Year's caller's, and, between times, talking about Hester and her
naughtiness.
"I didn't think the child was untruthful," said Cora, "I always knew
she was a spunky little piece, but I must say I am surprised at her
telling so many falsehoods, and insisting on them in the way she has."
"So am I," said Mrs. Denton. "If there were any other possible way of
accounting for it, I should think the child really didn't know how it
happened; she is so persistent in her words!"
Then all three ladies agreed that of course she must have done it;
there was simply no other way of accounting for it.
"There is that game, Cora," said Miss Emeline, in one of the pauses,
"spread over the table yet, just as you had it last night."
"I know it," said Miss Cora. "I hadn't energy enough to put it away;
stupid thing! I never did get so weary of anything as I was of that
last night; I believe I will hide those cards. I think Author's Game is
very dull anyway."
And she sauntered toward the little table where the cards were strewn
in confusion, and taking a seat began slowly to gather them up, reading
lines from one and another, and talking about them with her sister.
When she arose, there were plainly to be seen on her handsome new suit
of bottle-green, large bright drops of the same ink that had ruined
her blue silk. Just imagine the exclamations, and the dismay, and the
rushing for water and sponge to try to repair the mischief, and the
sudden jerking open of the drawer of that little card-table, which act
brought to view a small phial of ink lying on its side; from the puddle
in the drawer, drops were slowly oozing, dropping now on the carpet.
[Illustration]
"Whew!" This was the exclamation of Mrs. Denton's son Willis, who had
just banged the hall door, and rushed into the parlor, stopping in
astonishment over the sight before him.
"That's me, to a dot," he said frankly, as he took in the picture.
"Mother, if you are looking about for the fellow to punish, here he is.
I was teasing that dumpling of a Hester, last night, and I ran away
with the ink she was using, and set it in this drawer. As to who turned
it upside down, I don't know. I'm sure I set it in all right. Is the
dress spoiled, Cora? I'm awful sorry."
I think you will almost forgive Cora for her tears and sharp words of
the night before, when I tell you that the first words she said, were:
"That poor child up-stairs! Mamma, is it too late for her to go?"
Considering the fact that this was the second pretty dress spoiled by
the ink, I think Cora did very well.
"I hope not;" said Mrs. Denton, looking at the little clock on the
mantel, and laying down the sponge.
"Who would have imagined that the dress could have been inked in any
other way!"
"What's all that?" Willis asked, but his mother had gone up-stairs.
Poor little Hester! She was on her knees again; this time her prayer
could be plainly heard through the thin partition.
"Oh, dear Jesus, if you only would make a way for them to find out it
wasn't me, and let me go to the party! I don't see how you can do it,
but the verse said: 'Be not afraid, only believe;' and I know you can
do anything, and if you only would please to; I can't think of a way
for them to find out, but I know you could make a way."
Just at that moment Mrs. Denton pushed open the door.
"We have found out, Hester," she said, trying to speak in her natural
tone. "You had nothing to do with inking the dress; we are very sorry
that you have had such an unhappy time, and glad to find that you told
the truth; now, if you hurry as fast as you can, I think there will be
time for you to get to the party."
"Mamma," sounded Cora's voice as she came up the stairs, "Mrs. Neilson
has sent her carriage; the driver said it was such a long walk from
here, she told him to call on his way back, and he will wait for
Hester; let me help her."
How fast the nimble fingers flew over Hester's hair, tying it with some
bright ribbons of Miss Cora's own! The dress and shoes were buttoned,
and coat and hood hurried on almost as fast as I can tell the story,
and still in such bewilderment that she hardly understood who she
was, Hester flew down-stairs and was seated in Mrs. Neilson's elegant
carriage, tucked in like a lady among gay robes.
"And how did they find out their mistake, dear?"
Mrs. Neilson asked the question very gently as she stooped and kissed
Hester's check. She was very fond of Hester, and her eyes had been
full of tears while the sad little story of trouble and temptation and
victory had been told her by Hester's own lips, for the child decided
that she would like to have Mrs. Neilson know what made her so very
late. So she had lingered to talk, while the others played.
[Illustration: WILLIS STOPPED IN ASTONISHMENT.]
"I don't know, ma'am," said Hester, after a minute's thought, during
which time she remembered that no one had explained that to her. "I
don't know, ma'am, unless God told them. I don't see how anybody else
could."
————————————
[Illustration: SIDE BY SIDE]
SIDE BY SIDE.
[PART III.]
HE MAKETH THE STORM A CALM, SO THAT THE WAVES THEREOF ARE STILL.
FOR THIS PURPOSE THE SON OF GOD WAS MANIFESTED, THAT HE MIGHT DESTROY
THE WORKS OF THE DEVIL.
BE NOT AFRAID, ONLY BELIEVE.
HE HATH SENT ME TO BIND UP THE BROKEN-HEARTED, TO PROCLAIM LIBERTY TO
THE CAPTIVES.
"SHE doesn't know what she is saying," said Mrs. Harrison, and she
turned away with a sigh that came from her very heart. On the bed lay
Ethol, all her beautiful curls cut off, her face purple with fever, and
her eyes unnaturally bright.
"Yes, I do know, mamma, and I want her very much; she is in our class
in Sunday-school, and I want to ask something. Send for her, mamma,
right away."
"But my darling child, the doctor said you must be kept very still, and
see no one, and try to sleep."
"I have tried, mamma, with all my might; it seems to me as though I had
tried for a hundred years, and every minute I am wider awake. I want to
see Sarah—Sarah Lambert."
You have discovered before this that Ethol was sick; so sick that
Doctor Everett, with a very grave face, had told her father and mother
only that morning, that he feared she could not get well.
"You see," he said, "it would really be better if she were quite out of
her head. As it is, she is just delirious enough to have vague ideas
of what is going on, and to be troubled, and she gets no rest day
nor night. But we will do all we can. Don't let her be worried about
anything, and don't let any one see her; and try all you can to get her
to sleep."
And here she was, an hour afterwards, insisting on having Sarah Lambert
sent for! Her mother did not know what to do. She only knew Sarah as a
little girl who wore the same ugly calico to school day after day, and
very ragged shoes, and lived over Mr. Dunlap's stable. So much she had
heard from Ethol. The very fact that Ethol wanted to see her, showed
that she did not know what she was about.
Now, what was the mother to do? Here were the doctor's orders: "Don't
let her see anybody," and "Don't let her be worried about anything."
One of them must be disobeyed; they ran across each other. It ended in
a message being sent to school building No. 34 for Sarah Lambert to
call at Mr. Harrison's at once.
[Illustration: "HE MAKETH THE STORM."]
Then Ethol frightened her mother still more by urging that she be left
quite alone with Sarah. She was so eager, and her fever rose so much
higher while she urged, that Mrs. Harrison gave frightened consent, and
then went out and cried, to think of what she had done.
"Little girl," she said to Sarah, "do you know she is very, very sick,
and there is great danger that you will make her worse? You must come
away just as soon as she will let you, and don't talk to her any more
than you can help, and don't for anything in the world, let her know
how sick she is."
Then Sarah went into the pretty room, and the first words that Ethol
said to her were:
"Do they think I am going to die?"
Now the truth was that Sarah Lambert had learned to do one thing well,
and that was, to speak the truth: she always gave strictly honest
answers in school; some of the girls laughed at her, but everybody
believed her. A memory of this may have been running through Ethol's
sick little brain, when she insisted on having her sent for.
"I guess they think so," said Sarah, gravely, "but I don't."
There was something so quietly earnest in this answer, that Ethol could
not help thinking about the last, instead of the first.
"Why don't you?" she asked.
"Because I've been telling Him all about you; he can cure you so
easy—just like he did the little girl. She was twelve years old. They
laughed at him because he said she was only asleep; she was dead, you
know, but he waked her up. He can cure people after they are dead, and
of course he can before; and I told him about you, just as her father
did about her, and asked him to come and lay his hand on you, and he
said to me 'Be not afraid, only believe.' So now I do believe."
"I don't understand you," said Ethol, her eyes seeming to grow larger;
"you are talking about Jesus, I know, but how 'could' he say that to
you?"
"Whispered it; just like his ear was close down to mine. I heard him; I
often hear him; he's chosen me, you know. Don't you remember that time
I asked you if you was chosen?"
"Yes," said Ethol, gravely, "I remember. But I'm not a chosen one."
"I guess you are. I've asked him about you lots of times. He wants you
to belong, and he's going to make you well, so you can. You must 'Be
not afraid, only believe.'"
"Believe what?" said Ethol.
"Everything he says. I learn new things all the time. I didn't know
much of anything about him when I went to the Sunday-school; you got me
to go, you know. I told him that, too. There! I forgot I wasn't to talk
to you; you are to go to sleep."
"I can't go to sleep," said Ethol; "I've tried for days and days, and I
know mamma thinks I am going to die; and oh, Sarah, I'm afraid to die!"
"You must 'Be not afraid, only believe,'" said Sarah again. "That is
what he said to his disciples when he was on his way to cure the sick
girl; that is what he said to me. He is on his way to cure you now, and
I guess he wants you to sleep so he can. Look here, shut your eyes, and
I'll tell you the words on my card, over and over, and when I have said
them ten times, you must be asleep."
What strange power had the grave little voice over Ethol's throbbing
veins? She began in a low, steady tone:
"'He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.'
'For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy
the works of the devil.'
'Be not afraid, only believe.'
'He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty
to the captive.'"
Then, without the slightest pause, the low steady voice began again:
"'He maketh the storm a calm—'"
Mrs. Harrison had promised her little daughter that she should not be
interrupted while talking with Sarah Lambert, but at last the poor
mother grew so frightened over the stillness, that she opened the door.
But Sarah shook her head, and put her finger on her lip, and went on in
the same low tone:
"'He maketh the storm a calm—'"
And Ethol was asleep.
[Illustration]