i
 
 STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 HOME AND HOME FOLKS ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Leares iftom a Faitsonage 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY H. VILLARS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 EACH VOLUME COMPLETE IN ITSELF. 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 
 PRINTED BY WALDEN & STOWE, 
 
 FOR THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1882. 
 <- 9 S-a
 
 Copyright by 
 MRS. MARY H. VILLARS, 
 
 1881.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 ^Thrtsfian Jjjomeit of the fatttt, 
 
 UPON 
 
 WHOM RESTS IN SO GREAT A MEASURE THE RESPONSIBILITY 
 
 THE CULTURE, THE PURITY, AND THE PROSPERITY 
 OF THE AMERICAN HOME, 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY 
 
 Qtt* author. 
 
 2046394
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 placing before the public this little vol- 
 ume, I do not presume that it will attract 
 so much by its merit as a literary pro- 
 duction as from the fact that almost every 
 story has its origin in some real incident, and 
 that it has for its characters real and not ideal 
 heroes and heroines. It is in fact what it is in 
 name, Stories of Home and Home Folks. 
 
 I have not found it necessary to go outside 
 the bounds of my native land for material 
 for my pen pictures, but have culled from the 
 experiences and acquaintances of sixteen years 
 in the itinerancy of the Methodist Episcopal Church. 
 My readers may possibly recognize here and there 
 a character, the original of which was either a friend 
 or an acquaintance, and perchance some who read 
 these pages will recognize, if not themselves, at least 
 sentiments to which they have at some time given 
 utterance ; and while these stories may not interest 
 all, yet I trust there is enough of real home life and 
 heart sympathy to touch an answering chord in the 
 hearts of those to whom it is dedicated, and that the 
 effort to instruct as well as to please will not prove 
 an entire failure.
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 It has not been my aim to have my pictures 
 overdrawn, nor to take any but hom pictures of the 
 common every-day life of the common every-day 
 folk, who make up the larger portion of this busy 
 world of ours. It is not thfc stories of the rich and 
 great that I record, but as a rule only "The short 
 and simple annals of the poor," from the little per- 
 plexities of the child to the trials and victories of 
 maturer years ; from Maggie's trials or Bennie's sim- 
 ple faith, to the struggle of the man or woman over 
 the temptation to distrust the watchful oversight of a 
 loving Father, I have tried to be faithful to the real 
 life of the people with whom I have come in contact; 
 and if in my efforts to "point a moral or adorn a 
 tale" I shall have been the means of lifting up some 
 burdened one, if I shall have succeeded in pointing 
 some troubled sister to the Source of all consolation, 
 if I shall have been so fortunate as to trace some 
 steps of the life of those who have gained victories 
 over self or over outside hindrances, footsteps that 
 another similarly situated, 
 
 " Seeing, may take heart again," 
 
 I shall be content, feeling that the mission for which 
 these pages were written is being accomplished. Firm 
 in the belief that 
 
 " Whate'er may die and be forgot, 
 Work done for God, it dieth not," 
 
 this little volume is thus sent out upon its mission 
 by the 
 
 AUTHOR.
 
 THE MORGAN FAMILY A CHRISTMAS STORY, ... 9 
 
 A LITTLE GOSSIP 17 
 
 MARTHA'S TALENT, 21 
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS, 27 
 
 THE PREACHER'S WIFE AT CONFERENCE, ... 38 
 
 KEEPING THE RULES, ". . 42 
 
 BERTIE'S TEMPTATION 48 
 
 MOTHERS-IN-LAW , 57 
 
 A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS, 61 
 
 FASHIONABLE CALLS .67 
 
 MINNIE'S SELF-DENIAL, ....... 74 
 
 MRS. CLAYTON'S EXPERIMENT, 80 
 
 FOR COMPANY'S SAKE 87 
 
 TOUCH-ME-NOTS, ,^ 96 
 
 THOSE PARLORS, 102 
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH, 106 
 
 You AND YOUR NEIGHBORS. .' . v , " . . . no 
 
 WHAT SOME LITTLE GIRLS DID, 116 
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY, . ; . 120 
 
 WALTER WILLOUGHBY'S TEMPTER, . . . . 126 
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY, 132 
 
 LIVING WITHIN ONE'S MEANS, 140 
 
 SIGNING THE PLEDGE, 147 
 
 MAGGIE'S TRIALS, 151
 
 8 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS THIRTY YEARS AGO, 159 
 
 Cui BONO? 1 163 
 
 THE FOSTER FAMILY; OR, ALL WORK AND No PLAY, . 168 
 
 JOYFUL TIDINGS 177 
 
 MARGIE HAYS'S VALENTINE, 184 
 
 WOULDN'T MOTHER CARE FOR SUCH THINGS? ... 193 
 
 THE PATCH-WORK ALBUM, 201 
 
 SELF, OR OTHERS ? ....... 206 
 
 HELPLESS WOMEN 211 
 
 WAS IT A THANKSGIVING ? 218 
 
 BUSY PEOPLE, 225 
 
 RIGHT-ABOUT FACE 228 
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED His ENEMY, . . . 236 
 
 BESSIE DEAN'S GRIEVANCE, 246 
 
 EARNING HER OWN LIVING, 251 
 
 WHICH is THE BETTER WAY ? 257 
 
 CAREFUL AND TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS, . . 264 
 
 CHARLES MITCHELL'S THANKSGIVING, .... 270 
 
 BENNIE'S CHRISTMAS, 277 
 
 A NEW-YEAR'S STORY, 286 
 
 LURED TO DESTRUCTION, . . . ... . 294 
 
 SAVING THE BOYS, . . . . . . . 301 
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE, . . . . . . . .312
 
 HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 o^3~-oo_ 
 
 KHE ]Vf ORGAN 
 
 HRISTMAS eve has come once more 
 that evening so filled with joyful anjicipa- 
 tion to the young, and memories both of 
 joys and sorrows to the middle-aged and the 
 \ gray haired. In mansion or cottage it would be 
 
 remembered and observed in ways as various as 
 the tastes and ability of the occupants. 
 
 In the home of Henry Morgan there had 
 been such preparation as their circumstances 
 would allow, and the children, four in number, 
 were full of excitement over the prospect of 
 extra puddings and pies, and the presents which 
 they hoped to receive on the morrow ; for the mother, 
 firm in the opinion that there is as much happiness 
 in the anticipation as in the possession of a treasure, 
 had led them to expect gifts of some kind, and each 
 had in turn wished and guessed as to the gifts they 
 would receive. The Christmas preparations in the 
 home of the Morgans would have seemed meager
 
 io STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 indeed to their wealthy neighbors ; but here it was a 
 rare treat, such as the eldest child, a girl of eleven 
 years, could not remember having enjoyed in her 
 short life. 
 
 A little less than one year previous Henry Morgan 
 had signed the pledge of total abstinence, and, con- 
 trary to the prophecies of those who had no faith in 
 "temperance excitement," he had thus far faithfully 
 kept it. From the bright promise of his early man- 
 hood and marriage, he had gone down, through 
 drink, step by step, until at the end of twelve years 
 his little home had been taken for drink-bills, and his 
 family reduced to such poverty and wretchedness as 
 only the family of the inebriate can know; for there 
 is a certain pride about a poverty which comes 
 through sickness or misfortune which enables the 
 poor to hold up their heads, even though they may 
 have only rags and a crust. But the poverty which 
 comes through dissipation, and consequent degrada- 
 tion of a loved one> brings with it a sense of shame 
 and heartache that must be buried out of sight, and 
 which only gnaws the deeper because it is covered 
 up from the world. 
 
 Those of Morgan's friends who had seen his fall 
 and sincerely lamented it, had rejoiced when he 
 signed the pledge, and made an effort to regain his 
 own self-respect and his former position in society. 
 A printer, and thorough master of his trade, he was 
 not long in obtaining employment when once it was 
 known that he had given up drink ; and while some 
 shook their heads and doubted, there were others 
 who had faith in the man and his strength of purpose,
 
 THE MORGAN FAMILY. n 
 
 and who gave him a word of- cheer and a "God 
 bless you !" when they saw his struggle with appetite. 
 Christian friends had gathered around him, and Mrs. 
 Morgan's pastor, a man who could thoroughly sym- 
 pathize with the unfortunate in their effort to reform, 
 had gently and lovingly pointed him to the true 
 Source of strength, and the man had accepted it 
 humbly, yet confidently, and walked in that strength 
 from day to day. 
 
 Little by little their circumstances had improved. 
 He" had rented a more comfortable house, and had 
 added little comforts to the rooms. His family were 
 decently clothed and his children attended the public 
 schools, while his wife's careworn face was gradually 
 taking on a more hopeful look. 
 
 On this particular evening, as Mrs. Morgan sits at 
 her work, completing a pair of mittens which are to 
 occupy the stockings of one of the sleepers to-night, 
 and to do service in a merry game of snow-ball on 
 the morrow, she is busy with other thoughts than of 
 the work in her hands. Her husband is sitting at 
 the table near by, looking over a memorandum of 
 the year's receipts and expenditures. His face is 
 partially turned from her, but she casts an occasional 
 glance toward him as she works, while her face seems 
 half-way^ between smiles and tears. She is thinking 
 of one year ago, when, with scarcely fuel enough to 
 keep her half-clad children from freezing, and with 
 but a crust of bread and a few potatoes for their 
 evening meal, she had waited, with weary limbs and 
 with aching heart, the steps of him she called hus- 
 band. She remembers how he came at a late hour
 
 12 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 reeling under the effects of liquor bought with the 
 money which should have given her children food 
 and fire. As the picture rises before her in all its 
 sickening realities, the tears gather in her eyes and 
 course the way down her cheeks. But as she brushes 
 them hastily away, lest he should look up, and, seeing 
 her tears, divine the cause, there comes to her heart 
 a sense of thankfulness as she looks on her husband 
 as he sits opposite her, clothed in his right mind, and 
 her tears flow afresh ; but they are tears of joy and 
 gratitude to God for the restoration of him she loves. 
 With a silent thanksgiving for the present happiness, 
 and a prayer for the future of her family, she takes 
 up the work which had fallen from her hands. 
 
 Presently Morgan closes his memorandum, and, 
 laying it on the table, turns toward his wife. The 
 movement is a very quiet one ; but Mary Morgan 
 feels that his gaze is fastened on her, and she does 
 not look up, for she knows there are traces of 
 tears still on her face, and she does not want him 
 to see them to-night; for she says, "He will not 
 understand fully, and it will only pain. him." But he 
 sees, nevertheless, and thinks he understands. He 
 thinks it is because he had so little surplus funds 
 from which to purchase the supplies for the children's 
 treat; and then their house is so small and poor com- 
 pared with one they once had ; and the same picture 
 rises before his memory that had come to Mary a 
 few moments before, only it looks far worse to the 
 man than it did to the woman, because through it 
 all she had not been to blame, while in his heart 
 there are pangs of self-reproach.
 
 THE MORGAN FAMILY. 13 
 
 "Mary." The word is spoken so suddenly and 
 with such earnestness that Mary starts like a detected 
 culprit. She looks up without speaking, and Morgan 
 says, a little huskily, and with evident hesitation 
 for he can not readily speak his" own heart, even to 
 his best friend "I wish I could have furnished you 
 with a better house and something more for the chil- 
 dren ; but you said we were not to go in debt. I 
 hope you will not feel disappointed too much. If I 
 cajj only have a little time you shall see better 
 days" and, with a bitter sense of the time and 
 money wasted in former years, he stops abruptly, 
 crumbling his paper in his hands with a nervous mo- 
 tion, striving to hide the feelings that are choking 
 his utterance. 
 
 "This will be a very happy Christmas to me," 
 she says, earnestly. "O Henry, so much hap- 
 pier" then, conscious of what she was about to say, 
 stops short, affrighted lest she has given offense. 
 But Morgan is not offended, although his quickened 
 conscience has caught her meaning. In a moment 
 he is standing at her side, his hand laid caressingly 
 upon her shoulder as he looks into her upturned face 
 and completes the sentence : 
 
 "So much happier than the last. Is that it?" 
 Mary only puts up both her hands, and, drawing 
 his from her shoulder, holds it against her cheek, 
 while her tears fall upon it. "Hush!" she says, 
 almost in a whisper. " I did not intend to hurt you, 
 but my heart is so full that I said more than I ought. 
 I'was contrasting to-night with last year, but I was 
 not complaining. My heart is full of gratitude to our
 
 14 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 heavenly Father because he has dispersed the clouds 
 and let the sun shine upon us once more. Let us 
 forget the past, and only think of a brighter future 
 for ourselves and our children." And, with her face 
 beaming with a peace that can only come from a sure 
 hope in Him who is strength to the weak, she looks 
 the assurance and trust which she feels in her hus- 
 band's steadfastness to his pledge and to his conse- 
 cration vows. 
 
 For reply, he stoops and kisses her upturned face, 
 and with a sigh, which is half relief and half regret, 
 he drops into his chair, from which he has risen, and, 
 leaning his elbows on the table, covers his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 Mary resumes her knitting, which has made but 
 slow progress during the last few hiinutes, and for a 
 little while there is nothing heard in the room but 
 the click of the needles and the tick, tick of the little 
 clock as it measures off the passing minutes. 
 
 These two had not been in the habit of expressing 
 their thoughts to each othfer very freely.. Of late 
 years Mary had grown accustomed to hiding her grief 
 in her own bosom, thinking it better to hide in si- 
 lence a wound that would only grow worse by exhib- 
 iting ; and her husband, conscious of his wrong 
 course, yet without sufficient courage or resolution to 
 free himself from the chain that bound him, had 
 shrunk within himself more and more, and the almost 
 year of sobriety and pure living had only partially 
 restored the confidence and confiding of former years. 
 
 Presently Morgan looks up with an earnest inquiry 
 on his face: "Don't you sometimes feel as. if the
 
 THE MORGAN FAMILY. 15 
 
 present was only a sort of pleasant dream ? Or do 
 you really have faith enough in me to believe that it 
 will last?" 
 
 "I have faith in God, on whose arm you are 
 leaning, and I have faith enough in you, because you 
 are leaning on that arm, to believe that you will keep 
 the vows made to God and to me." 
 
 "And you say this, knowing where I have been 
 in the past ? Knowing my weakness, you still believe 
 in me and trust me?" 
 
 "*Triie question is asked in a voice deep and pas- 
 sionate in its earnestness, and Morgan waits with 
 breathless anxiety to hear her words of faith in him- 
 . self reiterated ; as if the very hearing of them gave 
 him strength. 
 
 The answer comes firm and decided, while her 
 eyes meet his with a perfect confidence: "Knowing 
 all the past, I still believe in you and trust you ; for 
 your strength is not your own, but God's." 
 
 Morgan draws a deep breath of relief, but bows 
 his head .upon the table as if in silent prayer. When 
 he again looks up there is a new light beaming from 
 his eyes, that are moist with unshed tears. 
 
 "Mary, I think I can endure almost any thing 
 now. During the past year I have felt that I had so 
 forfeited your confidence by my past life that you 
 could, never trust me again. But you have lifted the 
 last burden from my heart ; and, by God's help, I 
 will never shame you again." 
 
 With what a sense of peace and rest did they 
 kneel in silent prayer that Christmas eve, as, contem- 
 plating the advent of God's greatest and best gift to
 
 1 6 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 men, they also gave thanks for the gift of restored 
 faith and confidence in each other. There was a 
 dark past that must be covered up, and if not for- 
 gotten, then remembered as a warning by the one, 
 and with tender charity by the other, while their 
 future would only seem brighter by the contrast.
 
 jQlTTLE {OSSIP. 
 
 ( ELL, that duty is performed, and I am 
 glad it is over with." And as Mrs. Webb 
 picked up an unfinished garment from 
 the work-table, and seated herself preparatory to 
 work, she did not look as if the call which 
 she had just been making, although it may 
 have been considered a duty, had been a very 
 beneficial one. 
 
 "Was not your visit a pleasant one?" asked 
 Mrs. Routh, the lady addressed. 
 
 " O, I don't know; perhaps I ought not to say 
 it, but really, mother, that woman always makes me 
 tired when I listen to her talk." 
 
 "What does she say, or what did she say on this 
 particular occasion, that seems to have wearied you 
 so?" asked the mother, quietly. 
 
 "Why, it was one continual gossip about her 
 neighbors and her neighbors' affairs," responded Mrs. 
 Webb, a little impatiently. 
 
 "I did not take her to be an ill-natured person 
 when I have met her in your house." 
 
 "No, not particularly ill-natured, but she doesn't 
 seem to be interested in any thing that I would call 
 interesting. She talked about such trifles: the num- 
 ber of visitors Mrs. Morris has, the new dresses of 
 Mrs. Hall and her daughter, the new parlor set which
 
 1 8 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Mrs. Newman has purchased, and wondeied if her 
 daughter Nellie wasn't going to marry soon; and 
 O dear, I'm glad to be home again." 
 
 "And I am sorry I urged you to go, if your visit 
 was not a pleasant one," replied the mother; "but 
 Mrs. Burton was so kind when you and the children 
 were ill that I felt anxious that you should show a 
 disposition to be neighborly. Did she seem disposed 
 to criticise their actions to find fa'ult with them?" 
 
 " No, I can not say that she did. She did not 
 seem to think they were extravagant or wicked, or 
 any thing of that kind ; only her mind seemed so taken 
 up with other people's affairs, and I hate gossip." 
 
 Mrs. Routh did not reply, though an amused 
 smile lurked about her mouth. 
 
 "What is there so very funny about what I have 
 said?" asked Mrs. Webb, as she noticed the amused 
 look. 
 
 "I was only wondering if there was much differ- 
 ence between Mrs. Burton's 'gossip' and our present 
 conversation." 
 
 Mrs. Webb laughed, and colored at the implied re- 
 buke. " O, well, you know I never give free reins 
 to my tongue, except with you, and in this case I was 
 provoked to it. But I thought you condemned gos- 
 sip as much as I." 
 
 "And so I do, of the harmful kind; but we must 
 not condemn too hastily, or speak too severely pf the 
 faults of others, or we shall find ourselves committing 
 the very sin which we condemn. Gossip may be 
 harmless in its intent, and yet lead to evil results ; 
 and it may be really ill-natured calumny, and in-
 
 A LITTLE GOSSIP. 19 
 
 tended to do injury; but very often it is mere idle 
 chitchat, that does no harm except as it worries 
 those who are compelled to listen ; and you women 
 who have the time and means for improving your- 
 selves mentally are not half charitable enough toward 
 those who must work and talk, or else not talk at all. 
 From what I have seen of Mrs. Burton, I think she 
 makes up for whatever she may lack in mental cul- 
 ture by being sweet and motherly." 
 
 " I am sure she has rare opportunity for devel- 
 qpwig the latter accomplishment, and to test the 
 strength of its sweetness, with ten children to care 
 for," answered Mrs. Webb. 
 
 "Yes; and the fact that she has been mother and 
 housekeeper in one during the greater part of her 
 married life, is some excuse for her not being thor- 
 oughly conversant with the current topics of the day ; 
 and we have great reason very often to be thankful 
 for these same domestic women, even though their 
 conversation may tire some of their strong-minded 
 sisters." 
 
 "O mother, don't insinuate that I am strong- 
 minded ; I am sure I have all the symptoms of a 
 weak mind. Haven't I been 'ruffling' and 'tucking' 
 for the last three days ? I am almost sure that you 
 insisted on my making that little visit this afternoon 
 to get me away from the sewing-machine, as much 
 as from neighborly feeling for Mrs. Burton." 
 
 "Perhaps so killed two birds with one stone," 
 laughingly responded Mrs. Routh. "But, seriously, 
 I do not think you make allowance enough for Mrs. 
 Burton, and others situated as she" is. From your
 
 20 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 own statement, her talk about her neighbors was 
 prompted by kindly feeling, and not through a de- 
 sire to criticise. As there was nothing wrong in 
 Mrs. Morris having many visitors, nor in the new 
 dresses of Mrs. Hall and her daughter, nor in Mrs. 
 Newman's parlor set, if they were able to afford 
 these luxuries, I presume they would not feel of- 
 fended at the discussion of them by their neighbor; 
 and as to every one being engaged in intellectual pur- 
 suits, I think if Hettie was as fond of books and mag- 
 azines as her mistress is, our dinners would be rather 
 scant at times." 
 
 "No doubt of it; I acknowledge that I do not 
 Avant a book-worm or politician in my kitchen. I am 
 glad Hettie likes her business, and sticks to it." 
 
 "Your neighbors and others, like her, have not 
 time for much else besides their household and fam- 
 ily affairs, and while they may not improve all their 
 opportunities, yet there is excuse for the mother who 
 is overwhelmed with such cares, and if she can make 
 her hours of toil pass a little more pleasantly by a 
 little harmless light talk, I do not see that she is any 
 more censurable than those so-called great minds who 
 insist that light reading is necessary for their mental 
 rest and recreation."
 
 OU are surely not done practicing already? 
 Why, I am certain, Martha, that you 
 have not been in the parlor three-quarters 
 of an hour, and I have not heard the piano for 
 half that length of time," said Mrs. Grey, as 
 her daughter, a rosy-cheeked girl of fifteen, 
 came into the sitting-room with a shiver, and 
 held out her blue fingers to the glowing grate. 
 ' ' I can't help that ; I practiced as long as 
 I could sit still ; seems to me that it was nearer 
 three hours than three-quarters, and I do n't see 
 that I play one bit better than I did yester- 
 day," said the daughter, despairingly. 
 
 " I am sorry you do not take more pains in learn- 
 ing your lessons. If you do not practice more, Miss 
 Williams will certainly insist on your taking the les- 
 son over again," said her mother, with a sigh. 
 
 "Over again," repeated Martha, impatiently. 
 ' ' Why, mamma, I have taken that lesson ' over 
 again' for three whole weeks, and I played it more 
 this aTternoon than I ever did." 
 
 " Well, I do n't see, for my part, why you can not 
 take more pains with your music. Your sister Net- 
 tie has no such trouble ; her teacher says she always 
 has good lessons," complained Mrs. Grey. 
 
 "O, well, Nettie likes it, and I don't; and then,
 
 22 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 as Miss Williams says, she has a talent. Who wants 
 to sit two long hours drumming at the piano, only to 
 make a senseless racket, and annoy other people? I 
 would rather help Mrs. Maloney wash any day," re- 
 plied Martha, with a shrug of her shoulders. 
 
 "Martha, I am surprised that you are so un- 
 grateful, after all that your father and I have done 
 for you." 
 
 " Well, I know you are ve.ry kind, but I haven't 
 patience to practice ; and I don't see the good of it, 
 any way ;" and Martha Grey ran out of the room, shut- 
 ting the door with a bang, and was soon in the kitch- 
 en, teasing the cook to let her make the waffles for tea. 
 
 "Sure, now, Miss Marthy, and hadn't ye better 
 be 'tendin' to yer music, or finishin' the tidy ye be- 
 gun for the rocker, instead of bothering here, and 
 soilin' yer nice dress wid the cookin' ?" asked Han- 
 nah, good-naturedly. 
 
 " O, bother the music, and the tidy, too," an- 
 swered Martha; "if I am in your way, I'll leave the 
 kitchen, but I am not going to practice any more to- 
 night, or knit either." 
 
 "I am sure y' re never in my way, but ye know 
 yer mother do n't want ye to have great rough hands 
 that are niver fit to be seen in the parlor at all ; and 
 they'll be rough enough, sure, if ye wurruk much in 
 the kitchen." 
 
 "O, fiddlesticks on the white hands; where's the 
 flour? I '11 make them white enough." 
 
 And Martha went dancing off to the pantry, with 
 a tin pan in one hand and shaking a big iron spoon 
 at Hannah, in mock defiance, with the other.
 
 MARTHA'S TALENT. 23 
 
 Martha Grey was a sore trial to her ladylike 
 mother. Mrs. Grey was very anxious that her daugh- 
 ters should create a stir, if not in the world at large, 
 at least in their own immediate circle, by their pro- 
 ficiency in music. 
 
 Nettie, the elder, a young lady of twenty years, 
 bid fair to fulfill all her fond mother's expectations. 
 Having considerable talent, a naturally musical voice, 
 combined with almost indefatigable perseverance in 
 practicing, she promised to become a musician of 
 rathtr more than ordinary attainments; but Martha, 
 alas, gave no such promise. With a fair talent for 
 almost every other study, she entirely failed in this, 
 although she had been compelled to sit at the piano, 
 practicing scales and finger exercises for a part of 
 every day for the past four years. To be sure, she 
 had not practiced very diligently, for when shut up 
 in the parlor to practice she invariably managed to 
 spend the greater part of the time in rearranging the 
 chairs, or the ornaments on the parlor table, and 
 finally slipping out to the kitchen and coaxing Han- 
 nah to let her help cook, as in the commencement of 
 our story, even at the risk of a reprimand from her 
 mother for coming to the table with a face "as red 
 as Mrs. Maloney's, " and "such a contrast to Nettie's 
 ladylike appearance." 
 
 On the evening after the above little incident, 
 while Nettie was practicing a new piece, and Martha 
 was curled up on the divan, deeply engrossed in Mungo 
 Park, Mrs. Grey laid in her complaint to her hus- 
 band for the one-hundredth time. " I wish you 
 could persuade Martha to pay a little more attention
 
 24 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 to her music. Really, I am quite discouraged. Only 
 yesterday, when Mrs. Fitzgerald was here to tea, I 
 asked Martha to play, and she broke down in the mid- 
 dle of the first piece. I was so mortified. I should not 
 have asked her to play, but Nettie had gone out 
 riding. I thought perhaps her failure would make 
 her more careful to-day, but she has been more neg- 
 ligent than usual." And Mrs. Grey sighed wearily. 
 
 Martha fidgeted uneasily; she was not, however, 
 much afraid of her father's reproofs. Not having 
 what his wife called "a talent for music" himself, he 
 generally tried to make excuses for his "stupid" 
 daughter. He looked from Mrs. Grey to Martha, 
 who was trying to look unconscious. 
 
 "Well, daughter, what have you to say?" asked 
 her father, kindly; "guilty, or not guilty?" 
 
 "Guilty, papa;" and then, looking up, added 
 archly, ' ' but I made the cake for tea, and you know 
 Mrs. Fitzgerald thought it splendid, and congratu- 
 lated mamma on having such an excellent cook as 
 Hannah. But please, papa," more earnestly, "I can 
 not play on the piano worth a cent, and I am afraid I 
 never shall ; but I can cook a little, and I like it too," 
 glancing at her mother's shocked face. " I made the 
 waffles for tea, and you said yourself they were very 
 nice. And /made the toast this morning," triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 "Martha," said her mother, severely, "am I to 
 understand that you are in the habit of doing Han- 
 nah's work? I certainly can not afford to pay her for 
 work she does not do." 
 
 "O mamma, it isn't her fault," pleaded Martha,
 
 MARTHA'S TALENT. 25 
 
 frightened lest the blame of her disobedience should 
 fall on Hannah. "She only let me because I teased 
 her so ; and indeed, mamma, she was so busy yester- 
 day that she did not have time to make cake, and so 
 I helped her." 
 
 "Martha," said Mr. Grey, kindly yet seriously, 
 "I would be better pleased if you would attend to 
 your music, too. I do n't object to your cooking, 
 though your mother says it soils your clothes and 
 makes your hands rough ; but your music lessons cost 
 moiiey, and I should like you to profit by them." 
 
 "But, papa, I just hate the piano. I would 
 rather scour knives or churn, any day. I shall never 
 play nicely, like Nettie; and what's the use trying?" 
 
 Mr. Grey smiled at his daughter's vigorous mode 
 of expression, and turned to look into the fire. Mrs. 
 Grey resumed her knitting, while Martha, muttering, 
 "I guess my name spoiled me," turned to her book 
 again. 
 
 After a few moments Mr. Grey said to his wife : 
 "Suppose we let Martha give up her music, and let 
 her do what she likes. It seems to me that it is no 
 use to punish her by making her do what she says 
 she Jiates ; and you know it will be a great saving 
 to my purse," he added, looking slyly toward his 
 daughter. 
 
 " O, papa, do you really mean it? May I put 
 away all my music, and do something I like ?" asked 
 the girl, breathlessly, as, throwing her book on the 
 table, she danced across the room to slip one arm 
 about her father's neck. 
 
 4 ' There, there, wait a moment ; I have not said 
 3
 
 26 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 so yet," laughed Mr. Grey. "I only suggested it to 
 your mother." 
 
 ' ' But we have spent so much money giving her 
 lessons that it seems too bad to have it all thrown 
 away," objected her mother. 
 
 ' ' Better throw that away, and then stop, than to 
 keep throwing away. And if she wants to be Bridget, 
 give her the chance, if it will make her any happier." 
 
 "O, do say. yes," pleaded Martha, eagerly. "I 
 can keep accounts and look after the expenses splen- 
 didly better than you can, I expect, mamma ; for / 
 like it, and you don't." 
 
 Martha's eager voice had attracted Nettie's atten- 
 tion, and she came in to know what had happened. 
 She contented herself with expressing her surprise at 
 some "people's tastes." Mr. Grey drew his second 
 daughter down on his knee, telling her to throw away 
 her music if she wanted to, and declaring that one 
 genius in the family was enough, any way. 
 
 The mother shed a few tears over her disappoint- 
 ment ; but finally comforted herself with the thought 
 that she had one daughter that she need not be 
 ashamed of. 
 
 Martha was delighted with the idea of being al- 
 lowed to " keep house instead of torturing that horrid* 
 piano ;" and years after, when her mother's health 
 failed and the whole responsibility of managing the 
 household affairs fell upon her, both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Grey were very thankful that they had a daughter 
 who understood housekeeping and cookery, even 
 though she could not appreciate Mozart or Men- 
 delssohn.
 
 "UST AS WELL AS {^ENEROUS 
 
 RS. HARPER had just finished her after- 
 noon toilet, and taken up her basket of 
 patchwork, when the door bell rang, and 
 
 lx Mrs. Wells, a neighbor, a sister in the Church, 
 came in to chat an hour or two. They were 
 both earnest workers, and the conversation soon 
 turned on Church interests. 
 
 "How much have you concluded to give 
 toward the new organ, Sister Harper?" asked 
 the visitor. 
 
 "I have not really decided yet; probably 
 twenty dollars." 
 "O Sister Harper, you surely will not stop at 
 twenty dollars, or twice twenty! Brother Brown 
 asked me to-day what I thought you would give, 
 and I told him not less than one hundred dollars, 
 any way." 
 
 "But, Sister Wells, I can not afford to give so 
 much. I am obliged to pay Ann three and a half 
 per week, and my husband's income is not large." 
 
 "O, but you don't know how to manage your 
 girls as well as 7 do. I was determined that Sister 
 Hill should not give more than 7, so I subscribed 
 one hundred, though I could not see at the time 
 where the money was to come from. So I concluded 
 to pay out less for kitchen work, and now I only pay
 
 28 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Susan two and a half a week, and that saves fifty-two 
 dollars during the year. The other forty-eight shall 
 be got in some way. Susan objected at first, but 
 I told her I could not pay a cent more, so she 
 gave in at last. .My work is heavier than yours too. 
 Couldn't you manage to save some in that way?" 
 
 "Perhaps I might, but really I do not feel like 
 asking Ann to work for any less. She has an invalid 
 mother who has to be helped." 
 
 "That is just what Susan said; but you can't 
 believe the half they say. They always have some 
 such story ready in case of an emergency." 
 
 ' ' That may be true, but I feel that we are paying 
 more for an organ than we can well afford, and more 
 than is really necessary/' 
 
 "Why, Sister HarpeH you wouldn't have us buy 
 a cheap instrument when the Presbyterians have such 
 a nice one?" 
 
 "Of course I would, if we can not afford a 
 better." 
 
 "Well I shall not be satisfied until we can have 
 as good as any body else, and I shall do all / can 
 do to get it. I am sorry you will not give more 
 toward it." 
 
 "If I find that I can afford it I certainly shall, 
 but I must pay my debts first," said Mrs. Harper 
 pleasantly, and so the subject dropped. 
 
 The organ was purchased and placed in the 
 'church. Every body was pleased, for it was a fine 
 affair, even surpassing the one in the neighboring 
 church. Mrs. Wells gave her one hundred, and Mrs. 
 Harper her twenty dollars, and others accordingly,
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. 29 
 
 some less than they were able to afford, others more. 
 The Autumn passed away and Winter set in. Mrs. 
 Wells, in the mean time, took frequent occasion to 
 laugh at her friend for what she called her loose 
 financiering. However, Mrs. Harper still insisted 
 that she believed she had done her duty, and felt 
 conscience clear, although she acknowledged that she 
 would have been glad to have given more. 
 
 One cold bright day in the latter part of January 
 Mrs. Harper called upon Mrs. Wells, and asked her 
 to*"go with her to make a few calls on some sick 
 people in the poar part of town. The two ladies 
 were soon in the little sleigh, snugly wrapped in their 
 robes and mufflers, and as the pony drew them along 
 at a steady pace the bells made pleasant music. As 
 they we.re tucking themselves in Mrs. Wells discov- 
 ered a basket crowded into the corner of the sleigh, 
 and exclaimed laughingly, "Well, Sister Harper, 
 have you been to market? or, are you just going?" 
 
 "Neither, Sister Wells, that is what my husband 
 calls my 'Commissary Department.' I only have a 
 few goodies that Ann put in for a couple of bed- 
 ridden old women that I expect to visit before we 
 get home." 
 
 "Do you take goodies to your poor friends ei>ery 
 time you go out?" asked Mrs. Wells in a slightly 
 surprised tone. 
 
 "Not always, but frequently. It does them so 
 much good to think you care for them. Somebody 
 says, ' The nearest way to a man's heart is by way 
 of his stomach,' and I guess it is equally true of 
 women. They seem to appreciate your efforts to
 
 30 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 benefit their souls if they find you care for their 
 bodies as well." 
 
 ''Now I call that real selfish, don't you?" 
 
 "Well, it may be, but we have to take people as 
 they are, not as we would like them to be. But 
 here we are at Widow Smith's." 
 
 Tying the pony to a dilapidated fence the two 
 ladies were soon in the low room which served as 
 kitchen, parlor, and bedroom, Mrs. Harper carrying 
 several little packages taken from the basket in the 
 sleigh. The furniture of the room was scant, but 
 the bed upon which the woman lay was clean and 
 comfortable looking. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Smith, how are you feeling to-day?" 
 asked Mrs. Harper cheerily. 
 
 "Much better, thank you; the medicine you sent 
 me last week has done me a world of good. I have 
 slept pretty good at night for three or four nights. 
 And the blanket you sent has been a real bless- 
 ing. My old bones need more cover than when I 
 was young, and since Jennie died there has been no 
 one to provide such things for the old woman. To 
 be sure, Maggie is a good girl, but it is as much as 
 she can do to buy what we eat and pay house rent," 
 and the invalid wiped away a tear. f 
 
 ' ' Here are some cookies that I have brought 
 you," Mrs. Harper said kindly, "and a quarter of 
 tea my mother always loved her tea ; and here is a 
 glass of jelly, real grape, that Ann bought from a 
 neighbor on purpose for you. If you dissolve a 
 spoonful in a glass of cold water it will make a very 
 pleasant drink. And here is a shoulder shawl from
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. 31 
 
 Ann too; she said it would be so nice for you to 
 throw over your shoulders when you feel like sitting 
 up a bit. O, yes, she can spare it very well," as 
 the woman seemed loath to take it. "I made Ann a 
 present of a new one at Christmas, and she said she 
 would spare this for you. "So," she added brightly, 
 "my little gift has benefited three persons already: 
 you, Ann, and myself. But we must go now," and 
 they departed amid a shower of thanks from the 
 sick woman. 
 
 O\s soon as they were seated in the sleigh Mrs. 
 Wells said, "Now, Sister Harper, I never want you 
 to plead poverty to me agfiin. Why by that old 
 woman's own story you have already spent as much 
 as one-half of your subscription for our organ. And 
 then it seems you make your hired girl presents be- 
 sides. More than / can do, I am sure. Besides, it 
 is only money thrown away." 
 
 "I don't think so, Sister Wells; I am sure Ann 
 deserves all she gets, and then, by helping her a little, 
 by way of an occasional present, she has a little 
 money to spend on others, and so she has the oppor- 
 tunity to enjoy the luxury of giving as well as 
 myself." 
 
 Mrs. Wells laughed merrily: "What funny ideas 
 you do have about giving! Now / never thought 
 about the luxuiy of giving as you call it. But every 
 one to their notion." 
 
 "Yes, that is my way, you know," Mrs. Harper 
 answered good humoredly. "This is our last stop- 
 ping place," as she reined up the horse in front of 
 a rickety old house on a back street.
 
 32 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Up an outside stairway, that trembled and creaked 
 beneath their feet, the two women slowly climbed, 
 each with her arms full; for Mrs. Wells, out of 
 sympathy to her friend, had volunteered to carry a 
 part of her bundles. Mrs. Harper knocked at a door 
 at the head of the stairs; a faint voice said, "Come 
 in," and the two entered. Every thing in the room 
 betokened extreme poverty. On a low bed lay a 
 woman of about forty-five, pale, and emaciated, while 
 by her side lay a child of perhaps ten years, but very 
 small, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, that told 
 of suffering and want. 
 
 "Is that you, Mrs. Harper?" asked the woman, 
 as that lady bid her a good afternoon. 
 
 ' ' Yes, Mrs. Maloney, it is me ; but can't you 
 see me?" 
 
 " No ma'am, my eyes are a deal worse than when 
 you were here last. And that ain't all, either. I'm 
 afeard I shall niver see again," said the sick woman 
 sadly. "I can just tell daylight from dark, and that 
 is all." 
 
 "But I thought your eyes were so much better 
 in the Fall; you told me your medicine was help- 
 ing them!" 
 
 "Indeed, it did, ma'am; but, ye see, I've had 
 none for a long time. Norah has been sick and had to 
 have medicine, and Susan's wages are not so good as 
 they were. The lady she works for said she could n't 
 pay so much this year, and so Susan had to take 
 what was offered her, for she couldn't afford to be 
 idle. Mebbe we should n't be so bad off and weak 
 like, but we have had to live saving, and don't get
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. 33 
 
 many nice things to eat, and Norah and me have no 
 taste for dry bread and p'taties now. Susan only 
 gets two and a half a week, and it don't go very far 
 in buyin' clothes for four and food for three. Neddie 
 earns enough mostly to -pay the rint, and sometimes a 
 few cents over. If I could get somethin' nice for 
 Norah to eat I shouldn't care for myself," laying her 
 thin hand on the child's head. "She's been longin' 
 for an orange all day, poor child. But who is that 
 with you?" as Mrs. Wells moved uneasily in her 
 clrair. 
 
 "It is Mrs. Wells, a friend of mine ; and here is 
 an orange for Norah," and she placed it in the child's 
 hand. 
 
 " O, thank you, ma'am," Mrs. Maloney answered, 
 gratefully. "Wells Wells," she repeated, slowly; 
 " why, that 's the name of the lady that Susan wur- 
 ruks for." 
 
 Mrs. Wells got up hastily, and came to the bed- 
 side. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Maloney, Susan lives with me; but, 
 really, I didn't know you were so bad off as this," 
 she said, earnestly. 
 
 "Susan is not the one to bother other people 
 with her throubles without the asking," the sick 
 woman answered, a little proudly; "and if I was 
 well enough to care for Norah, ye'd never hear ov 
 the likes ov me cornplainin' to any one." 
 
 Mrs. Harper glanced at the face of her friend, 
 and saw the tears of sorrow and wounded pride trick- 
 ling down her cheeks, and hastily interrupted Mrs. 
 Maloney, saying: "We have brought a nice basket
 
 34 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 of dainties, that will be good for you as well as 
 Norah," and she began to undo the parcels. "I 
 knew you were not able to bake, so I have brought 
 you a loaf and some cakes of Ann's baking ; I'll 
 warrant them nice. Here are some dried peaches, 
 and a can of plums ; and here is a paper full of 
 crullers for Neddie not for you nor Norah, remem- 
 ber ; they are too rich for you, but if Neddie is like 
 my boys, I am sure he will appreciate them." 
 
 Mrs. Maloney murmured a "God bless you," as 
 she covered her face with the corner of the ragged 
 quilt, to hide her tears. 
 
 As the ladies turned to go, Mrs. Wells only said, 
 "I will see you again soon, Mrs. Maloney," and 
 hurriedly left the room. 
 
 When they were once more in their sleigh, Mrs. 
 Wells turned to her companion and said, excitedly, 
 while the tears were streaming down her face, "Sis- 
 ter Harper, why did you not tell me of this, instead 
 of bringing me here in this way? You certainly 
 know me too well to suppose that I would willingly 
 be the cause of such suffering and privation !" 
 
 "Indeed, my dear sister, I had not the slightest 
 idea that the woman was Susan's mother ; I have 
 not been there since the Autumn until to-day, and I 
 did n't even know that Susan's name was Maloney. I 
 heard yesterday, through our pastor, that the woman 
 was in great need, and only came to see what I could 
 do for her." 
 
 "0, what a blunder I have made," sobbed Mrs. 
 Wells; " I did n't suppose that I was robbing any one 
 when I reduced Susan's wages. If that child dies,
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. 35 
 
 or her mother loses her sight, I shall never forgive 
 myself." 
 
 "We are all liable to make mistakes," said Mrs. 
 Harper, soothingly, "and that is one reason that I 
 am so slow to promise, unless I am sure I can af- 
 ford it." 
 
 When Mrs. Weils reached home, her first work 
 was to send for Susan to come to the sitting-room. 
 The girl came, and as her mistress looked at her she 
 wondered she had never noticed before how tired 
 anT anxious she looked. Bidding her be seated, 
 she said, "I have just been to visit your mother, 
 Susan." The girl started uneasily. "Why did you 
 not tell me how needy you were at home?" 
 
 Susan hesitated a moment, and then said, "I 
 was afraid you would think I just told it to get 
 my wages raised, ma'am." 
 
 " Well, next time I want you to tell me all about 
 such things, and not wait for me to find it out when 
 it is, perhaps, too late to do any good." 
 
 "O Mrs. Wells, is Norah worse?" cried the girl, 
 with whitening cheeks. 
 
 "No, I guess not, Susan; but I am afraid that 
 it is too late to cure your mother's eyes. I think 
 you had better go to your mother to-night, as she 
 needs you badly ; or, perhaps you had better wait 
 until to-morrow, and then stay awhile with her. " 
 
 "Please, Mrs. Wells, interrupted Susan, eagerly, 
 "I think mother needs my wages worse than she 
 does me ; if I stop work, there will be nothing for 
 them to live on."
 
 36 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Never mind that, Susan; your wages may go 
 on, just the same ; and here is five dollars it is all 
 I have just now take it, and get some medicine and 
 nourishing food for your mother and sister; and 
 from this on your wages will be the same that they 
 were last year three dollars and a half per week.". 
 
 "You are very kind, indeed," sobbed Susan, 
 completely overcome by this unexpected kindness; 
 "and I '11 work my fingers off to please you, when I 
 come back." 
 
 "That would be rather too much," said Mrs. 
 Wells, smiling through her tears. "Now, you had 
 better go to your work ; I would like you to do up 
 some extra baking, so that I can do without you a 
 week, if possible." 
 
 "Indeed, and I will, ma'am," and Susan left the 
 room, with the smiles and tears struggling for the 
 mastery. 
 
 The next day there was a bed comforter and 
 blankets, a pair of sheets, and several pairs of woolen 
 stockings and skirts for the sick girl, left at Mrs. 
 Maloney's door by the expressman ; and in the even- 
 ing Susan came, with a market-basket well filled with 
 such things as the poor like, and yet so seldom are 
 permitted to enjoy, and with the extra five dollars 
 from Mrs. Wells, besides her wages for two weeks in 
 advance, in her pocket. 
 
 Through the providence of God, Norah recov- 
 ered, and Mrs. Maloney's eyes were partially cured, 
 but she continued an invalid. 
 
 Mrs. Wells always took pains to send some little
 
 BE JUST AS WELL AS GENEROUS. 37 
 
 dainty to the sick woman when Susan made her 
 weekly visit, and she never again undertook to re- 
 duce the wages of the poor in order that she 
 might increase her own subscription to benevolent 
 enterprises, or to foster Church pride ; but in all 
 her giving she was careful to be just as well as 
 generous.
 
 MHE PREACHER'S ^IFE AT CONFERENCE. 
 
 I\ PRESUME there is no one who more 
 J thoroughly enjoys an annual conference 
 than the preacher's wife, the preacher not 
 excepted. She has had a year of earnest work 
 j^, among her husband's people, and she has looked 
 forward to this annual gathering as the one 
 bright spot in what would otherwise, perhaps, 
 have proved a dull year. The best talent of the 
 r* Church is to be gathered there ; the best speak- 
 ers are to occupy pulpit and platform ; and to 
 this she looks forward as a season of solid en- 
 joyment and profit ; for, no matter how elo- 
 quent her husband may be, she is, if -a true wife, too 
 much interested in his success to enjoy his sermons 
 as she would those of a stranger. But here she can 
 sit and enjoy the sermons, even though the speaker 
 should make a few grammatical blunders, or should 
 occasionally fail to make a point as "clear as sun- 
 shine." Or, if one of the numerous agents, usually 
 present, should chance to be prosy or occupy too 
 much time, she can even endure that, in the hope 
 that a certain particular friend of hers may profit by 
 the infliction, and not "go and do likewise." 
 
 Here is a preacher's wife who comes to conference 
 for the first time in many years. Her hair, like that 
 of her husband, has grown gray while she has been
 
 THE PREACHER'S WIFE AT CONFERENCE. 39 
 
 toiling in the Master's vineyard. She feels that for 
 her there are only a few more years of toil, and -then 
 comes eternal rest ; and she comes up to this annual 
 gathering, this Feast of the Harvest, as to a sort of 
 reunion, the last, perhaps, for her, until the great 
 " Harvest Home." 
 
 Here is one who could not be with us last year. 
 A little home treasure required all her care then but 
 now the little one is laid away among strangers in the 
 village graveyard, and the mother is with us to-day, 
 claoT in the habiliments of woe. Gladly would she 
 have denied herself indulgence if she could have kept 
 her treasure ; but it could not be. 
 
 There sits another, who has come from a poor 
 circuit, from a salary of five hundred dollars, with 
 two hundred of it unpaid. But, by dint of economy 
 and a few music-scholars, or by teaching the village 
 school, she has managed to keep even ; and at her 
 husband's earnest entreaty, she decided to come to 
 conference, even at the risk of hearing some of the 
 brethren hint, in no very polite terms, that preachers' 
 wives are very much in the way, "taking up some 
 of the best places, which wou-ld otherwise have been 
 reserved for traveling agents and visiting brethren." 
 
 And here is a young wife, as yet but slightly ac- 
 quainted with the pleasantness and unpleasantness of 
 the itinerancy, and she looks on with curiosity and 
 surprise at the amount of business done and the 
 number of speeches made in so short a time. 
 
 But, of whatever age or circumstances, she comes 
 to reap the benefits and enjoy the privileges which 
 may there offer themselves. And enjoy them she
 
 40 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 does ; in a measure, too, which her husband, who 
 goes "up to Jerusalem" yearly, fails to appreciate. 
 I remember sitting in the same pew, for several suc- 
 cessive sessions of our annual conferences, with a 
 preacher's wife whom I had never met at such .a 
 gathering before. She told me it was her first visit 
 for ten years. She was a sweet-faced, patient-looking 
 woman, just such a one as you would expect to see 
 deny herself all the pleasures that others might enjoy 
 them ; and the way she literally feasted on the intel- 
 lectual bounties placed before her added greatly to 
 my own enjoyment of the same. 
 
 The words of our conference hymn, "And are 
 we ye,t alive?" seem peculiarly appropriate to the 
 preachers themselves after the year's battle, but it is 
 none the less so to the preacher's wife. Her hus- 
 band's troubles have been hers, and she has probably 
 felt them in even a greater degree than he ; for in 
 his case he has had the satisfaction of taking an act- 
 ive part in the contest, and putting to rights whatever 
 it was in his power to right. But the wife, in most 
 cases, must simply endure ; and all know that endur- 
 ing is much more trying than doing. When hinder- 
 ances come in our pathway, it is a real satisfaction 
 to be able to take hold and lift them out of our 
 way, even though it requires an effort to do so ; but 
 to see our pathway obstructed, and not be able to 
 lift a finger to sit in silence (in patience, if possible,) 
 until another removes the obstacle, no matter how 
 tardy their motions may be requires a full supply 
 of grace ; how much, no one knows better than the 
 preacher's wife. And now, as they sing, her memory
 
 THE PREACHER'S WIFE AT CONFERENCE. 41 
 
 carries her back to this or that dark hour when 
 troubles came so thick and fast that it seemed almost 
 impossible to bear them. 
 
 " But out of all the Lord 
 Hath brought us by his love." 
 
 And our hearts grow thankful as we remember his 
 great mercy. How 'solemn 'the moment when we' 
 bow around the sacramental board; and, as we com- 
 memorate the death and sufferings of our Redeemer, 
 worfeel that it is a blessed privilege to help bear the 
 Gospel to a sin-stricken world. Where the preach; 
 er's wife goes to conference to be benefited by what 
 she sees and hears (and I trust there are few who go 
 for any other purpose), the time and money she 
 spends is a good investment, both for herself and the 
 people among whom her lot may be cast. 
 
 The better people understand the working of our 
 Church machinery, the more interest will they feel in 
 the Church ; and the preacher's wife who goes to 
 conference and watches carefully the transaction of 
 the business, who hears the reports of our benevolent 
 institutions, the calls that are made upon our Church 
 funds, will better understand the needs of the Church, 
 and will know better how to work for her interest in 
 the future ; and I often wish the entire membership 
 of the Methodist Episcopal Church could attend an 
 annual conference at least once in two years. They 
 would, perhaps, be enabled to see what some have 
 failed hitherto to see ; namely, how small their sacri- 
 fices are, both in gifts and work, compared with the 
 real needs of the Church. ^ 
 
 4
 
 BEEPING THE l^ULES. 
 
 SUPPOSE the probationers will be re- 
 ceived into full membership next Sab- 
 bath, will they not?" asked Lulu Rayburn 
 ,,-- of her friend, Helen Wynne, as they sat in 
 Helen's cozy room, busy at some fancy work as 
 they talked familiarly together. 
 
 "Yes," answered Helen, looking up from 
 counting threads. "Of course you are going 
 r > to be received?" 
 
 ' ' My name was read as one of the ' elect, ' I 
 believe ; but I hardly think I will go any further," 
 said Lulu, with an effort to appear careless. 
 "You surely are not in earnest!" and Helen 
 dropped her work in surprise. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I am, though. Are you going to be re- 
 ceived ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, I expect to be ; though I scarcely feel 
 myself worthy of a place in the Church," Helen an- 
 swered in a low tone. " But why are you not?" 
 
 "O, well," laughing a little uneasily, "I am not 
 'worthy,' as you say; and, then, I only gave my 
 name to the Church because I was over-persuaded, 
 and I guess I will have it dropped." 
 
 "But you were in earnest, surely, last Winter," 
 and Helen's face showed the surprise she felt. 
 
 "Yes, I was in earnest then, I suppose; but I
 
 KEEPING THE RULES. 43 
 
 do n't feel like going any further now, and I do n't 
 like the idea of being coaxed to be a Christian. I 
 am going to have my name dropped, and some time 
 when there is no religious excitement, if I feel like 
 it, I will unite with the Church again." 
 
 "Better not depend too much on feeling, Lulu, 
 but be a Christian from principle. If you wait for 
 some time when there is no religious excitement, 
 you will very likely not 'feel like it.' As to being 
 'coaxed,' I am sure it took a great deal of coaxing 
 to ge"t me to take the first step, and you were among 
 the most earnest pleaders that I had ; and I have been 
 glad every day since that I allowed you to influence 
 me to give my heart to the Savior's keeping." 
 
 "Well, Helen, I am glad you enjoy yourself in 
 that way; but it has never been much pleasure to 
 me ; and, as I do not believe in doing penance, I 
 have concluded not to punish the flesh by trying to 
 obey Church rules. If the Church was not so strict, 
 I would like to remain in it ; for it is more respectable 
 nowadays to belong to the Church than to be an 
 'outsider,' but I am not willing to give up every 
 thing," and Lulu gave her shoulder an impatient 
 shrug. 
 
 "But the Church only asks you to give 'up the 
 things which it considers hurtful to your religious 
 prosperity," said Helen. 
 
 "I prefer being my own judge in such matters, 
 and my 'religious' prosperity is not enhanced by 
 keeping me from harmless amusements." 
 
 " Not harmless amusements, of course. But what 
 do you call harmless amusements, Lulu ?"
 
 44 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Well, dancing is one. I'm sure I don't see 
 any harm in it ; and I would go without my supper 
 any day for the sake of a dance. Why, only three 
 weeks ago I dressed in fifteen minutes, to catch the 
 
 evening train, so as to reach M in time for that 
 
 big dancing party." 
 
 "O Lou, you surely have not been dancing!" 
 and Helen's voice and face were full of pain. 
 
 "Of course I have more than once, too. I 
 would have told you before, but I knew you would 
 look so horrified. I suppose if the leaders had known 
 it they would not have placed my name among the 
 'recommended.' " 
 
 "No, I presume not," answered Helen, slowly. 
 "But were you really happy in such amusement?" 
 
 " May be not quite as happy as I could wish; but 
 we had a good time, and you know the preacher tells 
 us not to expect perfect happiness here below." 
 
 "O Lulu!" and Helen's voice Avas full of tender 
 reproach, "how can you talk so lightly? I am sure 
 you do not feel as careless as you would make me 
 believe. I can not say whether dancing is wrong in 
 itself or not ; but you know a dancing Church mem- 
 ber is never ready to pray or talk for Christ." 
 
 " I know that. But what is the use of being so. 
 particular? Why ran't we have a good time Avithout 
 being thought Avicked and sinful?" 
 
 "And Avhat do you call having a good time, my 
 dear?" asked a pleasant voice, that caused the two 
 young ladies to look toward the door, in which stood 
 Mrs. Wynne, Helen's mother. "I have not been 
 eavesdropping," she said, pleasantly, "and can not
 
 KEEPING THE RULES. 45 
 
 be sure of the subject, but just as I was about to 
 pass your open door I heard Lulu's question, and, 
 Yankee-like, will answer it by asking another. So, 
 Lulu, give us your ideas;" and Mrs. Wynne took the 
 chair her daughter had brought forward, and waited 
 for the answer. 
 
 " O, you know what I mean," answered the 
 young lady, hesitatingly. "Going to parties, boat 
 excursions, picnics, and such places where we can 
 have a little fun." 
 
 *" And you call that having a good time, I sup- 
 pose, " said Mrs. Wynne, gently. 
 
 "Why, yes. Don't every body at least young 
 folks?" 
 
 "I suppose they do, generally; and we all need 
 recreation of some sort ; but the danger is, that in 
 seeking for pleasure we may pass by it. People who 
 seek for pleasure usually have a very erroneous con- 
 ception of what constitutes a good time." 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Wynne, I thought it was natural to 
 seek for pleasure." 
 
 "I presume that it is, to the unconverted heart; 
 but happiness is seldom found for the seeking. It is 
 only when we forget ourselves in striving to make 
 others happy that we find our greatest and most un- 
 alloyed pleasure." 
 
 Lulu Rayburn made no reply to her friend's 
 words for some time. At last she said, with a 
 sigh: 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Wynne, I should like to be a Chris- 
 tian, but it costs so much. The Church wants us to 
 give up cvcty thing."
 
 46 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "No, my dear, not every thing. The Church 
 only asks you to forego what it considers hurtful." 
 
 "And the Church wants to judge for me." 
 
 "Is it not wise to allow those who are older and 
 more experienced than yourself to judge or decide for 
 you ? The rules and regulations of each Protestant 
 Church organization have been drawn up by persons 
 of established piety and good judgment ; and these 
 rules are not as a penance, but as a safeguard to 
 keep you from harm,. If all who take on themselves 
 the name of Christ would strive earnestly to please 
 God ; if, when about to engage in amusements or 
 any thing of a worldly nature, they would ask them- 
 selves the question, Will this be pleasing to God ? 
 can I ask his blessing upon me in doing this ? they 
 Avould have but little difficulty in living up to the 
 requirements of the Church." 
 
 "And so you think I do not try to please God?" 
 Lulu said, a little nervously. 
 
 " I do not presume to judge you; for your own 
 conscience will answer, if you will listen. But per- 
 sons who have the fear of God, in its right sense, 
 before their eyes, are a law unto themselves, and 
 they scarcely think whether the rules of Church gov- 
 ernment allow or forbid; for God is in all their 
 thoughts. My dear Lulu, the remedy for your per- 
 plexity is very simple. Get near to God, and you 
 will soon lose all desire for those amusements which 
 do not honor God. Your question reminds me of an 
 anecdote of Bishop M'llvaine. A young lady who, 
 like you, was worrying over Church restraints, asked 
 him the question, ' Is it wrong for Christians to
 
 KEEPING THE RULES. 47 
 
 dance ?' The bishop's answer was given gently but 
 firmly : ' My dear, Christians do not want to dance. ' 
 And to you, if you will strive to love God with all 
 your heart, dancing and card-playing, with other 
 questionable forms of amusement, will soon lose all 
 their sweetness to you. The only sure remedy for 
 these difficulties is a continued hiding behind the 
 cross. Clinging to Christ will take away your desire 
 for those things which are not for your good, either 
 temporally or spiritually."
 
 BERTIE'S MEMPTATION. 
 
 E day had been dull and gloomy. Just 
 such a day as November can give rainy 
 and dark; not a* regular pour-down, but a 
 / u continual drizzle, drizzle, such as takes all the 
 buoyancy out of every one, -except it be a fun- 
 loving boy. 
 
 The village school was out, and the boys 
 and girls turned their steps homeward. The 
 girls, wrapped in their water-prooft, walked 
 slowly along, talking in subdued tones, as if 
 their spirits had settled down to a level with 
 the weather. The boys dashed out, regardless of the 
 falling rain or of the mud beneath their feet, rushing 
 past the girls, apparently forgetful that they were 
 splashing dirty water upon them, or that the teacher 
 had said: "Go home quietly." 
 
 After a race of about four blocks, Albert Forbes, 
 a boy of some sixteen years, left his companions to 
 continue their race, while he opened the gate in front 
 of a respectable-looking residence, and ran up the 
 walk, whistling merrily as he went. With a bound 
 he landed on the upper step, utterly ignoring the 
 fact that there were two below it, and swinging the 
 door open with rather a positive motion, stopped his 
 whistling to call out, eagerly: "O mother!" 
 
 A fretful voice from the sitting-room answered
 
 BERTIE'S TEMPTATION. 49 
 
 him with, "O Bertie, I wish you would come home 
 more quietly. My head aches, and you shake my 
 nerves until I feel as if I should fly ; your brother 
 never comes into the house in that way. There, 
 no\v!" as he entered the room and threw his hat on 
 the lounge, instead of hanging it in its proper place; 
 "do pick up your hat; you know that is not the 
 place for it;" adding, in a despairing tone, "O dear! 
 I wonder if you will ever learn to be orderly." 
 
 By this time the light was all gone from the boy's 
 facPand, muttering that he couldn't "always be 
 thinking," he turned and went to the parlor, where 
 he found his elder sister, a young lady of twenty, 
 poring over the pages of a new book. 
 
 She looked up as her brother entered the room, 
 and said, a little impatiently, "Close the door." 
 
 Bertie closed the door, and, walking slowly across 
 the room to a front window, stood looking out. 
 
 His sister's eyes followed him, and, catching a 
 glimpse of his not over-clean boots, she exclaimed: 
 "O Bert, look at your feet! How can you come 
 into the parlor so? the carpet will be spoiled. There! 
 your toes are touching the curtain." 
 
 Bertie looked down at his feet, and then, slowly 
 drawing them away from the curtain, he began whist- 
 ling a tune, at the same time drumming an accom- 
 paniment with his knuckles on the casement. 
 
 His sister turned her eyes again to her book, but 
 her brother's noise seemed to annoy her, and at last 
 she said, in no very amiable tone, "Do, Bert, stop 
 that noise. I do n't see why you can 't be more gen- 
 teel; Fred never does so." 
 5
 
 50 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 " I wonder when I shall hear the last of my broth- 
 er's perfections?" asked Bertie, scornfully. "Of 
 course, he never does wrong, and I ought to take 
 him as my model. It 's nothing but 'Bert, don't do 
 this,' or ' Do n't do that,' and ' Why can 't you be po- 
 lite, like Fred ?' from one week to the next. I only 
 hope that when I am twenty- five I shall be capable 
 of doing something else besides oiling my hair and 
 talking soft talk to the ladies. Where 's Nellie ?" 
 
 "Gone on an errand for me," replied his sister, 
 without looking up. 
 
 ' ' O dear ! I wish I had gone nutting with Ed 
 Cole and Frank Howell. They teased me to go, but 
 mother always frets so when I go with them," and, 
 with a restless, dissatisfied air, Bertie left the parlor, 
 and went to his own room. 
 
 You must not imagine, dear reader, that Mrs. 
 Forbes was lacking in love for this noisy, restless 
 boy of hers ; far from it. She loved him dearly ; but, 
 being in delicate health herself, she preferred quiet, 
 and did not consider that a healthy boy of sixteen 
 could not sit down and keep quiet as easily as a 
 . woman of forty-five. Her eldest son was what is 
 called a "ladies' man," in the better sense of that 
 word polite, soft-voiced, and always ready to do the 
 agreeable, provided there was no hard work in it. 
 To his mother and sister Fred was perfection, and 
 they had sounded his praise in the ears of his brother 
 until he had become tired of the unpleasant contrast, 
 and so prejudiced him against Fred that he could not 
 appreciate the good qualities he did possess. 
 
 Mr. Forbes, like too many husbands and fathers,
 
 BERTIE'S TEMPTATION. 51 
 
 in this fast age, was too busy trying to meet the 
 family expenses to pay much attention to the wants 
 of his youngest boy, except to see that he was prop- 
 erly clothed and sent to school. 
 
 Allie, the sister mentioned before, was kind and 
 ladylike, in her way, but she had not the patience to 
 bear with her younger brother's romping, boisterous 
 ways. 
 
 However, Bertie had one warm friend, who thought 
 him "the nicest brother in the world," and that was 
 NeflTe, the youngest of -the family, a girl of fourteen. 
 Nellie was never so busy but she could leave book 
 or work for a game of ball or croquet, often in secret 
 preferring the former, although she had not the cour- 
 age to say so in the presence of her elder brother 
 and sister. 
 
 Bertie's room failed to offer any attraction this 
 evening, and finally he left it, saying to himself. "I 
 believe I will go over to Ed Cole's, and see if they 
 have gone nutting. They '11 be glad to see me, any way. 
 I wish Allie would do her own errands, and let Nell 
 stay at home when I want her ; I like her best of all. 
 I do n't care if she is n't ladylike, she is jolly good 
 company, anyhow." 
 
 Bertie found Ed Cole had not gone nutting, but 
 he and two or three other boys were going up town 
 to "look around," and they begged him to go with 
 - them. Bertie knew that his parents did not approve 
 of his loafing the streets at any time, and especially 
 in such company; but the temptation was strong, 
 and when the boys hinted that he was afraid to go 
 down town without his mother, this decided him. He
 
 52 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 determined to show them that he was old enough to 
 go down town once without asking leave ; but it was 
 with a dissatisfied feeling that he locked arms with a 
 rough boy, two years his senior, and went through 
 a back street, to avoid passing his own door. 
 
 In the mean time sister Nellie had returned home 
 and missed her favorite brother. Allie had not seen 
 him since he left the parlor, and his mother pre- 
 sumed he was in his room. But no Bertie came to 
 tea, and Mr. Forbes was too hurried to inquire after 
 him. Eight o'clock came, and he had not returned. 
 The mother grew uneasy and went to the window 
 every few minutes, trying to pierce into the dark- 
 ness, or listening for his footsteps on the gravel. 
 Allie took up a book and tried to read, but her sis- 
 terly anxiety was too strong for her to enjoy that 
 favorite pastime. Nellie sat crocheting, but her face 
 was very anxious, and twice she asked Fred in a 
 whisper if he would n't go and look for him. But 
 Fred only laughed lightly, and said Bert was able to 
 take care of himself. When, however, the clock 
 struck and the boy had not returned they were all 
 thoroughly alarmed. 
 
 In the mean time, Mr. Forbes had locked his 
 office and was walking briskly toward home. As he 
 turned a corner of the street he saw a crowd in front 
 of him and heard loud, taunting words mingled with 
 oaths, and as he came nearer he saw two boys grap- 
 pling each other, while the crowd cheered them on. 
 It was only for a moment, however, when the larger 
 of the two dealt his antagonist a blow that sent him 
 reeling backward, and he fell heavily to the pave-
 
 BERTIE'S TEMPTATION. 53 
 
 ment, his head striking the curbstone. Mr. Forbes 
 pressed through the crowd to see if the boy was 
 hurt, the idlers giving way when they saw who it 
 was. He held his lantern so that the light could fall 
 on the upturned face. He started back with an ex- 
 clamation of surprise and terror as he recognized the 
 face of his youngest boy, pale as death, and uncon- 
 scious. Two bystanders volunteered to carry him 
 home, while the father hastened home to prepare his 
 family for the shock. Mrs. Forbes met them at the 
 doOr^ with a terror-stricken face and led the way to 
 Bertie's room, while the sisters clung to each other 
 and sobbed in affright as they saw the pale face and 
 limp form. 
 
 By the aid of proper restoratives Albert -was, in 
 a short time, restored to consciousness, as he had 
 only been stunned and not seriously hurt. Then 
 Mr. Forbes insisted on Fred and the girls retiring to 
 rest, while he and the mother stayed to watch until 
 about midnight, when Bertie sank into a quiet sleep, 
 and then father and mother went to rest with heavy 
 hearts. It was evident to them that their son had 
 not only been in bad company, but that he had also 
 been drinking. 
 
 Bertie awoke next morning with a pain in his 
 head and a ringing in his ears; and when he tried to 
 rise the room seemed to spin round with him, and he 
 sank back on his pillow and covered his face with 
 his hands as the remembrance of all that had passed 
 the night before came rushing upon him. As he lay 
 and thought of it all he began to wonder if the fam- 
 ily would come to ask after him ; and, though he
 
 54 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 longed to see them, yet he almost wished they would 
 not come. Presently there was a rap, and then the 
 door opened softly and Nellie came in, with an anx- 
 ious look on her face. He looked at her, his own 
 face flushing scarlet, and then turning away his head 
 he put out a hand as if to motion her away, and 
 finally sobbed out, 
 
 "O Nellie, dear." 
 
 And Nellie came and laid her face close upon his 
 pillow and sobbed with him. 
 
 At last he found voice to ask, "Nell, do you 
 know how it happened?" 
 
 "Not all," Nellie answered, tearfully, though her 
 face showed that she suspected more than she knew. 
 And then, with his face turned toward the wall, that 
 he might not see her tears, Bertie told her all. She 
 proved a poor comforter, so far as words were con- 
 cerned, but the kiss she imprinted on his forehead 
 was more to Bertie than words. She sat by the bed 
 for some moments in silence, and then looking up, 
 Bertie asked doubtfully, 
 
 " Do you think mother will come?" 
 
 Nellie nodded assent. 
 
 ' ' Do you think she will forgive me for disgracing 
 you all? Mother always seemed afraid I would do 
 something bad ; but, indeed, Nellie, I did n't mean to 
 do wrong at first." 
 
 "Mother loves you, any way," said his sister, 
 ready to sob again. And Bertie said, with a sigh of 
 relief, "Now, sister, leave me alone a little while." 
 
 Nellie went softly out and left her brother to his 
 thoughts. They were not of the pleasantest kind,
 
 BERTIE'S TEMPTATION. 55 
 
 but they helped him to make some very earnest 
 resolves for the future. 
 
 Nellie brought his breakfast, but he only tasted 
 it; his head was aching sadly, and his heart worse. 
 About ten o'clock, as he lay wondering if his mother 
 was not coming at all, he heard a well-known step, 
 and then his door opened. He looked up, although 
 he had intended not to do so. The face he saw 
 was very pale and the eyes were red with weeping. 
 Involuntarily he reached out both hands and Avhis- 
 pfed under Iris breath, "Mother!" and in a moment 
 more he was sobbing on her shoulder. In a few 
 minutes he found voice to tell her all about it, how 
 the boys had dared him to drink, and how at first 
 he thought he would just put it to his lips; and then 
 he drank a glass the same as the others ; how they 
 called him proud, and "baby," because he would 
 not stand a treat : and finally they had provoked him 
 till they -came to blows. 
 
 "O mother, can you forgive me?" he fairly 
 sobbed out, as he finished; "I didn't intend to go, 
 but Allie found fault with me, and Nellie was gone, 
 and you had the headache and there was nothing 
 for me to do." 
 
 Mrs. Forbes winced as Bertie gave his reasons 
 for going, and she remembered her impatience at his 
 noise; and her heart told her she had not tried as 
 she might to make her home attractive to her rest- 
 less but affectionate boy, and she answered more 
 lovingly than was her wont, "Yes, dear, mother 
 forgives all, and you and I will try to be more to 
 each other than we have been. And, O, my son,
 
 56 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. . 
 
 mother did not know that she was sending you into 
 temptation when she complained of your noisy ways." 
 
 In the evening Bertie was able to go down to 
 supper, although he would much rather have taken 
 it in his own room than to face the rest of the fam- 
 ily; but he felt that he must do it some time, and 
 the sooner it was over the better. Fred and Allie 
 spoke kindly to him, but no reference was made to 
 the events or preceding night. His father laid his 
 hand upon his head with a caressing motion, and as 
 their eyes met Bertie felt that all was forgiven, and 
 though the tears would come there was joy in his 
 .heart in spite of his feeling of shame at his wrong- 
 doing. 
 
 From that time there was a better understanding 
 between the family and their "irrepressible" boy. 
 There seemed to be a feeling on their part that by 
 their system of repression they had driven him into 
 bad company ; while Bertie felt that so long as they 
 were so kind to him and so thoughtful for his happi- 
 ness, no self-denial would be too hard to endure as 
 an atonement for the sorrow he had caused them.
 
 JVfoTHERS-IN-lfAW. 
 
 'ND so you are really going to be married, 
 
 Hildreth?" 
 
 The young man addressed was lounging in 
 an arm-chair in the hotel bar-room, reading 
 the morning journal. He looked up at his 
 questioner and laughed a little lightly. 
 
 "Well, yes, provided all things go on 
 smoothly. You know the old adage, 'There 's 
 many a slip,' etc." 
 
 "Yes, I know, but I guess you are in for 
 it. By the way, where are you going to reside ? 
 I understand that your mother-in-law elect 
 is a widow, and your prospective wife an only daugh- 
 ter. But of course you will not think of taking the 
 old lady into your family," replied his companion. 
 
 "We shall live on the old homestead. Mrs. 
 Warren is not willing to leave the old home, and of 
 course she could not live there alone." 
 
 "Whew! Well, you must be love -sick with a 
 vengeance, if you are willing to live with the old lady. 
 The idea of your doing such a thing. For my part 
 I would rather eat boarding-house hash and sew on 
 my own buttons all my life than run the risk of being 
 bored by having a mother in-law about every day." 
 And the speaker looked thoroughly disgusted as he 
 reached for a match to light his second cigar.
 
 58 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME EOLKS. 
 
 "O, I don't apprehend any serious trouble," 
 replied Hildreth, coldly. "I think I know how to 
 manage my own affairs, and hardly think a mother- 
 in-law will be likely to take the reins out of my 
 hands." 
 
 "You may boast now," answered his companion 
 knowingly, "but just wait till she has had you under 
 her thumb for a year and see if you dare say your 
 soul's your own." 
 
 The young men had been talking, apparently 
 oblivious of the presence of a third party, a man of 
 some forty-five or fifty years, a stranger who was 
 stopping at the hotel, and who had been writing 
 busily at the desk near by during their conversation. 
 Turning around from his desk he said, pleasantly, 
 "Young gentlemen, may I say a word, too?" 
 
 The young men laughed, and Hildreth colored 
 as he saw they had had a listener, but both readily 
 assented to hear what the stranger had to say, and 
 he continued: "I have, unintentionally, been a lis- 
 tener to your conversation, and I find that you have 
 imbibed notions that may do you an injury, and 
 others also. There is too much of a disposition to 
 find fault with these who are often our best friends. 
 A woman who has raised a daughter who is worthy 
 to be the wife of an honest, respectable, young man, 
 is not likely to be a very bad person herself, though 
 she may be far from perfect. My own experience is 
 so different from the popularly conceived notion of 
 mothers-in-law that I can never hear a word spoken 
 of them lightly, or in condemnation, without entering 
 my protest against it. When I married, some twenty
 
 MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 59 
 
 years ago, my wife's mother, being a widow, came 
 to make her home with us, and I confess that I had 
 some little fear that it might mar our domestic peace, 
 but prepared myself with something of the feeling 
 of a martyr to endure it all patiently for my wife's 
 sake. But I was very agreeably disappointed. We 
 were both young and ignorant of business or house- 
 keeping, and her oversight saved me many a dollar 
 that would otherwise have been spent foolishly or 
 wasted. And her loving watchfulness often smoothed 
 over little misunderstandings between us that might 
 ha-ve ended in heartache or alienation. Once, when 
 envy and calumny were doing their utmost to rob 
 me of my good name, she stood by me and up- 
 held me by her encouragement and confidence, for 
 if she ever doubted me for a moment she never per- 
 mitted me to see that she did. Sometimes I have 
 thought that if it had not been for her faith in my 
 uprightness, perhaps even my wife would have 
 doubted me; but she stood firmly by me, and her 
 faith buoyed us up till the trouble was over, and 
 when my good name was established without a stain 
 there was no one who rejoiced more than she." 
 
 "But didn't it seem a little like you were being 
 constantly watched and criticised to have her always 
 in your house?" asked Hildreth. 
 
 1 ' I did feel a little that way at first, but the feel- 
 ing left me in less than six months, and I came to 
 look upon her as a sort of guardian angel who was 
 watching over us and ministering to our welfare. 
 No, young gentlemen, I have had reason many times 
 to thank God for giving me such a friend, and when
 
 60 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 she was laid in her last earthly resting place there 
 was no truer mourner than myself. There is no 
 class of people who are more liable to be misunder- 
 stood than step -mothers or mothers-in-law, and 
 though I have had no experience with the first I 
 have with the second, and I can say that while 
 mothers-in-law may have their faults, so have sons-in- 
 la\v, and there is as much need for reform on their 
 part as on their mothers-in-law. I beg pardon for my 
 intrusion upon your conversation, but the memory 
 of that mother is like a sweet incense to me to day, 
 and I could not let this opportunity pass without 
 giving my testimony to the goodness and disin- 
 terested affection of at least one mother-in-law. I 
 am not much in favor of 'post-mortem laudation,' 
 but I had inscribed upon the marble that marks her 
 resting place, 'Servant of God, well done,' and I feel 
 that no higher encomium could be pronounced on 
 any one."
 
 ^$TORY FOR IflTTLE 
 
 ( T was a very sober face that Lula Norton 
 held up for her mother's evening kiss as 
 she came in from school, and the moth- 
 er's watchful eye quickly detected the cloud on 
 her daughter's usually happy face. She said 
 nothing then, but waited until the little girl's 
 bed-time. 
 
 When Lula was nicely tucked in between the 
 A fleecy blankets, ready for her good-night talk 
 with mamma, Mrs. Norton seated herself on the 
 side of the little bed, and waited for her daugh- 
 ter to commence the conversation. But Lula's 
 busy tongue was, for once, still. At last her mother 
 said kindly: "What is it, Lula?" 
 
 "O mamma, I know it isn't right, but I felt so 
 angry and disappointed to day. You know I have 
 had such a time blotting my copy-book this Winter ; 
 and teacher told me if I made any blots this week 
 she would have to keep me in from recess; and I did 
 try so hard to be neat ; ajid to-day Jenny Groves let 
 her pen fall on my book, and it rolled over and over 
 and blotted my book so badly ; and Miss Brown was 
 displeased and reproved me when she saw it, and 
 then kept me in from recess. 
 
 " But why did n't you tell her hpw it happened?" 
 asked Mrs. Norton.
 
 62 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 ' ' She never asked me, mamma ; and you know 
 she does not allow us to tell on each other. I 
 wouldn't have minded so much, but Jennie never 
 appeared as if she knew any thing about it ; and 
 when recess came she walked out of the school-room 
 without even looking toward me. And now Miss 
 Brown is displeased with me, and thinks I do n't 
 try to please her. She always kisses me good-bye, 
 mamma ; but to-night she only said, ' Good-bye, 
 Lula,' O so coldly; and it's all Jennie's fault, and I 
 never will forgive her as long as I live !" and Lula 
 gave vent to her pent-up grief in a good cry, with 
 her face buried in her pillow. 
 
 "My daughter must not say that," said her 
 mother, sadly. "If we would have forgiveness, we 
 must also forgive." 
 
 "But, mamma, it is so hard to be blamed for 
 what you didn't do." 
 
 "If your teacher doesn't know, God does," said 
 Mrs. Norton, softly. 
 
 " I suppose so; but that doesn't seem to make it 
 any easier. I did want to be marked perfect this 
 week. I suppose God does know ; but I would like 
 for teacher to know, and the scholars, too ;" and 
 Lula gave way to a fresh burst of tears. 
 
 " Lula," said her mother, presently, "I think our 
 heavenly Father will make it all right some day, and 
 your teacher will find out in some way that you are 
 not in fault. I hope my little girl will try not to feel 
 angry at her school-mate, even though Jennie did not 
 do quite right on her part. Shall we ask Jesus to 
 make it all right with your teacher if he thinks
 
 A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 63 
 
 best ; and, if not, to give you grace to bear it pa- 
 tiently?" 
 
 "If you please, mamma," Lula replied, in a low 
 tone ; and then Mrs. Norton kneeled and prayed God 
 to help her daughter to bear- reproach without mur- 
 muring to try to do right, even though others might 
 not understand her. 
 
 As she kissed her mother good-night, Lula whis- 
 pered : " I '11 try to think it is all right, mamma; but 
 it is hard to be blamed for what you did n't do." 
 
 The next morning Lula took her seat in school 
 with a face still clouded with the remembrance of 
 yesterday's disgrace, and with a feeling very near 
 akin to anger toward Jennie Groves still lingering in 
 her heart. But she applied herself diligently to her 
 studies, and had the satisfaction of hearing her teach- 
 er's words of approval. As the girls were taking 
 their seats at the close of the afternoon recess, Jennie 
 drew Lula's face down to hers, and whispered peni- 
 tently, " Lula, I told teacher all about it, and she is 
 so glad." Lula did not need to ask her seat-mate 
 what she meant by "it;" for the affair of yesterday 
 had been in her mind all day, and she only gave one 
 glance toward her teacher, whose eyes met hers with 
 a look of sympathy, and then she laid her head 
 do\vn on her desk and cried for very joy. 
 
 After the scholars had finished their recitations, 
 Miss Brown told them to put away their books, as 
 she had something to say to them. Lula's heart 
 gave a great throb, and she looked toward her seat- 
 mate ; but Jennie turned away with a very pale face 
 as if she would avoid Lula's inquiring eyes.
 
 64 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Children," said Miss Brown, "I wish to say 
 that I punished Lula Norton wrongfully yesterday. 
 Jennie Groves wishes me to say that it was she who 
 blotted Lula's book, and that she is sorry she was 
 not brave enough to acknowledge it yesterday. And 
 / wish to say that / am sorry that I did not inquire 
 more particularly before punishing Lula for a fault 
 of which she was not guilty. By Jennie's request 
 the mark for carelessness is erased from Lula's record 
 and placed on hers." 
 
 After a few more words to her pupils about the 
 necessity of being perfectly honest, Miss Brown pro- 
 ceeded to close the school. But neither Lula nor 
 Jennie joined their voices with that of their school- 
 mates in singing the evening hymn. Jennie laid her 
 head upon her desk, and sobbed bitterly. It had 
 cost her a hard struggle to tell her teacher that she 
 had blotted Lula's book, and had then permitted her 
 to be punished wrongfully. Lula was so glad that 
 the blame had been lifted from herself that she could 
 no longer feel any anger in her heart toward Jennie, 
 and she put her arm gently about her neck and cried 
 with her. 
 
 After school was dismissed the. two little girls 
 lingered for a few moments to say good-bye to their 
 teacher. Miss Brown had imposed no penalty upon 
 Jennie, for she saw she had already suffered enough ; 
 and so," as she bid her good-bye, she drew the little, 
 tear-stained face to hers, and kissed it so tenderly that 
 Jennie knew the past was forgiven. Lula's joy for 
 her own vindication was so mingled with pity for her 
 school-mate that she hardly knew whether she ought
 
 A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS. 65 
 
 to be glad or not. As she lifted her face to her 
 teacher for her accustomed kiss, and Miss- Brown en- 
 circled her with her arms and said, " I am very glad 
 my little Lula was brave enough to bear her trouble 
 so patiently," Lula thought, "If my teacher knew 
 how wickedly I felt last night, she would not call me 
 patient or brave." 
 
 A glance at Lula's face told Mrs. Norton that the 
 cloud had been dispelled from her daughter's heart, 
 and she took her in her arms lovingly, and then held 
 her from her a moment as she looked inquiringly into 
 the..bright, happy eyes. Lula understood the look, 
 and answered : 
 
 "It is all right now, mamma, and I am so sorry 
 I was so wicked and ugly last night. Jennie told the 
 teacher all about it, and she told the scholars ; and I 
 am glad, only I feel so sorry for Jennie ;" and again- 
 the little girl's eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 "Jennie has gained a great victory over herself 
 by confessing her fault," said Mrs. Norton, kindly, 
 "and she will, no doubt, next time be braver than 
 to let another suffer for her fault. I hope my little 
 girl will only be the better for this trial." 
 
 "O mamma, I know I shall be more patient next 
 time, and I feel as if I could never be so angry with 
 anyone again;" and Lula once more twined her arms 
 about her mother's neck. 
 
 Mrs. Norton replied tenderly as she returned her 
 daughter's caress : 
 
 "Wa must not trust too much in our own 
 strength, Lula, but we must ask God's help. And 
 there is a verse of Scripture that I would like for
 
 66 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 you to commit to memory. It is this : ' For what 
 glory is it if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye 
 shall take it patiently? But if when ye do well and 
 suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable 
 to God.' "
 
 FASHIONABLE GALLS. 
 
 DEAR, I do wonder if it pays, after 
 all!" and Mrs. Harris threw her gloves 
 and parasol on the sofa and sank into a chair, 
 at the same time fanning herself vigorously. 
 Her husband, who had just come home to tea, 
 looked up in surprise at the complaining words 
 and disconsolate tones of his wife, and asked, 
 ' ' Wonder if what pays ? Have you been mak- 
 ing investments in railroad bonds and become 
 frightened for fear the company is shaky?" 
 
 ' ' No, hush, do ; men are such teases ! But 
 I really feel as if it was all a waste of time." 
 "As you haven't told me yet what you are talk- 
 ing about, I shall have to wait until, you enlighten 
 me a little before giving my opinion ; though, come 
 to think of it,' you haven't asked me for it yet," 
 said Mr. Harris laughingly. 
 
 "Well, then, if you must know, I. mean fashion- 
 able calls. I have been walking and talking all the 
 afternoon, and am nearly roasted and quite tired out, 
 and I do not believe that we have said a dozen sen- 
 sible things in the whole afternoon. If it was not for 
 seeming selfish and unsociable I would rather stay 
 at home and patch." 
 
 "Well, I didn't suppose that any thing could put 
 rou out so. What has happened any way? It is
 
 68 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 half an hour before tea will be ready, suppose you 
 give me a sketch of the 'leading, events,' as the 
 reporters say," and Mr. Harris laid down his paper 
 and leaned back in his chair with mock dignity by 
 way of signifying his readiness to listen. His wife 
 loosened the ties of her bonnet and laid it on her 
 knee, stroking the plume caressingly. 
 
 "The first place at which we called was Mrs. 
 Jones's. She had just been having trouble with her 
 cook, and we had to listen while she told us of all 
 the trouble she has had with hired help for the last 
 ten years. One always burnt the bread, one fried the 
 steak too hard, one had too many beaux, another 
 wasted the tea and sugar, another had such a temper, 
 and still another was too slow, and so on, winding 
 up with a rousing benediction on the present queen 
 of the kitchen. Neither Mrs. Armstrong nor myself 
 succeeded in putting in a half dozen sentences during 
 our stay, and that was a full half hour, and as there 
 was only one side to the story we might have come 
 to the conclusion that the whole line of hired help 
 was a sad failure, and the sooner it was wiped out 
 the better." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell her what a treasure our 
 Mollie is?" 
 
 "Tell her! why she didn't give me a chance. 
 We were obliged to leave her at the door with an 
 unfinished sentence on her lips, though we had pro- 
 longed our call fifteen minutes beyond the time al- 
 lotted. From there we went to Mrs. Newton's. She 
 looked surprised, and I thought a little sorry, to see 
 us, though I have been owing her a call for four
 
 FASHIONABLE CALLS. 69 
 
 months. She showed us into the parlor, raised one 
 of the blinds about six inches, letting in barely 
 enough light for us to see each other's faces. As 
 soon as we were seated she took occasion to say she 
 hoped we would excuse the appearance of the house, 
 she knew it wasn't fit to invite any body into, but she 
 expected to clean house next week. I ventured to 
 say that the house did n't look as if it needed clean- 
 ing, which was true, from the fact that the room was 
 so dark that I could not tell whether it was clean or 
 dirty. But she insisted that it was shocking dirty 
 ashamed to have company but she had been waiting 
 for a new carpet, and Mr. Newton was so slow, never 
 got a new piece of furniture until the old fell to 
 pieces. Wished she had a husband like Mr. Harris; 
 he always seemed to anticipate his wife's wants, and 
 so on to the end." 
 
 "Her remarks were very flattering to me, I am 
 sure, though not so much so to Newton if he had 
 heard it," laughed Mr. Harris. 
 
 " I presume he hears enough of it, for any woman 
 who will scold about her husband will scold at him." 
 
 "And what next?" 
 
 " O, it was all in the same strain as long as we 
 stayed. I tried to apologize for Mr. Newton, but 
 she wouldn't listen to any apology, and so we hur- 
 ried away, and drew a long sigh of relief when we 
 found ourselves again in the street; and then are 
 you tired?" 
 
 "Tired! no, not I. I have been dying, as the 
 girls say, to know what women talked about when 
 they went ' calling, ' and I want to hear all about it.
 
 70 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 But / thought they talked about their neighbors more 
 than JJiemselves. " 
 
 "Wait a moment; I haven't come to that yet. 
 The next place we called was at Mrs. Fitzgerald's. 
 She had been shopping this morning, and wanted me 
 to tell her how to have her little girl's dresses made. 
 Wanted to know if I couldn't cut her some patterns. 
 'It did cost so much to buy new patterns every 
 Spring.' I felt provoked. Wanted me to turn dress- 
 maker for her little cherubs, and pay me in, Thank 
 you, when Fitzgerald gets a third larger salary than 
 you ! I told her I did n't understand pleasing other 
 people, and suggested that she go to the dress-maker 
 and get some newer styles. No, indeed, she could n't 
 afford that. ' Fitzgerald only gave me so much to 
 buy material and to pay the seamstress, but Mrs. 
 Graves was showing me her little girls' dresses, so 
 nice! and I am botmd her children shall not dress 
 better than mine if Graves does have a share in the 
 corner store; and so I spent all my money for the 
 material, and now I will have to work my fingers off 
 to get them made up.' And I thought, Well,- if you 
 are so silly as to kill yourself trying to dress like your 
 rich neighbors, it isn't much difference if you do 
 work your fingers off." 
 
 "Which was not a very charitable thought," said 
 Mr. Harris, dryly. 
 
 "Of course not. But it did sound so foolish that 
 I could not help thinking, though I dare not speak. 
 Mrs. Hickman was brimful of gossip about Mr. 
 Bloomfield's failure. She knew it would be so; had 
 told James over and over, and wanted him to talk
 
 FASHIONABLE CALLS. 71 
 
 with Bloomfield about his extravagant ways, but he 
 said Bloomfield knew his own business, and he 
 should not bother about what was no concern of 
 his. And then she told us how she had called there 
 one evening when the family were at tea: t Miss 
 Bloomfield came into the sitting-room and left the 
 door partly open. I just looked in, careless like, 
 you know, and as true as I live the table was all 
 rigged out in china, and they had two kinds of cake 
 on the table, and no company, either! I told James 
 when I came home that I would n't be surprised if 
 trvey should see the day when they would be glad to 
 get one kind of cake. He said it was none of my 
 business, he guessed. But I told him it was some 
 of my business when my neighbors were going to 
 destruction right before my eyes. Says he, ' ' Why 
 didn't you tell Miss Bloomfield yourself?" "Tell 
 Miss Bloomfield!" says I, "why she would a' 
 ordered me out of doors in a minute." "And 
 served you right," says James, snappishly. I told 
 him I wished he wouldn't take Miss Bloomfield's 
 part and find fault with me, and he looked kind a 
 surprised, and asked, " Who's finding fault?" 
 But I ain't a bit sorry they failed. May be they 
 won't think themselves better than their neighbors.' 
 And I really believe the woman is glad they 
 failed." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell her that Bloomfield did 
 not fail through extravagance?" 
 
 "Mrs. Armstrong did as soon as she stopped 
 long enough for us to put in a word. You would 
 have laughed to see how blank she looked when
 
 72 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong told her that Mr. Bloomfield failed 
 because the bank where his money was depos- 
 ited had suspended payment, and not because of 
 his wife's extravagance. But she insisted that it 
 was good enough for them ; they need n't be so 
 stuck up." 
 
 " Was that the last call you made?" 
 
 "O, no, we made three others, a little shorter, 
 and just about as profitable, and I feel that the time 
 has been wasted. I have been wanting to go and 
 see old Mrs. Moore for some time ; she always rests 
 me so when I spend an hour with her, and she gives 
 me such good advice about the children, that my 
 work seems lighter for a week after I have been 
 there. I felt that it would be better for me to go 
 there to-day, but I have been owing these calls for 
 so long that I felt it a duty to make them ; but I 
 feel as if I had wasted precious time in talking with 
 and about people for whom I cared but little, and 
 who cared still less for me, and I have a great mind to 
 say that I will never make another fashionable call," 
 and Mrs. Harris leaned back in her chair as if 
 perplexed. 
 
 ' ' Well, if this is a specimen of fashionable calls, 
 I do not wonder that you are disgusted with them," 
 said her husband, half-jokingly, half-seriously. 
 
 "O, it is not always so bad as to-day. Some- 
 times I call on entire strangers and find the visit very 
 profitable. You remember Mrs. Adams, who united 
 with our Church in the Winter? Well, the first time, 
 I called on her I expected to stay just ten minutes, 
 and I stayed an hour. I was positively ashamed
 
 FASHIONABLE CALLS. 73 
 
 when I looked at my watch, but her conversation 
 was so pleasant and instructive that I forgot about 
 her being a stranger, and she did me ever so much 
 good ; but usually these fashionable calls are so 
 insipid, and the conversation either so trifling or so 
 gossipy, that I always feel condemned after making 
 them." 
 
 "Then I shouldn't make them." 
 
 ' ' O yes, that is all you men know about it. We 
 should have half our neighbors offended if we only 
 returned the pleasant calls." 
 
 /"" Well, then, I suppose what can't be cured must 
 be endured; but it seems to me with a little persever- 
 ance and tact the sensible women might inaugurate a 
 reform in the rriatter of calls, or at least in the con- 
 versation at such times." 
 
 ' ' Yes, and suffer the fate of other lady reformers, 
 be laughed at by one-half the world and make the 
 other half afraid of you. But there goes the tea 
 bell. I guess 1 must have been gossiping, too, for 
 tea is later than usual and I am not through with my 
 complaints yet." 
 
 7
 
 DEAR, I have about come to the con- 
 clusion that it is wicked to be poor!" 
 exclaimed Minnie Ray, a girl of some 
 sixteen Summers, as she entered her mother's 
 sitting-room and threw herself, with a gesture 
 of impatience, into the little rocker by the 
 window. 
 
 Her mother looked up with a surprised, 
 pained expression, and then said, kindly, "My 
 daughter forgets that she is rinding fault with 
 a wise Providence when she talks in that 
 way." 
 
 "Now, mother, you know I don't mean that; 
 but I do get tired of being poor. It has always been 
 'economize' and 'save' ever since" she was going 
 to say, "ever since papa died," but she stopped 
 short, as she glanced at her mother and saw the tears 
 stealing down her cheeks, and the next moment her 
 arms were about her mother's neck, and Minnie was 
 kissing away the tears. 
 
 " O mother, I did n't mean to hurt your feelings; 
 I know you do all you can for me, and I do n't want 
 to seem ungrateful ;' but it is hard to want to go, and 
 can not, because you have nothing fit to wear," and 
 then, as she saw by her mother's face that she did 
 not understand this sudden outbreak, she added, "I
 
 MINNIE'S SELF-DENIAL. . 75 
 
 forgot that I had not told you, but I got this from 
 the post-office, only a little while ago," and she laid 
 a note in her mother's hand, and then seated her- 
 self on a stool at her feet, and watched her as she 
 read. 
 
 It was a note from one of her young friends, with 
 an invitation for herself and her brother Henry to at- 
 tend a small party at her house, the following week. 
 The note mentioned one or two of her particular 
 friends who were expected to be present, and closed 
 with the injunction, "Don't fail to come." 
 ^ Mrs. Ray sat holding the note in her hand for 
 some minutes, without speaking; at last she said, 
 "Perhaps we can manage some way; could you not 
 make over your blue merino, and wear that?" 
 
 "O no, mother! I wore that to almost every 
 party I attended last Winter; and I heard Fannie Mil- 
 ler ask Jane Rivers, the evening of her party, if that 
 'old blue' was all I had.- No, mother, I would rather 
 stay at home than wear that shabby dress." And, 
 gathering up the invitation and note, she left the 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Ray looked after her daughter, and the 
 tears gathered in her eyes. She was a widow, and 
 had seen better days, but Mr. Ray had been unfor- 
 tunate in business, losing all that he had laid up, and, 
 dying shortly after his failure, had left his wife and 
 two children penniless, with the exception of a small 
 cottage, in the suburbs of the town. For two years 
 they had contrived, with Minnie's help, to take in 
 sewing enough to keep them above actual want, and 
 to keep Henry, who was two years older than Min-
 
 76 SJORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 nie, in school, in order that he might fit himself for 
 a clerkship, and thus support his mother and sister ; 
 but it had only been by doing as Minnie had said 
 by economizing and saving. 
 
 At the tea-table nothing was said upon the sub- 
 ject of the party, but Minnie's face bore the traces of 
 tears, and she carried the subject to her bedroom, 
 and revolved it over and over in her mind, as her 
 head rested on the pillow, deciding a half-dozen times 
 to wear last Winter's dress, and as often deciding to 
 stay at home in preference, and finally ended by fall- 
 ing asleep with the matter still unsettled. 
 
 At breakfast Mrs. Ray said: "I have about fif- 
 teen dollars in the drawer, Minnie, which I do not 
 particularly need just now; if you like, you can take 
 that and buy you a dress to wear to the party. I am 
 anxious you should go, and your brother does not 
 wish to go without you, so you had better accept the 
 invitation." 
 
 Minnie's face brightened perceptibly while her 
 mother was speaking, but she hesitated a moment 
 before answering; at last she said: "I do want to 
 go so much, mother, but I feel as if it was hardly 
 right to take your money; I am afraid that you will 
 need it." 
 
 But Mrs. Ray insisted that she did not need the 
 money just then ; and by the next Winter Henry 
 would probably be in a position to earn something. 
 So, thanking her mother, Minnie took the money, 
 and prepared to go out to make the desired purchase, 
 begging her brother to go with her, to help se- 
 lect it
 
 MINNIE'S SELF-DENIAL. 77 
 
 Yielding to her persuasions, Henry put on his 
 hat, and they were soon in the street. 
 
 As they walked along, Minnie tried to entertain 
 her brother, by telling him who were to be present 
 at the coming party. 
 
 "But what is the matter with you? you don't 
 seem half so interested as you did before break- 
 fast" 
 
 "Minnie," said Henry, suddenly, speaking as if 
 he had not heard a word of what his sister had been 
 saying, "do you know what mother was saving that 
 rflohey for?"" 
 
 "No," and Minnie's blue eyes opened wide at 
 the suddenness of the question, " what was it?" 
 
 "She told me last week that she had almost 
 money enough saved to buy herself a new cloak for 
 this Winter, and that her old one was getting so thin 
 that she was not comfortable in it, now that the days 
 were growing colder." 
 
 Minnie's eyes sought the ground, and her step 
 seemed to have suddenly lost its elasticity. At last 
 she said, in a very low tone, " Did mother really say 
 that?" 
 
 "Of course, she did! And you didn't know it? 
 I thought as much when you took the money this 
 morning." 
 
 Minnie's rosy lips quivered, and her eyes looked 
 very misty as her brother stopped talking ; but she 
 looked up at him with sudden resolution in her voice. 
 " I am not going down town this morning." 
 
 Henry Idoked at her in surprise. "Why? what 
 new notion have you taken now?"
 
 78 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "O nothing, only I don't believe I will get the 
 dress to-day; come." 
 
 And almost before her brother was aware of it, 
 their faces were turned homeward. 
 
 At the gate he left her, and went to his school. 
 Minnie walked slowly up the path, and entered the 
 house. Mrs. Ray was busy, at the center-table, ar- 
 ranging the books and papers that had been mis- 
 placed the previous evening, and humming a tune in 
 a low, contented tone. 
 
 Minnie stood looking at her mother's sweet, pa- 
 tient face, for a moment, and then, quickly gliding 
 to her side, putting her arm around her waist, and 
 speaking in a trembling voice, she said: "Mother, 
 how could you give me all your money, when you 
 were needing it yourself?" 
 
 "Why, Minnie, what brought you back so soon? 
 And who told you I needed the money? did I not 
 say I could do without it?" 
 
 "I came back because I am not going to buy a 
 dress, when you need the money for something else. 
 Henry said you were intending to buy a cloak for 
 yourself, as soon as you could save enough. No," 
 as her mother drew back her hand as Minnie tried to 
 put the money in it, "you must take it back; in- 
 deed, I could not wear the dress if I should get it, 
 knowing that you were needing a cloak to keep you 
 warm ; no, mother dear, I am not so selfish as that, 
 if I am a little vain sometimes." 
 
 Thus entreated, Mrs. Ray took the money from 
 her daughter's hand, and then, folding her lovingly 
 in her arms, imprinted a kiss upon the upturned face.
 
 MINNIE'S SELF-DENIAL. - 79 
 
 Minnie slipped quietly from her mother's arms, 
 and went to her own room, feeling far happier than 
 when she started out to buy the coveted dress. 
 
 She took down the blue merino, and looked it 
 over. It did not look half so "shabby" as it did 
 the evening before. 
 
 " I do believe that I can fix it so that it will do 
 to wear," Minnie said aloud; and then, in a lower 
 tone, "How selfish mother and Henry must have 
 thought me; but," as if in apology for herself, 
 "mother never complains, and how could I know 
 j,kat her cloak was not warm enough?" 
 
 Minnie remodeled the merino, and the bright, 
 glad look with which her brother greeted her as she 
 entered the little sitting-room with it on, ready to 
 accompany him to her friend's house, on the evening 
 of the party, was reward enough for all her self-de- 
 nial. And when, outside the gate, her brother drew 
 her arm within his own, and said, in a low, loving tone, 
 "My little sister is dearer to me in what she calls her 
 shabby merino than if she had purchased a new dress 
 at the cost of mother's comfort and health," her cup 
 of happiness was full. 
 
 The evening passed off pleasantly, even though 
 some of the company were better dressed than she ; 
 and as she hung the dress in its accustomed place 
 that night, she made up her mind that, after all, real 
 happiness did not consist in dressing better than her 
 companions, but in doing right, and thinking of oth- 
 ers' comfort more than her own gratification.
 
 ]V[RS. CLAYTON'S S^XPERIMEHT. 
 
 HAT have you been doing to-day that you 
 are so tired?" asked Frank Clayton one 
 evening, as he glanced at his wife's flushed 
 face and heard the little, tired sigh. " It seems 
 |J[ to me that, with only our two selves in family, 
 you do not need to work so hard or seem so 
 tired as you do every evening lately." 
 
 " O, the house-work is not much, but the 
 sewing thrown in with it makes it rather heavy 
 sometimes ; and just now my Spring dresses are 
 to make, and last year's ones to make over, 
 making extra work at present. But I will soon 
 be through, and then I shall have a little rest." 
 
 "But, Mary, why not put 'your dresses out, and 
 have them made up, and so get rid of the worry? 
 I would rather pay for having them made than to see 
 you looking so worn and tired every night." 
 
 ' ' O dear, that is all you know about it ! With 
 your salary, if I should hire my dresses made, there 
 would be nothing left to buy the next ones ; for it 
 costs almost as much to get axlress made in the pres- 
 ent style as it does to buy the material ; and when I 
 hire them made up, it takes almost as much time 
 running back and forth every day as it would if I did 
 the work myself." 
 
 " Well, then, why not make them plainer, and so
 
 MRS. CLAYTON'S EXPERIMENT. 81 
 
 save time ? How long have you been at work on 
 your Spring and Summer dresses?" 
 
 " Two weeks." 
 
 "And how long before you will be through?" 
 
 "About three weeksJ' 
 
 ' ' Two and three are five. Five weeks of hard 
 work over patterns and sewing-machines and all in 
 order that you may be fashionably dressed ! Fie, fie, 
 wife! I thoughfyou had a stronger head than that." 
 And Frank Clayton leaned back in his easy chair, 
 and laughed heartily at the foolishness of women. 
 *~"' But, Frank," pleaded his wife when his mirth 
 had subsided a little, "you like to see me .well 
 dressed, I am sure ; and I dress more to please you 
 than any one else." 
 
 " But why can't you be well dressed, as you call 
 it, without so many furbelows and frizzes ? Why, 
 you must have spent an hour in getting your hair 
 into that wonderful state of confusion. Very becom- 
 ing, I admit ; but where is the use of it ? I shall 
 like you just as well in a plain dress and smoothly 
 combed hair as I do in flounces and frizzes. And, 
 then, there is the extra amount of cooking you 
 women do. It seems to me that it is a sort of 
 strife to see who can do the most unnecessary work. 
 If you women would dress plainer, and could be 
 content to put plain food on your tables, we hus- 
 bands would hear less about tired and overworked 
 wives?" 
 
 Having delivered himself of this wise little speech, 
 Mr. Clayton drew up a hassock, and placed his slip- 
 pered feet upon it, and was soon deep in the "latest
 
 82 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 from Washington." Mrs. Clayton gave a little sigh, 
 as if his argument was unanswerable, and then took 
 up her basting, so that she might have a little work 
 "ready for the machine" on the morrow.' 
 
 Frank Clayton had been married two years, and 
 was living very comfortably on a salary of twelve 
 hundred a year. Mrs. Clayton, with a desire to help 
 her husband, kept no "girl," but did all her work, 
 except the washing and ironing. It was hard work, 
 for she had not been accustomed to the care of a 
 house ; but when she compared her little home with 
 that of her neighbors and friends, she had the satis- 
 factipn of knowing that, although her furniture was 
 not so costly or her house so large, it was just as 
 neat and tasty. 
 
 The next morning after Frank's little lecture, just 
 as he had said good-bye and started for the office, he 
 stopped, with his hand on the gate, and called out 
 pleasantly : " I forgot to tell you I saw Will Hartley 
 yesterday, and invited him to dine with us to-day. 
 Of course you will be glad to see him." And, with 
 a light laugh, he closed tne gate, and went down 
 street. 
 
 Now, Will Hartley was an old friend of Mary's ; 
 in fact, Frank had felt very much inclined to be jeal- 
 ous of him during courting days. Mary turned from 
 the door with an impatient gesture. "I declare it is 
 too bad, when I am so busy ! I wonder if Frank 
 ever thinks it is any work for me to have company to 
 dinner two or three days out of a week?" Then, 
 with a mischievous smile: " I know what I will do. 
 I will dress plainly and cook a plain dinner. That
 
 MRS. CLAYTON'S EXPERIMENT. 83 
 
 was his own advice. I will try it once, and see how 
 he will like it." 
 
 As her dinner progressed, Mary felt strongly 
 tempted to make a pudding, or some extra dish that 
 she had been accustomed to make for her husband's 
 dinner. Mr. Hartley had praised the puddings and 
 pies at her mother's table ; and now, if those things 
 were missing from hers, he would think she did not 
 know how to make them. However, she put the 
 temptation aside, and provided a plain dinner, with- 
 out pudding or pies. When all was ready, she went 
 to-Jier room. to "dress for dinner." Selecting one 
 of her school dresses, that had been laid by because 
 it was out of style, she dressed herself in it, and 
 smiled as she saw how old-fashioned she looked with- 
 out flounce or overskirt. Then, instead of the usual 
 dainty ruche and bright ribbon, she pinned on a plain 
 linen collar. Her hair she twisted, not in a mag- 
 nificent coil about her classic head for there was not 
 enough of it for that but in a little knot at the back 
 of her head, or, more correctly speaking, at the back 
 of her neck, and then took a glance into her mirror 
 to see the effect. It must be confessed it was rather 
 a sickly smile that greeted the plain little figure in the 
 glass ; but she determined to carry out her pro- 
 gramme, " even if Mr. Hartley does think me a guy." 
 
 Just then she heard a voice in the hall, and in a 
 moment she was shaking hands with Will Hartley, 
 and watching her husband to see if he noticed the 
 change in her dress. He did notice it, and gave a 
 little start, and his cheeks flushed for an instant ; for 
 he had pictured to himself how he would quietly
 
 84 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 triumph over his bachelor friend, as Mary, daintily 
 attired, should do the honors of mistress of his little 
 establishment. As for Hartley, he looked a little sur- 
 prised at first, and the glance he bestowed on Mrs. 
 Clayton said plainer than he was aware, ' ' What a 
 change !" 
 
 After a few moments' chat Mary led the way to 
 the dining-room. The meal passed off pleasantly, 
 only after Frank had made a very good dinner he 
 shoved back his plate and sat as if waiting for some- 
 thing more. But Mary was, apparently, too much 
 engaged in relating some incident of school days to 
 notice the silent hint. At last he said in a low tone, 
 "Ready for the pudding, Mary." But Mary only 
 replied indifferently, as if it were not a matter of any 
 consequence, 
 
 "There is no pudding to-day," and continued her 
 story, utterly regardless of her husband's blank look. 
 
 As they left the table and repaired to the sitting- 
 room Frank thought, "Now she will change her 
 dress and show Hartley that she is just as pretty as 
 she was three years ago. " But he was disappointed 
 in this, for Mrs. Clayton soon appeared in the same 
 dress she had worn at dinner. Hartley asked for 
 music, and she seated herself at the piano and sang 
 and played as merrily as if she were dressed in the 
 extreme of fashion. Mr. Hartley soon took leave of 
 his hostess, and Clayton accompanied him down 
 town, promising to be home early. 
 
 On his return he found her reading a new book, 
 and dressed in the identical garb she had worn at 
 dinner.
 
 MRS. CLAYTON'S EXPERIMENT. 85 
 
 "Are you sick to-day?" asked Frank in an anx- 
 ious tone, as he seated himself by her side. 
 
 Mary answered pleasantly, ' ' No, I never felt bet- 
 ter in my life." 
 
 "Then what in the name of goodness is the mat- 
 ter?" asked Frank in an injured tone; "I expected 
 you would take extra pains to look well when you 
 knew Hartley was coming, but instead of that I 
 never saw you look so dowdyish." 
 
 "O no, not dowdyish; I am sure I was aeat 
 and clean." 
 
 , *'O yes, neat and clean enough, I suppose, but 
 your hair looks just like Biddy Malone's, only not 
 quite so frowsy." 
 
 "Mary drew half a sigh, and said innocently, "I 
 am sure I thought you would be pleased." 
 
 "Pleased!" echoed Clayton. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Why, only last night you lectured me on the 
 vanity of dress, and said you would like me just as 
 well dressed plainly as in flounces and frizzes. 
 
 "O!" fairly gasped Frank, as the truth began to 
 dawn upon him. "And so you thought you would 
 try plain dressing and cooking, did you?". Then 
 seeing he, was cornered, he added humbly, "Well, I 
 do think you women might do with less of such 
 work, but you went to extremes, which was hardly 
 fair, especially when an old friend was coming, and 
 you must have known that I wanted you to do 
 your best." 
 
 "How unreasonable you are! I never tried 
 harder to be agreeable in my life."
 
 86 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "I know it, but I couldn't enjoy any thing for 
 looking at your dress. And then that song, I sup- 
 pose under other circumstances I should have enjoyed 
 it; as it was I didn't understand three consecutive 
 words for looking at that knot on the back of your 
 neck," and looking up he caught the merry twinkle 
 of his wife's eye, and laughed in spite of himself. 
 
 "So you don't want me to dress in this style, 
 nor omit the pudding and pies at dinner any more?" 
 asked Mary demurely. 
 
 " O, you can leave off the pies and pudding 
 when we are alone, if you like, but I should not be 
 willing to have you adopt your present style of dress 
 even if no one saw you but myself," responded 
 Clayton meekly. 
 
 "Then I suppose I may return to my flounces 
 and frizzes; and for my part. I shall not be sorry, but 
 I am afraid if all husbands are like you a woman's 
 crusade against dress would not prove as successful 
 as their crusade against whisky has proved." And 
 so ended Mrs. Clayton's experiment in dress and 
 cooking reform. '
 
 COMPANY'S x^AKE. 
 
 RED MELTON had been in the village 
 
 of S a little over a year, when his 
 
 old friend and college chum, Clark Lis- 
 ton, passed through the place and called to see 
 him. Listen's parents were well to do and 
 had given their son the benefit of their means 
 in educating and training him for business, and 
 while they were doing this they had not neg- 
 lected the more important part, the religious 
 Jf culture. Fred Melton had been trained with 
 ^ equal care, morally and intellectually, but at 
 y the close of his school days his father died, leav- 
 ing but little of this world's goods, and Fred sud- 
 denly found himself thrown upon his own resources, 
 with a mother and sister looking to him for support. 
 He accordingly sought and obtained a situation in 
 
 S as clerk for a dry-goods merchant, and there 
 
 young Liston found him. Melton's joy was un- 
 bounded at the sight of his old friend, and as it was 
 near the hour of closing up, he insisted on taking 
 his friend with him to his own room, that he might 
 enjoy his company undisturbed. Once inside his 
 own room, he turned to his friend, as he gave him a 
 chair, with, "Liston, old chum, it's good of you to 
 remember a fellow this way. I have been thinking 
 of you to-day, and wishing we could have an old-
 
 88 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 time chat, but I did n't know where you were, and 
 then since father's death every thing is so different 
 with us, that I didn't know but you had forgotten 
 me," with a sigh. 
 
 "Our school-days were too pleasant to allow me 
 to forget so soon, Fred," replied Listen, warmly; 
 "but between business and 'society,' I have been 
 too busy to visit you until now, and now we are to- 
 gether let 's not waste time in regrets. Suppose we 
 compare notes. How has time served you?" 
 
 "O, well enough," and Fred Melton turned his 
 eyes on the blaze of the little grate as he leaned back 
 in the chair he had drawn near his friend. Some- 
 thing in the voice more than the words caused Listen 
 to look up into his friend's face inquiringly, but see- 
 ing he was not inclined to pursue the subject he 
 changed the conversation from themselves to sketch- 
 ing some of their old associates, and so the evening 
 passed away very pleasantly, although they were 
 twice interrupted by raps at the door, which Melton 
 answered by stepping into the hall and closing the 
 door after him, conversing with the caller in low 
 tones. Clark Liston said nothing, but the evening's 
 intercourse showed him too plainly that his friend 
 was not the Fred Melton of a year and a half ago. 
 The next morning being Sabbath, Liston inquired 
 where his friend attended Church. 
 
 "At the Methodist, when I go at all. Don't 
 
 attend very regularly; but of course you want to go." 
 
 And so they went. The bright, clear morning, 
 
 the cool, bracing air, and the ringing of church bells, 
 
 all tended to fill the minds of the two friends with
 
 FOR COMPANY'S SAKE. 89 
 
 thoughts of Him who had made the Sabbath for his 
 children. The sermon was plain and practical, with- 
 out effort at rhetoric or oratory. The services over, 
 Melton turned to go, but Listen said, 
 
 ' ' Wait a moment, I want to speak to the min- 
 ister. " 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked Melton, in a tone 
 of surprise. 
 
 "No, but I mean to; I have enjoyed his sermon 
 and I wish to tell him so." 
 
 "Well, you will have to introduce yourself, for I 
 an*, not acquainted with him." And then, as he 
 noticed his friend's surprised look, he laughed a little 
 uneasily, and turned to watch the congregation as 
 they passed out. After a few pleasant words with 
 the pastor the two young men wended their way, 
 almost silently, to the boarding-house. After dinner, 
 when they were once more in Melton's room, Clark 
 Listen turned to his friend and asked, 
 
 " Fred, how is this? What has changed you so?" 
 
 Melton laughed lightly. "Changed! How?" 
 
 "You know what I mean? You are not what 
 you were eighteen months ago.". For some mo- 
 ments the two sat in silence. Then Melton said, 
 
 " Well, chum, you are just like you always were, 
 reading a fellow whether he wants you to or not. 
 It is true that I am not just what I was when you 
 and I left school." 
 
 "But how did it happen? Why are you dif- 
 ferent?" 
 
 " Well, Clark, I may as well tell you first as last; 
 may be I shall feel better if I do ; and your coming
 
 po STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 has brought back old times so fresh that I have been 
 hearing home voices all day. But, I suppose, with 
 your strict notions of Christian courage and manli- 
 ness, you will despise me when you hear what I 
 have to tell, and I have gone further back than you 
 think. To-day is the first time in six months that I 
 have been to Church, and if it hadn't been for you 
 I should n't have gone to-day. I had arranged for 
 a good time in a different way, but your coming put 
 a stop to it. I am not sorry though, and Clark, I 
 may as well make a clean breast of it, I have not 
 been as strictly temperate as you and I were taught 
 to be in the good old times.-" 
 
 Clark looked up at his friend, his face full of 
 reproach, " O, Fred, how could you?" 
 
 "Now please, chum, don't scold, or I shall never 
 get through. I did n't intend it, and the fact is, you 
 do n't know any thing about it. You never had to 
 go among strangers, without money or position, and 
 with nothing but your face to recommend you." 
 
 "Where was your Church letter?" asked Listen, 
 without looking up. 
 
 "I carried it to Church for a few Sabbaths, but 
 there was no opportunity offered to hand it in, and 
 so I laid it away." 
 
 "But didn't you find friends?" 
 
 ' ' Not such as could be called real friends, nor 
 such as you would care to associate with. I went to 
 Church and Sabbath-school for nearly three months, 
 and was as much a stranger at the close as on the 
 first Sabbath. Not a soul seemed interested in me, 
 or seemed to care whether I was a Christian or a
 
 FOR COMPANY'S SAKE. 91 
 
 reprobate, and finally I left off going altogether, and 
 took Sunday walks instead ; and I found plenty of 
 company, too." 
 
 "But, Fred Melton, you knew better than that," 
 and Listen spoke impatiently. 
 
 "Of course I did. But, Liston, I tell you, you 
 can 't understand until you are in my place. You 
 have never known what it is to be hungry for friends. 
 Your money and your family have carried, you right 
 along. I was a stranger, and the church going peo- 
 ple only stared at me, and I doubt whether they 
 ven asked -their neighbors who I was. I have to 
 stay in the store until respectable people have closed 
 their doors. After nine and ten at night one does n't 
 find very choice company on the streets or in the 
 hotel bar-rooms. I did n't enjoy it at first, and I 
 do n't yet, but what can I do? I must have company 
 of some kind. One can 't always mope. I hear 
 that my employer has a pleasant family, but he has 
 never invited me to his house. I do n't blame him 
 now, for I am scarcely a suitable companion for 
 either his sons or daughters. I have not been in- 
 vited to a single home since I have been here, but I 
 have been invited to brilliant halls and other places for 
 gambling; and I have gone there, too, though I have 
 never taken part except for amusement. I suppose 
 if Mr. Wilson knew that I frequented such places, 
 he would turn me* off. If he should I am ruined, 
 and sometimes I feel as if I didn't care how soon," 
 he added desperately. 
 
 Clark Liston had risen from his chair, while 
 his friend was talking, and, laying his hand upon
 
 92 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 his shoulder, and with a voice in which pity and re- 
 proach were mingled, said: "Fred, I can not tell 
 you how sorry I am to hear this of you." 
 
 "And / intended to keep it from you, but I 
 could n't. We always told each other every thing, 
 you know; and I was so hungry for a friend. The 
 company I keep are not friends, Clark. I have not 
 seen a person to whom I would tell my heart-thoughts 
 since I left home. I have sometimes wished I could 
 drink like some of the rest, and forget all" about it; 
 but I haven't got that far yet." 
 
 "No; and, by the grace of God, you never 
 shall," and Clark Liston's voice had a ring in it that 
 made Melton look up in surprise. "Fred Melton, 
 you are too good a man to sink for want of friends. 
 Do you remember the pledge we took when we en- 
 tered college? We promised always to stand by 
 each other, no difference what happened." 
 
 "But what can you do?" and Melton's voice 
 sounded hopeless enough. " I can not afford to give 
 up my situation, for my mother and sister need my 
 wages ; you can 't stay here, to watch/ over me. and 
 I am too weak and miserable to overcome alone." 
 
 "And you need not be alone. You know where 
 you used to go for strength ; go to Him again. Go 
 as you used to, Fred, and ask him to help you to stand, 
 even though you should be denied an earthly friend. 
 Come, let us ask him now." .- 
 
 For a moment, Melton hesitated, but at last 
 bmved with his friend, with a heart broken and con- 
 trite. Then Listen prayed. In a voice almost as 
 tender as a mother's, he talked with God, pleading
 
 FOR COMPANY'S SAKE. 93- 
 
 that his friend might have strength to overcome. 
 When they rose from their knees, Melton was 
 sobbing like a child. After he had grojvn calmer, 
 Liston proposed visiting the pastor to whom they 
 had listened in the morning. Fred objected, but his 
 friend insisted. 
 
 ' ' I can not leave you as lonely as I found you, 
 Fred ; I want you to have at least one earthly friend 
 to whom you can go, and Mr. H. is a true Christian, 
 or I am no judge of faces." 
 
 They found the minister in his study, and were 
 A^armly welcomed. Liston briefly stated his friend's 
 case, and found in the pastor a ready listener and 
 sympathizer. 
 
 And when the two young men returned to their 
 lodgings, they talked long and earnestly of the past 
 and future, and covenanted anew to pray for each 
 other, that they might be strengthened to withstand 
 temptation, in any form or from whatever source. 
 
 Before retiring, Melton said : ' ' Clark, I feel that 
 something is due Mr. Wilson ; he has trusted me, and 
 I have deceived him into thinking I keep regular 
 hours ; will you go with me, in the morning, while I 
 tell him about it?" 
 
 ' ' No, Fred ; go alone. It will be better for you 
 to go to him and make a full confession." 
 
 ' ' Perhaps I shall lose my situation ; he is very 
 strict." 
 
 "I do not think you need fear; but, even then, 
 you had better do it. Start fair and square, and you 
 will stand a better chance for the future. Father 
 says, 'Nothing is so heavy to carry as a secret.'"
 
 94 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Well, chum, I'll try. And I want to thank 
 you for your kindness ; and I shall feel grateful to 
 my heavenly Father for sending you to visit me. 
 Yesterday I was desperate enough to do almost any 
 thing ; to-night I am happier than I have been for 
 months. I shall burn my Church-letter, for I am 
 not worthy of- it; but I shall unite with the Church, 
 as I did at first. By and by, when I am stronger, I 
 will write mother all about it. " 
 
 In the morning the friends separated Listen to 
 continue his journey, while Melton took his place, as 
 usual, in the store. When Mr. Wilson came to the 
 store, about nine o'clock, Melton asked for a private 
 interview, which was readily granted ; and then, with 
 burning cheeks, but with a firm will, he told his em- 
 ployer of his course in the past few months, keeping 
 back nothing. 
 
 As he recounted his lonely hours, and his efforts 
 to confine himself to books, in the absence of other 
 company, his employer listened with surprise. It 
 had never entered his mind that the young man who 
 had been so faithful to his business, could be passing 
 through such temptation, and sinking beneath it. 
 He had recommended him to a respectable boarding- 
 house, paid his wages regularly, and considered his 
 duty toward his clerk at an end ; and yet Mr. Wilson 
 was rather above the average Christian in most things. 
 But his clerk's confession made a deep impression, 
 and he more readily forgave his wrong-doing, feeling 
 that himself, with others of his Church, were in a 
 great measure to blame for it. 
 
 The next Sabbath, Fred Melton again gave his
 
 FOR COMPANY'S SAKE. 
 
 95 
 
 name to the Church, and reconsecrated himself to 
 God, and, through the kindness of his pastor and em- 
 ployer, he had no reason to go in forbidden paths in 
 search of friends. 
 
 Six months later, in a letter to his friend Listen, 
 he wrote: "I thank God every day for your visit of 
 last Winter. I wish Christians could realize how 
 many young men are going to ruin for the same 
 reason that came so near being my destruction. Of 
 course, I ought to have been strong enough to with- 
 stand the temptation ; but I was not. I have talked 
 with several of my old associates, in the past few 
 months, and they nearly all seem to have fallen into 
 bad habits from the same reason nowhere else to go. 
 You have, through God's grace, been the means of 
 saving me from ruin ; and I am trying to repay you 
 and him by trying to reclaim others. I spent last 
 evening at Mr. Wilson's ; his family are all Chris- 
 tians, and I feel very grateful to them for their kind- 
 ness to me and their faith in me. May my heavenly 
 Father keep me from bet/aying their confidence. 
 One thing I have determined on: if ever I have a 
 home of my own, I will not close it against the 
 homeless."
 
 ffioUCH - ME -J^OTS. 
 
 ^ETURNING from a trip down town this 
 morning after our Church festival, I met 
 my neighbor and sister in the Church, 
 Mrs. Jones; and after the first salutations I 
 remarked with probably an interrogation point 
 in my voice: "I didn't see you at our festival 
 last night. I counted on you as one of the 
 helpers." 
 
 "No, we were not there. No one said any 
 thing to me about it, and I did n't propose to 
 crowd my company or help where I was not 
 wanted." 
 
 "Whyv" Tsaid, stammering for very surprise, -" I 
 thought every body was solicited to bake or con- 
 tribute something." 
 
 "Well, yes, I believe the girls did call on me to 
 bake a cake, and I thought then that I would, but 
 the Church just treated us as if we were not mem- 
 bers at all. No one asked me to help or asked my 
 advice, or even invited us to attend; and I told Mr. 
 Jones, if the Church could get along without us, I 
 guess we could get along without it, and we stayed 
 at home." 
 
 "But, sister Jones, didn't you hear the announce- 
 ment from the pulpit on Sabbath, when the minister 
 invited all to attend?"
 
 TOUCH- ME-Nors. 97 
 
 "O, yes," with a little toss of the head; "but 
 we don't go on invitations that were made for every 
 body Tom, Dick, and Harry, and their families. 
 If we were wanted, why didn't somebody say so?" 
 And Mrs. Jones looked the picture of offended dignity. 
 
 "Well, I am sure, I don't know. I was not on 
 the committee of arrangements, but if I had been I 
 would have as soon thought of sending an invitation 
 to myself as to you. This was a Church affair, and 
 I thought you were a part of the Church, and of 
 course you would not wait for a special invitation." 
 ,~-"If my services were worth having, they were 
 worth asking for; and I don't crowd myself on peo- 
 ple, as I said before." 
 
 "I am sure, sister Jones, no offense was in- 
 tended," I pleaded. "I suppose the committee did 
 not think." 
 
 "O it didn't matter at all; if they can live with- 
 out our help it's all right." However, Mrs. Jones's 
 look and tone indicated that it made a great deal of 
 difference to her, and that it would require some 
 coaxing to smooth her injured feelings. 
 
 I went home "blue" and out of sorts, for I had 
 considered our festival a success, at least as much so 
 as hard work, late supper, and late hours could make 
 it. "Net receipts one hundred and ten dollars, and 
 nobody offended either," I had said to my husband, 
 triumphantly, only two short hours before. He, the 
 wiseacre, had smiled a little increduously, and said 
 !with a patronizing air, "Wait a little, my dear, the 
 returns are not all in yet." And now here was sister 
 Jones, cross as it was possible for a Methodist of 
 9
 
 98 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 twenty-five years' standing to be, and that we all 
 know is sufficiently cross to be interesting, to say 
 the least. At any rate, she had spoiled my peace of 
 mind, as Bridget would say, "intirely." 
 
 How could I tell husband about it? I knew he 
 would only smile as usual, and say, "Of course, 
 such affairs always offend somebody." And, sure 
 enough, when I reported our conversation for I had 
 to tell some one to relieve my own mind he made 
 almost the very comment that I had framed for him. 
 
 "But," I remonstrated, "it is perfectly absurd 
 for sister Jones to expect me to coax her to take 
 part in our Church entertainments. She has been in 
 the Church longer than any woman who worked there 
 all day, and nearly all night, to make the festival a 
 success. I think it is too ridiculous." 
 
 "O yes, I know it; but she makes the fact of 
 her having been in the Church so long the very reason 
 why she should have received special attention. She 
 and her sister, Mrs. Green, will not come to Sabbath- 
 school because the superintendent has not solicited 
 them to take a class." 
 
 "Perhaps that is the reason broth'er Jones does n't 
 come to class, because you did n't appoint him 
 leader," I said, a little spitefully. 
 
 "Precisely, my dear; and they make things 
 pretty close for me, because I do n't appreciate their 
 talents. My salary will fall short, probably, on ac- 
 count of their influence against me. Besides, they 
 are making themselves quite unhappy over the slights 
 they imagine they have received from some of the 
 Church members."
 
 TOUCH-ME-NOTS. 99 
 
 ' ' O dear ! what does ail them, any way ? It 's 
 enough to provoke a saint!" and I groaned in des- 
 peration." 
 
 ' ' O, there is nothing very particular the matter 
 with them, only they imagine themselves of greater 
 importance than they really are, and they also imag- 
 ine there is a conspiracy on the part of. the Church 
 to depreciate their value ; and so they feel called 
 upon to stand guard over their rights and privileges. 
 They are so afraid that others will not recognize their 
 rights that they are on a continual watch for evidence 
 Qf^ neglect or lack of appreciation, and so keep 
 themselves in a fume and fret all the time. I have 
 to call on their families about twice as often as any 
 others, or they feel neglected." 
 
 "Yes, I know that; and sister Jones counts every 
 call I make at Mrs. R. 's, just opposite the Jones's. 
 Not more than two weeks ago she took occasion to 
 hint that it was not good policy for the pastor's wife 
 to visit outsiders oftener than she did the Church 
 members. I can 't see why people should be so fussy. 
 It just provokes me." And I presume I looked just 
 a little fussy, too, at that time. 
 
 Husband said soothingly: "I wouldn't let it 
 provoke me, if I were you. It 's just their nature, I 
 guess. They are over-sensitive, and they are not 
 over-sensible, and they let little things annoy them 
 or, rather, they magnify the motes until they look 
 immense beams and they are thoroughly unhappy 
 themselves, and certain to make a goodly number of 
 the community and Church uncomfortable, if not 
 unhappy."
 
 ioo STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 ' ' But why do n't you tell them how foolishly they 
 act, and try to mend their ways?" 
 
 "Because they would only take that as an addi- 
 tional proof that I was taking sides against them, and 
 would only make matters worse for them and also 
 for myself." 
 
 " How can you put up with them? Don't they 
 worry you?" and then I laughed just a little at the 
 absurdity of my questioning. 
 
 Of course it worried him. Did n't I remember 
 how awfully solemn he always looked on his return 
 from a visit to the Joneses or Greens? And didn't 
 I know that sisters Jones and Green always made it 
 a rule to talk of their grievances every time they 
 called at the parsonage, until I felt, after each visit, 
 as if I was just recovering from an attack of neu- 
 ralgia. "Why will such people worry themselves 
 and every one else about such trifles ?" 
 
 "I think they started wrong in the first place," 
 said husband, thoughtfully, as he took up his pen 
 a hint of passing time, I suppose. "They seem to 
 have come into the Church under the impression that 
 they were conferring a great honor upon it ; and, 
 therefore, they expect special deference to be shown 
 them. They are sort of spiritual invalids, or infants, 
 whom the Church is bound to humor and amuse. 
 Instead of being independent, and taking care of 
 themselves, and working for the advancement of the 
 cause of Christ, they labor for their own advance- 
 ment. Instead of asking, ' What can I do to build 
 up the temporal or spiritual interests of the Church?' 
 they are watching to see if their own interests are
 
 TOUCH-ME-NOTS. 101 
 
 considered sufficiently by their brothers and sisters. 
 There is an old saying that the happiest people are 
 those who live to make others happy ; but the Jones 
 and Green class seem not to appreciate the senti- 
 ment, if they ever heard of it. The question with 
 them seems to be, Does the Church show a proper 
 appreciation of me and my talents ? And, according 
 to their notion, the Church is very blind, and they 
 are unhappy over it. But, if I were you, I would n't 
 worry over it at all. Just let sister Jones alone, and 
 go on your way, and ten years from now you will be 
 jujSt as happy as if sister Jones had been sweet and 
 pleasant." 
 
 And, with this consoling speech, the pastor turned 
 to his writing-desk, and the pastor's wife to her house- 
 keeping ; but she could not help saying, as a sort of 
 last word: "Well, I wish there were more earnest 
 workers in the Church, and fewer touch-me-nots."
 
 MHOSE 
 
 HOME should be a refuge, a haven of 
 rest, a sort of paradise for every member 
 of the family ; and in order that all may 
 feel at home it should be the business of each 
 member of the family not of the housewife 
 only to assist in making home pleasant, a 
 place to be desired and longed for. 
 
 Not only should there be suitable food pro- 
 vided in a proper manner although that is very 
 necessary but the numerous little things that 
 combine to make home pleasant should not be 
 forgotten. There are families who have plenty 
 of means, who build a comfortable house, who fur- 
 nish a parlor and a spare bedroom or two, with 
 elegant furniture and carpets, and then shut them up, 
 to be opened only when visitors come, while the rest 
 of the house is furnished but meanly, not at all in 
 keeping with the "company rooms." The family 
 spend their evenings in the dining-room, or too fre- 
 quently the kitchen, while the parlor, with its costly 
 furnishing, grows moldy or dusty for want of use. 
 
 While spending a few weeks with a friend once, 
 we called in company upon a mutual friend, whom I 
 had not met for some years, and, while waiting" for 
 the lady to make her appearance, the husband, who 
 chanced to be slightly indisposed, and had stayed at
 
 THOSE PARLORS. 103 
 
 home that afternoon, came into the parlor to enter- 
 tain us. The room was so dark that, for a few 
 minutes, we could scarcely distinguish each other's 
 features. The gentleman looked about the room at 
 the closed shutters and drawn blinds, and apologized 
 for the darkness ; yet he apparently did not feel 
 enough at home to open the shutters or withdraw 
 the blinds. 
 
 After our eyes had become accustomed to the 
 gloom, so that we could distinguish objects a little 
 more clearly, we crossed the room to examine some 
 engravings on the wall, and remarked upon their 
 beauty. To which the gentleman replied, in an in- 
 different tone: "O yes, they are rather fine; but I 
 scarcely ever see them. In fact, I believe I have not 
 been in this room more than two or three times in 
 the past year. My wife receives calls here, and the 
 girls spend an evening here occasionally with some 
 of their friends ; and I believe that is about all the 
 use we have for a parlor." And yet he was a man 
 past the middle age, who had toiled hard all his life 
 to acquire the means to live independently, and was 
 still toiling to keep up appearances and to purchase 
 luxuries that he never enjoyed. 
 
 I looked at his silvered hair and stooping form, 
 and thought: "Is it right for father and mother to 
 work hard all their lives, merely that they may build 
 a handsome house and furnish its parlors for the com- 
 fort of comparative strangers, while they shut them- 
 selves up in two or three gloomy back-rooms until 
 they are totally unfit to enjoy the comforts they have 
 worked for?"
 
 104 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 It is probable that his wife and daughters received 
 fashionable calls there ; fashionable young men, prob- 
 ably, spent their evenings lolling on the luxurious 
 sofas, talking nonsense to his daughters, while a seat 
 in the dining-room was all he expected, and no one 
 seemed to think it worth while to open the parlor or 
 piano for "father's" comfort or amusement. It was 
 as much the fault of the father, perhaps, as of any 
 one else, but a mistake nevertheless. 
 
 Who is it that can not call to remembrance a half 
 hour spent in one of those gloomy, sepulchral "best 
 rooms," where the husband, if he chanced to come 
 in, would sit down on the cushioned chairs as gin- 
 gerly as if he were afraid they would crumble be- 
 neath him ? where the children would eye each ar- 
 ticle on the table and "what-not" as eagerly as if 
 they saw them for the first, and where even the 
 housewife herself felt ill at ease ? 
 
 If home comforts are worth any thing at all, they 
 ought to be so to our own families. Public opinion 
 would condemn the man who would furnish pleasant 
 rooms for his neighbor's wife and children, for fash- 
 ionable young men to lounge in, while his own family 
 were not allowed to enjoy them ; and public opinion 
 ought to disapprove of the course of the wife and 
 mother, who, after her husband has provided her 
 with a comfortable home, and even luxuries, should 
 refuse, through pride or a mistaken economy, to use 
 and enjoy them with her husband and children. 
 
 It is often, however, as much the fault of the 
 husband as the wife, by insisting, after he has fur- 
 nished the costly rooms, that he doesn't "care for
 
 THOSE PARLORS. 105 
 
 such privacy," or that he has "no time for luxuries." 
 If we can not afford to have such luxuries, and use 
 them, let us have the courage to do without them 
 until we can afford them. 
 
 As we ought to love our own companion and our 
 own children better than any one else, so we ought 
 to strive more for their happiness. The family that 
 settles down in the kitchen for the evening, or never 
 tries to surround its every-day life with little comforts 
 and works of requirement, will show it when its mem- 
 bers mingle in society. If we want our children to 
 b^easy and graceful in our neighbor's parlor, we 
 must help them to cultivate ease and grace at home. 
 
 It is not absolutely necessary to have elegant 
 homes in order to the cultivation of elegant or pleas- 
 ant manners. Some would fail to attain to -them in 
 any home. But let our leisure hours be spent in 
 neat and orderly rooms in our parlor, if we have 
 one. If not, let us make our rooms as pleasant as 
 we can, making it a rule that our own loved ones 
 shall have the best rooms and the best comforts that 
 we can afford to give them ; teaching our children to 
 be polite by being polite to them ; and there will be 
 an air of taste and refinement about our families that 
 will amply repay us for any sacrifice we may make. 
 
 If homes were all that their names signify, if the 
 time and money spent for the pleasures and enter- 
 tainment of fashionable acquaintances were expended 
 in cultivating a taste for home pleasures, and in mak- 
 ing home attractive, there would be fewer young men 
 spending their evenings at billiard-saloons, and fathers 
 would find home more attractive than the club-room.
 
 M 
 
 HE 
 
 kHAT preacher's wife has ever forgotten 
 it ? You go to Church in the morning 
 with all the memories of last Sabbath and 
 last conference year clinging to you in spite of 
 yourself. 
 
 You enter God's house with a sort of vague 
 feeling of utter loneliness, yet with an instinct- 
 ive consciousness that all eyes are upon you. 
 
 You seat yourself and try to lift your 
 JL thoughts heavenward. But you can not pray 
 T with that feeling of rest and contentment that 
 *" you could in the old church which has grown 
 familiar to you by two or three years of prayer, con- 
 flict, and faith. 
 
 While you are striving to collect your thoughts, 
 which are "backward straying," your husband rises 
 from his seat in the pulpit, and announces the hymn, 
 a song of thanksgiving and praise. Ah, you can 
 join in that, for God's praise is the same wherever 
 his people are gathered together. And when the 
 choir strike the verse 
 
 " God is our sun, he makes our day, 
 God is our shield, he guards our way," 
 
 you join in with a glad heart. Glad that in the 
 world's darkest hour we may have the Sun of right-
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH. 107 
 
 eousness pouring his blessed rays of comfort into 
 our hearts. 
 
 The hymn, the prayer, and the second hymn are 
 ended. The text is announced, and you try to 
 listen. But every now and then comes the thought, 
 "Not one familiar face in the whole congregation." 
 The late comers seat themselves, and cast a glance 
 around the church ; their eyes fall upon the stran- 
 ger, and straightway they conclude it is the ' ' new 
 preacher's wife," and lean their heads down to tell 
 their next neighbor their opinion, frequently in a 
 v/5fce loud enough for you to hear. 
 
 The sermon is over, the benediction is pro- 
 nounced, and your husband comes down out of the 
 pulpit, and shakes hands with those nearest the 
 altar; for Methodist ministers do not usually wait for 
 a formal introduction. He touches your arm and 
 signifies his wish to introduce you to some of the 
 "brethren and sisters." Instantly you feel that your 
 measure is being taken not for a new dress, but to 
 see whether you will suit 'or not. Usually the 
 " brethren " are satisfied if you speak cordially and 
 seem at ease. But not so the sisters. With a 
 woman's eye they note down your dress, words, and 
 even gestures ; not with any unkind motive, perhaps, 
 but because it is their habit. At any rate, you feel 
 that you are being measured, from your bonnet to 
 your shoes. 
 
 After you have been introduced to several, and 
 you are slowly passing down the aisle, a sweet-faced 
 woman lays her hand upon your arm, and says in a 
 pleasant voice: "You are our new pastor's wife, I
 
 io8 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 suppose. My name is Mrs. . . I live on the 
 
 corner of street, opposite Sister B's. I am 
 
 .coming to, see you soon, and shall be glad to see 
 3 r ou at my home." Something in her voice and 
 manner, more than her words, impresses you favor-- 
 ably, and, during the week, you often wonder when 
 she will call. As you near the door, an aged wo- 
 man, one of God's chosen ones, meets you, presses 
 your hand, and whispers a "God bless you," with 
 her quivering lips. You lift your heart to God in 
 thankfulness that there are some already in your new 
 field who are calling down his blessing on you and 
 yours. 
 
 Well is it for us that the "new" wears off in the 
 course of a few weeks. Well for us, and our people, 
 too ; for we would make but poor helpmates for our 
 husbands if the people should always feel as far off 
 as on that first Sabbath. 
 
 But it does wear away in a short time. There is 
 a funeral. One of the "little ones" of the flock, 
 may be. Your husband is called upon to preach the 
 funeral sermon. He does the best he can under the 
 circumstances. He speaks of God's promises, and 
 points the stricken ones to him who bore our griefs 
 and carried our sorrows. The little one is laid in 
 the grave, but the pastor is bound to that family by 
 a new and sacred tie, and they feel that they love 
 their new pastor better than they did a week ago. 
 The chain that binds them is not easily broken, 
 for one link in their affectipn is on the heavenly 
 shore. 
 
 Thus it is. Funerals and weddings, sorrows and
 
 THE FIRST SABBATH. 109 
 
 joys, unite the hearts of pastor and people, and at the 
 end of the year we are as loath to part with the 
 friends as we were at the close of the former. year. 
 But parting must come. Every earthly joy has an 
 end ; but we live on, comforted by the hope that, 
 
 "When our earthly life is ended, 
 And our earthly mission done, 
 We shall go across the river 
 
 At the setting of the sun ; 
 And in God's celestial mansions, 
 
 Clothed in garments strangely fair, 
 We shall know the bliss of heaven, 
 .. *. We shall meet each other there."
 
 U AND ^OUR ]^EIGHBORS. 
 
 OUR old neighbors not the nominal, but 
 the genuine, orthodox sort have moved 
 away, and the "next house" is vacant. 
 A small board, on which is painted, in rough 
 script: "For rent. Apply to J. Smith, west 
 side Public Square," is tacked up on the corner 
 of the building. 
 
 You have enjoyed the society of the former 
 occupants most "intensely." Mrs. M., with 
 her years of experience, had taken you to her 
 motherly heart, when you most needed her 
 counsel and love, and ever since her presence 
 has been a sort of benediction to you at all tim^s. 
 Now you miss her bright face and cheery voice, and 
 you begin to wonder who will occupy the house and 
 your heart next. 
 
 Each noon and night you report as to the various 
 applicants who have looked at the premises. Finally 
 you announce to your Isaac, as he sits at his break- 
 fast, sipping his coffee and reading the morning pa- 
 per, "The Smith property is rented at last; a load 
 of household goods was moved -in yesterday." You 
 were too sleepy to tell the news, the evening pre- 
 vious. Isaac looks up absently, says something so 
 inaudibly that you can not quite make out whether 
 it was meant for your ears or his own, and drops his
 
 You AND YOUR NEIGHBORS. in 
 
 eyes again to the money markets. He is too busy 
 with up-town affairs to feel much interest in the 
 people of the home neighborhood ; but not so his 
 Rebekah. It is a matter of great import to you, 
 and only the most conscientious politeness prevents 
 your taking a glance from behind the parlor blinds, 
 "just to see what they look like, and if I shall like 
 them." 
 
 But it is not fair to judge your neighbors on 
 "moving day" that day of days, a day which defies 
 the pen of poet or painter's pencil to do it justice. 
 With what a ^voeftil effort at tidiness does the mis- 
 tress of ceremonies smooth back her natural frizzes, 
 and how carefully she arranges the clean collar and 
 bright bit of ribbon about her neck, in order that she 
 may make a favorable impression on the neighbors to 
 whom she is going ; but in spite of such efforts, the 
 collar is soon soiled, the ribbon is untied by catching 
 on nail or hook, and, finally, in sheer desperation, 
 it is taken off and tucked into the pocket, out of the 
 way. No matter how much we may want to make 
 a favorable impression, it requires an extra amount 
 of self possession and watchfulness if we maintain our 
 dignity or amiability while moving bedsteads, hang- 
 ing window-blinds, or arranging kitchen furniture. 
 
 But your new neighbors are in at last, and you 
 "watch and wait and wonder" as to who they may 
 be : you watch to see how they appear, day by day, 
 and you form your estimate accordingly; you wait 
 to see if they have many callers, and if they seem 
 to be respectable or fashionable ; you wonder what 
 Church they will attend ; if they are likely to be
 
 ii2 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 agreeable people ; if the children will be troublesome, 
 or otherwise. You make inquiries of your old neigh- 
 bors across the street, and of your callers, and of 
 your pastor, perhaps. After you have succeeded in 
 satisfying yourself of their respectability, according 
 to your ideas, whatever they may be, you don your 
 best dress and bonnet, and, with card-case in hand 
 and your politest smile where you can call it up on 
 short notice, you march up to your new neighbor's 
 door and ring the belL 
 
 There is a sort of mutual introduction between 
 you and Mrs. Blank, a ceremony absolutely neces- 
 sary, according to custom, although you may have 
 seen the lady a score of times while you listened 
 unintentionally, of course to the admonitions to the 
 little Blanks, and she has quietly taken your meas- 
 ure as you talked with the workman who repaired the 
 front portico, or while you gave directions to the 
 tramp who spaded up the bed for early lettuce and 
 radishes. 
 
 The formal introduction over, you and your neigh- 
 bor drift into easy conversation; little commonplaces 
 at first, and then the baby is brought in, and though 
 it may be very commonplace and ordinary to most 
 eyes, to the mother it is especially interesting, and 
 if you have two or three cherubs at home you are 
 easily interested in your neighbor's little one, and 
 before you are aware of it you are both talking as 
 easily or as earnestly as if you had known each other 
 for months instead of minutes. 
 
 Isaac is probably so hurried that he has scarcely 
 time to speak with his family. He "bolts" his food
 
 You AND YOUR NEIGHBORS. 113 
 
 and then "bolts" off to his shop or office, and if he 
 notices your interest in your neighbors probably 
 laughs at you for being so much concerned about 
 strangers. It "doesn't matter to him whether they 
 are agreeable or selfish; but to you, shut in doors 
 the greater part of the time, your little ones on your 
 heart and hands, with but scant opportunity for social 
 culture, your neighbors go a long way toward mak- 
 ing up your social circle. A mother who is nurse- 
 maid and housekeeper at the same time hasn't much 
 time for formal calls, dress parties, or expensive lec- 
 ture courses; .but society, or at least companionship, 
 is a necessity to her, and an agreeable neighbor goes 
 a good way toward supplying that want. 
 
 The husband and father is crowded with business, 
 providing the daily bread for which somebody must 
 work as well as pray, and when he comes home feels 
 more like resting than talking, perhaps. The dailies 
 are not always brought home the day they are re- 
 ceived, for busy people somehow "forget" occasion- 
 ally; and even dailies and magazines need something 
 else than mere perusal to give real satisfaction. A 
 magazine article, the Woman's Kingdom, or House 
 and Home, need companionship to give real pleasure 
 and profit in their perusal. Suppose there are occa- 
 sional crumbs of gossip in neighborly intercourse, it 
 isn't all confined to the mothers, nor to the "locals" 
 in the town paper. And while the husband laughs 
 at tlje chat about little details of domestic work, of 
 which he catches a stray word, or an occasional 
 glimpse as Rebekah talks with her neighbor, Mrs. B. 
 or C., he doesn't know that those daily conversations,
 
 ii4 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 about what seem to him only trifles, have been the 
 means of saving him a good many dollars in actual 
 outlay. 
 
 He fancies himself a liberal man, and admires his 
 Avife's new suit and the children's Summer outfits, and 
 thinks he deserves especial praise for providing so 
 handsomely. He doesn't know that the "supply" 
 ran out long before the Spring clothing was all pur- 
 chased, and that Rebekah's handsome suit was made 
 over from a portion of her wedding trousseau that had 
 lain in the trunk so long he had forgotten it, and that 
 Bessie's suit, so fresh and becoming, is a "made- 
 over" organdie of her mother's girlhood days, the 
 whole thing planned and completed by those two 
 women, Rebekah and her next door neighbor. 
 
 Perhaps, if he knew, Isaac would object to Re- 
 bekah's telling her neighbor about their private af- 
 fairs and scant purse; but Rebekah's neighbor was 
 no better off, and the two Avomen put their heads 
 together, and as a result the two families are "as 
 stylish as any body." He doesn't know it, however; 
 neither does he knoAv that it took several hours of 
 lying awake at night, besides the numerous consulta- 
 tions, before the planning was complete and they 
 succeeded in making "old clothes look 'most as well 
 as the new." Isaac doesn't understand how his wife 
 comes to have such a liking for the old-fashioned 
 Avoman across the street; but it is to her encouraging 
 Avords and her affectionate sympathy that he owes 
 his Avife's cheery face and buoyant spirits. The dear 
 old soul hasn't time to study the fashion plates, but 
 she has time to listen to the little perplexities of the
 
 You AND YOUR NEIGHBORS. 115 
 
 young mother and the inexperienced housekeeper, 
 and has taken her into her heart, and Rebekah finds 
 her a "joy forever," if not a beauty. There may be 
 more romantic friendships, but I doubt whether there 
 are any more sincere and unselfish ones than those 
 formed between wives and mothers, who, with their 
 hands, heads, and hearts crowded with domestic af- 
 fairs, are drawn toward each other by the strong bond 
 of sisterly love and sympathy growing out of a com- 
 mon experience.
 
 IllTTLE [ 
 rut 
 
 BARNES had been trying for nearly 
 six months to overcome his appetite for 
 rum, and his friends thought he had suc- 
 ceeded, when suddenly he was overtaken by 
 temptation, and fell ; and, like all other drunk- 
 ards, when he returned to his cup he sank deeper 
 into sin than before. All the efforts of his friends 
 seemed vain. The pastor visited him, and urged 
 him to try again ; but, while he was ready to ac- 
 knowledge his wrong-doing, he did not seem to 
 have the will to try to overcome. "It's no use, 
 sir. I 've tried it for six months, and just when 
 I thought myself safe I fell ; and here I am, worse than 
 before. My wife has lost all confidence in me, and 
 my children only look on me as a poor drunkard. 
 No, sir ; it 's no use. You may just as well let me 
 go down at once. The sooner it is over, the better." 
 The class-leader and Sunday-school superintendent 
 visited him with no better success. To all their 
 pleading he returned the same hopeless answer: 
 "It's no use, sir; I can't reform." 
 
 Some four months previous he had taken charge 
 of a class in Sunday-school, composed of a half-dozen 
 little girls, of about ten years of age. He had 
 proved quite successful as a teacher, and had won 
 their affection, and their little hearts were very much
 
 WHAT SOME LITTLE GIRLS DID. 117 
 
 grieved at his fall One day, as they were together 
 talking about it, one of their number proposed that 
 they go and ask him to come back to their school 
 and teach them. After some little hesitancy, they 
 agreed to go. 
 
 Providence favored them, and they found Barnes 
 in his carpenter-shop, and, in a measure, sober. He 
 looked surprised when he saw his visitors ; but he 
 invited them in, and gave them seats on his work- 
 bench. Annie Stevens, the girl who had first pro- 
 posed the visit, had been chosen as chief speaker, 
 anT*'she began, with some little trembling, " Mr. 
 Barnes, we came to see if you would n't please come 
 and teach our class next Sabbath." And then, al- 
 most frightened at the sound of her own voice, she 
 stopped short, at a loss what to say next. 
 
 The poor inebriate's face flushed painfully, and he 
 said, in surprise, " Me?" 
 
 " Yes, you." 
 
 Barnes shook his head. 
 
 "O no ; you do n't want such a fellow as me to 
 teach you. Do n't you know that I have n't been 
 sober for nearly a month ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, we know it ; but you are going to quit 
 that now ;" and little Annie's voice grew steadier. 
 
 "Am I ? How do you know that?" and the man 
 spoke with half a sneer. 
 
 "O, we just know you will ;" and the little voices 
 were raised eagerly as the girls slid down from tfieir 
 seat on the work-Men ch, and gathered around him. 
 "Please say you '11 come." 
 
 "But, children, I can not;" and the man's voice 
 

 
 n8 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 was very husky. "Just as like as not I shall be 
 drunk as a beast before night." 
 
 But they would not take "No" for an answer; 
 and finally he promised to "think about it," and 
 they went away. 
 
 The little, heaven-sent messengers had touched a 
 chord in his heart which others, by their reasonings 
 and pleadings, had failed to reach ; and when they 
 were gone, Joe Barnes sat there thinking about their 
 faith in himself, and wondering why they had come. 
 Finally he got up, put on his coat, and, after locking 
 his door, he went to his home. Silently he passed by 
 his wife and children, and locked himself in his bed- 
 room. There he wept and prayed for strength to 
 overcome the demon appetite, and to make himself 
 worthy of the confidence of those dear little girls, 
 who had so eloquently pleaded for his reform. 
 
 For three days he resisted the temptation to 
 drink. On the fourth, for want of stimulants and 
 loss of appetite for food, he was confined to his bed. 
 His physician urged him to take just a little brandy 
 and water. He shook his head. No ; he would 
 rather die than take it. When Sabbath came, he was 
 still too sick to sit up ; but when the next came 
 around, he presented himself, very pale and weak, at 
 the superintendent's desk, and asked if he could again 
 have his class, and it was again given him. 
 
 In the afternoon he was in the class-room ; and 
 when he rose to ask the forgiveness of the Church for 
 his wanderings, he told the story ef the little workers. 
 
 Said he: "It didn't trouble me much when the 
 preacher came ; for I thought that it was his business
 
 WHAT SOME LITTLE GIRLS DID. 119 
 
 to look after such as I. When the class-leader came, 
 his words did n't touch my heart, though I knew he 
 earnestly desired to see me a sober man. But when 
 those little girls came, and climbed upon my work- 
 bench, and began to beg me to come back, and said 
 they knew I would reform, I thought, ' Surely, God 
 has sent them ;' and it just broke my heart, and I 
 went home and on my knees promised God that, by 
 his help, I would conquer, and would make myself 
 fit to teach such blessed angels." 
 
 And, through God's grace, he did conquer ; and, 
 whgT? visiting the place three years after, I found him 
 still sobeY, and an earnest worker in. the temperance 
 cause as well as in the Church. 
 
 Little folks are apt to think they can not do any 
 thing to make people better ; but these little ones did 
 do what older and wiser heads had failed to do ; they 
 succeeded in getting this poor, tempted, enslaved 
 man to forsake his sins and again turn to God. Will 
 not our girls and boys of the cold-water army do 
 likewise ?
 
 VALENTINE'S I)AY. 
 
 MERRY group of young ladies, spending 
 an evening at Mrs. Lake's, were discuss- 
 ing or, rather, chatting over the cus- 
 tom of sending out anonymous letters on Val- 
 '^ entine's day. 
 
 "I think it a splendid time to pay up old 
 scores, and shall avail myself of the opportunity 
 in one instance, at any rate," said one young 
 lady, laughing gayly, as she thought of the cha- 
 grin of a certain young gentleman of her ac- 
 quaintance, when he should receive a highly 
 colored valentine, representing an exquisitely 
 gotten-up dandy, with the title "Yourself" written 
 below. 
 
 "I think it's lots of fun," responded Maggie 
 Snow; "but I don't know that I dare send any 
 thing but a genuine friendly valentine ; mother is so 
 set against the' comic ones ; ' blows in the dark ' she 
 calls them, and says no lady or gentleman should ever 
 send one." 
 
 "Why, what harm can there be in having a little 
 fun?" 
 
 "Especially when we know they prove it," que- 
 ried one and another of the girls, in apparent disap- 
 proval of the new notion. 
 "No harm at all."
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY. 121 
 
 "And it serves to take the starch out of some 
 people, and gives them a chance to see themselves 
 as others see them," were the responses from one and 
 another; while two or three were inclined to take 
 Mrs. Snow's view of the matter. 
 
 "Who will settle this weighty question?" asked 
 Mary Washburne. 
 
 "Appoint a judge," suggested Gertrude Warren, 
 a niece of Mrs. Lake's, visiting in the house, and for 
 whose pleasure the young ladies had been invited to 
 tea; "let's leave it for auntie to decide." 
 
 jj-he assent -of the company was readily gained, 
 and they turned to Mrs. Lake, who had sat quietly 
 listening, without taking any part in the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 ' ' Now, auntie, tell me what you think of it. Is 
 it wrong to send comic valentines? and, if it is, where 
 is the harm? We have decided to leave it to your 
 decision, and if you say it is wrong we will not send 
 out a single one of that class this year. Is n't that 
 the bargain?" appealing to her companions. 
 
 "Yes, certainly; let's have the decision," cho- 
 rused the group, eagerly. 
 
 "It is wrong decidedly wrong my dears;" and 
 then, as she saw their look of disappointment, "but 
 you want to know why I think so. Draw the sofa 
 and rockers nearer the fire, and, when you are com- 
 fortably seated, I will tell you why I object to the 
 .custom of sending comic, or caricature, valentines. 
 There, now you are all ready and anxious to hear, 
 I suppose," as they gathered about her, and Mrs. 
 Lake's face beamed with motherly kindness on the
 
 122 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 bright young eyes that looked into hers. "The cus- 
 tom of sending anonymous love letters on Valen- 
 tine's day is of comparatively recent origin, and that 
 of sending comic pictures and caricatures is still more 
 recent; and, while the first is not a commendable 
 practice, by any means, the latter is far less so. But 
 perhaps you will better understand why I condemn 
 the practice, if I give you some incidents which have 
 fallen under my observation : 
 
 "A young man honest, but uncultivated and 
 awkward was, through this foolish custom, driven 
 out of a college where he had gone to prepare him- 
 self for a profession. Some wild boys, who thought 
 more of fun than of their lessons or the feelings of 
 others, sent him an ugly caricature of an awkward, 
 overgrown youth. At the bottom of the page, a few 
 lines of very poor poetry designated the young man 
 as the original of the picture. Like most awkward 
 people, he was only too conscious of his lack of cul- 
 ture, and, stung with the insult offered him, he left 
 the school, and could not be persuaded to return to 
 it or any other outside of his own neighborhood." 
 
 "O, he ought not to have cared for their non- 
 sense, or should have given them as good as they 
 had sent," and Maggie Snow laughed at the idea of 
 any one "caring about such a little thing as that." 
 
 "But it was not a little thing to him, and he 
 could not retaliate, as you could have done, perhaps, 
 nor throw it aside and forget it, as you or others, 
 -with your independence of spirit, could do. It was 
 a trifling act, but their desire for sport turned the 
 whole course of their schoolmate's future life.
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY. 123 
 
 "A mischievous young lady sent a caricature to 
 a lady, writing a few lines in imitation of the hand- 
 writing of another lady, an intimate friend of the one 
 to whom it was sent. She inclosed it in another 
 envelope and returned it, as she supposed, to the 
 offending party. The result was, a coolness sprang 
 up between them, and finally their friendship was 
 broken off altogether. 
 
 "Another instance: A young man sent a letter 
 to a young lady. The letter was without signature, 
 but so worded as to lead her to infer that it was 
 fronT a gentleman whose attentions she had been 
 receiving for a long time, and to whom, while there 
 was no formal engagement, she had become very 
 much attached, and the gentleman had taken no 
 pains to conceal his preference for her. The letter 
 accused her of fickleness and an inclination to flirt. 
 She, acting under the impression that it was from her 
 lover, 'and that he had taken this way to reprove her 
 for an imaginary offense, returned his former letters 
 and some small gifts bestowed by him without a 
 word of explanation. The gentleman, perfectly un- 
 able to comprehend the cause, called upon her, 
 intending to ask for an explanation. The lady 
 refused to see him, and he, feeling that injustice had 
 been done him, made no further effort at a reconcili- 
 ation, and their friendship came to an end, and it was 
 not until months afterward that they learned that 
 they had been the victims of a foolish jest, and then 
 pride prevented them from offering any indication of 
 a desire to renew their former friendship. The cause 
 of all their trouble was a foolish desire to tease, and
 
 124 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 the young man who wrote the letter had no idea that 
 his thoughtless joke would alienate the hearts of his 
 friends. Of course the young lady acted rashly, but 
 the young man who wrote the anonymous letter did 
 wrong in making such a misunderstanding possible." 
 
 " O, but I would never do any thing that would 
 cause such trouble as that," protested one of the 
 young ladies with emphasis. 
 
 "When we send such missives we do not know 
 what may be the result, and it is better not to incur the 
 risk, even though we may gratify our desire for sport. 
 
 " A young gentleman who has any thing to say, 
 that is worth saying, need not be ashamed to say it 
 in person if the opportunity offers ; and if it does 
 not, a gentlemanly letter, properly signed, will be 
 much more satisfactory to himself and to the lady 
 who receives it than an anonymous one containing 
 sickly sentimentalism of which both ought to be 
 heartily ashamed. As to caricatures, no thoughtful 
 person will send one, even to an enemy, unless there 
 is a willful desire to wound or offend. You asked for 
 my opinion, and I have given it, very frankly, and as 
 you have bound yourselves not to send a caricature or 
 comic picture this year, I trust you will be so well 
 satisfied with the decision that by next year you will 
 be willing to vote it down altogether." 
 
 For a full minute- a rather sober smile with an 
 audible sigh, as they thought of their demolished air 
 castles, was all the reply given to Mrs. Lake's little 
 lecture. At last one of the number said, 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Lake, you have given us some new 
 ideas."
 
 VALENTINE'S DAY. 125 
 
 "And spoiled some old ones besides, " added 
 Mary Washburne, laughing a little uneasily. 
 
 "But, auntie, can't we use Valentine's Day at 
 all?" asked Gertrude, with a sorely disappointed look 
 in her eyes. Mrs. Lake looked into their faces with 
 a smile. 
 
 "I didn't intend to read you such a sober lec- 
 ture ; but I have known so many troubles, small and 
 great, grow out of this foolish custom, that I want to 
 see it abolished and something better take its place; 
 and you know you insisted on hearing my opinion, 
 a naT^h at is my "apology. But, answering your ques- 
 tion, Gertrude : There is one way in which we might 
 be allowed to send anonymous packages, and, in my 
 opinion, it would be a great improvement on the 
 present custom, and that is, in bestowing gifts or 
 chanties where they are deserved. The anonymous 
 method would relieve the person receiving the gift 
 from the embarrassment of feeling obligated to a 
 particular person, and the donor from the no less 
 embarrassing position of receiving thanks for the 
 same. It is well not to let the ' left hand know what 
 the right hand doeth,' when we bestow charities, but 
 if we have aught against our brother or sister, or 
 they have a fault that needs mending, it is our duty to 
 reprove. We had better gp in the spirit of kindness, 
 and, avoiding all unfair concealment, deal with them 
 as we would wish others to do by us under like cir- 
 cumstances. But, there, my lecture is at a close, 
 'and thanking the audience for the respectful atten- 
 tion,' I would suggest that we turn to something more 
 cheerful, and have a song with piano accompaniment."
 
 J5-ALTER 5?Z;ILLOUGHBY'S MEMPTER. 
 
 lALTER WILLOUGHBY did not come 
 down to breakfast on the morning after 
 New- Year's. The fact that he had been 
 brought home the night before in a state of 
 semi -unconscious intoxication, and that his 
 father had met him and assisted him to his 
 room, made him shrink from meeting the fam- 
 ily at the breakfast table. At a late hour he 
 arose, dressed, and prepared to go out. Just 
 as he had laid his hand on the knob of the 
 front door, Mr. Willotighby opened the door 
 of the study and said, "Walter, will you 
 come in here a moment? I wish to speak with you." 
 Very reluctantly the young man replaced his hat on 
 the rack and, with his overcoat still on, entered his 
 father's library, and stood waiting to hear the ex- 
 pected reproof. "Sit down, Walter, I want to talk 
 with you about last night;" and Mr. \Villoughby 
 spoke kindly, though sadly. "I suppose you know 
 in what condition you were brought home?" 
 
 Walter nodded, while an angry flush overspread 
 his face. "I do, sir." 
 
 "And, I suppose, I need not tell you how mor- 
 tified your mother and I feel, that our son should so 
 far forget himself as to disgrace us in this manner." 
 Unconsciously Mr. Willoughby's tone had become
 
 WALTER WILLOUGHBY'S TEMPTER. 127 
 
 harder as lie proceeded, and the son's face, which 
 had at first reddened, now paled under the rebuke 
 which cut more by the tone than the words. The 
 father waited for a moment, and then continued: 
 "Your mother and I are very much hurt at your 
 conduct, but as this is the first offense of the kind 
 we are willing to forgive you, provided it is not to 
 be repeated in future." Walter had not looked up 
 once while his father was speaking, and now he 
 did not answer, but sat with his eyes fixed on the 
 blazing grate. 
 
 /For some moments the father waited for a reply, 
 but none came, and then he said sadly, his love and 
 anxiety overcoming his anger at his son's fault: "Are 
 you not willing to promise this, my son?" 
 
 The young man rose from his seat and stood be- 
 fore his father. "No, I "am not willing to make any 
 such promise, because I should not be likely to keep 
 it if I did," he said bitterly. "Mother is ashamed 
 of me and mortified at what I have done? I am 
 glad of it may be it will do her good, and" 
 
 "Walter," and Mr. Willoughby's voice was stern 
 enough now, "Do you dare to speak disrespectfully 
 of your mother?" 
 
 "Well, I I before I make any promises I want 
 to speak with mother about it." 
 
 He paused, and then added, "I thought at first I 
 would say nothing to her about it, but, perhaps, it is 
 , as well to have it over. Will you please ask mother 
 to come in?" 
 
 When the mother came a few minutes after, her 
 eyes red with weeping, the son arose respectfully
 
 128 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 and gave her the easy-chair, while Mr. Willoughby 
 again resumed his seat. 
 
 As soon as his mother was seated, Walter said, 
 hastily, as if anxious to get over an unpleasant task, 
 " Father has been lecturing me on last night's doings, 
 and says that you are willing to forgive me because 
 it is the first time, and provided I promise that it 
 shall not occur again. -I want to say that last night 
 was not the first by at least a half dozen times. " 
 
 "O Walter!" and there was a world of agony in 
 the mother's voice. 
 
 "Of course you are shocked and very much 
 ashamed of me, but please father," as Mr. Will- 
 oughby was about to speak, "don't interrupt me, I 
 will say it; I have kept this from you until, I am 
 afraid, your son is in a fair way to become a con- 
 firmed drunkard, and, if I am, you have no one to 
 blame but yourselves ! If I die a drunkard it is you 
 who have made me such!" and the words were fairly 
 hissed into the ears of the father and mother. Mr. 
 Willoughby arose to his feet, and laid a hand on his 
 son's shoulder. 
 
 "Walter, sit down. You are yet half-crazed with 
 the liquors you drank yesterday, and I will not per- 
 mit you thus to insult your mother and myself." 
 
 The young man shook off the father's hand. 
 
 " No, father, I am not drunk, but in sober 
 earnest. The first wine I ever tasted my mother 
 made, and you asked me to drink it; you filled 
 the glass with your own hand, and told me it was 
 harmless ; and for nearly ten years you Jiave been 
 feeding my appetite with what you call 'domes-
 
 WALTER WILI.OUGHBY'S TEMPTER. 129 
 
 tic ' wine, until now I am not satisfied with that alone, 
 but must have something stronger. You want me to 
 promise to keep sober in the future. I shall make 
 no such promise, unless you and mother will agree 
 to remove the accursed stuff from your table and out 
 of my sight ; and God only knows whether I shall 
 be able to overcome my appetite even then ;" and, 
 with a groan, the unhappy young man sank into a 
 chair, and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 The father sat like one stunned, while the mother 
 sobbed hysterically. Presently Walter looked up, 
 ancVsaid sadly :- 
 
 " If I could have gone on in my own way, with- 
 out your knowing it, I never should have said what 
 I have ; but if you can not help me, perhaps you 
 may save my brothers from a like temptation. And 
 O, mother !" as, overcome by his feeling, he kneeled 
 by her, and laid his head on her shoulder, "will you 
 not help me ? Forgive me for what I have said ; for 
 I have said it more for Harry's and Willy's sake than 
 for my own. For God's sake, remove the temptation 
 from them before it is too late." 
 
 The mother's only reply to this petition was to 
 twine her arms around the neck of her penitent boy, 
 and sob on his shoulder. When each had grown 
 calmer, Walter rose from his knees, and, reaching 
 out his hand to his father, he said 
 
 " Forgive me for the past and for what I have 
 .said this morning, and I am willing to try to overcome 
 my appetite for strong drink; but I can make no 
 promises. I have vowed more than a dozen times 
 that I would never touch it again, and have as often
 
 130 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 broken these vows ; and I have no confidence in my 
 good resolutions for the future." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby grasped his son's hand as he 
 arose, and the two men stood facing each other the 
 one in the bloom of manhood's first years, the other 
 with the gray hairs creeping in among the brown. 
 
 " My boy," and the father's voice trembled with 
 emotion, " if I had known this in the beginning I 
 would rather have given my own life than thus to 
 have marred yours. But perhaps it is not too late. 
 Your mother and I will help you, and God's grace is 
 sufficient for all our needs. May he help us to do 
 our duty !" and Mr. Willoughby left the room. 
 
 Walter turned to his mother, who still sat, like 
 one in a dream, and said, trying to smile through his 
 tears : 
 
 " Mother, have you no word of forgiveness or 
 encouragement for your boy ?" 
 
 For an answer the mother drew her son to her 
 arms, and kissed his flushed and feverish brow, and 
 said : 
 
 "Forgive me, my child ; I knew not what I did." 
 
 Walter Willoughby did not go down town that 
 day, but, hanging his overcoat again on the rack, he 
 spent the day in his own room. 
 
 It is needless to say that there was no more "do- 
 mestic" wine used in that household. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Willoughby had learned, by sad experience, that 
 fermented wine, even though under the title home- 
 made, may create a thirst for stronger drinks, and 
 lead to ruin. 
 
 Young Willoughby had many a hard struggle be-
 
 WALTER WILLOUGHBY'S TEMPTER. 131 
 
 fore he overcame his evil habits, and more than once 
 he came near falling ; but, by the kind words and 
 encouragement of his conscience-stricken parents, 
 who spared no pains to atone for the wrong they had 
 done to their boy, he finally became a sober man, 
 and, through God's Spirit, a Christian m.an. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby not only removed the 
 tempter from their own home, but they also used 
 their influence to induce other parents to shun the 
 foolish and sinful practice that had come so near 
 wrecking their son's life, and which still caused them 
 , heartaches, and anxiety.
 
 5^ CHRISTMAS i^TORY. 
 
 was a pleasant fireside picture. A hand- 
 some looking man of fifty years, seated 
 at a table reading the evening paper, and 
 opposite, a woman, younger perhaps by five 
 or ten years. Looking at her face you would 
 say she was not yet forty ; but glancing at 
 her hair you see that the silver is creeping 
 into it, and you leave her age undecided. 
 She is busy crocheting a comforter of bright 
 Berlin wool. Her fingers fly swiftly, but every 
 fc few minutes she turns her eyes toward the 
 T door, as if half-expecting it to open. 
 At last the gentleman laid down his paper, 
 shrugged his shoulders and drew his chair a little 
 nearer the fire. Presently he turned to his com- 
 panion with, 
 
 ' ' Only two more days until Christmas, wife. I 
 declare, how time flies ; I hardly realize that it is so 
 near. By the way, have you decided what the chil- 
 dren are to have this year? Only two days, you 
 know." 
 
 The wife "knew." For the past four weeks her 
 hands and head had been busy planning little sur- 
 prises for her family. But in her heart was an ach- 
 ing, restless feeling, as she compared the coming 
 Christmas with the last, and remembered that there
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 133 
 
 was one less to buy presents for now than on last 
 Christmas. And as her husband's words recalled the 
 past, she wondered if it was not a good opportunity 
 to put in one more plea for her first-born, her prod- 
 igal son. She answered, while the tears trembled in 
 her voice, 
 
 ' ' Yes, I know, but it will hardly seem like 
 Christmas without Willie." 
 
 A cloud gathered on Mr. Dustan's face; his 
 manner changed, and he answered almost angrily, 
 
 " I thought we were done talking on that subject 
 William has made his own choice, and he must abide 
 by it. No word of mine shall bring him home." 
 And with a quick, impatient movement, that showed 
 how unpleasant the subject was to him, he arose and 
 left the room. Mrs. Dustan picked up her work 
 again with a sigh ; but the gathering tears, one by 
 one, trickled down her cheeks and fell upon the 
 bright work in her hands. At last, overcome by her 
 feelings, she bowed her head on the table and sobbed 
 aloud ; but in a little while became calm, folded up 
 her work, took the light and left the room. 
 
 It was the old story. A wild, impetuous boy, 
 impatient of home restraint, a failure on the part of 
 the father to understand his boy's impulses, and an 
 effort to break the "stubborn " will instead of trying 
 to direct it. Under the influence of passion the boy 
 had left home, and the father's wounded pride re- 
 fu^ed to ask his son to return. One letter only 
 had Willie written home, asking "mother" not to 
 forget him, and saying, "If father says for me to 
 come home, I will." But the father would not say
 
 134 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 it, despite the mother's pleading. Nothing more 
 was heard of him. Ten months had passed, and 
 the parents knew not whether he was living or 
 dead. 
 
 Nothing was said about Christmas at the break- 
 fast table the next morning. The children saw that 
 father and mother were unusually silent and seemed 
 to feel the gloom, and so it was almost a silent 
 breakfast. But all day long Mrs. Dustan's words 
 kept ringing in her husband's ears, "It will not 
 seem like Christmas without Willie," and he wished 
 she had not said it. On his way home he called 
 to mind their wedding day, and the delicate, girlish 
 form of her who stood by his side, and promised 
 to take him "for better or for worse." And then 
 Willie's face rose up before him, and he saw him 
 as when a child he used to run to meet him on 
 his return from the labors of the day. And, although 
 he was proud of his younger children, yet the mem- 
 ory of his eldest boy stirred his heart, and the kiss 
 he imprinted on his wife's cheek was more loving 
 than usual. At the table he noticed, as never before, 
 that she looked thin and pale, with a sadness about 
 her mouth even when she smiled. 
 
 All the evening he cast occasional glances at her 
 from behind his evening paper, to see if he was not 
 mistaken about those faded cheeks. Something sug- 
 gested that perhaps if he would send for Willie to 
 come home her step would be less weary and her 
 eyes brighter ; but he put it aside, immediately. " Of 
 course she looks older ; one can not expect a woman 
 to look as rosy at forty as she did at twenty," he
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 135 
 
 says to himself, and then turns to his paper to shut 
 out unpleasant thoughts. 
 
 Presently Eddy, the youngest, a boy of ten years, 
 left the table and the book he had been reading to 
 look for another. Those within his reach did not 
 suit, and at last climbing upon a chair, to see what 
 was on the higher shelves, his eyes caught sight of a 
 bundle of picture papers and old school books, and 
 he eagerly called out, 
 
 "Mother, may I look at these old papers?" 
 
 Busy with her own thoughts she answered "Yes," 
 with/mt looking- up, and Eddy, delighted with the 
 prospect, brought them to the table. They proved 
 to be Willie's books and papers, which the mother 
 had stored away from all- eyes but her own. For a 
 few moments the boy busied himself with the pic- 
 tures, and then picked up a soiled and torn Reader, 
 with the owner's name and a date, five years back, 
 written on the outside. The name was written in a 
 cramped, boyish hand, and Eddy read slowly and 
 distinctly, "Willie Dustan." The father gave an 
 involuntary start, as if even the name of his absent 
 boy" stung him. Mrs. Dustan half arose to remove 
 the books, but on a second thought resumed her 
 seat, and the children gathered around their brother, 
 and were soon deeply interested in books and papers 
 that were "brother Willie's;" but their words were 
 only in whispers, for they had learned months ago 
 ijot to talk of Willie in their father's presence. 
 
 At last the books were put away, the good-nights 
 were said, and Mr. Dustan was left to finish his paper. 
 But it failed to interest him, and at last he laid it
 
 136 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 down with a sigh. As he did so, his eye caught 
 sight of something on the carpet. He picked it up, 
 and found it to be Willie's Album, a present from 
 himself on the last Christmas, and he remembered 
 with a sigh the pleasures of that last Christmas. There 
 was something in the boy's hand written on the first 
 page, but the father laid the book down and com- 
 menced pacing the floor. He wondered if his boy 
 was still alive, and whether he thought of home and 
 would like to be there. Again his eyes fell upon 
 the album. He picked it up and turned again to the 
 first page, and before he was aware of it he was 
 reading, "This book is a Christmas present. Father 
 and mother never forget to have some pleasant sur- 
 prise for me, even though father does say I am the 
 most troublesome of all his children. I am sixteen 
 years old, yet I do not remember a Christmas when 
 they failed to think of me. I wonder if there will ever 
 come a Christmas when they will forget me. I won- 
 der if next Christmas will be as pleasant as this." 
 
 Mr. Dustan laid down the book. "Perhaps I 
 was too hard on him. People used to say Willie 
 looked like me. May be we are too much alike in 
 temperament; but," with a sigh, "it is too late. I 
 do not know where he is, and could not send for him 
 if I would." 
 
 Christmas morning came, clear and cold. But 
 with all their greetings there is a chord missing, and 
 they all feel it. even down to Eddy, who is the most 
 joyous and thoughtless of all. One package is yet 
 untouched, and Mr. Dustan picks it up and opens it. 
 It is a neat, gilt-edged Bible, and on the fly-leaf is
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 
 
 137 
 
 written: " To Willie, from his mother." It is the 
 mother's token that her absent darling be not forgot- 
 ten. He lays it down, glances at his wife's pale 
 cheeks and tearful eyes, and wishes for her sake that 
 Willie were home once more. 
 
 When breakfast was over and they had gathered 
 around the fire for their morning devotion the story 
 of Bethlehem's babe was selected as appropriate to 
 the day. When they came to the verse, "Glory to 
 God in the highest, on earth peace, and good will 
 to men!" the father seemed to read it for the first 
 tisrfe. "On earth peace;" but there was very little 
 real peace in his heart on that morning. They knelt 
 in prayer, but when they came to, "Forgive us our 
 trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against 
 us," his voice faltered and he felt that he could not 
 say it as he should. 
 
 All day long the angel's song, and "Forgive us, 
 as we forgive," seem strangely blended in his mind; 
 even the church bell seemed to say, "Forgive." It 
 was a sad day for both husband and wife, yet neither 
 mentioned the great load that was weighing them 
 down. 
 
 Evening came at last; once more they bowed in 
 prayer while their thoughts were running out after 
 the absent one who made the house so lively only 
 one year ago. After the children had said their good- 
 nights, Mr. and Mrs. Dustan were left alone. All 
 day long the mother's heart had yearned for her boy; 
 she had been hoping that the thought of this day 
 would bring the wanderer home. But the day is 
 past and he has not come. The day that opened
 
 138 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 clear and calm has been followed by a snow-storm at 
 night, the wind is moaning through the trees, and 
 the shutters, jarred by the storm, make the evening 
 doubly sad. For some time they sat in silence, and 
 then Mrs. Dustan arose and left the room. How 
 long she was gone her husband never knew. Busy 
 with his own thoughts, he scarcely missed her from 
 his side; and as he sat there surveying the past and 
 trying to look into the future, all his pride forsook 
 him, and he saw only his boy as he was years ago, 
 with his sweet, willful, yet cunning ways, and the 
 father's heart triumphed over the man. All his 
 anger was gone and he longed to take his child in 
 his arms, willful and disobedient as he had been. 
 
 Presently there is a hand laid upon his shoulder, 
 and Mrs. Dustan speaks, a sense of joyousness strug- 
 gling through her grief: 
 
 "Father, if Willie should come back to us to- 
 night, could you not forgive him for the sake of him 
 who came to save usf 
 
 Without lifting his bowed head, the father sobs 
 out: "Yes, yes; for his sake! and I, too, have been 
 wrong. I see it all now" and before he has time 
 to finish the sentence, there is an arm around his 
 neck, and Willie's face is laid close beside his fa- 
 ther's. ' ' Father, I have come back. I was wrong ; I 
 am sorry for the past ; I was so lonely, and when the 
 Christmas bells reminded me of home, I could not 
 stay away. Only be- patient with me, father, and I 
 will try to be a better boy." 
 
 Until long after midnight, they talked of the past 
 and the future, and when they separated for the night
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 139 
 
 they understood each other better than they ever had 
 done before. 
 
 And during the years that Willie remained under 
 his father's roof, Mr. Dustan never forgot those 
 pleading words of his returning prodigal: "Only be 
 patient with me, father;" and the remembrance of 
 that Christmas night helped both father and son to be 
 patient of each other's faults. 
 
 The brothers and sisters were surprised, in the 
 morning, at the news of Willie's return, and Eddy 
 wished he "had only come Christmas morning, in- 
 stead of at night." But the mother felt that God 
 had brought it all about in his own good time, and 
 Willie's return had been at the very hour when his 
 father's heart was best prepared to receive him.
 
 ONE'S ]V[EANS. 
 
 ( RS. HUBBARD was spending the after- 
 noon with her friend, Mrs. Miller, and 
 the two ladies sat with their work in the 
 cozy sitting-room of the little cottage. They had 
 , ^ only known each other for a couple of years, 
 but these two years had been sufficient time in 
 which to form a very strong mutual attachment, 
 and they were usually very free to express their 
 thoughts and wishes. To-day Mrs. Miller was 
 not in her happiest mood, and was glad of 
 a friend to whom she could unburden her 
 heart. 
 
 " I have been telling Mr. Miller to-day, that I am 
 tired of living in this little house, and I must have a 
 larger one," she said, by way of introducing the sub- 
 ject uppermost in her mind. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Miller! I am sure your house is 
 very cozy and comfortable. I enjoy your little rooms 
 and surroundings so much." 
 
 "Seeing them occasionally is very different from 
 living in them year in and year out," Mrs. Miller 
 answered, a little fretfully. 
 
 " I suppose your husband is able to buy a larger 
 house," Mrs. Hubbard answered, quietly. 
 
 "Of course, he is, or I should n't ask him," and
 
 LIVING WITHIN ONE'S MEANS. 141 
 
 Mrs. Miller looked hurt at the insinuation. "He has 
 five thousand loaned where he can get it at six weeks' 
 notice. I called on Mrs. Heath yesterday, and she 
 has just got settled in her new house in splendid 
 style, too. When I came home, every thing here 
 looked so shabby, and my rooms so little and ' boxy ' 
 compared with hers, that I took a good cry." 
 
 "But, my dear, your family is so much smaller 
 than Mrs. Heath's that you do not need as large a 
 house as she does. " 
 
 Mrs. Hubbard did not dare say that Mr. Miller's 
 income was smaller, too. 
 
 "That is just what husband said to-day; but I 
 told him I never should be satisfied until I have a 
 larger house. The Williamses offer theirs for just five 
 thousand dollars, and it is cheap at that, and if teas- 
 ing will .do any good, I'm sure to have it ;" and 
 Mrs. Miller smiled knowingly, as she picked up her 
 work again, which had dropped from her hands while 
 talking. 
 
 Mrs. Hubbard did not return her friend's smile, 
 but knitted very busily for a few moments, in silence; 
 presently she said: "Would you like to hear a little 
 story about myself?" 
 
 "Of course, I would; tell all the stories you 
 please, but don't lecture me," and Mrs. Miller 
 laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 "I don't want to lecture you, my friend; but in 
 'all our confidences, I believe I have never told you 
 that my husband was once a merchant, with a little 
 capital of his own, instead of a clerk at a thousand a 
 year ?' '
 
 142 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "No, you never told me that!" and Mrs. Miller 
 looked very much surprised. 
 
 "Ten years ago," said Mrs. Hubbard, "I began 
 to feel that my house was getting too small for my 
 family, and too small and shabby when compared 
 with the residences of my fashionable friends ; and 
 so I undertook to persuade my husband to sell our 
 little home and buy another, better suited to my 
 taste, and, as I made myself believe, to our circum- 
 stances. I had hard work, at first, as John insisted 
 that he could not spare the amount from his busi- 
 ness ; however, he finally agreed to my wishes, and 
 bought a house in a more fashionable street. It was 
 not so large as I should have liked, but it was a 
 great deal larger and more showy than the old home, 
 and I felt that it would be quite an advance on our 
 former style of living. My husband did not seem as 
 enthusiastic as myself about the matter, but I flat- 
 tered myself that when we were once in our new 
 home he would be as pleased as I was. When the 
 time came for moving, I found that I had not half 
 enough furniture, and what I had would look very 
 shabby in the new house, and so I made the tour of 
 the furniture shops, to procure furniture that was 
 suitable. The prices were higher than I anticipated ; 
 but, of course I must have furniture, and so I ordered 
 what I needed. When the men came to put up the 
 furniture, there were a good many things which I had 
 forgotten, and which they insisted I must have or 
 my house would not be half furnished. I felt that 
 the expense was too great, but persuaded myself 
 that, as I had a nice house, it would be foolish not
 
 LIVING WITHIN ONE'S MEANS. 143 
 
 to furnish it properly. I felt a little bit frightened, 
 when the bill was sent in, and I found it was nearly 
 twice as much as I supposed it would be ; but, as 
 John paid it without complaining, I thought perhaps 
 it would all come out right. 
 
 "I soon found, however, that my large house re- 
 quired more work to keep it in order than the. small 
 one, and I was compelled to hire another girl. My 
 next-door neighbor had a nurse, and I found that, 
 if I kept up with the style of our neighborhood, I 
 must do as others did ; and so I procured a nurse- 
 girf, although I had serious doubts as to her capacity 
 or morals. We soon sold the old home, although at 
 considerable discount on our original price, and it 
 served to help make up the second payment on the 
 new home. Things went pretty well for a couple of 
 years, though I found that I had to work harder than 
 I had ever done, and John stayed late at the store, and 
 always looked tired and worried. When the time 
 came for the third payment, we found that we had 
 not been able to save any thing from the profits of 
 the store, and my husband must borrow the amount 
 from a friend. I noticed that our Spring stock of 
 goods was not as large as he had been in the habit 
 of having ; and, to my question as to why, he merely 
 said he could not command the means at present. I 
 did not know then, as I afterward learned, that the 
 stock on hand had been purchased on time; but I 
 'could see that something was wrong. My husband 
 looked troubled and worried ; and sometimes I felt 
 that, perhaps, it was the debt that troubled him, but 
 shook off the idea as a mere fancy, and said to my-
 
 144 STORIES OF ^OME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 self: 'It's all nonsense; John is just working too 
 hard, and that makes him look worried and tired.' 
 But at the end of the fourth year he told me we must 
 lessen our expenses in some way, or he would not be 
 able to meet his liabilities. 
 
 "'But how are we to do it?' I asked. ' Our 
 children must dress as other children do.' 
 
 " ' Well, I do n't know about that. I shall leave 
 it to you, Nellie ; but you must manage to lessen our 
 expenses, unless you wish to do worse,' my husband 
 replied, despondently. 
 
 " His look and tone frightened me, and I set to 
 planning how I might save a little, at least. I dis- 
 missed my nurse, and took charge of my children 
 myself. Then I dismissed my cook, and, with the 
 help of'my remaining girl, who was very inefficient, 
 I tried to get along and retrench a little. But it was 
 no use. For two years we fought the battle, with 
 failures, and were defeated. Our debts had accumu- 
 lated to such an extent that all our efforts to extricate 
 ourselves proved unavailing. The times were hard, 
 and those who had purchased goods of us on time 
 could not pay, and we feared at last that we must sell 
 off our stock of goods and our home to meet the de- 
 mand of our creditors. Our beautiful home was sold 
 under the auctioneer's hammer for the third of what 
 it cost us. By selling every thing we could pos- 
 sibly spare.^ my husband was enabled to pay all his 
 debts in full, and his good name was safe, which was 
 some comfort. It was very humiliating for my hus- 
 band to be compelled to ask for a position as sales- 
 man of men with whom he had formerly competed in
 
 LIVING WITHIN ONE'S MEANS. 145 
 
 business ; and, though he easily obtained a situation, 
 yet it was not pleasant to stay where we would meet 
 those who had been our Summer friends, and who 
 either turned a cold shoulder to us, or, what was a 
 great deal harder to bear, pitied us, and so we came 
 here ; and, though our salary is not large, we are 
 living within our income, and hope to save a little to 
 purchase a home by and by not a house for show, 
 but for shelter and comfort." As Mrs. Hubbard 
 finished her recital, Mrs. Miller's tears were flowing 
 in sympathy with her friend's troubles. After a few 
 morfterits' silence, Mrs. Hubbard said, timidly: 
 
 " I never thought to tell this to any one here; 
 but during our acquaintance you have grown very 
 dear to us, and I could not see you taking the step 
 that almost beggared us without a word of warning. 
 If the house were the only expense, you might, per- 
 haps, venture safely; but, my dear Mrs. Miller, it is 
 only the beginning of expense, and every new one 
 only paves the way for another. My new house re- 
 quired new furniture, and a great deal of it ; my new 
 furniture required us to dress in style to correspond 
 with our surroundings; the extra dress required extra 
 expense in making and caring for ; my large house 
 compelled me to hire more help ; and so one expense 
 brought another, until we were brought to financial 
 ruin." 
 
 " But one dislikes to live shabbier than one's 
 neighbors," objected Mrs. Miller, faintly. 
 
 "You live a great deal better than some of your 
 neighbors; and I am sure. that those of your friends 
 who are worthy of the name love and respect you as 
 13
 
 146 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 much in your little home as they would if you lived in 
 a palace." 
 
 Mrs. Miller sighed. " Well, perhaps, I have been 
 foolish. I think, for the present, I will say no more 
 about it." 
 
 Her friend smiled pleasantly. "Yes, I think I 
 would say just a little more. I would tell him, if I 
 were you, that I had concluded that I did not need 
 a new house for a while, at least" 
 
 ' ' Well, I guess I will, then ; and I do n't wonder 
 your husband listened to your persuasions ; for you 
 have a faculty for making people think your way the 
 right one." 
 
 4 ' I hope my ' persuasions, ' as you call them, will 
 not cause you as much trouble as they did us," Mrs. 
 Hubbard answered, as she put on her hat and shawl 
 to go home. 
 
 Mrs. Miller followed her friend's advice ; and 
 when her husband, five years later, was able to build 
 a large house and furnish it nicely, without incurring 
 debt, she felt that she had been repaid for her waiting.
 
 THE 
 
 AUNTIE," exclaimed Ella Lewis, one 
 evening as she came in on her way from 
 school, "Miss Harrison is getting up a Cold 
 ta Water Band, and Ida Moore wanted brother 
 Will and me to join it. I told her I thought 
 'temperance societies were for those who were 
 drunkards or getting to be, and may be for 
 men who have to go sometimes where people 
 drink ; but I think it 's silly for girls to join Cold 
 J Water Bands; don't you think so, auntie?" 
 Y "What did your brother say about it?" 
 
 asked Mrs. Meyer, without answering Ella's 
 question. 
 
 "He was half a mind to give his name; but I 
 laughed at the idea, and he said 'he guessed he 
 wasn't in any danger yet;' and I say so too," replied 
 Ella, with emphasis. 
 
 Mrs. Meyer sat thinking for a few minutes, and 
 then said, "Ella, dear, come sit here by me, and I 
 will tell you a little story. It is not a very pleasant 
 one, and I do not often speak of it, but it may do 
 you good to see what a mistake I made once. My 
 Either and mother died when I was only twelve years 
 old, and my brother Harry was about two years 
 younger, and we were left in the care of an uncle. 
 In those days it was nothing unusual for people to
 
 148 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 take their morning dram, and there were no temper- 
 ance societies for little children ; but when I was 
 about sixteen years of age there was a temperance 
 society organized in our village, and we were urged 
 to join it. I laughed at the idea, and uncle did not 
 persuade us. 'Let every one do as he likes,' was 
 his motto. Brother Harry was anxious to join the 
 society, but I ridiculed the suggestion, and hinted 
 that perhaps he was afraid to trust himself without 
 a pledge ; and as he was. accustomed to look up to 
 me for counsel, and not caring to belong to a 
 society if I would not go with him, he said no more 
 about it. 
 
 "Time passed on, and Harry was eighteen, and I 
 twenty years of age. I noticed that my brother 
 always took his morning bitters with uncle, and one 
 morning when uncle was away from home I saw 
 Harry go to the cupboard and take a glass of liquor. 
 I could scarcely have told why, but what I had seen 
 gave me a strong feeling of anxiety, and I won- 
 dered if he was in the habit of drinking when uncle 
 was gone, but I could not summon courage to speak 
 about it. A few weeks afterwards I overheard uncle 
 telling aunt that he feared Harry was keeping unsuit- 
 able company, and was getting into bad habits. I 
 longed to ask what he meant, but was too proud to 
 let him know that I shared their anxiety, though it 
 caused me many a sleepless night. One evening, 
 about three months afterward, I heard a confused 
 murmur of voices in the hall, and stepping to the 
 door of my room I saw my uncle and a stranger 
 supporting my brother between them. I started
 
 SIGNING THE PLEDGE. 149 
 
 forward with a cry of alarm, but uncle motioned me 
 away, and I shall never forget the shock with which 
 my brother's silly, maudlin words fell on my ears as 
 he staggered to his room, nor the disgust which I felt 
 as I looked upon his face and blood-shot eyes. I 
 knew too well their meaning. ' Harry was drunk! my 
 brother, and with a cry of shame and mortified 
 pride I rushed back to my room to sob out my 
 grief alone. The next morning I tried to remon- 
 strate with Harry and to get him to promise never 
 to touch the poison again. O, how his reply startled 
 and stung me: 'Now, Nell, see here, I wanted to sign 
 the pledge once, and I might have been a sober boy 
 to day if you had n't made fun of me and wanted to 
 know if I needed a temperance society to keep me 
 from being a drunkard. You would n't sign it your- 
 self, and you hindered me; now you can take the 
 consequence,' and there was a reckless bravado in 
 face and tone. 'Last night wasn't the beginning, 
 only those fellows were such fools as to bring me 
 home instead of keeping me out until / was sober 
 or you asleep. ' 
 
 ' ' It was no use to plead. I had lost my influ- 
 ence over my brother. He already craved the alco- 
 holic poison, and he seemed to take a sort of pleasure 
 in telling me it was my own fault whenever I tried 
 to persuade him to give it up. At twenty-five he 
 was killed in a drunken row, and I felt as if I had 
 killed him," and Mrs. Meyer stopped, overcome by 
 her emotions. 
 
 ' ' He ought to have been man enough to have 
 governed his appetite, and not to have been led by
 
 150 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 others," said Ella, wiping away her tears which 
 flowed at her aunt's recital. 
 
 "Yes, it is true, he ought; but I was the oldest, 
 and he looked up to me in many things, and I might 
 have prevented his acquiring a taste for stimulants if 
 I had only been wise enough to use my influence 
 right. If I could have saved him after I saw the 
 danger I would have given my right hand, but it was 
 too late then. No, Ella, it isn't silly for girls and 
 boys to sign a temperance pledge, and I advise you 
 to not only give your name to the society, but to 
 urge your brother to do so. You may not be in 
 danger, but your brother is ; and if you influence him 
 to take a pledge to total abstinence before he learns 
 to drink you will save- him from ruin, and you will 
 not have the cause for sorrow and regret that I have 
 to-day. It seems like opening the wound afresh to 
 talk of.it, but I could not bear to see you falling 
 into the same error without giving you my own sad 
 experience as a warning to you." 
 
 Ella kissed her aunt's forehead tenderly as she 
 rose- to go home. " I thank you very much for tell- 
 ing me this story, auntie; I am sure Will would not 
 sign the pledge if I didn't, and it all looks so dif- 
 ferent to me now." 
 
 A word from his sister was all that Will Lewis 
 needed, and together the brother and sister signed 
 the pledge that evening, but Ella did not tell Mrs. 
 Meyer's sad experience.
 
 ]V[ AGGIE'S MRIALS. 
 
 was a very weary pair of feet that car- 
 ried Maggie Barr's body up the hill 
 to the residence of Mrs. Tate, her moth- 
 er's rich neighbor. But the errand must be 
 *y done, and there was no one else home could do 
 it but Maggie, as brother Dan was at work for 
 a neighboring farmer, and all the other chil- 
 dren (and there were five of them) were younger 
 than Maggie; and so this errand, as well as a 
 jL good many other things, seemed to fall, as a 
 T matter of course, upon this elder sister. To be 
 *" sure, ten-year-old Harry might have done a 
 good many errands; but his eyes and ears were 
 always on the alert to see and hear all the fun there 
 was going, and he did n't always remember to de- 
 liver his messages correctly, nor hurry as fast as he 
 ought on the way ; and so the important messages and 
 errands and Maggie thought they were very many 
 were intrusted to "sister Maggie." Besides all these, 
 there was baby to watch and to amuse, at the same 
 time keeping an oversight of two-year-old Ned, who 
 would keep poking his fingers into baby's blue eyes 
 and pink ears, in his efforts to explore their mysteri- 
 ous depths. Then, there was the table to set three 
 times a day, and dishes to wash. 
 
 Maggie was only twelve years old, and sometimes
 
 152 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 these numerous and mixed duties were not particu- 
 larly inviting; but she was not often cross, neither 
 was she always good-natured, over them ; and now, 
 after an unusually busy day, a message must be 
 carried to their neighbor in regard to some sewing 
 which Maggie's mother was doing for Mrs. Tate. 
 
 "Don't stay long, dear," cautioned Mrs. Barr; 
 "for baby will want you while I strain the milk and 
 put it away." 
 
 As the child climbed the hill, each step grew 
 more and more wearisome ; and when at last she 
 knocked at the door, she felt as if she could never 
 climb another hill without a new pair of feet, her 
 own were so tired. 
 
 The message was soon delivered, and the mes- 
 senger on her way home ; but the feet did not move 
 very rapidly, even though going down hill; for were 
 they not going to other duties instead of rest? 
 
 " O dear ! I wonder if I shall always be busy, 
 busy!" queried Maggie, with a sigh, as she thought 
 of the weary steps she must take with baby, whose 
 "fretful hour" was sure to be when mamma was 
 busiest. " I do wish I could have time to read pretty 
 stories and have a good time, like other girls. Susie 
 Tate's mamma keeps a nurse-girl ; and O, it must 
 be so nice to do as you please, and not be both- 
 ered about any tiling /" And as Maggie contrasted 
 Susie's "good times" with her own rather homely 
 duties, she felt, as many a one of maturer years has 
 felt when weary and overworked, that, in some way, 
 things were not exactly evenly adjusted. The more 
 she thought it over, the more weary grew her feet,
 
 MAGGIE'S TRIALS. 153 
 
 and there came a lump in her throat that grew bigger, 
 until, by the time she reached home, she felt as if it 
 would choke her. 
 
 The mother was waiting for her to take baby, 
 who seemed more than usually restless. At any other 
 time Maggie would have held out her arms gladly to 
 receive the little one ; for she was proud of and loved 
 this rosy-cheeked baby sister very much ; but just 
 now she was thinking of what a nice time Susie Tate 
 was having, and how she "never could have a min- 
 ute to. herself," and the face that looked into baby's 
 was not very encouraging; but she reached out her 
 hands mechanically, and, without replying to her 
 mother's comment upon her lengthy stay, she carried 
 baby into the sitting-room. Maggie's dissatisfied 
 feelings seemed to communicate themselves to baby, 
 and she had no power to soothe to rest the little one, 
 who usually ' ' was better with sister Maggie than 
 with any one else," as she had boasted more than a 
 score of times. To-night all her efforts were of no 
 avail. Baby would not sleep, and its fretful whimper 
 culminated in a vigorous cry ; and when Mrs. Barr's 
 task was completed, she found both children in tears ; 
 for Maggie's grieved feelings had gotten the mastery, 
 and she was weeping just as earnestly, although in 
 silence. 
 
 After a few moments of motherly soothing, baby 
 was sleeping peacefully in its crib, and Mrs. Barr 
 turned her attention to Maggie, who had thrown her- 
 self on the lounge, and was crying quietly to herself. 
 Seating herself on the lounge, she lifted Maggie's 
 head, and laid it on her lap. Stroking the short
 
 154 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 curls tenderly, she said, softly, "What has happened 
 that my little girl is crying like this?" The tender 
 tone, the caressing hand, was just the one thing that 
 could touch Maggie's heart, and in her present mood 
 it touched the fountain of her tears, and, covering 
 her face with her hands, she sobbed harder than 
 ever. Mrs. Barr was puzzled. This was a new freak 
 of her daughter's, and she could not comprehend its 
 cause or guess its meaning. 
 
 After two or three ineffectual efforts to quiet her 
 or learn the cause of her tears, she waited in silence 
 till this outburst should have spent itself. When her 
 sobs had ceased, the mother said : 
 
 "Will you not tell me your trouble, Maggie?" 
 
 ' ' O mother, I am so tired of work, work all the 
 time ! I have to hurry in the morning, and all day ; 
 I am busy always, except when in school. I scarcely 
 get to look at a book ; and baby must be cared for, 
 and dishes must be washed, and nobody cares how 
 tired I get; and I do n't have nice things nor nice 
 times, and it 's just awful to be ' sister Maggie ' to so 
 many. I wish I was in baby's place instead of hav- 
 ing to work all the time. Susie Tate's mother keeps 
 a nurse girl, and Susie can do just as she pleases; 
 and I am so tired of it all." And Maggie's words 
 ended in another sob. 
 
 "But, Maggie, dear, Mrs. Tate has plenty of 
 money, and we have not. Your father has only 
 this little farm, and we can not afford so many luxu- 
 ries as they. Besides, I would rather trust baby and 
 Ned to their sister than to a hired nurse, but I did 
 not know I was burdening you. I do not want
 
 MAGGIE'S TRIALS. 155 
 
 my daughter to grow tired of her home and her 
 brothers and sisters," and Mrs. Barr's voice had a 
 suspicious tremor in it that made Maggie look up 
 with an inquiring glance. "'I will try to give you 
 more time to yourself, but when you are out of school 
 I need your help, and I have come to look for it, I 
 guess. The money Mrs. Tate pays me for sewing is 
 to buy you some of the nice things you say you 
 never have, and I trust some of the steps you take 
 are for your comfort as well as for others." 
 
 J^But mamma, I heard papa s.ay, if you would do 
 that work, it must be used on yourself, and I am 
 sure you like nice things as much as I do." 
 
 ' ' I can do nicely without a new dress for the 
 Winter. My last Winter's dresses are respectable 
 and very comfortable." 
 
 "But, mother, don't you ever get tired of this 
 humdrum work? Don't you wish you could rest 
 and have nice times, like other people?" 
 
 "There are other people who don't have even 
 such nice times as I have, my dear child." 
 
 " I don't mean that kind of other people, mother; 
 but do n't you wish you could ride in a carriage, and 
 have beautiful clothes, and a grand house, and lots 
 of things?" 
 
 " I am glad I have my children well and strong, 
 and that your father is a sober, Christian man. 
 Would you be willing to exchange your father for 
 Mr. Tate, Maggie?" 
 
 "O no, not for the world! Why, John M'Don- 
 ald, their gardener, says Mr % Tate comes home real 
 drunk sometimes, and I would rather be poor than
 
 156 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 have papa like that ; but, mamma, it seems as if we 
 ought to have some of the nice times and nice 
 things, instead of some one else having them all." 
 
 "My daughter had better not puzzle her brain 
 over questions that wiser heads have failed to solve. 
 And now if you will go to bed and sleep, I think 
 things will have a brighter 'look in the morning than 
 they have now." And with a loving good-night kiss 
 Mrs. Barr sent Maggie to her bed. 
 
 Maggie's heart was considerably lighter, but the 
 visions her waking hours had conjured up still lin- 
 gered with her, and as she fell asleep there floated 
 before her beautiful children and gayly dressed ladies 
 in carriages of such magnificence as her childish 
 fancy had loved to picture for herself and her parents 
 and the children. 
 
 -Things did look brighter in the morning, and 
 Maggie tried to make amends for her fretfulness of 
 the previous evening. She watched her mother as 
 she went to and fro about the duties and cares of the 
 house, and she could but notice the patience with 
 which she looked after all the little details of her 
 home. "I know mamma is tired, and yet she is so 
 patient with it all. I wonder if she is ashamed of 
 me for my crossness. I wonder if I will ever be so 
 cross again. Yes, I expect so ; but I won 't let 
 mother know even if I get so cross I must bite my 
 fingers off, so there now!" and Maggie set her teeth 
 together with a decision that meant a victory over 
 self, if possible. 
 
 When the day's work was done and the little ones 
 all asleep, Maggie drew her chair beside her mother's
 
 MAGGIE'S TRIALS. 157 
 
 and laid her head on her knee. After a few mo, 
 ments of silence, she said : 
 
 "Mamma, I 've been thinking it all out to-day, 
 and would rather be Maggie Earr than any body 
 else, even if we ain't rich, and have no servants. 
 And I Ve watched you all day, and I 'm sorry I was 
 cross yesterday, when I knew you had worked so 
 hard all day long ; and then, mamma, you sat up to 
 sew for Mrs. Tate last night O, I know you did, for 
 the ruffles that were not hemmed last night were all 
 finished this morning, and there is no fairy about this 
 hou&e unless it is you." 
 
 " Well, you are content to live just our humdrum 
 life, as you called it, are you?" questioned Mrs. Barr. 
 . ' ' Yes ; but mother, I '11 never ask you to over- 
 work yourself for me not if I never have a nice 
 dress or hat as long as I live, you dear mother," and 
 Maggie kissed the hand she had imprisoned as if she 
 meant to keep it. 
 
 ' ' I am glad you are looking at things more 
 cheerfully, and I know your work will seem lighter, 
 and I shall not feel mine nearly so heavy if my 
 daughter is content. You are but a child, Maggie, 
 but I have come to look to you for so many things 
 that I am afraid my work would be very heavy with- 
 out your help, and especially if I thought you were 
 dissatisfied with your home. Your father can not 
 give you many accomplishments, but he can give 
 you a good, substantial education if .his life and 
 health is spared. There are a good many burdens 
 that will fall upon you as my eldest daughter, but I 
 trust you will be repaid in the abundant opportuni-
 
 158 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 ties you may have for helping your younger brothers 
 and sisters in their efforts to be good and true men 
 and women. You are very dear to me, dearer than 
 you can now understand, and I have looked forward 
 to the time when I could lean on you for support 
 and take you into my cabinet as chief counselor. 
 Perhaps I am selfish, but I want to do that which 
 will be the best for all my children." 
 
 ' ' You can never be selfish, I am sure, and I am 
 sorry I made you unhappy last night. I '11 do my 
 best, see if I don't; and if I get cross at any time 
 just give me a hint, and I '11 straighten out the 
 wrinkles double quick," and Maggie laughed even 
 \vhile she brushed away the tears. As she said 
 good-night she stole an arm about her mother's neck 
 and whispered, "I shan't mind being tired now 
 since I know you understand and care about it."
 
 0HRISTMAS IN ILLINOIS IN 1846. 
 
 ERHAPS some of my readers would like 
 to know something about how little chil- 
 dren spent their Christmas in what was 
 called the "West," thirty years ago. 
 5 The school I am going to tell you of was 
 not in a village, but in the edge of the woods 
 in one of the eastern counties of Illinois. 
 
 We didn't have "vacation" then, as you 
 do now, but sometimes the "schoolmaster" 
 that is what we called our teacher would give 
 us a treat of some kind. 
 
 Some three or four weeks before Christmas, 
 the scholars would gather in groups at dinner-time 
 and talk over the prospect for a good time at Christ- 
 mas. Some of the larger boys would be appointed 
 to interview the teacher, and find out, if possible, 
 whether he was going to "treat" or not. Sometimes 
 the master "did n't know," and then there would be 
 guessing and planning about the prospect in view. 
 
 Sometimes some of the larger and ruder boys 
 would suggest the idea of "locking him out" until 
 he should come to terms ; and sometimes the sug- 
 gestion was carried into effect, so far as the locking 
 out was concerned, but the means employed did not 
 always bring the "master" to terms. 
 
 On this particular occasion, however, the master
 
 160 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 was disposed to be accommodating, and the scholars, 
 big and little, were all on tiptoe with expectation, 
 and in our noonday caucuses we all voted that the 
 master was splendid. I guess we did n't use that 
 word, exactly; but we meant the same thing, that 
 you mean when you say splendid, or when you call 
 your teacher or a playmate a "brick." 
 
 The day before Christmas was a busy one for the 
 schoolmaster's wife and daughters, in getting the 
 "treat" ready. On Christmas morning, the master 
 came in sight, followed by his two oldest boys, lads 
 of about sixteen and fourteen years of age, each 
 laden with a basket, holding almost a bushel and 
 closely covered. 
 
 The boys and girls all gathered at the door, hop- 
 ing to get a peep, or at least a smell, of the "good- 
 ies," but a wave of the teacher's hand made them 
 fall back a little, and the mysterious baskets, with 
 their precious loads, were soon deposited in the box- 
 like pulpit for the school-house was made to answer 
 the purpose of a church on Sundays. Then the 
 master went to the door and "rapped" on it with 
 his "ruler," to let us know that it was school time. 
 
 When we were all seated on the long wooden, 
 backless benches, the schoolmaster adjusted his spec- 
 .tacles very carefully he looked very much like the 
 pictures we see nowadays of the old time school- 
 master then he pushed them up on his forehead, 
 and looked about the room. After a little pause, 
 he announced to the school that, "as today is 
 Chmtmas, we will not study our usual lessons ; but, 
 if the school wishes, we will have spelling- school."
 
 CHRISTMAS THIRTY YEARS AGO. 161 
 
 Of course, the school "wished" it, and a big boy 
 and girl were appointed by the master to ' ' choose 
 up." I suppose my readers attended some of the 
 many spelling-schools which were held over the 
 country last Winter, so I need not tell you about 
 this one. We had no recess in those days, and our 
 school commenced at eight o'clock, instead of nine, 
 as it does now; but the morning hours soon passed 
 away, and noon came, and then each family of chil- 
 dren sat down to their cold dinner with good appe- 
 tites^and tempers, too, for that matter. 
 
 At one o'clock, the master's ruler called us to 
 order again, and that reminds me that I have forgot- 
 ten to tell you what a nice time we had, and what 
 merry games we played, but that must go now, or 
 my letter will be too long. 
 
 When we were all quiet and we got quiet sooner 
 than usual on that day two boys and two girls, the 
 steadiest and best-behaved in the school, were se- 
 lected to "pass" the not candies and nuts, but 
 cakes, pies (mince, apple and pumpkin), and dough- 
 nuts. The doughnuts were cut in all sorts of fanci- 
 ful shapes, and some were cut with thimbles, and 
 when fried were about the size and shape of a filbert, 
 and were called "kisses" by the little ones. Wasn't 
 there grand fun when the "kisses" were distributed! 
 and did n't the schoolmaster and all make the old 
 school house ring with merry laughter, when a little 
 fat-faced, curly-haired girl, her eyes swimming in 
 tears, called out: 
 
 ' ' Please, master, George Castle has taken all my 
 kisses! won't you make him give 'em back?" 
 14
 
 1 62 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 When the pies and cakes don't read it "pizen 
 cakes," as I have heard children say it were all 
 disposed of, then the master brought out a liberal 
 supply of rosy-cheeked apples. What fun we had 
 in tossing them back and forth ! and how the big 
 boys and girls pared theirs carefully, and then swung 
 the paring round their heads and cast it on the floor, 
 to see what letter it would form ! and how delighted 
 they were when the paring formed the initial letter of 
 the name of some special favorite or sweetheart ! 
 
 At about half-past three, we were again ' ' called to 
 order," and the "big spelling class " took its place, 
 and the lesson assigned on the previous day was 
 spelled, and the school was dismissed. 
 
 The tired, but happy, children put on their wraps, 
 and, taking their empty dinner-baskets on their arms, 
 were soon on their way home, laughing and shouting, 
 as they threw their snow-balls back and forth in 
 merry glee. 
 
 All this was thirty years ago, and "the master 
 sleeps upon the hill," and many of his pupils rest in 
 the same graveyard ; but on this Christmas the boys 
 and girls who read this will have as merry a time as 
 we had then, no doubt, though in a different way.
 
 EAR me, I wonder if there really is any 
 sense in it any way!" and little Mrs. 
 Webb sat down and began working hur- 
 l\ riedly on the button-hole she had begun before 
 
 called to the parlor to receive a caller. 
 "Why, what's the matter now? Do you 
 consider buttons and button-holes a nuisance, 
 and propose to dispense with them in the 
 future?" asked her sister as she looked up 
 from her book, as she sat by the sitting-room 
 window. 
 
 "Now, Nellie, don't tease; you know I 
 am not so silly as that." 
 
 "Well, what is it then? something serious, I 
 know by your looks." 
 
 "As you are a young lady with but few cares 
 and responsibilities resting upon you, perhaps you 
 may not think so ; but with me it is a serious matter, 
 and I really wish " 
 
 "Now, sister, I object to your making a speech 
 until there is a motion before the house. Before you 
 present your arguments I should like to know what 
 you are talking about." 
 
 "Very well, then, here it is," and Mrs. Webb 
 laughed at her sister's teasing. "I move that the 
 rules of etiquette be so far modified as to allow a
 
 164 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 lady to use her hands in necessary work while enter- 
 taining callers." 
 
 Nellie laughed gleefully. "Well, I don't know 
 as I shall agree with you, but for the sake of getting 
 it in shape I second the motion." 
 
 "And now, Mr. Chairman," said Mrs. Webb to 
 her husband, who had come in during the conversa- 
 tion, "will you please state the question?" 
 
 ' ' Certainly, any thing to oblige you. Let me 
 see; how is it? O, yes; Resolved, That Mrs. Grundy 
 be asked to give the ladies permission to work and 
 gossip at the same time. Really, ladies, according 
 to my ideas of woman's work and talk, that will be 
 an utter impossibility." 
 
 "If you please, sir, you have not stated the 
 question fairly ; and beside, I deny your right to pass 
 judgment at this stage of the debate," objected Mrs. 
 Webb. "But, seriously, what is the use of my sit- 
 ting with my hands folded when I could work and 
 talk just as well? For instance, this afternoon I have 
 had five calls, which altogether have taken up two 
 hours of my time and put me that much behind with 
 my work. I was very glad to "see each one who 
 called to-day, but Grade and Jennie are needing 
 their dresses so much that I should have enjoyed 
 their company a great deal more if I could have 
 been working these button holes while I was talking." 
 
 "But, sister, it seems to me that it would look 
 rude, and as if you were in a hurry for them to go, 
 if you were to keep on with your work when you 
 had company," said Nellie. 
 
 "I don't feel so, though perhaps others may,
 
 GUI BONO? 165 
 
 and that is just where I want the reform to begin. 
 Every married lady knows, or ought to know, that 
 every woman who has a family to look after has need 
 to be busy nearly all the time, and that if she spends 
 all her afternoons in the parlor with idle hands that 
 there will be times when her work is neglected." 
 
 "Yes; but, wife, you owe something to society as 
 well as to your family," suggested Mr. Webb. 
 
 "I know it, and that is just the reason I want a 
 change in the rules of etiquette. Why can not I be 
 just .as polite and entertaining with my basting or 
 knitting in my hands as without? The last lady who 
 called to-day was Mrs. Clark, and I was really glad 
 to see her, and always enjoy her calls so much ; but 
 I ' was hurried and forgot to take my thimble off 
 before I went into the parlor, and, I suppose, she 
 saw it, or else judged from my looks that I was hur- 
 ried with my work, and so only stayed a few minutes. 
 Now if fashion, or society, or whatever you may 
 call it, would have allowed me to take my work into 
 the parlor I could have spent an hour in conversation 
 very profitably, for Mrs. Clark is not one of the gos- 
 siping ones ; but as it is, I feel that I hurried her 
 away and lost an opportunity for social enjoyment 
 that I need not have lost if it had not been for this 
 foolish custom." 
 
 "But, Lucy, the rich, who are able to hire their 
 work done, are not hurried as you are ; would you 
 have them take their work into the parlor, too ?" 
 asked Nellie. 
 
 "Yes; and it because they are rich and influen- 
 tial that I would have them do it. Of course, they
 
 1 66 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 need not take their calico and gingham there unless 
 they wish, but almost every lady has some light bit 
 of needle work or fancy knitting that she could keep 
 on hand to pick up while she is entertaining callers, 
 and so help us who are busier and less influential." 
 
 "But, wife, would not your work make you feel 
 unsocial and hurried?" 
 
 "Not a bit. The most social gatherings we have 
 are where the ladies bring their work ; do n't you 
 know how you laugh about our sewing circles?" 
 
 "Yes, and if you propose to talk about your 
 neighbors after the manner of orthodox sewing soci- 
 eties, I shall object," laughed Mr. Webb. 
 
 "I think, my dear, you are making too many 
 speeches for the president of a meeting. I have no 
 notion of making my parlor a place for idle gossip ; and, 
 by the way, I think our sewing societies are censured 
 a great deal more than they deserve. But I was 
 going to say, the pleasantest gatherings we have are 
 where the ladies bring their work, and the driest one 
 I ever attended was where each one wore her best 
 dress, and her most dignified manners, and sat idly 
 talking or watching her neighbor." 
 
 "Well, sister," suggested Nellie, "you have 
 about as much independence as any one, suppose 
 you ' start the fashion ' as the milliners say, and take 
 John's socks into the parlor and darn them while you 
 entertain your next caller. I fancy Mrs. Grundy 
 would turn up her aristocratic nose and lift her hands 
 in disgust if you were to dare to such a thing." 
 
 " I presume so ; but it is not necessary that John's 
 socks should be taken to the parlor. I can mend
 
 Cui BONO? 167 
 
 them of evenings while he reads to me. I love com- 
 pany, and enjoy the calls of my friends as much as 
 any one, but I owe a duty to my family as well as 
 to others, and I am sure there is plenty of work that 
 would not look out of place in the parlor, and I have 
 a great mind to begin to try at least, to inaugurate a 
 new era in parlor etiquette." 
 
 "Well, I shall want time to think about it before 
 I agree to vote ' aye ' on this very important ques- 
 tion," said Nellie; "so I move that the discussion be 
 contywed at our, next meeting." 
 
 "And ladies," said Mr. Webb, as he picked up 
 his hat and turned to the door, "business is waiting, 
 and I must go; but I hope, if you undertake this 
 reform, that you will let me know how it is received 
 by your fashionable friends."
 
 |O 
 
 STER 
 
 r, ail Motfe an& no $Ias. 
 
 iUT, mother, I arrr tired of just the same 
 kind of carpet all the time. I will have 
 to work hard for five or six weeks to 
 make it, and then it will be nothing but a rag 
 carpet, after all. Why can 't father get a nice 
 ingrain for the front room?" 
 
 " Your father is saving his money to buy 
 that farm of Mr. Johnson's. He thinks he gets 
 it very cheap ; but it will take all the money he 
 can raise this Fall to make the first payment." 
 "I thought father had enough land already. 
 I am sure it isn 't a week since I heard him 
 complaining because he had so much care on his 
 mind. I wonder," a little bitterly, "if he thinks 
 another farm, with another debt for two or three 
 years, will lighten his cares any !" 
 
 "Ella," said her mother, half reprovingly, half 
 apologetically, "your father is working hard to lay 
 by something for his children, and you ought not to 
 speak so. It will be very nice to have a farm of^ 
 your own when you come to get married." 
 
 " I suppose father thinks he is working for our 
 good ; but I would rather have a part of the money 
 now than to wait until I am married, which is not 
 likely to be very soon, unless some of the work- 
 hands choose to fall in love with me, and take me
 
 THE FOSTER FAMILY. 169 
 
 off your hands; and that is not likely to happen, 
 as they always see me in the worst possible plight. 
 It is nothing but drudge, drudge, all the time ; 
 kitchen and dairy, washing and ironing, sweeping 
 and making beds, making and mending, without 
 time to even comb my hair decently. I suppose, 
 if ever I do marry, it will be to some one who 
 has fallen in love with father's acres instead of his 
 daughter. O, I wish I could have something nice 
 and pretty just once!" and Ella Foster closed her 
 lips wih a very decided compression, and went on 
 vigorously rubbing the coarse linen towel that she 
 was ironing with an iron which had grown cold while 
 she was warming up with her subject. 
 
 -Mrs. Foster sighed as she turned from the table, 
 where she was paring a basket of apples for the Win- 
 ter's mince-meat, and went to the stove and put in an 
 extra stick of wood before she replied to her daugh- 
 ter's complaint. At last she said, in a weary, dis- 
 couraged tone : 
 
 "Well, Ellen, you may ask your father for the 
 money, but I am afraid it will be useless. I am sure 
 I wish you could have more leisure and nicer furni- 
 ture ; but your father thinks he can not afford to hire 
 a girl, and he says the furniture is good enough." 
 
 Nothing more was said about the carpet at. that 
 time ; but Ella made up her mind that she would ask 
 for it as soon as she found a favorable opportunity. 
 
 The home of the Fosters was very much like 
 many other homes. The father had commenced life 
 as a poor man, and had, by the strictest economy 
 and industry, succeeded in purchasing a little home
 
 170 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 and paying for it. But the habits acquired during 
 those years were not easily laid aside, and as his 
 property had increased so had his desire for more ; 
 and his wife, who in their early married life had de- 
 nied herself every luxury, and worked hard day and 
 night, almost, to save money to pay for their home, 
 had not yet come to the time when she felt that she 
 could sit down and take the rest she really needed. 
 Her husband had kept adding a few acres to his 
 farm every two or three years, keeping himself just 
 enough in debt to require constant saving in order to 
 meet his engagements. He had seldom hired help 
 for his wife, though she had often needed it sadly ; 
 but knowing her husband's desire to save, she had 
 refrained from complaining, and as Ella grew up she 
 was obliged to call on her for help here and there, 
 until, at the age of eighteen, the daughter had be- 
 come, like her mother, a constant drudge. 
 
 Ella had inherited from her mother a strong love 
 for the beautiful, which amounted almost to a pas- 
 sion the more so, apparently, because she had but 
 little opportunity to exercise or gratify her taste, 
 which, in spite of its crushing back, would crop out 
 in little, tastefully arranged ornaments, which she 
 contrived for her own room when the rest of the 
 family were asleep. 
 
 Ella was the youngest of two children. Others 
 had come to brighten their home ; but they had only 
 tarried for a little while. Tom was the only son, two 
 years older than Ella, and dear to his mother and 
 sister as the very apple of their eye. He had shared 
 his father's toil ever since he was old enough to pull
 
 THE FOSTER FAMILY. 171 
 
 weeds or hold a plow-handle; "but lately he had 
 shown considerable quickness in mastering the studies 
 assigned him in the district school, and his mother's 
 brother, who lived in the city ,"' having taken quite a 
 fancy to him, had, after considerable coaxing, suc- 
 ceeded in persuading his father to let him spend the 
 Winter at his house, and attend school with his 
 cousins on the condition, however, that his board 
 should not cost him any thing. 
 
 The evening after the conversation recorded above, 
 Ella Deceived a letter from her brother, saying he ex- 
 pected to come home during holidays, and adding: 
 
 "I should like to ask Lew Merrell, a school- 
 mate of mine, home with me, Ella ; but his home is 
 so much nicer than mine that I do n't like to. 
 Could n't you coax father to get something new for 
 the front room ? I know you could brighten it up 
 nicely if you had the chance. If you could only 
 coax father to give you fifty dollars when he sells the 
 hogs, you could make the old house look splendid, 
 Puss ! It won't be hard work to persuade mother ; 
 she likes nice things almost as well as you do. I 
 want Lew to come ; but I shall not ask him unless 
 you can coax father to fix up the house. He has 
 every thing so pleasant at home not fine, you know, 
 but so cheerful and neat." 
 
 These few lines decided Ella, and when her father 
 came in to supper, and said he had sold his hogs for 
 one cent more on the pound than he had expected 
 to receive, she thought the opportunity a good one, 
 and while lie sat by the fire after supper, looking 
 over the city paper, she asked, a little timidly:
 
 172 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME OLKS. 
 
 " Father, how much money will you receive for 
 the hogs you sold to-day ?" 
 
 "About nine hundred dollars;" and Mr. Foster 
 looked up, wondering why his daughter should be 
 interested in the subject. 
 
 "Well, then, father, don't you think you could 
 afford a new carpet for the front room ? I mean an 
 ingrain, like Aunt Mary has in her sitting-room." 
 
 Mr. Foster looked at her a moment, as if to 
 be certain that he had heard correctly, and then 
 said: "What has put that into your head? Your 
 mother and I have been married twenty-five years, 
 and never had any thing better than a rag carpet. 
 No : ingrain, as you call it, will do for city folks ; 
 if you want a carpet, make one you 've nothing 
 else to do." 
 
 "But, father, I am tired of rag carpets, and I am 
 tired of making them, too," persisted Ella. 
 
 "Well, what do you want to do? spend your 
 time in crocheting or in gadding to the village, I sup- 
 pose ! No ; I have other use for my money than to 
 buy ingrain carpets with it. I must make a payment 
 of six hundred dollars on the Johnson farm next 
 week, and I have bargained for a corn-crusher that 
 will cost fifty dollars. Smith says he saves one-third 
 the amount of feed by his. Then I must look up 
 some more yearlings, to feed the roughness to this 
 Winter, and that will take all my spare change," and 
 with this, for him, rather lengthy explanation, Mr. 
 Foster turned to his paper again. 
 
 Ella made no reply ; her little castle in the air 
 had suddenly fallen, and, gathering up her work, she
 
 THE FOSTER FAMILY. 173 
 
 went to her own room, and, sitting down on a stool 
 by the low window, she laid her head on the sill 
 and sobbed quietly to herself. At last, when her 
 feelings had spent themselves a little, she rose, lit 
 the lamp, and sat down to finish the garment she 
 was making. 
 
 "Father thinks more of his stock than he does 
 of his family," she said to herself, impatiently. "I 
 wonder how he could spare Tom ; I wish / could get 
 away from the farm for a year or two ! No, I do n't, 
 either^ for then mother would have my work and 
 hers ooth to do; but O dear! I am so tired of it 
 all, " and again the tears welled up in the blue, eyes, 
 but were resolutely dashed away, and the work 
 which had fallen in her lap was again taken up, and 
 finally finished. Then she sought her pillow, to 
 dream of bright-colored carpets and lace curtains, 
 oddly mixed up with crushed corn and yearling 
 calves. 
 
 The next day Ella reported to her mother the 
 result of her petition. 
 
 Mrs. Foster sighed and bid her daughter be pa- 
 tient. 
 
 "Your father means it for your good, and he 
 does n't feel the need of such things, as we do ; you 
 know he is seldom in the house, except at meal- 
 times." 
 
 "I would n't care so much for myself," said Ella, 
 tearfully; "but Tom wants to bring Levy Merrill 
 home with him, and he can 't when every thing looks 
 so shabby ; and /don't want strangers here, either, 
 unless we can have things like other folks. I sup-
 
 174 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 pose Tom will have to come home alone, or stay at 
 uncle's during holidays," and then, as if affrighted 
 at the thought, she exclaimed: "O, I hope he will 
 not stay there over Christmas; he has been gone 
 nearly two months, now!" 
 
 Tom came home during holidays, but he did 
 not bring his friend with him ; his pride would not 
 grant his schoolmate the opportunity to draw un- 
 pleasant contrasts between the two homes. 
 
 There were no Christmas presents bestowed in 
 the home of the Fosters. For the first two years 
 after their marriage, Mrs. Foster had made her 
 husband a present, but he had not remembered her 
 in like manner, and even laughed at the dressing- 
 gown which she had made for him when he was 
 sleeping, declaring that he did n't want to wear 
 "woman's clothes," and so she had abandoned what 
 had been a standing custom in her girlhood's home. 
 Ella would occasionally express a wish that she 
 could have pleasant surprises, as her cousins had on 
 Christmas mornings, but her father always said he 
 could not afford it, and so Christmas was pretty 
 much the same to them as any other day, except 
 that the kind-hearted city uncle would occasionally 
 send his 'nephew and niece some little tokens of 
 remembrance. 
 
 During vacation, Tom took occasion to say to 
 his sister : "I shall never come back to the farm 
 again. Of course, I shall come back and see the 
 home folks ; but I am not going to drudge here 
 any longer. I would not mind staying here if there 
 was any rest, but father never takes any himself, nor
 
 THE FOSTER FAMILY. 175 
 
 allows any one else to. Uncle hag offered me a 
 place in the shop with him, and I am going to ac- 
 cept it ; and O, Puss, it is so pleasant at- uncle's ! 
 The girls all work, but they do n't have to keep at it 
 all the time. We have suck fun of evenings; and 
 uncle and aunt are the best company of all." 
 
 ' ' But what will / do when you are gone, Tom ? 
 I shall be all alone, then." 
 
 " I know it ; but if I stay it will not make it any 
 easier for you. Father will manage to keep us all 
 busy; you and mother are just wearing yourselves 
 to dath, to make money, and then to think he 
 would n't buy you a new carpet ! I declare it 's too 
 bad ! I wonder if he has any idea how much 
 you and mother save every year, besides what he 
 gets for the butter and poultry? You had better 
 be a hired girl, and done with it ; you would get to 
 rest some time, and have the pleasure of spending 
 what you earned, besides." 
 
 And Tom whittled away desperately at the pine 
 stick which he held in his hand, forgetful that he 
 was making dirt on the clean floor for his sister to 
 ,sweep up. 
 
 Ella made no reply to his impatient words, and 
 Tom looked up to see the tears stealing, one by 
 one, down her cheeks, as she hastily brushed them 
 away with the back of her hand, and went on set- 
 ting the table for dinner. 
 
 He jumped up hastily, threw the stick into the 
 fire, and shut his knife, exclaiming, as he did so : 
 "There, I '11 never say another word about it; I 
 know it makes you feel worse ; and I do ri t want
 
 176 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 you to leave mother; but there 's no use talking I 
 can't stand it, and I won't." 
 
 And he was as good as his word. 
 
 He went back to school. After the school closed, 
 he took a situation in his uncle's shop, and for a 
 time he did well ; but the sudden change from the 
 severest drudgery to the liberty to go and come as 
 he pleased was too' much, and Tom Foster, bewil- 
 dered by the allurements of city life, thrust upon him 
 so suddenly, yielded to temptation, and became a 
 fast young man. 
 
 The mother and Ella shed many bitter tears over 
 the wayward one, while the father was often heard to 
 say he "couldn't see why Tom should be so idle 
 and shiftless, when he never knew any thing else but 
 work till he was twenty," apparently unconscious that 
 it was his "all work and no play" system which had 
 driven his son from what might have been a pleasant 
 and safe occupation, into temptations of which he 
 had never even heard, and which he had not the 
 power to resist.
 
 JOYFUL KIDINGS. 
 
 " High in the belfry the old sexton stands, 
 Clasping the rope in his thin, bony hands," 
 
 ND all along the principal streets of Phila- 
 delphia stood the sentinels ready to send 
 the tidings of the signing of the Declara- 
 tion of Independence ; and as the first sentry 
 received the news it was repeated to his neigh- 
 bor, and so it was borne along the street, and 
 the command, " Ring, ring the bells!" reached 
 the old sexton, and he, in joyful obedience, 
 rings out the peal that tells of a nation's birth. 
 How the hearts of the people must have 
 leaped for joy as they heard the merry bells 
 peal forth the sounds which told them the blow 
 for liberty had been struck. 
 
 But seventeen hundred years before that joyful 
 ringing came the news to earth of a far more im- 
 portant event. 
 
 When Christ was born not men but angels stood 
 as sentries, ready to tell the joyful news one to an- 
 other. O, what joyful news ! Not that a nation 
 was trying to break the fetters which bound her, but 
 that the world's Deliverer had come. 
 
 "Swift through the vast expanse it flew, 
 
 And loud the echo rolled ; 
 The theme, the song, the joy was new, 
 
 'T was more than heaven could hold.
 
 178 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS 
 
 Down through the portals of the sky 
 
 The impetuous torrent ran, 
 And angels flew with eager joy 
 
 To bear the news to 'man !" 
 
 And to-day in every pulpit in the land stands a 
 sentry ready to call out to the waiting people, "Ring, 
 ring the bells!" and may we not hope that ere many 
 more Christmas days shall roll around that the line 
 of sentries shall encircle, our earth, and the joy bells 
 shall be rung, one after another, until they shajl 
 awake one grand jubilee of joy all around the world? 
 
 No wonder the shepherds "were sore afraid," for 
 the)' were unaccustomed to such sights. Not often 
 had they heard of the angel of the Lord appearing 
 to men of such humble station as they. True, the 
 angels had visited man, but not with such glory as 
 this. The glory of God is not often manifested to 
 mortal eyes. 
 
 But not long does the angel leave them in dread 
 or suspense. "Fear not; for behold I bring you 
 good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all peo- 
 ple," and then, while they listen with bated breath, 
 he proceeds, "for unto you is born this day in the 
 city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord !" 
 How the announcement must have thrilled on the 
 ears of these shepherds of Judea ! 
 
 For ages the Israelites had been looking forward 
 to the promised coming of the Messiah, and their 
 hearts had many times cried out, ' ' How long, O 
 Lord, how long !" 
 
 These shepherds had heard of the promises given 
 by the prophet Isaiah of the coming of Him who
 
 JOYFUL TIDINGS. 179 
 
 was to be called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty 
 God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, 
 and now their hearts filled with rapture at the good 
 news. And even while they were wondering and 
 amazed at the strange tidings, "suddenly there 
 was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly- 
 host, " and there burst forth from the celestial choir 
 one glad song, one grand anthem, one triumphal 
 chorus! "Glory to God in the highest, on earth 
 jaeace, good will to men !" And if the shepherds 
 realized the meaning of the wonderful message they, 
 too, said, " Glory to God !" 
 
 "Glory to God in the highest," sang the angel 
 choir. "Glory to God" has been sung by myriads 
 of happy voices, by vast numbers of redeemed souls 
 since that eventful night ; and " Glory to God in the 
 highest, amen and amen T echo our hearts to-day as 
 we read the " sweet story of old !" 
 
 If Jesus, whose nativity was heralded by the 
 heavenly messengers, had been born in a palace, man 
 might, in his perverseness, have thought he was sent 
 only to the rich. But while his advent was pro- 
 claimed by the angel of the Lord, his birth was 
 lowly, and so was his whole life. 
 
 Perhaps on this Christmas day some of God's 
 children may be tempted to feel that their lot is a 
 hard one. But none need be without comfort. Jesus 
 spent his whole earth-life in poverty, yet he was heir 
 to a crown. And so is every child of God (no matter 
 how poverty stricken) heir to a crown of eternal life, 
 bought with the precious blood of him whose birth 
 we celebrate.
 
 180 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Meet it is that we celebrate the anniversary of 
 God's great gift to us by the bestowal of gifts upon 
 his poor. Not to the rich, who will not value our 
 offerings, but to those whose life has been robbed 
 of many blessings which we enjoy. O, how poor 
 would we be to-day if it were not for the blessed gift 
 of God's dear Son ! 
 
 Meet it is that we bow our heads in humble 
 thankfulness while we read, "For unto us a child is 
 born, unto us a Son is given, and the government 
 shall be upon' his shoulder ; and his name shall be 
 called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the 
 Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." And as 
 we close the Book let us lift our hearts in prayer to 
 God, that we who have received such a glorious gift 
 may also receive more of his Holy Spirit, more of 
 his grace in our hearts, that shall make us meek and 
 lowly, more like our blessed Savior, our Elder Brother, 
 and God's dear Son. 
 
 Ah, over and over will that sweet story be re- 
 peated on this festal day ! Little faces will, be up- 
 turned to hear the oft repeated story ; little lips will 
 quiver and young eyes will grow moist, aye, and old 
 ones too, as the touching story of the heavenly Babe 
 is repeated in the costly temple or humble chapel, 
 in palace or cot. And hearts will be made tenderer 
 for others' sorrows by hearing of the loving sympathy 
 of him who came to save us. How sweetly simple 
 the story, and yet so freighte'd with the destiny of 
 souls! "Behold. I bring you good tidings of great 
 joy;" and not to you only, but "which shall be to all 
 people." The whole world is to rejoice at the hum-
 
 JOYFUL TIDINGS. 181 
 
 ble birth. All nations shall be glad because of his 
 advent. 
 
 "Lying in a manger." Lowliest of the lowly, 
 and yet the sharer of the Eternal Throne! were ever 
 poverty and royalty so united ! His mother the wife 
 of a carpenter, himself laid in a manger! Yet the 
 angel of the Lord commissioned to bear the news to 
 man. 
 
 And not only an angel is sent to proclaim the 
 jdyful tidings, but a multitude of the heavenly host 
 comes to sing the "Glory to God." Fitting mes- 
 sengers for such glorious tidings. Fitting escort for 
 such a heaven-sent messenger. Christ might have 
 come with all the pomp of an Eastern monarch. 
 But no; he prefers to come as the child of poverty. 
 He is King of kings and Lord of lords, and yet, 
 
 " Cold on his cradle the dewdrops are shining, 
 Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall." 
 
 The heavenly messenger might have been sent to 
 Herod, but instead he came to a little company of 
 shepherds on the hillsides of Judea. 
 
 Jesus was to be called "the Lion of the tribe of 
 Judah," and the glad news of his birth was first told to 
 Judah's sons. And they, overjoyed at the wondrous 
 story, leave their flocks and hasten away to Bethle- 
 hem, to "see this thing which is come to pass." And 
 when they had seen they made it known abroad. 
 The first to say on earth "A Savior is born," was 
 the angel of the Lord the next a company of Ju- 
 dean shepherds. And as we read the story we won- 
 der what all this great mystery means. Why should
 
 1 82 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Jesus, who was one with the Father, leave his heav- 
 enly home and come down to earth to bear the woes 
 of humanity? Why should he choose to leave a 
 throne for a manner? or exchange a royal robe and 
 crown for swaddling clothes? 
 
 While we are wondering we turn to John iii, 16, 
 and read, ' ' For God so loved the world that he 
 gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth 
 in him should not perish but ...have everlasting life." 
 And then the mystery is all solved. All is made 
 plain in that one word, Love! Love to whom? To 
 his Son ? No. For dear as was that Son, father- 
 love is held in subjection to his love and pity for our 
 lost condition, and he gives that Son so well-beloved 
 to save a sin-cursed world. 
 
 Christ was not only born into the world, but he 
 came as our sacrifice, our all sufficient atonement. 
 No wonder the angel host burst forth in that joyful 
 anthem, "Glory to God in the highest, on earth 
 peace, good will to men !" And O, blessed privilege, 
 
 " With joy the chorus we repeat, 
 
 Glory to God on high ! 
 Good will and peace are now complete 
 Jesus was born to die !" 
 
 "For this cause came I unto this hour," said the 
 Savior when the terrible agony drew near. 
 
 O, when we contemplate the wonderful incarna- 
 tion we feel humbled. All our efforts to praise him 
 seem so insignificant. We bow our faces in the dust 
 and in our amazement and humility cry out, 
 
 " O, eternity 's too short 
 To utter all his praise !"
 
 JOYFUL TIDINGS. 183 
 
 But God in his tender pity for our weakness has 
 given us the privilege to praise him, yea, we may call 
 him what even the angels may not, "Our Brother!" 
 And while the angels surround his throne in heaven, 
 praising him for his love to man, we too are permitted 
 to lift our glad voices in a hymn of praise here 
 below. And God in his wisdom and abounding 
 goodness has left man without excuse.
 
 AYS'S 
 
 ^T was only two days before St. Valentine's 
 day, and the windows of the village book- 
 store were filled with a variety of bright- 
 :olored valentines, ranging all the way from 
 the most sentimental down to the most com- 
 ical and ludicrous. 
 
 The children, on their way to school, stopped 
 and gazed with open-mouthed astonishment at 
 the wonderful display. The misses and boys 
 of larger growth with just as much interest, 
 but more dignity -walked slowly by, as they 
 scanned with careful eyes the tempting variety, 
 in "prices to suit purchasers," resolving to examine 
 more closely on their way home. 
 
 A group of girls, ranging from thirteen to fifteen 
 years of age, had knotted together in the " hall" of 
 the school-building, and were talking over the pros- 
 pect for some fun, and wondering whether they would 
 receive any valentines themselves, and hoping for 
 something "real nice." The tap of the bell pres- 
 ently called them from their gossip, and soon the 
 .recitations were going on with their usual monot- 
 onous routine. But thoughts of valentines were still 
 uppermost in their minds, and crowded out more im- 
 portant thoughts ; and, as a consequence, when the 
 "class in history" was called out they felt them-
 
 MARGIE HAYS'S VALENTINE. 185 
 
 selves wholly unprepared. The answers were mostly 
 confused and hurried, and while some were correct 
 it was more of "guess-work" than genuine knowl- 
 edge. Only one member of the class seemed to have 
 studied the lesson thoroughly, and that was Margie 
 Hays, a young girl of fifteen, who had but recently 
 entered the school, and who, because of her reserved 
 manner, evident poverty, and uniform good lessons, 
 was not. very popular with her more favored, though 
 l^ss diligent, schoolmates. To day the class felt that 
 Margie had a decided advantage over them, but tried 
 to brave it out. But guessing did not succeed very 
 well, and when Miss Burton asked the question: "In 
 what year was Florida discovered, and by whom?" 
 the answers given were wide of the correct one, while 
 some acknowledged that they "didn't know." The 
 question passed nearly round the class, and reached 
 Margie Hays, and, although she felt that the eyes of 
 the whole class were fixed on her with a look which 
 seemed to say, "Don't you dare to answer cor- 
 rectly," she answered, clearly and distinctly, as if 
 sure she was right: "In 1512, by Ponce de 
 Leon." 
 
 There was a little sniff of contempt from the delin- 
 quent members of the class, as Margie took her place 
 at the head, and as they took their seats it was evi- 
 dent that the "new scholar" had not gained favor by 
 answering the question correctly. 
 
 When recess came, and they were outside the 
 school-room, their bottled wrath had opportunity to 
 vent itself in words. 
 
 Bessie Hoyt- thought "she ought to be ashamed 
 16
 
 i86 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 to set herself above the rest of the class, when she 
 had only been in the school two weeks." 
 
 While Susie Brown was sure "she wore the same 
 dress to Sabbath-school that she wore to the public 
 school." 
 
 " Hush!" whispered Nellie Hall; "she may hear 
 you." 
 
 "Who cares if she does?" responded Bessie, with 
 a toss of .her head; "but there is no danger, for she 
 is poring over her books as if her life depended upon 
 having every word perfectly." 
 
 "She ought to study them well, for they were a 
 present from the school board ; I heard papa say so 
 yesterday," said Susie, with a sneer. 
 
 While some one added, in a tone of evident scorn, 
 " Humph, a charity scholar !" 
 
 Presently Bessie's face brightened up. "O, 
 girls," she whispered; "I've thought of something 
 that will just take the starch out of her in a 
 hurry." 
 
 The bevy of girls hovered nearer to Bessie, all 
 eager to know the plan by which they could over- 
 throw this feminine Mordecai, who refused to do hom- 
 age to their superior position, if not talents. 
 
 "O Bessie, what is it?'* they whispered in 
 chorus. 
 
 Bessie felt the importance of her position, and 
 answered, with dignity: " If you will promise to 
 keep it secret, I'll tell you." All were ready to 
 make the required promise. "Well, then," said 
 Bessie, in a stage whisper, "we will send her a val- 
 entine."
 
 MARGIE HAYS'S VALENTINE. 187 
 
 "Good good! what will it be?" cried the girls, 
 in a breath. 
 
 "The Charity Scholar," said Bessie. 
 
 The girls took up with the suggestion at once; 
 but recess was over, and there was no time for dis- 
 cussion until noon. 
 
 On the way home the plan was talked over, and 
 it was decided that the book-store had nothing suita- 
 ble, so one of their number, who had a "gift" for car- 
 <c"ature, was- employed to draw up a sketch of Margie 
 receiving her books from the school board, the faces 
 in the sketch being enough like the originals to be 
 recognized, and "The Chanty Scholar" printed in 
 large letters below. 
 
 On Valentine's eve Nellie Hall was commissioned 
 to mail the sweet-looking package, which contained 
 such an unkind caricature. 
 
 This was Nellie's first experience in sending an 
 ill-natured valentine, and some way the affair did not 
 seem so pleasant as in the beginning, and she walked 
 rather slowly along the street towards the post- 
 office. 
 
 "I wonder how I should feel if I were in Mar- 
 gie's place?" thought Nellie; "I'm sure she will 
 think us ill-natured ; and may be she is n't selfish, as 
 we think, and if she is poor she can 't help that. ' ' 
 
 The more she thought of the unkind picture, the 
 more she wished she had not consented to take part 
 in the trick. Cautiously she took the package from 
 the pocket of her water-proof and looked'at it, walk- 
 ing more slowly all the time, as if undecided whether 
 to go forward or backward.
 
 1 88 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Finally she stood still, with the, envelope in one 
 hand while she jingled some loose coin in her pocket 
 with the other ; then, as if a new thought had sud- 
 denly taken possession of her, she said, with a little 
 gleeful laugh, "Margie shall never see this naughty 
 picture. I '11 fix it all right, and the girls shall never 
 know," and with this resolution Nellie -started for- 
 ward again. But instead of going straight on to the 
 post office, she turned down the street leading to the 
 book-store. 
 
 Nellie approached cautiously at first, and glanced 
 through the glass doors to make sure that none of 
 "the girls" were within. Having assured herself 
 that the coast was clear, she stepped in, and, hastily 
 making her purchase, wrote a few words on the in- 
 side, slipped it into a large white envelope, then di- 
 rected it to Miss Margie Hays. 
 
 She hurried to the post-office, dropped it in the 
 box, and hurried away, scarcely able to decide as to 
 whether she had done a very kind or a very mean 
 thing. 
 
 Morning came at last, and what a rush there was 
 for the post-office as soon as breakfast was over. 
 No matter if some did have to go four or five blocks 
 out of the way, in order to pass it on their way to 
 school. Each one was anxious to know if there was 
 a "letter for me," and as the good-natured postmaster 
 and his clerks knew most of the anxious faces, it was 
 not necessary to give their names in full. 
 
 Mrs. Hays had sent Margie by way of the post- 
 office that morning, to mail a, letter. Margie mailed 
 it, and inquired if there was any mail for " Mrs. Julia
 
 MARGIE HAYS'S VALENTINE. 189 
 
 Hays," but it never entered her head to ask if there 
 was a letter for herself. 
 
 "No, there is nothing for Mrs. Hays," the clerk 
 answered, as he looked over the bundle of letters; 
 "but," as Margie turned away, "here is something 
 for Miss Margie Hays, if that is one of Mrs. Hays's 
 family." 
 
 "O, yes, it is for me; thank you," and Margie 
 tucked the beautiful white package under her shabby 
 c^oak, and hurried on to school, for it was almost 
 nine, and she prided herself on her punctuality and 
 perfect lessons. 
 
 When she reached school, she had barely time to 
 take her seat when the last stroke of the bell warned 
 those who were not seated that Miss Burton would 
 have a tardy mark opposite their name at the close 
 of the day. 
 
 Margie longed to see the contents of the myste- 
 rious package, but she was obliged to wait until re- 
 cess. Bessie and Susie tried to read Margie's face, 
 as she took her seat, and for some time after their 
 eyes would wander to her desk ; but concluded that 
 she either had not received the valentine, or else it had 
 not had the effect which they had expected it would. 
 Nellie felt like a poor, guilty thing, and tried to keep 
 her eyes on the lesson before her, but her face red- 
 dened every time she caught the eyes of the plot- 
 ters. 
 
 Recess came at last, but Margie did not leave her 
 seat, but sat quietly waiting until the scholars had 
 left the room ; then she took out the package, looked 
 at it carefully, then broke the seal.
 
 190 STORIES 'OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Bessie, Susie, and Nellie, with two others who 
 were in the secret, had stationed themselves in the 
 hall, where they could see Margie bending over her 
 desk, although her position prevented their seeing 
 the valentine or getting a fair view of her face, and 
 it must be confessed, to the credit of Bessie and 
 Susie, that the trick did not seem half so funny now 
 that they thought they were about to triumph over 
 the unpopular stranger. 
 
 Only for a moment or two did Margie look at her 
 valentine, and then down went her head upon the 
 desk, and the watchers saw that she was sobbing 
 violently. 
 
 Bessie and Susie, with their companions, tried to 
 feel triumphant ; but, instead, felt as if they had 
 been guilty of a very mean act. 
 
 Nellie was puzzled, and her heart almost leaped 
 into her throat. Could she have made a mistake, 
 and mailed the wrong package, after all? O, what 
 should she do ! 
 
 Margie's half stifled sobs, had attracted the at- 
 tentioji of Miss Burton, who had been busily writ- 
 ing at her desk. As she looked up and saw Margie 
 with her head lying on the desk and sobbing, she 
 suspected that some unkind or thoughtless prank 
 had been played on the new scholar, and, laying 
 down her pen, she went to Margie, and laid her hand 
 on her head. 
 
 The spies cast upon each other a look of dismay. 
 Now the teacher would see the hideous picture, and 
 would pity Margie, and they would all be questioned 
 about it, and may be punished.
 
 MARGIE HAYS'S VALENTINE 191 
 
 "What is it. Margie?" Miss Burton asked, kind- 
 ly, and the girl, startled out of her sobs, looked up, 
 showing a face wet with tears. 
 
 But the teacher, with a surprised look, and with 
 out waiting for Margie to 'answer her question, reached 
 out her hand and took from the desk the missive over 
 which Margie had been sobbing; but, instead of the 
 ugly caricature, the girls saw a beautiful valentine 
 more handsome than any they had received them- 
 selves. Nellie drew a breath of relief. ' ' It is all 
 right, after all," she said to herself. 
 
 The others uttered an exclamation of surprise, 
 and, forgetful that they had been acting the part of 
 spies, opened the door and went forward on tiptoe. 
 As they came near, Miss Burton was saying: 
 
 "Was this what made you cry, Margie?" and 
 Margie, brushing off her tears with the back of her 
 hand, answered: 
 
 "I know it seems foolish; but it was such a sur- 
 prise. I did n't think the girls cared for me one bit, 
 and this is the first valentine that I have received 
 since papa died, four years ago." 
 
 Bessie was near enough to see that at the bottom 
 of the inside page was written, with a pencil, the 
 words, "With good wishes, from your classmates," 
 and, with a glance at Nellie, they knew they had 
 been "sold." 
 
 Without waiting to see or hear any more, they 
 retreated to the hall, Nellie with the rest. As they 
 turned for one look before closing the door, they 
 saw Miss Burton take Margie's face between her 
 hands, and kiss her lovingly.
 
 1 92 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "O girls," whispered Nellie, her eyes full of 
 tears, "don't be cross; I could n't help it. It 
 seemed too bad to send her that horrid thing, and 
 so I bought this with my own money, and burned 
 the other." 
 
 Bessie's better nature triumphed, and she said 
 heartily: "Good for you, Nell!" 
 
 And Susie said, with a sigh of relief, "I 'm glad 
 Nell did n't mail the other ; I 've felt real mean about 
 it all the time." 
 
 But the recess was ended, and there was no more 
 time for talking, but all through the day Margie's 
 face beamed with good will whenever she looked at 
 her classmates, for she supposed it was a partnership 
 gift ; and the girls, glad to have the other affair off 
 their shoulders, were only too willing to treat Margie 
 with more cordiality than usual, and, a few days 
 after, they compelled Nellie to let them pay their 
 share in the bill of expense. 
 
 The acts of kindness performed for Margie in 
 their little "shamming," had not only softened their 
 own hearts, but Margie's, and there were soon no 
 better friends in all the village than Margie and her 
 classmates ; and Margie never heard of ' ' The Char- 
 ity Scholar."
 
 COULDN'T ]V(OTHER 0ARE FOR 
 MHIHGS ?" 
 
 SUPPOSE the excursion to L will 
 
 be a very pleasant affair, as there will be 
 no more tickets sold than there are seats 
 in the coaches, and there will be a whole day 
 for sight-seeing in the city." 
 
 The speaker, Mrs. Huston, was a young 
 wife and mother, who had brought her little 
 twelve-months'- old baby and some sewing to 
 "finish off" while she spent an hour or two 
 with her neighbor and friend, Mrs. Starr, a 
 bright, bustling woman, with a family of four 
 children, who were as bright and bustling, in 
 their own particular way, as was the mother. 
 
 Mrs. Starr answered her friend's remark cheerily, 
 "Yes, I think so. I expect to enjoy it very 
 much." 
 
 "Why, ^Q you think of going?" asked Mrs. Hus- 
 ton, in apparent astonishment. 
 
 "Yes; why not?" with an amused smile, as she 
 saw the look of surprise on Mrs. Huston's face. 
 
 "Well, I don't know why not, only I didn't 
 suppose you would think of going on such a trip, 
 while you have such a family on your hands," and 
 her friend looked as if she was uncertain as to 
 whether she had made a blunder or a hit. 
 17
 
 194 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "That is the very reason I am going. I need 
 the change, and so do the children," was replied, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "You surely will not take them with you!" and 
 Mrs. Huston looked more astonished than before. 
 
 "No, indeed. I could not think of taking them 
 out of school just now; but I expect them to get as 
 much real benefit from the trip as I will; for I know 
 I will be all the brighter for the change, and " 
 
 " O, you are always bright and cheerful, any 
 way," interrupted Mrs. Huston, with a deprecatory 
 gesture. 
 
 " But you do not know how much of an effort it 
 requires, sometimes, for me to be bright and cheer- 
 ful;" and Mrs. Starr finished the sentence with a 
 sigh, then added, thoughtfully, "I find I must keep 
 pace with my children if I would retain my hold on 
 their respect and confidence." 
 
 ' ' I do not see how you can afford the time ; you 
 say you are already overburdened, sometimes, and 
 then there are the children," persisted Mrs. Huston, 
 as she fastened her thread, as if it were an unanswer- 
 able argument. 
 
 "I think the time will be well spent; and as to 
 leaving the children for forty-eight hours, I don't 
 know but it will do them good to miss mother for 
 just a little while. You know, the song says, 
 
 " Strange we never prize the music 
 Till the sweet-voiced bird is flown." 
 
 And I have concluded that my family will appreciate 
 me just as much if I allow myself a little rest and
 
 WOULDN'T MOTHER CARE FOR SUCH THINGS? 195 
 
 recreation, and give them an opportunity to see what 
 I do when I am here." 
 
 "But it doesn't look right to leave the children 
 in the care of a servant who feels no personal interest 
 in them. I know /wouldn't have a minute's peace 
 if I thought my precious Maud was left to the tender 
 mercies of Bridget," and Mrs. Huston picked up her 
 little one, that had been clinging by her side, and 
 gave it a little hug that was meant as an emphasis to 
 htr words. - 
 
 "In the first place, I shall not leave them to the 
 care of the girl alone. Their father has scarcely a 
 moment of time for them, but Aunt Mary has prom- 
 ised to stay here until I return, and as the children 
 are in school nearly all day, there will not be very 
 much care or responsibility as to their welfare resting 
 upon Norah. Now, are you convinced?" and Mrs. 
 Starr laughed good-humoredly at her friend's sober 
 face. 
 
 "And yet that sounds so unlike you. Haven't 
 you always told me that I must make up my mind 
 to stay at home and devote myself to my family, and 
 when they were grown, educated and out in the 
 world, then it would be time enough for me to think 
 of enjoying life ?" 
 
 "Yes, I acknowledge it all, and I want to beg 
 your pardon, and I hope that you will, in a measure, 
 consider that advice as if it had never been given 
 not that I would not have you and every mother de- 
 voted to the interests of her family, but the way to 
 do that is not by making herself their slave. And I 
 want to tell you how I came to change my views
 
 196 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 about such things ; for itis, as you say, a new thing 
 forme to talk as I do on this subject." And the 
 good woman rocked herself to and fro energetically 
 while she pulled out basting threads with a vigor that 
 harmonized well with her words and tone. 
 
 "I was calling on Mrs. W. when this excursion 
 was first talked of, and she expressed a strong desire 
 to go. But the family treated the idea as absurd, in 
 fact, as a sort of joke, that such a thought had en- 
 tered the mother's head ; and even Mrs. W. herself 
 laughed a little, while her face reddened, apparently 
 at the consciousness of her own temerity in even 
 dreaming of such a thing. You know there is no lack 
 of the necessary funds, and her family would not be 
 seriously inconvenienced if she should be absent for 
 a few days ; but the prevailing thought in the mind 
 of husband, sons, and daughters seemed to be that 
 ' mother ' had stayed so closely at home during 
 the past years, that she had lost the capacity for 
 enjoying any thing that was not connected in some 
 way with food or dress for the family. And yet I 
 know, from the hungry expression which came over 
 the care-worn face, that she was neither too old in 
 years nor too old-fashioned in sentiment and taste to 
 long for mental food and for the social and intellect- 
 ual treat which this trip would be likely to afford 
 her. I managed to keep silent, but I felt rising to 
 my lips an indignant protest against the selfishness 
 that would set the wishes of the wife and mother 
 aside as if she were a mere child, incapable of decid- 
 ing for herself. If she is old-fashioned and lacks 
 ' style ' it is because she has given up her own will
 
 WOULDN'T MOTHER CARE FOR SUCH THINGS? 197 
 
 for years, denying herself luxuries, and even what 
 you and I would consider necessities for mind and 
 body, in order that her children might have such 
 advantages as would fit them to move in the best 
 society. You need n't smile and look so amused, 
 for I was really quite indignant, and deserve great 
 credit for not speaking out there and then. 
 
 "Since then I have been thinking it over, and 
 this question comes to my mind, When I am fifty 
 0r sixty years old, will my husband and children 
 coolly set me aside and say, practically, if not in 
 words, ' You have stayed at home so long that you 
 will not enjoy society now ; besides, you are too old- 
 fashioned, and it is our duty to keep you from mak- 
 ing a spectacle of yourself.' You remember that 
 handsome bonnet I purchased last Spring, just before 
 I took down with the lung fever? I only wore it 
 once, and when I recovered from the fever, and was 
 able to be out again, it was time for a Summer bon- 
 net, and so the Spring bonnet was left in its box. 
 Last week I took it out to see if it would not do for 
 this Spring. Well, the material is all good and fine, 
 but you can understand that it is entirely out of 
 style, and would need a thorough remodeling if I 
 wear it. I do n't want to be kept shut up until I am 
 entirely behind the times, like that bonnet. Neither do 
 I want to have those, for whom I have spent the- best 
 years of my life, tell me that I am so far behind the 
 times that I can not appreciate the beautiful in art or 
 literature. I had not thought it was possible for 
 me to go on that excursion, but after I thought it all 
 over, I decided to go."
 
 198 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "And what did your husband say ?" queried Mrs. 
 Huston. 
 
 " O, John looked surprised enough, and I had to 
 state the matter fully and clearly the second time 
 before he seemed to fairly comprehend that it was 
 not a joke. I told him that it would do me good, 
 that I was fairly tired out with the Spring work, and 
 asked very meekly if he thought he and the children 
 could get along for a couple of days, provided Aunt 
 Mary would oversee Norah. He said 'Of course,' a 
 little dolefully, and then added slyly, ' I thought you 
 were conscientiously opposed to leaving the children 
 until they were old enough to take care of them- 
 selves?' " 
 
 "And what could you answer?" asked her 
 listener. 
 
 "Well, I pulled his ears just a little bit, to punish 
 him for his impudence, and then I told him the 
 whole story and my conclusions about the matter; 
 and the dear, good soul said he was glad of it, in 
 fact he had thought for a long time that I was mak- 
 ing a slave of myself for him and the children, and 
 that he did n't want so many pies and puddings, nor 
 so many extras on the girl's dresses, if they were 
 going to steal the roses from my cheeks (the flatterer, 
 he knows tJiey have been gone these five years, unless 
 it be yellow ones), and the comfort from my life. 
 I told him I considered it a privilege to be able to 
 work for him and the children, but I wanted to keep 
 so that I could be a companion to them, and not a 
 mere servant. So we have turned over a new leaf. 
 John has always had a week or two of vacation
 
 WOULDN'T MOTHER CARE FOR SUCH THINGS? 199 
 
 from his business every year, and sometimes twice 
 a year, and I am to have mine from this on ; and I 
 really believe I feel better already from the mere 
 prospect of a little change from the old routine of all 
 work and no play." 
 
 ' ' But you would not have mothers leave their 
 little ones and go off on a pleasure trip every few 
 weeks or months?" 
 
 ' ' No. I fancy there are a good many pleasure 
 ^tfips which -we might take in our own homes with our 
 children, if we can not afford family tickets to the 
 mountains or the city, as the case may be. For two 
 or three dollars invested in some entertaining book 
 of travels or history, something that will please as 
 well as instruct, a great amount of real pleasure and 
 profit may be obtained. Let the children go over 
 it together, the mother adding her own knowledge 
 of countries and people to what is in the book, 
 and she will find herself growing nearer to her 
 children, and they will prize her more highly because 
 of her sympathy with them and for them ; and, if she 
 can now and then, for a few days, leave home be- 
 hind and look on new scenes and new people, she 
 will be better fitted for the task of training her chil- 
 dren, and she will live longer and to better purpose 
 than if she spent her life in one incessant round of 
 toil, with the one aim, ' that tire children have a good 
 time,' which too often means a selfish enjoyment at 
 her expense, and I am confident they will respect her 
 just as much if they are made to feel that self-denial 
 is as necessary and commendable for them as it is for 
 the mother. There," tossing her work upon the table,
 
 200 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "that garment is done, and so is my lecture, I be- 
 lieve ; and as I did n't charge an admission fee nor 
 take up a collection, I want to know if you can give 
 it a recommendation?" and the little woman leaned 
 back in her chair as if her conscience was clear and 
 her mind relieved at least. 
 
 "Well, perhaps you are right, but I don't see my 
 way clear yet," and Mrs. Huston began to fold up 
 her work as she looked at the clock. 
 
 ' ' I know, it is often easier to state a theory than 
 to put it in practice," admitted Mrs. Starr, "and my 
 newly fledged ideas may need considerable guiding and 
 training, but those are my notions about it now ; but 
 next time you come I hope you will not let me do 
 all the talking," she added, half-playfully, half-apol- 
 ogetically, as she assisted in wrapping baby Maud 
 that no breath of April dampness might reach her, 
 and the friends said a cordial " Good afternoon," and 
 Mrs. Huston went home to think it over and Mrs. 
 Starr turned to her kitchen to suggest an extra dish 
 of fruit for the tea-table.
 
 l^ATCH-WORK 
 
 HE children had been looking over, and 
 commenting on, some new photographs 
 of old friends, and as Charlie, the eldest of 
 the group, closed the album, he turned to Mrs. 
 Hammond, who sat near the table, mending 
 little garments, and said: 
 
 "Mother, what is the meaning of the word 
 1 album ' ? We often use it, but I do n't know 
 whether I know its real meaning or not. Does 
 it mean a book for pictures only?" 
 
 Mrs. Hammond smiled, as she looked up 
 from her work, and said : 
 
 "You are not the only one who is in the habit 
 of using words whose meaning they but half under- 
 stand. Our word 'album' comes from the Latin 
 albus, signifying white, and among the Romans it 
 formerly meant a white table or register, on which 
 any thing was to be inscribed." 
 
 "Then why do we call this a photograph album ?" 
 asked Lizzie, as she turned to the book in ques- 
 tion. 
 
 ' ' Because it is a blank or register where we place 
 the faces, or pictures, of our friends ; and as we look 
 over this register, as you have been doing this even- 
 ing, the sight of the familiar faces calls up many 
 pleasant memories."
 
 202 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "What about those quilts upstairs?" asked Jen- 
 nie; "you call them 'album quilts,' but there are no 
 pictures on them, though I believe there is something 
 written on each block." 
 
 " Perhaps you may not be able to trace out pic- 
 tures on them, but to me there are many bright 
 faces and a few sad ones, too that seem to rise up 
 before me whenever I look at those plain, faded 
 pieces. If the pictures are not on the quilts, they 
 are indelibly inscribed on my memory." 
 
 "O, please tell us about the persons whose 
 names are in the center of each block," chorused the 
 children, eagerly. 
 
 "If I am to tell you about them, you must ask 
 Mary to bring the quilts down to the sitting-room, 
 where we can look at the names and pieces together ; 
 though you will not be likely to find them as inter- 
 esting as I do," answered the mother. 
 
 The quilts were soon brought and spread out upon 
 the table, and as they grouped about it, the children 
 expressed their wonder in various ways: 
 
 "Why, mother, what a funny quilt!" 
 
 "Every block is an odd one!" 
 
 "No two blocks are of the same color!" 
 
 "Neither are there two faces of those whose 
 names are written here exactly alike. Each block is 
 pieced from the remnant of some dress or apron worn 
 by the person whose name is in its center. This 
 quilt, joined with pink, was presented to me by the 
 mothers of my Sunday-school class of little folks, 
 years ago, and is pieced from scraps of their chil- 
 dren's aprons, dresses, and blouse-waists, and I love
 
 THE PATCH-WORK ALBUM. 203 
 
 to think that, while these bits of calico and gingham 
 are growing old and faded, those little boys and girls 
 are budding and blooming into a beautiful manhood 
 and womanhood. Here are the names of two little 
 
 brothers, Frank and Willie J ; sweet little fellows, 
 
 with bright eyes and eager questions. The little one 
 was, no doubt, the means of bringing his father and 
 mother to Christ. One night, after he had said his 
 evening prayer, and was about to kiss his mother good- 
 Vitght, he looked up into her face and asked: 'Mamma, 
 why do n't you and papa pray to God too? are you 
 too old to pray?' What answer the mother made I 
 can not say, but the question served to awaken the 
 parents to a sense of their need of prayer. Shortly 
 after, they gave their hearts into the keeping of that 
 Father in whose sight we are all but children. The 
 little calico waist was long ago laid aside or worn 
 out, and, if the boys are still living, I presume they 
 have forgotten all about the circumstance, but I 
 trust they have not grown top old to pray. This 
 
 one, marked 'Dottie W , ' we used to call 'Dottie 
 
 Dimple,' as a pet name; she has probably outgrown 
 the name, but I hope she has not outgrown the 
 sweet, innocent ways, even though the dimples may 
 not remain. This brown-and-white, with the name 
 
 F. M , is for a little, timid, trembling child, whose 
 
 very look was more like a frightened fawn than any 
 thing else. I never saw a child of her years so far 
 from doing wrong ; in fact, I do not think I ever 
 knew her to do a positively naughty thing during 
 the two years that she was in my class, in the public 
 school and in the Sabbath-school."
 
 204 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "O mother, I hope all these children were not 
 as good as those you have told us about ; it sounds 
 like the children in books," interrupted Lizzie. 
 
 ' ' No, they were not all good, and those who were 
 called good were not always good ; but I have only 
 shown you the good or bright side of their charac- 
 ters. This pink-and-white, marked Nettie Black, was 
 for a little pink and white girl, whose name, you see, 
 was not White ; I hope she has not grown up as an 
 illustration of Mrs. Stowe's 'Pink and White Tyr- 
 anny.' This brown-and-white gingham represents 
 Miss Pink-and-White's brother, whose ways and com- 
 plexion were in as strong contrast to his sister's as 
 are the colors in the two blocks of patch-work." 
 
 "And here is one with 'Baby Ailing' marked in 
 the center. Was that the real name?" 
 
 "Yes, Jennie, that was all the name he could 
 claim then. As there were three brothers and sis- 
 ters, besides father and mother, to be suited with 
 the name, it was some time before the name was 
 finally agreed upon. But, dear little 'Baby,' he did 
 not need an earthly name long, for he was called to 
 his heavenly home before he had reached his fifth 
 year." 
 
 "What about these marked C and G , 
 
 mother?" 
 
 "These were pieced by the fingers of two sisters 
 who were too large to be in my class of little ones, 
 but who were favorites of Charlie's who was only a 
 'baby' then, although he was three years old. They 
 were as frisky as two kittens, and quite as mischiev- 
 ous. But we have talked long enough, and there is
 
 THE PATCH WORK ALBUM. 205 
 
 more than one pair of eyes that want to say 'good- 
 night,' even if their owners do not." 
 
 "Well," said Charlie, with a wistful look at the 
 quilt, as it was refolded; "I didn't suppose there 
 could be so much of a story in that faded, odd-look- 
 ing quilt." 
 
 ' ' O mother, there were more than a dozen names 
 that you did not tell us about, besides the quilt with 
 ladies' names upon," and the younger children joined 
 with Lizzie in pleading to hear more. 
 
 "It is too late, and you would grow tired before 
 I had gone over half the names, for I should never 
 know when to stop, if I should once begin to talk 
 of them. I can only say that the memories I have 
 of those dear sisters and their families are very pleas- 
 ant, and I feel grateful to the Giver of all good for 
 the many pleasant associations that I was permitted 
 to enjoy during our two years' -stay in the little vil- 
 lage. But you really must say 'good-night,' now, 
 or we shall hear of some little folks having a very 
 sleepy time over their lessons to-morrow, and per- 
 haps get 'zero' opposite their names."
 
 , OR OTHERS? 
 
 SUPPOSE you are looking forward quite 
 anxiously to ' Commencement Day,' " said 
 Mrs. Spencer to her niece, as she came 
 into her room, on her return from school, one 
 i afternoon in May. Mrs. Spencer was spending 
 
 a few days with her brother's family in M , 
 
 where he had settled some half dozen years pre- 
 viously, in order that his children might have 
 the advantage of a college without going away 
 from home. 
 
 "Yes; I shall be through my four years' 
 course in about six weeks, and I shall be so 
 glad!" and Fannie sat down in the easy-chair by an 
 open window, giving a sigh of satisfaction over the 
 prospect of soon being free from the requirements 
 of school. 
 
 "You are anticipating a great deal of pleasure 
 when school-days are over ?" questioned Mrs. Spencer, 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; it will be so pleasant. No lessons 
 to study, nor rules to obey." 
 
 " But what do you propose to do when you come 
 into possession of this boon of liberty from which you 
 anticipate so much?" 
 
 " O, I haven't decided yet. I think it will be 
 delightful to do just nothing at all for a few days.
 
 SELF, OR OTHERS? 207 
 
 Why, auntie, I am twenty years old, and for the past 
 ten years it has been nothing but books all the time, 
 from morning to night, from one year to another. 
 As soon as one lesson was finished I had to take up 
 another. When I get my diploma, I intend to make 
 up for it by having a good time for a little while." 
 
 " It seems to me that you will have a good many 
 lessons to learn even after you get your diploma ; 
 and as to obeying rules, I think you will find it as 
 difficult to please yourself as any of your teachers 
 and preceptors, especially if you start out with the 
 idea of living for your own pleasure, without refer- 
 ence to the wishes or the happiness of others." 
 
 "Well, I don't know; but it always seemed as 
 if it would be a pleasant thing to have one's own 
 way." 
 
 "Very likely; but it seems to me there are other 
 ways of enjoyment quite as commendable. How 
 about your mother ? Is n't she a little overtaxed 
 sometimes?" 
 
 " I do n't know, I am sure. I have been so busy 
 with my studies that I have not noticed. She never 
 complains." 
 
 "No; she is not one of the complaining sort. 
 But it seems to me she has her hands and heart 
 pretty well filled. I presume Miss Williams will 
 make your graduating suit?" 
 
 "No; mamma will make it herself." 
 
 " How is that? I thought Miss Williams usually 
 did your dress-making." 
 
 "So she does, usually; but the girls are all going 
 to dress so nicely, and, of course, I do n't want to
 
 2o8 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 wear a cheap thing ; and the material has cost so 
 much that mamma says she can not afford to hire it 
 made these hard times, and so she will make it 
 herself." 
 
 " I believe you told me your friends, the Misses 
 
 M , were coming to spend the Summer with you. 
 
 If your mother feels that she can not afford to hire 
 extra help in the house, it will make more work 
 for her." 
 
 " Yes; I know it will, and extra expense besides. 
 But mamma is very anxious for them to come. They 
 are very intelligent, and she thinks it pays to enter- 
 tain intelligent and refined people. I expect to gain 
 a great benefit from their society." 
 
 "But somebody must do extra work while they 
 stay ; and if your mother feels that she can not afford 
 to employ an extra girl, it will make the work heavier 
 for her, will it not?" 
 
 "Yes; I should suppose so. But, auntie, why 
 do you ask so many questions? I never knew you 
 to be so inquisitive before." And Fannie looked 
 into Mrs. Spencer's serious face as if she half believed 
 she was being teased, without comprehending it. 
 
 " I did not mean to be impertinent, my dear; but 
 I can not help thinking it would be a good plan if 
 you could lighten your mother's burdens by helping 
 bear them." 
 
 "But mother enjoys company as much as I do." 
 
 "No doubt of it ; but possibly it may be as much 
 on your account as for her own pleasure. You have 
 been busy with your school-books during the past 
 few years, and your mother has been equally busy
 
 SELF, OR OTHERS? 20^ 
 
 with home-cares and duties. Suppose, when you 
 have graduated, that you offer to form a partnership 
 with 'mother,' and relieve her of a portion of her 
 labor and care, giving her rest while you are gaining 
 a knowledge of household duties, that can never be 
 properly understood except by actual practice, and 
 some of which will require as much 'brain' as the 
 scientific studies you have been trying ; to master. 
 And, then, would it not be a pleasant surprise for 
 ymi to give her your place in the carriage occasion- 
 ally, when some delightful excursion to the country 
 is to be enjoyed, while you remain at home to care 
 for the little ones, who are such a constant tax on 
 her strength and patience ?" 
 
 " I guess it would be a surprise!" and Miss Fan- 
 nie looked as if the suggestion was a very great sur- 
 prise to herself. "She will either think I am insane 
 or that I have suddenly grown ' too good for this 
 world.' But," more soberly, "auntie, do you really 
 think me very selfish?" 
 
 "Not more so than most young girls of your 
 age. Perhaps ' thoughtless ' would express it in your 
 case. But loving mothers are apt to screen their 
 daughters as much as possible, taking all the care 
 and responsibility upon themselves, until, finally, the 
 daughters come to look upon theit; mother's careworn 
 face as a matter of course, and if any thing is said 
 about it, the usual reply is, ' Mother could n't be 
 happy if she was n't hard at work." " 
 
 "O, auntie, I am not so bad as that!" and Fan- 
 nie's face reddened at the imputation. 
 
 " I do not mean that you have come to that yet, 
 18
 
 210 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 nor that you do not love your mother very dearly; 
 but do not forget, dear, that your mother is just as 
 capable of enjoying and appreciating little, unex- 
 pected kindnesses or pleasures as you are, though 
 she may be forty and you only twenty years of age. 
 I did not intend saying these ft things when we began 
 our little talk, and you must forgive me if I have 
 said any thing that sounded unkind or harsh ; for I 
 have said it for your own good, knowing that when 
 you have to be separated from that mother, it will 
 be a sweet memory if you can look back over your 
 home-life and say, ' I did all I could to make her life 
 pleasant and happy. ' " 
 
 "I am not offended, auntie, dear; but I did not 
 know how selfish I was until you have shown me. I 
 am ready to turn over a new leaf, and to try to make 
 things easier for her ; but I am afraid I am but poorly 
 prepared for any thing like usefulness at home." 
 
 And real tears came into her eyes as the young 
 girl looked back over the past year and saw where 
 she might have lightened her mother's cares and 
 labor if she had only tried. 
 
 "If you are only willing, you can soon learn to 
 do things that seem awkward and difficult at first; 
 and if you can keep your mother's heart and face 
 free from unnecessary care for ten years longer by 
 these little acts of self denial, I am sure you will -not 
 regret it."
 
 ND so you propose to give Esther a 
 business education?" interrogated Mrs. 
 Henry, in reply to a statement of her 
 friend, Mrs. Burrell. 
 
 "Yes, a very practical one, too, I hope," 
 was the response. 
 
 "But I do not see where she will find time 
 for so many studies. r By the time she has com- 
 pleted French, and takes a thorough course in 
 music and painting, I think she will have but 
 little time left for a course in a business college, 
 unless she intends to devote herself to the life 
 of an old maid." 
 
 "Old maids are not the most unhappy people in 
 the world, and Esther might possibly do worse than 
 to live and die one," quietly responded Mrs. Burrell. 
 "But I do not know that our means will permit us 
 to give her all the advantages you mention ; but if 
 any must be struck off the list, I think it will not be 
 the business part, although she may never see the 
 inside of a business college. There are a great many 
 things to be learned that are not found in college 
 curriculums. I think Esther \Vill make a practical 
 woman if she has the opportunity, and if I have my 
 way she will have such instruction as will fit her for 
 taking care of herself."
 
 212 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "I did not know that Esther had manifested any 
 special talent or taste for 'business,' as you call.it," 
 replied Mrs. Henry. 
 
 "Neither has she manifested any special talent 
 for French or music; but that is not urged as an 
 objection to her studying these branches, and if she 
 should happen to have a little less French and a little 
 more practical English, I shall be just as proud of 
 her, and I have a fancy that she will be just as 
 happy and as much respected," answered Mrs. Bur- 
 rell earnestly. 
 
 " Really you are quite progressive in your ideas. 
 I was not aware that you entertained such advanced 
 notions," Mrs. Henry said, half smiling at her friend's 
 enthusiasm. " I was not surprised when I under- 
 stood that you and Mr. Burrell had decided that your 
 three boys should each learn a trade before choosing 
 a profession, but I did not suppose you would insist 
 that your only daughter should pursue the course of 
 study you indicate. It seems out of place for one in 
 her position." 
 
 " I do not consider it as out of place at present, 
 and the time may come when it will be very much 
 in place. The education that merely serves as polish 
 is all well enough, but something more is needed if 
 a woman desires to fill her place in life as a reason- 
 able and reasoning being. 
 
 "Esther is but sixteen, and is quite proficient in 
 her studies so far as her text-books are concerned; 
 but I would like for her tt> be able to make a prac- 
 tical application of the knowledge acquired. To give 
 her a little insight into every-day costs and expend-
 
 HELPLESS WOMEN. 213 
 
 itures, I have intrusted the family accounts for the 
 year to her keeping, and she is delighted with it, 
 although it did seem a little tiresome at first. Now, 
 every item of expense is placed upon the book, and 
 carefully footed up monthly and quarterly. She has 
 discovered that it costs something to keep up the 
 various necessities as well as the luxuries of a family 
 of seven, and it is quite amusing sometimes to hear 
 her talking of the family expenses, and planning 
 Ii6w they may be reduced. The first month showed 
 rather a large bill for Esther herself, and she came 
 to me with rather a sober face and asked, ' Mamma, 
 . do I cost that much every month ?' I told her I 
 guessed so, and sometimes a little more. She looked 
 more thoughtful than before, and said, ' I wonder you 
 and papa are not provoked at my extravagance.' I 
 tried to laugh it off, and told her she was worth all she 
 cost us, and more too. She kissed me, and said, ' I'm 
 glad you think so ; but I '11 see if I can not manage 
 to be less expensive after this;' and she has succeeded 
 thus far, even resisting my efforts to tempt her into 
 a little extravagance. Each month her books are 
 brought to her father and me, for our inspection, and 
 she is learning some valuable lessons in the cost of 
 living, and begins to see very good reasons for our 
 denying her and her brothers many things that she 
 would have considered almost indispensable a year 
 ago. When our bills are less than usual she, seems 
 to take pride in the fact.," 
 
 "Why, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Henry, "I 
 am afraid you are training Esther to be a perfect 
 miser. The idea of that child measuring the expenses
 
 214 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 of the family. I fear she will be a stingy, penurious 
 woman in after years." 
 
 ' ' I hope not. I only want her to be a careful 
 one. If she learns a little about the cost of living 
 now, if ever she has a home of her own, her knowl- 
 edge may prevent her bringing her husband to finan 
 cial ruin through her ignorant extravagance; for nine- 
 tenths of the extravagance among women comes 
 from ignorance and not real indifference as to the cost 
 of their luxuries." 
 
 "But what put these ideas into your head so 
 strongly of. late?" inquired her friend. 
 
 "It is not a late thing, really, but my attention 
 has been called to the subject with more than usual 
 force by what I have seen of the inconvenience and 
 real suffering of women through the lack of a knowl- 
 edge of the every-day business affairs of life. A 
 neighbor of mine has recently buried her husband, 
 and aside from her grief at the loss of her compan- 
 ion, her helplessness, so far as business matters are 
 concerned, is pitiful to see. With a woman's confi- 
 dence in her husband's judgment, she has always left 
 every thing, except the actual care of the house and 
 the children, in his hands, and while she is consid- 
 ered an excellent housekeeper and cook, and her 
 bread and cakes are the envy of a good many of her 
 neighbors, she told me she could not tell the price 
 of a pound of sugar or butter or of a hundred weight 
 of flour. And as to property, personal or real estate, 
 she has no idea of its value. In bewailing her igno- 
 rance of these things, she said to me, ' My husband 
 always told me to get what I needed, and he would
 
 HELPLESS WOMEN. 215 
 
 settle the bill, and I need not trouble myself about his 
 affairs. If he paid the bills that was all I need care 
 about it; women could n't understand business. I sup- 
 pose he thought it was best, but I begin to see that it 
 was a sad mistake.' This woman, left with a family 
 of five children, herself utterly ignorant of every 
 business form, uncertain as to whether a single step 
 she took in the settlement of her husband's affairs, 
 was legal, felt that she was at the mercy of those 
 who" had it in their power to deprive her and her 
 little ones of the remnant of property left them by 
 the husband and father. And this is only one of 
 scores of similar cases that have come under my own 
 observation, and I am determined that my daughter 
 shall have such a knowledge of business that she will 
 not be left to the tender mercies of unscrupulous 
 sharpers. I shall always feel thankful to my father 
 for the practical business lessons which he gave me. 
 Himself a careful man, never going beyond his 
 income, he often took me into his office that I might 
 assist him in making out his quarterly reports; and 
 while I was assisting him in comparing the books, he 
 gave me, without my being conscious of it, an insight 
 into practical every-day business." 
 
 "But was it not irksome to you, a young girl, to 
 sit for hours adding up long columns of figures which 
 meant nothing to you?" asked Mrs. Henry. 
 
 "I do not remember of ever tiring, for I was 
 proud to feel that I was helping my father, though I 
 can see now that the work was given me more for 
 my own sake than for any real help which I gave. 
 But those columns were not mere dry figures to me.
 
 2i6 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 I knew what every unit represented, and sometimes 
 I took special delight in the success of men who 
 made purchases of small tracts of land, for my father 
 was agent for men who were known in those days as 
 Eastern land speculators. That Is, they had bought 
 up large tracts of land at Congress prices years before, 
 and then sold it ' on time ' in small tracts to suit pur- 
 chasers, they giving their notes, payable in one, two, 
 and three years, sometimes five years, while the 
 seller gave a bond for a deed when the notes were 
 paid off. No, I did not think it dull work, for I 
 always enjoyed doing such work, whether it was 
 counting up interest on ' partial payments ' or meas- 
 uring a 'corn pen ' and calculating its contents. Hus- 
 bands and fathers make a mistake when they try to 
 keep wife or daughter ignorant of their business, under 
 the notion that they are shielding them from care 
 and responsibility. Better let them share the care 
 and responsibility while there is some one to assist 
 and explain, than to let it come upon them suddenly 
 and at a time of life when cares and responsibilities 
 are apt to be 'burdensome. 
 
 "A true wife will want to know something of that 
 which concerns not only her husband's, but her own 
 and her children's, temporal welfare, and it is much 
 better for her to know their financial standing and so 
 be able to regulate their expenses accordingly, than 
 to indulge in luxuries that they can ill afford until 
 bankruptcy ends it all, or the death of her husband 
 leaves her an ignorant, helpless woman, needing a 
 guardian as much as the babe in her arms." 
 
 "Really, my dear, you are quite eloquent,"
 
 HELPLESS WOMEN. 217 
 
 laughed Mrs. Henry. " With a little practice you 
 will make a capital lecturer on woman's rights." 
 
 "I never made a woman's right's speech in my 
 life, and never expect to. I am only urging what 
 seems to me a necessity, not for the woman's sake 
 alone, but for the better protection of her children, 
 sons as wells as daughters. And as example is said 
 to be more potent than precept, I intend to give my 
 own daughter the training that will .enable her to take 
 car-e- of herself, and a husband, too, if necessary, and 
 I confess I am a little anxious to demonstrate my 
 theory." 
 
 19
 
 IT A MHANKSGIYING? 
 
 HE Thanksgiving sermon had ended, the 
 collection for the benefit of the poor had 
 been taken, the closing prayer offered, the 
 1 choir had sung 
 
 " Praise waiteth for thee, O God, in Zion," 
 and the congregation Jiad united its voice with 
 the choir in 
 
 "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;" 
 the benediction had been pronounced, and the 
 people came forth from the temple, each going 
 their respective way some to dine with friends 
 and relatives ; others, perhaps, to meet again on the 
 next annual Thanksgiving, and perhaps not. But 
 there was one of the congregation or, rather, of 
 the choir Louise Harmon, a girl of twenty years, 
 who seemed in no hurry to join the crowd that 
 pressed toward the door ; she stood on the steps of 
 the orchestra, with hymnal and anthem book on her 
 arm, while, with thoughtful face,- she watched the 
 crowd as it passed in procession before her. 
 
 Bowing occasionally, with a sort of dreamy greet- 
 ing, to some acquaintance or friend, she listened tq 
 the broken fragments of conversation which came to 
 her ears as the speakers drew near the door, their 
 faces and words alike being lost in the mingled noise 
 and bustle outside.
 
 WAS IT A THANKSGIVING? 219 
 
 The congregation had gone, and Louise suddenly 
 remembered that the sexton would want to close 
 the church, and go home to his family and Thanks- 
 giving dinner, whether that dinner was to be turkey 
 stuffed with oysters or only a plain dinner with an 
 extra pudding or pie gotten up in honor of the day. 
 Drawing her wrappings more closely about her throat, 
 and adjusting her veil so as more effectually to shut 
 off the sharpness of the north wind, and with a hasty 
 notTto the sexton, who stood holding the door for 
 her to pass out, she stepped from the church into the 
 street. 
 
 A faint smile passed over her face, and ended in 
 a curl of the lips and ^a shrug of the shoulders, as 
 she saw the street was almost empty of life, and that 
 she must walk home alone ; that, however, did not 
 matter particularly so far as the walk, so much as the 
 idea of being forgotten by others. 
 
 "At any rate, mot/ter has not forgotten me, I am 
 sure," she said, half aloud ; and the words seemed to 
 dispel the unpleasant thoughts, if such they were, 
 and, with resolute step, she hastened homeward. 
 
 Mrs. Harmon was an invalid, and had remained 
 at home because she was too feeble to walk so far, 
 and their straitened circumstances would not permit 
 them to keep a carriage. 
 
 When her daughter entered the room, the mother 
 expressed surprise that she should be so late in re- 
 turning. 
 
 " O, I was so busy watching the people, and lis- 
 tening to their comments upon the sermon and upon 
 each other, that I almost forgot to come home ; and
 
 220 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 it is lucky for me, and you too, that I am here now, 
 instead of being locked up in that old church. But 
 I am here, you see, and we will have our dinner, pro- 
 vided Ann has not gone to sleep over her beads." 
 
 Mrs. Harmon looked up in pained surprise, more 
 at her daughter's tone than the words, and said, in 
 gentle reproof, "Louise, dear, we must not be cross 
 to-day." 
 
 "No, mother, I am not cross; I am only think- 
 ing." 
 
 And, stooping, she kissed the fair brow, and then, 
 drawing back, she smoothed the silvery hair that was 
 fading prematurely ; then, looking lovingly a moment 
 into the sweet, patient face, she left the room, to su- 
 perintend the dinner, which she considered too im- 
 portant to be left to Ann's somewhat blundering 
 hands. 
 
 Mrs. Harmon was a widow, dependent on her 
 daughter's small salary for her support, and to-day 
 her dinner would not be a very extravagant affair, 
 only roast chicken, instead of turkey; but there were 
 vegetables and pies mince and pumpkin and dough- 
 nuts, for Mrs. Harmon was a New England woman, 
 and if the three last-mentioned articles had been 
 wanting she would hardly have considered her dinner 
 orthodox. 
 
 A neighbor, who was also a widow, with her two 
 daughters, were the only guests, and the afternoon 
 passed very quietly, though cheerfully, for Mrs. Har- 
 mon had learned the art of being contented with 
 little, and to make others equally so. 
 
 When their guests had said their good-byes, Lou-
 
 WAS IT A THANKSGIVING? 221 
 
 ise and her mother were left alone in the twilight of 
 their little sitting room, and drawing a stool to her 
 mother's side? she seated herself upon it, and rest- 
 ino- her head on the mother's knee, while she drew 
 
 t> 
 
 the slender hand to her, and gently pressed it to her 
 lips. 
 
 For some minutes the two sat in silence, Mrs. 
 Harmon, with her disengaged hand, quietly stroking 
 the soft, wavy tresses of her daughter's hair, which 
 had been allowed to drop from the bands that had 
 confined it. 
 
 There was a perfect understanding between the 
 two, and a bond -of sympathy that drew mother and 
 daughter very near together. While Mrs. Harmon's 
 ill health made her dependent upon her daughter for 
 food and raiment, Louise, in turn,- leaned upon her 
 mother for counsel and encouragement, as well as 
 instruction in temporal and spiritual things. 
 
 To-night Mrs. Harmon knew, intuitively, as it 
 were, that her daughter's mind was disturbed with 
 some sort of perplexing thoughts and questions. As 
 to what they were she could only guess, but she felt 
 sure that before Louise said ''good-night" she would 
 unburden her heart. 
 
 Presently the silence was broken with: " Mother, 
 why will our thoughts run just where we do not 
 want them to?" 
 
 " Wiser heads than yours have been puzzled over 
 the same pro.blem, daughter; but why do you ask 
 the question? Have your thoughts been running wild 
 to-day?" and the mother stroked the pure white brow 
 of her child very tenderly.
 
 222 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Yes, in spite of me. I was so tired last night, 
 and I thought I would enjoy this holiday so much, 
 and I said, ' To-morrow will be a day of real thanks- 
 giving and rest.' This morning I asked God to give 
 me grace to be contented with my lot, and to enable 
 me to be thankful for all his goodness to me; and 
 when I went to Church to-day, and joined in the sing- 
 ing and listened to the prayer, I thought I was thank- 
 ful, and I am sure I tried to be so; but while the 
 minister was recounting our many blessings and mer- 
 cies, as a nation and as individuals, I found myself 
 murmuring because you could not be at Church to- 
 day and on other days; and when I saw Mrs. Worth 
 and Mrs. Lewis in silks and costly furs, and knew 
 their carriages were in waiting to take them to grand 
 houses and loaded tables, I thought of you, com- 
 pelled to stay at home and put up with the poor pro- 
 vision that I can make for your comfort. I am afraid 
 that there was not much of the true thanksgiving 
 spirit in my prayers after that. And then, after all 
 was over, and I stood on the steps of the orchestra, 
 and heard the various comments on the sermon its 
 substance and delivery I could not help wondering 
 why people who do not care for or appreciate their 
 privileges should have favors heaped upon them, 
 while those who would enjoy and be grateful for them 
 should be denied constantly. To tell the truth, I am 
 tired, and perplexed, and disappointed," and, with a 
 little sigh, Louise turnetl her head and laid her cheek 
 against the palm of her mother's hand. 
 
 Mrs. Harmon made no comment upon her daugh- 
 ter's confession, but sat quietly, as if waiting for it
 
 WAS IT A THANKSGIVING? 223 
 
 to be continued. Presently Louise asked, "Are you 
 angry with me, mother?" 
 
 " No, dear, not angry; only a little disappointed," 
 was answered, gently. 
 
 Louise started at the- echo of her own words. 
 
 4 ' Mother, dear, tell me what is wrong. Where 
 was my mistake ? I wanted, this to be a real Thanks- 
 giving, and it was not. Was it my fault ?" 
 
 ''Yes, my child, I think it was. But are you 
 wiilthg that we should go back and review the day 
 together ?" 
 
 "O yes, if it will help me out of my trouble." 
 
 "Well, then, to begin: you asked God to give 
 you grace to enable you to be content with your lot. 
 When we have to ask for grace to be content, it is 
 because we feel the spirit of unrest disturbing us. 
 We are not quite thankful to God for his mercies. 
 The thankful heart is content. Do you understand, 
 dear, what I mean?" 
 
 "Yes," in a low voice. 
 
 ' ' You say you ' thought you were thankful, and 
 you are sure you tried to be so.' When we are 
 really thankful for a favor, it does not require an 
 effort." 
 
 "But can we not be more thankful by trying?" 
 
 " My child, did you ever try to love your mother?" 
 
 Louise drew a little closer, and a tear fell on Mrs. 
 Harmon's hand. 
 
 "O no, mother; I can not help loving you." 
 
 " And so it should be with our feelings toward 
 our heavenly Father. If we fully appreciate the gifts 
 which he bestows so liberally, even though he may
 
 224 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 withhold some things which we desire, yet his tender 
 mercies and his loving kindness are so great we 
 should find our hearts swelling with gratitude ; and 
 instead of praying for grace to be thankful or trying 
 to be content, we would find ourselves inquiring, as did 
 David, ' What shall I render unto the Lord for all 
 his benefits toward me ?' I do not wish to reprove 
 or find fault with you. my daughter ; but if this day, 
 and every other day, is not one of thanksgiving and 
 praise, it is because our selfish hearts are longing for 
 that which our heavenly Father does not see best for 
 us to have ; and in sighing for what we have not, we 
 fail to be thankful for present blessings. While it is 
 right to ask for what we think we need, it is also 
 good to praise him for what we already have." 
 
 Louise withdrew her hand from that of her 
 mother, and, rising from her low seat, very quietly 
 lit the lamp, and placed it on the table by her moth- 
 er's side ; then, laying the family Bible near her 
 hand, before taking her seat preparatory to their 
 evening devotions, she stooped and kissed the dear 
 motherly face, saying, in a humble yet joyous tone, 
 while the tears gathered in her eyes : ' ' I have learned 
 a precious lesson. I will never try to be thankful 
 again." And the mother returning her daughter's 
 caress, responded in a gentle voice : ' ' His mercy 
 endureth forever."
 
 EOPLE. 
 
 O N'T give me any more work; I have 
 more than I can do now," remonstrates 
 one who is already burdened with cares 
 and responsibilities. And yet to these same 
 ^$ busy ones extra work is given the task of 
 pushing forward some enterprise for the benefit 
 of the Church, the nation, or the world at large; 
 and, notwithstanding the numerous duties that 
 ^ were pressing them before, they still find time 
 for the new work, and it is forwarded and suc- 
 cess is achieved, while the previous duties are 
 not neglected. Go to a temperance conven- 
 tion, and take a look at the workers. You will find 
 that those most interested in missionary, literary, and 
 like enterprises are the ones who are chosen to do 
 the most laborious and difficult duties of the society. 
 In such a convention, where some were asking to be 
 excused because of their many cares, one prominent 
 worker, known to be untiring in labors for the ref- 
 ormation of men, and who, to use her own language, 
 "had to work, as well as pray, for her daily bread," 
 responded, " That is just the kind of women we 
 want. The busier, the better. Those who are doing 
 nothing are not fit for this work." She was right; 
 and the same demand is being made everywhere. 
 It is not the man or woman of leisure who is in most
 
 226 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 demand, but those who are already at work. Those 
 who are the busiest are the ones who are thrust out, 
 as it were, to do the extra work, who receive the 
 loudest calls to positions of responsibility. And 
 why? Those who are idle are not so of necessity, 
 but because they have not had sufficient energy or 
 tact to make the most of their opportunities and 
 privileges, and if placed in charge of some special 
 work would either be too stupid or too indolent to 
 carry it forward to success. Such persons shut them- 
 selves out from many a golden opportunity, and the 
 Savior's parable finds ample illustration, " From him 
 that hath not shall be taken away even that which he 
 seemeth to have." 
 
 The man who gives wisely of his temporal bless- 
 ings for the good of others does not find himself 
 growing poorer because of his benevolence ; and he 
 who uses God's best gifts, both of mind and heart, 
 for the benefit of the world, does not find these gifts 
 diminishing or growing weaker. On the contrary, as 
 the 'mind reaches out and grasps new thoughts, and, 
 in turn, gives them out to others, it increases its store 
 of knowledge and also its capacity to receive and 
 impart that knowledge ; and the same may be said 
 of our desires and efforts to help others in spiritual 
 things. If we make use of the means and opportu- 
 nities placed before us, they will be increased, and 
 with the opportunities will come the ability to do. 
 Beyond this ability to do, they cease to be oppor- 
 tunities. 
 
 We may take the busiest business man, the Chris- 
 tian man, who considers his business as belonging to
 
 BUSY PEOPLE. 227 
 
 God and himself as the Lord's steward, and while 
 that man is thronged with business, he yet finds time 
 for special work for his Master. And we do not see 
 that man's business suffering, nor his soul growing 
 lean, because he is bestowing blessings, spiritual and 
 temporal, upon those who are in need. A long list 
 of names of prominent Christian men might be 
 given, men who are not only successful in business, 
 but who have attained a high standard of Christian 
 experience, and who attribute their success in ' busi- 
 ness to the fact that they withheld nothing from 
 God, either of money or time. 
 
 We see the mother, whose hands and heart seem 
 crowded with home cares and loves, and she will find 
 time to minister to the necessities of others, let those 
 necessities be either temporal or spiritual. And she 
 is far more likely to be ready to go out to ' ' rescue 
 the perishing," to care for the sick and the dying, 
 than is her sister who sits idly at home, demanding 
 that she shall be ministered to instead of ministering. 
 
 The pastor who is most zealous in the perform- 
 ance of his duties to his own flock will be likely to 
 have the most opportunities for doing good, because 
 he will make such opportunities. He will not only 
 observe the letter of the law, but he will take in its 
 spirit, also, and his influence will be felt as a power 
 on the side of right and of needed reform. Some one 
 says: "The happiest people are those who have just 
 a little too much to do," and we would write a new 
 maxim : If you want an extra piece of work done, 
 go to the one who is already burdened with duties.
 
 "l^IGHT- ABOUT 
 
 [HEODORE KAUFMAN and Henry 
 .Woodford were fast friends, and in some 
 I'respects they were rather inclined to be 
 " young men, although they had not, as 
 yet, allowed their love for company and what 
 they called a "good time," to materially inter- 
 fere with their business. On this particular 
 evening they had been talking over their pro- 
 gramme for the New-Year's calls which they 
 expected to make together on the following 
 day. From this they had drifted into a quiet 
 conversation, much more sober and thoughtful in its 
 tone than it was usual for them to engage in, and 
 then they gradually lapsed into silence and -each sat 
 busy with his own thoughts. 
 
 Suddenly Woodford turned to. his companion 
 with, ' ' I say, Theo, how do you suppose these calls 
 will end?" We have a pretty long list. How about 
 the wine those delightful ladies will offer us?" 
 
 "I suppose we can taste without swilling" and 
 Kaufman elevated his eyebrows as 'if surprised at the 
 questiorr. 
 
 "Perhaps so; but will we? My remembrance 
 of last New- Year's is not very pleasant; the winding 
 up, at least." 
 : " O, well, I hope we each learned a lesson, and
 
 "RIGHT- ABOUT FACE." 22p 
 
 the last New- Year's affair need not repeat itself," 
 Kaufman replied, impatiently, for he felt nettled that 
 his friend should remind him of the day in which 
 both had become quite boisterous, and returned to 
 their rooms reeling under the effect of the numerous 
 drinks they had taken in their round. Woodford 
 was silenced for a few moments, and then said, with 
 an apparent effort, looking at the wall instead of in 
 his friend's face: "I tell you what, Theo, I must 
 eitKer say No, every time, and not touch wine at all, 
 or the New- Year of one year ago will be very apt 
 to repeat itself in my case." 
 
 Kaufman looked at his companion as if he 
 thought him jesting, but a glance at the serious face, 
 which reddened to his hair under his scrutiny, con- 
 vinced him that he was in sober earnest. 
 
 "O, nonsense, Hal ; you are not that far gone, I 
 hope," half angrily. 
 
 " I am just that far gone. I am ashamed to own 
 it, even to you, Theo ; but there is just one of two 
 things for me to do : I must either give up tippling 
 entirely or go to destruction. I can 't take one glass 
 and stop there. If I take one, I '11 take half a dozen, 
 and you know the result." 
 
 "Now, see here, Hal," and Kaufman's eyes 
 flashed angrily ; "do you propose to go calling with 
 me to-morrow a>nd make yourself ridiculous by drink- 
 ing nothing but coffee and lemonade?" 
 
 Woodford looked into his friend's face, and as he 
 saw the contemptuous look upon it his own became 
 a trifle paler, and his eyes fell to the floor, but he 
 ashed in a low tone, "Theo, would you rather I
 
 230 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 should make myself ridiculous by drinking only coffee 
 and lemonade, and come home to-morrow night 
 with a clear head and steady step, or drink wines all 
 day and have to be helped home, as on last New- 
 Year's?" 
 
 "Of course, I don't want you to drink enough 
 to affect you in that way. You can just touch the 
 glass to your lips. You can be polite without get- 
 ting drunk." 
 
 "If politeness means tasting every glass of wine 
 offered me, I am afraid I shall not be very sober 
 when the day is over. I know I 'm a weak fool, but 
 if I put a glass of wine to my lips I shall drink it; 
 and if I drink one glass I shall probably drink a 
 dozen more, and you know where it will land me," 
 and Woodford rose and began drawing on his over- 
 coat and picking up hat and gloves to go to his lodg- 
 ing place. Kaufman did not offer to detain him, and 
 it was plain that he was not pleased with his friend's 
 sudden resolution. When ready to go Woodford 
 turned to him and extended his hand, " I do not want 
 you to think me stubborn or contrary, but I must stop 
 while I can I am in more danger than you think." 
 
 Kaufman started to his feet as if awakening from 
 a dream, and grasped his friend's hand. 
 
 "I guess you are about right, and I shall do 
 nothing more to induce you to break your resolution ; 
 but if you can refuse all through the day, you are 
 plucky, that 's all. It 's a good deal more than / 
 could do. Don't think hard of me for what I said," 
 and with a hearty grasp of hands the friends separated. 
 
 The next day was a trying one to young Wood-
 
 " RIGHT-ABOUT FACE." 231 
 
 ford, and more than once he was on the point of 
 yielding to the persuasions of his lady friends, who 
 "could not see why he should be so singular." 
 However, he stood firm, for, knowing his danger, he 
 determined not to be overcome. Before they had 
 completed their round there was need of his steady 
 nerves and cool head, for Kaufman seemed to think 
 he must make amends for his friend's singular 
 notion, and drank more freely than he was aware, 
 ano^-Wood ford- was obliged to take the reins and 
 drive the spirited horse that was likely to become 
 unmanageable in Kaufman's hands. There were yet 
 four or five names on the list, but Woodford saw 
 that his friend was not in a condition to make calls, 
 and turned the horse homeward. Kaufman remon- 
 strated a little, but he was fast becoming stupefied 
 by the wines he had drunk, and by the time they 
 had reached his rooms he was unable to walk with- 
 out assistance, and in his case the scene of the year 
 previous had repeated itself. 
 
 After seeing that his friend was properly cared 
 for, Woodford turned his steps toward his own lodg- 
 ings with a heart sadly perplexed. He had, it was true, 
 been laughed at because of his sudden resolution, and 
 some of those from whom he had expected encour- 
 agement had seemed offended. But, notwithstanding 
 his disappointment, he felt glad that he had had the 
 courage to resist the temptation to drink, and this 
 feeling was strengthened when he thought of the con- 
 dition in which his companion had been carried to 
 his rooms. 
 
 Kaufman called earlier than usual at his friend's
 
 232 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 room the next evening. When seated by the fire, 
 he said, a little humbly, 
 
 " Hal, I suppose I made a fool of myself, yester- 
 day; but for pity's sake, don't say any thing about 
 it so that my employers will get to hear of it." 
 
 " I shall certainly not mention it j but I am afraid 
 I was not the only one who saw that you had been 
 over polite." 
 
 " Yes; and hang it all, I should have been all right 
 if I had had the 'grit' to say 'No,' as you did. I 
 tell you what, Hal, I felt proud of you yesterday, 
 even when I laughed at you." 
 
 "If you had known how much I wanted the 
 stuff, and how near I came to taking it several times 
 you wouldn't have felt quite so proud of me, and," 
 he added with a sigh that was almost a groan, "I 
 feel as if the battle had but just begun." 
 
 " I hope you'll fight it out, any way, old fellow," 
 responded Kaufman in a voice that sounded as if 
 hope for himself had almost died out of his heart. 
 
 "To tell the truth, Theo, I have been living too 
 fast lately, and it has been troubling me like fury," 
 began Woodford again, as he drew his chair to the 
 table and leaned his elbows upon it. "And another 
 thing, my head is not fit for business for two or three 
 days after it has been muddled with alcohol. I feel 
 I must quit it if possible, and with God's help I am 
 going to turn over a new leaf." 
 
 "Well, success to you. I like your pluck, and 
 wish I was in your boots ; but it would be no use for 
 me to try to quit." And the young man looked
 
 " RIGHT-ABOUT FACE." 233 
 
 utterly helpless and. despairing as he leaned his head 
 in his hands, as he sat opposite his friend. Wood- 
 ford sat watching him for some moments, wishing he 
 could help him, yet feeling that he needed help him- 
 self. At last he said, with hopefulness and energy: 
 
 "Look here, chum; I believe I was to blame for 
 getting you into these habits, at the first, and I 'm 
 sorry for it. We Ve sown our wild oats together 
 during the past two years, suppose we 'right-about 
 fac^ and start out on a different line. I shall feel 
 as if I was ready to trip up if you are pulling the 
 other way all the time. Can 't we help each other?" 
 Kaufman looked up with a sort of incredulous smile 
 at the suggestion that he could help any one toward 
 leading a better life, but he listened while his friend 
 went on eagerly, 
 
 4 ' Say you '11 do it, and we '11 draw up a total 
 abstinence pledge, and sign it to-night." 
 
 "Yes, and both break it in less than a month," 
 was the hopeless response. 
 
 "We'll not do any such thing," responded 
 Woodford, as if filled with new life. " Let 's write 
 out the pledges right now. We can go each other's 
 security, and send the pledges home to our mothers 
 for safe-keeping. I tell you what, Theo, we '11 make 
 two blessed women happy if we do," and Woodford 
 shoved back his chair and came and laid a hand on 
 his companion's shoulder. 
 
 "If I thought I could keep it, I would n't mind," 
 Kaufman said, drearily. 
 
 " Keep it? Of course you will. Where 's paper, 
 pen, and ink? Let's have them now."
 
 234 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 It was impossible to resist Woodford's enthusi- 
 asm, and Kaufman drew back from the table that the 
 papers might be taken from the drawer, saying, with 
 a smile : 
 
 "I believe this is your desk, not mine, Hal; so 
 help yourself." 
 
 He sat watching while Woodford wrote out the 
 pledges. Then they signed both, and placed them 
 in envelopes, to be sent to their mothers in their 
 quiet country homes. When this was done, they 
 relapsed into silence ; and thus they sat for some 
 time ; and if their faces were the index to their 
 thoughts, they must have been very serious ones, 
 and not altogether pleasant. 
 
 At last Kaufman said: "Hal, if I keep that 
 pledge it will be a terrible struggle. I never told 
 you, because I was ashamed to own what a slave I 
 was; but I have tried three or Jour times during the 
 past year to give up drink, and in less than two 
 weeks I have gone back to my cups again. God 
 only knows how I shall succeed this time ; but it is 
 a serious business, I can tell you ; for I am not 
 playing. I mean all I have said." 
 
 "And so do I," responded his friend, heartily. 
 "It may be that I shall fail. I hope not; but" 
 hesitating, as if in doubt as to how his friend would 
 receive his suggestion "I 'm not one to talk cant; 
 but, Theo., you know where our mothers go for 
 strength to do right 'grace,' I believe they call it 
 and you know that 's where they urge us to go. 
 Suppose we try it. I believe praying has kept my 
 mother up when nothing else would. She has had
 
 "RIGHT ABOUT FACE." 235 
 
 some pretty tough places to go through, I fancy. 
 What do you~~say ? Shall we try it?" 
 
 Theodore Kaufman rose from his seat without a 
 word ; but his face showed that the right chord had 
 had been struck one which would be most likely to 
 produce harmony in both their lives. Extending his 
 hand, as Woodford rose and took a step toward him, 
 they clasped hands with a firm grasp, and there was a 
 look in their faces that betokened higher resolves and 
 a step toward better lives. They stood thus for a 
 moment, looking into each other's faces, and then, 
 with a fervent though scarcely audible " God help us !" 
 they separated, and the morrow looked more hopeful 
 than its wont, even though they knew there was a 
 struggle before them ; for they were strengthened by 
 the thought that their mothers' God would be to them 
 a tower of strength.
 
 OW 5&oRTH If ILL CONQUERED HIS 
 
 J^NEMY. 
 & 5torj for Bojs. 
 
 was rather a gloomy, dissatisfied face 
 that Worth Hill carried into his mother's 
 sitting-room on the evening after the "first 
 day" of the Fall term of the village school, 
 and Mrs. Hill asked, a little anxiously : 
 " In trouble, Worth?" 
 " No," peevishly responded the boy. 
 "Not sick, I hope?" still interrogated the 
 mother, without noticing his disrespectful tone. 
 "No, I'm not sick; but" pulling, in a 
 sort of confused way at the corner of the table- 
 cover. 
 
 "What is the matter, then? You look as if you 
 were distressed in some way," still insisted the mother. 
 " Why, mother, you see, last Spring Miss Aldrich 
 promised me that if we were both in at the opening 
 of the school, Will Morris and I should be seat-mates 
 during this term, and to-day she gave Will another 
 seat, and put Jim Brown in the seat with me ; and I 
 say it's too bad - for he 's the meanest boy in all the 
 school!" and Worth's lip quivered with disappoint- 
 ment and scarcely restrained anger. 
 
 "If the other seats are all occupied, some one 
 must share with him," said the mother, kindly. 
 
 "I suppose so. But I don't see why she need
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED HIS ENEMY. 237 
 
 put him in my seat. The boys were making faces on 
 the sly all through school hours ; and as soon as we 
 were out of doors Sam Moore called out, ' Three 
 cheers for the new firm of Brown and Hill !' and the 
 boys all cheered and laughed as if Sam had said 
 something very sharp ; and, mother, I just can 't 
 stand it!" and the boy went to the window to hide 
 the tears he could not keep back. 
 
 ' ' Perhaps Brown may not prove as disagreeable 
 asffou anticipate," suggested Mrs. Hill, encour- 
 agingly. 
 
 "O mother, I know him like a book ! He is just 
 as disagreeable as any one can be," answered Worth, 
 his face still toward the window, and with a tone 
 which showed that he did not intend to be cheated 
 out of the pleasure of complaining, at least. 
 
 " Well, my son, try to make the best of it. I 
 hope you will hot have any trouble with Brown," was 
 Mrs. Hill's reply, as she laid aside her sewing to look 
 after things in the dming-room. 
 
 When tea was over, Worth had his lessons to 
 study ; and so nothing more was said about the un- 
 welcome seat-mate. 
 
 At the close of the second day Worth's face was 
 even more cloudy than on the previous evening. 
 Throwing, rather than hanging, his hat on the rack, 
 he walked straight to his mother's room, and, with- 
 out waiting for the usual greeting, said abruptly : 
 
 " Can 't I stay at Jiomc and study?" 
 
 Mrs. Hill scanned her boy's face carefully for a 
 moment, and then asked: 
 
 "Have you quarreled with Brown already?"
 
 238 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "No, and not likely to; Jim don't even look at 
 me. But the boys tease so. Sam wanted to know 
 if we were going to steal chickens on the shares, and 
 if I had agreed to take half of Jim's ferulings. They 
 made me so angry I could n't study, and I missed my 
 lessons; and I wish I could stay at home," sobbed 
 Worth, leaning his head on the table at his mother's 
 side. 
 
 Mrs. Hill soothed him as best she could. 
 
 "I am busy now; but after tea we will talk this 
 matter over. Perhaps we can think of a plan to have 
 your seat-mate changed." 
 
 Worth's face brightened. 
 
 " O, will you? You always was the best mother, 
 any way;" and he gave his mother the kiss he had 
 forgotten, in his haste to settle his school troubles. 
 
 When the younger children were all tucked away 
 for the night, Mrs. Hill brought out her work-basket, 
 saying pleasantly : 
 
 ' ' Now, while I mend these garments, tell me all 
 about Jim Brown ? What does he do that he is dis- 
 liked so much?" 
 
 "Do? Why, every thing! I couldn't tell the 
 half of the mean tricks he plays on us ;" and Worth 
 closed his book and looked up, his eyes flashing at 
 the remembrance of his wrongs. 
 
 "Do you boys never tease him?" 
 
 " Y-e-s, sometimes just to get even, you know. 
 O my! you ought to have seen him Saturday, when 
 Dick Allen called him a pauper's son ! Jim sprang 
 at him like a tiger, and gave him a blow that sent 
 him reeling against the fence."
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED HIS ENEMY. 239 
 
 Mrs. Hill looked grave. 
 
 "Is it true that his father is a pauper?" 
 
 ' ' Yes ; or it was true. He died in the alms- 
 house three years ago, when Jim was ten years old. 
 His mother takes in washing, and Jim doe,s errands 
 mornings and evenings. Sam Moore says they 're 
 awful poor." 
 
 Mrs. Hill's face was very thoughtful. 
 
 ' ' If what you say about the Brown family is true, 
 JirfTcertainly has enough to make him feel uncom- 
 fortable; and this may account, in part, for his bad 
 conduct. What have his school mates done to make 
 it pleasant for him at school?" 
 
 "Why, mother, he is so cross we can 't do any 
 thing for him. He would n't let us." 
 
 "Have you ever really tried?" 
 
 " No ; I'm afraid / have n't. You see, it does n't 
 seem natural to try to please a fellow you do n't like. " 
 
 "I suppose it isn't natural, exactly; but I think 
 you had better try the law of kindness on this boy 
 for a while. The other law seems to have had a 
 pretty thorough trial." 
 
 Worth made no reply. His mother's plan was" 
 not exactly what he had anticipated, and he did not 
 relish the turn the conversation had taken. 
 
 ' ' ' Heaping coals of fire ' after the Scripture plan 
 may do him good," suggested his mother. 
 
 "I don't know as it would do him any good, he 
 just seems to hate every one of us," said Worth, 
 excusingly. 
 
 "Very likely," answered Mrs. Hill dryly; then 
 she said, earnestly, ' ' Worth, I hope you, at any rate,
 
 240 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 will try to do right toward this unfortunate boy; and 
 remember that you can not win his friendship by re- 
 taliation. You must control your own temper, and 
 ask God to help you to do as you would be done by 
 if you were in Jim Brown's place." 
 
 His mother's words made a deep impression on 
 Worth, and he felt as if he would like to do the right 
 thing ; but his reply was : 
 
 "I don't believe I can be good to him, mother; 
 he is so cross. If it was any body but Jim Brown, 
 I might do it." 
 
 " If it was a better boy than Jim Brown, he Avould 
 not need your kindness so much," was Mrs. Hill's 
 quiet reply, as she turned to her work, feeling that 
 she had said enough for the present. 
 
 Worth turned to his lessons again, and tried to 
 make up for the time that had been spent in their 
 talk. 
 
 The next morning, as Worth kissed his mother 
 good-bye, she said softly: 
 
 "Do n't forget." 
 
 However, it was pretty hard not to "forget," for 
 Jim Brown looked daggers at him as he took his 
 seat, and the boys made wry faces and comic ges- 
 tures at him as they passed to the recitation-room. 
 
 He soon found, as we all do when watching for 
 it, an opportunity to try the effects of kindness and 
 self-denial. 
 
 Just before recess, Jim drew out his slate, and 
 began fumbling in his pockets for his pencil, but failed 
 to find it. 
 
 The rules forbade pupils leaving their seats at that
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED HIS ENEMY. 241 
 
 hour, and if he failed to have his lesson, he would 
 have to remain indoors until he had mastered it. 
 
 Worth saw his perplexed look, and guessed the 
 cause, and, for a moment, he felt inclined to rejoice 
 over his discomfiture ; but his mother's words, 
 "don't forget," came into his mind, and, after a 
 momentary struggle with self, he quietly laid the ex- 
 tra pencil he always carried on Jim's slate. 
 
 At first the boy pretended not to see it, but in a 
 few>fltornents necessity overcame his pride, and he 
 took up the pencil and began the work; but some 
 way the examples seemed harder than usual, and, 
 though he tried them over and over, there were two 
 that would not come right, and when the recess bell 
 rang the lesson was incomplete. 
 
 Worth had just finished his own arithmetic lesson, 
 and was about to leave the room with the other boys, 
 when a thought struck him, and he took his seat 
 again, saying, carelessly: 
 
 "Won't they come right?" 
 
 "No," without looking up. 
 
 "Going to stay in and work at them?" 
 
 "None of your business," growled Jim, looking 
 as if he intended to resent all efforts at teasing. 
 
 "I know it is n't," answered Worth, good- 
 naturedly, "but I do n't care for playing ball to- 
 tfay, and, if you '11 let me, I '11 look over these sums 
 with you ; I do n't knpw them any too well, my- 
 self." 
 
 Jim looked at his schoolmate as if he suspected 
 some trick back of the proffered help ; but he pushed 
 the slate toward Worth with evident reluctance, and
 
 242 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 pointed, without a word, to the examples in the 
 book. 
 
 By the time they were solved and Jim had been 
 made to comprehend them, recess was over. Jim 
 dicl not say 'thank you,' as Worth would have said 
 for a similar favor, but as he closed the book and 
 laid it with his slate, he muttered, as if to himself, 
 but loud enough' for Worth to hear: 
 
 "I'm awful glad they're done." 
 
 It was not just the sort of reward Worth ex- 
 pected, but his own satisfaction at having done a 
 kind act made ample amends for the lack of courtesy 
 on the part of his companion. 
 
 He longed to tell his mother when he went home 
 of his victory over self,* but she asked no questions, 
 and it would look like boasting if he should speak 
 of it without she inquired into matters. 
 
 But if Mrs. Hill said nothing, she was, neverthe- 
 less, watching her boy's face, and she saw, day by 
 day, that the clouds were gradually disappearing, and 
 she left him to work his way out of his troubles 
 without her help. 
 
 One evening, about two weeks after the affair of 
 the arithmetic lesson, Worth came bounding into the 
 sitting-room with the exclamation : 
 
 "O mother, guess what's happened!" 
 
 Mrs. Hill looked at the bright face, and said: 
 "Nothing bad, I guess." 
 
 "No, indeed; it's about Jim Brown." 
 
 "I suppose Miss Aldrich has taken pity on you, 
 and given Brown another seat," answered his mother, 
 watching Worth's face.
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED HIS ENEMY. 243 
 
 1 ' Now, mother, I do n't believe you 're trying to 
 guess," and he looked almost offended. 
 
 "Then you had better tell me, and save time," 
 and she laid aside her work, that she might listen 
 more attentively. 
 
 "Well," drawing up a low seat where he could 
 rest his arms on his mother's knee, and look into 
 her face at the same time, "I tried the 'heaping 
 coals' plan, mother, and Jim and I have got on 
 pretty well most of the time. To-day the teacher 
 told him he must have a new Reader, if he wanted 
 to stay in his class, and he came to his seat looking 
 just as sullen as could be. Any other boy would 
 have been glad enough to receive orders to get a 
 new book, and his old one is all in pieces, and half 
 of the leaves gone. I knew in a moment he was 
 ashamed because he was n't able to buy a new one, 
 and was too proud to say any thing about it. I 
 had n't brought my Reader home since I bought my 
 History, last week; and you know you said I might 
 give it to some one who needed it. I took it out 
 of the desk and wrote on the fly-leaf 'James Brown's 
 book,' and then shoved it over in front of him, leav- 
 ing it open, so he could n't help seeing what I had 
 written. 
 
 "You ought to have seen how queer the boy 
 looked ; he just stared at me a moment, and then 
 took up the Reader, and turned the leaves over 
 and over and looked at the bright, clean binding 
 you know it 's nearly as good as new then he laid 
 his head down on his desk and began to cry. He 
 sobbed so hard that the children all heard him; I
 
 244 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 tell you they opened their eyes, for Jim has always 
 said 'nobody but girls and babies ever cry.' 
 
 "Miss Aldrich asked him what was the matter, 
 and he just held on to the book and cried the harder; 
 at last, he told the teacher that his mother could 
 not afford to get him books, and he had spent all 
 his money for a pair of boots, and he thought he 
 would have to quit school, and he had so wanted to 
 get an education, so he could make a living, and he 
 thought nobody cared for him at all until I had 
 given him the book just when he needed it. 
 
 ' ' I felt pretty cheap to have him say such kind 
 things of me right before all the school, but the 
 boys did n't laugh at him one bit, but they looKed 
 as if they had half a mind to cry, too. 
 
 "Pretty soon school was dismissed, and, just as 
 we were leaving the yard, Jim pulled my sleeve, and 
 said : 
 
 " 'Do n't hurry, Worth; I want to tell you some- 
 thing. ' 
 
 "So I loitered along behind the other boys, and 
 then he told me he was sorry he had ever treated me 
 so badly, and that he always thought I just hated 
 him, and that was why he had played tricks on me ; 
 but he says he '11 stick to me forever, if I '11 forgive 
 him for treating me so mean." 
 
 "By a little kindness and by watching over your- 
 self, you have changed an enemy into a friend," said 
 Mrs. Hill, in a low tone, as Worth paused for breath. 
 
 He looked at his mother's smiling face for a mo- 
 ment, then his face lighted up if he had made a dis- 
 covery.
 
 How WORTH HILL CONQUERED HIS ENEMY. 245 
 
 ' ' O mother, was that what you meant about plan- 
 ning to have my seat-mate changed?" 
 
 "Yes; are you satisfied with the new one?" 
 
 And the mother looked inquiringly into the ear- 
 nest face that looked into hers. 
 
 ' ' I guess I am ! I am awful glad you told me 
 how it was to be done, too," he added, in a tender 
 tone, as he gathered up hat and books, that had 
 been tossed on the table, in his eagerness to tell his 
 storyT' 
 
 As the school progressed so did the friendship 
 between Worth and his unpopular schoolmate; and 
 the friendship seemed to have a good influence upon 
 other pupils, as well as Jim Brown. 
 
 The leaders soon quit teasing, when they found 
 that Worth was determined to stick to him, in spite 
 of his rags and uncouth ways; and the feeling that 
 some one really cared for him gradually softened his 
 heart, making him more susceptible of good impres- 
 sions, and created a strong desiVe to make himself 
 worthy of the respect of others. And the final ver- 
 dict of Sam Moore and Dick Allen was: "Jim is not 
 such a bad fellow, after all."
 
 BESSIE I)EAN'S [RIEYANCE. 
 
 HE front gate at the Dean residence swung 
 to with a vigorous clang, and the latch 
 gave an angry click, as if in protest against 
 the rather emphatic jerk bestowed upon said 
 gate by Bessie Dean, as she closed it after her, 
 and walked up the path toward the house. 
 That something had "gone wrong" with the 
 young lady was very evident from the manner 
 in which she emphasized her steps ; and her 
 brother Charlie, eying her from his hammock 
 under the shade-tree, muttered half aloud : 
 "Whew! I wonder what ails her ladyship now! 
 Something to pay, I'll warrant." Her "ladyship" 
 did not hear the complimentary remarks, and so 
 was neither the worse nor the better because of 
 them. 
 
 Going into the -house with the same positive ring 
 in her steps, she marched straight to the sitting-room, 
 where she knew she would find her mother. Taking 
 her hat in one hand, and pushing back her "bangles" 
 with the other, she threw herself into a chair just 
 opposite Mrs. Dean, and, without waiting for preface 
 6V prelude, asked impatiently: "Mother, do I look 
 like a fool?" 
 
 Mrs. Dean had looked up in half-reproof at her 
 daughter's unceremonious manner of entering the
 
 BESSIE DEAN'S GRIEVANCE. 247 
 
 room, and she now looked in evident surprise at the 
 question, wondering what it meant. 
 
 A glance at Bessie's tragi-comic expression and 
 attitude brought a smile to the mother's face, in spite 
 of her effort to appear displeased. At last, seeing 
 that Bessie expected an answer, she said, while an 
 odd twitch about her mouth betrayed the effort to 
 keep a sober face : 
 
 " Not to my eyes, dearie. But you had better go 
 to softie one else for a decision. I am an interested 
 party, and perhaps not capable of giving an unbiased 
 opinion." 
 
 "At any rate, every body treats me as if they 
 supposed me incapable of a single sensible idea," 
 retorted Bessie, giving her hat a spiteful twist. 
 
 "Not 'every body,' daughter," protested Mrs. 
 Dean. 
 
 "Well, then, 'most every one, especially the gen- 
 tlemen. Why, mother, they all talk as if I were a 
 baby, and had to be amused. You, know I went to 
 spend the day with Nellie Meyers. A gentleman, 
 an old friend of Mr. Meyers, was there to dinner. 
 Nellie says he has been nearly all over the world, 
 and that he is a regular correspondent for two or 
 three magazines, and we thought we would have a 
 rare treat in hearing him talk about his travels ; and 
 so we did, while he was talking to Mr. Meyers ; but 
 if by any chance he felt called upon to say any thing 
 to Nellie or me, it was almost sure to be something 
 light and trifling; and if he did say any thing sensi- 
 ble, he would throw in some compliment, and spoil 
 it all. It was too provoking."
 
 248 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "I presume the gentleman did not mean to 
 offend. He only thought it his duty to say some- 
 thing pleasant." 
 
 ' ' Yes ; that is the provoking part of it. People 
 are always saying soft and silly things, just to please 
 us ; and we are not half so well pleased as they im- 
 agine \ve are." 
 
 "Whom do you mean by usf" asked Mrs. Dean. 
 
 "Women and girls especially girls. The gen- 
 tlemen think we do n't know any thing, and treat us 
 accordingly." 
 
 " Perhaps that may be true so far as knowledge 
 is concerned. Some of us do n't know so very 
 much." And Mrs. Dean laughed at the serious face 
 of her daughter. 
 
 "But we don't like to be told of it quite so 
 plainly. Only last week, at Mrs. Harris's party, 
 Lulu Harris gave me an introduction to Dr. S., who 
 has nearly a dozen capital letters attached to his 
 name, representing degrees conferred upon him in 
 this country and in Germany. I felt a little afraid 
 of his learning ; but I thought, ' Now I will have an 
 opportunity to find out something I want to know 
 very much ;' and I had a half-dozen questions ready, 
 if only the way was opened to ask them. We were 
 near the center-table, and I picked up a copy of 
 Burns on purpose to get him to say something about 
 Scotland, thinking I could easily lead him from there 
 across the channel. But he would n't lead a bit. 
 He commented on the different ' style ' of the ladies, 
 talked about the 'beautiful evening,' and asked me 
 if I was fond of croquet and lawn tennis just, for
 
 BESSIE DEAN'S GRIEVANCE. ^ 249 
 
 all the world, as Tom Jones or Charlie Wilmot would 
 have done and I was disappointed. He seemed to 
 think me shallow, and felt compelled to descend to 
 my level, if he would make himself agreeable to me." 
 
 "Bessie, I am sure you must be exaggerating a 
 good deal," said her mother, earnestly. 
 
 " Not at all. They every one talk to us just in 
 that fashion. Dr. S. could talk sensibly enough to 
 father and the minister, and so could the others ; but 
 the*moment they turned their conversation toward a 
 lady, they began to smile and say 'pretty' things." 
 
 "You should not say all, daughter. I am sure 
 your father seldom talks nonsense to ladies." 
 
 "No, he doesn't; and I am just proud of him. 
 But, if you except Uncle Henry, papa is about the 
 only gentleman who ever talks to me as if he thought 
 I had sense enough to appreciate sensible talk." 
 
 ' ' Perhaps the fault is not all on the part of the 
 gentlemen," suggested Mrs. Dean. "Do not ladies 
 usually show more interest in light and trifling sub- 
 jects than on more solid ones?" 
 
 "Yes; but half the time it is because they are 
 afraid of being called ' blue-stocking ' or ' strong- 
 minded.' You know, mother dear, that you never 
 allow yourself perfect liberty of speech except when 
 you are talking to papa or uncle, or on very rare oc- 
 casions, and yet we know you can talk sense with 
 any of them. We girls might be more sensible if 
 people would talk sense to us. We do n't want any 
 stilted grandiloquence, nor any Greek or Latin, except 
 on state occasions," laughed Bessie, getting back to 
 her usual good-nature, " but just sensible, every day
 
 250 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 talk. ' Pretty ' talk may do occasionally, but it is n't 
 fair for our brothers to say solid, sensible "things to 
 each other, and give us only the chaff. We may not 
 be overwise, but talking nonsense to us is not likely 
 to make us any wiser."
 
 ARNING JfER OWN IllYING. 
 
 RS. WILLIS was paying a visit to her 
 old friend and schoolmate, Mrs. Danely. 
 The ladies had been friends in girlhood, 
 and had made it a rule to visit each other once 
 a year, at least, though residing in cities some 
 distance apart. Mrs. Willis had only arrived 
 a couple of hours before the date at which the 
 conversation I am about to record began. 
 Having changed her traveling dress for a fresh 
 one, and partaken of some refreshment, the 
 two ladies were soon busily engaged in talking 
 over old times and home news. 
 "Where is Annie?" Mrs. Willis asked between 
 one of the brief pauses in the conversation. 
 
 ' ' She is at the office. Did I not write you that 
 Annie is book-keeper for the firm in which her father 
 is partner?" 
 
 "Why, Helen! You are surely joking," a look 
 of incredulity taking the place of the surprised one 
 which her friend's answer had called forth. 
 
 "No, Annie. I am serious about it. She has 
 been in the position for three months, and seems to 
 be very much pleased with the business." 
 
 "But why is she doing it? Mr. Danely is not in 
 financial difficulty, I hope?" and Mrs. Willis looked 
 at her friend with evident anxiety.
 
 252 STORIES OF HOME AND. HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "No, indeed. The firm has never been more 
 prosperous than now." 
 
 "Then why do you allow her to do such a 
 thing?" 
 
 "She wanted the place, and the firm gave it to 
 her, after a month's trial," responded Mrs. Danely, 
 quietly. 
 
 "But I thought you were going to make a lady 
 of her?" 
 
 "That is the intention still, but not one of the 
 helpless kind, I hope." 
 
 " But what do the ladies of your 'set' say about 
 such a step?" 
 
 " Not much now. They were very much con- 
 cerned at first, and some went so far as to inquire 
 into our bank account, but when they found that sat- 
 isfactory, they seemed to feel a little easier ; but they 
 evidently think us either 'queer' or 'stingy.'" 
 
 " But if Annie was so anxious to be independent 
 it seems to me there are other kinds of work much 
 more suitable for a young lady than keeping books 
 in a factory." 
 
 "I do n't know about that. Annie seems to 
 enjoy real business. She doesn't care particularly 
 for music, that is, not enough to m.ake it a special 
 study, and at her own request she has quit taking 
 lessons, though you know she plays and sings very 
 well. She dislikes millinery and dressmaking, and 
 has felt as if she was without a mission since she is 
 out of school, so when her brother Henry was ap- 
 pointed superintendent of the factory, the firm had 
 to look up a new book-keeper, and Annie asked her
 
 EARNING HER OWN LIVING. 253 
 
 father's permission to apply for the situation. We 
 had some little doubts about the ' propriety ' of the 
 step, but she seemed so anxious for it that we con- 
 sented to the trial if the other members of the firm 
 were willing. They had doubts about her ability at 
 first, but now, after three months, they seem per- 
 fectly satisfied." 
 
 "Some way a factory seems so out of place for 
 Annie," persisted Mrs. Willis. 
 
 *Ht seems more suitable for her than any thing 
 else, just now. If .she were clerking in a store or 
 at work in a shop, she would have to mingle with 
 people whose society would not be beneficial. Where 
 she is now her father or brother can accompany lier 
 home every day, and one of them is always in the 
 establishment, and I feel that she is much safer than 
 if she were with strangers." 
 
 "Well, that may be; but how could you consent 
 to it? I have always wanted to be proud of my 
 namesake, and now the idea of her being a book- 
 keeper in a woolen factory is not at all to my notion. 
 If you were poor and Annie was obliged to earn her 
 living, it would not seem so absurd; but for a man 
 who is worth sixty or seventy thousand dollars to set 
 his daughter an only daughter at that to earn her 
 own living, seems hardly fair." 
 
 " We may not always have- so much money, and 
 it is well for Annie to know how to take care of her- 
 self, and I am sure we do not feel ourselves disgraced 
 by it," Mrs. Danely answered, pleasantly. 
 
 "Well, Helen," replied her friend, "I presume 
 it 's all right ; but you did n't talk like this during
 
 254 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 our school days. Do you remember how you used 
 to talk about the sphere of woman ?" The two 
 friends joined in a hearty laugh at the remembrance 
 of some of their school-girl talk about the dignity of 
 woman. 
 
 "Yes, I remember all about it; but, my dear 
 Annie, I have learned a good many things in the 
 past twenty years, and my ideas have undergone a 
 change. I have seen the wheel of fortune cast off 
 a good many who once had an abundance of wealth. 
 And because of their wealth they had never consid- 
 ered it necessary to teach their daughters any prac- 
 tical lessons. But poverty came, and these daughters 
 must go out to earn their own living. A false notion 
 of dignity prevented their seeking a position where 
 manual labor was required, and the only alternative 
 was to eke out a sort of half existence teaching a 
 private school, or trudging from house to house 
 teaching music to girls who take lessons because 
 it is the fashion, and not because they have a talent 
 for or love music for itself. Then, again, I have 
 seen women left with a family of helpless children to 
 support. Perfectly ignorant of business, their little 
 property slipped from their hands into the pockets of 
 unprincipled men, who are always at hand ready to 
 take advantage of their ignorance, and they are left 
 to earn a livelihood for their families by the needle or 
 the wash-tub." 
 
 "That is, no doubt, true," replied Mrs. Willis, 
 slowly; "and yet it hardly seems worth while for 
 you to borrow trouble as to your future or Annie's." 
 
 "I know, so far as present appearances go, noth-
 
 EARNING HER OWN LIVING. 255 
 
 ing seems more unlikely than that we should be poor, 
 but if such should be the case and Annie sticks to 
 business as she does now, I will not be under the 
 necessity of urging her to marry for fear she will be 
 burdensome to us." 
 
 " But, Helen, you surely would n't want Annie to 
 stay single all her life, would you?" 
 
 ' ' By no means ; I think every woman would be 
 the happier for having a home and a family about 
 herf"but I want my daughter to choose for herself, 
 and not feel obliged to accept the first offer, whether 
 suitable or not, for fear she will be left to die an old 
 maid. I would like to see the day when every Amer- 
 ican boy and girl will be compelled to learn a trade 
 that will stand them in the hour of need ; when such 
 is the case, our list of suffering poor will be lessened 
 very considerably." 
 
 Mrs. Willis sat silent for some moments ; at length 
 she said: "If you are right, then I am afraid I have 
 made a mistake in training my own girls; my boys are 
 learning their father's business, but I doubt whether 
 the girls could be persuaded to undertake what your 
 daughter has taken up of her own accord." 
 
 "I would not advise them to do that unless un- 
 der favorable circumstances; and then there are but 
 few like Annie in taste and disposition. But I would 
 .have them learn some business or trade, something 
 for which they may seem to have an aptness, and 
 that will not seem to them mere drudgery. There 
 come Annie and her brother, now; watch her, and 
 tell me if you think she seems less a lady than she 
 did a year ago."
 
 56 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Annie gave her mother's friend a cordial greet- 
 ing, and Mrs. Willis could not help being pleased 
 with the dignified, yet earnest, warm-hearted girl. 
 
 At the close of her 1 visit, she said to Mrs. Danely: 
 
 "I believe you are right, after all; and I only 
 wish my Helen took hold of life and its duties as 
 fearlessly and with as much relish as your Annie does. 
 I do n't want to hear a word against 'business women ' 
 after this. It is perfectly wonderful what an influence 
 she has over her brother, too ; why, he defers to her 
 opinion as if she were ten years older, -instead of two 
 years younger, than he ; and she seems to understand 
 business full as well as he without being mannish, 
 either." 
 
 "I am glad you are not displeased with Annie," 
 answered Mrs. Danely. "I think the fact that their 
 education has been so near alike has saved Henry 
 from much evil influence; he is inclined to be wild, 
 but she loves the same kind of books that he does, 
 and they enjoy them together, and she has held him 
 back and shielded him from evil, while the restraint 
 has been a pleasure to him. Take my word for it, 
 my dear friend, it will be better not to make too wide 
 a difference in the education of our sons and daugh- 
 ters ; and you will find, too, that both will be hap- 
 pier for having something to do besides amusing 
 themselves or being amused. Poor men's children 
 are not the only ones who need to be busy."
 
 ETTER 
 
 Aunt Mabel ; is n't she sweet as 
 can be?" 
 
 And Mrs. Hunt adjusted the sash and 
 smoothed back the folds of the skirt, as she 
 turned her little eight-year-old "Gertie" about, 
 for "Aunt Mabel" to get a good view of the 
 dress and its lovely wearer. 
 
 Mabel Hunt was Mr. Hunt's maiden sister, 
 and some ten years older than her sister-in-law, 
 and, though she possessed a very attractive 
 face, coupled with gentle, winning manners, 
 when you came to know her in her daily life, 
 you in some way ceased to wonder as to why she 
 had not married, and began wondering how she could 
 possibly be spared from the place she already occu- 
 pied, that of elder sister, counselor, and ever-ready 
 helper to all who needed her aid. 
 
 In answer to her sister's call, Miss Hunt laid down 
 her pen, and turned to look at the little figure be- 
 fore her. . 
 
 No one could question the sweetness of the face, 
 nor the loveliness of the figure; but, instead of an- 
 swering the mother's appeal, she looked at the child 
 for a brief moment, and then, suddenly reaching out 
 her hands, she drew her to herself, imprinting a kiss 
 on each rosy cheek, at the same time giving her a
 
 258 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS ; 
 
 look that had in it more of pity than of admira-' 
 tion. 
 
 "O Aunt Mabel, don't hug me so; my dress will 
 all be rumpled, and not fit for the party." 
 
 And Gertie withdrew herself from her aunt's arms, 
 with a little gesture of impatience, as she smoothed 
 the folds of the dress, with a glance toward the 
 mirror. 
 
 The mother looked inquiringly at her sister's so- 
 ber face. 
 
 "Do n't you like the dress, Mabel? Is n't it 
 stylish?" 
 
 "Yes," absently, "very stylish;" then as Gertie 
 ran off to show the dress to Katie, and receive her 
 extravagant praises, she added, "almost stylish 
 enough for the stage, but it is not exactly such as I 
 would choose for Gertie." 
 
 " Why, sister, I thought you liked to see children 
 dressed nicely." 
 
 "So I do nicely and suitably; but it hardly 
 seems appropriate for a child of eight years to be 
 dressed in the garb of a fashionable young lady." 
 
 " But it is all the style now to dress the children 
 just as nearly like grown folks as possible." 
 
 " It may be the style, but I do n't admire it any 
 more for that. Men and women thirty-six inches 
 high may serve to amuse us, as we look at other 
 curiosities, but they are only deformities, and untrue 
 to nature." 
 
 " O, you dear, whimsical old maid," laughed 
 Mrs. Hunt, giving Mabel a playful little caress, as 
 she took her seat and sewing ; "if you had a hus-
 
 WHICH is THE BETTER WAY? 259 
 
 band and three or four children about you, as I have, 
 you would be very apt to do as I do, and try to dress 
 your children as your friends dress theirs." 
 
 "Perhaps so ; but it would not be the right thing 
 to do, if it was to make them unnatural," responded 
 Miss Hunt. 
 
 "Come, now, if you are going to preach, don't 
 stop with merely announcing your text ; please give 
 us your reasons," said the sister, with a smile of evi- 
 dent unbelief. 
 
 "I am perfectly willing, if you really wish to know. 
 SoTne one has said ' Dress a man like a gentleman, 
 and, ten chances to one, he will act like a gentle- 
 man,' and if you dress a child like a fashionable 
 young lady, she will be very apt to try to act like 
 one ; a little child, dressed as a child, will be a child, 
 unless her head has been filled with nonsense by oth- 
 ers. It is n't natural for a child to care more for her 
 clothes than for the caresses of those she loves, and 
 I am sure I would rather see Gertie digging wells or 
 making mud pies, in the back yard, than flirting a 
 fan at an evening party, tiptoeing across the room, 
 with anxious glances toward the looking-glass, to see 
 if her over-dress is looped gracefully." 
 
 ' ' But, really, Mabel, I do not want to crowd my 
 children forward or spoil them ; I love them too 
 dearly for that," Mrs. Hunt replied, earnestly. 
 
 "Of course, you love them, and there lies the 
 danger. If mothers could always love 'wisely,' and 
 not 'too well,' there would not be the danger of over- 
 indulgence and over-praise ; but it is next to impos- 
 sible for a child, to be flattered continually by those
 
 260 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 she loves and others with whom she associates, and 
 not be spoiled by it, sooner or later. If she is told 
 several times a day that she is a ' beauty ' and the 
 'sweetest child in the world,' it will be a great won- 
 der if she does n't come, by and by, to believe it 
 herself, and to find this flattery a necessity to her 
 happiness." 
 
 ' ' Well, whatever may be said of your argument, 
 you are certainly very candid!" 
 
 And Mrs. Hunt's tone showed that she had made 
 a personal application of the illustration. 
 
 "I hope you and I love each other too dearly to 
 be otherwise than candid in our intercourse with one 
 another," answered Mabel, gently. "I know it 
 sounds ' old fogyish ' for me to talk about how things 
 were when I was young, but there are some things 
 to-day that I can not think an improvement on the 
 past. I dearly love a real child, and not a child who 
 is trying to act the part of a young man or woman. 
 The daughter of to-day scarcely seems to have any 
 girlhood at all ; it is simply a skip from the long 
 clothes of the cradle to the longer ones of the trained 
 evening dress of the fashionable lady. Instead of 
 the ten-year-old girl eating a plain, wholesome sup- 
 per and going to bed in time to get the sleep and 
 rest that will help her to grow into a strong, health- 
 ful and helpful woman mentally and physically, such 
 as the world needs she must sit up until midnight, 
 frequently eating indigestible food at unseasonable 
 hours, while she is kept under a continuous strain of 
 nervous excitement, and forming habits that will, in 
 a greater or less measure, mar her whole future life."
 
 WHICH is THE BETTER WAV? 261 
 
 "You ought to be on the list of the Lecture 
 Bureau, Mabel," smiling at her sister's earnestness. 
 
 "I beg pardon for intruding my opinions upon 
 you, but I have spent considerable of my life among 
 the children, and, though I am only an 'old maid,' 
 my observations in the school-room and elsewhere 
 have confirmed me in the belief that 'society' is 
 shortening the lives and marring the usefulness of the 
 children, especially the daughters. We were all 
 justly incensed at a certain spiritualist, who kept his 
 little daughter up night after night, while he hum- 
 bugged the people with his 'seances,' pretending 
 that the child received communications from de- 
 ceased friends of those who were willing to be de- 
 ceived ; and when the child died from sheer physical 
 and mental exhaustion before she reached her fifth 
 year, we all shook our heads and said, as it is usually 
 safe to say after an event has occurred, ' Just as I 
 expected.' The nervous and physical strain was too 
 much for her years, and overtaxed nature gave way. 
 But while we censure these parents for exposing the 
 life of their child for the gains of sorcery, are not 
 those mothers who permit their little children to turn 
 night into day, teaching them to appear what they 
 are not, recreant to the trust confided to them in the 
 care of an immortal soul ? It is the duty of parents 
 and teachers to so train their children that they may 
 be of the greatest possible benefit to the world. But 
 if they are allowed to form habits that will undermine 
 the health, they certainly can not be as useful as they 
 would have been with a perfectly developed and 
 healthy organism."
 
 262 STORIES OF. HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "I am afraid you aio developing into a regular 
 utilitarian, Mabel. There are some things for beauty, 
 others for usefulness." 
 
 "No; I am not utilitarian at least, not in its 
 offensive sense. And as to beauty, I can not con- 
 ceive of any thing more beautiful than a perfectly 
 developed and healthy physical frame united with a 
 well-regulated mind. If a woman is perfectly well, 
 she will be happier herself, and will make others 
 happier, than she could if she were suffering constant 
 bodily pain or weakness. It is all very well to point 
 us to those instances of intense physical suffering in 
 which the sufferer could so far subdue self or forget 
 herself as to pass through years of physical suffering 
 with perfect tranquillity, and to prove a blessing to 
 those around her ; but that is the result of divine 
 grace, and not the natural consequence ; and the man 
 or woman who has grace enough to be patient, and 
 even cheerful, under such circumstances, would, with 
 divine grace and a healthy body, be likely, to be a 
 great deal more cheerful and helpful. We^like to 
 shift our responsibilities to others' shoulders. Indul- 
 gent and doting mothers will allow their daughters to 
 spend their girlhoods' brief years in one continual 
 round of excitement, and if at the age of fifteen or 
 twenty the overstrain cause the silver cord to break, 
 they bow their heads in sorrow, and wonder why she 
 ' died so early, ' when the only real wonder is that the 
 human frame could endure, even for that short time, 
 the continual tax. There are many cases of so-called 
 dispensations of Providence, which are but the natu- 
 ral consequences of a violation of the laws of health."
 
 WHICH is THE BETTER WAY? 263 
 
 "But what can I do ? If I do not allow my 
 children to dress and to do as my neighbors' children 
 do, I will be criticised and censured as over-strict;" 
 and Mrs. Hunt looked really perplexed. 
 
 "You have a conscience of your own, I trust, 
 sister. Because your neighbors choose to murder 
 their daughters by a system of slow torture, I do not 
 see that you, therefore, should do the same by your 
 daughter. Find, or try to find, what is best for your 
 children, and then have the courage to put your con- 
 victions into practice ; and even though your friends 
 may" not approve of your course, you will receive 
 the gratitude of your children when they shall have 
 become old enough to appreciate your motive and 
 judgment." 
 
 "Well, I don't know," wearily; "perhaps you 
 are in the right. I wish I knew just what I ought 
 to do ; but where can Gertie have gone ? I had for- 
 gotten about her. She will ruin that dress, and then 
 she will have to miss the party to-night." And Mrs. 
 Hunt hastily threw down her sewing, and went in 
 search of the absent child, not even waiting to reply 
 to her sister-in-law's declaration that "both events 
 would be a blessing for the child."
 
 0AREFUL AND ^ROUBLED 5^BOUT ^f ANY 
 MHINGS." 
 
 A 
 
 iRS. ELLIOT had just heard the last little 
 one say its evening prayer, kissed all 
 three "good-night" for the second or 
 third time, and had finally succeeded in quieting 
 the restless ones, rendered unusually so by the 
 sultry atmosphere of a July evening. Then she 
 returned to the parlor, where her sister, Mrs. 
 Martin, who had arrived only that afternoon, 
 sat rocking and resting in the dim twilight. 
 Mrs. Elliot drew a sigh of relief as she seated 
 herself on the stool at her sister's feet, with an 
 arm laid across that sister's knee. ' ' There, 
 the prattlers are in bed and asleep at last ; and now 
 for an old-time talk, Martha. I wonder how father 
 and mother could have made such a blunder as to 
 call you Martha. I am sure you never seem ' careful 
 or troubled about many things, ' nor ' cumbered with 
 much serving,' like the rest of us. But, now, let us 
 hope we shall have one hour together without inter- 
 ruption." 
 
 "I suppose if some one should need you very 
 much, you could forego the pleasures of our little 
 chat, could you not ?" asked the sister, quietly. 
 
 "Yes; but, I fear, not very willingly ; and that
 
 "CAREFUL AND TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS." 265 
 
 suggests a topic for discussion, one that has been in 
 my thoughts on a good many occasions, and I am 
 anxious for the benefit of your opinion. Why is it 
 that, at the very time my heart is ' set ' on doing 
 some particular thing, something else, that my heart 
 was not ' set ' on doing, comes up, and either pre- 
 vents my doing it at all, or hinders me, so that it is 
 only by combating difficulties of the most obsti- 
 nate character that I succeed in accomplishing my 
 purpose?" 
 
 " For instance?" 
 
 " Well, for instance, yesterday, just as I had suc- 
 ceded in quieting the house, and had seated myself 
 to \vrite a short article for our county paper, in 
 comes John, and wants to know if I can 't shorten 
 the sleeves of his dressing-gown. ' Only five minutes' 
 work, Jennie,' as he saw me lay down my pen a 
 little regretfully. It took me a full hour, and then 
 baby woke and had to be cared for. Then callers 
 and tea-time came, pretty close together, too. After 
 tea, callers again ; and then the children must be put 
 to bed ; and after that I was too tired to do any 
 thing but rest. If I plan for a week of genuine com- 
 fort with my books and you know I must read if I 
 Avould instruct my children no sooner do I think 
 every thing is in order than I suddenly discover that 
 Hallie is out at the knees and must have a new suit, 
 or Lulu's wardrobe needs 'fixing up,' or my 'girl' 
 gets it into her head to go home. ' Me mither is 
 awful sick, shure ; and would* I be kind enough to 
 let her go home just for a week, to look afther her?' 
 Of course I can not say ' No,' and I close my books 
 23
 
 266 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 with a disappointed sigh, tie on my kitchen apron, 
 and proceed to assume the duties of mistress of the 
 hous and maid of all work. Now, why can 't I have 
 the privilege of a week's rest, and feast without this 
 continued interruption?" 
 
 "I suppose it is because you have more irons in 
 the fire than you can attend to easily, and so you 
 have extra work and care." 
 
 " But I love to read and I love to write, and some- 
 times I feel as if were almost starving for lack of 
 intellectual food ; and it is a trial to have to deny 
 one's self the luxury of scribbling a few scattering 
 ideas on paper occasionally. It is said of Fannie 
 Fern that, during a period of fourteen years, she 
 never failed for a single week to have her article for 
 the Ledger ready on time, and I don't wonder that 
 Grace Greenwood should want her to enlighten her 
 sisters as to how she managed things and met all her 
 engagements. Now, my luck is about like this : I 
 receive a card from my editor, asking if 'that story' 
 is almost ready, when I haven't written a sentence 
 of it. Down I sit to write it. Presently John 
 comes in with letter which states that Mr. So-and-so 
 and his wife will be in on the evening train and can 
 only remain a few days." 
 
 "As this afternoon," suggested Mrs. Martin, 
 slyly. 
 
 " Now, sister, you know that I am just as glad as 
 can be to have you here, and I intend to keep you 
 as long as possible, by way of proving it," remon- 
 strated Mrs. Elliot. "But you interrupted me in 
 my story. O, yes : I shove paper and pen into the
 
 "CAREFUL AND TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS.'' 267 
 
 desk, and proceed to plan a bill of fare, for I must 
 have something nice for my company to eat, and I 
 either write my story while other people sleep, or let 
 some more fortunate sister send her story 'on time,' 
 and get the pay for it while I wait." 
 
 "Wouldn't your friends be just as happy with- 
 out so much extra effort on your part for their 
 comfort?" 
 
 " May be so; but you know people have formed 
 the idea in some way, that if a woman scribbles a 
 little for the press, her house must of necessity be 
 always turned topsy-turvy, her bread stale, and the 
 coffee muddy, and I am determined they shall have 
 no reason for saying that I neglect my house." 
 
 " At the risk of over-taxing yourself, ruining your 
 health, and and temper?" inquired Mrs. -Martin. 
 
 "I hope not; but I am not the only one who 
 feels so. Now, there is my friend, Mrs. W. She 
 was called into the temperance work during the cru- 
 sade, and has been lecturing ever since. God has 
 wonderfully blessed her labors in saving the drunk- 
 ard ; but she says she must keep her children neatly 
 dressed always, and her table must not be lacking in 
 any way, and she must entertain strangers often, 
 though the angels come but once in a life-time. She 
 did n't say any thing about the angels, but I presume 
 she has looked for them long and patiently ; and in 
 order to do all that she feels she must do all she can 
 to keep up the 'reputation of the house,' she must 
 'work half the nights when she is at home to atone 
 for her absence." 
 
 "And give her husband the privilege of hunting
 
 268 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 up a step-mother for his children in less than ten 
 years, in all probability." 
 
 "Perhaps so. But you haven't told me what I 
 ought to do, nor how I am to manage so as to have 
 things the way I want them." 
 
 "Did you ever know any who had things just 
 as they wanted them ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 "Perhaps if you were to know them better you 
 would think differently. Do you know that I, your 
 elder sister, have always thought you had such a 
 wonderful faculty for getting along smoothly, and 
 writing your delightful little yarns at the same time? 
 I did n't dream you were troubled at all, and here you 
 are, pouring out a perfect Jeremiad about your hin- 
 derances, and I find you are just as much perplexed 
 and worried as others." 
 
 "And that doesn't comfort me a particle. I see 
 other women whose time is not cut up into odds and 
 ends like mine. They seem to have some sort of 
 system about their work, while mine is done just as 
 it happens; very frequently it is a regular assortment 
 of work that is not assorted at all. Just look at my 
 sitting-room now if you choose, and examine my 
 work-table. Bits of paper written over in part with 
 pen and in part with pencil ; spools of thread, needles, 
 thimbles, blotting paper, rubber erasers, buttons, en- 
 velopes, scraps of embroidery, etc., all mixed in 
 endless confusion," and Mrs. Elliot's laugh sounded 
 as if her trouble was not at all a laughing matter. 
 
 "Sister, dear, if all this troubles you so, why 
 don't you quit 'scribbling,' as you call it?"
 
 " CAREFUL AND TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS?" 269 
 
 " Didn't I tell you that I love it? It is the one 
 thing that I really enjoy. It doesn't amount to 
 much either intellectually or financially, but then it is 
 a comfort to be allowed the privilege of expressing 
 an opinion ; besides it is a relief to get it off your 
 mind ; and, like most other people, if a luxury costs 
 a good deal, I am all the more loath to give it up." 
 
 "Well, if that is your decision, stick to it; and 
 as 'hard things' are said to be 'good for folks,' I 
 presume these interruptions, that are so trying to the 
 patience, will do you good. You will bear them 
 better., by and by." 
 
 " I hope so ; but it seems a slow way to learn, and 
 not a very pleasant way either," sighed Mrs. Elliot. 
 
 ' ' Nevertheless, you will learn, though it be but 
 slowly ; and by constantly struggling with obstacles 
 we gain strength. If you were to have your own 
 way, you would be likely to grow selfish." 
 
 " I am selfish, goodness knows ! .The only trouble 
 is, I don't have the opportunity to make it manifest." 
 
 "Granting, for argument's sake, that you are a 
 little selfish, the fact that you are conscious of that 
 defect in your character is a very favorable indication. 
 The majority of our selfish people seem wholly un- 
 conscious of the fact. Keep on, doing the work that 
 lies nearest to your hand, and if it should not be just 
 the kind of work you would choose, do it to the best 
 of your ability, and the time will come when you 
 will receive the 'well done, good and faithful servant,' 
 and the joy you will feel jn the Master's approbation 
 will fully recompense you for these little annoyances 
 which are such a perplexity to you to-day."
 
 0HARLES ]Vf ITCHELL'S 
 
 HANKSGIVING and Prayer," repeated 
 Charles Mitchell impatiently, as, thrusting 
 into his pocket the daily containing the 
 President's proclamation, he looked about to 
 see if things were in order preparatory to going 
 home for the night. 
 
 "There are a good many things I might 
 pray for if I thought there was any probability 
 of my prayers being answered ; but as to thanks- 
 giving, there is precious little reason for thank- 
 fulness on my part this year," muttered the 
 young man half-aloud, then, as if suddenly recollect- 
 ing himself, "But what would Annie say if she 
 should hear me talking like this?" and buttoning his 
 overcoat closely about his chest he prepared to face 
 the sharp November sleet that seemed to pierce and 
 chill the whole frame. 
 
 A long walk through the storm did not serve to 
 assist his better feelings to rise above the discourage- 
 ments that were perplexing his mind, and when he 
 reached his home it was with the bitter, dissatisfied 
 feeling in his heart that Providence. had not granted 
 him the favors and the successes he deserved. As 
 he looked at the pale, careworn face of his wife, the 
 thought came with increased bitterness, "Thankful 
 for what? That Annie is wearing out her life because 
 I can not afford to pay for proper help, I suppose."
 
 CHARLES MITCHELL'S THANKSGIVING. 271 
 
 The wife saw his preoccupied and gloomy look 
 during the evening meal, but she made no comment, 
 thinking, "It will soon pass away; he is tired, and 
 this dreary weather is enough to make one gloomy." 
 
 During the evening Mrs. Mitchell picked up the 
 daily which her husband had laid upon the table, and 
 her eyes fell upon the "Thanksgiving proclamation." 
 What memories it awakened ! How her thoughts 
 carried her back to the old home with all its tender 
 associations. Father, mother, brothers, and sisters, 
 with smiling faces and happy hearts, gathering about 
 the^bounteous board ; the prayer and thanksgiving 
 formed into words by the father, or it may be the 
 pastor, to which each heart responded a fervent 
 Amen. But this was all over now, and she far away 
 from those who had helped to make Thanksgiving 
 such a blessed, joyous day. Some had already 
 passed over to the "other side," and though she 
 tried to repress them, the tears would come. When 
 she could trust her voice, she said : 
 
 ' ' Charles, Thanksgiving will be here in three 
 weeks. How shall we celebrate it?" 
 
 "By making a feast for our fair-weather friends, 
 I suppose," was the husband's answer, with more 
 of bitterness in his tone than he was probably aware 
 of. The pained and startled look on his wife's face 
 aroused him, and he added apologetically, "We are 
 too poor to keep Thanksgiving this year, Annie." 
 
 "We can not keep it in the style of a few years 
 ago; but, Charles, I do not like it to pass unob- 
 served, for the children's sake, if not for our own." 
 
 " Precious little cause have we or the children
 
 272 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 for keeping Thanksgiving," the old bitterness rising 
 in his heart again; "with you working yourself to 
 death, and the children only half-clothed." 
 
 " O, no, it is not so bad as that," Annie an- 
 swered eagerly. " I do have to work hard, but I am 
 glad I have the strength ; the children are well, and 
 if they can not have luxuries, they are at least com- 
 fortable, and if our home is very small and humble, 
 it is ours, and that is something to be thankful for. 
 But I can not bear to hear you talk so ; it does n't 
 sound at all like you, Charles," and the tears gath- 
 ered in her eyes. 
 
 "I know it doesn't sound like me, as you say; 
 but I tell you, Annie, I almost doubt sometimes if 
 there is a God, or if there is one, if he cares whether 
 his creatures try to please him or not. There," 
 as Annie made a gesture as if to interrupt him, 
 "don't talk to me about it. I am holding my pres- 
 ent position by the day, and should not be surprised 
 any day if the firm should tell me they could not 
 afford to employ me any longer." And then, as if to 
 shut off a/iy further conversation, he turned to his 
 book and tried to fix his mind on its contents. Mrs. 
 Mitchell slipped away to her room to hide her sor- 
 row there ; sorrow, not so much for the reverses 
 that had come to them through the general financial 
 depression, as that her husband was allowing his 
 financial troubles to shake his faith in the loving- 
 kindness of an all-wise heavenly Father. As she 
 looked upon her little ones, sleeping so sweetly, she 
 could but feel her heart go out in gratitude to God 
 that these had been spared her, and that he had seen
 
 CHARLES MITCHELL'S THANKSGIVING. 273 
 
 fit to allow their money to slip away from them 
 rather than that these precious treasures, their chil- 
 dren, should be given up. 
 
 The following morning Mrs. Mitchell arose with 
 a strange ringing in her ears, and with such a sensa- 
 tion of dizziness that she could scarcely steady her 
 steps sufficiently to prepare the morning meal. I 
 must not give up," she said to herself. "Charles 
 must have his meals regularly and in order. He 
 misses the luxuries of other days more than I do, 
 and I must make it up to him if I can." 
 
 -The breakfast was. tempting enough to Charles 
 and the children, but she had no appetite for food, and 
 her husband was too much engrossed with his own 
 thoughts to notice that she did not eat, and with a 
 hurried good-bye he went away to his business. 
 
 Little Nellie remained from school to care for 
 "Baby," for the mother felt that she had not the 
 strength to prepare dinner and give the little prattler 
 the attention necessary. It was well for him that 
 Nellie stayed at home, for- when dinner was but half 
 ready Mrs. Mitchell was obliged to lie down, and 
 when her husband returned he found her burning 
 with fever and talking incoherently of mother, home, 
 and Thanksgiving. A physician was called at once, 
 but the over-taxed system did not readily yield to 
 the influence of medicines, and in a few days the 
 mother and sister were called from a distant State to 
 watch over the dear one who had toiled beyond her 
 strength that her family might not miss the luxuries 
 of better days. 
 
 For many days she seemed to hover between life
 
 274 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 and death, and as Thanksgiving drew near the hus- 
 band recalled the conversation of the evening previ- 
 ous to her sudden attack ; and as he thought of 
 what that day might be to him and his little ones, 
 he lifted his heart, crushed and bleeding, to Him 
 whose providence he had blamed, and whose exist- 
 ence he had even tried to doubt, and prayed for for- 
 giveness and help in his great need. 
 
 When the financial crash, under which so many 
 prosperous men went down, had overwhelmed them, 
 Mitchell's proud spirit could not bear the thought of 
 having their straitened circumstances made known to 
 his wife's family, and so, during the past year, An- 
 nie had not urged her mother and sister to visit her, 
 much as her heart had hungered for their society, for 
 Charles, without intending to be selfish, had said : 
 
 "Let us wait until times are better; I can not 
 bear that they should see our poverty." 
 
 And Annie had crushed back the longing of her 
 heart, and waited. 
 
 Now, when mother and sister bent over her with 
 anxious watchfulness, she did not recognize them ; 
 and it seemed as if the poor, tired spirit would leave 
 the clay tenement without giving them the look or 
 word of recognition for which they were longing and 
 praying. 
 
 Thanksgiving eve came, and the. physician said: 
 "To-night will decide her case; she may be spared 
 to you and your little ones, but you had better pre- 
 pare for the worst." 
 
 In an agony of suspense they watched and waited, 
 while the words "Precious little cause have we for
 
 CHARLES MITCHELL'S THANKSGIVING. 275 
 
 thankfulness," spoken so bitterly on that evening 
 three weeks previous, kept ringing in the husband's 
 ears. How deeply he repented those murmurings 
 now. 
 
 "Why could I not see how good God was in 
 giving me such a companion ? and why should I 
 have complained so long as my wife and children 
 were spared to me?" 
 
 And with throbbing heart he watched through 
 the early hours of the night. What change will 
 the night bring life or death ? 
 
 ^Gradually the fever left her, and she became quiet 
 from sheer prostration ; then she seemed to sink into 
 a sleep, fitful at first, but at last she slept quietly, 
 and the watchers could only wait and pray. 
 
 One o'clock, and still she slept. At two, the phy- 
 sician, who had remained in the house, came to her 
 bedside and watched her for an hour. 
 
 How much Mitchell wanted to ask the question, 
 "Will she live?" yet he dared not, for fear the an- 
 swer would crush out all his hopes. 
 
 But as they watched, there was no mistaking the 
 quiet, regular breathing, and the physician pronounced 
 the crisis past, and said: "She will live." 
 
 Thanksgiving dawned, but O, so different from 
 what they had feared on the previous day, or from 
 what Charles Mitchell had expected three weeks 
 before. 
 
 The precious patient was better, but very weak, 
 and it would require days, and perhaps weeks, of 
 careful nursing before she would be able to take her 
 accustomed place in her family.
 
 276 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 But all that chill November day, though the 
 house was hushed and each one stepped with careful 
 tread, for fear the dear one should be disturbed, yet 
 from one heart, at least, humbled and chastened 
 though it was, there went up a psalm of thanksgiv- 
 ing and praise: 
 
 "O Lord, I will praise thee: though thou wast 
 angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and now 
 thou comfortest me." 
 
 And to the heart of the husband these words 
 came with a meaning they never had before. 
 
 Three weeks after, Mrs. Mitchell, leaning on the 
 arm of her husband for support, entered their little 
 sitting-room, for the first time since her illness. 
 
 As he placed her in the arm-chair, before the fire, 
 Mitchell said : 
 
 "Annie, the past three weeks have been to me 
 one continued thanksgiving to God that he has spared 
 your life ; and I have been enabled to see how much 
 above wealth or worldly position is the precious gift 
 of a faithful and loving companion and children ; and 
 while he spares my life, I hope I may never so far 
 forget his mercies as to say I have nothing to b 
 thankful for." 
 
 And on that evening, as the reunited family 
 bowed at the family altar, husband and wife lifted 
 their hearts in gratitude to God for those blessings 
 which wealth and worldly favor can not buy health 
 and loving hearts.
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 b HAT a buzz there was when, at the close 
 of the Sabbath school, the superintend- 
 ent announced that the officers and teach- 
 ers had decided to have a Christmas tree. 
 
 Outside the church door, a group of boys 
 gathered to talk over the prospective fun and 
 to interchange opinions. 
 
 "I think it will be jolly, " said Dick Hollow- 
 bush ; ' ' that is, if I get all I have been wish- 
 ing for." 
 
 Jw 
 
 f "If Dick gets all he 's wishing for, there 
 V will be no room on the tree for any of our 
 wishes," objected a boy at Dick's elbow. 
 
 There was a general laugh at this little thrust, 
 for Dick's habit of wishing for almost every thing he 
 saw, and for a great many things that he had never 
 seen, was no secret to his schoolmates. 
 
 They finally agreed that "a Christmas tree would 
 be jollier than a concert." 
 
 But while the merry group were talking over the 
 "good time coming," there was one who. though an 
 interested listener, had taken no part in the conver- 
 sation. As he stood leaning, against the corner of 
 the church, trying to warm himself in the sun, and at 
 the same time be sheltered from the keen December 
 wind, that seemed to pierce him through his thread-
 
 278 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 bare clothing, it was easy to see that he, with his 
 pale, baby face, and scanty clothing, did not belong 
 to the same "set "with the rosy-cheeked and com- 
 fortably clad lads who were chatting so merrily. 
 
 Bennie watched the group, and his eyes grew, if 
 possible, more wistful and hungry-looking as he lis- 
 tened. At last, when there was a lull in the merri- 
 ment, he managed to get near a boy who stood on 
 the outside of the group, and to ask, timidly: 
 
 "Will they make uth pay to thee it, Charlie?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," Charlie answered, 
 carelessly; then he called to one of the larger boys: 
 "Say, Ed, what 's the price of a ticket reserved 
 seat, you know," with a wink toward his companions. 
 
 " O, about twenty-five cents, I guess, for all over 
 twelve, and fifteen cents for children. I 'm off the 
 baby-list, and will have to pay full fare," and Ed 
 straightened himself up, with all the dignity of twelve 
 years and six months. 
 
 "I did n't ask on my own account; I do n't care 
 for a quarter," answered Charlie, a trifle nettled, for 
 he lacked three months of being twelve years old ; 
 "but Bennie here wanted to know if it would cost 
 him any thing. " 
 
 The boys laughed thoughtlessly as they caught 
 sight of the little, pinched face, that looked so dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 Fifteen cents seemed as far out of Bennie's reach 
 as the same number of dollars would have seemed to 
 some of the boys around him. 
 
 "I guess you '11 have to sell your coat to get the 
 change," suggested Ed.
 
 BENNIE'S CHRISTMAS. 279 
 
 "Or that ' yittie thithter ' he talks so much 
 about," mimicked Charlie. 
 
 For, by the way, there was a new baby at Ben- 
 nie's house, and he was very proud of it, and when 
 one of his schoolmates had taunted him with being 
 too poor to afford a "pair of nice boots, he had an- 
 swered, exultantly: 
 
 "Well, I do n't care; I gueth I got a yittie thith- 
 ter, any way." 
 
 And now, when some one suggested that he sell 
 the baby to get money for the Christmas tree, he 
 raised his thin, piping voice indignantly: 
 
 "I would n't mind thelling my old coat, if I 
 could go to thchool 'thout it; but I wouldn't thell 
 the baby for forty Kithmuth tweeth. " 
 
 And then Bennie turned his back on the crowd 
 who could n't appreciate the bright little sunbeam in 
 his otherwise cheerless home. 
 
 He walked slowly along the way, as if afraid to 
 run against the sharp wind. All the way home he 
 kept thinking how much he would like to see that 
 tree. It had not entered his head that he would re- 
 ceive a present for himself; he only wanted to see 
 how it looked. 
 
 Once inside of the place he called home, the sight 
 of the little one recalled the suggestion of the boys 
 that he "sell the baby." 
 
 Of course, it, was only fun on their part, but 
 Bennie did not appreciate the joke. Life was all 
 dreadfully real to him, child though he was. 
 
 The little one, in the ragged shawl and rough 
 cradle, was sweeter and dearet to the boy's loving
 
 280 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 heart than all the world outside. Curling himself 
 down by the cradle, he began to talk to "Baby," to 
 give vent- to his feelings, as many older and wiser 
 ones have done. 
 
 "No, I wouldn't thell you for forty Kithmuth 
 tweeth ! no, not for a million of 'em ! but I would 
 like to go juth ontk, and if I had fifteen centh I could 
 go, too. But, O dear, I hain't even got a nickel. 
 And tho we '11 stay at. home together," he said, with 
 a half dissatisfied, half resigned look and tone, as he 
 bent over and kissed the little lips that were just 
 learning to wreathe themselves into smiles. 
 
 Bennie, however, could not quite'give up the hope 
 of seeing the Christmas tree, and as he lay that Sab- 
 bath night in his bed, thinking it all out, he remem- 
 bered a verse of Scripture that he had learned some 
 time before, in the Sabbath-school: "Ask and ye 
 shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and it 
 shall be opened unto you." 
 
 "Teacher thaid it meant if we want any thing 
 real bad and athk Jethuth for it ; he '11 make it all 
 right and give it to uth, if it ith beth for uth, and I '11 
 just athk him to fikth it tho I can go ; and I believe 
 he '11 do it, cauth he thaid he would." 
 
 Bennie slipped out of bed, and, kneeling on the 
 cold, bare floor, he offered his little prayer. There 
 were no big words in that prayer, and perhaps some of 
 our college graduates would have considered Bennie's 
 grammar and rhetoric rather faulty; but his theology 
 was sound, and there were two very important points 
 in his prayer which even some of our most eloquent 
 divines sometimes overlook or ignore in their prayers,
 
 BENNIES CHRISTMAS. 281 
 
 Bennie prayed right to the point. He asked God for 
 just what he wanted and quit when he got through, 
 and what was more important, he believed that his 
 prayer would be answered. As he crept back shiv- 
 ering into bed, he drew a sigh of relief, as if a great 
 burden had been rolled off his heart, and in a few 
 minutes the tired boy was asleep, dreaming of a vast 
 wilderness, on which God was showering manna that 
 in some way changed to shiny nickels as he stooped 
 to gather it. 
 
 On Monday morning he trudged away to school 
 with a light heart, his precious secret kept snugly in 
 his <own breast. To all the inquiries of the boys he 
 merely answered, "Yeth I'm going," though he 
 could not have told where the money was to come 
 from ; and when one, more thoughtless than the rest, 
 asked if he was "going to wear that old coat," he 
 said he " guethed tho, I 'd be pretty cold 'thout it." 
 
 Bennie was a little bit troubled abo^t his ragged 
 clothes, but he had 'n't courage to pray for new ones] 
 for it seemed to his simple mind like presumption to 
 ask Jesus for money and for new clothes too. 
 
 One week had passed, and Monday morning came 
 again, and the following Wednesday night would be 
 Christmas eve, and Bennie began to wish he knew 
 just when he would receive the money he had prayed 
 for. Wednesday morning the wind blew colder than 
 usual, and as he crossed the village commons, on his 
 way to school, Bennie could not help wishing he 
 could be as warmly clad as some of the boys who 
 laughed at his threadbare coat and short pantaloons. 
 
 About half-way between Bennie's home and the 
 
 24
 
 282 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 public school lived a dear good woman, who, with 
 her daughter, was a veritable Dorcas to all the pooc 
 widows and neglected little ones of the village. On 
 this special morning Bennie was sure of a good fire 
 in this home, and a bountiful slice of mince pie ; and 
 so, knocking gently at the side door, he was soon en- 
 joying both. Then he hurried on to school, promis- 
 ing to call on his way home in the evening. 
 
 Promptly at four o'clock ( Bennie was always 
 punctual at that house) he was again in the corner, 
 toasting his feet by the warm fire, and enjoying an 
 ample lunch from Mrs. Smith's pantry. Just as he had 
 swallowed the last mouthful a bundle was laid on his 
 knee, and he was told to unroll it. He had often re- 
 ceived gifts of half-worn or out-grown clothing, from 
 sympathizing neighbors, and as he undid the bundle 
 he expected to find something of that sort again ; but 
 this time his expectations were more than realized, 
 for instead of a suit of half-worn clothes, a size and 
 a half too small or too large, he found a new suit, 
 pants and vest of substantial tweed ! . For once 
 poor Bennie seemed speechless with surprise and 
 doubt. Were these nice things /or him ? He could n't 
 remember of ever having a real new suit of clothes in 
 his life, and in a vague sort of way he had always 
 supposed that his first dress had been given him by 
 some one whose baby had outgrown the garment or 
 died before it was worn out. 
 
 " Are n't they nice enough, Bennie?" asked Mrs. 
 Smith at last, tired of waiting for him to speak. 
 
 The boy started as if from a dream. 
 
 "O yeth 'm. Are they for me?"
 
 BENNIE'S CHRISTMAS. 283 
 
 " Yes, for you, if they will fit you," and the lady 
 smiled at the anxious, questioning face. 
 
 Of course the fitting was all right. Mrs. Smith 
 and her daughter had taken the proper precaution to 
 find a boy who was about Bennie's size, and who 
 served as a model, upon whom the clothes were 
 fitted. 
 
 When he was dressed in the suit and ready to 
 start home, Mrs. Smith's son, a young man of twenty- 
 five years, was called in to admire the clothes and 
 the boy. 
 
 "Well, Bennie, " he said, "I suppose you will 
 wa*vt to air that new suit at Santa Claus's entertain- 
 ment," at the same time slipping three bright new 
 nickels into the boy's vest pocket. 
 
 Was there ever a happier boy? Jesus had an- 
 swered his prayer, and he had received his money and 
 the new suit besides. The cold and snow did n't 
 trouble him at all, for with the new clothes outside, 
 and the happy heart within, his blood kept bounding 
 so he had no time to cool off. 
 
 How proudly he showed his money God's an- 
 swer to his prayer to his mother, who had given 
 him but little* encouragement to hope for the money, 
 for she had not his simple faith in God's promises. 
 His old hat looked a little shabby by the side of the 
 new suit, but Bennie consoled himself with the thought 
 that he could take it off at the church door, and the 
 pockets of the new coat were large enough to hide 
 it in while in the church. 
 
 When he had proudly paid the admission fee, and 
 taken his seat in a front pew, how he feasted his
 
 284 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 eyes on the beauties of that wonderful tree ! The 
 Christmas hymn was sung, and prayers offered by 
 the pastor, and a few appropriate ceremonies, and 
 then began the distribution of the gifts. 
 
 The children were attentive enough now. Even 
 those who had found it so difficult to keep quiet during 
 song and prayer, were listening with perfect attention 
 as the names of those who were receiving presents 
 were called off. 
 
 Bennie listened so anxiously that he forgot he 
 wore new clothes, forgot that his feet ached with 
 standing so long, for he was "only a boy," a " roust- 
 about" at that, and had been "rousted" out of his 
 seat to make room for a more important personage. 
 True, Bennie's nickels were bright and new and gen- 
 uine, and his apparel goodly, at least in his own 
 eyes; yet he wore no rings on his hands and was not 
 entitled to a*s much attention as the son of Judge H, 
 who had received "a complimentary." But when 
 Bennie's name was called and he received a new cap, 
 "warm and plushy," he would not have been will- 
 ing to exchange places even with the judge himself. 
 When the festivities were over, and he had received 
 a scarf, a pair of mittens, and a story-book, such as 
 he had longed for many times, and his pockets filled 
 with nuts and candies, besides a new cap, warm and 
 plushy, his happiness and good fortune seemed too 
 great to be real. What did he care though the boys 
 had laughed at him, and called out, "Shoot the cap," 
 and other nonsense ? Their jokes all glanced off 
 without doing him any harm. Bennie was too happy 
 too feel annoyed at them. His feet seemed scarcely
 
 BENNIE'S CHRISTMAS. 285 
 
 to touch the ground as he hurried home. God had 
 answered his prayers, and that was enough. 
 
 "I knowed he would, 'cauth he thaid tho, " and 
 like many another of God's children he had found 
 that his heavenly Father had bestowed upon him 
 more than he had dared to ask for. 
 
 Thus far through Bennie's life his "happy times " 
 have not been scattered very thickly along his path- 
 way ; but be they many or few, it is likely that the 
 happy Christmas given in answer to his childish 
 petition, will be looked back to as one of the sun- 
 niest spots in his life.
 
 ^TORY. 
 
 Labor with what zeal we will, 
 
 Something still remains undone, 
 Something uncompleted still, 
 Waits the rising sun." 
 
 HE words were uttered slowly, and ended 
 with a tragical little sigh as Margaret 
 Hilton stood looking from the window of 
 little sitting-room into the gathering dark- 
 ness of a Winter evening. 
 
 " Waits, and will not go away ; 
 
 Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 
 By the cares of yesterday 
 
 Each to-day is heavier made." 
 
 Another voice had taken up the poem, and 
 quoted the lines half-soberly, half-mimicking 
 the tone of the first speaker, and an arm was slipped 
 lovingly about Margaret's waist as Ellen, the younger 
 sister, asked, with tender reproachfulness : 
 
 "What duty does my conscientious sister imagine 
 she has left undone ? Did you forget to send old 
 Sarah her pound of tea ? or have the Jones children 
 been neglected in any way?" 
 
 Margaret looks down soberly on the bright face 
 that peers half-quizzically, half-earnestly into hers : 
 
 "Neither of these, Nell; but to-morrow begins a 
 new year, the old one is almost gone, and I had
 
 A NEW-YEAR'S STORY. 287 
 
 planned to do so many things this year, but now 
 every thing is ' uncompleted. ' I have not more than 
 half finished the course of reading I laid out, and my 
 book has not even the first chapter written. _I feel 
 as if the year had almost been wasted." 
 
 Nell's head gave an impatient little toss. 
 
 ' ' Wasted, indeed ! who ever knew you to waste 
 your time ? Why, you dear sister, you are a regular 
 busybody not in other men's matters, mind you, 
 but in doing good to others. The nearest that you 
 have come to any thing that looks like idleness, 
 within my remembrance, was when I found you 
 here quoting Longfellow to the stars. Wasting your 
 time ! I half believe you are cunning enough to be 
 'seeking a compliment," and Nell gave her sister's 
 cheek a tap in mock anger. 
 
 " But really, sister, I have accomplished so little," 
 began Margaret, wearily. 
 
 "But really, you must hush now; you are only 
 blue from looking out of the dark room into the 
 gathering night," interrupted the vivacious Nell. 
 "But I came to say tea was ready. Hannah was 
 going to ring the bell and I wouldn't let her, because 
 I wanted to surprise you with a formal invitation to 
 take my arm, and instead you have surprised me, 
 with your solemn 'might have been.' But, come, 
 Hannah will be cross," and with a merry laugh the 
 light-hearted girl drew her more dignified sister 
 toward the dining-room. 
 
 Margaret and Ellen Hilton kept house together, 
 being the only unmarried members of the former 
 household. The father and mother had both been
 
 288 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 dead some years, while an older brother and sister 
 were married and living in a distant State. Margaret 
 was ten years older than Ellen, and after their moth- 
 er's death had been mother and sister to the little 
 girl left an orphan at eight years of age. The home- 
 stead was theirs, and though humble in comparison 
 with the residences of some of their wealth)' neigh- 
 bors, yet it was a home, and to this they could turn 
 with a feeling of security and rest. 
 
 Margaret taught in the little public school, at a 
 moderately fair salary, and this, with the addition of 
 four boarders, enabled them to live comfortably, 
 though plainly. 
 
 By strict economy Nell had been kept in 
 school and was now hoping to "finish" in some 
 first-class university. The boarders were away for 
 the holidays, and this gave the sisters more lib- 
 erty as well as leisure, both which they thoroughly 
 enjoyed. 
 
 When tea was over and they were again in their 
 little sitting-room, Margaret, seated at the table, took 
 up some plain knitting, while Nell seated herself on 
 an ottoman at her sister's feet. 
 
 "Now, Miss Prim, you have lectured me regu- 
 larly all these years, and I would like the privilege of 
 returning the compliment, just this once." And 
 there was a mischievous twinkle in Nell's eyes in 
 spite of her effort to look solemn. 
 
 Margaret smiled good-humoredly. "Certainly, 
 my wise one; go on." 
 
 "Well, then, to begin, do you think it entirely 
 consistent for you to be always preaching patience
 
 A NEW-YEAR'S STORY. 289 
 
 and hopefulness to others and then get blue yourself 
 and go to gazing star-ward and quoting solemn 
 poetry on New- Year's eve?" 
 
 "O sister, don't!" and Margaret's eyes are filled 
 with tears. " I can not help 'feeling a little disap- 
 pointed. I have accomplished almost nothing. I 
 wanted to help pay off the church debt, and to 
 increase my subscription to the benevolences of the 
 Church, and I have not been able to do either. And 
 I did want to send brother Will a few extra dollars ; 
 what I did send him 'seemed so meager a sum. I 
 know_ he needs it, since his long sickness caused him 
 to lose his place." 
 
 " And because you can not do all you want to do 
 you will insist that you have accomplished almost 
 nothing. Now, let me tell you a story, just as you 
 used to tell me, ten years ago, when I hurt my fin- 
 gers or bumped my head, or cried for what I could 
 not and ought not to have. Once upon a time, a 
 village school-ma'am, who had the charge of more 
 than threescore girls and boys, for ten months of 
 each year, four regular boarders and a cook to look 
 after besides, took it into her head or, heart, or both, 
 that she had not burdens enough to bear, so she 
 must make herself responsible for the comfort of two 
 invalid and indigent old women and a family of moth- 
 erless children no, you must keep ' still and listen 
 until my story is finished," as Margaret tried to enter 
 a protest against the story, the application of which 
 was only too apparent. "Besides all this, she must 
 educate a certain motherless, madcap sister, and 
 while doing all this she must needs grow despondent
 
 290 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 because she could n't do a score of other things at 
 the same time on a salary of five hundred dollars a 
 year." 
 
 "Nell, you musi stopl" 
 
 And Margaret, dropping her work, caught her 
 sister in her arms, laughing in spite of herself, even 
 though the tears were on her cheeks. 
 
 "Well, the story will stop for the present," as- 
 sented Nell, as she freed herself from her sister's 
 arms. ' ' But I do insist that you shall not make 
 yourself miserable because you can not do what no 
 one but yourself thinks you ought to do. Pray, do 
 leave a few charities for others to bestow. If I did 
 not hope to repay all the money you spend on me, I 
 would n't accept it all, but I do hope to be a help, 
 instead of a burden, some of these days. You do 
 good every day of your life, while / am only a butter- 
 fly, and a very homely one, at that. Those did women 
 look upon you as an angel of mercy, and when I 
 take them your gifts they thank me for bringing them, 
 but they 'bless dear Miss Margaret' for sending 
 them. They know whose purse pays the bills, I can 
 tell you that. 
 
 "You could n't give fifty dollars toward paying 
 off the church debt, but you managed to give our 
 pastor's wife a present of ten dollars. You wonder 
 how I found it out? Well, Mrs. Sawyer did n't keep 
 still about it, as you told her she must, but told me 
 all about it, and how much good it had done her, 
 and 'she was so grateful to you for your kindness.' 
 And I might tell a good many other things my pre- 
 cious sister has been doing, supposing all the time
 
 A NEW-YEAR'S STORY. 291 
 
 that her poor little left hand did n't know any thing 
 about it. 
 
 "I am real sorry about the reading and the book 
 you wanted to write, and I hope you will have more 
 time this coming year; but you have not been idle 
 or neglectful, and I could n't let you close up the old 
 year with that great burden of imaginary duties yet 
 undone. You may begin the new year with a clear 
 conscience, my sister Margie. " 
 
 And Nell's eyes were suspiciously moist, even while 
 her tone was full of playful banter. 
 
 Margaret kissed the upturned face, with loving 
 caf*ess. 
 
 "Perhaps I am too anxious; I will try not to 
 murmur, nor spend time in useless regrets; I do not 
 want to spoil your pleasures with my long face." 
 
 "Now, that is a little like your old sensible self, 
 and I like it much better than your 'might have 
 beens;' just keep in that frame of mind, and I '11 give 
 up my position of lecturer." 
 
 And Nell picked herself up, and drew a chair to 
 the opposite side of the work-table, with a proposal 
 to read for her sister's entertainment. 
 
 She had not read many minutes before the bell 
 rang, and Hannah appeared with the evening mail, 
 which a kind neighbor had brought from the office. 
 
 Margaret looked at the envelopes. 
 
 "A letter from brother Will; here, Nell, you may 
 read it first, to pay for your lecture." 
 
 And the letter was passed over unopened. Nell 
 broke the seal, and read aloud. 
 
 After a few words of loving greeting, the writer said :
 
 292 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "I can not thank you sufficiently, my dear sister, 
 for your gift of fifty dollars or, rather, loan, for I 
 shall insist on returning it as soon as I can spare it 
 but it was a blessing te us, how much you can 
 scarcely realize. 
 
 " Bills were due, and I lying helpless, Avondering 
 how they could be met, and I am ashamed 
 to own it almost losing faith in Providence, when 
 your letter, with its encouraging words and material 
 help, came. Mary and I shed tears over both letter 
 and check, it meant so rrruch to us. 
 
 "I am mending slowly, and have the promise of 
 my former position, after holidays are over. I am 
 not strong enough to write a long letter, but we 
 pray that the holidays may be a very happy time for 
 you and sister Nell. Your affectionate and grateful 
 brother WILL." 
 
 Nell looked up with a smile. 
 
 ''Isn't that better than writing a book? I'd give 
 a small fortune, if I had it, to have some one feel 
 like that toward me; and, really," her old teasing 
 spirit returning, "I have a mind to be downright 
 jealous. I am almost forgotten, and if it were not 
 for a chance reference I should have been left entirely 
 out of his letter. People are always pouring bless- 
 ings on your head, and yet you say you have accom- 
 plished almost nothing." 
 
 Margaret smiles through her tears. 
 
 "I am glad I have lightened one burden, and 
 made some one happier. Do n't think me foolish, 
 but I do want the world to be better and happier be- 
 cause I am in it. My heart was set on writing the
 
 A NEW-YEAR'S STORY. 293 
 
 book, because I felt I might help some one to a bet- 
 ter life; I trust there is time enough yet, and I am 
 willing to bide my time, if I can only feel sure that 
 I am pleasing Him who reads not the outward acts 
 alone, but the motives which prompt them."
 
 r? 
 
 tlURED TO DESTRUCTION. 
 
 CHARLES HAVREFIELD had just re- 
 turned from college, where he had grad- 
 uated with honors, and all his old friends 
 gathered around him to show him respect. 
 i2 For four years he had been away from his 
 boyhood's home, only returning occasionally, 
 during "holidays or the Summer vacations. 
 
 Now he was through his course of study, 
 and ready for a little recreation before entering 
 upon the duties of his profession that of the 
 law. 
 
 He was a fine specimen of the physical man, 
 with the social and intellectual qualities well devel- 
 oped also. 
 
 When just passing out of his teens, he had been 
 considered "a little wild," and rumor "said he had 
 occasionally drunk more wine than was good for him ; 
 but he was a rich man's son, and society is not usu- 
 ally disposed to look very closely into the conduct 
 of those who have money and the social position 
 which money buys. 
 
 During his years in college, he had, through the 
 restraints thrown about him and his fear of disgrace, 
 succeeded in overcoming his temptation, and in keep- 
 ing under control his already more than half-formed 
 appetite.
 
 LURED To DESTRUCTION. 295 
 
 Judge Cowan, an old friend of the family, had 
 given a large party in honor of his young friend, and 
 the splendid parlors were filled with the elite of the 
 town. 
 
 Of course, there must be wines. Every body in 
 fashionable society had wines at their parties, and 
 neither the judge nor his wife had any thought of 
 being behind their friends in the completeness of 
 their entertainment. 
 
 The evening was passing pleasantly, arid supper 
 was announced. Young Havrefield gave his arm to 
 Gracie, the judge's youngest daughter, a very beau- 
 tiftjt and lovable young lady. It had long been set- 
 tled in Havrefield's mind that n<5 lady of his ac- 
 quaintance came so near filling his ideal as she. 
 Society whispered that there would soon be a grand 
 wedding. 
 
 At the table wines were passed, and the young 
 man filled his companion's glass, leaving his own 
 turned upside down. 
 
 Gracie saw the omission, and, looking up, said: 
 
 "Are you not going to take a glass of wine 
 with me?" 
 
 Havrefield colored a little under her inquiring 
 look, but answered : 
 
 "I have not drank a glass of wine for over two 
 years." 
 
 "The more reason you should do so to-night," 
 replied the young girl, laughing lightly; " my father 
 always keeps the best, and he will feel hurt if you dp 
 not taste it. Remember this party was gotten up in 
 your honor."
 
 296 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "And I am very grateful for the honor conferred 
 on me; but please, Gracie, do not ask me to take 
 wine." 
 
 He uttered the last part of the sentence just 
 loud enough for her ears only. 
 
 Something in his tone made Gracie look up into 
 his face, and in an instant her own face crimsoned. 
 
 "Surely, you are not afraid to take a glass of 
 wine?" 
 
 Havrefield's face changed from red to pale. He 
 hesitated a moment, and then said, slowly: 
 
 "I would rather not touch wine to-night." 
 
 "O certainly, I shall not urge you. If you are 
 so weak that you can not take one glass of wine, I 
 will excuse you. But I supposed you were stronger 
 than that," and Gracie's tone was cold and her face 
 haughty. 
 
 For a moment the hot blood rushed to his face, 
 and then receding left it paler than before. In that 
 moment his mind was made up. He would show 
 Gracie that he was as strong as others. Turning up 
 his glass he held it toward his companion, saying in 
 a low tone, "Will you pour the wine, please?" 
 
 Gracie complied, smiling triumphantly. 
 
 "I knew you could not refuse me." 
 
 Ten minutes after Judge Cowan turned to him, 
 saying pleasantly: "Will you have a glass of wine 
 with me, Mr. Havrefield?" 
 
 He was about to reply, excusing himself, when 
 he remembered Gracie's words, and for fear of offend- 
 ing by a refusal, he took the proffered glass. He had 
 intended only to touch it to his lips, but the first
 
 LURED TO DESTRUCTION. 297 
 
 glass had awakened the old appetite, and he drained 
 the last drop. 
 
 Two glasses were sufficient to set his brain in a 
 whirl, and when two or three old friends insisted on 
 his taking a glass for Auld Lang Syne, he could not 
 refuse, and before the evening was over he was so 
 much intoxicated that a friend found it necessary to 
 take him home, in order to prevent an unpleasant 
 scene. 
 
 He awoke the next morning with a sense of guilt 
 and shame resting upon him. He had not only an 
 aching head, but an aching heart also. He wondered 
 wlfat Judge Cowan would think of him. What would 
 Gracie say? 
 
 "I must see her, and ask her pardon for this," he 
 said to himself, humbly. 
 
 In the afternoon he called at the judge's resi- 
 dence, and with an anxious heart asked for Gracie. 
 She soon made her appearance, but instead of her 
 usual cordial greeting, she bowed coldly and took 
 her seat on the opposite side of the room. His 
 quick eye saw the change, but he was too thoroughly 
 humiliated and miserable to blame her. He waited 
 a moment for her to begin the conversation, but she 
 seemed not to be in a talkative mood, aud the si- 
 lence was oppressive. 
 
 "Gracie," he said at last, with an evident effort 
 to steady his voice, "I came to offer you an apology 
 for my conduct on last night. I am very sorry for 
 what happened, and" 
 
 Gracie interrupted him: "Apologies are useless, 
 Mr. Havrefield. If you have no more respect for me
 
 298 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 than to become intoxicated in my presence, apolo- 
 gies would be thrown away." 
 
 " But, Grade, please hear me. I did not intend it. 
 I thought I could do as the rest did, and not feel it 
 more than they; but I am not used to wine, and 
 it overcame me." The young lady shrugged her 
 shoulders impatiently. 
 
 " I may as well say it now and put an end to 
 this. I want no apologies, but hope you will con- 
 sider our engagement at an end. I can not afford to 
 marry a man who will disgrace me and mine." 
 
 Her voice was cold and hard, and her words drove 
 every particle of color from her lover's face. He 
 started to his feet, and then sank back again in his 
 chair with a look of astonishment. 
 
 "O Grade, you can not mean that," he fairly 
 gasped. 
 
 "I certainly do. I can not think of marrying a 
 man who is as weak as you showed yourself to be 
 last night. My father has drank wine for forty jears, 
 and no one ever saw him intoxicated," she said 
 proudly. 
 
 Havrefield sat for some moments like one stunned. 
 
 "This is your final answer, is it?" he said, rising 
 and standing before her, a look of mingled anger 
 and agony on his face.. 
 
 Gracie bowed coldly. "It is, Mr. Havrefield." 
 
 He still stood before her, his handsome face 
 twitching with restrained anger. Half an hour be- 
 fore he would have knelt in his humility at her feet. 
 At last he said slowly, and with a fearful emphasis : 
 "\{ you cast me off I am ruined. I did not intend
 
 LURED TO DESTRUCTION. 299 
 
 to touch the wine on last evening. It had been two 
 years since a drop of alcoholic liquor of any kind 
 had passed my lips, and no one but you could have in- 
 duced me to touch the cursed stuff. You urged me to 
 drink, even insinuating that I was afraid to drink a 
 glass of wine. I was afraid ! I wish in God's name 
 I had been man enough to have left it alone ! But 
 if I go to ruin, perhaps it will comfort you to remem- 
 ber that it was your persuasions that tempted me, and 
 your hand that poured the glass of wine that awak- 
 ened the fiend Appetite. Judge Cowan no doubt 
 will^cast me off, and his daughter breaks her plighted 
 faith, not because I drink wine, but because I can not 
 drink as much as her father without getting drunk." 
 
 He turned and left the room without waiting for 
 a reply. Taking his hat from the table in the hall, 
 he passed out of the door and down the walk. He 
 had gone in with sorrow and humiliation in his heart; 
 he came out full of anger and despair. The one hope 
 of his. life was taken. away. 
 
 "I may as well go to the devil at once; no one- 
 will care/' he muttered with clinched teeth. 
 
 When the sound of his footsteps had died away, 
 Gracie Cowan went slowly to her room. All the joy 
 had gone out of her life in the -last few hours. 
 Throwing herself on her bed she wept long and bit- 
 terly. Love, anger, and wounded pride were strug- 
 gling for the mastery in her heart. Unfortunately 
 pride and anger gained the victory over love, and 
 while conscience told her she was to blame in tempt- 
 ing him, and love dictated calling him -back, and to 
 give him one more chance to recover his lost ground,
 
 300 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 pride held her back, even though her heart ached at 
 the separation. 
 
 They seldom met after their angry parting, and 
 it was only "through her friends that she heard he 
 was gradually going down to certain ruin. Her 
 father on one occasion ventured to express his satis- 
 faction that she had been wise enough to break their 
 engagement before it was too late, but it was no 
 comfort to her, for his parting words "No one but 
 you could have tempted me to touch it" rang in her 
 ears whenever she thotight of him ; and although she 
 would not acknowledge it, even to herself, yet she 
 could not help feeling that she was to blame for his 
 ruin. 
 
 Havrefield made a few feeble efforts to reform, 
 but the appetite had hold of him, temptations were 
 thick about him, and, cast off by the one who first 
 tempted and who might have reclaimed him, he 
 soon sank to the level of the common drunkard. 
 He, who with his splendid talents and education, 
 might have been the first in his profession, went 
 down a ruined man ; ruined, too, by one whom he 
 loved as his life, and who loved him in return, yet 
 with a mistaken idea of true manhood she had lured 
 him to his own destruction.
 
 THE OYS. 
 
 1^ SAY, Ben, is n't Miss Woodbury a brick! 
 =>0X /t She must know how boys feel such days 
 as this, and that 's the reason she let us off at 
 recess to-day," said Edward Holmes, a boy of 
 fifteen, as he and his seat-mate passed out 
 of the school-yard. 
 
 "Miss Woodbury is always kind, but I 
 guess she would n't be pleased if she heard 
 nfe you calling her a brick. You know she hates 
 , , slang," said his companion. 
 'jl "O, well, hang it all, a boy can't always 
 
 be watching his grammar. I did n't mean any 
 harm, and I do n't believe she 'd care a bit. Any 
 way, I am going to pay her back by being extra 
 good, Monday." 
 
 "Why not all the week?" asked Ben, quietly. 
 "O, you're always taking a fellow up so.' I 
 do n't believe I could be good a whole week, any 
 time, much less such hot days as these. My ! won't 
 I be glad when vacation comes!" and the boy threw 
 up his hat and caught it, by way of giving vent to 
 his feelings. 
 
 "Ed. Holmes! wait; I want to tell you some- 
 thing," called another boy, just coming out of the 
 yard gate. 
 
 Edward stepped to one side and waited until the 
 boy came up. "What's wanted, Frank?"
 
 302 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Why, I want you to come over to our meadow 
 and play ball. We '11 have jolly fun. I have asked a 
 half-dozen of our ' particular friends, ' as mother says. 
 Will you come?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess so; that is, if mother do n't 'care, 
 and she does n't often object, if I 'm in good com- 
 pany." 
 
 "Well, hurry home then and see about it, and 
 come over soon." 
 
 And Frank Moore jumped over the fence, and 
 went across the lot toward home. 
 
 Eddie Holmes ran home, deposited his books in 
 the hall, and went into the sitting-room to find his 
 mother, but she was not there. He looked into the 
 parlor, but it was darkened, and he started for the 
 kitchen to ask Mary about her. Mary supposed she 
 had gone to walk with the children. 
 
 " O, bother, I want to go to Frank Moore's for 
 a game of ball." 
 
 "You had better ask your father, then," sug- 
 gested Mary. 
 
 "I don't want to; he'll only scold. I guess 
 I '11 have to, though, if I get to go; " and away he 
 went to find his father. 
 
 Running into the office, he began : 
 
 "Father, may I go and play ball at" 
 
 "Go back and close that door," said his father, 
 without looking up from his ledger. "Strange you 
 can 't learn to come in without making such a racket! " 
 
 Eddie closed the door, and then said : 
 
 "May I go, father? Frank Moore wants me to 
 come over and play ball."
 
 SAVING. THE BOYS. 303 
 
 ' 'No ; you had better stay at home until you can 
 learn to behave properly;" and Mr. Holmes went 
 on with his writing without looking up. 
 
 Eddie turned and walked slowly out of the office 
 and back home. There was no running or throwing 
 up his hat now; but he walked slowly along, never 
 looking up, when a boy on the opposite side of the 
 street called out: 
 
 "What 's the matter, Ned ? Going to a funeral?" 
 
 Inside the house, he flung himself on the lounge, 
 and gave way to his disappointed feelings. He 
 felt that his request was reasonable; and if it had 
 ntfTbeen, he was hurt more at the manner of his re- 
 fusal than at the refusal itself. 
 
 ' ' I wish I was a man, " he muttered. ' ' I guess I 'd 
 ,have a little fun then without being scolded about it." 
 
 Then as he thought of the good time the boys 
 were having, he felt the hot tears coming, and hid 
 his face in the pillow. Presently he got up and 
 went to the parlor. Every thing seemed so silent 
 and lonesome, and the afternoon was so different from 
 what he had expected. 
 
 His mother came home soon and noticed the 
 cloud on the face of her usually lively boy, and asked 
 the cause. Then came the story of his disappoint- 
 ment and his father's reproof. 
 
 "But, Eddie, you know you ought to be more 
 careful ; you know how much your father dislikes a 
 noise about his room, and you have been reproved 
 so often for your carelessne'ss. " 
 
 ' ' Well, " muttered the boy, ' ' he won't always have 
 a chance to scold. When I'm a man I '11 go where "
 
 304 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Eddie!" and Mrs. Holmes's voice was full of 
 pain. "You do n't know what* you are saying." 
 
 "Well, mother, I can't help it; it isn't right, 
 and you know it, too;" and he brushed off the 
 angry tears, which would come, in spite of his efforts 
 to keep them back. 
 
 Mr. Holmes took no notice of his boy's clouded 
 face at tea time; but as he came home at nine o'clock 
 from the store, he heard voices inside the yard, under 
 the shadow of the trees. 
 
 "Better say you '11 come. We never play for 
 money, and you need n't take part unless you want to. " 
 
 Mr. Holmes stopped and listened, breathlessly, 
 for he had recognized the voice. Sam. Huffman, 
 one of the worst boys the town could afford, was 
 trying to coax his boy into one of their dens, and he 
 grasped his cane as if he would strike down the 
 tempter. Presently Eddie's voice answered : ' 
 
 "Not to-night, Sam." 
 
 "To-morrow night, then?" 
 
 " I guess so. I would not go at all, Sam, only 
 well, I get snubbed on every hand at home. Father 
 scolds, and mother looks solemn, and the house is 
 awful lonesome. Mag and Lou are too refined to 
 enjoy my company, and so I 've either got to set and 
 mope, or hunt company away from home. Will 
 says it was just so when he was here ; but my ! do n't 
 he have gay times now ! He says he would n't stay 
 here for any thing, and as soon as I 'm old enough I 
 mean to go, too ; then I guess I won't get scolded 
 every time I break one of the rules of etiquette," and 
 there was a sneer in the boy's voice.
 
 SAVING THE BOYS. 305 
 
 "Good for you!" responded his companion, with 
 a laugh. " Hope you '11 be man enough to cut your 
 leading strings shortly." 
 
 "Hush." said Eddie softly. "I'll go to-morrow 
 night if you '11 meet me here. I do n't feel right 
 about it, though. I believe mother's fretting about 
 Will's doings, and that makes her look so blue lately. 
 May be I'd better not come this time." 
 
 "Bah! tied to mammy's apron-string, " sneered 
 Huffman. 
 
 For a moment Eddie hesitated, but the fear of 
 ridicule overcame his scruples, and so he promised to 
 be6"Ti time, and they separated. 
 
 Mr. Holmes shrank back under the shadow of the 
 trees as Huffman leaped over the fence and disap- 
 peared down the ally. His first impulse was to call 
 his son into the house and punish him for 'keeping 
 such company. But the boy's reference to himself 
 checked him. Was it true, as Eddie said, that he 
 scolded about everything? He didn't mean to be 
 unkind, but his conscience told him that there was at 
 least a grain of truth in the boy's words. He had also 
 received a revelation respecting his eldest boy. "Can 
 it be possible that it is my fault that William is so 
 wild?" he asked himself, with a sigh, as he thought 
 of his son's reckless ways. At last he went slowly up 
 the walk leading to the house. When he entered the 
 sitting-room, Eddie was sitting by the table reading 
 a book as quietly as if he had not been holding a 
 .clandestine meeting with the rough of the village. 
 The father sat down very quietly and took out his 
 evening paper. Maggie, r"he eldest daughter, was in 
 26
 
 306 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 the parlor practicing a piece of new music ; Louisa, 
 "the younger daughter, was curled upon the lounge, 
 reading a novel, while the mother sat mending some 
 of the rents made by the little ones through the day. 
 Altogether it was a very silent company. Presently 
 Eddie said he was sleepy, and shut up his book, bid 
 them good-night, and went to his room. 
 
 For some time the father sat thinking of what he 
 could do to save his boy. At last he decided to ask 
 the advice of his wife and daughters, and turning to 
 Louisa said, in a troubled voice: 
 
 "Lou, lay by your book for a while, and tell 
 Maggie to come here; I want to talk with you." 
 
 Mrs. Holmes looked up, startled at the husky 
 sound of her husband's voice. "Is there something 
 wrong with your business?" she Basked timidly. 
 
 "No, I am afraid it is worse than that," he an- 
 swered bitterly. 
 
 When they" were all seated around the table Mr. 
 Holmes told them of the conversation which he had 
 overheard, not even keeping back his son's comments 
 on his own temper. When he had finished, Lou, 
 who was only three years older than Eddie, was cry- 
 ing quietly. 
 
 "O papa, am I to blame?" she asked tearfully. 
 "I guess we are all to blame in part; but what are 
 we going to do? This meeting must not take place 
 if we can prevent it." 
 
 Finally it was decided that, as the father had 
 some business in the city, he should go in the morn- 
 ing and take Lou and Edward with him and spend 
 the Sabbath. Eddie had begged to go shortly before,
 
 SAVING THE BOYS. 307 
 
 but his father had told him he "could n't be bothered 
 with a boy." 
 
 In the morning when they were at breakfast the 
 father announced his intention of spending Sabbath 
 in the city, and suggested that two of the family ac- 
 company him. Maggie shook her head; she was 
 "too busy." Lou declared she was always ready 
 to go. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Holmes, "that is only one. 
 Edward, don't you want to go?" 
 
 "May I?" he asked doubtfully. The boy had 
 already half repented his promise to Sam Huffman. 
 /** Yes, you- may go, if you like ; it will make up 
 for your disappointment yesterday afternoon," said 
 his father, kindly. The tones more than the words, 
 touched the boy, and he fidgeted uneasily in his chair. 
 At last he turned away his head and coughed to hide 
 his feelings. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I would like very much to go, if I 
 will not be in the way." 
 
 They went to the city, and for once Mr. Holmes 
 exerted himself to please and entertain his boy, and 
 was himself surprised to find how mucli pleasure he 
 found in the effort. Edward returned home delighted 
 with his visit, and the sisters, who had been fright- 
 ened at what their father had overheard, set them- 
 selves to work to make home more pleasant for their 
 brother, while the father and mother decided that it 
 was better to punish him with innocent amusement 
 . at home than that he should seek for amusement in 
 sinful company. 
 
 Nothing more was heard of the meeting with
 
 308 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 Sam Huffman ; but one evening in the Autumn, 
 when Mr. Holmes had taken the girls to a concert 
 and Edward was alone with his mother, he told her 
 how near he had come to going away with Sam, 
 never to come back. 
 
 "I wouldn't have thought of going," he said; 
 " but there seemed a place for every one but me, and 
 I felt that I was in the way, and only a bother. But 
 I guess I was mistaken about it ; father lets me help 
 him sometimes now, and he's real patient with me, 
 too, though I am afraid, mother, I shall never learn 
 to close doors after me or walk softly across a room," 
 he said, smiling up in his mother's face. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes stooped and kissed the forehead of 
 the big boy at her feet, and said gently : 
 
 "You are never in our way, my son." 
 
 But she never told him how his father had over- 
 heard the conversation between him and Sam, nor 
 how hard they had all worked to keep him out of 
 such company. After a little pause, Eddie said : 
 
 "Mother, I wish Will would come home." 
 
 The mother sighed. " I am afraid your brother 
 would not like the restraints of home." 
 
 And there the subject dropped for the time. But 
 one day Mr. Holmes's head clerk told him he had been 
 offered a partnership in a respectable firm, and had 
 accepted it, and in a month or so would go into busi- 
 ness for himself. Then Edward asked his father to 
 write and offer Will the place. 
 
 " He is too reckless for so responsible a position, 
 and he wouldn't accept it from me any way," ob- 
 jected the father.
 
 SAVING THE BOYS. 309 
 
 " Try him, please. Let me take the letter to 
 him," pleaded the boy. Finally Mr. Holmes con- 
 sented, and Edward went to the city with the letter. 
 
 "Yes," sneered Will, when he had read the 
 letter, ' ' he wants me there so he can watch me and 
 lecture me as he used to." 
 
 "No, Will, you're mistaken. Father isn't one 
 bit like he used to be. He and I have real good 
 times together now, and the girls are jolly, I tell you. 
 Just as fashionable as ever, but they try to make a 
 fellow have a good time at home. Mother looks 
 pale and sad, but I guess its grieving about you. Of 
 cotrrse, she wants you home," he added, hastily, as 
 he saw Will's face flush at the implied rebuke. 
 "Come, Will, say you'll accept." 
 
 "Give me a week to think about it," pleaded 
 Will. 
 
 "No, sir! I won't give you an hour. We all 
 want you home, and the girls will hug you 'most to 
 death when you get there." 
 
 "Some danger," muttered Will; "too much 
 afraid of soiling their finery to allow me to come 
 within a rod of them." 
 
 "No, they 're not; I tell you they 're not one bit 
 like they used to be. Besides, I want a big brother 
 to counsel with," urged Edward. 
 
 "I wonder they 're not afraid I '11 rum your- mor- 
 als if I come home," said Will, defiantly. 
 
 "Hush, Will," said the boy, with a pained look; 
 "I tell you we all want you home. Say yes, for it 
 is nearly train time." 
 
 "Well, yes, then; how soon must I come?"
 
 310 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "Right away, if you can; father said you would 
 want some instruction from Brown before he goes out. " 
 
 "Well, I '11 be down m a week, then," answered 
 the brother, slowly; and then, with a smile, "Ned, 
 you 're a splendid pleader ; father will spoil a first- 
 class lawyer, if he makes a merchant of you." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 In a week Will was back in the old home, feeling 
 restrained and awkward, but glad to be there, not- 
 withstanding. The next morning, Mr. Holmes 
 told his son he would like to see him in the 
 library, for a little while, and Will thought : 
 "Now for an old-time lecture." But he was mis- 
 taken; not a word of reproach only an explanation 
 of the responsibility of the position he was about to 
 take, and what he should expect of him; and then 
 the father said kindly: 
 
 "When you were younger, William, I am afraid 
 I did n't quite understand you and sympathize with 
 you, as I might have done; but I did n't intend to 
 be hard on you. I hope you will feel now that my 
 greatest desire is to see you prosperous and happy. 
 I am getting old, and need your company and help. 
 In my old days, I hope to give up my business to 
 you and Edward, if you will take it." 
 
 "Can you trust me, father? I have not lived as 
 steadily as I ought;" and Will spoke with heightening 
 color. 
 
 "But you will do better now, will you not?" 
 
 "Yes, father; indeed I will, if you will only trust 
 me and forgive me," answered the young man, his 
 eyes fixed on the floor.
 
 SAVING THE BOYS. 311 
 
 "I have something to be forgiven for, too," an- 
 swered the father, with his eyes full of tears, as he 
 rose and placed his hand on the bowed head of his 
 son. "I have been hasty and impatient with you 
 very often ; God help me to be more patient with my 
 children in the future." 
 
 "Don't, father, don't," sobbed the young man; 
 "I can't bear it; I don't deserve your confidence, 
 but I will try to do better now." 
 
 In a few days William Holmes went to work in 
 his father's store, with a firm determination to give 
 up his old habits. By the assistance of his father's 
 sympathy and his mother's prayers, aided by the 
 cheerful home influence which his sisters threw round 
 him, he did finally gain the victory over self, and in 
 after years, when William and Edward were steady 
 business men, taking the burden from their father's 
 shoulders, neither parents nor sisters regretted their 
 efforts to "save the boys."
 
 AS BY 
 Xn'OCfirtt 
 
 CHAPTER I . 
 
 'HE face that looked up from the hospital 
 bed was not all bad, although the marks 
 of sin were plainly visible ; and even while 
 you looked into the face the eyelids would 
 droop as if to ward off your scrutiny as if 
 afraid you would read there the mistakes and 
 misdeeds of the past. The hospital nurse was 
 passing, and, pausing for a moment as he came 
 to the bed, he straightened the covering, ar- 
 ranged the pillow a little more comfortably, 
 and smoothed back, with a hand as gentle as a 
 woman's, the patient's hair, that had grown to unus- 
 ual length and which gave a stronger emphasis to 
 the already haggard expression of his face. 
 
 "Thank you: you are very kind," he said grate- 
 fully, then added, ' ' Every body is kind to me here, 
 but I believe I am a little homesick to-day." 
 
 "Then why not take my advice and write to the 
 home folks? My word, you '11 feel the better for it," 
 answered the nurse with an encouraging smile. 
 
 "O, it's not worth while. They've forgotten me 
 long ago, I presume," with an effort at indifference 
 in his tone and manner. 
 
 4 ' Home folks do n't forget a fellow as easily as
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 313 
 
 you think, young man. , Any way, better write, and 
 remind them of your existence," and with this in- 
 junction the kind-hearted nurse passed on to the 
 next patient. 
 
 During the past few weeks the nurse had repeat- 
 edly urged this young patient to write to his sister, 
 and ask to be taken into her home. But pride and 
 shame, together with a sort of independence of char- 
 acter, had prevented him thus far from asking such a 
 favor from one whose advice he had rejected years 
 before, and so he had hesitated even while his heart 
 hungered for his sister's presence. 
 
 'For months he had been an inmate of the hos- 
 pital, and for a time his life had hung in the balance. 
 At last, however, the physicians said he would live, 
 but gave him no encouragement to hope ever to 
 walk again. 
 
 When the verdict of the physicians was made 
 known to him he had uttered an audible groan and 
 turned away his face to hide the expression of the 
 pain the announcement had caused him. 
 
 "Better dead than helpless," he muttered hope- 
 lessly. " Why did n't you let me die when I was so 
 near it?" he had asked, bitterly, when the nurse, 
 seeing his despondency, had tried to cheer him a little. 
 
 "You were ready to die, I suppose," the man 
 had answered, eyeing him quietly. 
 
 "No, not exactly, but as nearly ready as I am 
 likely to be," and he turned away as if to shut out 
 the thoughts that would crowd up. 
 
 For days he had lain brooding over the prospect 
 before him. "Nothing but the hospital or the alms- 
 27
 
 314 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 house " he would say with a gesture of loathing and 
 with a shudder as he thought of his future. To a 
 young man who had builded so many castles in the 
 air in former years the prospect was certainly not a 
 pleasing one. 
 
 "But it is as good as I deserve. I might have 
 known my sin would find me out, and I was taught 
 better." And as his memory reverted to his early 
 training, he could but acknowledge to himself that 
 if he had heeded those instructions he would have 
 escaped this terrible affliction and humiliation. 
 
 On the morning on which my story begins, 
 Allen Howard was, as he said, "homesick." There 
 had come over him such a longing for friends as he 
 had not experienced since the day when, but a boy, 
 he had gone out from the home roof full of hope to 
 make his way in the world. Full of good intentions 
 and with high anticipations of the future, he had gone 
 out expecting "to see something of the world," but 
 with the determination to avoid its vices, even though 
 anxious for a share in what he called its harmless 
 pleasures. 
 
 But the enemy of souls, ever on the track of 
 homeless ones, had gained victory after victory over 
 the inexperienced and unguarded boy ; trifling victo- 
 ries apparently, yet full of importance, as they held 
 the destiny of his future years. Appetite for strong 
 drink, with all its attendant vices, crept about him, 
 and before he was aware of his danger he was so 
 completely in the toils that not only was he one of 
 the fast young men whose companion he was, but 
 also a transgressor of the law.
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 315 
 
 Evil companions who cared for him only because 
 he was agreeable, and because they saw that his pli- 
 able nature would make him a convenient tool for 
 their purposes, had led him on step by step, until the 
 teachings of his mother and the counsel of a sister 
 were alike neglected and forgotten. 
 
 But now he had time to think of the past, and 
 in his hours of lonely suffering all the teachings of 
 that mother, the loving words, the kindly reproofs 
 and faithful warning came to him like voices from 
 the grave, awakening all his better feelings, feelings 
 that had been lulled to sleep for months and years; 
 antf with these awakenings came an unutterable long- 
 ing for home and loved ones. He had found friends 
 among nurses and physicians, more than he had 
 dared to hope for under the circumstances ; but their 
 kindly care and words only served to increase his 
 longing for home friends and faces, for the sister 
 who had soothed his boyish trouble and shared his 
 childhood sports. 
 
 The father had died when his boy was but two 
 years old, and the mother had gone to her reward 
 when he was but twelve, her prayers for her boy's 
 salvation yet unanswered. But He who treasures up 
 the prayers and tears of his children had not forgot- 
 ten the petitions of that mother, and now, on a bed 
 of affliction, Howard's thoughts were being drawn 
 toward God as memory recalled the loving counsels 
 which had been unheeded at the time, and which he 
 had almost forgotten. All his better nature was 
 aroused, and at night when he could not sleep for 
 pain, he would lie wondering if the sister he had not
 
 316 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 seen for ten years had forgotten him as he had her 
 words of warnings, wondering if she would like to see 
 him again. Two years had passed since he had writ- 
 ten her, and she, of course, was ignorant of his where- 
 abouts; and his first thought, when he found him- 
 self in the hands of the law, had been to conceal his 
 real name, so that she need not know nor share his 
 shame ; and only to his nurse, and on the pledge of 
 silence, had he made known his real name. 
 
 Sometimes he would almost decide to write to his 
 sister, and tell her all ; then would come the thought : 
 "How can I? Will not she and her husband de- 
 spise me when they know how low I have fallen ? 
 No, I'll bear it alone," he would say with com- 
 pressed though quivering lips, ashamed almost of his 
 own weakness. And for a while he would stifle the 
 longings of his heart rather than be a burden or a 
 disgrace to his friends. But try as he might, home 
 faces and home voices would come to him in a way 
 he could not resist. The blessed Christ was draw- 
 ing him closer to himself by means of these home 
 ties. 
 
 Finally, one day after a severe struggle with con- 
 tending thoughts, he took up the pen and paper, 
 which the nurse had placed by his bed, determined 
 to write and ask his sister to take him home, though 
 he could not yet bring himself to tell her the story 
 of his past life. With trembling hand he wrote : 
 
 "DEAR SISTER HELEN: It has been a long time 
 since I have written to or heard from you. I have 
 been sick for months, and am still an invalid. The
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 317 
 
 doctors say there is but little hope that I will ever 
 walk again. It seems terribly hard, only twenty-three 
 years old, and a cripple for life. I want to see your 
 face and hear your voice again, O, so much. But 
 my past life has not been such as you would approve 
 of; but I can not tell you all now, though I feel as if 
 I ought. Sister, will you be as kind to me now as 
 you were when I was but a boy? Will you take me 
 on trust, and be patient with me for a little while ? 
 Sometime I will tell you all about myself, if you will 
 only not ask me now. I need your help more than 
 eve* before, and yet I dislike to ask it of you, know- 
 ing that I do not deserve it ; but you were always so 
 kind that I dared run the risk. Write and tell me 
 your decision. Your brother, 
 
 "ALLEN." 
 
 Wearily folding the letter he placed it in its en- 
 velope and laid it on the table by his bed. In less 
 than half an hour he had repented having written it, 
 and twice he took it up with the intention of destroy- 
 ing it, but something held him back till at last, weary 
 in body and mind, he fell asleep. When he awoke 
 an hour later the letter had disappeared. 
 
 His faithful nurse had seen the struggle, and 
 fearing he would change his mind, had dropped it in 
 the hospital letter-box. When Howard found that 
 his letter was gone, he lay thinking over what he had 
 written and wishing he could recall it. But it was 
 too late. The missive was on its way, and he fell to 
 wondering as to what sort of a reception would be 
 given it.
 
 318 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 One moment he seemed to see his sister, as she 
 was in her girlhood fresh and rosy-cheeked, full 
 of life, yet with a sort of motherly care, watching 
 over and advising him. She was but seven years 
 his senior, and yet she had always assumed the pre- 
 rogative of guarding and controlling his actions, 
 so far as she could now checking his headlong 
 fun, and now joining witl^all her heart in some inno- 
 cent amusement, or helping him in his studies and 
 as he remembered how proud she used to seem when 
 he had a good lesson or did some noble act, the tears 
 filled his eyes and fell upon his pillow. 
 
 "O, I can never tell her! she will despise me!" 
 he would sob, half-aloud. "I hope she will not get 
 the letter; I would rather die here among strangers 
 than have her know all about my life." And then, 
 indignant at himself, as he thought of his wasted 
 years, he would mutter : "What a fool I have been!" 
 
 In due time, the letter reached its destination, and 
 Mrs. Hildreth, while shocked and grieved at the news 
 it brought her, was a true sister, full of love for the 
 brother whom she had not seen since he had left 
 home, when but a boy just entering upon his teens. 
 
 He was a man now, in years; sinful he might be, 
 but still her brother, whom a dying mother had com- 
 mitted to her care. He had long since gone beyond 
 her care, but now an opportunity was offered by 
 which she could once more regain something of the 
 influence of earlier years, and it only needed her 
 husband's consent before she could respond to the 
 pleading letter, and invite the wanderer home. This 
 consent was readily obtained, and she at once wrote to
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 319 
 
 the homeless one that he need be homeless no 
 longer. 
 
 Three weeks had passed, and Howard had almost 
 come to the conclusion that his letter had been lost 
 or that his plea had been rejected. As this feeling 
 began to take possession of him, he realized how 
 much his heart had been set upon seeing his sister, 
 and how strong the hope had been that she would 
 send for him to come home, and the thought that he 
 was cast off by his only sister was as painful as it was 
 humiliating. 
 
 JBut a letter came at last, bearing not the post- 
 mark of his native town, but of a village in the 
 south-west. His sister and her family had removed 
 during the years of his silence, and he had not learned 
 of the fact. 
 
 It was with hands trembling with anxiety that he 
 broke the seal, and looked at the signature to assure 
 himself as to the writer. 
 
 Yes, it was from Helen. 
 
 A loving letter, inviting him to her home and 
 heart; a brief?' sketch of her husband and children 
 none of whom he had seen but not a word of re- 
 proof for the wanderer, either direct or implied. A 
 sisterly letter, full of hopefulness and comforting 
 words ; a few sentences reminding him of the Savior's 
 yearning love for the wandering ones, and then a 
 second invitation to come home. 
 
 "The old home is in the hands of strangers, and 
 we are in the West; but you will not mind that, if you 
 are able for the journey. My house is neither large 
 nor costly, but there is room enough in it for my sick
 
 320 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 brother, and Mr. Hildreth joins me in saying, come 
 as soon as you can. If it were possible to leave 
 home, ojie of us would come to you ; but Mr. Hil- 
 dreth's presence is needed in his business, and my 
 children need me, but we shall expect you soon." 
 
 How often did Allen read over that letter the 
 invitation to come home. At last he laid it, wet with 
 his tears, under his pillow, and fell to counting the 
 days which must pass before he could see the writer. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT last the physician decided that he was strong 
 enough to undertake the journey, and, bidding good- 
 bye to those who had been so kind to him during 
 the past weary months, he started an invalid, to be 
 sure, but stronger than he had dared to hope. 
 
 As he neared his journey's end, he was conscious 
 of a sensation of dread creeping into his heart. How 
 could he meet all the inquiries about his past life? 
 Some one would be certain to probe him with ques- 
 tions, and how could he answer? 
 
 He almost felt as if it would be better to be back 
 in the hospital, dreary as it had seemed at times, 
 than to have to meet all the questionings and the 
 suspicious looks which he felt would be cast upon 
 him. 
 
 He had not written of his starting, and when the 
 village hack drew up before his sister's door, they 
 were scarcely expecting him. 
 
 Slowly and with the help of the driver and an- 
 other passenger, he descended from the hack, and
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 321 
 
 was met at the door of the unpretentious dwelling by 
 a matronly woman, who did not need to be told that 
 this was the long-lost brother. 
 
 A tearful, though cordial, greeting not many 
 words, both hearts were too full for words and in a 
 few minutes Allen Howard was lying in his sister's 
 sitting-room, weary and worn, with his long journey, 
 with tears, which he tried vainly to hide, stealing 
 down his pale face, and yet with a feeling of com- 
 fort and restfulness such as he had not known during 
 the long months of his affliction. 
 
 After a few words, Mrs. Hildreth, with wise 
 trfoughtfulness, left him alone, to rest and sleep un- 
 til tea was ready. 
 
 Then his brother-in-law came in, and said, with 
 cheery tones: 
 
 "And this is Allen, I suppose. Glad you have 
 reached us safely, my boy. We shall soon have 
 you strong again, I hope." 
 
 The greeting, so unexpectedly cordial, was more 
 than the poor prodigal could bear, and he could only 
 return his brother's cordial grasp with a feeble effort, 
 and then turn away his face, to hide his emotion. 
 
 As the family gathered about the tabl6, and Allen 
 was placed in a seat opposite his sister, and the chil- 
 dren, four in number, were introduced to " Uncle 
 Allen," the invalid felt that his homecoming had 
 not been so unpleasant as he had feared. 
 
 The first evening passed off quietly, and the days 
 grew into weeks and no explanation of the past had 
 been asked or given ; yet the young man felt that it 
 would be a relief if he could pour out all the miser-
 
 322 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 able story in his sister's ears, and receive the comfort 
 and counsel which he felt she could give. 
 
 Their beautiful home-life seemed a constant .re- 
 minder of how far he was separated from them, and, 
 while Mrs. Hildreth would have felt grieved if she 
 had known his thoughts, yet he could not help feel- 
 ing that he, with all his dark past clinging to him, 
 had no right to be there. 
 
 They were all so thoughtful of his comfort, and 
 the one topic which he had so dreaded was so care- 
 fully avoided, that he began to feel they deserved 
 his confidence, although, with instinctive shame, he 
 shrank from giving it. 
 
 Even Mr. Hildreth, whom he had so dreaded to 
 meet, had taken to him very kindly; and, in truth, 
 they had, to use his own expression, "taken him on 
 trust." 
 
 Once, -a few weeks after his coming into their 
 home, when his sister had been doing some little, 
 thoughtful kindness for him, he had said : 
 
 ' ' Helen, it seems hardly fair to refuse to give you 
 my confidence, when you are so kind and patient, 
 and, above all, trust me so ; but I hate so to think 
 of the past, and it is so pleasant to feel that you trust 
 me. O, if I could only blot out the past ten years, 
 and begin again !" 
 
 Mrs. Hildreth looked at him with a quiet, pity- 
 ing smile. 
 
 "If my brother can only trust all the past mis- 
 takes of his life to his Savior, I shall be satisfied, 
 even though he does not see proper to tell me all 
 about it. I am in no hurry, Allen."
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 323 
 
 "But you shall know some day, sister," with a 
 wistful look in the pale face. 
 
 Mrs. Hildreth, seeing his distressed look, placed her 
 hand over his lips, as if she would treat the matter 
 very lightly. "One would think you had been a 
 dreadful boy to hear you talk. Let us hear no mere 
 about it until I give you permission. I am not going 
 to have my patient worrying about trifles." 
 
 But Howard was not satisfied. The more he 
 looked back over his past life the more he felt con- 
 demned. He was trying to get into the life which 
 he was assured his sister and her husband were living, 
 but the way seemed dark, and every step uncertain 
 and new. In his wanderings he had tried to forget 
 God, and now, when he would get into the right 
 path, his way seemed hedged up. He longed to 
 make a full confession, to tell his sister just what he 
 had been, and then to lean upon her for counsel and 
 help. But the consciousness that he should probably 
 lose their esteem deterred him from day to day, and 
 yet instead of peace coming to his anxious heart, 
 the burden only grew heavier. He was still an in- 
 valid, and though there was some improvement, he 
 had but little hope of ever being restored to his 
 former strength. Longing for sympathy and counsel, 
 such as he knew he could only receive when his story 
 was known, he resolved at last to risk all and unburden 
 his heart to his sister, who had so kindly taken him 
 into her home and heart. 
 
 One evening, as he sat in his arm-chair, in the 
 shadow of the room where Mrs. Hildreth was also 
 sitting, with her mending-basket by her side, he said :
 
 324 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 " Helen, leave your work for a little while and 
 sit here by me. I want to talk with you." 
 
 She readily complied with his request and drew 
 her chair to his side, the flickering light of the fire 
 and the shaded lamp only partially lighting up their 
 faces. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" Mrs. Hildreth asked, after 
 waiting for several minutes, and Allen had made no 
 sign of beginning to talk. 
 
 "Are the children in bed?" he asked, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes, and asleep. Do you want them?" 
 
 "No; but I don't want them to hear what I 
 have to say to-night. I must tell you the story I 
 have kept back so long." 
 
 "But, Allen, you need not," interposed his sister, 
 as she saw his agitation. 
 
 "Yes, I need. I shall never feel quite right until 
 you know. It 's an ugly story, but I shall be no 
 worse after I tell you than I was before. Do n't in- 
 terrupt me, and do n't run away from me ; but I ex- 
 pect you '11 hate me when you know how bad I have 
 been." 
 
 And then, in a voice which he forced to be 
 steady, he told of the years since he had gone out 
 from the home roof. How he had been led, step by 
 step, into bad company and bad habits, and how he 
 had tried to forget God and his mother's counsel, and 
 had gone on from bad to worse until, under the in- 
 fluence of drink, he had committed a crime from the 
 penalty of which he had only escaped because a 
 wound, received in o his arrest, had rendered him a
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 325 
 
 cripple, and the judge had considered his punishment 
 sufficient. 
 
 He repeated the whole shameful story in a low 
 voice, as if he was afraid the very walls would hear 
 and repeat his secret. When he finished, his sister 
 was sitting with her face buried in her hands, weep- 
 ing bitterly. Allen shook with intense agitation, 
 while the perspiration stood in great drops upon 
 his forehead. It was over now. She knew all the 
 terrible secret which he had so dreaded to tell, and 
 now came the reaction. He wished he had not told 
 her^.and if it had been possible he would have re- 
 called every word. 
 
 There was a silence for some moments, broken 
 only by his sister's sobs. At last, unable to endure 
 the suspense, he said, pleadingly : 
 
 "Helen." 
 
 His voice seemed to arouse her, and she put out 
 her hand with a pitiful gesture. 
 
 "O Allen, how could you? O, our poor 
 mother." And then she gave ,way to fresh sobs of 
 grief and wounded family pride. 
 
 They had never been a very wealthy family, but 
 they had been an honorable one, for whose record 
 they had never had reason to blush. But now this 
 terrible story seemed to crush her to the earth. She 
 had expected to hear of some wild pranks, but noth- 
 ing so bad as this, and the thought that her brother 
 was a criminal was more than she could calmly en- 
 dure, under the first sense of shame and disgrace. 
 
 Allen had leaned forward in his chair, supporting 
 himself on his crutch, and reached out his hand as
 
 326 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 if to take hers; but when she spoke his mother's 
 name, he drew back as if he had received a blow. 
 
 " Do n't, Helen, do n't speak of her in that way. 
 I know I have disgraced her and you ; but do n't 
 hate me, though God knows I hate myself for my 
 weakness. But it was an awful temptation." 
 
 Then seeing she did not answer nor raise her 
 head, he said, desperately: 
 
 "If you turn against me. I had better have died 
 at the first." 
 
 The pleading, kalf scared tone aroused Mrs. Hil- 
 dreth, and with an effort she checked her sobs. 
 Kneeling by the side of her prodigal but thoroughly 
 repentant brother, she laid her face, still wet with 
 tears, upon his shoulder. 
 
 "No, no; I don't hate you, and I shall not turn 
 against you; but O Allen, it seems like. an awful 
 dream. I can not realize that my brother could do such 
 a thing. I am glad our mother is not here to suffer, too. " 
 
 "O sister. I have suffered so much because of 
 it. It may be if mother had lived it would not have 
 happened; but you did your part, and no one can 
 blame you for my sin. But you do n't know what 
 it is to be without friends or money, home or em- 
 ployment," pleaded Allen, his breath coming thick 
 and fast, as if he would suffocate. " If I were not 
 so helpless, I might go away where you would not 
 be mortified by my presence; but" 
 
 "Hush;" and Mrs. Hildreth started at the 
 strangeness of his tone ; and as she interrupted him 
 she looked into his face, and was shocked at the 
 look of intense suffering visible there.
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 327 
 
 "Hush, Allen, your place is here with me," she 
 said, with sudden calmness, rising and smoothing back 
 his hair from his forehead. "You have sinned, but 
 you have suffered enough already. I will not add 
 to it." 
 
 For some moments she sat by his side without a 
 word. Her mind was busy over the problem of lead- 
 ing this poor sinful, sin-sick soul back to the arms of 
 the tender Shepherd. 
 
 Presently Allen said : 
 
 "You don't quite hate me then, Helen?" 
 ^"No; but I am so sorry, my poor brother. You 
 must ask God's forgiveness; your sin is against him, 
 not me." 
 
 "But I have lived so far away from him that I 
 do not deserve to be forgiven," was the hopeless 
 reply. 
 
 "It" is not a question as to what you desewe, but 
 what you need, and your willingness to take what 
 God offers." 
 
 Allen reached out his hand, and, taking his sister's 
 in his, he laid it against his face, with a caressing 
 motion. 
 
 " I do n't know as I can make you understand 
 how I feel; you have always been so good that you 
 can 't feel as I do, who have never done any thing 
 right, scarcely. Some way, it looks mean to ask God 
 to forgive me, now that I am where I can 't help 
 myself. If I could only do something to prove that 
 I am sincere!" 
 
 "He knows all about you. It is because you 
 can not do any thing that he offers you pardon.
 
 328 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 You have nothing to pay with, and so it must be a 
 free gift, if you are saved ; but his words are better 
 than mine," and Mrs. Hildreth, drawing the lamp 
 nearer to her, took up her Bible, to read a few pas- 
 sages of Scripture especially suited to her brother's 
 case. Allen looked at the book, and said regretfully : 
 "If I had read that book more, and heeded its 
 teachings, I need not be as I am to-night." 
 
 "Don't spend time in useless regrets. You have 
 sinned, but you are sorry. God knows it; now look 
 from yourself to his mercy." 
 
 Thus, patiently and lovingly, did this Christian 
 woman point her brother to Christ. Here and there 
 she read such passages as were especially suited to 
 his need. And he, in utter humiliation, was ready 
 to be taught; he was the child again, submitting 
 to the wiser and stronger hand of his sister, and he 
 drank in her words as if he were famishing. 
 
 At last, he looked up into her face, and noticing 
 how pale and worn she looked, laid his hand over the 
 page, saying: 
 
 ' ' There, sister, do not read any more ; you are 
 tired out. I have been so selfish not to remember 
 that you were weary, but I was so hungry for your 
 words. Don't let the children know of this; I 
 could n't bear for them to have a doubt of me," and 
 then, as he heard Mr. Hildreth's step, returning from 
 the office: "There is John ; you must tell him, 7 
 can 't. It may be he will not want me here when he 
 knows the worst." 
 
 And the lips quivered, though he tried to speak 
 bravely.
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 329 
 
 His face flushed as his brother spoke to him, in- 
 quiring after his welfare, and Mrs. Hildreth, seeing 
 how weary he was, insisted on his retiring for the 
 night. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN their own room, Mrs. Hildreth' told her hus- 
 band the story of her brother's fall, and also of his 
 evident repentance, adding, timidly: 
 
 "Allen half expects you to send him away when 
 you know what he has done." 
 
 "Helen!" Mr. Hildreth's tone was full of pained 
 surprise. "I hope I have not forgotten that it is not 
 my own goodness that has saved me from like sins. 
 I should be a strange disciple of Christ if I should 
 thus offend one of his little ones." 
 
 "You are not angry with him, then?" 
 
 "No, certainly not; it is a bad piece of business, 
 and no mistake, but we '11 not make it any worse, if 
 we can help it." 
 
 Mrs. Hildreth's nerves had been overstrained by 
 the excitement of the evening, and, now that her 
 task was done, and there was no longer a necessity 
 for a calm demeanor, she gave way to her feelings, 
 and sobbed on her husband's shoulder, as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 Her tears did her good, however, and with pa- 
 tient kindness and true Christian gentleness did her 
 husband soothe and comfort her, until her sobs ceased 
 and she could lie down quietly to rest. 
 
 To say that the story had caused him pain and 
 astonishment, would scarcely do justice to Mr. Hil- 
 28
 
 330 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 dreth's real state of mind. He had suspected wrong- 
 doing of some kind ; yet, like the sister, he had not 
 supposed that it was as bad as had been revealed. 
 He was a proud man, and very jealous of the honor 
 of his own children, and he had hoped they would 
 be spared any thing like real disgrace or shame; and 
 now it was upon them, in a way he could not remedy 
 nor, resist 
 
 His good sense and Christian spirit, however, 
 enabled him to decide that it was best to give his 
 brother all the help he could, and as he seemed to be 
 really sorry for the past, he should have a fair chance 
 to amend, and, so far as it was possible, make a new 
 start. 
 
 As for Howard, his confession had lifted a bur- 
 den from his heart; the dread that his sister should 
 know the past had hung over him like a sword of 
 vengeance, marring every moment of his otherwise 
 peaceful life. Now that she knew, and was not only 
 willing to forgive, but ready to instruct and guide 
 him, his heart was lighter; and, while he dared not 
 hope that her husband would be equally ready to 
 forgive and forget, yet he hoped for forbearance, at 
 least. 
 
 It was with, a flushed cheek that he looked up to 
 return Mr. Hildreth's greeting, on the following 
 morning, as he sat in his arm-chair by the fire, when 
 he entered the room, and his eyes quickly fell to the 
 floor, as if afraid to meet his brother's gaze. 
 
 Mr. Hildreth saw the look, and, quickly guessing 
 its cause, came forward, and, placing a hand on either 
 of Howard's shoulders, looked down into the face
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 331 
 
 that would not look into his, saying, with fatherly 
 kindness: 
 
 " My boy, this has been a sad affair, all the way 
 through; but it is in the past now. Do n't worry 
 over it too much. I am glad you decided to trust us 
 at last; I felt certain you would some time, and now, 
 perhaps, we can help you." 
 
 Poor Allen! He could have endured reproof, and 
 even harsh words he could have braced himself 
 against; but this hearty, unreserved forgiveness was 
 wholly unexpected, and he wept like a child. 
 
 Grasping his brother's hand in both of his, he 
 spbbed : 
 
 "O John, you are too kind; I didn't expect 
 this!" 
 
 ' ' What did you expect, then ? That I would turn 
 against you, because I did n't happen to be tempted 
 as you were? I trust I am a Christian." 
 
 ' ' I know it I know it ! and you have been kind 
 to me all along. If I had had your help during 
 these years, I believe I should n't liave gone so far 
 wrong as I did." 
 
 "Well, come now, we 've said enough about 
 this." And Mr. Hildreth laid his hand upon Allen's 
 head, as if he were a child, instead of a man: "You 
 are not to fret yourself sick again ; we understand 
 each other, and there is no use in calling up the past; 
 we '11 just shut it out from this on." 
 
 "But you would n't have me forget it all, would 
 you?" asked Allen, looking up at last, with grateful 
 eyes. 
 
 "No danger of that; but we '11 try to help you
 
 332 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 to a new life much better than the old one, we hope. 
 You Ve trusted to us, and you shall never be sorry 
 for that part, at any rate." 
 
 Allen tried to murmur his thanks for all these 
 kind words, very humbly, and with a voice full of 
 emotion. 
 
 After a few moments, he said : 
 
 "I shall always be a burden to you; that 's an- 
 other of my punishments, I suppose. If I could 
 only do something to earn a living, instead of de- 
 pending on you and Helen!" 
 
 Mr. Hildreth looked at his brother, without re- 
 plying, for a moment, and then turned his eyes to- 
 ward the fire, as if in deep thought. Presently he 
 said : 
 
 "You must not allow that to trouble you; when 
 we feel that you are a burden, it will be soon enough 
 for you to begin fretting. Of course, you will be 
 more contented if you could be employed ; I have 
 considerable trouble sometimes to get a competent 
 person to do my copying; I would as soon pay you 
 as any one, when you are able to do it." 
 
 "O, I am sure I could be of some service if you 
 will only give me the chance, and I can not bear to 
 be entirely dependent." 
 
 "I wonder I did not think of it before," said 
 Mr. Hildreth, kindly. ' ' As soon as you feel that 
 you are able I will bring some home, and you can 
 do it here. It will be more agreeable probably." 
 
 "I think I could do a little to-day, if you are 
 willing to try me," and Howard's face lighted up at 
 the thought of going to work.
 
 SAVED AS BY FIRE. 333 
 
 ' ' Very well, that settles it. I will bring some 
 down at noon ; but remember you must go slowly at 
 first, until you become a little stronger; we can't 
 have you overdoing yourself; when I find you at 
 that I shall withdraw my patronage." 
 
 And so it was settled that, so far as his strength 
 would permit, Allen should act as copyist for his 
 brother, and by this means he was made to feel that 
 he was not entirely a burden. 
 
 The past was dropped. Never by word or sign 
 did Mr. or Mrs. Hildreth refer to it, and when, by 
 and, by, he was enabled by faith to come into the 
 new life of a believer in Christ, he could better un- 
 derstand the spirit of love that had made them so 
 gentle with the wanderer. 
 
 Time rolled on, and Allen had come to enjoy his 
 home and his sister's family. The discipline he had 
 received had done him good, and six years of expe- 
 rience and pure living had removed most of the 
 marks of sin from his face. One thing which puz- 
 zled his sister was his apparent contentment with 
 his lot. 
 
 One day, when one of his little nieces was engaged 
 in a childish romp, she asked, with evident regret : 
 
 "O Uncle Allen, don't you wish you could 
 walk?" 
 
 He looked up at his sister with a queer smile on 
 his face, and then at the little questioner, with a 
 shake of the head: "I don't know, little one. I 
 guess I am better off as I am." 
 
 When the child had left the room, he said : "You 
 look as if you doubted my sincerity, Helen."
 
 334 STORIES OF HOME AND HOME FOLKS. 
 
 "No, I don't doubt you; but I don't think I 
 understand you very well." 
 
 "Suppose this had not come to me, and I had 
 succeeded in my plans, then I should, very likely, 
 have gone on in crime until I had become a hardened 
 criminal. God knew what was best for me, and 
 placed me where I had time to think." 
 
 "But you are stronger now, and if you were 
 physically well, you would be strong enough morally 
 to resist temptation." 
 
 "I don't know; perhaps so, perhaps not. I 
 should be afraid to risk it. I may be a coward, but 
 I feel so safe here in your quiet, Christian home, that 
 I doubt whether I should care to face the world 
 again, even if I could. John has taken away one of 
 my trials by giving me work. I am not entirely 
 useless, and if God sees fit to keep me here the rest 
 of my days, I am content. It has been an awful dis- 
 cipline, but some way I can not help being grateful 
 for it. I am a cripple, but he has saved my soul, 
 even though saved as by fire." 
 
 Years have passed, a*id Allen Howard, leaning on 
 God's promises, is growing nearer and nearer to a 
 perfect Christian manhood. His chastening has made 
 him humble and his helplessness has taught him 
 faith, not only in God, but in man. Though he went 
 astray, the Shepherd sought him and brought him 
 back; though he sinned, he repented, and was for- 
 given, and can say, "It is good for me that I have 
 been afflicted, for now have I kept thy law.".