GATHERED THISTLES 
 
 OR A 
 
 STORY OF TWO HOUSEHOLDS 
 
 S. ELIZABETH SISSON 
 
 HAMMOND BROTHERS 
 FREMONT, NEB.
 
 QpO MY HUSBAND: Without whose kindly 
 co-operation and larger faith this little u home 
 story" had not ventured from the quiet of a 
 parsonage closet shelf, this book is lovingly dedi- 
 cated. S. E. S. 
 
 2047048
 
 **&*&&* CCS &&: e ~ & *fr t &* S^fcfc t ** 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY PETER CARTWRIGHT 18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 GETTING SETTLED 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 37 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 CHARACTER STUDY, 48 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WAR AN ACCIDENT LOUISE AND RICHARD 57 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME EVENINGS, 67
 
 6 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION 76 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A LOVE AFFAIR AND A MOTHER'S VIEW OF IT, 83 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES, 97 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTER, 105 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE, 114 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PREACHER A SOPRANO FLOSSIE, 126 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY, 141 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 151 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A VISIT A RKSULT LEAVING THE FARM 163 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 GETTING SETTLED LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB, 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 AN ORATORICAL CONTEST SAD ENDING, . . 185
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 1 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FAREWELL LIFE CHOICE, 195 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TEIERESE-ON BOTH SIDES OP AN OCEAN, 208 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII: 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A RETROSPECT A WEDDING DEATH OP RICHARD 
 
 NEWTON 248 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 A FAMILY REUNION GATHERED THISTLES 258
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING. 
 
 HE TIME was away back in the forties, and 
 the morning was one of the balmiest in 
 blossom-crowned May when Lynton, a little 
 New England village, was strangely astir. 
 
 It was easy to see, upon ever so slight an inves- 
 tigation, that this unusual activity centered in the 
 rustic, ivy-covered village church, for the sound of 
 merry young voices from within was borne out 
 upon the fragrant air, through the doors which 
 stood invitingly open. A glance through them 
 shows a group of the village young people who 
 with evergreens and flowers are making the plain, 
 almost stern walls of the room radiant with 
 beauty. 
 
 This in preparation for a much anticipated event, 
 a double wedding. As the wedding hour is rapidly 
 nearing it may be well to have an introductory 
 word concerning not only the happy couples who 
 are to be the principals in the -event, but the quaint 
 little village of Lynton as well. Picturesque Lyn- 
 ton, its friends lovingly call it.
 
 10 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 The latter was situated, as has already been said, 
 in one of the New England states; a portion of it 
 appeared to half cling or perch upon the rocky hill 
 upon which it was built, the remainder stretched on 
 across Hazel Run, a tiny stream, losing itself in the 
 fertile meadow beyond, the onlv bit of land really 
 suitable for tillage. 
 
 In a brown, weather-beaten cottage in the hill 
 clinging part, lived Rachel Ewing, with her father 
 and mother, she being the oldest of a large family. 
 
 There is a bit of yard in front of the cottage, 
 scrupulously clean, while a rocky walk, bordered 
 on either side by beds of springing crocuses and 
 gorgeous Easter flowers leads up to the open door, 
 through which, on this same May morning, the 
 breezes come in unhindered. 
 
 How tidy and home-like is the little front room, 
 though the furnishings are very plain. A bright 
 rag carpet is upon the floor. There are some com- 
 fortable looking wooden chairs, and in one corner 
 a stand, upon which we notice a substantiallv bound 
 family Bible, a book of Psalms set to music, and a 
 few other volumes, mostly of the sterner religious 
 kind of the day, for Jacob Ewing was a God-fearing 
 man. Daily had his children seen him take down 
 the Bible and heard him read, with an awesome 
 voice, lessons for their guidance. 
 
 At the rear of the house stood a great apple tree 
 under whose spreading branches, during many a 
 happy hour, the children of the home had found a
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING. 11 
 
 delightful play ground. This to-day had yielded a 
 part of its treasures for the room's adornment. 
 
 On either side of the ancient clock, which stood 
 in the exact center of a very tall wood mantel, was 
 a bowl of fragrant apple blossoms, while in a little 
 room just back of the one that has engrossed our 
 attention, deft fingers are pinning sprays of the same 
 sweet blossoms at the throat, and twining others in 
 the hair of fair young Rachel, one of the brides for 
 whom evergreens and flowers are gracing the 
 village church. 
 
 The stiff, yet relentlessly true finger of the old 
 family clock points the hour at which the walk to 
 the church shall begin, and John Stevenson walks 
 in to claim his bride. 
 
 Amid the hurry, yes, and heartaches, of this su- 
 preme moment, we turn and speed down the rocky 
 street, and on across the little wooden bridge. 
 Here the houses are seen perhaps not cleaner 
 nor yet more homelike than in the hilly part, but a 
 more liberal use of paint, shutters at the windows, 
 and here and there a pretentious two-story, tells of 
 greater worldly prosperity. 
 
 At the gateway leading up to one of the most 
 comfortable of these homes stands an old family 
 carryall, and just now, out from her mother's door- 
 way (her father having lain in the church yard 
 more than a year) Margaret Allen is coming, lean- 
 ing upon the arm of William Newton, whose name 
 she is so soon to bear.
 
 12 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Now while the two bridal parties are on the way 
 to the church, there will be time for a hasty glance 
 at the home of Margaret, and to glean something 
 of the history of the two girls. 
 
 From the days when Rachel Ewing and Marga- 
 ret Allen first trudged off together to the village 
 school, a peculiar friendship had existed between 
 the two. Though Margaret's father had owned 
 much of the fertile meadow land beyond the village, 
 while Rachel's could claim as his own but the 
 weather-beaten cot that housed his bairns, yet so 
 sturdy and common-sense was the New England 
 atmosphere of that day, that because of the honesty 
 of purpose and integrity of heart which Jacob Ewing 
 was known to possess, he stood quite as high in the 
 esteem of his neighbors as though broad acres had 
 been his; hence there had not been a thought of 
 anything incongruous in the abiding friendship be- 
 tween the girls. 
 
 Together they had sat at the low, wooden desks 
 of the school; later on their voices had rung out 
 together in song in the church in whose com- 
 munion each had been raised. It w-as fitting, there- 
 fore, that to-day they should stand together at its 
 simple chancel while the mystic words were said 
 that should change them, at a bound, from light- 
 hearted girls into women, looking fearlessly into 
 the face of the future. 
 
 Great interest had centered in this event, for not 
 only were the young couples well known, but
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING. 13 
 
 it was further known, that on the morning fol- 
 lowing the marriage they were to leave forever 
 their village home, make the long journey west- 
 ward, and that somewhere on those western 
 prairies, of whose wildness, rumor had much to 
 say, two new homes would arise. The two great 
 covered wagons that were to bear them westward 
 had stood for the last week back of the village 
 smithy, objects of supreme interest; hence it was 
 not strange that at an early hour the church had 
 been filled, with an eager assemblage of friends. 
 After this digression, we too will join the waiting 
 assembly, and it will not be out of place if, as the 
 wedded pairs slowly pass down the aisles, we turn 
 with the audience for a passing glance. 
 
 John Stevenson and his bride Rachel are in 
 front. There is no mistaking the plain, rugged 
 honesty of his face, while the browned hands, 
 indeed the whole bearing, in some subtle manner 
 tells of a life experience that has been largely a 
 hand-to-hand struggle with a rocky New England 
 farm. 
 
 Unconsciously though, there is that in the face 
 which speaks of a victory gained. The eyes rest 
 lovingly upon his bride with an air of fond, trust- 
 ful proprietorship. 
 
 Large of build, rugged, kindly of disposition, the 
 student of human nature sees at once that he will 
 lean upon his wife, consult with her, be influenced 
 by her as neither she nor he suspects. Thus far,
 
 14 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 life has held but few joys for him, for his mother 
 had died many years ago, and with her all that 
 might have made his life joyous. No wonder that 
 he invites the future. 
 
 And she? Beautiful? Well, they who know 
 her best scarcely think of beauty, yet there is no 
 plainness in the clear complexion, nor in the 
 shapelv hands, though these are hard with toil; but 
 not one in all that company of village folk is 
 thinking of these, but rather of the loving, helpful 
 spirit which shines in the large gray at times 
 almost blue eyes. As she is passing, these acci- 
 dentally rest for a moment upon the eager up- 
 turned face of a neighbor's child, and in an instant 
 the little heart is gladdened by a smile of recogni- 
 tion and in the smile, and the self-forgetfulness that 
 allowed it, is mutely revealed that innate, name- 
 less "something" which causes dumb animals to 
 instinctivelv turn to its possessor for protection, 
 and little children to bring their childish trials. 
 
 Though a smile so readily comes to the mouth, 
 there is a firmness about the clearly cut lips; yes, 
 a firmness that it is easy to believe might become 
 akin to sternness. Somehow as Rachel passes out 
 the rustic church we involuntarily recall grew- 
 some stories of young girl martyrs, and we men- 
 tally aver, this New England girl-wife will have 
 abiding principles and maintain them. 
 
 If John Stevenson and his bride have proven 
 an interesting study, William Newton and his fair
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING. 15 
 
 Margaret are not less so. The former had come 
 to Lynton but a twelve-month ago as the manager 
 of a large saw mill, which was fast changing the 
 great forests about Lynton into acres of stumps, 
 which later should give way to waving fields of 
 ripening grain. 
 
 So well had he deported himself that he not only 
 became a strong factor in the village life, winning 
 the esteem of all, and the love of beautiful Mar- 
 garet Allen as well. It is easy to see that nature 
 has cast him in an entirely different mold from 
 that of rugged John Stevenson. There is a rest- 
 less acuteness about the eyes which indicate greater 
 business ability. There is about him an easy air in 
 his smart new wedding suit, and a something 
 which proclaims an acquaintance with the world. 
 
 He is a communicant at the altars of the same 
 church as are the others, but seeing him we can 
 but speculate as to what would be his course should 
 duty and worldly prosperity clash. 
 
 But John Stevenson's eyes do not rest more 
 lovingly upon his bride's than do William New- 
 ton's upon the fair Margaret; however different 
 otherwise they may be, they are one in love for 
 their chosen companions. 
 
 As has been said, Margaret's home had been 
 one of comfort and plenty. Her parents were 
 found each Sabbath among the worshipers, yet to 
 serve God had not been with Richard Allen, as 
 with Jacob Ewing, the supreme motive of life.
 
 16 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Much dearer to him than thoughts of God had 
 been his fertile acres with accompanying flocks 
 and herds. Indeed in his heart he had fixed for 
 himself a creed, the liberality of which, had they 
 but known it, would have startled the staid people 
 he worshiped with. Yet his family understood it 
 well, and none better than Margaret. From the 
 time she could toddle she had been his chosen 
 companion. 
 
 As she grew older, various traits peculiar to the 
 father appeared in the child, until it came to be a 
 saying with the other members of the family, 
 "Margaret is father over again." 
 
 We have already said she was beautiful. As 
 she left the altar on her wedding day she looked 
 the embodiment of loveliness. Added to rare reg- 
 ularity of features, were a beautiful form, graceful 
 carriage, and an almost faultless complexion. A 
 wavy mass of brown hair was brushed back from 
 the forehead and coiled about the shapely head. 
 Seeing her we see a beautiful picture; yet, as with 
 many another picture, there is a sense of dissatis- 
 faction. Can it be that in the graceful curl of 
 those lips, in the poise of that delicate chin, there 
 is a hint of selfishness? Or do the eyes, dark hazel 
 as they are, lack in gentleness? We can scarcely 
 tell. Yet the face is not one we would care to go- 
 to with a heartache, especially if to ease the ache 
 self-denial would be required. 
 
 Just now she is strong in the new love which has-
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING. 17 
 
 stirred her heart, and she is bravely going to the 
 hardships of pioneer life. Indeed if there are any 
 hardships, they are lost in the strong glamour 
 which love and distance have thrown about that 
 strange new life beyond. 
 
 But the last echo has died out from the church 
 and each couple are now in separate homes. Many 
 tears mingle with the wedding festivities, for the 
 covered wagons stand now, one at Rachel's and 
 one at Margaret's door, and with an agony the 
 young people cannot suspect, each mother packs 
 away in the roomy rear such articles as space will 
 permit. There are chests of linens, of bedding, jars 
 of home-made sweets, and provisions for the long 
 journey. 
 
 The next day, amid sobs and heartaches, the 
 home nest is forever lefc. Groups of villagers 
 gather at the brow of the hill from whence the 
 road stretches on westward. They look long and 
 earnestly, and finally turn each to their homes. 
 They have seen disappear around the curve the 
 last faint flutter of white. The village home of 
 Rachel and Margaret would know them no more. 
 
 The old, yet ever new miracle had been re- 
 enacted. The stranger of yesterday becomes more 
 than home, parents, or friends. Strange? No, for 
 centuries before He foreshadowed this home-leav- 
 ing when he said: "They twain shall become one 
 flesh."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY PETER CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 HOWEVER great the sympathy that might 
 bid us linger with those in the broken 
 homes, our interest henceforth lies with 
 those just out of sight, and to them we turn. 
 
 Slowly the great wagons creaked on. Margaret 
 in the agony of the parting had flung herself upon 
 an improvised couch which loving hands had pro- 
 vided for her comfort, and lay there bitterly sobbing. 
 Rachel, with tear-stained face, kept fluttering a bit 
 of white cambric as a last adieu, until a bend in the 
 road shut out forever the little village. Presently 
 the last familiar hill or farmhouse was passed; new 
 roadside scenes claimed the attention, and it began 
 to dawn upon those brave young people that the 
 old life was gone. Yet a future, fascinating in its 
 very strangeness, awaited them. 
 
 One of the happiest qualities of youth is its elas- 
 ticity. A wave of sorrow may sweep over it before 
 which it bows as a sapling before a storm, but such 
 is its natural spring that it speedilv rights itself, and
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY. 19 
 
 is erect again. So our young friends soon found 
 much to interest them in this novel experience. 
 
 There were meals to be cooked by the wayside. 
 The woods abounded in game; squirrels "leaped 
 among the branches of the trees and chattered 
 noisily down. There were great flocks of quail and 
 of wild turkeys. More than once as they came to 
 ford a stream they would startle a herd of timid 
 deer. There was a brace of trusty rifles in each 
 wagon, so the meals were always supplied with the 
 choicest meats. Then there was the novelty of 
 going to sleep with the stars blinking down so 
 familiarly. 
 
 As has been said, the journey began in May. 
 Many of the streams were still swollen from the 
 spring rains, and were without bridges. The roads, 
 in some places not more than a bridle path, were 
 at times almost impassable. The plan was to reach 
 Pittsburgh, there embark upon flatboats and journey 
 down the Ohio River as far as Cincinnati, already a 
 prosperous city. Once there, they expected to 
 make the remainder of the journey in their wagons 
 over the National Road, this being a kind of pike 
 or "built road," under national supervision (as its 
 name indicates), which before the era of railroads 
 contributed in no small measure to the rapid settle- 
 ment of the states as far west as Indiana. 
 
 Wonderful stories of the rich prairies that formed 
 so large a part of that great western country known 
 as Illinois had reached their eastern home. These
 
 20 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 marvelous tales of the soil's fertility as well as the 
 unusual business facilities, had made this their ob- 
 jective point. 
 
 So they jolted along, day after day, on this 
 strange bridal journey. 
 
 The modern young husband buys a ticket, and 
 he and his bride whirl rapidly away. They " do ' r 
 mountain or seaside resort, or "tip" waiters in 
 European hotels, return at length to their homes,. 
 weary, already disgusted with life happily if not 
 with each other. 
 
 Our old fashioned lovers proceeded more slowly. 
 What if now and then the road -was rough, or there 
 was an hour's excitement over a swollen stream, or, 
 as happened one night, a great bear should poke 
 his nose into the rear of one of the wagons. The 
 greater part of the time the skies were blue. Birds 
 in all the ecstacy of home-building sang -them their 
 most joyous songs, and they had each other. And 
 what with plans for the homes that were to be, the 
 days were none too long; and Pittsburgh was at 
 length reached. 
 
 Good weather attended the travelers in their 
 float down the Ohio. The flatboats in which 
 they journeyed were constructed with a kind of 
 sheltered room (cabin) for the travelers, and an 
 enclosed outer deck for wagons and horses. Black 
 Nell, one of the horses John had driven, rebelled at 
 this new experience, and caused quite a commotion
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY. 21 
 
 one night by an attempt to jump overboard, but at 
 length became reconciled to the inevitable. 
 
 Perhaps in all Rachel's life she had not known 
 so much leisure, and it was to her a never ceasing 
 delight to watch the green shadowy outlines of the 
 shore. 
 
 At Cincinnati they disembarked, and certainly 
 the world was going West, for there were many 
 covered wagons like their own, and in company 
 with some of these they began their journey over 
 the comparatively smooth "National Road." 
 
 They might have gone, as did many emigrants 
 of that day, the entire journey down the Ohio and 
 thence up the Mississippi, but the added cost was a 
 barrier; besides, they wanted to judge for them- 
 selves of the country, and the best place to locate. 
 
 Indianapolis, then a thrifty young city, was 
 reached; still the horses heads were turned west- 
 ward, and the Wabash valley was reached. 
 
 " Oh Dear," said Margaret, one morning after 
 they had resumed their journey: 
 
 " What kind of a road is this, why ;" but the sen- 
 tence was lost, for just then the front wheels of the 
 wagon gave a lurch downward. The horses gave 
 a sudden pull or Margaret would certainly have 
 been thrown to the ground. These plunges and 
 jerks amid the slushiest and stickiest mud the trav- 
 elers had ever known, continued throughout the 
 day, causing more discomfort than they had yet 
 known. The smooth National Road having ended,
 
 22 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 they were experiencing a stretch of "corduroy 
 road," which for the benefit of the modern bicycler 
 on asphalt it may be explained, was made by cutting 
 lengths from trees of various sizes and laying them 
 crosswise in the slush or mud. As these lengths 
 vary in size from saplings to respectable trees the 
 jolting can be imagined. It was little wonder that 
 Margaret exclaimed in agony, nor that all rejoiced 
 when, after a weary length, the smart young city of 
 Springfield, Illinois was reached, where they had 
 decided to stop for a short period of rest, or until 
 they could fix upon a permanent location. 
 
 Among the travelers the}* had fallen in with dur- 
 ing their journey were several who w'ere loud in 
 their praises of the wonderful advantages held out to 
 settlers by Burton, a mere stripling of a town on the 
 Illinois River. These agreed that this must shortly 
 become a manufacturing center, citing as arguments 
 Ms superior water power and the enterprise of its 
 citizens, manifested already by the building of a 
 railroad connecting it with the growing interior 
 towns of the State, and promising to push on farther 
 westward. 
 
 As both Rachel and Margaret needed rest, it was 
 decided that they should remain where they were, 
 and their husbands should join a party of men who 
 would visit Burton and other points if necessary. 
 
 Once there, it did not take the keen business eye of 
 William Newton long to discover the advantages of 
 the young town. Moreover, a chance of steady
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY. 25 
 
 employment offered. Upon the banks of the river 
 stood a newly completed flouring mill, which being 
 the only one in all that section would be kept busy 
 grinding meal and flour. By a happy chance he 
 secured a position not greatly inferior to that of 
 manager, and so considered himself fortunate. 
 
 The rich, black soil of the gently undulating prai- 
 ries that crept up to the river's edge, and upon 
 which the town was built, charmed John Stevenson, 
 used as he had been to the rocky hills about Lynton, 
 and'he counted himself fortunate when he had bar- 
 gained for one hundred and sixty acres not two 
 miles from the town. Fortunate, though years of 
 hard work, and, as farmers phrase it, of good luck^ 
 must be his portion, before he could call those 
 acres his own; fortunate, though upon the land there 
 was not a roof to shelter either man or beast. 
 
 The question of homes being settled they lost no 
 time in joining the waiting ones at Springfield. 
 
 Perhaps it has been hardly fair, in that we have 
 left these young girls alone so long, yet they have 
 not been unhappy. They had each grown so weary 
 of the last one hundred miles that they welcomed 
 the rest of their quiet lodging house. Besides, if 
 they cared to go out there was much to interest 
 them in the strange new western life. 
 
 Their curiosity and interest was greatly aroused 
 by what they heard concerning a " gathering," in 
 the neighborhood; new to them, but certainly from 
 the conversation a feature of the new life. It was-
 
 ^>4 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 called a CY/w/^-meeting, as they learned, because 
 many would come, either from a distance or from 
 the neighborhood, camp out, and spend the time in 
 religious service, but such strange stories as were 
 told, not only of the services but of the minister in 
 charge indeed, his original sayings were a fruitful 
 theme among the lodgers at every meal. 
 
 " Well, one thing sure," both Rachel and Marga- 
 ret agreed, " We will visit the grounds and see for 
 ourselves before we go further." 
 
 To this, their husbands upon their return readily 
 .assented, and the next day set out to attend an 
 evening service. 
 
 The camp ground, as the place of meeting was 
 called, was simply a piece of woods in which an at- 
 tempt had been made to clear out the underbrush. 
 As the party drove into the deep shade of the 
 woods, a weird scene presented itself. Great 
 flaring tallow dips nailed here and there to the 
 trees lent an uncanny air to the whole. 
 
 The tenters had for shelter the rudest kind of 
 board tents; indeed such were fortunate, the ma- 
 jority sleeping under their wagons. 
 
 The platform upon which the preacher stood had 
 been made by felling two trees of about the same 
 size, cutting away the tops, and nailing upon the 
 larger ends a floor of unplaned boards. 
 
 But the preaching: "Surely there had never 
 before been heard any so forceful, or so peculiar in
 
 PETER CARTWKIGHT. 25 
 
 its immediate effects." So, at any rate, thought 
 our little group of New Englanders. 
 
 Pathos, sublimity, caustic wit, scathing rebuke of 
 sin, of sinners, .even of individuals, jostled each 
 other from the speaker's lips, who was none other 
 than Peter Cartwright, one of the most unique per- 
 sonalities of the Illinois of that day. Tall, and of 
 rugged build, with hair brushed back in a kind of 
 shock from his forehead, he towered a very giant 
 come to announce the destruction of the wicked. 
 His eyes seemed to flash fire, especially when a 
 miscalculating band of rowdies thought to intimi- 
 date the preacher and the congregation. Rachel 
 had heard sermons all her life, but for personal 
 -directness nothing to equal this. The preacher 
 taught and urged a distinct work of grace in the 
 heart and a consecration of one's life, whatever be 
 their calling, to the Lord. 
 
 The sermon was followed by the altar service, 
 and such a service! How they crowded the rude 
 wooden bench, young and old. Presently a sister 
 "got" religion. "JLook, look at her face!" Rachel 
 excitedly pulled the sleeve of John for him to see. 
 It seemed actually transformed, for the woman was 
 plain in appearance and evidently a daughter of 
 toil. " Hear her shout! " Now another takes up 
 the strain. Back in the audience a little knot has 
 gathered about a prostrate form. It is that of a 
 man who has been "seeking" for several days. He 
 lies rigid, motionless, to all appearances dead. The
 
 26 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 friends, nothing alarmed, sing and pray and wait 
 for him to "come through," which he does after a 
 time, with shouts of joy. 
 
 Strange, blessed history of the pioneer church. 
 The so-called refinement of a later day may smile, 
 and with delicately pursed lips may whisper "eccen- 
 tricities!" but after all it is borne in upon us, that 
 these fathers and mothers "got" a something that 
 lifted them above the hardships of a frontier life, a 
 something that in many instances transformed the 
 wickedest into the most devout, something that im- 
 planted that farseeing self-denial which founded the 
 colleges and built the churches that together have 
 made to-day's boasted civilization possible. In 
 short, they "came through" to such a high type of 
 Christian life that we may well withhold our criti- 
 cism and be proud to do them homage. 
 
 When John and Rachel Stevenson found them- 
 selves alone, that night, there was a quiet talk 
 between them and as a result of the evening's 
 strange service, a consecration of their lives in 
 a sense different from any they had ever 
 known took place. In another room William and 
 Margaret too discussed what they had seen and 
 heard, but with them the grotesque and eccentric 
 held chief place. 
 
 The hospitality and welcome accorded to stran- 
 gers was a strong feature of the day, and the little 
 party made many acquaintances before leaving the 
 grounds, among whom was Mr. Cartwright himself.
 
 PETER CARTWRIGHT. 27 
 
 Though his eyes may have flashed as he rebuked 
 an offender, there was no mistaking their kindly 
 spirit as he questioned them concerning their plans. 
 As a father might, he urged the immediate duty of 
 identifying themselves with Christian people, point- 
 ing out that the habits formed in the first years 
 would shape the whole life. While talking he drew 
 from the cavernous depths of a pair of saddle bags 
 close at hand, some books and what appeared to be 
 copies of a newspaper. For a moment he paused, 
 while from under the shaggy brows a look at once 
 both keen and critical darted from one to another. 
 He continued "you will want in the new home not 
 only religion as a corner stone, but intelligence, and 
 whether you read, and what you read will come to 
 mean everything; therefore however small your 
 income, I entreat you, spend a part of it for 
 good books. Further, if your homes are to be in- 
 telligent in the best sense, you will need a kind of 
 literature that even books do not supply. Here are 
 a few copies of a periodical devoted to the home; 
 indeed it is called The Christian Home. Perhaps 
 its reading may not only make the last miles of 
 your journey pleasanter, but show you your need 
 of such a friend." Then telling them that he should 
 see them again, as Burton was one of his preaching 
 points, he bade them God speed. 
 
 The following morning the last stage of the 
 journey was resumed. William had much to tell 
 Margaret of the new home and business, and neither
 
 28 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 gave a thought to the kindly preacher except to 
 laugh together at certain eccentricities and oddities 
 of manner; but in the rear John and Rachel jolted 
 on, and at times their conversation was as serious 
 as even the zealous Mr. Cartwright could have 
 desired.
 
 TcIc^JelcIcIc^I^^ 
 
 I |;j ^ ^ | 
 
 IcMcIcIcJcIcIcIc^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GETTING SETTLED. 
 
 NOTHER day and night found these emi- 
 grants in what was to he their new home, 
 Burton. When each had grown to be old, 
 thev never forgot the strange newness, and unfin- 
 ished appearance of the town. The streets were, 
 yet grassy, and such little houses! Nearly all of 
 logs. Still there was an air of bustling activity. 
 People went about as if there was a world to build, 
 and but a little time to build it in, and none caught 
 the contagion quicker than William Newton. He 
 at once began work in the mill, and in a little cot- 
 tage, conveniently near, Margaret began her house- 
 keeping. 
 
 This little home was very plain on the outside, 
 but warm and cozy within, and soon under the deft 
 touches of Margaret's hands the home air began to 
 grow. 
 
 As for the Stevensons, the season was so far ad- 
 vanced the staple crop of corn could not be raised 
 on the farm, so a few vegetables for use were 
 planted, and preparations were made for sowing
 
 30 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 wheat later on. There being no house, John's first 
 care was to build one, in the meanwhile renting a 
 room in Burton till it should be completed. Very 
 soon a log house of two rooms was ready for occu- 
 pancy, into which they at once moved. This may 
 not have looked inviting from the outside, for the 
 log? were rough-hewn, the spaces between the logs 
 or " chinks " were mortar-tilled, and the great out- 
 side chimney hinted at comfort rather than beauty. 
 But inside! Ah, when the great fire began to 
 crackle in the capacious fireplace, as it did in the 
 early Autumn; when John, weary of his day's 
 work of digging, of plowing, came home late in the 
 evening to find a savory supper awaiting him, and 
 an earnest, strong face that lighted at his coming, 
 you would then have forgotten the rough outside 
 had YOU seen this, and would have exclaimed, " I 
 have found a home." 
 
 A rude stable was built for the faithful animals 
 that had journeyed with them, a well dug, and pro- 
 vided with a great "sweep" which lent a pictur- 
 esqueness to the scene. With these preparations 
 they considered themselves ready for the first win- 
 ter in the West. 
 
 Just two miles distant was the growing, spread- 
 ing town of Burton, constantly calling for workers; 
 here, when the weather prevented further work on 
 the farm, he worked that he might have something 
 "ahead" when the Spring should call him back to 
 the farm.
 
 GETTING SETTLED. 31 
 
 While the young husbands were busy, each at 
 their chosen work, time might have seemed long 
 and wearisome to the girl wives had it not been for 
 the old sweet friendship which wonderfully bright- 
 ened these first months of exile from friends. 
 
 Often when John was driving out Margaret 
 would accompany him. Rachel would meet them 
 both at the lane, and proudly escort Margaret to 
 the cozy sitting room, where perhaps with laughter 
 they would recall some incident of the long journey, 
 or with tender regret talk of the dear old homes at 
 Lynton. Before such a visit had ended, Margaret, 
 with the air of a connoisseur, would inspect Rachel's 
 great brood of hens, interesting because they were 
 duty doing, as was evidenced by the goodly sum of 
 "egg money" that came weekly into their owners' 
 purse; or pay her respects to the family cow that 
 furnished these farmer folks with butter and milk. 
 
 Then again Rachel, with a bit of sewing, would 
 spend a delightful day with Margaret, when much 
 ihe same program would be enacted. But there 
 were stormy winter days and long evenings when 
 each must stay by her own fireside. 
 
 These hours of enforced idleness might have 
 been productive of what members of a later 
 generation, when thrown upon their own resources, 
 wearily designate as ennui. Not so at the farm. 
 To them the earnest preacher had not preached in 
 vain. Already they had begun to find a new world 
 awaiting them in the few books which they owned;
 
 32 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 besides they had come to find, as he had suggested, 
 a welcome friend in their home paper. In it were 
 helpful suggestions for farm and home, discussions 
 touching upon every question of church or state, 
 stories of travel and of biography, besides the 
 weekly bulletin of the great onward march of the 
 Church of Christ. After an evening spent around 
 his fire side, reading aloud to interested Rachel and 
 talking over with her the subjects discussed, this 
 young farmer went about his tasks in a different 
 spirit. He was no longer the plain individual John 
 Stevenson, working out his own little problem of 
 existence, but a unit of a great whole who by doing 
 the duties of the hour, was unconsciously keeping 
 step with the onward march of that great army 
 which was ushering in a better civilization and 
 bringing the world into harmony with ideals of its 
 Creator. 
 
 More than once Rachel tried to tell her friend 
 Margaret something of this pleasure, but the latter 
 would laughingly say, " Oh Rachel, you are Jacob 
 Ewing's own daughter, thinking more of a creed than 
 of aught else," for like some others she refused to 
 believe that a Christian literature could be other 
 than a creed exponent. 
 
 Perhaps of all the old sweet associations at 
 Lynton nothing was so greatly missed as the little 
 village church. Upon coming to Burton our friends 
 found that the settlers before them had taken pains 
 at once to see that a place for worship was pro-
 
 GETTING SETTLED. 3S 
 
 vided. So on a grassy knoll stood a little meeting 
 house which like most of its associates, was built 
 of logs. This differed in denomination from that 
 in which our friends had been raised, but was one 
 with it in the doctrine of right living. 
 
 Here every two weeks came a young and zeal- 
 ous "circuit rider," and on more state occasions 
 "the Elder" of camp ground fame, who preached 
 as was his wont of free salvation, and the necessity 
 for immediate repentance. 
 
 On the very first Sabbath after their arrival in 
 Burton, four church letters were handed the voung 
 minister and the little congregation almost startled 
 them by the warmth of their western welcome. 
 "Yes, there are some things different," Rachel was 
 saying to John that night and her eyes had a far- 
 away look as the vision of the home church arose 
 "but these people are kind, and this is to be our 
 home, so we cannot afford to be critical; perhaps 
 we can make ourselves of use." 
 
 "Such a queer little church, and such odd 
 people," was Margaret's comment as she and her 
 husband together discussed the hearty hand-shakes 
 and loud "Amens" of the morning. 
 
 " Still it is a type of this sincere western life of 
 which we are now a part," rejoined her husband. 
 "And," continued he, "as we cannot have our staid 
 old pastor, nor be a part of his well ordered flock; 
 neither is it right for us to live out of the church.
 
 34 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Therefore let us hope after awhile, things will not 
 seem so strange." 
 
 Margaret made no audible reply, but there came 
 echoing through her mind remembrances of many 
 sayings of her father, as they had tramped about 
 the farm, and in her heart she said, " It amounts to 
 but little, after all." 
 
 By this first public step, both the Newtons and 
 Stevensons became well known. As Rachel had 
 said, kind hearts beat beneath the rough exteriors, 
 and much interest was manifested in the welfare of 
 the strangers, and on many an occasion a helping 
 hand was held out. 
 
 The Newtons really knew nothing of the priva- 
 tions of frontier life, for William had a good position, 
 while Margaret's patrimony had at once secured to 
 them a comfortable home, but the Stevensons knew 
 by experience every phase of homebuilding. Still 
 they were young, strong and happy, each worked 
 with a will, and by the time Spring had come bring- 
 ing the ploughing and sowing, the humble log 
 house had blossomed into a home. Much of the 
 furniture was of the young husband's making. 
 There was a stand very like the one in Rachel's 
 old home, and on it was a family Bible very like 
 its New England counterpart. Besides there was 
 a steadily growing pile of carefully read books and 
 papers. 
 
 One feature of the room, purely ornamental, must 
 not be overlooked. Among the treasures Rachel
 
 GETTING SETTLED. 35 
 
 had brought from her home had been an ivy root 
 from the glossy green, which had crept and clung 
 to the walls of the village church. This she planted 
 in a rude earthen pot. Certainly western soil did 
 not disagree with it, for it grew and guided over 
 the little narrow window, spread itself, and growing 
 covered the rough logs with a living beauty. 
 
 We will now leave our young friends for a time. 
 It will be theirs to fight their own battles with the 
 privations and experiences incident to pioneer life. 
 We shall not look in on them again until many 
 years have come and ^fone. We must not fail to 
 chronicle the fact however, that by the time the old 
 apple tree back in Rachel's girlhood home, had 
 again scattered its sweet blossoms to the air, the 
 Angel of Life had knocked at the door of each 
 humble home. At the Newton's there was rejoic- 
 ing over a son which the happy young father pro- 
 nounced as handsome as his mother. In this he 
 was not alone, for the numerous visitors, competent 
 witnesses all, said "What a wonderful likeness; just 
 his mother over again," but his appearance mattered 
 little to the young mother who in a happiness of 
 content of which she had not dreamed cuddled close 
 to her heart sweet baby Richard. In the little log 
 farm house, Rachel, too, could be found crooning 
 a lullaby to a dear little morsel of humanity, a boy, 
 who had John's own honest eyes, which even in its 
 very young babyhood looked about quite as gravely 
 as if life had already proven quite a serious matter.
 
 36 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 But the mouth that Rachel kissed was very like 
 her own, and it was not unlikely that something of 
 her own nature lay hidden there. "What shall we 
 call the baby?" This question remained unan- 
 swered, even until baby Richard began to look 
 knowingly when his name was called. Finally it 
 came the "Elder's" time for his quarterly visit. 
 He had already gotten to call the hospitable farm 
 house home, so of course he must admire the sturdy 
 boy. Taking him gently in his arms he said, "And 
 this is Francis Asbury is it? " And that night John 
 wrote in the leather bound family Bible the chosen, 
 name, Francis Asbury Stevenson.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 
 
 JJ^IFTEEN YEARS; how much may happen, 
 what changes occur in fifteen years, even 
 when the conditions are settled; but in a new 
 western town that length of time may stand for a 
 half century in an older community. 
 
 Burton had moved forward like a young giant, and 
 the summer of 1858 looked down upon a smart lit- 
 tle city that was already fulfilling the expectations 
 of its early friends. 
 
 Great rows of really good buildings lined the 
 business streets. Comfortable homes, many al- 
 most luxurious, had largely taken the place of the 
 log cabins of the past. On the knoll, still green 
 and grassy, stood a neat frame church with slender 
 spire, and rich-toned bell. The little log meeting 
 house, itself the strongest factor in to-day's prosper- 
 ity, has given way to its more dignified successor. 
 
 As a business center Burton was attracting the 
 attention of many. The Illinois River upon which 
 it was built not only furnished a sufficient water 
 power for the mills upon its banks, and opened up
 
 38 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 communications with the rapidly growing interior 
 towns of the State, but through its outlet into the 
 broad Mississippi brought the markets of the great 
 cities to the doors of the business men of Burton. 
 Besides this two railroads, with their snorting en- 
 gines, now connected it with the East and North, 
 and were pushing on to the great western beyond. 
 
 For these reasons, and because of having been 
 first in the field with its mill, Burton had become a 
 center of supply for grain and flour. The little 
 flouring mill into which fifteen years ago, William 
 Newton entered as an employee, had trebled its 
 capacity. 
 
 Let us, for a moment look in upon its counting 
 room. There at the desk is the proprietor, a keen- 
 ly alert business man, upon whom his forty years 
 sit lightly. We recognize the employee of other 
 days, William Newton, now everywhere spoken of 
 as one of Burton's most enterprising citizens. 
 
 Shortly after his arrival he had grasped the finan- 
 cial possibilities of real estate, and making some for- 
 tunate investments was able to make the first pay- 
 ment upon the mill, which was offered for sale. Once 
 in his hands he managed its business so successfully 
 that he became its sole owner, and soon became 
 known as a rich man to whom the little world of 
 Burton took off its hat in honor, after the manner 
 of the greater world outside. 
 
 About a year before the reopening of our story r 
 on one of the best streets his new home had been
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 39- 
 
 built. It was large and roomy, of brick, and stood 
 in the center of beautiful, well-kept grounds. While 
 a dweller in a modern house might miss some of 
 to-day's luxuries and conveniences, yet comfort was 
 evidenced on every side. Through the center ran 
 a great hall, on one side of which doors opened into 
 the large double parlors, whose side and folding 
 doors were suggestive of merry companies of young 
 people, or statelier an'd more dignified ones of older. 
 From the other side of the hall one entered the 
 "living room," and the large dining room beyond,, 
 and a great oaken stairway led on to roomy and 
 sunny chambers above. 
 
 Over all this rules Margaret, the presiding genius 
 of it all, the girl wife of long ago. In every grace- 
 ful poise of the well-rounded form, as well as in 
 the still regular features, is seen the maturing of 
 the old girlish beauty. 
 
 Richard, the first born, is now a bright, handsome 
 lad of fourteen, while a sister Marie has been 
 his playmate for twelve years. Therese, the house- 
 hold pet is a petite little maiden of eight summers. 
 
 If fate has dealt thus kindly with those of the city, 
 we turn with eager expectancy to the farm. 
 
 Though Burton had stretched itself out in nearly 
 every direction, it had not seen fit to encroach up- 
 on the farm, so no fortuitious chance circumstance 
 had come to the help of the inmates, yet by patient 
 plodding, and self denying hard work on the part 
 of both John and Rachel, every foot of the farm.
 
 40 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 was now their own and unencumbered by debt or 
 mortgage. 
 
 Anyone who has had an experience in laying out 
 a home, or making habitable a wild piece of land, 
 knows that ordinarily it is the work of years. Yet 
 our farmer friends had been patient and willing to 
 persistently plod, so necessary outlays were met as 
 thev came, and now, as we have said, the farm is 
 theirs. Necessary improvements have been made, 
 sleek cows graze in the pastures, and a great or- 
 chard back of the house is a source of enjoyment 
 as well as of profit. 
 
 The improvement of the farm itself was more 
 easily visible than that of the house, for the family 
 still occupied the two original rooms of the log 
 house, with two others which their growing needs 
 had made imperative. A new home had been 
 planned, but the one with farm experience knows 
 that the comfortable home must come last. Yet 
 though the house was of logs, it was often said 
 there was not a more homelike spot to be found. 
 
 It is hard to analyze the something that 
 makes a home. Yet it is a verity the stranger 
 recognizes as he crosses its threshold, a something 
 that alike draws those with a heart ache to its fire- 
 side, and the romping children of a neighbor as 
 well. But whatever it might be, this farm home 
 was certainly rich in its possession. 
 
 It may be the happy group of boys and girls it 
 now sheltered contributed not a little to this home
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 41 
 
 feeling as they romped over the rag carpet by the 
 great open fire with its "backlog" and curious net- 
 work of " firelog," and sputtering boughs of 
 hickory. 
 
 Yes, the years had been fraught with changes, 
 and among those apparent to even the most casual 
 observer was the remarkable development of char- 
 acter, especially noticeable in the Stevensons. Not 
 only for rugged, unflinching honesty was John 
 known among his neighbors, but they had come to 
 know that as he turned a furrow or sowed his 
 grain, he did it intelligently, and many a one in per- 
 plexitv learned to find a wise counselor in the quiet 
 man, who betrayed by his conversation an unusual 
 familiarity with matters outside his daily life. But 
 it was in the little church which had so long ago 
 heartily welcomed the strangers that John and 
 Rachel Stevenson had grown to be most loved, 
 most depended upon, for during all the years with 
 a regularity equal to the coming of the Sabbath it- 
 self, the faithful team and light wagon bore the 
 family to church. One of the recent innovations 
 had been the organization of a Sunday school, and 
 none could be found so capable for leader as the 
 erstwhile timid John. And Rachel, with her years 
 of quiet home reading was fitted to become a valued 
 teacher, indeed, had she lived in these later years 
 of woman's organizations she would have been 
 seized upon at once as a "worker." It was curious 
 to note the growing oneness of these twain. With
 
 42 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 them the scriptural prophecy was being rapidly ful- 
 filled. Perhaps the cause of this lay in their quiet 
 farm life, every detail of which was planned to- 
 gether, but we are inclined to think it began in the 
 long winter evenings, when after the roaring, crack- 
 ling hickory fire had begun to throw out its richest 
 glow the plain walnut stand was drawn out from 
 its corner, the candle lighted and the reading begun. 
 At first when the children were little they were 
 each tucked snugly away in their trundle bed. 
 (Years afterward they loved to recall how they 
 would lie awake as long as possible listening to the 
 rich cadence of their mother's voice, or to the 
 fuller, deeper, yet not less kindly one of their 
 father). When they became old enough it became 
 their pride, indeed a coveted honor, to take their 
 turn as "reader" for the evening. 
 
 Through these years a determination for the 
 higher education of their children had been grow- 
 ing, and had taken deeper root than even they 
 guessed. Together the parents often talked over 
 the means of attaining this end, and were finally 
 helped in the solution of the perplexing question by 
 a casual written suggestion. Acting upon this they 
 decided that on each child's tenth birthday to 
 present it with a cow, the sole profits from which, 
 as well as the increase, should form a "college 
 fund." This the parents hoped would not only 
 give the children themselves an interest in the
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 43 
 
 matter, but by the time they needed it, furnish 
 means for an education. 
 
 They and the Newtons were still friends, but the 
 growing- dissimilar tastes of the two families were 
 evident. 
 
 From the first, William Newton had been con- 
 sumed by a desire to get on in the world; to this he 
 bent all his energies. At first he liked to talk over 
 with his young wife the affairs of the mill, but she 
 laughingly informed him, "It was too dreadfully 
 prosy," besides, she had no "head" for business, but 
 would he not admire this delicate bit of her own 
 embroidery she was fashioning for Therese or 
 Marie? Left to himself he grew to live in a rest- 
 less, rushing manner, borne down by the pressure 
 of increasing business. He came hurriedly to his 
 meals, and when he came home at night often the 
 family had retired, unconsciously he grew away from 
 them, and they from him. Margaret too had begun 
 to find life a hurried matter, for the social honor 
 and homage paid to the wife of a wealthy and 
 rapidly growing more so business man grew very 
 sweet, and society thrust upon her a hundred new 
 duties. The great parlors became the social center 
 of Burton, and many gay companies gathered there, 
 for as a hostess she had rare charms. Besides she 
 was really a loving mother with great pride in her 
 beautiful children, and no hands could fashion so 
 well the dainty apparel as her own. 
 
 What of their church relationship during all these
 
 44 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 years? From the first each, and especially Marga- 
 ret, had been critical of the fervid western style, and 
 this feeling had grown with the years. Had they 
 but kept themselves in touch and sympathy, as did 
 the Stevensons, with the great religious world out- 
 side, they would have recognized this with which 
 they were connected as but a unit in the givat 
 whole, and so had patience with local peculiarities 
 and failings, but this they failed to do, and so dur- 
 ing the years gave less and less of their sympathy 
 and drew more and more within themselves. Yet 
 each Sabbath found them sitting decorously in their 
 pew. They gave of their means for the support of 
 the church, but as to a self-denying sacrifice, to 
 carry forward the work, not one in all the company 
 of worshipers would have expected it. So had 
 they found their place. 
 
 But we have tarried too long with the elders; let 
 us turn to the children, for with these our interest 
 centers. 
 
 Richard Newton was singularly like his mother 
 in appearance, with the same beautiful eyes and 
 mobile mouth, and a sunny, happy disposition that 
 made him the joy of the home. From the time he 
 could barely toddle, his greatest delight had been 
 to visit at the hospitable home of "Aunt Rachel." 
 As he grew older, on such visits every nook and 
 corner of the farm would be explored, to say noth- 
 ing of the great roomy cupboard with its possibili-
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 45 
 
 ties, or the cool milk house with its jars of rich 
 cream. 
 
 Asbury Stevenson was of his own age, supple, 
 strong and well built, and shy upon the surface. 
 Between the boys there was that indescribable dif- 
 ference that marks the boy reared in the country 
 from him familiar with town or city. Was there 
 no other difference? Time will tell. These boys 
 were good friends, but it was Louise, Asbury's sis- 
 ter and junior by two years, who was Richard's 
 born comrade, and who accompanied him upon 
 every exploring expedition, no matter how perilous. 
 She was a plump little maiden with brown hair that 
 rippled back from her forehead, good eyes, and a 
 sunny, cheery face. Yet if she, in her plain ging- 
 ham slip in which her busy mother dressed her, had 
 stood for a moment by the side of dainty Marie 
 Newton in her garniture of frills and embroidery, 
 not many would have called her beautiful. 
 
 But her mother knew a strong soul was locked up 
 in the little breast. 
 
 From the first Louise became the constant play- 
 mate of her brothers. Did they climb the loft to 
 search for the hidden nest of Old Speckle, Louise 
 could spring as nimbly up the ladder as they. Did 
 they play marbles? Louise soon mastered the mys- 
 teries of " mumblepeg," and her shot was as unerr- 
 ing as theirs. A tomboy? Well, perhaps she was. 
 Yet mother was beginning to depend more and more 
 upon the s\vift feet that almost flew upon her er-
 
 46 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 rands, and her marvelously sweet, low lullaby often 
 soothed the younger ones, thus bringing relief to 
 her mother. 
 
 As has been said, she and Richard were born 
 comrades. When he was but six and she four they 
 played at housekeeping with all the dignity of 
 elders: In childish disputes as whether the "house" 
 should be under the old apple tree, or the great elm, 
 Louise's strong will usually won. Sometimes this 
 capricious little girl was well pleased at the result. 
 Again she would say, " What did you give up for.'"' 
 "Because I had to," retorted Richard. 
 
 "Maybe if I was a boy I'd give up, every time," 
 Louise would rejoin contemptuously. 
 
 Asbury was from the first a quiet, studious boy, 
 and loved nothing so well as to hear his mother read, 
 or as he grew older read for himself. Besides he 
 and Louise, four other children had come to bless 
 the home. Ruth, a quiet little girl of ten, and Ed- 
 ward and John, two sturdy, strong, sinewy little 
 fellows still younger, and baby Rose, not yet a 
 year old who, accepting the logic of events as any 
 healthy baby in a large family soon learns to do, lay in 
 her Crib crowing at a fleck of sunshine that filtered 
 in through the little window, or with a strangely 
 serious air studied a set of pink toes which insisted 
 upon discarding socks, a happy, healthy baby, re- 
 quiring and receiving no care beyond its natural 
 wants. Rachel had begun to show the effects of 
 these years of toil and anxious motherhood, yet such
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS. 47 
 
 was her executive ability that the domestic machin- 
 ery moved with less jar than in many less well or- 
 dered homes of smaller family, for each child had 
 its appointed tasks which were performed without 
 question. 
 
 By means of this method there was time not only 
 for church, but for the evening with books as well. 
 ***** 
 
 Having now noted the changes wrought by the 
 years, and the influences that are at work to mold 
 the children that gather about each hearthstone, we 
 again leave them for a little space, knowing that 
 the harvest of seed-sowing is rapidly ripening, and 
 the inevitable reaping must quickly begin.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHARACTER STUDY. 
 
 f'T WAS a bright sunshiny morning in May, 
 1861, eighteen years from that other Max- 
 day when the two brides had gone out from 
 the village church when the two families met at the 
 hospitable farmhouse in honor of the anniversary 
 of the event. How the great long table groaned 
 under its steaming and tempting burdens! How 
 the children, the younger ones at least, raced and 
 romped over the farm! 
 
 The two older ones of each family Were at school 
 in the "Academy," but they were out to-day ostensi- 
 bly to do, honor to the event of long ago, but in reality 
 to have a jolly day together on the farm which 
 continued to be to the Newton young folks the 
 greatest pleasure imaginable. We may as well 
 pause here to explain that the Academy was an in- 
 stitution of which the people of Burton were be- 
 ginning to take a just pride, and which they owed 
 to the far-seeing intelligence of the very early 
 settlers. It had grown with the growth of the
 
 CHARACTER STUDY, 1'J 
 
 town until now it had begun to attract the young 
 people of the country and neighboring towns. 
 
 Asbury and Richard at seventeen, and Louise 
 and Marie at fifteen, have outgrown the old-time 
 scramble down the straw stacks and up into the 
 roomy mow, but there was the great swing, and 
 just far enough for a delightful tramp was the 
 shady piece of woodland, rich just now in its wealth 
 of spring violets, buttercups and sweet williams. 
 " Oh let us go to the woods," exclaim the young 
 people, and a little later are searching among the 
 outlying roots of the trees for the flowers that 
 nestle there. And we who are watching them ob- 
 serve that as Richard gathers the choicest of these,, 
 he shyly gives them to the cheery-faced, light- 
 hearted girl whose voice, as she has walked by his 
 side on the tramp, has gaily carolled snatches of 
 song as sweet as that of the thrush on the bough 
 overhead. 
 
 After the bounteous dinner John and William 
 the latter having snatched a few hours from his 
 business took a stroll over the farm, for what 
 seems more like a creation fresh from the hand of 
 God than does well-kept meadows and hillsides 
 after spring breezes have blown over them? So 
 thought at least the hurried man of business, as he 
 drank in the quiet rural scene, and something like 
 regret crossed his mind at the contrast between this 
 and his own hurried rush for gain. But no; he 
 could never be content with the slow, plodding life
 
 50 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 of the farm. Rachel and Margaret lingered in the 
 cozy sitting room for reminiscences of other days. 
 But each in her way was too busy a woman to 
 dwell long in the past. The growing interests of 
 their homes and children had pushed the past 
 f arther -and farther back. 
 
 Just now they are discussing a question of evi- 
 dent interest, about which there is evidently a 
 disagreement. 
 
 "No I cannot consent to such a thing." It is the 
 clear, firm voice of Rachel that speaks. 
 
 "And why not? What possible harm?" And 
 there is a shade of annoyance in Margaret's tones. 
 
 They are discussing a dancing school which has 
 lately been opened, at which Margaret Newton has 
 placed not only Richard and Marie, but little 
 Therese as well, and she is urging Rachel to do 
 the same with at least her older children. 
 
 " Much harm every way," Rachel rejoined, "As 
 I see it; but, Margaret, we have gone over this 
 question in some shape so many times, it is hardly 
 worth while to reopen it." Yet Margaret continued, 
 
 "You know 1 do not favor no more than you 
 the public ball, but for your children and mine, with 
 perhaps a few other neighbors' children, to dance 
 together in my home or yours, is no more harm 
 than than to swing together," she concluded as 
 her eyes fell upon the creaking swing just outside. 
 
 "If children went no further than their parents 
 expected or intended, vour argument would be
 
 CHARACTER STUDY. . 51 
 
 good," said Rachel. " But do you remember Hazel 
 Run, at Lynton, which began in a clump of hazels 
 in your father's farm, but became a noisy cataract 
 in Rocky Hollow a few miles distant? How can 
 you know but that when your children are older^ 
 and the world bids for them remembering that 
 dancing and card-playing I believe you give it the 
 more genteel name of eucher received the stamp 
 of home approval, they may leave your marked-out 
 home restraints as surely as Hazel Run left its 
 quiet beginning. Besides," she continued, "if there 
 were no other reasons, the Church has labeled 
 such questionable " 
 
 "The Church!" Margaret broke in vehemently, 
 "such restrictions are obsolete, behind the times. 
 Are you the only right interpreter of the Church? 
 Dr. Heron's children will attend this school, so will 
 Judge Gibson's, and what would the Church do 
 without them when it came to meets its financial 
 obligations? " 
 
 " Deny " but Rachel's rejoinder was cut short 
 by the return of her husband with Mr. Newton. 
 
 These had lingered to discuss the site of the new 
 house, the stone for whose foundation already hav- 
 ing been hauled, and which "was to be begun as 
 soon as the summer's work was lain by. 
 
 As they lingered, too, they had talked earnestly 
 of the gathering war cloud now about bursting over 
 the land. Like an electric shock but a few weeks 
 before, pale lips had passed on from one to the
 
 52. GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 other the sentence, " Sumpter has been fired upon! rr 
 And even now as these two old friends talked, 
 came the awakening martial strains of drum and 
 fife, and close behind the hurried tramp of an army 
 which had sprung as if by magic from the work- 
 shop and the farm. The very first tocsin had been 
 strangely thrilling to John Stevenson. But yester- 
 day at a mammoth "pole raising," he had been one 
 to float to the breeze at Burton a bright new flag, 
 and not one in the crowd would have guessed that 
 the still, quiet man who so steadily adjusted the 
 fluttering ensign, was longing to snatch it and rush 
 to the front of the battle. 
 
 "I must buy up all the grain I can," said William 
 Newton. " There are going to be heavy demands." 
 Through such different glasses did these two men 
 view their country's needs! Then, after a moment's 
 thought, William Newton bent over and asked the 
 other a quesiion, and that other answering a little 
 confusedly, said, "after Rachel and I have talked it 
 over." Then turning they entered the house, inter- 
 rupting, as we have seen, the discussion between 
 Rachel and Margaret. Once there the all-absorb- 
 ing " war talk " became general, and continued till 
 the departure of the guests. 
 
 " Mother, I want to join that dancing class," was 
 the announcement Louise startled her mother with 
 as they were busy about the evening's work. 
 
 "What do you know of the dancing class?" 
 asked her mother, in order to gain a little time.
 
 CHARACTER STUDY. 53 
 
 Then it came out that both Marie and Richard had 
 painted in plowing colors the pleasures and advan- 
 tages of the school. 
 
 "And mother, Mildred Gibson and Will Herron 
 are going and I want " " to do something because 
 ^ome one else does?" queried her mother. Then 
 tenderlv, lovingly she went over with her daughter 
 the reasons why she did not wish her to do this. 
 But it was not easy for Louise to give up that upon 
 which she had set her heart, and only on account of 
 the habit of obedience that she at length became 
 willing to yield her will and trust to the judgment 
 of her mother. 
 
 The conversations of the dav show in what 
 different directions the children of the two families 
 are started. Both in the same church, yet with 
 what different feelings are they taught to regard its 
 obligation. In one its restrictions are considered 
 irksome, which are to be ignored or condemned as 
 foolish; in the other, these are shown by the tender 
 voice of the mother and the no less kindly counsel 
 of the father, to be at least safe and in the end 
 helpful. In the one - self gratification had been 
 eschewed from the cradle, and the happiness of 
 living for others enforced by precept and example; 
 in the other usually, a want was but to be made 
 known to be gratified. 
 
 But outside of the parents there was yet another 
 molding force at work. In the Newton home stood 
 an elegant book case filled with well-bound books,
 
 54 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 really a good selection, too. There were books of 
 travel, most of the poets, handbooks on some of the 
 sciences, and a few cumbrous volumes of history, 
 yet they stood so prim and methodical one knew at 
 a glance they had been read but a little. It was 
 true, the Nevvtons had never been a "reading fam- 
 ily;" that is, there was no regularity in their literary 
 habits. There were the books, perhaps first one 
 member of the family and then another would take 
 down a volume and browse as fancy might dictate, 
 but it remains a fact that to arouse an interest in a 
 book it must become a family affair, be read aloud 
 at least its choicest passages and discussed. 
 
 Yet this implies a certain amount of leisure, an 
 unknown factor in the city home, for business 
 claimed the father, and on most evenings, society 
 the mother. Indeed wilh the years each child 
 came to have its "engagements," so that few even- 
 ings found the entire family home. Yet, they read! 
 Ask Marie and Therese! Under their pillows, 
 stored away in their drawers, were novels of the 
 most sensational type which they had learned to 
 devour. Alas for the hurry ;-alas that at this form- 
 ative period of their lives, there had not been one 
 with leisure and inclination, whose pleasure it might 
 have been to open to them the great field of 
 thought which would have broadened and deepened 
 them, and perhaps bound them with silken fetters 
 to the Church of God. Had there been one such 
 what sorrow might have been averted.
 
 CHARACTER STUDY. 55- 
 
 The reader already knows that in the other home 
 with which we have to do, humble though it was, 
 books and papers had from its founding been a 
 strong factor. The impress of these has been seen 
 in the father and mother. It is becoming quite as 
 visible in the children. Louise would not have so 
 readily yielded in the matter of the dancing school 
 had not her young heart been loyal to the church r 
 made so, largely, by the books, magazines and 
 papers which had recorded its triumphs, as well as 
 the devotion of its servants* Indeed, even the par- 
 ents did not suspect the depth of this silent, con- 
 stant influence. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Night had fallen upon the sunshiny anniversary. 
 The children of the farmhouse, worn out by a day 
 of unusual pleasure slept soundly, but the parents 
 lingered to talk over the events of the day, a sur- 
 prising one of which Rachel now learned, was the 
 confidential request of William Newton that inas- 
 much as he desired a sum of money to invest in the 
 immediate purchase of grain to meet the extraordi- 
 nary demand sure to be made, John should become 
 surety for the same. The idea was not relished by 
 either, as anything savoring of debt was peculiarly 
 distasteful, but there could be no danger, both 
 agreed, for Newton's far-seeing business instinct 
 had become almost a proverb. 
 
 Rachel regretted the growing estrangement 
 which the day's conversation had indicated. Might
 
 56 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 not this be an opportunity to bridge over the grow- 
 ing chasm? 
 
 " Yes, it had better be done," was the decision. 
 This settled, the conversation drifted back to the 
 threatened war; its probable length and extent was 
 discussed. Suddenly there flashed upon Rachel a 
 realization of the heartache all this meant. In her 
 mental vision she saw the sad farewells of husbands 
 and wives, the going cut of brave young boys who 
 had been the joy of home. Was it strange a wave 
 of thankfulness that her eldest was so young? 
 Arising, she went softly to the bed where Asbury 
 lay sleeping and gently kissed his forehead. " No 
 my treasures are not demanded," she softly said. 
 
 Oh, blind Rachel! Was there nothing to whisper 
 aught to you of the battle waging in the faithful 
 heart so near you? Can you not read the dumb 
 agony written in the eyes, that just now are so 
 -curiously watching you.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WAR AN ACCIDENT LOUISE AND RICHARD. 
 
 HE next few months slipped by with startling 
 rapidity. On the farm heavy crops had been 
 harvested, and lumber was ready for the new 
 house, which John seemed strangely loth to begin. 
 At the mill, William's prophecy had been fulfilled. 
 The business had certainly quadrupled. Instead of 
 the war cloud blowing over, as many had hoped, it 
 gathered in intensity. And in these first few 
 months the Nation seemed in the throes of dissolu- 
 tion, as news of continued defeats flew northward. 
 This became the absorbing topic all else dropped 
 into insignificance. 
 
 One evening in the early Autumn, John SteA'en- 
 son sat reading the " Daily " which, in these troub- 
 lous times had suddenly grown to be a household 
 necessity. Suddenly he threw it aside, with the 
 remark, "Another call for volunteers." Something 
 in his voice caught his wife's ear. In a moment 
 she was by his side, her arms about him. "You 
 you surely you don't think " but she could not 
 5
 
 58 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 finish only to gasp, "Oh! the children!" Gently 
 he told of his long struggle, how duty seemed urg- 
 ing, nay driving him to the front. "And what a 
 coward! How the children, and even yourself, 
 would have a right to hlush for me if I failed my 
 country in this supreme hour of need." As he 
 talked, his face lighted and glowed with the thrill 
 of patriotism, and with breaking heart, and ready 
 intuition, Rachel perceived how useless would be 
 a protest against his heart convictions. 
 
 For answer, she silently bowed her head upon his 
 breast. With a lightning-like flash she saw the 
 weary years ahead. No more sweet counsel to- 
 gether. Upon her alone must rest that burden. 
 Somehow, she must take upon herself the manage- 
 ment of the farm. And then Oh, dreadful thought 
 so many had marched off never to come back. 
 They had died in battle, on the wearisome march r 
 or of wasting disease in hospitals. 
 
 Could she stand it? Ought she to? Ah, but 
 there was the bleeding Nation and its strong, iron 
 willed President calling for brave men. 
 
 Other women's hearts were breaking; why not 
 hers? She lifted her head, and her husband knew 
 her heart had said "Aye." 
 
 A few days later at the supper table William 
 Newton announced "John has enlisted." He and 
 his wife talked much of the unwisdom of the act r 
 but in the heart of each, there was a respect for the 
 brave soldier which neither cared to acknowledge
 
 THE WAK. 59 
 
 to the other. " His regiment is about full and he 
 will go to the front in another week," Newton 
 added as he left the room. 
 
 How readily we adjust ourselves to the inevitable! 
 A week ago the sun had shown so brightly and as 
 Rachel remembered, in a dazed kind of way, she 
 had been so happy when Asbury had come home 
 from the Academy but a little while ago, and an- 
 nounced his promotion, as a reward for some extra 
 study he had been doing. Could such a small 
 thing ever make her happy again? With hardly a 
 sigh the plans for the new house were given up. 
 So does a greater grief absorb our lesser ones. 
 
 The last few days were given to the hurried 
 preparation of some articles necessary for the com- 
 fort of the dear one. At first the grief of the chil- 
 dren knew no bounds. Asbury, proud in his 
 seventeen years, begged to accompany his father; 
 but no the mother was firm that sacrifice had 
 not been demanded of her. 
 
 Louise went to bed dreaming of hospitals, band- 
 ages and of broken limbs. Could the mother have 
 looked into that warm impulsive heart, she would 
 have been surprised at the ambitious plans brood- 
 ing there. As for Ruth, it was touching to watch 
 her as she silently followed her father about the 
 house, watching an opportunity to slip her hand 
 in his, or cuddle in his lap. They had always been 
 peculiarly knit together, and for them the parting 
 promised to be hard.
 
 60 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 On the da}* following his decision, he was sur- 
 prised while at the barn to hear childish sobs above 
 him. With a swift, silent step he reached the mow: 
 there prone on the hay lay little Ruth. " Father, 
 Oh, father! we will die without you!" he heard her 
 sob. In a moment he had gathered her to his arms 
 and tenderly, as though she had been older, he ex- 
 plained the grave needs of the hour, then added, 
 "And my little girl may help by praying each day 
 and night for my return." After this there were 
 no tears, but the faithful little body followed him 
 like a shadow. 
 
 The last week slipped bv surely never had a 
 week hurried so. The last morning dawned, clear, 
 bright, beautiful. As Rachel mechanically opened 
 the blinds she noticed as much, and that the earlv 
 frosts were scattering the leaves from the great 
 elm. Already there seemed a pathos in the tossing 
 of the bare limbs. "It is as well," she murmured 
 to herself, " Let them toss and moan if they will as 
 Winter's blasts fall upon them." " 'Tis but a type 
 of life's emptiness." 
 
 John was to leave before noon, and before the 
 home adieus were said he went mechanically to the 
 barn, ostensibly for a last word with the hired man, 
 but in reality to take leave of the animals that 
 for so long had been a part of his life. Black Nell 
 that had faithfully helped to draw the great wagon 
 westward so long ago was no more, but Princess, 
 her daughter and counterpart, stood contentedly in
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 61 
 
 her stall, and gave a low whinny of recognition 
 and rubbed her nose against the arm of her master. 
 But time was passing, and voices on the outside 
 were calling. John paused a moment at the stall of 
 " Superb," a great stallion noted alike for his 
 strength and at times for his viciousness. Why 
 does he chafe so? What is that about his hoof? 
 Ah, in his pawing he has loosed a board, and see, 
 a nail has been thrust in the hoof. To see anything 
 wrong, with John Stevenson, was but to try to 
 remedy it, so with a " Stand still, there, Superb," 
 he entered the stall and stooped to adjust . 
 
 It was well that the man who was to help on the 
 farm opened the barn door just then, for a sharp 
 moan went up, then all was still. A few minutes 
 later Rachel saw them bearing a still burden straight 
 to her door. Five minutes later Black Princess was 
 galloping rapidly to Burton for medical help. 
 Rachel's husband was seriously injured if not killed, 
 and as he lay back upon the pillows it looked the 
 latter. Outside the door were grouped the fright- 
 ened children. Asbury had flown to Burton for the 
 doctor. Louise had grasped little Rose, and not 
 knowing what she did, began humming a nursery 
 ditty. Poor Rachel, utterly stunned, with a heart 
 that seemd suddenly to have become lead, walked 
 first to the bed, then to the door to look anxiously 
 down the highway towards Burton. 
 
 The jaunty blue soldier's cap lay on the floor 
 where it had dropped from the improvised litter.
 
 62 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Mechanically she picked it up, and there rushed in 
 upon her a realization of what was to have been, 
 and what was. 
 
 But it was left for Ruth timid yet practical 
 Ruth to go softly to the bed, rub the cold hands 
 and bathe the brow till a low moan told that he yet 
 lived. 
 
 The physician gravely shook his head. One cruel 
 stroke of the great hoofs had broken a limb, while 
 another had injured the spine, it could not be told 
 how seriously. For a week the father lay between 
 life and death, and while he so lay, the "Company" 
 that was to have been his marched away. Two 
 days before their departure Rachel went to William 
 Newton and handing him a roll of bills said, "If my 
 husband lives he cannot go. To do so was his 
 heart's desire. Take this money we had saved 
 it for a new house get two "substitutes" in his 
 place; the Country needs them, and the log house 
 will do." Brave, patriotic Rachel ! There were 
 thousands like her. Can we of a younger genera- 
 tion ever appreciate the sacrifices of those terrible 
 days? 
 
 ***** 
 
 It was found that John Stevenson would not die. 
 He would live, for a time at best, a semi-invalid. 
 
 While he is being nursed back to health we must 
 again look in upon the young people, and another 
 visit to the Newton home becomes necessary. 
 
 It has been seen that the older ones of each fam-
 
 LOUISE AND RICHARD. 63 
 
 ily were in the Academy. But teachers and pa- 
 rents found it hard to hold the young mind down to 
 study. Outside was the roll of drums, and "news 
 from the front" was the all absorbing topic. In all this 
 as a matter of course, the boys became intensely in- 
 terested. In every village, town and hamlet, "Com- 
 panies" were formed, a captain chosen, and the 
 "common" became a drill ground where youthful 
 patriotism huzzaed itself hoarse. Burton had its 
 Company, and after its marches and countermarches, 
 usually its young Captain would be led to a goods 
 box from which with youthful fervor he would 
 orate upon the day's struggle. This, was Richard 
 Newton, who seemed born for leadership. Hearing 
 the huzza even the busy William Newton would 
 smile, for his "dream " lay in his handsome boyish 
 faced Richard. The late investments of this man 
 of business had surprised even himself by their 
 quick returns, but he found fortune a stern mistress. 
 He must make no reservations if he would serve 
 her. When his soul rebelled at the bonds he would 
 comfort himself saying, " The strain will soon be 
 over. I shall have amassed a great fortune and 
 then ." His wife, always a doting mother, as she 
 perceived Richard and Marie slipping into manhood 
 and womanhood, determined that they should have 
 every advantage that money and social position 
 could procure. 
 
 The young people of Burton had learned to love 
 the great roomy parlor and spacious dining room
 
 64 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 beyond, for in them, charming evenings had been 
 spent, now in the " harmless " parlor dance, no\v 
 at the low whist tables; both Richard and Marie 
 had become skillful players at the last. When the 
 proper hour would arrive, Margaret, the gracious 
 hostess, and Marie, daintily gowned, would serve 
 the refreshments. 
 
 The Newton grounds boasted many trellises of 
 the choicest grapes, and under the supervision of 
 the mistress herself, each year casks of home-made 
 wines were stored in the cellar, which were drawn 
 upon for these same refreshments, and usually it 
 was Marie's own hand that poured the rich liquid. 
 Yes, what with music, dancing, cards and wine, the 
 evenings did pass gaily. 
 
 It is true some parents shook their heads, but 
 then " the Newtons were so eminently respectable.'* 
 Besides, Mrs. Newton was a known society leader 
 and as such was often heard to express her strong 
 disapproval of public dances, only could they be 
 allowed in the parlors of home or friends. When 
 one suggested that "cards" belonged by right to 
 the saloon or brothel, her reply was, "boys had 
 better learn at home, so there would be no tempta- 
 tion to assail them when they were out in the world." 
 "As for wine," here her lip would curl comtemptu- 
 ously, "as if one could not control their appetite! 
 It would be a weak person indeed who could not 
 sip a glass of home-made wine without becoming a 
 drunkard." Yet even now, could she have caught
 
 LOUISE AND RICHARD. 6t> 
 
 the whisper, it was beginning to be said outside the 
 home that the handsome son of this woman who 
 felt so sure of the correctness of her views, was 
 already becoming too fond of his cups. 
 
 Margaret Newton prided herself upon the fact 
 that she was " progressive." It was a favorite say- 
 ing of hers that "we ought not to try to hold our 
 young people down to the notions of half a century 
 ago, and as for the church'! well, if the church 
 would hold its young people, let // modernize." 
 
 It was strange that among the molding influences 
 that shaped this family, the contents of the hand- 
 somely carved bookcase did not exert a greater in- 
 fluence. Strange, too, that among all the elegantly 
 bound books there was such an utter absence of 
 any specifically religious. No, not strange, if we 
 recall the elder Richard Allen and his seed-sowing,, 
 and the truth that the harvest is greater than the 
 sowing. 
 
 But among the young people of Burton there was- 
 one family whose young people had no part in these 
 social evenings at the Newtons. We say "young 
 people of Burton," for though the Stevenson farm lay 
 two miles distant, yet so closely were the inmates 
 associated with the church and school, indeed with 
 all the interests of the town, that for all practical pur- 
 poses they were a part of it. 
 
 From the anniversary day, when Rachel Steven- 
 son had so clearly expressed her convictions, it had 
 been understood that while at other times the
 
 66 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Stevenson boys and girls were glad to be at "Aunt 
 Margaret's," on these social evenings they would be 
 absent. With Asbury and Louise, who were but 
 wide-awake, fun loving young people, there was at 
 times not a little dissatisfaction over this decision, 
 but from babyhood they had been taught to obey, 
 so in this they yielded to the judgment of father and 
 mother. But upon Richard, accustomed to have 
 his own way, this decision fell the hardest, for from 
 the days when he and Louise had played at house- 
 keeping beneath the elms she had been his com- 
 rade, his boyish ideal, nor had dawning manhood 
 changed this, and to be thus preemptorily deprived 
 of his. old-time playmate was unendurable. But 
 Mrs. Stevenson remained firm, so while the New- 
 ton's danced in their lovely parlors, making the 
 evenings gay with laughter and song, Louise, As- 
 bury and Ruth took turns in reading aloud to their 
 invalid father, or studied the lessons for the 
 morrow.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME EVENINGS. 
 
 'HESE were months of anxiety and care to the 
 Stevensons. Going back to the day when the 
 father was carried in so nearly dead, the 
 broken limb easily healed, but continued excruci- 
 ating pain revealed the fact that a serious injury to 
 the back had occurred, and it was months before it 
 was known that he would ever again walk. Twice 
 came the sowing, and twice the reaping, before he 
 was able to creep forth, leaning upon his staff, seem- 
 ingly an old man. 
 
 During these months of his invalidism Rachel 
 suddenly found herself face to face with several 
 problems, which unlike all others which had arisen 
 could not be settled by mutual counsel. One the 
 question of the farm management, another involved 
 in that one was, should Asbury and Louise remain 
 in the Academy? Each was strong and well built. 
 Would it not be wise to have their help at home 
 during this emergency? For the first few weeks 
 after the accident, while the others slept, she, wide
 
 68 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 awake, turned over each side of this question, which 
 she felt must be settled for the future rather than 
 for the present. 
 
 "No" she finally said, "they must remain in 
 school at all hazards." So the trusty farm hand 
 who was to have staid during her husbands absence 
 at the front, was retained. The younger boys were 
 now sturdy lads, and these with Ruth became more 
 than ever their mother's helpers, remaining at home 
 during the first winter, reserving though, certain 
 hours for study and recitation to either Asbury or 
 Louise. This seemed a necessity, for the invalid 
 required the almost constant care of his wife. Out- 
 side of school hours Asbury and Louise lent willing 
 hands, but they were nearing the final years of the 
 academical course, and their studies required much 
 time; besides, it was her father's earnest wish that 
 Louise should devote as much of her time as possi- 
 ble to music. Her voice, a rich mezzo soprano, had 
 about it an indescribable touch of pathos which 
 s:rangely touched the hearts of all who heard her 
 sing. Richard Newton, it may be said, sang too 
 a deep, musical tenor and sometimes as these well 
 chorded voices rang out together from the plain 
 sitting room a curious fear stnote Rachel's heart 
 and unconsciously she found herself paraphrasing 
 Rebekah's old lament, "What sorrow to my soul, 
 if my daughter take a husband of the sons of Heth." 
 But she brushed it aside. " They are but children 
 and have played together from the cradle."
 
 ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME E VENINQS. 69 
 
 So with work, with planning and with some 
 anxieties the days of John Stevenson's invalidism 
 went by. 
 
 " Rachel," said he one day, while he was still in 
 the bed, "has Newton ever said whether or no the 
 note for which I became security has been paid? " 
 
 "No; but I must go in to Burton this afternoon. 
 I will see him." An hour later she was interview- 
 ing the rich owner of perhaps the most prosperous 
 mills in all western Illinois. 
 
 Now, while the investment for which Newton had 
 borrowed the money had proven successful, still 
 there had been so many wonderful "openings," the 
 sum had been reinvested again and again. Just 
 now it was out, but next week it would lie in the 
 bank and a stroke of his pen would cancel the note. 
 This much he explained to Rachel. " But I would 
 rather it was paid," said her husband when the 
 message was given him, " go to him again, and tell 
 him I cannot allow my name to remain longer." 
 His long confinement was telling on his nerves, 
 Rachel thought, still this message was taken and 
 William Newton bowed in acquiescence and John 
 felt a relief, as did Rachel, that it was "settled." 
 
 During the last winter of the convalescence, an 
 event occurred which on account of its bearing up- 
 on the two families must not fail of being chronicled. 
 A great religious awakening occurred. Beginning 
 in the church where our friends worshipped, it 
 spread throughout the city. Its effects were won-
 
 70 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 clerful in the Academy, nearly the entire school be- 
 ing converted. 
 
 With the Stevensons, each child had in their 
 infancy been presented for baptism, and later on, 
 after careful instructions in church doctrines and 
 usages, had been received into full membership in 
 accordance with the plan of their church. To 
 neither of these children had it occurred that any- 
 thing further was necessary. Yet again and again 
 came the reiterated message from the lips of the 
 earnest preacher, "Ye must be born again," follow- 
 ed by the strange altar scenes, where amid tears, 
 prayers and songs, a face would suddenly brighten 
 and glowing with a strange light, would exclaim, 
 " It is finished! " 
 
 Louise had never doubted but that she was a 
 child of God, as indeed she was, yet she was the 
 first among her brothers and sisters to feel the need 
 of something which as yet she had not possessed, 
 and in her own impulsive way, without a word to 
 the home folks, she knelt at the altar where she 
 poured out her young soul in prayer. Presently a 
 strange peace stole into her heart. She remained 
 yet a little while upon her knees, then arose with 
 the joy born of the conciousness of Christ Spirit 
 within illuminating her face. 
 
 Oh, young, impulsive, warm hearted Louise! 
 could you have seen the weary years and heartaches 
 ahead, the heavy trials that await you, the work He 
 has for you, you might perhaps have lingered longer
 
 . ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME EVENINGS. 71 
 
 to pray that through it all this new found joy and 
 peace might always be yours. 
 
 It was a matter of comment between the father 
 and mother during these meetings that Asbury took 
 little or no interest in them. For awhile he had 
 been regular in his attendance, but finally contrived 
 to stay away upon one pretext or another. One 
 night, after the family had come home from church 
 and had fallen asleep, Rachel was awakened by a 
 noise in the little bed room where Asbury slept, and 
 a voice calling, " Father, mother, come here! " Each 
 hastened with a fear of sudden illness. What was 
 their surprise to find Asbury up and dressed, and 
 in tear S, and to be met with the exclamation, "I 
 must have this question of Salvation settled now." 
 
 With tender and tactful inquiries both parents 
 sought to find the difficulty. Born, and baptized,, 
 and brought up in the Church, taking a delight in her 
 worship, well read in her literature, grounded in 
 her doctrines, still there was a hungering in the soul, 
 a burden on the heart. The hortatory style of the 
 preacher had aroused a conviction of personal un- 
 worthiness. For weeks the burden had grown 
 heavier, till now it was unbearable. Fortunately, 
 from earliest childhood religious talks between chil- 
 dren and parents had been common, so there was 
 none of that shrinking timidity which at such times 
 frequently drives the seeker to some other than the 
 family. Grasping the situation at once, the father 
 got his Bible, and both he and the mother began to-
 
 72 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 point out the Scriptures, making plain the wondrous 
 plan of salvation, showing that there must always 
 be an individual surrender, a giving up of self, an 
 acceptance of Christ as a personal Savior. 
 
 Suddenly there came an illumination of the mind. 
 The wondrous simplicity of it all dawned upon the 
 struggling youth, and while his mother's voice was 
 going up to the throne, he exclaimed, " I see it all ! " 
 
 "The great transaction done, 
 I am the Lord's, and he is mine.'' 
 
 And now it was John and Rachel Stevenson's 
 turn to be surprised. Could this be their quiet and 
 reticent boy, who with beaming face was shouting 
 aloud, praising God till the brown old rafters fairly 
 shook with the echo? 
 
 Old-fashioned? Yes, perhaps; but it was that 
 blessed old-fashion that throughout the ages has 
 made the church strong and stalwart, that has im- 
 planted and nourished such clear convictions of 
 right and wrong, that at a word armies have sprung 
 into existence to do battle for the right. The old- 
 fashion that has sent pioneer preachers and teachers 
 to the western desert till it has blossomed as the 
 rose, has sent out missionaries till from heathen 
 lands news is wafted of a nation being born in a 
 day. 
 
 And quite as necessary as any of these seemingly 
 greater results, has planted in every church, no 
 matter how humble, those who uncomplainingly
 
 ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME EVENINGS. T.\ 
 
 become the burden-bearers, and in their daily lives 
 are l.ving witnesses of their Master's power to save. 
 
 During the remaining weeks of the meeting none 
 were so earnest and none more successful than 
 Asbury Stevenson. 
 
 Nor were the Newtons left unmoved. Indeed it 
 could not have been otherwise with the religious 
 feeling so intense. Asbury's conversion was hardly 
 less a source of joy to the Stevensons than was that 
 of Richard Newton. Indeed, Rachel seemed to 
 rejoice even more than his mother, who said care- 
 lessly, "Of course I knew the children would 
 identify themselves with the church. Religion is 
 right and proper, but should not be carried to ex- 
 tremes." 
 
 It is one of the strange things which we meet 
 with in life, that a mother frequently allows herself 
 to become absolutely blinded as to her children's 
 morals and habits. Now that Richard was nearing 
 manhood his mother did not seem to notice that for 
 her son the old home evenings had lost their charm 
 and more and more, upon one pretext and another, 
 he was coming to spend these away from home. 
 He usually made a feint of going to his father's 
 office, but there there was but little to interest him, 
 for he knew really nothing of the business. Besides 
 his father in these last few months was growing 
 really nervous and irascible, and to wear a haggard 
 and worn look, and seemed ready to find fault, with 
 little or no provocation, with his pleasure-loving son. 
 6
 
 74 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Yet if the office atmosphere was not pleasant,, 
 there was no need to seek far for hearty goodfellow- 
 ship. Burton had changed rapidly since the old 
 clays of log houses and stumpy streets. It had al- 
 ready begun to ape metropolitan airs in many ways,, 
 and alas! to reproduce city vices with startling ex- 
 actness. So in brilliantly lighted rooms where the 
 clink of glasses 'was often heard, together with 
 coarse laugh and jest, and steady click of the billiard 
 balls, Richard occasionally dropped in for an "even- 
 ing." More than once Marie, whose room adjoined 
 his, with a pale, startled face had seen him come 
 home, staggering, maudlin. Did she tell his mother? 
 No, for one of the gifts of the years to Mrs. Newton 
 had been a set of " nerves " that absolutely forbade 
 her being bothered with anything disagreeable, so 
 Marie kept her grewsome secret. Did Mrs. New- 
 ton know nothing of the state of affairs? No one 
 could tell. Perhaps pride kept her silent, but more 
 likely faith in the Devil's choicest saying, " Let him 
 alone; he must sow his wild oats." 
 
 Yet if his mother kept sealed lips, Dame Rumor 
 did not, and it became current among his acquaint- 
 ances that " Young Newton was going to the bad." 
 Bits of this rumor could not fail to reach the Stev- 
 enson home. Here Louise, with the old imperious 
 stamp of her foot, declared it all false, every word 
 of it. So Rachel carried a double burden real 
 sorrow over the misdeeds of one who had grown 
 up as one of her own flock, and misgivings about
 
 ACADEMY LIFE AND HOME EVENINGS. 75 
 
 the future of that one of hers who so ably de- 
 fended the sinner. Therefore it was with extreme 
 satisfaction the Stevensons heard of Richard's con- 
 version. 
 
 They had yet to learn, as do we all, that while 
 grace does much for a soul, it cannot take the place 
 of careful training, and that the modern Christian 
 sower finds, as did the one in Galilee, that not a 
 little of the results of his work withers away in the 
 burning heat of every day temptation.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ASBURY S DECISION. 
 
 fIGHTEEN hundred and sixty-five! What 
 memories are evoked in the hearts of many by 
 the bare mention of this date! During all these 
 months and years since John Stevenson's Company 
 had marched away without him, the great bloodv 
 conflict had been waging. The Nation had lived 
 at fever heat, the ordinary affairs of life were 
 forgotten in the excitement of "news from the 
 front." Slowly, though, within the last few months 
 the war cloud had been lifting. Rumors of peace 
 were afloat, finally came the news of Lee's surren- 
 der, and soon the steady tramp of thousands of re- 
 turning brave men shook the streets of cities and 
 aroused country hamlets. How the lusty cheers 
 went up from some of these last, as little groups of 
 bronzed veterans came marching down the 
 streets. Usually the fleet telegraph had announced 
 their coming and then they were welcomed 
 by the citizens with the wildest enthusiasm. 
 Alas! that in the midst of this joy there should have
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION. 77 
 
 been so many black robed figures, who wept be- 
 cause not all who had as bravely marched away, 
 came back. At such times Rachel Stevenson's 
 heart ached for her husband, for the pallor of his 
 face and the tightening of the lips told how great 
 the trial of invalidism instead of active service had 
 been. Patriotic as we have seen the Stevensons to 
 have been, and therefore interested in the close of 
 the war, still the year was to be fraught with events 
 of direst moment to the family. 
 
 In June Asbury was to be graduated from the 
 Academy. It had' been hard during the closing 
 years to hold him down to study. Once when a 
 specially urgent "call" for troops had come, he had in- 
 sisted upon going. To this his mother emphatically 
 said no. " You are too young for efficient service" 
 she would say; adding "There are just as truly 
 battle fields ahead. God would have you prepare 
 yourself that he may use you where He will." 
 
 As the event of his graduation drew near, both 
 he and his parents, each in their way were consid- 
 ering his immediate future. 
 
 It soon became evident to the "home folks" that 
 Asbury was carrying a burden. Like many an- 
 other mother Mrs. Stevenson had found that there 
 is an age when it is not wise to follow a boy, or 
 question him too closely; besides this son of hers 
 had inherited from his father a trait which made 
 him more difficult of access concerning that which 
 he felt most, he said least. So daily she prayed for
 
 78 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 him, but felt he would be stronger if some questions 
 were settled without word of hers. One thing she 
 rejoiced in was that already, as the result of the 
 " college fund," dating back to the gift of the cows 
 when he and Louise were each ten years old, there 
 was now on deposit a sum sufficient to insure each 
 two or three years at a University. With that 
 much secured, somehow the rest would come. So, 
 if he chose, a higher education both her own and 
 her husband's ambition for their children awaited 
 him. But to return to Asbury. 
 
 One day about a month before his graduation he 
 surprised his mother by coming home during school 
 hours. "Why, what is the matter; are you sick?" 
 queried his mother. " No," and he passed into his 
 room. That evening at family prayer, he said, 
 " While we are all together I may as well tell you 
 I have settled it." "Settled what?" came in chorus 
 from his brothers and sisters. But his mother, who 
 with an anxiety all unknown to her child, had 
 watched the struggle from the beginning, arose and 
 walked across the room, and putting her arms about 
 him said, " That you are to preach the Gospel, is it 
 not?" For answer there was a tightening of the 
 hand clasp, tears fell from his eyes and his head 
 bowed assent. Yes since the memorable night of 
 his conversion he had carried about with him the 
 constantly increasing burden. "Woe is me if I 
 preach not the gospel." Now he had rolled it off 
 in unquestioning obedience.
 
 ASBURYS DECISION. 79 
 
 How quickly affairs adjust themselves to suit 
 new conditions! Within a week after Asbury's an- 
 nouncement, it had been decided that after a sum- 
 mer spent in helping on the farm he should enroll 
 as a student at a University in another state. 
 
 This University, in addition to its excellent theo- 
 logical course, had a comprehensive course, open 
 alike to girls as well as boys, and after much con- 
 sultation it was further decided that Louise should 
 forego her last year in the Academy and accom- 
 pany him, but none could tell whether or not Louise 
 was happy over the arrangement. 
 
 This being an interwoven history, we must now 
 return to Richard Newton. 
 
 For a while after his conversion, already three 
 years in the past, his life had been exemplary, but 
 who can estimate the force of habit, or thwart the 
 power of molding influences in childhood? Although 
 in a sense he had been brought up in the church, 
 and had now voluntarily united with it, still he was 
 almost entirely without reverence for it. 
 
 He had heard criticisms concerning it, its require- 
 ments scoffed at, disregarded. Besides he, and his 
 sisters not less, while boastful of intelligence on 
 other matters and proud of the cultured surround- 
 ings of their home, were really ignorant in regard 
 to it. Its glorious past with its splendid line of 
 achievements was utterly unknown. As for its 
 current history, indeed this family knew less than 
 of the most trivial political affairs in Europe. How
 
 80 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 could it be otherwise when the books upon the 
 library shelves were of art, science, poetry and 
 fiction, but not religion. The magazines that 
 monthly loaded their center table were rich in 
 serials portraying society well, with its loves and 
 hates. They often contained beautiful gems of 
 thought, instructive articles, but of the church they 
 were silent except as some question was discussed 
 philosophically. 
 
 Mrs. Newton was an enthusiast over flowers: her 
 windows glowed with green and crimson, even on 
 the chilliest day. How carefully she read her 
 horticultural magazine that gave her needed infor- 
 mation. Mr. Newton could not have lived, so he 
 thought, without his favorite political paper, but in 
 all their family life a paper devoted to the church, 
 giving its current events and general progress, dis- 
 cussing its questions of interest, had not been con- 
 sidered a necessity. So with the father engrossed 
 in other matters, the mother with prejudiced notions 
 concerning culture and society, it was not strange 
 that these young people in their efforts to become 
 Christians should find great difficulties. 
 
 Knowing nothing of anything more, the church 
 at Burton was to them The Church. If Deacon B. 
 deviated from the correct path; if his wife were 
 shrewish, or took an undue interest in her neigh- 
 bor's affairs, this became an argument against the 
 church. If the little company was more zealous 
 than cultured, these aesthetic young people smiled in a
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION. 81 
 
 patronizing way and gave "the church " a discredit 
 mark. 
 
 The well read young people of the farm well 
 knew that back of all these was a long line of 
 illustrious scholars, poets, statesmen and orators 
 who had been proud to give their allegiance to this 
 same church. 
 
 Then there were the habits of these young people. 
 Their feet were nimble in the dance, their hands 
 skillful with cards, they loved the taste of their 
 mother's rich home wines, and had been trained to 
 think all this right. It was little wonder that ere- 
 long Marie and Therese, though retaining a nom- 
 inal membership, relapsed largely into the old life. 
 
 What of Richard? handsome Richard. His was 
 really a noble nature, and his heart full of lofty- 
 ideals; his ready wit and genial ways made him a 
 popular comrade. We have seen him as a boyish 
 orator, firing the hearts of an improvised military 
 company. His chosen literature were the great 
 speeches of Webster, and of Patrick Henry. 
 
 One of the great events of his early boyhood had 
 been a debate which had been held in his native 
 town between Illinois' two great sons, Stephen A. 
 Douglas and Abraham Lincoln. His father had 
 smiled at his boyish enthusiasm, for he had followed 
 the speakers' every movement, had edged his way 
 among the great crowd quite up to where Lincoln 
 stood, (it \vas on the stump of a great tree in a 
 neighbor's yard), and no gray head drank in the
 
 82 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 keen cut, irresistible logic more eagerly than he. 
 "Ah, well," thought the proud father, "who knows 
 but he too may win honor and fame some day?" 
 
 Yes; he made a noble effort to rid himself of the 
 habits he had formed. The last two years of his 
 academic life were given to hard study. Such was 
 his brilliancy that he soon seemed to have made up 
 for lost time, and his teachers said "what a reforma- 
 tion!" They did not know, nor did even keen-eyed 
 Rachel suspect the secret that, stronger even than 
 his love to God, was the growing, deepening love 
 between himself and Louise, and that by this 
 slender, silken cord this young girl was drawing him 
 away from the evil into a sincere desire for the 
 good.
 
 Iclclclclcjcltlclc^^^^ 
 
 < 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR AND A MOTHER'S VIEW OF IT. 
 
 the old brick walls of Burton Academy 
 loomed up that June evening in the dusky 
 shadow of the moon. The trees in the cam- 
 pus were laden with their heaviest foliage, and the 
 drooping branches cast shadowy outlines upon the 
 winding walks over which little groups of students, 
 mostly in twos, sauntered in the moonlight. It was 
 commencement week, and the evening of the col- 
 lege social. The walk led up quite near to the 
 building, where it divided, leading up to the two 
 entrances, leaving a triangular bit of ground, filled 
 with the choicest flowers. Just now the air was 
 heavy with the rich wealth and fragrance of masses 
 of June roses. Among the shadows on the great 
 stone steps, sat a young girl and her companion. 
 In her lap lay a cluster of roses she had gathered in 
 passing, the petals of which she aimlessly scattered 
 as the low, earnest tones of her companion fell in 
 sweet cadence upon her ears. 
 
 It is the old, yet ever new sweet story, which
 
 84 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 shall never lose its freshness till the last son and 
 daughter of Adam has quitted this earth. 
 
 "Listen, Louise " Ah, it is Richard, eloquent, 
 love stirred Richard, who is speaking. 
 
 "You must hear me, for this may be our last 
 opportunity together, for I am sure your going to 
 college is but a plan to separate us. I know too 
 well I am not a favorite in your home. How can 
 I be, when our family notions of life are so differ- 
 ent?" And then with all the hot, impassioned fer- 
 vor of youth he pleaded his love, and for the sweet 
 promise that should indissolubly link their lives to- 
 gether. 
 
 Little need, Richard, had you but known it, for 
 all this eloquence. The treasure you seek is yours. 
 The link you ask for has been forging through the 
 long happy hours of childhood. The opening years 
 of young manhood and young womanhood have 
 strengthened it. Indeed, who shall say that in the 
 great councils of your creation and hers it was not 
 said, " What God hath joined together let not man 
 put asunder." 
 
 As his words died away a litile hand crept shyly 
 into his. The June breezes murmured softly around 
 the stern old walls. The flowers but a step awav 
 lightly touched their heads together as if in knowl- 
 edge of the sweet secret, but the young pair were 
 silent, for vain are words to voice the tumult of a 
 soul. 
 
 They could linger but a little while, for during
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 85 
 
 the evening Louise was to sing. Poor Louise! 
 How could she face the audience? Surely her 
 precious secret must be read by everyone, and it 
 was in a strange, bewildering maze of happiness 
 with which presently she joined with Richard in 
 the long promenade of the hall. And Richard, 
 happy, audacious Richard; more than once he 
 looked down into the bright face at his side, and 
 boldly whispered " My Darling !" 
 
 Once on this promenade they passed Rachel, who 
 sat chatting with some friends. Something in the 
 air of the couple suddenly arrested her attention and 
 sent a momentary pang to her heart. "They are 
 but children," she said to herself. " Louise will 
 forget all this in the coming year at school." Pres- 
 ently the rich voice of her daughter rang out in song. 
 The selection was a light, joyous one, and surely 
 never did lark or linnet on swaying bough warble 
 so joyously, nor did ever an upturned feathered 
 throat anywhere so surely sing of joy and peace. 
 
 Rachel listened in wonder as did the audience, 
 but no voice whispered to her soul of the new ex- 
 perience of her daughter. How strange that often 
 we are so slow to read the hearts of our own. 
 
 This mother had watched this young girl grow 
 from her own arms, first into the toddling, willful, 
 vivacious child; afterwards into the loving lightener 
 of her own cares, and later into the peculiar sun- 
 shine of their home. 
 
 She had grieved at times over the imperious will
 
 86 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 and had rejoiced when she had deemed it laid low 
 at the Cross. Yes, she knew her so well, even- 
 trend of her mind, yet had one hinted to her that 
 this child might carry a woman's heart in her breasb 
 she would have resented the idea. Slill more 
 would she have been appalled could she have 
 guessed that this same heart had awakened and 
 responded to that strong, strange emotion whose 
 coming is but nature's signal that the gates of child- 
 hood are forever closed. 
 
 As for Richard, "boyish Richard!" she had said 
 to herself more than once lately as his fondness 
 for Louise's company became more marked. Had 
 it not been his delight all his life to rummage her 
 cupboards in search of cookies and toothsome 
 sweets; had not he and Louise led in mad pranks 
 all over the old farm? No; it was but the veriest 
 nonsense to think of him as her daughter's lover. 
 Yet following uncomfortably close upon this conclu- 
 sion came the remembrance of the lover-like looks 
 which had startled her, and against her will she 
 found herself, surrounded though she was by music, 
 flowers and a gay crowd, calming her newly 
 aroused fears with arguments why Richard Newton 
 should not be her daughter's lover. 
 
 Not only the half hushed whispers of his own 
 personal shortcomings swept in upon her, but the 
 worldly, irreligious life of the family. It had been 
 to her a source of real regret that the old sweet ties 
 of friendship had been gradually yet so surely loos-
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 81 
 
 ened, that now each family had come to be well 
 content to "gang their ain gait;" that which one 
 family held most dear and sacred, the other consid- 
 ered not at all worth the while of people of culture. 
 Indeed, it had often seemed of late that Mrs. New- 
 ton took special pains to flaunt or parade her own 
 easy notions of home life in contradistinction to the 
 sterner code of the farm. 
 
 " There can be but one end for all this," Rachel 
 had more than once said to herself, "and that is 
 complete shipwreck of the Christian faith and the 
 complete engulfment in the vortex of a purely 
 worldly life." " No, it must not be!" and her lips 
 closed; and they who knew her best would have 
 known an appeal from that decision would have 
 been useless. 
 
 During the homeward drive John Stevenson and 
 his wife talked of the music of Louise's song, of the 
 heavy growing crops on either side of the highway, 
 but never once did Rachel think it worth while to- 
 mention her newborn fears. Besides, if there was 
 any growing feeling between the two, happily she 
 had decided how it could be best managed. That 
 very evening she would await Louise's coming, 
 would calmly, lovingly point out the possible dan- 
 gers and insist upon a halt in the boy and girl 
 friendship. "How glad I am I thought of the 
 danger in time," was her satisfied comment to her- 
 self, as with book in hand she sat down alone to= 
 await Louise's coming.
 
 88 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Meanwhile the two lovers were loitering on the 
 homeward drive. We shall not obtrude let the 
 soft sheen of that same old moon which has lent its 
 witchery to so many such scenes, and the wafted 
 perfume of June roses and leafy verdure be the only 
 setting to this old yet ever new story which ardent 
 youth pours into willing ears. 
 
 Lofty plans are made for the future, for hides 
 there in all the world an obstacle which does not 
 vanish on the approach of that old magician Love? 
 So says all the fairy lore of the past, so believes the 
 vouthful pair who so slowly ride on. It is well that 
 the illusion is so complete, for in the coming years 
 one weary heart at least will pause in its tireless 
 work for others' weal and in remembrance whisper, 
 "surely Heaven can be no sweeter." But there is 
 a patient watcher whose strained ear just now 
 catches the rumble of wheels, then the sound of a 
 low good night at the door, and Louise has entered 
 the room. 
 
 As her feet crossed the doorway, involuntarily 
 the watcher's lips quivered slightly, then tightened. 
 She was firm. 
 
 "Why mother, are you still up?" the musical voice 
 called out. 
 
 How beautiful she was that moment! even her 
 mother, burdened though her heart was just now 
 with a perhaps unpleasant duty to perform, could 
 not but let her eyes dwell on the dainty picture. 
 The soft folds of her simple evening dress fell about
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 89 
 
 her. In stature she was undersized, but her form 
 was perfect and had a willowy suppleness that lent 
 a peculiar charm. But it was in the mobile earnest- 
 ness of the face which portrayed every passing 
 emotion, and in the liquid softness of the eyes 
 wherein lay the greatest charm. 
 
 As she stood looking down at her mother she 
 caught her wistful, tender look which unawares 
 had stolen into the upturned, questioning face. Ah ! 
 how many times she had been cuddled in those 
 faithful arms, how many times that work-seamed 
 hand had smoothed away her troubles! Why 
 should she not now tell of her new happiness? 
 Dropping suddenly upon her knees in her old im- 
 pulsive, childish fashion, she laid the soft white hand 
 in that of her mother's, exclaiming brokenly, " Oh ? 
 mother! Richard! I am so happy!" and the 
 brown head nestled in her mother's lap. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, Rachel 
 could not have been more surprised. A half hour 
 ago she had sat waiting to kindly, yet firmly point 
 out a future possible undesirable result, and now 
 that dreaded result was a fact. 
 
 What should she say? Should she call up her 
 motherly prerogative of reproof and forbid the 
 affair entirely? Ah, she knew the strong, unyielding 
 will too well for that. Swifter than did ever a modern 
 telegraph ring out an alarm, the cry for help went 
 straight to the Throne, and with the cry was borne 
 in the message, take time." Yes, she must have 
 
 7
 
 90 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 time. Time to think it all over, to use all the tact- 
 ful resources of her nature. 
 
 For answer she kissed the sweet young face, 
 saying, "Another time we will talk it over; just 
 now I cannot take in your evident meaning. Surely 
 'tis but a boy and girl fancy." 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 The young girl catching the unfriendly tone, had 
 arisen. In that one word Rachel, in weariness of 
 heart, recognized that the child was forever gone, 
 and a woman with whom she must battle was in 
 her stead. 
 
 " You must sleep now," she said, "another time 
 we will talk it over," and putting her arms gently 
 about her, led her to the little plain room she shared 
 with Ruth. 
 
 It was long before either slept. With Louise her 
 mind dwelt first on her newfound happiness, and 
 again on her mother's strang reception of it. " She 
 thinks us children! Oh, mother!" and the very 
 tone of the thought implied a constancy that boded 
 ill for Rachel's plans. 
 
 And Rachel; for hours she tossed upon the bed, 
 and feverishly asked herself the question, " How 
 can this foolish boy and girl affair be stopped?" for 
 that it must be stopped was as clear to her as noon- 
 day. But how? And until the early morning hour 
 she still asked herself, "how?" 
 
 The next day bade fair to be an uneventful one. 
 The mother still felt herself unequal to the task of
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 91 
 
 discussing the matter. She had not even yet told 
 her husband. Louise, in the shyness of young girl- 
 hood, avoided all mention of it. The shadows of 
 the afternoon had already begun to slant when 
 Rose still the baby pet who liked nothing better 
 than a romp with Richard came in and triumph- 
 antly announced that " Richard had come, and was 
 talking to father." 
 
 The hot crimson blood surged up to the very 
 roots of Louise's hair, for on the evening before 
 Richard had told her that before another day closed 
 he meant to stand before her family as her accepted 
 lover. " It will be so much better," he had said, 
 " to have the matter clearly understood." The 
 plans for the future of the young pair were yet 
 misty. Richard had already in a desultory manner 
 begun the study of law, his chosen profession, but 
 lately he had thought much of a position with his 
 father in the mill, and a cozy home for his young 
 bride. But even if the future was not settled, in 
 his frank way he was determined his new relation- 
 ship to Louise should be known. 
 
 Hearing he had come, Louise sought refuge in 
 her own little room, and Rachel nerved herself for 
 she felt that a crisis was at hand. The door opened, 
 admitting her husband and Richard. On the first 
 face was written perplexed surprise, with not a little 
 alarm. On the other, oh, what a metamorphosis! 
 Strong, manly resolution had succeeded the boyish
 
 92 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 smile. It dawned on Rachel that the " fancy " had 
 taken deep root. 
 
 "Mother," her husband always spoke thus when 
 a matter of importance was being discussed, "Can 
 you guess what Richard has asked of us?" 
 
 Rachel cast a swift, searching, almost pitying 
 glance upon the eager bright face. 
 
 There was no fear of her in Richard's heart. 
 All his life she had been to him a kind of second 
 mother. He had gone to her with a want as readily 
 as to his own. True, he had said to Louise that on 
 account of different family views of life he was not 
 a favorite, yet love had made him bold. Surely 
 there could be no real opposition from her who had 
 known him all his life. 
 
 So in an instant he had gone to her side. 
 ' You know I have always loved Louise. I 
 thought it only right to tell you that we have pledged 
 our mutual love, and we shall be happy with your 
 blessing and good will." An oppressive silence 
 followed, broken at length by Rachel, whose voice 
 sounded strange and husky. 
 
 You know, Richard, that we would willingly 
 make any sacrifice for Louise's good, but I am sur- 
 prised that you should seriously ask this; you must 
 know that you are each far too young." Richard 
 made a gesture of impatience. " Your education is 
 incomplete; so is hers; you have made no plans for 
 the future; it would be a positive unkindness to you
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 93 
 
 both for us to consent to what you ask. In a few 
 years you will each laugh at this passing folly." 
 
 A flood of anger rose to the young man's face at 
 these words. 
 
 Just then he caught the flutter of a dress in the 
 room beyond. In a moment he was by Louise's 
 side. "Come, my darling, we must settle this to- 
 gether," and impetuously he led her into the room 
 where sat her parents. What was it that caused 
 her to seek her father's side? Mayhap in that swift 
 instant she read a growing heart tenderness. Cer- 
 tain it is, from her mother she expected no pity. 
 
 "Passing fancy!" It was Richard who spoke. 
 " I tell you I verily believe this love was born in me. 
 I could give up life easier than I could give up this. 
 As for further education, Louise's love will be an 
 inspiration. As for life's plans, we will be willing 
 to wait, if we must, but such men as have had a 
 loving heart by their side are those who have made 
 the greatest success of life." 
 
 How well he pleaded his cause, Rachel could 
 but think. 
 
 "Can /ever be happy? Can my daughter ever 
 be happy, if she takes a husband from a careless 
 worldly family? Aye, if reports be true, a husband 
 who has already learned to love sin; the first flush 
 of love's young dream over, would he not grow 
 weary of her sterner morals? Ah, might not these 
 morals tone themselves down to the lower plane?"
 
 94 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 No, this alliance must never be. She must speak 
 plainly. 
 
 " Richard, your notions of life are different from 
 ours, as are your ideals. What to us is the most 
 sacred, to you is a subject for jest. When Louise 
 is older she will see this for herself. Until then I 
 must think for her." 
 
 This young man in all his life had known but lit- 
 tle opposition, and now to have this supreme wish 
 disregarded was unbearable; besides Rachel's last 
 words had touched him as the others had not. 
 
 "And for such a cause you would part us! And 
 yet I am to admire such religion!" " Louise," and 
 he turned to the young girl, "have you not a word 
 to say?" For answer, without looking at her 
 mother, Louise arose and walked to her lover's side 
 and calmly put her hand in his, turning such a look' 
 of unutterable love upon him that a wave of happi- 
 ness swallowed up his anger. 
 
 Rachel bowed her head while a very storm swept 
 over her. Was this the reward of motherhood . J 
 Was it for this she had known no other law than 
 that of uncomplaining self denial? And she knew 
 that in this clash of wills she was right. Thus far 
 the father had said nothing, though keenly alive to 
 every phase of the disputed question. 
 
 Turning to his daughter he asked, " How old are 
 you Louise?" 
 
 "Eighteen, my last birthday." 
 
 " Mother," said he, " time has been cheating you;
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR. 95 
 
 Louise is no longer a child. Just so old were you 
 when you left your father's roof to share this hum- 
 ble home with me." 
 
 His wife could scarcely believe what she heard. 
 Certainly he did not approve what to her seemed 
 unendurable. Louise quickly appealed, "Father, 
 we are willing to wait if you think best, but help 
 us to settle this that there be no estrangement." 
 
 " It seems to me, mother," added he gently, "this 
 need not be settled definitely now. The young 
 people have said they were willing to wait. Let 
 Louise go with Asbury as we have planned. Let 
 Richard prepare himself for life, and then and 
 then, mother, after all, this is something each heart 
 must settle for itself." 
 
 These words seemed so reasonable that even 
 Rachel, as well as Louise and Richard, felt it was 
 best to acquiesce. 
 
 It was hard for matters to drop back into the old 
 groove, indeed Rachel feared more than once the old 
 sweet intercourse between herself and Louise was 
 forever gone. Richard, with lover-like boldness, 
 did not make his visits to the farm fewer, but in- 
 sisted on coming and going with his old freedom. 
 Meanwhile there was a growing good comradeship 
 between Louise and her father. 
 
 But to be fully employed has been a cure for 
 many a heartache. So the busy days at the farm- 
 house served to tide over what might have been an 
 embarrassing time. Asbury was doubly busy, for
 
 96 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 his father depended largely upon him and the 
 younger boys for harvesting the crops. Besides 
 he was studying that he might enter an advanced 
 class at college. Louise, too, had her full share of 
 work, so the Summer went by. 
 
 Richard had had yet another experience after his 
 first interview with Louise's parents, the details of 
 which he could not unbosom even to Louise, but 
 which had given him much food for private reflec- 
 tion. Straight from the farm he had gone to his 
 father's office. He had gone with a vague expecta- 
 tion of asking for a partnership in the business, or 
 for a position with a salary. Entering the office to 
 which he had grown more and more a stranger, he 
 caught sight of his father at a desk. How weary 
 and care-worn he looked! How hot and stifling 
 the air! 
 
 Some how, after a sight of the bowed figure, it 
 was not so easy to begin. Yet after a few common- 
 place remarks he began his story. Rachel Steven- 
 son's surprise did not exceed William Newton's. 
 But yesterday he might have answered him gruffly, 
 but to-day, with that handsome, glowing face be- 
 fore him, how could he? But a partnership? No r 
 alas! A position with a salary? No. Father 
 and son talked long and earnestly over the ledgers, 
 and at the close of the conversation the father went 
 back to his accounts with a sigh. The son passed 
 into the sunshine with a preoccupied air. When 
 he next saw Louise he told her he believed his 
 fathers advice best, and that he would enter a 
 school of law that coming Autumn.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES. 
 
 fAZILY the first hint of September breezes 
 played in and out of the open door of the 
 ^ farmhouse. 
 
 Within there was far more hurry and bustle than 
 was common to this well ordered home. Rapidly 
 the mother moved about, placing now and then a 
 forgotten package in one or the other of two trunks 
 which stood almost ready for the final straps. Out- 
 side by the gate, champing their bits impatiently, 
 stood Princess and Nell with the familiar light 
 wagon which was to bear Asbury and Louise to the 
 train which in turn was to whirl them to that world 
 of new experiences, the University. 
 
 As their father drove up, an involuntary pain 
 clutched at their mother's heart. How often this 
 selfsame team had driven up in their childhood to 
 carry them to church, to school, and now they were 
 going. Was it forever? 
 
 The morning prayer had been full of pathos at the 
 parting, and rich in pleading for Divine care. Yet 
 this mother could not see them go without a per-
 
 98 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 sonal prayer for each. So alone in the little cham- 
 ber she knelt, first with Asbury and then with 
 Louise. With trembling voice she prayed first that 
 life and health might be spared, and that each should 
 make the most of the opportunity that was to be 
 theirs to fit themselves for wherever duty might 
 call. 
 
 Then followed a hurried parting, and soon the 
 footsteps died down the gravel walk, and the two 
 had gone out from the home. 
 
 How strangely silent the house seemed to Rachel, 
 who was left alone. While their going was the frui- 
 tion of her hopes, still it was borne in upon her as she 
 listlessly went about setting things to rights, that her 
 children, as children, were gone forever. If their 
 lives were spared they would return only to go out 
 again, finally to take their places among life's 
 toilers. 
 
 She recalled their childhood, their peculiar dispo- 
 sitions and their probable future. How her heart 
 thrilled as Asbury's exemplary life arose. How 
 clear his brain; how studious his habits; how un- 
 flinchingly he had walked in the path of duty. 
 
 And Louise; she had been a good daughter. 
 Throughout her whole life her willing hands and 
 feet had lightened her own cares, while her cheery, 
 bright ways and sweet voice had made much of the 
 home music. As for Richard, with her husband she 
 had come to think that had best be left to time, and 
 that surely time would settle it aright. He had left
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES. 99 
 
 the week before for a college farther east, and she 
 trusted that new faces and new associations would 
 break the tie. 
 
 A few hours and the family had returned, and the 
 routine of work and study was resumed. Ruth 
 and Edward wtre each in the Academy, while John, 
 a sturdy lad of thirteen, with little Rose attended 
 the school nearer home. So the house much of the 
 time was strangely quiet, and very unlike the old 
 patter and bustle of busy feet. 
 
 On the farm matters were assuming a more 
 cheerful financial outlook. The rich pastures were 
 flecked with cattle. The dark prairie soil harvested 
 good crops. Long ago good barns had been built, 
 which now in the Autumn fruitage, were rilled to 
 overflowing. 
 
 One of the maxims of this family had been the 
 scriptural injunction, "Owe no man anything." So 
 now, as the father had gotten much stronger and the 
 younger boys were old enough to relieve him not a 
 little, the Stevensons rightfully looked forward to a 
 greater leisure, for the farm, while not a means of 
 rapid wealth, is surer than most others. 
 
 Since the abandonment of the new house at the 
 opening of the war, the subject had not again been 
 broached, only as something in the indefinite future. 
 But now it was planned that when Asbury and 
 Louise should come home for the summer vacation 
 they would be welcomed to the new home, nothing
 
 100 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 elegant or pretentious, but added room which would 
 make household cares less burdensome. 
 
 So much time has of late been given to the farm- 
 house that it is high time that we were turning to 
 the more pretentious home of the Newtons. We 
 have already seen the old friendship wavering un- 
 der the strain of growing uncongenial tastes, in ad- 
 dition but perhaps they fancied it both John and 
 Rachel thought since the refusal to remain longer 
 on the note as security Mr. Newton had been 
 strangely reserved even to the point of avoidance. 
 Moreover, Rachel's known hostility to the affair 
 between Richard and Louise touched Margaret as 
 perhaps nothing else had, for in Richard's love 
 for this sweet, blithe girl her mother heart perceived 
 his strongest safeguard, and her selfishness could 
 see nothing amiss in the sacrifice of innocent young 
 girlhood upon the altar of a hoped-for reformation. 
 
 Yet, if a growing fear lurked about her 
 heart, the years saw no change in her home 
 life. Home wines were still found in the cellar. 
 She refused to see danger lurking in the amber- 
 colored, quivering jelly which bore the pungent 
 flavor of choice old Burgundy, nor in the brandit-d 
 peaches upon her cellar shelves. 
 
 Nor did she think it worth while, now that there 
 were young Christians in the family to attempt 
 new reading habits. Another might have argued 
 that these should be supplied with a literature 
 which in itself would foster and develop the new
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES. 101 
 
 experience and bind them irrevocably to the new 
 life; not she. She had lived a life of moral recti- 
 tude, why not her children? She did not ask 
 more than a moral life for them, so she knew no 
 regret when Marie and Therese lapsed into the old 
 worldly life, nor but little uneasiness when Richard 
 at long intervals came down to the morning meal 
 with aching head and dull eyes. Had not even 
 .some great men been a little wild in their youth? 
 She received with extreme satisfaction his ready 
 acquiescence in his father's wishes for a college and 
 law course. She was sure he would come home 
 crowned with honor. 
 
 Marie had yet another year in the Academy. 
 She had always been a beautiful child, and was 
 growing into a lovely young womanhood. Her 
 heart and impulses were good. In an humbler or 
 Christian home she might have developed into a 
 strong womanhood; as it was, she became a type 
 of thousands who sacrifice everything to the de- 
 mands of dress and society. She could "play" a 
 little on the pianoforte, but of music as an art, a life 
 study, she had not dreamed. Had she known the 
 first elements of hard work and patience, she might, 
 in time, have done something as an artist; as it was 
 she was content to paint what her young friends 
 styled "perfectly lovely pictures," and then smiled. 
 
 Like her type, she would probably marry early. 
 Indeed in the home circle her "engagement" to 
 Charlie Hudson, "a good fellow," and what was
 
 102 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 better the son of Banker Hudson, was already ac- 
 knowledged, but the marriage was not to occur 
 for a year. Once married she would become, in 
 all likelihood, a conventional society woman not 
 unlike her mother. 
 
 Therese was something of the same pattern, yet 
 there was a certain dash about her that gave one a 
 sense of uneasiness akin to that which a restless 
 team imparts, not knowing exactly what turn it 
 may take. She was a winsome girl, about the 
 same age as Ruth Stevenson, and between these two 
 a warm friendship existed. From earliest childhood 
 she had been inordinately fond of reading. She it was 
 who eagerly cut the magazine pages to devour its 
 monthly dish of "serials." She had a keen literary 
 perception, and had she had a faithful guide into the 
 sweets of poetry or the wealth of history, or had 
 she been directed even to the better class of fiction, 
 how much of sorrow would have been averted. 
 As it was she was left largely to follow her own 
 inclinations. To do her mother justice, when she 
 perceived this growing and absorbing taste, she 
 did try to check it. As well try to dam a stream 
 and leave the fountain untouched. So Therese 
 grew to live more and more in the realms of fancy, 
 often imagining herself the heroine of whose woes 
 she was reading. No wonder she found the 
 church irksome, the home dull, and the plodding 
 studies of school life unendurable. 
 
 Standing in life "Where the Brook and River
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES. 103 
 
 Meet," unconsciously to herself she was beginning 
 to long for an exciting experience akin to that of 
 the heroines whose exploits she found so thrilling. 
 
 Before we leave the Newton's to look after the 
 students whom we left rapidly whirling college- 
 ward, we must look in upon Mr. Newton himself. 
 To do this, it will be necessary to seek the office,, 
 for he is scarcely at home, except to hurried meals, 
 and at late hours for slumber. 
 
 Though scarcely fifty years of age, his hair is 
 rapidly whitening, the old-time sprightliness of step 
 is gone, yet the eyes maintain the old alertness 
 with the addition of certainly a trace of feverish 
 anxiety. 
 
 Since the days of his first speculation in Burton 
 real estate he had lived a restless life. Through 
 the troublous days of the war he had so success- 
 fully managed his large interests that his fortune 
 had doubled and trebled. 
 
 He had always been a loving husband and indul- 
 gent father. Nothing that money could devise to- 
 make the home happier was lacking, hence there 
 never was a thought but that the family purse was- 
 unlimited. 
 
 Within the last year Mrs. Newton noticed with 
 anxiety that he was becoming more and more ab- 
 sorbed in his business, and taking on a haggard 
 and preoccupied air. She had never been lacking 
 in wifely devotion, and it was with forebodings 
 she began to expect a breaking down of his health,.
 
 104 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 and to urge him to take time for recuperation, but 
 instead he seemed to apply himself even more 
 closely. 
 
 Mrs. Newton and her daughters were still punc- 
 tilious in their attendance upon the morning services 
 at the church, but it had come to pass that Mr. 
 Newton scarcely ever accompanied them. Indeed 
 he found no day so free from interruptions, conse- 
 quently none so well adapted for work on his 
 ledger. So Sabbath after Sabbath this overworked 
 man of multiplied cares sought to untangle the 
 chaotic threads of the past week's work. 
 
 But were they chaotic? Not once did Mrs. 
 Newton suspect this, but such ugly rumors were 
 rapidly gaining credence. As a drowning man 
 rapidly divests himself of any burden which hin- 
 ders his life struggle, so it was apparent that Wil- 
 liam Newton was drawing his business affairs into 
 a narrower circle. 
 
 Still the ponderous wheels of the great mill 
 swung around with lightning rapidity. The fur- 
 nace tires glowed brightly, and the huge chimneys 
 were black with the cloud which overhung them 
 night and day. 
 
 There was certainly no signs of decay about that 
 busy hive, and if aught of the rumors were true, it 
 was compelled to remain a rumor, for the lips of 
 the proprietor were closely sealed, and his bearing 
 as self-cofident as ever.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS. 
 
 fT WAS with mingled feelings that Asbury 
 and Louise found themselves at the last mo- 
 ment hurried from the quiet of the home, up- 
 on the journey which was to open to them the cov- 
 eted new life. Keen regrtt was felt as the reflection 
 obtruded itself upon even their young minds, as it 
 had upon their mother's, that the old home life was 
 forever gone. 
 
 But just ahead lay that wonderful future called 
 " Life," whose successes and failures so surely 
 awaited them, and before which intervened a few 
 coveted years of college life. And as each recalled 
 the self denial of the family life, the hard-working 
 father and mother, it seemed marvelous that the 
 dream of years was being realized. So it might be 
 forgiven them if with the natural regret was min- 
 gled not a little proud exhileration and joyous ex- 
 pectancy for the life ahead. 
 
 This was particuliarly true of Asbury. All his 
 life he had been naturally studious. The quiet 
 
 8
 
 106 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 home evenings had been rich in their implanting in- 
 his mind of broad plans for the future, for during 
 these had been developed an intimate acquaintance 
 with men and women whose lives had shaped 
 church and state, and as the acquaintance grew, 
 his young heart had beaten in unison with their 
 struggles and triumphs, and unconsciously had 
 grown up the desire to also live for a purpose, 
 making some little corner of the world better for 
 his having lived in it. Then had come his conver- 
 sion. Again, the still, solemn promptings of the 
 Spirit, which knew no rest till he had given his life 
 to the service of his King. And now he was about 
 realizing his desires. Little wonder that the past 
 rapidly melted into the glorious future. 
 
 Louise, though in a different way, shared his en- 
 thusiasm. The parting between herself and Rich- 
 ard had been full of mutual hopes and pledges for 
 the future, and though years should intervene be- 
 fore the fruition of their hopes, still they were 
 young and strong in each other's love, so the part- 
 ing was without bitterness. 
 
 And though she began her collegiate course with 
 a tumult of heart of which staid Asbury knew 
 nothing, yet it was with real girlish enthusiasm 
 that she too found herself journeying collegeward. 
 
 The journey occupied a day and a night, and 
 after a few hours the dainty lunch was gotten out. 
 How welcome the flaky bread, how delicious the 
 home butter, and what motherly remembrances
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS. 107 
 
 had been exercised in preparing some specially 
 liked delicacy. About dusk the following day the 
 travelers found themselves at the end of their 
 journey. 
 
 They experienced a momentary shade of disap- 
 pointment as they stepped into the fitful, weird 
 light of the platform. How small the town; but 
 each remembered it was the University they had 
 come to seek, and the great noisy crowds of young 
 men and women proclaimed it a University town. 
 Trunks came tumbling off by the dozen ; old friends, 
 jolly comrades of the past, called out to each other in 
 noisy and exuberant greeting. Yet if the many 
 were thus at home in their surroundings, not a few 
 stood hesitatingly, not knowing just which way to 
 turn. Among these last were Asbury and Louise, 
 but not long. They soon found temporary lodging 
 for the night, and the next day found them settled. 
 Asbury to room near the college, and Louise in a 
 home farther away. Acquaintances were rapidly 
 made, the college course was studied, each was 
 classified and student life began. 
 
 It was indeed a delightful experience to awaken 
 in the morning, absolutely free from care. No 
 waiting, insisting breakfast to be gotten, no hurry- 
 ing that the burdensome dishwashing might be 
 gotten rid of before school, no lowing stock to be 
 fed and watered, no horses to be curried; in short, 
 perfect freedom from the old exacting cares, with 
 time to study, time for exercise, with the environ'
 
 108 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 ments constantly tending to bring out the best there 
 was in one. Here was an entire community of young 
 people, all, with hardly an exception, earnestly 
 at work. At home, in the Academy, both Asbury 
 and Louise had been known as the "best students," 
 but here they soon found that if the old order of su- 
 premacy was to be maintained, hard study was 
 before each. 
 
 Perhaps in no place in which one finds himself, 
 is the aristocracy of intellect so apparent as in a 
 college. Wealth, social position, even the cut and 
 material of one's clothes, matters but little, but the 
 essential question is, "are they good students?" It 
 took but little time for our young friends to demon- 
 strate this question to the satisfaction alike of fac- 
 ulty and students, and they were soon received into 
 the inner sanctum of good favor and fellowship. 
 
 So well had Asbury improved his time at home, 
 that after his examination he found he would have 
 but three years in the college. He hoped for an 
 additional year or two for special preparation for 
 his life work. 
 
 Louise, it will be remembered, had yet another 
 year in the Academy, so she felt well satisfied upon 
 being admitted to the freshman class, where she 
 soon became known as a hard-working student. 
 Her sunny disposition that had made sunshine 
 in the old farmhouse, as well as her ready helpful- 
 ness, soon made her deservedly popular. Added 
 to these traits was her clear, rich voice, which soon
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS. 109 
 
 made her presence at social gatherings much 
 sought after. 
 
 No, Louise Stevenson did not go to college as a 
 recluse, to dream of nothing but her absent lover, 
 but rather as a clear-brained, wide-awake girl, who 
 meant to get as much as possible out of life. Yet 
 soon her most intimate friends came to feel that 
 with them all there was a reservation which out- 
 siders did not penetrate, for Louise was faithful to 
 her absent lover. 
 
 Though her mother was building much on the 
 new scenes that were to break the fatal spell of 
 early love; with Louise such scenes could come. 
 She could even grow to be a strong factor in these 
 associations, yet even as the needle points irresist- 
 ibly towards the North star, quite as surely did the 
 soul of this earnest and sincere girl cleave to the 
 absent. Poor anxious mother heart! You may as 
 well know now that there is nothing which will 
 sever this tie. Nothing? Hold; there is a pure 
 brave heart in that girlish breast, there is clear 
 knowledge of right and wrong, more, a hatred of 
 wrong, and there is a ivitt strong enough to lay 
 down a life or a love if right should so demand. 
 Closely should the absent lover watch his actions 
 lest they be the power that breaks the sweet tie. 
 
 Among the new friends Louise had made, her 
 room mate, Emma Ward, grew to be one of the 
 most valued. Her home was in a distant eastern
 
 110 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 city. She had been born into an atmosphere of 
 Christian culture and wealth. She had seen this 
 wealth held simply as a means providentially given 
 to help in the problem of the world's betterment, 
 and one of her earliest lessons had been that the 
 possession or non-possesssion of wealth by the in- 
 dividual might be a mere incident of circumstances, 
 but that back of this in determining friendships 
 should be the solid rock of personal worth and 
 character, and hence although in the Ward mansion 
 the petty economies and hard work with which the 
 Stevenson young people were so familiar, were 
 unknown. Yet the ideals were the same. In the 
 mansion, quite as truly as in the farm house was 
 God loved and served, so it was not strange that a 
 warm personal friendship sprang into existence, a 
 friendship that came to be far-reaching in its effects 
 upon Louise. 
 
 Emma had been in the college the previous year, 
 so had not about her the shyness of the newcomer. 
 She was known as a good student, yet not particu- 
 larly brilliant. Moreover she was of a bright, fun- 
 loving disposition. From the first hour of meeting 
 she was strongly attached to the shy country girl, 
 and when one Sunday evening in the privacy of 
 their room, Louise began with her marvelously 
 sweet voice to sing some of the church hymns so 
 familiar in both homes, the work was done, Emma's 
 homage was complete from that hour. As for 
 Louise she began to be drawn out of her-
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS. Ill 
 
 self and to really enjoy the social side of college 
 life. 
 
 But there is yet another student in whom we are 
 interested. Richard Newton had left for college 
 with emotions far different from any he had before 
 known, emotions little guessed by any of his home cir- 
 cle, save his father. To understand these it is neces- 
 sary to go back to that morning when, angry at the 
 unexpected opposition of Louise's mother, he strode 
 out from the farm house determined to lay his plans 
 before his father. It will be remembered that after 
 this interview he had gone out silent and oppressed, 
 and strangely willing, considering his natural impet- 
 uosity, to abide by his father's suggestions. Let us 
 .go back to that interview. As this prematurely old, 
 care-engrossed man who like many another had lost 
 his family in a sea of business, looked into the 
 handsome glowing face, there swept into his heart a 
 vision of the old days at Lynton when he had wooed 
 and won the beautiful Margaret. Patiently he 
 heard the story to the end, but the remorselessly 
 keen eyes gave no trace of tenderness as he sternly 
 said: 
 
 " You are barely twenty-one, not yet out of 
 school. You have no profession, nor no notions of 
 business that I have ever been able to discover." 
 
 Richard winced. Yes, he had often declaimed 
 against the irksome confinement of the office. 
 
 " Do you think it wise to take a wife to poverty?"
 
 112 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 "But father, I see my folly; give me a % small 
 humble place in your business." 
 
 "My business!" bitterly interrupted the elder. 
 "Come with me;" and there in the curtained alcove, 
 the place where Mr. Newton spent so much time 
 with his books, Richard caught his first glimpse of 
 the bankruptcy which like a threatening sword 
 hung over the entire Newton interests. 
 
 "We may avert it for a year," continued the father, 
 " but if you are wise you will go to college while you 
 can, get a profession and be feady for life." 
 
 " Yes, it is the inevitable," thought the stunned 
 Richard, " I will go." 
 
 The college selected was one of the oldest and 
 carried the proud prestige of being one of the most 
 influential in all America. Long lists of its alumni 
 were holding positions of honor and trust through- 
 out the country. While this remained true, yet 
 some other matters were not so satisfactory. 
 
 While there was a class of hardworking, pains- 
 taking students who were making the most of their 
 opportunities, there was a large " crowd," or sev- 
 eral "crowds," who spent their evenings in 
 bacchanalian revelry, and among the unsatisfactory 
 results was the fact well known and widely com- 
 mented upon, that many students went out from 
 this proud institution utterly wrecked in morals. 
 
 Richard upon his entrance was soon a favorite. 
 He entered with energy upon his studies. His fine 
 physique and manly appearance won for him many
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS. 113 
 
 favorable comments, for even at that day athletics 
 were coming into prominence. Then he had a 
 certain boyish artlessness or frankness which 
 strongly appealed to the heart. His natural orator- 
 ical powers soon came out in the society meetings* 
 so it was not long till it was decided that he would 
 be an addition to any " set." 
 
 He had gone to college with such manly resolu- 
 tions. Perhaps these latter might have been helped 
 had he chosen a college, or rather if his parents had 
 chosen for him one which had cared less for pres- 
 tige and more for the morals of its students, one 
 that did not fear to stand before the world as a 
 distinctively Christian institution. But of this we 
 shall see.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 
 
 is a fact that in every college, however small 
 or great, there are at least two "crowds" or 
 "sets," oftener more, and much of a student's 
 success depends upon the set with which they be- 
 come identified. So wrote a wise editor, and so 
 one morning shortly after her arrival read Louise, 
 and reading it she laid the paper down to specu- 
 late upon the truth of the statement. Yes, it was 
 true; even her short experience told her as much. 
 There was even here, she recognized, though held 
 in check by the high moral character of the institu- 
 tion, a set bound by ties of congeniality, whose 
 watchword was "fun and a good time." If they 
 could only have fun, no price was too dear to pay 
 fur it. Yet there was another, and these made up 
 the majority, who were hard-working and pains- 
 taking, reaching results not attempted by the gayer 
 crowd. 
 
 Into which had these young friends of ours 
 fallen? They had been hard-working at home, 
 they were not likely to choose idleness now. Their
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 115 
 
 sweetest associations outside of their home life had 
 been found in the church. They naturally turned 
 to it now, and ere long these two became known 
 not only as careful students, but consistent Chris- 
 tians as well. Louise in the meanwhile helped and 
 broadened, as it is not hard for us to guess, by the 
 companionship of that refined, cultured young 
 Christian, Emma Ward. 
 
 Asbury naturally took his place among the young 
 theologues. His roommate, Earnest Warren,was like 
 himself a divinity student, yet from his predilections 
 it seemed not unlikely that he might eventually 
 find his niche as a teacher of the sciences he loved 
 so well. His home was in the State of Ohio, and 
 his family of the "plain people," who had econo- 
 mized that their son might have that lever denied 
 to them, an education. After this glance at the as- 
 sociates of Asbury and Louise, with whom it is 
 safe to leave them, we turn to ask what of those of 
 Richard Newton. 
 
 Among the great body of students was one 
 Will Braceton, a fellow of rugged, robust build, 
 and withal of a good mind. He might have easily 
 led his class in any study, had he chosen, but 
 he chose to be the leader of a set which was 
 itself a leader in most of the mischief which a wild, 
 fun-loving crowd of unrestrained young fellows 
 could devise. Had they been contented with mere 
 mischief it might not have seemed so bad, for that 
 can be forgiven, but it was no uncommon thing
 
 116 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 for them to gather in Braceton's room, or 
 some place of his appointment, drink wine, and 
 sing senseless bacchanalian ditties. Yet much of 
 this was not known outside of the company, and 
 with many Braceton stood for much that was 
 good. 
 
 A few weeks after the opening of the school 
 year, at one of these "evenings" in Will's room, he 
 suddenly said, "I tell you what, boys, that Richard 
 Newton is all right. We must show him every 
 possible attention and win him for our crowd." 
 
 From that hour Richard had no need of home- 
 sickness, for there were patronizing friends at 
 every turn, and very soon the character of the new 
 friendships became too evident. Richard's past 
 experiences instantly warned him of the danger 
 lurking in the proffered friendship, and he was 
 brave and firm in his determination that he would 
 allow nothing to interfere with the steady course of 
 hard work he had marked out for himself. Ah, 
 had it not been for that caged demon of appetite, 
 which having been fed and pampered into existence, 
 angry at its whilom confinement, revenged itself 
 now by wild periods when it clamored to reassert 
 itself. 
 
 Yet without special incident the months of the 
 college year sped by with astonishing swiftness and 
 the summer vacation began to look entrancingly 
 near, not only to Richard, but to Louise and As- 
 bury as well.
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 117 
 
 One day, perhaps a month before commence- 
 ment, Louise and Emma had gone to their room 
 from a rehearsal of some music for commence- 
 ment, when Emma, who had been balancing her- 
 self upon the edge of the bed, said, " Louise, I tell 
 vou you have a fortune in your voice." 
 
 " A fortune!" and Louise's lips curled a bit at the 
 thought. " And so, Miss Thrifty, I suppose I had 
 better go on the stage." 
 
 "Oh, you need not be so uppish about the matter," 
 Emma replied, with schoolgirl freedom. " There 
 might be a fortune and still no stage. Our church 
 pays Mrs. Stanton twenty-five dollars each Sabbath, 
 which is a fortune not to be sneered at, with no 
 stage to bother a conscientious little Puritan." 
 
 " Twenty -five dollars for a few songs," mused 
 Louise when alone. " Twenty-five dollars Sab- 
 bath after Sabbath, even for a few months. How 
 many comforts such a sum would buy for the home 
 folks. Yes, how far such a sum would go towards 
 defraying the heavy college expenses." Louise 
 resolved in her heart to study even harder to bring 
 out every possible quality of her voice, and if yes, 
 if the future should ever bring such an opportunity 
 she might be prepared to grasp it. 
 
 How strangely are the mingled threads of our 
 destiny interwoven. On the day following this 
 conversation Emma broke Oie seal of a letter from 
 home. Among other items of home news was the 
 casual one that Mrs. Stanton, the soprano, was in
 
 118 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 rapidly failing health and had been ordered to the 
 mountains. The next mail home, unknown to 
 Louise, carried a letter extolling Louise's singing, 
 citing references if desired, and urging her father 
 to secure the position during the summer for Louise. 
 And strange to say (no not strange either, for 
 Emma's father was the one person in the church 
 who had this matter almost solely in charge, besides 
 he not only had great faith in his daughter's judg- 
 ment but had grown to feel a great interest in the 
 sweet-voiced girl of whom she wrote so enthusias- 
 tically), a letter came offering the vacant place to 
 Louise for the summer, with the same salary as 
 that paid to Mrs. Stanton, with the added assurance 
 that if desired, a class of music pupils could be 
 secured. This seemed almost like an offer from a 
 fairyland to Louise. She wanted to accept it, but 
 then how hungry she had grown for the expected 
 visit home, and this would mean another year's 
 absence. 
 
 With realistic vividness the loved farmhouse arose 
 to view. There was father and mother, worn and 
 becoming bent with toil; then there were the boys, 
 pretty soon they ought to be knocking at a college 
 door; and there was Ruth and little Rose. Yes, 
 the family needs were imperative and certainly this 
 was a providential duty, and she must write the 
 home folks and get their sanction. And we too will 
 follow the letter bearing this question to its destina- 
 tion, the farm.
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 119- 
 
 June with its rare wealth of beauty had come. 
 The great rose climber which yearly changed the 
 whole south side of the Stevenson home into a 
 bewildering maze of beauty, hung full of great 
 clusters of lovely roses. 
 
 Within the home Ruth and her mother were 
 busy about the morning tasks. The great fireplace 
 seems a bank of coolness, for Ruth with an artistic 
 touch has filled it full of tall, fringe-like boughs of 
 fullgrovvn asparagus, and upon the red bricks of 
 the hearth stands a great old-fashioned bowl of 
 roses. Just now she is placing another in the win- 
 dow ledge. As she does so she is saying to her 
 mother, "I can hardly realize that within a very 
 few weeks Asbury and Louise will be here. Dear 
 me, how we will welcome them!" A tender smile 
 played over the mother's lips as she replied, "and 
 we must try not to think how few the weeks of the 
 vacation will be." 
 
 Just then the sound of brisk hoofs echoed from 
 the shady lane, and Edward soon came in, saying, 
 "a letter from Louise!" 
 
 Mrs. Stevenson sat down to read, and read with 
 growing wonder the offer of the distant church. 
 Father soon came in, and together the wonderful 
 news was discussed. "No, they could not consider 
 the offer." Give up Louise for another year! 
 But an hour ago life had seemed richer, fuller, as 
 the memory of the sweet girl had brightened the 
 little room. So said Rachel, so thought the father,.
 
 120 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 <md so said the brothers and sisters. Rachel took 
 the letter to again read, in the quiet of the little 
 back porch. What a tempting offer it was, after 
 all. Just then her eyes lighted upon her husband 
 who, lost in thought, had leaned half wearily 
 against the well curb. Yes, he was growing old, 
 if not in years, at least in toil. How bent the 
 form! The plain working garb gave no hint of 
 the strong, honest heart which throbbed underneath 
 this uncouth covering. A sense of the superior ad- 
 vantages the children were having swept through 
 her heart, then she turned again to a paragraph in 
 Louise's letter. 
 
 "At first I could not think of this, I want so 
 much to see you all, but when I remember how 
 hard you all work, and how soon the other child- 
 ren will demand an education, I am forced to be- 
 lieve this offer is a Providence and that I ought to 
 go." 
 
 Rachel was glad the inexorable dinner claimed 
 her attention, that she might rid herself in action of 
 this new question that clamored for a settlement. 
 And it was settled. Another day a letter went to 
 Louise, bidding her God speed, and saying per- 
 haps it was best that she should go. 
 
 Emma, in true school girl fashion, almost went 
 wild over the decision, for it had been her greatest 
 wish that Louise should accompany her home, and 
 now it was coming about as she had wished. And 
 she gave expression to her delight by waltzing the
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 121 
 
 highly perturbed Louise about the room in the 
 most approved school girl fashion. 
 
 Asbury had known nothing of all this, as yet. 
 On the very day this home letter had come to 
 Louise, Emma met him on the college walk (by 
 the way, we have not had time to mention it be- 
 fore, these young people were getting to be extra- 
 ordinarily good friends,) and forthwith proceeded 
 to tell him the wonderful piece of news. He of 
 course was more than surprised, and with the sur- 
 prise was mingled a queer feeling he could not de- 
 fine. He knew it was a trial for Louise to give 
 up her visit home, a trial to the home folks to give 
 it up; still it was such rare good luck, why wasn't 
 there anything he could do? But no, his duty 
 seemed plain, he must go home and help through 
 the summer on the farm. 
 
 Loui.-e dreaded most of all to tell Richard, for 
 they had counted so much on the Summer together, 
 but while she hesitated a letter came from him, 
 telling her his father wanted him to take a western 
 trip as soon as vacation had come, and look after 
 some land, which would take perhaps a month or 
 longer, but that on his way home he would stop 
 for a visit. Poor Louise; she must not be thought 
 lacking in loyalty to the home folks if after this 
 letter there came a greater reconciliation to the 
 loss of her vacation. These few remaining weeks 
 were given to hard study, for she determined to 
 
 9
 
 122 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 make herself worthy of Emma's strong commenda- 
 tion. 
 
 One day as she was returning from practice 
 Emma came rushing out to meet her, saying a 
 stranger had called, and before she had time ta 
 think she was ushered into the presence of Richard 
 Newton, who having finished the year's examina- 
 tions, and caring nothing for the closing exercises, 
 had come on again to be in the presence of her 
 whom he had so truly loved. Ah, the all sufficiency 
 of those hours! The skies seemed bluer and 
 brighter than ever before, the lazy flecks of white 
 clouds floated above in a dreamy sort of way, 
 strangely indicative of the present completeness of 
 the life of each. Let heartaches cease, let fore- 
 bodings for the future be still, simply to be together 
 was happiness enough in itself. Richard found that 
 the shy country girl he had loved and won had in a 
 year become such a perfect woman that any man 
 might feel proud, even of a glance. Hard study 
 and cultured surroundings had done their work well 
 in rounding and developing the person as well as 
 the mind. 
 
 But his greatest surprise came when he heard 
 her sing. Yes, that was the same old sweet voice 
 which had joined with him in many a duet in that 
 far off time, their childhood, or in the later years of 
 their academy life, but how changed. Had he ever 
 dreamed of anything so full and rich, and with a 
 thrill of pride he said over and over to himself,
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 123 
 
 "and she is mine; that true heart is mine forever." 
 The wealth of Croesus is none too great to lay at 
 the feet of such a peerless creature! How annoy- 
 ing the fate that had brought his father to such 
 financial straits! Oh well, he had tided through a 
 year, perhaps in another, his feet would be on firm 
 ground again. If not, this woman he loved 
 would value wealth of mind and of heart higher 
 than of purse, and nothing should deter or hinder 
 him in climbing the highest intellectual heights. 
 
 Such were his thoughts, such his meditations, 
 but why just here did he pause, or why the sud- 
 den mantling of his cheek? Oh, for the world he 
 would not have Louise know of the coarseness of 
 the Braceton set, and most of all would he keep 
 from her the fact that slowly but most surely had 
 influences been at work till now he was an ac- 
 credited member of the Braceton set. How he de- 
 spised himself and his weakness as he remembered 
 the wild, hilarious evenings, when with wine and 
 cards he and the fellows had had a "time." Look- 
 ing now into Louise's clear eyes he saw the danger, 
 for he had through the collegiate year often argued 
 to himself, "why should I not belong to their crowd? 
 They all come from families that represent wealth 
 and culture: besides they are all good fellows, and 
 mean nothing more than the enlivenment of the dull 
 routine of college life." What if there were wine and 
 cards ? He did not expect to become a total abstainer ; 
 even now in his father's cellar were bottles of choice,
 
 124 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 rich home-made wines, and as for cards? Yes, 
 there -were people strangely prejudiced against them 
 but the shapely white hands of his mother had first 
 taught him skill in their use. Of course with all 
 this, as she had said, "discretion" must be used, 
 and he prided himself upon the possession of this 
 valuable quality. 
 
 Yet, would he have had Louise know this "dis- 
 cretion" had more than once failed him during these 
 closing weeks, and that he had been taken to his 
 room the worse for wine.'' 
 
 When he had first gone to college the Sabbath 
 bells awakened thoughts of Louise and of 
 God. He had gone regularly then to church, 
 for while there in some way he had seemed nearer 
 her, but with the flight of the months and under the 
 influence of his new companions he had gone less 
 and less. Yet now, looking into the pure eyes of 
 Louise, he was conscious of a desire for a different 
 life. What if after all the Stevenson theory of life 
 was the correct one, what if Aunt Rachel were not 
 a fanatic. He had so often heard her called that. 
 
 Yet he could not allow such uncomfortable 
 thoughts to mar this week of great happiness, so 
 lie resolutely brushed aside the obtruding thought. 
 There was the usual crowding into one little week 
 sermons, lectures and addresses. To all such it 
 became his pleasure to accompany his betrothed. 
 
 One evening there was a lecture before one of 
 the ladies' literary societies. The subject of the
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE. 125 
 
 speaker was the old one of a " Woman's King- 
 dom," which after a few complimentary prefa- 
 tory remarks concerning women as philanthro- 
 pists, reformers, et al., he proceeded to show 
 was the home. One sentence burned into the 
 brain of Richard Newton. It was this: 
 
 "There can be no such a thing as happiness 
 when husband and wife find themselves with uncon- 
 genial tastes. The home is a superstructure 
 depending for its success upon the complete union 
 of two hearts, and this union cannot exist between 
 persons of tastes diametrically opposed." 
 
 " Oh, that is all nonsense!" Richard had said to 
 himself as the speaker urged caution upon a young 
 girl of religious habits who found herself coming 
 to care for a man who did not. 
 
 Still in his heart he paid the compliment to the 
 speaker by resolving to eschew the friendship of 
 the Braceton set.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PREACHER A SOPRANO FLOSSIE. 
 
 'HE week passed all too quickly; soon As- 
 bury and Richard had turned their faces 
 toward the 'home of their childhood, and 
 Louise was journeying eastward in her new capacity 
 of wage earner. 
 
 Asbury received a warm welcome home, though 
 the joy, like many another joy, had its bitter edge, 
 for the bright young girl, who should have accom- 
 panied him was miles away, and many months must 
 elapse before she would brighten the home with her 
 presence. 
 
 He showed at once how utterly unspoiled he was 
 by going to work on the farm with all the energy 
 of his nature, spurred on it must be confessed, by 
 the secret thought that work hard as he might, dainty 
 girlish Louise was doing more than he. 
 
 What a comfort he was to his father, and how he 
 grew to lean upon him and to place more and more 
 upon those broad, manly shoulders the burdens of 
 the farm. As for Rachel, never did Hannah in the
 
 THE PREACHER. 127 
 
 sweet old Bible story, feel more genuine mother 
 pride in her priestly son than did this modern 
 mother in this her first-born, chosen of the Lord. 
 
 His influence too was felt outside the home circle, 
 for he became a wonderful inspiration to the young 
 people of the church. Indeed it has never been 
 estimated how much good one intelligent, thoroughly 
 consecrated young man can do in influencing and 
 holding to the right other young people of less well 
 established principles. 
 
 During the summer an event occurred which 
 throughout his whole life served to bind him to the 
 home church. That is, he was licensed to preach. 
 It occurred in this wise : at a meeting of the 
 church officiary, the pastor had presented his name, 
 and the necessary papers were prepared which 
 gave him an accredited right to preach the gospel, 
 his mother knowing nothing at the time of the 
 intention. 
 
 When his father returned from this meeting he 
 went at once to the kitchen where she was at work, 
 and thinking to surprise her said, " Mother, you 
 must have a little extra for dinner; the preacher 
 will dine with us." And she taking the matter 
 seriously, indeed knowing no reason why she 
 should not, replied, scarcely looking up, " Well, 
 catch me one of those plump chickens out at 
 the barn." Willing to humor the joke John went 
 out to the barn and soon a chicken lay quiver- 
 ing in a vessel on the table. Leaving the dressing
 
 128 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 to Ruth Rachel slipped on a fresh apron and went 
 in for a word of greeting with the guest. Greatly 
 to her surprise no one was about. 
 
 "They have gone out on the farm to discuss the 
 growing crops and stock." So saying to herself 
 she went out to the kitchen and soon an appetizing 
 dinner was spread. In response to the dinner call 
 her husband, with Asbury and the rest of the fam- 
 ily promptly presented themselves. 
 
 "Why, where is the preacher?" asked Rachel, 
 looking about. 
 
 " Here," and John Stevenson laid his sunbrowned 
 hand upon the broad shoulders of his first-born. 
 
 Happy mother! Though for more than a year 
 she had known this was to be, yet the announct- 
 ment of the finality thrilled her unaccountably. 
 'He was near her when his father bore the news,, 
 and she bent forward wilh a kiss, saying, " Having 
 put your hands to the plough, see to it that with 
 you there shall be no turning back." 
 
 The words seemed prophetic. Years after when 
 the way was especially rough the remembrance of 
 this home scene, and his mother's words held him 
 closely to his work. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Richard Newton found little to interest him with 
 Louise away. In a private talk with his father he 
 learned that the financial outlook had not improved, 
 and that unless something unforseen should occur, 
 the inevitable must soon be faced. Mr. Newton, a
 
 THE PREACHER. 129 
 
 victim of that strange cowardice that often affects 
 men of his stamp, had found' it impossible to ac- 
 quaint his family with the threatened disaster, and 
 Richard knowing it all, looked with a bitterness 
 akin to anger upon the luxuries on every side. 
 
 Upon his return he found preparations were 
 being made on a lavish scale for Marie's wedding r 
 which was to occur in the early July, to allow of a 
 western and mountain tour. 
 
 Her betrothed held a good position in his father's 
 bank, and there was no reason why the wedding 
 should be longer delayed. So at the appointed 
 time, amid a great deal of eclat, Marie went out 
 from her father's home. 
 
 The Stevensons were among the invited guests, 
 but only Asbury and Ruth were present. These 
 returned with glowing accounts of the elegance of 
 the lunch, the richness of the bride's trousseau and 
 the value of the presents, among the last being a 
 deed from Mr. Newton for one of the handsomest 
 residences in the town, which was to be the bride's 
 future home. 
 
 After the departure of the bridal party Richard 
 too took a western train, carefully instructed by his 
 father, who assured him that upon the value 
 of some western investments depended free- 
 dom from disaster. But before he went a long 
 letter bore to Louise an account of the wedding, 
 and assurance of his undying love.
 
 130 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 In a large city not far from the steady plash of 
 ocean's wave, on a lovely June Sabbath, a young 
 girl awaited with a beating heart the hour for ser- 
 vice in the great aristocratic stone church, which 
 faced one of the loveliest avenues in that great city. 
 One does not need to be told that this is 
 our young friend Louise. She had known be- 
 fore coming that Emma's home was one of 
 luxury, and that the church in which she was to 
 sing was one of the best in the city, yet country 
 raised as she had been, she had not dreamed of 
 such magnificence. The rich mellow light stole in 
 and was filtered through the translucent mosaic of 
 the windows. The very tcho of her foot fall as 
 she had 'glided up the aisle had been caught and 
 held imprisoned in the soft, yielding plush of the 
 carpet. The pews, indeed every appointment of the 
 church, betokened luxury and wealth. 
 
 Could she hope to satisfy so critical an audience 
 as worshipped there? 
 
 Emma was sure that she could, yet Louise had 
 never in her life been self-confident, and it was 
 little wonder that she trembled in anticipation of 
 the ordeal. 
 
 She had taken her place early, and as- the audi- 
 ence gathered she saw more than one curious 
 glance towards the new soprano. The great organ 
 pealed forth its most sonorous melody, then died 
 away into a gentle accompaniment. She was 
 about to sing. The book she held was open at that
 
 A SOPRANO. 131 
 
 matchless solo, "I know that my Redeemer Liveth." 
 With the first note of the organ had gone up a 
 whispered prayer. For answer came with wonder- 
 ful distinctness, a vision of home and the sweet 
 home faith ot her parents, and of the plain 
 home church where she had knelt and received 
 knowledge of sins forgiven. Ah, yes, she knew of 
 a truth what she was about to sing, and without a 
 falter the clear young voice took up the refrain and 
 bore it aloft and sang it so feelingly that the audi- 
 ence, with a first gesture of surprise, settled itself 
 to simple enjoyment. She had won! 
 
 As she sat down the tremulous plume on Mrs. 
 De Manderville's bonnet nodded by far too vigor- 
 ously to suit the usual calm poise of 'that lady, as she 
 whispered to Mrs. Millionaire just at elbow touch 
 with her, "A wonderful voice; yes, a wonderful 
 voice." 
 
 "Yes, and a wonderful amount of heart, too," Mrs. 
 Millionaire had telegraphed back, and if any one 
 had a right to recognize this last named quality, 
 certainly it was this same lady for a great many of 
 the poor of her city and the interests of her church 
 accused her of a like possession, and blessed the 
 thousands that accompanied it. 
 
 Louise had expected on coming that with Emma's 
 or her mother's help she would secure a good board- 
 ing house, but both Mr. and Mrs. Ward would al- 
 low no such thing. Their house was large and 
 roomy, they said, and to allow Emma's friend to
 
 132 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 seek a home elsewhere could not be thought of. So 
 throughout all the long delightsome days of that 
 summer Louise was an inmate of this luxurious 
 home. For the first time in her life she came to 
 know the meaning of the word "leisure," but her in- 
 dustrious soul could not brook the enforced idleness. 
 So she talked with Mrs. Ward about securing a 
 class of music pupils. Now the Wards, though 
 among the most wealthy and cultured of the great 
 congregation which gathered in the aristocratic 
 stone church, and wilh a little touch of perhaps ex- 
 cusable pride, could look back on several genera- 
 tions of ancestors possessing like qualities, yet no 
 dwellers in cottage or country farm were ever more 
 sensible, nor held more exalted notions of the true 
 dignity of labor, and instead of discouraging Louise 
 rejoiced in her disposition to work. Mrs. Ward 
 went at once to Mrs. Millionaire about the matter, 
 and very soon Louise had a good paying class. 
 
 Nor did this young Christian fail to identify her- 
 self wilh the active work of the church. She found 
 that this particular church, luxurious though it was, 
 undertook and carried on much practical Christian 
 work. Under the especial fostering care of Mrs. 
 Millionaire was a band of young girls who even so 
 many years ago as that, made for their special ob- 
 ject the study of the great work of foreign missions 
 and the raising of funds for the same. Into this 
 Louise entered with all her heart. Years ago her 
 interest had been awakened by letters from the girl
 
 A SOPRANO. ia3 
 
 wife of a missionary. With such a foundation she 
 developed such an intelligent interest that Mrs. Mil- 
 lionaire learned to depend more and more upon her. 
 A passing glance at this lady may not be out of 
 place. 
 
 Though her purse and bank account were alike 
 heavy, yet her real wealth lay in her active, clear 
 brain, her philanthropic nature, and her true conse- 
 cration to her Master's cause. She had been for 
 years (this was before the era of separate mission- 
 ary organizations in each denomination) a valued 
 
 manager in the Woman's Union Missionary Society, 
 and of her great wtalth she held herself to be but 
 a steward. She felt that her best brain work must 
 
 be done in using this for the advancement of Christ's 
 kingdom, and was never happier than when she 
 
 found a young enthusiastic person who evinced an 
 
 interest in these matters that lay so near her heart. 
 
 Little wonder she seized upon and grew to love the 
 
 bright-faced, earnest } oung soprano. 
 
 Thus the summer passed happily. Her singing 
 
 gave great satisfaction and her class of music pupils 
 
 gave her full employment. 
 
 The Ward family consisted of a younger brother 
 
 and sister besides a married daughter, Mrs. Herron, 
 
 the mother of two sweet little children, who with 
 
 their mother were often at their grandfather's 
 
 house. 
 
 From Emma she learned that Mr. Herron was 
 
 a lawyer, his father Judge Herron being one of the
 
 134 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 most highly and favorably known men in the state. 
 
 The young pair had a lovely home on one of the 
 boulevards, but in an indefinable and intangible way 
 Louise found that there was something wrong, what. 
 she could not tell, for there would come days when 
 the young wife would stay at her father's house, 
 remaining mast of the time in her room, and if 
 seen, her eyes would be red with weeping. 
 
 One day as Emma was driving her about the 
 city, upon one of the* fashionable streets the eye 
 of Louise was caught by a large and beautiful 
 building. 
 
 Upon inquiring the use, or name of the structure, 
 Emma responded with more bitterness than Louise 
 had ever seen her manifest, " The Devil's gate- 
 way." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" 
 
 "Just what I say. It is a fashionable club.house r 
 nnd there Tom Herron imbibes the demon that is 
 killing my sister. Yes, I believe it will kill her!" 
 
 Louise was silent. Could young Herron be a 
 common drunkard? 
 
 Emma continued: "Oh, I hate it. I hate it, 
 hate it! I hate everything that wine touches. I 
 would as soon marry an Asiatic leper as a man who 
 takes a single glass." 
 
 Why did Louise start? Why did her heart sink 
 so suddenly? Ah, but Richard, it was all false, he 
 had never drank; she would lay down her life on
 
 FLOSSIE. 135- 
 
 that certainty. Still the vehement words of Emma 
 rankled in her heart. 
 
 This question had always seemed so far off, so 
 remote, so associated with people in another world 
 from her own. She thought of her good father, of 
 her brothers, and rejoiced that they were safe, but 
 could it be possible that this serpent could wind its 
 sinuous way into a Christian home as it surely had 
 into the Ward's? 
 
 Perhaps a month passed and the shadows seemed 
 almost gone from pretty Mrs. Herron's face, when 
 one night Louise was awakened by a noise at the 
 street door. 
 
 "Oh, let me in, do let me in, quick!" 
 
 "It is Lucy's voice," said Emma, springing up 
 to go to the door. Her father was before her, 
 and in a moment the trembling, weeping woman 
 entered, herself half clad, and with sweet baby 
 Flossie in her arms and Master Harry, these two 
 in their night clothes as she had snatched them 
 from their cot and fled. 
 
 There was no attempt now to hide the family 
 skeleton. Lucy told them that for weeks, as 
 indeed they had known, her husband had been 
 sober and repentant. As usual he had made many 
 promises of reform, but oh, the dreadful appetite; 
 how like a caged wild beast! "An hour ago,' v 
 she continued, "he came home wild, beside himself 
 with frenzy, threatening to kill both himself and 
 me, and oh, I was sure he would," (at another time
 
 136 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 he would have lain down his life for this woman,) 
 'when I fled through the door with the children." 
 
 Just then there was a scramble at the door. 
 Louise drew back in horror as a wild-eyed reeling 
 man entered. Could this be the elegant Mr. Her- 
 ron, usually the marvel of good breeding? Yes, 
 having missed his wife and dimly realizing in his 
 frenzy that she must have gone to her father's, he 
 had in his drunken fury followed her. Before any 
 one could know or guess his design, indeed, it all 
 occurred in less time that it has taken to record it, he 
 wildly fired at his wife, who upon his entrance had 
 stood with Flossie in her arms, then placing the 
 muzzle to his own heart, fired, and fell forward 
 dead. 
 
 Mrs. Herron, too, lay upon the floor, but 
 whether killed or not, not one knew in that awful 
 hour. Emma was the only one who retained her 
 self-possession, and she stooped to take from the 
 arms so tightly clasping her little Flossie, when she 
 suddenly cried out : 
 
 "God help us, Flossie is killed !" 
 
 It was true. The bullet intended for his wife 
 had in an instant stilled the infant life, but the 
 mother was unhurt. Her's was the harder fate, to 
 awaken to a knowledge of what had occurred. 
 Words cannot picture the woe and desolation of 
 that hour. 
 
 Soon the bleeding body of the self-murdered 
 man \vas borne to the home of his father, but a
 
 FLOSSIE. 137 
 
 few blocks away. The young wife and mother, 
 in a darkened room, moaned in the wildest delir- 
 ium, and sweet baby Flossie lay a mute sacrifice 
 upon the altar of strong drink. 
 
 Later, as Louise, with a heartache she had 
 never before known, sang the sad chant over the 
 little murdered victim, she said down in her heart, 
 "Yes, Emma is right; I too hate it, hate it, hate it! 
 I will have nothing to do in all my life with any 
 one at all connected with this horrible evil." 
 
 Ah, Louise, it is well for you that mother nature 
 gave you from out her rich storehouse, a will so 
 strong that had you lived in an earlier day you 
 could have stood unflinchingly, if duty so demanded, 
 amid the pile of lighted fagots, else in the heavy 
 ordeal of the future you had not been able to abide 
 by those words. 
 
 When Louise had gone for the summer to 
 Emma's home, it was with the confident expecta- 
 tion of spending the last two weeks at home, but in 
 the coming of the sudden catastrophe new qualities 
 of heart were developed. The stricken family came 
 in after years to look back upon those dreadful days 
 and say, " How could we have lived if it had not 
 been for Louise?" 
 
 She had that rare faculty that instinctively 
 sees the right thing to do, yet her helpful- 
 ness was not that obtrusive, bustling kind which 
 annoys while it helps, but in her gentleness she it 
 10
 
 138 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 was who could best soothe, and to Mrs. Ward she 
 came to be a tower of strength. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Herron lay for days in delirium and 
 then settled down into a stony, tearless apathy from 
 which nothing would arouse her. Her friends 
 feared insanity. 
 
 One day as Louise sat in the music room she saw 
 her glide down into the room beyond and throw 
 herself upon the spot where little Flossie's coffin, 
 had stood. Her attitude betokened extreme and 
 hopeless dejection. 
 
 " Shall I do it?" whispered Louise to herself. 
 
 "I can but try," and seating herself at the piano- 
 her clear rich voice rang out: 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me 
 Let me hide myself in thee." 
 
 Tenderly came the words: 
 
 " Leave, oh leave me not alone, 
 Still support and comfort me." 
 
 Could it be possible? Yes, the heartbroken- 
 woman was sobbing. 
 
 In an instant Louise was with her pouring forth 
 words of comfort, and gradually she was won back 
 to an interest in life, by the sweet power of Chris- 
 tian song. 
 
 # # * # * 
 
 It was with sorrowing hearts that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ward watched the train as in the early September 
 it bore Louise and Emma back to school. 
 
 They arrived a few hours before the train which
 
 FLOSSIE. 139 
 
 was to bring Asbury. How vividly Louise recalled 
 the time when, a year ago, she had come as a 
 stranger; now it seemed everybody knew her. 
 Grave seniors called out "All hail!" Professors 
 gave warm greetings, and in the gladness of her 
 welcome the pangs of homesickness that she had 
 felt at not being able to see the home-folks melted 
 away. And then came Asbury, big brown Asbury, 
 fresh from the farm. Louise thought he had never 
 looked so handsome, he of the broad shoulders, and 
 countenance as free from guile as her own. 
 
 Then there were the innumerable questions to 
 be asked. 
 
 "Yes, father and mother are well. Father not 
 very strong, though." 
 
 Ruth? She and Edward have gone back to the 
 Academy. Ruth was taller than her mother, and 
 Edward was almost as tail as his father, and as 
 fond of books as ever. Yes, the new house would 
 be finished in a short time. 
 
 Oh, yes; Marie and her husband had just gotten 
 back and settled down to elegant housekeeping. 
 
 Therese had a French music teacher who 
 squinted, wore glasses, and rumor said made love 
 to his pupils, Therese in particular. 
 
 Mr. Newton was said to be growing richer; 
 some western speculations had proven especially 
 good. "But I would rather have our own father 
 and mother," said Asbury, "rich as they are in 
 their good qualities, than the wealth of a nabob."
 
 140 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 All this and more Asbury poured into the ears of 
 his sister. 
 
 She had yet one surprise before settling down to 
 study and that was the sudden arrival of Richard, 
 \vho decided to stop on his way back to his college. 
 
 How full of joy the hours were. How full of 
 plans for the future. 
 
 Richard hoped in another year to be able to 
 claim his bride, so each went to their year's work 
 full of hope and of good cheer.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 f**"^ EAVING the students to become adjusted to 
 another yeas's work, we again turn to the 
 home life of ihe two families. Some of the 
 news so briefly epitomized by Asbury deserves 
 more than passing mention. The year on the farm 
 had been reasonably successful, and while the col- 
 legiate course abroad and the academic one at 
 home had entailed extra expense above what each 
 had deposited from his or her " college fund," 
 yet the growing family made such an imperative 
 demand for more room that Rachel and Ruth saw 
 with extreme satisfaction the lumber arrive that 
 represented two good front rooms, one with a bay 
 window for Ruth's flowers, and two greatly needed 
 sunny bedrooms, and in a few days the welcome 
 noise of saws and hammers broke the stillness of 
 the country air. 
 
 Ruth and Edward were again in the Academy. 
 Ruth was now, as Asbury had said, taller than her 
 mother; it seemed startling how she had shot up to 
 womanhood. From her earliest childhood she
 
 142 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 had been of a quiet and loving disposition. 
 The busy, hardworking life the Stevensons led had 
 a tendency in itself to throw each child on its o\\n 
 resources, and particularly the care of the younger 
 children upon the older. Was a little brain puzzled 
 over a lesson? None so patient, so ready to help 
 as Ruth; indeed none so capable, for she had the 
 gift of making another understand whatever was 
 plain to her own mind. Since Louise and Asbury had 
 gone she had become the family reader, and many an 
 evening was made enjoyable as her low, well mod- 
 ulated voice read from the current literature in 
 which the family were interested, for though the old 
 house had remained small the library had grown 
 with the family, until now it was of really re- 
 spectable dimensions and each book showed 
 marks of frequent reading. There was one work 
 in the collection which marked an epoch in the 
 life of Edward, who the family laughingly in- 
 sisted had gone mad on botany. It all began in a 
 little paragraph which had caught his eye in the 
 early spring, which in an entertaining way told its 
 young readers the pleasures of seed knowledge, 
 suggesting that some seeds be placed to soak and 
 the result watched. Edward followed the sugges- 
 tion, and for a time the various cups and saucers 
 that sat around holding sprouting seeds were a 
 trial to his mother and Ruth. From this simple 
 beginning he had become really well versed in the 
 subject of plant life.
 
 THERESE. 143 
 
 There was also a volume on mineralogy which 
 had guided in the gathering of quite a valuable 
 collection of geological specimens. 
 
 Fiction was not wholly lacking in this home 
 library, but this was selected with the greatest care 
 and from the best authors. It was held to have a 
 proper place in the family, perhaps in the ratio of 
 sweetmeats to the staples of the table. 
 
 Perhaps the reader asks, " How did this plain, 
 hard working man and woman come to have such 
 good taste and judgment in literature and the chil- 
 dren such fondness for it?" Does it seem unreason- 
 able? Rachel herself would have told you that 
 beginning with those first quiet evenings when she 
 and her young husband had read together by the 
 blazing fire their taste had grown naturally, and 
 that the eccentric (?) friend of the camp ground 
 had builded far better than even he knew. 
 
 A feature of their year's reading had been a 
 weekly review of the best books published, so they 
 were kept informed as to what the great world of 
 thought was doing. Moreover, the undercurrent 
 of this reading from it had been a quiet sermon for 
 higher education, and they had been led to plan for 
 their children's wider education, and with that educa- 
 tion came the natural introduction to the broad 
 field of science and literature. 
 
 Before we turn to others who are beginning to 
 urge their claims, we must speak of Edward. He 
 was like, and vet unlike Asburv. There never had
 
 U4 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 been a time when it was not the latter's delight to 
 throw aside his book and help his father in harvest- 
 ing a load of hay or reaping a field of wheat, but it 
 early became evident that Edward had no such de- 
 sires. He did his tasks conscientiously, but there 
 was no pleasure to him in the work. 
 
 When a task was given him he hurriedly finished 
 it to get off with a book, and in some quiet spot, 
 perhaps the hay mow, he would lie for hours obliv- 
 ious of everything else. In this way he followed 
 the conquering Alexander around the world and 
 read of the triumphs of Cyrus. How he revelled 
 in Irving's "Conquest of Granada," dreaming by 
 day if not by night of old Moorish castles and 
 buried treasures, or became a living companion 
 of Rip Van Winkle and Ichabod Crane. 
 
 John often asked Rachel what they would do 
 with the farm, when the boys seemed to care more 
 for books than ploughing. "Butj0 will be fath- 
 er's right hand man," he would wind up by saying, 
 as he laid his hand on the sunburnt, honest face of 
 the young John, who now proudly made a "hand'* 
 by the side of his father. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Mother," said Ruth one day, when upon her 
 return from school she had donned a work apron 
 and was helping about the evening meal, "I do 
 believe Therese is actually in love with Monsieur 
 Les Page, the French music master." 
 
 "Impossible!" replied the mother, "she knows
 
 THERESE. 145 
 
 nothing of him, besides he is old, old enough for 
 her father." 
 
 " Well, all that may be true, but she talks of him 
 constantly, writes him letters, and I believe"- 
 Here Ruth paused. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Rachel. 
 
 " Well, I ought not to tell, perhaps, but a week 
 ago she came from her music lesson in the music 
 room all flustrated and she showed me a little pink 
 note, heavily scented and said triumphantly, ' Ediih 
 Lancaster thinks monsieur is so devoted to her. 
 See here! what would she say if she knew of this,' 
 and she showed me the note signed by the pro- 
 fessor." 
 
 "I tell you what it is, mother," continued Ruth, 
 " Therese lives in a world of fiction; she is con- 
 stantly imagining herself a heroine in some start- 
 ling drama you know she just feeds on novels." 
 
 A shade of questioning anxiety crossed Mrs. Ste- 
 venson's face. 
 
 "No, she said softly, I wouldn't dare." A 
 momentary remembrance of the old Lynton days 
 had arisen in her mind. 
 
 Should she warn Margaret? No! She had 
 chosen her line of action in regard to her family as 
 Rachel had hers. 
 
 The next morning Ruth and Edward started, as 
 was their custom, for the Academy. An hour 
 later Rachel caught sight of Ruth. She ran out, 
 exclaiming, "Edward! Edward! is he hurt?"
 
 146 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 No." 
 
 "Therese! Oh mother! Monsieur Les Page 
 and Therese have gone." 
 
 " Oh ! if it were my child ! Poor Margaret ! But 
 I dare not go to her," Rachel said to herself. Soon 
 she had learned all there was to tell. 
 
 Therese had gone the evening before, ostensibly 
 to spend the night with a friend. Not returning 
 the next morning her mother thought she had gone 
 to school so was not alarmed. But when mon- 
 sieur's absence was also noted, and some said he 
 had boarded the midnight train with a lady, heavily 
 veiled, rumor became rampant. 
 
 Still, Mrs. Newton never dreamed of connecting 
 the veiled lady with her daughter, till going by 
 chance to Therese's room she found it in disorder 
 and many articles gone. 
 
 Sending hurriedly to the friend's home where she 
 was to visit over night, she learned to her dismay 
 that she had left there between nine and ten o'clock. 
 
 Yes, it was true! Out from a home of wealth 
 this child of luxury, hardly yet in the dawn of 
 womanhood, had flown with this unknown adven- 
 turer who had proven his baseness by using his 
 position to win the love of a foolish, romantic girl, 
 rather not that he cared for her love, but rather 
 to gain access to the reputed great wealth of the 
 Newtons. 
 
 To attempt to portray the agonized sorrow of 
 Margaret in those days would be useless, with
 
 THKRESE. U7 
 
 her old-time characteristics, she closed her shutters, 
 shut out the sunlight and friends and bore her 
 sorrow alone. 
 
 Writing Richard he could do nothing, and to 
 remain where he was, Mr. Newton telegraphed in 
 every direction, employed detectives, but it was 
 many long weeks before the pair were located in 
 that great human ocean, New York City. 
 
 Hither Monsieur Les Page had brought the girl 
 with promises of love and protection, and here for 
 a time we must leave them, though Mr. Newton 
 tried by even- possible means to get his daughter 
 to return. 
 
 Therese wrote of their marriage a theatrically 
 glowing letter, as one of her heroines might, of 
 her great happiness, lauded to the skies "love in a 
 cottage" (poor child, it was only a fourth rate 
 boarding house, but then cottage sounded better), 
 and closed with the modest request that her father 
 would allow her her patrimony, the latter a sugges- 
 tion of the Monsieur. 
 
 Cause enough for sorrow this, but it lacked 
 much of being the only cause Mr. Newton had in 
 those days for anxiety. From the earliest pages of 
 this history the business ability of this man has been 
 praised, but for years not content with the slow 
 gains of the mill, he had speculated, now in west- 
 ern, now in eastern stocks, now he became a large 
 stockholder in a western railroad, or in a mine 
 whose output promised fabulous returns. Of
 
 148 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 course much of this speculation was done on bor- 
 rowed capital. This was all right as long as the 
 returns were all right. 
 
 But there came a change. Stocks that he had 
 expected to rise, suddenly fell and kept falling, 
 involving losses of thousands of dollars. Try hard 
 as he might to keep his business interests from the 
 prying world, yet undefined and ugly rumors had 
 been current for more than a year. 
 
 The western investments Richard had gone to 
 look after the last summer had proven good, and 
 he contrived to have a local notice in the papers 
 chronicling the large gains in that direction, but 
 these proved nearly valueless in adjusting matters. 
 For months past the toils had been tightening 
 about him; promising ventures melted into thin air. 
 
 It was true the actual business of the mill was 
 still profitable, but these profits in comparison with 
 the liabilities were as nothing, so that in just three 
 months from the time Therese fled he wrote Rich- 
 ard as follows: 
 
 " In another week all will be over, and the world 
 will know me as a bankrupt. God knows I have 
 tried to avert it, and tried in vain. I am truly sorry 
 for the heartache it will cause others. 
 
 " I have secured the returns from the western 
 stocks you invested in last summer, and I trust 
 these will be sufficient to enable you to complete 
 the course of study you have begun. 
 
 "I am thankful I secured a home for Marie. She
 
 BANKRUPTCY. 149 
 
 is comfortable and will know no difference in her 
 life. 
 
 " Years ago when this trouble first threatened, I 
 secured the home to your mother, and indeed it 
 was really hers from her father, so we will not be 
 homeless. 
 
 " You will see now, more than ever, how neces- 
 s:iry it is for you to arm yourself with an education 
 and a profession. 
 
 " When the blow falls do not come home. 
 
 FATHER." 
 
 A week later there was an account in the great 
 city papers of the failure of William Newton, of 
 Burton, owner of great milling interests. 
 
 But few of the readers cared; men were con- 
 stantly failing. Yes, a mere episode. 
 
 The local papers of Burton took up the matter 
 more thoroughly. His enterprise as a citizen was 
 enlarged upon, regrets were profuse that such a 
 calamity should have fallen upon him. Satisfaction 
 was expressed that the beautiful home, long a cen- 
 ter of hospitality, had been for years the private 
 property of Mrs. Newton. The rest of the prop- 
 erty Mr. Newton had honorably placed in the hands 
 of his creditors. 
 
 Mr. Newton, after the news had become public 
 and the first stab of disgrace was past, experienced 
 a feeling of relief. The effects of a blow are often 
 easier to be borne than the dread, and if it had not 
 been for the erring Therese and two other facts
 
 150 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 William Newton might have been happier than 
 he had been for years. 
 
 One of these was that his wife had sunk beneath 
 the blow. It had come upon her suddenly, and fol- 
 lowing her daughter's ill assorted marriage it had 
 proven more than she could bear. In a heavily 
 curtained upper chamber she was fighting the bat- 
 tle of life and death. 
 
 The other reason? Ah! when it obtruded itself 
 into the sick room or followed the sorrowing man 
 to his couch (and when during the past years had 
 it not?) involuntarily he cast his eyes in the direc- 
 tion of the farmhouse, where this very night he 
 knew a peaceful family had gathered, with no other 
 feeling in their hearts than generous compassion for 
 the misfortunes of an old time friend and neighbor. 
 
 Read on, sweet voiced Ruth! Unconsciously to 
 you, you are the central figure in a sweet home 
 group. Father sits contentedly in his easy chair; 
 the knitting in mother's hands does not hinder the 
 close attention she always gives when you read. 
 The brothers are grouped near the plain old table. 
 Read on; it will be many a day before this same 
 group will gather so contentedly again.
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGKR. 
 
 (C^|T WAS a blustering wintry day. A heavy 
 Ol snow had lain for weeks on the ground, then 
 c Xy had come a warm wind, a few days of sun- 
 shine and it had melted, save a few patches on the 
 hill-sides. This had been followed by another 
 freeze, and now this morning the winter wind blew 
 across the empty meadows and whistled noisily 
 about the farm house. 
 
 Ruth and Edward were each at the Academy; 
 Rose was at the country school. John, the young 
 prototype of his father, had begged to remain at 
 home, asserting that Madam Blanch, a portly Berk- 
 shire dame, needed his assistance in moving her 
 large family of baby Berkshires into better quarters. 
 
 After the morning chores Rachel went, where 
 she was soon joined by her husband, to look over 
 again those wonderful rooms now ready for occu- 
 pancy, and into which they expected to move next 
 week. 
 
 "How Louise will love this sunny room," Rachel 
 was saying, "she can share it with Ruth, and if she
 
 152 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 brings her friend Miss Ward home with her. we 
 can at least make her comfortable." 
 
 "Dear me! How sad was that terrible tragedy 
 in her home." 
 
 "Yes," replied her husband, who was with her, 
 ' ; and think of Newton. We have so much to be 
 thankful for in that sorrow has never yet knocked 
 at our door." 
 
 Ah! but dear hearts have ye not read 
 
 "Into the life of each some rain must fall; 
 Some days must be dark and dreary?" 
 
 Care such as you have never known is already 
 close at hand. 
 
 Just then Rachel passed the window. "Why, 
 father! who are those strangers near the barn?" 
 
 "Looking out John saw two men walking 
 leisurely about, taking a careful survey of the prem- 
 ises and belongings. 
 
 "Probably some men looking for stock. I'll walk 
 out and meet them." 
 
 So saying he took his hat and started to meet the 
 strangers, and Rachel being left alone busied her- 
 self about the dinner. 
 
 But the strangers, whoever they were, seemed to 
 have no business with Mr. Stevenson, for by the 
 time he reached the barn, they were letting down 
 the pasture bars and going toward the woodland 
 beyond. 
 
 " Father," said younger John impetuously, as 
 they surrounded the dinner table, "who were those
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER. 153 
 
 two men who were walking over the farm this 
 morning, acting as if they owned it?" 
 
 " I am sorry I can't tell you," responded his 
 father, "I supposed they were stock men and went 
 out to see them, but they had gone over toward 
 the woods." 
 
 " Well, they came along where I was at work 
 penning up Madam Blanche and asked me a lot of 
 questions they had no business to. I guess they 
 didn't get much out of me." 
 
 "I hope you remembered to be polite," inter- 
 posed his mother. 
 
 " I guess I was polite enough, but when the 
 thin chap with spectacles asked me if there was 
 any mortgage on the place I told him no, and if 
 there was I guessed we could pay it." 
 
 Ruth and her mother were yet busied with the 
 after dinner work, when there came a knock at the 
 door, and from the kitchen Rachel could see the 
 visitors were none other than the two strangers of 
 the morning. 
 
 A forboding of evil, she scarcely knew what, 
 seized her, and both she and Ruth hastened that 
 they might know the import of the strangers' visit. 
 
 No need, for in a few minutes her husband, 
 white and trembling, appeared at the door and 
 required her presence. Ruth mutely followed. 
 " Mother," said John Stevenson, with unconscious, 
 rugged dignity, "this gentleman," indicating a 
 florid, rather large man evidently ill at ease, "is Mr. 
 
 i I
 
 154 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Hardin, one of Mr. Newton's creditors. This," 
 indicating evidently the 'thin chap with spectacles,* 
 is his lawyer, Mr. Nevins." 
 
 " Did you not years ago take my message to 
 William Newton that I could not longer remain as 
 security with him on the note?'' "Certainly," 
 replied Rachel, "he consented to the change and 
 assured me the name would be removed at once." 
 
 The lawyer took from his pocket a leather book 
 and from its folds took out a yellow bit of paper. 
 With a blur over his eyes John Stevenson read the 
 fateful words: 
 
 " I promise to pay the sum of ten thousand dol- 
 lars with interest from date," etc. Signed. There 
 was the pen flourish of Mr. Newton, and the unmis- 
 takable, cramped, plain "John Stevenson," and the 
 flourished William Newton was as worthless as the 
 vellow paper on which it was written! 
 
 A moment of choking stillness followed. The 
 old clock on the high wooden mantel ticked on 
 loudly and bravely, as if it would fain avert the 
 coming disaster. 
 
 The hickory fire that glowed in the great fire- 
 place snapped and sputtered, but the living actors 
 in this home tragedy stood or sat like figures of 
 carved marble. 
 
 John Stevenson looked in mute appeal into the 
 faces of the two men, both of whom were fidgeting 
 and moving around in an uneasy manner, but there
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER. 155 
 
 was no pity, no relenting. They were there to 
 have their "pound of flesh." 
 
 "There must be some awful mistake," almost 
 gasped Rachel, "certainly William Newton could 
 not be guilty of this awful crime." 
 
 Ruth with clenched hands was crying piteously 
 as she leaned with one arm over her father's chair. 
 Edward stood in silent wonder, but no one had 
 noticed the fiery young John who suddenly sprang 
 to his feet, and with eyes blazing like coals and a 
 face with the pallor of death, save for the rugged 
 tan, placed himself in front of his father and said: 
 
 " Father, what does all this mean? What right 
 have these men," and boy as he was they were 
 forced to wince at the scorn in his voice "to 
 come here and annoy you?" 
 
 " It means, my son," and the father's voice 
 seemed as if the heartache of a life-time was 
 crowded into a second, "that years ago, for old 
 friendship's sake, I became security to William 
 Newton for a sum of money which, with the 
 interest, will take every foot of ground belonging 
 to the farm to pay. He assured me at the time 
 he would only need my signature for a year, and 
 afterwards gave me to understand that it was 
 paid." 
 
 "Oh! the scoundrel! but it isn't right, it isn't 
 just. Think how they have lived while we have 
 worked hard day after day." 
 
 " Go!" and he turned in youthful fury to the
 
 156 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 two men, and flung wide open the outside door. 
 "Let the Nevvtons pay their own debts." 
 
 The men arose to leave, glad to escape from an 
 interview so embarassing, preferring to leave their 
 cause to the surer officers of the law. 
 
 Both the father and mother were so overwhelmed 
 with this calamity that they scarcely realized John's 
 brusque speech, and were only too glad to be left 
 alone. 
 
 L,ong they sat and talked, but talking brought 
 little relief, only serving to emphasize the direful 
 fact more plainly that William Newton had made a 
 promise to Rachel which he had not fulfilled. 
 
 " Oh !" moaned Rachel, " if I only had not 
 trusted him; had insisted on seeing for myself that 
 the the note was paid as he said." 
 
 And now for this, her mistake, they were to be 
 homeless. Carefully she recalled every incident 
 of her call at the Newton office. Mr. Newton 
 had told her again what she already knew, that 
 " the money thus secured had been used as an 
 investment in the rapidly changing financial scenes 
 in the early days of the war; it had brought good 
 returns and had been invested again and again." 
 Yes, he had admitted it had been an act of busi- 
 ness carelessness that the original note had not been 
 paid. As she desired, it he " would write a check 
 that very day." 
 
 And she had believed him. For herself she did 
 not care so much, but there were the years of
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER. 157 
 
 hardships born by her husband. He had never 
 been strong since the hour of the accident. No, 
 lie could never make his way again. 
 
 The afternoon wore away, night came, though 
 they retired, neither could sleep. There were the 
 children ! Rachel sobbed as she thought of 
 them. It was true each had their own college 
 fund; how she blessed the writer of the stray para- 
 graph which had contained the suggestion, yet 
 unless it was annually added to, it would prove 
 insufficient. Would they finally have to give up 
 and come home? 
 
 Following these sad reflections came the thought, 
 "Asbury is the Lord's own. He will care for him 
 someway." 
 
 Ah ! if that is true of Asbury, why not of 
 Louise, of Ruth, of each one. God's own are not 
 all ministers. He will have his servants in all 
 walks of life, and the first prayer that had crossed 
 her lips now rose for sustaining grace to bear this 
 trial if it came. 
 
 God is always waiting, longing to comfort if 
 asked, and even as she prayed, peace came. 
 
 They were all the Lord's. He was pledged to 
 care for them. The word, "I will never leave thee 
 nor forsake thee," still stood, and David's experi- 
 ence as recorded, " Once was I young, now I am 
 old, but I have never seen the righteous forsaken 
 nor his seed begging bread," was comforting to 
 her.
 
 158 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Reaching out her hand, ah! it had long been 
 wrinkled and hard, she clasped the still browner 
 one of her husband, and whispered, "John, be com- 
 forted. God reigns and He will care for us." 
 
 "Oh!" groaned John, "It was our own foolish 
 act, and God cannot save us from the effects of 
 such. We should not have allowed the years to 
 pass without knowing that what he had promised 
 was done." 
 
 "But God can, and will help us bear it," she 
 urged, and so comforted, after a weary while they 
 slept. 
 
 Before the old farm horn had blown the dinner 
 summons the following day two things had hap- 
 pened. One was an interview on the part of John 
 Stevenson with the man who had so cruelly 
 wronged him, where lie learned the truth of his 
 worst fears. Yet he had come away with a queer 
 feeling akin to pity for the wretched man, for he 
 said to himself, "I can stand before the world an 
 honest, if it must be, a penniless man, and- there is 
 a world of satisfaction in a clear conscience." 
 
 And it was true William Newton was an object 
 of pity, for over and over again he had learned the 
 gruesome, unwelcome lesson that the way of the 
 transgressor is always hard. For months he had 
 been cowering before the hour when the Steven- 
 son's must know of his dishonesty. 
 
 At first he had not dreamed of a dishonest 
 act. He had fully expected to cancel the note even
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER. 159 
 
 before Rachel's visit, and certainly to fulfill his 
 promise to her, but even then the web of entangle- 
 ments had begun to enwrap him, and as fate would 
 have it, on the very day of her call, news reached 
 him of the sudden decline in price of grain, which 
 he had contracted for in large quantities. "Well, 
 the very next week I will do it," was the promise 
 he made his conscience when his last available 
 check was given, not to free the farm folk, but 
 other more clamorous creditors. 
 
 But affairs were no better "next week," and so 
 he had lived on, the note becoming the property of 
 a bank, whose managers were wise to recognize 
 the value of the plain, cramped signature. During 
 the last five years he had not entered upon a specu- 
 lation without promising himself to redeem the 
 hated note with the margin, .but it had been impos- 
 sible. Thus often do the results of our actions 
 widely exceed our intentions. 
 
 During the interview he had sat cowed, 
 and shrunken Where was the old-time alertness, 
 the ready joke, the hearty good fellowship? Yes, 
 such are to be pitied "who sow to the wind, for of 
 the wind they shall reap destruction." Thinking 
 this, John Stevenson left him to his own sad 
 thoughts. 
 
 How misspent now seemed the years that had 
 been given solely to the getting of wealth. How 
 fatal the mistake that had made him merely a 
 "source of supply for his family." He groaned
 
 160 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 aloud as thoughts of his children intruded. Could 
 he hope, dare he hope, for Richard, handsome 
 Richard! though possessing talents that ought to 
 make him a leader among his fellows? He ac- 
 knowledged now in those hours of bitterness that 
 the whole bent of his boy's training had been such 
 it would be nigh impossible for him to resist the 
 temptations with which he was surrounded. 
 
 And Therese, blithe, headstrong Therese, there 
 could be nothing but sorrow and failure in her life. 
 And Marie? Perhaps here was a grain of comfort. 
 
 No! he frowned, who could feel pride in a vapid 
 society woman, and to crown it all, up stairs lay 
 the mother, his beautiful Margaret, tossing in delir- 
 ium not } - et conscious of the loss that had come to 
 their old-time friends. We repeat he was to 
 be pitied. 
 
 When John Stevenson arrived home after the 
 interview he learned of the second event we have 
 mentioned. A legal notice had been served de- 
 manding the immediate payment of the note and 
 the interest from date. 
 
 Why go over the details of those trying days? 
 Rachel's strength of character had never been 
 tested till now. With her own hand she penned a 
 letter bearing the terrible news to Asbury and 
 Louise, telling them to remain at college for the 
 present; that their presence at home would not 
 help. 
 
 To her husband she became a tower of strength ;
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER. 161 
 
 when he would have sunk she comforted him by 
 reminding him that the family were well nigh 
 grown, that somehow food and shelter and the 
 equally pressing needs of an education would be 
 supplied. 
 
 No one guessed the tempest that raged in the 
 heart of sixteen year old John. Of all the children 
 none loved the farm as he. While Asbury had 
 dreamed of a pulpit, and Edward had followed a 
 conquering hero around the world, John had found 
 his study out under the blue sky. He knew every 
 foot of ground and could give the name and history 
 of each and every animal about the place. A 
 flock of sheep ba-a-a-ed at the pasture bars each 
 night; to each one he had given a name, and it had 
 been with impatience he had listened to the state- 
 ments " that all sheep looked alike." To give up- 
 the farm! and under such circumstances! With 
 swelling heart he determined to see Mr. Newton- 
 himself. " Father's too easy," the children had 
 often said. 
 
 Soon chance favored his purpose, for he was 
 sent to Burton on an errand, and once there lost no- 
 time in making his way to the Newfon residence. 
 The angry blood surged through his veins as he 
 trod the beautiful, well-kept lawn and beheld the 
 elegant luxury of the home. A servant answered 
 the bell, and went to call Mr. Newton. "No, he 
 could not be seen." 
 
 " But tell him I must see him," said John.
 
 162 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Again word was brought back that he could not be 
 seen. 
 
 "Where is he?" asked John. 
 
 "In his wife's room," replied the servant. John 
 walked out as if leaving and the servant went back 
 to her work. 
 
 He well knew each room of the great house, and 
 little thinking of the sick one, he turned and sought 
 the room where he knew Mr. Newton was. Soon 
 his low knock summoned the surprised man to the 
 door.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A VISIT - A RESULT - LEAVING THE FARM. 
 
 HAD to see you," explained John, who 
 swallowed back the involuntary pity which 
 rose as he caught sight of the haggard man. 
 
 " It is a part of my punishment," the tired man 
 said to himself, as he wearily led the way to a 
 room where since his trouble he had kept some of 
 his papers. 
 
 " Well," he said interrogatively, as the door 
 closed behind them. 
 
 As the boy had gone about the farm yesterday 
 and as he had ridden in this evening, he had longed 
 to meet the author of their trouble face to face. 
 How he would upbraid him. Ah! he had felt as if 
 he only lacked opportunity to meet him, but as he 
 beheld the pinched face, somehow the invectives 
 died on his lips. 
 
 Yet a glance upon the elegant appointments of 
 the room recalled him. " He ought to sell this, 
 part with every comfort, for the debt was his." 
 All this passed through his mind almost before the 
 echo of the questioning "well" had died away.
 
 164 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 " I came to ask," and the sunburned face of this 
 boy, clad in his working clothes, shone with the 
 righteousness of his request, " if you would da 
 nothing to save my father and mother from being 
 homeless, all for friendship to YOU?" 
 
 "I would gladly do it, if I could, but I cannot," 
 and there was a hopeless ring in his voice. 
 
 " But it is so monstrous, so unjust," and the boy's 
 face flushed at the thought. " Can you sit here in 
 this home, with all this about you?" and he swept 
 his hand to indicate the luxurious surroundings. 
 
 " Can you allow Marie to retain her home and 
 see my father, now growing old, lose that for 
 which he has worked through these long years, for 
 you?" 
 
 Mr. Newton was silent, then said, " I cannot con- 
 trol Marie's home. Once I might; not now." 
 
 "But this home," persisted John, "you can easily 
 sell it." 
 
 Said Mr. Newton, with a touch of impatience in 
 his voice, "Boy! this one debt for which your 
 father is security is but one of many. If I would 
 sell this home and all its belongings it would not 
 pay the thousandth part." 
 
 Poor John began to realize the hopelessness of 
 his appeal. "But surely there is something you 
 can do; something left of all your great property." 
 
 "Nothing; all is in the hands of the creditors." 
 Then he half started as if a sudden remembrance 
 had come to him.
 
 A RESULT. 165 
 
 " Then, Mr. Newton," and John drew himself 
 up, "I call you to remember there is a God, and He 
 is the God of my father and mother," and with 
 that he left the presence of the man who had 
 caused so much trouble in his home. 
 
 The youth paused for a moment in his home- 
 ward ride. Before him stretched the loved acres 
 of his childhood's home his no longer. Back of 
 him on the banks of the Illinois towered the great 
 mill which had been such a source of wealth to its 
 owner. 
 
 " Well, old farm ! go from us for a time if you 
 will, but some day I'll win you back. Yes, and 
 more," and he looked squarely at the mill which 
 was just now being lighted by the evening sun. 
 Then touching Beauty he cantered home. 
 
 William Newton watched the boyish figure as it 
 recklessly strode down the graveled walk. 
 
 " Yes, it is hard for them," he said softly. 
 4i Could I buy peace of conscience if I gave them 
 the. deed to the one thing left me? So poor, that 
 the hungry creditors did not care to bother with it. 
 Those acres of arid waste in Arizona; I thought 
 they would have yielded me gold. 'Twas but an- 
 other bubble. At any rate they shall see that I 
 have done all that I could." 
 
 So saying he went to a drawer, drew out an 
 envelope and with a few strokes of the pen, made 
 John Stevenson the o\vner of a tract of desert land 
 in Arizona.
 
 1G6 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Putting it into an envelope he wrote a note to 
 John Stevenson, telling him he hoped that in the 
 years to come he would think differently of him. 
 
 Just then a servant called him to his wife's bed- 
 side. 
 
 She was dying. 
 
 About the hour that the Stevensons received 
 William Newton's communication, they also re- 
 ceived the news that Margaret, his wife, had 
 passed beyond the pale of human praise or cen- 
 sure. 
 
 " No, it is worthless, absolutely worthless; you 
 may as well toss it into the open grate." John 
 Stevenson like a drowning man catching at a 
 straw, had gone to a lawyer, asking him to accept 
 for the debt the deed of the western land and 
 received for reply the above answer. 
 
 With a heavy heart he turned to leave. Sud- 
 denly a sense of the hopelessness of his cause 
 swept over him, and a despair he had not known 
 seized him, and in a moment the worthless paper 
 which had brought him this fresh disappointment, 
 lay upon the smouldering coals of the grate. 
 
 So burdened was he that he did not observe that 
 his youngest son, who had accompanied him, as 
 quickly stooped and removing it from its perilous 
 position placed it in his own pocket. But the law- 
 yer did, and smiled at the boy's independence of 
 action as well as at the shrewdness displayed.
 
 LEAVING THE FARM. 167 
 
 Rachel awaited his return and read the result 
 of his visit in his face. 
 
 It was, "we must find another home!" In after 
 years they wondered how they ever lived through 
 the trying days. 
 
 Added to the thought of leaving their home, was 
 the pertinent query, where should they turn? What 
 should they do? It had been hard to make a living 
 on the farm, to rent one seemed a doubtful experi- 
 ment. 
 
 It was found that while they would lose the 
 farm they would be able to keep the stock. 
 
 These it was decided to sell, and if possible get a 
 home in Burton. And then, how should they live? 
 This question both Rachel and John turned over 
 again and again in their minds. 
 
 Jerome Mills was a member of the same church 
 as the Stevensons, and was the grocer in Burton 
 with whom the family had always dealt. 
 
 He was possessed of a great longing to live in 
 the country, which desire became intensified by the 
 sight of golden rolls of butter, the baskets of 
 fresh eggs and other farm produce which Rachel 
 was wont to bring in each week in exchange for 
 groceries. 
 
 Hearing from Lawyer Nevins that the Steven- 
 son farm was to be rented, he at once went to see 
 if they could not make a trade. 
 
 They soon arrived at a conclusion. The stock, 
 excepting that belonging to the children, should
 
 168 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 remain on the farm, the property of Mr. Mills, 
 while the Stevensons should take his grocery 
 business and rent his house; an untried venture, 
 still* it might prove successful. 
 
 John Stevenson was not a man to delay matters, 
 so when he abandoned all hope, he at once made 
 preparations for the inevitable, and a few days 
 later two large wagons stood in the grassy lane, 
 into which the household effects were packed. 
 
 Poor Rachel! But a month ago, with a light 
 heart she had planned to move into the new rooms, 
 but now strangers would enjoy the comfort she 
 had never known! Yet it was not for these she 
 most sorrowed. Here in the great kitchen, at the 
 table, the merry group of boys and girls had gath- 
 ered and spent the meal time in laughter and repar- 
 tee. Here about this hearth her little children had 
 played. In that little bedroom Asbury had been 
 converted, but why call up the past. 
 
 Like as unto the Israelites of old, the command 
 had come to go forward, she could trust that 
 now, as then, there would be a pillar of lire to lead, 
 so without a tear, (for her husband's sake) brave 
 Rachel Stevenson went out from the home of her 
 early wifehood and motherhood. 
 
 All were ready to go, but the boy John could 
 nowhere be found. 
 
 Guided by a mother's instinct, Rachel went her- 
 self to the barn, and there in the manger of Beauty's 
 stall, with his arms about the wondering animal's
 
 LEAVING THE FARM. 169 
 
 neck, poor John was giving away to the wild aban- 
 donment of grief. 
 
 The sight moved his mother as nothing else, and 
 sitting down they wept together. But time moves 
 inexorably on and pays little heed to tears and the 
 pawing teams were ready to start, so at last they 
 rose to go, when John, who looked like a hero 
 even in his blue shirt and cotton pants said, "I'll 
 have it back, every acre of it; every acre of it." 
 
 A few days after they had gotten settled they 
 were surprised by a call from the director of what 
 had been their home school. He soon made his 
 errand known. It was that their township had 
 requested the services, of Ruth to teach the spring 
 school. This young lady at first demurred on 
 account of fancied inability, but yielded, and ere- 
 long seemed to have found her niche in the plain 
 little school room. 
 
 Edward remained in the Academy, while John 
 found enough to keep him busy helping his father 
 get adjusted to the new work of the store. 
 
 Like a patient mother bird that sees its nest 
 broken and despoiled, yet patiently goes to work to 
 repair the breach, so this other mother began the 
 work of building a new home, under surroundings 
 so different from the past. 
 
 The task was not so hard after all, for had they 
 not each other? and it was with genuine sorrow that 
 they thought of the lonely man in the great house, 
 who weeks before had sadly followed his beautiful 
 
 12
 
 170 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Margaret out from the door of her luxurious home 
 to the stillness of the grave. 
 
 Richard had come to his mother's burial, and after 
 coming home from the last sad rites he learned for 
 the first time of the Stevenson's loss. He was 
 shocked, overwhelmed, and felt this more than the 
 loss of his father's entire fortune. 
 
 How could Louise forgive this? Would not the 
 very name of Newton be the synonym for every- 
 thing despicable? How he longed in the few days 
 of his stay to go to the farmhouse and express his 
 sympathy and sorrow, but he durst not. He 
 resolved, though, as it seemed best for him to finish 
 his collegiate year, that on his return he would stop 
 at the University and learn his fate from the lips of 
 her who, now that such sorrows had swept in on 
 him, seemed all that was left of life. 
 
 His heart, yes, and his pride mourned for 
 Therese, for she had been his favorite. He could 
 have borne without a murmur the mere loss of 
 property for youth is strong, brave and hopeful, but 
 then came the death of his mother, that beautiful, 
 gracious being whose life had been the one ques- 
 tion, "What will make my children most happy?" 
 
 She may have erred in answering the question, 
 but kindness, love and gentleness had marked her 
 rule, and over her coffin Richard first tasted the 
 bitterness of sorrow. 
 
 It would be hard to depict the sorrow, the indig-
 
 LEAVING THE FARM. 171 
 
 nation and the anxiety which both Asbury and 
 Louise carried in their hearts in these days. 
 
 To give up the home, the fruit of honest toil, for 
 another, to go out into the world well nigh penni- 
 less! Imagination refused to take in the thought 
 that now, at this very time, the family were leaving 
 the old home. Each felt that to remain in school 
 was out of the question. If they were home, surely 
 they might help in some way. This they wrote. 
 
 Promptly came the message from father and 
 mother, "The one bit of silver lining to this cloud 
 is that you are each so nearly ready for your life 
 work. If you love us, stay where you are, and 
 make the most of each day. This thought will 
 bear us up as nothing else will." 
 
 The wisdom of this was apparent, but they could 
 scarcely study harder than before, for they were 
 already known among the best of the University. 
 
 As Louise was going to her room from recita- 
 tion, one day about a week after the receipt of the 
 news from home, a note was handed to her. It 
 read: 
 
 " LOUISE: I have been to my mother's burial. I 
 cannot go back to school without seeing you. You 
 have a right to hate our very name, but will you 
 not see me? RICHARD." 
 
 Louise read, wondering. Could it be? "His 
 mother dead, and he in town? And he thinks I 
 blame him. Poor, unhappy Richard! No! What
 
 172 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 had he to do with this? Nothing." And with a 
 longing to look into his face, she wrote: 
 
 "Dear Richard: Come." 
 
 An hour later these two, the current of whose 
 lives had flown together since childhood and which 
 in these later years had been indissolubly knit to- 
 gether in that strange tie, stronger than death itself, 
 which for lack of a better word we call " love," 
 were together. 
 
 Richard had been moved deeper than he knew 
 by the sad succession of events of the past few 
 weeks, and it was no unmanly thing that on catch- 
 ing sight of the bright true face so dear to him, 
 and just now radiant with the divine light of sym- 
 pathy, he should sink into a chair and weep again, 
 as he had, over his mother's coffin. 
 
 Then began the divine ministry of woman's love 
 to bind up the bruised and broken hearted. 
 
 Tenderly she drew from him the story of his 
 mother's death, of which she had not heard. With 
 tact she made him understand that she imputed no 
 intentional wrong to the sorrowing father, who now 
 was certainly an object of pity to the most careless. 
 ; With a hope she hardly dared feel she pictured 
 the future of her own father and mother, and 
 urged him to make the most of himself by making 
 the most of the remaining months in college. 
 
 How she longed to ask him if in these sorrows 
 he had gone to the great Source of comfort, but she 
 remembered that if such matters were not actually
 
 LEAVING THE FARM. 173 
 
 scoffed at, they were held with indifference by 
 members of the Newton home. 
 
 Well, in later years he should learn her own 
 sweet faith. 
 
 Foolish Louise! A thousand unhappy wives 
 would bear testimony to the futility of that hope. 
 
 Listening to her, Richard felt his dejection slip- 
 ping away. Yes, life was still rich, for it held 
 Louise. 
 
 He told her how in another year he would enter 
 a law office. " And, Louise," said he, " believe 
 me, my first care shall be to see that this loss of 
 yours shall be made good." 
 
 As he read in her eyes the devotion of her heart, 
 a great sense of shame swept over him that he was 
 not more worthy of her. Looking into her eyes, 
 how easy seemed the right. Ah, how he hated 
 Braceton; how like a Nemesis arose the remem- 
 brance of the hours spent in his company. 
 
 He was not going until a late evening train. 
 There was to be an open meeting of the Literary 
 Society to which Louise belonged, and to change 
 the sad drift of his thoughts she insisted that he 
 attend. She had promised a song for the occasion, 
 and for more than a week had been practicing the 
 high warbling notes of a solo in a new popular 
 opera. Scarcely had the last note died away when 
 the vigorous prolonged encore gave her the cov- 
 eted opportunity, and the rich clear voice took up 
 that blessed hvmn of comfort which has soothed
 
 174 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 so many sorrowing ones, " Come ye disconsolate." 
 
 As she sang, 
 
 " Earth has no sorrow 
 
 That heaven cannot heal," 
 
 little wonder that the company listened in awe at the 
 pathos, for with every note there was a prayer that 
 her lover might test this truth for himself. Sitting 
 there, unconscious of the prayer, Richard resolved 
 to do this very thing, and from this very hour to 
 live an earnest Christian life. Alas, had it not 
 been for Braceton; alas, had it not been for the 
 inexorable reaping from the sowings of the past.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GETTING SETTLED LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB. 
 
 PRINGTIME had come, and other hands than 
 the Stevensons were sowing the home acres. 
 <?& It is always hard for a man late in life to 
 change his business; *it was doubly so for John 
 Stevenson. 
 
 Brought up on a farm, spending his life there, in 
 that place he was at home, but as for a "store," he 
 felt out of place, awkward, having scarcely any 
 adaptability for it, but something had to be done, 
 and this had seemed to be the "something" that 
 offered. 
 
 If this were true of himself, it was hardly so with 
 the boys. Edward had remained in the Academy, 
 it being his last year, but there were the long morn- 
 ings and evenings, which he took largely to famil- 
 iarize himself with the new business, and gradually 
 the whole of the book-keeping fell into his hands. 
 
 John became in this new business his father's 
 most valued helper. At first he chafed at the 
 confinement and groaned in his soul as he longed
 
 176 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 to be on the farm again. But he soon began to 
 develop genuine business instinct, and, young as he 
 was, his father learned to rely upon him as the pur- 
 chaser ot supplies. Known to all his acquaintances 
 as a man of sterling honesty, having their sympathy 
 in his loss, it was not strange that customers flocked 
 to the new venture and that erelong the mere ques- 
 tion of an honest living was assured. 
 
 Nor did the wife find the task of adjusting herself 
 to the new home a difficult one. It will be remem- 
 bered the coveted new rooms at the farmhouse had 
 been unoccupied. The Mills' home was anew and 
 well built cottage, with much more room and many 
 more conveniences than she had known. "But, 
 alas!" thought both she and her husband, "to live 
 in a home that is not our own." 
 
 Yet the home touches were not long in asserting 
 themselves, nor the living room in taking on a cozy 
 home air. There were two good-sized southern 
 windows which before many months what with 
 hanging vines and blooming flowers were marvels 
 of beauty. Between these were arranged the 
 shelves for books. And from these, their old worn 
 friends the books of the year's gathering soon 
 greeted them, and their greeting seemed well nigh 
 human. Ah, they had not lost all. Indeed, though 
 everything else should have been swept away, the 
 past with its rich associations was forever theirs. 
 And with that past, indeed one of its strongest 
 factors, were these same silent friends who had
 
 GETTING SETTLED. Ill 
 
 now followed them into the uncertainties of the 
 present. 
 
 In a corner of the room Edward's individual 
 tastes asserted themselves. In a cabinet of his own 
 making, with a plain glass front, was his collection 
 of botanical specimens. One more deeply skilled 
 than he might have called many of these worthless,, 
 but in their broadening, educating influence upon 
 the boy himself in the sweet spell which their col- 
 lecting had thrown over him, keeping him from 
 possible rude associates and in opening to him the 
 riches of nature, Rachel would have been slow to 
 pronounce the most insignificant one worthless. 
 
 Accustomed on the farm to much " outside 
 work," the home keeping in the Mills' home seemed 
 a very light affair, and it was well, for the years- 
 together with the events of the last few months 
 were telling plainly on the strong factor of the 
 whole, the house mother. 
 
 As for the college students, it had been hard for 
 them to remain at their post amid all these harrow- 
 ing changes, but the home commands were impera- 
 tive. Yet each felt something must be done* 
 But what? Asbury's expenses were already at a 
 minimum, thanks to the student club of which he 
 was a member, but Louise with Emma had found 
 a delightfully congenial home which had opened its 
 doors to the students and where she had remained 
 during her entire stay in the college. But why 
 should she not try Asbury's plan ? That which she
 
 178 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 most dreaded was the losing of Emma's sweet 
 companionship, for without the slightest need for 
 economy there would be little use for her to take 
 any discomfort upon herself. 
 
 Among the worshippers at the same church with 
 Louise was a very tall, angular woman with that 
 peculiar snappy kind of black eyes which seem to 
 be continually upon the lookout for a fault. Her 
 husband had grown tired of life years before, and 
 left her with the care of a large family, all girls, 
 and a bit of property in the country. She had 
 sold her country property and invested in an old 
 rambling house in the town whose only recommen- 
 dation was the great number of rooms it con- 
 tained. She had hoped to earn her livelihood in 
 the time-honored way of keeping boarders, but 
 there were so many cheery homes open was it 
 any wonder the students passed this sharp- visaged 
 woman and her roomy house by? Her latest 
 ambition had been to organize a " girl's club,'' 
 whereby college expenses might be considerably 
 lessened for girls as well as their brothers. Indeed, 
 at the time when Louise began to cast about for a 
 plan to economize, a small club of the kind was 
 already in operation. 
 
 Perhaps it may be as well to state here that 
 owing to the wise foresight of her father in his 
 plan for the "college fund," this was fortunately 
 not necessary, yet with the air of a martyr Louise 
 went on a tour of inspection, feeling very grand
 
 LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB. 179 
 
 and self-sacrificing. The outlook at Mrs. Hov- 
 son's (the' club manager) seemed dreary enough, 
 tiven for the most pronounced martyrdom, but 
 this suited her present mood better than sun- 
 shine and cheer, and as she might have signed her 
 own death warrant she made the arrangements for 
 the change. 
 
 There remained yet one task itself, of no. small 
 magnitude, and that was to acquaint Emma with 
 her decision. 
 
 That evening the girls were sitting in their cosy 
 room, apparently busy in the lessons for the next 
 day. After Louise had gotten up the seventh 
 time to punch a fire that was already glowing 
 brightly, and had walked several times to the win- 
 dow and beaten a tattoo on the panes, Emma tossed 
 her book aside and said, "You might as well out 
 with it whatever it is. Have you in a sudden 
 gust of passion murdered some one, and is the wraith 
 making you uncomfortable? Come, unburden your 
 heart to the one that loves you." Emma had 
 struck a mock heroic attitude, and seemed to be lis- 
 tening intently for a confession she expected would 
 chill the very marrow in her bones. 
 
 Louise smiled, a kind of wan smile it must be 
 admitted, how she began and how she ended she 
 never knew, but in some way or other an idea of 
 the proposed change began at length to dawn upon 
 Emma, and really if the "marrow" was not frozen
 
 180 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 as she had expected, she was quite as much excited 
 as if such an event had really occurred. 
 
 "Can it be possible," thought she, "that the old- 
 sweet companionship is to be broken up?" No, 
 never; and greatly to the surprise of Louise, after 
 her excited roommate had taken two or three turns 
 about the room she stopped squarely in front of her 
 and announced her intention of accompanying her. 
 A swift vision of the plain, meagerly furnished room 
 she had just- secured passed rapidlv before her, and 
 mentally she contrasted it with the luxurious one in 
 Emma's own home. Then there was the vinegar- 
 ish Mrs. Hoyson, the new landlady. Louise 
 wearily acknowledged to herself that in all proba- 
 bility herein would lie the greatest trial of the new 
 life. No, Emma must not make this sacrifice; thus 
 much she said, but Emma remained firm. 
 
 "Now you need not say a word, my mind is fully 
 made up. Let me tell you something. Do you 
 remember last summer at one of the meetings of 
 the Missionary Band, Mrs. Millionaire was urging 
 us to exercise self-denial in our gifts, showing so 
 plainly that the Lord took a special delight in such 
 giving. I remember to have felt a sense of shame 
 that in all my life I had not known what it was U> 
 really do without something I wanted in order to 
 get money to give. Now here is my opportunity. 
 I will go with you to the club, and every dollar so 
 saved (and I will keep an exact account) shall go-
 
 LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB. 181 
 
 to that new mission in the interior of China. Now 
 it is settled." 
 
 And so it was. A few days later found the 
 friends unpacking their "penates," as in schoolgirl 
 fashion they styled their trunks, and few other 
 belongings, in one of the grim, bare rooms belonging 
 to Mrs. Hoyson. 
 
 A square of rag carpet ornamented the floor of 
 this room, while a bed, a washstand, a plain table 
 and two chairs comprised the furniture. The win- 
 dows were small and nearer the ceiling. than the 
 floor. The views from neither were enspiriting. 
 In front some busy men in a cooper shop kept 
 up a a rat-tat-tat on some barrels the whole day 
 long, while from the rear the view was excellent of 
 a cemetery about a block away. Far from this 
 being an occasion of worrying, however, it became 
 the subject of many an odd remark from Emma, 
 and notwithstanding the dreariness of the place not 
 a day passed without the sound of happy girlish 
 laughter. Looking back upon their college lives in 
 after years, two sober women, each seriously intent 
 upon performing the duties with which their lives 
 became singularly full, were wont to smile as epi- 
 sode after episode of this happy supremely funny 
 dub life was recalled. 
 
 If Mrs. Hoyson, had one feature predomi- 
 nant above another that feature was neatness, her 
 white aprons were always smooth and glossy in 
 their stiffness, and woe to the unlucky roomer who
 
 182 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 left things " lying around." Emma and Louise took 
 turns in " straightening." One morning, it being 
 Emma's turn (Louise was at her practice), that 
 young lady concluded she would hurry up her tire 
 and took some oil from the lamp to do so. Great 
 was her dismay to find a great oil spot on the floor. 
 What would Mrs. Hoyson say? Now Emma really 
 knew nothing of housework and as she stood con- 
 templating the spot, "Why not burn it off," some- 
 thing seemed to suggest. Well, in the next minute 
 she learned a thing or two about how not to 
 remove a grease spot. The " fire " was promptly 
 put out, but not until the girls had gathered from 
 the different rooms with Mrs. Hoyson, grim and 
 severe, at their lead. Poor Emma, she hardly 
 knew which was most to be dreaded, the " oh mys" 
 of the girls or the stony displeasure of Mrs. Hoyson. 
 The plan of the present campaign of economics 
 was that there should be one of their number who 
 in their turn should do the purchasing of supplies, 
 and it became a matter of rivalry to see which 
 could bring their expenses down to the lowest pos- 
 sible figure and yet maintain a good bill of fare. 
 However, it became tacitly understood, if either 
 of these points were to be sacrificed, the uncom- 
 plaining latter should be the victim. That year, 
 as if to get ready for such emergencies nature had 
 sent a bountiful crop of potatoes, and never before 
 had either Louise or Emma dreamed of the possi- 
 bilities of this one mealy jacketed tuber.
 
 LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB. 183 
 
 It became quite an experience with Emma to go 
 with pencil and note book in hand, and with an air 
 of importance make the acquaintance of grocers 
 and butchers, and exchange animated remarks 
 upon the lowest possible price of vegetables or 
 meat, and none learned quicker than she the possi- 
 bilities of a soup bone or the satisfying qualities of 
 a breakfast of batter cakes. 
 
 This last knowledge came from a remark of 
 Mrs. Hoyson herself, with whom Emma was arrang- 
 ing the breakfasts for her week, and discussing the 
 merits of the various breakfast dishes proposed, 
 always of course with an e}*e to economy. Mrs. 
 Hoyson, to help matters along, ventured the remark 
 with her peculiar nasal drawl and without much 
 regard to grammar or pronunciation, "You'd better 
 try pancakes; pancakes is mighty fillin'." This 
 Emma, with her inimitable sense of humor, related 
 for the benefit of the club, and pancakes became 
 the order of the day. 
 
 Having tasted the sweets of economy, Emma 
 began to carry it into her private expenses, as the 
 following will show: They were all seated at the 
 table w hen Louise happened to remark, "I wish we 
 had a barrel of apples, say of Belleflower, or of 
 Winesaps from the home orchard." 
 
 " Oh, dear," returned Emma, "Apples are dread- 
 ful dear. I priced some on the way to school this 
 morning, and they were three for a dime." I 
 wanted some so badly though I told the boy I
 
 184 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 would take five cents -worth" A peal of laughter 
 followed this announcement, and it took Emma a 
 whole minute to discover that there was anything 
 funny in the proposed purchase of half an apple. 
 "No wonder the boy looked perplexed and busied 
 himself with another customer," she admitted to 
 herself. 
 
 A full account of all these exploits Emma "wrote 
 up" in her weekly letter home. At first these let- 
 ters were a source of great amusement, and much 
 interest was felt in "Emma's latest freak." After 
 awhile, however, the fear came that perhaps for 
 the sake of health the girls were carrying the 
 matter too far, and so upon the receipt of the apple 
 episode done up in Emma's most melo-dramatic 
 manner, Mrs. Ward said emphatically, "Well, I 
 have wanted to visit Emma for a long time. I am 
 going at once." 
 
 A few days after, as the girls were sitting down 
 to one of their plainest dinners, they were greatly 
 surprised by seeing a cab drive up, and in another 
 moment Emma was in her mother's arms. It did 
 not take that lady long to decide that both Emma 
 and Louise would be better off back in their old 
 cosy home. Mr. Ward sent a message to the effect 
 that he would see that Mrs. Millionaire and the 
 mission did not suffer in this decision. Louise con- 
 curred, with a bit of exultation in her heart, it must 
 be confessed. Besides, had she not had an "exper- 
 ience" as well as the home folks?
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN ORATORICAL CONTEST SAD ENDING. 
 
 N pleasanter quarters the year passed, and 
 never perhaps had more genuine hard work 
 been done. Commencement week was hasten- 
 ing, but preceding this by a fortnight an event was 
 to occur in which the interest of all centered. 
 
 Their university was a member of an inter- 
 collegiate oratorical association, and had been 
 chosen as the place where representatives of the 
 different colleges should meet and contest for the 
 honor of supremacy. 
 
 With a thrill of pride Louise received from 
 Richard the message that he had been chosen to rep- 
 resent his college. Ah if he should win! and her 
 blood hasted and her cheeks glowed as she 
 imagined him the hero of the occasion. Little else 
 than the contest was talked of. At length the day 
 came. 
 
 As the representatives from the different colleges 
 began to gather, it was easy to see that they were all 
 picked men, the pride of their institutions. Many 
 
 13
 
 186 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 were accompanied by some of their particular 
 friends who desired to witness the success, as each 
 one hoped, of their "man." 
 
 Among them came Richard Newton, who lost 
 no time in calling upon her for whose sake he was 
 most anxious to succeed. From him Louise 
 learned that a company of his friends, among 
 whom was a Mr. Braceton, had accompanied him. 
 
 The next few hours seemed like a dream, they 
 were so full of feverish anxiety. At length came 
 the packed hall, the flutter of college colors, the 
 din of college yells, and then the genuine eloquence 
 of each contestant. 
 
 Presently a clear, rich, well modulated voice 
 began. Ah! how well Louise knew each tone. 
 See, the audience is growing still, is bending to 
 listen. 
 
 The chosen theme is one that touches the heart, 
 and the great heart of the audience responds as 
 the earnest, impassioned sentences fall from the 
 speaker's lips. 
 
 The orator at length sits down amid, a storm of 
 applause. There were others yet to speak, but 
 Louise felt that her lover had won, and it was 
 true. 
 
 Later the prize was given to him, a lovelv sil- 
 vered head of the great Demosthenes, crowned 
 with a golden crown of laurel, the latter of such 
 fine and beautiful workmanship that the delicate 
 leaves seemed to quiver before the slightest breeze.
 
 ,-LV ORATORICAL CONTEST. 187 
 
 Louise could not trust herself to offer the custom- 
 arv congratulations, before many curious eves. 
 
 Leaving a message with Asbury to the effect 
 that she and her roommate, Miss Ward, would 
 call in the morning, she quickly sought the privacy 
 of her room. 
 
 In the after years of her life she was wont to 
 look back upon the delirious jov of that evening as 
 of an experience in the life of another, one of whom 
 perhaps she had read, so far awav and unreal did 
 it come to seem. 
 
 Her first thought on awakening the next morn- 
 ing was, "Richard has won !" How proud she 
 felt of him. What might she not expect from the 
 future in which the world must recognize his 
 ability? 
 
 In front of her window stood a great tree, always 
 a favorite trysting place for robins and the other 
 birds of the locality. As she threw open the sash 
 she noticed a robin swaying to and fro on one of 
 the topmost boughs. As she looked she saw him 
 throw back his head, and in an ecstacy of delight 
 burst into such a flood of melody that the quiet 
 stillness of the morning seemed suddenly to become 
 one great anthem of praise. This accorded well 
 with her own present emotions, and she said 
 softly to herself, " The bird is not happier than I." 
 
 The song finished, the happy songster flew up 
 yet a little higher and perched upon another limb, 
 not yet leaving the shady tree. Suddenly there was
 
 183 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 a whirr from a bow and arrow in the hands of a 
 neighbor's boy, and his sweet song was hushed for- 
 ever. 
 
 Shocked, and with her heart filled with pity at the 
 tragedy, she hastened to where he lay gasping, bin 
 as she stroked the ruffled plumage, there was no 
 voice to whisper that her own happiness might be 
 wrecked as quickly. 
 
 As she knew that in all probability many would 
 call at the victor's rooms during the morning, she 
 arranged that hers should be as early as possible, 
 and so as the silvery chimes of ten o'clock rang 
 out, she with Asbury and Emma started for the 
 hotel where he was stopping. 
 
 Let us for a moment go back to the victor. 
 Flushed with ex'citement, congratulated on all sides, 
 the idol for the time of the college friends who had 
 accompanied him, Richard Newton went to his 
 rooms happier, having lately known such sorrow, 
 than he could have dreamed possible. 
 
 Students from the different colleges began to 
 gather in his room and offer congratulations. 
 Later when the number had narrowed down to per- 
 haps a half dozen, Braceton suggested that they 
 should celebrate the victory in some sort of style. 
 
 Richard demurred. More than once in Brace- 
 ton's own room he had gone beyond the 
 bounds, and none knew as well as he the danger 
 that menaced him. But Braceton insisted and 
 finally a bottle of champagne was brought.
 
 SAD ENDING. 180 
 
 " No, no, not here," Richard said as the spark- 
 ling glass was handed him. 
 
 At this arose a laugh which was decisive it 
 is easier for some souls to stand before a bullet 
 than before a laugh so the glass was drained, 
 then 'another. Other bottles were brought, and 
 soon the walls echoed with foolish laughter and 
 jest. 
 
 With the second draught all control of himself 
 passed from young Newton. Gone were the 
 memories of a mother's death, a father's trouble, 
 gone even the memory of Louise; and not until 
 the early dawn did he fall into a drunken stupor, 
 dressed as he had come from the hall, and so he 
 was lying when Louise crossed the threshold. 
 
 The parlors of this hotel were on the second 
 floor, and the room Richard and Braceton occupied 
 was only a door distant. 
 
 On the arrival of the visitors the porter knocked 
 at the door, handed the card to Braceton who 
 had answered. ( It was a peculiarity that the drink 
 that would affect the quick, nervous brain of 
 Newton, Braceton would hardly feel.) 
 
 As he took the card he read aloud the name. 
 Was it the magic of the name that broke the 
 drunken stupor? At any rate, Richard slowly 
 arose, looked wildly around saying, " Where am 
 I?" 
 
 " Pull yourself together, old fellow," said Brace- 
 ton. "You have callers that I think vou would
 
 190 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 like to see, though you had better say you're out 
 till you're in better shape." 
 
 "What do you say?" and as he seized the delicate 
 card in his hand, somehow, through the befogged 
 brain was borne the fact that Louise was waiting, 
 and without a moment's hesitation he started to go 
 to her. 
 
 Perceiving this, Braceton took hold of him to 
 hold him back. Then came the sound of a thick, 
 incoherrent, angry voice, echoes of which floated 
 over the open transom into the parlors. Emma 
 started, and Louise grew pale with apprehension. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, and in walked Rich- 
 ard, with hair wildly dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, 
 his whole attire bespeaking a night's carousal. 
 
 Muttering something in an incoherent, unsteady 
 manner, he essayed to walk across the room to 
 where Louise sat, the strong odor of wine preced- 
 ing him. 
 
 Like a flash upon the startled girl came the 
 memory of that dreadful night when Baby Flossie 
 lay dying, and a drunken husband had ended his 
 own miserable life; and with this flash came a real- 
 izing sense of Richard's condition. 
 
 With a low moan and a startled, appealing 
 glance toward Asbury and Emma, she fled through 
 the open door. 
 
 Oh! to be home, to be in her own room, to be 
 anywhere that she might hide her shame and dis- 
 grace.
 
 SAD ENDING. 191 
 
 A few minutes later, returning homeward, she 
 entered the gateway, and just by the door the body 
 of the dead robin still lay. Mechanically she stop- 
 ped as she said, "Oh ! little bird, I am brought as 
 low as you; your happiness is not more surely 
 ended than is mine." 
 
 Passing to her room, the disgrace of the scene 
 she had so recently witnessed well nigh over- 
 whelmed her. With it came the conviction, slow 
 but sure, that the various whispered rumors which 
 had reached her during the years, and to which she 
 had so vehemently refused credence were true. 
 Then came the pain and the heart agony as the 
 idol came to be torn out, for '"torn from her heart 
 he should be," she said to herself. An hour ago 
 she had been so proud of him; but now? yes, the 
 dream was over. Little Flossie had not died in 
 vain. 
 
 The next day the great panting engine rapidly 
 bore Louise on her homeward journey, yet it could 
 not go fast enough to suit the wild tumult in her 
 heart. After what seemed an age the familiar 
 home depot was reached. She had half expected 
 that her father or one of the boys would meet her, 
 else how would she get out to the farm? 
 , A sudden remembrance of the change swept 
 over her. Ordering a carriage she was soon being 
 driven rapidly to the new home. 
 
 Rachel had been unusually busy that morning, 
 and had just sat down in an easy chair for a few
 
 192 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 minutes talk with her husband who had entered 
 when hearing the noise of wheels at the gate, and 
 glancing out she caught sight of the carriage which 
 she recognized as one that carried passengers to 
 and from the trains. 
 
 "Why! who can it be? "and she looked curiously 
 at the strangely familiar figure now coming up the 
 walk. 
 
 As Louise stepped upon the porch she raised 
 her veil as if in search of something familiar. As 
 Rachel looked on the face, and recognized it as her 
 daughter's, a sudden fear swept over her. 
 
 " Louise, Louise! my child, speak, tell me, are 
 you ill?" for Louise was now sobbing the first 
 tears since that dreadful morning. 
 
 " Yes, mother, sick of life, sick at heart." 
 
 Gently Rachel unloosed her wraps and removed 
 her hat, and with motherly tact soothed her while 
 she told the dreadful story. 
 
 " Mother," said Louise, after the storm had spent 
 itself and she had been soothed by the sympathy 
 of both father and mother, * it is all over. Hence- 
 forth he is to me as if he had never been. I can 
 never forget poor little Flossie." 
 
 At this, though her face betokened naught but 
 true sympathy with the grief of her daughter, a 
 song of thanksgiving arose in the mother's heart. 
 Curiously enough, even as she held her in her arms 
 and comforted her, the night of her own agony in 
 the farm house came vividly back. How, torn
 
 SAD ENDING. 19& 
 
 with doubts and fears, she had tossed upon her 
 bed, saying over and over to herself, " It must be 
 broken off ; but how?" Alas that in the answer- 
 ing there should be so many ruined hopes and so 
 much of sorrow. 
 
 To do her justice, it must be said that she was 
 grieved to hear Richard's fall. She had not 
 expected it to come in so gross a manner. She 
 had yielded at last a tacit consent to the marriage 
 which peemed inevitable, but with all her intuitions 
 on the alert she could see nothing but unhappiness. 
 Better a thousand heartaches at present, she said to- 
 herself as she noted Louise's grief, than that the 
 entire life should be wrecked, and trusting tc the 
 elasticity of youth, she hoped that all would yet be 
 well. 
 
 After the first greetings, and the first pangs of 
 shame and grief over, Louise quickly detected the 
 changes time had brought about. Her father 
 looked old and careworn, and there came a real- 
 izing sense in her heart of all the dear ones had 
 suffered, and the hope was born and grew that 
 though her own happiness was as she believed 
 wrecked forever, still there might remain the joy of 
 lightening their burdens. 
 
 The greatest change was in her brothers and 
 sisters. She could hardly connect the old quiet 
 playmate Ruth with the tall, slender, girlish woman* 
 who ruled with a sway of gentleness in the little 
 schoolhouse just back of the farm.
 
 194 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 Edward and John seemed suddenly grown up, 
 the latter a counterpart of his father. Indeed, some- 
 times as he walked down the yard there was that 
 in his carnage that brought back strangely to 
 Rachel the old days at Lynton when a shy, rugged 
 farmer had become all in all to her. He had his 
 father's strict notions of honesty and his mother's 
 unquestioning faith, and with the advantage of a 
 modern education he bade fair to make him a 
 widely useful man. But it was a matter of regret 
 that he seemed less inclined to study than the 
 others. There had been so much hard work on 
 the farm, always something for which he seemed 
 -especially fitted; so it was not strange that he was 
 not the student that either of the older ones were. 
 
 A letter soon followed Louise from Asbury, in 
 which he stated that he had received an offer to 
 take charge of a congregation in the State where 
 the University was situated. So with his parents' 
 leave he would not be home during the vacation, 
 ^ind Louise was the more readily reconciled to this 
 because, while he sympathized with her in the mor- 
 tification which she had endured, yet with his strict 
 notions of right and wrong, he had always agreed 
 with his mother that there could be nothing but 
 unhappiness from the marriage, and really he felt 
 that no price was too dear to pay for release from 
 such a bondage. 
 
 The father and mother began though to wonder 
 if their children would ever be at home toether
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE." 
 
 fOUISE soon found her niche in the house- 
 hold. She had lost none of her old helpful- 
 ness, and as Ruth's school was just closing, 
 the mother would say jesting that with two grown 
 daughters her occupation was gone. 
 
 She found the family still sore over the loss of 
 their home, yet bravely trying to make the best of 
 life. As for herself she did not dare let them 
 know how much she missed the dear old home and 
 the farm, with the many associations of her child- 
 hood, nor how much of a stranger she felt herself 
 to be in the smart new cottage they were beginning 
 to call home. 
 
 In those days she did not look far into the future. 
 The past had been so bitter, perhaps it might be 
 given her in the every day life of the present to be 
 of some practical use to her brothers and sisters. 
 So with as much zeal as though her livelihood 
 depended upon it she began giving Ruth instruc- 
 tion in music. Edward's rapid development had 
 startled her, and it was with genuine pride that she
 
 196 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 noted his well defined literary taste. She often 
 said to her parents as she noted his unerring judg- 
 ment of the literature -which came into the home, 
 that certainly somewhere and somehow he would 
 find his life-work among books, but how should 
 she interest John, rugged, plain-spoken, practical 
 John, upon whom the family were coming to lean 
 more ind more, for that he must be interested in 
 books and in study she felt very sure. 
 
 Now fortune favored her; quite a bit of local 
 interest was manifest just now in the application of 
 certain phosphates to a stretch of alkaline lands 
 which ran up to one side of the city, and none were 
 more interested than John in the outcome. This 
 gave her an idea. Might he not become interested 
 in chemistry itself ? She approached the question 
 with tact, and ere long it came to be the usual 
 thing to have an " experiment " on hands. One 
 victory won she planned another. She had manv 
 interesting episodes of her class studies in geologv 
 with which she regaled him as they took tramp 
 after tramp, of her planning together. Yes, thev 
 really littered up the house, and brought home 
 much that was worthless, but a nature hitherto deaf 
 to the persuasive voice of study was surely awaken- 
 ing, and Louise, fresh from a realm where learning 
 and culture were sovereign, felt no trouble too 
 great if that goal could be reached. 
 
 It was not strange that occasionally on these 
 tramps their feet should turn toward the old farm.
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE." 197 
 
 One dav as the}- sat together on the edge of iht 
 woodland Louise remembered so well, John 
 recounted for his sister's benefit the whole history 
 of those dreadful weeks. So vivid was his por- 
 trayal that she seemed to live over the scene, and 
 could almost hear the creak of the wagons that 
 bore the family and belongings away. 
 
 " But I tell you sister mine, I '11 have every acre 
 back," and as he spoke his glowing face and flash- 
 ing eye showed that this promise which he had made 
 to himself and his mother in the midst of their 
 trouble had taken deep root in his heart. Louise 
 watched the strong face, and began to question him 
 as to his plans. These she found were as yet very 
 vague, but here was her opportunity, and in a 
 kindly way she showed that in order to cope with 
 the world an education was necessary. " But I '11 
 never go to college," insisted he. 
 
 " Well, you need not if you so choose, but a cer- 
 tain amount of education you must have. Take 
 
 mathematics for instance " " Don't mention that 
 
 study ; it is the prince of all evils," interposed 
 John. 
 
 " By no means, rather this science is mankind's 
 best friend," and she went on to tell him among 
 other things, of the wonderful array of facts that 
 would be absolutely unknowable without this 
 science. His interest was aroused, and before 
 another week had passed he had gotten the key to 
 successful study he -was interested and in after
 
 198 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 years when an ocean came to roll between these 
 two, this sweet companionship became a blessed 
 memory. Nor did this gifted sister with all the 
 later work that she was permitted to do in after 
 years, ever value aught of that so highly as she did 
 these few weeks spent with her brother. 
 
 A few weeks after Louise's return an event 
 occurred which, in order to properly chronicle, we 
 shall have to return to the university so suddenly 
 and unceremoniously left. 
 
 Never did Esau of old sorrow more over the loss 
 of his birthright than did Richard Newton when lie 
 came to himself and realized what had occurred. 
 
 Shame, mortification, self condemnation and 
 anger at the false friends raged in his breast. With 
 intellectual, laurel-crowned brow his " Demos- 
 thenes " gazed solemnly at him from the mantle. 
 How he hated the unoffending silver. What were 
 a thousand prizes if disgrace ruled supreme and 
 Louise were lost. 
 
 Braceton flippantly bade him " cheer up." To 
 Richard's credit be it said, he angrily turned on 
 him and bade him begone; he wished never to see 
 him again. 
 
 Was all lost ? Gradually the hope grew upon 
 him that it was not. He knew that Louise's great 
 love had stood firm in the other great trials. 
 Might he not hope it would yet stand ? He 
 turned this over, and at last resolved to go- 
 and throw himself upon her mercy. He knew of
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE" 199- 
 
 her sudden flight home, he could guess her morti- 
 fication, hut there was hut one hope in life left him. 
 He would see her, would plead his case, and give 
 her his solemn pledge that he would never again 
 touch wine in any form. 
 
 How clearly he now saw, with her, that this was 
 for him the only safe course. 
 
 One day in the early summer, Louise was 
 startled by the appearance of her lover. She dared 
 not look at him lest the sight of his abject sorrow 
 might turn her. 
 
 "Never again would he fall so low," came the 
 promise straight from the heart, for the pleader 
 knew that for him it was a matter of life or death. 
 
 With her by his side, he was sure he could 
 stand; without her he was lost. But no; she could 
 not listen. She had to bid him go, for a dead baby 
 face looked out from a bank of flowers bidding her 
 remember that " a drunkard is a slave." 
 
 So these two parted, the one to go to her room 
 to throw herself upon the hard floor in agony, to- 
 moan, to pray, and finally from her knees to go out 
 bravely into life to take up such duties as He might 
 give. The other? as Adam left Paradise, to that 
 may this other going be likened. Behind were 
 love and happiness, and he told himself, success. 
 Beyond? but he could get no further, for despair 
 lay at his heart. He knew he was lost. 
 
 Did she do right? Was not her place at his side, 
 if in happiness? Well, if in suffering still the
 
 200 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 s;ime? Ought she not to have thrown her pure, 
 strong self in the breach, in an effort to save this 
 erring, brilliant young man? 
 
 Ask the -drunkard's child who begs at your 
 doorway, half clad, hungry, often diseased in body, 
 an imbecile in mind; ask the drunkard's wife as 
 hungry, beaten, bruised, she pitifully stoops on the 
 common to gather a few sticks to warm her babes, 
 while she goes to beg charity that they may be fed. 
 Ask, if you still doubt, the murdered Flossies (and 
 they are many), and in one strong chorus the 
 answer comes, "She did right!" 
 
 After Richard's departure, until near the close of 
 the Summer, the days went by without incident. 
 L,ouise, with the old imperiousness all gone, anxious 
 for a work that might help her to forget her sor- 
 row, entered heartily into the duties of the home. 
 She often contrasted this Summer with the last; 
 that so full of the world, and this of home quiet. 
 -One day, toward the end of August, a letter came 
 to her from Emma's home, but the superscription 
 was not Emma's. 
 
 She broke the seal and read with growing 
 interest and surprise, then handed it in silence to 
 her father. 
 
 It proved to be from Mrs. Millionaire, who wrote 
 not only in loving remembrance, but in referring to 
 the pleasant acquaintance of a year ago said: 
 "You will remember my brother William, who was 
 in theological school when you were here. He and
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE:' 201 
 
 his wife have been accepted as missionaries to a 
 province in China. The Woman's Union Mis- 
 sionary society is earnestly calling for a consecrated 
 young woman logo with them to teach in a school. 
 Indeed, I shall have to say plainly, to build up from 
 nothing a girl's college. I have had you in my 
 mind as a suitable person. Will you go? Shall I 
 present your name as a candidate?" 
 
 The letter dropped from John Stevenson's hands 
 <is he finished reading it aloud to his wife. How 
 often about their hearthstone had foreign mission- 
 aries been earnestly prayed for. Many were the 
 sacrifices that had been made that they might have 
 more for this beloved cause. But to give a daugh- 
 ter, and she one who had throughout her life been 
 in a peculiar sense the brightness, the sunshine, the 
 music of the home! How could it be? And 
 Louise? See her as she stands there by the win- 
 dow ledge, her face a study of emotions. So reso- 
 lutely had she thrust away her cup of proffered hap- 
 piness, and so uncomplainingly had she busied her- 
 self about the home, that not one of the household 
 had realized the real depth of the blow under which 
 she staggered. 
 
 It is a strange fact that parents are often slow to 
 ascribe the same depth of feeling to their children 
 which they themselves possess. To illustrate: 
 Rachel Stevenson's children never tired of hearing 
 her tell of the dear old village of Lynton, of the 
 old sweet days when she and their father became 
 14
 
 202 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 all in all to each oiher, of their wedding day and of 
 the strange journey westward. As the boys and 
 girls grew older, often one would say to the other, 
 "How much mother must have loved father to 
 have left her friends and home forever," and though 
 Rachel had not seemed to suspect it, just such a 
 love had Louise felt for Richard Newton. Thoughts 
 of him had entered into every phase of her life. 
 When she had practiced a song, running all 
 through and giving zest to the practice had been- 
 thoughts of her bonny young lover. Ah, how 
 brilliant he was, how hard she must work for his 
 sake! This self abnegation of true love must 
 alawys remain one of the wonders of the human 
 heart. Yet loving him so, she had relentlessly at 
 duty's bidding, uttered the words that had parted 
 them forever. She was too brave and sensible, 
 though, to allow her life to become a failure, so she 
 had thrown herself with all her energies into the 
 duties that had happened to lie nearest. But oh, 
 the heart hunger, the ache, and the pity. The one 
 cry of her heart had been for work, absorbing 
 work, and now came this call. Was it of God r 
 Was she worthy ? Her heart bounded at the 
 thought. If these two questions were but settled 
 how gladly she would go. She had told her 
 parents much concerning her work and study dur- 
 ing the past summer as member of the mission 
 circle. Could it be they thought, as they noted 
 her eagerness to go, that that had been a providen-
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICES' 203 
 
 tial school sent before by the Father to prepare this 
 child of His for service. If so no; but it could 
 not be settled without Help, but the Help so freely 
 promised for every need was given, and after a 
 week, in what seemed in its heart agony to be an 
 echo of Gethsemane this Christian father and 
 mother were able, through their tears, to say "go." 
 
 Perhaps never did weeks slip by as did these 
 few intervening between the date fixed for her 
 departure. Asbury hastened home, that they 
 might all be together again. So with aching hearts 
 father and mother saw the dawn of the day that 
 was to take their darling away, yet not one would 
 have uttered the word "s/y." 
 
 Louise never forgot the last morning, as they 
 gathered for family prayers. How old, how bent, 
 seemed her father, as with trembling voice he 
 began to read those matchless words of David, " He 
 that dwelleth in the secret places of the Most High 
 shall abide under the shelter of his wings." From 
 the beginning John and Rachel Stevenson had 
 been so careful about nothing as that they and 
 theirs should so dwell, .therefore he had a right to 
 pray as he now did, "Make good thy promises, oh 
 God. We have sore need of thy sheltering wings; 
 enfold this dear child." Little wonder the prayer 
 died down in sobs, and remained unfinished. Ah, 
 well; He knew. Have little fear, brave girl, the 
 sheltering wings will cover thee and the Everlast- 
 ing arms will be underneath.
 
 2(4 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 A few hours later she was ^bne, gone with her 
 cheery ways, her sweet voice and her sunny pres- 
 ence. Asbury accompanied her as far as New 
 York. Had the journey been a quarter of a cen- 
 tury later they would of course have sailed from a 
 western port, but arrangements had been made that 
 she should sail with an English party from Liver- 
 pool. 
 
 A week later, in one of the largest churches 
 of New York, a " farewell meeting " was announced 
 for some outgoing missionaries who were about 
 to sail. The hour was rilled with prayer and 
 testimony and songs of praise. The mission- 
 aries had mostly spoken of their interest in 
 the work and ho\v willingly they had given them- 
 selves to the cause, but the audience was chiefly 
 interested in a young girl especially gifted who was 
 leaving, so it was said, a loving home circle, having 
 consecrated her life to this work. 
 
 Anticipating the natural wish of the audience to 
 hear her, the kindly presiding officer, bending over, 
 spoke a few words in her ear. She arose, stood a 
 moment, and then the wondrously rich voice began 
 in song " Nearer my God to Thee," with the words, 
 
 " E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me, 
 
 Still, still my song shall be, 
 Nearer my God to Thee; 
 
 Nearer to Thee." 
 
 The audience was moved to tears. Yet none of 
 them guessed the story of the cross which had
 
 " FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE:' 205 
 
 brought the singer so wondrously near the Divine 
 
 One. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Did you see that strange, poorly clad woman in 
 the rear of the church?" said one to another as 
 they slowly wended their way homeward after the 
 services, " That one who seemed to be so much 
 affected with Miss Stevenson's song." " Yes." 
 " No, she was just some one dropped in off the 
 street." 
 
 Later the bell rang at the home where Louise 
 was stopping with her dear friend Emma, who 
 had come to see her sail, and a poorly clad woman, 
 carrying a baby, asked to see Miss Stevenson. 
 Louise went at once to the room, where she was 
 waiting, and after eagerly scanning the visitor's 
 face, with a start of surprise, cried out, "Therese 
 Newton!" 
 
 Yes, it was she. In some way the poor, home- 
 sick, unhappy child had heard of the meeting and 
 of Louise, and she had yielded to an irresistible 
 desire to see her. She had not expected to make 
 herself known, but the song had broken up the 
 fountains of her heart and she had been impelled to 
 seek her out. Nor did she even now expect to 
 whisper aught of the sadly humiliated life she was 
 living, nor to speak of the cruel treatment of him 
 for whom she had left home and friends, who fail- 
 ing to realize the money he had expected, vented 
 his ill will upon the innocent, foolish young girl.
 
 206 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 But before she knew it Louise had taken the 
 punv creeping babe in her arms, the young mother 
 had pillowed her head on her shoulder and was sob- 
 bing out the whole story. 
 
 " But you must go home." " Oh, Louise, I can- 
 not go back. I must live out my wretched, miser- 
 able life. I have sinned away every opportunity of 
 my life. When I heard of mv mother's death I 
 thought I would surely die, and I wanted, oh so 
 much, to go home, but he " and she shuddered at 
 the name "Oh, I dared not go." 
 
 "Then he was more angry than ever when we 
 heard of father's loss of property. No, I dare not 
 go," she moaned, " I believe he would follow me 
 and kill me." 
 
 And was this abject, cowering creature the old- 
 time happy, sprightly Therese ? 
 
 Louise shuddered as she thought of the treat- 
 ment she must have received to have brought her 
 to this. 
 
 " But you must go," she rejoined, and then 
 she told Therese of her father, of his solitary vigils in 
 the old home, and how as the weeks lengthened 
 into months his grief seemed to grow heavier. 
 Therese was greatly touched at the recital, and 
 amid her tears consented to make an attempt to 
 escape her present miseries. Perhaps, notwith- 
 standing her grievous fault, there might yet be love 
 and a welcome in the shattered home. 
 
 That night Asbury Stevenson helped a scared
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE." 207 
 
 looking woman into a western bound train, and 
 placing a ticket in her hands hade her be of good 
 heart, yet she trembled each time a heavy footstep 
 passed through. Had she but known it she had 
 little need for fear. Even that morning the evil 
 man whose cupidity had wrecked her life, realizing 
 that the wealth he had expected to obtain through 
 her had slipped from his grasp, had put into 
 execution a plan long nurtured. He had sailed for 
 his own France; both mother and babe were 
 deserted. 
 
 The following morning as the missionary party 
 were being driven to the pier, Emma, who sat with 
 Louise's hand clasped in hers, said almost in a 
 whisper, " Louise, before you go I must We 
 lose the whispered story, if story it is, but catch 
 Louise's outspoken half deprecatory comment, 
 "Sly Asbury ! " Whatever the communication was, 
 it must have been a pleasant one, for suddenly 
 Emma was gathered close in Louise's arms. 
 
 In a few hours the out-going party saw the 
 shores of their native land recede, and weeping, 
 waiting friends turned slowly about to gather up 
 again the broken threads of their busy lives.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THERESE ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN. 
 
 HE rapidity with which the events have 
 shaped themselves has made it quite impos- 
 sible to return to the stricken man whom we 
 left by the grave of his beloved wife. Though 
 Marie would gladly have had him come to her, vet 
 he preferred to return to his own home, where dur- 
 ing all this time he has lived in great loneliness. 
 The greater part of the large house was shut up, 
 the few rooms needed for his use being kept in 
 order bv a housekeeper. The only gleams of 
 happiness that fell across his path in these dark 
 days were when Marie's little Margaret would tod- 
 dle to him, climb upon his knees, and in sweet 
 baby fashion rub her little soft hand over his care- 
 worn face. At such times his face would light up, 
 but the light would as quickly fade away. . He 
 seemed, as Louise had told Therese, to be settling 
 into a hopeless melancholy. 
 
 His business had finally been "settled," which 
 term by a strange misnomer has been chosen to
 
 THERESE. 209- 
 
 indicate the final adjustment of properly between 
 a bankrupt and his creditors, and save for this 
 house which had been the property of his wife, he 
 was penniless. The peculiar misfortunes which 
 had befallen him in his family affairs had brought 
 him much sympathy, and when a new company 
 opened the "mills" he was offered the position of 
 manager, with a good salary. 
 
 Had he, like his old friend John Stevenson, had 
 his family about him, he might with his rare busi- 
 ness qualities, by steering clear of the rock of specu- 
 lation, have yet done well, but Margaret, the joy 
 of his home, was gone. Therese, that blithe,, 
 bright girl who had nestled so close to his heart 
 was, he felt sure, somewhere, perhaps in want 
 of the necessities of life, paying the price of her 
 folly. 
 
 Through the first months of his sorrow he had 
 clung to Richard as his chief prop. How his 
 heart had bounded as the telegraphic message, sent 
 as soon as the result was known, told him of his 
 oratorical victory. But all this died out as the mis- 
 erable story of the evening's subsequent work 
 reached him, and with the knowledge of his 
 estrangement from Louise. He had seen him leave 
 to seek his fortune in the West with but little hope 
 that he would be able to withstand the temptations 
 sure to be placed before him. 
 
 A few days after the burial of his wife an event 
 occurred which did much to comfort him. This-
 
 210 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 was no less than a visit from John Stevenson. 
 Neither of the men said much, but there was that 
 in the hearty hand grasp which told the sorrowing 
 man that the past \vas forgiven, and that for him 
 there was no other feeling than that of genuine 
 sympathy. Indeed the Stevensons had come to 
 feel that the intention had never been wrong, but 
 rather that in the hopeless task of unraveling the 
 entanglements, hoping vainly that each week 
 would set matters right, their own little fortune had 
 gone down with his greater one. 
 
 But more appalling to them than loss of property 
 seemed the scattering of the family. Even the 
 death of Margaret they felt could have been borne 
 alas, many a wife and mother has had to be lain 
 away had the children all been present to comfort 
 -and sustain the afflicted man. In comparison their 
 own lives seemed strangely full of blessings. So it 
 was with no feigned sympathy that John Stevenson 
 had gone to his old friend. Yet, even the sympa- 
 thy of an old friend could not take the place of his 
 own, so after Richard's departure for the West he 
 had drawn entirely within himself, and with a grow- 
 ing chill at the heart his friends feared his mind 
 might give way under accumulation of sorrow. 
 
 Sometimes of a night, when the house was still, 
 he would wander aimlessly from room to room. 
 Unusually upon such a trip he would go to a drawer 
 where a few valuables were kept, open it, take from
 
 THERESE. 211 
 
 its depths a laurel-crowned silver head, gaze fondly 
 at it, and then with a sigh turn wearily away. 
 
 On one such night he was sitting gloomily by 
 the tire which had been kindled in the grate, for the 
 evening was chilly, the door bell now so seldom 
 used, suddenly rang. Answering the summons 
 himself, what was his surprise to see upon the 
 doorstep a woman illy clad, with a wailing babe in 
 her arms, and to hear a voice strangely familiar call 
 out, " Father, father! I have come back to home 
 and to you. You will not turn me away?" 
 
 It was Therese who had made the long journey 
 back to the home from which she in her foolishness 
 had fled. 
 
 What if her poor little life had been overshad- 
 owed by a mistake, so had his. With outstretched 
 arms he welcomed her back to his desolate home, 
 and Therese knew for the first time since her fool- 
 ish marriage the value of the homely comforts of 
 food and shelter. 
 
 It had not yet been two years since she had gone, 
 but how she had aged. It seemed hardly possible 
 that this haggard, worn woman could be identical 
 with the merry, fun-loving girl who had danced 
 through these great halls. 
 
 When her return became known Ruth Stevenson 
 soon sought her, and to her, for the sake of the 
 sweet friendship of other days, reticient as she 
 might be to a curious world, Therese told her sad
 
 212 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 story, and in this tender and sympathetic friend 
 she came to find her greatest comfort. 
 
 Before Louise sailed, she had found time for a 
 hurried letter to Ruth. Referring to Therese 
 she said, " We must remember that she has 
 been more sinned against than sinning. It is 
 not ours to judge harshly, and looking back now 
 over the years it seems that the events that have 
 so crushed her and others as well, were but the 
 inexorable reaping of the careless sowing of other 
 days. Be it yours, dear Ruth, to lead her back to 
 happiness and a Christian faith. Remember she is 
 scarcely yet a woman in years. Life may hold 
 much for her yet." Thus the gentle ministry of 
 love began which we must leave to the years. 
 
 Strangely enough it was left to Louise to be the 
 bearer of a message that, though startling in itself, 
 brought in reality the first breath of freedom which 
 Therese had known since the miserable night of her 
 flight. The message told of the death of her husband. 
 He had died on shipboard. There was not the pos- 
 sibility of a mistake. A ship from America was 
 being held in quarantine owing to the death of sev- 
 eral of its passengers. In the printed list of the 
 dead was the name of " Monsieur Martin Les Page> 
 of New York, returning to France after an 
 absence of years." Therese was free. 
 
 A few weeks later a little grave was made by
 
 THERESE. 213 
 
 ihe side of Mrs. Newton's, and the young mother 
 grieved anew for a little life gone out. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Daring all these weeks of intense feeling in 
 their own home circle, the Stevensons had also been 
 keenly alive to an event of great importance about 
 occurring in what they were pleased to call "their 
 home church" in Burton. This event appealed 
 most strongly to all such who had worshiped years 
 ago in the little log house. Not only had that been 
 outgrown as we have seen, but also the "frame" 
 structure which superseded it, and now a really 
 elegant "stone," with all the modern conveniences 
 of lecture, Sunday school and class rooms stood 
 ready for dedication. And more, Dr. Blank, an 
 editor who was well known to this people by the 
 tempting dish of mental viands which he weekly 
 served, was to preach the dedicatory sermon. 
 There were many homes in Burton that would 
 gladly have opened to the honored guest, but as it 
 happened, this editor knew of the brave young 
 girl who but so lately had gone from the Stevenson 
 home, and had met and talked with the son who was 
 preparing himself for his chosen life work. What 
 more natural than that he should desire to know the 
 father and mother. He proved an eloquent 
 preacher in the pulpit, and a sharp student of 
 human nature in the home. Indeed he had really 
 entered this home as a searcher after a cause. He 
 had seen the effect in the two young lives just
 
 214 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 mentioned. "Did some unsuspected talent", he 
 asked himself, "exist in this plain father and 
 mother, which perhaps being smothered by the 
 meagre educational facilities of their early life had 
 reappeared in their children?'' but he had not been 
 in the home a day, till he thought he had discov- 
 ered the secret. The book shelves between the 
 flower-filled windows had gently whispered in his 
 ear, calling his attention to the well selected vol- 
 umes with which they were rilled. Glancing the 
 titles over he found they had been culled from 
 every realm, and touched upon every topic vital to 
 the interest of a soul, and each book bore the 
 marks of careful reading. 
 
 From his first entrance into the home he had 
 been strongly attracted toward Edward, and think- 
 ing to push the acquaintance with the shy, reticent 
 lad, he suggested a drive over the prairie. Under 
 such circumstances the acquaintance progressed 
 rapidly, for as the shyness wore off Edward 
 proved himself so well informed, and withal such a 
 good conversationalist, that the genial editor began 
 to feel as though he was in company with one of 
 his compeers rather than a country lad. Just as 
 they were nearing the edge of a bit of woodland 
 Edward suddenly drew rein and unceremoniously 
 handing the lines to his companion, sprang out and 
 began at once to carefully remove from the soil a 
 plant growing by the roadside. Lovingly he 
 brought his treasure back. "It is," said he in
 
 THERESE. 215- 
 
 explanation, "a- good specimen of the Lymegrass. I 
 needed just this to make my collection of grasses 
 complete for this -locality. " 
 
 Now if Dr. Blank had one hobby above another, 
 it was the study of plant life, and these two, under 
 the influence of this new bond, soon became fast 
 friends, the Doctor waxing eloquent in the discus- 
 sion of his favorite theme, aud the boy listening as 
 under a spell, and when the next day the guest was 
 leaving he quietly wrote in his private reference 
 book the name of his young friend, Edward 
 Stevenson. 
 
 Thanks to Louise's tact and influence John at the 
 opening of the year was ready and glad to join Ruth 
 and Edward in the Academy, but practical as of old, 
 he insisted on "picking" his studies and laughed to 
 scorn the suggestion of such studies as he deemed 
 of little use in the actual battles of life. 
 
 " Baby Rose " was a baby no longer, but was 
 fast becoming her mother's chief helper. She was 
 a quiet home loving child, very like her brother 
 John in appearance. When people saw her they 
 were apt to say, "She will make a sensible, prac- 
 tical woman," and noticing her deft movements 
 would be inclined to say that some day in a home of 
 her own she would find her sweetest joy. She is 
 not destined to thrill the world with her music, but 
 like her sister Ruth, her voice and touch chord 
 wonderfully well with the simple home tunes, 
 and hearing her, her father vaguely recalls his
 
 -216 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 o\vn mother who is but a shadow of memory. 
 So strangely are voice and form, yes, and mind and 
 soul characteristics handed down from one genera- 
 tion to another. Perhaps of all the family none 
 grieved so much as she for Louise. 
 
 She was not old enough as were the others to 
 comfort herself with the nobleness of the action, nor 
 yet to realize how much good she would do across 
 the sea. She had been so proud of her when she 
 had come home from the college, and listened won- 
 deringly at the rare sweet music of her voice, her 
 private opinion being that the angels made no such 
 music. And now she was gone, gone out of her 
 life forever, and the loyal little heart refused to be 
 comforted. Before her going Louise had taken 
 her in her arms and told her of the many homeless 
 little girls whom she was going to work for, but no 
 matter how dark she painted the picture the result 
 was the same. Rose clung almost wildly to the 
 sweet sister who was going. 
 
 Indeed the home hearts all ached. They were 
 happy in the thought of her usefulness, but that 
 illy took the place of the sunny living presence. 
 
 As soon as it had time to reach them a letter came 
 which depicted the life so plainly, and was so rich 
 in expressions of love, that with its reading the 
 absent one seemed nearer. 
 
 Perhaps we cannot do better than to look in on 
 the writer. 
 
 The long, wearisome ocean journey was at last
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN. 217 
 
 ended. The missionary party consisted of Mr. 
 Winters and his bride and the English stranger. 
 4 It was a good thing," Louise wrote, " that these 
 last were of the party, for the Winters were so 
 dreadfully absorbed in each other she might as well 
 have been sailing in another ocean." A mission 
 was alreadv started in the city of Foochow and 
 they were to go there, stay awhile, get an 
 inkling of the language, and then push on to the 
 interior province which was to be their work. 
 
 Had it not been for that wonderful "something" 
 that years ago at the plain altar of the little home 
 church, had come in and wondrously filled this 
 young heart, her soul must have fainted within her 
 as she first looked upon the unspeakable degrad- 
 ation of those she had come to help. As she went 
 through the narrow, reeking streets hunting for 
 days for a lodging place, and for weeks for a room 
 however small to begin the school, she began to 
 experience the trial of her faith, but there is One 
 who has promised " He will never leave nor forsake 
 His children," and in those dark early days of her 
 missionary life she wonderfully verified the promise. 
 After a time she learned the language sufficiently 
 to be able to tell the simple " old story," but it was 
 not always possible to get listeners. 
 
 One day a miserable creature, a woman, had 
 
 pushed her out of the room where she had gone to 
 
 talk with her. About the door swarmed a crowd 
 
 of dirty children. Suddenly* the misery and 
 
 15
 
 218 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 wretchedness of it all swept through her mind, and 
 yet, Christ died for these ; and His gospel if 
 allowed to come into these lives would uplift them,, 
 cleanse not only their souls but their polluted bodies 
 as well. With a yearning perhaps akin to that of 
 the Master when He wept over Jerusalem, this 
 brave young girl longed to help these wretched 
 ones into a better life. As she paused, suddenly 
 the words and music of a home Sunday school 
 hymn came into her mind, and scarcely conscious 
 of what she did that sweet, rich voice that had in 
 other days held entranced the most cultured audi- 
 ences, rang out on the stifling hot air. The little 
 children stopped their play, wretched women 
 peered out from the doorway of what they called 
 home, laborers stopped in the narrow, dirty street 
 and many followed the " foreign lady " to hear her 
 sing. 
 
 No need afterwards to hunt an audience, for the 
 audiences sought the singer. And yet in the home 
 land there had been those who had grieved over 
 this buried talent. 
 
 About the time that commencement roses had 
 again begun to bloom in the college campus, rich in 
 associations to both Asbury and Louise, a little 
 room in the most crowded part of that great 
 Chinese city had been obtained, and Louise as the 
 teacher of five little Chinese girls felt her life work 
 had begun. The Girls' College of Interior China 
 had been founded.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING. 
 
 HE same June that witnessed the planting of 
 the "Mustard Seed" across the ocean was 
 unusually fraught with interest to the Stev- 
 enson home. In the very first weeks Edward and 
 Ruth went out from the halls of the home Academy, 
 and it was conceded that among all the long list 
 of honorable alumni which this growing institution 
 was beginning to boast, there had not gone out 
 more thorough students than this brother and 
 sister. The future plan was that these both should 
 both in the Fall attend the college. Asbury was 
 just leaving. 
 
 While their graduation was of great interest to 
 the home, yet it was overshadowed by something 
 that had lately been whispered about in connection 
 with the closing days of Asbury's school life. 
 
 About the last of June he would receive the bit 
 of parchment, the visible sign of that for which he 
 had been striving. Then instead of coming at 
 once westward, he was to make the journey East,
 
 220 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 and in the same rich old church where perhaps the 
 echoes of his sister's voice still lingered, Louise's 
 dearest friend Emma was to become his wife. 
 
 These were busy days for both Rachel and 
 Ruth. There were so many tidying touches to be 
 given here and there before the sweet young bride 
 should arrive, and it was little wonder that as they 
 worked, often the tears would fall as they thought 
 of the absent one who far away, amid surroundings 
 they felt sure their home eyes could not picture, had 
 in a manner died to the joys of the home. 
 
 " Oh yes," thought Rachel, "if Louise were only 
 here, she in her own peculiar way would lend a 
 charm to the humble home." It must not be 
 thought this mother gave her eldest daughter grudg- 
 ingly to the Lord's service. No, she would not 
 have uttered the words that would have held her 
 back, but the mother heart ached, and sometimes 
 the mother arms seemed unconsciouslv to again 
 clasp this loved one to her breast, and perhaps after 
 all, He who planted the mother love did not think 
 less of the sacrifice because it was offered amid the 
 throes of an aching heart. 
 
 The morning of their expected arrival at last 
 dawned clear and bright. The little cottage really 
 wore quite a holiday air. Surveying her finished 
 work, practical Ruth gave the keynote to the 
 family feeling when she said, "We may do what 
 we will, and our home never be anything like the 
 home Emma is leaving, and the most we can do is
 
 A WEDDING. 221 
 
 to be our own true selves and give her a hearty 
 welcome." And they did, and Emma, child of the 
 city as she was, thought in all her life she had seen 
 nothing so beautiful as the cheery home room with 
 its flutter of white curtains and odor of home-grown 
 flowers. 
 
 Emma was her old sprightly self. Not a few of 
 her city friends had drawn sombre shaded pictures 
 of the privations that would be hers as the wife of 
 a western itinerant. To all this banter she replied 
 in the same vein, adding she had nothing to fear. 
 Had she not run the entire gamut of economy dur- 
 ing the days of her club life, and if everything else 
 failed, she had understood that the West was noted 
 for \\.sjine -potatoes. 
 
 Yes, she was going willingly to share, as the 
 future might prove, the joys or sorrows, triumphs 
 or failures of this young student. After all we 
 opine that there will be but few failures. 
 
 Asbury is a close student. He has strong con- 
 victions of right and wrong. Aside from his colleg- 
 iate education, his whole home life has been one 
 long school, in which the lessons of loyalty and 
 devotion to the church, as well as intelligence con- 
 cerning her history and scope, have been well 
 learned. Moreover, the "fathers" say, he can 
 "preach." His chosen companion has both graces 
 of mind and of person, besides, too, her natural 
 sprightliness of disposition offsets well the sterner 
 gravity of his nature.
 
 222 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 One tiling time can never touch or efface, and 
 that is the deep, invincible hatred which she has in 
 her heart towards that great evil which in our 
 modern times is like the fabled gorgon living by 
 devouring our young men. Along with this hatred 
 born as we know of a bitter experience, is a tender, 
 pitying love for the victims. It will not be surpris- 
 ing if the future holds some special work along this 
 line for her. 
 
 They are to go at once to a far western state 
 and amid scenes new to each are to begin the solv- 
 ing of their own life problem. How happy they 
 are! How many lofty dreams for the future! 
 The college orations have been so full of such 
 flowery terms as " whitened fields," " awaiting the 
 sickle," and such like, that thev imagine the future 
 as a smiling goddess coming more than half way to 
 meet them, her arms full of bundles lahled 
 "Success." Well, they are young! We who are 
 older may smile, knowing well that time will brush 
 away many of these illusions, yet we would not 
 have youth one whit less hopeful. 
 
 Among the guests who came to do honor to the 
 wedding occasion was Earnest Warren, Asbury's 
 dearest friend during all his collegiate years. He 
 found the sweet home life of the cottage very 
 attractive. He has yet another year in college, 
 and Ruth, too, expects to begin in September. We 
 should not be a bit surprised if . 
 
 On the morning of the departure of Asbury and
 
 A WEDDING. 223 
 
 his young wife, Edward was surprised to receive a 
 communication which showed his honored friend, 
 the editor, had not forgotten him. There was an 
 expedition which an association of scientists were 
 sending out, made up of two or three professors 
 from so many colleges, whose object was to classify 
 and study the flora of certain parts of the North- 
 west. He had asked for and obtained a place on 
 the expedition for Edward. He well knew how 
 much this would mean to the boy, not only the 
 association with the learned men, but an opportu- 
 nity to push his studies in plant life. 
 
 Indeed, nothing would have pleased this staid, 
 gray haired man himself, better than to have joined 
 the expedition and taken the tramp with the party, 
 but how could he, with his great, .clamorous, ' read- 
 ing family " who would never have consented that 
 their mental purveyor should have gone off junket- 
 ing and left them to fare as best they might, but he 
 felt a real boyish thrill as he sent the welcome news 
 to Edward. 
 
 And Edward ; if he had suddenly stumbled upon 
 the pot of gold which tradition has assigned to the 
 end of the rainbow, he could not have been more 
 surprised and delighted. Being the " boy " of the 
 party, he was assigned certain chores, which if 
 done paid all expenses, and allowed him time for 
 the prosecution of his favorite study. Within a 
 week after the receipt of the letter he had com- 
 pleted his arrangements and was off.
 
 224 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 How strangely still the house was during all that 
 summer ; only three children left of the old romp- 
 ing noisy half dozen, and of these three John and 
 Rachel could not hope that Time would spare them 
 much longer, for like a hurrying stream it was 
 bearing them rapidly to the responsibilities of life. 
 During this Summer Ruth and Rose greatly 
 relieved the mother of the cares of the house, while 
 John the younger became almost the sole manager 
 of the " store." There had never been a regret 
 over this last venture. It provided an income suffi- 
 cient for the needs of the family. The home was 
 not yet their own but the future seemed hopeful. 
 
 Relieved of care, the father and mother began to 
 find time for a renewal of the old companionship 
 which during the busy days of the last few years 
 had been largely lost in mutal anxiety for the wel- 
 fare of their children. It came to be a very usual 
 sight for them to be seen sitting either in the 
 shadow of the vine-covered porch, or under the 
 heavy boughs of the maple in the back yard. 
 
 Once as William Newton went by hurriedly he 
 saw them thus. A bitter wave of feeling swept 
 over him. Why was his home so desolate, his 
 beautiful wife gone, and his son, the idol of his 
 heart, a wanderer? He knew that as this con- 
 tented pair talked together more than likely their 
 conversation was of their children who bid fair to 
 be the crown of their old age. But his heart 
 answered his question. The Creator of each could
 
 A WEDDING. 225 
 
 not be charged with partiality. Centuries before 
 the warning had been sounded, " Whatsoever a 
 man soweth, that shall he also reap." 
 
 " Yes," he bitterly acknowledged to himself, "We 
 were wrong, all wrong, from beginning to end; and 
 they of the farm were right. Life should mean 
 more than a struggle for riches, and there are pleas- 
 ures more real, more .lasting than are those which 
 appeal to the senses or upon which "Society" 
 stamps her approval. 
 
 The quiet Summer afforded an opportunity, too r 
 for Ruth and Therese to get their friendship back 
 upon the grounds of loving comradeship. 
 
 Poor Therese; it took many loving words from 
 Ruth to convince her that her life was not irretriev- 
 ably ruined. She could readily see her coming had 
 been a blessing to her father, for though the home 
 could never again take on its own cheery air, yet it 
 was growing brighter. The human heart hungers 
 for its own, and William Newton found his life hap- 
 pier as the strangely quiet woman who had come 
 back to him in place of the old gay, romping 
 Therese, went about the rooms, giving them here 
 and there a home touch. Thus far as she recog- 
 nized her usefulness to her father she was glad, 
 otherwise she was wont to say she better never 
 have lived. Her sister Marie, conscious of her own 
 upright life, the honored wife of one of Burton's 
 wealthiest young men, happy in her own home^ 
 proud of her two sweet little children, had not met
 
 1226 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 this young sister with outstretched arms; indeed 
 there was that in her haughty manner which always 
 reminded Therese of her disgrace. She had put 
 on the heaviest mourning for "poor mamma," had 
 felt shocked over " papa's failure," and now to have 
 Therese come straggling in and bring the matter 
 back fresh into the minds of all seemed too much. 
 Better, much better would it have been, she thought, 
 if Therese had born her troubles in silence. Let 
 us not judge of her harshly, she was only a selfish 
 society woman, eager for the praise of her little 
 world, as vapid as herself. 
 
 "No, no, Ruth," Therese was saying as she and 
 Ruth talked together "You know all about it. I 
 cannot undo the past, my life is ruined. I am really 
 rit for nothing. I have no education; I have learned 
 a little smattering of several things,but I know noth- 
 ing thoroughly. I never learned even to do house- 
 work as did you. For such a person I see now all 
 too clearly there is no place in all this busy world. 
 Even if it were not for my miserable marriage, 
 I should have to write " failure " over my life." 
 
 And the hopeless manner in which she folded her 
 arms and looked over toward the gleaming stones 
 in the not far distant cemetery spoke more 
 eloquently than could words of the despair she felt 
 in her heart. 
 
 Ruth had no words for reply, but she gently 
 kissed her and said as she was leaving, " You may 
 feel thus now, but nevertheless I am sure there is a
 
 A WEDDING. 227 
 
 future for you, and in it you will find your work 
 and your happiness ; and in the years to come you 
 will look upon these unhappy years as a dream." 
 
 That evening Ruth gave the substance of the 
 conversation to her mother. Rachel was lost in 
 thought for a time. Finally she said, " Therese is 
 right in one thing. She has not sufficient educa- 
 tion for a successful life. I do ^not mean the mere 
 knowledge one gains from text books, for there are 
 those whom circumstances have kept from the 
 schools who by perseverance have largely made up 
 for this lack and have given themselves a broader 
 and truer outlook of life. Something of this kind 
 is what Therese needs, something that will lift her 
 out of herself. Do you remember the strategy 
 Louise used to interest John, and how thankful we 
 all are of the result ? " 
 
 We cannot stop to detail the steps with which 
 Ruth began at once to bring about this result. She 
 carefully selected the books she hoped would 
 interest Therese, and read her paragraphs from 
 them. All this judiciously that she might not sus- 
 pect her design. Finally, when she thought the 
 time ripe, she suggested a home course of study, 
 this under cover of a desire to review some of her 
 own studies, and before Therese realized it the 
 horror of the old life was slipping away and her 
 active young brain was awakening to the interests 
 of the great throbbing world, which from the days 
 of Adam has ever found a place for each earnest
 
 228 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 worker that has knocked at its portals. Aside from 
 the educational need, Ruth felt sure Therese would 
 never fully drop her burdens till they were lost in a 
 living Christian faith. Here again if she would be 
 successful she dared not be obtrusive, but before 
 the summer ended a slight, shrinking little figure, 
 heavily clad in black, was found each Sabbath by 
 Ruth's side in the Stevenson pew, and to ihe 
 gentle ministry of this young Christian who years 
 ago, in the little log church, had found how sweet 
 it was to lose her life in His, we may safely leave 
 for a time this childhood friend, trusting her to 
 impart something of her own simple faith.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER. 
 
 EPTEMBER is always a busy month. Dur- 
 ing its days the summer idlers, as well as the 
 CY^> summer resters return, the one to listen again 
 to the alluring yet wearying calls of society, the 
 other to take up the burdens of life afresh in the 
 office, the pulpit or at the desk. 
 
 The schoolhouses that during the hot, dusty 
 months have stood with their doors closed now 
 have them flung wide open, and from all over the 
 land in country, town and city, a long procession of 
 little feet take up the march and in a twinkling 
 these empty, gaunt, sentinel-like buildings wear- 
 ing an hour ago an air of complete desertion, are 
 teeming with life. 
 
 The quickening life blood, too, pulsates through 
 the great halis of the colleges, and homes are yield- 
 ing to them their choicest treasures. If it were 
 possible they would gladly retain them longer; -but 
 no, there is nothing so necessary as that they be 
 prepared for the inevitable future. So they bid 
 them Godspeed, sending as a charge to the college
 
 230 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 that receives them this message from the poet 
 king : "See to it that our sons may be as plants 
 grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be 
 as corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a 
 palace." 
 
 Edward Stevenson returned from his summer 
 jaunt of work and pleasure as rugged and brown 
 as though he had been harvesting on the old farm 
 acres. These weeks had meant much to him, 
 much in the everyday association with men of 
 education and culture. He had also been a 
 careful student, and had often surprised the other 
 members of the party by his accurate knowledge 
 of plant habits. During the summer he was of 
 great use in classifying and arranging the flora of 
 the localities they studied, and in addition brought 
 home a really excellent collection of his own. Some- 
 thing else happened, which because of its bearing 
 upon his future deserves mention. This was the 
 publication of his first article. His editor friend 
 had said to him, "now if this jaunt has any interest- 
 ing incidents that you think would read well, write 
 them up and send them to me. I won't promise to 
 publish, but you know," with that twinkle of the 
 eye Edward had come to know, "we are always 
 after the best.'" 
 
 To Edward the whole seemed full of interest, so 
 he wrote up a modest little account of a few days' 
 work, naming his brain child "After some Flowers," 
 and in course of time it was published. He
 
 SEPTEMBER. 231 
 
 managed to live through the sensation of first 
 seeing it in print, and (though he would never have 
 supposed it) life went on quite as usual. Of course 
 Mother Rachel read it, and like another mother 
 as she thought of his future, "she kept these things 
 and pondered them in her heart." 
 
 But now he was home; yes, and his belongings, 
 as were Ruth's, were packed, and as Asbury and 
 Louise had gone years ago, so these were going to 
 the same college. How vividly that other Septem- 
 ber came back, as with a liurried benediction and 
 prayer these two left the home. 
 
 Rachel had been called to the gate by the depart- 
 ing party to answer a question. As she started to 
 return to the house a sharp gust of wind rattled the 
 great tree by the path and blew from its branches 
 a nest which in the Spring had been a perpetual 
 source of delight, with its wealth of young bird 
 life. " Ah, well; perhaps it is only natural," thought 
 Rachel through her tears, "that young birds should 
 fly, but how desolate they leave the nest." 
 
 And desolate indeed seemed the home. It was 
 useless to put on a mask and feign a cheerfulness 
 neither parent felt. Yes, the young birds were 
 flying, and with them much of the cheer of the 
 home life. Edward and Ruth had left in the morn- 
 ing, and as they gathered about the small table for 
 the noon meal the mother broke down, and gave 
 up trying to hide her sense of loss. As she lay on 
 the couch in the living room her youngest son said,
 
 232 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 " Mother, don't grieve. You have at least one 
 child who will remain at home. I never intend to 
 leave." " Nor I," chimed in Rose, and they kept 
 their word. 
 
 John had yet another year in the academy. The 
 last few months had witnessed a wonderful change 
 in the sun-browned boy of the farm. He was not 
 the same pattern with his ministerial brother 
 Asbury, nor yet of the closer student Edward, but 
 in his own practical way was likelv to be as useful 
 is either. 
 
 The boys and girls of this family were all of 
 good physique, well formed and with suppleness of 
 grace that indicates the sensibly reared family of 
 young people. This was particularlv true of John. 
 He was a great tall, broad-shouldered fellow with 
 dark eyes and hair to match. The latter with its 
 soft wavy, curl would have been the envy of a 
 modern belle. His voice was very like his father's, 
 with a gentle cadence that made it peculiarly 
 acceptable either in sickness or anxiety, and his 
 touch was as gentle as a woman's. Like Louise, 
 he had always been particularly helpful, indoors as 
 well as out. About every home there are always 
 numberless little "turns" by which, if willing to do 
 them, a man can wonderfully lighten the household 
 cares. Those in the Stevenson home came natur- 
 ally to be left for John. It was understood when 
 this last academic year was finished he would 
 .assume the entire management of the "store."
 
 A LETTER. 233 
 
 He was fast becoming of great use in the church^ 
 though naturally shy. As the result of a conversa- 
 tion with Louise before her going he had begun 
 using his talents, and was developing as only 
 young Christians can who do this, yet his practical 
 views of life were shown here as elsewhere. About 
 a year before this he had heard a sermon on "giv- 
 ing" which greatly impressed him. As a result he 
 resolved to keep a careful account of his expenses 
 and "pay over," as he termed it, the tenth. When 
 the question of finances came up in the church his 
 A'lews were always so correct that unconsciously 
 these matters came to be left more and more to 
 him, and though the problem of church finances 
 was often perplexing, yet he came nearer its solu- 
 tion than any one else. 
 
 While we have been lingering thus long, taking 
 a final peep at the home that has so interested us } 
 the students have been adjusting themselves to the 
 year's work. 
 
 They did not enter the college as strangers, for 
 their elder brother and sister had left a fragrant 
 memory, and they were not long in finding their 
 own niche in this busy hive of workers. 
 
 Edward's tastes inclined him to pay special heed 
 to the sciences. As for Ruth, she continued the 
 same thorough, painstaking student the home 
 academy had known. 
 
 This year, with its routine of study, proved une- 
 16
 
 234 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 ^entful, but was none the less successful on that 
 account. 
 
 The latter part of the winter was remarkable for 
 a religious awakening, which spread until nearly all 
 of the several hundred students who were not already 
 professing Christians were converted. None who 
 went through these strange weeks could ever forget 
 them. The "Fathers" might tell of the old-time 
 campmeeting, with its rapturous shouts, and fervent 
 amens, yet this more modern movement, having its 
 birth and carried on amid those who were nothing 
 if not cultured, was not vastly different. There 
 was the old-time conviction of sin, and if one 
 might judge from the radiant faces, there was 
 the old-time realization of one's own personal 
 acceptance. 
 
 During all these weeks Edwa/d Stevenson was 
 strangely wrought upon. For years he had 
 never questioned his personal relationship to his 
 Saviour, but his tastes and inclinations were quiet, 
 and he had never taken an active part in the church, 
 but now perhaps it was the result of the wonderful 
 prayer meetings among the young men, perhaps it 
 was the influence of his favorite professor who 
 made it a point to bring out and interest every 
 young man within his reach (alas that in his col- 
 lege days Richard Newton had not known such a 
 friend) but whatever the cause, he suddenly devel- 
 oped genuine leadership, and until the close of the 
 meetings his voice was constantly heard in prayer
 
 A LETTER. 235 
 
 and exhortation, so much so that a short time after 
 their close he was given a license to preach. When 
 this news was carried home his father and mother 
 could scarcely credit it. " No, I cannot take it in," 
 was his mother's comment, "yet I should be glad if 
 this should prove his life work." But John said, "The 
 idea! if Edward should happen to have a book on 
 hands he was interested in, he would certainly for- 
 get any appointment to preach which he might 
 have."" 
 
 Thus fraught with duties the weeks went by, 
 until the coming of June, when the home at Burton 
 again smiled a welcome to its student inmates. 
 Edward came home only for a brief visit, as he had 
 been offered work in an editorial office. This did 
 not promise to be nearly so interesting as his last 
 summer's jaunt, but though he little thought it, this 
 became the ground-work upon which his future 
 largely rested. 
 
 Before Ruth's return she wrote her parents that 
 she had something to tell them which she r.ould 
 not write. They easily guessed her sweet secret, 
 and it took only a glance at the plain gold band 
 which she wore upon her return to confirm their sus- 
 picion. This had been Earnest Warren's last year in 
 college. It was little wonder that he desired to win 
 for himself this young girl whose gentle, gracious 
 ways, as he had seen, had made her presence in her 
 father's home a benediction. He had expected to 
 enter the ministry, but he had been offered a posi-
 
 236 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 tion as teacher in a young college. This seemed to 
 suit his present inclination and it was arranged that 
 in a year or two he would claim his bride. 
 
 The memory of Ruth's successful school term 
 still lingered in the home neighborhood, so much so 
 that she was offered a position as one of the teach- 
 ers in the home academy. She finally reluctantly 
 concluded to forego another collegiate year, yet she 
 did not mean her education to cease, for she began 
 a course of home study and pursued it unwear- 
 iedly. 
 
 Very often at this time the thoughts of both Ruth 
 and her mother turned with a new tenderness to that 
 brave one so many miles away. Until now Ruth 
 had not realized what the anguish of Louise must 
 have been when she had seen her happiness 
 shipwrecked, but this realization began to dawn 
 upon her, when in answer to a letter telling of 
 her new-found happiness and plans there had at 
 once come one from Louise breathing earnest 
 wishes for the continuance of her happiness. 
 Although she spoke hopefully of her work, and 
 wrote touchingly of the degradation about her, yel 
 amid it all there was an undertone of sadness, as if 
 the writer had looked into the coffin of a dead joy, 
 and this the mother recognizing and yearned afresh 
 for the blithe "singing bird" of the home, but she 
 said in her heart, "She did right; yes she did right." 
 But alas ! for the pity of it !
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER HIS WORK. 
 
 ONE who happened to be of a speculative 
 turn of mind had chanced to find himself on a 
 certain western-bound passenger train one 
 day two summers before the events of the last 
 chapters he would have looked with considerable 
 interest upon a young pair who seemed very 
 much at home amid their surroundings. There was 
 about each a quiet, well bred air, and a something 
 that proclaimed them fresh from their books. In 
 addition to this there was also an air of well, if 
 not exactly self-complacency, at least of self-satis- 
 faction. Further, if the onlooker, bearing the prop- 
 er credentials in his face, had with the freedom of 
 travelers engaged the young man in conversation 
 he would have learned that the pair in whom he 
 was interested was the Rev. Asbury Stevenson and 
 wife, late of an eastern college, that during the last 
 weeks of the college year a presiding elder of one 
 of the frontier districts in Kansas had written the 
 faculty to name a young man who could take
 
 238 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 charge of a small "station" (considerable emphasis 
 on that word) on his district, " where the principal 
 work would be to build up the charge, even to the 
 church building itself," and from that correspondence 
 had come this journey. Their destination was 
 Falls City which city the young divine explained 
 took its name from being built upon a river by that 
 name. 
 
 "Ahem, and have you ever built a church? 
 Know anything about it?" the interrogator might 
 have asked. 
 
 "No, but " Here the Rev. Mr. Stevenson 
 would have paused, and in some inexplicable wax- 
 one would have gotten the impression that half a 
 dozen such undertakings would be a matter of 
 small importance to this brave youth. 
 
 We too will watch these young travelers awhile. 
 In a little while their train has reached that young 
 stripling of a city which to the traveler seems only 
 the place where all the inhabitants of the nation are 
 all -at once engaged in the frantic effort to change 
 cars and make no mistake, but which the native res- 
 idents tell us is really one of the finest cities in the 
 world, hence call it Kansas City. Here two alterna- 
 tives were offered: they might continue their jour- 
 ney westward at once, on a freight car, or they 
 might remain until morning and take a passenger. 
 Life thus far had held no freight car experiences so 
 they continued their journey at once, and as a 
 result of their decision continued it for many long
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER. 239 
 
 wearisome hours, even until they of the later passen- 
 ger had jauntily passed them by. 
 
 They were to go to a young city (they had left 
 the towns all east of the Mississippi) west of 
 Topeka, and thence south fifty miles in a stage. 
 
 " The whole country looks as if it were not fin- 
 ished," was Mrs. Asbury's comment as she peered 
 out of the car window. And so it did. There 
 were miles and miles of green prairie', with not a 
 single trace of a living being. The sun beat down 
 remorselessly, without a tree in sight. Occasionally 
 there would be a little cluster of unpainted box like 
 houses that stood upon the prairie, with the 
 tall grass growing, quite up to the doors. 
 
 At last the railway part of the journey came to an 
 nd, and as the Rev. Asbury was leaving the freight 
 he looked rather lugubrious as he did some careful 
 brushing of his lovely "silk tile." But the real 
 pleasure began .with the stage ride. Such beauty! 
 The grass was so green! and was as soft as any 
 of Mrs. Ward's elegant carpets. One novel feature 
 was the undulating swells of the prairies, which 
 were not unlike the waves of the ocean. Here and 
 there great herds of cattle pastured, and oh, the 
 flowers! They were of every form and hue, and 
 before the journey was half completed both of the 
 young people were in love with their adopted state. 
 
 " It seems to me it is rather a windy day," 
 remarked Emma as she drew her wrap about her. 
 The driver smiled and murmured something about
 
 240 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 "Kansas zephyrs;" which phrase she grew to know 
 more about later on. A little purple cloud lay very 
 innocently in the western sky, upon perceiving which 
 Asbury noticed that the driver whipped up his- 
 ponies and kept them at a break-neck pace, eyeing 
 the cloud in the meanwhile. 
 
 At last in a relieved tone he exclaimed, "We'll 
 make it!" Half an hour later they were clattering 
 up the stree'ts of what seemed a very tiny village 
 that had lost itself in immeasurable distances. The 
 wind was blowing quite a gale, but the driver man- 
 aged to say, "There is our new court house; and 
 there our school house." There was something in 
 the very tone which implied expected admiration,, 
 but it was now growing dark rapidly. As the 
 travelers started to go from the stage to the hotel a 
 great wind lifted the elegant "tile" from the head 
 of the Rev. Asbury and sent it whirling down the 
 street. It was useless to follow it, though he half 
 started to do so. Afterwards he called this his first 
 "Concession," for the next morning he purchased a 
 regulation broad-brimmed "slouch," and it was 
 many a day before he owned a counterpart of the 
 first. 
 
 They were barely housed when the rain was 
 falling in torrents, and the thunder nothing like it 
 had ever been heard before. They afterwards 
 learned this was a peculiarity of the climate. 
 Nature was wont to act as if she had an extra 
 amount of work which must be accomplished on.
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER. 2il 
 
 schedule time. The rain would fall in torrents, 
 thunder's crash, and lightning play in a most terrific 
 manner, but in an hour the earth would be bright 
 and smiling after her bath, and the roads as hard 
 as a floor. 
 
 Early the next morning the young minister 
 hunted up the "brethren," and preliminaries were 
 arranged for getting to living. He and his young 
 wife received a hearty greeting, and with each new 
 presentation, before the conversation closed the 
 invariable question was asked, "You have of course 
 seen our new court house and school building.'"' and 
 the tone implied that not to have done so and 
 be able to admire was unpardonable. One of 
 the first acts of the baby city had been to vote 
 bonds, and utilizing the fine building stone that 
 abounded in every hill, had built a really fine 
 court house and school building which stood on 
 the actual prairie, the pride of every man in the 
 city, who looked upon them as the forerun- 
 ners of the great city that was to be. They also- 
 served other purposes than those planned in the 
 original. Done in lithographs, they tickled the 
 fancy and unloosened the purses of eastern capi- 
 talists. Besides these, the town consisted of a 
 business street and a few of the box-like houses 
 they had noticed along the railway. 
 
 During the forenoon the Rev. Asbury with a 
 volunteer guide, a member of his church, started 
 with considerable expectanc^jj^b the site of the new
 
 242 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 church. The letter describing the enterprise had 
 read something like this: "We are not strong 
 numerically, but the imperative need is a church 
 building. This we must have to hold our share of 
 the incoming population. Such an enterprise has 
 been begun, but abandoned. We have the finest 
 site in the city. The foundation is laid, a part of 
 the building material is on the ground, and we 
 must haye an active young man to push the work." 
 It all sounded so well, and this ministerial fledgling 
 started out fully expecting to find the workmen 
 hammering away upon a building that would match 
 the court house and school. 
 
 As the walk progressed, and house after house 
 was left behind his anxiety increased. Finallv he 
 struck what seemed the open prairie, but had he been 
 familiar with the map of the city he would have 
 known that he still was in its very heart. At last 
 his companion stopped, exclaiming "Here we are." 
 "Here is what?" Asbury asked. "The church 
 building." Involuntarily he rubbed his eyes. In 
 front of him was a tall, rank mass of what seemed 
 bushy weeds, which he had already learned was 
 the native sunflower. Peering through these, he 
 saw that an excavation had been made and a few 
 foundation stones placed in position. From appear- 
 ances it perhaps had been begun, and most cer- 
 tainly abandoned. The "building material on 
 hand" was represented by a pile of native stone, 
 also sunflower over-grown.
 
 HIS WORK. 243 
 
 "You have your subscriptions all right?" Asbury 
 asked in a voice that sounded strange even to him- 
 self. 
 
 " Umph, that's what we sent for you for." 
 
 " Now, young man, do you think you can build 
 this church?" and his interlocutor turned a critical 
 look upon him, "because if you can't you had bet- 
 ter take the first stage east." 
 
 Asbury did not answer, but on the walk back he 
 did some hard thinking. Strangely enough, this 
 was something even his young wife could not help 
 him to decide. To sum it all up, he saw clearly 
 what was expected of him. He was to preach 
 twice each Sabbath, a formidable undertaking in 
 itself, take a subscription of strangers, many of 
 them not connected with any church, and personally 
 superintend every detail of a work he knew noth- 
 ing about. 
 
 As his chronicler I am glad to write that at this 
 point what in the home neighborhood was known 
 as the " sturdy common sense of the Stevensons'' 
 asserted itself. Things were not as he had ex- 
 pected, "but God helping him he would not fail." 
 Sweeping through his mind came innumerable in- 
 stances of which he had read, of the heroic efforts 
 of others to plant the church elsewhere. Indeed 
 was not his own sister meeting every day discour- 
 agements far greater than any that could confront 
 him? He remembered how as he had sat about the 
 glowing fire in the comfortable farm home, he had
 
 244 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 been thrilled as he had read of the heroic endur- 
 ance of those who had braved Indian dangers on 
 the frontier. It had all seemed so grand then, 
 should he yield till every known means had been 
 tried? 
 
 "7Vi?," and though the little handful who called 
 themselves the "Church" little guessed it, their 
 coveted new church was as truly built in that hour 
 of introspection on the part of the young pastor as 
 it was a year later when a delighted audience 
 gathered to hear the dedicatory sermon. 
 
 At length a little house, very much of a pattern 
 with the rest, was procured, and the home life 
 begun. There were a few elegant "touches" from 
 the old luxurious home of Emma, but after the last 
 piece of the plain furniture was in place Emma 
 exclaimed, " Now if Louise and I had only known 
 it, Mrs. Hoyson's home was elegance itself." But 
 what if it was plain? They were rich in love for 
 each other, rich in hope for the future and in con- 
 secration of their young lives to the work. 
 
 Emma never forgot her first Sabbath, A kind 
 of hall above one of the business houses was being 
 used as a place of worship. By the side of it 
 stood a one-story building which had been covered 
 with a tin roof (lumber was a luxury to be used as 
 sparingly as possible). She had never heard her 
 young husband attempt to preach, and felt a wifely 
 anxiety that he should favorably impress his hearers. 
 The wind was sweeping down the street with a
 
 HIS WORK. 245 
 
 momentum that carried everything not securely 
 fastened before it. During the service the tin roof 
 beneath kept up a monotonous rise and fall with a 
 harsh grating noise not unlike the wail of impris- 
 oned spirits. As for the preacher himself he had 
 gone to this service feeling entirely unable to meet 
 it. He had never so realized his insufficiency 
 before. As he arose to announce the hymn, and he 
 beheld the questioning, critical, yet not unfriendly 
 faces before him, a wild desire to flee through the 
 door which stood invitingly open, seized him. But 
 no, he half argued with himself, he could not be 
 mistaken. That conversion of his, years before in 
 the little room of the log house, had been a very 
 real occurrence, yet none the less so than the sub- 
 sequent still but persistent voice which had led him 
 into the ministry. Clearly as though a voice had 
 spoken came the promise, " Lo, I am with you." 
 A sudden agonized prayer for help went up, and 
 the sermon began. An hour afterwards he could 
 not have told what he preached, whether the words 
 were lame or otherwise, but certainly the Spirit 
 inspired them. A strange awe fell upon the little 
 assembly. Many had come in curiously for a 
 glimpse of the " new preacher," but melted before 
 his earnestness. At the close no less than five came 
 forward to unite with the church. 
 
 The next morning he promptly began the work 
 of obtaining subscriptions. Finally he had a suffi- 
 cient amount to begin. The details of the various
 
 246 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 steps of this undertaking need not be recounted, 
 but he soon found he must personally superintend 
 each one. Besides, funds were scarce, and every 
 dollar must be made to count, and so, though 
 Emma remembering the stately and dignified Dr. 
 Eloquent of the h6me church, winced a little as she 
 saw her husband in working attire making a 
 "hand," she at length grew reconciled to the new 
 order of things. 
 
 There was one unexpected feature of the new life 
 which charmed each, and that was the remarkable 
 general intelligence of the people. It was no 
 unusual thing to find rolled up and laid away 
 upon one of the "general utility shelves" of the 
 box houses a diploma bearing the seal of some 
 good college, while its owner busied herself 
 with the humbler duties of homekeeping. Men 
 above the average stood behind the counters, or 
 edited the "hustling" newspapers, or doctored one 
 when the native malaria got too deep a hold. 
 
 The cosmopolitan character of the new home 
 was shown in the fact that in a single after- 
 noon there were callers whose homes from which 
 none had been long away, had been in New York, 
 Virginia, Ohio, and indeed nearly every state in the 
 Union, was represented in the Sunday congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 The new church was to be of stone. Ten miles 
 distant was a ridge of hills which took their name 
 from a beautiful stone found there in great quan-
 
 HIS WORK. 247 
 
 titles. This was to be used for the front and finish- 
 ing, and hither the young preacher took many a 
 trip where he lent a hand in the quarrying. 
 
 At last, after more than a year of hard work, the 
 building was completed, and a lovely Sabbath saw 
 its dedication. The deep "Italian" sky, in the lan- 
 guage of the local poets, was never bluer than now. 
 The gentle "zephyrs" toned themselves down to 
 suit the occasion as they left the green sward of the 
 prairie, and perhaps there never was a happier con- 
 gregation than that which gathered that day. 
 
 The young pastor, to whom all acknowledge is 
 due the present success of the enterprise, has lost 
 the "student air" and now would be known any- 
 where as the keenly alive, western "preacher." 
 He does not consider his work done with the com- 
 pletion of the building; he is now as keenly alive 
 to the spiritual upbuilding of his congregation. 
 
 Xor will this last prove a less easy task. Indeed, 
 no pastor either East or West will say that it ever is, 
 yet on the frontier it is especially hard. There is 
 the rush to become established in business, and the 
 temptation to forget God in the hurry is always 
 present. Besides vice takes on certain more em- 
 phatic forms, and happy the leader of a flock that 
 successfully copes with all these, yet in this last 
 work Asbury Stevenson will not stand alone, for in 
 the heart of his young wife is as strong a hatred of 
 sin as in his. So leaving them for a time, we bid 
 them God speed, and adieu.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A RETROSPECT A WEDDING DEATH OF RICHARD 
 
 NEWTON. 
 
 T HAS been many years, some wearisome, 
 some joyous, since the group of watchers 
 stood upon the brow of the hill at quaint, 
 picturesque Lynton, and waved us a last adieu, as 
 with the two happy pairs in the great canvas 
 covered wagons we left its winding, shady street 
 forever. We have since seen the terminus of that 
 long journey, the then western wilds, develop and 
 come to teem with life and a marvelous civilization. 
 
 It has been ours to see and note the struggles in 
 the founding and guidance of the homes which were 
 established, that May day in the village church at 
 Lynton, and the working out of the individuals' 
 problem of worldly prosperity. 
 
 In these two homes, as in every home, there has 
 been constant sowing of seed, either good or bad. 
 The harvest of some has already been garnered, 
 but all seed does not ripen in a year, nor yet in a 
 decade, and as the patient husbandman having 
 seen to it that his seed possesses the true germinal
 
 A WEDDING. 249 
 
 principles of life, having planted them, leaves them 
 in perfect faith to the sure offices of nature to effect 
 the growth, and in its season with unerring sure- 
 ness gather the harvest, so we, having watched this 
 daily home sowing, sometimes with joy, as often 
 with dread, must leave to the years the final 
 gathering. 
 
 It will be ours therefore to drop the curtain, nor 
 will it be raised until such a number of years 
 has passed that the fruits of the home growing will 
 be easily recognizable. We hold it yet a moment 
 to note one or two events of interest to us. 
 
 The cottage home at Burton again wears a holi- 
 day appearance, and we find that Earnest Warren 
 has come to claim his bride, and gentle Ruth 
 Stevenson is to go out from the home forever. Her 
 loss is going to fall heavilv upon both father and 
 mother, and as the preparation for the wedding 
 festivities progress their hearts grow heavier, for 
 from the time that her father had held her in his 
 great strong arms, she a wee winsome babe, she 
 had nestled verv near his heart, indeed in manv 
 ways she was his own counter part. She had 
 always been so unselfish in her life, an offset .in 
 many instances to the more impetuous nature of 
 Louise and of her brothers. It was hard to imagine 
 the home without her. 
 
 Yet there was much comfort in knowing that he 
 who was to be her husband was so worthy. He 
 had already won for himself an enviable name as a 
 
 17
 
 250 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 teacher in the college to which he had gone when 
 his own school days had ceased. But lie desired to 
 still further pursue certain branches of study. An 
 opportunity had offered itself for him to go abroad 
 for a year or two, and he desired that Ruth should 
 accompany him. 
 
 Ruth had been, as we know, loth to give up the 
 final years of her college course, but the home 
 needs had seemed to make imperative the accept- 
 ance of the position offered her in the Academy, so 
 it was with genuine pleasure she looked forward to 
 a year or two of further study with her husband, in 
 one of the cities of Germany. 
 
 The wedding day at length dawned. Asbury and 
 his young wife honored it by making it the occasion 
 of their first visit home. Their coming has been her- 
 alded for weeks, and there is an undertone of excite- 
 ment which strikes us as very strange. John the 
 younger, proud of his commission, has driven to 
 fetch them from the train, and see, they are at the 
 gate! Ah, now the mystery is plain. Grandmother 
 Rachel is herself at the carriage, and her great 
 bearded boy has held her in his arms for an instant 
 as he gives her the greeting kiss, but she hardly 
 notices it, she is so eager and enwrapt with the 
 strange dainty bundle of white cambric and flannel 
 motherly Emma is handing out. Now they are in 
 the house, and oh, strange sight! When the little 
 face is uncovered and she bends to kiss it she sud- 
 denly breaks down, and as her own tears fall fast
 
 A WEDDING. 251 
 
 no eye of all in the room is dry. Clasping the won- 
 dering babe to her breast she has sobbed aloud, 
 " Sweet, sweet baby Louise!" So has the absent 
 one been remembered. 
 
 The student Edward has also come from his 
 books. 
 
 The hours fly swiftly, and soon the event which 
 has summoned them is a thing of the past. And 
 Ruth is gone. 
 
 Asbury lingered for a few days' visit of course. 
 The pulpit of the new home church was offered 
 him, and old neighbors and interested friends who 
 had known him all his life gathered to hear him 
 preach. 
 
 Among them, hardly daring to look up, sat 
 father and mother Stevenson. There are some 
 things which can only be imagined, among such is 
 the quiet thrilling happiness which filled these faith, 
 ful hearts as they heard their first born " expound 
 unto them the things of God." But could this 
 strangely earnest, free, and at all times really elo- 
 quent young speaker be their own quiet, shy child? 
 
 Ah, brave hearts, it was yours in the years you 
 had not only him but his brothers and sisters as 
 well with you in the little plain log home, to lay tlie 
 foundations of the character each is developing. 
 You indeed builded better than you knew with 
 your own simple faith but there came a day when 
 your last moulding touch was given and you yielded 
 them to others. In your own humble lives you lit-
 
 J.YJ GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 tie guessed the breadth of soul, the enlargement of 
 vision that should come to each through the study 
 and associations of their college life. And in the 
 case of this your first born, within the last years 
 God has been his teacher in the school of experi- 
 ence, and as you hear his burning words you may 
 well say humbly, " What hath God wrought?" 
 
 A few days and the visitors are gone. Of the 
 many that once gathered about the table but John 
 and Rose are left, and the father says, "We must 
 all love each other the more." 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 We hold the curtain yet a little longer, this time 
 to catch a glimpse of a procession that with a sable 
 hearse and nodding plumes slowly winds its way 
 to the city of the dead. Before we join in its 
 measured tread we shall have to take a glance 
 westward. 
 
 Following the marriage of Ruth, Asbury had 
 been back in his western pastorate perhaps about 
 two years. These had been spent in hard work. 
 Falls City was not a very promising field for a 
 teacher of morality. It is true his beautiful church 
 was a standing invitation to all who would to enter 
 and worship, yet it took all the efforts of the watch- 
 ful and alert young pastor to withstand the steady 
 attacks of sin and vice which in the first years of 
 every western town contended for mastery. 
 
 That plague spot of civilization, the open drink 
 shop, flourished unrestrained by law. There would
 
 DEATH OF RICHARD NEWTON. 253 
 
 be days and nights when from the adjoining ranches, 
 "cowboys" as those having charge of the great 
 herds of cattle there were called, would gather in, 
 drink, gamble, and hold a carnival of sin. A.t such 
 times the terrified inhabitants could only close their 
 doors and windows and listen in dread to the crack 
 of the pistol which told of the summary settlement 
 of some fancied insult. 
 
 Because of all this it was not with a great deal 
 of surprise that on a morning following a "cowboy 
 raid" Asbury received a hasty summons to visit a 
 man who had been shot in some kind of a melee 
 during the night and was said to be dyings Yet if 
 the message gave him no surprise, a bit of infor- 
 mation volunteered on the way did. It was to the 
 effect that the wounded man had particularly asked 
 for him by name. Who among all the wild men 
 gathered there knew him? 
 
 Soon he was shown into a little, narrow, low 
 room where lying upon a bed lay could he 
 believe his eyes his once brilliant playmate and 
 friend, Richard Newton. 
 
 Asbury Stevenson had learned something of his 
 Master's tenderness during these years of trial. 
 His old rigid notions had insensibly softened; he 
 had been growing in these latter days to look 
 beyond the sinner to the causes that made him 
 such, and now Louise could not herself have knelt 
 more tenderly than did he, nor could her touch 
 have been gentler than was that of this elder
 
 254 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 brother of hers who was filled with ineffable pity as 
 he beheld his old-time comrade. 
 
 The wounded man was still conscious. " No, 
 he cannot live,'' said the physician, "nor will it 
 hasten his end if he is carefully removed." This 
 in answer to an anxious question of Asbury. In 
 an hour Richard was lying in the cool little spare 
 room of the parsonage, and Emma was ministering 
 to his needs. 
 
 After intervals of pain, fragments of his story 
 were gleaned, and piecing them together the Stev- 
 ensons guessed the last few months had been full 
 of dissipation, spent somewhere further West. 
 There he had learned of Asbury's residence here, 
 and a longing desire to look on them seized him. 
 He had not yet fully decided whether or no he would 
 make himself known, and had gone to the hotel. 
 He had but lately lost his all at the gambling table, 
 and that night he thought he saw his opportuity 
 to win back a part of his loss. Somehow at the 
 cards, he could not tell how, trouble had arisen, and 
 he knew no more. 
 
 After he had told this much he sank into a 
 stupor, from which nothing could arouse him. 
 Sometime during the next day as Emma was per- 
 forming some little office at the bedside, Baby 
 Louise toddled up, and stooping to take her in her 
 arms Emma called her bv name. Suddenly the 
 great dark eyes of the stranger opened, and 
 lighted up with something of their old-lime beauty,
 
 DEATH OF RICHARD NEWTON. 255 
 
 and bent a questioning look, first upon the child 
 and then upon the mother. Divining his thought 
 Emma bent and whispered: 
 
 " Yes, we named her for Louise." 
 
 A wistful look grew in the eyes, which Emma 
 thought she understood, and bending she smoothed 
 a place and laid the little Louise beside him. To 
 her surprise the child did not shrink, but with her 
 baby hands gently stroked his face. And thus* he 
 died. 
 
 Ah, little Louise, was it some subtle influence of 
 whose laws we as yet know nothing, that coming 
 from the great heart of her whose name you bear, 
 caused this baby act that comforted the dying man? 
 Who can tell? 
 
 "No, he must not lie in a western grave. With 
 our going there will be none to bear him in remem- 
 brance. His body must lie by his mother's, at 
 home." It was Emma who had spoken, as she 
 with her husband stood over the lifeless clay which 
 lay, with the old-time beauty restored in every 
 feature. 
 
 ''And she,'' 1 and Asbury's voice grew very tender, 
 and his eyes instinctively turned toward the Orient, 
 ^would not want him to go to his grave unattended.' 
 
 In a few hours all that was mortal of Richard 
 Newton was being carried eastward, and a solitary 
 saddened man accompanied it. Very content was 
 he in his humbleness to leave the spirit with the 
 Great Judge who knovveth the soul environments of
 
 256 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 us all, and in his judgment has promised to remem- 
 ber that we are dust. 
 
 And it is this body we have seen borne to the 
 grave. It had lain in the old home over night; but 
 once was the covering removed. The watchers in 
 the adjacent room were startled by the sound of 
 footfalls. Quietly looking, they saw an old man,, 
 bent, yet not with the weight of years, go slowly 
 to* the bier, lift the lid and place therein a silver 
 head. No, they could not be mistaken, for the 
 delicate golden leaves of laurel glistened even in 
 that dim light. Having placed it, he bent a 
 moment over the still rarely beautiful face, and 
 with a groan turned away. 
 
 A few weeks later another grave was made, and 
 William Newton was no more. Poor Therese 
 must have died under all these cruel blows had it 
 not been for the Christian faith she had learned. 
 But her future seemed indeed without a ray of 
 promise. So at least it seemed to her, as in her 
 sister's elegant room it was impossible for her to- 
 remain alone in the great house she sat rocking 
 Marie's baby, William. Was there any use, after 
 all, for her to try? She had tried, oh, so hard, and 
 just when her own and her father's heart seemed 
 knitting in the closest sympathy, these last trials 
 had come, and now he, her last friend, was gone. 
 No, it was no use to try. 
 
 Just then the door opened and the housemaid 
 entered and handed her a letter. "It is from-
 
 DEATH OF RICHARD NEWTON. 257 
 
 Ruth," said she, as she broke the seal. Yes, it 
 was from Ruth, who wrote such gracious, tender 
 words of sympathy, that poor Therese wept as she 
 had not during all these dreadful days. Then fol- 
 lowed words of comfort. Who has not realized 
 that there are times when the most comforting 
 thought that can come is that " there is somebody 
 else who cares." Finally came the glad news that 
 they were to return shortly, and the half playful,, 
 half in earnest injunction to keep up her studies, 
 and that Earnest was very sure he could find a 
 place for her as teacher. 
 
 " And, mind, you are to live with us." 
 Wise Ruth; she knew Therese's surest means of 
 happiness lay, as does every one's in work. A 
 grief that folds its hands is soon well named des- 
 pair, hence she sought, and did arouse her to action, 
 for as she finished the letter she said with an air of 
 decision, No, I will not give up." 
 
 But our curtain refuses to remain longer, so we 
 leave not only Therese, but all the others in whom 
 we have grown interested, to the tender mercies of 
 the years.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A FAMILY REUNION GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 fIGHTEEN hundred and ninety-three! How 
 much may happen in a decade; yet if we add 
 to that, one, yet another, as we must since we 
 last looked in upon our friends, the changes may be 
 startling. If this is true of a family, it is none the 
 less so of a nation. 
 
 With the rapid march of the years, almost the 
 last trace, except in the hearts that still ache, ot the 
 dreadful war which threatened at one time to de- 
 vastate both North and South, has been wiped out. 
 During these years cities have been planted, or 
 already existing as little more than villages, have 
 grown with a rapidity that would startle even 
 Aladdin himself. 
 
 The new forces of steam and electricity have 
 revolutionized the commonest affairs of life. One 
 can now whiz bv on a car drawn as the ancients 
 would have said, by magic or by a trick of the same 
 conjurer, talk with a friend a thousand miles away* 
 recognizing the very intonations and peculiar inflec-
 
 A FAMILY REUNION. 259 
 
 tions of the voice; and yet staid history assures us 
 that this wonderful land which has show*n such a 
 marvelous capacity for development was but four 
 short centuries ago unknown to civilization, but at that 
 lime an intrepid mariner sailed out from safety into 
 the unknown, and after a journey of which every 
 detail is now hunted and made much of, he was able 
 to lay at the feet of the old civilization this new 
 world, brimming over as he himself little guessed 
 with possibilities for the future. 
 
 Of course its great rivers were then as yet un 
 known, its great inland seas unsuspected, and its 
 cities unbuilt. Still its mere finding was a great 
 event, and therefore it is little wonder that the na- 
 tions of the earth, looking back through the centuries, 
 resolved to celebrate the anniversary of its finding, 
 and to do so, had arranged to bring the choicest pro- 
 ducts of their civilization and exhibit them on a scale 
 of magnificence hitherto unattempted. The winds 
 caught up the story of this coming splendor and 
 wafted it across meadow and hill, heather and 
 steppes. The current carried it beneath the waves 
 and whispered it to the dwellers in the region beyond, 
 and the eyes and thoughts of the world turned 
 America-ward. 
 
 Among the many little knots or groups, who 
 under their own sky and in their own tongue dis- 
 cussed the wonders that were to be seen by a 
 journey across the ocean, there is but one that 
 interests us.
 
 260 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 In a well built mission house in one of the interior 
 cities of China a little group of missionaries has 
 lingered, evidently to talk over "something." A 
 large company of comfortably and neatly clad girls 
 have just marched out of the chapel, for the 
 "mustard seed" has taken deep root, grown ;md 
 spread itself not unlike its scriptural ancestor. 
 Instead of the erstwhile narrow, dirty little room in a 
 wretched part of the city, now on one of the choicest 
 knolls, with grounds enough about them to give the 
 inmates a breath of God's pure air, stands a cluster 
 of buildings upon which they who planted in tears,. 
 look with genuine pride. Besides the comfoi table 
 home for the missionaries there is a roomy school 
 building, in which is the chapel we have just seen. 
 The dream of a "girls' college" is a reality. 
 
 Let us glance for a moment at the missionary 
 group. Most of them are reinforcements from the 
 home land, hence strangers to us, but we are at 
 once attracted to a bright, happy yes, happy,, 
 though it seems a happiness born of pain face of a 
 woman whose brown wavy hair is beginning to be 
 thickly sprinkled with silver. She has left the 
 organ over whose keys her lingers have been idly 
 straying, and is joining the little group who are 
 eagerly discussing some question. As she comes 
 up one speaks, evidently for all, " No, we cannot all 
 go, much as would like to, but one can be spared 
 from the work, and that one must be our brave,, 
 cheery worker Louise, who in all these years has
 
 A FAMILY REUNION. . 261 
 
 never been to the home land." " Yes, so say we 
 all." 
 
 Louise Stevenson, for it is she, stands for a 
 moment strangely disconcerted. For months they 
 of the mission house have been reading of the won- 
 derful happenings at home but better to each, than 
 sight of sculptor's dream in marble, or of artists' 
 sublimest conception, would be to look again into 
 the dear faces at home, or to sit at the ingleside 
 where mother was wont to hum a lullabv, and for 
 weeks as the world's procession of travelers 
 America-ward grew, this thought has taken root and 
 grown at the mission house, "cannot at least one of 
 us go?" And it was this they had lingered to dis- 
 cuss, and their decision we have heard. 
 
 At length Louise spoke, and her voice trembled. 
 " Well, I don't want to seem selfish" at this, they 
 knowing her peculiarly unselfish life smiled "but 
 it seems strange that father and mother should 
 still live. Sometimes it seems that I must see 
 them again, and then I can contentedly return 
 and ." But she did not finish the sentence with 
 her voice, but involuntarily her eyes sought a 
 ^little sacred spot visible from the chapel win- 
 dow, where during the years workers had one 
 by one lain down to rest. So it was settled. 
 Louise, the hard-working missionary, was going 
 home, and an outgoing steamer carried the news 
 homeward the very next day. 
 
 Again and again during all these long years she
 
 262 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 had expected to go, but the needs had been so- 
 urgent, and she had seemed so well adapted to the 
 work: besides her health had been good, while that 
 of other missionaries had failed and when they had 
 been ordered home for rest, she had always been able 
 to fill up the breach. And none knew better than the 
 group of missionaries in the chapel, indeed the 
 whole board of missions as well, who proudly 
 pointed to "Our college;" that its inception and its 
 steadv march towards success was due to the clear 
 brain and indomitable perseverance of her who w as 
 now to take her first vacation. 
 
 From that hour when she had held entranced with 
 her voice her first unclean, half-clothed audience, she 
 had known no rest. She had used her pen vigor- 
 ously, and in response welcome donations came in 
 for the proposed college. The fame of her voice 
 grew until it reached and captured the ear of many 
 of the better class. Nor was that her sole secret. 
 Her cheery face won friends, and her complete 
 self abnegation indeed she seemed to have lost all 
 thought of self, and to be lost in her work with her 
 instinctive svmpathy and helpfulness won the hearts 
 of all who came in contact with her. 
 
 The peculiar rescue work of the mission some- 
 times uncovered such loathsome cases of misery 
 that occasionally one less brave than she would 
 shrink. Sometimes the girls who came to them 
 were little tiny tots who had come into the world 
 only to suffer at the hands of parents or friends.
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 26$ 
 
 Such Louise would take into her own arms, bathe 
 and clothe. 
 
 And now she was going home! The news flew, 
 and when the day came for her to sail she passed 
 through long dusky ranks that had gathered to do- 
 her honor, but alas for overstrained nature, in the 
 .stress some of these forgot their studied parts and 
 
 could only wail aloud in true oriental style. 
 
 * * * # # 
 
 As the ship bears Louise homeward we pause to- 
 gather up a few broken threads of the past. 
 
 "Louise is coming home!" With strangely 
 blurred eyes an old man had sat down to read 
 aloud the letter, bearing the strange foreign post- 
 mark they had come to know so well, and the first 
 few lines he read told the story. 
 
 Grandmother Rachel was sitting in her eay chair 
 by the windows of the "new rooms" she had 
 planned so long ago. Her joy at hearing the glad 
 announcement must be imagined. Later as she 
 wiped her glasses she said, "and the other children 
 must come too, and we will see them all together 
 again before we go hence." But before that joyful 
 gathering we shall have to ask why we find them 
 sitting so contentedly in the old home. 
 
 Their youngest son had made good his boyish 
 vow, registered over the glossy mane of his- 
 favorite "Beauty." Perhaps a rapid sketch of his 
 life would not be amiss. 
 
 William Newton in his brightest days had not
 
 Jt!4 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 possessed a greater desire to "get on in the world" 
 than did this country boy, but there was this dif- 
 ference: The lad was God serving and God fear- 
 ing, and as we have seen, in his earliest years 
 began by rendering back unto God a part of all his 
 gains, yet withal he possessed true business acute- 
 ness. He was greatly fascinated by Asbury's 
 stories of western life, and resolved to visit that 
 marvelous country at the earliest opportunity. He 
 ihad a reason for this, he was not yet ready to share 
 with anyone. That Arizona land haunted him like 
 a nightmare. He had read and studied with inter- 
 est everything that came in his way since he had 
 had the "worthless deed" in his possession. Once 
 he had read that copper had been found, yet 
 not in quantities that would make its "reduc- 
 tion" profitable. " What if," and this was his 
 own little dream that lightened many a homely 
 task these days, "what if this particular bit of land 
 should possess the valued metal." Therefore he 
 could scarcely conceal his satisfaction when one 
 July morning found him journeying west, with a 
 whole month at his disposal. Once in Asbury's 
 .home he was not long in making his plans known, 
 and a week later he had started on a tour of per- 
 sonal inspection. 
 
 The land was easily located. Instead of being a 
 part of a continuous plain as he had supposed, he 
 found it broken, with here and there great rocky 
 fissures, and not greatly distant from the mountains.
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 265 
 
 He did not fail to feel the pulse of local opinion 
 concerning its value. "Arid," "worthless," the 
 precise terms u^ed by the lawyer years ago, and 
 his own observations as he wearily tramped over 
 it, confirmed the verdict. 
 
 The old scene in the lawyer's office came back 
 to him, and though he could not have explained 
 why, he experienced a new sense of loss. Until 
 now he had not guessed how much he had builded 
 upon these acres. In his tramp he had neared a 
 gulch, and being wearied in body lie sat down upon 
 a ledge of rock, and sitting there gave vent to the 
 disappointment he could not but feel. 
 
 "How useless this part of creation, anyway." 
 That mountain over there he had been told con- 
 tained not only copper, as he had read, but metals 
 even more precious, but worthless, all because that 
 homely necessitv, coal, had to be brought from 
 such a distance. 
 
 ' But what is that?" As he half lay, half sat, he 
 had been mechanically kicking at an unoffending 
 stone that lay a little looser than its fellows. In- 
 stantlv his old lessons in geology with Louise 
 flashed upon him. " I believe that is a surface indi- 
 cation of coal!" What if it were? His heart 
 bounded, for that very morning he had been told 
 how profitable copper mining would be, if there 
 were only coal. 
 
 He examined more closely, then returned to his 
 slopping place, and later returned with pick and 
 
 18
 
 266 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 shovel, and soon became convinced of the proxim- 
 ity of coal. How much he did not know, this he 
 left for those of more experience. 
 
 He anxiously watched the workers for the next 
 two days, and heard almost as an echo of one of his 
 dreams, " It is a good paying vein!" 
 
 The news spread. With characteristic western 
 push a company was formed and within a week he 
 had received an offer that equaled in value the old 
 home farm. 
 
 John suddenly lost all interest in a further 
 western trip, and hastened home with the surpris- 
 ing news. We shall make no attempt to depict the 
 surprise of the home folk. The offer was too 
 gladly accepted and was used at once in the re- 
 purchase of the old farm, and with characteristic 
 honesty the few hundreds in excess of what was 
 needed for this was given to Therese for her 
 father's sake. 
 
 This was the beginning of solid wealth for John 
 junior, for his parents rightly said the farm ought 
 to be his. In this his brothers and sisters con- 
 curred, so the transfer papers were made out. He 
 thought so well of the coal mining company that 
 had been formed that he persuaded his father to 
 loan him a few hundred dollars to buy stock. In 
 less than two years it had paid for itself and more, 
 but this was his last "speculation." He decided 
 the business too fraught with anxieties. 
 
 The log house had gone the wav of the earth,
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 267 
 
 but the added rooms in which the younger Rachel 
 had taken such a pride were still, good, and after 
 being remodeled would make a cheery "evening 
 place" for the father and mother, and it was here 
 \ve saw them at the reopening of this story. In 
 the course of time John had built his own great 
 roomy house by the side of these, indeed connected 
 by a door, and here at the reopening he lives with 
 his wife and growing family of boys and girls. 
 
 A swift successor to Beauty carries him back 
 and forth to his business, for the old mills, remod- 
 eled and rebuilt, have been his for many a day. A 
 steady business man is he, recognized in the home 
 church as one of its thorough-going, truest friends' 
 
 " Louise is coming home!" The news flew. All 
 agreed in the wish of their mother that they should 
 celebrate her coming by a family gathering. She 
 would arrive about the first of May. Happy 
 thought, why not celebrate the fiftieth anniversary 
 of the wedding that occurred in Lynton in 'forty- 
 three? 
 
 The broad acres of the old farm had never looked 
 more beautiful than they did that bright May 
 morning when the great farm house seemed liter- 
 ally alive with guests and children. Rose had not 
 far to come; she was the wife of the prosperous 
 farmer who owned the acres adjoining. Her own 
 and her brother John's young people had been 
 jealously watching the great orchard that for 
 more than a week had been a snovvv mass of bloom.
 
 26S GATHERED THISTLE* 
 
 Grandmother had told of the old sweet wedding 
 decorations and it had been their wish to reproduce 
 them. Would the blossoms fade too soon? was the 
 absorbing question. A row of Winter Greenings 
 answered by delaying their bloom two whole weeks 
 after the others, and when the anniversary dawned 
 were radiant in their beauty. Great bowlfuls stood 
 in every nook and corner, and Rose's eldest, a 
 sweet lass of twelve named Rachel, capped the cli- 
 max when she pinned a spray at her grandmother's 
 breast, and arranged a smart modern boutonniere 
 for her grandfather's lapel. 
 
 The Rev. Asburv and family had arrived. His 
 hair is whitening rapidly. It is yet an interesting 
 question in psychology whether or not one grows 
 to be so affected bv his profession or calling that it 
 becomes in a sort of a way a kind of badge. At 
 any rate you would have taken this man for a 
 preacher anywhere, and a western one at that. 
 Perhaps the unconventional style of his dress and 
 demeanor suggested the latter, or it may have been 
 his ready utterance and earnestness in regard to 
 sins both private and national. There is not really 
 a hint of conservatism in his whole make up. 
 
 God has been very gracious in his dealings with 
 this our erstwhile young minister, and lie has be- 
 come a strong factor in both church and state- 
 The word "state" is used advisedly, for during 
 these "last twenty years a great moral triumph has 
 been won, and when the tocsin of war sounded he
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 269 
 
 and his brethren to a man girt on their swords of 
 ready argument, convincing logic, and prayer of 
 faith. They spoke while standing on goods boxes on 
 the open streets on week days, and within pulpits on 
 the Sabbath. Every school house became an ora- 
 tor's platform from which this new movement was 
 heralded. There could be but one result. To-day ? 
 in all that state there is not a legalized place like 
 that in which Richard Newton received his death 
 wound. 
 
 Those were heroic days! The younger children, 
 even now, love to gather while Aunt Emma tells of 
 burning churches, of threatened lynchings, and 
 sometimes of blood shed. 
 
 Edward, the quiet scholar, the ready writer and 
 apt scientist, is also here. 1 1 is "maiden article" was 
 followed by manv others. To-dav he is a valuable 
 contributor to many of the current periodicals. 
 Contrary to his mother's expectations, he too en- 
 tered the ministry, but under circumstances very 
 different from those of his brother Asbury, for his 
 first charge was a city mission. He did most excel- 
 lent service here for two years and it was here he 
 found his bride. She had grown up in a parsonage. 
 His ministerial prospects seemed unusually bright, 
 but just at this juncture his alma mater give him 
 an urgent call to teach in its halls, offering him 
 what he most loved, the Sciences. Finally he 
 yielded. It was as well, for time has proven him a 
 rare educator. To-dav he is a recognized authority
 
 270 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 upon botany. Go into your high school, and more 
 than likely the authorized text book on that science 
 will bear his name. 
 
 Ruth Warren and her husband, with their child- 
 ren, have come from the far West. For years he 
 has been president of a western college that is tak- 
 ing front rank among its more pretentious eastern 
 sister. It would take a great deal of time and 
 space to tell the half of Ruth's life successes. She 
 has been the companion, fellow student and inspira- 
 tion of her husband. She is an intelligent factor in 
 the church, and a sweet and gracious mother; in 
 short her womanhood is but the fruitage of the 
 promise of her girlhood. 
 
 But the centre of attraction to all, even to the 
 elders as well as the younger ones, was a sweet- 
 faced elderly woman with frost sprinkled hair, of 
 whom at first the younger ones stood a little in awe. 
 How could they think a missionary whom they had 
 never seen a bit of common flesh and blood like 
 themselves. But a few cheery laughs from the 
 missionary and that vanished. And how proud 
 they were of their own Aunt Louise, of whom each 
 has heard all their lives. Is it true, or do we imag- 
 ine it that sometimes her gaze rests most lovingly 
 upon that other sweet young Louise Stevenson, the 
 babe of twenty years age, who has just completed 
 the course at her "Uncle Earnest's college," or 
 that with a peculiar fondness she caresses the soft 
 white h;md that lies in her lap. Perhaps, though,
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 271 
 
 it is all our fancy, for she is the life of the gather- 
 ing. What marvelous stories she tells of far away 
 China, and of the mission life. It all sounds so grand 
 that half the younger ones are secretly resolving -to 
 become missionaries. 
 
 We had not noticed that in this group there are 
 two strange faces; not strange, either, for we have 
 seen them before. One of them is sitting near 
 Ruth Warren. It is the quiet, happy face of 
 Therese, with the heartache all gone. 
 
 All of Ruth's written promises were fulfilled. 
 After she and her husband had returned and he 
 was settled in his work, he did interest himself in 
 her behalf and secured for her a position as teacher. 
 So it came about that she made her home with 
 Ruth, as was suggested. Ruth greatly encour- 
 aged her to active Christian work, and in her heart 
 grew up the peaceable fruits of righteousness, and 
 the dreadful past slipped away. Finally when one 
 of the best and most prosperous business men of 
 the city asked the really handsome Mrs. Les Page 
 to share his name and home, she consented. 
 There was little romantic fervor about this second 
 marriage, but Therese was as well satisfied. Since 
 that day her life has been a constant joy, and a 
 happy circle of boys and girls is growing up 
 around her hearthstone. 
 
 That remarkably handsome lad over there, who 
 with a careless grace has just thrown his arm 
 about Aunt Louise, somewhat to the discomfiture
 
 272 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 of the latter's own neices and nephews is Therese's 
 eldest. She calls him Richard. 
 
 Marie, too, is here to honor the day. She and 
 her daughters are resplendent in elegant clothes. 
 She is quite as daintv and pretty as ever. Her 
 husband is a careful business man, and there is no 
 reason to think that life will ever be otherwise than 
 what it is, a succession of luxuries, but she feels 
 strangely out of place among those to whom, 
 though neat and well dressed, clothes are only 
 a necessary adjunct, and whose conversation runs 
 entirely upon questions and topics of which she 
 has scarcely heard. 
 
 Poor Marie; she has lived and is living her nar- 
 row little life. The prevailing styles and petty 
 local society triumphs have been her horizon. She 
 reads a little of the daily papers, especially that 
 part which describes society's doings, indulges in 
 a novel occasionally, but of the great world of 
 thought and of the day's moral battles she is ignor- 
 ant. Pity for poor Marie and her kind. 
 
 Her daughters have neither her beauty nor her 
 dainty ways. Indeed, as we catch the startling 
 slang that falls from their lips we fear they border 
 on rudeness. Margaret, the eldest, is older than 
 Asbury's Louise. She is already a blase young 
 lady who has quaffed every cup of pleasure society 
 has to offer. She with her younger sisters finds 
 this gathering very "stupid," although the young 
 folks have planned bicycle races up and down the
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 273 
 
 shady, gravelled lane, and are performing miracles of 
 grace with Indian clubs and dumb bells, and have 
 even after a great deal of trouble, erected a tennis 
 court in the grassy meadow beyond. " But such 
 things are so childish." 
 
 We have spent so much time in noting the guests 
 we can hardly look in at the groaning table, nor 
 pause to offer our congratulations and well wishes 
 to the aged pair whose hearts are so happy to-day. 
 Nor can we stop to listen to the fun of the younger 
 ones, nor even study the characteristics of any this 
 younger generation, except to say that all bear the im- 
 print of health. The mother of each set of children, 
 whether in college town, Kansas parsonage, or 
 of the free life of the farm, has made physical 
 culture a specialty. Their clothes are made for 
 a purpose, rather than for an end. Though one or 
 two of the group have reached and passed the 
 twentieth year, yet the talk is still of study, so we 
 infer they are all walking closely in the paths of their 
 elders. But the day is waning, Marie has gone to 
 her home, Therese and her children have accom- 
 panied them. 
 
 The brothers and sisters gather in the dusk in 
 the great parlors, and much of the family history is 
 recounted. Reminiscence follows reminiscence, and 
 it is not strange that often the hearty laugh rings 
 out. But the reflections are not all thus cheerful, 
 for that other happy couple who began life also fifty 
 years before is remembered, and all grow hushed in 
 19
 
 274 GATHERED THISTLES. 
 
 genuine pity as the name is mentioned. Nor can 
 much be said, for that sorrow lies too close to the 
 heart of one of their own. 
 
 This aged couple has indeed reason for thanks- 
 giving. As their children gather about them each 
 comes as a servant of the King, and what matters 
 it whether the world ever bestows its plaudits, the 
 consciousness of an honest, upright life is sufficient 
 reward. 
 
 "To have acted well our little part, 
 
 There all the honor lies.'' 
 ***** 
 
 In the dusk of that same evening a solitary 
 figure, that of a woman, might have been seen 
 picking her way among the older graves of the 
 city cemetery. Presently she paused beside a 
 sunken one, and leaning upon the plain shaft which 
 marked it, she murmured the one word, " Richard !" 
 
 During this day of rejoicing brave Louise Ste- 
 venson had gone about with such an ache tugging 
 at her heart, as her family little guessed. 
 
 When the tall and well formed lads and lasses 
 had gathered about her and begged for a song, or 
 the younger ones with greater freedom had clamb- 
 ered upon her knee, she had realized anew the 
 depth of her loss, in that woman's richest crown of 
 wifehood and motherhood had been denied her. 
 Further it had been borne in upon her that she was 
 a stranger in her own land, and though her family 
 held her dear, yet they had learned to do without
 
 GATHERED THISTLES. 275 
 
 her. She had lost her place among them; plainly 
 her "niche" was no longer here, but across the 
 sea. 
 
 In a short time she must turn her face east- 
 ward; a few more years of work, and then her 
 body would rest, not here as might have been 
 its right, but there in a mission " God's Acre." 
 Abandoning herself to her grief, she knelt by 
 the grave of her youthful lover. The past came 
 back so plainly. How beautiful he had been ; 
 how generous; how warm the impulses of his 
 heart; how gifted; to whit heights might he 
 have climbed. But kneeling there as with light- 
 ning flash she saw the fatal web that had been 
 woven about him from his very boyhood. She 
 heard again the mazy tread of the home dance, 
 caught the sparkle of the home wines, and listened 
 to the cynical sneer concerning things holy. 
 
 She beheld the web tighten as the temptations of 
 college life assailed him, and recalled the proud 
 boast of his chosen college, that it was " broad, 
 liberal, and unhampered by the narrowness of 
 creed." 
 
 "My Darling Richard!" she moaned in her 
 agony. "It is indeed true, men cannot gather grapes 
 from planted thistles, and your wrecked life was 
 after all but natural fruitage." 
 
 But alas, that the harvest should be so bitter! 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000 031 626 5