FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
"In the way that he shall choose,
God will teach us;
Not a lesson we shall lose—
All shall reach us."
IT was with a feeling of wonder and reverence that Priscilla Warner
entered her father's study.
The room was almost dark, though the parting rays of light lingered
longer there than in the rooms at the other part of the house. Dr.
Warner still sat, by the window, with an open book before him.
As the girl entered, he rose and greeted her gently, nay even
courteously.
Priscilla noted the change the last few days had wrought in his
appearance: his hair was grayer, his tall figure more bent than of
yore, and when he spoke there was a tremble in his voice strangely
unlike that of former times. Fain would the impulsive girl have
thrown herself into his arms and tried to comfort him, as a daughter
might have done; but the habit of years held her back, and she only
stood before him quietly and respectfully, forcing back the emotions
that filled her heart, knowing how her father dreaded what he called
"women's scenes."
"You wished to speak to me, father," she said at last, breaking a
silence which was becoming painful.
"Ah, yes," he said, raising his head; for he had resumed his reading,
and apparently become oblivious of her presence. "True, I sent for you
to tell you the arrangements I have made."
Then, as he looked at the girl, he said suddenly, "How old are you, my
daughter?"
"Fifteen," she answered; "almost a woman now."
He sighed. "True, true, and, one would have said, doubly needing a
mother's care. But we must not question the Creator's wisdom. 'His ways
are not our ways, neither are his thoughts our thoughts.' 'His will
be done.' And since, for his own wise purposes, he has thought fit to
remove from you a loving mother—'truly a woman one in a thousand'—just
at the time of life when you, as it seems to us, most needed her care,
I have thought it necessary to get some one to superintend you and the
household. And I am glad to say your cousin, Miss Vernon, has consented
to remain with us for some time at least, and carry on your education
and that of the younger children."
A flash of contempt passed over the girl's face as her father spoke
these words, but she only said, "Yes, father, so I expected."
The tone of her voice sounded rebellious, and Dr. Warner said more
decidedly, "I need not say, Priscilla, that I expect you all to show
her the greatest respect, remembering that she is giving up her
own ease and comfort for our sakes. Of your studies we will speak
another day. You are not specially clever, Priscilla, but you are
well advanced, and know nearly enough for a woman, I daresay. Go on
in the meantime as you have been doing. And be kind to your brothers,
Priscilla; they are fine boys, with splendid talents, and please God
will turn out great men and an honour to their country. Lewis specially
is a brilliant scholar, and has made wonderful progress in mathematics
lately; and he is a good boy, too, although his mother seemed latterly
afraid of his being easily led by companions. But then even the best
of women—and she was one of them—can never be good judges of boys,
at least of such a talented one as Lewis. Austin also, though not so
clever as his brother, is steady, and will do well."
At these words Priscilla could keep silence no longer. "Austin not so
clever, father! Why, he is more so than Lewis, and often helps him with
the most difficult problems. Oh, it is Austin, and not Lewis, that will
be the great man."
Dr. Warner looked up amazed at his daughter's vehemence, but shook his
head. "No, no, Priscilla; Austin is not 'fit to hold a candle' to his
brother. But what can a girl like you know about mathematical problems?
No doubt both boys help each other, but the real helper, I fancy, is
Lewis. Girls cannot understand these things."
It was in Priscilla's heart to tell that the real helper was herself.
It was to her that Austin came in his difficulties; and when they had
together worked out the problems, he helped Lewis.
A long silence followed this conversation.
Dr. Warner had resumed his book, and still Priscilla remained, awaiting
further orders. But her father gave no sign; apparently he had
forgotten that she was in the room.
At last she summoned courage to speak again.
"Have you no further orders to give me?" she said.
"Oh, yes," he replied, a shade of pain crossing his face as he did so.
"About the babe. It must be baptized, and soon, but not in church. It
is not a strong infant, so Mr. Lascelles says he will baptize it here.
But its name, my daughter—what shall we call her?"
"Mary," said Priscilla. It was her mother's name, and therefore very
dear to her.
But her father shook his head.
"No, no, not that name. My lips would refuse to utter it. Let me think.
Scripture names are suitable for girls, and this—alas!—is another
maid-child. Stay, we will call her Ruth. I like the character of Ruth.
A true woman she was, affectionate and loving; knew her duty, and did
it, without much talking either. Yes, the infant shall be called Ruth."
"Now about godmothers and a godfather. Let me see. I wonder if Miss
Vernon would be one? We will ask her. And the other? We might get—" But
ere he could finish his sentence, Priscilla interrupted him.
"Father, if you have no objection, I would like to be one of my little
sister's godmothers."
"You!" The exclamation was not complimentary to her, and the girl was
stung by it.
"Yes, father," she said, "though I am 'only a girl,' still I can surely
take charge of my little sister as well as Miss Vernon."
"Take charge! Yes, my daughter. No doubt you can do that; but this is
not merely a matter of taking charge, it relates to higher things—to
train her in the knowledge of God. Can you do that, Priscilla?"
The girl's eyes lowered. "I will try," she said, "God helping me."
"Well," was the reply, "if you desire it, I will not say no. I mean to
ask Harry Lascelles to be the godfather."
"Harry Lascelles, father! Do you think he will consent? He is so little
at home; and now he is on the eve of setting off for a voyage of some
years."
"I know; but I believe he will consent. And though young Dr. Lascelles
is not as gifted as my own sons, he has good common sense and high
principles, and I will be glad to give my poor motherless babe such
a godfather. I expect the child will be baptized between services on
Sunday first. See that everything is ready for the ordinance—or wait,
I'll tell Miss Vernon about it. You can go now. Good evening, my
daughter. God bless you;" and as he spoke he laid his hand gently on
her head.
Something in the touch overcame the girl, and, unmindful of her
father's dread of "scenes," she sobbed aloud, "O father, father! Don't
send me away; let me stay beside you, and comfort you. And oh, father,
love me; I have no one to care for me now."
Never had Dr. Warner felt more perplexed; no problem was so difficult
for him to solve as this of a "girl's mood," as he termed it. What to
do or to say he knew not. His wife had never acted thus.
He raised the sobbing girl, who had thrown herself impulsively at his
feet, and soothed her as one would a fretful child. "Love you? Of
course I do. And your brothers, Priscilla? You have their love surely.
Only you know it is not my way to make a fuss. I never did, even with
your mother; and she had too much sense to expect it. Women, Priscilla,
are naturally impulsive; and it is a great thing when they learn to
control themselves. No true woman gives such way to her emotions as you
are doing now, my poor child."
At these words the girl freed herself from her father's arms and stood
upright, once more the apparently cold, unimpulsive girl she so often
seemed to be. She saw now how hopeless it was to get nearer to her
father's heart.
"Forgive me," she said. "I will try and do as you wish; and if I cannot
be a comfort to you, will try at least not to be a burden."
And without saying another word, she left the room.
For a moment her father stood lost in thought. "Strange child," he
said. "I wonder what she meant? How could she comfort me? Girls are
so difficult to understand; and yet I would fain do my duty by her,
poor child! And she has a fine face, too, and splendid head. Her brow
reminds me more of my grandfather's than any of the boys do, and he was
one of the greatest mathematicians of his day. Strange, is it not?"
Then ringing the bell for a lamp, he resumed his studies, and Priscilla
was forgotten. She was "only a girl."