THE YOUNG WARRIOR MAIDS.
After the entertainment, things went on in their accustomed routine.
Winnie, Miriam, Gretta and Fannie became more intimate than ever, and
really tried, in spite of many discouragements, to conquer their bad
habits.
For a couple of weeks the little band of "Giant Killers" had had no
meetings, but on the second week after the Washington celebration, the
four girls received a pretty invitation from Winnifred's Aunt Kitty to
take tea with her on the following Friday, and to consider themselves
invited to hold their next meeting at her home, bidding them tell their
mothers that the hostess would see that they arrived home safe not
later than half-past nine. Also, inclosed under cover to Winnie, was an
invitation for Ernestine Alroy, to be delivered only in case the other
three girls were willing. Upon Winnie's showing this, Fannie was the
first to propose that not only should the invitation be delivered, but
that Ernestine should be invited to join their society.
The family of Winnie's grandmother was a small one, Mrs. Benton often
saying, with a sigh, that her children had all left her except Kitty and
Fred. Whereupon Kitty would take hold of her mother's hand and assure
her, in a serio-comic manner, that this daughter she would have ever
beside her, "to warn, to comfort, to command." Mrs. Benton was not
wealthy, but she had a comfortable income of her own, and as Fred
received a very good salary in one of the large railroad offices, they
always had means for the comforts of life and many of its luxuries. They
lived in a suite of rooms in one of the finest apartment houses of the
city.
The "Arlington" was a very large building, and as the girls were not
accustomed to such immense houses, they had arranged with Winnie that
they should all go together at five o'clock. Accordingly that hour found
them all standing in the vestibule together, to the manifest amusement
of the janitor when he answered Winnie's ring. As Mrs. Benton's
apartment was only one flight up, they did not take the elevator, but
Winnie ran lightly up the stairs, the others following more slowly.
She knocked at the door at the right of the hall, which was immediately
opened by Miss Benton, to whom Winnie introduced the other girls, who
more or less timidly put their hands into the outstretched one of this
pleasant young lady, but found their timidity vanish almost as if by
magic when they felt her warm, cordial clasp as she drew them into the
parlor.
And a very pretty parlor it was, with a quaint individuality of its
own--"just like Kitty Benton herself," as her friends were wont to say.
There were no two chairs alike, but they all agreed in one respect--that
of being exceedingly comfortable, from the high-backed willow to the low
chair upholstered in old gold and scarlet tapestry.
On the walls were five or six oil paintings--a couple of marines, and
the others bright, summer landscapes. There was one, which Miss Benton
had herself painted, entirely different from the others. A cloudy sky,
with dim, gray mountains in the distance. In the foreground a single
grave under a willow, but lying in such vivid sunlight, which came from
a break in the clouds, that it had almost a jubilant look for so sad
a subject, as most people would have deemed it. On a low shelf stood
a beautifully engraved Madonna, and on a table near was a portfolio of
fine etchings. About the room were bits of bric-a-brac of various kinds,
among them a piece of genuine old Wedgwood. On the upright piano stood a
tall vase of Easter lilies.
Miss Benton, having helped her young visitors to divest themselves of
their wraps, seated them close to the open fire, and then took down the
etchings to show them. These, however, proved a little beyond them, so
she took from the table a stereoscope and some views, every one of which
had been collected by her mother or herself during their various trips,
and about each one she told some incident, amusing or pathetic, so that
an hour had passed away almost before the girls knew it.
Fred had been requested by his sister to take his supper downtown,
as she felt that the girls would feel more at their ease without his
presence. When the bright-faced maid announced supper, Miss Benton took
Gretta by the hand, and said, as they all entered the dining-room, "'We
are seven,' and, I presume, if Wordsworth were here, he would write a
poem about us."
As the five friends took their places, they simultaneously burst into an
exclamation of delight. At each of their places was a bunch of flowers,
with a card on which was a pretty little painting in water-colors of a
young girl, with fair hair streaming over her shoulders, in full armor,
receiving from an angel a sword. Underneath were the words in old
English text, in scarlet and gold, "He that overcometh shall inherit all
things."
The cards were exactly alike, but the flowers were different. Miriam had
a glorious red rose, with buds and leaves; Gretta, garden daisies
and primroses; Fannie, scarlet geraniums, a calla lily and a wild
jack-in-the-pulpit; Ernestine, lilies of the valley; Winnie, ferns
and mignonette. Mrs. Benton lifted caressingly to her face a bunch of
English violets, and their hostess pinned on her bodice a cluster of
yellow rosebuds.
"Oh, Aunt Kitty, what a hunt you must have had among the florists and
markets for all these flowers!" said Winnie.
"And how well you have suited us all!" cried Miriam.
"What is this, Miss Benton?" asked Fannie, holding up the
jack-in-the-pulpit.
"That is a wild-flower," replied Miss Benton, giving the blossom its
name, "which was sent me from Tennessee this week; it does not bloom
quite so early here. If you will examine it and compare it with your
calla, you will see many points of resemblance; indeed, they are of the
same family, although the splendid Egyptian calla has all the advantages
of climate, water and sun, which make it the handsome thing it is. But
our little American Jack, all the same, lifts its head out of its green
pulpit and preaches to us of the eternal kinship of all things. Put your
geraniums in your button hole, and after tea I'll put your calla and its
country cousin in water for you to keep fresh till you go home."
"How did you know I was fond of lilies of the valley, Miss Benton?"
asked Ernestine. "It is my mother's favorite flower, too; she says they
used to grow in great clumps in the yard of her home when she was a
girl, and she never sees one without thinking of her childhood."
"Of course I couldn't know that, my dear; I only thought that you would
like them. Although I had never met any of you I have heard Winnifred
talk about you, and her little tongue sometimes gives me queer ideas,"
said Miss Benton, smiling at her niece with an air of good comradeship.
"Mother, let Winnie serve the chocolate, while I attend to this end of
the table. You see, girls, we only have the maid bring in the dishes
from the kitchen, for we like to wait on each other," she said, helping
them to chicken croquettes, cold ham, and delicious muffins, as Winnie
passed around the chocolate in dainty china cups.
How they all enjoyed that supper! They were just like girls in a book,
Miriam said. Everything seemed so different from ordinary occasions.
Even the orange jelly tasted so much better than at other times, because
of the orange baskets in which it was served. They sat at the table
a long time, for both Mrs. Benton and her daughter encouraged their
visitors to talk; and while they were eating their candy and nuts, they
played the game of rhymes and "yes and no."
Then Miss Kitty sent them into the parlor with her mother, excusing
herself and Winnie for a few moments. When they entered the parlor, they
found Mrs. Benton with her silk socks in her hands, knitting as rapidly
as she was talking. She was giving them an account of the old turkey
gobbler that used to chase her when she was a little girl, and they were
all laughing heartily.
This anecdote led to Miriam's giving an account of a goat which one of
her aunt's friends had presented to her little boy, and which was the
terror of the neighborhood.
"My aunt and I," said Miriam, "were making an afternoon visit at Mrs.
Kincaid's, and, as it was warm and pleasant, we were invited into the
yard to look at the flowers. My aunt was very enthusiastically admiring
a fine Yucca which, for a wonder, was in bloom, when the goat was seen
peering through a gap in the fence which divided the front from the back
yard.
"Mrs. Kincaid immediately took to her heels, and I was about to follow,
when Aunt Jennie said, 'Miriam, I am surprised that you should be afraid
of a goat. Even if he were to come near you, you would only have to
seize him by the horns; it is the easiest thing in the world to conquer
a goat.'
"By this time Mrs. Kincaid was safe in the house, tapping loudly on the
window, from which she was viewing the scene, for us to come in, and
'dancing crazy' (as the girls say about things), because we were still
outside.
"My aunt was walking in a leisurely and dignified manner toward the
house, holding her head a little higher than usual, and I was following
very meekly for me--for I hate to be thought a coward--when the goat
gave a sudden bound, broke another picket in the fence, and went
straight toward her with his head down, and his bob tail switching.
"Well, Aunt Jennie did turn and face him, and she really did take the
vicious little beast by the horns. But was he conquered? You wouldn't
have thought so, had you been there; he just raised himself on his hind
legs and shook himself loose. Aunt Jennie suddenly dropped her dignity,
and flew, rather than ran, toward the house, the goat after her, and
she just escaped him by Mrs. Kincaid's pulling her inside the door and
slamming it shut.
"As for me, I went through the hole in the fence to the back yard,
rushed pell-mell into the kitchen door, without stopping to knock, and
dropped into the nearest chair, where I sat and laughed till the tears
ran down my cheeks, to the astonishment of the kitchen girl and the
washerwoman, who were enjoying a cup of tea.
"I was wicked enough to laugh afterward, for Aunt Jennie did not lecture
on courage or dignity for a month after that, and I notice now that when
we pass a livery stable she keeps a quiet but effective lookout for 'the
horned monarch of the livery stable,' as I once heard him called."
"Well, I'm afraid of goats myself," said Miss Kitty, "and I think there
ought to be a law against their being allowed inside the city limits.
What with the small boy who torments the goat, and the goat which cannot
distinguish between his tormentor and any other member of the human
race, every passer-by is certain of being made ridiculous, if nothing
more serious occurs. But to change the subject, would you young
giant-killers like to hear a story that I have written for you?"
Of course they were delighted, and, the softly-shaded lamp having
been adjusted, and Mrs. Benton seated so that the light fell upon her
knitting, Miss Benton took her seat at the other side of the table, and
read the following allegory:
GIANT PROCRASTINATION.
Stretching off far as the eye can reach, lies a vast plain, intersected
by many roads of various widths, from the narrowest foot-path to those
wide enough for three or four vehicles to pass abreast. Pleasant roads
they seem to be, too; wild-flowers of brilliant hues grow along their
sides, birds of beautiful plumage twitter their varied notes, and pretty
little squirrels and rabbits dart here and there. But when the saunterer
along one of these by-paths plucks the blossoms, they fall to pieces
in his hands, and, on near approach, the birds circle for a few moments
about the head, and then fly away and are seen no more.
These by-ways continually lead into and cross one another, but all at
last meet in one broad road, and this is the road of "By and By," which
leads to the castle of "Never." This castle stands at the entrance to
a dark and gloomy forest, through which no path has ever been cut,
and which is so dense and wild that one draws back in fear, finding it
impossible not to think of it as inhabited by beasts and serpents and
insects as wild and poisonous as those which infest the South American
forests or the jungles of India.
At the right and left of the castle rise huge cliffs unscaled by mortal
foot during the lifetime of the present owner, and seldom attempted even
during the ages gone by, when his ancestors, in a more or less direct
line, held high orgies, while with demoniac laughter they tortured their
victims.
The present owner and occupant of the castle is a giant, so skilled in
the art of metamorphosis that he is constantly deceiving and deluding
his victims, each of whom he approaches in a different manner. With some
he wears an air of haughty though courteous dignity, and gives them fair
and sweet promises of granting their every desire as soon as his plans
are perfected and he is ready. With others, he puts on a smiling, joyous
look, points out to them the birds and flowers along the roadside,
and tells them that to-morrow all these pleasures shall be theirs. A
different face and garb for every deluded follower, who ever ends in
becoming his victim; for, just at the entrance to the castle, still
covered by the seemingly fair flowers, is a frightful morass, out of
which the wanderer is helped only by the giant himself, and taken by him
thence into the castle, from which there is no escape.
The dreadful Castle of Never! And yet, how fair it looks to those who
stand just outside its gates! Its battlemented towers, decorated with
flags and banners floating gayly in the air, its many windows, catching
and reflecting every ray of sunlight, its majestic proportions, make it
seem a dwelling much to be desired. And either because it is enchanted,
or from some strange property of the surrounding atmosphere, it often
appears to be raised high in the air, so that at a very great distance
it shows larger, if less distinct, than when viewed near by.
It is early morning. The sun himself has not yet risen, although his
approach is heralded by lovely green and rose tints on the eastern
horizon. The great Giant Procrastination lies stretched upon his huge
bed, dreaming uneasily, for he groans and starts many times, but still
sleeps on. The inside of the far-famed castle shows not so fair as the
outside. There are many things lying about on tables and chairs, or
tucked away under articles of larger furniture; some of them are pretty,
some elegant, but all unfinished.
The morning wind, rising as if it, too, had lain asleep during the
night, shrieks and whistles as if in wrath, or moans and sighs as though
in mortal anguish. And hush! What other sound is that which rises above
the roar of the wind and fills one's soul with terror? Alas! it is the
shrieks of despair from the prisoners in the dungeon, and one hears,
mingled with their groans, the dreadful words, "Too late! Too late!"
But who are these descending the heretofore unscaled cliff? And how
comes it that thus unguided they have escaped the dangers of the forest,
and that, now stealing upon their sleeping foe from the unguarded rear,
they are not dashed into pieces as they make the steep and terrible
descent? Ah! they have an invisible Guide, who goes before and smooths
every difficulty; and their feet are shod with a divine determination
which leads them securely over the most dangerous places.
And yet they move with caution. Clinging now to the bushes that grow
along the cliff, now stepping carefully on some jutting crag, they come
one by one. Now they have reached the bottom, and stop a moment to take
breath and consult as to the next movement. For behold! five little
maidens, scarcely in their teens, have come to give battle to one of the
strongest enemies of mankind, and to attack him in his own stronghold.
Brave as they are, however, and resolutely as they have nerved
themselves to the task ahead of them, they cannot repress a shudder as
they gaze upon the frowning mass before them. For, never dreaming of
attack in the rear, the giant's ancestors had taken no pains to make
that part of the castle beautiful or to endow it with the enchantment of
illusion, so all is dark and strong and terrible.
Regaining courage, the five young warriors kneel upon the rocky path and
ask their invisible Guide for succor and strength. They rise encouraged
and hopeful, and each assists the other to readjust her armor. Wonderful
armor! light to wear, but stronger than mailed steel.
They advance to the heavy door. It is all unguarded, and even stands
partly open, so that all their strength is saved to them for the combat.
One by one, and noiselessly, they climb the iron stairs, and, guided
by his snores, they find themselves at last in the presence of their
sleeping enemy.
If they can but strike now! One blow from either of their swords, and
he would lie slain before them. But alas! they hesitate for one short
moment, and in that brief space of time the wind bangs a heavy shutter
against the iron casement, and, at its fearful clang, the giant awakes
and rises to his feet. He stares about him for a moment, stupefied, but
there is no mistaking the fact that he is in the presence of an enemy;
for their armor, their uplifted swords, their resolute mien, all
proclaim their errand to be one of war. Then, gazing upon their
diminutive forms, he laughs a horrid, blood-curdling laugh, as he gloats
over the prospect that he will soon have five more victims to languish
in his dungeons.
He springs forward to seize the foremost of his youthful foes, but her
fear has vanished. Raising her shield for protection, she strikes
with her sword, and the giant receives a fearful gash in the hand
outstretched to grasp her, and starts back, howling with pain. The five
girls close around him at once, but so immense of stature is he, that
they soon perceive it will be impossible for them to reach a vital part
unless he can be thrown.
Fast and furious they rain the blows upon him, and not in vain. He
has no armor on, his usual weapons are beyond his reach, and he knows
instinctively that his usual powers of metamorphosis are useless. One
blow, at last, inflicts a ghastly wound in his ankle; he clutches at
the bed for support, but misses it, and falls, groaning heavily, at full
length on the floor, where, taken at a disadvantage, a sword is thrust
into his heart, and with horrid struggles he dies.
The maiden warriors embrace each other joyfully, and, kneeling together
in that moment of victory, give all the praise and glory to that
invisible Power which has enabled them, weak girls as they are, to
conquer.
But their work is not yet done. Taking the keys from under the pillow
of the dead monster, they pass down a winding staircase, until they find
themselves so far beneath the surface of the earth, that not a ray of
light shines over their pathway.
One of them lights a tiny lamp which she has brought with her, and they
proceed. At length they reach the foot of the stairs and find themselves
in a dark, narrow passage, with many windings and turnings. Along this
they proceed carefully, until they stand before the massive doors of
the dungeon. Trying one key after another, they find one that turns the
lock, and the door swings open. What a sight meets their sorrowful gaze!
Bones--human bones--lie scattered everywhere, and, as they become more
accustomed to the darkness, they distinguish human forms still living,
with haggard faces, and despair written on every feature.
"Your enemy is dead!" say the maidens. "We have come to set you free,
and then we are going to burn the castle, for thus has our Guide
commanded us."
As they all stand once more in the glad sunlight, they set fire to the
mighty structure, and see the leaping, victorious flames devour it, even
to the flags and banners which had so short a time before streamed gayly
from its towers.
"Thank you, Aunt Kitty," said Winnifred, as Miss Benton laid down the
manuscript. "I don't see how you ever thought of all that."
"Well, Winnie, we all know that the idea is taken from the book you have
recently been reading, but where no pretense is made to originality,
imitation is not deception."
"But do you really think, Miss Benton," said Ernestine, raising her
eyes, "that we can so completely conquer our faults?"
"Alas, no! I'm afraid we never can completely conquer them, but by
striving constantly we can strike many a blow, each one of which leaves
the enemy weaker, and ourselves stronger. The great pity of it all is,
that we can kill only our own giants, and destroy their strongholds for
ourselves; we can never do it for others, dearly as we may love them."
"Well," said Fannie, in her decided manner, "I wish that Procrastination
were the only giant to fight; but I have some enemies which are
still harder for me to conquer;" and she blushed slightly, as she
involuntarily glanced toward Ernestine.
"It is a great gain, however," said Mrs. Benton, pausing in her
knitting, "when we have learned to do that which must be done, without
unnecessary delay. Procrastination, it is quite true, is the least
vicious and the least malicious of all the faults; but stronger, almost,
than any other, and holding more people, young and old, under its
control. If this be overcome, the struggle with the others grows easier.
Indeed, it is surprising how many little misdeeds are the outcome of
that one fault. Untidiness, fits of temper, disobedience, prevarication,
and sometimes even downright untruth, might often be avoided if things
were done in time."
"But it is hard always to remember," sighed Miriam. "Ernestine, how do
you keep from forgetting?"
"Oh, I forget oftener than you know," said Ernestine, flushing under
her delicate skin; "but I have had mamma to think of, and have tried to
please her and make her happy; then, too, I had a nurse in Louisiana who
taught me to remember that there is One 'who is a very present help in
time of trouble.'"
"That is the best help of all, girls, and one that you can carry with
you always. I find mottoes and texts a great help, too, when I want
to succeed in any one particular thing. How would it do, at your next
meeting, for each one to contribute a text from the Bible, and, if
possible, a quotation from one of the poets, applicable to this same
wheedling fault?" said Miss Benton.
"I should like that very much," replied Ernestine.
"So would I!" "And I!" "And I!" replied Miriam, Fannie and Winnie.
Gretta only was silent, but Miss Kitty judged it best to pass her
silence by without remark.
At this moment, Mr. Fred Benton entered the parlor and was introduced to
the girls, and very soon they were all escorted to their homes by their
friend's uncle, who proved himself as good an entertainer of these
little women as was his sister.