
 
 
 </TH2 n) , ^ 
 
 

 
 (
 
 Christie's Next Things. FRONTISPIECE.
 
 Gristle's Jfext 
 
 BY 
 
 MINNIE E. KENNEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MRS. MORSE'S GIRLS," "BERNIE'S LIGHT, 
 "THE WHATSOEVER TEN," ETC. 
 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 
 
 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1890, 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 The Beginning 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A Last Message 16 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Class Motto 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Achsah Howe 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Dress Problem 50 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Christie's Plan 64 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "Ye Nexte Thynge" 79 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Commencement - 91 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Plans - - 105 
 
 2037239
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Miss Abigail's Nexte 118 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 The Arrival 130 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Rest 144 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Achsah 160 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 An Unconscious Ministry 173 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Nexts 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 The Wanderer's Return 210 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 A Beginning 224 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 New Work 238 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Harvests. 255
 
 DOE YE NEXTE THYNGE." 
 
 FROM an old English parsonage 
 
 Down by the sea, 
 There came in the twilight 
 
 A message to me. 
 Its quaint Saxon legend 
 
 Deeply engraven, 
 Hath, as it seems to me, 
 
 Teaching from heaven. 
 And through the hours 
 
 The quiet words ring 
 Like a low inspiration : 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge." 
 
 Many a questioning, 
 
 Many a fear, 
 Many a doubt 
 
 Hath its quieting here. 
 Moment by moment, 
 
 Let down from heaven, 
 Time, opportunity, 
 
 Guidance, are given. 
 Fear not to-morrows, 
 
 Child of the King; 
 Trust them with Jesus. 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge." 
 
 Do it immediately, 
 
 Do it with prayer, 
 Do it reliantly, 
 
 Casting off care. 
 Do it with reverence, 
 
 Tracing his hand 
 Who lays it before thee 
 
 With earnest command. 
 Stayed on Omnipotence, 
 
 Safe 'neath his wing, 
 Leave Him the issue : 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge."
 
 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BEGINNING. 
 
 IT was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the 
 early part of June. All day long the sky had 
 been an intense sapphire, flecked here and there 
 with tiny white cloudlets, which floated lazily 
 before the fitful breezes. One might have imag- 
 ined that they were reflections of the snowy- 
 winged sail boats that drifted with *the tide upon 
 the broad river, which seemed to catch and mir- 
 ror back again the translucent blue of the sky. 
 
 The soft air was fragrant with the breath of 
 the June roses which ran riot in the somewhat 
 old-fashioned garden that surrounded a pretty 
 cottage. Climbing roses shaded the wide porch 
 and hung over the windows, while every breath 
 of air brought a shower of their pink and white 
 petals to the ground. A large Jacqueminot bush 
 was fairly ablaze with its gorgeous blossoms, and
 
 8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 close beside it a moss rose added its spicy per- 
 fume to the fragrance which flooded the air. 
 
 Christie Gilbert strayed from bush to bush, 
 plucking a bud here, and a full-blown rose there, 
 till her hands were laden, and then she bent her 
 face caressingly over the soft petals, and drew 
 long breaths of content as she inhaled the fra- 
 grance. Christie loved roses dearly, her flowers 
 she called them, since her birthday came in the 
 month of roses, and she cherished a real affection 
 for every bush in the garden. 
 
 "How beautiful these are!" she exclaimed 
 at last. "I must take some over to Aunt Pa- 
 tience." 
 
 It was but a little distance that she had to go, 
 so opening the gate she passed out into the street, 
 the afternoon sun trickling through the branches 
 of the old elms which bordered the road, and fall- 
 ing in shimmering flecks of light and shade upon 
 her fair hair and white dress. 
 
 The serene face and Quaker-like attire of the 
 old lady sitting upon the porch of a little cottage 
 before which Christie paused, seemed a part of 
 the Sabbath stillness and peace. 
 
 "Aunt Patience" every one called her, but 
 in truth she had no kindred, and might have 
 accounted her lot a sad and lonely one, if her 
 nature had been less sweet and responsive to
 
 THE BEGINNING. 9 
 
 every one with whom she was brought in con- 
 tact. 
 
 As long as her health and strength remained 
 she had been an active worker, with heart and 
 hands always ready to aid any one who came to 
 her for help; but of late she had grown very fee- 
 ble, and the greater part of her days were passed 
 in the invalid chair in which Christie found her 
 this afternoon. 
 
 As Christie paused a moment with her hand 
 upon the latch of the gate, she looked at her 
 friend admiringly, with all a girl's love for the 
 beautiful. The snow-white hair, as soft and fine 
 as spun silk, was parted over a placid forehead, 
 which looked as if anxiety and care had never 
 ruffled it, though time had laid his hand upon it, 
 and accentuated the furrows which spoke of his 
 flight. The light had not yet faded entirely from 
 the gray eyes, though they had grown somewhat 
 dim, and every feature seemed softened by the 
 touch of old age, just as the twilight blends and 
 softens all the features of a landscape which" may 
 seem rugged and stern in the garish light of 
 noonday. 
 
 "Shall I disturb you if I come in a little 
 while, Aunt Patience?" asked Christie, and the 
 reverie in which the old lady had been absorbed 
 was broken at once by the clear young voice.
 
 io CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Come in, my dear, I shall be very glad of 
 your company a little while," she answered, and 
 as Christie leaned over her to bestow a loving 
 caress upon her, she smiled affectionately at the 
 young girl. 
 
 "No, I don't want a chair, thank you. I 
 would rather sit right here on the steps at your 
 feet," Christie exclaimed, slipping into her favor- 
 ite attitude, with her head resting against Aunt 
 Patience's knee. 
 
 "I was thinking about you only a few min- 
 utes ago," said Aunt Patience presently, her soft 
 hand giving caressing touches to Christie's hair. 
 "I wonder if you came over on purpose to get 
 the message I had gathered for you." 
 
 "Perhaps I did," Christie answered; "I 
 thought I came only to bring you these roses, 
 but I shouldn't be surprised if you gave me 
 something to take away with me. You very 
 often do, I know." 
 
 "Do you remember what you were saying a 
 few weeks ago when you came over here one 
 Sunday evening? You were wishing that you 
 knew the plan of your life, and could see now 
 just what you were to do with your future, so 
 that there would be no'danger of your making a 
 mistake and leaving undone some mission that 
 you were intended to accomplish."
 
 THE BEGINNING. II 
 
 "I remember that day," Christie answered. 
 ' ' I was in such a horrible mood of self-dissatis- 
 faction. I do have spasms of remorse every now 
 and then when I realize what a useless creature 
 I am. I might just as well be a butterfly for all 
 the good I accomplish by living. I just have a 
 good time, and that is all. I would like to 
 believe that I was made for some purpose, and 
 then I would like to know how to go about 
 accomplishing that purpose. -Once in a while I 
 try to make really good plans, but I never can 
 carry them out, for some interruption always 
 comes, so I have abou.t made up my mind to 
 drift aimlessly along, without trying to accom- 
 plish anything." 
 
 "I was reading a chapter in this book, a lit- 
 tle while ago that brought you to my mind," 
 said Aunt Patience. "I thought it might help 
 you in settling your perplexities, and give you a 
 motto by which you might make your whole 
 life fruitful of good, without any fear of mistake. 
 Shall I read a little to you, dear?" 
 
 "Yes, please," answered Christie, nestling 
 her cheek against the soft wrinkled hand. 
 
 " 'Duty is never a hap-hazard thing,' " read 
 Aunt Patience. "'It does not come to us in 
 bundles from which we may choose what we like 
 best. There are never half a dozen things, any
 
 i2 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 one of which we may fitly do at any particular 
 time; there is some one definite and particular 
 thing in the divine purpose for each moment. In 
 writing music, no composer strews the notes along 
 the staff just as they happen to fall on this line 
 or that space ; he sets them in harmonious order 
 and succession so that they will make sweet mu- 
 sic when played or sung. The builder does not 
 fling the stones and the beams into the edifice 
 without plan ; every block of stone and every 
 piece of wood or iron has its place, and the build- 
 ing rises in graceful beauty. The days are like 
 the lines and spaces in the musical staff, and the 
 duties are the notes; each life is meant to be a 
 perfect harmony, and in order to this each duty 
 has its own proper place. One thing done out of 
 its time and place makes discord in the music 
 of life, just as one note misplaced on the staff 
 mars the harmony. Each life is a building, and 
 the little acts are the materials used ; the whole 
 is congruous and beautiful only when every act 
 is in its own true place. Everything is beautiful 
 in its time, but out of time the loveliest acts lose 
 much of their loveliness. 
 
 ' " Far better in its place the lowliest bird 
 
 Should sing aright to Him the lowliest song, 
 Than that a seraph strayed should take the word 
 And sing His glory wrong."
 
 THE BEGINNING. 13 
 
 "'The art of true living consists largely 
 therefore in doing always the thing that be- 
 longs to the moment. But how to know what is 
 the duty of each moment is a question which to 
 many is full of perplexity. Yet it would be easy 
 if our obedience were but more simple. We 
 have but to take the duty that comes next to 
 our hand that which the moment brings. 
 "Doe ye nexte thynge," says the quaint old 
 Saxon legend. Our duty is never some far- 
 away thing. We do not have to search for it ; 
 it is always close at hand and easily found. 
 The trouble is that we complicate the question 
 of duty for ourselves by our way of looking at 
 life, and then get our feet entangled in the 
 meshes which our own hands have woven. 
 
 "'If this is the way God guides, it never 
 ought to be hard for us to find our duty. It 
 never lies far away, inaccessible to us, but is 
 always near, always "ye nexte thynge." It 
 never lies out of our sight in the darkness, for 
 God never puts our duty where we cannot see 
 it. The thing that we think may be our duty, 
 but which is still lying in obscurity and uncer- 
 tainty, is not our duty yet, whatever it may be a 
 little farther on. The duty for the very moment 
 is always clear, and that is as far as we need con- 
 cern ourselves, for when we do the little that is
 
 14 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 clear, we will carry the light on, and it will 
 shine on the next moment's step.' ' 
 
 "If the 'nexte thynges' were only labelled," 
 sighed Christie: "but how can I tell whether I 
 am just following my own fancy or really doing 
 what has been planned for me?" 
 
 "There is an answer here to your question," 
 said Aunt Patience; "if you are not tired of lis- 
 tening, I will read it to you : ' Prompt, unques- 
 tioning, undoubting following of Christ takes all 
 the perplexity out of Christian life, and gives 
 unbroken peace. There is something for every 
 moment, and duty is always " ye nexte thynge." 
 It may sometimes be an interruption, setting 
 aside a cherished plan of our own, breaking 
 into a pleasant rest for which we had arranged, 
 or taking us away from a favorite occupation. 
 It may be to meet a disappointment, to take up 
 a cross, to endure a sorrow, or to pass through 
 a trial. It may be to go up-stairs and be sick 
 for a time, letting go one's hold on all active 
 life; or it may be just the plainest, commonest 
 bit of routine, daily work in the house, in the 
 office, on the farm, at school. Most of us find 
 the greater number of our "nexte thynges" in 
 the tasks that are the same, day after day, yet 
 even in the interstices ami'd these set tasks, 
 there come a thousand little things of kindness,
 
 THE BEGINNING. 15 
 
 patience, gentleness, though tfulness, obliging- 
 ness, like the sweet flowers that grow in the 
 crevices between the cold hard rocks ; and we 
 should always be ready for these as we hurry 
 along, as well as for the sterner duties that our 
 common calling brings to us.' "
 
 16 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A LAST MESSAGE. 
 
 "THAT is lovely!" exclaimed Christie impul- 
 sively, as the quiet voice ceased. "Why, it 
 makes living such an easy thing, and yet such a 
 grand thing too. It sounds as simple as working 
 a sampler, one stitch after another, in its right 
 place, and the pattern just seems to grow natu- 
 rally without any special effort. I am so glad 
 you read me that, Aunt Patience. Where did 
 you find such helpful thoughts?" 
 
 Aunt Patience handed Christie the volume 
 that lay in her lap. 
 
 "Your favorite author, I see," Christie said 
 with a smile, as she read the title "Practical 
 Religion." " It was just exactly what I needed, 
 and I'm ever so much obliged to you for glean- 
 ing it for me. I know I shall accomplish ever 
 so much more if I content myself with ' nexte 
 thynges' instead of looking way ahead all the 
 time; and even if they are little bits of things, 
 they must be worth doing if they are all planned 
 for me." 
 
 "The ministry of 'nexte thynges' is a very
 
 A LAST MESSAGE. 17 
 
 helpful ministry," said Aunt Patience, "and 
 even if they may seem very small sometimes 
 and hardly worth doing, yet after all it is these 
 little things that make most of the sunshine and 
 brightness of life. It is not given to many to 
 do great things, but we can all consecrate our- 
 selves to a ministry of helpfulness in little things. 
 I have thought so often, dear, that if you were 
 watchful for little opportunities, you could do 
 so much to brighten the lives of all with whom 
 you come in contact. You can influence your 
 friends so readily, and it is so easy for you to 
 say sympathetic encouraging things, that you 
 could make many a rough path smooth for those 
 whose lives are less happy than your own. I 
 can fancy all the good you would do if you lived 
 up to your possibilities of Christian usefulness; 
 and it is my prayer for you, Christie, that you 
 may not be content with simply drifting, but 
 may really make your life a helpful one. A 
 consecrated life doesn't mean a solemn, joyless 
 one, but it ought to be brighter and happier 
 than one which is lived just for self and selfish 
 aims." 
 
 "I do want to make my life a consecrated 
 one," said Christie softly. "You know I do, 
 don't you, Aunt Patience? I can't talk about 
 such things to other people, and because I am
 
 i8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 full of fun and enjoy good times so much, every 
 one thinks I am frivolous and worldly; but I 
 know you understand me better than that. You 
 know I am not satisfied just to live for myself, 
 though I don't seem to do much else." 
 
 "You want to live for Him who bought you 
 with a price," said Aunt Patience, resting her 
 hand again upon the fair hair. "Yes, Christie, 
 I know you better than to think that you are 
 willing to live for self. I would not have you 
 less happy and full of life. God has bestowed 
 upon you the gift of a sunshiny, hopeful nature, 
 so you may be a centre of happiness, brighten- 
 ing every life that touches yours, and it would 
 be wrong to undervalue it and try to change it; 
 but you can consecrate it, just as truly as you 
 can any gift of music or intellect, to God's 
 service, and make it serve him. The more 
 winsome and lovable a Christian's life is, the 
 better it glorifies Christ. Try to live for him 
 day by day, dear, and instead of dreaming of the 
 future and mapping out plans for yourself, follow 
 his guidance, and be content to ' doe the nexte 
 thynge,' believing that it is a step in the path 
 in which he would lead you." 
 
 The peaceful afternoon was drawing to its 
 close, and the west was already beginning to 
 glow with the evening fires. The silver tinkle
 
 A LAST MESSAGE. 19 
 
 of a bell broke the silence, and Christie looked 
 up with a little sigh. 
 
 "If I could always be with you, Aunt Pa- 
 tience, I believe I could be good," she said. 
 "You always help me so, and I am better for 
 just looking at you, I do believe; you don't 
 know how I love yon," and she pressed her lips 
 impulsively to the soft cheek. " I must go now, 
 for I hear the tea bell ringing, so I will leave 
 my roses with you for company. I brought 
 them over on purpose for you, and here I have 
 been keeping them myself all this time. Good- 
 by; I shall try to remember our talk, and per- 
 haps it will save me from getting into such 
 tangles as I so often do. Living is such a 
 mixed up thing with me, but it seems simple 
 enough when I am with you." 
 
 "You will find it easy, dear, if you will let 
 it be so," replied Aunt Patience. "Just give 
 up your own planning and care-taking, and 
 simply 'Doe the nexte thynge.'" 
 
 The words lingered in Christie's thoughts 
 as she left her friend and retraced her steps 
 homeward, looking back as she reached the gate 
 to wave a last farewell. 
 
 "Isn't she just a picture, sitting there with 
 the roses in her hands, and her face so peaceful 
 and loving!" thought Christie. "I should be
 
 20 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 happy if I thought my life could ever be like 
 hers, for she is such a dear old saint that it 
 makes one want to be good just to look at her." 
 
 By the time the evening meal was concluded 
 the bells were ringing their first summons to 
 church, and Christie hurried away, for she had 
 promised to try over an anthem with the choir 
 before the service should begin. 
 
 She wondered not a little at the unusual 
 absence of her father and mother, for they had 
 expected to follow her a little later; and she was 
 glad when the last hymn had been sung, that 
 she might hasten home to see what had detained 
 them. Her mother met her at the gate. 
 
 "Why, mother, I was afraid you were sick 
 or something had happened, when I did not see 
 you at church," exclaimed Christie, feeling a 
 vague sense of alarm at something in her mo- 
 ther's manner. "Something has happened; you 
 have tears in your eyes. Oh, mother, what is it?" 
 
 "Hush, dear, do not be frightened," and her 
 mother drew Christie gently down beside her 
 upon the porch steps. "Dear Aunt Patience 
 has gone home." 
 
 "Oh, mother, she is n't dead; you don't mean 
 that!" sobbed Christie, clinging to her mother, 
 as if she feared that she, too, might be taken 
 away from her.
 
 A LAST MESSAGE. 21 
 
 "You will not think of it as death, darling, 
 when you see her," the mother answered gently. 
 "It is the sleep which God gives his beloved, 
 so peaceful and calm. It must have been just 
 after you left her this evening, Christie dear, 
 for when they went out to call her they found 
 her sitting there as she had been all the after- 
 noon, with a smile upon her face and her hands 
 full of your roses. Her life had closed as peace- 
 fully and tranquilly as this Sabbath afternoon, 
 and as the sunshine grew dim here, she entered 
 into heaven's glory, without a pang or parting 
 sorrow. We must rejoice in her happiness, dar- 
 ling, and not think of our own loss." 
 
 But Christie's tears flowed fast, and for a 
 time she could not be comforted. All her life 
 she had known and loved Aunt Patience, and 
 few had known how warm and deep the friend- 
 ship was that existed between the two. Christie 
 felt as if she could not spare this helpful friend 
 out of her life, and she longed to feel the loving 
 touch of her hand again and listen to her words 
 of helpfulness. She had an instinctive fear of 
 death, too, and it terrified her to think that 
 Aunt Patience was in the cold embrace of that 
 last enemy. This feeling vanished, however, 
 when later she accompanied her mother over to 
 the little cottage where a knot of crape already
 
 22 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 made a sombre blot in the moonlight, and 
 looked upon the quiet features which had 
 reflected every emotion but a few short hours 
 ago. 
 
 There was nothing dreadful about that placid 
 face and the hands folded restfully; and as 
 Christie looked through a mist of blinding tears 
 at the features she loved so dearly, she felt com- 
 forted, and some of the peace that illumined 
 them crept into her heart. 
 
 She was so glad now that she had spent that 
 last hour with Aunt Patience; it made heaven 
 seem more real and near to her to think that 
 she had so lately been conversing with one who 
 was now one of the inhabitants of that heavenly 
 city, and she was sure that she would never for- 
 get those last words of loving counsel. 
 
 She lay awake long that night, her thoughts 
 full of Aunt Patience and the beautiful life that 
 had passed away so peacefully as the sunset 
 gates stood ajar; and thinking of the glories into 
 which she had entered, she could almost rejoice 
 even while her heart ached with a sense of loss. 
 
 A few days later a piece of paper was found 
 in the well-worn Bible, upon which were in- 
 scribed some verses in the familiar tremulous 
 writing, and upon the outside of the page was 
 pencilled " For Christie."
 
 A LAST MESSAGE. 23 
 
 When Christie read the lines she knew that 
 Aunt Patience had copied them for her with the 
 thought in her heart that had been the subject 
 of her last conversation ; and she prized the 
 feebly traced lines all the more because they 
 had come to her as Aunt Patience's last mes- 
 sage: 
 
 " DOE YE NEXTE THYNGE." 
 
 From an old English parsonage 
 
 Down by the sea 
 There came in the twilight 
 
 A message to me. 
 Its quaint Saxon legend. 
 
 Deeply engraven, 
 Hath, as it seems to me, 
 
 Teaching from heaven ; 
 And through the hours 
 
 The quiet words ring 
 Like a low inspiration : 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge." 
 
 Many a questioning. 
 
 Many a fear, 
 Many a doubt 
 
 Hath its quieting here. 
 Moment by moment, 
 
 Let down from heaven, 
 Time, opportunity, 
 
 Guidance, are given. 
 Fear not to-morrows, 
 
 Child of the King; 
 Trust them with Jesus. 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge."
 
 24 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Do it immediately, 
 
 Do it with prayer, 
 Do it reliantly, 
 
 Casting off care. 
 Do it with reverence , 
 
 Tracing his hand 
 Who lays it before thee 
 
 With earnest command. 
 Stayed on Omnipotence, 
 
 Safe 'neath his wing, 
 Leave Him the issue : 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge." 
 
 Christie read the quaint lines over again and 
 again, before she folded the paper and laid it 
 away among the treasures in her desk. 
 
 She could hear Aunt Patience's voice again, 
 as its accents had fallen upon her ears for the 
 last time in the stillness of the Sabbath twilight, 
 u Doe ye nexte thynge," and she determined that 
 by this watchword she would guide her life. 
 She would no longer yearn for a future full of 
 grand possibilities, but she would tread the path 
 that stretched before her girlhood's feet, content 
 to be led. For the sake of the Saviour to whom 
 she had consecrated her young life, and for the 
 sake of the dear friend who had done so much 
 to lead her to Christ, she would take upon her- 
 self the ministry of helpfulness, willing only to 
 do the dutv of each hour in his name.
 
 THE CLASS MOTTO. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CLASS MOTTO. 
 
 THE seven seniors of Maplewood Institute 
 Were holding an informal meeting under the old 
 elm at the foot of the lawn. Class-meetings were 
 events of daily and sometimes semi-daily occur- 
 rence, there were so many momentous matters 
 connected with their graduation to decide upon. 
 
 "What shall we have?" Grace Davenport 
 had asked, and the question had called forth a 
 perfect babel of answers. 
 
 "Don't let's have a Latin motto, whatever 
 else we have!" exclaimed Ella Lindsay. "I 
 think every Latin remark that was ever made has 
 been tortured into a class motto by some of the 
 Maplewood graduates, and I believe the seniors 
 last year couldn't find a motto left but 'Excel- 
 sior. ' I know they worked harder to find one than 
 they did to choose the subjects for their essays." 
 
 "Don't have a French one either," chimed 
 in Elsie Dunning. "That would be so frivolous 
 for a class that pretend to the common sense and 
 practical wisdom that we claim." 
 
 "What can we have, then?" asked Ella
 
 26 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Lindsay. "Surely you don't want us to be 
 commonplace enough to take one of Poor Rich- 
 ard's proverbs !" 
 
 " 'Never put off till to-morrow what can be 
 done to-day,' " laughed Louise Rush ton. " I am 
 afraid I should hear too much about the peculiar 
 appropriateness of that motto if we decided upon 
 it. I believe I would rather be frivolous and 
 choose an untranslatable French motto." 
 
 Every one laughed, for Louise was noted for 
 her easy-going procrastination. 
 
 A sudden remembrance brought an eager 
 flush to Christie's cheek. 
 
 "Oh, I know of one that we could have that 
 would be just the thing !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " Is it sensible ?" asked Elsie. 
 
 "Of course it is," exclaimed Ella. "Chris- 
 tie, don't notice the imputation upon your good 
 sense, but tell us what you have in mind. We 
 are eager for suggestions." 
 
 Christie hesitated a moment. 
 
 "Well, I will tell you all about it, girls," 
 she said in a moment, conquering her reluctance 
 to speak of Aunt Patience's last words to her 
 before that merry group. 
 
 As she began the laughing faces grew earnest, 
 for there was not one among them who had not 
 known and loved the dear old saint. The quaint
 
 THE CLASS MOTTO. 2/ 
 
 old Saxon motto was unanimously adopted as the 
 class legend, perhaps all the more readily be- 
 cause it would be so closely associated with their 
 friend, who had never outgrown her sympathy 
 with young girls. 
 
 " Doe ye nexte thynge." 
 
 Ella Lindsay pencilled the words in old 
 English characters on the back of an envelope, 
 and held it up for the girls' inspection. 
 
 "That will be so pretty," said Louise, with 
 a little sigh of satisfaction, " and it 's such a tan- 
 gible sort of motto. One can take hold of it and 
 fit it in for real use. It is n't one of those vague, 
 soaring aspirations that are always out of your 
 reach." 
 
 "I'm glad the question of a motto is settled," 
 said Florence Dinsmore. "Now we must give 
 our minds up to the question of dress, and really 
 come to a decision to-day, for we have only two 
 weeks before us." 
 
 " Shall we wear white, or any color that suits 
 us best?" asked Elsie, her mind rather unde- 
 cided between the merits of a pale blue surah 
 which had been a recent birthday gift, or an 
 elaborate white, which would have to be a new 
 acquisition to her wardrobe. 
 
 "If we all wear white the class would be in 
 uniform as far as color, or, to speak more cor-
 
 28 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 rectly, lack of color, went, and yet we would 
 have an opportunity for individuality too," said 
 Ella Lindsay. 
 
 "I vote for colors," exclaimed Achsah Howe 
 in tones that were almost sharp, they were so 
 eager. 
 
 " Ishmael has her mind quite made up, at all 
 events," laughed Louise Rushton. "Now I hope 
 all the rest of us who are equally fortunate will 
 express our preferences quite as unreservedly." 
 
 Christie glanced at the thin, sharp-featured 
 face of the girl sitting next to her with a sudden 
 curiosity. Why was she so anxious for colors to 
 be decided upon ? It was no trifling matter to 
 her, to judge from her suppressed eagerness. 
 
 Achsah Howe was "queer;" her schoolmates 
 had decided upon that before she had been 
 twenty-four hours in the Institute, and now, at 
 the close of the three years she had spent among 
 them, they had seen no reason to change their 
 opinion. 
 
 She was the one boarder at the school, and 
 had never been home for her vacations, nor had 
 friends ever visited her. She was not an attrac- 
 tive or prepossessing girl, yet she had won for 
 herself a certain place in the respect of her 
 schoolmates, if not in their liking. 
 
 She had delicate features, which might have
 
 THE CLASS MOTTO. 29 
 
 been pleasant if it had not been for the half- 
 defiant, half-fretful expression which marred 
 them. Her complexion was a clear dark olive, 
 which, with her bright dark eyes and black hair, 
 gave her a foreign aspect 
 
 No one could accuse her of vanity, for she 
 evidently paid no attention to her personal ap- 
 pearance. Christie had fancied sometimes that 
 there was a certain defiance in the way in which 
 she brushed her hair straight from her forehead 
 and twisted it into a hard, uncompromising knot 
 in the back, and in the straight linen bands 
 around her neck, instead of the ruching which 
 might have lent a softness to her face. 
 
 Achsah's wardrobe had always been a subject 
 for much private speculation and amusement 
 among her classmates, although not one of them 
 had ever been guilty of the discourtesy of open 
 ridicule. 
 
 Her dresses were old-fashioned in texture and 
 pattern, and were made with little regard to the 
 prevailing styles. 
 
 Achsah might have made some slight altera- 
 tions in them herself, which would have made 
 her appearance less singular, but she wore her 
 odd garments with the greatest unconcern appar- 
 ently, and walked all the more proudly when she 
 differed most from her schoolmates.
 
 30 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Her manner was sharp even to irritability, 
 and she was apt to differ decisively from every 
 opinion that her classmates expressed. 
 
 "Ishmael," the irrepressible Louise had 
 dubbed her, and the sobriquet expressed her pe- 
 culiar disposition so well that it had become gen- 
 erally adopted among the girls. 
 
 Achsah had never objected to it in any way, 
 so she quite as often answered to that title as to 
 her own name. She had no special friend, nor 
 indeed had she ever seemed to care for the com- 
 pany of the girls. During the last year, when 
 matters of general interest to the class were being 
 talked over, she formed one of the group and 
 expressed her opinion with her usual freedom 
 upon any subject that was under discussion, but 
 at other times she held herself aloof. 
 
 Achsah's individuality was as marked in her 
 classes as anywhere else. She was undoubtedly 
 a talented girl; but in addition to her talent she 
 was ambitious and energetic, and never rested 
 content with less than absolute perfection in her 
 recitations. 
 
 She had completed in three years the course 
 of study over which her classmates had spent five 
 years, but there had been nothing superficial in 
 her acquirements. She had ranked first at every 
 examination, and none of her schoolmates could
 
 THE CLASS MOTTO. 31 
 
 remember that Achsah had ever failed in a 
 single recitation. 
 
 No one could withhold respect and admira- 
 tion for Achsah' s abilities, and she seemed to 
 take a grim pleasure in compelling from them 
 the admission that intellectually she was the 
 leader of the school, notwithstanding her appear- 
 ance and manners. 
 
 " Well, Christie, what is your choice?" 
 
 Christie started. She had been so absorbed 
 in her thoughts that she had not heard Louise, 
 till the question was repeated. 
 
 She could feel Achsah' s eyes resting upon 
 her with an eager, almost pleading gaze. It was 
 evident that she was very much interested in 
 the decision. Christie knew it made no differ- 
 ence in her own case. Her preference would 
 have been for white, but whether she cast her 
 vote for white or colored attire, her graduation 
 dress was to be a present from the aunt whose 
 namesake she was. 
 
 "I believe I will vote for colors," she said, 
 after a moment's thoughtful pause, and there 
 was a gleam of satisfaction in Achsah's eager 
 face as she heard Christie's words. 
 
 "Grace, what do you say?" 
 
 U I have no preference," said Grace Daven- 
 port. "I will do whatever the majority of the
 
 32 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 class decide to do. It doesn't make any differ- 
 ence to me." 
 
 "Grace is as unconcerned about her dress 
 as if she was one of the lilies of the field," 
 interposed Louise. "Well, I suppose if my 
 wardrobe was inexhaustible, and I was com- 
 fortably certain that without any exertion upon 
 my part the most stylish and becoming of gar- 
 ments would be duly provided, I could be un- 
 concerned too. Unfortunately there is always 
 a prospect before me of having to evolve my 
 dresses out of nothingness, so I have to put my 
 wits to work and do a good deal of toiling to 
 make sure of them. Ella, let us hear from you 
 now. ' ' 
 
 "My preference is decidedly for white," 
 Ella answered. "I think it is so much more 
 suitable than anything else could be." 
 
 Achsah's face clouded over with anxiety 
 again, as Florence and Elsie also lent their 
 voices in favor of white; and when Louise finally 
 declared that she should determine as the ma- 
 jority had, Christie heard a sigh escape from 
 the parted lips. 
 
 "White it is then," proclaimed Louise, who 
 had been the self-appointed chairman of the 
 meeting. "There is the bell. We hadn't a 
 moment to spare, for Miss Denning never seems
 
 THE cfLASS MOTTO. 33 
 
 to remember that \ve would like to have recess 
 extended a little when we are discussing such 
 weighty affairs as graduation dresses and other 
 important matters." 
 
 "I don't intend to wear white, at any rate," 
 interposed Achsah decisively. "I don't think 
 it's a matter for the whole class to decide any- 
 way, so I shall wear just what I like. It may 
 be white and it may be yellow, but it will be 
 my own choice." 
 
 "Well, Ishmael, you will lose your last 
 chance of unanimity," as a look of annoyance 
 gathered upon the faces of the other girls at 
 what they considered Achsah' s characteristic 
 perverseness. "You've never agreed with us 
 yet about anything, and so I suppose you feel 
 a natural pride in preserving an unbroken record 
 of contrariness. We can't compel you to do as 
 the rest of us do, so if you prefer to be different, 
 you may of course." 
 
 Christie at first shared the annoyance of the 
 other girls; but as she pored over her Mental 
 Philosophy she wondered whether there might 
 not be some other reason for Achsah 's persis- 
 tence. Perhaps she had no white dress, and 
 could not get one for the occasion which was so 
 great an event in the eyes of the Maplewood 
 girls and their friends. This thought softened
 
 34 CHRISTIE'S NEX*T THINGS. 
 
 tlie vexation with which she had listened to 
 Achsah's defiant refusal to yield to the will of 
 the majority, and she determined to make an 
 effort to win the confidence of the proud, reserved 
 girl. 
 
 Her conscience smote her as she remembered 
 that during the three years of their intercourse 
 at the same school she had never showed Ach- 
 sah any kindness, nor indeed had any of the 
 other girls. True, Achsah had rather repelled 
 than invited any advances on the part 'of her 
 schoolmates, but her life must have been a very 
 lonely one, unbrightened by any of the friend- 
 ships which girls cherish so warmly during their 
 school-days. 
 
 Perhaps this was one of the lives of which 
 Aunt Patience had spoken to her, whose rough 
 places she might make smoother by a little 
 effort. Perhaps her " nexte thynge" might be 
 to do something for Achsah Howe.
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 
 
 "MOTHER, may I ask Achsali Howe to take 
 tea with us Saturday afternoon?" asked Christie, 
 looking up from a brown study in which she 
 had been indulging for some time. 
 
 "I have no objection," answered Mrs. Gil- 
 bert. "But why Achsah? Wouldn't you 
 rather have some of the other girls?" 
 
 "Yes, I would rather," Christie answered, 
 "but just now Achsah Howe looks to me like 
 my 'nexte thynge;' and though it's rather late 
 to begin, I should like to show her some little 
 attention before she goes away." 
 
 "We'll try and give her a pleasant time 
 to-morrow then," Mrs. Gilbert answered, and 
 Christie knew that Achsah would be welcomed 
 in the motherly way that made Mrs. Gilbert such 
 a favorite among the young girls, and would 
 have for a few hours a share in the home circle 
 and home life. 
 
 "I wonder if any other girl ever had a 
 mother who understood and entered into every- 
 thing as you do, motherdie," she said, as she
 
 36 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 took up her wide garden hat and left her com- 
 fortable perch in the hammock. "I'm going 
 round to invite Achsah at once, so she may not 
 make any other plan for to-morrow afternoon; 
 though I think it is rather an unnecessary pre- 
 caution, for I don't believe she has had a single 
 invitation since she has been at the Institute. 
 I am quite curious to know what she will say 
 when I ask her." 
 
 It was not a long walk to the Institute, and 
 Christie sauntered leisurely down the elm- 
 shaded street, while her mother looked after 
 the graceful girlish figure with loving pride, 
 the pleasant smile which Christie's affectionate 
 compliment had brought still lingering on her 
 comely features. 
 
 "I wonder how I should feel if I were in 
 Achsah's place," Christie reflected. "She must 
 have such a lonely life, for all the rest of us 
 girls have such a good time together, and she 
 never has a share in any of the fun. Perhaps 
 she can't help being queer, any more than she 
 can help her dreadful clothes, though she never 
 seems to mind wearing them. I wonder why 
 she doesn't want to wear a white dress like the 
 rest. I am going to try and get her to tell me 
 to-morrow, and perhaps I may be able to help 
 her a little in some wav."
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 37 
 
 She had reached the Institute by this time 
 and glanced up at Achsah's window to see if 
 her schoolmate was visible. 
 
 u Is Miss Achsah in?" she asked the trim 
 maid who was rubbing up the door-plate. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Christie, she's up in her room. 
 Will you walk up, or shall I tell her you're 
 here?" 
 
 "I'll just run up, thank you, Kitty," and 
 Christie went lightly up the long flight, won- 
 dering if Achsah would be glad or sorry when 
 the time came for her to leave the walls in which 
 she had spent the last three years. 
 
 She tapped at Achsah's door, but there was 
 no response, though she was sure she heard a 
 noise within that sounded like a stifled sob. 
 
 She repeated her knock after a few moments, 
 but still Achsah paid no heed, and Christie 
 turned away feeling a little aggrieved. It was 
 rather disappointing, when she had come upon 
 an errand of kindness, to be refused admission, 
 though of course Achsah did not know who 
 was knocking at her door; but perhaps it was 
 just as well. Very likely Achsah was quite con- 
 tented with her isolation, and was not as much 
 in need of friendship as Christie had fancied. 
 
 She had retraced her steps as far as the head 
 of the stairs when the low sound of convul-
 
 38 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 sive sobbing reached her again and made her 
 pause. 
 
 "Perhaps Achsah is sick or in some great 
 trouble," she thought. " I am going back to see 
 if she will not let me in." 
 
 Swiftly returning to the door, she turned the 
 handle and called gently, 
 
 "Achsah, may I come in?" 
 
 Through the partly opened door she caught 
 a glimpse of Achsah, lying prone upon the bed 
 in an attitude of distress, with her face buried 
 in her pillow, while her slender figure was shak- 
 ing with the sobs she could not wholly control. 
 
 She lifted a flushed, defiant face as Christie 
 crossed the room without waiting for permission 
 to enter. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked coldly. 
 "I should have answered when you knocked 
 if I had wanted to see any one." 
 
 Christie's sympathies were too much aroused 
 by the tear-stained face and quivering lips to 
 allow her to be easily repelled by Achsah's evi- 
 dent annoyance. 
 
 " But I could n't go away and know you were 
 in trouble," she answered, sitting down on the 
 edge of the bed and taking Achsah's unwilling 
 hand in her own. "Wont you let me help you 
 in some way, or at least share in your trouble?"
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 39 
 
 "It isn't anything that you could possibly 
 understand," Achsah answered coldly. "I am 
 not in the habit of going to any one for help or 
 sympathy when I am in trouble. I only want to 
 be let alone." 
 
 Christie was silent for a few moments. She 
 did not feel hurt or angry, but she thought 
 perhaps Achsah would really rather be left alone 
 with her trouble, whatever it was. While she 
 sat in thought her eyes fell upon an old silk 
 dress that had evidently been taken from the 
 paper wrappings that were strewed beside it on 
 the floor. 
 
 It was a vivid green, soiled and faded, with 
 lace trimmings that were ragged in places, and 
 decidedly the worse for hard wear. Could this 
 dress have anything to do with Achsah's grief? 
 She would make another effort to gain her con- 
 fidence before she left her. 
 
 "Achsah," she said gently, with a warmer 
 clasp of the hand that lay limply in her own, 
 "if you really want me to go away, I will, of 
 course, but I wish you would treat me as a 
 friend. I know I don't deserve your confidence, 
 for I haven't been very thoughtful of your hap- 
 piness the years we have been together here; 
 but I want to make up for it now if you will let 
 me. Can't you trust me, dear, and let me help
 
 40 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 you if I can in any way? I can't bear to go 
 away and leave you so unhappy." 
 
 Achsah tried to harden her heart and not 
 yield to Christie's pleading; but for once, re- 
 served as she was, it seemed as if her burden 
 was too heavy to be borne alone, and she longed 
 to have some sympathy. She had let herself be- 
 come thoroughly embittered against her school- 
 mates because they had been indifferent to her, 
 forgetting that it is love that begets love, and 
 the cloak of defiant reserve in which she had 
 wrapped herself would have isolated any one 
 of the others quite as completely as it had iso- 
 lated her. 
 
 She had envied Christie the love which all 
 her schoolmates gave her so freely, and she had 
 secretly admired the tact and thoughtful cour- 
 tesy in which Christie never failed. 
 
 To have Christie for a friend had been one 
 of the longings which she had always sternly re- 
 pressed as too unattainable to be cherished; yet 
 here was this same Christie, notwithstanding all 
 her rebuffs, pleading to be allowed to comfort her. 
 
 She tried to make herself believe that it was 
 only idle curiosity that prompted the interest; 
 but she knew better, and, after a short struggle 
 with her pride, she surrendered to the charm 
 of Christie's affectionate solicitude.
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 41 
 
 "I am so perfectly discouraged," she said, 
 with a quiver in her voice. "I don't want you 
 to think that I am babyish enough to mind just 
 this one disappointment so much, but it is just 
 the climax. I did think I was going to have 
 a nice graduating dress, but look at it," and 
 with a gesture of disdain she indicated the gar- 
 ment on the floor. 
 
 ''Perhaps you can fix it over in some way 
 so it will look better," suggested Christie, trying 
 to comfort her, although she could not imagine 
 any way herself in which the dress could be 
 made fit for anything but the rag-bag. 
 
 Achsah shook her head. "No, there is no 
 hope of its ever being made fit to wear," she 
 said despondingly. "I shall have to wear one 
 of my school dresses and be a disgrace to you 
 all." 
 
 Christie was silent. She wanted to say some- 
 thing comforting with all her heart, but she felt 
 that it would be impossible to urge Achsah to 
 content herself with the green silk, or to assure 
 her that one of her plain, unbecoming school 
 dresses would be a suitable dress in which- to 
 graduate. "Talk it over with mother; she will 
 know just what to do; she always does," she' 
 exclaimed, feeling that if there was any way 
 out of the perplexity her mother would certainly
 
 42 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 be able to suggest if. "I came over to ask you 
 if you wouldn't spend to-morrow afternoon with 
 us and stay to tea; but if you could come now 
 and stay all night it would be ever so much 
 better. You don't know what a mother I've 
 got, Achsah; I tell her she must have a magi- 
 cian's wand, for she can always straighten out 
 every tangle and make things come out just 
 the way you want them, and I know she will 
 tell us just what to do about your dress. You 
 wouldn't mind telling her about it, would you, 
 dear? Now let me bathe your forehead a few 
 minutes, for it is so hot I know you have been 
 crying yourself into a headache, and then when 
 you feel rested we will go over home." 
 
 It was a luxury to lonely, unloved Achsah 
 to lie still with closed eyes and feel Christie's 
 soft wet fingers stroking her throbbing head. 
 She involuntarily shared her schoolmate's be- 
 lief that the question of her graduation dress 
 would be satisfactorily settled when Mrs. Gilbert 
 took it up, and the new sense of sympathy com- 
 forted her for the disappointment which had 
 seemed too bitter to bear but a little while 
 ago. 
 
 " I hope you don't think I am a baby to cry 
 my eyes out about such a foolish thing as a 
 dress," she said apologetically; "but I had
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 43 
 
 really let myself believe that I was going to 
 look like the rest of you for once, and so when 
 this thing came a little while ago, I couldn't 
 help giving up to my disappointment One 
 reason why I was so anxious that the class 
 should vote in favor of colors was that I knew 
 I could not have a white dress. Of course the 
 girls thought I was just ugly about it, and I 
 don't blame them. I knew it did seem so, but 
 I couldn't help it. I know I have seemed ugly 
 and hateful so often, and I don't wonder Louise 
 calls me Ishmael, but you don't know how hard 
 everything has been for me, Christie." 
 
 " I do n't wonder you were disappointed about 
 your dress, and you weren't a bit babyish to cry 
 about it," Christie said comfortingly, beginning 
 to realize that many of Achsah's peculiarities 
 might have been the result of circumstances 
 rather than the naturally disagreeable disposi- 
 tion with which she had been generally ac- 
 credited. 
 
 "I should like to tell you why I have had to 
 dress so differently from all the rest of ypu," 
 said Achsah, after a short silence. "Perhaps 
 you don't want to be bothered with my confi- 
 dences though." 
 
 "I should like to hear anything that you are 
 willing to tell me, dear," Christie answered,
 
 44 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 glad that Achsah was willing to lay aside her 
 usual reserve. 
 
 "I shall have to begin ten years back," said 
 Achsah, "or you will not understand everything. 
 My father was a home missionary out West, and 
 I can remember well how happy the first seven 
 years of my life were. My mother must have 
 been such a lovely woman, for I never remem- 
 ber her as anything but sweet and patient, and 
 sometimes I can almost fancy now that I feel 
 her arms around me. My father was a very 
 talented man, for I have heard since that he 
 might have been the pastor of a large city 
 church if he had not felt that it was his duty 
 to go out to the frontier; and I never dare let 
 rnyself think how different my life might have 
 been if they had lived. I remember the day 
 when father and mother were both taken away 
 from me. It was a bitterly cold day, and father 
 was sent for to the home of a dying child. 
 Mother was ill, and she was afraid to have him 
 go out in the storm. She grew anxious when 
 evening came and the storm increased, and when 
 the night wore away without bringing him, she 
 was nearly wild with anxiety. In the morning 
 he was brought home. He had lost his way 
 and had perished with his horse in the snow. 
 If mother had been well perhaps she could have
 
 Christie's Next Things. Page 44.
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 45 
 
 borne the terrible shock, but three days after- 
 ward, when my father was buried, my mother 
 and my tiny baby sister were laid beside him." 
 
 Christie's eyes filled with sympathetic tears as 
 Achsah's lips quivered. 
 
 "There was but one home open to me, and I 
 suppose I ought to have been very grateful that I 
 was not left entirely dependent upon the charity 
 of strangers. My father's half sister sent for me 
 and let me share her home for my father's sake, 
 though she always made me feel that I was un- 
 welcome and merely tolerated because there was 
 nothing else to be done with me. She had been 
 very kind to my father in her grim, unloving 
 way, and as she was twenty years his senior she 
 had in many respects taken the place of the mo- 
 ther he had lost when he was a baby. She had 
 never had any sympathy with his love of study, 
 and had done everything in her power to dis- 
 suade him from taking a college course. She 
 never forgave him for not taking his father's 
 place upon the farm, and when I came under her 
 care she determined that I at least should be 
 ruled by her, and not have any more education 
 than she thought was necessary. Young as I 
 was, I realized that I must have an education if I 
 was ever to make my life any different from the 
 narrow, self-centred life of the old farmhouse, and
 
 46 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 I would study in spite of all discouragements. 
 When I had learned all that I could at the dis- 
 trict school, I begged her to let me go away some- 
 where and finish my education, promising to 
 repay with interest all that it would cost her as 
 soon as I was fitted to teach. It was a long time 
 before she would listen to rne at all; but at last, 
 when she found that I was perfectly determined 
 to learn more, and would never be satisfied with 
 a life of drudgery in the farmhouse, she told me 
 that my father had left a few hundred dollars 
 which she had never touched, and if I chose to 
 'waste it,' as she expressed it, upon an educa- 
 tion, I might; but I needn't expect any help 
 from her. It was enough for her to give me my 
 time when she might have reasonably expected 
 me to be of some assistance to her, after all the 
 years I had been too young to be of use. 
 
 " I was too glad of her consent to mind how 
 grudgingly it had been given. I found I had 
 just enough money to enable me to graduate here, 
 if I could complete the course in three years; but 
 then the question of clothing came up. I had 
 my mother's dresses and the contents of a mis- 
 sionary-box which had been received a few 
 weeks before my father's death. I found I could 
 wear the clothes with very little alteration, 
 though I could see that even in that little coun-
 
 
 ACHSAH HOWE. 47 
 
 try place among the hills they looked queer and 
 old fashioned, and I knew they would be very 
 different from every one else's when I came here. 
 I thought I would be happy in spite of my 
 clothes when I should really begin my studies 
 here, but I found I was not as independent as I 
 had thought I was. The first week I felt as if 
 I must run away and hide myself somewhere 
 whenever I felt the girls looking at me, and it 
 was so hard to feel that I was shut away from 
 you all because I was so queer and old fashioned. 
 Even my name had to be so ugly and different 
 from every one else's. Father had named me 
 for Aunt Achsah, and I suppose he never real- 
 ized how I would hate such a name when I grew 
 old enough to know how ugly it was. But it has 
 all been so hard. You don't know how I have 
 just ached sometimes for a pretty name and clothes 
 that were like other people's." 
 
 "Oh, Achsah, if I had only known all this 
 before !" Christie exclaimed, with a heart-ache at 
 the thought of the many little kindnesses she had 
 left undone that might have made Achsah feel 
 less desolate and alone. She had no real unkind- 
 ness with which to reproach herself; but these 
 undone things rose up as reproachfully before 
 her as if they had been things committed. 
 
 "I was too proud to let any one see how
 
 48 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 much I minded," Achsah went on, "and so I 
 acted as if I did not care for any one's opinion of 
 either myself or my clothes, and the more I cared 
 the more independently I tried to act; but it has 
 been hard sometimes. I knew I could never have 
 any friends, and so I tried to make myself believe 
 I did not want any; and I have been hateful and 
 disagreeable, so that no one would guess how 
 lonely and miserable I was. 
 
 " But I haven't told you about my dress yet," 
 she continued. " I found I had n't anything that 
 would do at all to wear at Commencement, so I 
 wrote to Aunt Achsah and asked her if she would 
 help me just this once and give me a graduating 
 dress. I do not know whether she meant to dis- 
 appoint me so dreadfully or not, or whether she 
 really didn't know what a looking thing this is; 
 but she wrote me that she would send me a silk 
 dress that her sister had been married in, and 
 she thought with a little alteration it might do 
 nicely. So I really believed it would be some- 
 thing that could be made to look well; and when 
 it came and I saw what a shabby old thing it 
 was, it seemed as if I couldn't bear the disap- 
 pointment on the top of all the rest." 
 
 U I don't wonder you were disappointed," 
 said Christie, with warm sympathy and a great 
 admiration in her heart for a girl who had fought
 
 ACHSAII HOWE. 49 
 
 against so many difficulties in her determination 
 to win an education. "Don't shed another tear 
 over it, Achsah," she pleaded, as Achsah's eyes 
 filled again when she looked at the forlorn heap 
 of faded finery. " Mother will fix things all 
 right somehow, I am sure, and we'll go and tell 
 her all about it." 
 
 "You are so kind," said Achsah gratefully. 
 "Are you sure she wont think it is too much 
 trouble?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Christie. "You 
 don't know how lovely she is. She would rather 
 straighten out troubles for other people than have 
 a good time herself, I believe; and she's always 
 willing to do anything for my friends." 
 
 A flush of pleasure came to Achsah's cheeks 
 as she heard herself so naturally classed among 
 Christie's friends. 
 
 " Now we will wrap the dress up and take it 
 home to show mother," Christie said. " I will 
 fold it up while you are fixing your hair, and then 
 we will start at once, so we will have an hour or 
 so before tea-time. I do n't believe you will have 
 any trouble about getting permission to go." 
 
 Fifteen minutes later the girls were walking 
 up the broad elm-shaded street towards Christie's 
 home, Achsah's heart lighter than it had been 
 for many a day.
 
 50 CHRISTIE S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 
 
 IT was a very easy thing for Christie to be 
 as cordial and pleasant to Achsah as to any of 
 the other girls, now that her sympathies had 
 been aroused, and the remembrance of past 
 neglect of her schoolmate's happiness made her 
 doubly anxious to atone for it by any kindness 
 that she could show her. 
 
 When they reached the pretty vine-covered 
 cottage, Christie took Achsah up stairs to the 
 cosey little room that was her own. 
 
 "What a beautiful room!" exclaimed Ach- 
 sah, as her eyes wandered admiringly about the 
 dainty blue-tinted nest. 
 
 "Isn't it pretty !" said Christie, pleased with 
 Achsah's undisguised admiration. " Mother al- 
 ways gives me something pretty for this room 
 when she wants to make me a present, and I 
 have almost everything I want for it now. 
 Father gives me a great many books, and I 
 begin to feel as if I owned quite a library." 
 
 She drew aside the embroidered curtains that 
 hung before a pretty low bookcase, and showed
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 51 
 
 the well-filled shelves with evident pride. They 
 were a collection of books that -any girl might 
 be glad to own and to number among her 
 friends, and perhaps the hours spent over 
 their pages had had as large a share in Chris- 
 tie's education as the hours spent over school 
 books. 
 
 Christie's ambitions and ideals had been 
 formed as she lingered over the inspiring words 
 of poets who set the duties of life to grand 
 music, or authors who gleaned only the pure 
 and the true to offer to their readers; and she 
 cherished her books as if they were living, sym- 
 pathetic friends. 
 
 Achsah's companions had always been her 
 books, and kneeling down before Christie's book- 
 case she touched the volumes almost affection- 
 ately, expressing her delight when she met with 
 some favorite author and questioning Christie 
 about the contents of some others with which 
 she was not familiar. 
 
 Before many minutes had passed Christie 
 began to realize that she had been the loser in 
 not making Achsah's acquaintance before, she 
 shared so many of Christie's tastes and had so 
 many bright original ideas which she was not 
 slow to express when she felt sure of sympathy. 
 
 Christie left her looking over the books while
 
 52 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 she went down stairs to acquaint her mother 
 with the arrival of her guest. 
 
 "Motherdie, wont you plan something nice 
 about her graduation dress?" she asked coax- 
 ingly, winding her arms about her mother's 
 neck. "I really believe I care more about her 
 dress than I do my own, for I always have every- 
 thing I care for, and she has never had anything. 
 She is to be the class valedictorian too, and it 
 would be a shame for her to have to wear one 
 of her shabby old school dresses; and that hid- 
 eous green silk is quite out of the question, 
 though I didn't like to discourage her by telling 
 her so." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert's motherly sympathies were at 
 once enlisted in the young girl's behalf, as 
 Christie told her the story of Achsah's life and 
 her determined struggle for an education; and 
 she promised Christie willingly that in some 
 way the dress problem should be solved satis- 
 factorily. 
 
 "She was so lonely and discouraged that I 
 couldn't help bringing her home with me this 
 afternoon," explained Christie. "You don't 
 mind, do you, mother?" 
 
 "Of course not, dear; I am glad you did," 
 Mrs. Gilbert answered cordially. " I '11 come up 
 to your room and see her in a few minutes,
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 53 
 
 and then we will have a chat about her 
 dress. ' ' 
 
 Achsah had often seen Mrs. Gilbert and 
 admired her motherly face and pleasant man- 
 ners, but she had never spoken to her before, 
 and she was surprised and touched at her warm 
 welcome and affectionate greeting. She felt at 
 home with her at once, and lost the air of defiant 
 shyness which rendered her so unprepossessing 
 to strangers. 
 
 "Christie is quite as much interested in your 
 graduating dress as she is in her own," Mrs. 
 Gilbert remarked presently; "and I know it is 
 fully as important a subject to you seniors as 
 your essays and diplomas. I hope you are going 
 to let me have a little share in yours too, in the 
 way of advice at least. Christie's is to be a 
 present from her aunt, so I am defrauded of my 
 proper share of responsibility as far as she is 
 concerned." 
 
 "You are so kind, Mrs. Gilbert," responded 
 Achsah gratefully, beginning to undo the pack- 
 age in which the obnoxious green silk was 
 folded away. " I am in perfect despair over this 
 myself, and I can't imagine any way in which 
 it could be transformed into a presentable dress. 
 It is so very unbecoming, to begin with, although 
 my dresses always are, for that matter."
 
 54 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 It would have been hard to find any color 
 more unbecoming to Achsah's dark olive skin 
 than the intense green, and Mrs. Gilbert men- 
 tally decided that it would never do as soon as 
 Achsah held it up against her face. 
 
 "If there was only time enough, you might 
 have it dyed and entirely made over," she re- 
 marked. "It is a good quality; those old-fash- 
 ioned silks used to be made to wear instead of 
 to sell, and you could have a serviceable dark 
 silk that would wear for a long time. That is 
 out of the question just now though, for there 
 is not time to send it to the dyer's and get it 
 back again before Commencement. I will carry 
 it off to my room, if you will let me, and see if 
 I can't plan something that will please you; 
 and in the meantime you and Christie can put 
 it out of your heads and have a pleasant visit 
 together." 
 
 It was with a sense of relief that Achsah saw 
 the green silk disappear, and then she gave her- 
 self up to the full enjoyment of Christie's grace- 
 ful hospitality. She forgot her old-fashioned, 
 ill-fitting dress and her self-consciousness, and 
 proved that she could be a very pleasant com- 
 panion. 
 
 The two girls spent a pleasant hour together 
 in Christie's room, looking at and discussing the
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 55 
 
 pretty girlish belongings with which it was 
 filled, and then Achsah leaned luxuriously back 
 in the little rocking-chair and let her- eyes feast 
 themselves on the pretty picture that was framed 
 in by the open window. 
 
 First the elms with their leafy arms entwined 
 as they had been for the last half-century, their 
 breeze-kissed leaves making a quivering ara- 
 besque of green through which the translucent 
 blue of the summer sky shimmered. An oval 
 opening in the branches showed the broad blue 
 river tranquilly rippling along, an active little 
 tug boat panting and puffing as it drew a fleet 
 of heavy barges against the tide. 
 
 "How beautiful it is!" Achsah said at last, 
 with a little sigh of content, the quiet peace- 
 fulness of the summer afternoon pervading her 
 with its restfulness. 
 
 " I never get tired of my little glimpse of the 
 river," Christie returned. "I am going to leave 
 you to enjoy it a little while, Achsah, while I 
 go and see if mother wants me for anything." 
 
 She sought her mother's room at once, eager 
 to know how she was going to solve the dress 
 problem which seemed such a hopeless one to 
 the two girls. 
 
 "Did you ever see anything so dreadful, 
 mother!" Christie exclaimed, as she held up the
 
 56 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 green silk, which seemed more vivid and uncom- 
 promising than ever in its hue as the afternoon 
 sunshine fell upon it. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert smiled at Christie's disdain. "I 
 remember very well, dear, when that would have 
 been considered a beautiful dress, and a pair of 
 kid gloves to match would have been the height 
 of fashion. I must admit though that it is rather 
 hopeless material from which to plan anything 
 that will be suitable for Commencement night. 
 It is a pity Achsah can't wear a white dress like 
 the rest of the class. I have just been trying 
 to see if I couldn't manage to contrive one for 
 her, but I am afraid I can't. After I lay aside 
 the money for your trip with your cousins next 
 month, I have not any extra funds to fall back 
 upon; and I do not want to ask your father for 
 any more, for I know he can't spare it." 
 
 Christie was silent for a time and a shadow 
 of disappointment dimmed the eager brightness 
 which had been upon her face all the afternoon. 
 
 She played with the torn lace upon the old 
 dress with restless ringers, and looked over the 
 persistently green folds out to the no less green 
 leaves of the elms, with a flitting query under 
 her other thoughts why one should be so ugly 
 and the other so beautiful. 
 
 "Nexts are just like the links in a chain,
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 57 
 
 aren't they, mother?" she said at last. "One 
 thing leads right on to another. If you take tip 
 one 'next' another comes right to your hand, and 
 you can't get past it without taking it up. I 
 took up one 'next,' and now that I am almost 
 past it another 'next' is coming that I don't like 
 quite as well." 
 
 "Duties are always linked together," Mrs. 
 Gilbert answered, watching Christie's thoughtful 
 face, while the bright needles flashed to and fro 
 in her fingers. " Sometimes we drop a link, and 
 then we make mistakes ; but if we followed 
 straight on we could not go wrong. What is 
 your 'next' now, dearie?" 
 
 "Let me think about it before I tell even 
 you, mother," Christie answered, and she curled 
 herself up in the broad low window-seat that 
 was one of the charms of 'mother's room,' and 
 looked up at the drifting clouds with a thought- 
 ful little wrinkle in the fair girlish forehead. 
 
 It was no sacrifice to Christie to do things 
 which seemed rarely generous, for nothing ever 
 gave her greater happiness than to delight 
 another's heart with some wished-for possession. 
 She shrank, too, from praise for thonghtfulness 
 and tact, because she had an instinctive con- 
 sciousness that she did not deserve it. 
 
 There was danger that Christie's sensitive-
 
 58 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 ness about hurting the feelings of others might 
 some day unconsciously become insincerity, for 
 from babyhood she had been almost morbidly 
 fearful of wounding another by some thought- 
 less remark. 
 
 Christie often smiled now over one little 
 incident of her childhood. She was attending 
 a school for little children where all the scholars 
 were between six and eight years old, with the 
 exception of a large colored girl, who brought 
 one of the children to school every day and re- 
 mained with her little charge until it was time 
 to take her home again. 
 
 Christie had never seen a colored person 
 before, and she pitied this girl from the depths 
 of her childish heart for the dark skin which 
 made her so conspicuous. She showed Debby 
 many a little kindness, and never made any allu- 
 sion to the black skin and woolly hair which many 
 of the other children commented freely upon. 
 
 "I should feel so dreadfully, if I was black, 
 that I would never want any one to speak about 
 it," she thought to herself, regarding poor Debby 
 with pitying eyes. 
 
 One day when Christie was reciting in the 
 little geography class, the teacher asked her, 
 "What sort of people are the inhabitants of 
 Africa?"
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 59 
 
 Much to her surprise, for Christie usually 
 had her lessons carefully prepared, the child re- 
 mained silent, though a crimson flush overspread 
 her face. 
 
 "Think a minute, Christie; I am sure you 
 know," the teacher said encouragingly, but 
 Christie's lips never moved. 
 
 "Don't you know, dear?" asked the teacher, 
 seeing the little girl's distress. "I think you 
 can tell me. What color are the people who 
 live in Africa?" 
 
 Christie's heart swelled and tears shone in 
 her eyes. Oh, couldn't Miss Carpenter under- 
 stand why she did not answer! Of course she 
 knew, but how could she tell with Debby look- 
 ing at her from her seat in the corner, a friendly 
 smile on her shining black face and her bright 
 eyes gleaming with interest. If she could only 
 describe the Africans without hurting Debby's 
 feelings, as she surely must by mentioning their 
 color and their tightly curled hair! but that was 
 impossible, so she hid her face behind a corner 
 of her little white apron and wept softly, while 
 Miss Carpenter passed the question. 
 
 "They look like Debby," responded the 
 next child. " They are black, with kinky hair," 
 and behind Christie's apron tears of sympathy 
 for Debby's hurt feelings mingled with the
 
 60 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 tears that fell for her supposed failure in her 
 lesson. 
 
 When all the children had gone out to play 
 at recess, Miss Carpenter called the tearful little 
 girl to her and said gently, 
 
 "Christie, couldn't you tell me about the 
 people that live in Africa?" 
 
 "Yes'm," came in smothered tones from be- 
 hind the white apron. 
 
 "Why didn't you then?" the teacher asked. 
 
 "I was afraid it would make Debby feel 
 bad," Christie answered, "and I know she felt 
 dreadful when Carrie said they were black and 
 their hair kinked. Poor Debby, she can't help 
 being black, and it must make her feel so dread- 
 ful when people notice it." 
 
 The tears were falling faster for Debby now 
 than for herself, for she did not mind losing her 
 place in the class, as long as Miss Carpenter 
 knew all about it. 
 
 Christie had never outgrown this extreme 
 sensitiveness about other people's feelings, and it 
 cost her a great effort ever to say anything that 
 might hurt another in any way. 
 
 Generosity was another trait in her character, 
 so marked that it was often necessary for her 
 mother to curb her when she was too little to 
 understand what was her own to give and what
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 6l 
 
 belonged to her parents. Once the Sunday's 
 dinner had been placed by the generous little 
 hands in a beggar's basket, and oftentimes the 
 child had come in from her play with some arti- 
 cle of clothing missing which she had given to a 
 " poor itty beggar girl." 
 
 As Christie grew older she learned discretion 
 in her giving, but she always felt it to be a great 
 pleasure to gratify any friend's wishes, at what- 
 ever cost it might be to herself. It was indeed a 
 great sacrifice that she would consider as such, if 
 a friend's happiness was in question. Impul- 
 sively generous, it gave her more pleasure to 
 gratify her impulses than to carry out any pre- 
 conceived plan for her own gratification. 
 
 Her mother's words concerning Achsah's 
 dress had suggested a plan to her mind, but for 
 once the cost seemed so great that she hesitated. 
 This pleasant summer trip with her cousins had 
 been something to which she had looked forward 
 with eager anticipation for nearly a year, and 
 she had been away from 'home so little that it 
 seemed a greater treat to her than it might have 
 appeared to many girls. 
 
 If she could only give this trip up, and use 
 the money to procure a pretty white dress for 
 Achsah for Commencement night! But much 
 as she longed to make her schoolmate happy,
 
 62 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 thoughts of self could not be entirely put 
 aside. 
 
 "If it was any thing but that!" she said to her- 
 self again and again, as she revolved the matter 
 in her own mind. 
 
 "Well?" asked her mother inquiringly at 
 last, as Christie moved restlessly from her com- 
 fortable nook. 
 
 "I think I've made up my mind to my 
 'next,'" Christie answered. "I didn't want 
 to just at first, but if I don't, it will spoil my 
 other nice time anyway, for my troublesome 
 conscience will persist in calling me selfish." 
 
 " What is it?" 
 
 U I want to give up my trip with Aunt Flor- 
 ence, if you are willing, and ask father to give 
 me the money instead; then I want you to be the 
 loveliest mother in the world, and spend it for 
 Achsah just as you would for me, in getting her 
 a real pretty white dress and all the little fixings 
 to go with it, so that she will have just one 
 happy time to remember in her schooldays any- 
 way. I believe I shall feel nearly as bad as 
 she does, if she has to wear one of her dowdy 
 old school dresses, and it would be a shame for 
 her to have to look so when she is the brightest 
 girl in the class. I shall really enjoy doing this 
 more than, going with Aunt Florence, though I
 
 THE DRESS PROBLEM. 63 
 
 had to weigh everything on both sides very care- 
 fully to really make up my mind." 
 
 "Are you sure you have counted the cost?" 
 asked her mother, smiling down into the earnest 
 face. 
 
 " Yes; this isn't a rash impulse, mother; I 've 
 spent at least ten minutes in serious thought, and 
 you know that is long and prudent deliberation 
 for me. It wont spoil Aunt Florence's party if 
 I don't go, for she will take Cousin Emily in my 
 place, and I shall be happy at home here with 
 you." 
 
 "And I shall enjoy having my Christie to 
 myself a while after this busy school year is 
 over," her mother answered. "I wont say a 
 word to dissuade you from your plan, darling, 
 for I know your generous heart so well that I 
 think Achsah's happiness will quite make up to 
 you for your disappointment."
 
 64 CHRISTIE'S XEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 
 
 CHRISTIE went back to her room feeling so 
 delighted at the satisfactory solution of the prob- 
 lem of Achsah's graduating dress, that she quite 
 forgot to think of the sacrifice that it was to 
 cost. 
 
 She found her guest still luxuriating in the 
 comfortable low chair, with her eyes fixed upon 
 the river and an abstracted look upon her face. 
 
 "Did you think I had quite run away and 
 left you?" asked Christie merrily, as Achsah 
 started from her reverie at her friend's entrance. 
 "Well, it's just as I told you it would be. You 
 are going to have a lovely dress for Commence- 
 ment after all." 
 
 "How?" queried Achsah in amazement, her 
 face reflecting the smile which illumined Chris- 
 tie's features. 
 
 "I'll tell you when we go to bed," Christie 
 answered. "I want to have something nice to 
 talk about then, and in the meantime you must 
 take it on faith. Now it is almost time for the 
 tea-bell to ring, and we must be getting ready.
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 65 
 
 May I do your hair? I flatter myself I have a 
 gift that way, and I am always anxious to try 
 my skill on the heads of any of my friends who 
 will trust themselves in my hands." 
 
 Achsah was only too willing, and Christie 
 took out the hairpins which fastened the hard, 
 ungraceful knot, and let the long silky hair flow 
 in waves over Achsah's shoulders till it rippled 
 down to her waist. 
 
 "You have such beautiful hair!" Christie ex- 
 claimed admiringly as she brushed it. "May I 
 fix it any way I like? I don't think you make 
 half enough of it. If I had such hair I should n't 
 twist it into a plain little knot, but I should 
 make loose coils of it so every hair would show 
 to advantage. You aren't half vain enough, 
 Achsah." 
 
 " I wish you would show me some pretty way 
 to arrange it," Achsah said, her face brightening 
 at Christie's words. "I never thought about 
 doing it becomingly, but I just twisted it up out 
 of the way anyhow." 
 
 Christie was enough of an artist to know how 
 .to arrange the soft shining coils to bring out 
 their beauty to the best advantage, and at the 
 same time to make the luxuriant hair becoming 
 to the small face with its delicate features. She 
 brushed forward the short wavv locks about the
 
 66 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 low forehead which Achsali had always fastened 
 back, and the effect was quite as becoming as she 
 had thought it would be. "Now let me dress 
 you up a little more, Achsah," she exclaimed, 
 delighted with the result of her labor; and un- 
 fastening the stiff linen band about Achsah's 
 neck, she replaced it with a soft, cream-tinted 
 niching, and fastened a glowing Jacqueminot 
 rose at the throat. 
 
 "There, now look at yourself!" she ex- 
 claimed, and Achsah gazed with girlish pleasure 
 at the reflection in the glass. It was wonderful 
 how the change in the arrangement of her hair 
 had altered the expression of her face. It was 
 not the repellant image that had looked at her 
 every morning from the glass in her little room 
 at the Institute that she saw smiling at her from 
 Christie's mirror. Her face was not as round 
 and rosy as Christie's, and it lacked the dimples 
 and animation that she admired so much in her 
 schoolmate; but it was no less attractive, with 
 the clear olive skin flushed a little just now with 
 unusual color, her dark eyes lustrous with feel- 
 ing, and a pleased smile upon her lips. 
 
 A stranger would have said that Achsah's 
 face was the more intellectual of the two, and 
 the coil of hair crowning the small, well-poised 
 head gave her a queenly air that marked her
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 67 
 
 \vith a certain individuality that Christie 
 lacked. 
 
 Christie had barely time to hastily brush her 
 own hair and rearrange it, and slip into a fresh 
 white dress, before the tea-bell rang and it was 
 time to take her guest down stairs. 
 
 More than once during the next hour she 
 looked at Achsah in wonder. The girl was a 
 new revelation to her. The stiffness and defiance 
 were gone, and she talked so well and readily 
 that Mr. Gilbert was evidently very much pleased 
 with his young guest and did his best to draw 
 her out. Achsah felt that she looked her best, 
 and she forgot her ill-fitting dress and every- 
 thing that usually made her self-conscious and 
 awkward, while she enjoyed the charm of this 
 pleasant home circle where she was so cordially 
 made to feel herself a welcome guest. 
 
 She responded readily to the kindness with 
 which she was treated, and did not look, as was 
 her wont, for slights or criticism. Even Christie 
 had no idea of the pleasure that evening was to 
 Achsah, although she fancied that she could 
 imagine it, knowing as she did how lonely and 
 isolated her schoolmate had been ever since her 
 arrival at the Institute. 
 
 When the two girls went up to bed at last 
 Achsah's face was fairly glowing with pleasure
 
 68 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 and animation, and she had laughed merrily 
 several times in a way that Christie \vould 
 have believed impossible a few hours before. 
 
 She realized that the reserve and defiance had 
 not been so much Achsah's real self as they had 
 been assumed to hide her loneliness and heart- 
 ache. With all her heart she wished that she 
 had begun before to smooth the rough places in 
 this life, which had had so little of the pleasure 
 of girlhood in it; but it comforted her a little for 
 her previous neglect to think of the pleasure she 
 had in store for Achsah. 
 
 The girls lingered long over their toilet 
 leisurely brushing their hair and preparing for 
 the night, Achsah loath to lose a moment of this 
 delightful evening by letting sleep encroach upon 
 it. When they were ready for bed at last, and 
 Christie put out the lamp, the soft moonlight 
 streamed in through the window and made the 
 room almost as light as day. 
 
 Achsah was very quiet for a little while after 
 the dark head and the fair one were nestled side 
 by side upon the pillow. She was thinking how 
 lovely a thing it must be to really belong in a 
 home like this and have a share in the love 
 which pervaded it. The loving intercourse, the 
 interest and sympathy which Christie could 
 claim so freely, the little caresses which passed
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 69 
 
 as a matter of course between mother and daugh- 
 ter, seemed like the greatest happiness in the 
 \vorld to heart-hungry Achsah, who had borne 
 all her girlish troubles alone and had known no 
 sympathy in her ambition to be a student. She 
 did not realize that she had shut herself away 
 from much companionship that she might have 
 had, by her own manner and sharp speech, and 
 she thought half enviously that it was unjust 
 that Christie should have everything while she 
 had nothing. But the remembrance of Christie's 
 kindness banished all this envy from her longing 
 for a home, and her grateful heart overflowed 
 with affection for her new friend. 
 
 "Now I suppose you want to know about 
 the dress," Christie said, as they settled them- 
 selves for one of the chats that girls delight in 
 after they are in bed. 
 
 "Yes; I can't quite understand how your 
 mother could plan anything nice for me, won- 
 derful as she is," Achsah returned. 
 
 "I am a little afraid that perhaps you wont 
 like the plan," said Christie, feeling suddenly 
 shy about broaching her project to Achsah, lest 
 she should wound her pride. 
 
 U I am sure I shall like anything that your 
 mother suggests," Achsah returned, with perfect 
 confidence in Mrs. Gilbert's judgment.
 
 70 CHRISTIE S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "But this is my plan quite as much as 
 mother's,'' Christie explained. " Oh, dear, I am 
 just crazy to tell you all about it, only I shall be 
 so dreadfully disappointed if you are not pleased 
 with it too. I give you warning, Achsah, I 
 shall be very much hurt if you don't agree to it. 
 Will you promise beforehand not to be the least 
 bit hurt at anything I propose?" 
 
 "I will promise you anything," Achsah an- 
 swered warmly. 
 
 "Now remember that, for I am going to 
 believe it and tell you all about my plan without 
 being a bit afraid that you will be vexed with 
 me," Christie went on. "Achsah, I am going 
 to ask you to let me do just as I would if you 
 were my sister, or as I am sure you would do 
 for me if I were in your place and you in mine. 
 It shall be a secret between ourselves, and no one 
 else shall know a word about it except mother, 
 and you don't mind her knowing, of course. 
 I shall have some money that I can use for any- 
 thing that I want to, and I have just set my 
 heart upon getting you a lovely white dress, and 
 all the pretty little dainty fixings that auntie is 
 going to send me. Now, Achsah, do n't say no, 
 for I am resolved to carry out my plan, and I 
 shall think you don't want to be friends with 
 me if you refuse. It is the first favor I have ever
 
 CHRISTIE S PLAN. 71 
 
 asked of you, so I know you will say yes to it. 
 Why, Achsah, what is the matter ? Have I hurt 
 your feelings, dear? You promised me you 
 wouldn't be hurt or offended." 
 
 Achsah had buried her face in the pillow and 
 was weeping, and Christie raised herself upon her 
 elbow and looked at her in silent dismay. 
 
 u Now I have told you about it so awkwardly 
 that I have hurt your feelings," Christie said, 
 her own eyes beginning to fill. "I am so sorry, 
 Achsah; wont you take it just the way I meant 
 it, for it will spoil even-thing for me to think 
 that I have made you feel bad. Please don't 
 cry," and she nestled her face close to Achsah's 
 tear-wet cheek. 
 
 " It isn't that I feel hurt," Achsah said, try- 
 ing to control her voice. " But you are so good. 
 Of course I mustn't let you do it, but it is so 
 lovely in you to care enough about me to be 
 willing to do so much to have me look as nice 
 as any of the rest, that indeed I shall not feel 
 bitter now even if I have to wear that old 
 green silk. I believe it was more because I felt 
 as if nobody cared that I minded it so much be- 
 fore. You have so many to care about you, 
 Christie, that you can't imagine what it feels like 
 to know that nothing that you have or do is of 
 any consequence to any one but yourself."
 
 72 CHRISTIE S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "You must never feel that way again," Chris- 
 tie answered, with a loving pressure of the hand 
 that sought her own. "I always thought you 
 did not care to be friends with any of us; but if 
 I had only known you before as I do now, we 
 would have been friends long ago. Now you are 
 going to let me be happy over your graduating 
 dress, are n't you? for you do n't know what a dis- 
 appointment it will be to me if you don't let me 
 have my way about it." 
 
 But Achsah steadfastly refused for some time 
 to hear of such a thing as accepting Christie's 
 generosity, and it was only when she realized 
 that her refusal was really wounding and disap- 
 pointing her friend that she yielded. 
 
 Christie was so enthusiastic over the dress that 
 she was eager to discuss it with Achsah, and va- 
 rious styles and trimmings were talked over by 
 the two girls, till Mrs. Gilbert tapped upon their 
 door. 
 
 "Christie! You girls must stop talking and 
 go to sleep. It is after eleven o'clock." 
 
 With an exchange of good nights they went to 
 sleep, Achsah' s heart warm with a new feeling of 
 affection and gratitude, while Christie wondered 
 how this "nexte thynge" could ever have seemed 
 hard to do. 
 
 Earlv the next morning Christie sought her
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 73 
 
 father and asked his consent to give up the pro- 
 posed trip with her aunt and cousins. 
 
 "What a changeable little weather-cock it is," 
 her father answered, pinching her cheek play- 
 fully. "Here you have been talking and plan- 
 ning about this wonderful trip for months, and 
 now all at once you want to give it up. Well, 
 I 'm perfectly willing, puss, for it would be lonely 
 without you; but you will have to make your 
 peace with your aunt Florence." 
 
 " If I don't go, father, would you mind giv- 
 ing me the money that the trip would cost, or a 
 part of it at least?" Christie asked rather shyly. 
 
 Her father looked up inquiringly. 
 
 "Are n't you growing mercenary, daughter?" 
 he asked good humoredly. "Seems to me that 
 fifty dollars is quite a large amount of pin money 
 for you to have all at once. What mighty pro- 
 ject have you on hand?" 
 
 "Would you mind if I didn't tell you?" 
 Christie asked. "Mother knows, and she ap- 
 proves of it, but it is somebody else's secret besides 
 my own, so I would rather not say anything more 
 about it." 
 
 "If mother knows, I'm perfectly satisfied," 
 her father answered. "Here it is, girlie, and I 
 hope you '11 enjoy every cent of it." 
 
 Christie felt very rich as she deposited the
 
 74 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 new crisp bill in her portemonnaie, which had 
 never held such an accumulation of wealth 
 before. 
 
 "Mother, couldn't we go to the city to-day 
 and get the dress?" she asked, when she found 
 her mother in the dining-room giving the last 
 dainty touches to the carefully appointed table. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert paused to consider the pro- 
 gramme she had already mapped out for the day. 
 
 "I think we must," she said. "There is so 
 little time before Commencement that we cannot 
 afford to lose a day, and I will make the dress, 
 Christie. I want to have that part in your plan, 
 and then no one beside ourselves need know any- 
 thing about it. You two girls might go in on 
 the nine o'clock train and look around, and I 
 will meet you two hours later and help you 
 decide. How do you like that plan?" 
 
 "Nothing could be better, you best of mo- 
 thers !" Christie exclaimed joyfully, giving her a 
 loving hug that expressed all the thanks that she 
 did not put into words. 
 
 The city was only an hour's ride from the 
 pretty village of Weston, but Achsah had never 
 been in it since the day she passed through it on 
 her way to Maplewood Institute, and it was with 
 a glow of pleasurable excitement that she heard 
 the plan for the day.
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAN. 75 
 
 "I can hardly believe that it was only yester- 
 day that I was so perfectly wretched," she said to 
 Christie, when they were seated in the train and 
 moving out of the station. "I felt as if it was 
 of no use to try any more; that I couldn't possi- 
 bly get along without a friend in the world; and 
 now I am happier than I have been for years." 
 
 " I am so glad that I was part of the plan for 
 making you happier," Christie said earnestly, 
 feeling the blessedness of the ministry of helpful- 
 ness as she listened to Achsah's words. 
 
 Her own life was so sheltered by love and 
 care that she delighted in the thought that she 
 could reflect a little of its sunshine into a less 
 favored life, and she was almost more happy than 
 Achsah herself. 
 
 The two girls were so absorbed in conversa- 
 tion that they did not notice who their neighbors 
 were upon the ferry-boat until they had nearly 
 crossed the river. 
 
 "Oh, Achsah, look at this poor woman," 
 Christie whispered; and both the girls regarded 
 the passenger who sat on Christie's right with 
 pitying curiosity. 
 
 She was a small, frail-looking woman, with a 
 thin, haggard face, which wore an expression of 
 hopeless misery. Her features were pinched 
 with illness and want, and dark rings encircled
 
 76 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 her eyes. Her clothes, though clean, were al- 
 most too old and worn to hold together, and the 
 little bundle that she held in her arms so ten- 
 derly that the girls knew it must be a baby, was 
 bundled up in a piece of coarse sacking. 
 
 As the girls looked at the sorrowful face of 
 the mother a feeble little wail issued from the 
 bundle, and she hushed it tenderly, while two 
 great tears that had been gathering in her eyes 
 rolled slowly down her sunken cheeks. 
 
 "Is your baby sick?" asked Christie, her 
 heart overflowing with sympathy for the poor 
 woman. 
 
 The mother evidently understood the ques- 
 tion, but her speech was so broken that it was 
 scarcely intelligible to the girls. 
 
 " He sick in his eyes," she said, drawing the 
 covering from the baby's head and showing 
 them the bandaged eyes. "He three week old. 
 Doctor say me take him every day to hospital, 
 perhaps he see. Doctor hurt him. He cry very 
 much." 
 
 "But surely you do not take him every day 
 yourself! You are not well enough," Christie 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Me take him yesterday, to-day," explained 
 the woman. " Doctor say he must go every day, 
 or he no see."
 
 CHRISTIE'S PLAX. 77 
 
 The boat had reached the slip and the pas- 
 sengers were crowding towards the deck. 
 
 Christie opened her purse and took out a sil- 
 ver coin. 
 
 "I am so sorry for your poor little baby," 
 she said gently; "I hope he will soon be better. 
 Will you use this for him in any way you like?" 
 
 The mother's face brightened as she took 
 the coin. 
 
 "Tank you," she said gratefully, and in 
 another moment the crowd had swept the girls 
 along, and they had left the poor woman with 
 her pitiful little burden to wait till the confusion 
 was over before they left the boat. 
 
 "I never saw such a sorrowful face as that 
 poor woman's was before you spoke to her, 
 Christie," said Achsah. "Poor little thing, she 
 looked so ill and feeble; and the baby, puny as 
 it was, seemed too much of a weight for her. 
 How much suffering there is in the world that 
 we do n' t know anything about. I do envy you, 
 Christie; you always know how to make people 
 happier as soon as you see they are in trouble, 
 and I wish I could live just such a life as yours. 
 You make sunshine for everybody." 
 
 "Oh, Achsah, don't say that!" Christie said 
 earnestly. "You don't know me when you 
 talk that way, for indeed I don't deserve to have
 
 78 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 such things said about me. Until very lately 
 I have n't tried at all to do the little things that I 
 could to make people happier, but have been 
 planning magnificent air castles of which I could 
 never even lay the foundations. Yet I do want 
 to be of use and to know that some one is hap- 
 pier for my having lived; but I arn only just 
 beginning to learn that the way to accomplish 
 this is to 'doe ye nexte thynge.' It was the last 
 lesson I ever learned from dear Aunt Patience, 
 and I hope I shall remember it, and not go back 
 to discontented dreams of what I might be and 
 do if I was talented, intellectual, and rich. I 
 don't mean to despise the little things that come 
 in.my way just because they are not grand op- 
 portunities; but it is hard sometimes to realize 
 that these little things are just as true service 
 as if they were greater and seemed to be more 
 worth the doing. ' '
 
 YE NEXTE THYXGE." 79 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "YE NEXTE THYNGE." 
 
 IN the rush for seats in the crowded street- 
 cars Achsah had no opportunity to reply to 
 Christie's words, but she looked at her compan- 
 ion's earnest face in surprised wonder. Did 
 Christie really mean all that she said? Were 
 the few verses she had read so simply and nat- 
 urally from her Bible the night before really 
 a guide to her in her actions and plans ? 
 
 Not that Achsah had ever brought herself 
 to believe that religion was altogether a pre- 
 tence. The father who had laid down his life 
 on the frontier, the mother who had so gladly 
 undergone all the privations and trials of a mis- 
 sionary life that they might carry the gospel 
 tidings, were a memory that forbade her to speak 
 or think lightly of what they held so dear; but 
 looking for inconsistencies with keen eyes, she 
 condemned failures in duty as insincerity, and 
 excused herself for her indifference to religion 
 on the plea of others' faults. It was a mistake 
 that older and wiser people than Achsah often 
 make, and she had yet to learn that it was a
 
 8o CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 question that she must settle as absolutely alone 
 as if there was no other being in the universe. 
 
 It was a new thing for her to hear a young 
 girl of her own age speak as if she really 
 believed in all that she professed, and wanted 
 to live her life so as best to glorify her Master. 
 
 It was a pleasant morning that followed as 
 the girls turned over soft white fabrics and sheer 
 lawns and looked at laces and ribbons. It was 
 the first taste of real girlish pleasure in the mat- 
 ter of the selection of a dress that Achsah had 
 ever had, and she gave herself up to the delights 
 of the occasion as entirely as did Christie. 
 
 They enjoyed themselves even more when, 
 two hours later, Mrs. Gilbert joined them, for 
 she so fully understood and sympathized with 
 young girls that they never felt her presence to 
 be any restraint. 
 
 After a busy hour of shopping, in which the 
 important dress with all its accessories was 
 finally purchased, Mrs. Gilbert took the girls to 
 a lunch room, where they were glad to rest and 
 cool off as they discussed their refreshments. 
 
 Christie's thoughts, by some subtle chain of 
 association, wandered back to the poor woman on 
 the ferry-boat, and her face grew thoughtful and 
 sober as she remembered the frail little mother 
 and the puny baby.
 
 "YE XEXTE THYXGE." 8l 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed involuntarily, 
 with an expression of dismay. 
 
 " Have you dropped something on your dress, 
 daughter?" asked Mrs. Gilbert, with motherly 
 anxiety about Christie's pretty spring suit. 
 
 "No, mother, nothing as bad as that," 
 laughed Christie, as she became aware that the 
 exclamation had escaped her. "Perhaps I had 
 better say, though, that it 's something worse, for 
 I suppose I could get a spot off without spoiling 
 my dress, but I am not sure about the other. I 
 think it is too late to repair my mistake." 
 
 "Is it something about Achsah's dress?" 
 asked Mrs. Gilbert; then, as Christie smiled 
 again, she went on, "Well, the question of 
 dress is uppermost in my mind just now, after 
 all our consultation, and if you want me to have 
 any ideas on any other subject, you will have to 
 tell me about them yourself." 
 
 "So I see," laughed Christie. " I am sorry 
 to have Achsah think I have such a worldly and 
 frivolous mother, but perhaps she'll like you a 
 little, notwithstanding your love of dress. I'll 
 tell you what I was thinking about, mother, for 
 I'm sure you would never guess," and she de- 
 scribed the poor woman whom they had seen 
 that morning with her little baby. 
 
 "I am so annoved with mvself that I didn't 
 
 Christie's K>xt Thin?
 
 82 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 ask her address," Christi'e concluded. "She did 
 look so poor and forlorn, and I suppose there are 
 ever so many things she needs. Perhaps we 
 girls might have been able to do ever so many 
 nice little things for her if we only knew where 
 she lived." 
 
 "It would have been a very good plan to get 
 her address," Mrs. Gilbert assented. "It is just 
 possible that you may see her again some time, 
 for she will have to go backward and forward 
 on the boat a great deal if she brings the baby in 
 to the hospital every day. Of course it would be 
 a mere chance, but you might watch for her." 
 
 " I do hope we will happen to meet her," 
 Christie said, with a brightening face. "I shall 
 always feel sorry when I think of her if I don't 
 see her again. She did look so friendless and 
 discouraged. ' ' 
 
 The conversation drifted to other subjects, 
 and the little party sat finishing their lunch very 
 leisurely until Mrs. Gilbert glanced at her watch 
 with an exclamation of surprise. "We must 
 make haste or we shall lose the two o'clock 
 train," she said. "Come, girls, gather up your 
 bundles, and we will do the best we can to get 
 over to the station in time." They found they 
 had not a moment to spare and had barely time to 
 hurry on the ferry-boat before the gate was shut.
 
 ' 'YE NEXTE THYNGE." 83 
 
 Christie's eyes roamed among the passengers 
 in eager quest of the woman with her baby, al- 
 though she would not let herself hope that the 
 object of her search might be in the same boat. 
 
 "Christie, I see her!" exclaimed Achsah, 
 touching Christie's arm to attract her attention. 
 
 "Where?" queried Christie eagerly. 
 
 " In that corner at the end of the cabin. You 
 can hardly get a glimpse of her, but she is just 
 behind that stout man reading a newspaper." 
 
 Christie's face grew radiant. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed joyfully. 
 " Mother, may I go and speak to her now; I am 
 afraid it will be too late after the boat stops." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert smiled assent, and a moment 
 later the thin tired face of the woman lighted up 
 with a smile of pleased recognition as her friend 
 of the morning spoke to her. Christie stayed by 
 her until the boat had nearly reached the other 
 side of the river, and then went back to her 
 mother, lest the little party should be separated 
 in the confusion which always followed the land- 
 ing of the boats. 
 
 "Mother, I believe she is my 'nexte thynge,' " 
 she whispered, as she deposited her bundles by 
 her mother's side in the train. "I will tell }'ou 
 all about her when we get home, and I am be- 
 ginning to have an idea about her already."
 
 84 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 There was an answering smile in Airs. Gil- 
 bert's eyes as Christie's blue ones looked into 
 her face, full of eager enthusiasm. It was a 
 pleasure to her to encourage Christie in any of 
 her kindly plans for the happiness of others, and 
 the young girl had learned years ago that her 
 mother was always a sympathizing confidante, so 
 she never failed to go to her first of all, whenever 
 a plan suggested itself to her busy brain, assured 
 of help and encouragement. 
 
 That very afternoon the dress was begun ; the 
 breadths for the skirt were cut off, and Christie 
 sewed them on the machine while Achsah basted, 
 under Mrs. Gilbert's directions. 
 
 "Achsah, don't take the dress over to the In- 
 stitute when it's done, but come over here and 
 dress for Commencement evening, so mother can 
 help us both. It will be ever so much pleasanter 
 than getting dressed all by yourself at the school. 
 I want to fix your hair myself, and mother will 
 give the finishing- touches to your sash and nich- 
 ing, wont you, mother?" 
 
 "I shall be very glad to have two girls to 
 dress instead of one," Mrs. Gilbert responded. 
 "I think that will be a very good plan, Achsah, 
 if you would like it." 
 
 "Of course I would like it above all things," 
 exclaimed Achsah eagerly. "Why, I should feel
 
 U YE NEXTE THYNGE." 85 
 
 just as if I belonged somewhere, instead of being 
 all by myself." 
 
 "We are going to be so proud of Achsah's 
 valedictory that we'll be proud to make believe 
 you belong to us, even if it's only to the extent 
 of dressing here," laughed Christie. A little 
 shadow clouded the brightness of Achsah's face. 
 
 "I have been thinking so many times lately 
 how lovely it must be to have a mother to be 
 pleased if one does well," she said. "You are 
 so good and kind to me, Mrs. Gilbert, that I real- 
 ize more than ever how much it is to have a 
 mother." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert gave her a loving little hug, as 
 she brought her work over to her for inspection. 
 
 "I know no one can take a mother's place, 
 dear," she said, "but you must accept me for a 
 substitute now and then, and let me be interested 
 in all that you do." 
 
 Achsah sealed the compact with a kiss, as the 
 motherly embrace stirred her heart to its depths, 
 and she knew that the old desolate feeling had 
 taken to itself wings for ever. 
 
 When the evening meal was concluded and 
 Achsah began somewhat reluctantly to make 
 preparations for her return to the Institute, she 
 saw Christie's eyes fixed on her half wistfully. 
 
 "What is it, Christie?" she asked. "I see
 
 86 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 you are just aching to say something, and I 
 want to know what it is." 
 
 "I really have a great mind to tell you," 
 Christie answered. "I wonder what you would 
 think of me if I gave you a little scolding, Ach- 
 sah?" 
 
 "I should think you were the very kindest 
 and best of friends, and meant it for my good," 
 returned Achsah promptly. "Please tell me, 
 Christie." 
 
 14 1 wish you wouldn't hide your real self 
 away," said Christie, with a little effort. "Wont 
 you just be your bright natural self when Monday 
 comes, instead of Ishmael? I do want the other 
 girls to know you as you really are, and I know 
 you would like them so much if you only were 
 acquainted with them; and it seems such a pity 
 for a mutual misunderstanding to go on to the 
 end of the term. Please, Achsah. ' ' 
 
 The old hard expression came back upon the 
 girl's features, and she shook her head. 
 
 "I can't do that for you, Christie," she said. 
 "I don't care what the girls think of me. If 
 any of them had ever showed me the least kind- 
 ness or consideration I might think about it, but 
 it is too late now. I don't care whether they 
 think I am disagreeable or not." 
 
 Christie looked disappointed.
 
 "YE NEXTE THYNGE." 87 
 
 "I don't think you are quite fair to them," 
 she said gently. "I am sure if you will only 
 show yourself willing to be friendly you wont 
 find them unwilling to meet you half way at 
 least." 
 
 Achsah looked incredulous. 
 
 "No, they have never liked me, because I 
 had not nice clothes to wear ; and I am sure 
 nothing I could do would make them change 
 their opinions of me. I don't mind how the 
 rest of them act now, you are so good to me." 
 
 "Indeed, Achsah, it has never been your 
 clothes altogether that kept the girls from being 
 friendly towards you," said Christie earnestly. 
 "I know that they have felt that you did not 
 like them and would not feel kindly towards 
 them, so naturally they left you alone. If you 
 would only act at school as you have acted here, 
 you would find yourself just as popular as any 
 girl. I do wish you would, just to please rne, if 
 for no other reason." 
 
 Still Achsah hesitated, but she could not re- 
 sist Christie's pleading. 
 
 "Well, I will try," she said, with sudden re- 
 solve. "I will be just as pleasant as I possibly 
 can, since you want me to, though I know it wont 
 do any good. I don't feel so lonely and bitter 
 any more, so it wont be as hard as it would have
 
 88 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 been last week or even this week to be pleasant. 
 I wish I could half thank you, not only for the 
 dress, but for this lovely visit. I don't know 
 when I have ever enjoyed myself so much, and I 
 shall never feel again as I did yesterday after- 
 noon, when you found me crying over my 
 dress." 
 
 "I have enjoyed your visit, too," said Chris- 
 tie, "and I am only sorry that I never got ac- 
 quainted with you before, for we might have had 
 so many pleasant times together. This must be 
 the beginning, though, instead of the end." 
 
 It was a light-hearted Achsah that went back 
 to Maplewood Institute just as the shadows were 
 beginning to gather. She sat in the twilight 
 until the stars had begun to gleam out one by 
 one, and then she rose and lighted her lamp, 
 with a look of pleasant -determination upon her 
 face. 
 
 "I will do my very best now," she said, as 
 she drew her portfolio towards her and bent over 
 some papers which she took from it. "Now that 
 I shall look -as well as the other girls, and have 
 some one to care whether I succeed or not, I shall 
 work harder than I ever have before to make my 
 valedictory the best work I have accomplished." 
 
 She read over her essay again and again, with 
 a thoughtful frown upon her brow, correcting a
 
 "YE NEXTE THYXGE." 89 
 
 phrase here and altering a sentence there, until 
 it suited her better. At last nine o'clock was 
 pealed slowly out by the clock in the church 
 tower, and she put her work away and prepared 
 for bed. 
 
 When her light was extinguished she raised 
 the curtain, and kneeling down beside the win- 
 dow looked up into the quiet starlit sky. 
 
 "Mother," was her heart's thought, "I won- 
 der if you love me and think of me sometimes 
 when you are so far away. Are you glad to- 
 night that I am so happy and that I have found 
 friends?" 
 
 Some new impulse made her bow her head 
 as she knelt there, with the stars looking down 
 upon her like the eyes of angels, and breathe a 
 prayer of gratitude to God for the joy the day 
 had brought her and a supplication for forgiv- 
 ing and restoring grace. Achsah's life had been 
 a prayerless one of late, and it was no wonder 
 her burdens had seemed too heavy to be borne, 
 when she had tried to carry them alone and un- 
 aided. 
 
 Brief as was her prayer to-night, it was one 
 step in the right direction in the path that was 
 to lead her back to the God whom her parents 
 had loved and served, and to whom they had 
 consecrated her at her very birth. The bitter
 
 90 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 thoughts she had harbored so long were gone 
 to-night, and her heart was not filled with envy 
 of those who had the blessings of which her own 
 life had been barren, but loving thoughts of 
 Christie's kindness made her last waking mo- 
 ments happy ones and mingled with her dreams.
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 ACHSAH did not forget her promise to Chris- 
 tie, and she found herself looking forward to the 
 surprise of the girls when they should discover 
 that she was really trying to be pleasant and 
 agreeable, instead of apparently seeking for ways 
 in which to be perverse. 
 
 She was at her desk Monday morning when 
 Louise Rushton and Ella Lindsay entered the 
 schoolroom, and glancing up she nodded with a 
 pleasant good morning. 
 
 "Ishmael is in a friendly mood this morning, 
 isn't she?" said Ella softly, behind her desk 
 cover. 
 
 * ' Yes, she seems to be, ' ' returned Louise. ' ' I 
 wonder what has got into her anyhow. How 
 nice her hair looks too. It's a pity her pleasant 
 mood wont last. I suppose she would snap my 
 head off if I should venture another remark on 
 the strength of her having sajd good morning." 
 
 A few minutes later she uttered a petulant 
 exclamation. 
 
 "Did you ever know anything quite so pro-
 
 92 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 voking ! I have left my geometry at home, and 
 I do n't know what I '11 do without it. - You can't 
 spare me yours, can you, Ella?" 
 
 "I'm really sorry I can't, but I haven't 
 looked at the lesson at all yet," Ella responded. 
 41 1 shall have to study every moment until reci- 
 tation to get through at all. It 's too bad." 
 
 "Well, I'll have to go home again, that's 
 all!" responded Louise. "I '11 be late for school, 
 too, and lose all this time: but I don't see any 
 help for it." 
 
 Two days ago Achsah would not have paid 
 any attention to this conversation, but now a new 
 desire was actuating her, and she looked up from 
 her book as Louise arose. 
 
 "You can take my geometry if you wish," 
 she said, proffering the book. "I am almost 
 certain that I know it, and if you can let me have 
 it just the last ten minutes, to- make sure of it, I 
 can spare the book now just as well as not." 
 
 "It's ever so good of you, Achsah," Louise 
 said gratefully. "I did hate to think of that 
 long walk in the sun, and then I need all my time 
 for study this morning, anyway. I meant to get 
 up early, but I overslept myself, so I'm not half 
 prepared with any of my recitations. Are you 
 sure you can spare the book ?' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are welcome to it," Achsah
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 93 
 
 answered pleasantly, and so Louise took the book 
 with warm thanks, and sat down to pore over the 
 lesson, wondering in between the problems if it 
 had been her own fault that she had always 
 thought Achsah's manner disagreeable before. 
 
 Christie's cordial greeting to Achsah when 
 she came in rather surprised the others, who had 
 not known of her visit; but no comment was 
 made, and when they saw that Achsah responded 
 pleasantly to all advances, she met with kindness 
 from the others too, who had heretofore been 
 somewhat in awe of her sharp speeches. As the 
 days passed away one and another regretted that 
 they had not found out before what a bright com- 
 panion Achsah could be, and she was compelled 
 to admit that it had been largely her own fault 
 that she had been left to herself before, for the 
 girls were quite ready to be social and pleasant 
 when they found she was willing to be friendly. 
 
 The great day came at last to which seven at 
 least of the Maplewood students had been eagerly 
 looking forward for the past year. It was a per- 
 fect June day, clear and cloudless, and the beau- 
 tiful weather completed the girls' happiness, for 
 many of them had friends w'ho were to come from 
 a distance to witness the closing exercises. 
 
 Weston was very proud of its Institute, and a 
 great deal of interest was always manifested in
 
 94 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Commencement night, so it was not strange that 
 the girls felt as if they closed their school life 
 with the eyes of all their little world resting upon 
 them. 
 
 "It's a shame Ishmael can't have a decent 
 dress for once," Louise Rushton said that morn- 
 ing to Grace Davenport, as for the last time the 
 girls gathered in the old schoolroom to rehearse 
 their essays and go through the programme for 
 the evening's entertainment. 
 
 "I believe she would be really pretty if she 
 was only dressed becomingly," Grace returned, 
 as she looked at the quiet face which had lost its 
 fretful, peevish expression. "Poor old Ishmael, 
 it's enough to sour any one's disposition to have 
 to wear the clothes that she does. Hush, she 's 
 going to begin her valedictory. I'm eager to 
 hear it." 
 
 All the class were anxious to hear their vale- 
 dictorian's essay, and there was a profound silence 
 while Achsah took her place. None of the girls 
 feared that she would disappoint them, for she 
 was admitted to be the best writer in school, and 
 had invariably won the first prize for composition 
 every year. She had a clear voice, and enun- 
 ciated distinctly, and every word could be easily 
 heard. The girls glanced at each other in de- 
 light as she proceeded. The principal smiled
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 95 
 
 with satisfaction as she thought of the credit 
 that Achsah would reflect on the Institute, and 
 she too wished that the girl might be well dressed 
 for once. 
 
 Graceful and eloquent was the valedictory, 
 and at times almost pathetic, for Achsah had 
 realized at last all that the class might have been 
 to each other in the way of mutual help and sym- 
 pathy. That she had stood outside the charmed 
 circle had been largely her own fault, and the late 
 friendliness which she had proffered and won had 
 given her a dim realization of the friendship that 
 might have grown to be a strong bond of union 
 between them. 
 
 As she concluded there was a hearty outburst 
 of applause, led by her classmates and joined in 
 by the whole school, which Miss Giddings did not 
 attempt to check. School rules were not very 
 rigidly adhered to this last day of the term, and 
 she felt that Achsah deserved this little triumph. 
 
 As Achsah went back to her seat, blushing at 
 the generous meed of praise so freely bestowed 
 upon her, she caught Christie's smile of loving 
 congratulation, and an answering light shone in 
 her own eyes. Christie's kindness had been her 
 inspiration to do her best, and the thought that 
 she had some one to rejoice in her success stimu- 
 lated her to even more than her wonted exertion.
 
 96 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 It had been a pleasant surprise to her to find that 
 all her classmates were so willing to show their 
 appreciation and felt her success to be a class 
 honor, and all trace of bitterness left her as she 
 recognized their kindly spirit. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Giddings suspected that mother- 
 ly Mrs. Gilbert intended to make some addition 
 to Achsah's usual plain toilet, for she very will- 
 ingly assented to Christie's petition that Achsah 
 might spend the rest of the day with her and 
 dress at her house; so when rehearsal was over 
 the girls dispersed, not to meet again until the 
 evening. 
 
 Although every day for some time beforehand 
 had been occupied with preparations, yet none 
 of the girls were idle this last afternoon. There 
 were finishing touches to be put upon the filmy 
 dresses for the evening, a few last moments spent 
 upon some difficult passage in a piece of music, 
 or a little more familiarity to be gained with 
 the essays which they already knew almost by 
 heart. 
 
 The girls that lived near each other paid fly- 
 ing visits, and admired each other's dresses and 
 evening preparations, and Mrs. Gilbert's room 
 was invaded half a dozen times by girls eager to 
 see Christie's dress once more. It had arrived 
 the day before, and Christie was in an ecstasy of
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 97 
 
 delight over the pretty dress, with its soft laces 
 and floating ribbons. 
 
 In the next room Achsah's dress was spread 
 out upon the bed, none the less beautiful to her 
 eyes, although she shared in Christie's admira- 
 tion of her own dress. No one had asked Ach- 
 sah what she intended to wear, though all the 
 various details of the dresses of the rest of the 
 class had been discussed again and again by al- 
 most all the school, who took the most profound 
 interest in their seniors' doings upon Commence- 
 ment, and Achsah and Christie laughed over the 
 anticipated surprise of the girls when they should 
 see Achsah make her appearance that evening 
 as daintily robed as the rest. 
 
 The tempting tea that Mrs. Gilbert had pro- 
 vided was slighted by the girls, who were too ex- 
 cited over the evening's events to feel any appe- 
 tite, and at six o'clock they pleaded to begin to 
 dress. 
 
 "Oh, Christie," Achsah exclaimed, throwing 
 her arms about her friend's neck, as she touched 
 her pretty dress with almost loving fingers, "I 
 don't know how to thank you enough, and Mrs. 
 Gilbert too. How miserable I should be to-night 
 if I had nothing to wear but one of my old dresses. 
 I shouldn't have courage to read my essay if I 
 felt that I was disgracing you all."
 
 98 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "No fear of that," laughed Christie, "when 
 you are going to carry off all the honors." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert helped the girls, and Achsah en- 
 joyed the motherly touches that made her look as 
 if loving hands had been at work for her. 
 
 There was real affection in the kiss she gave 
 Achsah and in her wishes for her success that 
 evening, when the two girls started for the hall 
 where the Commencement exercises were to be 
 held. Her sympathies had been warmly enlisted 
 in behalf of the motherless girl, and it had been 
 a pleasure to her to do all she could to make this 
 last evening of her school-life a happy one. 
 
 When Achsah entered the little room that had 
 been set apart for the graduates, there was a buzz 
 of admiration as the girls gathered about her and 
 freely expressed their approbation of her dress 
 and appearance, and Christie was radiant over 
 the success of her plan. 
 
 A little later the hour for opening the even- 
 ing's exercises had arrived, and looking like a 
 "rosebud garden of girls" the school took their 
 places in the hall, while the graduates went to 
 the seats assigned them upon the platform. The 
 exercises passed off with great enjoyment to the 
 audience. One after another the girls, with their 
 hearts beating with timidity and excitement, read 
 their essays or played their selections, and at
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 99 
 
 last the time had come for Achsah's valedictory. 
 She had been apt to be somewhat awkward and 
 abrupt in her movements, but this evening the 
 self-respect which her toilet gave her lent her 
 ease and grace. None of the other girls pos- 
 sessed Achsah's marked individuality, and none 
 proved more attractive in appearance than the 
 slender, dark-haired girl who came forward as the 
 class valedictorian. 
 
 For a moment her courage failed her and her 
 cheeks paled as she saw the sea of expectant faces 
 before her; then she saw Mrs. Gilbert's kind face 
 looking encouragingly towards her, and summon- 
 ing her resolution she determined that she would 
 do her best, that this kind friend should not be 
 disappointed. The first few words were tremu- 
 lous, but then her will asserted itself and the 
 clear young voice could be heard all over the 
 hall, while the audience listened appreciatively 
 to the speaker. 
 
 When the last words had died away a hearty 
 burst of applause showed the appreciation of the 
 audience, and Achsah was called forward again 
 to receive a basket of flowers, to which Mrs. Gil- 
 bert's card was attached. 
 
 Achsah's heart swelled with gratitude at this 
 proof of thoughtful kindness. She had not let 
 herself expect any flowers, as she had no friends
 
 ioo CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 to remember her in this way, as the other girls 
 had, so it was a delightful surprise to find that 
 even this happiness was added to the other pleas- 
 ures of the evening. 
 
 Nothing had been lacking, and when the 
 diploma for which she had studied so faithfully 
 was placed in her hand, she did not remember 
 any of the trials of her school-days, but only the 
 happiness with which the last two weeks had 
 been laden. 
 
 "I owe it all to you, Christie," she whis- 
 pered gratefully. 
 
 "Only the very smallest part of it, dear," 
 Christie returned. "Nothing that I did made 
 your essay the best of all, and made you deliver 
 it so well. I 'm just as proud of you as I can be, 
 and so is mother. I was watching her face while 
 you were speaking, and she looked just as happy 
 as if I had been the one who was distinguishing 
 myself." 
 
 Congratulations were not wanting, but the 
 words Achsah valued most of all were the moth- 
 erly ones which Mrs. Gilbert whispered. 
 
 Miss Giddings was so pleased with Achsah's 
 success that she treated her with an affectionate 
 pride that was almost bewildering to the girl, who 
 had never supposed that she was any favorite 
 with the principal.
 
 Christie's Next Things. Page 101
 
 COMMENCEMENT. IOI 
 
 She was chatting merrily with Christie when 
 Miss Giddings came to her again and said gra- 
 ciously, 
 
 "I am sorry to part you from your compan- 
 ion for a few moments, Achsah, but some friends 
 of mine are anxious to meet you, and I prom- 
 ised to bring you to them." 
 
 Achsah followed Miss Giddings and was pres- 
 ently introduced to a lady and gentleman who 
 had been among the guests of the evening. 
 
 Miss Giddings left them after a few words of 
 explanation to Achsah, and an interview fol- 
 lowed which made the young girl's face radiant 
 with delight. 
 
 "What has happened to you?" asked Chris- 
 tie laughingly, when she returned to her side a 
 little later with a suppressed eagerness in her 
 manner that betrayed her excitement. "Have 
 your friends presented you with a gold mine?" 
 
 "I feel as if they had," Achsah returned. 
 "Oh, Christie, can you believe it? for I hardly 
 can: that gentleman and lady came here for a 
 teacher, and have been inquiring about me of 
 Miss Giddings, and have asked me if I would go 
 to them after school closes, and teach their little 
 girl who is a cripple. They are going to travel 
 this summer and in the winter they live in the 
 city. Is n't it too good to believe?"
 
 io2 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Splendid!" returned Christie, who knew 
 how necessary it was that her friend should have 
 an early opportunity of putting her education to 
 practical use. " Tell me all about it." 
 
 "Well, I must begin by saying that she 
 liked my essay," began Achsah, blushing a little; 
 "and then Miss Giddings was kind enough to 
 praise my scholarship, and say that I had been 
 very thorough in all my studies. She told her, 
 too, that I had been fitting myself with a view to 
 teaching as soon as I could get a position. This 
 lady has been wanting to procure a young teacher 
 for her little girl, who could be something of a 
 companion as well as a teacher, and so the de- 
 mand and supply being brought together, the 
 arrangement was concluded at once. She apolo- 
 gized for speaking about it to-night, but said she 
 thought we could arrange matters more satisfac- 
 torily than if she waited to write. I am so 
 happy, for I was afraid I should have to wait 
 until next fall at least and perhaps longer. You 
 can't make me believe, Christie dear, that I don't 
 owe this good fortune to you, for I know she 
 would never have even wanted to engage me if I 
 had been dressed in that hideous green, and 
 mumbled my essay in the subdued tones which I 
 certainly should have chosen if I had felt myself 
 to be a shabby, friendless waif."
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 103 
 
 " You cau insist that I added a little to your 
 outside adornments if you are determined to," 
 Christie said, "but you will find it very hard to 
 convince me that she engaged this dress as an in- 
 structress." 
 
 The friends were separated for a time as 
 Christie was called away to speak to some family 
 friends who wanted to congratulate her upon her 
 essay and diploma, but there was no danger of 
 Achsah's being neglected or left alone. There 
 were plenty to pay attention to the young vale- 
 dictorian who had borne her honors so modestly, 
 and it was an evening of triumph for Achsah. 
 Long after the_guests had dispersed, and the tired 
 girls had gone to rest, she tossed restlessly about, 
 thinking of the events of the evening, her prom- 
 ising future, and of the friend who had so gen- 
 erously helped her to be at her best for once. 
 
 "I never can repay Christie and kind Mrs. 
 Gilbert, never," she said to herself again and 
 again. 
 
 "I wish I might some day become famous, a 
 friend really worth having," she thought to her- 
 self. "No matter how many friends I have, I 
 shall never forget that Christie came to me when 
 I was alone and friendless and no one cared what 
 became of me. I was wholly discouraged that 
 day, and had almost made up my mind to stop
 
 104 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 trying to be anybody or to learn anything; and 
 she put new hopefulness into ine, and was kind to 
 me even after I had repulsed her. Sweet, gen- 
 erous Christie ! I can't love her enough to repay 
 her for all this." 
 
 With tender thoughts of her friend she fell 
 asleep, forgetting entirely the infinitely more 
 loving and patient Friend who had given her 
 this earthly friend, and whose love was more for- 
 bearing and enduring than any human love could 
 be.
 
 PLANS. 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 IT was two weeks after Commencement, and 
 the girls had begun to weary of their idleness 
 after the excitement of the closing scenes of their 
 school-life, and some of them to almost wish that 
 they had a regular routine of lessons to look for- 
 ward to in the fall, they felt so objectless with 
 their school-days behind them. 
 
 Achsah alone did not have any opportunity to 
 share this feeling. After a week spent with 
 Christie, during which Mrs. Gilbert insisted upon 
 helping her prepare a suitable wardrobe for her 
 new home, she had gone away to enjoy a pleasant 
 summer in travel, as well as to begin her chosen 
 vocation of teaching. 
 
 Christie had never let her know that she had 
 given up her own summer trip that she might 
 procure her the tasteful dress to which she justly 
 felt that she owed so much; for she knew it 
 would spoil all Achsah 1 s pleasure in it if she 
 should learn what denial it had cost her friend. 
 
 Christie was glad that she had chosen as she 
 did, for she had delighted in Achsah's success as
 
 io6 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 if it had been her own, and she knew she could 
 not have enjoyed her own dress if her school- 
 mate had had to make her appearance in the 
 soiled and unbecoming silk or one of her school 
 dresses. She still had enough of her fifty dollars 
 remaining to enable her to carry out her charita- 
 ble projects for some time to come, and she had 
 already determined that a share should be appro- 
 priated towards the happiness and comfort of the 
 poor little German woman. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon, and one after an- 
 other the girls had dropped in until all the mem- 
 bers of the graduating class were gathered upon 
 Mrs. Gilbert's porch, seated on the steps, in the 
 hammock, and on every available perch. 
 
 Commencement had been discussed so often 
 that the girls were beginning to weary of the 
 subject, and after a little desultory conversation 
 the girls had relapsed into a silence that was only 
 broken now and then by some ridiculous remark 
 from Louise, who generally considered it her mis- 
 sion to be amusing. 
 
 "Let's be very truthful and have an open 
 confession of our real feelings," suggested Grace, 
 when Louise had rallied her upon her silence 
 with the words, "A penny for your thoughts!" 
 
 "Who can honestly and truthfully say that 
 she is glad her school -days are over?"
 
 PLANS. I0; 
 
 "Well, I will lead the way for the rest of 
 you, and own up to the truth. I for one am 
 sorry that our days at the dear old Institute are 
 over," said Louise. "I used to think that I 
 would be perfectly happy when I got for ever 
 beyond the sound of Miss Giddings' r Young 
 ladies, attention, if you please,' and had bidden 
 an eternal farewell to my books; but I am ac- 
 tually hankering after them again." 
 
 "I feel all unsettled," said Ella Lindsay. 
 "Commencement night it seemed a grand and 
 inspiring thing to talk about beginning our voca- 
 tion in life and leading noble lives that would 
 enrich and bless the world; but somehow I don't 
 see anything before me but just an aimless sort 
 of drifting. I suppose I '11 do like all other girls 
 I know of who have left school. I really did 
 have some high ambitions about the time I was 
 writing my essay, but I expect I shall be per- 
 fectly contented to read novels, go to parties, and 
 have as gay a time as possible and help mother 
 a little between times." 
 
 "It doesn't seem worth while to have spent 
 so many years in preparing for a vocation, when 
 that vocation seems to be principally that of 
 being a butterfly," said Elsie Dunning. 
 
 "We wont be any worse than any of our 
 predecessors, if we are butterflies," said Florence
 
 io8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Dinsmore. "As long as I have been attending 
 the Institute it has always been just the same 
 way. Commencement night a set of girls have 
 graduated who have written flowery essays in 
 which they have glorified the mission of women, 
 and done their best to convince you that they 
 were a set of heroines just waiting to finish their 
 education before they would develop into the 
 most remarkable women that ever lived in the 
 world. At the very least you would expect to 
 find a few female philanthropists, missionaries, 
 famous writers, or household angels among them ; 
 but in a few weeks these aspiring souls have 
 developed a great fondness for lawn tennis, or 
 some other high and ennobling pursuit, that 
 somehow got left un mentioned in their essays, 
 and they all seem quite contented with a very 
 matter-of-fact gay time. I suppose that is just 
 what we will do, and we wont be any more friv- 
 olous than our predecessors." 
 
 "If we only worked together, and instead of 
 taking quite such high objects at which to aim 
 as we spoke of in our essays, were contented to 
 live our class motto, I believe we would be of 
 some use," said Christie. 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" exclaimed Louise. "Chris- 
 tie has enough of the Commencement spirit still 
 left in her to believe that we needn't be abso-
 
 PLANS. 109 
 
 lutely frivolous. Proceed with your speech, 
 Christie, and if you can show any just or reason- 
 able cause for our being useful, we will begin at 
 once." 
 
 Christie laughed. Louise's nonsense never 
 overpowered her as it did some of the others. 
 
 "Well, I have a little plan that I would like 
 to submit to the wisdom of the class," she pro- 
 ceeded. "I think it would be nice for us to be 
 united together in some sort of an informal so- 
 ciety, so we needn't drift apart as the members 
 of some of the other classes have; and we might 
 have general usefulness for an object. Of course 
 we cannot undertake any great piece of work. 
 Though I would publicly stand up for the many 
 and varied talents of the members of this class, 
 and deny that anything was impossible to such 
 united talent, still privately, in the bosom of the 
 class, I must confess I don't think we'll any of 
 us make a great stir in the world; and if we can 
 be helpful in some modest way, it will be all 
 we can do. If we all work together, I am sure 
 we will find ever so many things to do that will 
 make people happier for having known us, and 
 we will be happy in doing them, for then we 
 wont feel that our life is just an aimless 
 drifting." 
 
 "What could we do?" queried practical
 
 IIO CHRISTIE S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Elsie. "Have you thought of anything, or are 
 your little things as elusive and shapeless as the 
 great achievements of our essays seem to be?" 
 
 " Yes, I was thinking of something we might 
 begin to do at once," Christie replied, and she 
 told them of the woman with the sick baby 
 whom she had met upon the ferry-boat. 
 
 "This morning mother and I went down to 
 see her," she went on, as the girls listened to 
 the pathetic little story with silent interest. 
 "She lives in the basement of a miserable tene- 
 ment house, in one front room that is hardly 
 as large as this porch. The baby is six weeks 
 old now, but. it is such a little puny mite you 
 might think he was only a few days old. It is 
 damp and stifling both in the room, if you can 
 imagine such a combination, and the poor mother 
 looks as sick as the baby. It is touching to see 
 how fond she is of him, and she never seems to 
 think of her own hardships in having to take 
 him to the hospital so often in this hot weather, 
 when most of the time she walks all the way to 
 and from the ferry-boat for want of car- fare; but 
 she just mourns over his suffering." 
 
 "Can't the husband earn anything?" asked 
 Elsie. 
 
 " He has been at work again this last week," 
 Christie answered, "but she told us that about
 
 PLANS. Ill 
 
 two months ago he hurt his hand and hasn't 
 been able to do anything until just now. They 
 had no money except his daily earnings, so of 
 course they got in debt, and it is hard for them 
 to buy even the plainest food, while they have 
 back rent and grocery bills to pay. The poor 
 baby has scarcely any clothes at all, and the 
 mother isn't much better off." 
 
 "Will the baby always be blind?" asked 
 Grace. Christie shook her head. 
 
 "No, the sight has left one eye entirely, but 
 the other eye is almost well, and the doctor has 
 told her that after the next week she need not 
 bring it over to the hospital but once a month. 
 He told her to try and get a ticket from some of 
 the Fresh Air societies and go away into the 
 country with it ; but she is a foreigner, and 
 doesn't know how to go to work to ask for one, 
 and I'm afraid she would be too late anyway, 
 there are always so many applications on hand. 
 Now don't you see my plan, girls? I came 
 home full of it, and I should have called a class 
 meeting very soon to talk it over, if you hadn't 
 all happened in this afternoon." 
 
 "I think I see it!" exclaimed Louise. "We 
 are to be a sort of fairy godmother to that poor 
 woman and her baby, and come to her relief with 
 tea and blankets, or their equivalents."
 
 112 CHRISTIES NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Oh, Louise, what a melting suggestion this 
 hot afternoon!" exclaimed Christie reproachfully, 
 wielding her large palm leaf with more energy, 
 as if she imagined herself swathed in blankets 
 and drinking hot tea. 
 
 "Their equivalents, if you please, instead of 
 the real articles. I thought we might make both 
 of the poor things some clothes, and then per- 
 haps my opinion of what this class could do 
 was unbounded by possibility but the charming 
 plan occurred to me that perJiaps it would be 
 possible for us to give her a couple of weeks in 
 the country with her baby." 
 
 "I think that would be lovely, if we could 
 only do it," exclaimed Florence enthusiasti- 
 cally. 
 
 "If! This class knows no such word as if," 
 said Louise. "This class has no limits to its 
 powers and capacities. It has but to will and 
 accomplish. You are an unworthy member if 
 you do not at once and for ever erase such an 
 ignoble word." 
 
 "Truly, I think we could accomplish it," said 
 Elsie. "We could easily make the clothes, if 
 the thermometer does not rise any higher, and I 
 am sure we could pay her board somewhere in 
 the country with a little self-denial. Some of 
 us might have to restrict ourselves in soda water,
 
 PLANS. 113 
 
 to be sure," with a mischievous glance at Louise, 
 who was known to squander all her pocket 
 money through the summer months at the soda 
 water fountain. 
 
 "Or chocolate caramels," retorted that young 
 lady in retaliation, for they were Elsie's pet in- 
 dulgence. 
 
 "Let us see what materials we can collect, 
 and begin work as soon as possible," suggested 
 Florence. "The weather is so oppressive that 
 the sooner we can get their clothing ready and 
 send them to some cool place, the greater would 
 be the chances of the poor baby's life, I should 
 think." 
 
 ' ' Suppose we meet every morning for an hour 
 or so, for it will be cooler then to work than later 
 in the day," said Grace. "It will be such a 
 bother to carry the work backward and forward 
 that we had better leave it at one house, if any 
 one is willing to take charge of it. I would offer 
 our house, only it is so far out of the way that I 
 know you would n't any of you want to come." 
 
 "Our house is central," interposed Christie, 
 "and mother said we could have any meetings 
 here that we wanted to, and she would help us if 
 we needed her." 
 
 " She 's a brick !" remarked Louise, relapsing 
 into her favorite slang, in which she tried to imi-
 
 ii4 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 tate her brother, who was a college boy and con- 
 sequently delighted in expressing his meaning in 
 as ambiguous a way as possible. 
 
 "But, Christie, I thought you were going 
 away very soon with your aunt," said Grace. 
 
 " I have changed my mind and given up that 
 trip," Christie answered quietly. She had so 
 often spoken of her prospective pleasure that all 
 the girls knew she had expected to be away the 
 greater part of her summer, and though she had 
 not mentioned the subject lately, none of them 
 knew that she had given it up. 
 
 "Oh, Christie Gilbert, aren't you dreadfully 
 disappointed?" exclaimed Florence, who knew 
 how eagerly Christie had looked forward to it. 
 
 "What did you give it up for?" queried 
 Louise. 
 
 "No, I am not disappointed, at least not so 
 very much," Christie replied in answer to the 
 first question, "for I gave it up of my own ac- 
 cord and had an equivalent in its place; but I 
 wont tell you what I gave it up for, Louise. 
 That 's a profound secret." 
 
 "Well, I sha'n't attempt to guess," Louise 
 responded. "I can't imagine any inducement 
 strong enough to give up such a perfect trip as 
 the one your aunt had planned. I 'm glad you 
 are not going, however, for we'd miss you like
 
 PLANS. 115 
 
 everything, particularly if we are going to be 
 so useful. We will want you for our pendulum 
 to keep us running smoothly." 
 
 4 ' Thank you, ' ' laughed Christie. " It 's very 
 flattering to be told that I am a necessary part of 
 the class machinery, and I should probably be 
 tempted to stay at home in any case after that 
 speech." 
 
 "Then, since your mother is willing, we may 
 decide upon this house being the headquarters for 
 our work," said Elsie. "This will be such a 
 lovely place to sit and sew these warm mornings, 
 for I believe there is always a breeze upon this 
 porch if there isn't a breath stirring anywhere 
 else. I wish we could get the things all made 
 next week. It puts me in a perspiration to think 
 of that stifling basement a day like this." 
 
 "And you can't even begin to imagine how 
 stifling it is unless you have seen it," Christie 
 said, with a little shudder at the remembrance of 
 the close room and the odors that came in 
 through the window from the piles of rubbish in 
 the street. 
 
 " I should think we could easily make at least 
 one change apiece for each of them," said Ella, 
 " and then they could go away somewhere while 
 we were making the rest. I 'in in a hurry to get 
 them into the countrv."
 
 n6 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "I wish they could come out here," said 
 Florence. 
 
 " Would n't it be nice !" agreed Christie. " I 
 don't know whom we could get to board them 
 though." 
 
 "I don't either," Louise said. "I don't 
 suppose we could think of engaging rooms at the 
 hotel or any of the summer boarding-houses for 
 them, and I don't know of any other place where 
 we could get a room for them." 
 
 "There wont be any trouble in finding a 
 place somewhere," Grace interposed. "There 
 are ever so many places where they take just 
 such people at very low rates, so it does n't really 
 matter if we can't have her here, though of 
 course it would be much nicer. Well, I must be 
 going home. It is agreed that we meet Monday 
 morning at nine o'clock, with all the materials 
 we can collect, and begin work. Is any one 
 coming my way?" 
 
 " I am," Florence answered, rising to her feet 
 and brushing off the shower of pink and white 
 petals that had drifted down upon her while she 
 had been sitting upon the steps. "Monday 
 morning, then, we'll have a class reunion, and 
 turn ourselves into a Dorcas instead of a literary 
 society." 
 
 The other girls soon dispersed, and Christie
 
 PLANS. 1 1 7 
 
 went in to find her mother and acquaint her with 
 the success of her plan for the poor woman's 
 relief. 
 
 u I knew the girls would like a piece of work 
 of that kind," her mother said. U I think in 
 about a week or ten days at most you will have 
 the poor mother away from that stifling alley, and 
 breathing the pure air somewhere. It will be 
 the only thing that will save that poor baby's 
 life, I am sure. Now, Christie, don't you want to 
 take a walk with me ? I want to take some work 
 out to Miss Abigail, and the sun is so low that I 
 think we will find it very pleasant by the river." 
 
 "That will be delightful," Christie assented 
 eagerly, and in a few minutes the mother and 
 daughter were on their way. The road wound 
 along by the river, and the breeze which rippled 
 the placid surface of the broad stream was very 
 refreshing after the heat of the day. 
 
 It was somewhat over a mile to their destina- 
 tion, but the time passed away so pleasantly that 
 the walk did not seem at all long, and they were 
 soon at Miss Abigail's gate.
 
 n8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTERX. 
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 
 
 IT was a little old-fashioned rambling house 
 before which Christie and her mother stopped, 
 the low picket-fence overrun with vines, and the 
 flower-beds before the windows looking as if they 
 might have been planted in the time of our 
 grandmothers, so quaint and "old timey " were 
 the flowers. 
 
 A little old lady sat by the window knitting, 
 and the bright needles gleamed like silver as they 
 flashed backward and forward in her nimble fin- 
 gers, though her eyes were fixed upon the river 
 and she scarcely seemed to heed what she was 
 doing. 
 
 As the latch of her gate was lifted the click 
 broke in upon her reverie, and she sprang to her 
 feet, while a look of welcome brightened her face. 
 
 She was an active little woman, one to whom 
 the New England epithet of "spry" would most 
 aptly apply. She always reminded Christie of a 
 little wren, her movements were so quick, and 
 she had a birdlike fashion of poising her head on 
 one side when she talked, her bright black eyes
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 119 
 
 fairly snapping with eagerness when she grew 
 much interested in what she was saying. 
 
 Miss Abigail was the last of a large family 
 who had been born in the little brown house, and 
 she could easily remember when the garden that 
 was so quiet now had been filled with a troop of 
 noisy and bonneted children who had played and 
 frolicked together, as happy and unconscious of 
 care as if they had been the fledglings in one 
 of the nests that were hidden away beneath the 
 eaves. 
 
 One after another the quiet village of the 
 dead had made room for them, and a short green 
 mound had marked the ended child life, until at 
 last only Miss Abigail and her youngest brother 
 had been left with the father and mother in the 
 home nest. 
 
 There was a vein of waywardness in this 
 youngest boy that grieved the parents, who had 
 found all their other children dutiful and docile. 
 It was as if a cuckoo's egg had been hatched in a 
 dove's nest, and as the boy grew older there were 
 scenes of contention in the quiet little house, and 
 harsh words would pass between the father and 
 the son, while the sorrowful mother would shed 
 tears over the wayward boy who was so totally 
 unlike all her other children. 
 
 These quarrels had culminated one night in a
 
 i2o CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 bitter contention in which the boy had flung him- 
 self out of the house, declaring that he would 
 never enter it again as long as he lived. He had 
 disappeared in the darkness, and no one had ever 
 seen or heard of him again. Day after day the 
 feeble old mother watched for some sign or word 
 from her wandering boy, his mother's darling 
 yet in spite of all his wrong-doing, for was he not 
 her baby, the last to lie upon her heart in uncon- 
 scious infancy, and to be cradled in her arms ! 
 
 The old father passed away, leaving his for- 
 giveness and blessing for the wanderer, and at 
 last there came a day when the mother too knew 
 that she could not wait for her boy's return. 
 
 " You will never leave the old home, will you, 
 Abby ?" she quavered pitifully, her fast dimming 
 eyes fixed on her daughter in eager entreaty. 
 "Promise me that Tim will always find his home 
 here when he comes back, for I know he will 
 come some day. He was always a good boy at 
 heart, if he did anger his father. You will al- 
 ways keep a light burning in the window for him 
 and the door on the latch, wont you, Abby? Tell 
 him I waited as long as I could for him and I 
 always loved him to the last." 
 
 "I'll be waiting for him when he comes, 
 mother," Abby promised, and a look of content 
 crossed the eaeer face.
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 121 
 
 "You wont forget? You'll always stay 
 here?" asked the feeble voice again; and as once 
 more the daughter promised, the dim old eyes 
 closed to open upon the radiance of heaven, and 
 Abigail was left alone in the home which had 
 once been so full of young life. 
 
 It seemed to her then like the deserted last 
 year's nest swinging tenantless and desolate in 
 the limb of the old apple-tree, and she wished 
 that she might have gone with her mother. A 
 less brave and joyous spirit might have grown 
 gloomy, and self-pitying with such a lonely life, 
 but by the time the green sod had stretched its 
 velvety mantle over the newly-turned earth 
 which marked the place where the mother was 
 laid to rest beside her children, Miss Abigail had 
 learned a lesson of sweet content. 
 
 Her Christian life was an earnest, practical 
 one, and she drew sweet lessons of trust in her 
 Heavenly Father from her surroundings that 
 might have been passed unheeded by careless 
 eyes. The river with its broad sweep of blue 
 was a never failing comforter, and even the little 
 brown sparrows that hopped fearlessly about her, 
 making friendly advances towards her, with their 
 bright eyes fixed upon her half confidently, half 
 curiously, chirped to her of the love and care 
 which watched over even the feathered creation
 
 122 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 so that not one sparrow could fall to the ground 
 unheeded. 
 
 It troubled her most to think that her life was 
 not a more useful one, for it seemed to her that 
 caring principally for her own needs was a selfish 
 existence, and not what she was put into the 
 world for. Many of her acquaintances would 
 have borne witness to her kindness of heart and 
 told of long vigils with the sick, of stitches taken 
 for tired mothers, of many a little delicacy sent to 
 tempt an invalid's capricious taste; but of these 
 things Miss Abigail took no account " It 's only 
 a pleasure," she would say, so cordially that no 
 one could doubt her sincerity. 
 
 She was expert in the use of her needle, as 
 only those are who learned to sew before the days 
 of machines had supplanted the daintily set stitch- 
 es that were beautiful in their regularity and 
 neatness, and she found no difficulty in getting 
 plenty of sewing to do. 
 
 She was always glad of visitors, for she was 
 a sociable little body and delighted in a chat with 
 any of her friends. 
 
 She welcomed Mrs. Gilbert and Christie with 
 hearty cordiality, slipping her knitting into the 
 capacious pocket of her apron, while she came 
 forward with outstretched hands. 
 
 "Well, now, I am certainly glad to see you !"
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 123 
 
 she exclaimed. "Will you come in, or shall I 
 bring chairs out here for you where you can look 
 at the river while you sit? I'm so fond of it 
 myself I always take it for granted that other 
 folks must enjoy it too. It's great company to 
 me lately, particularly now that I a' n't got much 
 to do but look at it." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that you are not very busy 
 just now," Mrs. Gilbert remarked, as they took 
 the chairs that Miss Abigail placed for them. 
 "I have a little sewing that I wanted you to do, 
 and I was afraid that perhaps you might have so 
 much on hand that I should have to wait for a 
 while. It isn't very often that you are to be 
 found without plenty of work. " 
 
 "Bless your heart, it isn't for lack of work 
 that I have nothing to do but look at the river," 
 Miss Abigail exclaimed energetically. "I've 
 work enough on hand for a month, but it 's my 
 eyes. They seem to have clean given out en- 
 tirely for anything like sewing, though I can pot- 
 ter around and do other things well enough. I 
 can knit without my eyes, so I don't really have 
 to sit with my hands folded, and I'm thankful 
 enough for that; but it's pretty hard to give my 
 sewing up." 
 
 "Indeed it must be hard," Mrs. Gilbert re- 
 marked sympathizing!}'. "You are so fond of
 
 124 CHRISTIE'S XEXT THINGS. 
 
 sewing that it must be a real deprivation to have 
 to lay it aside entirely. Your eyes will be better 
 soon if you rest them, wont they?" 
 
 "I'm in hopes they will," Miss Abigail an- 
 swered. "I suppose it 's the Lord's way of teach- 
 ing me a lesson of trust, for I can't quite see my 
 way clear to getting along without my little earn- 
 ings unless I begin to use the little I have laid up 
 for a rainy day ; and I hate to do that. I suppose 
 I must just believe he's able and willing to pro- 
 vide for me without my making any provision 
 for myself, any more than one of these little spar- 
 rows, but it's human nature to feel more like 
 trusting if you're doing something for yourself, 
 and human nature 's mighty strong in me, 1 am 
 finding out. I sha' n't really suffer for food, with 
 what I 've got in my garden, but one don't know 
 how to get on without a little money now and 
 then." 
 
 "'Casting all your care upon Him, for He 
 careth for you,' " said Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 "Yes, I know," responded Miss Abigail, 
 "and yet a' n't it strange! it seems as if I'd 
 rather nurse my care and hold on to it and worry 
 over it than just lay it on One who's willing and 
 able to bear it all. Queer, what human nature is. 
 I often wonder how the good Lord can keep his 
 patience with us when we're so trying. Well,
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 125 
 
 the good Book says he knows the frailty of our 
 frame and seeth we are but dust, and maybe he 
 pities us for being such poor foolish creatures. 
 Perhaps he has taken my work away to give me 
 something else to do for him. I'll just try and 
 bide patient for what he sends me next. If it 
 will please him to send me something to do by 
 which I can earn my living and at the same time 
 be doing something for other folks, I'll be glad 
 and happy. If he should mean that I'm just to 
 sit with folded hands and not be of any good, why 
 he '11 give me grace for that, though it will be the 
 hardest work of my life. I '11 try and keep ready 
 for my next work, \\ latever it may be." 
 
 A sudden light flashed into Christie's face as 
 she listened. 
 
 "Miss Abigail," she asked, "would it be too 
 much trouble to you to give me a glass of your 
 nice spring water?" 
 
 "No, indeed, child. Why, I ought to have 
 thought of it myself," and hospitable Miss Abi- 
 gail hurried away. 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed Christie eagerly, "I 
 was so eager to ask you something that I could n't 
 wait till we started home. I wonder if I can't 
 put Miss Abigail in the way of the 'next' that 
 she is waiting for. She has plenty of room in 
 her house for company, and I wonder if she
 
 126 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 would n't board that woman and her baby for us? 
 Just think how lovely it would be to have them 
 here by the river, with lots of fresh air and good 
 wholesome food." 
 
 Miss Abigail was pattering back with a glass 
 brimming full of clear cold water, and Christie 
 had to read her mother's approval of her plan in 
 her face. 
 
 " Miss Abigail, Christie has a plan to propose 
 to you, I think," Mrs. Gilbert said, when Christie 
 hesitated a little about beginning her project. So 
 Christie went back to the meeting on the ferry- 
 boat, and Miss Abigail listened with many an 
 exclamation of pity. 
 
 " Poor little soul !" she said pitifully. " If I 
 was only able to earn a bit with my needle, now, 
 I 'd love to make her bring that poor baby here 
 and get a breath of good air." 
 
 "That's just my plan, Miss Abigail," ex- 
 claimed Christie eagerly. "We want to send 
 them somewhere for a couple of weeks, and of 
 course there are places for people that we could 
 send them to, but we thought it would be so 
 much nicer if they could be here where we could 
 see them sometimes; and we couldn't think of 
 any one who had room who would be willing to 
 take them. Now I was just thinking what a 
 beautiful place this would be for her, and if you
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 127 
 
 would only take her and let us pay you for liei 
 whatever you thought right, it would be so nice. 
 What do you say?"' 
 
 "Why, that she's heartily welcome," an- 
 swered Miss Abigail. " I 'd be far better pleased 
 if I could see my way to doing for her without a 
 cent of money in return; but the L/ord is pro- 
 viding for me in this way at the same time he 's 
 providing for her, so it a' n't right for me not to 
 be thankful for his provision for me. Besides, I 
 dare say I can find plenty of chances to do a 
 hand's turn for her now and again, that I can 
 feel I am doing for one of his little ones, even if 
 I am paid for her keep. Yes, I'll be ready for 
 her any day, Miss Christie, and the sooner the 
 better for her. Do n't wait to get her clothes all 
 ready, for she can have those after she gets here, 
 and she ought to have her baby here this moment" 
 
 "I will talk to the girls about it Monday 
 morning, and then I will come out here in the 
 afternoon and tell you when to expect her," 
 Christie said, 'delighted at Miss Abigail's acquies- 
 cence. "We will have to tell her about it first, 
 so that her husband can make some arrangement 
 to get his meals somewhere while she is gone ; 
 and I am afraid we can hardly get her here before 
 Wednesday or Thursday ; but I am eager to see 
 her face when she finds out that she is to be here
 
 128 CHRISTIE'S XEXT THINGS. 
 
 with you, where she can look at this beautiful 
 river. Oh, I am so glad you will take her, Miss 
 Abigail! I don't know how to thank you 
 enough." 
 
 U I am the one to thank you, child," Miss 
 Abigail answered. "I couldn't have chosen a 
 bit of work for myself that would have pleased 
 me as well as this, and I '11 be as happy as a 
 queen again. Maybe I'll have faith enough to 
 trust the Lord for what will come next when I 
 can't quite see the way, for I 've had a chance to 
 learn over and over again that he always plans 
 for me better than I could for myself. I 'm sorry 
 I can't do your sewing, Mrs. Gilbert, but you 
 know how it is; I'm willing enough if only my 
 eyes would let me." 
 
 " I feel as you do, that the Lord is giving you 
 other work just now," Mrs. Gilbert answered, 
 "and I am so glad that you can give this poor 
 woman a share of your peaceful home that I am 
 quite willing to be disappointed about my sew- 
 ing. I wish we could sit longer, Miss Abigail, 
 the river is so beautiful in the sunset, but we 
 must start homeward, or Mr. Gilbert will not 
 know what has become of us. You will see 
 Christie often enough now, I expect, to make up 
 for the shortness of our visit. Good-by." 
 
 (c Could anything be lovelier?" asked Christie
 
 MISS ABIGAIL'S NEXTE. 129 
 
 joyfully, as they turned tlieir steps towards home. 
 "I don't think there is a place in the world 
 where that poor little woman could be more kind- 
 ly treated than Miss Abigail will treat her, and 
 this lovely river view will make her forget to 
 look so sad and desolate." 
 
 "Perhaps Miss Abigail can teach her some 
 of her own trustfulness," Mrs. Gilbert responded. 
 u I always feel that I have learned something new 
 when I have had a little talk with her, and we 
 could all learn a lesson from her." 
 
 "I wonder I did not think about the proba- 
 bility of Miss Abigail's being able to take her be- 
 fore," Christie said. "I couldn't think of any 
 one who would be willing to take the trouble to 
 care for a woman with a sick baby, unless, of 
 course, we could pay a good deal of board for her, 
 but Miss Abigail's is just the place. She will 
 be glad to do it, more for the sake of the opportu- 
 nity of doing good than for the money she can 
 earn in that way. Now we must get that poor 
 baby here as soon as possible."
 
 130 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 
 
 PROMPTLY at nine o'clock on Monday morn- 
 ing the girls assembled at Mrs. Gilbert's, each 
 one well laden with all that she had been able 
 to collect for the poor woman. 
 
 They were as delighted as Christie had been 
 when they learned that Miss Abigail was willing 
 to open her little home for the poor babe and its 
 mother, and were anxious to get them out of the 
 hot basement room as quickly as possible. 
 
 When they opened their bundles and ex- 
 hibited their contributions, they were delighted 
 to find that a great deal was ready for immediate 
 use. A dark calico wrapper which had been 
 well worn and was somewhat faded, but still in 
 good condition, needed only a few stitches to 
 make it ready for use; and various articles of 
 under apparel were laid aside with the wrapper. 
 Grace Davenport had gone to a friend who had 
 lost a little babe some time before, and the 
 mother had selected several little garments 
 which were plain enough to be suitable and 
 serviceable and sent them for this little one.
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 131 
 
 "I believe \ve have enough already for them 
 to wear out here," Elsie said. U I wonder if 
 they could come to-morrow afternoon. If it is 
 hot here on this shady porch, what must it be 
 where they are!" 
 
 "How can we get word to the woman?" 
 asked Ella. 
 
 "I should suggest that two of you girls 
 should go in to see her this afternoon when it 
 is cooler," Mrs. Gilbert said, from her seat at 
 the window. "Perhaps she could come to- 
 morrow if she knew about it to-night." 
 
 The girls were very much pleased with this 
 plan, and they decided that Elsie and Christie 
 should go down in the afternoon train and make 
 arrangements with the poor mother to come out 
 as soon as possible with her babe. 
 
 It was quite warm when Elsie and Christie 
 started on their trip, but when they reached the 
 street where the object of their expedition lived, 
 they felt as if the noonday heat in Weston would 
 be refreshing compared to this close stifling at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 Christie remembered the house, and led the 
 way to the tall tenement that seemed dingier and 
 more overcrowded than ever in comparison with 
 the pretty houses of Weston and the broad elm- 
 shadowed streets.
 
 132 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "What a dreadful place!" exclaimed Elsie 
 with a shudder of disgust, as she followed Chris- 
 tie down the stone steps. 
 
 Christie opened the door that led into the 
 dark narrow hall, and knocked at the first door. 
 
 "Come," was the response, and she opened 
 the door to see the pale little woman, who looked 
 whiter and more fragile than ever, sitting in a 
 chair by the window fanning the mite of a baby 
 upon her knee with an old newspaper doubled 
 up to serve as a fan. 
 
 "Poor little thing!" said Elsie pityingly, as 
 she looked at the wasted face and transparent 
 tiny hands, that looked too waxen to belong to 
 a living child. 
 
 Christie had hard work to explain the pur- 
 pose of her visit to the mother, and she and Elsie 
 had to search for the simplest language and the 
 most expressive gestures to convey their mean- 
 ing. When at last it dawned upon her that she 
 was to take her baby away from that hot, close 
 room, where no breath of fresh air could possibly 
 penetrate, she burst into a flood of joyful tears, 
 and fairly overpowered the girls with her broken 
 exclamations of gratitude. 
 
 When they gave her the clothes they had 
 brought her delight knew no bounds, and she 
 seemed even more pleased with the soft garments
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 133 
 
 for the baby than with the clothes that she her- 
 self needed so much. 
 
 Everything about the room was scrupulously 
 clean, poor and bare as it was, and the baby 
 showed that he was carefully cared for as far 
 as cleanliness went. 
 
 ' ' He look pretty in new dress ? You no 
 think so?" asked the mother proudly, as she 
 held up the little slip, which, plain though it 
 was, looked very dainty and pretty beside the 
 coarse calico frock which was faded and well 
 mended, besides being much too large for the 
 tiny child. 
 
 Before the girls came away they had arranged 
 that the mother and babe should come out to 
 Weston on the nine o'clock train, when Christie 
 and Elsie would meet them with a carriage and 
 take them to Miss Abigail's house. 
 
 Christie thoughtfully left some money for 
 travelling expenses, thinking that even that 
 small sum might be an impossible one for the 
 mother to procure upon such short notice. 
 
 They found that the husband could stay with 
 his sister on the next block during his wife's 
 absence, and that he would be delighted to have 
 the baby away in the country. 
 
 "He loves very much the baby," the mother 
 said.
 
 134 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 It was drawing near the close of the after- 
 noon when the girls reached Weston, and they 
 were afraid it would be too late to go out and 
 give Miss Abigail notice of the arrival of her 
 expected guests upon the morrow. Much to 
 their surprise and pleasure, Florence was waiting 
 at the station with a wide phaeton. 
 
 "I thought you would want to go out to Miss 
 Abigail's to-night, though you didn't say any- 
 thing about it this morning," she said, "so I 
 came to meet you and can drive you out if you 
 want to go. ' ' 
 
 "That is splendid!" exclaimed Christie with 
 a look of relief. "I wanted Miss Abigail to 
 know all about it to-night, but I didn't see how 
 we were ever going to walk out there and back 
 before dark." 
 
 "When are they coining?" asked Florence, 
 as the girls seated themselves in the phaeton and 
 the horse started briskly up the street. 
 
 "To-morrow morning at nine o'clock," Elsie 
 answered. "Oh, Florence, you ought to see 
 that poor little baby; it isn't much larger than 
 a good-sized doll, and so thin and wan looking. 
 I am sure it couldn't have lived much longer 
 in that wretched cellar. Why, I could hardly 
 breathe while we were in it." 
 
 "How it will thrive at Miss Abigail's!" said
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 135 
 
 Florence. "She will coddle it and nurse'it till 
 it is a real fat country boy. I am so glad they 
 are coming." 
 
 Miss Abigail was delighted to hear of the 
 speedy advent of her visitors. 
 
 "Ready for them?" she echoed in response to 
 Christie's question. "Why, I'm ready for them 
 now. I got their room all fixed this morning, 
 I was in such a hurry for them to come. Just 
 step in and look at it, wont you? I was going 
 to give her one of the up-stairs chambers, and 
 then I thought just as like the poor little woman 
 wouldn't feel like travelling up and down stairs 
 half-a-dozen times a day, so I concluded I'd fix 
 up the room for her that mother had after she 
 took to her bed. It's a room I've always been 
 meaning to take for my bedroom when I get too 
 old and feeble to go up and down stairs. I 'd like 
 it now, but it seems kind of shiftless to have a 
 room down stairs as long as you 're able-bodied." 
 
 While she had been talking she had been 
 leading the way with swift, pattering footsteps, 
 and now she ushered them into a square room 
 that opened off the parlor. 
 
 "Oh, if you could just see her home, Miss 
 Abigail, you would know what a little bit of 
 heaven this will seem like to her," exclaimed 
 Elsie, as she glanced around the room.
 
 136 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "I'm glad you think it looks nice," said 
 Miss Abigail with gratified pride. 
 
 The floor was as white as years of scrubbing 
 could make it, with bright braided mats laid 
 here and there upon it. The high four-posted 
 bed looked very inviting, with its neat patch- 
 work quilt and the snowy sheets already turned 
 down for the expected occupant. Feathery 
 plumes of asparagus waved behind the looking- 
 glass, and upon the walls were portraits of the 
 children of the family, chubby unsmiling faces, 
 as if they were awed at the thought of having 
 their pictures taken. 
 
 The article of furniture which delighted the 
 girls most was an old-fashioned cradle that stood 
 beside the bed, and they exclaimed over it, while 
 Miss Abigail looked on with a smile that was 
 a little tremulous, as if tears were not very far 
 away. "We were all rocked in that," she said, 
 touching the wooden rocker with her foot so it 
 swayed backward and forward " every one of us 
 brothers and sisters; and it seems strange to 
 think it will be used again in this house. I 
 can't tell you how it made me feel when I 
 fetched it down from the garret." 
 
 "Just imagine that poor little baby in this 
 soft nest!" exclaimed Christie. "You will love 
 him dearly when you see him, Miss Abigail, he
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 137 
 
 is such a mite; but he will soon get fat and 
 strong here. ' ' 
 
 The clock on the mantel rang out six strokes 
 in as business-like and peremptory a way as if 
 it had somehow caught some of Miss Abigail's 
 briskness, and Florence looked up in surprise. 
 
 "What, is it six o'clock already!" she ex- 
 claimed. "Come, girls, we must hurry, or our 
 mothers wont know what has become of us. 
 Good-by, Miss Abigail. You'll soon see me 
 again." 
 
 Miss Abigail stood at the gate and looked 
 after the happy girls with a smile on her face as 
 she waved her hand to them in farewell. 
 
 "Now a'n't it beautiful to see them about 
 their Father's business!" she said to herself. 
 "And they're happy in it too, as of course 
 they should be, for it always brings a blessing. 
 And isn't it a privilege, when you come to 
 think it all out, that we're let to do anything 
 for him, when he has all those angels to do his 
 bidding? To think that when we are doing for 
 that poor bit of a babe and its mother, we can 
 say to ourselves those blessed words, ' Inasmuch 
 as ye have done it unto the least of these my 
 brethren, ye have done it unto Me!, Wonderful! 
 wonderful!" 
 
 It would have been hard to tell whose antici-
 
 138 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 pations that night were the more pleasurable, 
 those of poor Christina Ehrich, as she hugged her 
 wailing baby, while tears of gratitude rained down 
 her pallid cheeks, or those of the girls who were 
 looking forward to her coming. 
 
 Miss Abigail too was in a state of excitement 
 that was unusual with her, and she pattered in 
 and out of the room a dozen times to see if she 
 could not find something more to add to make 
 the room more comfortable. 
 
 She even ransacked the hidden treasures of 
 an old chest in the garret, and produced in tri- 
 umph a \vooden rattle for the baby guest's 
 amusement. 
 
 Miss Abigail smiled at her own folly the next 
 day when she saw the tiny bird-like hands that 
 were too feeble to close around the mother's 
 ringer. But Miss Abigail had had long years 
 in which to forget the tastes and capacities of 
 even a lusty, vigorous six-weeks-old baby, and 
 the rattle showed the strength of her good inten- 
 tions if not of her judgment. 
 
 All the girls were eager to see their protfgfes 
 the next morning, but they managed to restrain 
 their eagerness, lest it should embarrass the little 
 mother. 
 
 Christie and Elsie drove down to the station 
 with a two-seated carriage to meet their guest,
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 139 
 
 and their faces were as eager with excitement as 
 if they expected to meet a dear friend, when they 
 heard the train whistling for the station. 
 
 "Wont we be disappointed if she doesn't 
 come!" said Elsie, as they hitched the horse and 
 went around to the platform. 
 
 "I don't believe there's much danger of 
 that," Christie answered. 
 
 If they had seen Mrs. Ehrich waiting impa- 
 tiently in the station fully half aw hour before 
 train-time, they would both have been quite sure 
 that she would not fail them. 
 
 There were not many passengers for Weston 
 at that early hour in the morning, though the cars 
 going the other way were crowded with gentle- 
 men going to business. 
 
 The second person to alight was Mrs. Ehrich, 
 a brighter look on her face than Christie could 
 have believed it possible for her to wear, with her 
 baby tightly clasped in her arms. 
 
 The girls gave her a warm welcome, and 
 helped her into the carriage with her bundle, and 
 the little party were soon driving rapidly along 
 beside the river towards Miss Abigail's house. 
 
 " Did you ever see any one look more delight- 
 ed?" Elsie whispered, as she glanced back at the 
 thin face that was gazing in rapt admiration at 
 the river.
 
 140 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Isn't it lovely to think we can have her 
 here!" Christie returned. "And doesn't the 
 baby look sweet in that little white slip and 
 knitted shawl? If you could only have seen the 
 coarse bit of burlap that she had him wrapped up 
 in when I first saw them !" 
 
 Miss Abigail was watching for her guests, and 
 as soon as the carriage came around the curve 
 of the road she ran down to the gate in a nutter 
 of eager welcome. 
 
 " Why,* you poor little mite, you a' n't bigger 
 than a kitten, to be sure!" she exclaimed, as she 
 held out her strong hands for the baby. " I do n't 
 know who looks the sickest, the mother or 
 the baby," she went on in an aside to Christie 
 as Elsie lifted the small bundle out and helped the 
 mother to alight. 
 
 "They'll both look the better for your good 
 care, Miss Abigail," Christie returned, touching 
 the baby's wasted cheeks with caressing fingers, 
 as she looked pityingly at the wan little face with 
 its closed eyes. 
 
 "I've got a nice breakfast waiting for her," 
 Miss Abigail went on, leading the way into the 
 house. "I did n't suppose she'd have much of 
 a one before she started, and I knew the journey 
 and the fresh air would be likely to give her an 
 appetite anyhow. I'll just show her where the
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 141 
 
 cradle is, and then if she has a mind she can put 
 him right down in it and come to the table. Is 
 he sick or clean worn out, or do you s'pose he 
 don't ever open his eyes?" 
 
 "Oh, he opens his eyes sometimes," Christie 
 explained. "He has lost the sight of one eye, 
 the one that is lighter than the other, but he can 
 open them both. He looks to me as if he was 
 too tired to try to look around, though perhaps he 
 is asleep. ' ' 
 
 Miss Abigail carried the baby into the room 
 she had prepared for her guests, and, apparently 
 under the impression that a foreigner who could 
 speak very little English must necessarily be 
 somewhat deaf, and must be addressed in as bro- 
 ken speech as possible, cried out in high-pitched 
 tones, 
 
 "Cradle for baby. You put him in and he 
 rest. You come eat." 
 
 The girls smiled at each other as they listened 
 to Miss Abigail's shrill tones, but to the little 
 German woman she only appeared to be an object 
 of the most profound gratitude. When she saw 
 the little cradle, with its soft white sheets and 
 tiny pillow, she seized Miss Abigail's disengaged 
 hand and kissed it again and again in an out- 
 burst of gratitude that embarrassed the good 
 woman, who was not used to such demonstrations.
 
 142 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "There, there, never mind!" she exclaimed, 
 trying to withdraw her hand from the eager grasp. 
 " You just take your baby now, and don't mind 
 me. Bless your heart, I a' n't doing anything 
 but what's a pleasure to do." 
 
 The mother took the baby from Miss Abigail, 
 with another outburst of broken thanks, and lay- 
 ing aside the knitted shawl and tiny cap, put 
 him in the soft white nest. The little sheets and 
 other appurtenances of the cradle had been packed 
 away with sprigs of lavender, and as the baby 
 nestled into the soft pillow a subtle fragrance 
 arose. 
 
 ' ' I wish you would stay and let me give you 
 something to eat too," Miss Abigail said, as she 
 left Mrs. Ehrich to take off her bonnet, and fol- 
 lowed the girls out into the hall. 
 
 "The table looks very inviting, Miss Abi- 
 gail," Christie said, "but we must start home 
 now. The girls are sewing at our house, and 
 they will be anxious to hear how the baby got 
 here and all about it." 
 
 The table did indeed look very inviting, with 
 its bright red cloth and the old-fashioned blue 
 china set upon it. The kettle was singing on the 
 wood fire which Miss Abigail had just kindled, 
 and a plate of fresh-laid eggs were ready to be 
 cooked as soon as the water should boil. The
 
 THE ARRIVAL. 143 
 
 loaf of home-made bread looked deliciously crisp 
 and brown, and the girls could fancy how good 
 everything would taste, eaten in that scrupu- 
 lously clean, airy kitchen, where one could feast 
 her eyes upon the river all the time. 
 
 Bidding Miss Abigail good-by they drove 
 away, carrying with them a pleasant memory of 
 the delighted smile upon the thin, wan face of 
 the mother framed in by the vine- wreathed win- 
 dow.
 
 144 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 REST. 
 
 As soon as the girls had driven away Miss 
 Abigail bustled about, upon hospitable thoughts 
 intent, and soon had the guest seated at the table, 
 enjoying the meal she had prepared for her. 
 
 It was as acceptable as Miss Abigail had 
 thought, for in the excitement of getting started 
 Mrs. Ehrich had scarcely broken her fast, and in 
 truth there had been little enough to eat in the 
 almost empty cupboard. The cup of fragrant tea 
 and its accompaniments were an unusual luxury, 
 and, much to Miss Abigail's alarm, Mrs. Ehrich 
 acted as if she were about to again embrace the 
 hand that was ministering to her wants, and Miss 
 Abigail flew about in a more wren-like fashion than 
 ever, that she might be out of the way of danger. 
 
 Mrs. Ehrich perceived at last that her hostess 
 did not understand the way in which she relieved 
 her overcharged heart, and she refrained from all 
 manifestations of gratitude except broken words 
 of thanks. 
 
 After she had concluded her meal she wanted 
 to help Miss Abigail wash the breakfast things
 
 REST. I 45 
 
 and clear the table, but the good woman would 
 not hear of this. In her eyes her guest looked 
 only fit for bed, she was so thin and feeble. Re- 
 turning to her high-pitched tones, she said to her, 
 with emphatic gestures and very distinct utter- 
 ance, 
 
 " You sit in chair. You rest. I can do this." 
 
 Mrs. Ehrich yielded, and sat in the broad, low, 
 rush-bottomed rocking-chair upon the cosey porch, 
 letting her eyes rest upon the tranquil river and 
 listening to the song of the birds, who had nested 
 in those same trees for years and felt as much at 
 home about the little brown house as did Miss 
 Abigail herself. 
 
 At last the baby stirred uneasily in his fra- 
 grant couch, and the mother's ear heard the little 
 feeble wail. She brought him out on the porch 
 and sat and rocked him there, while he had his 
 meal too, and Miss Abigail, pattering about her 
 work, stopped every now and then to glance out 
 at the pair with a look of supreme content. 
 
 "I declare to goodness he looks better al- 
 ready," she said, as the eyes unclosed and the 
 baby seemed to be enjoying the cool breeze as 
 much as his mother. 
 
 "He like it very much," the mother said, as 
 she caught Miss Abigail's glance, and with a 
 swift gesture she indicated the river, the sky, the 
 
 Christie 1 " Next Things. IO
 
 146 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 trees, and the roses that nodded at them from the 
 porch-rail. 
 
 "I dare say, poor little fellow," answered 
 Miss Abigail, forgetting her shrill tones and 
 speaking in a more natural voice than Mrs. Eh- 
 rich had heard her use before. 
 
 Through the rest of the morning the mother 
 sat there, content to rest and drink in the beauty 
 around her, while the peacefulness of the scene 
 stole into her heart. 
 
 Meantime the girls stitched busily away, de- 
 lighted with the account which Christie and Elsie 
 gave them of the woman's gratitude at her recep- 
 tion by Miss Abigail. 
 
 "I can just imagine Miss Abby's face when 
 she found her hand being kissed," laughed 
 Louise. "I dare say she set it down as one of 
 the 'play acting' ways of foreigners, but she is 
 so sorry for this poor woman that I don't think 
 she will lay it up against her." % 
 
 "I am in a hurry to see the baby," Grace 
 said, as she took the last stitches in a little slip of 
 flowered print. u I think we might go out there 
 this afternoon, and take some more of the clothes 
 as an excuse for going, if we feel as if we needed 
 one for overrunning Miss Abigail." 
 
 "We will any of us be quite welcome, I can 
 assure you," Christie said. "Miss Abigail is
 
 REST. 147 
 
 one of the most hospitable souls in the world, and 
 always enjoys company; besides she knows we 
 all feel a sense of proprietorship in her guests." 
 
 "How much are we to pay every week for 
 this woman's board?" asked Ella. 
 
 "Well, it 's so little that I feel as if we were 
 imposing upon Miss Abigail's goodness of heart 
 in letting her take so much trouble for so small a 
 return," Christie answered; "but you know she 
 is very set in her way, and she named a price that 
 she said would cover all her extra expenses and 
 let her make a little besides, and she wouldn't 
 hear of taking a cent more." 
 
 "How much is it? three dollars?" asked 
 Florence. 
 
 " No, only two," Christie answered; and as 
 the girls exclaimed in surprise she added apolo- 
 getically, " I should feel better if we were paying 
 a little more, but she wont let us.' There is one 
 good thing, we can certainly keep the baby there 
 all through the hot weather if Mrs. Ehrich can 
 stay away from home so long. It would be so 
 nice if they could both go home looking real 
 strong and well." 
 
 "We can certainly afford to give them the 
 opportunity, at that rate," Grace said. " Christie, 
 you shall be our treasurer, and we will divide the 
 amount up among us, and each pay our share to
 
 148 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 you every week. I am going to give you this 
 now, for I am sure after I break it I shall not be 
 able to keep it very long, and I may be out of 
 funds for a while when this is gone." 
 
 She took a crisp two-dollar note from her 
 purse and gave it to Christie, and the others 
 began to search in their pockets for their porte- 
 monnaies, that the first payment for Mrs. Eh- 
 rich's board might be made at once. 
 
 When it was time to disperse, Louise lingered 
 behind, to help Christie put away the work and 
 carry it to a disused closet up stairs which had 
 been set apart for that purpose. 
 
 She did not seem in any hurry to take her de- 
 parture, so Christie took her into her own room, 
 and made her comfortable in the rocking-chair 
 while she dusted and did some little tasks she 
 had not had time to do earlier in the morning, on 
 account of her drive to Miss Abigail's house. 
 
 Louise seemed to be in a restless frame of 
 mind and body alike, and she chatted on in such 
 a desultory way that Christie could not fail to 
 notice her preoccupation. 
 
 " What are you thinking about, Louise ?" she 
 asked at last, with a merry laugh, when her com- 
 panion had replied absently, "I guess so," to an 
 inquiry Christie had made concerning a birthday 
 party which it was rumored was to be given soon.
 
 REST. 149 
 
 "Well, I'm rather upset in my mind over 
 a letter I got last night," Louise answered. 
 " Christie, I am going to ask you a question, and 
 of course you needn't answer it if you would 
 rather not, but I am not asking just from idle 
 curiosity. Would you mind telling me why you 
 gave up your trip ? Was it for some greater 
 pleasure that you expected to have in some way 
 yourself, or to give some one else pleasure? I 
 want to know because I think your decision will 
 help me about something." 
 
 Christie flushed. 
 
 "I don't like to tell you, Louise, just exactly 
 why I did it, because it is somebody else's secret, 
 else I would; and I don't like to say it was to 
 give some one else pleasure, because that sounds 
 so conceited, but that was the first reason. It 
 seemed to be the ' nexte thynge ' that came in 
 my way, and I found that by giving up my trip I 
 could give some one else a great deal more hap- 
 piness than the trip would give me. Just at the 
 very first it seemed rather a sacrifice, but I am 
 sure that ever since I have enjoyed the other use 
 that I made of the money far more than if I had 
 spent it as I at first intended." 
 
 "I wish I wasn't selfish," Louise sighed, 
 " or else that I had n't any conscience to bother 
 me when I want to put my own happiness first;
 
 150 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 I would have a great deal better time then than I 
 do now. Do you ever half wish you were n't a 
 church member, Christie?" 
 
 "Why, Louise, what a question !" and Chris- 
 tie looked at her visitor in surprise. "Why, no. 
 I do feel sometimes as if it were a very great 
 responsibility, and I have times of worrying lest 
 my inconsistencies may be keeping some one else 
 away; but I am never sorry. I could n't be." 
 
 "I'm not sure that I ever ought to have 
 united with the church," Louise said thought- 
 fully. "I don't feel as you do; and yet we 
 united at the same communion, and I can re- 
 member how happy I was that day. I thought 
 living would be such a grand thing after that; 
 and it 's just the same routine of petty, trying 
 things that it always was, and there never are 
 any opportunities for anything but just common- 
 places. I'm disappointed. I suppose the fault 
 is in myself somewhere." 
 
 "Don't you think you are disappointed be- 
 cause you expect something more than just the 
 ordinary events of life?" asked Christie. "I 
 have had my times of being dreadfully discon- 
 tented, and because I could n't be somebody great 
 and wonderful, it did n't seem worth while to live 
 at all except just for my own pleasure. Dear 
 Aunt Patience used to help me very much, and I
 
 REST. 151 
 
 don't think I shall ever forget that last talk we 
 had. It will always be an inspiration to me. 
 She explained to me that probably no great 
 opportunities would ever come to me, and that I 
 could do a great deal in the way of usefulness and 
 help to others by the simple ministry of ' nexte 
 thynges.' I really believe it is harder to do just 
 these little bits of things than great deeds. If 
 one has an opportunity to do some heroic deed, 
 there is a sort of inspiration about it that makes it 
 easier to do; but these little things that come to 
 one in the day's routine aren't apt to be at all 
 inspiring; and unless you think of them as ser- 
 vice for Christ, just as much as great things, 
 since they are what he has appointed for us, it is 
 a burden to do them instead of a joy." 
 
 "But do you really feel as if these little 
 things counted?" asked Louise. 
 
 " Yes, at last I have come to being contented 
 with them, and trying to do each one with all my 
 heart," Christie answered. "I'll give you one 
 instance of what my little things are sometimes, 
 though I expect you will laugh at me. I hate to 
 dust, and when I am down in the parlor with my 
 duster I am always tempted to slight out-of-the- 
 way things. The dust always gathers on the 
 piano legs that stand nearest to the wall, and 
 I used to slight them almost every day because
 
 152 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 they were out of sight and I knew no one would 
 know whether I dusted them or not. I know 
 it seems foolish to think that it is really a matter 
 of right and wrong whether I dust them or not, 
 but I really believe it is. It is one of the little 
 trivial duties that are part of my day's work, and 
 it is appointed just as much as if it was some- 
 thing heroic instead of one of the most common- 
 place things in the world. If I really believe 
 that is something that has been appointed for me, 
 I would not be willing to slight it. I have found 
 real pleasure in thoroughly dusting all the out-of- 
 the-way corners since I have believed that it was 
 the 'nexte thynge' that came to my hand just 
 then." 
 
 "I would rather do something that looked 
 larger than these hateful little things, though," 
 Louise said. 
 
 "I would too," confessed Christie. "But if 
 God hasn't planned great things for us, which is 
 better for us to do the work he has appointed, 
 even if it isn't quite to our liking, or not to do 
 anything? I have found out something else in 
 my discouraged times, Louise. I found that I 
 couldn't, of myself, keep the warm love that I 
 had in my heart at first; I have to keep constant- 
 ly asking for love, or I should grow cold and 
 indifferent very soon. It is strange that we can't
 
 REST. 
 
 153 
 
 do such a natural thing as love in return for all 
 that has been done for us without help; but I 
 find that I can't, and perhaps others are the same. 
 I am like the Israelites in the wilderness: I can't 
 lay up a store of love and help that will last me 
 for days ahead. If I don't ask every day for 
 strength for the day's needs, I find that my 
 supply fails utterly. I copied some lines, that 
 Aunt Patience pointed out to me, into my com- 
 monplace book. Would you like to hear them, 
 or do n't you like poetry ?" 
 
 "Did you ever know a schoolgirl who didn't 
 like poetry?" asked Louise, a smile breaking 
 through her thoughtful expression. "Yes, do 
 read it to me." 
 
 Christie opened her commonplace book, into 
 which were copied many of her favorite passages, 
 and read, 
 
 " ' Not on the mountain-tops the manna fell, 
 
 Caressed by cloudlets, by the sunlight kissed, 
 So near to heaven that the stern gray peaks 
 Melted away in tender amethyst ; 
 
 " ' Nay, not upon these silent mist-crowned heights, 
 
 So far above the hungering multitude 
 That they could only view with longing eyes 
 The promised bread of life, the angels' food; 
 
 " ' Nor chaliced in the rocky clefts was stored 
 
 The daily manna, where the weary feet 
 Must scale the heights till flesh and spirit failed 
 And sank exhausted in the noonday heat.
 
 154 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 " ' Not so came down from heaven the daily food, 
 
 But scattered 'midst the desert's shining sands, 
 Where each could freely gather for his needs, 
 And e'en a child could rill its little hands. 
 
 " ' With each day's journey came the daily bread, 
 
 Strengthening and nourishing with angels' food 
 The weary people ever marching on 
 Into the desert's dreary solitude. 
 
 " ' E'en so I think the manna falls to-day, 
 
 Scattered among the duties small that lie 
 Like desert sands before our feet each day, 
 For hourly needs a bountiful supply. 
 
 " ' Not on the peaceful heights sublime 'and fair 
 
 That tower above the plain of daily need, 
 Nor hidden like wild honey in the clefts, 
 Gained only by some brave and toilsome deed. 
 
 " ' O hungering soul, stretch forth thine empty hand ; 
 
 For each day's trials God gives daily grace, 
 'Tis always close at hand, then trust his love, 
 And let distrust to sweet content give place.' 
 
 '"I think this expresses what I want to tell 
 you, and what I have found out in my own expe- 
 rience. Our strength is just like the manna; we 
 have to gather it every day, or it fails us." 
 
 "I have an opportunity to be self-sacrificing 
 in a very ordinary, commonplace way," said 
 Louise, drawing a letter from her pocket. "I 
 suppose if it was something that would be 
 sounded abroad with a trumpet, I should be quite 
 willing to do it; but as nobody will give me any 
 credit for it, or, even if they know of it, think
 
 REST. 155 
 
 that I have done anything but my duty, I just 
 feel disposed to hush my conscience up and con- 
 sult only my own happiness." 
 
 "I don't believe you would consult your 
 happiness by hushing up your conscience as you 
 threaten to do," said Christie, smiling. 
 
 U I may as well tell you what it is, since I 
 am making you my mother confessor this morn- 
 ing," said Louise. "Aunt Belle has taken a 
 cottage at the beach this summer, and in this 
 letter she says she has room for just one more, 
 although she is pretty well crowded already. 
 She wants me to come and spend two or three 
 weeks with her, and tells what fun the girls are 
 having; then, just as an afterthought, she tucks 
 in this little sentence, which has quite spoiled 
 the delight with which I read the invitation: 
 'I do wish your poor mother could get away for 
 a little rest this summer, but I suppose that it's 
 quite out of the question.' Of course mother 
 would think it was wholly out of the question. 
 She hasn't had a vacation in ten years, to my 
 certain knowledge, and sometimes I look at her 
 in perfect wonder when she goes on so patiently, 
 as if she never cared for anything better than 
 looking after the house, taking care of us, and 
 walking after Kitty, who is the most stupid and 
 vexatious girl that ever lived. It's one of the
 
 156 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 penalties of being poor and having a large 
 family that you can't have decently trained 
 help. It's my cross that either some one of the 
 family has to keep jumping up from the table 
 to bring forgotten articles, or else Kitty will 
 appear with her sleeves rolled up, a smudge of 
 soot on her nose, and a general air of preoccupa- 
 tion and soap-suds about her." 
 
 "Poor Louise!" said Christie, laughing as 
 Louise wrought herself up to this climax in 
 mock despair. 
 
 "Now, if I wanted to, which I pause here 
 to say I emphatically dorit" Louise continued, 
 "I could take charge of the house, and make 
 mother go to Aunt Belle's for a couple of weeks 
 at least for a rest; and I know she'd enjoy it 
 immensely, and so would Aunt Belle; but I can't 
 make up my mind to undertake such a dreadful 
 responsibility, and in this hot weather too. Of 
 course I know it's just as hot for mother as it 
 is for me; but when people are always patient 
 and cheerful, and never think of mentioning that 
 they have any feelings except those of gratitude 
 that they are permitted to wear themselves out 
 for their numerous family, one is apt to take it 
 for granted that they don't particularly mind 
 things which are uncomfortable. Of course it's 
 a shame, and if I had a scrap of decent daugh-
 
 REST. 157 
 
 terly affection I'd bundle mother off before she 
 had time to realize what was going on. I do 
 love her best of any one in the world, but my 
 selfishness prevents me from showing it, you see. 
 Do you suppose it's my 'nexte thynge' to do 
 this, Christie Gilbert?" 
 
 "I don't want to give you disagreeable ad- 
 vice," said Christie, "but " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I knew you'd think I ought to," 
 interrupted Louise in despair. "Disagreeable 
 things are always the things that ought to be 
 done. I suppose I'd never do anything that 
 I wanted to or that was pleasant, if I did as I 
 ought. I hate that word ought. Well, now that 
 I am all upset over it, and have at the bottom 
 of my heart the profound conviction that I shall 
 be a selfish pig if I go myself, and let poor 
 mother stay at home and have all the hard times 
 without even the little help I give her, I sup- 
 pose I may as well make up my mind to do as I 
 ought; but I don't feel any nice little glow of 
 self-approval over it. I just feel as if it was a 
 part of my usual selfishness. I don't want to 
 go, because my conscience will bother me all the 
 time if I do, and so I do the least disagreeable 
 thing and stay at home." 
 
 "I wont let you abuse yourself that way," 
 Christie interposed. "It will be lovely and gen-
 
 158 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 erous in you to stay at home; and I do think 
 that, after the first disappointment is over, you 
 will be happy in thinking that your mother is 
 having a rest and change. When you see how 
 happy it will make her just to think of going, 
 you will feel repaid right away." 
 
 "Well, I will try and work myself up into 
 such an enthusiastic state on my way home that 
 she will think the greatest pleasure of my life 
 will be in getting rid of her for a couple of 
 weeks," said Louise, rising to go reluctantly, for 
 she loved to linger in Christie's blue nest of a 
 room, where everything was so quiet and cool 
 and meddlesome little fingers never left their 
 traces. 
 
 "Christie, I wish I was you," she said im- 
 pulsively, putting her arms around her friend. 
 " It always seems so easy for you to do just right, 
 and you are in earnest with your religion with- 
 out being priggy and disagreeable. I always 
 feel as if I was in a clearer atmosphere when 
 I'm with you, and you make me disgusted with 
 my own selfish ways. Good-by, dear. If mother 
 goes, you must come and comfort me some- 
 times." 
 
 "We'll all come and help you," Christie 
 returned, as she went down to the gate with 
 her friend.
 
 REST. 159 
 
 "It will be cooperative housekeeping in good 
 earnest then," laughed Louise. " Well, I '11 be- 
 gin at once to get intensely enthusiastic, if the 
 thermometer will permit me, and I'll convince 
 mother that go she must. If I don't have 
 the approval of my conscience afterward, I shall 
 lay it up against you, Christie, for giving me 
 bad advice, instead of encouraging me to do my 
 own way and have a good time." 
 
 " You mustn't give me the credit of your de- 
 cision," Christie rejoined. "You decided your- 
 self, and deserve every bit of the praise. I am 
 not afraid that you will regret it. Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by," Louise answered, and putting 
 up her parasol she started homeward, trying to 
 think only of the pleasure which the patient, 
 tired mother would feel at the prospect of a 
 holiday.
 
 160 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ACHSAH. 
 
 CHRISTIE heard frequently from Achsah dur- 
 ing the weeks that followed Commencement 
 night, happy letters full of the pleasant times 
 she was having, of the satisfaction of Mrs. Eshle- 
 man with her young teacher, and of the affec- 
 tion existing between her and her little charge. 
 The last of these letters had brought a little 
 shadow to Christie's face, and Saturday after- 
 noon she read it over again, with a vague im- 
 pulse beginning to take shape in her mind. 
 There had been a little of the old-time defiance 
 in the spirit of this letter; Achsah had written 
 bitterly of the trials that had been sent to her, 
 and spoken as if her present happiness was the 
 result of her own energy and ambition and 
 Christie's timely assistance. There was no ac- 
 knowledgment of the love which had guided 
 her steps even when she thought herself most 
 alone, and which had led her into pleasant 
 paths. 
 
 "I feel as if my life was in my own hands 
 now," she wrote, "and I can make of it what I
 
 ACHSAH. l6l 
 
 will in spite of circumstances. My ambition to 
 make a success of my life is the strongest part of 
 me, and I am determined that I will. I begin to 
 feel that I have capabilities, and that if I work 
 hard, I may. have great possibilities before me; 
 and I hope that some day, Christie dear, you 
 may have reason to be proud of the friend who 
 was so utterly discouraged and desolate when 
 you came to her with your friendship." 
 
 Christie realized sadly that Achsah had left 
 God out of account, and was glorying in the fact 
 that she had determined to live her life without 
 him. 
 
 Two short poems, cut from magazines and 
 signed A. H. H., were inclosed in the letter, and 
 as Christie read them she wondered that her 
 schoolmates had never realized until Commence- 
 ment night how gifted Achsah was. 
 
 "If her talents were only consecrated, there 
 would be so much that she might do," she 
 thought wistfully. "I wish I could share my 
 feelings with her. I don't think she believes 
 people are ever in earnest in what they profess; 
 and she sees all the failur.es and inconsistencies 
 of professing Christians, without knowing any- 
 thing about the times when they conquer them- 
 selves. I suppose some of my sins are helping 
 her to keep away from Christ. I wish I could 
 
 Christie's Next Thlng. I I
 
 162 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 tell her how sorry I am, and how much I wish 
 that she would become a Christian." 
 
 It was very hard for Christie to speak even to 
 those whom she loved best, and who she knew 
 were in sympathy with her, about religious mat- 
 ters, and although she was not afraid of angering 
 Achsah, as she knew others had done by speak- 
 ing to her of her soul, yet she shrank from it with 
 all a girl's shyness. Two or three times she had 
 heard Achsah speak with indignation of the 
 "meddlesome interference," as she termed it, of 
 those who had spoken to her about uniting with 
 the church at a time when many of her class- 
 mates were publicly professing Christ. "They 
 wouldn't lift their little finger to do anything for 
 me, and yet they presume to meddle with my 
 personal affairs," she had said hotly. 
 
 Christie felt sure that if she could bring her- 
 self to write to Achsah of the desire with which 
 her heart was overflowing to-day, she would not 
 look upon it as interference, for she knew Chris- 
 tie was sincerely her friend, and would do, as she 
 had already done, a great deal for her happiness ; 
 but would it do any good? 
 
 It would cost a great effort on her part, but 
 she was quite willing to make it, if only she 
 could feel sure that it would result in the good 
 she wanted to accomplish. Would it draw Ach-
 
 ACHSAH. 163 
 
 sah any nearer to the Saviour she herself loved 
 so dearly, if she should open to her the inner 
 chamber of her heart? 
 
 She pondered the question long and earnest- 
 ly. She felt a strange yearning, which she dared 
 .not leave unheeded, to plead with her friend and 
 urge her to go to Jesus for that peace and joy 
 which no gratification of ambition could bring 
 to her proud, restless spirit ; and yet she was so 
 fearful of failure that she dreaded to make the 
 attempt. Was this another "nexte thynge," 
 one of the little duties that God had placed in 
 her path? 
 
 "Moment by moment, 
 
 Let down from heaven, 
 Time, opportunity, 
 
 Guidance, are given." 
 
 Perhaps this was just the time at which she 
 might influence Achsah, and this strong desire 
 was to be her guidance in the path of duty. 
 
 She opened her secretary and drew out paper, 
 pen, and ink, then she sat for a time lost in 
 thought. How could she word her note so that 
 Achsah would understand the humility and love 
 with which she wrote it, not as one who felt 
 herself better than another, but just as a very 
 human, erring girl, who wanted her friend to 
 share the strength and help whith she had found 
 for herself?
 
 164 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 A swift prayer for help and guidance went up 
 from the depths of her heart, and then she took 
 up her pen and wrote, just as she would have 
 spoken, timidly and lovingly. Achsah's eyes 
 could not rest upon the lines without knowing 
 what an effort they had cost, and yet surely the 
 love that prompted the words would win them 
 some consideration. 
 
 It was an earnest appeal, but as Christie read 
 it over her eyes filled with tears of disappoint- 
 ment. How little she had said after all, and 
 how empty her words were ! Surely it would be 
 worse than useless to send the letter, unless God's 
 blessing should go with it and he should use 
 the feeble words to his glory. 
 
 Throwing herself upon her knees by her bed- 
 side, she spread the letter out before the I<prd, 
 like Hezekiah of old, and told him the burden 
 that rested upon her heart. Never since the day 
 when she had been so sorely oppressed with her 
 own burden of guilt and her sense of estrange- 
 ment from the Saviour had she prayed so earnest- 
 ly and with so strong a sense of her own power- 
 lessness. She felt comforted when she arose from 
 her knees, for she had carried her burden to One 
 who was all-powerful, and she knew that if it was 
 his will he could use her words to touch Achsah's 
 heart. So the letter went on its way, sped with
 
 ACHSAH. 165 
 
 prayer, and Christie trusted the results with the 
 Lord. 
 
 The letter found Achsah in an unusually dis- 
 contented mood. She was sitting alone in her 
 comfortable room at the large hotel where they 
 were spending a few days, with her portfolio 
 upon her knee. Usually she was very happy 
 and contented, and had no desire to change any- 
 thing in her present lot; but this afternoon a per- 
 verse spirit of discontent had possessed her, and 
 there was the old-time look of impatient fretful- 
 ness upon her face. 
 
 Through Mrs. Eshleman's kindness she had 
 several hours to herself every day, and so she 
 was able to study systematically, much to her 
 pleasure. That lady was very much interested 
 in the young girl, and was anxious that she 
 should have every opportunity to develop her 
 talents and make the best of herself. 
 
 Many a one might have seen much to envy in 
 Achsah's lot. Gentle little Ruth was such a 
 winning child that no one could help loving her, 
 and she was an intelligent pupil, whom it was a 
 pleasure to instruct ; Mrs. Eshleman was always 
 kind and courteous, and seemed to enjoy giving 
 Achsah all the pleasure that she could ; and this 
 delightful flitting from place to place had all the 
 charm of novelty to the young girl, whose life
 
 1 66 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 heretofore had been almost dreary in its monot- 
 ony. 
 
 An ambition to make herself a name as a 
 writer had seized her, and she expressed her rest- 
 less cravings and unattained ideals in verse, 
 which, if it was oftentimes crude, still showed 
 marks of such thought and feeling that she had 
 had great reason for encouragement in its accept- 
 ance by periodicals which did not often open 
 their pages to unknown writers. The untried 
 path which stretched before her looked as if it 
 might be flower-strewn and pleasant to tread, and 
 yet notwithstanding all her grounds for hope- 
 fulness she felt unusually depressed. 
 
 When Christie's letter was brought up to her 
 she took it eagerly, pleased to recognize the fa- 
 miliar writing upon the envelope, and hoping 
 that its contents would drive away the fit of 
 blues. 
 
 A look of surprise crossed her face as her 
 glance travelled swiftly over the lines, and when 
 she had finished it 'her eyes were misty with tears 
 which the loving words had called forth. The 
 subject of religion had never been mentioned to 
 her before without arousing her resentment and 
 annoyance. * She was too reserved to imagine be- 
 ing able to speak of anything which she should 
 hold sacred if it was her possession, and when
 
 ACHSAH. 167 
 
 people who had never manifested any other in- 
 terest in her urged her to unite with the church, 
 she did not believe either in the sincerity of their 
 own professions or in their expressions of interest 
 in her. 
 
 Christie had been too true a friend for her to 
 doubt the reality of her desire that she should be- 
 come a Christian, and she could read between the 
 lines the effort the words had cost. She knew, 
 too, that Christie was very sincere and earnest in 
 her Christian life, and that her first aim was to 
 do right. After she had united with the church 
 Achsah had watched her closely, as she had the 
 others, but even Christie's occasional failures had 
 not shaken her belief in her earnestness of pur- 
 pose, and since she had learned to know her well 
 she had noted many a little sacrifice of self, many 
 a little victory won "in His name," which had 
 had its influence upon her for good. A great de- 
 sire to know something of this peace of which 
 Christie wrote filled her heart. It was so dis- 
 turbed with restless longings and ambitions that 
 rest seemed a great and desirable good. 
 
 "Dear Christie," she murmured softly. "It 
 is so easy for her to be everything that is noble 
 and good. She has not my pride and perversity 
 to fight against, and she is not feverish with am- 
 bition as I am. I wish I could be just like her,
 
 168 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 instead of being my tiresome self. I would like 
 to be a Christian if only to please her, but how 
 can I believe what I don't believe? If I had not 
 seen so much empty profession I might think that 
 religion was something real and powerful and be 
 tempted to believe in it." 
 
 It was the same argument with which she had 
 satisfied herself many times before, but this after- 
 noon it was not as convincing as usual. Her 
 reason told her that others' failures would not 
 serve as an excuse for her neglect; and, besides, 
 she could not deny that the motive power which 
 led her father and mother to leave their congenial 
 home in the East to seek the desolate frontier was 
 a real and powerful one. She could not doubt 
 their sincerity, and child though she had been 
 when they were taken away from her, she could 
 remember many an earnest prayer that had been 
 uttered at her bedside by her mother's lips, and 
 her father's good-night benedictions. 
 
 Those prayers and words of blessing had lost 
 their power over her during the last troubled 
 years of her life, but this afternoon they came 
 back to her and wound themselves about her like 
 strong cords. 
 
 The Spirit was striving with that proud and 
 wilful heart, and the constraining love of Christ 
 broke down all the barriers that she would fain
 
 ACHSAH. 169 
 
 have erected. She folded Christie's letter up and 
 returned it to the envelope with loving ringers, 
 and tried to banish the subject from her mind, 
 but it lingered persistently. Little Ruth came 
 in search of her, and she drew the child to her 
 side and spent the hour until supper-time in weav- 
 ing quaint fairy stories for her, but underneath 
 ran the chain of thought from which she could 
 not free herself. 
 
 After supper she enjoyed a drive with Mrs. 
 Eshleman, and did her best to be a bright, enter- 
 taining companion ; but she could not entirely 
 throw aside her preoccupation, and it was a relief 
 when the time came for her to go to the solitude 
 of her own room. 
 
 She dimly realized that a crisis had come in 
 her life, that she was brought face to face with a 
 vital question, which could not be thrust aside 
 unanswered ; and though she shank from a de- 
 cision, she knew that she could not avoid it. 
 
 "Jesus of Nazareth, what have I to do with 
 thee?" 
 
 She dared not answer, "Nothing;" it was 
 too terrible a decision ; and yet she was not will- 
 ing to lay aside her pride and yield to the meek 
 and lowly One. 
 
 The hours crept slowly away as she sat in the 
 quiet moonlight in her room. Each moment her
 
 170 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 sense of unrest grew harder to bear, and she 
 longed more and more for the great peace of 
 which Christie had told her ; and yet, strange as 
 it may seem, when she had but to ask and receive, 
 she crept away to bed at last with her burden, and 
 tossed restlessly through the long hours of the 
 night without yielding to the impulse that bade 
 her carry it to her Saviour's feet. 
 
 Achsah arose in the morning weary and unre- 
 freshed in body and mind, and was glad that she 
 could plead a headache to Mrs. Eshleman as an 
 excuse for her weariness and languor. She was 
 impatient with herself because she could not force 
 herself to be interested in her usual pursuits, and 
 was half angry with Christie for writing the 
 letter which had wrought such havoc with her 
 peace. When she went to her room in the after- 
 noon she was too restless to write or even to take 
 the rest that she needed after her vigil of the night 
 before, so putting on her hat she determined to 
 walk off her restlessness. She wandered aimless- 
 ly through the streets of the pretty village until 
 she came to a picturesque little stone chapel, over- 
 grown with vines which even climbed aspiringly 
 up the slender spire and wreathed themselves 
 about the cross which surmounted it. 
 
 The door was open, and the low notes of an 
 organ invited Achsah to leave the outdoor sun-
 
 ACHSAH. 171 
 
 shine aud seek a rest in the cool, dark interior of 
 the edifice. She wondered if a service was being 
 held, but when she stepped inside the door she 
 found that the only other occupants of the church 
 were in the organ loft. 
 
 The young girl who sat before the organ be- 
 gan a low plaintive prelude, and Achsah sank 
 into an unobserved corner to listen to the music. 
 
 "Come unto Me," began a clear voice, liquid 
 with sweetness, and music-loving Achsah held 
 her breath to listen, that she might not lose a 
 syllable. " Come unto Me, all ye that labor and 
 are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take 
 my yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am 
 meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest 
 unto your souls. For my yoke is easy and my 
 burden is light." 
 
 Over and over again the singer repeated the 
 s\veet words, and the melody made them stir the 
 depths of Achsah's heart. She knelt down in 
 the dark pew and bowed her head upon the cush- 
 ion, too weary and heavy laden to carry her 
 burden any- longer. She had left her room to 
 escape the Spirit's pleading, and then had wan- 
 dered unconsciously into this place, where the 
 Saviour's gentle invitation came to her more 
 strongly than ever. 
 
 "Come unto Me and I will give you rest."
 
 172 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 The sweet voice repeated the words again, lin- 
 gering tenderly upon them, and Achsah gave up 
 her struggle. 
 
 "I come to Thee," she whispered. "With 
 all my pride and sinfulness, just as I am, without 
 one plea except my great need. Wilt Thou ac- 
 cept me and forgive me, for Jesus' sake?" 
 
 With the consciousness of full surrender came 
 the answer to her prayer, and over her troubled 
 heart stole a peace which quieted every unrest. 
 
 Long she knelt there, dreading to move lest 
 she' should lose some of her new-found blessed- 
 ness ; but at last a stir in the organ-loft warned 
 her that the choir were about to take their de- 
 parture, so she arose quietly and went out again 
 into the afternoon sunlight, leaving behind her 
 for ever the burden of sin which she had carried 
 into the little church. 
 
 If the mother could have known that the 
 prayers which she had uttered for Achsah in 
 those first years of unconscious childhood had 
 been at last fulfilled in God's own way and in his 
 own time, surely a new note of thanksgiving 
 would have been added to the song of the re- 
 deemed when the angels shouted for joy over 
 another wanderer returned to the Father's house.
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 
 
 IT was an oppressively hot Sunday in August. 
 The sea lay as calm and motionless as if it were 
 molten glass beneath the burning rays of the sun, 
 and not a breath was borne across its surface. 
 
 Although Mrs. Eshleman's rooms at the hotel 
 were the largest and airiest in the building, yet 
 they were almost unendurable when the afternoon 
 sun began to creep in beneath the awnings. 
 
 Little Ruth drooped with the heat, and though 
 Achsah fanned her and did her best to make her 
 forget her weariness, yet she seemed to be as ex- 
 hausted as a wilted blossom. 
 
 "Would you like to go down to the beach, 
 dear?" Achsah asked at last, and the languid 
 eyes brightened at the proposal. 
 
 "It would be very hot going down there, but 
 I am sure it would be cool when we once reached 
 the rocks. Yes, I should like to go." 
 
 As they started down towards the beach a 
 faint breath now and then crept up from the 
 ocean, stirring the idly pendulous leaves, then 
 ceasing, as if exhausted with its own effort. The
 
 i;4 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 rocks loomed up grandly against the cloudless 
 blue of the summer sky. The sun blazed down 
 as furiously as if it was matching its strength 
 against the strength of those mighty cliffs ; but 
 tenderly helping little Ruth along, Achsah soon 
 reached a place of shelter with her little charge, 
 where the shadow of the rock, as they nestled in 
 a great fissure, protected them from the heat of 
 the sun. 
 
 "This is nice, isn't it?" said Ruth, with a 
 little sigh of relief, as she nestled down beside 
 Achsah and put her head against her friend's 
 shoulder. " Now wont you tell me a story, Miss 
 Achsah?" 
 
 So Achsah began to tell the child the sweet 
 story of the Prodigal Son, which she had her- 
 self been reading that morning, all unconscious 
 that she had another auditor. 
 
 Just around a curve in the cliff, so near that 
 he could hear every word distinctly, though he 
 could not see the speaker, lay a man in the garb 
 of a fisherman, with a low-browed, sullen face. 
 An ugly bruise on his forehead, and his flushed 
 and swollen features, showed that he was recov- 
 ering from the effects of a dissipated brawl. He 
 had wandered down to the cliffs sore in body and 
 spirit, and almost determined to end his wretched 
 life. He was watching the incoming tide, and
 
 Christie's Next Things. Pa
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 1/5 
 
 wondering whether he would summon up resolu- 
 tion enough to let his body drift out to sea when 
 the waters should recede at the ebb tide. 
 
 He heard the voices at first without heeding 
 the words, but as Achsah began her story his at- 
 tention was riveted in spite of himself. He had 
 heard that story before, and he groaned in spirit 
 as he remembered how far away those days of 
 innocent childhood were, when a mother's lips 
 had fashioned the words that a strange voice was 
 uttering now. He could almost catch the scent 
 of the roses that had climbed over the little old- 
 fashioned house, and he could recall the touch of 
 his mother's gentle hand upon his head as he sat 
 beside her when the children were gathered to- 
 gether for their afternoon with the Bible. 
 
 "Poor mother!" he thought remorsefully. 
 " I wonder how she is? I wonder if she has for- 
 gotten all about me? I was always a bad one, 
 and I should think she would have been glad 
 enough when I took myself off and let the rest 
 have some peace. I 'd like to see her again, and 
 father, and Abigail too ; but it's a sorry welcome 
 I would get if they could see me now." 
 
 "But I should think he would have been afraid 
 
 'to go home after he had been so wicked," said the 
 
 childish voice. "Suppose his father wouldn't 
 
 forgive him, and would send him away after all?"
 
 i/6 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "But he trusted in his father's love, you see," 
 Achsah said. "He knew his father well enough 
 to believe that if he went to him and told him 
 how sorry he was, he would forgive him. He 
 did not expect to be his son again; he would 
 have been contented to be one of the hired ser- 
 vants, if only he might be at home; so he said, 
 ' I will arise and go unto my father, and will say 
 unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven 
 and before thee, and am no more worthy to be 
 called thy son ; make me as one of thy hired ser- 
 vants.'" 
 
 "But his father did forgive him?" Ruth 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, he was watching and waiting for him 
 to come home, for it says, ' When he was yet a 
 great way off, his father saw him and had com- 
 passion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed 
 him'!" 
 
 "How he must have loved his father after 
 that!" Ruth said. " I suppose he was sorry then 
 that he had not gone home sooner." 
 
 The curly head slipped down soon upon Ach- 
 sah's knee, and in a few moments the music of the 
 surf had lulled the child into a gentle slumber. 
 
 Achsah sat there with her hand upon the 
 ruffled curls, drinking in the beauty of the scene, 
 content to be alone with her thoughts. Far, far
 
 AX UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 177 
 
 away as the eye could reach, in seeming infini- 
 tude stretched the sea, as blue as the sky that 
 bent over it, calm and unruffled until it reached 
 the rocky New England coast, where it gathered 
 itself up into great rollers and came crashing 
 against the foot of the cliffs, sending up a silvery 
 mist of spray. 
 
 "As the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
 land." The words whispered themselves With 
 new beauty and meaning to Achsah, and nest- 
 ling in this quiet cranny of the rock, enjoying 
 the cool refuge from the heat of the sun, she 
 realized how perfectly the simile described the 
 overshadowing love of God. 
 
 Other sweet Bible words came to her mind. 
 The rock too was a refuge. The angry waters 
 dashed themselves furiously against it, only to 
 be hurled back again and shivered into foam 
 and spray; but, high up in a cleft of the great 
 rock, one could look fearlessly down upon the 
 boiling, tumultuous waves and feel assured that 
 they could not shake that stronghold with their 
 utmost fury. 
 
 The sea murmured another message as Ach- 
 sah' s eyes rested upon its pathless waters with 
 their unfathomable depths: "Thou wilt cast all 
 their sins into the depths of the sea." Far below 
 the surface over which white-winged ships speed 
 
 Christie's X?xt Things. T 3
 
 i/8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 their way, down in the sunless depths which the 
 eyes of man have never seen, where lies the 
 wreck of many a goodly ship, into such depths 
 our sins are cast. No summer drought can ex- 
 pose them to view, but in the depths of the 
 changeless sea they will ever be buried. 
 
 Beautiful promise of comfort! We can bring 
 our burden of sin to the Saviour and claim his 
 promise that it shall be cast into the depths of 
 the sea the sea of God's love, whose depths 
 have ne"ver been fathomed, from whence it will 
 not rise to condemn us, even in the great day 
 when the sea shall give up her dead. 
 
 The calrfi, opalescent surface, stretching away 
 until it met the horizon, with its foam edges of 
 glistening silver and feathery spray, brought a 
 thought of the time when the first heaven and 
 the first earth should pass away, and there should 
 be no more sea, but instead of this waste of 
 waters, "a sea of glass like unto crystal" before 
 the throne of God ; instead of the roar of the 
 breakers, the anthem of praise that shall cease 
 not, night nor day, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God 
 Almighty, which was and is and is to come," 
 and the chorus of those "who have come out 
 of great tribulation, and have washed their robes 
 and made them white in the blood of the Lamb:" 
 "Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiv-
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 179 
 
 ing and honor and power and might be unto our 
 God for ever and ever. ' ' 
 
 Achsah would have been amazed if she could 
 have known how profoundly her simple story 
 had stirred the depths of her unseen hearer's 
 heart The dear old mother's gentle voice was 
 speaking to him again as it had done in child- 
 hood, and he felt strange longings to literally 
 arise and go to his father and his home again. 
 He could not doubt but that a welcome would 
 be waiting for him as it had for the prodigal in 
 the parable. A dull yearning for a higher for- 
 giveness stirred his heart, but he thought he 
 would be content if he could only be taken back 
 into the home of his boyhood again. He arose 
 at last and crept quietly away, with no more 
 thought of ending the life that had been such a 
 miserable failure so far, for it seemed to him that 
 some of his childhood's innocence must come 
 back to him with a return to his childhood's 
 home. 
 
 There were others, too, whom he had sorely 
 wronged besides his father and mother. He had 
 persuaded a young girl to leave her home and 
 link her life to his, and then when his short- 
 lived affection for her had waned, he had first 
 quarrelled with her and made her life unbear- 
 able with his violent temper, then deserted her
 
 ISO CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 when she was ill and helpless. It had been 
 seven years since he had left his wife and child, 
 and he did not know even whether they were 
 living. 
 
 Perhaps, if he found a welcome waiting for 
 him at home, he could trust that a little of his 
 wife's old love for him might still be remaining, 
 and he would search for her and for his child. 
 Visions of what the future might yet hold for 
 him rose up before him, and made him deter- 
 mine to leave his evil life behind him when 
 he turned his steps homeward. 
 
 Miss Abigail, nightly putting a light in the 
 window as she had for years, and fervently offer- 
 ing her usual petition for the wanderer's return, 
 did not dream of the near fulfilment of her 
 prayer as she patiently watched and waited; nor 
 did Christie dream of the chain of links by which 
 her influence had at last reached the long-lost 
 brother, through Achsah's unconscious ministry. 
 
 She did not realize how strong an influence 
 for good she exerted as she went on in her quiet 
 way, with no great talents or brilliant gifts to 
 exercise; only a faithful performance of the little 
 commonplace duties that came to her hour by 
 hour as "ye nexte thynge." She had given up 
 planning for herself, and was content to follow 
 her Father's guidance.
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. iSl 
 
 Louise Rushton had determined to let herself 
 be guided in her acceptance of her aunt's invita- 
 tion by Christie's reasons for refusing to enjoy 
 her long-talked-of trip, and Christie's unselfish- 
 ness had struck a responsive chord in her some- 
 what self-indulgent nature. She had gone home 
 from Christie's that morning quite resolved that 
 her mother should enjoy the trip in her place, 
 but at every step she shrank more and more from 
 taking upon her shoulders the petty cares which 
 she so cordially detested. 
 
 Her good resolutions almost vanished when 
 she entered the house, which was so different 
 from Mrs. Gilbert's cool, quiet home, whose tran- 
 quillity and order were never disturbed by mis- 
 chievous little fingers. The house was hot, and 
 an unmistakable odor of a boiled dinner per- 
 vaded it. The two-year-old baby was in a fret- 
 ful mood, and was sitting on the lowest step of 
 the stairway, crying at intervals, and in between 
 times decorating her face with a piece of bread 
 and jelly; and just vanishing up the back stairs 
 Louise caught a glimpse of Kitty retreating with 
 swollen features and a flannel bandage about her 
 face unmistakable signs that she was about to 
 retire with a toothache for the rest of the day. 
 
 'Of course," thought Louise, with a discon- 
 tented frown. "Kitty must always take a busy
 
 i82 "CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 day to have her toothaches. I wish she hadn't 
 any teeth, for there 's always something the mat- 
 ter with them. I suppose I 'd better go and help 
 mother with dinner." 
 
 Running up to the room which she shared 
 with a younger sister, Louise quickly exchanged 
 her clean light print dress for a dark calico 
 wrapper, and made her appearance in the 
 kitchen a few moments later. 
 
 "What can I do, mother?" she asked cheer- 
 fully, as her mother's flushed, tired face looked 
 up with a smile of welcome from the ironing 
 table over which she was bending. " I just saw 
 Kitty retiring from the world, so I suppose there 
 is more to do than usual. Those are her favorite 
 times." 
 
 "It does seem so," admitted her mother, 
 "but the poor girl really is suffering, and she 
 did not give up till I sent her off to ted. If you 
 will set the table for dinner, Louise dear, and 
 just see what is the matter with Dottie, so she 
 wont keep on fretting so, I can manage nicely. 
 Dinner is almost ready now, and I can finish 
 these collars and cuffs by the time it is ready to 
 dish." 
 
 Louise vanished into the dining-room, which 
 seemed delightfully cool after the odorous heat 
 of the kitchen, and a moment later she had Dot-
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 183 
 
 tie pattering around after her, her chubby face 
 dimpled with smiles at being allowed to help 
 sister set the table. 
 
 When everything was in its place Louise 
 caught Dottie up and carried her to her bed- 
 room. 
 
 "I think you'd be quite sweet enough, pet, 
 if you hadn't so much jelly on your face," she 
 said merrily; and Dottie submitted cheerfully to 
 the ablutions which were often greeted with 
 noisy remonstrances. 
 
 "Now you are a dear clean little girl," said 
 Louise, kissing the rosy cheeks. " But wouldn't 
 you be a handful to take care of for two whole 
 weeks!" 
 
 Dottie laughed at her face of exaggerated de- 
 spair without at all understanding the words 
 which accompanied it, and trotted down stairs 
 after her sister, quite unconscious of the responsi- 
 bility which Louise proposed to assume. 
 
 "Mother must go," said Louise to herself 
 decidedly. "She needs a rest and change if 
 any one ever did; but oh, how I do hate to take 
 her place!" 
 
 She heard the sound of wheels, and glancing 
 through the open door saw her father hitching 
 his buggy in front of the house. 
 
 Louise went out to meet him.
 
 184 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "It's a hot day, isn't it, father!" she asked. 
 "Dinner isn't quite ready, so wont you sit down 
 out here on the porch a moment while I talk to 
 you about something? I want you to help me 
 plot a conspiracy against mother," and she drew 
 her aunt's letter from her pocket and placed it 
 in her father's hand. "You see auntie has in- 
 vited me, but she would rather have mother if 
 she only thought that it would be possible. I 
 know mother will say that of course she can't 
 go ; but I want you to persuade her that she 
 really needs the rest. She looks all tired out, 
 and I know it would do her ever so much good, 
 and I can take care of the house just as well as 
 not, if you wont be afraid to trust yourself in 
 my inexperienced hands. We will both insist 
 upon her going, and then she will find it quite 
 out of the question to refuse." 
 
 A pleased expression crossed the doctor's 
 careworn face. 
 
 "It will be the best thing in the world for 
 her," he answered. "We'll do our best to get 
 along without her, daughter, and the thought of 
 the good the change will do her will make up 
 for our loneliness. You are a good girl to think 
 of it." 
 
 "Now I'll go and help get the dinner on," 
 Louise said, pleased with her father's rarely
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 185 
 
 expressed approval, and she went back into the 
 hot kitchen, where her mother, flushed and per- 
 spiring, was taking up the dinner. 
 
 When the meal had been concluded and the 
 children had gone back to their play, Louise 
 said, 
 
 "Now, mother, father and I have a plan on 
 hand concerning you. We are going to send you 
 down to Aunt Belle's for a couple of weeks, and 
 you must prepare yourself to quietly submit to 
 being turned out of your home, for we are de- 
 termined to take no refusal." 
 
 A sudden gleam of pleasure lit up the tired 
 face, but it vanished in a moment, and Mrs. 
 Rushton said, 
 
 "Why, Louise, it would be out of the ques- 
 tion. It is years since I have felt as if I could 
 leave the house for a couple of days even, and 
 how could I possibly go for two weeks?" 
 
 "Easily enough, mother," Louise answered 
 promptly, "if you would only trust to the 
 abilities of your eldest daughter. I am all 
 through school now, and the next branch of my 
 education is to be a thorough knowledge of prac- 
 tical housekeeping, and I know I can acquire 
 it better by taking your place than in any other 
 way. Indeed you must go, mother, and have 
 a real good time with Aunt Belle. Not even
 
 186 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Dottie is to go with you, so you can be as care- 
 free and inerry as a young girl." 
 
 "Yes, wife, I am going to insist upon your 
 going," the doctor added. ''Louise will help 
 you get started as soon as possible, and you must 
 get everything you need for the trip," and he 
 tossed his well-worn wallet into her lap. 
 
 "But," began Mrs. Rush ton, quite sure that 
 anything so delightful must be entirely out of the 
 range of her possibilities. 
 
 "There aren't any ' buts ' about it," insisted 
 Louise, and she was so earnest and determined in 
 her protestations of how easily she could take her 
 mother's place, aud how anxious she was to try, 
 that before long Mrs. Rushton found herself 
 acquiescing in the plan, and giving Louise direc- 
 tions what to do about the fruit that had been 
 ordered for preserving, and various other minor 
 matters which she had expected to attend to 
 herself. 
 
 While they were washing the dinner dishes 
 Louise and her mother discussed the details of 
 the latter's wardrobe, and the result was that an 
 hour later Mrs. Rushton found herself on her way 
 down town in an unwonted perturbation of mind, 
 actually about to purchase herself a cool travel- 
 ling suit, which Louise had insisted upon. There 
 were three days of hurried preparation, and then
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 187 
 
 Mrs. Rushton started away one morning, scarcely 
 realizing that she was bidding farewell to her 
 household cares for a little time, and looking 
 younger and more rested already, just in antici- 
 pation of the change before her. She had filled 
 her trunk with a pile of sewing which she had 
 expected to do for the children while she was 
 away, but Louise, detecting her intention, had 
 promptly emptied it out. 
 
 "Nothing but light reading and the flimsiest 
 of fancy work shall you touch while you are 
 away on your vacation," she said decidedly. U A 
 nice rest it would be to sit and sew all day ! No, 
 indeed, you are to have a real good time for once, 
 so do n't let me catch you trying to smuggle any 
 work in." 
 
 The mother protested a little, but yielded 
 at last, and Louise had her way in the end. As 
 the train moved out of the station she felt her 
 heart sink at the responsibility she had assumed, 
 and she thought how gladly she would welcome 
 the day that would bring her mother home again; 
 but she reproached herself for the selfishness of 
 shrinking from the treadmill where her mother 
 spent her life, and Dottie diverted her mind from 
 all but the present by clamoring for a pink pop- 
 corn ball so loudly that her wants had to be 
 immediately attended to.
 
 i88 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 During the days that followed Louise learned 
 to appreciate her mother as she never had before. 
 She wondered again and again how her mother 
 had ever managed to keep her sweetness of tem- 
 per, when she had these little annoyances and 
 vexations to prick her at every turn. The con- 
 stant planning and contriving necessary to keep 
 the household expenses within the doctor's small 
 income, Kitty's incompetence and heedlessness, 
 the constant demands of the children for some 
 service which they were always used to going 
 "to mother" for, made the days very long and 
 wearisome to poor Louise, who was all unused to 
 these cares. 
 
 "I wonder if Kitty couldn't manage to get 
 breakfast for once without my watching her all 
 the time," she said to herself one unusually op- 
 pressive morning, and instead of going into the 
 kitchen, she indulged herself with a walk in the 
 garden. 
 
 She learned her mistake a little later when 
 the family gathered around the table for break- 
 fast. 
 
 The oatmeal looked as if it had been carefully 
 cooked, and as Louise helped her father she 
 thought that at all events the first course would 
 be satisfactory. The wry face that greeted the 
 first taste made the children shout with laughter,
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 189 
 
 while Louise asked anxiously, "What is the 
 matter with it, father? Is it scorched?" 
 
 " Taste it and see, daughter," was the answer. 
 And Louise put a spoonful into her mouth to find 
 to her mortification that it was as salt as if it had 
 been made of the strongest brine. 
 
 She rang for the rest of the breakfast, resolv- 
 ing to acquaint Kitty with her fault in a way 
 that she would remember. 
 
 "Why did n't I go out and see after things 
 myself?" she reflected bitterly, as she poured from 
 the coffee-pot the pale-colored fluid that she knew 
 would not take the place of the cup of good coffee 
 her father always wanted in the morning. 
 
 The omelet was a flat, indigestible-looking 
 compound, swimming in grease, the fried pota- 
 toes were so thoroughly fried that they were too 
 hard to put a fork into, and had to be chased 
 pertinaciously around the plate before they could 
 be captured, and then Dottie complained that 
 her potatoes " were bony, and she couldn't bite 
 them." 
 
 The rolls that had been put in the oven 
 to be warmed over were dried through and 
 scorched, and with burning cheeks Louise saw 
 her father try in vain to eat one thing after an- 
 other, until at last he pushed his chair back from 
 the table.
 
 190 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Oh, father, I'm so sorry," Louise said 
 apologetically, knowing that he had seen her 
 strolling around the garden when she should 
 have been attending to the morning meal. 
 
 "Well, never mind, daughter," he said kind- 
 ly, though he was tempted to be a little out of 
 patience at losing his breakfast. "We can't 
 expect to find old heads on young shoulders, and 
 you have been doing bravely, considering how 
 new it all is to you. I '11 stop at the dairy and 
 get a glass of milk on my way out of town, and 
 you can have dinner an hour earlier, for I think 
 we '11 all be ready for it." 
 
 Notwithstanding her father's kindness, Louise 
 was sorely mortified at the utter failure of the 
 breakfast. The children protested that there was 
 not anything that they could eat, and that they 
 must have something else. The bread-box, 
 Louise knew, was empty, so she promised to 
 make them some mush if they would wait pa- 
 tiently for a little while and go out to play, and 
 then, taking the oatmeal dish in her hand, she 
 went out into the kitchen. 
 
 "Open your mouth, Kitty," she said sternly, 
 and the unsuspecting Kitty obeyed. Louise put 
 a large tablespoonful of the oatmeal in the widely 
 stretched mouth, and enjoyed the grimaces which 
 the girl made as she swallowed it.
 
 AN UNCONSCIOUS MINISTRY. 191 
 
 "What sort of cooking do you call that?" 
 asked Louise. "I should think, Kitty, that you 
 might know enough, after all mother's teaching, 
 to cook oatmeal properly. What on earth did 
 you put so much salt in it for? Nobody could 
 eat a mouthful." 
 
 "Well, you see," explained Kitty, "I 
 couldn't quite remember whether I had salted it, 
 when I was ready to dish it, so I salted it again, 
 just to make sure anyhow. I thought too much 
 would be better than none at all." 
 
 "Couldn't you have tasted it?" demanded 
 Louise. 
 
 "Ah, sure now I never thought of that at 
 all, at all," responded the imperturbably good- 
 humored Kitty. 
 
 "Well, I wish you would learn to think 
 sometimes and pay a little attention to what you 
 are about," said Louise. "There was not one 
 thing on the table that was fit to eat, and father 
 had to go off without a mouthful of breakfast. 
 Now you can bring the things out here, while 
 I make some mush for the children. I'll never 
 trust you again to get a meal." 
 
 " Sure if you want a thing done well, the best 
 way is to look after it yourself," returned the un- 
 abashed Kitty. "Your ma always does, and 
 then she's sure that nothing wont go wrong."
 
 193 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Louise had no answer to make to this wholly 
 true though not very palatable remark, and she 
 devoted herself to making the mush for the 
 children, who danced about the kitchen door, 
 clamoring to know when it would be done, and 
 seeming to regard the utter failure of the first 
 breakfast as a huge joke. 
 
 "Poor mother, I don't wonder she looked 
 so tired," thought Louise, as at last breakfast 
 was over and she set herself busily to work at the 
 small tasks that were awaiting her, trying by 
 increased faithfulness now to make up for her 
 morning negligence. "I do mean to try and 
 help her more after this, for it is too bad for her 
 to have all the bother resting upon her all the 
 time, and it must be as hard for her as it is 'for 
 me." 
 
 In the meantime the mother had not forgotten 
 the cares which she knew were pressing heavily 
 upon the young shoulders, notwithstanding 
 Louise's bright and cheerful letters; but she was 
 gathering strength for her duties when she should 
 return with every inhalation of the strengthening 
 sea breeze, while with her freedom from anxiety 
 there came a brightness to her eyes and a color to 
 her cheek that had been missing for years.
 
 NEXTS. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NEXTS. 
 
 BENEATH Miss Abigail's hospitable roof the 
 guests were thriving on their plain, wholesome 
 fare and the fresh pure air. Mrs. Ehrich's thin 
 cheeks were growing fuller, and she was devel- 
 oping into a hopeful, energetic little woman as 
 her health and strength came back to her. 
 Every day made a difference in the baby's ap- 
 pearance, and he was growing plump and rosy, 
 with a lusty cry that was very different from the 
 feeble wail of his first arrival, and now and then 
 a little cooing sound that delighted his mother's 
 heart. 
 
 " You don't know the pleasure and company 
 it is to have that baby in the house, to say nothing 
 of his mother," Miss Abigail said to Christie one 
 day, as she walked down to the gate to meet her, 
 with the baby cuddled up in her strong arms as 
 cosily as if she had held babies all her life. "He 's 
 such a dear little fellow and takes so much notice 
 of everything. It's made me more thankful for 
 my mercies, having them here, too, Miss Christie. 
 I used to get lonesome streaks, and think it was 
 
 Chr1tl' Next Thin;. I ?
 
 194 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 hard lines for me to be left here without a chick 
 or child in the world, except Tim, and I 'in most 
 past looking for him no\v. Seems to me mother's 
 prayers would have brought him home before now 
 if he was coming. Well, as I was saying, I had 
 my spells of studying on what I hadn't got, and 
 so I lost sight sometimes of all I had got; but 
 since that poor woman 's been here, and I 've seen 
 what a treat just the river and the birds and the 
 trees are to her, I have made up my mind to re- 
 member only the good things that I have, as free 
 as air, and not take stock in worrying. It would 
 be hard to have little children growing up around 
 you in one of those alleys, where they couldn't 
 be half taken care of nor couldn't even get a 
 breath of pure air. There 's far worse things than 
 have ever come to me, and I 'm getting to realize 
 it more and more every day. I wish I could have 
 some one else here that needs a change. I have 
 plenty of room, and it would do my heart good to 
 see some one else enjoying this beautiful river 
 besides the baby and his mother. If you know 
 of any one else they will be very welcome, Miss 
 Christie." 
 
 It \vas this conversation, and the money that 
 lay carefully folded up in Christie's "tenth-box" 
 ready for use, that made her wish for some op- 
 portunity to add to Miss Abigail's household.
 
 NEXTS. 195 
 
 The girls had shared Mrs. Ehrich's expenses, so 
 Christie still had some money left from her fifty 
 dollars, with which she wanted to make some one 
 happy when the opportunity came to her. 
 
 She wrote to an old friend, who had formerly 
 been a teacher at Maplewood Institute, and was 
 now living in the city, telling her of her wish to 
 help some one who was in need of the benefit of 
 fresh air and a change. She knew that Mrs. 
 Elliott taught in a mission school and was inter- 
 ested in several charitable organizations, so she 
 hoped that she would be able to advise her wisely, 
 and suggest some one who really needed assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Very promptly the answer came, and a very 
 satisfactory one it was to Christie. 
 
 " Your letter came to me as a direct answer to 
 my earnest prayers," Mrs. Elliott wrote. "I 
 have been very much interested in a young woman 
 who has been attending my mothers' meeting for 
 some time. She has had a very hard life the last 
 few years, and one of bitter disappointment She 
 confesses that it is trouble that she has brought 
 upon herself, but it is none the less hard to bear. 
 In fact I think it is often easier to bear troubles 
 which God sends us than those which we bring 
 upon ourselves by our own wilfulness and wrong- 
 doing. She had a pleasant home and good pa-
 
 196 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 rents, but about eight years ago she became in- 
 fatuated with a young man who, according to her 
 own confession, was wild and dissipated, and ran 
 away from home with him. It was a most un- 
 happy marriage, for he was a selfish, unprinci- 
 pled fellow, who was not capable of any real affec- 
 tion for her. His feelings towards her were rath- 
 er those of admiration for her pretty face and 
 bright ways than anything else, and after he had 
 won her he soon tired of these attractions. Per- 
 haps it was partly the wife's fault, too, for she 
 was a vain, giddy girl, who did not hesitate to 
 put her parents' wishes and commands at de- 
 fiance, and repay all their love and care by leav- 
 ing them for a man of whom they could not ap- 
 prove. There was not very much in her to call 
 out the best and highest affections of a man's 
 nature, and after a few weeks both husband and 
 wife quarrelled bitterly. At the end of a year of 
 mutual unhappiness he deserted her, leaving her 
 with a little daughter but a fe\v weeks old to 
 care for as best she might. She went back to 
 her father and mother, and they opened their 
 home again to her; but their hearts had been bro- 
 ken when she left them, and before a year had 
 passed she had seen them both laid away to rest. 
 This left her alone in the world except for her 
 little daughter, for she riad heard nothing from
 
 NEXTS. 197 
 
 her husband since he left her, and she believes 
 him dead. It has been a hard struggle for her to 
 earn bread for herself and her child, and when I 
 heard her story I became very much interested in 
 her. She was induced to attend the mothers' 
 meetings, and has learned at last to whom to go 
 for help with her burdens: but she stands very 
 much in need of human help and sympathy just 
 now. She has been ill for some time and is not 
 able to work, and the little girl, who is a delicate 
 child, is beginning to droop too. A little time of 
 rest in the pure air is what she most needs, and I 
 have been praying that just such a chance might 
 be open to her. God has sent his answer through 
 you, my dear girl, and in poor Mrs. Harmer's 
 name I most gladly accept your invitation. If 
 you have room for both mother and daughter, it 
 will be a double pleasure to them not to be sepa- 
 rated ; but if not, perhaps I can get a ticket for 
 little Naomi to go to one of those seaside homes 
 for children. Let me hear when you want your 
 guest or guests, and I will make arrangements to 
 send them to you at any date you mention." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert shared Christie's pleasure over 
 this letter, and after a conversation with Miss 
 Abigail, she wrote to Mrs. Elliott, asking her to 
 send Mrs. Harmer and her daughter to them as 
 soon as possible.
 
 198 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 The very next day they came, and Christie 
 was at . the station to meet them, full of pleased 
 expectancy. Mrs. Harmer was still a pretty wo- 
 man, though her years of anxiety and her illness 
 had made her face look thin and careworn. 
 Christie was at once attracted to the child, a deli- 
 cate, interesting looking little girl, who lifted her 
 dark eyes to Christie, when she welcomed her, 
 with such a look of shy gratitude that Christie 
 could not forbear stooping and kissing the pretty 
 lips that parted in a smile of pleasure. 
 
 Both mother and daughter enjoyed the drive 
 out to Miss Abigail's, and Christie enjoyed their 
 exclamations of pleasure over the river and the 
 white-winged vessels which were flitting before 
 the wind. 
 
 "This is Mrs. Harmer, Miss Abigail," Chris- 
 tie said, as the little old lady came briskly out to 
 meet her guests, the very impersonation of cheery 
 hospitality. 
 
 " Harmer! why, that is my name, too," Miss 
 Abigail said, as she shook hands with her guest. 
 "And what's your name, little one?" 
 
 "Naomi," the child answered shyly, glancing 
 up into the kindly face. 
 
 "Why, that was my mother's name!" said 
 Miss Abigail, her voice taking a softer tone as she 
 spoke of her mother. " I declare to goodness, I
 
 NEXTS. 199 
 
 shall have to believe you 're both relations of mine 
 with those names. Well, you're doubly wel- 
 come, and I hope you'll enjoy yourselves here. 
 There's a dear little baby for you to play with, 
 Naomi, if you 're fond of babies. When I was 
 your size I liked them better than dolls, a good 
 sight." Naomi smiled at the baby and touched 
 her finger to its round cheek, while Mrs. Ehrich 
 looked pleased at this attention to her baby. 
 
 Miss Abigail ushered Mrs. Harmer up to her 
 room under the eaves, and the cosey little room 
 looked like a haven of rest to the tired and dis- 
 couraged woman. She sank into the old arm- 
 chair that stood beside the window, with a little 
 sigh of relief, when Miss Abigail left her, and 
 Christie, coming up a little later, found her sitting 
 there with her hands clasped and a smile of con- 
 tent on her face. 
 
 "I wish I could thank you, Miss Gilbert," 
 she said. " I cannot tell you what a blessed rest 
 this will be to me. It is just what I wanted so 
 sorely, and" I have not deserved that the Lord 
 should care for my needs and lead me beside the, 
 still, waters." 
 
 "Indeed, I feel that it is a privilege to be His 
 instrument in answering prayer," Christie said 
 gently, "and you must not thank me for what I 
 find it a pleasure to do."
 
 200 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "There must be a blessedness in knowing 
 that you can give new life and hope to one who 
 is almost discouraged," answered Mrs. Harmer, 
 looking wistfully at the bright young face that 
 looked into her own. Perhaps she was thinking 
 of the time when she too was young and pretty, 
 and when her life was carefully guarded and shel- 
 tered by loving parents. She had thrown away 
 much that she might gratify her self-will and 
 misplaced affection, and it was almost too late 
 now to retrieve the mistakes of the past and re- 
 deem the future. She was so alone in the world 
 but for little Naomi, and care though the child 
 was, yet she more than repaid every self-denial 
 for her sake, she was so clinging and affectionate. 
 
 Miss Abigail was very much pleased with her 
 new guests, and before the evening meal was 
 ended Naomi had forgotten her shyness, and 
 every now and then burst into a merry ripple of 
 childish laughter over some of the antics of Miss 
 Abigail's kitten, who played with its grave old 
 mother's tail and ears in a manner that shocked 
 the sober old cat. 
 
 "Is she your only child?" asked Miss Abi- 
 gail, watching Naomi as she strayed down to- 
 wards the gate, her slight childish figure ma- 
 king a pretty picture as she played with the kitten 
 which followed her, glad of a new playmate.
 
 NEXTS. 201 
 
 " Yes, she is the only child I ever had," Mrs. 
 Harmer answered. 
 
 "Is your husband dead?" Miss Abigail in- 
 quired. By this time Naomi had returned to the 
 porch, and Mrs. Harmer answered after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, 
 
 "Naomi lost her father when she was only a 
 few weeks old;" then when after a few moments 
 Naomi had gone away again, she said, "I have 
 never told her the whole truth, and she thinks 
 her father is dead ; but I do not want to deceive 
 you. My husband left me when Naomi was a 
 little baby and I have never heard anything of 
 him since. I do not know whether he is living 
 or not. ' ' 
 
 " He must have been a bad man to go off and 
 leave his wife and child," said Miss Abigail. 
 " You must have been but a young bit of a thing 
 then, for you don't look much but a girl now." 
 
 "I was only seventeen when I was married," 
 Mrs. Harmer answered, "but I have had trouble 
 enough to make me feel much older than my 
 years. If it was not for Naomi I should not want 
 to live; but for her sake I am very glad of this 
 rest and the chance to grow strong and well 
 again." 
 
 "Naomi is an unusual name," said Miss 
 Abigail.
 
 202 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Yes, it was the name of my husband's mo- 
 ther, and he wanted it given to his child," Mrs. 
 Harmer answered, stroking the dark curly head 
 of the little girl, who was sitting at her feet now 
 with her head resting against her mother's knee. 
 
 " I expect you are tired after your journey, 
 little girl," said Miss Abigail, looking with kind- 
 ly eyes at the flushed face and heavy eyes. u I '11 
 read a chapter in the good Book, and we will 
 make an early start to bed and get up early. 
 These summer mornings are too beautiful to 
 spend in sleep." 
 
 Naomi was very willing to go to bed, and half 
 an hour later her mother followed her, and at an 
 early hour all the occupants of the little cottage 
 were in the land of dreams. 
 
 The days sped all too swiftly to the visitors, 
 and Miss Abigail often said she did not know 
 how she could ever reconcile herself to parting 
 with Naomi and the baby, they had won her 
 heart so completely. 
 
 Even the oppressive heat of the August days 
 did not seem to be overpowering here, where 
 breezes from the river stole into the little cottage, 
 and the fresh pure air, laden with the fragrance of 
 flowers and the melody of the birds, seemed to 
 bring new life to Mrs. Harmer and Naomi. The 
 little girl delighted in making herself useful in
 
 NEXTS. 203 
 
 childish ways, and she was quite proud when she 
 could be intrusted with commissions to the vil- 
 lage store. She had grown so strong that the 
 walk, although somewhat of a long one, did not 
 tire her out at all, and she enjoyed her feeling of 
 importance in taking so much of an expedition 
 alone. 
 
 One afternoon Miss Abigail was in need of 
 some small articles from the village store, and 
 Naomi pleaded to be allowed to go and get them. 
 
 "I'm afraid it 's too hot for you, child," Miss 
 Abigail said doubtfully; but Naomi coaxed to be 
 allowed to go, saying that she would take her 
 mother's umbrella to shield her from the sun, and 
 that there would be a breeze by the river nearly 
 all the way. 
 
 Miss Abigail let her have her way at last, and 
 Naomi started off triumphantly, taking the um- 
 brella with her as a protection against the heat of 
 the sun. 
 
 The heat increased after she had started, and 
 the breeze died away completely, and Naomi 
 almost wished that she had not begged to come, 
 as she felt the gathering oppressiveness. She 
 discharged her errand and started towards home, 
 not noticing the heavy bank of clouds that had 
 loomed up in the sky nor the singular stillness 
 which often precedes a storm. The leaves on the
 
 204 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 trees hung pendulous without a motion, and it 
 would have been evident to eyes more experi- 
 enced than little Naomi's that a storm was 
 brewing. 
 
 A heavy peal of thunder startled the child and 
 great drops of rain pattered down slowly, the 
 advance guard of a coming deluge. Naomi raised 
 her umbrella and quickened her steps, but a gust 
 of wind nearly blew her over. She was not a 
 timid child, but she was a little frightened at 
 finding herself facing the storm on this lonely 
 river road, so far from home, and tears came to 
 her eyes as she put down her umbrella and tried 
 to force her way along against the wind. 
 
 She was passing a little copse of trees when a 
 sound reached her ears that made her pause to 
 listen, while her heart beat a little faster. 
 
 Surely those were the sound of groans, as of 
 some one in distress. She went timidly towards 
 the clump of trees, and peering into the shadows 
 descried a man lying upon the ground, with his 
 face in the moss. 
 
 He was evidently in pain, for as Naomi 
 looked at him she heard him groan again. The 
 child's first impulse was to run away, and she 
 went several rods before she paused to look back. 
 She had a childish fear of tramps, and there was 
 nothing in this man's rough appearance to in-
 
 NEXTS. 205 
 
 spire her with any confidence. She paused to 
 look back, and saw him feebly dragging himself 
 out of the covert of the underbrush and trying to 
 gain the road. 
 
 "He must be sick, poor man," said Naomi 
 pitifully, as she saw his uncertain gait, which did 
 not seem like the stagger of an intoxicated man, 
 although it was nearly as undetermined. He 
 had not gone many paces before his strength 
 gave out and he fell again. Naomi stood and 
 looked at him. The wind was growing higher 
 each moment, the air was full of flying leaves and 
 dead twigs, and the rain was beginning to fall in 
 earnest. 
 
 Naomi did not know whether to run towards 
 home as speedily as possible, or go back and see 
 if she could be of any assistance to the poor man. 
 She was half afraid of him, and she wanted to 
 seek the refuge of home as speedily as possible, 
 but her tender heart forbade her leaving any one 
 who was in distress. 
 
 She retraced her footsteps and leaned over the 
 man, who was groaning again. 
 
 " Are you sick ?" she asked gently. 
 
 The man opened his eyes and looked at her 
 with a vacant gaze. She touched his hand and 
 found he was burning with fever, and she shrank 
 away from him for a moment.
 
 2o6 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "It seems longer than it used to," he said 
 indistinctly. " Mother will be wondering why I 
 don't come, and it 's getting late. Tell her I am 
 coming. I will arise and go " and his voice 
 died away in unintelligible murmurings. 
 
 The thunder crashed loudly, and Naomi shud- 
 dered with terror. Mother had told her it was 
 God's voice, but it frightened her to hear it in 
 this lonely place with this sick man. It was very 
 different when she was nestled in the safe shelter 
 of mother's arms. 
 
 She would not go away and leave the poor 
 man alone, lying here in the middle of the road 
 with the rain beating down upon him. With 
 considerable difficulty she raised the umbrella, 
 and shielded the man's face at least from the fury 
 of the rain, which was now coming down in tor- 
 rents, while she herself crept under the same 
 shelter. 
 
 It was not as hard to hold the umbrella now 
 that it was close to the ground, and Naomi kept 
 it quite steadily in its place. Would the rain 
 ever stop, she wondered drearily, as it came down 
 in great sheets, while the wind nearly took her 
 breath away. 
 
 If she was only safely home! and she sobbed 
 softly to herself as she shivered with the wet and 
 cold. The rain and wind did not seem to abate
 
 NEXTS. SO/ 
 
 the burning fever of the sick man, and his inco- 
 herent mutterings frightened the child. At last 
 the storm spent itself and the rain began to 
 slacken in its heavy downpour. Rifts of blue 
 sky gleamed out through the clouds and the 
 distant rumble of the thunder showed that the 
 storm had passed over that part of the country. 
 
 Naomi looked wistfully along the road. She 
 would not go and leave her self-imposed charge 
 until some one came who could take care of him. 
 Patiently she sat by his side, wondering why the 
 road seemed so entirely deserted that afternoon. 
 It seemed a long time to the child, though in 
 reality it was not an hour, before she heard the 
 approaching rattle of wagon wheels and knew 
 that some one was coming at last. 
 
 It was an empty farm-wagon, and the driver, 
 a stout, well-grown boy of eighteen, stopped his 
 horses, when he saw the little group at the road- 
 side, and jumped out. 
 
 " Halloa, sissy ! What's the matter?" he 
 asked. "Man got struck by lightning?" 
 
 Naomi shook her head. 
 
 "No, he's sick; he's got some kind of a 
 fever," she answered. "He was lying here in 
 the woods and groaning, and then he got up and 
 came a little way up the road before he fell down. 
 I was afraid to leave him all alone."
 
 2o8 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 "Seems to me I'd have been more afraid to 
 stay with him," answered the boy. " He looks 
 to me as if he was drunk," he went on, leaning 
 over the prostrate man. 
 
 But there was no odor of liquor about the 
 man 's breath, and when the boy touched him he 
 could tell, unused as he was to sickness, that 
 fever was raging in his veins. 
 
 "I wonder what it is that's the matter with 
 him," the boy said. " I suppose I 'd better take 
 him somewhere as long as I 've got an empty 
 wagon, though I'm almost afraid to touch him. 
 I wonder where he belongs anyhow ? Say, mis- 
 ter, where do you want to go?" he asked, giving 
 the man a gentle shake. But he got no intel- 
 ligible reply. 
 
 "Take him along to Miss Abigail's," said 
 Naomi; "she'll know what to do about him." 
 
 " Well," the boy answered, " I '11 see if I can 
 get him into the bottom of the wagon. He looks 
 pretty hefty to lift, but I guess I can manage it." 
 
 It was rather a hard task, even for the sturdy 
 muscles of the farm-bred boy, to lift the weight of 
 a helpless man, but he pulled and pushed, Naomi 
 assisting with all her tiny strength, and at last he 
 was safely deposited in the wagon. 
 
 "It's so hard for his head," said Naomi. 
 "I '11 hold it on my lap."
 
 NEXTS. 209 
 
 "Why, you're as wet as if you had been in 
 the river," said the boy, looking at the child's 
 dripping clothes. "You'd better put this old 
 bag around you. ' ' 
 
 With the sick man's head on her lap, Naomi 
 felt as if he was more comfortable, and twenty 
 minutes later the wagon drove up before the door 
 of the cottage, where the inmates were anxiously 
 wondering about the child's safety. Miss Abi- 
 gail assured Mrs. Harmer that they would detain 
 her in the village till the storm had spent itself, 
 but despite this assurance the mother's heart was 
 filled with anxiety. 
 
 When they saw her seated in the bottom of 
 the wagon they thought some accident had hap- 
 pened to her, but a moment later they saw that 
 she was only holding some one's head in her lap 
 and was uninjured herself. 
 
 " Here 's some company for you, Miss Abby," 
 the boy shouted, and Miss Abby hurried out to 
 learn who her unexpected guest might be. 
 
 '* Next Thlnm.
 
 210 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 
 
 IT had been nearly two weeks since the Sun- 
 day afternoon when Tim Harmer had made up 
 his mind to go back to his home and seek for- 
 giveness from his old parents whom he had neg- 
 lected for so many years. He had begun at once 
 to put his resolution into effect, and when the 
 sunset was touching the grand old cliffs of Mar- 
 blehead with their reflected glory he had already 
 set out upon his homeward way. 
 
 It was no easy task to take such a journey 
 when he was almost penniless and was feeling 
 the effects of a prolonged debauch. Fortunately 
 a fishing smack, with whose captain he was upon 
 terms of friendly acquaintance, was about to put 
 out of harbor, and by taking passage on this 
 vessel he was carried quite a distance on his 
 way without cost. 
 
 As far as his money went he travelled by 
 rail after that, but when his last cent was ex- 
 pended he was still many a long, weary mile 
 from home. He had meant to work a day now 
 and then for farmers, and get a little money in
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 211 
 
 that way to help him along; but he was too ill 
 for that, so he tramped wearily along the dusty, 
 never-ending road, sleeping at night wherever 
 he could find a place, in some barn or beneath 
 the shelter of a hedge, and begging his meals 
 at the farmhouses he passed. A slow fever was 
 burning in his veins and exhausting his scanty 
 store of strength, and he was glad to beg a lift 
 from wagons passing him on the road. 
 
 At last only one more day's journey lay be- 
 tween him and his home. He was almost too 
 exhausted to crawl from beneath the hedge 
 where he had spent the night, but the cup of 
 strong coffee which a kindly farmer's wife gave 
 him revived him somewhat, and he trudged 
 doggedly on, not yielding to the weakness which 
 every now and then threatened to overpower 
 him. He was suffering not only from weakness, 
 but from the cut on his head, which had not 
 healed, but was growing more painful every day; 
 and sometimes he was afraid that he would not 
 be able to finish even the little distance that he 
 thought now lay between him and his mother. 
 
 At last the village was reached, and he passed 
 through the familiar streets which his boyish 
 footsteps had so often traversed in past years. 
 He would not pause to rest, but kept steadily 
 on until he reached the river road, which was
 
 2i2 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 so near home. The oppressive heat which her- 
 alded the storm made him feel faint and weak, 
 and the fever burned so fiercely that his thoughts 
 grew confused. He went down to the river's 
 brink, and, leaning over among the rushes, 
 bathed his face and hands and slaked his thirst. 
 
 It was useless* to try and go any farther until 
 he had a few moments' rest, for his aching limbs 
 and swollen feet would not bear his weight. 
 Yonder was the clump of trees which had altered 
 so little since he saw them last, and with a little 
 sigh of relief he crept in and lay down upon the 
 cool bed of ferns and grass. 
 
 The pain in his head increased and forced 
 deep groans from him, and he scarcely heeded 
 the deep ominous rolling of the thunder, he. was 
 suffering so much. A feeling that he must not 
 give up to this languor, that somehow he must 
 get home, made him drag himself to his feet and 
 stagger a little way up the road; but then 
 strength and consciousness together left him and 
 he fell prostrate. 
 
 Here it was that Naomi knelt beside him 
 and sheltered him from the driving rain; but 
 his thoughts were so full of home and mother 
 that he did not heed his child protector, and 
 babbled on brokenly of the rambling thoughts 
 that were confusing his brain.
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 213 
 
 He was a boy again and heard his mother 
 calling him, but somehow he could not go to 
 her. His feet seemed bound and his head was 
 too heavy to lift. When he was put in the 
 wagon, consciousness had entirely left him, and 
 so he did not know when at last his journey was 
 ended and he had reached the little brown house 
 that had been the goal of his long wandering. 
 
 Miss Abigail peered into the wagon with 
 curious eyes, wondering who it could be that 
 Dan had brought to her door. 
 
 "Who is it, Dan?" she asked, looking into 
 the heavy, flushed face. "What did you bring 
 him here for, and where did you find Naomi?" 
 
 "One question at a time, Miss Abby, if you 
 please," answered Dan good-humoredly. "Who 
 he is I don't know any more than you do; 
 but he was lying there like a log in the public 
 road, with sissy here minding him, and I just 
 fetched him along to ask you what we should do 
 with him. I '11 drive him on to the poorhouse if 
 you say so; for he's in for a spell of sickness, I 
 reckon, and if you a' n't expecting him, he wont 
 be welcome company." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Miss Abigail doubtfully. 
 " I hate to send him along up there to the poor- 
 house, but I don't see my way clear to taking 
 him in the house just now, when I 've got others
 
 214 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 to look out for. If I was alone, I might feel as 
 if he was sent for me to take care of; but here's 
 the baby and Naomi; they might get some awful 
 sickness from him. What do you say, Mrs. Har- 
 mer?" she asked, as she saw Mrs. Harmer fol- 
 lowing Naomi out to the gate, listening to her 
 story of the poor sick man. "Shall I let Dan 
 drive him on up to the poorhouse?" 
 
 Mrs. Harmer looked in the wagon at the un- 
 conscious man. He was rolling his head from 
 side to side and uttering confused murmurings 
 of "Mother" and "Alice," and as she caught a 
 glimpse of the face of the stranger Mrs. Harmer 
 uttered a sharp cry, partly of pain and partly of 
 surprise. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked Miss Abigail excitedly, 
 while she studied the unconscious face earnestly, 
 a faint recognition of features that somehow were 
 strangely familiar stealing over her. 
 
 "My husband!" exclaimed Mrs. Harmer in 
 trembling tones. "Oh, Miss Abigail, it is my 
 husband! Poor Tim!" 
 
 "Tim!" ejaculated Miss Abigail; and then 
 suddenly realizing that it was her brother, the 
 wanderer for whose return she had waited and 
 watched and prayed so long, that lay before her, 
 she covered her face and shook from head to foot 
 with her emotion.
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 215 
 
 "Well!" Dan ejaculated, as he looked from 
 one to another of the agitated women. "I 
 reckon you don't want him sent to the poor- 
 house then, seeing he 's a kin of yours. If you '11 
 get his bed ready, Miss Abigail, for I reckon 
 that's the place for him, I'll go across lots and 
 get some one to come and help me lift him in, 
 for he 's too heavy for me to manage again with- 
 out help. Wait, there's a carnage coining. I 
 believe it's the doctor himself; now could any- 
 thing be luckier!" 
 
 Miss Abigail was g]ad of the necessity for 
 activity just then, and she hastily prepared the 
 bed which Mrs. Ehrich had been occupying for 
 the sick man, and when the doctor drove up a 
 few moments later all was in readiness. 
 
 He helped Dan carry the man in, and be- 
 tween them they undressed him and put him in 
 the soft, clean bed; then the doctor made an 
 examination. He dressed the wound on his 
 head and left medicine to allay his fever, telling 
 Miss Abigail that with good care there was no 
 danger to be apprehended. 
 
 "His fever is partly due to excessive fatigue 
 and exertion, and he looks to me as if dissipation 
 might have a good deal to do with it," the doc- 
 tor said. "His head has not had proper care, 
 but I think it' will heal up now. Try to avoid
 
 216 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 any shock when he comes to consciousness, if 
 you can, and I will look in again in a few hours, 
 on my way home, and see how he is." 
 
 It almost seemed as if, unconscious though he 
 was, the sick man realized the change from the 
 hard road to the comfortable bed, for he fell into 
 a gentle, refreshing sleep, and seemed to be en- 
 joying his surroundings, though he did not open 
 his eyes or speak. 
 
 " Poor Tim! If mother could only have seen 
 you come home before she died!" Miss Abigail 
 said, studying her brother's face to see the altera- 
 tions which twelve years had made in it, and re- 
 membering the firm belief, which her mother had 
 never lost, that some day her boy would return. 
 
 "And isn't it a providence, one of God's own 
 dealings, that he should come home to find his 
 wife and child here under the old home roof! 
 Poor boy, he must have loved mother through 
 all, or he wouldn't have wanted to name his 
 baby girl after her. It's no wonder I took to 
 the little thing so, when she's my own flesh and 
 blood. Queer I never suspected it, with the 
 name alike and all, but it seemed too unlikely 
 to be possible that Tim's wife and child should 
 come home here without knowing it. Well, 
 
 " ' God moves in a mysterious way 
 His wonders to perform,'
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 217 
 
 and yet we are so short-sighted that we never 
 look for him to do anything that we couldn't do 
 ourselves." 
 
 Naomi crept timidly into the room and 
 looked half fearfully at the bandaged head upon 
 the pillow. 
 
 "Wont you tell me about it, please, Miss 
 Abigail? I can't understand it all, and mother 
 is crying. Who is it ?' ' 
 
 "Poor little lamb, did we all forget you?" 
 and Miss Abigail put her arms around the child, 
 and drew her close up to her with a new and 
 joyful feeling of ownership, since she was Tim's 
 little girl. "This is your father, dearie. He's 
 been away from you and your mother ever since 
 you were a baby, but he's come home now to 
 take good care of you as soon as he 's well again, 
 and be one of the best husbands and fathers that 
 ever was." 
 
 Miss Abigail's belief in the future was un- 
 bounded now, and she looked upon her brother's 
 return as an indication that he had left all his 
 evil ways behind him, and could look hopefully 
 forward to his becoming all that he should be. 
 If the mother's prayers had been so far answered, 
 surely they would be wholly granted. 
 
 "Then shall we always live here in this 
 beautiful place with you. Miss Abigail?" asked
 
 2l8 CHRISTIK'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Naomi, not knowing whether to rejoice or not 
 at this new possession of a father, but quite able 
 to appreciate the tangible good of never leaving 
 this pretty home, where she was so happy. 
 
 "You must call me Aunt Abigail now, for 
 you are my own dear little niece," said Miss 
 Abigail, stooping to kiss the child. " Yes, dear, 
 I hope you will always live here with me; but 
 if that should not be, still I will often have 
 you here for nice long visits. Now tell me 
 where you found your father, dear, and all about 
 it." 
 
 They went back into the kitchen, that the 
 sound of voices might not disturb the sleeper, 
 and Miss Abigail listened to Naomi's simple 
 recital. 
 
 In the excitement of getting the sick man 
 into the house, dripping little Naomi had been 
 overlooked by both her mother and Miss Abigail, 
 but Mrs. Ehrich had taken off her wet garments 
 and rubbed her until the reaction had set in after 
 her chilled feeling, and she was not feeling any 
 the worse for her exposure. 
 
 Mrs. Harmer came down stairs presently, her 
 eyes swollen with weeping, and passing quietly 
 into the bedroom, knelt down beside her hus- 
 band and looked long and earnestly at the face 
 she had once loved. At first there was only an
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 219 
 
 angry, resentful feeling in her heart. This man 
 had wronged her grievously. She had been a 
 happy girl when he had won her love and in- 
 duced her to leave her home, and since the day 
 she had become his wife nothing but sorrow had 
 been her portion. Hardships of all kinds she 
 had known even before he left her, and she had 
 learned to hate him as much as she had loved 
 him. She had laid the broken hearts of her 
 father and mother at his door, forgetting that 
 if she had honored their wishes she would never 
 have had anything to do with the dissipated, 
 reckless young man to whom they would not 
 willingly have entrusted their daughter's happi- 
 ness. He had made her life intolerable with his 
 selfishness and hasty temper while she was with 
 him, and then he had deserted her in her feeble- 
 ness, and never apparently remembered the ex- 
 istence of his wife or child. 
 
 How could she be glad that they were thrown 
 together again, and that she must again have her 
 life wrecked by his selfishness? Better that she 
 should take Naomi that very night and wander 
 out into the world again to hide themselves some- 
 where, than that she should again enter the bond- 
 age of unloved and unloving wifehood. 
 
 Tenderer thoughts came into her heart while 
 she knelt there. The helplessness and suffering
 
 220 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 of the unconscious figure touched the springs of 
 pity in her woman's heart, and she could not 
 bring herself to leave him now while he so needed 
 a wife's care and nursing. True he had left her 
 when she was ill and unable to care for herself, 
 but she did not remember that as resentfully as 
 she did a little while ago. 
 
 It had not been all Tim's fault that the first 
 year of their married life had been one of such 
 unhappiness. She had not been loving or pa- 
 tient, nor had she tried to encourage him to lead 
 a better life. Perhaps there might even yet be a 
 life of happiness in store for them if they should 
 both begin over again, determined to do right 
 and live so that God's blessing might rest upon 
 them. 
 
 They had loved each other once, though it 
 had not been with an unselfish, forbearing love, 
 and it might be that God had brought them to- 
 gether again that they might learn to really love 
 each other and make a happy home for each other 
 and little Naomi. She would try to win her hus- 
 band's heart again with love and patience, and 
 then perhaps she could bring him to the Saviour 
 whom she had learned to love. If their home 
 was only a Christian one it could not fail to be a 
 happy one. At all events she would not run 
 away from the duty God had placed before her.
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 221 
 
 This unexpected meeting with the husband she 
 had believed dead was of His ordering, and He 
 had intended it for some wise purpose. 
 
 With a low moan the invalid moved his head 
 uneasily, and Mrs. Harmer leaned over him and 
 adjusted the pillow more comfortably. The very 
 act of care brought back a faint glow of pitying 
 affection, and Miss Abigail coming in just then 
 smiled with pleasure. 
 
 "I was just studying about how you likely 
 felt towards him," she said softly, as she stood by 
 the wife's side. u I know he hasn't treated you 
 right, and that he don't deserve anything from 
 you or the child now ; but I could n't help hoping 
 you might find it in your heart to forgive him 
 and give him a helping hand again. I know his 
 faults as well as any one, for we grew up to- 
 gether ; but I dare say I'm more inclined to ex- 
 cuse them on account of his being my brother ; 
 and I can't help thinking how happy we might 
 all be, if only you could love him a little again 
 and go back to him. If you were good to him 
 now when he 's so weak and helpless, he surely 
 couldn't but appreciate it, and I know he'd do 
 his best to make up to you for the past when he 's 
 better again. Of course I don't know anything 
 of what's hidden away in his heart, but I can't 
 help feeling that when he made up his mind to
 
 222 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 come back home he meant to give up his bad life 
 and make a new beginning. You '11 help him in 
 it, wont you, sister Alice?" 
 
 Tears filled the wife's eyes as she heard this 
 loving title. 
 
 "Yes, I will begin again," she said softly, 
 "and who knows but that God may have happi- 
 ness in store for us yet?" 
 
 The vigil was divided that night between the 
 wife and the sister, and so the nursing began 
 which continued for days and weeks. 
 
 As soon as the people in Weston heard that 
 the long-astray brother had returned and was ill, 
 Miss Abigail received many kind offers, and felt 
 that all were interested in the event which was 
 so much to her; but she did not wish to let 
 strangers enter the sick-room and see the wreck 
 which dissipation as well as illness had made of 
 the once handsome boy whom they remembered. 
 
 Mrs. Ehrich went home about a week after the 
 invalid's coming. She was well and strong now, 
 and the baby was a chubby, plump little fellow, 
 who could hardly have been recognized as the 
 frail mite of an infant that came there some six 
 weeks before. The husband was growing lonely, 
 and though he had been down twice to see his 
 wife and child, yet he was eager to get them 
 home again.
 
 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. 223 
 
 Miss Abigail would have been sorry to part 
 with them if her heart and hands had not been so 
 full just now with her brother. During these 
 days of dependence and helplessness, when her 
 husband had to have his slightest wants minis- 
 tered to as if he was an infant, Alice Harmer 
 learned to feel an affection for her husband that 
 she could not have believed possible. 
 
 He had been more seriously ill than the doc- 
 tor had thought at first, and there were a few 
 days when his life hung in the balance, and it 
 hardly seemed as if he had vitality enough left to 
 withstand the tremendous drain his exposure and 
 efforts to reach home had made upon his consti- 
 tution. 
 
 Very earnest were the prayers which ascended 
 from his bedside in the quiet night watches, that 
 God would spare his life and give him back to 
 them again. Naomi, too, nightly added her 
 childish petition, "Please, God, bless father and 
 make him well again." 
 
 A worthless life it had been in the past, and 
 perhaps it hardly seemed worth the earnest plead- 
 ing that ascended for its preservation; but both 
 sister and wife looked forward hopefully to the 
 possibilities of the future, and looked upon it as 
 a boon which they could not too earnestly en- 
 treat.
 
 224 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A BEGINNING. 
 
 IT was long days before the fever in Timothy 
 Harmer's veins subsided, and although he had 
 several times opened his eyes and spoken to his 
 two faithful nurses, he had not recognized either 
 his surroundings or his sister and wife. He was 
 conscious of their ministrations for his comfort, 
 however, and learned to know Alice's light step' 
 and gentle touch, which were more soothing to 
 him than Miss Abigail's more energetic move- 
 ments. 
 
 One day, as Alice sat by his side, wielding a 
 large fan gently to and fro, for the river breeze 
 had died away, he opened his eyes and looked at 
 her steadfastly, with a dawning of recognition in 
 his gaze. A bewildered look crossed his face, 
 and he looked about the room, evidently trying 
 to make his troubled brain explain to him where 
 he was and who was sitting beside him. 
 
 " Alice !" he said faintly, in incredulous tones, 
 and she answered gently, laying her cool hand 
 upon his forehead, 
 
 "Yes, Timothy, it is Alice, your wife. You
 
 A BEGINNING. 225 
 
 are at home again, and you have been sick. Go 
 to sleep now, and I will explain it all to you when 
 you wake up." 
 
 He seemed satisfied with her words, and was 
 too weak to question her any further, so with a 
 little sigh of content he closed his eyes again and 
 fell into a light and refreshing slumber. 
 
 It was two days later before he asked any more 
 questions or manifested any curiosity, and then 
 when Miss Abigail was beside him he looked up 
 and asked, 
 
 "Where is mother?" 
 
 Miss Abigail forgot all the waywardness which 
 in his later years had made her harden her heart 
 against him, and remembered only the love and 
 pride that she had felt in the old days for this 
 youngest brother, who had been the family pet in 
 babyhood. Very gently she told him of the 
 changes that had been made in the long years 
 that had passed since he had left the old roof-tree, 
 and told him of the forgiveness and blessing that 
 the old people had left for him. 
 
 " Mother was sure to the last that you 'd come 
 home again to her, Tim," Miss Abigail said, 
 "and she bade me tell you that she had loved you 
 to the last. She's waiting and watching for you 
 in a better home now, brother, and, please God, 
 you must surely meet her there." 
 
 Christie's Next Tlunss. 1 5
 
 226 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 In those quiet hours of thought that followed, 
 when he was too ill and weak to escape from him- 
 self, Tim had time for good resolutions. The 
 husks upon which he had been living all these 
 years had lost all power to satisfy him, and he 
 felt that he could never return to his evil life and 
 associates. The pure influences of his boyhood's 
 home were stronger than the temptations of the 
 life he had left behind him. A great desire to 
 redeem the past filled his heart, and he deter- 
 mined that if his wife could forgive him he would 
 atone for the past with all its mistakes and sin. 
 
 " Alice," he said one day, detaining her as she 
 leaned over him to rearrange his pillow, "I've 
 been a bad husband to you. I do n't deserve that 
 you should be so good to me ; and yet because 
 you are I am going to ask something more of 
 you. Will you trust me to take care of you and 
 the child, and will you help me make a home 
 again? I mean to be a better man if you will 
 help me. Can you forgive me?" 
 
 "I forgave you long ago," she answered, 
 touching her lips to his sunken cheek, "and you 
 have much to forgive too, Tim. We will both of 
 us start over again, now that God has brought us 
 together." 
 
 The days that followed were very happy ones 
 to the occupants of the little cottage, and they
 
 A BEGINNING. 22J 
 
 were drawn closely together in their new-found 
 relationship. As the cooler days of September 
 followed the heat of August, Timothy rapidly 
 gained health and strength and began to plan for 
 the future. Much to Miss Abigail's delight he 
 was very anxious to stay under the home roof, 
 and there was no fear but that he would be able 
 to get plenty of employment as soon as his 
 strength had sufficiently returned. 
 
 Christie was very happy over the thought that 
 she had so unexpectedly been the instrument of 
 bringing husband and wife together again. 
 
 As soon as Miss Abigail learned of the rela- 
 tionship of her guests she protested vigorously 
 against allowing Christie to pay their board ; but 
 as she really needed the money, especially with 
 the added care and expense of an invalid, Chris- 
 tie would not accept her refusal, but insisted upon 
 her taking the money she had laid aside for that 
 purpose. 
 
 Very small seemed the " nexte thynges" 
 which came to Christie in these days, and some- 
 times she was tempted to wonder whether they 
 were worth the doing. If she only had had Ach- 
 sah's talents, or Florence's wealth, so much 
 grander opportunities would have been open to 
 her, and she had all of a girl's impatience with 
 " the trivial round" which fell to her share.
 
 228 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Was she making the very best of her life, she 
 asked herself impatiently sometimes, and then 
 the memory of Aunt Patience's gentle counsel 
 came to her troubled heart like a benediction. If 
 she was doing " ye nexte thynge," then surely she 
 must be going in the path in which the Lord 
 would lead her and following his guidance. 
 
 Each day saw these little things lovingly and 
 faithfully accomplished, although many of them 
 were almost too trivial to record; yet this quiet 
 ministry of helpfulness staightened many a rough 
 place in others' paths and brought gleams of sun- 
 shine into dull lives. 
 
 In September her "nexte" came to her on 
 this wise. As she was passing out of Sunday- 
 school one day the superintendent spoke to her, 
 
 "Miss Gilbert, may I detain you a moment? 
 I have something to speak to you about;" then as 
 Christie stepped back towards the desk he ex- 
 plained to her that it had been thought best to 
 try to establish a mission Sunday-school in a part 
 of the village where the people who worked in 
 the factory lived. It had proved an almost im- 
 possible task to persuade the children of this 
 neighborhood to attend Sunday-school, and so 
 the attempt was to be made to take religious 
 instruction to them, by holding an afternoon 
 meetin-g where they could not have the excuse of
 
 A BEGINNING. 229 
 
 distance nor lack of suitable clothing to prevent 
 their attendance. 
 
 "Now I want to ask if you will volunteer to 
 be one of our teachers, Miss Gilbert?" he said in 
 conclusion. 
 
 Christie looked thoughtful. 
 
 "At what hour will the Sunday-school be 
 held?" she asked. 
 
 "At half-past two, as that hour seems to be 
 the most generally convenient," Mr. El wood 
 answered. "Perhaps I ought not to press you 
 for an immediate answer," he went on, as Chris- 
 tie did not come to a decision at once. "You 
 are right to think the matter over before you 
 pledge your services, but I would be glad if you 
 would send me a line to-morrow, and I trust you 
 will see the way clear to sending a favorable an- 
 swer, for we shall need earnest workers very 
 much if we are to accomplish anything in that 
 corner of the vineyard." 
 
 Christie promised to give the matter careful 
 thought, and that afternoon when dinner was 
 over, and she went up to her room for the hour of 
 quiet reading that she enjoyed so much, she re- 
 deemed her promise. She had been wanting 
 some work to do that would require self-denial 
 and would produce fruit; but now that the op- 
 portunity had come she shrank from it.
 
 "230 CHRISTIE S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 In the first place she distrusted her own 
 powers, and did not believe that she could teach 
 as well as some one else who might volunteer if 
 she refused. Aside from this there were other 
 reasons why she did not want to promise her ser- 
 vices. This afternoon hour of quiet solitude was 
 a very restful, helpful one, and it would require 
 a great deal of self-sacrifice to systematically 
 forego it Sunday after Sunday, and walk to the 
 other end of the village, instead, in all weathers. 
 
 Yet it was " ye nexte thynge," and dared she 
 leave it undone because it was not just the form 
 of service she would have liked ? If the Master 
 had laid this command upon her, "Feed my 
 lambs," would she refuse to minister to these 
 little ones in his name because her inclinations 
 would have prompted some more pleasant ser- 
 vice? 
 
 It did not take her very long to come to a 
 decision after she had thought the matter over 
 prayerfully, and she resolved to assure Mr. El- 
 Wood of her hearty cooperation in the work that 
 Very evening. Mrs. Gilbert heartily approved of 
 the work, and was glad that Christie was to have 
 a share in it, for she was never happier than 
 when she saw her only daughter learning to 
 consecrate her talents and powers in practical 
 religious work.
 
 A BEGINNING. 231 
 
 The next Sunday afternoon saw Christie, with 
 a dozen other helpers from the church, seated in 
 the room which had been rented in the factory 
 neighborhood and fitted up as a Sunday-school. 
 About thirty children had gathered there, at- 
 tracted by the hearty personal invitations and 
 promises of picture cards that they had received 
 from Mr. Elwood during the past week, when he 
 had visited their homes, and about a dozen more 
 were hanging about the outside of the door in 
 little groups, looking as if they were ready to run 
 if any advance was made towards them. 
 
 The opening exercises were interesting and 
 well sustained by the teachers, although the chil- 
 dren were too shy to take any part, even in the 
 singing, and then classes were formed and appor- 
 tioned to each teacher. 
 
 Christie found herself seated before four little 
 girls about twelve years old, who looked at her 
 half defiantly and half curiously as if wondering 
 what she was going to do with them. Two or 
 three times during the hour that followed Chris- 
 tie almost made up her mind to let this be her 
 last attempt at teaching, for she found it such a 
 hard task to gain or keep the children's atten- 
 tion. 
 
 The children's eyes wandered about the room 
 or over her dress with a vacant stare, and the
 
 232 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 only interest they seemed to feel was concerning 
 a ring upon her finger. One of them shyly vol- 
 unteered the question, "What is that ring made 
 of anyhow?" and all the class listened for the 
 answer; but after that, when she had turned it out 
 of sight, that she might draw their attention to 
 the lesson, they became listless again. 
 
 The lesson for the day was the story of Moses, 
 and when Christie ascertained that none of them 
 knew anything about him, she began at his 
 babyhood, and dwelt upon each incident until 
 she thought she had fixed it in their minds. 
 
 She had never more greatly exerted herself to 
 make every word as interesting as possible, and 
 when she paused to question the children she felt 
 assured they would be able to give intelligent 
 answers, notwithstanding their dull faces. 
 
 After eliciting with considerable difficulty the 
 information that Moses was put in a basket in the 
 bulrushes, Christie asked, "Why did his mother 
 hide him away?" There was a perfectly blank 
 look upon the faces before her, and the children 
 did not seem willing to hazard an answer. 
 
 "I am sure somebody can tell me," said 
 Christie encouragingly, trying not to lose her 
 patience. 
 
 Still there was a silence, and not one face 
 brightened in response to her pleasant smile.
 
 A BEGINNING. 233 
 
 " I might just as well give up at once," Chris- 
 tie said to herself despairingly. "If they can't 
 answer a simple question like that after I thought 
 I had explained everything so carefully, then 
 they are too stupid ever to learn anything, or else 
 I am not fitted to teach them." 
 
 " Can't you tell me, Becky?" she said after a 
 moment's pause, addressing the least unprepos- 
 sessing of the girls by name. 
 
 But Becky only shook her head and thrust 
 her dirty thumb in her mouth. 
 
 " I know," said a girl at the other end of the 
 class, and Christie's heart grew lighter at this 
 encouragement. 
 
 "Well, suppose you tell me," she said. 
 
 "Why, because he was such a bad baby his 
 mother couldn't stand him around the house no 
 longer." 
 
 Christie's first feeling was one of utter dis- 
 couragement at this unlooked-for answer. She 
 glanced sharply at the child to see if she was 
 trying to say something mischievous, but one 
 look at the stolid, undisturbed face convinced her 
 that Maggie had hazarded her answer in good 
 faith. 
 
 As her annoyance vanished a keen sense of 
 the ridiculousness of the answer nearly overpow- 
 ered her, and she barely restrained herself upon
 
 234 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 the verge of a laugh. Fortunately she controlled 
 her impulse, and without letting the child see her 
 amusement she answered, 
 
 "No, that wasn't the reason, Maggie, but I 
 am glad you tried to answer." 
 
 She carefully went over that point in the 
 lesson again, and then without trying to draw 
 them out with any more questions, she resolved 
 to spend the rest of the lesson hour in getting 
 somewhat acquainted with these children who 
 were so unlike any she had ever had anything to 
 do with before. 
 
 The girls responded a little more readily and 
 intelligently to her questions about themselves 
 and their home life, and Christie opened her eyes 
 in surprise when Maggie volunteered the infor- 
 mation that she "kept house now, and minded 
 the children as well." 
 
 " Is your mother sick?" asked Christie. 
 
 "She fell at the factory and broke her leg 
 nigh two months ago," Maggie answered, "and 
 it don't seem to heal up right. She a' n't any 
 more able to get around now than she was at 
 first; so I mind things and do all the work." 
 
 "You must be a nice little housekeeper to 
 get so much accomplished," said Christie, when 
 Maggie, suddenly becoming quite confidential, 
 told her that she cooked father's dinner and took
 
 A BEGINNING. 235 
 
 it to him at noon, besides doing the home work, 
 for the two children next younger than herself 
 went to school, and the three who were still 
 younger were all too small to be entrusted with 
 the dinner-pail. 
 
 A dull flush of pleasure crept over the child's 
 face at Christie's words of praise, and when she 
 went on to say, 
 
 " If you think your mother would like to see 
 me, I will call and see her this week," Maggie's 
 answer was prompt and satisfactory. 
 
 "Yes, she'd be right pleased, for she gets 
 lonesome enough with nothing to do but lie still 
 and think of her bad leg all day. T wish you 
 would come." 
 
 By the time she had found out where Maggie 
 lived, and had appointed Tuesday afternoon as 
 the time for her visit, Mr. Elwood tapped the 
 bell as a signal for the lesson to cease, and with a 
 feeling of relief Christie leaned back in her chair 
 and realized that the first session was over. 
 
 Was it of any use for her to keep the class? 
 she asked herself, as the children left hastily, 
 without the ceremony of saying farewell, eager 
 to gain the freedom of the open air again. 
 
 She could not hope that they had learned any- 
 thing, with all her careful preparation of the les- 
 son and the effort she had made to awaken their
 
 236 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 intelligent interest. Had her afternoon's work 
 been of any use after all? 
 
 - She asked Mr,. Elwood the question as they 
 le*ft the room together. 
 
 " I am sure that they did not learn anything," 
 she .said in discouraged tones, "so what is the 
 use of my coming?" 
 
 "Perhaps there is another question to ask," 
 Mr. Blvvood answered. "Did you learn any- 
 thing, Miss Christie? It may be that the lesson 
 to-day was for you to learn." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, Mr. Elwood?" 
 and Christie looked up at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Perhaps you learned a lesson of patience and 
 of perseverance in well-doing that repaid you for 
 the sacrifice of your time," he responded. " Dis- 
 couragement proves a very helpful ministry some- 
 times, although I grant it is a hard teacher. Yet 
 if by forbearance and patience with these little 
 ones, who try us so sorely with their indifference 
 and lack of appreciation of our efforts, we learn the 
 infinite forbearance and tenderness of our Heav- 
 enly Father with our failures, surely we need not 
 think the lesson too hard to be worth learning. 
 But you must not feel as if your afternoon had 
 been wasted, even as far as these children are 
 concerned, Miss Gilbert. If they did not remem- 
 ber anything of the lesson, it was a great step that
 
 A BEGINNING. 337 
 
 you made their acquaintance, and I saw one of 
 them talking to you so freely that I felt greatly 
 encouraged about your probable success with the 
 class. The factory people are a community by 
 themselves, and we must learn to reach down to 
 them if we would hope to draw th.em up to a 
 higher level. When they feel that we take a 
 warm interest in their temporal affairs then they 
 will believe in the sincerity of our desire to help 
 them in spiritual matters. It will take a great 
 deal of patient culture before we can expect to 
 see the first fruits of the harvest ; but we must 
 sow in faith, believing that God can bring forth 
 a hundred-fold harvest in his own good time." 
 
 Mr. El wood's spirit of hopefulness was con- 
 tagious, and Christie said nothing about her has- 
 tily formed determination to give up the class. 
 She went home in a brighter mood, and at the 
 tea-table amused her father and mother with an 
 account of her afternoon's experience and Mag- 
 gie's original reason for Moses' cradle among the 
 bulrushes ; but there was no thought now of giv- 
 ing up in despair, for she was determined to per- 
 severe and trust the results with God.
 
 238 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 NEW WORK. 
 
 CHRISTIE did not forget her promise to call 
 upon Maggie's mother, and Tuesday afternoon she 
 prepared for the visit, taking with her a little 
 delicacy that she thought would be appreciated 
 by the invalid. 
 
 She was a little shy about going alone, and 
 had intended to persuade her mother to accom- 
 pany her; but Mrs. Gilbert was lying down with 
 a headache, so she had to go alone if she was to 
 fulfil her promise of calling that afternoon. 
 
 "I think it will be better for you to go by 
 yourself, dear," Mrs. Gilbert said, as Christie 
 kissed her good-by. "You will have a better 
 chance to get acquainted with the family, and 
 they will talk to you more freely than if I should 
 go too." 
 
 "What a forlorn place to live in!" Christie 
 thought, as she daintily picked her way along the 
 miserable pavement, with depressions here and 
 there containing pools of rain water, in which 
 some ragged children were playing, as happy as 
 if thev were ducks and in their native element.
 
 NEW WORK. 239 
 
 "It is as bad as the tenement house streets in 
 the city," Christie reflected, as she searched for 
 the house to which Maggie had directed her. 
 True, the blue sky was overhead, and there were 
 no overhanging roofs to hide it, and there might 
 have been an abundance of fresh air if the people 
 of Factoryville, as this part of the village was 
 named, had desired it ; but the heaps of decaying 
 refuse made the air heavy with foul odors, and 
 very few windows were open with an attempt at 
 ventilation. 
 
 From the promptness with which her knock 
 was answered, Christie suspected that Maggie 
 had been watching for her, and she was pleased 
 at this indication of interest upon the part of one 
 of her unpromising scholars. She was quite sure, 
 too, that Maggie presented a more tidy appear- 
 ance than was her wont, and that the family liv- 
 ing-room had been put to rights in expectation of 
 her call. 
 
 She found Mrs. Riley a rather unprepossess- 
 ing woman, who took advantage of the unusual 
 occurrence of a visitor to dilate upon her accident 
 and all its attendant misfortunes in a whining 
 voice, and to throw out numerous hints of what 
 would be most acceptable. 
 
 "Ah, you don't know how hard it is to be 
 poor and sick, with no one to do a hand's turn for
 
 240 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 you, the house going to rack and ruin, and every- 
 thing going out instead of coming in. God pity 
 the poor anyhow. ' ' 
 
 u No\v, mother, what's the use of going on 
 that way?" interrupted Maggie, with sturdy hon- 
 esty. "Things wasn't so awful much better 
 when you was around. I think I'm the one to 
 do the complaining as much as any one. I do all 
 the work and keep the place looking better nor 
 you did ; and father's wages come in regular. He 
 a' n't spent a cent on beer, only what you've had 
 yourself, since you was took bad. I don't get 
 no chance at schooling, but I do n't see as you ' ve 
 anything to complain about but the pain." 
 
 "A' n't you ashamed to be talking to your 
 poor mother that way, and before company, too," 
 said her mother, evidently ill pleased at Maggie's 
 candor. "Children don't know anything about 
 what their mothers have to put up with, and it's 
 no use expecting gratitude from them." 
 
 " I am sure Maggie does her best to be a nice 
 little housekeeper," said Christie, feeling sorry 
 for Maggie. " Is this the baby?" she asked, as a 
 little toddler made his way across the room to 
 hide his face in the bed-clothes and peep shyly at 
 the visitor. 
 
 "Yes, that's the baby, poor little soul," 
 sighed Mrs. Riley, who was determined to keep
 
 NEW WORK. 241 
 
 the misfortunes of the family uppermost. "I'm 
 ashamed for you to see him so poorly off for 
 clothes, Miss Gilbert, but I haven't had the 
 money to buy him a stitch this many a day. If 
 I only had some of the clothes that rich people 
 throw into the rag-bag, I could do a great deal 
 towards fixing him up, but it 's a hard world for 
 the poor." 
 
 "He looks like a healthy little fellow," said 
 Christie, with persistent cheerfulness, looking at 
 the little face, which, though dirty and streaked 
 with traces of his last meal, was plump and rosy. 
 
 "And it's a wonder," sighed Mrs. Riley, "for 
 it's little enough of nourishing food he has to eat. 
 When you have so many mouths to feed it 's little 
 enough one can put in them." 
 
 Maggie's face was scarlet as she listened to her 
 mother's complaints, and Christie felt quite drawn 
 to the girl as she made up her mind that in spite 
 of her apparent stolidity she must have some deli- 
 cacy of feeling underlying her rough exterior. 
 
 It was anything but a pleasant call, and Chris- 
 tie felt her sympathy for the invalid vanishing 
 rapidly. It had been impossible to suggest any 
 cheerful topic of conversation, for Mrs. Riley's 
 response to every remark had been of the most 
 lachrymose sort, and Christie had not tried to 
 make her enjoy the call by commiserating her 
 
 f!hrietie' Next Thinfa. 1 6
 
 242 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 misfortunes at any great length. She had ex- 
 pressed her sympathy for the accident, but when 
 everything that Mrs. Riley said was plainly in- 
 tended for a hint as to what would be acceptable 
 in the family, Christie felt her generous impulses 
 becoming adamant. 
 
 The baker's wagon went through the street, 
 and as soon as she heard the bell Maggie seized 
 an old pocketbook and darted out, soon returning 
 with three loaves of bread. 
 
 "Do you get all that every day?" Christie 
 asked in surprise, for it looked sufficient to her to 
 provision a small regiment. 
 
 "Oh, my, yes, and sometimes we get more 
 than this," Maggie answered. " The young ones 
 eat a sight of bread and molasses." 
 
 Mrs. Riley had no commentary to make upon 
 this speech. She could hardly complain that the 
 children were insufficiently provided with food, 
 when Maggie had called that pile of loaves the 
 usual supply of bread. 
 
 "Don't you ever make bread?" asked Chris- 
 tie. "I should think it would be a more eco- 
 nomical way than to buy it from the baker." 
 
 " I 'd like to make it if I knew how," Maggie 
 answered, " but I have n't the first idea how to go 
 about it. People do say it 's so much more satis- 
 fying and it a' n't as drv as baker's bread. We
 
 NEW WORK. 243 
 
 always buy stale loaves, because it's cheaper and 
 it do n't go quite so fast ; but I 'd like to make it 
 instead if I could." 
 
 A sudden idea flashed into Christie's mind. 
 Even if she could not succeed in interesting Mag- 
 gie in the lesson on Sunday, there were some 
 other things that she needed to learn which she 
 could teach her. She had been carefully taught 
 all branches of cooking by her mother, who be- 
 lieved housewifery to be as essential a part of a 
 young girl's education as any study she might 
 pursue at schoo'l. She could make sweet, light 
 bread that even her mother, who was a notable 
 housekeeper, could not excel, and she knew that 
 she could teach Maggie this accomplishment. 
 
 "Maggie, would n't you like to have me teach 
 you to make bread?" she asked. "I can make 
 bread, and it is not at all a difficult thing to do ; 
 and I am sure I could show you so you could al- 
 ways make it" 
 
 Maggie's face brightened with a smile, and 
 she was about to assent, when Mrs. Riley inter- 
 posed, 
 
 "You're very kind, Miss Gilbert, but it 
 wouldn't be worth while for you to take your 
 time. Children are so flighty that you can't de- 
 pend on them from one time to another. Maggie 
 might make out once, but many a time she 'd
 
 244 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 only waste the flour, and so it would come to 
 more in the end than it was worth." 
 
 A sullen look clouded Maggie's face, and 
 Christie did not wonder at it. 
 
 "If I'm so flighty as all that," she said 
 angrily, "it's a pity you can't see after things 
 yourself. I'm tired enough, goodness knows, of 
 doing all the work, and only getting pitched into 
 for it all the time." 
 
 Christie looked as uncomfortable as she felt 
 while these remarks were passing backward and 
 forward between mother and daughter, for Mrs. 
 Riley at once administered a prompt rebuke, 
 with a tone in her voice that suggested the vixen 
 when she was not too lachrymose. 
 
 Christie's impulse was to take her departure 
 without waiting for any more unpleasant epi- 
 sodes; but something in Maggie's disappointed 
 face, sullen though it was, touched her heart, 
 and she determined to stay till she had won Mrs. 
 Riley's consent to her project. 
 
 "I wish you would let me teach Maggie at 
 any rate," she said pleasantly. "It will be a 
 good thing for her to know how to make bread, 
 and you might let her do it until you found that 
 she failed too often to make it an economy. I 
 have never failed yet, though I have made bread 
 a good many times, and I don't believe Maggie
 
 NEW WORK. 245 
 
 will. It would give me a great deal of pleasure 
 to teach her." 
 
 Mrs. Riley was by no means disposed to yield, 
 for she did not want to gratify Maggie's evident 
 wish to accept the offer; but she hardly thought 
 it good policy to refuse Miss Gilbert's request. 
 It might be .that she would be disposed to be 
 generous, and she looked as if she could afford 
 to be, shrewd Mrs. Riley reflected, so it would 
 pay to humor her in this notion of teaching 
 Maggie. 
 
 Even if she let the girl have her way in this, 
 she could thwart her in some other desire. There 
 was not much love lost between Maggie and her 
 mother, and the pair were generally in a state 
 of hostility, when each enjoyed annoying the 
 other in any way that seemed practicable. 
 
 "Well, if you will be so good, Miss Gilbert, I 
 am sure I 've nothing to say against it," she said. 
 "Though it's quite too much for you to trouble 
 yourself that way." 
 
 "It is trouble that I shall be glad to take," 
 Christie answered. "Maggie, I think the best 
 way for you to learn would be to come up to our 
 house this evening and see how the sponge for 
 the bread is set; then you could do it yourself 
 the next time. Suppose you should come about 
 eight o'clock."
 
 246 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 Maggie looked very much pleased, but she 
 was afraid that if she expressed her pleasure too 
 plainly, her mother might still interfere with her 
 going, so she answered quietly, 
 
 44 1 '11 come." 
 
 Christie was glad to take her leave, and as 
 she went home she made up her mind that she 
 certainly would never go to see Mrs. Riley again. 
 If Maggie should be sick she would visit her, 
 but she wanted nothing more to do with the 
 mother; she was too thoroughly disagreeable. 
 
 Her heart warmed towards the child in a way 
 that she would hardly have believed possible 
 upon Sunday. It was no wonder that she looked 
 dull and heavy, when there were no influences 
 in her home or surroundings to brighten and 
 stimulate her. She could see, too, that however 
 stupid Maggie might be in the class, she was not 
 lacking in a certain amount of common, sense 
 and energy about other matters, for the charge 
 of the house, miserable as it was, was a consider- 
 able burden for a twelve-year-old girl to bear 
 alone. 
 
 "Poor little thing, I should think her mo- 
 ther's remarks would discourage her," Christie 
 thought, determining to do all that she could 
 herself to stimulate Maggie's ambition. 
 
 She told her mother of her plan to teach Mag-
 
 NEW WORK. 247 
 
 gie to make bread, and of her invitation to the 
 child to come that evening. 
 
 " It will be real missionary work to teach her 
 how to make good wholesome bread," Mrs. Gil- 
 bert answered. "I think I can improve upon 
 your plan a little, though, dear. If, as you say, 
 her mother does not seem very anxious to have 
 her taught, Maggie may find it difficult to get 
 the flour and other necessary articles. Suppose 
 when she comes to-night you let her set a sponge 
 here, and then she can come up in the morning 
 and you can show her how to knead it up. Per- 
 haps if her father tasted her first baking, he 
 might appreciate the bread so much that he 
 would encourage Maggie to keep on, and get the 
 flour for her, so she would have no difficulty in 
 trying her skill at home next time." 
 
 That afternoon as Christie was looking among 
 her possessions for a piece of gingham which she 
 thought would do nicely to make an apron for 
 Maggie, she came across a bag which she had 
 made the preceding Christmas with a number 
 of others, but which she had not given away. 
 All the girls in the Sunday-school class to which 
 Christie belonged had made some of these bags 
 as Christmas presents for a mission-school in the 
 city, but this was one that had been left over. 
 It was a bag made of flowered cretonne, contain-
 
 248 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 ing a comb, a tiny looking-glass, a tooth-brush, a 
 piece of soap, and a coarse towel. 
 
 "This will be the very thing for Maggie," 
 thought Christie, remembering the shock of un- 
 tidy hair, that looked as if it had never received 
 any attention; and she laid it out with the ging- 
 ham to give her little pupil when she should 
 come. 
 
 Maggie made her appearance very promptly, 
 and although she was very shy, yet there was an 
 air of pleased expectation about her that satis- 
 fied Christie that she had been anxious to come. 
 She was delighted with her present, and readily 
 promised Christie that she would make use of 
 the contents of the bag. 
 
 "I was afraid mother wouldn't let me get 
 the flour," she said, when she found that Christie 
 was going to let her make her first bread at Mrs. 
 Gilbert's; " but if it's any way good, father said 
 he 'd get me a bag of flour for sure." 
 
 "This will be good, I am sure," said Christie, 
 pleased at Maggie's enthusiasm, and she began 
 her first cooking lesson, with the gray eyes in- 
 tently watching every movement. 
 
 "Can you get time to come up here early in 
 the morning?" she asked, when the bread was 
 set and a clean cloth spread over the tops of the 
 pans.
 
 NEW WORK. 249 
 
 "Oh, yes," Maggie answered promptly. 
 "The woman that lives next door to us, she 
 told me she'd mind the house any time for me 
 while I was learning to make bread, if I'd show 
 her how afterward. She 'd like to try her hand 
 at it too, if I get along pretty well." 
 
 Christie was pleased that her lesson was to 
 be transferred to another, and the first outlines 
 of a plan began to take tangible shape in her 
 active brain as she bade her scholar good-night. 
 
 "What are you thinking about, dear?" her 
 mother asked a little later, as Christie sat wrap- 
 ped in thought upon the porch steps. 
 
 " I believe I have a good idea, mother mine," 
 Christie answered, "but I am not sure until I talk 
 it over with you first. Do you think it 's just be- 
 cause they are poor that the people in Factory- 
 ville are so dirty and live so wretchedly, or is it 
 because they don't know how to do any better? 
 Couldn't they have real palatable nourishing 
 food, if they knew how to prepare it, without 
 much more expense; and if they knew how to 
 sew nicely, couldn't they look less ragged and 
 neglected ?' ' 
 
 "It is more ignorance than poverty," her 
 mother answered. "The hands at the factory 
 generally make pretty good wages, and if the 
 wives had had a good training in housekeeping
 
 250 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 they might live very comfortably and have pleas- 
 ant homes; but the trouble is that most of them 
 don't know how to do." 
 
 "I have a plan that seems a little Utopian 
 and impracticable, but still I think that somehow 
 it might be put into execution and be helpful," 
 Christie said. "It's rather in a tangle yet, but 
 I think you can straighten it out for me. 
 Couldn't we girls somehow have a class among 
 those girls about Maggie's age and older, and 
 teach them something about cooking and sew- 
 ing? It seems to me it is almost necessary, in or- 
 der to go with the teaching on Sunday, and per- 
 haps we could reach them better if we learned to 
 know more about them and their needs. We do n' t 
 want to drift apart and give up our class motto, 
 and it seems to me that this would be a real help- 
 ful 'nexte thynge' if we could get it into work- 
 ing order. There are enough of us to divide up 
 the work so it would not be too much of a bur- 
 den upon one alone, and couldn't we plan it all 
 out somehow?" 
 
 "It would be an excellent idea," said her 
 mother approvingly. "You might begin with 
 the sewing-class, and then as soon as you could 
 make arrangements for a cooking-class that could 
 be added. I don't know of any work that 
 would be better worth doing than teaching those
 
 NEW WORK. 251 
 
 poor people how to make the best of their lives. 
 I have always thought that it would be the most 
 practical kind of temperance work to teach young 
 girls how to make neat, well-cared-for homes, and 
 then the saloons would not seem as inviting as 
 they do now, by contrast with the dirty, disor- 
 derly rooms that many men call homes. Whole- 
 some nourishing food would go far towards ma- 
 king liquor less craved, and a great deal of unne- 
 cessary unhappiness and misery would be saved. 
 Perhaps just at first you might find a little diffi- 
 culty in persuading the children to attend the 
 sewing-class, but if you could manage to give 
 them the garments they made, they would soon 
 have their ambition stimulated and be anxious 
 to learn." 
 
 "I am going to see the girls to-morrow, and 
 find out if they would be willing to help," Chris- 
 tie said, her difficulties vanishing beneath the 
 sunshine of her mother's approval. "It would 
 be nice to begin this month if we could, for the 
 afternoons are getting quite cool now, and I want 
 to be sure that this will have a settled place in 
 all our plans. I am getting quite enthusiastic 
 over it, and in imagination I see poor little Mag- 
 gie developing into a notable housekeeper and 
 seamstress. It isn't much wonder that she does 
 seem so dull and uninteresting when she has such
 
 252 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 a home and such a mother. You can't imagine 
 what a disconsolate, whining sort of woman she 
 is, mother. She was just hinting for things all 
 the time, and Maggie looked so ashamed." 
 
 "I think I have met just such people, dear," 
 her mother answered, smiling at Christie's dis- 
 gust. "I hope you will be able to help Maggie 
 overcome the disadvantages of her home and 
 make something of herself; but don't set your 
 expectations too high, or I am afraid you may be 
 disappointed." 
 
 "I'll try and limit my hopefulness just at 
 present to success in her bread-making to-mor- 
 row," Christie responded. "I hope her mother 
 wont interfere with her coming." 
 
 It would have taken a great deal of argument 
 to have prevented Maggie from going to Mrs. 
 Gilbert's the next morning, and she was up be- 
 times that she might use her new possessions in 
 making a far more careful toilet than was her 
 custom. Christie had emphasized the necessity 
 of having clean hands, so Maggie scrubbed away 
 at hers with unremitting diligence till they 
 were red and shining with the vigorous applica- 
 tion of soap and water. Her hair was freed from 
 the wilderness of tangles, although it had been 
 an almost interminable piece of work to impa- 
 tient Maggie to reduce it to a smooth braid, and
 
 NEW WORK. 353 
 
 she wondered two or three times whether Miss 
 Christie would notice the improvement. 
 
 She felt quite repaid for her exertions when 
 her young teacher cordially praised her neatness, 
 and she determined to keep herself looking tidy 
 all the time, since it made her so much more at- 
 tractive in appearance. A ribbon to tie her hair 
 completed her happiness, and she told Christie 
 she would comb her hair every morning now, so 
 that it would never get so tangled again. She 
 had left her usual morning tasks in charge of the 
 kindly neighbor, so that she could stay until the 
 loaves of bread were taken, crisp and odorous, 
 from the oven. 
 
 Maggie surveyed the loaves with undisguised 
 admiration and delight. 
 
 "Well, father will never believe I made 
 these!" she exclaimed. "I wont put a knife to 
 them till he sees them, for he '11 be so pleased. 
 I'm sure he will always want me to make our 
 bread now, and we wont have to eat those old 
 stale loaves from the baker's wagon." 
 
 Between Maggie and her father there was evi- 
 dently a great deal of sympathy, and when the 
 child started off triumphantly with her basket of 
 bread on her arm, her first thought was of her 
 father's pleasure in her success. 
 
 Christie was almost as delighted as her pupil,
 
 254 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 arid she was eager to talk over her plan for more 
 extended instruction with the girls and secure 
 their cooperation in the work. 
 
 It was quite as easy a task as she had antici- 
 pated, for the girls were ready for work. They 
 had so thoroughly enjoyed carrying out their 
 plans for Mrs. Elirich that they were eager and 
 ready for "ye nexte thynge."
 
 HARVESTS. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HARVESTS. 
 
 "WELL, does n't this look just tempting !" 
 
 Louise was flushed and tired, but she looked 
 about her with such satisfaction that all her 
 weariness was quite forgotten. There was a 
 chorus of assent to her remark as five other girls 
 looked around approvingly. 
 
 " Great oaks from little acorns grow," spouted 
 Louise, and she voiced the thought that was in 
 the hearts o,her companions. 
 
 Nearly four months ago they had gathered a 
 few of the girls from Factoryville into a sewing- 
 class, and twice a week had laid aside their own 
 occupations and pleasures and devoted them- 
 selves to teaching their scholars the use of the 
 needle. AtVr the sewing-class was firmly estab- 
 lished and h^d begun to prosper, a cooking- 
 class was begun under many difficulties, which 
 was well attended by all who had heard of 
 Maggie's fame among her neighbors as a bread- 
 maker. 
 
 The lack of a suitable room and appurtenances 
 hampered the girls very much, but the mothers
 
 256 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 came to the rescue when they found how much 
 good could be accomplished by this movement 
 which their girls had begun. A suitable room 
 was rented in Factoryville, and furnished with 
 some of the necessary appliances, though there 
 was still much to be desired before it would be 
 fully equipped. When the girls had once be- 
 come interested in their pupils, Mr. El wood had 
 no trouble in engaging their assistance in the 
 Sunday-school, and the mission-school was in a 
 very encouraging condition. 
 
 The harvest of the four months of faithful 
 work was beginning to ripen, and the hearts of 
 the toilers were rejoiced by these indications of 
 success. In many of the miserable homes in 
 Factoryville there were signs of marked improve- 
 ment. The girls were beginning to take pride in 
 trying to keep themselves and their surroundings 
 neater, and wholesome food was taking the place 
 of the greasy, ill-cooked viands with which they 
 had formerly contented themselves. 
 
 The young teachers had planned a supper 
 to be cooked and served by the members of their 
 cooking-class for the benefit of the room, and 
 they hoped that they might realize enough to 
 enable them to purchase the other needful appli- 
 ances for their work. They had spent the day in 
 decorating the room, preparing the tables, and
 
 HARVESTS. 257 
 
 making everything look as inviting as possible, 
 and now, while they took a few moments of well- 
 earned rest, they looked about upon their han- 
 diwork with just pride, the pretty rooms and 
 the tempting-looking viands seemed such great 
 results to have grown from their first feeble 
 efforts. 
 
 It was the day before Christmas, and the 
 joyous spirit of that holiday was in their hearts, 
 but the sweetest pleasure, although none of them 
 expressed it, was in the thought that the Master 
 had accepted and blessed their work for him, and 
 that their lives were not spent for self and selfish 
 gratification. 
 
 The evening proved to be even more success- 
 ful than the young managers had hoped, and the 
 money that came in freely was a tangible evi- 
 dence of the interest and sympathy their friends 
 felt in their work, besides assuring them that 
 they would be able to carry out their plans for 
 greater usefulness. 
 
 "Our 'nexte' has grown to be larger work 
 than we could have believed at first," Christie 
 said that night to her mother as, thoroughly tired 
 out but very happy, she walked homeward. " It 
 seemed such a small thing when we first started 
 it, but it is growing all the time, and we are 
 really beginning to see good results from it. The 
 
 Christie's Neit Tliingg. \
 
 258 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 children are improving wonderfully in more 
 things than cooking and sewing." 
 
 " Perhaps you will never see the final re- 
 sults," her mother said. il The ' nexte thynges ' 
 that seem so small just now may be links in a 
 chain that will reach others that you have never 
 heard of or seen, and influence them for good. 
 It is all in God's hands, and he can use very 
 feeble efforts that have been made in his name to 
 carry out great purposes." 
 
 They were passing the quiet village of the dead 
 now, and Christie looked among the white stones 
 that marked the resting-place of loved ones until 
 her eyes lighted upon a slender shaft that glis- 
 tened pure and spotless in the moonlight. 
 
 " I wish Aunt Patience could know how she 
 still helps me," she said softly. "When I feel 
 all out of patience with these little things I re- 
 member her last talk with me, and it helps me so 
 to feel that nothing is too small to be worth doing 
 since it is God's appointment for me. She made 
 the ministry of ' nexte thynges ' seem as glorious 
 as any great work. Of course sometimes I can't 
 help wishing that I could do something that 
 would result in things that seemed more worth 
 accomplishing, but still on the whole I have 
 learned not to undervalue little things. 
 
 "I cannot see that the world is any the bet-
 
 HARVESTS. 359 
 
 ter since last June because I have lived in it, or 
 that I have brought very much happiness to 
 any one ; but I have tried to ' doe ye nexte 
 thynge,' so I am content to ' leave all resulting' 
 with God." 
 
 The results of the "nexte thynges " were for 
 the most part beyond Christie's knowledge, but 
 there was much fruitage that she might have 
 claimed, if she had traced her work. 
 
 Achsah, happy and successful, with her talents 
 consecrated to God's service, might have told 
 how much encouragement she owed to Christie, 
 and how the timidly written invitation to her to 
 share the peace which her friend had found had 
 led her to Christ. 
 
 Christie knew that she had been the instru- 
 ment of bringing together the long-estranged 
 husband and wife, but there was one part she had 
 in the wanderer's return that she never knew: if 
 she had not first brought her friend to Christ, the 
 sweet story might never have been told which 
 fell upon the prodigal's ears, and made him de- 
 termine to leave the far country and go back to 
 his father's house. 
 
 Through Christie's inspiration the girls who 
 might have let their lives drift along aimlessly, 
 with no thought but that of their own gratifi- 
 cation and pleasure, had learned the ministry of
 
 260 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 helpfulness, and in the unwritten record of each 
 life there were many u nexte thynges " that had 
 brightened the lives of all who came in contact 
 with them, though they were very simple and 
 unobtrusive deeds of self-denial. 
 
 The harvest that resulted from their united 
 efforts was one that they could rejoice in as they 
 saw it beginning to ripen, and it encouraged them 
 to renewed effort. 
 
 The last evening in the old year the girls met 
 at Mrs. Gilbert's to welcome in the new year to- 
 gether and bid farewell to the old. Achsah was 
 with them, for she had come to spend her holi- 
 days with Christie. The hours sped swiftly away 
 in games and merriment, but at last, when the 
 hands of the clock pointed to half-past eleven, 
 they quieted down as they realized that in half an 
 hour more the old year with its record would 
 have passed away for ever. They were quiet for 
 a while as they grouped themselves about the 
 open fireplace with its blazing coals. 
 
 "Christie, tell us your thought," said Louise, 
 "as we agreed last week to do." 
 
 "Will you each give us some favorite selec- 
 tion if I set the example ?" Christie asked. 
 
 "Yes, we have all brought a contribution to 
 this thought feast," Achsah answered in the 
 name ot the rest.
 
 HARVESTS. 261 
 
 "I recalled some lines I read a few weeks 
 ago," Christie said, "and it almost awes me to 
 think what influences we may be unconsciously 
 putting in motion: 
 
 " ' Our many deeds, the thoughts that we have thought, 
 They go out from us, thronging every hour, 
 And in them all is folded up a power 
 That on the earth doth move them to and fro; 
 And mighty are the marvels they have wrought 
 In hearts we know not, and may never know.' " 
 
 There was a pause after Christie's words died 
 
 away; then Louise spoke, 
 " Now, Elsie." 
 "I like these lines," said Elsie, and she read 
 
 with feeling: 
 
 " ' May every soul that touches mine- 
 Be it the slightest contact get therefrom some good, 
 Some little grace, one kindly thought, 
 One aspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage 
 For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith 
 To brave the thickening ills of life, 
 
 One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists 
 To make this life worth while 
 And heaven a surer heritage.' " 
 
 " My thought is in the same channel as Chris- 
 tie's," said Florence, as the girls turned towards 
 
 her. 
 
 " ' The deeds we do, the words we say, 
 Into thin air they seem to fleet ; 
 We count them ever past, 
 But they shall last. 
 In the dread judgment they 
 And we shall meet.' "
 
 262 CHRISTIE'S NEXT THINGS. 
 
 14 Now, Grace, let us hear from you;" and the 
 girlish voice repeated, 
 
 '" God's plans, like lilies, pure and white unfold. 
 We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart ; 
 Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
 And if through patient toil we reach the land 
 Where tired feet with sandals loose may rest, 
 Where we shall clearly know and understand, 
 I think that we will say, " God knew the best." ' ' 
 
 "Louise, what is your word for us?" asked 
 Christie. 
 
 "It is very short, but it helps me," Louise 
 said, and she read: 
 
 " ' Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident. 
 It is the very place God meant for thee, 
 And shouldst thou then small scope for action see, 
 Do not for this give room to discontent, 
 Nor let the time thou owest to God be spent 
 In idly dreaming how thou mightest be.' " 
 
 "My lines are only what I wish might be 
 true," said Ella. 
 
 " ' That Thy full glory may abound, increase, 
 And so Thy likeness shall be found in me, 
 I pray. The answer is not rest or peace, 
 But charges, duties, wants, anxieties, 
 Till there seems room for everything but Thee, 
 And never time for anything but these. 
 The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see 
 Only the glancing needle which they hold ; 
 But all my life is blossoming inwardly, 
 And every breath is like a litany, 
 While through each labor, like a thread of gold, 
 Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee.'"
 
 HARVESTS. 263 
 
 All had read save Achsah, and the girls turned 
 towards her as she sat with clasped hands look- 
 ing into the glowing embers. Her words were a 
 fitting close to the harmony which the others had 
 expressed in their garnered thoughts, each pas- 
 sage a note in the chord of love to the Master. 
 
 " ' God's angels drop like grains of gold 
 
 Our duties 'mid life's shining sands, 
 And from them one by one we mould 
 
 Our own bright crown with patient hands. 
 From dust and dross we gather them ; 
 
 We toil and stoop for love's sweet sake, 
 To find each worthy act a gem 
 In glory's kingly diadem, 
 
 Which \ve may daily richer make.'" 
 
 As she finished reading the hour of twelve 
 chimed from the church tower, and the old year 
 passed away, giving place to the new, with its op- 
 portunities and temptations, its pleasures and 
 trials. 
 
 Each young heart knew the failures of the last 
 year, but as the clean page was turned over to 
 begin a new record, the resolve was registered 
 anew which would prevent many a mistake and 
 heartache, and from her quiet resting-place Aunt 
 Patience still spoke, 
 
 "Ij)oe ye IfFexte
 
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