man's history without further delay. But 
 
72 DRIFTING. 
 
 he did not ; the next was an unusually busy day 
 with him in his office, and at the home dinner- 
 table Seraph announced in the course of conver- 
 sation, that the Hamlins were to leave that evening 
 for a six weeks' trip to California. The girls had 
 coaxed their cousin into taking them ; and beside, 
 his uncle wanted him to go on some business, they 
 believed ; but he did not like the idea ; he said the 
 whole thing was a " bore." 
 
 " And I agree with him," Minta said, with a 
 merry little laugh. I'm ever so sorry to have 
 him go ; he is the only real good company there is 
 among the gentlemen ; he is so witty, and beside, 
 he is going to send his horses into the country 
 while he is gone." 
 
 Her father laughed, asked her if she was certain 
 which she was the more sorry about, the absence 
 of the gentleman or of his horses ; and then he 
 told himself that for his part he was glad young 
 Hamlin was going ; it would give him time to look 
 up that story more quietly, and see if it had any 
 foundation ; it was just as well to be careful about 
 these things, though in six weeks, probably, his 
 pretty daughter would have transferred her inter- 
 est, which was evidently slight, to some other 
 young gentleman who drove fast horses. 
 
 As for Mrs. Burnham, she felt indignant that 
 the name which had come to be associated in her 
 mind with disgrace, should be so freely on the lips 
 of father and daughter. 
 
DRIFTING. 73 
 
 And to show you how little progress she was 
 really making in her Christian life during these 
 days, I shall have to confess to you that she said, 
 as she went up the stairs that night, that she at 
 least had done her duty, and should not interfere 
 again ; no, not if she saw his daughter on the very 
 verge of ruin. She had made an earnest effort, 
 and failed. No one certainly could blame her now 
 for holding utterly aloof from it all. 
 
 I do not think she meant all this. I think she 
 would have put out her hand promptly enough to 
 interfere if she had seen danger, and known which 
 way to move the hand. But that she could harbor 
 these thoughts, even when action was not required, 
 will show you (if you are one of those who desire 
 to be conformed to His image) how feeble the 
 flame was which burned in this poor heart. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon again ; nearly two 
 weeks after the domestic ruffle which Mrs. Dennis's 
 visit had occasioned. Mrs. Burnham was in her 
 own room with Erskine a thing which was be- 
 coming habitual with her on Sunday afternoons. 
 Indeed, the Sabbath had become a day of special 
 trial to this much-tried woman. Very gradually, 
 so that she had not realized it at first, a state of 
 things had crept into her own house which she 
 utterly disapproved, yet found herself powerless 
 to control. Attendance at church had not been a 
 very regular thing of late years, even on her own 
 
 part. Much of the time either the weather, or 
 
 6 
 
74 DRIFTING. 
 
 Erskine's state of health made it necessary, in his 
 mother's estimation, for him to remain at home ; 
 and she had made it a matter of principle to remain 
 with him, both in order that his childhood memo- 
 ries of the Sabbath might be sweetly associated 
 with her, and because she had no one in her employ 
 with whom she was willing to leave a child. 
 
 The young ladies were often so weary of a Sab- 
 bath by reason of the late hours of the night 
 before as to unfit them for church, even had there 
 been any desire on their part to attend. When 
 they had new suits, or when they could arrange 
 for a trip to the city, or when a stranger was to 
 preach in their church, they could be depended 
 upon for morning service. But circumstances 
 with them were as likely to prove unfavorable as 
 otherwise. And as the days passed, their rule 
 might almost be said to be to lounge through the 
 morning in wrappers and slippers, and go to the 
 city for a sacred concert at night, if that could be 
 satisfactorily managed. 
 
 Gradually a new programme crept into the after- 
 noon. At first it was a messenger from the choir 
 leader, petitioning for special assistance from 
 Seraph, whose voice was worthy of her name when 
 she chose to use it, but who by no means chose to 
 sing often in church. As for being trammeled by a 
 regular engagement there, her father agreed with 
 Aer, that such positions " would better be left for 
 those who had to earn their own living." Yet 
 
DRIFTING. 75 
 
 when emergencies arose, she would graciously lend 
 her aid ; and the choir leader, a very aristocratic 
 young man, was, if the truth be told, quite fond of 
 creating emergencies, and of being his own messen- 
 ger to petition. The leading tenor was also very 
 willing to join in the plea, and when they were 
 successful, and there was a specially difficult num- 
 ber to render, what more natural than that they 
 should drop in during the afternoon and try their 
 voices together ? This being found necessary 
 several times, it was thereby discovered that it 
 would be agreeable to practice occasionally of a 
 Sunday afternoon, in order to be ready for future 
 contingencies : and from singing to chatting, the 
 transition was easy enough. 
 
 One afternoon the choir leader brought young 
 Sherman with him to hear Miss Burnham render a 
 solo, and prove what the leader had said ; that her 
 voice ran clearer on the high notes than did the 
 celebrated Miss Hamlin's, though she was a pro- 
 fessional singer. And young Sherman enjoyed 
 the afternoon, and came again ; at first with a 
 flimsy excuse of some sort, and then boldly, with 
 no excuse at all. And he brought Mr. Snowden 
 with him on occasion, who, if not musically in- 
 clined, was " away from all his friends and dread- 
 fully bored with Sundays, and it was only a charity 
 to help him get through with the hours." Oh ! I 
 cannot explain how it all was. Mrs. Burnham 
 understood only this : if the young ladies had 
 
76 DRIFTING. 
 
 said, " We are going to have a social gathering on 
 Sunday afternoons in our parlors, " Judge Burnham 
 would have opened his eyes wide, and reminded 
 them that the customs of the locality in which they 
 lived were not in accordance with such gatherings, 
 and, on the whole, it would not be wise ; and it 
 could have been controlled. But no such thing had 
 been said, or even hinted. It had all come about 
 by the most natural processes. And yet the fact 
 was apparent, at least to the eyes of the lady of 
 the house, that their parlors on Sunday afternoons 
 had become lounging places, not only for young, 
 but middle-aged gentlemen, and occasionally ladies. 
 Thus much by way of explanation ; it is of one 
 particular Sunday afternoon that I wish to tell you. 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 TO judge from the sound, a much merrier time 
 than usual was being enjoyed in the par- 
 lors: snatches of music not suggestive of wor- 
 ship, mingled with gay laughter, floated up to 
 Mrs. Burnham over the broad staircase, serving 
 to make Erskine restless and inattentive. He 
 stopped frequently in the midst of his Bible les- 
 son to ask : "Whose voice was that ? What do you 
 suppose they laughed at then ? Mamma, do you 
 think that they will sing that song in church to- 
 night ? " and dozens of kindred questions. It was 
 painfully evident that the sounds of mirth below 
 stairs were more congenial to his ear than the 
 Bible story above. 
 
 Finally came a gentle tap on their closed door, 
 and the trim young girl whose duty it was to be 
 always in readiness to do errands for everybody, 
 entered softly : 
 
 "Judge Burnham would like to have Master 
 Erskine come down-stairs for a little while, if you 
 please." 
 
78 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 The little boy gave a merry spring from the 
 hassock where he was kneeling, beside his mother, 
 but she put out a detaining hand. 
 
 " Do you know for what, Kate ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; he only said, * Tell Master 
 Erskine to come to his papa in the back parlor.' ' 
 
 " Mamma, I must go, mustn't I ? You said I 
 must always go when papa called." 
 
 There was a little quivering of the boy's chin ; 
 he was evidently much afraid that the promised 
 pleasure would be spoiled. Still his mother had 
 no answer for him. 
 
 " Who are in the parlors, Kate ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I don't know, ma'um ; Dr. Whately is 
 there, and Mr. Henderson, and I don't know who 
 else ; the music-room seemed to be quite full." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham repressed a little sigh which she 
 did not wish Kate to hear, and turned to the ap- 
 pealing eyes of her boy. 
 
 " Certainly you will go, dear, when papa calls ; 
 but you will come back as soon as you can, will 
 you not ? Remember mamma is all alone." 
 
 He gave his gay little promise, too impatient to 
 be gone to stand still while the tender fingers 
 brushed his curls, too much a baby to detect the 
 pathos in those words, "All alone." 
 
 Kate was not deaf to them, however ; she gave a 
 swift, searching look at her mistress, and reported 
 it in the cook's room that evening as her opinion 
 that there were " a good many goirigs-on in this 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 79 
 
 house that Mrs. Burnham did not like, and she 
 didn't believe she was altogether happy, with all 
 her grand ways." And if Mrs. Burnham, careful 
 as she believes herself to be, does not guard her 
 sighs and her tell-tale face more carefully in the 
 future, before she is aware, the kitchen of her own 
 home not only, but many another kitchen will 
 gossip about her household skeletons. 
 
 She set the door wide open after Erskine had 
 left her, feeling painfully the loneliness, made so 
 much more deep by the constant hum of conver- 
 sation which went on below, and putting steadily 
 back the inclination to bury her face in her hands 
 and cry, in order to strain her ears to hear, if pos- 
 sible, what was being said or done to entertain 
 Erskine. It was the first time her shielding care of 
 him on the Sabbath had been interfered with. She 
 had wondered sometimes over it, for his father was 
 very fond of him, and delighted to hear his steady 
 chatter whenever he had opportunity to " enter- 
 tain papa." Now the interruption had come in 
 the shape of a call to the parlor, to join in the 
 entertainment, or, at least, the amusement of Sun- 
 day guests. Ruth Erskine's father, long years 
 before he was a Christian, had frowned upon any 
 attempt to commonize the Sabbath day. He 
 might read his newspapers, or, if an intricate ques- 
 tion was before him, consult his great tomes of 
 law, but he did those things decorously, in the 
 quiet of his own study, and had not been in the 
 
8O THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 habit of inviting even his most intimate friends to 
 share his home on the Sabbath. Ruth had taken it 
 for granted, without giving the matter any thought, 
 that all gentlemen of culture were alike in this 
 respect, and her husband's utter indifference to 
 the recent innovations had been a revelation and 
 an added pain to her. 
 
 She saw very little, indeed, of Judge Burnham 
 on Sundays now, and this, too, had been so gradual 
 a process that she had not roused to it until it was 
 an accomplished fact. 
 
 Under one pretext and another he was con- 
 stantly excusing himself from accompanying her 
 to morning service, and his afternoons were gen- 
 erally spent in the library, where he indulged him- 
 self in stray fragments from the current books and 
 magazines, doing, he said, the only light reading 
 for which his busy life gave him time. Ruth, who 
 used to join him there, until she found that his 
 constant interruptions and outbursts of laughter 
 over Erskine's quaint remarks, made it impossible 
 for her to hold the child's attention to his Bible 
 lesson, had herself set the fashion of going with 
 the child to her room ; at first she intended it for 
 but a little while, but on her return to the library, 
 she so frequently of late found her husband absent 
 in the parlors, or walking about his grounds, that 
 she had dropped the custom of seeking him, and 
 remained all the afternoon in her room. He used 
 to lounge in, a little before dinner, and have a 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 8 1 
 
 frolic with Erskine, but for several Sundays he had 
 been engaged in the parlor, and then had gone to 
 town for an evening service, leaving his wife to 
 absolute solitude after Erskine was sleeping. 
 
 Occasionally Judge Burnham pronounced him- 
 self to be too indolent for the city ; and then this 
 husband and wife, who grew farther apart every 
 day, got through a long evening as best they could. 
 Judge Burnham, doing a little fragmentary reading 
 for himself, and a good deal of yawning and sleep- 
 ing, was generally the one to propose that they 
 retire early, as he had a hard week before him. A 
 good deal of this was genuine fatigue, for it was 
 true that, as he grew older, he absorbed himself 
 more and more in business, and Ruth heard it from 
 many outside sources that her husband had taken 
 very high rank in his profession. 
 
 She mourned much over these wasted hours, but 
 the time seemed to have gone by when she could do 
 other than mourn. She had offered once to read 
 aloud to him, and reminded him that he used to 
 like her reading, but he answered laughingly, yet 
 with that undertone of sarcasm which she now 
 heard so much, that that was before such a great 
 gulf fixed itself between their tastes ; that he be- 
 lieved each had grown incapable of comprehending 
 the other's literary tastes ; and she had felt too 
 wounded to press the question, so they had con- 
 tinued in their separate ways. 
 
 A second interruption came to her on this after- 
 
82 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 noon. Kate began, " Dr. Whately's compli- 
 ments, and if it was agreeable, he would like to 
 see her down-stairs a few minutes/' 
 
 Ruth's face flushed deeply. She was at a loss 
 to understand the meaning of this. Dr. Whately 
 was not an old friend ; he was a comparatively 
 new acquaintance, even of her husband. She had 
 met him by accident one evening in the library, 
 and had taken an instant dislike to his face and 
 manner. Since that time his calls had been made 
 almost entirely on Sabbaths. There could not be 
 a shadow of professional excuse for his message, 
 for although he was an M. D., Judge Burnham had 
 laughingly remarked but a few days ago that he 
 wore his title as an ornament rather than a badge 
 of usefulness, and had added that he did not believe 
 the man had sufficient energy ever to become a 
 success in his profession. So, although her hus- 
 band occasionally told Ruth that she grew paler 
 every day, and ought to consult a physician, cer- 
 tainly Dr. Whately would not be the chosen one. 
 
 Had the gentleman observed her habitual ab- 
 sence from the parlor on Sundays, and boldly 
 determined to oblige her to receive him ? The 
 thought made the lady so indignant that she almost 
 sent an unexplained refusal. Still, he was her hus- 
 band's guest. What ought she to do ? 
 
 " Kate," she asked abruptly of the girl who was 
 watching her curiously, " is Judge Burnham in the 
 parlor ? " 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 83 
 
 " Yes'm ; it was he who sent the message." 
 
 " I thought you said it was Dr. Whately. Tell 
 me exactly what was said, please." 
 
 " Why, Judge Burnham came to the door and 
 spoke to me, and said : 'Take Dr. Whately's com- 
 pliments to Mrs. Burnham, and say to her that he 
 would like to see her in the parlor. ' That is every 
 word, ma'am." 
 
 " Then you may ask Judge Burnham if he will 
 be kind enough to come to my room for a moment, 
 I wish to speak with him." 
 
 He came immediately, and with an air of con- 
 cern. Was anything wrong ? Was she not feeling 
 well ? She waited for no preliminaries. 
 
 " Judge Burnham, will you tell me why Dr. 
 Whately wishes to see me at this time ? " 
 
 " Why, really, my dear, I am not sure that I can 
 supply a motive beyond the obvious one that it is 
 natural enough for a gentleman to ask to see the 
 lady of the house. Does it strike you as such an 
 unusual proceeding ? " 
 
 "Very unusual, indeed. Dr. Whately has been 
 here sufficiently often, I should suppose, to have 
 discovered that I do not receive calls on Sunday." 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear Ruth, I do not be- 
 lieve it has ever dawned upon him ; he is not of 
 that development. I imagine it just occurred to 
 him that the polite thing to do would be to ask for 
 the privilege of paying his respects to Mrs. Burn- 
 ham, and he immediately did so." 
 
84 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 " Then could you not have done me the favor of 
 explaining that this is not the day on which I 
 receive guests ?" 
 
 Her manner may have been cold and haughty ; 
 indeed, on reflection, I am sure it was. She felt 
 very much hurt ; whether the guest had intended 
 it as an embarrassment or not, surely her husband 
 was sufficiently conversant with her views to have 
 shielded her had he chosen to do so. She remem- 
 bered the days in which, thinking very differently 
 from her, he would still have guarded her carefully 
 from any annoyance that he could. I don't think 
 he remembered them just then. He thought only 
 that his wife was making herself very disagreeable 
 about a small matter. He had a way of lifting his 
 eyebrows, and smiling slightly behind his gray 
 mustache. It always irritated Ruth, that smile. 
 It seemed to say to her, " You have put yourself 
 in a very foolish position, and the only thing left 
 for you to do is to make your way out of it as 
 gracefully as possible." He gave her at this mo' 
 ment that peculiarly irritating look and smile. 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. Burnham, that is expecting al- 
 most too much of me. I do not pretend to be 
 able to explain why my wife should consider it a 
 sin to come down to her own parlor for a moment 
 and say a courteous good-afternoon to a friend of 
 her husband's, with whom he has been conversing 
 for the last half-hour. The peculiar lens necessary 
 for discovering the heinousness of an action like 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 8$ 
 
 that, even when done on the Sabbath day, has 
 been by nature denied me, and I must not be ex- 
 pected to rise to the height of understanding it. 
 If you have ever so slight a headache, or are indis- 
 posed in any way, I will bear your regrets with 
 what grace I can, but to enter into the metaphysics 
 of the matter, without a direct message from you, 
 ought hardly to be expected of a sinner like 
 myself." 
 
 He expected her to turn from him in cold indig- 
 nation, and he proposed to laugh at her a little 
 good-naturedly, of course and then to descend 
 the stairs and say to his guest that Mrs. Burnham 
 was not feeling equal to seeing her friends that 
 afternoon, and begged that the gentleman would 
 kindly excuse her. He knew just how to do it, 
 politely, cordially, and was not troubled by any 
 conscience whatever in the matter. But his wife's 
 nerves were too sore. She turned from, him, in- 
 deed, and her face burned. But there were other 
 feelings beside indignation, though enough of that 
 element was present, or she would not have done 
 what she did next. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she said ; " I did not know 
 I was putting too heavy a strain on your courtesy 
 and kindness ; I will give my message in person." 
 
 She swept past him like a queen, and went 
 swiftly down the stairs. He followed her, still 
 smiling, the uppermost feeling in his mind being 
 one of curiosity as to what she would do. His 
 
86 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 wife was a lady. What could she do except to 
 receive her caller graciously, of course ? 
 
 What she did, was to move with the manner of 
 a princess down the long parlor to the alcove 
 where Dr. Whately stood by the piano. She ac- 
 knowledged the presence of the younger guests 
 only by a dignified inclination of the head as she 
 went. Her voice was never clearer nor colder than 
 when she said : 
 
 " Dr. Whately, my husband wishes me to say to 
 you in person that it is not my custom to receive 
 my friends on the Sabbath day. It is a matter 
 which is very well understood among all my per- 
 sonal friends. Should you care to call on me 
 at any time during the week, it will be my pleas- 
 ure to meet you, but I am sure you will excuse 
 me to-day." 
 
 Judge Burnham was directly behind her, veiling 
 his astonishment and chagrin as a well-trained man 
 of the world can do. Ruth turned at once from 
 the amazed, not to say embarrassed, Dr. Whately 
 and addressed her husband : 
 
 " Judge Burnham, will you have the kindness to 
 excuse Erskine from the parlor ? I would like to 
 take him with me to my room." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, " the gentleman said, his 
 voice perfectly quiet ; and he called Erskine in his 
 usual tone, kissed him graciously, and told him 
 mamma wanted him now, then attended his wife 
 quite to the door, and held it open for her to pass, 
 
THE UNEXPECTED. 8/ 
 
 bowing as she did so, and he was never more 
 angry in his life. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Burnham ! of all that embarrassed 
 company below stairs and I will do them the 
 justice of saying that they were embarrassed I 
 think none were so much to be pitied as the angry 
 and humiliated woman alone in her room, strug- 
 gling with her passion and her sense of shame, and 
 trying to appear as usual before the excited boy, 
 who was by no means ready to leave the parlors 
 and come back to the quiet of this upper world. 
 
 " Why could I not have staid, mamma ? Papa 
 liked to have me there, and they all did, I think. 
 Seraph kissed me, and said it was nice to have a 
 little boy to put her arm around. And I was good ; 
 I didn't talk at all, only when somebody asked me 
 something. Mamma, I wish I could go back just 
 for a little while. It is lonesome up here, and I 
 wanted to hear them sing. Seraph was just going 
 to sing when you came in." 
 
 Poor mother ! If this baby could only have given 
 her kisses just then instead of coaxing to go away 
 from her, it would have helped. It was an after- 
 noon to remember. Poor Ruth was destined to 
 realize fully that one may shut the doors with 
 emphasis against tangible guests, and yet receive 
 a whole troop of miscreants into one's heart who 
 make havoc with holy time. As the storm of pas- 
 sion subsided, she had that hardest of all feelings 
 to contend with self-reproach. Reason being 
 
88 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 allowed once more to take her seat, accused this 
 Christian woman of having yielded, not to con- 
 science, but to rage. Possessed with this control- 
 ling influence she had offered to her husband's 
 guest what he would consider an insult ; she had 
 not only given him an utterly false idea of religion 
 and its power over the human heart, but she had 
 offended her husband, and justly. Perhaps this 
 was really the worst sting in Ruth's sore heart ; 
 that her husband would be justified in utterly con- 
 demning her action also. And herein lay the 
 real point of the sting, for at heart this woman 
 was loyal. She knew the unbelieving husband 
 would attribute the action to her religion, and per- 
 sist in doing so, when she realized only too well 
 that it was the outburst of a moment's ungovern- 
 able indignation. 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. 89 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 IN point of fact, that was just what Judge Burn- 
 ham did. The moment he had closed the 
 door after his wife, he went straight to Dr. Whately 
 and held out his hand with a winning smile, and 
 said, in tones distinct enough to be heard through- 
 out the room : " My friend, I hope you will allow 
 me to apologize for what must appear unaccount- 
 able treatment. The fact is, my dear fellow, when 
 religious fanaticism gets hold of a woman she is 
 really powerless before it, and I verily believe is 
 not accountable for her acts. I am the one to 
 blame ; since I understand how completely this 
 strange feeling sways my wife I should not have 
 delivered your message to-day. I beg you will 
 pardon her, and understand that no discourtesy 
 was intended ; it would have been the same if you 
 had been a foreign ambassador." 
 
 It was the best he could do for his wife's repu- 
 tation. He knew this, and he did it well ; and 
 Dr. Whately, being a gentleman in society, at least 
 accepted the apology with what grace he could 
 muster, and outward calm was restored. 
 
9O SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 But there were outgrowths from the storm, as 
 there always are when passion holds sway for ever 
 so short a time over the human heart. It had been 
 said publicly, as Ruth had feared it would be, that 
 religion must bear the blame for this unladylike 
 action, and people talked, as people will. Those 
 least acquainted said : " What a pity it was that 
 so fine a woman as Mrs. Burnham should be so 
 completely under the control of fanatical ideas ; 
 they should think Judge Burnham would almost 
 fear for her reason ! " Others of them, less chari- 
 table, said it was all very well for the Judge to 
 smooth over this little domestic hurricane, and he 
 did it gracefully, but they believed, if the truth 
 were told, that the poor fellow was used to them ; 
 and at any rate, if that was the style, when it came 
 their turn to marry, they hoped they might be 
 delivered from a religious termagant, for, in their 
 opinion, they were the worst kind. 
 
 The young ladies talked the matter over with 
 their father, and said " Poor papa," and kissed 
 him ; and said they were " so sorry " for him, and 
 that he managed it all beautifully ; that they felt 
 at first as though they should sink through the 
 floor, or, at least, wished that they could, but he 
 was so gentle and so courteous, and they were so 
 proud of him that they really almost forgot to be 
 frightened and ashamed, because of their pride. 
 And he felt himself to be a martyr who had borne 
 himself very well indeed under persecution. 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. QI 
 
 Still, all this did not serve to make his indigna- 
 tion against his wife one whit less fierce. Nor did 
 it serve to help her, when, with flushed cheeks and 
 eyes that were red with weeping, she turned to 
 him frankly the first moment that they were alone, 
 and said, " Judge Burnham, I owe you an apology 
 for this afternoon's experience ; I beg you will for- 
 give me ; I ought not to have done what I did." 
 
 Judge Burnham was engaged in removing his 
 dress coat, and putting himself into his dressing- 
 gown ; he had not seen his wife since the after- 
 noon. She had sent a message by Kate, to the 
 effect that she would like to be excused from din- 
 ner, as she had a severe headache ; and the Judge 
 had bowed, in reply, and had not gone at once to see 
 what he could do for the headache, as his courtesy 
 had always heretofore led him to do. Also, he 
 had gone with his daughters and some of their 
 friends to the city for the evening, merely going 
 through the form of sending Kate to ask if there 
 was anything he could do for Mrs. Burnham's com- 
 fort before departing. So now, although it was 
 nearly eleven o'clock, Ruth was waiting up for 
 him, and had met him with the sentence I have 
 given you. He waited to adjust the collar of the 
 handsome dressing-gown to his mind before he 
 answered, speaking slowly, coldly, " I should think 
 there could not be two opinions about that." 
 
 " No," said Ruth, controlling an almost irresist- 
 ible impulse to burst into tears ; " I should not 
 
92 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 expect any one to think it right, and I am very 
 sorry that I annoyed you." 
 
 " As to that," said the Judge, putting his feet 
 into some bright slippers that were waiting for 
 them, "I must bear my own annoyances as best I 
 can ; but I regret that a friend of mine should be 
 rudely treated in my own house, at the hands of 
 my wife. It was not, of course, what could have 
 been possibly foreseen." 
 
 Wasn't it a graceful way of telling her that no 
 one could have foreseen that she would lay aside 
 her ladyhood and descend to rudeness ? 
 
 Silence for a few minutes, and then the gentle- 
 man made what he intended to be a gracious state- 
 ment : " However, I made what apologies I could 
 for you, and am glad indeed that the spell, what- 
 ever it was, is over, and you are returned to rea- 
 sonable ground once more." 
 
 Then was poor Ruth dismayed. Had her at- 
 tempt at undoing the mischief of the day been 
 construed into a concession of principle for the 
 future ? She must explain, at the risk of being 
 misunderstood. 
 
 " Judge Burnham, 1 am afraid I have not made 
 my meaning quite clear. I regret exceedingly the 
 manner of my explanation to-day, but not the ex- 
 planation. That is, it will be necessary for Dr. 
 Whately, or any other person who wishes to call 
 on me, to understand that I do not receive on the 
 Sabbath ; but I know that I could and should have 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. 93 
 
 made it apparent in some other way, and in a dif- 
 ferent spirit." 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, suppose we dismiss the subject, 
 and retire. We are not likely to agree, however 
 long we may discuss it, and for myself, I confess 
 that I am weary of the whole thing." 
 
 And this was the outcome of her attempt at 
 reconciliation. 
 
 A polite gentleman's displeasure can be mani- 
 fested in unmistakable ways, even toward his wife. 
 The very extreme punctiliousness with which her 
 husband attended to the minutest detail of what- 
 ever pertained to her, marked his cold dignity. 
 There were none of the little carelessnesses 
 which are sometimes permitted, even enjoyed, 
 where there is perfect familiarity and perfect 
 confidence. 
 
 Still, as the days passed, the episode was not 
 without its fruits, which were apparently healthful. 
 The lady of the house struggled to show that she 
 confessed herself, in a sense, in the wrong, and 
 was willing to do all she could in the way of con- 
 cession. She came to the parlor now each evening 
 of her own will, not waiting to be summoned there 
 by callers who inquired for her. This was a com- 
 fort, even to the young ladies ; for there were 
 always among the guests those whom they con- 
 sidered it a bore to entertain ; and to have mamma 
 in the front parlor to do the honors, leaving them 
 free to saunter into the back parlor or the music 
 
94 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 room with favorite ones, was as it should be, in 
 their estimation. 
 
 Judge Burnham viewed the change with satisfied 
 eyes, and was by no means unmindful when his 
 wife made her entrance, in a dark blue dress, in- 
 stead of the black which she had so long worn. 
 He complimented her on her appearance took 
 a rose from the vase and pushed it through the 
 meshes of soft lace which she wore. During the 
 evening he watched her with satisfied eyes as she 
 entertained his friends ; and, not having any 
 marked interest in Dr. Whately, confessed to him- 
 self that he didn't know but he " owed the fellow 
 a vote of thanks, if this was to be the result of 
 his impudence." For in his secret heart Judge 
 Burnham thought that it was bordering on impu- 
 dence for a comparative stranger to send a special 
 request to his wife to receive him socially on Sun- 
 day afternoon out there in the country, where 
 Sunday calling was the exception, and not the 
 rule. 
 
 The next thing was a dinner party ; not a gen- 
 eral and massive affair, but a little gathering of 
 Judge Burnham's special friends, whom he de- 
 lighted to honor ; such a gathering as had not 
 been in the house since Ruth's father went away. 
 And Judge Burnham, watching his wife, who ex- 
 erted all her powers of entertainment, and over- 
 hearing one of the judges of the Supreme Court 
 pronounce her " an unusually brilliant woman, " 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. 95 
 
 assured himself that he could endure the momen- 
 tary embarrassment of that Sunday afternoon pro- 
 ceeding very well indeed, and was heartily glad 
 that it had occurred ; that probably Ruth needed 
 something of the sort to bring her to her senses. 
 She was certainly a queen among women. Now 
 that the ice was fairly broken, society should see 
 what a jewel he had in his keeping. 
 
 So, altogether, it was a much-mollified and very 
 well-contented husband who lounged among the 
 cushions in the library, after the fatigues of the 
 successful evening were over, and watched his 
 wife while she unfastened and placed in water the 
 flowers she had worn, and which he had himself 
 selected and arranged for her. 
 
 " They were very becoming, " he said ; " I had 
 no idea that simple flowers would fit your style so 
 well; but there was a charming contrast which 
 just suited me. Your style is rather regal, you 
 know, and I have always thought of diamonds in 
 connection with it. Ruth, you were quite like 
 your old self to-night. The self I used to admire 
 before I appropriated it ; only more matronly, of 
 course, as became your years, and more beautiful, 
 really. I think you ought to be grateful, my dear. 
 Few women of your age retain their youthful 
 beauty as you have done." 
 
 Ruth laughed in a pleased way. She cared ex- 
 tremely little for youthful beauty, but she did care 
 for her husband's admiration ; and it had been so 
 
96 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 long since he had expressed any that she felt her 
 cheeks flush under the spell of his words. She 
 was glad over having pleased him. She told ner- 
 self that she ought to have done these things 
 before ; that she had been selfish and hateful ; 
 that it was perfectly natural for a man to desire to 
 receive his friends in his own house, and that if 
 she had realized how much he desired it, she 
 would certainly not have waited so long. 
 
 She put herself into a white wrapper that was 
 almost more becoming than her dinner dress, and 
 came and sat beside him. And he reached for 
 the tassels of her wrapper and toyed with them, 
 tossing them back and forth on her hand ; and 
 finally, possessing himself of the hand, bent the 
 shapely fingers back and forth at his will, while he 
 chatted with her about a dozen careless nothings, 
 as they had not chatted together actually for years ; 
 and Ruth's eyes were bright and her heart was 
 glad. She began to see her way out of the mazes 
 of discomfort which had surrounded her. She was 
 somewhat astonished that the door of comfort 
 seemed opening to her by way of the society which 
 she had so much dreaded. But why not, after all ? 
 She had enjoyed the gathering herself; she knew 
 how to entertain people, and she knew how to 
 manage her domestic concerns, so that that portion 
 of the entertainment could always be a success. 
 What had she been thinking about, all these 
 months, not to take matters into her own hands 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. 9/ 
 
 and bring to their house, with her invitations, such 
 people as she would enjoy meeting? Scarcely a 
 name on the list which her husband had given her, 
 but it was an honor to entertain. 
 
 Suddenly, into the midst of her complacent 
 musings, came her husband's voice, 
 
 " By the way, Ruth, have the girls spoken to 
 you about having a social gathering here, chiefly 
 of young people ? " 
 
 " Well, they will," in response to Ruth's negative 
 reply ; " they have had it in mind for some time, 
 and have been quite patient, I must say, for girls ; 
 I told them that of course while the lady of the 
 house was in mourning, anything very general in 
 the way of company would be in bad taste ; but 
 that as soon as we could comfortably bring it to 
 pass, they should be gratified. We must do some- 
 thing especially attractive, I suppose, in return for 
 their long waiting. I believe I will have Tarrant's 
 band come out ; that would be unique, and save 
 an immense amount of trouble. What is your 
 judgment about the floors ? Would you rather 
 have the carpets taken up, or simply covered 
 for the occasion ? If you are proposing to make 
 any changes as to carpets in the spring, perhaps 
 they might as well be taken up now as at any 
 time." 
 
 To all of which Ruth listened with great sinking 
 of heart ; she was evidently supposed to be mak- 
 ing ready for a dancing party, and on a somewhat 
 
98 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 magnificent scale. She waived the question of 
 carpet and launched another. 
 
 "Judge Burnham, don't you remember that I do 
 not indorse dancing parties ? " 
 
 Her manner was timid, almost appealing ; as one 
 would speak who dreaded exceedingly to broach 
 an unpleasant theme ; but the master of the 
 house neither frowned nor growled ; instead, he 
 laughed : 
 
 " I don't remember ; there were so many things 
 that you didn't indorse, you know. How could I 
 be expected to bear them all in mind ? However, 
 the girls will not require you to indorse their amuse- 
 ment, I fancy ; they need you to play the lady hos- 
 pitable to their guests. You need not be bored 
 for more than an hour or so, you know." 
 
 Poor puzzled lady of the house, trying to walk 
 two opposite ways at the same time ! She glanced 
 at the handsome man who was resting so luxuri- 
 ously among his cushions, then looked down at 
 her prisoned hand, and sighed ; the way was cer- 
 tainly bewildering. 
 
 She tried again. 
 
 " But, Judge Burnham, you do not understand ; 
 how can I receive guests to my house, and provide 
 for them an entertainment of which I do not in 
 the least approve ? Would there not be something 
 dishonorable in that ? Beside, I would be placing 
 myself in a false light before the world." 
 
 " But, my dear, you are not expected to approve. 
 
SLIPPERY GROUND. 99 
 
 If one had to approve of all the silliness which 
 goes on under one's own roof, even during the 
 giving of a dinner party, it would be a tremendous 
 strain on one's common sense. You cannot man- 
 age society, my queen, however much you may 
 grace it ; and I am willing to own that few women 
 can match you in that." 
 
 She knew he had answered her with sophistry, 
 and with flattery. Never mind, she would put the 
 question in another form : 
 
 " Judge Burnham, ought one to offer to others 
 that which one believes may be a temptation and 
 a snare ? If I think there is actually harm in 
 dancing, ought I to have anything to do with 
 providing it as an amusement?" 
 
 " You needn't," with a good-natured laugh ; 
 "I will engage the band, and have" the house put 
 in proper array, and you may retire to your room 
 with the first strain of gay music. I will even 
 engage to lock you in, if you fear the temptation 
 to indulge will be too much for you." 
 
 What reply could she make to this, other than to 
 look steadily at him with sorrowful eyes ? When 
 his laugh was over, he added, still good-naturedly, 
 and with a careless yawn : 
 
 " What about dancing, my dear ; wherein lies 
 the harm ? Did you ever post me ? If so, I have 
 fallen from grace. I can not recall a single argu- 
 ment for your side. Do you want to refresh your- 
 self by putting me through a course ? " 
 
100 SLIPPERY GROUND. 
 
 How instantly was Mrs. Burnham carried back 
 to the days when she was Ruth Erskine ; to 
 Marion's dingy little upper room in the boarding- 
 house, to Eurie Mitchell's merry words, half on one 
 side of the question, half on the other ; to Flossy 
 Shipley's sweet young face. How earnestly, Bibles 
 in hand, had they four discussed this very ques> 
 tion years ago ? How easily, in the light of Flossy 
 Shipley's Bible verses, they had settled it ! She 
 could seem to hear Marion's voice again saying : 
 " Girls, we have spent our strength vainly. It is 
 our privilege to get up higher ; to look at all these 
 things from the mount whereon God will let us 
 stand, if we want to climb." And they had climbed, 
 those girls ; they were standing, at least so far as 
 these trying little beginnings of religious experi- 
 ence were concerned, away above them, troubled 
 by them no more. All save herself ; here was 
 she, after the lapse of years, sitting beside the one 
 with whom she had spent the most of them, and 
 he had gotten no farther than the old worn-out 
 query, " Wherein lies the harm ? " The solemn 
 question was, Did this tell something- of her own 
 spiritual state ? 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. IOI 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 SHE looked at him curiously, half pitifully. How 
 should she answer the question in a line with 
 his moral development ? Her look seemed to 
 amuse and interest him. 
 
 " What is it, my dear ? Do you feel in your soul 
 that I haven't enough mental calibre to compre- 
 hend the argument ? I'll promise to give the full 
 powers of my mind to it if you will try me." 
 
 " Judge Burnham, do you want your daughters 
 to be on such familiar terms with the gentlemen 
 whom they meet in society, as the dance necessi- 
 tates ? Is your knowledge of human nature such 
 as to make this desirable, or even wise ? " 
 
 He frowned slightly, and his voice was graver 
 than it had been. 
 
 " That sounds badly, Ruth ; it sounds as though 
 you might be unpleasantly familiar with a human 
 nature that is below you. You must have learned 
 that sort of talk from people who think they must 
 always drag the slums into argument." 
 
 " I am not talking about the class of people who 
 
IO2 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 are recognized in society as ' the slums.' 1 mean 
 the Tracys, the Markams, and Mr. Peterson. Do 
 you want your daughters to dance with them ? " 
 
 He had apparently recovered his good humor. 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, there are degrees, even in good 
 society ; I shall want the girls to exercise common 
 sense, of course, or, failing in that, I will exercise 
 it for them. I do not advocate indiscriminate 
 dancing ; if that is what you are after, you are 
 entirely welcome to the admission." 
 
 " Yet the girls dance with these persons ; I have 
 heard them mention their names in such a connec- 
 tion. The sole point before us just now is whether 
 we desire to stamp with our approval amusements 
 which are liable to such dangers as these; and 
 which may lead astray young girls who do not 
 understand enough about the wicked world to see 
 any danger ahead." 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, has it ever occurred to you 
 that possibly our daughters may have been led 
 into dangers because they were left, in a large 
 degree, to face this society which it seems is such 
 an ogre, quite without the presence and guarding 
 counsel of their parents ? I have a vivid recollec- 
 tion of a time when invitations were accepted by 
 them, and declined by you, by the wholesale ; 
 while I, being a loyal and well-brought-up husband, 
 of course, remained with my wife, and left my girls 
 to dance with whom they would. What about that 
 responsibility ?" 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. IO3 
 
 Her cheeks were growing unbecomingly red, but 
 she answered steadily : 
 
 " You could not expect me to do what my con- 
 science disapproved, even though you allowed the 
 girls to go where I could not accompany them. 
 You knew when you married me, Judge Burnham, 
 that I professed to be guided by my conscience. 
 Did I do wrong, do you think, in following its 
 dictates ? " 
 
 " That depends ; a fellow in court the other day 
 argued that his conscience would not let him see 
 his wife and children go hungry ; so he stole a 
 watch in order to feed them. This question of 
 conscience is very obscure, and miserably mis- 
 understood. If you were a lawyer, you would 
 know that the conscience is perverted every day 
 to meet the demands of some crank." 
 
 Her old friends again, how fully they had dis- 
 cussed the responsibilities of conscience, and the 
 necessity for educating it. Did her husband sup- 
 pose that she had not studied and prayed over 
 these matters ? She was silent, because she did 
 not know how to reply to his pretense at arguing. 
 His words seemed beneath her notice. After a 
 moment's silence, he commenced again. 
 
 " I do not quite understand how you came to be 
 such a slave to fanaticism, Ruth ; it does not seem 
 like you. Your father had a touch of it, to be sure, 
 but I think he must have caught it from you, since 
 you go so far beyond him. It must be an outcrop 
 
IO4 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 from some ancient Puritan ; really, my dear, you 
 ought to study these questions ; such narrowness 
 is beneath you. Take, for example, that statement 
 which you are so fond of making about leading 
 others astray. Can't you really see that if it 
 proves anything, it proves too much ? How many 
 people do you suppose injure themselves everyday 
 of their lives by gormandizing ? Yet you would 
 not, because of that, conclude that it was your 
 Christian duty to give up the use of food." 
 
 Oh, astute judge ! To suppose that such baby- 
 ish sophistry as that could pass with your keen- 
 brained wife for reasoning ! He waited for her 
 reply with an air that said : " Now, my fair fanatic, 
 haven't I put you in a corner ? " But Ruth was 
 in no haste to respond ; busy memories had hold 
 of her to-night ; she had gone back again into that 
 upper room. She could see Flossy's grave, sweet 
 face, she could hear Marion reading from her little 
 old Bible. Were the dear girls with her in spirit 
 to-night trying to help her, that they appeared to 
 her inner consciousness so constantly ? " 
 
 " I should think, " she said at last, " that the 
 answer to your question would depend almost 
 entirely on the importance of food to our bodies. 
 If the habit of taking food is one that we can lay 
 aside at will, and still hold our place in the world 
 and do our work, ought we not to carefully con- 
 sider and decide whether we should in this thing 
 set an example which would lead to the injury of 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. IO5 
 
 others ? Will you let me quote a few words to you 
 from an old book on which I feed my conscience ? " 
 
 And without waiting for a reply, she quoted the 
 well-remembered words, not as Marion had done, 
 but making her own substitution : 
 
 " ' But dancing commends us not to God ; for 
 neither if we dance are we the better, neither if we 
 dance not are we the worse. But take heed, lest 
 by any means this liberty of yours become a 
 stumbling-block to them that are weak ; for if any 
 man see thee which hast knowledge, join the dance, 
 shall not the conscience of him which is weak be 
 emboldened to dance also ? And through thy 
 knowledge shall the weak brother perish, for whom 
 Christ died ? But when ye sin so against the 
 brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye 
 sin against Christ. Wherefore, if dancing make 
 my brother to offend, I will dance no more while 
 the world standeth.' " 
 
 Judge Burnham turned himself entirely on his 
 cushions, and gave his wife the benefit of a pro- 
 longed stare of astonishment. 
 
 " Are those words to be found in your Bible 
 exactly as you have quoted them ? " 
 
 " Exactly as I have quoted them, save that, of 
 course, I substitute dancing for Paul's word 
 meat which was the question at issue when he 
 presented the argument." 
 
 "Oh !" spoken in a very significant tone, "quite 
 a substitute, I should say. Of course, if your con- 
 
IO6 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 science allows you to read the Bible with free 
 substitutions, you can make it prove anything." 
 
 " But, Judge Burnham, really, have I changed 
 the force of the argument in the least, if you admit 
 what you and I know to be the case, that there 
 have been people even this winter, in this city, led 
 astray through the social dance ? " 
 
 It was almost impossible for her to keep her 
 lip from curling just a little in indignation. She 
 could seem to hear Marion's voice again as she 
 said, 
 
 " Now, Eurie Mitchell, you are too bright to 
 make such a remark as that." 
 
 Her husband was also " too bright " for that. 
 
 Judge Burnham yawned and turned one of the 
 pillows and said : 
 
 " What time is it, my dear ? Haven't we dis- 
 cussed this interesting subject long enough ? You 
 cannot make the world over if you try ever so 
 hard. My candid advice to you is not to try. 
 You will have your peculiar views, I suppose, to 
 the end of time. Don't let us quarrel about them. 
 The girls haven't a drop of Puritan blood in their 
 veins. I'm afraid they will dance to the end of 
 the chapter, but I will see to it that they choose 
 partners of perfectly immaculate character. We 
 have gone a long way astray from our starting- 
 point, which was, whether we should have the 
 carpets removed or covered. However, you can 
 decide that at your leisure. Oh ! by the way, if I 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. IO/ 
 
 were you I would have that little room which we 
 have been using as a sort of annex to the music 
 room, cleared and fitted up with card tables. 
 There are always some who prefer a quiet game to 
 any other method of passing the time, and that 
 seems to me the most convenient place for tables. 
 And now, my dear, don't you think it would be 
 well for us to close this day ? It has been rather 
 a fatiguing one ; I'm afraid I shall need another 
 dinner if we talk much longer." 
 
 He smiled pleasantly on her, even stooped and 
 kissed her, as he rose up to light the gas in his 
 dressing-room. His manner was certainly very 
 kind kinder than it had been for months. But 
 there was a painful little air of triumph about it, 
 as one who said : 
 
 " We have begun life on a new basis, my dear. 
 It is true you insulted a friend of mine, but you 
 thereby got your eyes opened, and have discovered 
 that you live in the world and must live in it ; and 
 you have taken your place in society once more, 
 and society will show you that she has a groove 
 in which you must walk. You are her prisoner, 
 whether you will or not." 
 
 And Ruth, as she went slowly, wearily over to 
 her dressing-case, and began to draw out pins and 
 let down her hair, sighed heavily, not because she 
 was subdued, but because she was perplexed. 
 
 " I am not a prisoner," she told herself firmly, 
 " nor a slave. I am the Lord's free woman. I 
 
IO8 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 am responsible only to Him, and I will not bow my 
 neck to this yoke of fashionable life. I will not 
 appear to countenance what I do not approve. 
 But, oh ! I see discord and weariness of soul before 
 me, and I do not know which way to turn first. 
 If only " 
 
 Just here she stopped ; she must always stop at 
 that point, even in her thoughts. What good to 
 say now, " If only my husband and I were agreed 
 as to these matters ? " But there did float through 
 her tired brain the old, solemn question, " How 
 shall two walk together except they be agreed ? " 
 
 Away into the night she studied the problem, 
 and arose the next morning somewhat lighter of 
 heart. She had resolved to see what genius and 
 culture could do toward supplanting the usual 
 amusements of the day. She would petition her 
 husband to let her give the young ladies a sur- 
 prise an entertainment that she would promise 
 should be altogether unique, and more brilliant 
 than anything the region had known. She would 
 do this, with the understanding that every detail 
 should be left entirely in her hands, and should be 
 entirely secret until the eventful evening arrived. 
 Thus guarded, she would see whether it was not 
 possible for time and skill and money to evolve 
 an evening's entertainment, even for fashionable 
 people, which should have no objectionable feat- 
 ures. Much engrossed by her scheme and ways 
 of developing it, she roused from a half-dreamy 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. lOQ 
 
 attention to the usual dinner-table chatter, to alert- 
 ness and caution. 
 
 "Robert," the host had ordered, "unpack the 
 case which came out with me this afternoon, and 
 bring a bottle of it to the table." 
 
 " It is a very choice orange wine, my dear," 
 this to his wife, as Robert departed to do his 
 bidding, "something new about its preparation. 
 I did not give sufficient attention to understand 
 what, but Dr. Westwood was enthusiastic over it. 
 And the point which I did notice was, that he 
 thought it would be excellent both for you and for 
 Erskine. It seems he has noticed the boy lately, 
 and thinks he needs toning up. And he says you 
 need to enter on a regular course of tonics. He 
 recommends the use of this orange wine at every 
 meal, and a little of it as often as you feel any 
 thirst." 
 
 " Erskine is not sick ! " 
 
 The mother's voice was not only startled, but 
 almost pleading in its notes, as she studied the 
 face of the fair boy at her side. 
 
 " O, no ! not sick, but pale and frail-looking. 
 I told Dr. Westwood that I thought he was too 
 closely housed ; however, I have no doubt that the 
 wine will be good for him. You shall make the 
 first test of its quality, Mrs. Burnham." 
 
 By this time he had poured a glass two thirds 
 full of the liquid, and was himself holding it for- 
 ward for his wife. 
 
HO THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, trying to speak in a 
 perfectly natural tone, " I never use stimulants of 
 any sort, you remember ; I feel not the slightest 
 need for them," and she made no movement toward 
 the offered glass. 
 
 " But, my dear, you must allow the physician to 
 be the judge of that last. I assure you, he was 
 quite emphatic in his statements ; so much so 
 that I ordered a case of the wine before going to 
 my office after meeting him." 
 
 " It was very thoughtful, certainly, and I will 
 be grateful for the intention ; but indeed, I must 
 decline to drink it. If I am really in need of medi- 
 cine, a point which I by no means yield, even on 
 Dr. Westwood's testimony, I prefer to take it in 
 the privacy of my own room, where I can make all 
 the wry faces I wish, over offensive doses ; not to 
 mix it with my food. No, thank you, " for he was 
 still holding forward the glass ; " I must really 
 decline it ; I have studied into the merits of 
 orange wine somewhat, and am not an admirer." 
 
 Judge Burnham set the glass down at last ; not 
 quite gently, and his face was slightly flushed ; 
 both the young ladies laughed lightly, and Seraph 
 said : 
 
 " Why, mamma, where did you study medicine ? 
 You have one accomplishment which I did not 
 know you possessed. How convenient it will be 
 for us ; we shall not need to summon a physician 
 from the city." 
 
THE OLD QUESTION. Ill 
 
 Mrs. Burnham made no reply ; indeed, she only 
 half heard the voluble tongue. She was watching 
 Judge Burnham with an anxiety which he might 
 plainly have read, had he chosen to look at her. 
 
 He had filled a smaller glass about two thirds 
 full of the wine, and was passing it to his son. 
 
 " Here, my boy," he said, in decisive tones, as 
 though he were issuing a command instead of 
 offering a luxury, " drink that." 
 
 " Erskine, wait ! " His mother's voice, as deci- 
 sive as the father's, but lower and more controlled. 
 Then she addressed the father : 
 
 " Judge Burnham, may I beg you to excuse 
 Erskine from drinking the wine ? There are 
 special reasons why I would like to talk with you 
 about it before he takes any." 
 
 Judge Burnham was very angry or he would not 
 have allowed himself to be guilty of the rudeness 
 which followed. 
 
 " After he has obeyed me," he said, in haughty 
 tones, " I will be ready to talk with you. Drink 
 that, my son, immediately." 
 
 The startled boy received the glass in his hands, 
 but his mother's hand was placed quietly over the 
 top, while she spoke quickly, 
 
 " Erskine, papa will certainly excuse you if we 
 explain to him that in obeying that direction you 
 will not only be breaking a promise made to mamma, 
 but to God." 
 
 It was his son's questioning, half-frightened gaze, 
 
112 THE OLD QUESTION. 
 
 and the certainty that he was sitting as judge over 
 the scene, and would be sure to agree with his 
 mother, which was finally the controlling force in 
 Judge Burnham's mind. 
 
 He struggled for outward composure, and pres- 
 ently, with a forced laugh, said : 
 
 " Oh ! if the case is as serious as that, of course 
 nothing further can be said at present. But really, 
 Mrs. Burnham, I think as a family we are a success 
 in getting up unexpected scenes out of very small 
 capital. I had not the remotest idea of rousing a 
 moral earthquake when I went a mile out of my 
 way this morning to see that the doctor's prescrip- 
 tion was properly attended to. I think it would 
 be well for us to come to some understanding in 
 private about the management of our son." 
 
 " I beg your pardon for the publicity of the 
 scene, " said Ruth ; " it was nothing that I could 
 have foreseen." 
 
 It was the humiliation of this Christian woman 
 that there were times when silence would have 
 been golden, in which she could not resist the 
 temptation to sarcasm. 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 course the question was not settled. Mrs. 
 
 Burnham knew this, and was anxious to 
 bring it up again, that there might at least be a 
 full understanding with regard to Erskine. She 
 began it unwisely as soon as they were alone, be- 
 fore her excitement had had time to cool. How- 
 ever, she was quiet enough at first, repeating with 
 a little more care and courtesy the statement that 
 she had been sorry for the public discussion, and 
 had not thought .to tell him that she and Erskine 
 had been talking of these things but a few days 
 before, and that they had together taken a pledge 
 never to touch anything that could intoxicate a 
 pledge which her husband interrupted her to say 
 he thought was an " exceedingly foolish and mis- 
 chievous one. Pledges were serious things, and 
 should not be mouthed over by a child, ignorant 
 of what he was about ; " and then, with delicious 
 disregard of logic, added that he should have sup- 
 posed she would have had more wisdom than to 
 have herself set up a barrier in the child's con- 
 science in regard to the medicine which the fam* 
 
I 14 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 ily physician had prescribed. Ruth ignored the 
 logic and the implied compliment to herself, and 
 held to her point. 
 
 " I do not mean to pledge him against the use 
 of alcohol for extreme illness. Personally, I believe 
 that medical skill can, if it choose, supply a sub- 
 stitute for alcoholic poison even in cases were it 
 used to be considered a necessity. That was what 
 papa thought, you remember, and I know that we 
 have very high medical authority to sustain the 
 belief ; but I am not prepared to set up my judg- 
 ment against that of an attending physician where 
 I know there is extreme danger. I do not know 
 yet what I should do under such circumstances. I 
 am afraid I should obey the doctor, but in little 
 every-day aches and pains, and the weaknesses 
 common to childhood, I am sure there is no ne- 
 cessity whatever for resorting to alcohol, and that 
 feature of the subject was decidedly included in 
 our pledge." 
 
 " And I repeat that I think you have been very 
 foolish in playing with pledges and all that sort of 
 nonsense ; the word of parents should be the high- 
 est law a child touches. However, you made a 
 most unnecessary scene in this case, for orange 
 wine is free from the ingredient which has come 
 under the ban of your displeasure." 
 His wife turned fully toward him then, and re- 
 garded him searchingly. Was this man ignorant, 
 really, or did he suppose that she was ? 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 11$ 
 
 " Do I understand you that there was no alcohol 
 in the preparation of the orange wine which was 
 on the table to-day ? " 
 
 " Well, of course it was fermented, else it would 
 not be fit to drink ; but the proportion of alcohol 
 was so slight that a baby might have indulged in 
 it without harm." , 
 
 It seemed unnecessary to make any reply to 
 this, so none was offered. The significant silence 
 seemed to vex Judge Burnham. 
 
 " Suppose we try to understand each other," he 
 said, speaking more haughtily than before. " Am I 
 to conclude, from the exhibition we have had to- 
 day, that whenever you choose to countermand my 
 orders to the child, you consider yourself quite at 
 liberty to do so in his presence, to say nothing of 
 the presence of others ? If you have any such 
 impression as this," he added, growing more angry 
 as he proceeded, " it is quite time we came to an 
 understanding. I am not a household tyrant, and 
 have never obtruded my views in regard to the 
 child ; indeed, while he was a baby, it was my 
 policy and my practice to leave him almost entirely 
 in your hands. Perhaps I have carried this policy 
 too far, and led you to misunderstand me. But 
 once for all, let me say that I expect full and 
 implicit and prompt obedience from him, and fail- 
 ing to receive it, shall certainly require it. I ex- 
 cused him to-day, because the nature of yoiu 
 interference was such that no gentleman could do 
 
Il6 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 otherwise, but for the future, you, being fairly 
 warned, will not, I hope, force me, at least in 
 public, to the painful necessity of pressing my 
 commands contrary to your expressed will." 
 
 If he was angry now, and he had grown more so 
 with each spoken word, how shall his wife's state 
 of mind be described ? Her blood seemed fairly 
 to boil in her veins. This entire harangue was so 
 unlike her husband was so uncalled for. Had she 
 not striven earnestly and successfully to instill into 
 Erskine's mind the importance of unquestioning 
 obedience to his father ? Had she not put away 
 her fears and anxieties many a time with stern 
 hand, in order to carry out some scheme of the 
 father's, over which the mother's heart trembled ? 
 How utterly unfair and unkind was all this ! Why 
 should she be spoken to as though she were at best 
 but a faithful nursemaid, who could be trusted 
 with the care of the child while he was a baby, but 
 who must resign her control as he grew older ? 
 There was no time for careful thought, for school- 
 ing herself to the use of the right words ; she 
 spoke hastily, almost fiercely. 
 
 " Judge Burnham, I have done nothing to merit 
 such language as that. I have always taught 
 Erskine to obey you quite as unquestioningly as 
 he did me. You know this to be the case, and 
 also that I appealed to you to-day to excuse him 
 from the command, giving you what I thought 
 was a sufficient reason. Since you are so anxious 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 1 1/ 
 
 that there should be an understanding between us, 
 I will try to speak as plainly as you have. I do 
 mean that my boy shall be kept from the taint or 
 the touch, or even the smell of alcohol, if deter- 
 mination and vigilance on my part can accomplish 
 it. I tell you solemnly that, much as my life is 
 bound up in his, entirely as I seem to be depend- 
 ent on him for what happiness I have, I would 
 rather stand beside his open grave, and see him 
 buried in his childish innocence, than that he 
 should live to be even a fashionable drunkard. 
 And I warn you that I will not tamely submit to 
 any tampering with him in this direction ; to any 
 scheme under pretext of medicine, or tonic, or 
 whatever name Satan has planned to have the 
 mixture called. I will take my boy and run away, 
 before I will endure anything of the kind." 
 
 She turned from him the moment the last word 
 was spoken and left the room, but not quickly 
 enough to escape his reply, 
 
 " Well, upon my word, this is the most astound- 
 ing exhibition of Christian fanaticism that I have 
 seen yet." 
 
 The words pierced her ; not because of their in- 
 tense sarcasm, nor because of the emphasis on the 
 last word, which was equal to saying that he was 
 now prepared, however, for anything in that direc- 
 tion which could be imagined, but because of that 
 one word Christian. It brought her suddenly back 
 to the recollection that as she lived religion be- 
 
Il8 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 fore her husband, so he would judge of its power 
 in her heart. Oh ! miserable life that goaded her 
 by the very force of her conscience into daily ex- 
 hibitions that were a disgrace to the name she 
 wore ! 
 
 Moreover, when she was quiet enough to think 
 about it, she began to realize how very difficult 
 she had made the way for her projected entertain- 
 ment, which was to supersede and outshine the 
 fashionable world. Had she not made the attempt 
 well-nigh impossible ? Yet what could she have 
 done ? She tried to assure her conscience that 
 she had no business with results ; that she had 
 but stood squarely up for her principles, as she 
 was in honor bound to do. But her conscience 
 was altogether too well educated to be lulled in 
 this manner ; it insisted on assuring her that it 
 was not the standing up for principle which could 
 be criticised, but the manner of doing it. 
 
 The next complication came the next morning. 
 Mrs. Stuart Bacon sent up her card, and would be 
 glad to see Mrs. Burnham for a few minutes on 
 important business. Ruth knew her but slightly, 
 and being in no mood for strangers, was tempted 
 to declare herself engaged. But that phrase " im- 
 portant business," conquered, and she went reluc- 
 tantly to the parlor. 
 
 Mrs. Bacon was a middle-aged lady with an ear- 
 nest face and pleasant voice. Looking at her from 
 across the aisle of the church, Ruth remembered 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. I IQ 
 
 that she had dreamily told herself that sometime 
 she would like to become better acquainted with 
 that face. Perhaps this was her opportunity. Yet 
 this morning she did not think she wanted to be- 
 come acquainted with anybody. It almost seemed 
 to her that if she could go quite away from every- 
 body she had ever seen before, and stay a long 
 time, she would be glad. 
 
 Mrs. Bacon expressed her thanks at being re- 
 ceived, though the hour was early for calls, and 
 said she would not abuse the kindness by unnec- 
 essary detention, but would proceed at once to 
 business. In the first place, would not dear Mrs. 
 Burnham join their organization ? Her name had 
 been on their list for several weeks as one whom 
 they meant to petition, but she believed the oppor- 
 tunity had not heretofore occurred. Still, they 
 confidently looked for her name and support. 
 
 " What was the organization ? " Ruth questioned, 
 struggling with the apathy she felt, and trying 
 hard to bring herself into line with women who 
 were at work in the world. 
 
 "Why, the W. C. T. U., you know," spoken 
 confidently, as though she would know the mean- 
 ing of the magic letters in an instant. " Your old 
 pastor, Dr. Dennis, assured us that he believed we 
 should find in you a most efficient helper." 
 
 But Ruth had been living out of the world. 
 She could not remember what the letters meant. 
 Dreamily, she recalled her Chautauqua experiences, 
 
I2O COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 where the air was full of initials, and tried to fit 
 some of their meanings to the letters that flowed 
 so glibly from Mrs. Bacon's tongue, but they 
 would not fit. The caller must have observed her 
 blank look, for she hastened to the rescue. 
 
 "The Woman's Christian Temperance Union, 
 you know. I beg your pardon for speaking in ab- 
 breviations ; we women do it so much in our work 
 that we forget it is not quite the way to speak to 
 outsiders. Still, I don't regard you as an outsider ; 
 I know you are one of us ; an intelligent Christian 
 mother, in these days, is to be claimed as a matter 
 of course." 
 
 "The Woman's Christian Temperance Union." 
 Ruth repeated the words aloud, slowly, as if fasci- 
 nated by them, her face aglow with interest. It 
 sounded like fellowship, and oneness of thought 
 and feeling. 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Bacon said heartily, feeling the 
 sympathy in her hostess's voice ; " I knew you 
 would be interested. We have quite a flourishing 
 branch here, and have accomplished some very 
 desirable results;" and she launched forth into an 
 eager account of their late experiences. 
 
 Ruth, listening, felt her enthusiasm die slowly, 
 and her heart grew cold ; it was of no use to think 
 )f joining these women in their work. She had 
 never heard Judge Burnham mention the name of 
 the organization, yet she was as sure as though he 
 had talked for hours about it, that he would regard 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 121 
 
 their methods of work, and even their work itself, 
 in some of its branches as unladylike and uncalled 
 for. He had a very pronounced horror of women 
 whom he regarded as having stepped out of their 
 sphere. It would be foolish to widen the breach 
 which was already between them, by identifying 
 herself with anything of this sort, but she would 
 like to do it. She knew, of course, a great deal 
 about the workings of the organization, and had 
 been more or less interested in its movements in 
 the years gone by. As soon as she had roused 
 from her dazed condition she knew what the ini- 
 tials meant, very well. Some of the doings of the 
 society she had regarded with disapproval, she re- 
 membered, but as she swiftly looked back on 
 them now, she said perhaps the women were justi- 
 fied in all that they did. No doubt many of them 
 were mothers. 
 
 None of this, however, appeared in her words. 
 When Mrs. Bacon reached a period, having closed 
 with a renewal of her invitation, Ruth's reply was 
 a brief, almost cold negative. She could not join 
 the organization. She was in sympathy with them, 
 of course, and respected their work ; every Chris- 
 tian woman must do that ; but there were excellent 
 reasons why she could not enroll herself as one of 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Bacon was disappointed. She had evi- 
 dently heard, either through Dr. Dennis or from 
 
 some other source, that about Ruth which had 
 
 9 
 
123 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 made her confident of success. However, the re- 
 fusal had been given in such a way as made it 
 almost impossible for a lady to urge further. 
 
 " Well," she said, after a moment's dismayed 
 silence, " I am sorry. Perhaps you will see it in 
 a different light at some other time. Now, let me 
 come at once to the special business whose need 
 for haste precipitated, perhaps unwisely, the invi- 
 tation I have just given you. I feel very sure, my 
 dear Mrs. Burnham, that you will not put me off 
 with a negative here. You know, of course, how ear- 
 nestly we have struggled to keep the sale of liquor 
 out of this corner of the world ; and because we 
 do not as yet belong to the city, and because it is 
 a factory region, we have succeeded ; even the 
 enemies of total abstinence do not think it wise to 
 have liquor freely sold where their workmen can 
 get it, you know. For their sons, strange to say, 
 they have not so much regard ! Well, up to this 
 time our young men, if they use the stuff, must go 
 to the city for it. It is true enough, that with our 
 constant trains back and forth, this can be very 
 readily accomplished ; still, it is a sort of safe- 
 guard to those who have not yet been caught in 
 the enemy's toils. But now a new danger menaces 
 us ; it is said that our largest hotel, the Shenan- 
 doah, has discovered that the law can be inter- 
 preted in such a manner that it will have a right 
 to offer liquor to its guests, even though none can 
 be sold elsewhere within our limits. What do you 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 123 
 
 suppose we mothers think of that ? We have sons, 
 you know, who mingle freely with the guests at 
 the Shenandoah, and are frequently entertained by 
 them. Are we to sit quietly by and see that poured 
 before their eyes daily which we have pledged our 
 lives to keep from them, if possible ? Do you be- 
 lieve we ought to do it, Mrs. Burnham ? " 
 
 She was strongly excited ; her eyes fairly blazed 
 with the intensity of her feelings, and every muscle 
 of her face spoke for her. Ruth remembered that 
 she had heard this woman's son mentioned as a 
 young man who was unusually gifted. Was he 
 also unusually tempted ? She made haste to an- 
 swer, her heart throbbing in sympathy ; suppose 
 Erskine were nineteen. 
 
 " Assuredly I do think so, my dear madam ; and 
 if there is anything which you can do, I should 
 think you would allow no obstacle to prevent your 
 doing to the utmost." 
 
 " Thank you. I knew you were true at heart. 
 Mrs. Burnham, if there is anything which you can 
 do for us, will you do it ? " 
 
 ! " After what I have said, you can hardly doubt 
 the heartiness of my reply to that question ; the 
 only trouble is, I realize only too well my own im- 
 potence. I have no influence whatever with the 
 managers of the hotel ; I have not even a speaking 
 acquaintance with them ; and, if I had, it would 
 not give me influence. How is it possible that I 
 could accomplish anything which you, who have 
 
124 COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 worked in these lines and understand the methods 
 so well, could not do much better ? " 
 
 " Oh ! my dear, we are far too well trained in our 
 work to hope anything from hotel managers as a 
 rule. The men who can consider such a propo- 
 sition at all, are not of the class that can be urged 
 through their moral natures. Liquor-dealing hotel 
 proprietors have no consciences, I verily believe. 
 Nothing less impossible than a * thou shalt not ' is 
 going to effect anything in that direction. Why, 
 one of these very gentlemen has a son who drinks 
 to excess every time he goes to the city ; and his 
 father wants to make it more convenient for him, 
 it seems." 
 
 " Then what can you think it possible for me to 
 do under such circumstances ? If they have the 
 law on their side, or if it has been twisted so that 
 it can appear to be on their side and I have no 
 doubt of that last ; for nothing seems to be easier 
 than to secure a lawyer who is skillful in misinter- 
 preting law to suit his client what is there left to 
 do ? " 
 
 " Everything, dear Mrs. Burnham. I am so 
 glad to hear you speak in that eager way. Don't 
 you suppose we recognize you as the power behind 
 the throne ? I told the ladies I felt sure you would 
 be on our side ; for, though your boy is only five, the 
 years go fast ; and they make drunkards of them 
 now at fifteen ; this is a hurrying age, you know. 
 I feel sure you will save us from this curse in our 
 
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 1 25 
 
 midst, dear madam, for the sake of your boy and 
 mine." 
 
 Ruth looked utterly puzzled, and also pained. 
 What wild scheme had this excited woman in 
 mind, which she fondly imagined would tide them 
 over this present danger ? 
 
 She spoke low and gently, in the hope of calm- 
 ing the evident excitement of her guest : 
 
 " I have not the remotest idea what you mean ; 
 believe me, there is nothing that I would -not do to 
 help, were it in my power ; but how I can do any- 
 thing, I cannot imagine." 
 
 Mrs. Bacon regarded her curiously, evidently 
 puzzled in turn. 
 
 " Why, my dear Mrs. Burnham," she said at 
 last, " is it possible that you do not know that 
 your husband is the owner of the Shenandoah ? 
 And that by the terms of the lease, his consent 
 must be obtained before any liquors can be brought 
 into the house ? " 
 
126 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 NO, Mrs. Burnham had not known this. Her 
 husband's business interests were so exten- 
 sive, and the pressure of care upon him so heavy, 
 that even had he deemed it worth mentioning, he 
 might not have thought of it at an opportune 
 moment. And, indeed, he was so decidedly a man 
 who threw off business cares the moment he reached 
 his own door, and who never even thought of such 
 a thing as chatting confidentially with his wife 
 about them, that to have remarked, " The Shenan- 
 doah property came into my hands to-day, through 
 the failure of the firm of Bell & Pealer, " would 
 have had an absurdly inappropriate sound to him. 
 So Ruth sat silent and appalled before the news. 
 Her husband the owner of the Shenandoah ! 
 This, then, was why she might naturally be sup- 
 posed to have power in the question at issue ; and 
 her cheek paled over the realization of how power- 
 less she was. Her instant change of manner was 
 not lost on Mrs. Bacon, who shrewdly said to her- 
 self : " She didn't know it before, and it evidently 
 
127 
 
 makes a difference into whose pockets the results 
 are to go. O, me ! who would have supposed 
 that a Christian woman, with a son to rear, could 
 stop over considerations like these." And she 
 was as correct in her conclusions as the majority 
 of persons are who sit in judgment on the acts of 
 their brothers and sisters. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham spoke at last, slowly, choosing 
 her words with care ; she had no mind to show the 
 sorrowful secrets of her home to Mrs. Bacon. 
 
 "You give me credit for altogether too much 
 power, dear madam ; gentlemen are noted, I be- 
 lieve, for supposing that their wives know nothing 
 about business, and, in my husband's case, it 
 would be fair enough ; I profess to know very 
 little in that line. Besides, Judge Burnham is pre- 
 eminently a man who does not discuss business 
 out of business hours ; in proof of which I might 
 tell you that I did not know he was the owner of 
 the Shenandoah. The utmost that I can do is to 
 repeat my assurance of sympathy and willingness 
 to help in whatever way I can ; at the same time 
 reminding you that I may not be able to accomplish 
 anything." 
 
 Yet as she went wearily up the stairs, after her 
 caller had departed, she thought that nothing could 
 be more unpropitious for her schemes in regard to 
 the evening party than these questions of con- 
 science which seemed to be pressing in on every 
 hand. 
 
128 " W. C. T. U." 
 
 Nevertheless, as she thought more about Mrs. 
 Bacon's petition, her courage rose. Judge Burn- 
 ham might not be a total abstinence man, but he 
 despised drunkenness ; and being a lawyer, well 
 versed in the ways of the world, he must know 
 how disastrous to the interests of a place which 
 boasted of itself as a safe country home for young 
 people would be the introduction of that which 
 did more than anything else to make life unsafe. 
 Besides and on this she built strong hopes 
 Judge Burnham's pride would be at stake. Would 
 he want it to go out through these earnest women 
 that he feared for his rents to such a degree that 
 he was willing to introduce wines and brandies 
 as security ? It would certainly have an offensive 
 sound if she put it to him in that light. She 
 thought so constantly about it, and went over 
 her arguments so many times, that she worked 
 herself into a state of feverish haste to have the 
 interview over. She dreaded it, but went steadily 
 toward it with much the same feeling that one has 
 in laying vigorous hold of any cross which must 
 be borne : " If this thing must needs be, let me 
 get through with it as speedily as possible." 
 
 Judge Burnham was in his worst mood courtly, 
 suave and sarcastic. Yes, he had met some of those 
 interesting females who went about attending to 
 other people's business ; one always wondered who 
 attended, meantime, to their homes. " Women's 
 Constant Talking Unions " they ought to be named, 
 
" W. C. T. U. 129 
 
 the tendency to talk steadily, for an unprecedented 
 length of time, on subjects of which they knew 
 nothing, seeming to be a marked feature of their 
 organization, so far as he had observed it. He 
 had always thought that if he had been so unfortu- 
 nate as to choose a wife with no more brains than 
 to join herself to such a company, he might be 
 justified for once in returning to the old Blue 
 Laws, and confining her on bread and water until 
 she came to a better mind. Which particular 
 member of the troop had honored her with a 
 call ? O, yes ! he had the honor of a speaking 
 acquaintance with Mrs. Stuart Bacon. He had 
 supposed her to be remarkable for nothing but a 
 very ill-shaped mouth, but it seems she had other 
 accomplishments ; no wonder the mouth was ill- 
 shaped, since it had such ungraceful work to do. 
 Yes, he had the honor of being the owner of the 
 Shenandoah ; it had not entered his mind to object 
 to the lessee's proposition ; of course the law sus- 
 tained him ; it would be a return to the Dark 
 Ages with interest, if a man must be dictated to 
 as to what he should have for his money at a hotel. 
 There was nothing unpleasant about it ; nothing 
 that reasonable people could object to ; merely light 
 wines, such as orange wine and the like whole- 
 some and refreshing beverages for refined people. 
 The class of guests that patronized the Shenandoah 
 would not be likely to demean themselves in any 
 way ; they took care to keep the prices too high 
 
I3O " W. C. T. U. 
 
 for the common people. O, yes ! the same law 
 admitted light wines to the other, more common 
 hotels of the place, of course ; but he didn't own 
 them, and had nothing whatever to do with their 
 affairs. As for his influence, he imagined that 
 he should succeed in conducting himself in the 
 future as in the past, in such a way as to be above 
 reproach, at least outside of his own family. Of 
 course Mrs. Stuart Bacon and a few gossiping 
 women of her clique would talk ; that was their 
 special forte, as he had intimated ; probably he 
 would come in for a share of the censure that 
 they distributed so liberally, but he believed he 
 was able to endure even that. 
 
 In short, Ruth knew, long before the interview 
 was concluded, that her plea was utterly hopeless. 
 The very pride on which she had depended seemed 
 to be a weapon turned against her. His pride 
 would not permit him to seem to be swerved from 
 his position one half inch by what he was pleased 
 to term "gossiping interference in what did not 
 concern them." I have not given you an idea of 
 the half he said. Through the entire interview he 
 maintained his ironical tone and careless manner, 
 omitting no opportunity for using the keen sarcasm 
 in which nature and education had made him an 
 expert. Maintaining, also, his air of exceeding 
 politeness and courteous attention, even bending 
 to draw a wrap closer about his wife, when he saw 
 that she shivered, and himself rearranging the open 
 
" W. C. T. U." 131 
 
 grate fire which he knew was one of her luxuries. 
 And finally paring with much care an orange, half 
 of which he presented to her on a fruit plate in 
 the midst of one of her earnest arguments, with 
 the smiling statement that perhaps she would not 
 object to orange juice in that shape, although 
 she had spurned his other offering meant for her 
 refreshment. 
 
 Altogether, Ruth went from the room more 
 utterly humiliated than she ever remembered to 
 have been before. 
 
 That she had signally failed, was only too 
 evident ; that she had nothing but failure to re- 
 port to the waiting and hopeful ladies, was morti- 
 fication enough ; but there were deeper reaches to 
 it than this. How had it happened that she, who 
 had been so eagerly sought after, so earnestly 
 and persistently wooed, chosen without a doubt 
 because she was beloved, how had it come to pass 
 that after the lapse of years she really had no 
 more influence with her husband than this ? 
 
 Failing in appreciating her conscientious scruples, 
 why did he not, at least in a matter of this kind, 
 involving only money, take pleasure in yielding to 
 her whims if he pleased to call them so ? She 
 knew husbands who gratified their wives, from no 
 higher motives than such as these. Why was not 
 her wish in these matters a law to him, which 
 it gave him pleasure to follow ? Long into the 
 night Ruth questioned, and wept, and prayed and 
 
132 
 
 mourned. Nothing was plainer to her than that 
 even the Christian life for which she thought she 
 was all the while contending, had been largely a 
 failure. 
 
 She had succeeded only in irritating her husband 
 by her display of it. It had brought no sunshine 
 into her home or life. She had not yielded in 
 places where she could have done so, as well as 
 not. She had consulted her tastes, instead of her 
 husband's, even where conscience had had nothing 
 to say. She had been a painstaking mother, but 
 even here she had failed. Had she not often let 
 her morbid fears of what might happen, not to the 
 soul, but to the beautiful body of the boy, push in 
 and thwart some cherished scheme of his father's ? 
 
 Was it, after all, any wonder that when she 
 suddenly confronted him with her opinions, and 
 almost demanded from him actions in accordance 
 with her ideas, that he should resort to sarcasm 
 and irony and hold his ground ? 
 
 Never had poor Ruth's insulted conscience read 
 her .a sterner lecture than on that weary night. 
 Humiliating failure ! and the humiliating confes- 
 sion to her own heart that she was, in a sense, to 
 blame. And the very hardest of it was, that she 
 saw no way out. She could not explain these 
 things to her husband, because he was on such a 
 different moral plane from herself that he would 
 utterly misunderstand her ; he would think she 
 had confessed herself as wrong in principle, and 
 
"W. C. T. U.' 133 
 
 would immediately, as indeed he had already done, 
 plan for the most impossible concessions to his 
 views. 
 
 But in the meantime, she must put aside all 
 these burdens and decide just what to do. She 
 had promised to report the result of her effort. 
 How should she do it ? She would write to the 
 ladies ; would explain that her husband had given 
 his word, before she knew anything about the mat- 
 ter, and could not withdraw from it honorably. 
 He had said as much ; could she not repeat it ? 
 and- was more detail than this necessary ? Yet 
 her honest soul revolted from such a statement ; 
 for she knew at this moment that the matter was 
 still not so fully settled but that had it been made 
 to appear for Judge Burnham's interests to change, 
 he would probably have done so. The furthest she 
 got at last, was to determine to wait another day 
 until her intense excitement and pain had had 
 time to dull a little before she attempted any re- 
 port. Afterward, she wondered whether even that 
 had not been a concession to the enemy, which had 
 caused her more trouble. 
 
 In point of fact, two days passed, and still she 
 had made the waiting and anxious ladies no reply. 
 As she went down to dinner on the evening of the 
 second day, she assured herself that she would 
 write that letter the next morning before ten 
 o'clock ; but she did not. Life had gone with her 
 during these two days much as usual. She had 
 
134 
 
 seen almost nothing of her husband, he having 
 been detained in town late, by reason of some pro- 
 fessional perplexity. The young ladies were busy 
 with their regular routine of society life ; the week 
 had perhaps been unusually gay, and Ruth and her 
 boy had spent much time alone. 
 
 Was it fate, she wondered, or providence that 
 led her that evening as they were on their way 
 down to dinner,, to say with sudden fervor of 
 appeal to the impressionable boy the words she 
 did ? They had been standing by the window 
 watching for papa, and had seen reeling by, a 
 young man scarcely that; a mere boy in years 
 well-dressed, with the air even then of the well- 
 bred about him, but with that painful swaying in 
 his walk that can mean but one thing. And the 
 boy had been startled, dismayed, and had ques- 
 tioned eagerly, and returned to the subject again 
 and again, and the mother, with a terrible pain in 
 her heart, had recognized the young man as Mrs. 
 Stuart Bacon's son. On the way down-stairs, 
 Erskine had put his other question, and then she 
 had turned to him with this appeal, 
 
 "My boy, promise your mother that you will 
 never touch a drop of anything that can possibly 
 make you walk as that young man did ! " 
 
 " Why, mamma, I have promised, you know. I 
 promised you, and I promised God." 
 
 " I know it, my darling ; promise again. Mamma 
 loves to hear the words : Whatever happens, who- 
 
" W. C. T. U. 135 
 
 ever asks you, unless you are very, very sick, and 
 the doctor, and mamma, too, if I am there, say it 
 is right." 
 
 She could not help that little proviso. And the 
 boy promised again. Then they went into the 
 dining-room, and that miserable orange wine was 
 on the table. It had been on several times since 
 the first scene connected with it, and the Judge 
 and his daughters had drank it when they would, 
 but none had been offered to Mrs. Burnham or the 
 child. 
 
 Judge Burnham was not in an amiable mood 
 Heavy wrinkles made seams -across his forehead, 
 and his eyes had an irritable glitter in them. Truth 
 to tell, he was not so indifferent to the tongues of 
 a few gossiping women as he would have his wife 
 imagine, and the Woman's Christian Temperance 
 Union, while waiting for their report from Mrs. 
 Burnham, had by no means been idle, and sen- 
 tences not complimentary to his name had reached 
 his ears several times during the day. These, in 
 connection with certain other business perplex- 
 ities, served to make him less ready than usual to 
 throw aside care. 
 
 I am afraid it must be admitted that it was 
 pure maliciousness on the part of Minta that made 
 her suddenly exclaim, looking at Erskine, " How 
 thin and pale that child is growing ! He needs 
 tonics, I believe. Here, Erskine, take a swallow 
 of this, and see how nice it is ; it will be good for 
 
136 
 
 you." And she held toward him her glass of 
 wine. 
 
 It was maliciousness, I suppose, but not very 
 deep. She was rather fond of a little scene, such 
 as would call a flush to her step-mother's face, and 
 give them the benefit of a sharp passage at arms. 
 She expected nothing more ; but almost in the 
 same breath with Erskine' s " O, no ! thank you ; 
 I don't want any," came his father's stern com- 
 mand, 
 
 " Erskine, do as your sister tells you, at once ! " 
 
 Then Erskine, trembling under the weight of 
 the sternness he had never been spoken to in 
 that tone in his life before, 
 
 " Oh ! but, papa, I can't ; please excuse me : I 
 cannot drink any wine." 
 
 " Obey me immediately ! " 
 
 "Oh! but, papa, I can't, you know ; I promised." 
 
 " Erskine, either obey me immediately, and take 
 a drink from that glass, or go to my dressing-room, 
 and wait there until I come." 
 
 Trembling, frightened, half-blinded by the rush 
 of tears, the little boy did not hesitate even for a 
 second, but went across the room and out of the 
 door. 
 
 It was well that the meal was nearly concluded, 
 and the servants had left the room. The mother 
 felt that though her life had depended on it, she 
 could neither have eaten another mouthful nor 
 spoken another word. 
 
"W. C. T. U." 137 
 
 As for Minta, to do her justice, she was half- 
 scared and wholly repentant. 
 
 A messenger came just as they left the table 
 with a business telegram for Judge Burnham. He 
 detained the boy while he wrote a reply, and Ruth 
 went with swift steps to his dressing-room. 
 
 " Mamma, O, dear mamma ! " said the frightened 
 child, " what made papa speak so to me ? Was I 
 naughty ? " 
 
 " My darling, did you not keep the promise that 
 you made to God ? How could that be naughty ? " 
 
 " But it made papa angry. Oh ! dear mamma, 
 what will he do ? Will he whip me, do you think, 
 like the boy in the picture ? " 
 
 " My darling, that was a picture of a drunken 
 man ; you have no such father as that. Papa 
 does not understand ; he will let you explain, I 
 think. I will see him myself if I can." 
 
 And to the baby's urging that she would stay 
 with him, she turned resolutely away, assuring him 
 that that would be treating papa rudely, and that 
 she would try to see him, and explain what Erskine 
 meant. But she did not. He went directly to his 
 dressing-room by way of the library stair-case, and 
 let himself in at the back door with his key. 
 
 10 
 
138 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 "THE DEED FOR THE \ 
 
 MRS. BURNHAM, failing in her intention 
 to waylay her husband, returned to her 
 own room, which opened into the dressing-room. 
 Too nervous to take a seat, she walked the floor, 
 anxious, irresolute, miserable. She longed to go 
 to her child, but would not insult her husband 
 by seeming to be afraid to leave his son alone 
 with him. Ominous silence reigned in the dress- 
 ing-room. Judge Burnham had opened a drawer 
 somewhat noisily on the moment of his entrance, 
 but had spoken no word, so far as his wife could 
 hear. Suddenly on the quiet air came the sound 
 of a blow, accompanied by a little wailing cry, 
 
 " O, papa, dear papa, please don't ! Mamma 
 said you wouldn't ; she said you would let me 
 explain that I couldn't, because I have promised 
 God." 
 
 No reply at all from the angry father, save of 
 the sort which seemed to scar Ruth's very soul. 
 Her little sheltered darling, who had never before 
 known what physical pain was, except as sickness 
 
"THE DEED FOR THE WILL." 139 
 
 had shown it to him ! How could his father strike 
 the little delicate hand, and for such a reason ! 
 The wife's whole soul rose up in rebellion. 
 
 " Please, papa, let me tell you about it. Oh J 
 papa, you hurt me very much." 
 
 But there was no reply. Should the mother 
 rush in, and, before her child, demand that this 
 insulting demonstration of passion should cease ? 
 All her ideas of wifely loyalty rose up to object 
 to this course, but she paced the floor like a caged 
 lioness, and said aloud, 
 
 " I cannot bear this ; I ought not to bear it." 
 
 It was well, perhaps, for all concerned that the 
 scene was short. Judge Burnham spoke at last a 
 few low words, which his wife could not catch, and 
 then immediately entered her room. 
 
 Erskine's punishment had been neither prolonged 
 nor severe. The average boy would probably have 
 minded it but very little; would perhaps have been 
 used to such a mode of correction. But Ruth 
 knew that her cherished son, with his unusually 
 gentle and easily-ruled nature, had inherited from 
 her such a shrinking horror of anything in the 
 form of a blow, that she felt sure he must be 
 quivering from head to foot, not with physical 
 pain, but with a sort of nervous terror, which he 
 did not understand and could not control. She 
 was not, therefore, in a mood to receive her hus- 
 band's words quietly. 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, I request as a favor that you 
 
140 
 
 will not see Erskine again to-night ; I have pun- 
 ished him for disobedience, and told him to go 
 immediately to bed." 
 
 He had seen his wife in various states of mind 
 in the course of the last half-dozen years, but had 
 never felt before, and may never again, the blaze 
 that was in her eyes as she turned them fully on 
 him, and spoke in low, quick tones : 
 
 " It is a favor which will not be granted. You 
 have been cruel and unjust. If you have a moral 
 nature, you must by this time be ashamed of your- 
 self. I shall go to my child at once, and make 
 what reparation I can for his father's injustice." 
 
 Then, before he could recover himself sufficiently 
 to detain her even with a word, she had disappeared 
 through the door which led into Erskine's fair little 
 room. 
 
 As she had supposed, she found the child sobbing 
 violently. He had run to his room, by the dressing- 
 room entrance, the instant his father released him, 
 and, burying his little brown head in the pillows, 
 was trembling and moaning, so that one who under- 
 stood him less than his mother, would have sup- 
 posed him in mortal pain. In an instant he was 
 gathered to her arms, covered with kisses and 
 caresses, and overwhelmed with loving words. 
 But he could not yet control the tempest of sur- 
 prise and pain. 
 
 " O, mamma ! " he sobbed, " O, mamma ! he 
 did he did like the man in the picture. You 
 
said he wouldn't, and he did. O, mamma ! what 
 can I do ? O, mamma ! " 
 
 If Mrs. Burnham should live to be a white- 
 haired old woman, she will never, I think, for- 
 get the experiences of that evening. It was not 
 because the boy had been made to suffer physically. 
 She had sense enough, even in her excitement, to 
 understand that the punishment had been what 
 people accustomed to such ways of dealing with 
 their children would have called slight ; but there 
 are pains much deeper than those which the flesh 
 can endure. She knew only too well that her 
 child had lost faith in his father. How was it 
 possible for the thoughtful boy, wise beyond his 
 years, to think that he had been treated other 
 than unjustly, especially in the light of the ques- 
 tions he asked, and the answers she felt obliged to 
 give ? 
 
 " Did I do wrong, mamma ? You said I didn't. 
 But if I didn't, why did papa punish me ? You 
 said they punished people who did wrong ?" 
 
 " My darling, I cannot think that you did any- 
 thing wrong. You had made a solemn promise. 
 Papa did not know it ; did not understand ; he 
 thought you were disobedient." 
 
 " Oh ! but, mamma, I told him. I told him that 
 I had got down on my knees and promised God 
 that I never would, and he didn't listen at all. 
 O, mamma, mamma ! will he punish me every 
 time I try to keep my promise to God ? " 
 
142 
 
 Do you wonder that the troubled mother set her 
 lips hard, and said in her heart, " No, he never 
 shall ? " But she had grace enough not to say it 
 aloud. Yet what must she say ? 
 
 She drew a low rocker and took the still trem- 
 bling child in her arms, dipping her hand in cold 
 water, and then making with it soft, cooling touches 
 over the heated face and head, and speaking low 
 and soothingly : 
 
 " My darling, mamma's darling, there are some 
 things that I cannot explain ; when you are older 
 you will understand. I do not think papa will 
 punish you in this way again. When he thinks it 
 over, he will see that you meant to do right." 
 
 Silence for a moment : then the voice went on 
 firmly. Her decision had been made. 
 
 "Erskine, papa does not think about some 
 things as I do, and as I believe God does, and as 
 I want you to think. Some day I hope he will, 
 and you and I must pray every day to the dear 
 God to make papa his follower in all things. In 
 the meantime, my darling, what you and I find in 
 the Bible that God has spoken, we will try to do 
 always, whether it is hard or easy. Shall we not?" 
 
 She had never said so much before ; questions 
 innumerable she had evaded or half-answered, after 
 the manner of loyal Christian wives, in divided 
 homes ; now it seemed to her that the time had 
 come when she must plainly say, " There are 
 things, solemn, all-important things, about which 
 
" THE DEED FOR THE WILL. 143 
 
 we are not agreed." But what an admission for a 
 wife to make ! Will she ever forget the pain of 
 that last question, asked with a little sobbing sigh, 
 before her baby went to sleep, " Oh ! dear mamma, 
 why do not papas and mammas both think like 
 God ? " 
 
 At the earliest possible hour when a call was 
 admissible, the next morning, Mrs. Burnham's 
 card was sent up to Mrs. Stuart Bacon. She had 
 determined to give her answer in person. She 
 made no attempt at circumlocution, but came di- 
 rectly to the point : 
 
 " Mrs. Bacon, I have failed in the work given 
 me to do ; perhaps you know from your experi- 
 ences of life that husband and wife are not always 
 as one where business matters are concerned ; I 
 think my husband believes his word to be pledged. 
 No words of mine will express to you the regret 
 that I feel at my failure. I have not shown my- 
 self so skillful a worker that you should care to 
 have me join your ranks, but, at the same time, I 
 want to say to you that I have changed my mind 
 since Tuesday. I want to join your Union, and I 
 pledge my personal support and effort in any direc- 
 tion where I can be made useful." 
 
 So much, at least, for the cause Judge Burnham 
 had accomplished. He was not a very self-com- 
 placent man during the days that immediately 
 followed. His wife's cold, stern words had burned 
 deeply, and as soon as the first storm of passion 
 
144 "THE DEED FOR THE WILL." 
 
 was over, he could not but acknowledge to himself' 
 that there had been a shade of truth in them. 
 
 What a surprising thing that he who had always 
 prided himself on his liberality of thought and 
 feeling, who had always good-naturedly argued 
 that the veriest cranks of society should be al- 
 lowed to ride their hobbies according to their own 
 sweet wills, so long as they injured no one ; that 
 he should have so far forgotten himself as to 
 command a child to do that which was not only 
 contrary to his mother's teachings, but contrary 
 to the baby's notions of what a Supreme Being 
 demanded of him ! 
 
 Judge Burnham was by no means a Christian 
 man ; at the same time he was very far removed 
 from being an infidel. He often smiled, and occa- 
 sionally he sneered, at some of the ideas belonging 
 to Christianity ; still, he explained to himself that 
 his smiles and sneers were for the out-croppings of 
 ideas belonging to ignorant fanatics, not to the 
 actual verities themselves. He assured himself 
 that certain forms of worship were eminently fit- 
 ting as offered to the Creator by the creature ; 
 also that certain outgrowths of Christianity were 
 elevating and worthy of all respect. He assured 
 himself that he had never objected to his wife's 
 position as a member of the church. That was 
 eminently a fitting position for a woman ; it was 
 the unreasoning submission which she gave to the 
 demands of fanaticism that disturbed him. 
 
"THE DEED FOR THE WILL. 145 
 
 But that he should have so far forgotten himself 
 as to allow his child to see that there was a differ- 
 ence of opinion between them was, he admitted, 
 ungentlemanly. 
 
 Especially was it offensive to him that the differ- 
 ence of opinion should have shown itself in the 
 line of a mere appetite ; a thing which should, of 
 course, be subordinate ; as he thought of it, he 
 actually could not help curling his lip at himself. 
 It was of no use trying to restore his self-respect 
 by saying that the issue between them had to be 
 met, and disobedience punished, no matter how 
 trifling the occasion ; he was perfectly aware that 
 he had himself made the issue, made it unneces- 
 sarily, in a way that he would not have done, had 
 he not been irritated about something else ; and 
 that, while it was a trifle to him, it was an in- 
 tensely serious matter to the child. 
 
 On the whole, the gentleman did what might, 
 perhaps, be called somewhat profitable thinking 
 during the days that followed. 
 
 To his wife he was unfailingly courteous, even 
 kind, despite her cold, quiet dignity ; he made no 
 attempt to resent this ; on the contrary, he even 
 respected her for it. She had spoken some very 
 plain words to him words which stung deeply at 
 the time, but he could not help the admission that 
 there was truth in them. You will remember 
 that he was a successful lawyer ; accustomed to 
 weighing questions carefully, and giving decisions, 
 
146 
 
 and his judgment had given a decision in this case 
 which by no means acquitted himself. He was 
 not the sort of man who could frankly say, " I 
 was in the wrong, I beg you will forgive." Such 
 a statement calls for a very high grade of charac- 
 ter ; calls, perhaps, for Christian character, though 
 there have been men who knew how to say " for- 
 give me " to mortals, not yet having learned to 
 say it to Christ. 
 
 Judge Burnham was not one, but he knew how 
 to act the words gracefully and persistently. His 
 little son helped him also to a smaller opinion of 
 himself ; no trace of resentment lingered on the 
 child's sweet, bright face. A little touch of shy- 
 ness there was, a questioning, half-startled glance, 
 each time he met him afresh, as though he were 
 wondering in his child-mind whether he had un- 
 wittingly given occasion for offense, but, receiving 
 his father's smile, he sprang joyously into his arms 
 and lavished kisses as before. They were inex- 
 pressibly sweet to the father's heart. Ruth, too, 
 was glad over them. Her own soul had been 
 hurt, but she did not wish the child to feel a last- 
 ing sting. He had settled the question for him- 
 self with the next morning's sunlight. " Mamma," 
 he had said, with his brightest smile, " I've thought 
 it all out ; he did not want me to disobey you and 
 God, but he had to punish me because I disobeyed 
 him ; don't you see ? I don't mind it now ; it 
 didn't hurt me much, only it was so dreadful, you 
 
147 
 
 know. But now that I understand, it doesn't 
 seem bad." 
 
 It was baby logic ; Ruth had to smile over it, 
 albeit behind the smile there was a tear ; but she 
 made no attempt to reason the thought away. In 
 fact, as the days passed, there seemed to be 
 method in the reasoning. The objectionable wine 
 was on the table once or twice, but none was 
 offered to the child ; and, on the third day after 
 the dinner-table scene, Ruth overheard this order 
 given by the master of the house, 
 
 " Robert, you need not serve any more of that 
 wine at table ; Mrs. Burnham doesn't care for it, 
 and it isn't what I thought it was ; pack it away in 
 the cellar ; it may be needed sometime." 
 
 It was nearly a week afterward that Judge Burn- 
 ham came home earlier by several hours than was 
 his custom, and found both his wife and son in the 
 library, intent over a new book that had many 
 illustrations. The child sprang to meet him as 
 usual. Ruth tried to make her greeting cordial ; 
 she did not want to continue the wall of reserve 
 that she had raised between her husband and her- 
 self, but she did not know how to lower it. That 
 he had pained her unutterably was not to be denied, 
 but that because of it she was henceforth to show 
 only cold displeasure, was, of course, folly ; the 
 more so because of the boy's constant lesson of 
 confiding love. 
 
 So now she closed her book, and made some 
 
148 
 
 general inquiries as to the day's experiences, try- 
 ing to make her voice sound free and social. But 
 Judge Burnham was preoccupied. He set Erskine 
 down, after a few kisses, and, throwing himself 
 into a vacant chair across the room from his wife, 
 drew from his pocket a formidable-looking docu- 
 ment, bristling with seals, and tossed it to the 
 child. 
 
 " Here, my boy, is a new plaything for you." 
 
 " A plaything ! Why, papa, what is it for ? Is 
 it sealed ? Why, no, it is open, and it is all written 
 over. How funny ! Is it a great big letter ? " 
 
 " Not exactly ; in law we call it a deed." 
 
 "And what is a deed ? " 
 
 Judge Burnham laughed, and glanced at his 
 wife. 
 
 " It means, in this case, a transfer of property." 
 
 " Papa, I don't understand." 
 
 " Don't you ? That is surprising. Let me see 
 if I can explain ; a deed, this deed, at least, is to 
 declare that I am no longer the owner of a certain 
 piece of property ; that I have given up all right 
 and title to it from this time forth." 
 
 " Why have you done it, papa ? What property 
 is it, and who has bought it ? " 
 
 " For good and sufficient reasons ; I am to an- 
 swer your questions in course, am I not ? You 
 ask three. The property is the house on the 
 corner of Markam Square, known as the Shenan- 
 doah ; and it now belongs to a person by the 
 
" THE DEED FOR THE WILL. I4Q 
 
 name of Erskine Powers Burnham. Are you ac- 
 quainted with him ? " 
 
 The flush on the child's face was pretty to see ; 
 but Judge Burnham was looking at his wife. 
 
 " Papa, that is my name ; my whole name ; but 
 of course you can't mean me ! " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because why, papa, could a little boy have 
 a great big house for his own ? Would you give 
 it to me ? " 
 
 "So it seems. That deed says so; it needs 
 only the addition of your mother's name to make 
 it complete, and I have an idea that she can be 
 persuaded to sign it." 
 
 " But, papa, what will I do with it ? I'm not big 
 enough, am I ? " 
 
 " You will be ; meantime, you can consult with 
 your mother as to what you will, or will not have 
 done ; and you might retain me for your legal 
 adviser ; I will act in that capacity to the best 
 of my abilities, under your and your mamma's 
 directions. " 
 
 " Mamma," said Erskine, " did you ever hear of 
 anything so nice ? A whole big house ! " 
 
 And Ruth, looking past the boy, said, 
 
 " Thank you ; thank you more than words can 
 tell ! " 
 
I5O THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 A FTER that there was a lull in the Burnhatn 
 ^j^- household. The various excitements of the 
 days just passed seemed to have been somewhat 
 like storms, which left the air clearer. 
 
 There was, about this time, some letting-up in 
 the pressure of Judge Burnham's business affairs, 
 and he was more at home, and exerted himself to 
 be entertaining to both wife and son. As for 
 Ruth, she made many concessions in the way of 
 society life ; went with her husband to several 
 state dinners that bored her exceedingly, and 
 even to an elegant breakfast or two, and to one 
 massive and oppressive evening party, where the 
 crowds were too great either for dancing or cards ; 
 and she tormented her conscience, when once 
 more at home, by asking it in what respect the 
 evening's entertainments had been lifted higher 
 because of the absence of these amusements, or 
 whether it would not have been better to have 
 danced than to have indulged in some of the chit- 
 chat which she overheard ; that old pretense of 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 15! 
 
 logic which she was too tired, just then, to cast 
 aside, paralleled in folly by the statement, " It is 
 better to lie than to steal ; " while one forgets or 
 ignores the fact that if such a statement could be 
 proven, it would prove nothing, unless, indeed, 
 one were driven of necessity to a choice between 
 those two employments. 
 
 As for the young ladies, their life flowed on 
 in an endless stream of parties, concerts, private 
 theatricals, and what not. Ruth was indebted 
 to them for some letting-up of her burdens. It 
 was their choice not to have the elegant entertain- 
 ment which was being planned, until toward the 
 close of the season ; Seraph, who was more out- 
 spoken on many subjects than her sister, announc- 
 ing frankly that their object was to see what the 
 Everetts and the Wheelmans were going to do 
 before their turn came, as there were hints in the 
 air of something very unique from those quarters, 
 and they, the Misses Burnham, were fully resolved 
 that nothing more brilliant than their own party 
 should be possible, that season. 
 
 So Ruth breathed more freely because of this 
 respite, and kept her plans concerning the gather- 
 ing to herself ; time enough to bring them to the 
 . front, to be perhaps sharply combated, when the 
 occasion for action was at hand. Meantime, in 
 her leisure hours, she had some interests more to 
 her mind than society furnished. She was now a 
 member of the Woman's Christian Temperance 
 
152 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 Union ; and in their weekly gathering for prayer 
 she found herself surrounded once more by an 
 atmosphere of earnest Christian life, that rested 
 and encouraged her. She had been so long among 
 people who did not know how to pray, that she had 
 almost forgotten how busy some women were in 
 their Lord's vineyard. It was inexpressibly com- 
 forting to be greeted as one of their number, and 
 to hear her name mentioned gratefully in their 
 prayers. It being utterly foreign to her nature to 
 live ever so slight a deception, she had told her 
 husband, at the first opportunity, of her joining 
 herself to this organization ; but it was at a time 
 when he was undergoing that sharp self-question- 
 ing which I told you was not without its good 
 results, and though he winced a little at the infor- 
 mation, and shrugged his shoulders, and said he 
 had supposed such organizations were not in ac- 
 cordance with her taste, yet, on the whole, he bore 
 the news very well ; there were no crusades in the 
 air at present, and although it was never safe to 
 prophesy what a band of women would do, still, 
 when it came to the point, he felt that he could 
 probably trust his wife's elegant, high-bred nature 
 to do nothing incongruous ; that they should meet 
 to pray each week certainly could not harm any- 
 body, and, while it was peculiar, of course there 
 was nothing low about it ; so, if they enjoyed 
 such occupations, why should they not indulge 
 themselves ? 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 153 
 
 Judge Burn ham realized that he was just now 
 in high favor with the leading spirits of this 
 Union ; their smiles were bright, and their bows 
 most cordial, when they met him on the street ; 
 two or three, indeed, had offered him personal 
 thanks for his intervention in behalf of their 
 homes ; and though he had gaily disclaimed any 
 complicity with their schemes, and assured them 
 that he was no longer the owner of the Shenan- 
 doah, and therefore not responsible for any of the 
 whims which had brought about the present state 
 of ill-humor on the landlord's part, they accepted 
 this as a graceful joke, and were grateful, all the 
 same. As for the little new owner of the Shen- 
 andoah, it had not taken him an hour to learn how 
 to " instruct his legal adviser" in such a thorough 
 manner that the guests of that house had still to 
 look elsewhere for their choice wines. 
 
 Matters generally were in the condition of lull 
 which I have described, when Judge Burnham 
 came home one evening, later than usual, with 
 the announcement that he must leave, by the 
 morning train, for a long, and, he feared, tedious 
 business trip, that would detain him for perhaps 
 two months. He spent half an hour in trying to 
 convince Ruth that she could accompany him, 
 leaving Erskine in charge of the young ladies ; 
 but, rinding her steadily determined to do no such 
 thing, he abandoned the idea, and gave himself to 
 the business of making ready. 
 
 ii 
 
154 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 Frequent journeys had been common experiences 
 of his business life ; but this was a more extended 
 absence than he had of late been obliged to make, 
 and Ruth, as she turned from the platform where, 
 with Erskine, she had watched until the smoke 
 of his departing train was lost in cloud, felt an 
 unusual sense of loneliness ; life had been pleas- 
 anter, during these few weeks, than in a long time 
 before ; it seemed hard that the pleasantness must 
 be so soon broken. Erskine begged to wait and 
 watch the east-bound train, which was even then 
 whistling in the distance, and among the passengers 
 who hurried from it his mother saw young Hamlin. 
 His California trip was concluded, then ; would his 
 intimacy with Minta be renewed, she wondered, 
 or had she already found some greater attraction ? 
 And then she told herself resolutely that she 
 need not worry about that ; she had done what 
 she could in regard to it ; if they chose to be 
 intimate friends now, they need not fear inter- 
 ference from her. 
 
 In the leisure from wifely duties which now 
 came to her, she found herself turning more and 
 more to the society of the women who composed 
 the Christian Temperance Union. The prayer 
 meeting, never very largely attended, was yet the 
 gathering place for the choice spirits of the Union, 
 and Ruth found herself rested and uplifted when- 
 ever she came in contact with them. She grew 
 more and more interested in their plans for meet- 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 155 
 
 ing the enemy, and began to take an earnest part 
 in some of them. She might never have made 
 the proposition, but she warmly seconded it, when 
 one of the ladies said she thought they were 
 strong enough to sustain a gospel temperance 
 meeting on Sunday afternoons. Ruth had very 
 little idea what sort of gatherings these were, 
 but the name sounded inviting. The first meet- 
 ing was a revelation to her. People came whom 
 she thought never went to meeting ; and behaved, 
 some of them, in such a manner as to make her 
 half feel that they would better not be there. 
 Wasn't it a sort of sacrilege to permit such con- 
 duct in a religious gathering ? However, she rose 
 above this ; if they did not know how to behave 
 in a gospel meeting, or, knowing, did not care, 
 surely they needed the enlightening and refining 
 influences of the gospel in an unusual degree. 
 Besides, sorfle of them sat quite still, chewed no 
 tobacco, and listened, especially when Mrs. Bacon 
 prayed, as though there was a new power about 
 them, whose influence they felt. Ruth grew 
 intensely interested. 
 
 Meantime, home-life went on much as usual. 
 The young ladies were out every evening, and 
 kept closely to their rooms during the day, when 
 not riding or paying visits ; so that the lady of the 
 house saw very little of them. She was relieved 
 from even the semblance of supervision over their 
 goings and comings, by the installment of one 
 
I $6 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 who was supposed to have the right to protect 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Jerome Satterley deserves, possibly, more 
 than a passing introduction ; yet I find that I have 
 heretofore not remembered to give him even that. 
 You are to understand, then, that he had, quite 
 recently, come into the family life as Miss Seraph's 
 accepted suitor. Ruth, when informed of it, had 
 realized, once more, that she certainly was not the 
 mother of these girls ; had she been, with what an 
 utter sinking of heart would she have given one 
 away into the keeping of such a man as Jerome 
 Satterley ! As it was, she smiled a faint smile, 
 which had in it the slightest possible curve of 
 the upper lip, as she said to Judge Burnham, 
 " People must choose according to their individual 
 tastes, I suppose." 
 
 Yet Mr. Jerome Satterley, in the eyes of the 
 fastidious, fashionable world, was considered un- 
 exceptionable. He belonged to one of the old 
 families of the city, had a reasonable fortune in 
 his own right, and an unlimited one which would 
 probably come to him in the future. He was 
 elegant in dress and manner ; his mustache was 
 carefully waxed, his shapely hands were cared for 
 tenderly, and he knew how to hold a lady's fan 
 or parasol, or attend her to the piano, or the 
 carriage, or the refreshment room in the most 
 approved style. In fact, the girls in that stage 
 of development, when such phrases are used, said 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 157 
 
 his manners were " perfectly lovely ! " Yet Mrs. 
 Burnham, unreasonable mortal, regarded him with 
 feelings which were on the very verge of dislike. 
 He had been well enough when she could pass 
 him, along with others of his clique, with a cold 
 bow, or, at most, a dignified " good-evening." But 
 to be on such terms that he felt privileged to toy 
 with the spools in her work-basket, and say inane 
 nothings to her, while he waited for the young 
 ladies, or to saunter in just before the bell rang, 
 and announce that he had come to stay to dinner, 
 and to be obliged to accord to him not only the 
 attention of a polite hostess, but a semblance of 
 the familiarity which his position in the family 
 circle demanded, this was, to the last degree, an 
 annoyance to Mrs. Burnham. 
 
 It was all the more trying, of course, because 
 Mr. Satterley remained in blissful ignorance of his 
 inability to entertain or interest his prospective 
 mother-in-law. Truth to tell, he believed himself 
 to be irresistible to all ladies, of whatever age and 
 position. He considered himself posted on all 
 subjects, whether in art, literature, or music ; and 
 unhesitatingly expressed his opinions, with an air 
 that was intended to quench any opposing views, 
 from any source whatever. Indeed, so entirely sat- 
 isfied was he with his own wisdom, that I do not 
 think he would have hesitated to dispute the most 
 eminent scientist which the world has produced, 
 if he ventured a scientific statement not in accord- 
 
158 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 ance with Mr. Satterley's preconceived opinion, 
 though that opinion might have been adopted 
 because of a chance remark that he had heard 
 some one make at the breakfast-table that morn- 
 ing. In short, Mr. Satterley had an abundance of 
 the conceit which is the visible sign of superfici- 
 ality. You will, perhaps, be able to imagine how 
 trying, to a woman of Mrs. Burnham's stamp, was 
 anything like familiarity with such a person. She 
 confessed to herself, with cheeks that burned over 
 the thought, that such things had power to annoy 
 her ; that when he began with an, " Oh ! my dear 
 Mrs. Burnham, I assure you, you are utterly mis- 
 taken," about some matter, trivial in itself, but 
 about which common sense would suppose her to 
 be better posted than he could be, she felt, some- 
 times, like throwing her book at him. 
 
 Especially was it trying to her when he dis- 
 coursed learnedly on religious topics, making the 
 wildest statements, which were without even the 
 shadow of a solid foundation, and proceeding 
 gravely to argue about them as the accepted stan- 
 dards of the Church. Of course he was a young 
 man, holding " literal views," and "advanced ideas," 
 and whatever other term may be coined to dis- 
 guise indifference or antagonism. And the patro- 
 nizing way in which he would sometimes say, 
 " Why, my dear Mrs. Burnham, I assure you, you 
 are too cultivated a woman to hold to any such 
 ignorant absurdities as are involved in that belief," 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 159 
 
 made Ruth resolve, more than once, that she 
 would make no reply to any of his platitudes, on 
 any subject whatever. 
 
 " He is in his very babyhood as regards con- 
 versation," she said to herself, with curling lip. 
 " Of what use to try to talk with such a person ? " 
 But when a man asks a point-blank question, it is 
 very difficult to make no reply. 
 
 It was just after one of these emphatic re- 
 solves, that Ruth sat, silent and annoyed, listening 
 to Mr. Satterley and Minta, while they merrily 
 chattered over a sermom that they had heard 
 preached the night before ; Mr. Satterley was 
 waiting to escort Seraph to the theater, and this 
 was Minta's method of amusing him while he 
 waited. The text of the sermon had been quoted 
 in a tone which would indicate that that, too, was 
 food for amusement : " It is appointed unto all 
 men once to die, and after that the judgment." 
 After much merriment at the preacher's expense, 
 Mr. Satterley attacked Ruth's grave and silent 
 protest. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Burnham, don't you think such 
 themes are entirely obsolete, in these days ? " 
 
 "What themes?" 
 
 Determined not to discuss this question with 
 him, the only way seemed to be to ward off his 
 questions. 
 
 " Why, the themes which have to do with old 
 superstitious ideas of the judgment, and the 
 
I6O THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 attempt to frighten people into some sort of mys- 
 terious preparation for the same. I confess that 
 I thought all such ideas were obsolete among peo- 
 ple of culture." 
 
 " Do you think that death is obsolete, Mr. 
 Satterley ? " 
 
 " Oh ! death, why, dear madam, that is but a 
 debt which is paid to the laws of nature." 
 
 " Then is there any objection to learning how 
 to pay it gracefully ? If you are very familiar 
 with death-beds, you must be aware that there are 
 different ways of meeting this law ? By the way, 
 did it ever occur to you that it was a somewhat 
 bewildering law of nature which takes the little 
 child to-day, and the old man of threescore and 
 ten to-morrow ; and it may be a young woman, or 
 a young man in his prime, the next day ? I could 
 understand it better as a law, if it were held to 
 times and seasons, and meddled only with ripened 
 grain." 
 
 He seemed puzzled by her reply, quite different 
 from what he had expected, and hesitated for a 
 moment, during which Seraph entered in all the 
 dazzle of full dress. 
 
 " It is well you are come," Minta said ; " mamma 
 and Jerome are quarreling about death and kindred 
 cheerful subjects ; there is no telling what the out- 
 come would have been." 
 
 " It is suggestive, to say the least, Seraph, that 
 your dress is very thin, and your throat even more 
 
THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. l6l 
 
 exposed than usual ; and the night is cold. If I 
 might be allowed to advise, I should say you ought 
 to wear a warmer garment than that, unless you 
 desire to court the presence of some of Death's 
 attendants." 
 
 " Mamma," said Minta, with mock seriousness, 
 " that is almost a pun ; and about so solemn a sub- 
 ject as death. I am really shocked ! " 
 
 Then Seraph : " A warmer dress would be 
 more comfortable, I admit, but the trouble is, it 
 isn't fashionable to wear high-necked garments in 
 full dress. And you know, mamma, you trained 
 us to a very careful attention to fashion in all its 
 details ; we want to do full justice to your early 
 teachings. As Madame Dupont used to say, ' A 
 young lady who is not au fait in all that regards 
 the demands of fashion, is dead already/ " 
 
 It was a keen-pointed arrow, and it struck 
 home. Ruth sat and thought about it after she 
 was left alone, as she had sat and thought many a 
 day since her work for these girls began to develop 
 in ways oi; which she had not dreamed. 
 
 She had been careful even of the minutest de- 
 tails ; she had labored to impress upon the minds 
 of the uncouth, careless girls the importance of 
 tints, and shades, and widths, and shapes, and per- 
 fect fits. How could she know that they would 
 come to mean so much more to these girls than 
 she had meant ? so much more than they had ever 
 meant to her ? 
 
l62 THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD. 
 
 She recalled the day when Susan, having done 
 for them all she could, the question of boarding- 
 school was being discussed, and the claims of 
 Madame Dupont's establishment had been urged 
 by some of Ruth's fashionable friends. Susan had 
 said quietly, 
 
 " I know Madame Dupont's girls ; they all learn 
 how to dance and dress." 
 
 Then she, the one who had stood in the place 
 of mother, had replied : 
 
 " I know her girls have the name of being super- 
 ficial, but that depends, after all, more on the girls 
 than on their teachers. And really, Susan, it 
 seems absolutely necessary that Seraph and Minta 
 should go to a school where they give special 
 attention to grace of movement and refinement of 
 manner ; they are so deficient in these respects. 
 Beside, they teach dancing in all boarding-schools, 
 I suppose." 
 
 Susan' had said no more, and after further dis- 
 cussion, the choice was made in favor of Madame 
 Dupont, and to her the girls were sent for two 
 years. And Madame Dupont's teachings had 
 been : " A young lady who is not ait fait in all 
 that regards the demands of fashion, is . dead 
 already." 
 
 Ruth's memories ended, as they nearly always 
 did, with a sigh. 
 
A TROUBLESOME " YOUNG PERSON." 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ALMOST immediately after Seraph's departure 
 with Mr. Satterley, Minta had followed, with 
 Mr. Hamlin, leaving Mrs. Burnham to the troubled 
 thought of which I told you. 
 
 Mingling with her anxieties was this one which 
 had to do with young Hamlin. It was all very 
 well for her to assure herself that she had no 
 responsibility in the matter, that she had done all 
 she could ; the fact remained that people were 
 looking to her to interfere in this intimacy, which 
 seemed to have been renewed with tenfold vigor 
 since Mr. Hamlin's return. 
 
 Marion had sent her a little note, assuring her 
 that the very worst might be believed of the stories 
 which were afloat concerning him, and begging 
 her to use her influence with Judge Burnham 
 before it should be too late. " I have no influ- 
 ence, " declared Ruth ; she was quite alone when 
 she said it, and would not have repeated it in any 
 person's hearing for the world. But in her heart 
 she believed it to be painfully true ; at one time she 
 resolved to inclose Mrs. Dennis's note in her next 
 
164 A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON." 
 
 letter to her husband, without comment of any 
 sort ; but she shrank from doing this, in the belief 
 that only harm could come of it, and in her miser- 
 able vacillation as to what was best to do, she did 
 nothing. 
 
 Even though Mrs. Stuart Bacon said to her, 
 one day, " Dear Mrs. Burnham, do you know 
 it is probable that that young Hamlin may be 
 arrested for securing money under false pretenses ? 
 Isn't it sad, and his family connections have always 
 been so eminently respectable ? " Not a word 
 said Mrs. Stuart Bacon about the young man's 
 intimacy in her family, but Mrs. Burnham's cheeks 
 glowed over the thought that this, too, was a warning. 
 
 It was in the evening of that day that Mr. 
 Satterley said to her : " I doubt whether the Judge, 
 if he were at home, would care to have Minta's 
 name coupled with young Hamlin's as much as it 
 is ; there are some ugly stories afloat concerning 
 him." 
 
 "Then why do you not warn her?" Mrs. 
 Burnham had asked irritably, angry with herself 
 that, by so much, she must seem to accept his 
 relations with the family, and also that she must, 
 by this, admit to him her own powerlessness. 
 But Mr. Satterley had shrugged his shoulders, and 
 laughed, and asked her if her experiences with 
 Minta led her to believe that that young lady was 
 disposed to receive warnings very graciously. 
 And then they had been interrupted. 
 
A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON. l$ 
 
 These two last hints Mrs. Burnham did report 
 to her husband, with the information that the 
 young man was becoming marked in his -atten- 
 tions ; that on some pretext or other he and Minta 
 were together nearly every evening, and that, as 
 he was well aware, there was nothing which she 
 could say or do to prevent it. This letter was 
 sent after Judge Burnham had been absent for six 
 weeks, and his wife hoped that the hints it con- 
 tained might hasten his movements. 
 
 Meantime, on the evening in question, she was 
 not left long to solitude. Kate came to her in the 
 library with a puzzled air. " Mrs. Burnham, there 
 is a young person in the hall who asked to see you 
 on special business, and inquired particularly if you 
 were alone." 
 
 "What sort of a young person, Kate? Some 
 friend of the young ladies ? " 
 
 " I don't think so, ma'am ; oh ! no, I am sure it 
 isn't. She is neat-looking, and civil spoken enough, 
 but she doesn't belong to them." 
 
 "Then I suppose it is some one in search 
 of employment ; you might take her name and 
 address, and tell her I will see what I can do for 
 her, though I am not on that committee." 
 
 " If you please, Mrs. Burnham, I don't think 
 that will satisfy her. I asked her if there was 
 a message, and if it was something I could do for 
 her, and not trouble you ; and she said, O, no ! 
 she must see you, and see you quite alone." 
 
l66 A TROUBLESOME " YOUNG PERSON." 
 
 " Poor thing ! it must be some one in distress. 
 Let her come to the library, and excuse me to any 
 callers while she is here." 
 
 But the " young person " who presently appeared 
 before her did not look in the least as Ruth had 
 immediately planned that she should. She was a 
 girl of perhaps twenty, with a face which under 
 favorable circumstances might have been beauti- 
 ful ; as it was, framed in clustering, natural curls, 
 and set off by eyes which, when they were not 
 red with recent weeping, must have been very 
 lovely, she was strikingly interesting. Her man- 
 ner was so much that of a lady, that Ruth half 
 rose to meet her, with the ceremony of society cus- 
 toms, though the exceeding plainness of the young 
 woman's dress showed that she was not making an 
 ordinary society call. 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, I believe," she said, in a clear 
 and not uncultured voice. 
 
 " That is my name," said that lady. " Be seated, 
 please. You have the advantage of me ; your face 
 is familiar, but I cannot think where I have seen 
 it." 
 
 " I belong at the lace counter in Myers & 
 McAlpine's store ; you have seen me there." 
 
 The tone was very assured ; evidently this young 
 woman remembered her customer. A sudden light 
 appeared on Mrs. Burnham's face ; she recalled the 
 pretty young girl who had interested her by courte- 
 ous and unselfish ways. 
 
A TROUBLESOME " YOUNG PERSON." l6/ 
 
 " Be seated," she said again cordially, with a 
 wave of her hand toward the low rocker, near. 
 " I am glad you have come to see me ; is there 
 any way in which I can serve you ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, may I ask you a question which 
 may seem very rude ? I do not mean it for that." 
 
 " The poor child is in some trouble," thought 
 the lady ; " some difficulty between her employer 
 and herself, probably, in which she thinks I can 
 help her. Well, if I can, I will." 
 
 " Ask me whatever you wish," she said aloud, 
 " and I will answer it if I can," and her smile was 
 intended to be reassuring. But the question was 
 utterly unlike what she had expected. 
 
 "Mrs. Burnham, is the taller of your two 
 daughters engaged to be married to Mr. Jerome 
 Satterley ? " Then as the look of astonishment 
 on her hostess' face deepened into displeasure, 
 she added in nervous haste, " I knew you would 
 consider me a bold, insolent girl, but I have 
 indeed good reasons for asking ; and I thought I 
 ought to come to you rather than to any one else." 
 
 " Perhaps, if you could give me your reasons for 
 asking so strange a question upon a subject which 
 cannot in any way concern you, I might be able 
 to judge you more leniently." 
 
 J Mrs. Burnham's voice was coldly dignified now ; 
 she had an abundance of what, for want of a better 
 name, we may call family pride ; but the girl made 
 haste to respond : 
 
1 68 
 
 " Oh ! indeed, madam, it does concern me most 
 bitterly ; if it did not, I could not have come to 
 you with it. If you will answer me just that 
 question, I shall know better how to tell you the 
 story, and I am sure you will say that I ought to 
 have asked it." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham was puzzled, but the girl was 
 evidently intensely in earnest. 
 
 " We do not usually speak of such family matters, 
 save to intimate friends," she said ; " but it is no 
 secret, I believe, and I see no reason why I should 
 hesitate to tell you that Mr. Satterley and Miss 
 Seraph Burnham are engaged to be married." 
 
 " Then, madam, I ought to tell you, so that you, 
 her mother, can explain to her that he is not to be 
 trusted." 
 
 Even at such a time, Ruth could hardly restrain 
 a smile of sarcasm over the thought that she was 
 supposed by any one to be the person to advise 
 with and care for Miss Seraph Burnham. But 
 nothing of this thought showed in her words. 
 
 " Indeed ! " she said, with lifted eyebrows, " that 
 is a serious charge ; one should know exceedingly 
 well what one is saying who uses such language 
 as that." 
 
 " Oh ! I know ; I know only too well what I am 
 saying. I can give you proof of it ; I did not 
 come here because I wanted to, or without know- 
 ing what risk to my own reputation I ran ; but 
 I thought I could talk with you, because, Mrs. 
 
A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON." 169 
 
 Burnham " She broke off suddenly, and then, 
 before Ruth could speak, began again, working the 
 fingers of her ungloved hands together nervously 
 while she spoke : "I need not make it a long story ; 
 I have been engaged to that man for nearly a year, 
 and we were to have been married very soon. When 
 I tell you this, and then tell you that he left me 
 without a word of explanation, without any cause, 
 so far as I know, beyond the one that he found a 
 face that suited him better, do you not think I 
 am true in saying that your daughter cannot trust 
 him ? " 
 
 " Engaged to you ! " These were the only words 
 Mrs. Burnham seemed capable of speaking. 
 
 "Yes'm; engaged to me. It sounds strangely 
 to you ; I knew it would ; you cannot see how it is 
 possible that the name of a poor girl like me, a 
 clerk in a fancy store, should have the right to be 
 coupled with that of Jerome Satterley. I do not 
 wonder ; I used to think so myself ; and I said it 
 was because he was unlike other men nobler and 
 better. Mrs. Burnham, you will want proof of 
 my story ; I can give it ; look, I still wear the 
 ring he gave me. I am a poor girl, but we are 
 respectable ; we were not even poor always ; papa 
 was a wealthy merchant, and Mr. Durand, of the 
 firm of Durand & Parkman, is my uncle ; mamma 
 is a widow, and we are poor enough now. I have 
 been a clerk in a fancy store for three years, help- 
 ing to support her and the younger ones." 
 
 12 
 
I/O A TROUBLESOME " YOUNG PERSON." 
 
 " And you met Mr. Satterley where ? " 
 
 " In New York ; I was a clerk in Jennings', at 
 the silk counter ; I met him at my uncle's here 
 in town one evening, and then, when he came 
 to New York, he called on me, and was good to 
 mamma and the children ; better than any one in 
 the world, I thought ; and in a very few weeks he 
 told me that he had come to New York on purpose 
 to get acquainted with me ; that he did not care 
 how poor I was, that he had money enough for 
 both of us, and that mamma should live again in 
 the style to which she had been used. He stayed 
 in New York for four months ; his uncle, Mr. Tel- 
 ford, is the president of the Grand Street Bank, 
 and he stayed at his uncle's. When he went 
 away he was to come again in the spring for me ; 
 I can show you many letters from him which say 
 so. Oh ! I could prove it by witnesses if it were 
 necessary. He talked frankly to mamma ; she did 
 not trust him, and he took it hard, and so did I ; 
 but mamma knew." 
 
 She drew from her pocket a package of letters, 
 carefully tied with a blue ribbon, and began with 
 eager haste to untie them, while Mrs. Burnham 
 questioned her as one in a dream. 
 
 " Let me understand ; I thought you were a 
 clerk here in town." 
 
 " I am, madam ; I have been here two months ; I 
 secured a place ; Mr. Jennings recommended me. 
 I had not heard from Mr. Satterley in weeks, and I 
 
A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON.' \Jl 
 
 was so miserable, so sure that he was sick, or that 
 some serious trouble had come upon him, that 
 I could not rest without trying to find out ; so I 
 came here ; and I have found out. He does not 
 know that I am in the city, but I have seen him 
 almost every day for two months ; and I have 
 watched him with your daughter until I know she 
 is going through just what I have been, and I want 
 to warn her. Believe me, Mrs. Burnham, that is 
 all I want ; it is not money that I am after. I 
 never mean to bring any trial for breach of prom- 
 ise, though the promises were plain enough, and 
 often repeated ; read that," and she thrust before 
 her hostess an open letter, which at first glance 
 could be recognized as Mr. Satterley's very pecul- 
 iar writing. As the girl said, the promises were 
 plain enough, and repeated oftener than for an 
 honorable man would seem to have been neces- 
 sary. Ruth, as she read it, could not help thinking 
 aloud, " This reads like a man who is not accus- 
 tomed to being believed." 
 
 " Does it ? I did not think so ; and I believed 
 in him utterly ; I almost quarreled with mamma 
 because she could not fully trust him. I used to 
 lie awake nights, thinking how we he and I 
 would heap beautiful coals of fire on her head. He 
 told me I should furnish her room myself, with all 
 the elegances that money could buy, and that I 
 should make it exactly like the one she used to 
 have, if I chose." 
 
172 A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON." 
 
 What an evening it was ! The door-bell rang 
 several times, and Kate came once with a message 
 from one of the ladies of the Union, who was im- 
 portunate ; but Ruth waved her imperiously away, 
 with the assurance that she could see nobody, no 
 matter whom. Late into the evening the talk 
 went on. Proof piled on proof, incontestable, that 
 the elegant Mr. Satterley, with the date of his 
 wedding day actually set, had turned in swiftness 
 and silence away from his deliberately chosen 
 bride, and set himself vigorously to wooing another. 
 
 " But I do not understand," Mrs. Burnham said 
 at last ; " I do not see how he expects to manage ; 
 he must know that you will hear of it, and that you 
 can make him serious trouble. Why does he not 
 at least try to win you to silence ? " 
 
 A deep blush overspread the young girl's hitherto 
 pale face, and she shook her head, as she spoke 
 quickly : 
 
 " He knows that I will not give him any trouble 
 in the way you mean ; he trusts me as fully as I 
 trusted him. If I cannot respect him, I want 
 nothing of him. But could I let him deceive an- 
 other as he has me ? In the sight of God, Mrs. 
 Burnham, all I want is to save her ; I ought to 
 have spoken before, but I could not believe it pos- 
 sible. He may be in earnest this time, but what 
 proof can he give her that he has not given me ? " 
 
 Over another question of her visitor, Ruth felt 
 the blood roll in waves up to her very forehead. 
 
A TROUBLESOME "YOUNG PERSON." 1/3 
 
 " Mrs. Burnham, do you think a person who is" 
 a Christian ought to marry one who is not ? " 
 
 " No," said Judge Burnham's wife steadily, and 
 without hesitancy ; and then that tell-tale blood 
 had mantled her face. 
 
 " Mamma thinks the same," said the unsuspect- 
 ing girl, intent only on her own story. " And, oh ! 
 I thought so, too, once, but I gave it up ; I was so 
 sure I could win him to Christ, and here I could 
 not even " 
 
 She stopped abruptly, as she had frequently 
 during the evening. There seemed to be some 
 sentences that she did not trust herself to finish. 
 The voice was lower when she commenced again, 
 
 " Sometimes I have thought it was God's pun- 
 ishment upon me, for putting another in the place 
 of him." 
 
 " It is God's love to you, my friend, in saving 
 you from a miserable life." The words were im- 
 pulsive, but they came from the heart's depths. 
 
 She sat and thought long about it all, after her 
 guest had gone ; sat even until she heard the 
 merry voices of the returning young ladies and 
 their attendants. Then she gathered in haste 
 the work and the magazine that had long before 
 dropped from her hands, and made a retreat to the 
 privacy of her own room. She had much to think 
 about. What part was she to play in this pitiful 
 tragedy of human life which had been so unex- 
 pectedly thrust in upon her ? 
 
174 A TROUBLESOME 
 
 She had promised the poor little clerk at the 
 lace counter that she would do what she could 
 toward warning, or, as she phrased it, " saving " 
 her daughter Seraph. 
 
 Her daughter ! What a miserable mockery of 
 words ! If she were in very truth her daughter, 
 if her spirit burned within her, would not the girl 
 recoil in horror from a life so utterly false as this ? 
 Yet did she expect it of her ? 
 
 She sat late into the night, trying to plan how it 
 would all be ; what she should say to Seraph, and 
 also, more important, what Seraph would say to 
 her, and what the outcome of it all would be. 
 
 Would it humiliate the girl more, she wondered, 
 to have the knowledge of her promised husband's 
 false nature come through her lips ? Yet who could 
 tell it if she did not ? The father was away, and 
 there was certainly need for haste, if anything was 
 to be accomplished. Though what could she hope 
 to accomplish ? Yet in the name of their common 
 womanhood she could not let this one, to whom 
 she stood before the world in the place of mother, 
 go on in ignorance of the hollowness of the staff 
 she was trying to lean upon. 
 
 Ruth pitied her, and pitied herself for the part 
 she was to bear in the drama, and fell into a 
 troubled sleep at last, still uncertain how to per- 
 form her task. 
 
 Still uncertain, in fact, the next morning, when 
 opportunely alone with Seraph soon after break- 
 
175 
 
 fast, and mindful of her promise to let not another 
 day pass without warning her, she began with a 
 hurried " Seraph," spoken in a tone of such evi- 
 dent perturbation as to cause that young lady to 
 turn from the flowers she was arranging, and an- 
 swer a wondering and inquiring, " Well ? " 
 
 And then Ruth wished she had not spoken, and 
 knew not what words to put next. 
 
176 "ALL COME!" 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 " ALL COME ! " 
 
 DO you know a young girl by the name of 
 Hollister Estelle Hollister ? " 
 
 " Never heard of her." The reply was made in 
 that tone of easy indifference which says, " She 
 is nothing to me, and I have no interest whatever 
 in her story." 
 
 " She is in charge of the lace counter at Myers 
 & McAlpine's." 
 
 "Oh! a pretty girl, with yellow-brown hair? 
 Yes, I noticed her ; I remember somebody called 
 her Estelle ; she admires me, I fancy," with a 
 little half-conscious laugh at this tribute to her 
 beauty ; " she waits on me as though I were a 
 queen." 
 
 " Did you ever hear Mr. Satterley mention her ? " 
 
 " Jerome ? Certainly not. He has no special 
 interest in pretty girls in the abstract, I believe." 
 Again that indifferent tone and half-conscious 
 laugh. 
 
 " He knows her, " said Mrs. Burnham, and the 
 tone was so significant as to cause an angry flush 
 
"ALL COME ! " 1/7 
 
 on Seraph's face, and a haughty inflection in her 
 voice as she said, 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 It may not have been a wise way of commenc- 
 ing; Mrs. Burnham, as she thought it over after- 
 ward, felt sure that it was not, but at all events 
 the subject was fairly opened ; there could be no 
 waiting now for a more favorable time. She went 
 through the story steadily, with admirable brevity, 
 and yet with telling distinctness ; she had studied 
 the points which could not be challenged, and 
 presented them clearly, yet with as few words as 
 possible ; if she had been a very tender, real 
 mother, she might have made the statement more 
 tenderly ; with pitiful, loving words slipped in be- 
 tween the wounds she felt obliged to make, but 
 tihe could hardly have done it more skillfully with 
 a view to letting her victim know the truth, 
 with as little torturous circumlocution as possible. 
 She was conscious of a great pity for the girl to 
 whom she was speaking ; if she really loved the 
 man, it would be a terrible blow ; in any case, it 
 would be galling to her pride. 
 
 She did not know whether to be glad or sorry 
 that they were interrupted by the sudden entrance 
 of Minta, before there was opportunity for a word 
 in reply. Then Ruth went away to her own room 
 to think it over, and wonder what sort of an explo- 
 sion she had set in train. She found that her 
 knowledge of Seraph was not sufficient for her to 
 
i;8 "ALL COME!" 
 
 determine with any feeling of certainty what her 
 course would be. That she was capable of being 
 very angry was unquestionable, but on whom her 
 anger would be visited, was a matter of doubt, and 
 more or less anxiety. It was, therefore, in the 
 expectation of some sort of moral upheaval that 
 Mrs. Burnham passed the remainder of the day ; 
 and she might be said to be prepared for almost 
 anything when Seraph's voice held her in the 
 library that evening just before dinner. 
 
 " Mamma, we were interrupted in the midst of 
 your exciting tale this morning. I was sorry, for 
 I wanted to ask you whether you intended to take 
 Jerome into your confidence, also." 
 
 "I do not understand you," was Ruth's cold 
 reply ; the extreme flippancy of the young lady's 
 words and manner led her to expect nothing but 
 rudeness from this interview. 
 
 "Why, I thought my language was plain. I 
 mean, do you intend to tell him about the young 
 woman with whom you are on confidential terms, 
 or have you engaged to enlighten only me ? " 
 
 " Do not you intend to tell him ? " 
 
 " I ! why should I ? My lady did not take 
 refuge with me ; it was you she honored with her 
 confidence." 
 
 " Seraph, there is really no reason why you 
 should speak of the subject in this manner. I 
 told you a sorrowful story, this morning, because 
 I thought it must told ; and I did it with as little 
 
" ALL COME ! " 
 
 pain to you as I knew how ; and only because, 
 judging you as one woman of honor judges another, 
 I felt it was your right to know it." 
 " And what do you expect me to do ? " 
 " I do not presume to dictate, or even advise ; I ' 
 promised the poor girl that I would warn you, and, 
 as well as I knew how, I have done so ; there myl 
 responsibility ceases. You will do, it is to be 
 hoped, what you think you ought. If I thought I 
 would be understood, I would express to you what 
 I certainly feel my deep pain that you should 
 have been so deceived ; but as it is " 
 
 Seraph interrupted her hurriedly. " But as it is, 
 there is no need for anything of that sort ; I am 
 sure I feel grateful for your sympathy, but I think 
 it misplaced ; you and I look at a great many 
 things from different standpoints ; this is one of 
 them. I do not think Jerome is the worst man in 
 the world merely because he has had a little flirta- 
 tion with a shop girl ; I do not suppose it is by 
 any means so important a matter as she has made 
 you believe. Girls of that stamp always think a 
 gentleman wants to marry them if he lifts his 
 hat to them in passing ; in any case, it is all over 
 now, and I do not see why I should make him and 
 myself uncomfortable by mentioning it. You say 
 the girl doesn't want money, but a handsome 
 present will go far toward making life brighter to 
 her, I have no doubt, and one of these days I will 
 see that she receives it. I tell you this that you 
 
i8o "ALL COME!" 
 
 may see I can be sympathetic as well as yourself. 
 What I want to say to you is, that I would 
 prefer your not mentioning the matter, even to 
 papa'; I don't see any occasion ; if the silly girl 
 had come to me with her complaints, it would 
 have been much more sensible in her, I think." 
 
 What was a woman of Mrs. Burnham's character 
 to reply to a woman of such a character as this ? 
 She stood before her dismayed ; she really had 
 not supposed that society could build in a few 
 short years so fair and false a structure. 
 
 " I have nothing further to say,'" she replied at 
 last ; " I did not promise to tell the shameful story 
 to any one but you ; whether I ought to do any- 
 thing more I have not yet decided ; it is not so 
 pleasant a theme that I shall like to dwell upon it. 
 I will only remind you that it may not be wise to 
 keep your father in ignorance of it, in view of 
 your approaching marriage ; the poor girl may 
 have friends who will not be so considerate as 
 herself, and your father's services as a lawyer may 
 be needed, in which case it might be well to have 
 him forewarned." 
 
 A swift look of mingled pain and anger was 
 the only reply that Seraph had opportunity to 
 make to this, for her mother passed her and 
 went immediately to the dining-room. Dinner 
 was served at once, and Jerome Satterley was 
 one of the family party, Seraph chatting with him 
 as gaily as usual, while the woman who had been 
 
" ALL COME ! " l8l 
 
 acquainted with the fashionable world for years 
 found herself too shaken, and distressed, and angry, 
 to talk with any one. The only comment on this 
 was made by Mr. Satterley as the door closed be- 
 tween them, while Seraph and he made their way 
 to the music room. "What is the matter with 
 Mrs. Judge? Have I displeased her more than 
 usual, in any way ? It seems to me that the word 
 ' glum ' would about fit her disposition to-night." 
 And Seraph's gay, sweet laugh rang out as she 
 said: "There's no accounting for mamma's 
 moods, as you will learn when you come to know 
 her better." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham did not know what Seraph did, 
 but for herself she knew she avoided even the 
 street on which Myers & McAlpine's store was 
 located ; it made her heart throb with indignant 
 pain even to think of the sorrows and wrongs of 
 the fatherless young girl who toiled there. 
 
 And the days went by, and still Judge Burnham 
 did not return. Ruth did not even know whether 
 or not he received her words of warning ; he was 
 constantly moving from point to point, and his 
 letters had great difficulty in finding him ; he 
 wrote frequently, always with the same story 
 unexpected delay and the hope that his exile was 
 now nearly over. Matters were in this state on a 
 certain Sabbath afternoon in March, when Ruth 
 left her home to go to the " gospel temperance 
 meeting" in a state of great perturbation. The 
 
1 82 "ALL COME ! " 
 
 reason for this was twofold. In the first place, 
 much to her own astonishment, she had been per- 
 suaded into allowing herself to be named as leader 
 of the meeting. You who were well acquainted 
 with Ruth Erskine will remember that this would 
 have been a startling innovation to her, even in 
 her girlhood, and the matron had not developed 
 in those directions. It had been a very great trial 
 to her to consent to taking her turn with the 
 others ; rather, the few among the others who 
 were willing to share this responsibility. Still, 
 she was not lacking in moral courage, you will 
 remember, and her conscience, being closely ques- 
 tioned, could give her no sufficient reason why she 
 should refuse to share in a work whose object she 
 approved. Once pledged, she made what prepara- 
 tion she could for the formidable work. 
 
 The second source of anxiety she tried hard to 
 hold in the background until the hour of her trial 
 should be over. It grew out of a briefly-worded, 
 bewildering sort of note, from Marion, brought 
 her by a special messenger, but an hour before. 
 
 DEAR RUTH : 
 
 Forgive my importunity, but the time has come when you must 
 really interfere in regard to that intimacy, even to the extent of 
 issuing commands if need be, until her father returns. I will not 
 trust myself to be more explicit on paper, but Mr. Dennis wishes 
 me to assure you from him that he believes it will be a matter of 
 lifelong regret with you if you do not protect her now. Do not 
 delay another day. 
 
 In great haste, 
 
 MARION. 
 
" ALL COME ! " 183 
 
 " Protect her ! " As if she did not know that 
 Minta would tolerate no attempt at protection from 
 her ! What was she to do ? If Judge Btirnham 
 were only at home ! If Mr. Satterley were but 
 of what use to mention him ! Ruth had only con- 
 tempt for him. But it was the hour for the meet- 
 ing, and she must put this thing away for a little 
 time longer ; when the strain of the next two 
 hours was over, she would have time to think. 
 
 As she hurried along the street, a little late, and 
 much annoyed thereat, her eye fell upon some- 
 thing that caused her added annoyance. The 
 committee of arrangements were but mortals, and, 
 therefore, mistakes of judgment, as well as of taste, 
 ought to have been pardonable; but Ruth was in 
 no mood to grant pardon as there flamed at her 
 from the lamp-post, in what seemed to her pain- 
 fully conspicuous letters, the announcement : 
 
 GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETING 
 
 AT BURNHAM HALL. 
 TIME, 3 O'CLOCK SHARP. 
 
 ALL COME! 
 
 MRS. JUDGE BURNHAM WILL PRESIDE. 
 
 To Ruth's excited fancy, it seemed as though 
 her name was shouted at her by those great 
 staring letters. From every lamp-post it flamed 
 out. This was entirely an innovation ; no leader's 
 name had been announced before. Why should 
 
184 " ALL COME ! " 
 
 those hateful capitals be forced upon her ? On 
 the whole, she reached the hall in a very excited 
 frame of mind, and it took all the influence of the 
 opening hymns and prayer to reduce her to some- 
 thing like composure. The hall was unusually 
 full; Ruth thought there were more men present 
 than she had ever seen there before. Her voice 
 sounded strangely to herself as she read the Bible 
 verses which she had selected as the foundation of 
 her talk, but the listeners, to judge by the entirely 
 quiet, respectful attention they gave her, were satis- 
 fied. It was a novel situation ; at first the leader 
 seemed able to think only of the loud beating of 
 her own heart, and, while she was reading the last 
 verse but one of her selections, she realized that 
 she could not recall a single word of the sentences 
 that she had prepared for her introduction ; but 
 the very last verse took hold upon her thoughts ; 
 stilled her wild excitement, helped her to feel that 
 she was permitted to be God's messenger to these 
 men and women, many of whom showed plainly 
 by their faces that they knew him not. " Thus 
 saith the Lord, Stand in the court of the Lord's 
 house, and speak unto all the cities of Judah, 
 that come to worship in the Lord's house, all 
 the words that I command thee to speak unto 
 them ; diminish not a word : if so be they will 
 hearken, and turn every man from his evil way 
 . . . and thou shalt say unto them, Thus saith 
 the Lord." 
 
"ALL COME ! " 185 
 
 The wonder and solemnity of the fact that God 
 had given her a message to deliver here, held her 
 by its power. The one thing which she now 
 desired, was to speak just the words which he 
 commanded. Her language was very simple. She 
 not only could not recall the carefully-prepared 
 phrases which she had meant to use, but she 
 ceased to try. Out of the fullness of her con- 
 viction that they were men and women who 
 needed God, and that he was waiting to receive 
 them, she spoke. The room was very still. The 
 women who were with her on the platform listened 
 with a sort of hushed awe. They forgot to be 
 nervous ; to wonder whether that young man in the 
 corner who was chewing tobacco, meant mischief ; 
 to whisper together as to what had better be sung 
 when the speaker was through, or to do any of the 
 little restless things that in their nervous anxiety 
 they were generally led into doing. Suddenly, 
 Ruth, in the middle of a sentence, her whole heart, 
 she thought, centered in a desire to lead some one 
 to feel his need of a Saviour, came to a dead pause. 
 Every vestige of color fled from her face, leaving 
 her white and motionless, like a marble statue. 
 Mrs. Stuart Bacon half rose in alarm. Was she 
 going to faint ? Oh ! what would they do ? Down 
 near the door, or, at least, not more than three seats 
 from the door, at the extreme end of the long hall, 
 seated between certain rough-looking men who had 
 
 crowded in late, was Judge Burnham. Mrs. Stuart 
 
 13 
 
1 86 "ALL COME!" 
 
 Bacon had seen him when he came in. She had 
 nudged Mrs. Parkman's elbow, while Ruth was 
 reading those Bible verses, and had whispered 
 that she did not know Judge Burnham had re- 
 turned, and she must say it was a very beautiful 
 tribute to his wife's influence, for him to lay aside 
 his prejudices sufficiently to come and hear her. 
 But Ruth had not seen him until that supreme 
 moment, when the sight of him took from her the 
 words she was about to speak, and brought her 
 with a rude shock back to earth again. It all 
 passed in a moment, and Mrs. Bacon sank back in 
 her chair with a relieved sigh. Ruth had forgotten 
 the sentence she was uttering. Never mind ; that 
 strange power as of God took hold of her again ; 
 said to her, speaking low, so no ear but hers could 
 hear : 
 
 " You are God's messenger ; you are to speak 
 to these men all that God has commanded you ; 
 you are to diminish nothing ; you may never have 
 another opportunity. What human being ought 
 to influence you now ? Say unto them, ' Thus 
 saith the Lord.' " 
 
 It takes much longer to tell it than it did to 
 think it. Before some had even noticed the hesi- 
 tation, the clear, cultured voice went on : 
 
 " Young man, God is speaking to you ; he wants 
 you ; wants you to-day ; wants your brains, and 
 your strength, and your influence, for himself. 
 Why do you wait ? You know you need him." 
 
"ALL COME!" 187 
 
 There was a movement on the very last seat ; a 
 sort of undertone disturbance ; two young men 
 pushing each other, chuckling, speaking almost 
 aloud in their amusement. Judge Burnham arose, 
 went with a light tread over to the last seat, and 
 sat down close beside the rougher of the two 
 young men. The disturbance ceased. The clear 
 voice went on, gathering firmness. The move- 
 ment had not disturbed her, neither had the mut- 
 tering of the two bent on mischief. She had for 
 the time being gotten above it all. The women 
 seated on the platform looked at one another, and 
 nodded in satisfaction. They could see each 
 other's thoughts : " It was splendid in Judge Burn- 
 ham to do that ; he is not going to have his wife 
 treated rudely." They should not wonder if he 
 could be won into coming every Sabbath. What 
 a stroke of genius it was to have secured Mrs. 
 Burnham as a co-laborer ! Besides, who had im- 
 agined that she could talk like this ? 
 
 So much we know about people's hearts. Judge 
 Burnham was never in a more rebellious turmoil 
 against his surroundings and environments than 
 at that moment. He could have told them a curi- 
 ous story about his coming to that meeting. 
 
1 88 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 IT was Ruth's own letter of warning reaching 
 him at a late hour on Saturday, having been 
 sent after him from various post-offices where he 
 had left addresses, that finally brought him home 
 on the Sunday express, instead of stopping off at 
 Shoreham and waiting for the midnight train, as 
 he had planned. 
 
 A few hours, more or less, might not make any 
 difference ; but then possibly it might ; and being 
 a business man, accustomed to weighing with 
 scales that were turned sometimes by very slight 
 causes, he resolved to postpone his business at 
 Shoreham and go home at once. 
 
 On the journey he had been more or less an- 
 noyed ; several political discussions with other 
 Sunday travelers had ruffled him considerably ; 
 then he had been obliged to listen to and explain 
 away a very much distorted edition of the story 
 connected with the Shenandoah and its change of 
 owners. Very wild, and what he considered very 
 silly, reports about his having changed his politi- 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 189 
 
 cal basis came to his ears, and he was obliged to 
 refuse congratulations from one side, and smooth 
 the feelings of a ruffled constituent on the other. 
 Altogether, when he stepped from the platform 
 of the train at his own station he was in the mood 
 to wish that he had not been such a fool as to 
 cater to his wife's whims, and so make all this talk 
 about the Shenandoah ; and to wish especially 
 that he had never heard of such an organization 
 as the Woman's Christian Temperance Union. 
 
 Imagine him, then, walking rapidly up town, 
 making an effort to throw off his ill humor and be 
 ready to greet his family graciously, confronted by 
 those flaming letters on the lamp posts, the bulletin 
 boards, in every conspicuous place possible : 
 
 GOSPEL TEMPERANCE MEETING 
 
 AT BURNHAM HALL. 
 TIME, 3 O'CLOCK SHARP. 
 
 ALL COME! 
 
 " They even have my name dragged in, because 
 I happen to own the building. I'll have that hall 
 named something the first thing I do to-morrow," 
 muttered the irate man; and then he rubbed his 
 eyes, and shaded them from the glare of the after- 
 noon sunlight and looked again. Those large 
 letters, could he believe his eyes or his senses ! 
 
 MRS. JUDGE BURNHAM WILL PRESIDE. 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 It was hard on him, really. I will not have you 
 entirely unsympathetic with him ; if you do not 
 try to understand the people who are of another 
 world than yours, to in short, " put yourselves 
 in their places " occasionally, how do you expect to 
 be other than narrow and cold in your charities ? 
 
 This was entirely contrary to all his precon- 
 ceived ideas of propriety, as well as utterly out of 
 line with his sympathies. It was also very unlike 
 Ruth ; no one understood that better than she did 
 herself ; she, as you know, had been through a con- 
 flict on account of it ; she had taken up the work 
 as a duty, a cross from which she shrank ; her 
 husband having neither words in his vocabulary 
 could not be expected to understand how it was 
 possible for this sentence to refer to his wife. 
 Yet what other Mrs. Judge Burnham was there in 
 the city, or in the world, for that matter ? This 
 mystery must be looked into without delay. He 
 drew out his watch ; it was now fifteen minutes 
 past three, and that odious Burnham Hall was but 
 four blocks away ; he must go and see for himself. 
 And this was what had given Mrs. Stuart Bacon a 
 chance to nudge her companion's elbow, and smile 
 her surprise and approval when the great man 
 entered the hall. 
 
 He went forward the moment the closing hymn 
 was sung, with a smile of greeting on his face, and 
 a hand held out to Ruth. " You did not expect 
 me in your audience, I fancy?" 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. IQI 
 
 " Hardly, " said Ruth, "since I thought you still 
 hundreds of miles away ; but you do not need to 
 hear me say I am glad, though the surprise, for a 
 moment, nearly took my breath away." 
 
 She seemed not in the least embarrassed, and 
 was giving only half attention to him, her eyes, 
 meantime, following the movements of a roughly- 
 dressed young man, who appeared to hesitate, in 
 doubt just what to do. He advanced a few steps, 
 then turned and stood irresolute. Just as Judge 
 Burnham had possessed himself of his wife's heavy, 
 fur-lined cloak, and had said, " You would do well 
 to wait until you reach purer air before you don 
 this," she turned abruptly from him, made a 
 quick dash forward, and laid her hand on the 
 frayed coat sleeve of the young man. " May I 
 speak just a word with you ?" he heard her ask, 
 and then he stood and waited, with what grace he 
 could, while the voice dropped too low for even his 
 strained ears ; and he could only watch. The 
 young man's eyes were bent on the floor, but his 
 face was working under the spell of some powerful 
 emotion ; he even put up his hand and furtively 
 brushed away a starting tear as Ruth talked and 
 her husband chafed. What an insufferable piece 
 of folly it all seemed to him ! His wife standing 
 there in eager, low-toned speech with an uncouth 
 fellow, smelling of tobacco and cheap whiskey ; 
 actually keeping her light hold on his arm with 
 that shapely hand of hers ! More than that, at 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 some response of the fellow's, given with apparent 
 energy, and a lifting of his eyes, a light such as 
 even he had never seen before, broke over the 
 face, whose every expression he thought he knew, 
 and then the ungloved hand met that hard, red one 
 in a firm and evidently cordial grasp. It was but 
 a few minutes, though it seemed almost hours to 
 the waiting husband ; then she turned to him 
 again, the peculiar light still in her eyes. 
 
 " I am ready now," she said ; and they went 
 down the stairs with the noisy crowd, and had 
 walked nearly the length of a block before Judge 
 Burnham broke the silence. 
 
 " It occurs to me that this is an entirely new 
 departure." 
 
 "Very," said Ruth gently ; " I never did such a 
 thing before in my life ; I did not imagine that I 
 possibly could." 
 
 Even now she was preoccupied. She was hardly 
 giving a thought to the one to whom she was speak- 
 ing, or to the probable effect of the entire scene on 
 his nerves. The simple truth was, she had just 
 been brought face to face with a new and solemn 
 joy, which is unlike any other joy to be experi- 
 enced this side of heaven ; which is understood 
 only by those who have experienced it, and which 
 can no more be described than one can describe 
 the air we breathe, or the heaven to which we are 
 going. She had been permitted of the Lord to 
 speak such words as had moved the soul of a 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 193 
 
 young man a young man who was in peril 
 whose widowed mother was even now mourning 
 for him as one lost to her and to God. He had 
 been moved more than merely emotionally ; that 
 tremendous potentate that rules destinies the 
 human will had spoken. 
 
 " I will do it," the young man had said, and the 
 tone and the look that accompanied the words, and 
 above all the answering witness of her own soul, 
 made her sure that the decision which had to do 
 with time and eternity had been made. 
 
 And she had been the instrument ! It was the 
 first time in her life that she had ever been so 
 distinctly chosen and used. Was this a time for 
 wondering what a man who belonged outside the 
 camp would have to say to her, even though that 
 man was her husband ? There were humiliations 
 enough ahead, but this was her moment of ex- 
 altation. 
 
 Her manner irritated Judge Burnham. How 
 ,uld it be otherwise ? He did not understand it. 
 Was she trying to show him how utterly indif- 
 ferent she was to his wishes ? 
 
 " We should have agreed perfectly in that 
 opinion," he said with marked significance. " I 
 confess I had not the least idea that you could 
 possibly do anything of the sort. Is it a proper 
 time to ask how you came to make such an un- 
 pleasant discovery ? " 
 
 " As what ? " she asked gently, but with infinite 
 
194 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 stupidity. She had not been following him enough 
 to understand him. She was thinking what an 
 evening it would be to that boy's mother when 
 she heard the news. 
 
 " As that you were endowed with the peculiar 
 qualities which make it possible for a woman to 
 step on to a public platform and harangue an 
 audience of coarse men and low-bred women ? " 
 
 Certainly these words were not easily misunder- 
 stood. Ruth flushed under them, but still her 
 voice was gentle, unusually so, 
 
 " I did not harangue them, I think ; I was only 
 talking to them about the power of Jesus Christ 
 to save, and I felt so keenly that they needed sav- 
 ing, as to forget all other considerations." 
 
 " What do you think of that ? " he asked, almost 
 fiercely. 
 
 They were passing one of those odious posts, 
 with its flaming letters. They looked as much as 
 a foot in length to Ruth as her eye caught them 
 now. 
 
 " I do not like it at all," she said hastily. " I 
 do not understand why they did it. At first I was 
 really angry, but I do not mind it so much now." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it. Will it impress you in 
 any degree if I tell you that I mind it very much 
 indeed ? It was the first greeting which I received 
 on my arrival, and if I had caught the fellow put- 
 ting one of them up, I should have kicked him 
 into the road. I know why they did it. They 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 195 
 
 like to have your name bandied about the town, as 
 it will be to-night, in the mouth of every low 
 saloon keeper, and the drunken habitues of his 
 house. It adds to their importance to know that 
 they have done something which will set the vul- 
 gar world a-gap. ' Anything for notoriety ' is their 
 motto." 
 
 The flush had died away from Ruth's face ; she 
 was growing very pale. This was a rapid descent 
 from the mount whereon she had been standing. 
 Only a moment before she had felt as though 
 earth and its commonplaces could not touch her 
 again, because she had been permitted for a mo- 
 ment to stand face to face with Jesus Christ. 
 Yet here was the keen, cruel world at her very 
 elbow. 
 
 They had been walking rapidly. Unconsciously 
 Judge Burnham had quickened his pace with every 
 angry word he spoke, and by this time they had 
 reached their own door. He applied his night latch, 
 held open the door with his accustomed courtesy 
 for his wife, then closing it quickly, stooped and 
 kissed her, and held her with his arm while he 
 spoke : 
 
 " Ruth, I am angry ; I don't think I was ever 
 more so. It seems to me I have been unfairly 
 treated ; as if you must understand me better 
 than this afternoon's scene would indicate. But 
 I have been long away, and have missed you 
 sorely. I have been looking forward all day to 
 
196 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 the pleasure of meeting you. It was hard on a 
 man to have to meet you where, and as I did. 
 But I do you justice, even now, in my indignation. 
 I give you credit for not being of the same spirit 
 with this notoriety-loving crowd, though you have 
 somehow fallen among them. I know the power 
 of religious fanaticism. I have studied it more or 
 less as I came in contact with it in the line of my 
 profession ; I even know that it has been carried 
 to such excess before now that the doors of lunatic 
 asylums have had to close on its victims. I trust 
 I may have strength of mind enough to shield you 
 from great harm. You will bear me witness that 
 I have not often laid commands on you of any 
 sort ; that in theory and practice I believe in 
 the utmost freedom of individual will between 
 husband and wife, that is compatible with true 
 dignity ; but you have really forced me, uninten- 
 tionally, I fully believe, but none the less really, 
 to say to you that it is something more than my 
 request much more, indeed that you should 
 never enter the doors of such a place again as 
 that one in which I found you this afternoon. 
 Now let me beg that you will make a complete 
 change of dress, both for your sake and mine. 
 Let us get rid of any reminder of the offensive 
 scene. Positively, Ruth, even the lace on your 
 sleeve smells of bad tobacco." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham went up the winding staircase 
 with a slow, weary air ; all the pulses of her life 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. IQ/ 
 
 seemed to have stopped beating. Yet thought was 
 all the time very busy. She had been brought 
 suddenly down to the level of the commonplace 
 again, with questions to settle which must be 
 thought about. 
 
 Just how far was she bound to obey her husband's 
 dictation in this matter ? For, though courteously 
 phrased, it amounted to nothing less than dicta- 
 tion. Was she bound in honor to withdraw from 
 this bit of Christian work to which her soul had 
 responded ? Must she even give up the hour spent 
 with those Christian women in their place of prayer ? 
 Had not the Lord called her to the work ? Had 
 he not honored her in it, and were her husband's 
 claims to be put before his ? If she had really 
 been the human means of saving a soul this after- 
 noon, was not that return enough to enable her to 
 endure all the disagreements of life and the dis- 
 comforts arising therefrom ? 
 
 But, on the other hand, had the Lord called 
 her to do just this thing, whether her husband 
 approved or not ? There were so many things of 
 which he did not approve, yet about which there 
 was no question, which she must do, of course, 
 that perhaps, when it was possible to yield, one 
 ought. She did not know, and found that she 
 could not decide just where the "ought" came 
 in. It was easy to tell what one wanted to do. 
 She would like to go down to her husband that 
 moment, and say to him that she was sorry their 
 
198 ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 two ways did not agree, but that in this way which 
 she had chosen, and which had its reward, and 
 which she loved with all her soul, she should cer- 
 tainly walk. Ruth Burnham of yesterday would 
 have done so, but the Ruth Burnham of to-day 
 had been on the mount with God for a little 
 while, and found somewhat to her bewilderment, 
 that all her judgments of men and things were 
 softened, and that even such questions as these 
 must be looked at in the light of unselfishness. 
 
 Meantime, she slowly made the entire changes 
 in her dress which had been called for. This 
 much, at least, she could do ; she was glad there 
 was no question in her mind about it. She smiled 
 somewhat curiously over the discovery that her 
 recent experiences had made her look at even so 
 trivial a thing as this in a different light. Yester- 
 day she would have said that she was sorry her 
 dress did not suit him, but it really was the most 
 appropriate garment she had, for the hour, and 
 she must ask him to be content with it. To-day 
 such a response looked humiliatingly hateful. Had 
 she really been a disagreeable Christian through 
 all these years ? 
 
 At last she came to this conclusion : that no 
 decision in regard to the other matter was possi- 
 ble now ; she must put it aside with steady will, 
 until such time as she could be alone to think, 
 and to discover just where that solemn "ought " 
 belonged. At present there was other work for 
 
ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 her disagreeable work; there was that letter 
 of warning from Marion in her pocket. Must it 
 be shown to her husband ? She shrank from 
 this with an aversion of which she was ashamed, 
 though she recognized the reason ; it was because 
 she did not want to hear these friends of hers criti- 
 cised, sneered at, perhaps ; but what a humiliating 
 thing that she must expect for them such treat- 
 ment at her husband's hands ! 
 
 On the whole, you will not think it was a pleasant 
 home-coming, after her hour of exaltation. 
 
 Yet I want to tell you that the last thing she 
 did, before joining her husband in the library, was 
 to kneel in her place of prayer, and thank God for 
 the clasp of that rough, red hand, and the decision 
 in the voice, as it said to her, " I will do it." 
 Above all the turmoil of conflicting anxieties rose 
 the note of joy for this new soldier added to the 
 ranks of her King. 
 
 Erskine was in the library, in full tide of joy 
 over his father's return. There could be no doubt 
 as to the heartiness of this welcome, and Judge 
 Burnham was enjoying to the full the eager kisses 
 and extravagant delight of his boy. There were 
 no vexed differences of opinion here to mar the 
 pleasure ; at least, there were none which appeared 
 on the surface. 
 
 He arose, on his wife's entrance, smiled as he 
 gave her a swift survey, and noted that she was 
 dressed in his favorite colors, said "Thank you" 
 
2OO ON THE MOUNT AND IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 in a very expressive tone, and drew an easy chair 
 for her close to his own. Evidently, he considered 
 the matter that had come between them, already 
 settled. 
 
 The talk flowed on, on different topics, during 
 Erskine's presence, he taking a liberal share in it 
 all. From the music room came the hum of voices, 
 interrupted frequently by a sharp, dry cough. Judge 
 Burnham glanced anxiously in that direction from 
 time to time, and once interrupted himself to say, 
 " It seems to me that Seraph's cough is worse than 
 usual." 
 
 "It is much worse/' Ruth said; "she has ex- 
 posed herself cruelly during the past two weeks, 
 and to-day is quite feverish." 
 
 " Who is with her in the music room ? " 
 " Mr. Satterley ; I think no one else. Have you 
 not seen her ? " 
 
 " O, yes! she came to me for a moment." 
 He arose as he spoke, lifted Erskine to the ceil- 
 ing and down again, then said, with a sigh, " Well, 
 popinjay, run away now to Joan ; mamma and I 
 must do some talking without your interruption." 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 2OI 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 WELL," he said again, as the door closed 
 after Erskine, " I received your letter with 
 its inclosures, which were as clear as the reports 
 of professional detectives, and reminded me some- 
 what of the-m. What do you gather from it al] ? 
 What are the reports, and from what source do 
 they come ? " 
 
 " I know very little, Judge Burnham, save what 
 that letter tells you ; people do not speak plainly 
 to me ; the air seems to be full of vague rumors ; 
 even Mr. Satterley, as I told you, is disposed to 
 offer a warning." 
 
 " Even Mr Satterley ! You speak as though he 
 were the last person from whom you would expect 
 propriety ; we, as a family, seem singularly un- 
 fortunate in our choice of friends ; none of them 
 suit your tastes. What does Satterley mean ? At 
 least, you could question him." 
 
 " You are mistaken ; I was less willing to ques- 
 tion him than I would have been some of the 
 others ; and he did not choose to enlighten me 
 
 further than I told you." 
 
 * 14 
 
2O2 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 And by this time Ruth had decided to say 
 nothing about that letter from Marion, which lay 
 hidden in her pocket. What did it tell, more than 
 he already knew ? 
 
 Judge Burnham shook himself impatiently, as 
 though he would give much to shake off the whole 
 disagreeable subject. 
 
 " I suppose I must look into the rumors," he 
 said, taking long strides up and down the room. 
 " I worked myself into almost a panic last night, 
 thinking it over, and rode all night, and lost per- 
 haps a thousand dollars or so by not stopping off 
 at Shoreham ; I had a sort of impression that 
 there might be a crisis pending, though I am sure 
 I don't know why ; but the reports were so vague 
 as to afford ample food for the imagination, if one 
 gave them any hearing at all. I suspect I was 
 foolish to notice them ; but to-morrow, after I 
 have looked into matters at the office, I will see if 
 I can find out whether it is a case of black-mail, or 
 simple meddling. It is hard if a man cannot have 
 one evening of rest in his own home, Sunday at 
 that. Seraph really coughs dreadfully. I'll have 
 Westwood come out in the morning and see her." 
 
 " Don't delay another day," said the warning 
 letter in Ruth's pocket. She drew it forth reluc- 
 tantly. "I have nothing beyond what I wrote 
 you, save this, which came to me this afternoon. 
 I suppose you will attach no importance to it, 
 however." 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 2O3 
 
 He read it through hastily, his face glooming 
 over it. 
 
 " Why didn't you show it to me at first ? " he 
 demanded. "How can I tell whether to attach 
 importance to it or not ? Unless Dennis is a born 
 fool, he would not send such a message to a woman 
 without having some show of reason. At least, I 
 will see him, and demand an explanation. I'll go 
 in on the next train." 
 
 " But Dr. Dennis will be in the midst of his 
 evening service," Ruth said, dismayed, she hardly 
 knew why. 
 
 " Well, evening service will not last all night, I 
 suppose. If you had told me when I first came, 
 I could have caught him before service began ; 
 now I shall have to wait until it closes, and then 
 wait for the midnight train, I presume. Pretty 
 hard on a man who has been traveling every night 
 for a week." 
 
 Judge Burnham was rarely so ungentlemanly as 
 this ; he must be very much worried, Ruth thought, 
 and she busied herself, without further words, in 
 certain little attentions for his comfort. His last 
 words as he closed the door were : 
 
 " Seraph ought to attend to that cough to-night. 
 Tell her to take some hot lemonade, and retire 
 early ; I'll have Westwood call the first thing in 
 the morning." 
 
 But Seraph came to the dinner-table, half an 
 hour afterward, looking not at all ready to retire. 
 
204 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 She was in very rich evening costume, of the sub- 
 dued sort that the fashionable world assumes when 
 it wants to do honor to the proprieties of the Sab- 
 bath, and yet be as elegant as possible. 
 
 " You are surely not going out to-night ! " Ruth 
 exclaimed, rather than asked, noting the flush on 
 the cheeks which was deeper than health produces, 
 and the quick movement of the hand to her side 
 when she coughed. 
 
 " I surely am. If you were musically inclined, 
 you would know that to-night is the great treat of 
 the season at St. Peter's. Where is papa ? I 
 thought he would want to hear Fenwood sing." 
 
 " He went to town on the six o'clock train, 
 though I do not think he will attend St. Peter's. 
 But, Seraph, really, excuse my persistence, but you 
 look ill enough to be in bed. Your father heard 
 your cough, and was troubled ; he wished me to 
 ask you to take hot lemonade, and retire early." 
 
 Seraph laughed musically. 
 
 " I shall probably retire early ; quite early to- 
 morrow morning, unless we are so fortunate as to 
 make the eleven o'clock train, and I do not suppose 
 we can ; it is a long drive from St. Peter's to the 
 station." 
 
 Ruth was so thoroughly convinced of this danger 
 of venture into the chill night air, especially as a 
 sleety, northwest rain had set in, that she at- 
 tempted a further remonstrance. 
 
 " If I were Mr. Satterley, I should protest ear- 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 nestly against this exposure. Seraph, I am sure 
 your father would not approve ; he said he should 
 call Dr. Westwood early in the morning." 
 
 " Mr. Satterley knows better, mamma, than to 
 interpose authority ; even married women do not 
 obey, unless they choose, as you will certainly^bear 
 me witness ; and as for failing in hearing Fenwood 
 sing, just because papa is nervous about a cough, 
 is not to be thought of. I should go to-night if I 
 were sure of taking so much cold that I could not 
 appear again this season." 
 
 Judge Burnham did not return on the midnight 
 train. Ruth's cathedral clock tolled three just 
 as he entered her room. His state of mind the 
 next morning might have been described by Mr. 
 Satterley's word " glum." He made not the slight- 
 est attempt at conversation, either in his room or 
 at the breakfast table ; and in reply to Minta's 
 statement that Seraph was not able to lift her 
 head from the pillow, said he was not surprised ; 
 that she was alive, was the only matter for aston- 
 ishment there could be this morning : and so far 
 forgot himself as to add, even in the presence of 
 Robert, who was waiting on the table, that he 
 should think if there had ever been any justification 
 for interference in the plans of the young ladies, it 
 would have made itself apparent last night ; that 
 he was simply amazed when he saw Seraph in 
 town. Then he turned to Minta before she had 
 calmed the gleam of merriment in her eyes over 
 
2O6 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 this public rebuke of her step-mother, "Where 
 
 were you before you joined your sister at St. Peter's 
 last night ?" 
 
 " Why, I was in several places. I lunched with 
 Allie Powell, and went from there to hear the an- 
 them at the Clark Place Cathedral." 
 
 " With whom ? " 
 
 " Why, papa, with the one in whose charge I 
 was, of course. I stayed in town on Saturday 
 with Ellice Farnham." 
 
 " Robert, " said Judge Burnham, suddenly re- 
 turning to the proprieties long enough for that, 
 "we do not need any further serving. Mrs. 
 Burnham, can he be excused ? " 
 
 Then, before the door was fairly closed after 
 him, 
 
 "That answer does not enlighten me as to your 
 escort ? " 
 
 " Why, papa, you know surely, without my tell- 
 ing you, that I was with Mr. Hamlin. Didn't you 
 see us together?" 
 
 " Did you leave home in his company ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; certainly not. I told you I went 
 home with Ellice Farnham on Saturday. She was 
 here to lunch, and I went into town with her." 
 
 "And met Hamlin at her house?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; he was there to dinner." 
 
 " By appointment, I suppose ? " 
 
 Minta's face had grown unbecomingly red under 
 this fire of cross-questioning. At last she spoke : 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 2O/ 
 
 " Papa, what does all this mean ? What if I 
 had engaged to dine at a friend's in company with 
 other guests ? It is nothing more than I do con- 
 stantly. I do not understand you." 
 
 " It means that you have been warned several 
 times during my absence against this particular 
 young man, and that you have chosen to pay no 
 attention to the warnings, though they came, some 
 of them, from a source which I should not suppose 
 any young lady of intelligence would overlook. It 
 also means that you are to have nothing to do 
 with this individual from this time forth ; neither 
 to dine with him, nor ride with him, nor speak to 
 him if he presumes to call." 
 
 Evidently Judge Burnham did not understand 
 his daughter. 
 
 " Papa," she said, speaking steadily, though her 
 face had now grown very pale, " I do not know 
 what right you think you have for ordering me 
 about as if I were a child. I obeyed you like a 
 slave, for years, I know ; and trembled before you, 
 even at a time when you were treating me in a 
 way that the commonest kitchen girl does not ex- 
 pect. But that time is past. I discovered long 
 ago how insufferably I had been treated ; and al- 
 though you have done what you could to make me 
 forget it, I have not. I can tell the story very 
 distinctly if I have occasion ; and if you expect the 
 slavish obedience to your orders that you used to 
 receive when I had been kept in such ignorance 
 
2O8 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 that I did not know my rights, you will be dis- 
 appointed ; for I am of age, and shall do as I 
 please." 
 
 If he did not understand the character of his 
 daughter, neither had she correctly gauged him. 
 The angry and insolent address had the (to her) 
 unexpected effect of quieting his outward excite- 
 ment. The habits of years resumed their sway. 
 He was again the watchful, wary lawyer who had 
 an enemy to hold in check, and interests to guard. 
 
 " Really," he said, and a half-quizzical smile was 
 on his face, " ought I to apologize, do you think, 
 for forgetting that I had a young woman to deal 
 with, instead of a naughty child who deserved 
 punishment ? I had for the moment forgotten the 
 lapse of years. I will order my speech more care- 
 fully. You are of age, it is true ; so, you will 
 remember, am I. And this is my house, and the 
 funds that enable you to live your free and 
 hitherto apparently satisfactory life are mine. You 
 are at liberty to choose. If you prefer the society 
 of those whom I utterly disapprove, you will seek 
 that society outside of my house ; neither need 
 you return to it after having enjoyed yourself 
 among your chosen friends. Since you have 
 chosen to refer to the past in a manner that would 
 almost seem to cover a threat,! will admit that my 
 memory is also good, and that when I returned 
 after a prolonged absence abroad, to find that you 
 were utterly unfit, mentally and physically, for 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 2OQ 
 
 companionship with me, I did the only thing I 
 knew how to do, furnished your guardians un- 
 stintedly with money, and left you to yourself 
 until my wife appeared on the scene, and showed 
 me what years of careful training could do to 
 make you fit companions for people of culture. 
 If you prefer now to prove that we were both mis- 
 taken, and that your preferences are for the low in 
 character and the degraded in life, you will, of 
 course, be at liberty to make the facts as plain as 
 you choose. The social positions of Mrs. Burn- 
 ham and myself are, perhaps, you are aware, quite 
 equal to any strain that even you may put upon 
 them. 
 
 " After this very plain understanding, I will 
 take the trouble to add what you hardly deserve 
 that I have convinced myself of the utter worth- 
 lessness of the person under discussion, as I would 
 have taken pains to show you had I not felt, be- 
 cause of knowledge that came to me last night 
 from outside sources, that you had already received 
 warning enough to satisfy any reasonable woman ; 
 but I will add mine. The stories that you have 
 heard are undoubtedly true, and more are true 
 than you know anything about. The man is not 
 fit for a respectable woman to acknowledge with a 
 bow. If, even after your exceedingly improper 
 language this morning, you conduct yourself prop- 
 erly, we will let the memory of it drop, and your 
 position in our home shall be in the future what it 
 
210 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 has been in the past. You are at liberty to choose. 
 You will observe that, after all, I have not acted 
 the part of an excused guardian to a young woman 
 who was of age, but of an indulgent father, being 
 willing to condone even almost unpardonable in- 
 solence, because I attribute it to the undue ex- 
 citement of the moment. And now, I trust we 
 fully understand each other." 
 
 He arose as he spoke, and turned toward his 
 wife. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear, for this long 
 detention at the breakfast-table ; do not expect 
 me to luncheon ; we are on the eve of an explosion 
 in the business world, which will bring ruin to both 
 character and bank accounts in certain directions. 
 I found last night that this matter involved more 
 than I had imagined possible. I will send West- 
 wood out to look after Seraph." 
 
 He had talked himself into apparent good humor. 
 His parting bow and " good-morning " to Minta 
 were, if not fatherly, at least courteous, and he 
 only smiled when she vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 " She will come to her senses when she has had 
 time to think," he said to Ruth, who followed him 
 to the hall, with a face full of anxiety. " I had no 
 idea she was so full of fire. I am afraid, my dear, 
 you have had more to bear from her than I had 
 imagined possible. But this miserable business, 
 when we are well over with it, will be beneficial to 
 her, perhaps. The scoundrel will be safely lodged 
 
A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 211 
 
 in prison before many days. O, yes ! it is as bad 
 as it can be, in every way. The misery of it is 
 that our name must be dragged somewhat into the 
 slime. I had no idea she was so much in his 
 society ; if your friends had not been so afraid of 
 their communications, we might have kept our- 
 selves out of the denouement. I can furnish my 
 lady with particulars, by to-morrow, which will 
 startle her. No, money will not help him ; in the 
 first place, there is none ; he has involved his uncle 
 in utter financial ruin." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," in answer to his wife's 
 anxious suggestion that he did not yet understand 
 Minta, that she might be on the verge of some 
 desperate step ; " I understend her well enough to 
 know that she will hardly take any steps to-day ; 
 she is not an idiot ; she has plenty of Burnham 
 blood in her veins. Angry, she is, without doubt ; 
 but solitude, and time for reflection, will compose 
 her nerves." 
 
 " But, Judge Burnham, if she should really be 
 attached to the man how can you know what in- 
 fluence he may have over her ? I wish she was to 
 be in your care to-day." 
 
 " Attached ! Nonsense ! She is attached to his 
 fine horses, and the gay life he has shown her ; and 
 her pride is roused ; that is the extent of the mis- 
 chief. Besides, the man will be too busy to-day 
 to think of her. I tell you, there is to be an earth- 
 quake which will take him off his feet ; and he is 
 
212 A PLAIN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 unprepared for it. However, I will add a word of 
 emphasis, to quiet your fears." And he opened 
 the dining-room door again. Minta had risen 
 from the table, and was standing at the window, 
 with her back to the door. 
 
 " My daughter," he said, his voice a trifle kinder 
 than it had been before, " I trust you fully under- 
 stand me that if you choose to remain under my 
 roof, and look to me as your father for protection, 
 you are under commands to have no communi- 
 cation in any form with any person by the name 
 of Hamlin, or with any person connected with 
 him. I will explain more fully to you after a 
 day or two." 
 
 She neither moved nor in any manner indicated 
 that she had heard a word. But the moment the 
 door was closed, she turned toward it a pair of 
 flashing eyes, and said, " Will you, indeed ? No 
 doubt you will enjoy the explanation." 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 FROM the hall, Ruth went directly to inquire 
 as to Seraph's condition, and found work for 
 mind and hands. The girl was in a burning fever, 
 her whole frame racked with an incessant cough ; 
 and she lay with both hands pressed to throbbing 
 temples. It was evident, even to Ruth's inexperi- 
 enced eyes, that she was seriously ill, and that 
 much valuable time had probably been already 
 lost. 
 
 She dispatched a special messenger at once for 
 Dr. Westwood, and busied herself until his arrival, 
 in using what remedies or alleviations she could 
 think of. 
 
 He came sooner than she had dared to hope, 
 her messenger having found him on the road. 
 He at once made it evident that he did not con- 
 sider himself as having been called a moment too 
 soon, and for the next hour Ruth was absorbed in 
 arranging to have his minute instructions carried 
 out. He was so manifestly planning for a very 
 serious fight with disease, that she was solemnized 
 
214 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 by the thought, and for the time being all minor 
 matters were laid aside. 
 
 The speed with which a well-ordered house can 
 accommodate itself to a change of circumstances, 
 would make an interesting study for the curious. 
 Before noon of that busy day, a large back room 
 which had a southern exposure, and was not so 
 crowded with dainty furnishings as were the young 
 ladies' rooms, had been, under the doctor's supervi- 
 sion, prepared for the sick girl, and she had been 
 carried there, and a professional nurse installed. 
 The lady of the house drew a long breath of relief 
 as she came slowly down the stairs, having received 
 the final directions of the tall quiet, self-sufficient 
 young woman who had swiftly obeyed the doctor's 
 summons, and laid aside her things with the air of 
 one who had always belonged just in that room. 
 Ruth had the feeling that she had been dismissed ; 
 it brought with it a sense of relief ; the responsibil- 
 ity was lifted from her shoulders. It brought with 
 it, also, a touch of pain, recalling as it did the grave 
 facts of her life ; if she were in truth the mother 
 of that sick girl, or if she held in her heart the 
 place which some second mothers won, no hired 
 nurse could possibly supersede her there. As it 
 was and then the touch of pain came again. 
 
 Meantime, there were other things to think 
 about. Where was Minta, and how was this dis- 
 tressing phase of their life to end ? She believed 
 she knew the girl better than her husband did; 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 21$ 
 
 she by no means expected a quiet yielding to his 
 commands ; but just what form the rebellion would 
 take would depend, probably, on what advice she re- 
 ceived from Mr. Hamlin. And then Ruth thought 
 with a sudden start of dismay, that in her anxiety 
 and pre-occupation there had been opportunity for 
 plenty of communication between the two. Now 
 that she stopped to think of it, it was strange that 
 in all the arrangements for Seraph's comfort, her 
 sister had taken no part. She went hurriedly to 
 her room and knocked, wondering the while, what 
 excuse she should make for intruding ; but no 
 answer was returned to her knock. She went to 
 the parlors to find them deserted ; in the music 
 room Kate was dusting. 
 
 " Do you know where I can find Miss Minta ? " 
 Ruth asked, trying to keep her voice as usual. 
 
 " She has gone out, ma'am ; she went several 
 hours ago." 
 
 " Was she alone ? " The tone was hurried, and 
 an eager quiver of anxiety showed in the voice. 
 
 " Yes'm ; she was alone when she left the house ; 
 she told me that she would probably not be in to 
 lunch. I told her the doctor was here, and that 
 Miss Seraph was pretty sick, and she said yes, 
 she knew it ; I thought perhaps she was going on 
 some errand for Miss Seraph." 
 
 " Probably that is the case," Ruth said, turning 
 away, with a startled fear, nevertheless, that it might 
 not be. 
 
2l6 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 For the rest of the day she tormented herself 
 with a hundred nameless fears and wonderings. 
 What ought she to do ? Was it important that 
 Judge Burnham should know of the girl's absence? 
 Should she telephone him ? But how absurd to 
 send him a message that Minta had gone out for a 
 walk ! How insulting to the girl, if she had really 
 gone, as Kate surmised, on some business for the 
 sick sister ! 
 
 It would not do to telephone anything like that. 
 Perhaps she might go herself to town, and give her 
 message in person. But it was not probable that 
 Judge Burnham would be in his office ; he had 
 hinted of business that involved others; she did 
 not know where to look for him ; and when, with 
 much trouble, she found him, what had she to say 
 but that his daughter was very sick, and she had 
 left her with hired attendants only, while she 
 came to tell him that the other daughter was out 
 walking ? Such a course was not to be thought 
 of. Well, then, suppose she wrote him a note and 
 sent it by a special messenger ? And then she 
 had visions of the messenger going from office 
 to court room, to the offices of brother lawyers, 
 asking many questions, following the busy man 
 from point to point, coming upon him perhaps in 
 the midst of his most distracting anxieties, inter- 
 rupting him with a note which had simply to tell 
 that Minta had gone out, leaving word that she 
 might not be back to luncheon ! The whole thing 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 began to look absurd to her. And as, later in the 
 day, Seraph grew worse, rather than better, and 
 the professional nurse was glad to have her to 
 hand this thing and remove that, she put aside 
 the other anxiety and gave herself to helpfulness. 
 
 Nobody lunched, finally, except Erskine and the 
 nurse. It was drawing near to the dinner hour 
 before Ruth could get away again for a moment's 
 rest. Her first inquiry was for Minta ; she had 
 not returned, nor had any message come from her. 
 About these bare facts there was nothing of 
 necessity to rouse anxiety ; to Kate it had merely 
 the air of an every day occurrence. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham was still in morning attire ; there 
 had been no time to think of dress. Judge Burnham 
 would not like this ; it was one of the points on 
 which he was fastidious to a fault. His wife won- 
 dered whether there would be time to make some 
 changes before he came ; and then he came. Mr. 
 Satterley was with him, and Ruth noted that he 
 looked worn and anxious ; she wondered if he had 
 heard of Seraph's illness, and if he really cared 
 for her enough to be troubled ; Judge Burnham 
 did not even seem to notice the morning dress. 
 " Where is Minta ? " were his first abrupt words, 
 without even the ceremony of a bow. 
 
 " She has gone out, " trying to speak as usual. 
 
 "Gone out! Where?" 
 
 " I do not know ; she went while I was other- 
 wise engaged, and left no message for me ; Kate 
 
21 8 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 says she told her she might not return to 
 Inncheon." 
 
 " Engaged ! Do you know what you are talking 
 about ? Is it possible you have let her disappear, 
 without any knowledge of her whereabouts ? " 
 
 He had never spoken in this manner to his wife 
 before ; Ruth controlled her voice, and her feel- 
 ings ; he was evidently either terribly angry, or 
 terribly alarmed. "Judge Burnham, you forget; 
 had I any right to control her movements, or power 
 to intercept them ? " 
 
 " Right ! power ! You do not know what you 
 are saying ! I tell you you should have locked 
 her in her room, if need be, rather than let her 
 slip away" 
 
 She interrupted him. "Judge Burnham, you are 
 speaking very loud, and unnecessarily exciting the 
 servants ; I am expecting Minta every moment ; 
 you surely know it is nothing unusual for her to 
 be late ; meantime, Seraph is very ill." 
 
 At this information, Mr. Satterley gave a start 
 of dismay. " Seraph ! " he echoed, " what is the 
 matter ? " But Judge Burnham's excitement was 
 not quieted. 
 
 " I cannot help it, " he said irritably, " illness is 
 the very least of our calamities ; if the other one 
 were sick with the small-pox, even, we should have 
 cause for thanksgiving. I tell you I am afraid she 
 has gone to destruction. The fellow has escaped 
 us, somehow ; just when we thought we had the 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 219 
 
 net securely laid ; he received information from 
 some source, and has disappeared. When did 
 Minta go ? What did she take ? " 
 
 At which point he turned abruptly and strode 
 through the hall into the library. Ruth waited 
 only to answer a few of Mr. Satterley's anxious 
 questions, then followed her husband. He had 
 gone to his dressing room ; the exclamation which 
 he gave, the moment he opened his toilet case, 
 brought her to his side. He had a sealed letter in 
 his hand, from which he tore the envelope savagely. 
 Ruth looked over his shoulder as he read : 
 
 DEAR PAPA: 
 
 I was going to tell you something this morning, but you were 
 in such haste and so savage that I hadn't opportunity. We had 
 planned a lovely little surprise, Mr. Hamlin and I ; we didn't tell 
 anybody about it, save the necessary persons, just for the fun of the 
 thing ; we meant to have a very original entertainment connected 
 with it as soon as you reached home; but you have quite spoiled 
 our plans by your fierceness. And since I am a dutiful daughter, 
 in spite of your insinuations this morning, and want to do my best 
 to obey you ; and since it is quite impossible for me to have " no 
 communication in any form with any person by the name of 
 Hamlin, " for the simple reason that that happens to be my own 
 name, I will do the next best thing, at which you so kindly hinted, 
 and take myself out of your house until such time as you may 
 wish to see my husband and myself. If you really need proof of 
 my statement, you might consult the Rev. Charles Stevens, rector 
 of St. Stephen's, who lives at Southside, near the Greene Street 
 Chapel. An obscure little place in which to be married, I admit, 
 but the fun of the secrecy lay in obscurity. 
 
 Your devoted daughter, 
 
 MINTA BURNHAM HAMLIN. 
 
22O STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 It was a hard blow ; I am sure you will not be 
 surprised that Judge Burnham felt it too in his 
 very soul. He had not been a very watchful 
 father, certainly, when his children were young ; 
 he had almost deserted them, with a disposition 
 that grew out of pure cowardice, during the period 
 of their disappointing girlhood ; but he had not 
 lavished time and attention and money on them 
 for the last half-dozen years for nothing. As it 
 began to dawn upon him that they were not only 
 to be endured, but were actually subjects for con- 
 gratulation, his interest in them deepened ; and, 
 as the years went by, and they became objects of 
 general admiration, you will remember his pride 
 in, and ambition for them, knew no bounds. All 
 the more this feeling seemed to sway him, because 
 it came with the force of a discovery, after he 
 had resigned himself to nothing but humiliation 
 in connection with them. He did not name the 
 feeling pride, and I have no doubt that affection 
 had somewhat to do with it ; a great deal, perhaps, 
 during these later years ; one cannot lavish so much 
 on any person, without feeling, to say the least, 
 a deepening interest in the person, and besides, 
 the " Burnham blood " of which this man was so 
 fond, was certainly in their veins. Still it was his 
 pride which had received a death blow. It was 
 bad enough to have the name of a man who proved 
 to be not only a villain, but an unsuccessful one, 
 mentioned in the daily papers in connection with 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 221 
 
 his daughter. He had even thought, during this 
 busy day, of making an effort to suppress the 
 items which whenever he had a moment of leisure 
 seemed to float before him. Such, for instance, as 
 " It seems that young Hamlin spent the evening 
 before the discovery, in company with Miss Burn- 
 ham, the youngest daughter of Judge Burnham of 
 the firm of Burnham, Bacon & Co."; or, " It is 
 said that young Hamlin frequently enjoyed the 
 hospitalities of Judge Burnham's elegant home, 
 and presumed to be on friendly terms with his 
 beautiful daughters," or any other of the dozen 
 offensive ways of gossiping about such matters, 
 which newspaper reporters seem so thoroughly to 
 understand. He had thought, for a few moments, 
 quite seriously of attempting to make it worth 
 the while of these leading reporters to keep his 
 daughter's name out of the accounts, but had 
 finally abandoned the idea as beneath his dignity. 
 "After all," he said to himself, "what does it 
 matter ? The fellow was intimate in dozens of 
 leading families ; and that he admired my daughter 
 so much more than any of the others, is not so 
 unusual a thing as to cause surprise. I think I 
 will let this part of the annoyance shape itself 
 as it may ; it will soon be forgotten." And he 
 had worked the harder toward getting matters in 
 train for the grand expose. And then had come 
 that sudden discovery of flight ; a flight accom- 
 plished so boldly and gracefully as to awaken no 
 
222 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 suspicion in the minds of any looker-on, that 
 more than an afternoon ride with the lady of 
 his choice was being planned. And then had 
 followed Judge Burnham's unspoken fears, that 
 the lady, about whom there seemed to be very 
 contradictory accounts, might be his daughter ; 
 though he really did not believe that such a thing 
 was possible ; he believed that the young lady's 
 pride would hold her back from such a step ; and 
 then had come the rush home, to relieve what he 
 told himself were perfectly groundless fears ; that 
 a man like that of course had intimacies with 
 women of whose very names a daughter of his 
 was ignorant ; and then had come this final blow, 
 in the shape of a half-comic, wholly heartless 
 letter, with that name attached, " Minta Burn- 
 ham Hamlin ! " The unsullied Burnham name 
 linked at last with that of a gambler and a forger ! 
 Certainly the father was to be pitied ! A great 
 deal of work had to be done in the next few days ; 
 much that Judge Burnham had labored hard, all 
 that first day, to accomplish, he labored equally 
 hard to prevent, in the days immediately follow- 
 ing. The man who was his daughter's husband, 
 who had joined his name and story irrevocably to 
 hers, was to be dealt with differently, if possible, 
 from the one who had simply, under a mistaken 
 idea of his character, been admitted to the house 
 as a passing acquaintance. It was not that Judge 
 Burnham felt any softening of heart, any pity for 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 22$ 
 
 the daughter who had so wronged him ; his efforts 
 were not so much to shield her, as to keep the 
 Burnham name as much away from the public as 
 possible. Therefore he withdrew charges which 
 he had meant to push, and was silent where he 
 had meant to speak plainly, and paid large sums 
 of money to purchase the silence of others, in 
 regard to certain points. Therefore it was, that 
 by dint of tremendous effort, not only on his part, 
 but on the part of others, friends of young Hamlin, 
 and by processes known to lawyers, this breaker 
 of the laws escaped the verdict of justice, and 
 was able to take up his abode in the same city 
 where his evil deeds had largely been accom- 
 plished. Thus much settled, Judge Burnham 
 took exceeding pains to have it understood that 
 his motive for his share of the work had not been 
 pity for the sinner, but pity for himself ; that 
 now he was quite through with the whole matter. 
 Mrs. Hamlin was no longer to be considered as a 
 daughter of his ; he did not want to see her again, 
 nor to hear of her in any way ; she had chosen 
 between them, and must abide by the decision. 
 He ordered certain trunks and boxes to be packed, 
 and sent by express, to the boarding house where 
 the newly married couple were now staying, and 
 with them sent a note, briefer than the one Minta 
 had written, but in every sense of the word digni- 
 fied, in which he had distinctly stated that from 
 this time forth all communication between her and 
 
224 STORMY WEATHER. 
 
 the family to which she had heretofore belonged, 
 was to cease ; that he had done what he could to 
 save her husband from the prison life which he so 
 richly deserved ; and that in doing this, he had 
 performed the last service for one who was once 
 his daughter, that she need ever expect at his 
 hands. 
 
 This was hard on the young scoundrel of a 
 husband ; he had not so reasoned it out, when 
 all these plans were formed in his mind. He had 
 not known Judge Burnham in the days when his 
 daughters were ignored and neglected ; he had 
 believed that the, father's heart was inextricably 
 wound about this beautiful daughter, in particular ; 
 and that, after a few angry words, and a few tears 
 and a few sobbing petitions on her part for for- 
 giveness, she would be restored to her place again, 
 aud his falling fortunes be retrieved and set on 
 a firm basis. He had meant that this should 
 be done without other unpleasantness than would 
 necessarily be involved in learning that there had 
 been a private marriage ; he had intended that 
 the Burnham wealth should save him from a 
 public exposure ; it had been the lawyer's vigor- 
 ous onslaught, during that one day, which had 
 brought about the end with a precipitancy entirely 
 unnecessary. That Judge Burnham might have 
 avoided all this publicity, had been made only too 
 plain by the speed with which he quieted the 
 storm he had raised, the moment he found that 
 
STORMY WEATHER. 22$ 
 
 his own name must suffer in only a secondary 
 degree whatever disgrace came to the name of 
 Hamlin. It was all bitterness, and weariness of 
 soul ; and Judge Burnham aged under it. 
 
 Meantime, perhaps it was almost a relief to his 
 angry spirit that Seraph continued very seriously 
 ill, and that he had to put aside his bitter thoughts, 
 and hurt pride, and think of and help care for her 
 in many ways. 
 
226 WAITING. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 FOLLOWING all this turmoil, and pain, and 
 anxiety came a let up. The severity of 
 Seraph's disease spent itself, or the skill of the 
 doctor triumphed ; the professional nurse went her 
 way ; she was too important a factor in this dis- 
 ease-stricken world to spend her time in coaxing 
 back to ordinary health again, one from whom the 
 immediate danger threatening had been withdrawn. 
 Other homes were waiting for her, where anxious 
 mothers and fathers stood helplessly about, build- 
 ing all their hopes of happiness on the efforts that 
 doctor and skilled nurse were making. Such a 
 life has its compensations ; one could see that the 
 nurse was used to these experiences, hungered for 
 them almost. From the first hour when her skilled 
 eye detected the watched-for change for the better 
 in Seraph, her interest in her began to abate ; and 
 when the doctor told her of a case of typhoid, that 
 was in very special need of services such as hers, 
 she was in almost heartless haste to be gone. It 
 was a sickly spring, and professional nurses were 
 
WAITING. 227 
 
 in demand. With her went much of the comfort 
 of Seraph's room, and nearly all of Ruth's peace of 
 mind. 
 
 An ordinary nurse who could be depended upon 
 to give the invalid thoughtful care, seemed well- 
 nigh impossible to secure ; notwithstanding the 
 fact that Judge Burnham offered such fabulous 
 wages that the kitchen entrance was besieged all 
 day with applicants, there was some hopeless ob- 
 jection tt> -evory one of them ; of the few who were 
 tried as a last resort, not one stayed through the 
 third day, and still the slow convalescence went 
 on, and the interviewing of applicants mingled 
 with Ruth's heavier duties of trying to reign in 
 the invalid's room. Nothing more utterly weary- 
 ing had ever come to her than this period of rest- 
 less waiting and distasteful working. There were 
 days when her life seemed almost unbearable ; she 
 had had tastes of such different work ; she had so 
 rested herself in those Sabbath temperance meet- 
 ings ; she had been so helped by the weekly meet- 
 ings for prayer ; she had felt that in these directions 
 lay work that she could accomplish in the name of 
 the Lord whom she loved. She chafed under this 
 utter removal from such influences, and questioned 
 wearily as to why it should have been permitted. 
 During the sharpness of Seraph's illness, under 
 the pressure of possible danger, she had not felt 
 in this way ; but to be obliged to spend her time 
 in trying to play the part of nurse to an exacting 
 
228 WAITING. 
 
 invalid who did not enjoy her ministrations, or, 
 leaving Kate in charge who was trying to do 
 double duty go to the kitchen and question and 
 cross-question an applicant, whom she felt with 
 that acute inner consciousness which a woman 
 much disciplined in this way comes to possess, 
 would not do at all ; or, if her summons came, 
 instead, from the parlor, say over again for the 
 dozenth time that day, " We think she is gaining 
 slowly, thank you," or, "she is not quite so well to- 
 day, had a restless night," or yet another phase of 
 the same story, "she is about as she was yesterday, 
 thank you ; we see very little change from day to 
 day ; she will not get much strength, we fear, until 
 settled weather ; " all this was wearying to her in 
 the extreme. Neither was she when doing her 
 utmost a successful nurse ; with the most earnest 
 desire to be kind and thoughtful, she did not under- 
 stand the hundred little v things that can never be 
 taught, and which help to make the difference 
 between the successful attendant and the good- 
 hearted bungler. For instance, she had an exas- 
 perating fashion of bringing the utterly distasteful 
 business of eating before the sick girl, by the use 
 of that irritating question, " What will you have 
 for your dinner to-day?" or that almost equally 
 trying one, " Don't you think you could take a 
 little chicken broth now ? " 
 
 Ruth had never been sick in her life, with that 
 depressing sickness and weakness that continues 
 
WAITING. 229 
 
 day after day, though the disease has been van- 
 quished ; she knew nothing by experience about 
 the nervous state of mind and stomach that impels 
 an invalid under such circumstances to say, " No, I 
 don't want any chicken broth, either now, or ever ; 
 and you will be kind enough never to mention the 
 words to me again." So she went on with her 
 honest attempts, and privately thought Seraph the 
 most childish, as well as the most disagreeable of 
 invalids, because she was irritable and capricious 
 over the veriest trifles. 
 
 Moreover, this choice nurse made that trying 
 mistake of reasoning from her own standpoint, 
 instead of attempting to put herself in the sick 
 one's place ; and because, when she was sick her 
 head ached, and the light was unpleasant to her, 
 she was always drawing the curtains, and screening 
 the fire, and making the room dim and quiet, when 
 Seraph's head did not ache, and her eyes were 
 strong, and she hated dark rooms, and one of her 
 employments which she best liked was to watch the 
 glowing coals in the open grate fire. All these 
 little things made it harder, both for Seraph and 
 for Ruth. The latter had still another anxiety 
 that was in its way harder than any of the others. 
 During these days she saw comparatively little of 
 Erskine ; she could not even attend to his lessons, 
 which had been one of the pleasures of her life ; 
 it was useless to undertake to interest a child in 
 a reading lesson, when she was liable to be called 
 
23O WAITING. 
 
 three or four times in the course of the half-hour 
 to the kitchen, or the sick room, or the parlor ; 
 moreover, the half-hour, even, in which to com- 
 mence this pleasant work was very hard to secure. 
 It was not that there was so much to do ; if there 
 had been crowding employment for hands and 
 mind, it would have been, in a sense, easier ; it 
 ' was the wearing thought that when she was down- 
 stairs she ought perhaps to be up, and that when 
 she went for a little walk with Erskine, she ought, 
 possibly, to be at home, that tried Ruth's nerves 
 to their utmost ; and there seemed to be no way 
 out of the maze ; daily was Erskine left to the care 
 of a servant, to an extent that his sheltered life 
 had not known before. 
 
 Neither was her husband a source of strength to 
 this much tried woman. She saw little of him, it 
 is true ; he seemed more than ever engrossed in 
 business ; but that little was most unsatisfactory. 
 He was moody, even with Erskine, and disposed to 
 be as nearly fault-finding as his habit of courtesy 
 would allow with Ruth herself. 
 
 Despite an evident attempt not to do so, he still 
 let his thoughts linger much over their recent 
 family disgrace ; too gentlemanly to blame Ruth 
 in distinct language, he yet made frequent refer- 
 ences to the misfortune of his having been from 
 home just at that time ; to the certainty that he 
 could have discovered what was going on, and been 
 able to prevent it ; he hinted that if her friends 
 
WAITING. 231 
 
 had been more outspoken, less afraid of involving 
 themselves in uncomfortable consequences, all the 
 misery might have been saved. He openly de- 
 clared that the mistake of their lives had been in 
 not keeping close guard over Minta on that last 
 day. 
 
 Ruth, who had great pity for him in her heart, 
 because she believed that the father's heart must 
 have received a blow something akin to what it 
 would be to her if Erskine should desert her, held 
 herself entirely quiet during those outbursts, not 
 even once reminding him that if he had long ago 
 heeded the plain warnings of her friends, instead 
 of sneering at them, all might have been well ; but 
 it was, perhaps, not in human nature not to re- 
 member this fact, and say it over occasionally to 
 herself. 
 
 Nor was he particularly sympathetic with his 
 wife over her home burdens ; he did not realize 
 what the daily strain was to her ; he assured her 
 that she was extremely foolish not to have all the 
 help she needed ; that it was nonsense to suppose 
 that plenty of help could not be had ; he could al- 
 ways secure as many men servants as he wanted, 
 that there was no reason in her being so exacting ; 
 ^and that Seraph ought not to be indulged in her 
 whim of taking violent dislikes to persons without 
 reasonable excuse ; and on the whole, Ruth de- 
 cided that the less he knew about home, at this 
 time, perhaps the better it would be for them both. 
 
232 WAITING. 
 
 So the wearing days went on, Seraph seeming 
 neither to gain, nor to lose, and the future stretch- 
 ing out before them apparently as barren of 
 comfort as the present. 
 
 Of course some change must come to them ; 
 they always came sooner or later ; nothing ever 
 stayed for any length of time just as it was, but 
 what would the change be ? 
 
 It came in an unexpected manner ; perhaps that 
 is the common way in which they come. 
 
 Dr. Westwood followed Mrs. Burnham from the 
 invalid's room, one morning, where he had been 
 giving his usual sentences intended to be cheering, 
 to the effect that it would not always be March, 
 nor even early in April, and that the warm spring 
 days would come, before many weeks, when housed- 
 up people could venture forth into strength-giving 
 air and sunshine ; and then he had called for the 
 usual glasses and spoons, and made his mixtures, 
 and given his directions, and said his courteous 
 " good-morning, " and then followed Ruth as she 
 went away, in answer to a summons from down- 
 stairs, and as the door of Seraph's room had closed 
 after him, had said, " I would like a word with you, 
 Mrs. Burnham, if you please." And Ruth had 
 halted, and thrown open the door of Judge 
 Burnham's up-stairs study, and followed him in, 
 somewhat wonderingly. Dr. Westwood was not 
 one of her favorites ; they exchanged as few words 
 as possible. 
 
WAITING. 233 
 
 He closed the door carefully, and drew a chair 
 for the lady, then came directly to the point. 
 
 " I do not know, madam, what your views may 
 be in regard to plain speaking, under the circum- 
 stances in which we find ourselves ; I always 
 leave such matters to the family ; my responsibili- 
 ties are sufficiently heavy, without shouldering 
 them ; I think Miss Burnham is entirely deceived. 
 Is it your will that she should remain so ? " 
 
 " I do not understand, " faltered Ruth, her face 
 growing pale over she knew not what. Was it 
 possible that Dr. Westwood meant Mr. Satterley, 
 and was there a new shadow coming over this much 
 tried home, even now ? 
 
 " Why, of course you know, my dear madam, 
 that it is only a question of time, and a much 
 shorter time than I had at first supposed ; but 
 Miss Burnham evidently looks forward confidently 
 to regaining her health." 
 
 " And do you mean do you think she will not 
 recover strength eventually ? I do not know what 
 you mean, Dr. Westwood ! " 
 
 " Is it possible you do not know that the disease 
 is what is sometimes called quick consumption ; 
 and that it is making rapid advance ? " 
 
 " You do not mean, doctor, that she is going to 
 die!" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Burnham ; I did not 
 know that you also were deceived ; I have been 
 
 very abrupt.'* 
 
 16 
 
234 WAITING. 
 
 There was both dismay and pity in his voice, 
 for the pallor of Ruth's face was very apparent 
 now, and in her surprise and consternation, she 
 felt giddy and faint ; she reached forward for the 
 chair she had declined, and leaned against it. 
 
 "No matter," she said, "tell me plainly now, 
 what you mean ; if I understand you, we have cer- 
 tainly been very much deceived." 
 
 "There is little more to tell, " he said, speaking 
 gently, and evidently greatly surprised over her 
 manner of receiving his news ; " I will be perfectly 
 frank, as is my custom, when the circumstances of 
 the case will admit. 
 
 " Miss Burnham may linger through the late 
 spring, but this morning I have my doubts even 
 as to that ; she is failing more rapidly than I had 
 supposed probable ; and it occurred to me that it 
 might not be the wish of the family to have her 
 kept in ignorance of the true nature of her dis- 
 ease. I had not supposed that Judge Burnham 
 and yourself shared her hopes, and that must ac- 
 count for an abruptness which I can plainly see 
 has been cruel ; I beg you will forgive me, and un- 
 less I can serve you in some way, I will not? 
 intrude longer." 
 
 He was very polite, very ceremoniously kind, 
 and he bowed himself away, and within the next 
 hour told a brother physician that the gossip which 
 had been afloat so long about Mrs. Burnham and 
 her step-daughters not getting on comfortably 
 
WAITING. 235 
 
 together, was all false ; so far, at least, as the sick 
 one was concerned ; that he had rarely seen an 
 own mother more overwhelmed with the news that 
 her daughter was going to die, than was Mrs. 
 Burnham. 
 
 He was right ; Ruth was overwhelmed. No 
 thought of such a conclusion as this had entered 
 her mind since those first days when Seraph had 
 been acknowledged to be alarmingly ill ; when the 
 disease had reached its crisis, Ruth had supposed 
 the danger passed ; and, all unused to illness as 
 she was, had continued ignorant, even in the daily 
 presence of a disease which, to the experienced 
 eye of the physician, was making rapid advance. 
 She was more than overwhelmed ; she was dis- 
 mayed. Seraph Burnham going to die ! to die 
 soon ! Why, it was appalling ! Could any one be 
 more unready for death than she ? How was it 
 possible for one like her to go up before the 
 Judge ! It seemed to Ruth, afterwards, that, dur- 
 ing that first half-hour after the doctor left her 
 alone, she came face to face with a realizing sense 
 of death, and the judgment, for the first time in 
 her life ! And the thought that a soul with which 
 she had had to do for years, was going swiftly for- 
 ward into those scenes, all unprepared, seemed 
 almost to paralyze her with terror. 
 
 She could not give way to these feelings long. 
 There was much to be done ; she had forgotten 
 her summons to the kitchen ; had forgotten also 
 
236 WAITING. 
 
 that the sick one was left alone ; but she was not 
 left long in forgetf ulriess. An imperative summons 
 came to her, and sending Kate to Seraph, she 
 put aside her strange terrors as best she could, 
 and tried to listen coherently to the voluble tongue 
 whose owner had presented herself in the hope of 
 being engaged as nurse and attendant. All the 
 time the bewildered mistress was saying to her- 
 self, " She will not do ; she will not do at all ; if 
 there were no other reason, she is not the person 
 to attend one who is going to die.'* 
 
 When at last she had schooled herself into out- 
 ward calm, and forced herself to return to Seraph, 
 that young lady threw her again into consternation. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, turning on her couch and 
 looking full into Ruth's face, " I heard the doctor 
 ask to speak to you, this morning, and I know it 
 was something about me ; it would be a great 
 satisfaction to me if you would tell me just what 
 he said." 
 
 How was this appeal to be answered ? Ruth 
 had not thought about it ; she had put it away 
 sternly as something which must, among other 
 grave things, be decided, but not until she had 
 time to think ; here it was confronting her, and it 
 could be answered now only by dismayed silence. 
 
 " I do not want to be treated like a child," said 
 Seraph, speaking coldly. " If the doctor had any 
 information to give which concerned me, I think 
 he might have given it directly to me ; but since 
 
WAITING. 237 
 
 he did not choose to do that, I ask you as a favor 
 to tell me exactly what he said." 
 
 " I will tell you," said Ruth hurriedly, startled 
 at the sound of her own voice, " I will tell you at 
 another time, not now ; I haven't time now, that 
 is, I have not thought how to" and there she 
 stopped. What a terrible bungle she was making 
 of this terrible thing ! Oh ! what ought she to say ? 
 If there were only some one else to take this awful 
 responsibility. Still Seraph questioned her with 
 those great beautiful eyes. " You have almost 
 told me," she said, " you might as well finish ; he 
 says I am not going to get well. Isn't that it ? 
 Now tell me this ; does he think I am going to 
 die soon ? " 
 
 " He thinks," said Ruth, and her lips trembled, 
 " he is afraid O, Seraph ! " 
 
 " Never mind," said Seraph. " I understand ; 
 you need not tell me any more ; go away, and 
 leave me alone." And she turned her face to the 
 wall, and lay perfectly still. 
 
238 BELATED WORK. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BELATED WORK. 
 
 THE days that immediately followed this rev- 
 lation were strange ones to Mrs. Burnham. 
 Long afterwards she looked back upon them, and 
 wondered that her over-strained brain did not reel 
 under the intensity of the excitement. 
 
 Her life had been unusually shielded from any 
 experiences connected with death. Her father, it 
 is true, had lingered in his sunny room on the 
 borders of the other world for weeks, but Ruth's 
 daily visits to him were filled with not only the 
 tenderest but the brightest memories ; always he 
 was in the sunshine ; ready to cheer and en- 
 courage her ; so full of bright anticipations for 
 himself, that it had not seemed possible to think 
 of the word death in connection with him, and the 
 final scene had been such a jubilant entering in, 
 that she could only feel afterward as though she 
 had a glimpae of eternal life. 
 
 But this was different so utterly different. 
 It was not that Seraph made any visible sign of 
 fear, or of rebellion ; such was not her nature ; but 
 
BELATED WORK. 239 
 
 that she had a fierce battle to fight in her own 
 heart was only too apparent. 
 
 Her face changed alarmingly in the course of the 
 next few days ; took on the worn, haggard look of 
 extreme illness and anxiety, and wrung Mrs. Burn- 
 ham's heart whenever she saw it with a pain unlike 
 any that she ever felt before. A human soul in 
 peril, and she the only person near who knew the 
 one sure way for safety, yet feeling powerless to 
 lead to it. She was made to feel, during those 
 first days, that she had managed the trust that the 
 doctor had imposed on her in an utterly irrational 
 manner. 
 
 Judge Burnham was at first angrily incredulous ; 
 it was utter nonsense that a girl who had been in 
 splendid health up to the time when she had caught 
 a violent cold should sink into a rapid consumption. 
 That disease was not in the Burnham family ; 
 they were, as a family, noted for strong constitu- 
 tions. The thing was incredible ; Westwood was 
 nervous, or careless, or mistaken, at least ; they 
 must have counsel ; he wondered that the physi- 
 cian had not attended to this before if he really 
 feared danger. And a solemn council of eminent 
 physicians was held, although Dr. Westwood as- 
 sured the father that in his judgment it was unnec- 
 essary and useless. So indeed it proved ; there 
 was no dissenting voice. Dr. Westwood, on his 
 part, expressed himself privately to Mrs. Burnham 
 as being extremely shocked over the effect that 
 
24O BELATED WORK. 
 
 the news had had upon his patient, and did not 
 hesitate to say that he feared she had been too 
 abrupt. The only reply he made to her explana- 
 tion that Seraph had overheard his own words, and 
 precipitated the tidings upon herself, was to gravely 
 repeat his fear that she had been too abruptly told, 
 and to wish that they had kept their knowledge to 
 themselves. As for her husband, he angrily blamed 
 her for exciting Seraph in any such manner ; said 
 he should have supposed her judgment might have 
 served her better than that. But Ruth could for- 
 give much to the disappointed father during these 
 trying days ; these were his daughters, and in 
 strangely different, and in strangely unthought-of 
 ways he was losing them both. Meantime, there 
 came into her heart a genuine pity for Mr. 
 Satterley. Let him be what he would a subject 
 only for contempt heretofore there was no deny- 
 ing the fact that the dignity of a terrible sorrow 
 was upon him. He came and went a dozen times 
 a day, always with that look of misery deepening 
 about him, which told of a sudden and bitter dis- 
 appointment settling down on his soul. 
 
 Ruth, watching him, being waylaid many times 
 during the day to answer his eager questions, felt 
 convinced for the first time, that at least one thing 
 in his life had been genuine. He loved the woman 
 who was now his promised wife. Was this swift 
 coming sorrow a portion of his retribution for the 
 past ? Her manner toward him grew gentle, al- 
 
BELATED WORK. 24! 
 
 most, in spite of herself ; he might have been 
 guilty of that which had led her to despise him, 
 but he was suffering now too greatly to make her 
 want to add one feather's weight to the blow. 
 
 So she took care to speak an encouraging word 
 when she could, and let voice and manner tell 
 him that her heart ached over his burden, and 
 grew nearer to liking him during these brief en- 
 counters than she had imagined it possible she 
 ever could. 
 
 And still she carried about with her hourly, a 
 burden different from that of others, but heavy 
 and bitter. How to reach this girl, whose life was 
 slipping so rapidly away ; how to help her with 
 that important suggestion of Infinite help, before 
 it should be forever too late this was the question 
 and the longing that so grew upon her that it was 
 becoming almost insupportable. Could she bear to 
 live, and walk about these familiar rooms, and order 
 their belongings, reminded all the time of one who 
 had been with her, years and years, and had gone, 
 and feel that because of her unfaithfulness the 
 going had been rayless of hope ? 
 
 A professional nurse was installed once more ; 
 the disease having now taken a sufficiently serious 
 form to awaken the respect of those important 
 persons. Ruth had more leisure, and less respon- 
 sibility ; more time, therefore, to break her heart 
 over what she, alone of all that household, felt and 
 feared. She betook herself to prayer. Such eager, 
 
242 BELATED WORK. 
 
 longing cries for this soul as it seemed to her the 
 Lord must hear ; and of course he heard ; but his 
 answer was to reveal to her herself. 
 
 The scales that had blinded her for years fell 
 off, and she realized only too plainly that much of 
 the unhappiness of her life she had brought upon 
 herself. She had done her duty by her husband's 
 daughters, " good measure, pressed down," often- 
 times " running over " ; but she had never loved 
 them, nor tried to love them. She had mentioned 
 their names many times in her prayers, but she 
 had never prayed for them in her life, with the 
 heart-wrung cry with which she now almost hourly 
 brought this one to the notice of the Healer. It 
 came at last to be almost the cry of Israel of old, 
 " I will not let Thee go except " realizing, oh ! so 
 fully her mistakes, realizing that had she lived be- 
 fore them a different life in every way, both of 
 these who had made her life miserable might be 
 to-day living for Christ ; yet she cried out to 
 the great Physician, " Nevertheless, for thy sake, 
 Lord." 
 
 It was several days after she had begun to pray 
 in this manner that her anxiety expressed itself in 
 words. She was alone with Seraph, the nurse 
 having taken advantage of a quiet hour, to secure 
 some much-needed rest. 
 
 She began by almost timidly suggesting that the 
 pastor of the church at the corner had called the 
 day before, and indeed called often ; would not 
 
BELATED WORK. 243 
 
 Seraph, some morning when she was feeling pretty 
 well, like to have him come up and see her ? 
 
 Silence followed, lasting so long that Ruth 
 thought her question was not going to be an- 
 swered ; then, in a cold, constrained voice : " I 
 don't know why I should care to see him. I do 
 not feel in the least acquainted with him ; the only 
 time I ever saw him alone, was that day he called, 
 when you were not at home, and Kate thought you 
 were ; and he spent ten minutes in asking me about 
 the last concert ; which soprano, in my judgment, 
 was the better, and whether, on the whole, I 
 thought Miss Nelson's voice was as good as her 
 cousin's, who used to sing that part ; I don't feel 
 any particular desire to see him. I have lost my 
 interest in concerts." 
 
 It all came over Ruth then, so pitifully the 
 pale face, save for those fateful spots of crimson 
 high on the cheeks, the hollow-sounding voice 
 which told only too plainly that the singer would 
 sing no more ; the short breath, which made her 
 pause frequently between even short sentences, 
 and the apathetic voice, hinting of interest lost 
 in almost everything. She had meant to be very 
 quiet, very careful about exciting her charge, and 
 she was not given to tears ; nevertheless, they filled 
 her eyes now, as she came over to the invalid chair 
 which was stretched back almost like a bed, and 
 knelt beside it and touched the white hand lying 
 idly on her lap, and spoke low, and tremulously : 
 
244 BELATED WORK. 
 
 " Seraph, I want to say something to you ; I feel, 
 oh! more than I can ever express, how far short of 
 all that I ought to have been, I have seemed to 
 you. I have lived before you the Christian life 
 in such a way as to lead you to feel that there was 
 no reality in it, and no comfort to be had from it ; 
 and as though I cared little whether you walked 
 that way or not. This I realize, and I want to 
 tell you what a mistake it all is ; there is a vital 
 personal union with Christ which is able to make 
 up for the loss of all other things ; there is a 
 heaven so glorious that we cannot even in our 
 wildest flights, imagine it ; I know, for I saw my 
 father bid good-by to this world, and the glory on 
 his face as the light of the other dawned upon 
 him, was not to be mistaken ; then I know, by my 
 own experience, that Christ is able to give such 
 strength and comfort as are to be found nowhere 
 else ; and if I, such a miserable Christian as I 
 have been, can be sure of this, and I am, ought 
 you not to believe it ? If I could tell you how I 
 long to have you take the rest which this Friend 
 stands ready to offer, if I could give you any idea 
 of the consuming desire I have to see you sheltered 
 in his arms of love, and have Him undo some of 
 the mischief which my cold and careless life has 
 done, I almost think you would, in very pity for 
 me, turn your thoughts and hopes to Him." 
 
 It was not what she had meant to say ; there 
 was not a word spoken of all that which she had 
 
BELATED WORK. 245 
 
 lain awake and planned, the night before. It had 
 not, at that time, seemed to Ruth wise to speak 
 of herself at all, for she believed that Seraph 
 was too indifferent to her to care what she felt ; 
 and here she was almost basing her plea on the 
 strength of the pain which she felt for this dying 
 girl! 
 
 Neither was the answer she received in any 
 degree what she had planned for. She had thought 
 that there might be, possibly, indignation, or sar- 
 casm, or coldness ; or perhaps no attempt at reply ; 
 and indeed this last seemed, for a few moments, 
 what was to be. 
 
 Seraph lay back and looked at her, with no trace 
 of emotion on her face, with apparently no quicken- 
 ing of her pulses ; yet presently she spoke, slowly, 
 in a half-curious tone, as one might who was mak- 
 ing out a puzzle : 
 
 " I almost believe you have been in earnest all 
 the time. I thought your religion was a sham ; 
 worn as one would wear a fashionable dress, 
 because in your very high and exclusive circle 
 it was the fashion not to be fashionable in a 
 worldly way, but to be religious. I did not think 
 you cared whether Minta and I, or even papa, ever 
 had any religion or not ; save so much for papa as 
 would admit him into the fashionable exclusiveness 
 where you belonged ; we didn't think you wanted 
 us there ; but I half believe we were mistaken all 
 the while." 
 
246 BELATED WORK. 
 
 These sentences were spoken slowly, almost 
 impersonally ; as if she were not referring to 
 herself and that other woman who knelt before 
 her. 
 
 But Ruth was too intensely in earnest now to 
 have this strange language or this utterly indiffer- 
 ent manner prevent her message. 
 
 " I do not wonder," she said, " I do not wonder 
 at anything which the mistakes of my past life 
 may have led you to think ; it has all been wrong. 
 I was never a hypocrite ; I was simply a half- 
 hearted Christian ; yet half-way as I was, -I tell 
 you in all sincerity I could not have lived my life 
 at all, it seems to me, without Christ. What I 
 want now more than anything else in life so 
 much that it seems to me I would willingly die 
 to secure it is to have you give yourself into his 
 keeping, and learn from Him all that He can be 
 to a soul. O, Seraph ! will you do this ? Will you 
 forget all about me, and turn your thoughts to 
 Him?" 
 
 Again there was no response. Seraph's eyes 
 were dry and her face composed, though her step- 
 mother's was wet with fast-falling tears. A long 
 time it seemed to the excited woman that she 
 waited, not daring to say more, to other ears than 
 God's, but praying, oh ! in an agony of appeal for 
 an answer of peace. 
 
 " I'll tell you, mamma, who I should like to have 
 come and stay with me a little while ; and that is 
 
BELATED WORK. 247 
 
 Susan Erskine." That, at last, was the answer 
 she received. 
 
 Ruth rose up, then, brushing the tears hastily 
 from her face, and in that instant she was shown 
 another revelation of her heart. She thought she 
 had been to its utmost depths ; but in the light 
 of this experience she saw that she had not only 
 wanted this soul saved, but had wanted the Master 
 to let her be the instrument in His hands ; and 
 that it hurt her to have herself, in effect, pushed 
 aside, and another messenger called after. It was 
 an instant's revelation, and the sudden revulsion 
 of feeling which it caused passed almost as quickly 
 as it had come. 
 
 " It is a good thought," she said humbly. 
 " Susan could help you ; she always helped me. 
 She is teaching, but perhaps a substitute could be 
 found. I will write to her this evening ; no, I will 
 have your father telegraph, if you like ; that will 
 save you from so long waiting ; I feel almost sure 
 she can arrange to come." 
 
 " Then send for her ; she is the only one I can 
 think of in the world whom I would like to see." 
 And Seraph had turned her head away from her 
 mother, and closed her eyes. 
 
 Then the nurse came, and Ruth went away 
 went to her own room, and locked the door, and 
 went on her knees. She spoke no audible word ; 
 but knelt there long, and rose up quieted. 
 
 Money is a potent factor in this world. Susan 
 
248 BELATED WORK. 
 
 Erskine was three hundred miles away ; was hold- 
 ing an important position in an important school ; 
 and it was in the middle of the term. When Judge 
 Erskine died, and the old home was broken, many 
 plans had been discussed as to what would be done. 
 Ruth wanted Susan, and would have been willing 
 to agree to almost any arrangement which would 
 keep her in the family ; but no one knew better 
 than Susan that the mother would not be at rest 
 in Judge Burnham's household. That she did not 
 fit it gracefully, and that she jarred on the nerves 
 of the master, and, for the matter of that, on the 
 mistress as well, although her heart was full of 
 grateful love toward her now. Susan did not dis- 
 cuss many plans; she kept her own counsel; but 
 had, in the course of a few weeks, announced that 
 mother and she were going back "home"; to 
 the neighborhood where they had lived so long ; 
 that her old position was waiting for her, and 
 mother had many friends there, and in every re- 
 spect she believed it would be best. And Judge 
 Burnham had said that Susan Erskine was the 
 most sensible woman of his acquaintance; that 
 he had always thought so. Nevertheless, he sent 
 the telegrams which Ruth suggested, with prompt- 
 ness, and added other and expressive ones about 
 the importance of having the invalid's wishes re- 
 spected ; and about the fact that any salary desired 
 might be offered for a substitute, if Susan would 
 but come ; so Susan came. 
 
BELATED WORK. 249 
 
 To her mother, she said, 
 
 " I think I ought to go ; for I used to have 
 influence with the poor girl ; and now that she is 
 going to die, I may be able to help her." 
 
 "Of course you ought to go," said Mrs. Erskine. 
 " What are schools, where they teach grammar 
 and things, when a body comes almost to the end, 
 and needs the kind of help that we were put into 
 the world to give ? Poor thing ! what an everlast- 
 ing pity it is that she put off the only important 
 work in life until life was pretty nigh over. But 
 there ! I'd 'a' done the same, myself, poor fool 
 that I was, and would be doing it yet, I dare say, 
 if it hadn't been for your father. And to think 
 that maybe that girl will see him in a little while ! 
 I could most feel like asking her to take a message 
 for me, if I was going along. I'm getting to be 
 an old woman, Susan, and I do feel kind of home- 
 sick after your father once in a while, now that's 
 a fact ; it isn't as though I had had him all his 
 life, you know, for I hadn't ; there was a good 
 deal of wasted time." 
 
 And Susan, who had steadily given her life to 
 the care and comfort of her mother, smiled on her 
 cheerily, and said, 
 
 " Never mind, mother, you and father will have 
 time enough together to make up for it all, one of 
 these days." 
 
 "That's the living truth," said the old lady with 
 a smile on her homely face, suggestive of the peace 
 
25O BELATED WORK. 
 
 of heaven ; and while she trotted about, packing 
 her daughter's trunk, she sang in a quavering 
 voice, and on a high key, 
 
 " When we've been there ten thousand years 
 
 Bright shining as the sun ; 
 We've no less days to sing His praise, 
 
 Than when we first begun." 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 2$ I 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 BUT because Susan Erskine came, Mrs. Burn- 
 ham did not therefore find herself banished 
 from the invalid's room. Instead, she was drawn 
 there more than before ; and, indeed, from the hour 
 when she made her pitiful appeal to Seraph, the 
 two had seemed to be on a different footing ; 
 no further words had passed between them, but 
 Seraph had seemed less indifferent to her coming 
 and going, and had shrunken less from receiv- 
 ing attentions at her hands. She even smiled 
 occasionally on her now, and once inquired as to 
 whether her incessant coughing, the night before, 
 had disturbed her mother. It was not usual for 
 Seraph to appear, at least, to care who was dis- 
 turbed by her. 
 
 At another time she said, smiling gratefully on 
 Susan who was arranging pillows in that deft way 
 which some attendants seem to know by instinct, 
 and others never learn, " It is so nice to have Susan 
 here, mamma ; it was so good of you to think about 
 it, and bring it to pass." 
 
252 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 All these little things were very unlike Seraph. 
 
 Moreover, as the days passed, Ruth distinctly 
 saw another change ; unmistakably, Seraph's face 
 was taking on that look of rest and peace which 
 can come at least at such times as those she 
 was rapidly nearing from only one source. The 
 haggard lines were being smoothed ; the apparent 
 apathy which had followed the days of unnatural 
 excitement, was also gone ; she had roused to 
 some degree of interest in the affairs of others. 
 She inquired for Erskine, who had long been 
 banished from the sick room, because his sister 
 had no desire to see him, and he now made daily 
 visits. Occasionally, his happy little laugh was 
 heard to ring out from the sick room, and when 
 some one went in haste, lest the invalid should b 
 disturbed, she would be found smiling on him. 
 Yet these were days full of solemnity to Ruth ; 
 she had never before lived, as it were, in the 
 presence of a soul at the time when it opened 
 the door and let in the Heavenly Guest ; she had 
 never before watched the process of transforma- 
 tion go on. It might have been unusually rapid 
 in this case, because the time was short ; but 
 Ruth stood often awed before it ; this marvelous 
 change of even the lines on the wasting face. 
 "And the hardness of his face is changed." 
 
 She came to that verse one morning in her 
 somewhat hurried reading, and stopped over it as 
 something which she had never seen before ; and 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 253 
 
 thought of it the instant she entered Seraph's 
 room, an hour afterwards. " It is true," she said 
 within herself; "the 'hardness' of her face is 
 changed ; that exactly describes the process." 
 Then she wondered if any infidel had ever watched 
 this steady change in a human face, and what he 
 thought could be at work in the heart, transform- 
 ing the life. 
 
 "Conformed to his image," this was another 
 sentence over which she had lingered, and which 
 she applied afterwards, feeling awe-stricken. 
 
 What an amazing thing it was that this girl 
 should be singled out from the family for such an 
 experience, such an honor as this ! " Getting 
 ready to go abroad." Those words were spoken 
 in her hearing, one day, in regard to an acquaint- 
 ance of Seraph's; and Ruth thought of it con- 
 stantly as the days passed. " So is she," she said 
 to herself, looking, the while, at Seraph; "get- 
 ting ready to be presented at court ! Oh ! more 
 than that ; she is the bride getting ready for the 
 bridegroom and the palace. What a marvelous 
 thing it is ! How do we ever succeed in thinking 
 about, or caring for anything else, with this in 
 view?" And the fascinations of that room in- 
 creased upon her. It was not that Seraph said 
 much, said anything, indeed, except to Susan, in 
 the confidential talks which Ruth knew they had ; 
 it was rather that Ruth allowed her imagination 
 full play when she was in the presence of this 
 
254 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 one who was evidently slipping away from earth. 
 Others beside herself saw, or felt the changes ; 
 Mr. Satterley, who had obstinately refused to 
 believe that nothing could be done for the sick 
 one, and had hoped against hope, and begged that 
 this remedy and that might be tried, and such and 
 such an authority consulted, followed Ruth from 
 the room one morning, when it had seemed to her 
 that Seraph looked unusually quiet and reposeful, 
 and dropping into a chair at the further end of the 
 hall, gave himself to a perfect abandonment of 
 grief. " I've given up," he said when at last he 
 could speak ; " I could not believe it possible that 
 she was not going to get better ; but I can see 
 that she isn't ; some strange change has come to 
 her ; she is not like herself ; she talks as though 
 she did not even care to get well. Can anything 
 have happened to make her tired of living ; to, to 
 change her so ? " 
 
 "It isn't that," Ruth said; "it isn't that she is 
 tired of this life, but " and then she attempted to 
 speak the King's language to this man of alien 
 birth. He did not understand her ; he was per- 
 plexed, pained, almost angry that anything should 
 or could reconcile this woman whom he loved to 
 satisfying her soul with another love ; could make 
 her willing to glide away from him into a mysteri- 
 ous world. 
 
 Gradually there was coming to be a very pleasant 
 understanding between Mrs. Burnham and her 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 255 
 
 step-daughter. Seraph smiled on her, now, in 
 return for service, and sometimes said " Thank 
 you," in grateful tones ; and once she caught her 
 hand and said earnestly," You were right, mamma ; 
 there is One who can make up for the loss of 
 everything else ; it seems very strange that He 
 should be willing to do it for me, but He is, and 
 has, and I knew you would be glad." 
 
 After that Ruth looked at her and thought 
 about her with a feeling which might almost have 
 been called envy. This young woman, who a few 
 days ago had spoken of Jesus as though he were 
 an indifferent stranger, now evidently belonged to 
 him in a sense of which she, the disciple of years, 
 knew nothing. Why should her education pro- 
 gress so fast ? What was there in Heaven for her 
 to do, that she should be so swiftly hurried through 
 the earth journey, and sheltered in the sunny 
 home ? It was new experience in every way to 
 Ruth, and she studied it, and prayed over it, and 
 spent as much time as she could with the one who 
 had seemed suddenly to rise to heights above her ; 
 to draw closer each day to the Great Source of 
 strength and power. They had little, half-confi- 
 dential talks together sometimes, Seraph speaking 
 out suddenly, after long, quiet moments, revealing 
 in a brief sentence, perhaps, glimpses of the past 
 which were very revelations to Ruth ; making her 
 understand what she had had to contend with 
 in her hard and unsuccessful struggle with life. 
 
256 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 "When we first went to school," said Seraph, 
 " the girls used to laugh at us ; they thought we 
 could not be serious, Minta and I, when we talked 
 about you, and told how kind you were, and what 
 you had done for us, and how much you planned 
 for our pleasure. They made all sorts of fun of us 
 when they found that we really meant it ; they 
 said we were the greatest simpletons they had 
 ever met ; that the idea of step-mothers really 
 caring for grown-up daughters was too absurd to 
 be credited ; that, in the very nature of things, we 
 were, and must be, rivals ; that you had stolen 
 papa from us, and we must take the consequences, 
 of course, but as for pretending to think a great 
 deal of you, that was too silly for girls as old as 
 we were, and a great deal more of that sort of 
 nonsense," would Seraph add, somewhat wearily, 
 as her strength began to fail. " It was most 
 ridiculous in us to be influenced by such talk. I 
 cannot think how we came to be such idiots, but 
 we were. Poor Minta was inclined, I think, to 
 have a low opinion of the world in general, and 
 being constantly under such influences, and hear- 
 ing stories all the time about unhappy homes, and 
 heartless second mothers there were half a 
 dozen girls in the school who were step-daughters 
 we actually came to believe that their experience 
 was ours, or must be, in the course of time ; and 
 we came home prejudiced, you know, or with eyes 
 so blinded by false lights that we could not see the 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 real. We have been very hateful, mamma, but we 
 were honestly so." 
 
 She was too tired to say more, or to hear other 
 than soothing words. " Never mind," the step- 
 mother said. " Don't worry over it now, Seraph. 
 I, too, have been to blame greatly to blame ; I 
 can see it plainly now, but I can say, like you, 
 that I was honest. I meant to do the best for you 
 that I could. No, I am not going to let you talk 
 any more ; you are to shut your eyes, and not even 
 think. You and I will both remember that we be- 
 long to One who understands hearts." 
 
 But when she was alone again, the step-mother 
 went all over it in sorrowful indignation, and be- 
 gan to realize as she had not before, the irrepa- 
 rable mischief that false and foolish tongues had 
 wrought for her. 
 
 " You had stolen papa from us." This, in brief, 
 was the silly and false idea that she began to under- 
 stand was talked before children about their second 
 mothers, until it was little wonder that they came to 
 look upon the relation with blinded eyes, as Seraph 
 had said. And she, who had rushed into it with such 
 utter self-abnegation, such determination to make 
 "home what it should be for these two daughters, 
 had ignored the world and its false tongues, had 
 held herself aloof from it, and been so determined 
 to win by the superiority of her own plans, that it 
 was no wonder she had failed. 
 
 " I could have loved Seraph," she said, the tears 
 
258 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 falling fast ; as she brushed them away, " I could 
 have loved her, and have won her to love me, if I 
 had held her from the false and fashionable world, 
 and held up Christ before her with such power as 
 to win her to him." 
 
 And the confidential relations so long in estab- 
 lishing themselves between these two grew apace. 
 
 " Mamma," Seraph began one day when they 
 were alone for a moment, " there is something I 
 want very much, and I do not know whether I can 
 have it. Did you ever tell papa about that young 
 woman that Estelle, you know ? " 
 
 " No," said Ruth quickly, her face flushing. It 
 had been one of her anxieties in the earlier days of 
 this sickness that she had not done so, and that 
 she could not determine whether she ought or not ; 
 of late, she had put it aside. " No ; I have never 
 mentioned the matter to him in any way." 
 
 " And do you think I mean, I do not know that 
 there is any need for doing so now. Is there ? " 
 
 There was a marked emphasis on the word 
 now. It was putting into plainer language than 
 she had before, even to Ruth, the thought that she 
 was so nearly done with all these things ; that 
 stories about them, fraught with solemn import 
 but a few months ago, could be allowed to drop 
 quietly into silence. Ruth turned toward her, 
 her eyes dim with tears, and her voice tremulous, 
 but she answered, 
 
 " No ; I do not think there is." 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 259 
 
 "Well, mamma, I want to see her. I want to 
 have a little talk with her quite alone, and not have 
 any one know it. Do you think I might ? " 
 
 Ruth smiled now, a loving, in fact, a thankful 
 smile ; this was to her one of the indications of 
 discipleship. " I'll manage it," she said. 
 
 And that afternoon, having sent the nurse home 
 for a two hours' vacation, she said to Susan, " I've 
 no doubt you consider yourself authority here, but 
 it is a mistake ; you are under orders. I'm in 
 conspiracy with this little girl, and she has a 
 young friend coming to see her, with whom she 
 wants to talk quite alone. We are both to be ban- 
 ished ; I shall stay in the next room, within sound 
 of the bell, but you may go to the garden, or to 
 the music room, or where you will, so that you 
 consider yourself banished until you receive a 
 special summons hither." 
 
 " Very well," Susan said, entering into the as- 
 sumed gaiety of the moment with the quick-witted- 
 ness of one who understood that she was expected 
 not to understand. " I suspected mischief when 
 you were so anxious to have the nurse take a holi- 
 day, but I did not suppose it was so far-reaching 
 as this ; however, I am all submission." 
 
 And Seraph, as she caught Ruth's eye, smiled, 
 and said, " Thank you," in a low tone, full of 
 meaning. 
 
 For an hour, the two of whom Mr. Satterley 
 had asked the same momentous question, and 
 
26O TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 received from each a solemn Yes, were alone 
 together. But what the favored one, who yet was 
 going away to a country whence they never return 
 to fulfill earthly vows, said to. the one who had 
 been cast aside for her sake, is known only to 
 Him to whom all hearts are open. It was Ruth 
 who met the young girl at the door, when she 
 came in answer to her summons, and showed her 
 to Seraph's room ; and when, an hour afterward, 
 Seraph's bell rang, it was Ruth again who showed 
 her guest out, noting only that her eyes were red 
 with weeping. > 
 
 No questions were asked by any one. Kate, who 
 had met the girl in the hall below, and attended 
 her to the door, volunteered the information in 
 the kitchen, that it was " some young thing who 
 was fond of Miss Seraph ; a sewing girl," she 
 " guessed." And Susan, who knew better than 
 most persons when silence was golden, said noth- 
 ing at all. As for Seraph, the only word she had 
 to offer, was given to Ruth as she took the glass 
 of water from the wasting hand. Seraph's cheeks 
 glowed, perhaps, a little more than usual, but her 
 eyes were bright, and there was no hint of tears 
 about her face ; she laid her fingers gently on 
 Ruth's hand, and said, " Mamma, thank you." 
 That was all. 
 
 Mr. Satterley came and went as usual, perhaps 
 even oftener than before, and his face still wore 
 the same haggard look of pain ; and Ruth, watch- 
 
TRANSFORMATION. 26 1 
 
 ing them both, and seeing this life tragedy drawing 
 toward its close, felt more sympathy and sorrow 
 for the man than she had once imagined would be 
 possible. 
 
 He had been heartless, and yet it appeared that 
 he had a heart, and that he was being taught what 
 it was to suffer. Not long after this there came 
 to Ruth another appeal for help. 
 
 " Mamma, I wish I could see Minta." 
 
 And Ruth, her eyes flashing sudden resolution, 
 yet kept her voice quiet as she said, 
 
 "I will see if I cannot bring that to pass with- 
 out more delay." 
 
 She went very soon thereafter in search of her 
 husband, feeling angry with herself that she had 
 endured so long the present state of things. 
 
 In order to understand it, you will need to be 
 reminded that Judge Burnham had always been 
 a man of overweening pride, and that he had 
 allowed himself to be so swayed by this feeling 
 as to be at times incapable of controlling it. 
 
 That his heart had been trampled upon, and 
 rudely stung by his daughter Minta, was true ; 
 and that his pride had received such a blow that 
 he could not rally from it, was also true. Smart- 
 ing under this, you will remember how he had 
 issued his stern mandate that his second daughter 
 should never again enter his door ; that she was 
 from this time forth no daughter of his, and he 
 would have the world know that he disowned her. 
 
262 TRANSFORMATION. 
 
 A proud man is also a very obstinate man, and 
 through all these weeks of suffering, and fast fail- 
 ing bodily powers on the part of his only other 
 daughter, he had held steadily to this resolution, 
 notwithstanding the fact that Seraph had herself 
 appealed to him to be allowed to see her sister. 
 
 Anything else ; nothing that money could buy, 
 or time and care produce, were to be withheld. 
 It seemed, as the days went by, as though he must 
 have spent hours in studying as to what might 
 tempt Seraph's tastes. He brought home delicacies 
 which she was too ill to touch ; books and pictures 
 that she could only smile on, wearily, flowers of 
 so rare and heavy a perfume that they had to be 
 banished from her rooms, to give her air ; every- 
 thing that a lavish expenditure and highly cult- 
 ured tastes could furnish was at her command, 
 save this one wish of her heart to see and talk 
 with the sister from whom she had never before 
 been separated. 
 
 Over this petition he shut his firm lips and 
 shook his obstinate head ! Mrs. Hamlin was no 
 daughter of his, and therefore of course could be 
 no sister of Seraph's, any more. 
 
 Yet, on this morning of which I write, his wife 
 went down to him in his private study with deter- 
 mination gleaming in her eyes. 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 JUDGE BURNHAM," she said, beginning as 
 was her habit, without circumlocution of any 
 sort, " I am going to send for Minta, to-day, to 
 come to her sister. Seraph mourns for her, and 
 ought to have her wish. I will wait until you 
 have gone to town for the day, if such is your 
 desire ; but even that I think is unwise ; however 
 much she may have displeased you, Minta is still 
 your daughter, and this is her father's house " 
 
 He interrupted her hastily. " I have explained 
 to you, Mrs. Burnham, that she is from henceforth 
 no daughter of mine." 
 
 His wife's voice was very steady, having that 
 determined quality in it which helps to calm some 
 forms of excitement. 
 
 " But that, Judge Burnham, is simply nonsense ; 
 of course you and I know that the parental relation 
 is not one which can be put on and off at will ; 
 Minta is a disobedient and ungrateful daughter, 
 if you will, but she is still your daughter, whether 
 you will or not ; you can treat her as though she 
 
264 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 were nothing to you, but that will not destroy 
 the relationship ; it will be simply yielding to the 
 desire to act an unnatural part. Still, I do not 
 ask you to send for her, unless you think you 
 ought ; I simply say that I am going to let her 
 know to-day how ill her sister is, and ask her to 
 come and see for herself." 
 
 " And what if I say that, as this is my house, 
 and I am supposed to be its master, I forbid any 
 such proceeding ; that I decline to allow her to be 
 invited here on any pretext whatever ? " 
 
 His wife came toward him and laid her hand on 
 his arm with a little caressing movement peculiar 
 to herself, and not often indulged ; she was an 
 undemonstrative woman. 
 
 " Even then," she said, very gently, " I should 
 disobey you, because I know your true self better 
 than you do ; and I know how swiftly the days 
 are coming when you would bitterly regret such 
 words. Seraph is very ill, Judge Burnham ; she is 
 failing rapidly ; it will do no good to blind your 
 eyes to this fact ; she has never been separated 
 from her sister before, and she misses and mourns 
 for her ; it is unnatural and cruel not to allow, 
 and even urge Minta to come to her, under such 
 circumstances ; no one will see this more plainly 
 than you, one of these days ; it is simply that you 
 do not realize how short the time is." 
 
 His lips quivered almost beyond his control 
 when he spoke again. " I have not meant to be 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 265 
 
 cruel, but I have been cruelly treated ; any father 
 would admit that ; still, as you say, we do not 
 want to deny Seraph anything, though I cannot 
 think she is so ill as you suppose ; she seemed to 
 me quite bright this morning. I will lay no com- 
 mands on you, of course. I did not mean that, but 
 there are certain things that must not be expected 
 of me. If Minta personally cared for my forgive- 
 ness, she could, at least, ask it ; could say that she 
 had done me grievous wrong ; and I do not think 
 until she does so much, that I am called upon to 
 notice her in any way. The invitation to her to 
 call here must not come from me ; it must be dis- 
 tinctly understood that I do not endorse it ; I 
 merely tolerate it for Seraph's sake. And one 
 command I will issue : that man whom she calls 
 her husband must not step his feet inside my 
 doors." 
 
 His voice had grown stern again, and as he had 
 already made more of a concession than Ruth 
 had expected, and as she could see no reason why 
 any consideration should be shown the man who 
 had deliberately carried out a plan to rob a home, 
 she made no reply to this other than the general 
 one that of course she would carry out his wishes 
 as well as she could, and went away to write her 
 note to Minta, then, to tell Seraph what she had 
 done, and to regret, for the next four or five hours, 
 that she did any such thing. It became apparent 
 that Seraph had missed her sister more than any 
 
266 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 of those about her had realized, and the hope of 
 seeing her, coupled with the thought of the long 
 waiting that there must still be, unnerved her to 
 such a degree that the doctor, when he made his 
 morning call, was alarmed at the state of her pulse, 
 and scolded the nurse roundly for allowing her 
 charge to be excited about anything. 
 
 All this added greatly to Ruth's anxiety and 
 dismay, when the messenger who had been dis- 
 patched with her note returned, bringing a written 
 reply, instead of the girl for whom she was now 
 anxiously watching. It was addressed to herself, 
 and was brief and to the point : 
 
 MRS. JUDGE BURNHAM : 
 
 MADAM : 
 
 I will not take time to thank you for the extreme courtesy of 
 your remarkable invitation to my father's house, nor to explain to 
 you how fully I recognize your skillful hand in it all. I will simply 
 say that the invitation must come from my father, and must include 
 my husband, or it will be paper wasted. I will venture to send 
 my love to Seraph, and to hope that she will soon be well enough 
 to ride into town and visit me, when I will promise to give her a 
 much more cordial greeting than I should evidently receive in my 
 father's house. 
 
 Yours, in vivid remembrance, 
 
 MINTA BURNHAM HAMLIN. 
 
 Over the contents of this letter Ruth stood 
 appalled. What was now to be done with the ex- 
 cited invalid ? Judge Burnham was away for the 
 day ; she did not even know just where to reach 
 him, nor, indeed, if he were at home could much 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 26/ 
 
 be expected from him immediately on the receipt 
 of such an epistle as that. While she was still in 
 a state of wretched indecision as to how to manage, 
 Susan came in search of her ; Seraph had asked 
 for her, and seemed restless over her prolonged 
 absence ; so Ruth went at once, and was immedi- 
 ately questioned : 
 
 " Mamma, you have had some word from Minta, 
 I can see it in your face. Won't you just let me 
 read the letter for myself, if she wrote ? I under- 
 stand Minta so well ! Things that might sound 
 strangely to you, would be plain to me. Will you 
 let me have it, mamma ? " 
 
 All this was so unlike the Seraph of Ruth's 
 acquaintance that she felt half bewildered, and 
 without more ado, gave the letter into her hands. 
 Then, during its reading, tormented herself as to 
 whether this were not the very worst thing that 
 could have been done. 
 
 There was a heightened color on the girl's cheeks 
 when she gave it back, but her voice was steady. 
 
 " Never mind, mamma ; that was a pretty hard 
 letter for you to read, but there is more than Minta 
 involved in it. He will not let her come ; I under- 
 stand how it is. He has a very great influence over 
 her, and he is selfish intensely selfish. I used to 
 tell her that, before I knew that she cared for him so 
 much ; she does care, mamma it isn't all naughti- 
 ness. We will let it go for the present ; she does 
 not understand, you see. She thinks I am going 
 
268 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 to get well, and come and see her, and she thinks 
 if she holds out, papa will receive him, too ; in a 
 few days, perhaps, we can make her understand 
 how it is with me. I would not send again, mamma, 
 for papa's sake ; it is very hard for him, too, and I 
 am so sorry. How very different things get to 
 looking in a few weeks' time ! We have both made 
 it very hard indeed for you and papa, and we did 
 not dream it. You must remember that, mamma ; 
 we did not understand at all. We were fools. I 
 wonder if Minta will wait until she lies where I do, 
 before she realizes it ? That was one reason why 
 I wanted to see her." 
 
 " Never mind," said Ruth in her turn. " Do 
 not think about it any more now ; you are tired, 
 and I understand ; I understand much better than 
 you suppose I do. There are two sides to it ; I, 
 too, was a fool in many ways, and, like you, I did 
 not mean it." Then she stooped and kissed the 
 girl for the first time in years, and her eyes were 
 filled with tears, and her throbbing heart said, 
 " If we could only begin all over again from the 
 beginning ! " 
 
 Seraph was quieter after that. The sense that 
 Minta had refused to come to her, and had replied 
 only with insulting words, seemed to tone her im- 
 patience to see her. She counselled waiting for a 
 day or two. " I will write her a little note myself, 
 to-morrow, perhaps," she said, "if I am strong 
 enough, and then she will understand better ; and 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 269 
 
 I do not blame papa for not wanting that man to 
 come. I never knew anything of his plans ; I did 
 not think he would dare to do as he has. Papa 
 understands that, does he not ? " And Ruth as- 
 sured her tenderly that papa had no words of 
 blame for her. But Seraph thought much about 
 it all ; this was evident, from the words she fre- 
 quently spoke to Ruth, never to any one else. 
 " Mamma, people do not mean all the things they 
 say. You know that, don't you ? I don't know 
 but you do ; I have come to think so. That time 
 you said you were sorry for me, do you remem- 
 ber when you told me about Estelle ? I know 
 now that you meant it, but I didn't think so then. 
 And I said things, many and many a time, that I 
 did not mean. I did about her ; I pretended not to 
 care, and I said it was a little matter. There was 
 not any of that true." 
 
 " I understand," said Ruth, and her voice was 
 very humble. She had not understood, she told her- 
 self ; she had not understood this girl at all ; she 
 had called her simply heartless, when perhaps her 
 heart was breaking. 
 
 There was another who insisted on knowing just 
 what had been done about the summons to Minta, 
 and on seeing her reply ; and had tossed it down 
 with a haughty, "That is just what I expected. I 
 hope you have sufficiently humiliated us before 
 her, and will be content to let her take the road 
 she has chosen." 
 
2/O DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 " Seraph says she cannot now do as she will," 
 interposed Ruth meekly, but her husband answered 
 her only by a sharp " Nonsense ! " And remem- 
 bering Minta's determined will in the past, she 
 said no more. It is possible that these two would 
 both have been wiser could they have heard the 
 words that passed between the young husband 
 and wife on the receipt of Ruth's note. She had 
 worded it carefully, trying not to give offense, and 
 at the same time to make plain to the girl that she 
 must come alone ; and the husband had thrown 
 it aside with much more vim than Judge Burnham 
 used with the reply, and had said in an angry 
 voice : " Insufferable woman ! If it were not for 
 her, you would be in your rightful place in your 
 father's house ! The idea that she should dare to 
 tell you that you may come home, but you must 
 come alone ! If you do not resent that with 
 scorn, you are more of a coward than I take you 
 to be." 
 
 "I wonder if Seraph is really very sick," faltered 
 the wife. " Do you hear nothing about it in town ? 
 Couldn't you ask some one ? " 
 
 "Sick! Of course she isn't; it is simply a 
 ruse to get you away from me, and then proceed 
 to crushing me ! That precious father of yours 
 could do it, and would like nothing better, es- 
 pecially with your lovely step-mother to crowd 
 on." 
 
 " Oh ! but, Harold, you said yourself that papa 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 2/1 
 
 withdrew proceedings against you, and that that 
 was the reason you could stay in town." 
 
 " Yes ; and why did he do it ? Because I was 
 sharp enough to get hold of you. He would have 
 crushed me as willingly as he would a worm, but 
 for that ; if it had not been for his impertinent 
 interference in my affairs I would never have 
 gotten into such an intolerable scrape. He may 
 thank himself for the publicity of the whole thing. 
 But his name is involved now, in spite of himself, 
 and a man like him, who is all but consumed with 
 personal vanity, will do a good deal for the sake of 
 shielding one who belongs to him. I tell you, 
 Minta, I understand all this perfectly ; he has a 
 deep-laid scheme to separate us, and to ruin me-; 
 he has power enough to do it, even though I am 
 not to blame, save in supposing that he had a 
 heart. I don't depend on that organ any longer, 
 I assure you, but I do on his pride. When he 
 finds that you can be as firm as he thinks he is, 
 and will have all, or nothing, his consuming desire 
 to appear well in the eyes of the community, will 
 get control, and he will receive us both in the way 
 he ought. 
 
 "Send back such an answer as this letter de- 
 serves, and wait patiently ; I know the world, and 
 your precious father has a very large share of it 
 grown into the place which he calls his heart. I 
 do not believe there is anything the matter with 
 Seraph but a severe cold ; in fact, I know there isn't. 
 
2/2 DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 She can come to us in a few days, and that will do 
 much to smooth the way ; it will not look well to 
 have the daughter on familiar terms with us, and 
 the father not speaking to us. But there is one 
 thing to remember " this last sentence was added 
 with gathering sternness, as he saw the look of 
 doubt and anxiety on Minta's face: "mark my 
 words, if you condescend to notice them in any 
 way, so long as they ignore me, you choose be- 
 tween us, and must take the consequences. I say 
 that distinctly, knowing just what I mean, and you 
 know that I am a man of my word." 
 
 He a man of his word, and moving at large 
 among men simply because of the forbearance of 
 those to whom he had been false ! His wife knew 
 this, or at least knew that he was in disgrace with 
 business men. He told her that he had been un- 
 fortunate, and that it was her father's ill will that 
 had forced evil upon him ; but she was painfully 
 conscious of the fact that there were men whom 
 her father's ill will could not injure, and that there 
 was something very wrong about it all ; yet with 
 the strange and pitiful inconsistency of the human 
 heart, she felt for this man whom she yet could 
 not quite respect, a sentiment which in her igno- 
 rance she named love ; and it held her in submission 
 now, while she wrote, under his guidance, and 
 partly at his dictation, the letter over which Ruth 
 had stood appalled. 
 
 Yet she cried when her husband left her alone, 
 
DAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 2/3 
 
 bitter tears, and wished she could see Seraph 
 "just for a few minutes" and judge for herself 
 whether she were really ill ; and, altogether, was 
 miserable enough to have moved the pity of a 
 harder-hearted man than Judge Burnham. 
 
 For several days following these experiences an 
 apparent change for the better seemed to be taking 
 place in the sick room. Seraph appeared stronger 
 than she had for some weeks, and her appetite 
 that had almost entirely failed, returned ; and her 
 father, each time he saw her, remarked upon some 
 token which was to him evidence of returning 
 health. As for Mr. Satterley, he began to talk 
 hopefully of the marvelous effects that a pro- 
 longed stay in California, or in the far South, 
 frequently had on invalids, and to hint that in a 
 few weeks Seraph might be strong enough to take 
 the journey by easy stages ; and only the doctor 
 and the professional nurse fully realized that they 
 were simply passing through one of those decep- 
 tive lulls so common to the disease in question. 
 
 Meantime, Susan received an earnest summons 
 back to her post, and Seraph agreed to her de- 
 parture with a quiet smile. 
 
 "We shall miss you very much," she said cheer- 
 fully, " but I do not need you in the terrible sense 
 that I did before you came. A few weeks make 
 such a difference in things ! Everything is differ- 
 ent ; mamma and I can manage nicely together, \f 
 you ought to go." 
 
2/4 UAYS OF PRIVILEGE. 
 
 So Susan kissed her long, clinging kisses 
 arid whispered good-bys, and went away. And 
 Ruth spent long hours, to be always remembered 
 afterwards, in that sick room. 
 
 There was often about the room now an atmos- 
 phere which awed her, it was growing so increas- 
 ingly apparent that a Presence, unseen, yet potent 
 in His influences, had taken possession, and was 
 steadily transforming this life. 
 
 There were moments when Ruth would stand 
 looking at her charge almost reverently, absorbed 
 in the thought of the coming changes. " She is 
 going away," she said to herself. " In a few days 
 she will see the Lord, and talk with Him face to 
 face ; and be with Him forever and ever ! A few 
 weeks ago she did not know Him at all ; and now 
 she has gotten so far ahead of me, that sometimes 
 it almost seems as though she already had speech 
 with Him such as I cannot understand. It is 
 all very wonderful ! And these are my days of 
 privilege ! " 
 
 And I may also make an exception of Mrs. 
 Burnham ; for she knew, as well as did the doctor 
 and the fiurse, that in a very little while Seraph 
 Burnham was going away. 
 
"o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 275 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 "o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 
 
 THERE came a dav.and it came suddenly at 
 the last, as those days nearly always do, 
 when Mrs. Hamlin sitting alone and discontented 
 in her third-story room in a down-town boarding 
 house, received this imperative message, brought 
 by a special messenger boy : 
 
 If you want to see Seraph once more, you must come imme- 
 diately ; there is not an hour to lose. RUTH BURNHAM. 
 
 Yet even then she was not prepared for the 
 facts. Her husband had heard reports of the 
 marked improvement in Seraph's case, and had 
 not failed to repeat them to his wife, without at 
 any time letting her know the serious nature of 
 the disease, though he himself was well aware 
 of it, and built some hope on the fact that Judge 
 Burnham would, before very long, have but one 
 daughter left to him. 
 
 He had carried his wife out of town with him 
 for a few days, the better to keep her in ignorance 
 of what might be going on in her home, and also 
 
276 "o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 
 
 to prevent the possibility of her being urged there 
 without him. They had returned but the night 
 before, and he had been gone from the house 
 but a few moments when this startling summons 
 came. She did not believe it, but it filled her 
 with alarm. What if Seraph were really very ill 
 and wanted to see her, could she ever forgive 
 herself for staying away ? Besides, she longed 
 so for a sight of her ; and she believed in her 
 heart that her husband was not only cruel, but 
 foolish in keeping them apart. What possible 
 harm could come to him through her going to 
 see her sister once in awhile ? Had she not shown 
 him how little influence her family had over her, 
 as compared with him, when she left them at his 
 bidding ? While she was thinking these thoughts 
 she made swift changes in her dress, having taken 
 a resolution to go home at once and learn for her- 
 self just how much she had to fear. She was 
 beginning to learn, even thus early in her married 
 life, that her husband could be both cruel and 
 false ; it was possible that he was being false to 
 her in this ; she would see for herself. 
 
 So without more delay than was necessary, she 
 stepped from the train at the old familiar station 
 which it seemed to her she had not seen before 
 in years, entered her father's carriage which was 
 in waiting, and was driven rapidly to her former 
 home. No one met her at the door ; no one was 
 waiting to receive her in the hall ; she ran rapidly 
 
"o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 277 
 
 up-stairs, frightened, and yet unbelieving. Kate 
 met her in the hall above, grave-faced, low-voiced. 
 " You can go right in," she murmured, and inclined 
 her head toward the large cheerful room at the 
 south end, and Minta pushed open the door noise- 
 lessly, and entered. 
 
 She had thought that she would rush at once to her 
 sister and wrap her arms about her whatever the 
 faults of these two may have been, they had loved 
 each other but she did not do as she had planned. 
 Instead, she stopped, frightened, in the doorway, 
 her breath coming in great heavy throbs which 
 seemed to make her faint. Her father stood at 
 one side of the great French bedstead which had 
 been drawn forward almost in front of the open 
 window where the soft spring sunlight was coming 
 in. Near the foot of the bed stood the doctor, 
 watch in hand, but doing nothing, saying nothing, 
 impressing one by the very attitude in which he 
 stood, with the thought that all doing was done, 
 so far as his profession was concerned, and that 
 he was now waiting for what ? A strange woman 
 was at the other side of the bed, looking intently, 
 as were all the others, at the face lying quiet on 
 the pillow, and bending over, very near to her, was 
 Mrs. Burnham. All these things Minta, in the 
 doorway, felt rather than saw ; felt also the deathly 
 pallor of that face on the pillow with closed eyes ; 
 so still she lay that she might even now be dead, 
 for all indication she gave of life. 
 
278 "o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY ! " 
 
 There was one other in the room ; at first Minta 
 did not see him. He was kneeling close to the 
 form on the bed, somewhat shielded from view by 
 Mrs. Burnham. He had one quiet hand clasped 
 in both his own, but his face was buried in the 
 same pillow on which the moveless head rested, 
 and only the long-drawn, shuddering breath which 
 he occasionally drew, gave token that he was more 
 conscious of what was passing than was the lovely 
 body over which they were keeping their solemn 
 watch. 
 
 No one spoke to Minta. Judge Burnham gave 
 one swift glance toward her, then turned his eyes 
 instantly back to that quiet face, his own growing 
 perhaps a shade paler than it had been before. 
 At that moment Mrs. Burnham noticed her, and 
 moving slightly to make room, signed to her to 
 approach. It was just then that the head on the 
 pillow stirred once more ; the lips parted in a 
 smile, which even Minta, all ignorant as she 
 was, felt was not of earth. Her eyes opened 
 wide, looked upward for a moment, as if reaching 
 beyond the confines of the room. of the earth, 
 indeed then, returning, rested for a moment on 
 her step-mother's face ; the smile grew more radiant 
 still, and her voice, always sweet, was filled now 
 with an unearthly sweetness, but all she said was, 
 " O, mamma ! good-by ! " and Seraph was gone. 
 
 Even in that supreme moment, Minta' s first im- 
 pulse was to turn a look of unutterable astonish- 
 
"o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 279 
 
 ment upon her step-mother. What miracle was 
 this, that the last ineffable smile, and the last 
 tender word of this passing soul, should be given 
 to her ? Something like the same thought came 
 to Ruth herself, and brought with it such a sense 
 of personal loss as a few weeks before she would 
 not have supposed it possible she could feel in 
 such a connection. You probably know all about 
 the experiences of the next few days without words 
 from me. It is a sorrowful fact that the scenes 
 associated with the house of mourning are too com- 
 mon personal experiences to need description. 
 
 It was a grand and solemn funeral. I use the 
 two words thoughtfully ; the grandeur being of that 
 subdued kind which marks the home not only of 
 wealth, but of culture. Judge Burnham was not 
 the man to spare expense on any occasion, cer- 
 tainly not now ; so the beautiful clay from which 
 the soul had departed was adorned by every art 
 known to skilled management, and was almost 
 literally embowered in flowers. It was, of course, 
 a time of painful excitement and unrest ; the 
 very grief of one of the mourners having so much 
 about it that was unnatural, as to wear heavily on 
 the nerves of the others. The poor sister, you 
 will remember, was utterly unprepared for such 
 scenes as these. Ruth had made several efforts 
 during the passing days, to send her positive 
 knowledge of Seraph's state, but owing to her 
 absence from home, and to her husband's wish 
 
28O " O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 
 
 that she should not know the truth, she had been 
 successfully kept in ignorance. The bitterness of 
 her sorrow and remorse were now pitiful to see. 
 All the more terrible were they because no one 
 seemed able to offer her a word of consolation. 
 Ruth, of course, dare not speak at all. Judge 
 Burnham made no attempt to do so, acted, indeed, 
 as though he did not know this other daughter of 
 his was in the house, yet that he was aware of it, 
 was apparent when he roused himself once to this 
 stern statement : " Remember, Ruth, if that man 
 dares to come to my door with inquiries, he is not 
 to step inside on any pretext whatever. I look to 
 you to see that my commands in this matter are 
 obeyed to the letter, and remember that in this 
 thing I will not be trifled with." 
 
 Then, indeed, she ventured one protest : " But, 
 Judge Burnham, she is his wife made so by the 
 laws of God and man. Since this thing is done, 
 and she is to live with him, would it not be wise at 
 such a time as this to allow him to come and speak 
 to her if he will ! " 
 
 Then she was glared upon with a fierceness that 
 startled her. "You do not know what you are 
 talking about," he said at last. " No ; it would 
 not be better to do any such thing. He has no 
 right to be her husband ; he is a perjured villain, 
 and he knows it ; he has deceived her as well as 
 me, but she chose her own lot, and must abide by 
 it ; so will I abide by my determination, and I re- 
 
"o, MAMMA! GOOD-BY!" 281 
 
 peat it : under no pretext whatever shall that man 
 step inside my door. If she wants him yet, she 
 must go to him. I have no power to control her, 
 but I have power to hold myself aloof from him 
 and from her, since she has chosen between us> 
 and I shall do so. And, Ruth, I would be grateful 
 to you if you would not mention this thing to me 
 again." 
 
 And then Ruth knew, more fully than she 
 had before, that this fierce nature was entirely 
 unsubdued. 
 
 It was not the time to say it, nor, indeed, was 
 there any use in ever saying it, but it was not in 
 her nature not to recall once more the fact that he 
 had allowed this man, over whose very name his 
 face now darkened, to lounge in his parlors even- 
 ing after evening in friendly relations with the 
 daughter who had finally yielded to his influence, 
 and had not only made no sign of disapproval, but 
 had sneered at the warnings that came to him. 
 What right had he to be surprised or dismayed at 
 the result ? 
 
 But he was destined to hear more on this hate- 
 ful subject. His daughter, under the spell of a 
 written communication from her husband, made 
 successful effort to waylay her father while Seraph 
 still lay in unearthly beauty in that back parlor, and 
 with tears and sobs and pitiful appeals which were 
 sufficiently honest to carry much weight with them, 
 besought him to forgive her, to reinstate her once 
 
 19 
 
282 " O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 
 
 more in the home she had missed, and see how 
 dutiful and loving and comforting she could be to 
 him. Very humble she was and penitent. And 
 he, with all the father stirred within him, with the 
 memory of the fact that she was now the only 
 daughter left him, yet resisted the touch of her ca- 
 ressing arms, and held aloof from her, and walked 
 the floor, his face still stern, but his chin quivered, 
 and his eyes were dimmed with a film of tears. 
 At last he spoke : 
 
 " I have not meant to be severe. I have be- 
 lieved myself to be a very indulgent father ; too 
 indulgent, I have had reason to think, during these 
 later months of my bitter experience ; had I been 
 less so, you would never have been drawn into the 
 toils of the man who stole you from me. You 
 chose between us, however, after you were duly 
 warned, and by me, and I had meant that you should 
 abide by your choice ; but there are other argu- 
 ments than those you bring to-night, that have 
 been influencing me of late ; some of them might 
 surprise you if I gave them. I will not go into 
 details now ; I will merely say that I have re- 
 solved to do what I thought I should never do 
 offer you your home again. It is a desolated 
 and disgraced home ; disgraced by your own act, 
 and the Burnham name never wore a stain before ; 
 but, despite it all, if you choose to come back to 
 the home and the name, and pledge yourself never 
 to hold another conversation with the man who 
 
" O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 283 
 
 has wronged us all, I will receive you again as 
 my daughter, even in the face of a gaping world. 
 Also, I will take measures that will forever pre- 
 vent your being annoyed by the man who would 
 like to claim you for the sake of the money 
 that he thinks will be yours. The idea of the 
 villain's supposing that one cent of my money will 
 ever pass through his hands ! " Even at such a 
 time Judge Burnham could not keep the subdued 
 tones of voice that became the house, but let them 
 rise into anger with the last sentence. 
 
 I am inclined to think he misunderstood his 
 daughter as entirely as it is possible for a man to 
 misunderstand a woman. She, too, lost her self- 
 control, and gave free reign to her passionate 
 tongue. She had not been for weeks in the con- 
 stant society of a bad man without having been 
 influenced thereby, and many of the bitter things 
 that she poured out in her wrath she believed to 
 be true. She told her father that he was under the 
 spell of a woman who hated her, and who had 
 hated the daughter lying dead in the next room, 
 and who had made both their lives bitter for them 
 all these years. That it was she who had so preju- 
 diced him against her husband that he would 
 allow himself to be neither reasonable ner even re- 
 spectable in the eyes of the world. And then she 
 assured him that she knew how things looked to 
 this terrible ogre, the world, of which he was so 
 afraid, and that he might be entirely certain the 
 
284 " O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 
 
 world should hear just how a father, led around by 
 a second wife, could be made not only to so em- 
 bitter the life of one of them, that she welcomed 
 the grave as a release, but could actually bring 
 himself to all but forcing the other to give up her 
 husband and her married name, in return for being 
 received again into a home which she hated ; and 
 then she assured him that she had chosen and was 
 glad to remember that she had, and that nothing, 
 ever, not even the honor of being recognized be- 
 fore the world as belonging to the Burnham race, 
 should make her desert her husband even for a 
 day ; that she would go back to him that very night, 
 and that she wanted nothing from this house, or 
 from the people to whom it belonged, from this 
 time forth. 
 
 He listened to this outburst of mingled passion 
 and pain at first in a kind of bewilderment, then, 
 as she made some accusations, which, in the light 
 of his recent experiences, he knew were absolutely 
 false, his anger rose almost to white heat ; but as 
 her passionate torrent of words went on, gathering 
 force as they were poured out, he reached the 
 point where his well-trained self-control began to 
 assert its power, and, deceiving her by the very 
 calm with which he listened, he waited before her 
 in absolute silence, until she paused for breath. 
 
 "Are you quite through ?" he asked at last, 
 when she had been silent for a moment ; " because 
 if you are not, I would advise you to continue ; it 
 
" O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 285 
 
 might not be wise to go from here with any pent- 
 up torrent of anger such as you have exhibited ; 
 an outburst in other places might be more dan- 
 gerous than it will be here. I am glad you have 
 told me all this ; it makes plain much that I have, 
 of late, suspected ; it reveals some things to me 
 much more clearly than I could have hoped to 
 understand them from any source ; but if you 
 have really nothing further to say, I will add just 
 a few plain words, very easy to be understood. 
 You may, since you are in the house, if you choose, 
 remain during the funeral services of my daughter. 
 As soon after that hour as you can conveniently 
 do so, I shall have to ask you to leave my house ; 
 and I wish you distinctly to understand that you 
 are not to return to it at any time nor under any 
 pretext. I understood you to say that you had 
 chosen between us ; very well ; you had the oppor- 
 tunity, and can blame no one but yourself for 
 having made use of it ; what I require is that you 
 shall abide by your decision. From this time 
 forth I will not trouble you to call me by the 
 name which has sheltered you all these years, and 
 you need not even burden your conscience by 
 thinking of me as your father ; you have my full 
 permission to disown me entirely, and to say to 
 the world whatever you and your precious husband 
 please. The probability is, you will learn in time 
 that my reputation will be equal to the shock of 
 even the withdrawal of his favor. Now, as it is 
 
286 " O, MAMMA ! GOOD-BY ! " 
 
 getting late, I will not detain you further, but will 
 bid you good-night, Mrs. Hamlin." 
 
 He opened his library door, and ceremoniously 
 bowed his daughter out. And the other daughter 
 lay but a few steps from them her face still 
 glorified by that gleam from heaven, which had 
 rested on it embowered in flowers. 
 
NEXT MOST." 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "NEXT MOST." 
 
 AMONG the flowers that were strewn in pro- 
 fusion all about the casket where Seraph 
 rested, was a single spray of tuberoses, lying 
 somewhat by itself and as close as possible to the 
 face of the beautiful sleeper. It filled the room 
 with that rare fragrance that belongs only to the 
 tuberose. Mr. Satterley, who had been in the 
 room alone for nearly an hour, taking that long 
 last look which almost rends the human heart in 
 sunder taking it with the consciousness that dust 
 and darkness and decay are now to claim this 
 treasure for its own had turned away at last, and 
 then turned back, and, lifting the spray of roses, 
 had broken a single perfect bloom from its stem, 
 and placed it within the velvet folds of a tiny case 
 that held Seraph's pictured face, then returned it 
 to his breast pocket, and replaced the spray, so 
 that it almost touched the fair marble cheek. 
 
 Ruth, who had been about to enter the room, 
 drawing suddenly back when she saw its occupant, 
 had been a witness to this last act ; a pitiful smile 
 
288 
 
 hovered about her mouth for a moment. The spray 
 of tuberoses had a history which Mr. Satterley did 
 not know. Did she whose unconscious clay lay be- 
 fore him know the story ? In the world to which 
 she had gone, did they know of all these little ten- 
 der, pitiful things that are constantly happening 
 here ? 
 
 Barely two hours before had Mrs. Burnham 
 herself opened the piazza door in answer to the 
 timid knock of a trembling hand, and had come 
 face to face with Estelle Hollister. 
 
 The girl's eyes were swollen with recent weeping, 
 and there were heavy dark rings under them, which 
 told of long night vigils, and tears. 
 
 " May I look at her," she had asked eagerly, 
 " and may I lay this spray of flowers beside her ? 
 I know she loved tuberoses ; I have seen her wear 
 them often. O, Mrs. Burnham ! I am so sorry for 
 you all ; and so sorry for for him." 
 
 And Ruth, for the moment unable to speak, 
 knowing no words, indeed, which would fit the 
 pitiful strangeness of the moment, inclined her 
 head in silence toward the closed door, with its 
 significant badge of crepe, and left the two alone 
 together. And this was the spray of flowers from 
 which Mr. Satterley had picked one bloom to wear 
 close to his heart. 
 
 They had planned very carefully for the funeral 
 hour. Mr. Satterley had been reminded that Minta 
 would be dependent on him for care ; but nothing 
 
"NEXT MOST." 289 
 
 took place as it was planned. Minta, after that 
 last stormy scene with her father, refused to stay 
 another hour in the house ; refused to be present 
 at the funeral services next day, but went in haste 
 and in anger to the husband for whose sake she 
 had left them all ; and Judge Burnham was held 
 all the dreadful morning in the grasp of relent- 
 less pain. A peculiar form of nervous headache, 
 of which he was sometimes a victim, and against 
 which he had struggled all the previous night, in- 
 creased upon him to such an alarming degree that 
 when the hour for the public service arrived, he 
 was under the influence of a powerful opiate, and 
 therefore mercifully unconscious alike of bodily 
 and mental pain. So it came to pass that the step- 
 mother attended by Mr. Satterley were the only 
 recognized mourners who followed Seraph Burn- 
 ham out from her father's house. 
 
 It seemed a strange house to Ruth to live in 
 after that. She wandered through the deserted, 
 silent rooms, throwing them open to light and air, 
 caring for the many dainty and delicate things 
 left behind, with painstaking fingers that almost 
 quivered with a sense of dread. 
 
 How was it that she, who had for years felt no 
 responsibility, and but little interest in this part of 
 the house, had come to be the sole care-taker here ? 
 How swift and terrible had been the changes 
 which had left her free and lonely in her own 
 house ! No danger now of being disturbed day 
 
290 "NEXT MOST." 
 
 or night by inopportune outbursts of merriment, 
 or the sound of gay young feet ; the house was 
 still very still. 
 
 Its mistress folded, and wrapped, and marked 
 and laid away package after package of pretty 
 trifles that had belonged exclusively to Seraph ; 
 and while she worked there fell many a tear born 
 of that most sorrowful of all sorrowful memories 
 what "might have been." 
 
 She had been so very late in finding out what 
 she and Seraph might have enjoyed together ! 
 She had so utterly failed in regard to Minta ; and 
 though she reminded herself that the two were, 
 and had always been, very unlike, yet in the light 
 of her recent revelations, she could not but feel 
 that possibly, had she managed all things differ- 
 ently, all results might have been different. 
 
 Those were lonely days, the ones which followed 
 She could not settle to anything; indeed she could 
 not find anything satisfactory on which to settle. 
 Society did not claim her, of course ; there were 
 ^ndless proprieties connected with it to be ob- 
 served, but it released her from personal inflic- 
 tions in many ways. Still she did not find it by 
 any means so pleasant to be alone as she had once 
 supposed it would be. She was very much alone ; 
 Judge Burnham absorbed himself in business even 
 more than was usual ; and when at home was 
 gloomy to an almost alarming extent ; indeed, if I 
 should call him morose, it would perhaps be the 
 
"NEXT MOST." 291 
 
 more fitting word. That he was a rebel against 
 all the recent family trials, was only too apparent. 
 Minta he did not mention at all. Whether he 
 knew anything about her, or her circumstances, 
 Ruth could not determine ; for it did not seem to 
 her wise to break the ominous silence in which he 
 chose to wrap himself. His mention of Seraph 
 was always in the way of bitter regret. Had she 
 been sent from home at once, when she first began 
 to cough, all might have been well. Had there 
 been somebody besides a deceiving idiot for a 
 doctor, they might have known in time what 
 was feared, and prevented it. Had Seraph been 
 properly guarded from exposure she need never 
 have taken such an alarming cold. He did not 
 know, of course. How could men be expected to 
 keep guard over these things ? It was the woman's 
 place. Girls were careless, of course ; they always 
 were ; it was mothers who watched. "If And 
 it was about at such a point that he usually had 
 the grace to stop. Ruth often wondered whether, 
 had he continued, he would have said, " If the 
 girls had only had a mother ! " But she was very 
 pitiful toward him ; she had some realization of what 
 it must be for a father to lose, thus suddenly, and 
 thus painfully, the hold which he thought he had 
 on two who were his own. As often as she looked 
 at Erskine, she shuddered over the possibilities 
 which the future might hold in shadow, waiting 
 for her. 
 
2Q2 "NEXT MOST. 
 
 Then, too, she realized that the bright side to 
 these heavy clouds her husband did not see at all. 
 It seemed an infinite pity that he could not, at 
 least at times, absorb himself as she could, in 
 the wonder of the thought that Seraph Burnham 
 was to-day singing among the angels. She had 
 been gone only a few weeks ; yet how much she 
 must already know about those things of which 
 her father was totally ignorant, and concerning 
 which Ruth herself could only vaguely conjecture. 
 Yet the conjecturings grew daily more interesting 
 to her. And in the leisure which had come upon 
 her, she found herself reading and studying much 
 about the possibilities of that other world which, 
 because of the experiences in Seraph's room, had 
 come near to her. She collated in logical order 
 all the words which the Bible has to offer in 
 regard to it, and was, as many another Christian 
 has been, delighted to find that the grand old Book 
 told so much, and amazed to think that she had 
 not, long ago, learned all it had to tell on such 
 an absorbing subject. As the weeks passed, and 
 she still remained in uncertainty as to how to 
 use her leisure, this method of exhaustive Bible 
 study grew into a fixed habit. 
 
 Day after day she was occupied in familiarizing 
 herself with proof texts in regard to this or that 
 doctrine, or duty, and in so arranging and illumin- 
 ing them with incident or story that Erskine would 
 be interested and helped. If he had but known it, 
 
"NEXT MOST." 293 
 
 these were growing days for Erskine. He delighted 
 in being with his mother ; in her having, once 
 more, abundant leisure for his needs ; and it mat- 
 tered very little to him how she planned to have 
 the leisure occupied, so that he could share it with 
 her. So the golden head and the mature one were 
 often and often bent over the large and elegantly 
 illustrated family Bible, and the two drank in 
 wisdom together. " Erskine will never be puzzled 
 as to the right or wrong of many questions which 
 have disturbed me," Ruth said to herself with 
 infinite satisfaction. " He will have a clearly de- 
 fined 'thus saith the Lord,' to settle them for 
 him." 
 
 Meantime, the ladies of the Temperance Union 
 were watching Mrs. Burnham with no little anxiety. 
 The brilliant career which they had marked out 
 for her, and which had been so signally com- 
 menced, had been arrested, you will remember, 
 almost immediately thereafter. 
 
 The ladies thought that her public work had 
 been held in check only by the series of providen- 
 tial circumstances which had followed each other 
 in her home. 
 
 But Ruth knew, even as you and I do, that had 
 not these startling experiences come into her life, 
 her career, so far at least as regarded the public 
 meetings, would doubtless have suddenly closed. 
 
 It was one of the questions which perplexed her 
 now, how far she was justified in letting her 
 
294 "NEXT MOST. 
 
 husband's prejudices hold her back from work 
 which she knew she would enjoy, and in which 
 the Lord had once given her a signal token of his 
 approval. She held the ladies at bay, and held 
 her own decision in the background, while she 
 tried to study with unprejudiced mind, the entire 
 subject. The ladies were very hard to answer ; 
 they were importunate. " My dear Mrs. Burnham, 
 why will you not come next Sunday and help us ? 
 You cannot think how we have missed you ! 
 There are so very few of us, you know, to bear 
 burdens of this sort. There are plenty who are 
 willing to give money, and time ; to carry around 
 petitions, to distribute literature, and to serve on 
 social committees ; but when it comes to speaking 
 a few words to the poor fellows about their souls, 
 or even to leading in prayer, the only answer we 
 can be sure of is, ' I pray thee have me excused ! ' 
 I don't understand why it is," would Mrs. Stuart 
 Bacon conclude with a weary sigh ; and then, after 
 a moment, return to the charge : " And, dear Mrs. 
 Burnha-m, since that first Sabbath when you 
 helped us so grandly, we have been depending on 
 you. Of course we did not expect you, while 
 family cares and afflictions were resting so heavily 
 on you, but now that the Lord has taken those 
 duties out of your hands" 
 
 It was very hard for Mrs. Burnham, in the face 
 of such appeals, to make answer to the effect that 
 Erskine needed her, or that Judge Burnham, who 
 
" NEXT MOST." 295 
 
 was nearly always at home on Sabbath afternoons, 
 would be lonely if she should leave him for an 
 hour. She knew such words must sound painfully 
 trivial to women at work among souls who were 
 in immediate and desperate need. 
 
 The very fact that she was giving reasons which 
 were not, after all, the real ones, made this truth- 
 ful woman wince, and stammer, and feel and 
 appear ill at ease ; and the ladies went away 
 pained and puzzled. And the weeks went on, and 
 the summer waned, and another autumn was 
 nearly upon them, without there having been any 
 definite settlement in this Christian woman's mind 
 as to what work she would do for her King. 
 
 Not that she was idle ; it had been to her a 
 summer of study. Certainly she was furnishing 
 her brain for some encounter with error ; and 
 because of her connection with, and interest in, 
 the Woman's Christian Temperance Union, her 
 studies had almost without plan on her part, devel- 
 oped in that direction. She had gone into the hall 
 on that Sabbath afternoon with no very clear idea 
 as to what she thought in regard to the political or 
 indeed any other working aspect of the temper- 
 ance question. Had she been asked, that day, 
 what she thought of high license, or of no license 
 at all, or whether she believed prohibition would 
 prohibit, or whether she thought constitutional 
 prohibition was feasible, she could only have 
 replied in vague general ways that she never 
 
296 
 
 wanted her boy to touch, or taste, or handle alco- 
 hol in any form, and that if we were really to love 
 our neighbors as ourselves, she was in duty bound 
 to take that same stand for other boys. Thus 
 much she knew, even in her ignorance. But on 
 that September afternoon, as she sat with the 
 evening paper in her hand, and her fine face aglow 
 with a feeling very like contempt for the astute 
 member of Congress who had written a remarkable 
 article on the folly of the proposed temperance 
 movement, she said aloud, speaking, Erskine 
 thought, to him, since he was the only other occu- 
 pant of the room : " What utter illogical, nauseating 
 nonsense ! I'd like to reply to that man ! " 
 
 " What has he said, mamma ? " 
 
 "Why, some false and silly things against the 
 temperance movement, and against the temperance 
 workers, Erskine. They are so silly that they 
 could be very easily answered, by one who was 
 thoroughly posted as to facts ; and yet they have 
 such a semblance of truth that they will help to 
 lead astray many who have not studied facts." 
 
 She was not trying to make the little boy under- 
 stand ; she was simply thinking aloud, as she so 
 often did during these months of comparative soli- 
 tude. But the boy, being so constantly with his 
 mother, and sharing, in a degree, all her studies 
 and all her interests, had come to understand much 
 better than even his mother knew. What sug- 
 gested to his wise little heart the next remark? 
 
"NEXT MOST." 297 
 
 "Mamma, how do you know but God wants you 
 to stand up in a big church, or somewhere, and 
 explain all about it to people who have not studied 
 facts ? " 
 
 The rich blood glowed over the mother's face in 
 an instant. Was the thought somewhat like a 
 revelation to her heart ? Did God want her to do 
 anything like this ? But what would Judge Burn- 
 ham say to work of such a character, even in its 
 meekest developments ? 
 
 " Don't you think He may want you to do it, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " Do you think ladies ought to do such work, 
 Erskine ? " 
 
 She did not know why she said it ; she laughed 
 at herself for her folly even while she spoke. 
 What should the baby know about such questions ? 
 
 " Why not, mamma, if God wanted them to ? 
 Wouldn't a true lady do anything for God ? " 
 
 Certainly this was high ground. Could she, with 
 all her added years and wisdom, hope to reach 
 higher ? Nay, was she really prepared to reach 
 so high ? 
 
 She went back instantly to the old painful query, 
 What would her husband say ? " I'll tell you what 
 God wants," she said, speaking with sudden fervor ; 
 "He wants, and I want, more than anything else 
 in this world, to have papa give himself to Christ. 
 If we could only have that, Erskine." 
 
 " Why, yes," said Erskine, speaking with slow 
 
 20 
 
298 
 
 gravity, apparently surprised at her sudden fervor, 
 " I know that, and I speak to God about it all the 
 time, and He knows we want it most ; but then, He 
 wants us to think about the next most, too, doesn't 
 He?" 
 
 And from that hour Ruth tried, with a new 
 energy, to come to a decision as to what her " next 
 most " ought to be. 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 YET, in the days that immediately followed, had 
 Mrs. Burnham been questioned in regard 
 to her hopes for her husband's change of views, 
 she would have admitted that they were never at 
 a lower ebb. 
 
 Even as regarded his acquiescence in, or endur- 
 ance of, almost any form of active Christian work 
 for herself, she was almost hopeless. The question 
 that seemed pressing for decision was, How far 
 must she allow deference for his opinions to hold 
 her passive ? Meantime, he grew, if possible, more 
 gloomily unreconciled to the quiet of the house ; 
 and it seemed to his wife that they could not even 
 take an evening walk without meeting something 
 that added to the bitterness of his unrest. 
 
 They were lingering together in the park, just 
 as twilight was falling. The walk had been of her 
 proposing, and was one of her many devices for 
 drawing him, if possible, away from some brooding 
 care or anxiety ; she could not be sure of what 
 nature it was, and while she suspected that it might 
 
3OO A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 have to do with his daughter Minta, she did not dare 
 to question ; her sole hope was to rest him from the 
 burden for awhile. He had consented, half-apa- 
 thetically to the walk, only stipulating, somewhat 
 sharply, that Erskine should not be of the com- 
 pany ; declaring himself to be in no mood for a 
 child's incessant questionings. 
 
 So Erskine, to his great grief, had been left at 
 home, and the two had wandered aimlessly through 
 the park, on whose beauty the touch of another 
 autumn was already beginning to settle. Ruth 
 had left her husband's side and gone forward a 
 few steps to examine more closely some gay foli- 
 age plants about a fountain, when she saw, on the 
 opposite side of the driveway, two familiar forms. 
 It took but a glance to recognize Mr. Satterley, 
 but the lady she had to study carefully before she 
 could be sure that it was Estelle Hollister. 
 
 Younger she looked, and prettier, than Mrs. 
 Burnham had ever seen her before ; and as she 
 listened to what her companion was saying, the 
 soft pink flush on her face could be distinctly seen. 
 At that moment the two turned suddenly, and met 
 her eyes. Both faces flushed, and, as if by com- 
 mon consent, they stood quite still in the walk. 
 Ruth bowed cordially, and then Mr. Satterley 
 seemed to recover himself, and, bowing low in re- 
 ply, moved on. It was but a moment afterwards 
 that, rising up from the shrub over which she had 
 bent, Mrs. Burnham saw that the girl had broken 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 30! 
 
 away from her companion and was coming toward 
 her. 
 
 She was evidently in the habit of being as 
 simply direct in what she had to say as was Ruth 
 herself. She began at once, without waiting to 
 reply to the cordial " Good-evening ! " that accom- 
 panied Ruth's outstretched hand. " Mrs. Burnham, 
 do you think it wrong for me to be taking a walk 
 with him ? He asked me to come out here, where 
 it was quiet, and where he could talk with me 
 undisturbed. He has not forgotten we have 
 neither of us forgotten ; there are some things, 
 you know, that people cannot forget. But he says 
 she asked him to talk with me, and tell me some 
 things that she wanted me to understand and I 
 promised her to to forgive him, you know." 
 
 Mrs. Burnham could hardly forbear a smile. It 
 was a duty which the poor little thing was so 
 manifestly willing to perform ; yet she was so con- 
 scientiously desirous of doing only the right thing, 
 and of paying the utmost deference and respect 
 to the memory of the one who was gone. She 
 hastened to speak her reassurance : " My dear 
 girl, why should it be wrong, unless, indeed, you 
 are wronging yourself ? Miss Burnham has gone 
 where none of these things can touch her any 
 more. I should think there could be no impro- 
 priety in Mr. Satterley's carrying out her wish in 
 regard to seeing you ; but if you would really like 
 my advice for yourself, if I were you, I would go 
 
3O2 A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 home to my mother, without delay, and be guided 
 by her as to anything in the future ; you owe it to 
 her, and to yourself." 
 
 " I mean to," said Estelle, with half a smile, and 
 wholly a sob. " Good-by ! and thank you." 
 
 Meantime, Mr. Satterley had joined Judge Burn- 
 ham, and the two had been speaking together, 
 apparently of matters about which both were in- 
 different. He acknowledged Mrs. Burnham's com- 
 ing toward them only by another low, grave bow, 
 and immediately turned away. Judge Burnham 
 did not speak a word for the next five minutes ; 
 then he said, in a voice which seemed to have 
 taken on an added tinge of bitterness, " It seems 
 to me Satterley has sought and found consola- 
 tion very early, for one who was so nearly broken- 
 hearted as he." 
 
 " They are friends of long standing," Ruth said, 
 simply and gently ; there was no need now, to say 
 more. The grave had closed over all necessity for 
 revealing that chapter which would be only an 
 added sting to the father's heart. Ruth smiled to 
 think that she could be loyal to both husband and 
 daughter and do no harm. And as they walked 
 on in silence, in the gathering darkness, it almost 
 seemed to her that she could hear again that 
 singularly flute-like voice, and once more it said, 
 "Mamma, thank you." Their next encounter was 
 a business friend of Judge Burnham's, and an im- 
 portant business conference must needs be held 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 303 
 
 then and there ; and as Ruth stood aside, and 
 waited, there came to her presently a bit of life 
 that was all her own. A plainly dressed young 
 man who looked as though he might be a mechanic, 
 but who lifted his hat to her with the air of a gen- 
 tleman, stopped before her in the pathway. 
 
 11 1 beg your pardon, Mrs. Burnham, for speaking 
 to you ; you do not know me, I suppose, but I 
 know you so well, and have so much for which to 
 thank you, that it seemed to me I could not let 
 this opportunity pass." 
 
 The twilight had fallen very fast ; the face 
 before her was but dimly defined ; Ruth's first 
 impulse was to draw back, and step quickly to her 
 husband's side, but he was close at hand. What 
 was there to fear ? Why not learn what the man 
 meant ? " 
 
 " I think you must be mistaken in the person," she 
 said, with gentle dignity. " I am sure you have no 
 occasion to give me thanks." 
 
 " Indeed I have ; I ask God daily to bless you 
 forever. But for you, I shudder to think what the 
 next step would have been." 
 
 A sudden, sweet memory came to Ruth. 
 
 " You are that young man to whom I spoke that 
 Sunday ?" she said, hesitating, throwing both hope 
 and doubt into her voice. 
 
 " I am that young man to whom you, on that 
 never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, made plain as day- 
 light the way to eternal life. I thought you ought 
 
304 A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 to know that I kept my promise to go straight to 
 the Lord Jesus and claim his help. And I got 
 it, bless his name ! I belong to Him now in life 
 and death/' 
 
 Was ever sweeter music than this offered to a 
 Christian's ears ? There were only a few more 
 words after that. Inquiries as to the young man's 
 plans and prospects. He was doing well ; he had 
 found, already, that to be a servant of the Lord, 
 meant more than a hope of Heaven ; it meant very 
 much for this life also. He said this with a smile 
 which she could feel, rather than see ; it sounded 
 in his voice. Then he had thanked her again ; 
 strong, hearty words, and had told her that he 
 knew she must be going on with her work ; he 
 felt sure God had called her to the saving of 
 young men who were, like himself, almost lost. 
 Only a few minutes, but when she turned, Judge 
 Burnham was alone ; was waiting for her ; and it 
 did not need the firm grasp with which he drew 
 her hand through his arm, to tell her that he 
 must have overheard the last words, and was 
 annoyed. 
 
 " You seem to have acquaintances of all sorts," 
 he said haughtily, " and to be fated to meet them 
 to-night. Let us get out of this park as soon as 
 possible. Pray who was that young fellow who 
 presumes to speak to you so familiarly ? " 
 
 " He was not familiar, Judge Burnham ; nothing 
 could have been more deferential than his tone. 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 305 
 
 He is a young man whom I met at the Gospel 
 meeting." 
 
 "I thought you did not attend those meetings." 
 
 " I have not since that one Sunday, which you 
 must remember." 
 
 " Oh ! and this was the tobacco-smelling fellow 
 with whom you were kind enough to talk. If he 
 has not improved in his habits, it is well we were 
 surrounded by so much fresh air." 
 
 " He has improved. He is a servant of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, and I am glad over it, with a 
 gladness which I wish you could understand." 
 
 " Thank you for all kind wishes ; and I presume 
 it is hardly necessary to remind you again, that I 
 will not, on any account, have you meet familiarly 
 with those people, nor allow your name to be 
 associated with theirs." 
 
 And Mrs. Burnham went home from her walk 
 more hopeless, in regard to some things, than she 
 had been before ; but more sure than ever that 
 she must decide, and speedily, as to her " next 
 most." 
 
 And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Judge Burn- 
 ham went away again. Another member of the 
 firm was to go, but sickness detained him, and 
 the business was important, and complicated, and 
 tedious. It involved much travel, and long delays, 
 and Ruth was left more utterly alone than ever 
 before in her life. There were no young ladies 
 this time to almost bewilder her with their comings 
 
306 A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 * 
 
 and goings ; there were no sounds of gay society 
 life in the great silent house. Even Mr. Satterley 
 was not there to make occasional calls, out of 
 respect to the family tie which had once existed. 
 
 He was going to New York on business which 
 might detain him for some time, so he told her 
 when he called to say good-by ; and Mrs. Burnham, 
 who knew that Estelle Hollister had gone home, 
 wondered as to the nature of the business, and 
 was somewhat anxious, and silent. It made her 
 smile, and yet almost humiliated her, to find that 
 even Mr. Satterley was missed. There was a 
 painful sense of not belonging to anybody, which 
 sat heavily upon this lonely woman. As often as 
 she wandered through the lonely halls of her hand- 
 some house she wondered what could be done 
 with it. Since society had shrouded it in crepe 
 and passed it by, to what use could those large 
 silent rooms be put which would reflect honor on 
 the One to whom all hers was consecrated ? Ah ! 
 therein lay the secret of the difficulty. She must 
 say "our rooms ; " if only she could say "all ours is 
 consecrated," how plainly would the answer to this 
 painful riddle glow before her ! She knew a dozen 
 beautiful things which might be done with cultured 
 consecrated homes. Did she not know all about 
 Flossy Shipley Roberts, and the " green room," 
 and all the schemes to which it was consecrated ? 
 This was certainly her " most," and though she 
 clung to her one weapon, the power of prayer, 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 3O/ 
 
 and though she daily, even as Erskine had said, 
 " talked with God about this," kept it before Him 
 that it was this which she wanted most, yet cer- 
 tainly her heart was very heavy and her faith was 
 weak. 
 
 Her husband had gone before there had been 
 time for that long talk with him which she had 
 planned. She had meant to say, in all gentleness 
 and yet in plainness, that the time had certainly 
 come when she could no longer fold her hands in 
 graceful idleness, to please his tastes ; she must 
 find her appointed niche in the Lord's great work- 
 shop, and do her part. She had meant to ask 
 very humbly what there was that he was willing 
 to have her undertake. She would like to go to 
 that woman's Gospel meeting ; it was there the 
 Lord had met her, and told her what to say for 
 Him ; and she felt that she could do such work as 
 this again ; but if for any reason he shrank from 
 that particular form of work, and was yet willing 
 that she should undertake some other, that would 
 be honest work, she would not press her wishes 
 against his will ; only this must be understood : 
 she was bound by command and covenant to work, 
 in some direction, and felt that she could wait no 
 longer. Even while she thought it out what she 
 would say, and what he might possibly reply, and 
 if so, what she could answer there came to her 
 that same sad memory over which she winced, as 
 in mortal pain. Her husband might say to her, if 
 
3O8 A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 he understood these things well enough to use 
 their language : " The Lord gave you work to do ; 
 he placed two young girls in your special care 
 gave you all the appliances with which to work, 
 and bade you shape, and mould, and train them for 
 Himself; and you failed Him! To one of them 
 He reached out loving arms, and snatched her 
 from the perils of the life in which you had started 
 her feet, and took her to Himself ; but the other 
 where is the other?" There was no danger that 
 Judge Burnham would speak any of these terrible 
 truths to his wife ; but there was also no need ; 
 her own conscience knew how to press them home 
 with tremendous power. Still she was in earnest 
 now, and she must not longer make the mistake of 
 sitting idle, glooming over the past, while present 
 opportunities ran to waste. But there had been 
 no time for that talk with her husband. He had 
 been gone for several weeks, when Mrs. Stuart 
 Bacon sent up her card, one morning, with a pen- 
 ciled request that she might be seen if possible, 
 as her business was urgent. 
 
 " I do not want to see her," said Mrs. Burnham, 
 aloud, and incautiously, rising from the low chair 
 against which Erskine had leaned while he made 
 careful attempts over the figures which had been 
 set him to add. 
 
 "Why not, mamma? " said this wide-eyed ques- 
 tioner, who was not held to rigid rules during 
 school hours, his mother being his sole teacher. 
 
A WAITING WORKER. 309 
 
 " Because," said Ruth, still speaking out her 
 troubled thoughts, rather then addressing Erskine, 
 " she will want me to do what I cannot." 
 
 " Don't you know how, mamma ? " 
 
 " O, yes ! " with a half-smile on her face over the 
 question while she lingered to arrange her dress ; 
 " I may know how to do it, but there are other diffi- 
 culties in the way." 
 
 "Don't you think it ought to be done ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do ; " this reply was given with energy. 
 Erskine paused, pencil in hand, curly yellow head 
 dropped a little on one side, and gravely consid- 
 ered this problem which was more puzzling to him 
 than the column of figures ; at last he reached a 
 solution : " Then, mamma, I should think if it 
 ought to be done, and you know how, that God 
 would want you to do it." 
 
 Whereupon the mother laughed again, albeit her 
 eyelashes were moist, and kissed her young logi- 
 cian, and went down to Mrs. Bacon. 
 
 But that lady, who was generally clear-brained 
 and hurried, delayed the special reason for her call 
 in a most trying way. She talked about the last 
 Sabbath's meeting with earnestness, indeed, but 
 forgot even to hint of the pleasure it would have 
 been to have had Mrs. Burnham's help. She 
 told a long story about a young girl whom she had 
 taken into her family under circumstances of pecu- 
 liar distress, and how deep was her interest in the 
 matter, and how much there was in just such lines 
 
3IO A WAITING WORKER. 
 
 that needed doing. Under other circumstances, 
 Ruth would have been deeply interested in the 
 story ; but it was at this time so manifestly being 
 told to cover an embarrassment over something 
 not yet reached, that to the listener it was simply 
 irritating. 
 
 When her caller, having exhausted the story, 
 went back to the weather, waxing eloquent over 
 the beauty of the morning, Ruth felt almost like 
 saying that if her errand was really no more im- 
 portant than it appeared, she would like to be 
 excused. 
 
 And then at last Mrs. Bacon broke off in the 
 midst of a statement that the air reminded her of 
 a certain September morning in Italy, to say : 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Burnham, to tell you the truth, 
 I did not corpe to you this morning to talk about 
 the weather. I want to ask you to forgive me for 
 what I earnestly hope is unnecessary interference 
 on my part, and then to tell you plainly what I 
 have heard." 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 I KNOW it is possible that you may have heard 
 the same reports, but I told Mr. Bacon this 
 morning that I did not believe you knew anything 
 about it ; and I was just going to try to do as I 
 would be done by." A nervous little laugh fin- 
 ished the sentence, and then Mrs. Bacon launched 
 a question that covered the ground over which she 
 had just gone. " Do you know anything of Mrs. 
 Hamlin's circumstances, my dear Mrs. Burnham ?" 
 
 " I have not heard from her, or of her, since she 
 left her father's house, on the evening before her 
 sister was buried," Ruth said, with steady voice, 
 but rising color. The unnatural relations that now 
 existed in the disorganized family were sources of 
 continual embarrassment to her. 
 
 " I was sure of it," affirmed Mrs. Bacon, with 
 an air of relief. " I was sure that your kind heart 
 would lead you to act in the matter, now that in 
 your husband's absence the responsibility falls on 
 you. Well, my dear, I will not make a longer 
 story than is necessary. It is said that her hus- 
 band has gone from bad to worse. He has been 
 
312 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 getting into very dangerous relations again with 
 certain men ; gambling, you know, and well, I 
 am afraid, forging notes. Mr. Bacon thinks it 
 will hardly be possible to save him from state 
 prison this time. We have also heard that he has 
 kept his wife in a very straightened condition. 
 They have changed boarding places several times, 
 even in these few months, and always, I am told, 
 of necessity, because they were in arrears with 
 board. And only last night I heard, from what, I 
 am afraid, is a reliable source, that he had deserted 
 her, and that she was really in very destitute 
 circumstances." 
 
 " Do you know where she is to be found ? " 
 
 It was the only question that Ruth's lips seemed 
 able to frame. 
 
 " Yes, I do ; I took special care to learn. She 
 is on Court Street, away down toward the river, in 
 one of those long houses, on the third floor back. 
 I don't wonder you start, Mrs. Burnham ; it is 
 terrible to think of Judge Burnham's daughter in 
 a tenement house on Court Street, isn't it ? How- 
 ever, you will be able to right all that. If the 
 man must really go to prison, why, the poor thing 
 will be rid of him, at least." 
 
 She had risen as she spoke, and was drawing 
 her wrap about her with the air of one who had 
 done her part in the best way she knew. And 
 Ruth, quivering in every nerve, with a sense of 
 shame, for her husband's sake, yet had sense 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 313 
 
 enough to feel that this good woman had done the 
 best that the circumstances would admit ; had 
 really said the only comforting thing that could be 
 said, even though what comfort there was must 
 grow out of the fact of there being prisons for 
 convicted criminals. Verily, Minta Burnham had 
 chosen for herself ! 
 
 What to do was the imperative question staring 
 Ruth in the face, demanding immediate reply. 
 She was by no means so clear of her course, or of 
 her ability to accomplish, as Mrs. Bacon seemed to 
 be for her. Of course something must be done. 
 A daughter of Judge Burnham's could not be left 
 in a Court Street tenement house alone ! 
 
 Yet would she, at Ruth's request, and under her 
 care, go elsewhere ? And if so, where was the 
 suitable place for her, and what was the next step 
 to take ? 
 
 It was all bewilderment ; and while she strug- 
 gled with it, she could not tell whether to be glad 
 or sorry that Judge Burnham was absent. If he 
 were at home, he would know just what to do ; but 
 were not the chances that he would do the wrong 
 thing ? Yet what was the right thing ? 
 
 Troubled exceedingly by these and kindred 
 questionings, she yet made herself ready with all 
 speed, for a journey to town. Erskine came, ques- 
 tioning : Why were they not to have a geography 
 lesson ? Why was she going to town ? Could he go 
 along ? He would like to go to the city very much, 
 
 21 
 
314 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 No, his mother said, he could not go with her 
 this time, because she had something to do in 
 which he would be in the way. What was that ? 
 he wanted to know. And smiling faintly over the 
 apparent incongruity of her statements, she con- 
 fessed that she did not know what she was going 
 to do. 
 
 " Why, mamma ! " he said, in great amaze. 
 " Then how can you do it ? " 
 
 She couldn't, she explained, not until she 
 learned. She was to try to find out what was the 
 
 s 
 
 wise and right thing to do in a matter of great 
 perplexity. 
 
 Over this statement Erskine considered for a 
 moment, then came his wise, sweet question, that 
 went to the root of things : " Why don't you ask 
 God to tell you ? " 
 
 " I will," she said, turning toward him with a 
 smile that yet was very close to tears. It was 
 a surprising thing, when one stopped to look at it. 
 She, a Christian woman, hurrying to an emergency 
 that she consciously did not know how to meet, yet 
 taking no time to consult, not only the acknowl- 
 edged Source of all wisdom, but One who had 
 graciously said, " Ask of Me." She held out her 
 hand to Erskine, and the two knelt in their accus- 
 tomed place of prayer, while Erskine voiced the 
 request that the dear Lord Jesus would show 
 mamma just what He wanted her to do. 
 
 " Do you know now ? " he asked her cheerily, a 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 moment after. Evidently there had not entered 
 the child's mind a question as to her doing, without 
 fail, whatever the Lord Jesus wanted done. " Has 
 He told you yet, mamma ? " 
 
 " Not yet," she said, smiling over his lesson on 
 faith. 
 
 " O, well ! He will, I'm sure He will, and He'll 
 do it in time." 
 
 And in the light of this earnest assurance she 
 went to her task. 
 
 The lower part of Court Street was not used to 
 carriages such as the one which Mrs. Burnham 
 summoned to her aid ; there was much staring 
 from behind half-closed blinds, and the noisy fol- 
 lowing of certain ragged little boys and girls who 
 felt no need of blinds to hide behind. The stairs 
 were somewhat narrow and somewhat steep ; and 
 a very slatternly girl, from whose contact Ruth 
 carefully held her dress, toiled upward just ahead 
 of her to show the way. Dinginess increased upon 
 them as they mounted, and the third story back 
 was destitute of anything like comfort. A well- 
 known voice answered Ruth's hesitating tap, and 
 still uncertain what to do, or how to make known 
 her errand if she had one she entered, and 
 stood face to face with Minta Hamlin. 
 
 " Oh ! it is you." This was her greeting, in- 
 tense astonishment bristling in every letter, and 
 then the two women stood and looked at each 
 other. Certainly the situation was striking. Sev- 
 
3l6 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 eral times in their lives had these two confronted 
 each other under sufficiently startling circum- 
 stances, but neither perhaps had ever felt it more 
 than at this moment. The beautiful girl of Mrs. 
 Burnham's memory had changed even in these 
 short months. Her face was almost deathly pale, 
 even in this moment of excitement ; and her hair 
 was pushed straight back from her forehead, in 
 unbecoming plainness. She wore a dark silk dress 
 which had once been pretty, but which was now 
 drabbled and torn ; the lace of one sleeve hung in 
 careless frays, the skirt was daubed with some- 
 thing which looked like paint, and one elbow 
 was worn to a decided hole. The furniture of 
 the bare and cheerless room matched the dress of 
 its mistress ; shabby remnants of by-gone finery, 
 is a sentence which sufficiently describes it. And 
 in this room Minta Hamlin, who in her father's 
 house was accustomed to all the elegancies, and 
 to all the trained attention that money will fur- 
 nish, was evidently preparing, with very insufficient 
 appliances, to do some washing for herself. A 
 small hand bath tub filled with suds, occupied 
 a perilous position on a slippery chair that was 
 once upholstered in hair-cloth, and a pile of 
 soiled clothing lay on the floor. That the girl 
 looked miserably ill would have been apparent to 
 the most casual observer ; and the hollow cough 
 which she frequently gave reminded Mrs. Burn- 
 ham each time she heard it, of Seraph. 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 "Well," she said at last, after that prolonged 
 silence, accompanied by a haughty stare, " to what 
 am I indebted for this most unexpected honor? 
 You did not send up your card, so I was not 
 prepared ; I thought it was my landlord." 
 
 Even then there was a mocking smile on her 
 face, as of one who could almost enjoy the embar- 
 rassment, because of the fact that it must be a 
 very embarrassing moment to the other person. 
 Just then came a knock at the door, quite unlike 
 Ruth's timid one; sharp, and imperative. The 
 opening of the door, almost immediately after- 
 ward, threw Ruth just back of it, and the intruder 
 did not see her. He was a young man, with an 
 impudent face, and a voluble tongue. 
 
 " I have called once more for the money," he 
 began, " and we may as well understand one 
 another this time ; I don't propose to climb these 
 stairs again for nothing. Either you give me the 
 month's rent now, or else you walk out of this flat 
 without any more delay. People cannot expect to 
 rent furnished flats with nothing but promises ; 
 and I have instructions to " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence. All the Erskine 
 blood, which in its way was certainly as intense 
 as any that belonged to the house of Burnham, 
 seemed to boil in Ruth's veins as she heard her 
 husband's daughter thus familiarly and insolently 
 addressed. It increased her indignation to dis- 
 cover that the girl-woman who confronted the 
 
3l8 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 man was pallid with terror, and evidently felt 
 herself to be in his power. " He'll do it in time, 
 mamma ! " Erskine's last assuring words, mingling 
 with his good-by kisses, seemed to sound in her 
 ears. Did God tell her what to do in this crisis 
 of her life ? She thought of it wonderingly after- 
 wards the painful doubt of the moment before, 
 the instant decision flashing upon her from some- 
 where. 
 
 " You forget yourself strangely, sir," she said, 
 stepping with the air of a princess from behind 
 the half-open door. " If you have any claim on 
 this lady you may present your bill at Judge Burn- 
 ham's office, 263 Fourth Street, to-morrow morning 
 at ten o'clock, and it will be paid." 
 
 The alarmed young man made confused efforts 
 to apologize, to explain ; but he might as well 
 have attempted to address an iceberg. 
 
 There could be no explanation, the lady said, 
 which could justify the use of such language to 
 a woman ; all she wished of him was to retire. 
 Which he did in haste and dismay. 
 
 And then Ruth speedily forgot him in the un- 
 expected work she found for thought and hands. 
 The poor haughty girl who had tried to be so self- 
 sufficient, and so daring in her insolence, had sud- 
 denly felt her strength giving way ; the room spun 
 dizzily around her, then grew dark and wavered in 
 that sickening fashion which is the last conscious 
 feeling that the victim to a fainting fit remembers, 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 319 
 
 and but for Ruth's sudden spring to her side, she 
 would have fallen. It was very unpoetical, what 
 followed. Ruth could not get her charge to a 
 chair ; the utmost that her strength could accom- 
 plish was to lay her gently on the dingy carpet, 
 then look about for water. The soapsuds in the 
 bath tub was the only liquid at hand ; there was 
 no help for it but to dip her hastily ungloved 
 hand into the foam and bathe the pallid face 
 with it. 
 
 It was well, perhaps, for all concerned, that 
 there was no disinterested looker-on to view 
 the ludicrous side of this scene ; it was really the 
 first conscious thought of the proud girl as she 
 came slowly back to life. She darted a suspicious 
 glance at her step-mother, and attempted to push 
 her ministering hand away, and rise to a sitting 
 posture. But Ruth, as she splashed the soapy 
 water right and left, was too manifestly absorbed 
 in ministering, to the best of her powers, to have 
 room for any other thought. 
 
 " You are better now ? " she said inquiringly. 
 " Oh ! I would not try to move just yet ; let me 
 put my arm under your head, so, and lie still just 
 a few minutes longer." 
 
 The tone was gentle, soothing ; as she might 
 have spoken to a frightened child. And Minta, 
 who had never in her life, save in these five miser- 
 able weeks just past, known what it was to think 
 of and plan for her own necessities ; and who was 
 
32O UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 amazed, and frightened, and miserable in every 
 possible way, struggled for just another minute to 
 regain her haughty voice and speak her repelling 
 words, then suddenly covered her white face with 
 both hands, and burst into a perfect storm of 
 tears. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said her step-mother, wholly 
 sympathetic and pitiful; "poor frightened child! 
 I do not wonder you were overcome. The wretch, 
 to dare to speak to you as he did ! Never mind ; 
 he has gone away, and will be quite sure not to 
 return." Then, from that mysterious inner Source 
 of Strength, there came to her, not by thinking it 
 out, but, someway, entirely as a matter of course, 
 what to do. She spoke as though the matter had 
 been planned for weeks. " I have a carriage at 
 the door ; as soon as you are able to move, it will 
 do you good to get into the open air. This room 
 is stifling. We will drive directly home. I will 
 just lock this door, and send Mrs. Barnes to attend 
 to everything. Come, Minta, I would try not to 
 cry so much ; it will take your strength, and you 
 need it to get ready." 
 
 She had not meant to go home, this angry girl 
 who had not yet sufficiently reached her right 
 mind not to suppose herself ill-treated in some 
 way. She had not expected to have the chance to 
 go, during these later weeks ; but she assured 
 herself bitterly that if she were to have the chance, 
 she would spurn it with scorn. She had been sur- 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 321 
 
 prised to see her step-mother, but, true to her 
 plans, had tried to summon the scorn. But she 
 was utterly alone ; her husband for whom she had 
 risked everything, had cruelly deserted her, under 
 circumstances of peculiar misery. She was en- 
 tirely without money or friends ; she was in a 
 strange part of the city, the very noises of which 
 kept her in a state of fear day and night. She 
 was faint for lack of proper food ; she had despised 
 her supper the night before, and loathed her break- 
 fast that morning ; she had not known what she 
 could say to the landlord's agent when he called 
 again, and she had gotten ready that tub of soap- 
 suds, and made her pitiful preparations to wash, 
 under the dim impression that when he should 
 turn her into the street, it would be better for her 
 to have clean clothes to carry ; but as she lay there 
 limp and helpless on the floor, with the absurd 
 incongruity of one's thoughts in moments of high 
 excitement, she remembered the little heap of 
 soiled clothes, and it seemed to her that she could 
 never, never get them washed. And then there 
 came another knock at the door, and she had so 
 far recovered as to make a desperate effort to 
 struggle into the small cane-seat rocker, the only 
 touch of comfort which the room held. It was 
 Ruth who answered the knock, and held open the 
 door in dignified silence while the woman who had 
 the general charge of all these " flats " stood and 
 looked at her in open-mouthed astonishment, and 
 
322 UNDER GUIDANCE. 
 
 finally said, " Oh ! I didn't know." What she did 
 not know was not explained ; it might have taken a 
 very long time. 
 
 Mrs. Burnham was a woman who, however she 
 might question and delay, on ordinary occasions, 
 in an emergency knew just what to say. The 
 present seemed to her an emergency. 
 
 " Do you want anything ? " she asked with gentle 
 dignity ; and the woman murmured that she 
 thought she heard a noise and didn't know but 
 and then she stopped. 
 
 " You did not know but you might help us," 
 finished Ruth pleasantly. " Thank you ; you can. 
 Mrs. Hamlin is not well; she has been quite faint, 
 but is better now, and I want to take her away 
 immediately. If you will see that the halls and 
 stairs are clear of idle children, so we can reach 
 the door, and my carriage, without annoyance, I 
 will take care that you are paid for your kindness. 
 I will lock Mrs. Hamlin's room and take the key 
 with me. I shall send my housekeeper to attend 
 to her property here, as soon as possible, and after 
 that you may let the proper persons know, if you 
 please, that the room is vacant." 
 
 The miserable young wife could not have told, 
 afterwards, how it was that she, who had meant to 
 be so independent of her home, should have been 
 thus easily managed. But she felt so weak and 
 faint, and the thought of getting out of that dreary 
 room into the fresh air was so inspiriting, and her 
 
UNDER GUIDANCE. 323 
 
 step-mother was so prompt and matter-of-course 
 in all her movements, that really the fact was, the 
 girl was lying back among the cushions, being 
 whirled toward her old home, before she had 
 rallied enough to think what she must do next. 
 
 As for Mrs. Burnham, the uppermost thought 
 in her mind was one of surprise that there could 
 have been any doubt as to what to do. 
 
324 4T HOME. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVTI 
 
 AT HOME, 
 
 WITH Mrs. Hamlin, the feeling of irrespon- 
 sibility, of yielding to the inevitable, con- 
 tinued after she reached home. She was very 
 miserable, but the quiet beauty of her old room, 
 with its familiar belongings, rested her nerves, 
 though she did not know it. 
 
 She was a deserted wife, disgraced, penniless, 
 broken-hearted, yet the bed was so soft, and its 
 coverings were so pure, and the pillows were so 
 fair! 
 
 She let hot tears soil their purity, but still she 
 buried her face in their depths with a feeling that 
 all these belongings fitted her, as those with which 
 she had had to do of late did not. And being very 
 tired, as well as very miserable, she quite soon 
 forgot her sorrows in sleep. 
 
 But with Mrs. Burnham the case was different. 
 She was alone in the library, and the reaction 
 from all the day's excitement was upon her. 
 There was time for her to think over what she 
 had done, and to imagine some of the results which 
 
AT HOME. 325 
 
 might follow. It was not that she doubted the 
 wisdom of her movements thus far ; she was still 
 upheld by the calm assurance that what she had 
 done was the thing to do ; but she could not, even 
 with this assurance, keep her over-tired brain from 
 surmising results. What would her husband say ? 
 What would he do ? Nothing apparently was 
 more firmly impressed upon his mind than the 
 fact that he had disowned his daughter, and here 
 she was domiciled in her old room ! Would Judge 
 Burnham tolerate this innovation ? From his 
 wife's knowledge of him, gleaned by many experi- 
 ences during the years, she did not believe he 
 would. And yet it had seemed to her the one 
 thing to do. 
 
 There was nothing for her but straightforward 
 action in the line which was plain to her. Judge 
 Burnham's duties she could not shoulder for him. 
 But certainly the next thing for her was to write 
 him a plain statement of affairs as they now stood. 
 It was not an easy letter to write ; she avoided the 
 central feature of it longer than was her fashion. 
 She told the absent father much about Erskine, 
 and his sweet, bright ways, and much even about 
 the common details of home life, before she 
 brought herself to the sentence : " And now, I 
 have something to tell that will alarm and pain 
 you. I heard to-day some very startling news. 
 What will you think when I tell you that " she 
 held her pen, at this point, and considered. She 
 
326 AT HOME. 
 
 had often spoken to Judge Burnham about " the 
 girls," she had often, of late years, said "your 
 daughters," but now there was only one, and 
 the circumstances were such that to say "your 
 daughter " seemed almost to insult him. How 
 should she manage the sentence ? Her face, as 
 she held her pen, waiting, and looked away into 
 space, with thoughtful yet resolute eyes, would 
 have been a study for a painter. 
 
 Did not this woman realize that she had deliber- 
 ately and of her own will, introduced once more 
 into her home that which had been its chief dis- 
 cordant element in the past ? No ; after careful 
 deliberation I think I may say to you that she 
 realized at last that such was not the case. Either 
 you have been a thoughtless reader, or I have 
 failed of my purpose, if you have not discovered 
 that Ruth Burnham has reached higher ground 
 than that on which her feet ever trod before. 
 
 It is not easy to explain just how much that 
 sentence means. It was not that she had reached 
 serene heights, where daily pettinesses could not 
 disturb her more. It was not that she was not 
 keenly alive to the discomforts to call them by 
 no stronger name that would probably come to 
 her through this latest movement of hers, but it 
 does mean that she was keenly alive to her mis- 
 takes in the past, and believed them to have been 
 the chief sources of her unhappiness. One of 
 them she knew had been a persistent effort to 
 
AT HOME. 327 
 
 carry her own burdens even after she had been 
 to the Cross, and professed to leave them there. 
 And another of them had been a persistent deter- 
 mination to do her own planning, even after she 
 had asked the Lord to plan for her. 
 
 These two mistakes she had resolved to make 
 no more. And it was the thought that the One 
 to whom Erskine had appealed for help had assur- 
 edly told her what to do, that held her eyes and 
 her heart quiet, even though, so far as her fore- 
 knowledge went, there were seas of trouble yet 
 to cross. 
 
 Suddenly she bent over her paper, and the pen 
 moved on. " What will you think when I tell you 
 that our daughter Minta is at this moment in her 
 old room, sleeping quietly ? I went for her this 
 morning and brought her home. I found her in 
 a very third-rate house on Court Street. Think of 
 it ! She is not well ; has a cough that reminds me 
 painfully of Seraph. It seems that her miserable 
 husband deserted her some weeks ago : left her 
 quite without money in this wretched * flat ' that he 
 had rented on Court Street. Her meals were 
 brought up to her, prepared by a woman who 
 rented the kitchen, and made her living by serving 
 the occupants of the rooms with badly-cooked 
 food. When I found her, she was on the eve of 
 being turned out of even this refuge, by the land- 
 lord's agent, because she owed for two weeks' 
 rent ! None of them seemed to be aware of her 
 
328 AT HOME. 
 
 relationship to us. Of course I knew that she 
 must come home at once. She was very willing 
 to do so, for she felt sick and frightened. A line 
 from Mr. Bacon, received since I reached home, 
 informs me that there is very little doubt but that 
 Hamlin, on whose track detectives have been ever 
 since he fled the city, has been arrested, and is 
 now in confinement, awaiting trial. It is forgery 
 again. Mr. Bacon thinks there will be no possi- 
 bility of his escaping justice this time. I have 
 not told poor Minta this, and do not know how to 
 tell her. I think I will wait for advice from you. 
 Meantime, your heart would ache for her, if you 
 could see her. She is very pale, and has grown 
 alarmingly thin. I think the poor girl has suf- 
 fered more than perhaps we shall ever know. It 
 frightens me to think of her having been alone 
 in that part of the city, and she so young, and 
 still so beautiful." And then had followed a few 
 sentences expressive of her loneliness in his ab- 
 sence, and her hope that these days of separation 
 were nearly over. And then this weary woman 
 closed her writing desk with a little sigh, because 
 her heart could not escape wondering what he 
 would say to it all. 
 
 There was also perplexity as to the very next 
 day. She could not determine what would be 
 Minta's line of action. Whether she would remain 
 the pale, passive woman she was row, or whether 
 she would rebel, and insist on escaping ever so 
 
AT HOME. 329 
 
 kind a control of her movements. Or, whether, 
 indeed, she would assume that she had rights in 
 that home equal, if not superior, to those of the 
 woman who had brought her here. 
 
 Ruth could not but admit that this last state 
 would be more like the Minta Burnham of her 
 acquaintance than either of the others ; and, in 
 view of her father's present position, would work 
 disastrously for the girl. 
 
 Having wearied herself after this fashion, im- 
 agining scenes that might take place, she suddenly 
 remembered, with a smile of relief, that the part 
 'hat it was impossible for her to arrange, she had 
 a right to leave. 
 
 I think it was, perhaps, as well for both these 
 women that the next morning found the younger 
 one quite ill. 
 
 The programme for that day, at least, was plain. 
 Dr. Westwood must be sent for, and the r61e of 
 decided invalidism must be carried out. It proved 
 that the same line of action would do for several 
 days. Minta was not alarmingly ill, but the doctor 
 counseled quiet, and utmost care ; and Ruth, in 
 arranging for tea and toast and lemonade, and 
 various cooling drinks, and seeing to it that her 
 patient was made comfortable in many ways, had 
 little time for troubled imaginings. As for Minta, 
 the necessity for asking to have the glass or the 
 handkerchief handed to her, or the pillow moved ; 
 
 and for saying "Thank you " frequently, overcame 
 
 22 
 
33O AT HOME. 
 
 much of the painful embarrassment with which 
 the new day began ; and for the most part she 
 was quiet and submissive. As the days passed, 
 and she grew better, and was, presently, able to 
 sit in the large easy chair, and watch the passers- 
 by, on the street below, it became evident that 
 she was very much subdued. One circumstance 
 contributed largely to this result. Mrs. Burnham, 
 in looking over a trunk of packed away treasures, 
 in search of something for which Minta had asked, 
 came suddenly upon a little box of Seraph's, that 
 had not been opened. It closed with a spring 
 that Ruth did not understand ; but as she held it 
 in her hand, it appeared that her fingers must have 
 touched the hidden spring, for it flew open, and 
 on the top lay a letter addressed to Minta, in her 
 sister's familiar writing. Ruth, much moved, 
 ceased her search, and carried the letter at once 
 and in silence to the pale-faced girl lying back 
 among the cushions of the easy chair. She did 
 not know, either then nor afterwards, what words 
 Seraph had spoken for her last ones ; but Minta's 
 eyes were red with weeping when she saw her 
 again, and her voice seemed gentler, and her man- 
 ner more subdued, after that time. It became 
 apparent that she also had anxious thoughts about 
 the future. She asked often for word from her 
 father. When was he coming ? Did he know 
 that she was there ? What had he said ? And 
 once, she asked did Ruth think "papa would 
 
AT HOME. 331 
 
 allow her to remain at home, after all that had 
 been?" And Mrs. Burnham, whose heart was 
 daily growing more full of pity for this deserted 
 wife, who even though she had sinned, was also 
 certainly much sinned against, and who, though 
 her love was so misplaced, and so entirely selfish 
 in its exhibition had yet, in a sense, loved the 
 man who had deserted her, felt that she would 
 give much to be able to answer a hearty Yes to 
 this hesitating question, and did not know how to 
 reply. Her husband maintained an ominous silence 
 in regard to the news she had sent him. His let- 
 ters came as regularly as usual, but they were 
 shorter, and she fancied colder. He was crowded 
 with care, and some anxiety. He hoped to get the 
 complications straightened out before very long ; 
 she did not need the assurance that he would be 
 at home as soon as possible ; and then had fol- 
 lowed messages for Erskine, very tender and 
 fatherly, but not a word for, or about, Minta in 
 any way. He seemed to have simply ignored her 
 story. This boded no good for the future. There 
 was nothing now but to wait, with what patience 
 they could. Each day it became evident to Mrs. 
 Burnham that she was settling into the position 
 held so long ago : looked upon by Minta as the 
 intercessor between her and an indignant father ; 
 and each day she grew more doubtful about her 
 ability to perform her part. Judge Burnham was 
 cruelly proud ; he had been cruelly stabbed, and 
 
332 AT HOME. 
 
 very publicly too ; he had publicly disowned his 
 daughter. Would his pride ever let him ac- 
 knowledge her again ? More and more the wife 
 felt that this household needed other than human 
 power to settle it into anything like peace. Her 
 cry for help from the Omnipotent became daily 
 more earnest. There was notably in her expe- 
 rience a certain Sabbath evening when her prayer 
 rose into the realm which perhaps might be rever- 
 ently called " wrestling." 
 
 And then, one morning, when all the air was 
 crisp with frost, and the earth was aglow in its 
 latest autumn finery, came a telegram from Judge 
 Burnham to his wife. Could she join him in 
 Westford by the noon train, to return that even- 
 ing? Now Westford was a little city, but an 
 hour's ride from their own greater one. Ruth 
 had often been there, and there was nothing about 
 the telegram in itself, to cause her anxiety. She 
 was frequently summoned to that, or neighboring 
 towns, to meet her husband on business to 
 sign an important paper, to tell her version of a 
 bit of news that had been supposed trivial, but 
 which had suddenly, in the light of events, grown 
 important. 
 
 It ought to have be.en simply a satisfaction that 
 Judge Burnham was at last so near home as this. 
 But about everything which could happen, during 
 these days, there was an undertone of anxiety. It 
 was an almost humiliating fact, but Ruth felt that 
 
AT HOME. 333 
 
 she was somewhat in disgrace with her own hus- 
 band, and dreaded while she looked forward to 
 meeting him. Of course she must obey the sum- 
 mons ; but she looked wistfully at Erskine, and was 
 half-ashamed to think how much she would like to 
 be able to make herself think it sensible to take the 
 child with her. He, too, was wistful. He never 
 approved of his mother's absences from himself. 
 He asked her the same question in many forms : 
 " Was she sure and certain and positive that she 
 would return that very truly night ? " and " Would 
 she bring papa home with her ? " Over this last 
 Ruth considered. The telegram was ambiguous, 
 after the manner of those two-sided messengers. 
 Did it mean that she could return that night or 
 that they both would ? She did not know ; the 
 utmost she could say to Erskine was, that she 
 would come, unless something which they could 
 not foresee, or help, prevented ; and that she 
 would certainly "bring papa home" if she could. 
 And then she went away with all speed. 
 
 Judge Burnham was on the platform before the 
 train fairly halted ; his greeting was warm, but 
 he seemed preoccupied and in great haste. He 
 hurried her into a carriage. 
 
 " I have to go at once to an important gather- 
 ing," he explained. " Will you mind coming in 
 with me ? I shall not be detained over a half- 
 hour ? " 
 
 " Is it a court house ? " she asked, as the car- 
 
334 AT HOME. 
 
 riage drew up before a large building. " Will 
 there be ladies present, Judge Burnham." 
 
 " No," he said, " it was not a court room, but 
 a public hall. O yes ! there would be plenty of 
 ladies ; but he should have to leave her, and go to 
 the platform." 
 
 There was nothing unusual about this ; he had 
 often to go to the platform when there were gather- 
 ings for the discussion of public interests. 
 
 He seated her, in the closely filled hall, and 
 hurried forward ; he was evidently being waited 
 for. He had only time to lay aside his hat, 
 and exchange a few words with a gentleman who 
 stepped toward him, book in hand, and then Ruth 
 watched her husband as he took the book, and 
 came forward to the centre of the platform and 
 began to read. 
 
 And this was what he read, 
 
 " There is a fountain filled with blood, 
 
 Drawn from Immanuel's veins ; 
 And sinners plunged beneath that flood, 
 
 Lose all their guilty stains. 
 
 I do believe, I now believe that Jesus died for me. 
 That on the cross He shed His blood 
 
 From sin to set me free." 
 
 Can I tell you anything about it, do you suppose 
 the tumult of amazement and of joy surging in his 
 wife's soul ? 
 
 She felt her face grow pale, and then red, under 
 the power of her emotions. She held herself, by 
 
AT HOME. 335 
 
 main force of will, quiet on the seat, when it 
 seemed to her she must spring up before them 
 all and shout for joy. Those words read by the 
 voice which was to her the finest in the world - 
 read with such a peculiarly marked emphasis on 
 the personal pronouns as to tell her, even if his 
 reading them at all under such circumstances had 
 not done it, that he had made of this a personal 
 matter. 
 
 " I do believe, I now believe that Jesus died for me I " 
 
 She said the lines over in exultant undertone, 
 emphasizing the words as he had done, while the 
 great company burst into song. This was surely 
 the noon prayer meeting, about which she had 
 heard much, and which she had never before 
 attended. 
 
 Almost with the last note of song mingled 
 Judge Burnham's voice again, and he said, " Let 
 us pray." His wife bowed her head on the seat 
 before her, and her whole frame shook with emo- ' 
 tion. She did not know afterwards whether she ' 
 prayed, or cried, or laughed. 
 
 " I know," she said, long afterwards, telling 
 Erskine about it, "I know I said Hallelujah! if 
 that is praying." 
 
 An elderly lady seated beside her regarded the 
 slight figure draped in mourning with an air of 
 tender sympathy ; and when, a few moments after^ 
 
336 AT HOME. 
 
 wards, there came from the leader of the meeting 
 an invitation for those who would like to learn 
 the way to Christ, to rise, that they might be 
 especially remembered in prayer, the old lady 
 touched her arm and whispered : 
 
 " Won't you stand up, dear ? It will help you 
 ever so much." 
 
 Then Ruth turned toward her a radiant face, in 
 which smiles were mingling with falling tears, and 
 shook her head as she whispered back : 
 
 " I know the way. Isn't it glorious ?" But she 
 could never give a very lucid account of that noon 
 prayer meeting. 
 
 There were other gentlemen who entered the 
 same carriage with them, and there was opportu- 
 nity for only an exchange of smiles between her 
 husband and herself, until they reached a hotel, 
 and he had ordered and secured a private room. 
 Then he took her in his arms and kissed her, 
 his face indicating too deep feeling just then for 
 words. 
 
 " It is a long story, my dear," he said, when they 
 were calmer, " or rather, it has been a long, long 
 battle on my part, and could be summed up in a 
 few sentences. It began, oh ! long ago, but it has 
 been marked by a few very decisive incidents. 
 That Sunday afternoon meeting I never forgot 
 it, Ruth, nor your way of putting the facts ; you 
 were logical, and your conclusion was inevitable, 
 and I was angry that it should be so. I silenced 
 
AT HOME. 337 
 
 you, but not my own conscience ; I never got 
 away from it. Then came our troubles, and your 
 attitude through them all. You were different, 
 some way, from what you ever were before. It 
 angered, while it awed me. I knew you were 
 controlled by a power that I did not understand^ 
 About that time, too, Seraph told me many things 
 that I did not know before ; I began to realize 
 something of what you had borne through the 
 years. And then, Ruth, you know that I saw 
 Seraph die. 
 
 " But the final appeal," he continued after a 
 moment's silence, "the final appeal came in that 
 letter which I did not answer. The thought that 
 you could voluntarily open your home again, after 
 what you had borne, and I, her father, had dis- 
 owned her ! I cannot tell you all that it said to 
 me. Neither will I try to tell you now about the 
 conflict. It is a little too recent to speak of it 
 calmly. Yet I will tell you this, Ruth ; I reached 
 a point last Sunday night when I felt sure that 
 the decision must be made then and there, for 
 eternity. 
 
 " I have struggled with this question for years, 
 and affected skepticism whenever that was the 
 most convenient way of stifling conscience, and 
 affected indifference when my heart was fairly 
 on fire ; and hidden behind inconsistencies of 
 others, and all that sort of flimsiness ; but last 
 Sunday evening it was as if the Lord himself 
 
AT HOME. 
 
 stood by me and said, 'Just this one more time, 
 my friend, I offer myself as your advocate.' It 
 all came over me in an instant, Ruth, how often 
 He had done it before, and how certain I would be 
 to offer my services but once to any man living, 
 and I well, my dear, I surrendered. Some time 
 I'll tell you all about it. But now, let us have 
 some dinner, and then get home. I was coming 
 this afternoon ; I expected to reach you by the 
 three o'clock train, but I had to stop here on busi- 
 ness, and I met my old college friend, Maiden ; he 
 is here conducting these noon meetings ; and when 
 he heard how it was with me, he insisted that I 
 should stay and lead this meeting and tell the 
 business men where I stood. I had determined 
 not to write to you ; I wanted to tell my story ; 
 but when he pressed this matter, it occurred to 
 me that it would be only a fair return for the sur- 
 prise you gave me that Sunday, you know, to 
 telegraph you to meet me here, and take you 
 to prayer meeting with me ; I'm glad I did. Your 
 face was an inspiration. I shall never forget how 
 it looked while I was reading that hymn. What a 
 glorious hymn it is ! " 
 
 " Did you bring papa home ? " It was Erskine's 
 clear ringing voice which sounded down to them 
 from the upper hall the moment he heard the grat- 
 ing of the latch key in the street door. " Did you 
 bring papa home ? " And the next instant he was 
 flying down the stairs. 
 
AT HOME. 339 
 
 And while the poor young frightened wife was 
 nervously walking upland down the hall above, 
 and wondering and fearing how she should meet 
 her father, Judge Burnham gathered his boy into 
 his arms, and said between the kisses, in a voice 
 which quivered with feeling, 
 
 " Yes, my boy, at last she has brought your papa 
 home ! " 
 
BY REV. JOHN M. BAMFORD. 
 
 ELIAS POWER, 
 
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