THE INVITATION.
AFTER breakfast Mabel sat down and wrote a letter to Mrs. Rose, saying
she must give up all the work she had undertaken, for she was not fit
to do it. But before the letter was finished, her mother came into the
room, and Mabel instantly handed it to her.
Mrs. Randolph smiled as she read it.
"Impulsive as usual, Mabel," she said. "But I do not think Mrs. Rose
ought to be made the victim of it to this extent, my dear."
"What do you mean, mamma? I thought you wished me to give up all
outside work," exclaimed Mabel.
"I did not wish you to undertake it, my dear, but having done so,
you cannot throw it up for a mere whim, a mere caprice. Go and see
Mrs. Rose, and tell her you have undertaken too much, and ask her to
relieve you of the visiting and the Dorcas work, but continue your
Sunday-school class for the present."
Mabel did not look very pleased.
"I thought you wanted me to devote my time to helping you, mamma," she
said rather crossly.
"My dear, I do wish you to help me, for I am anxious to lessen the
household expenses as much as I can." And Mrs. Randolph spoke very
earnestly.
"Mamma, what is it? What is the matter?" asked Mabel, noticing the
change in her mother's voice.
"Perhaps it is better you should know it," said Mrs. Randolph with a
sigh, "but I do not wish to burden you with care and anxiety. Only,
if you understand exactly how things are, Mabel, you will be the more
ready to help—the more willing to do whatever your father thinks will
be best for the future."
"But, mother, what is it?" asked Mabel in alarm, instantly jumping
to the conclusion that they were on the verge of ruin. "Are—are we
ruined?" she gasped.
Mrs. Randolph could not help laughing at her impulsive daughter.
"Not quite so bad as that, Mabel," she said. "But business is not
improving—it is growing less and less every year, while our household
expenses are increasing."
"Then, mamma, what are we to do?" said Mabel.
"That is the question your father and I often ask each other—How are
the children to be educated, and household expenses curtailed? And it
cannot be done without your help, Mabel."
"Oh, mamma, how can I do anything?" asked Mabel earnestly.
"Well, dear, at present I am afraid you can only help us by being as
diligent as you can with your own lessons, that you may be able to
teach Mary and the others by and by, so as to save us the expense of a
governess and masters," said Mrs. Randolph.
Mabel looked greatly disappointed.
"Only teach Mary and the children!" she said.
"My dear, it will be a great help to us—a great relief to me, when you
can take this work off my hands. You might begin with some of the easy
lessons now, if you wish. But I do not want to burden you while you
are still learning yourself." But as she said it, Mrs. Randolph looked
wistfully at her daughter, hoping she would offer to hear the children
some of their lessons.
But Mabel was in no hurry to undertake the post of governess to her
little sisters. She craved some greater work than this, and she said:
"Mamma, couldn't I do something else?"
"Something else, Mabel!" repeated Mrs. Randolph. "What could a girl of
fifteen do? But I must not stay talking any longer," she hastily added,
"for Mary and the children will be waiting for me."
Again she cast a wistful, lingering look at Mabel, hoping she would
offer to take the children's lessons this morning.
But Mabel was feeling too vexed and disappointed to look at her mother,
but sat toying with the pen she had been using until her mother left
the room. Then she leaned her head down and burst into tears.
"It is hard," she sobbed. "I do want to be useful, and yet it seems
that I am not to do anything except learn lessons."
She tore up the letter she had written to Mrs. Rose, and then wrote
another, saying she must give up all her work but the Sunday-school
class. For, truth to tell, she shrank from going to see either the
rector or his wife just now, as her mother had suggested.
When the letter was written, she took out a German exercise and sat
down to study it, but soon fell to thinking over what her mother had
told her concerning her father's business, and from this she began
wishing she could have the assistance of first-class masters like her
cousin Isabel had. But then there was all the difference in their
circumstances, for while her uncle was every year growing richer, it
seemed that they were only getting poorer as time went on. And yet it
did seem hard. The more she thought of it, the harder it seemed. For
while her cousin had all these educational advantages, she would never
need to use them as Mabel herself would, for she had always heard that
her aunt was a fashionable, fine lady, without a thought beyond her
dress and her dinners and the furnishing of her house, and so Isabel's
proficiency in music and languages would be no more than an extra
adornment of no real service to herself or anybody else. And Mabel
heaved a sigh of envy as she turned to her book again.
"It is such awful drudgery doing this alone. Mamma thinks because I had
a year or two of it at school, I ought to be able to read both French
and German fluently," she grumbled.
But help in this work was nearer than she thought—nearer, perhaps, than
she altogether desired. The next evening when Mr. Randolph came home,
he brought with him a letter which he had that day received from his
brother, Isabel's father, proposing that Mabel should come and share
Isabel's lessons for a year, by way of finishing her education.
"What do you think of it?" he asked eagerly as Mrs. Randolph handed
back the letter.
It was evident that he was pleased with his brother's proposal, and
expected his wife would be the same. "It will be a capital thing for
her, I think. For if the worst should come to the worst, and she should
have to go out as a governess by and by, she will find it very useful."
Mrs. Randolph looked anxiously at her husband as she said, "I hope this
will not be necessary, John."
"Well, I hope not, and I do not think it will. But still, we agreed the
other day that Mabel should teach Mary and the little ones, and for
this she will need some further instruction herself, and so Henry's
offer is really most opportune."
"And you think we ought to accept it for Mabel," said Mrs. Randolph,
wondering whether it would be wise to send Mabel to a home where wealth
and luxury reigned—whether this would be a wise arrangement for such a
girl as Mabel.
Before deciding the matter in her own mind, she resolved to talk to
Mabel about it. And so after the children had gone to bed, and while
Mr. Randolph was busy over some accounts, she went to Mabel's room and
told her of the offer made by her uncle.
"But you will not let me go, mamma?" said Mabel quickly.
"I scarcely know what to do under existing circumstances," said her
mother with a sigh.
"But aunt is a gay, fashionable lady, and I should grow worldly too,
if—"
"My dear, you may grow worldly in any society. Do not think that
worldliness is confined to the frivolous and fashionable people.
Certainly if I thought by allowing you to go to your aunt's, it would
foster this tendency in you, I would not let you go for all the
educational advantages in the world. But there is no necessity for
this if you watch and pray against it, and that is what I want to talk
to you about, my dear. It will be a great advantage to you to have a
year's teaching under good masters, and no one can tell what you may
need by and by, and so your father, I know, is very anxious that you
should go."
"But aunt is a mere fine lady, I have heard father say," objected Mabel.
"That is probably the fault of her education, and can be no excuse for
you. Indeed, Mabel, you will never have the opportunity of being a mere
fine lady, so there is some comfort in being poor," concluded Mrs.
Randolph with a slight smile.
But Mabel did not smile.
"Mamma, I am afraid I should like it," she said seriously.
"Like to be a fine lady! Well, perhaps you would—I am afraid you would,
if the temptation ever came in your way. But it is never likely to
come, my dear. The world will claim work at your hands as the price of
your right to live in it."
"But I might grow worldly and frivolous."
"Yes, under any circumstances, in any society, you might become
worldly; and a worldly woman is the saddest sight under heaven. But
now let us understand what this word means. For as I understand it,
the poorest as well as the richest may fall into this, and it is by
no means confined to the gay fashionable world, as so many imagine.
Shorn of its outward surroundings, worldliness is just another name for
selfishness. Our own advantage, a pushing of our own claims, a desire
and effort to outshine our neighbours and friends, are all so many
forms of worldliness and selfishness; and these may be indulged, and
often are, I am sorry to say, by religious people and even in religious
work."
"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Mabel.
"I know it by experience, Mabel. I once wanted to reprove a young
friend for her love of dress, and so I had my winter bonnet made as
dowdy as I well could. And, oh, how proud I was of that bonnet! What
hard, uncharitable thoughts I indulged concerning those who wore a bit
of bright ribbon! And I thought I ought to be noticed and held up as
a pattern. I don't think I ever was so worldly before or since as I
was while I wore that exemplary bonnet. And this spirit of worldliness
may be carried into anything, spoiling the divinest service. While, if
it is one's duty to mix in fashionable society, it may be done—it is
done—without contracting a taint of worldliness. For there are those
for whom our Master's prayer is constantly being fulfilled, and they
are kept 'unspotted from the world.' So you see, my dear, it is the
spirit we cultivate in ourselves that determines whether we are worldly
or unworldly, and not the outward circumstances of our life."
"But, mamma, outward circumstances do make some difference," said Mabel.
"If we allow them to conquer us, Mabel, it will make all the
difference. But we are not sent here to be the slave of circumstances,
but to struggle and grow stronger for the fight. Now about your visit,
dear. You will have to make up your mind before you go, to strive
against yielding to the envious and perhaps covetous feelings that are
pretty sure to arise in your heart, if they are not fought against and
overcome. This is the form of worldliness you will be specially tempted
to yield to, and not that of gay, fashionable society. For you and
Isabel will spend most of your time in the school-room, I expect."
"Then you think, mamma, I ought to go?" said Mabel.
"Your father does, my dear, and—and if you were a little less
impulsive, a little more willing to yield your own will and your own
way, I should think it would be a splendid opportunity for you," said
her mother.
"Then you are afraid of me, mother?" said Mabel in a half-offended tone.
"Mabel, dear, I don't want to speak harshly. I know you are full of
good intentions, and I believe you desire, above all things, to make
your life a useful one, but still I am afraid for you—afraid of the
wilfulness and impulsiveness lest they should lead you into irreparable
mischief."
Mabel sat with downcast eyes, twisting the corner of her apron.
"Oh, mamma!" she gasped. "I have been trying ever since my birthday to
be of some use in the world."
"I know you have, dear, only you have made a mistake as to which
part of the world you ought to begin at. Be sure of this, dear, that
our duty lies in the work that is nearest to us. When we have done
that, if we have time and opportunity for more, then we may do it.
But home duties should have our first care and attention under any
circumstances."
"And yet, mamma, you think I ought to go away from home?" exclaimed
Mabel.
"Yes, dear, as it will fit you for greater usefulness at home. And
who can tell what duty may lie before you with your cousins? Try to
think that God may have some work for you to do there besides learning
lessons and improving yourself."
"But it won't be pleasant, mamma, to go there as a poor relation. If I
could have plenty of new dresses and money and other things, I should
like to go, but—but—"
And Mabel burst into tears and went out of the room, leaving her mother
greatly disconcerted and perplexed. She went back to the dining-room,
where she found her husband had so far settled the matter that he had
written a letter accepting his brother's offer concerning Mabel, which
he handed to his wife, remarking, as he did so, that Mabel had better
have some new dresses made before she went away.
He was by no means inclined to take his daughter's wishes into
consideration in the matter. The offer was too good to be declined,
and so Mabel must accept it whether she liked it or not. This was her
father's way of looking at it, and Mrs. Randolph found that she was
expected to acquiesce in the arrangement. It was as well, perhaps,
that it was so, for secretly Mabel scarcely knew her own mind upon
the matter. But when her father talked about the new dresses the next
morning, and advised that she should go with her mother to choose them,
the last of Mabel's opposition faded, and she was as eager to go on the
shopping expedition as she had been to commence district visiting.
The dresses were chosen, and a dressmaker engaged to come and help make
them up, and Mabel's study was turned into a workroom for the time
being.
"Now, Mabel, you had better take your lessons and do them with Mary,
for fear the ink should be spilled on the work," said her mother, as
she opened some of the parcels and pushed Mabel's writing aside.
"Oh, mamma, be turned out of my own room!" gasped Mabel.
"Not at all, my dear. I hope you will get your lessons done as quickly
as you can, and come and help with the work. There is plenty to do, I
can assure you."
Mabel took the pens and ink out of the way, but she secretly determined
to clear a little corner of the table for herself the next day, where
she could write her exercise without interfering with the work. The
dressmaker would be there, but she would not mind. And Mabel carried
out her intention, risking the spotting of her new dresses with ink
rather than peril her dignity by sitting down to lessons with her
younger sisters.
She managed to get through her work without spilling a drop of ink.
But just as she had finished, she was called away. And the dressmaker
wanting the room occupied by her exercise-book, put it aside with the
pen, but did not see the bottle of ink, and forgot to look for it. And
when Mabel came back, she thought no more of it than the dressmaker did.
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