"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home," carolled Winnie, as she descended the stairs the next morning, feeling happy and contented, and as if the world were a pleasant place in which to live and love and to succeed in being good. She felt at peace with everybody, and had such a sense of security that she imagined her giants all conquered, and saw in rosy hues a future of beautiful and pleasant right-doing.
What was her surprise when she entered the dining-room, expecting to find the usual tempting breakfast on the table, to see not the slightest signs of it, and to find the room unoccupied except by little Ralph, who was sitting in front of the empty grate in his night-clothes; and a very cross little boy Winnie soon found him to be, for he set up a howl the moment he saw her.
"'Innie, I 'ants to be d'essed, and it's ugly izout any fire, and I 'ants my b'eakast."
"Whatever is the matter?" said Winnie. But she received no answer except the whining refrain, "I 'ants my b'eakast," until she began to feel so irritated that she would have liked to shake the child.
This, however, she did not do, simply because she did not dare. But instead of attempting to soothe him, she went into the kitchen to find out from Norah the reason for this unusual state of affairs. Instead of Norah, she found her mother heating water and making mustard plasters, with an anxious look on her face.
"What is the matter, mamma?" asked Winnie; "and where are papa and Jack?"
"They had important business at the store and couldn't wait, but will take breakfast downtown. Norah was taken very sick in the night, but she said nothing about it, and came down as usual this morning to get breakfast, and I found her in a dead faint on the kitchen floor. Your father and I got her upstairs between us, and Jack went for the doctor. He says it is nothing serious, but that Norah will have to keep still for two or three days. Help me carry these things to Norah's room, and then you will have to come downstairs and get some breakfast for us."
Winnie took the pail of water which her mother handed to her, and started upstairs, feeling a strange sense of resentment against Norah, as if she were to blame for this unpleasant condition of affairs.
When they reached Norah's room, her mother said, "Put down the pail, Winnie, and make haste downstairs and see if you can't get things into some kind of order; it's getting very late."
Winnie put the water down so hurriedly that it splashed over the floor. Then she went out, but instead of hurrying, went down clinging to the balusters as if she could not and would not make any exertion.
When she opened the dining-room door Ralph said: "I sink Norah's mean to det sick; she dust did it a-purpose, so Ralph touldn't have any b'eakast."
"Why, Ralph," said Winnie, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Of course it's no fun for Norah to be sick." But as she spoke to Ralph, her conscience reproached her, for she knew in her heart that she had had the same feeling, if not the same thought. This startled her, as if she had suddenly had a mirror held up before her mind, and she spoke to the little boy more pleasantly, telling him to come into the kitchen with her and watch her make the coffee and cook some ham and eggs for breakfast.
But although aware that her conscience was speaking to her, Winnie had not in the least succeeded in overcoming her irritable feelings. She had made plans for such a pleasant day! She had intended to practice faithfully, and get through all her little duties early in the afternoon, so that she could take Ralph through market—something that she particularly liked to do; it was always so exciting to her to see the people jostling each other, to hear them haggling over the price of something, to see the strange types and characters, and to imagine the different motives which brought these different people together. Besides, she had been saving her money to surprise her mother with a pot of English violets from the flower market, which would be sure to be particularly lovely this afternoon, for the sun shone out brightly, giving promise of an unusually warm day for March.
"How could people do their duty, if they never knew what it was going to be?" she mused, as she measured out the coffee and put it into the filter. But as she went to turn the water over it, she remembered that her mother had emptied the hot water from the kettle into the pail.
"I should think mamma might have taken the water out of the tank for Norah!" she said, half aloud, although she knew very well that the water in the tank was scarcely warm, as she proceeded to fill the kettle.
She poked the fire viciously, feeling as if here she could give her impatience some vent.
The ham, fortunately, Norah had sliced the evening before, otherwise in her present state of irritation Winnie would certainly have cut her fingers.
Now, when Winnie chose, she could be a very nice little housekeeper; but this morning, as may well be imagined, everything went wrong, as she said, never thinking that perhaps her own impatience might be at fault. She burnt the ham, the eggs did not break open nicely, she cut her finger in slicing the bread, and altogether it took her so long to get breakfast that poor little Ralph, still running about in his night-clothes, was, as he expressed it, "starved 'mos' to death."
Mrs. Burton came down before Winnie had finished setting the table, and a glance at the little girl's flushed face was sufficient to tell the observant mother the true state of affairs. As usual in such cases, however, she said nothing, but called Ralph and took him upstairs to be dressed, telling Winnie that she would be down in ten minutes for breakfast.
When they came down, Mrs. Burton said:
"This morning we will not say our verses till after breakfast, as I am sure we are all of us too hungry to receive any benefit from them now;" and she proceeded to pour the coffee. Then Winnie saw that she had forgotten the cream and jumped up to get it.
"Your coffee is very nice, Winnie," said her mother.
"Oh, mamma, I didn't think anything would be nice! I had such a time! The fire wouldn't burn, and I burnt my fingers and afterward cut them, and everything was horrid generally."
"I had a defful time gene'lly, too," said Ralph. "I was so hung'y I toudn't wait, and 'Innie 'ouldn't div me a tracker, and said I'se a bodder. Is I a bodder, mamma?"
"Not when you're a good boy, my pet. Sister doesn't always think so, either; but you see, this morning she had so much to do."
"Did Norah det sick so 'Innie have to 'ork so hard? Poor 'Innie!" And the little fellow stroked Winnie's hand, while she scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry.
Altogether it was quite an unusual breakfast. Ralph ate three eggs, and more bread and butter than he had ever been known to eat before; and Winnie felt her own impatience dying away to some extent, as her hunger diminished, although she had not realized before that she was hungry.
After breakfast Mrs. Burton gave her text, and then called upon Winnie for hers. Up to that moment Winnie's text had entirely left her mind, and she recited it with a feeling of shame as she remembered the contrast between her morning conduct and the somewhat puffed-up feeling with which she had selected it: "He that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city."
"Perhaps only the One above knows how hard it is for people to govern their own spirits. The temptation to yield to self is so strong that it sometimes seems as if there is nothing that will conquer it," commented Mrs. Burton.
"But mamma, everybody says, 'Do the duty that lies nearest thee.' How are we to do this, when we never know what is going to happen from one day to another? This morning I thought I was going to get my music lesson, and now how can I do that?"
"That is where we all make mistakes, Winnifred. We lay our plans, and are annoyed and vexed when something occurs to change them. We are like soldiers placed on the field of battle. Some of us would like an easy place; some would rather stay behind and guard the rear; others, in spite of danger, wish to press forward where 'glory waits them.' But we cannot choose either our own places or the attending circumstances. All we can do is to fall to 'with might and main.' God will take care of the ordinary duties, but there are some things which brook no delay. Do we not know how the Savior turned away from the chosen way to heal the sick or comfort the afflicted? But I think that my present duty is to cut my sermon short, for both you and I will have a great deal to do to-day. I will attend to things upstairs, and will be down to do the baking by the time you are through the work here."
So saying, Mrs. Burton rose from the table and left the room. Winnie still felt a sense of disappointment, but the little sermon, arising, as it did, from the text she herself had selected, had been good for her, and she went to work cheerfully and systematically, and the difficulties which an hour ago had seemed so great, all disappeared.
Ralph, too—who was so unlike most children of his age as not to be fond of doing anything that appeared in the least like work—seemed animated by the spirit of the occasion, and trotted back and forth between the kitchen and dining-room carrying a plate or a cup and saucer, and feeling that he was helping greatly.
As for Winnie, she had none of the feeling of some girls who are ashamed to be seen doing housework, for her mother had taught her, both by word and example, the folly and sinfulness of such a notion, and that it is the worker who degrades the work instead of the opposite; and as a very little girl, Winnie had learned Herbert's fine lines:
Now that she was working cheerfully, she even found a pleasure in dish-washing, as who should not, given plenty of hot water, clean towels, a pleasant kitchen with the sun shining in, and a little cherub of a brother chattering on with his cunning tongue, which finds so much difficulty in pronouncing the consonants?
So, when Mrs. Burton returned to the kitchen, everything was in fine order, and a bright fire had prepared the oven to do its share in the Saturday baking.
When noon came, Winnie really felt that she had had a pleasant morning, although it had been spent in beating eggs and grating lemons; besides, she had for once had her mother all to herself, and she sat down to the lunch she had prepared feeling quite happy.
She did not get an opportunity to leave the house all that day, except to do two or three errands in the neighborhood. She took Norah's toast and tea up to her, and spent the greater part of the afternoon in her room, trying to make amends for the morning's impatience by bathing the sick girl's head, changing her pillows, and moistening her parched lips.
A few days after the events narrated in the last chapter, a bright, sunshiny morning ushered in Ralph's fourth birthday anniversary, and a fine time he had receiving, in the first place, four little love taps and then four kisses from each member of the family in turn.
Norah had entirely recovered from her illness, and had baked a cake especially for him, lighted by four wax candles, which was placed in front of Ralph's plate at breakfast time. His father gave him that toy most delightful to the average boy—a mechanical engine. Jack's gift was a basket of fruit, his mother's a humming top, and Winnie's a little autograph album, in which she had copied the following verse, written by Aunt Kitty:
Ralph was much pleased at having a little book all his own, with a verse in it made on purpose for him, and he had Winnie read it over and over, until presently he could say it himself.
But the crowning gift of all was sent to the house just as they were at dinner, labeled "From Grandma, Aunt Kitty and Uncle Fred." It was a handsome velocipede, just the right height to fit the little short legs. Strange to say, Ralph learned to manage it at once and rode right off on it, and when Aunt Kitty came to take him and Winnie to the park, it was with great difficulty that he could be prevailed upon to leave it behind. Finally they effected a compromise by allowing him to take his humming top, which he insisted on stopping to spin every few rods, much to the amusement of Aunt Kitty and the intense though unexpressed disgust and mortification of Winnie.
When they reached the park they sat down on one of the benches to rest awhile, and watched Ralph feed the swans with some crumbs from the cake which he had brought. After that Aunt Kitty took them to the pretty dock, and, having selected a boat, rowed them around the lake, to the great interest of some boys, who called out to each other, "Come and see a girl row a boat!"
Suddenly Ralph gave one of his tremendous howls, and Winnie grasped him just in time to keep him from pitching headlong into the water. He had dropped his top in the lake, and was trying in vain to seize it before it sank.
It was some time before he could be pacified, and it was not till his aunt had him sit beside her and take hold of one oar and help her row, that he could be comforted. The remainder of the boat ride was very pleasant, and they supposed the child had forgotten all about the loss of his top. When they went home to supper, however, and Mr. Burton asked: "Well, my little man, what have you done with your birthday?"
"I took it to the park and lost it in the lake, papa!" was the unexpected reply.
"Fortunate child!" exclaimed Aunt Kitty, catching Ralph up, and laughing. "How happy the rest of us would be if we could dispose of our yearly reminders of the lapse of time in the same way! We might fancy ourselves blessed with the gift of eternal youth if it were not for our birthdays."
But Ralph was not yet through celebrating. It was very seldom that Mrs. Burton allowed him to go out in the evening, but this was a special occasion, and as there was an opportunity for him to have a treat, she thought it only right for them to take advantage of it. There was to be a stereopticon entertainment at their Sunday-school, and they were all going. Ralph had not been told until supper was over, and even then, short as the time was until they should start out, he could hardly restrain his impatience.
They watched Ralph feed the swans.—See page 42.
Aunt Kitty took him on her lap and told him the story of Red Riding-Hood and the Fair One with the Golden Locks, and repeated "Mother Goose" jingles to him, and thus managed to keep him somewhat contented until time to start.
The walk through the lighted streets was a great pleasure to the little fellow. They went down Central Avenue, and, all the stores being lighted, it seemed to the child a different and mysterious world, more full of lights and people than the one he had been accustomed to.
"Now, Ralph," said his father, "we are going to see a great many beautiful things to-night. But this is different from most times; for generally, the more light we have, the better we can see; but these pictures can be seen better in the dark, and they put out all the lights. When that happens, some foolish boy or girl may cry, but I want my little man to keep hold of papa's hand and not say one word till he sees the beautiful pictures."
"I doesn't twy, papa!" said Ralph, indignantly. "I'se a big boy now—not a dreat big boy, but a little big boy. And I hasn't twied—oh, not for twenty-ten days, I dess."
"Very well," said papa, "be sure to remember that by and by."
When they reached the church it was still quite early, and the few people already there were laughing and chatting and having a pleasant time. This was very much to Ralph's disapproval. He did not attend church often, but when he did go, he had been talked to so much about keeping still, particularly by Winnie, that he thought it very naughty to make a noise in church, so now he said in a loud whisper:
"Papa, I sink dose people is very naughty, to talk out loud in church."
"But this isn't Sunday, Ralph," his father said; "you may talk, too, if you like."
Ralph was so surprised at this that he had nothing to say for some time.
Presently some of the girls of Winnie's Sunday-school class came and she went away with them, and Miss Benton stepped across the aisle to speak to some friends. This secession grieved Ralph very much. "I sink auntie's weal mean, to go and stay wiz dose ozzer people!" he said.
"Aunt Kitty will come back in a few moments, Ralph," said mamma.
By and by all the people stopped talking and took their seats, and Aunt Kitty came back and sat down beside Ralph. Two men entered and placed a big screen in the front part of the church. The organist began to play something slow and sweet and solemn, which made one think of things sad but not unhappy.
The lights were suddenly turned out, and Ralph had just time to draw his breath quickly, and seize his father's hand and snuggle up close to him, when a picture appeared on the screen, and his father lifted him up that he might see it better.
On the screen they saw a lonely, desolate mountain, which two persons were slowly ascending, one of them bearing an armful of wood. One represented an old man; the other was a young, slender boy. The organ was now giving forth minor strains, in queer, broken time, full of heartache.
The next picture showed Abraham binding Isaac on the altar, and the look of surprise and terror on the face of the boy was equalled only by the intense but submissive expression of sorrow on the face of the old man.
The organ was still sounding its sad tones, when the picture changed again, and this time the angel was staying Abraham's hand. And now the organ pealed forth tones of joy and gladness.
The next views thrown on the screen appeared to be scenes in Switzerland. These Ralph did not seem to be at all interested in, until they saw a representation of Lake Lucerne, showing some children rowing a boat. This reminded Ralph of the loss of his humming-top, and he said, quite loudly, "Do you sink, papa, that little boy lost his birfday, too?"
"If he did," said Aunt Kitty, "he will probably find another one to make up for its loss."
The next picture was that of Jacob's Dream; a tall ladder, reaching to the sky, with the bright-winged "angels ascending and descending on it," as the narrative so simply tells us. Jacob lay with his head on its stony pillow, a wondering but happy look on his face, and his arms outstretched as if he would fain seize the lovely vision.
The dreamy tones of Schumann's "Traumerie" stole upon the air, and changed from that, with skillful modulations, into a grand anthem, and the big chorus choir, which till now had been silent, burst into joyful but majestic strains: "The Lord reigneth; let the people tremble."
Ralph knew this picture quite well. He had seen it many times in the big family Bible, and it was always a favorite with him, and now he clapped his little hands. This was an unintentional signal, and there was such a round of applause that the whole thing was repeated.
The next picture showed Jacob wrestling with the angel; and in the following one, Jacob, kneeling, receives the desired blessing. Then came a series of comic pictures, which made everybody laugh. Then the words "Good-night" were thrown on the screen in immense letters, and it grew light in the church as suddenly as it had before grown dark, making everybody rub his eyes on account of the sudden glare.
The people all began to hurry out as if it were necessary to reach home without a moment's delay. Winnie soon joined her family, and in a short time the "Green Line" had taken them all home.
Ralph rubbed his sleepy eyes as he said his evening prayer, but was not too sleepy to thank God for his nice birthday.
"Mamma," asked Ernestine Alroy, "may I ask the girls to have their next meeting here and take tea with us?"
Mrs. Alroy looked at her daughter with some hesitation as she said: "Ernestine, you know I would like to please you, but have you sufficiently considered the matter? All of your friends are very comfortably situated, and it will be impossible for us to entertain them as they do you. Besides, I cannot be at home until after six, and it will make tea very late."
"I know all that, mamma, but I am sure I can make them have a pleasant time. I do not think we ought to be ashamed of being poor, when we think of the One who 'had not where to lay His head.' For your sake, poor mamma, I wish we had more money; but as for myself, I feel just as happy as if we were worth millions. I don't care a bit whether my friends have money or not, and I don't see why it should make any difference to anybody."
"My poor child!" said her mother, and she sighed as she remembered that at Ernestine's age she had never even seen apartments so poorly furnished as theirs, "you have much to learn; you will find that there are many people in the world to whom it will make a great deal of difference."
"Well, mamma, we don't care for the Madame Mucklegrands of the world, and Winnie Burton and all of her folks are as 'real folks' as any in Mrs. Whitney's book. Do let us have them!"
"Well, dear, I don't exactly like to have you accept hospitalities which we are not willing to return, and if you think you can make it pleasant for your friends, you shall do as you wish."
The next day, therefore, Ernestine told the four girls that her mother sent her compliments and would be much pleased to have them to tea on Friday evening. In the afternoon the girls all accepted, and Fannie said that if agreeable to Mrs. Alroy, her father would call for them at nine o'clock and see them home.
After school that day, as Fannie and Ernestine were walking down Court Street together, they met a little girl, dirty and uncombed, carrying a basket of soiled clothes. Two of the boys of their class, racing wildly down the street, boy-fashion, ran against the child, upset the basket, and the clothes, not being very tightly packed, fell out. There was quite a strong wind, and some of the napkins and handkerchiefs lying loose on top were caught up and sent blowing here, there and everywhere.
The boys ran on, totally indifferent, if not unconscious. The child, commencing to cry, gave chase to the wind-blown articles, and the basket rolled entirely over, and nearly every article fell out.
Fannie stood laughing, her sense of the ridiculous overcoming any pity she might have felt for the girl. Ernestine hesitated a moment. She was daintiness itself, and the sight of the soiled clothes, belonging to no one knew whom, was not an attractive one. But for three years she had been earnestly striving to follow the Golden Rule, so she righted the basket, picked up the soiled clothes, rolled them together more tightly, and replaced them in the basket by the time the child returned with the recaptured napkins. She also helped put these in, and with a few kind words sent the girl on her way far happier than she would have been if obliged to struggle with her burden alone.
Fannie had moved on some distance, much ashamed of being mixed up in such a scene to even so slight a degree, and feeling inclined to leave Ernestine entirely, for she knew that her mother would have characterized the whole affair as "plebeian," and she felt half angry with Ernestine.
Ernestine righted the basket.—See page 46.
When the latter rejoined her, she said with some irritation, "However could you touch those horrid, dirty clothes or go near that dirty child?"
"I didn't like to touch them," said Ernestine simply; "but Christ did a great many things he did not like to do."
"Well, you are a queer girl, Ernestine! I'm sure I can't make up my mind that it is my duty to be pleasant to every dirty little beggar who comes along. There might have been small-pox in those clothes!"
Ernestine smiled at that, but made no reply, and the two walked on in silence till they reached the corner where they separated.
Fannie went on, swinging her books by the strap, and thinking that dirt could not be so repulsive to Ernestine as to her; but if she could have seen Ernestine go straight to the kitchen sink the minute she reached home, before she stopped to touch anything, Fannie might have realized something of the self-restraint her friend had exercised in the matter. But few of us can be brought to believe that things we find unpleasant are often quite as unpleasant to other people.
Friday afternoon came, and five o'clock found the four girls entering a side yard in a pleasant if not an aristocratic neighborhood. They went up the stairs leading from a side hall, and were met at the top by Ernestine, who was holding open the door.
She led them into a tiny bedroom, not much larger than a closet, but scrupulously dainty and clean, from the white spread and pillows on the bed to the fresh towels hanging on the rack above the washstand.
Here she helped the girls remove their wraps, and then they went into the adjoining room, which was a pleasant surprise, particularly to Fannie. So pretty and pleasant and homelike it appeared that, at first, it almost seemed elegant, until one had time to observe that there was not an expensive article in the room. The floor was covered with a blue and white checked matting, the chairs and rockers were simply "cane," and the only piece of upholstered furniture was the lounge. But there were some engravings, plainly framed; hanging baskets at both of the windows; a window-box of lilies-of-the-valley, just beginning to bloom, and in the other window a similar box of mignonette, which filled the whole room with its delicate fragrance.
A bright fire blazed in the grate, and the four girls felt at home more quickly than they had done at either of the two places of their previous meetings, probably because Ernestine was their only hostess, her mother not yet having returned from the store.
A late magazine lay on the table, together with a copy of that charming story, "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and Mrs. Whitney's "We Girls" and "Real Folks." Winnie could not help picking them up to see what they were, and it turned out that all of the girls except Gretta had read them, so they immediately began talking about them.
"Mamma and papa and brother Jack took turns in reading 'Fauntleroy' aloud to us when it came out in the magazine," said Winnie, "and for a day or two in each month we hardly talked of anything else."
"I liked the scene of the dinner party best, when the little lord talked to the guests, but stayed close beside the pretty lady and paid her such cunning compliments," said Fannie.
"I enjoyed reading about him in the grocery store with Mr. Hobbs," said Miriam. "I can see them now; Hobbs was so funny! My sister said he was more of a child than the little hero of the story."
"I think I liked him best when he was with his grandfather," said Ernestine; "it was lovely of him to think that wicked old man was so good."
"My mother says that every child in the land, and particularly every boy, ought to read that story, if for no other reason than to learn what it is to be a real gentleman and a real lady. She says no depths of poverty could ever have made 'Dearest' and her son anything else."
"I was just about frantic," said Fannie, "when I began to be afraid he wasn't the heir after all. It seemed horrid to think that that rough woman's son should own those fine lands and the title, and I felt almost as glad when it turned out all right as if he had been one of my nearest friends."
"I wish I read more," said Gretta. "I do love my music; and if I didn't, I'd have to keep it up all the same. But I would like to read the book you are talking about."
"You may take it," said Ernestine, "and keep it just as long as you wish."
"Speaking of borrowing books," said Miriam, "reminds me that I did the most dreadful thing to-day. Miss Carter had lent me Mrs. Gaskel's 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' and I had just returned it yesterday, feeling very grateful, for I think it is nice in Miss Carter to take an interest in so many girls. I should think she would just get to hating us, for it is the same thing year in and year out, and most of us are so trying.
"But although I love her dearly, you know how angry she gets, and she was giving Josie Thompson such a lecture about there being no punctuation in her composition, and then she read a paragraph as it was punctuated—just 'like commas and periods shaken out of a pepper-box,' she said. The subject was 'Joan of Arc,' and Josie, as usual, had rather a mixed idea of her character, and what Miss Carter read sounded something like this:
"'Joan of Arc, was a poor, girl who heard a great many, ghost stories and these turned her head and she imagined, that, it would be a great deal more fun to lead soldiers. To battle in the war. With England than to be spending her time tending sheep? on the mountains she thought she would enjoy herself better.'
"That last was so much like Josie—who, as you know, is always talking about enjoying herself—that I could hardly keep in, and when Josie made a mouth at Miss Carter the minute her back was turned, three or four of us giggled out loud, and Miss Carter stopped lecturing Josie and turned her wrath on us.
"That was yesterday, but this morning the whole affair was still fresh in my memory, and three or four of the girls in Miss Brownlow's room happening to come about the same time that I did, I began to tell them about it. I began in a high key, a great deal worse than Miss Carter ever uses, although she does pitch her voice very high when she is vexed. I said:
"'Miss Thompson, I am surprised at you; in fact, I am more than surprised. It almost passes belief that a girl should begin to study punctuation almost as soon as her school life begins, as in our schools, and after six or seven years should not be able even to use a period, to say nothing of the more complicated marks; to know nothing, absolutely nothing, of her own language.'
"Here I interrupted myself to show them the kind of mouth Josie made, and of course they all laughed, for they know how her mouth and nose go up at every little thing. Then I went on.
"Miss Carter didn't see the mouth that Josie made, and she caught us laughing, and said, 'Can it be possible that there are girls in this class, girls of good rank and standing, and of moderately good behavior, who can laugh, yes, actually laugh, at the ignorance of one of their school-mates? Something is wrong, radically wrong,'—and here I made the gesture she always makes when she says 'radically wrong,' and—what do you think? There she stood, right behind me!"
"What did she do?" asked Fannie.
"Do? She didn't do anything, and I half thought she was smiling. But I felt as if I would like to sink through the floor, I was so mortified. And only yesterday I was walking down the street with her, talking to her as if I thought her my best friend! She'll think I'm a perfect hypocrite."
"Why don't you apologize?" asked Gretta.
"I can't go and apologize to someone for making fun of her as soon as her back is turned, can I? And I really didn't intend to make fun of Miss Carter, either; it was only that the whole affair seemed amusing to me."
"She probably understands, and does not think any more about it," said Ernestine. "But now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to go into the kitchen for a few minutes; or perhaps you'll come, too."
"Oh, we'd like to come, if we won't be in the way," said Fannie. So they all trooped into the kitchen.
What a tiny box of a place it was, to be sure! When all five of the girls were there, there was not room for anybody else. Fannie and Gretta squeezed close to each other on the box beside the window, Miriam sat on a chair in one corner, and Winnie stood in the doorway between the two rooms, watching Ernestine, and thinking how cross she had been only a week or two before because she had to do a little cooking in the morning, while Ernestine had to do it every day and go to school beside.
But Ernestine did everything so easily and pleasantly that it was a pleasure to watch her. She did her cooking on a little oil stove, and there seemed so little to be done—for Mrs. Alroy and Ernestine had prepared things the day before—that her young visitors could not feel as if it were a bit of trouble to entertain them. It was as nice as a play, too, to see her cut the potatoes in delicate, thin slices and drop them into the boiling fat, and see them come out delightfully crisp and brown.
Then the girls all followed her into the sitting-room, laughing and chattering as only girls can, while Ernestine set the table. The table linen was white and fine, and the cups and saucers were real old china, these being about the only things which Mrs. Alroy had saved from her past grandeur.
Everything was ready and on the table, except the food which was to be served hot, when Mrs. Alroy came in, looking tired and reserved. She disappeared for a few moments into the bedroom, and when she came out, seeming somewhat refreshed, they all sat down to the table.
To the surprise of the girls, Ernestine, in her simple, unaffected manner, asked a blessing on what was set before them. It seemed queer to them that if it were to be done at all, it should not be by Mrs. Alroy. But Ernestine's mother was not yet perfectly resigned to what had come upon her, and it was that, perhaps—yes, certainly—which made her burden so hard to bear; but at least she did not interfere with Ernestine in these matters.
The girls were hungry, and everything tasted delicious, from the sliced cold ham and the potatoes which they had seen Ernestine frying, to the dessert of ice-cream and cake.
When supper was over, the girls begged to be allowed to clear off the table, and Ernestine washed the dishes as they brought them out, while Winnie wiped them.
Mrs. Alroy sat down and glanced over the newspaper. Fannie watched her curiously, and privately came to the conclusion that she was the proudest woman she had ever seen. This conviction came to her with something of a shock, for she had heretofore supposed that pride and wealth and fine living belonged together. She furthermore came to the conclusion that while pride might be fine, it was not especially charming, for though Mrs. Alroy had been pleasant when the girls were presented to her, her manner had been only polite, not interested.
When the girls had finished washing and putting away the supper things, she roused herself and talked with them about their school and amusements, but as soon as Ernestine returned, excused herself and went into the little room and closed the door. Ernestine followed her, with a troubled look on her usually calm face. When she returned, she said:
"Mamma has a severe headache, and begs to be excused for awhile, but hopes to feel better before you go home."
"We were all to have a text or a verse to-night, weren't we?" asked Fannie. "The only thing I could find was our Golden Text for last Sunday, 'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.' I spoke to papa about it, and, although he is not very religious, he said he didn't believe there was any better way of remembering our Creator than by trying to do what was right, and he was glad to see that I was thinking about such things."
"Mamma says there are very few things said in the Bible about the dangers of delay," said Winnie, "but she gave me this one from Proverbs: 'Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.'"
"I couldn't find anything in the Bible," said Miriam, "but I found a poem by Adelaide Procter which I copied, thinking you might like to hear it all, as I scarcely knew which verse to select. I will read it to you:
"How much better we understand things than we did three months ago!" said Winnie. "I used to dream of the grand things I was going to do when I grew up." Then she added, blushing a little as she remembered her cross Saturday morning, "I do yet, sometimes, but I don't think I neglect quite so many things as I used to."
"I never had much chance either to neglect things or to dream," said Gretta, "for papa or mamma or my sister was always reminding me that it was time to do this or that or the other. But I am beginning now to think of some of my faults. I couldn't find anything for this afternoon, except the Memory Gem we learned in the First Reader. You know I don't read a great deal myself, and we all seem to have so much to do at our house; when it isn't something else, it's practice, practice, practice! Even this little verse I don't suppose I should have remembered if I hadn't heard the children reciting it at the 'Colony':