AT HOME.
Over this letter Ester had laughed and cried, and finally settled, as
we found her, into quiet thought. When Abbie came in after a little,
and nestled on an ottoman in front of her, with an inquiring look,
Ester placed the letter in her hands, without note or comment, and
Abbie read and laughed considerably, then grew more sober, and at last
folded the letter with a very thoughtful face.
"Well," said Ester, at last, smiling a little.
And Abbie answered: "Oh, Ester."
"Yes," said Ester, "you see they need me."
Then followed a somewhat eager, somewhat sorrowful talk, and then a
moment of silence fell between them, which Abbie broke by a sudden
question:
"Ester, isn't this Dr. Douglass gaining some influence over Sadie?
Have I imagined it, or does she speak of him frequently in her
letters, in a way that gives me an idea that his influence is not for
good?"
"I'm afraid it is very true; his influence over her seems to be great,
and it certainly is not for good. The man is an infidel, I think. At
least he is very far indeed from being a Christian. Do you know I
read a verse in my Bible this morning which, when I think of my past
influence over Sadie, reminds me bitterly of myself. It was like this:
'While men slept his enemy came and sowed tares--.' If I had not been
asleep I might have won Sadie for the Savior before this enemy came."
"Well," Abbie answered gently, not in the least contradicting this sad
statement, but yet speaking hopefully, "you will try to undo all this
now."
"Oh, Abbie, I don't know. I am so weak--like a child just beginning to
take little steps alone, instead of being the strong disciple that I
might have been. I distrust myself. I am afraid."
"I'm not afraid for you," Abbie said, speaking very earnestly.
"Because, in the first place you are unlike the little child, in that
you must never even try to take one step _alone_. And besides, there
are more verses in the Bible than that one. See here, let me show you
mine."
And Abbie produced her little pocket Bible, and pointed with her
finger while Ester read; "When I am weak, then am I strong." Then
turning the leaves rapidly, as one familiar with the strongholds of
that tower of safety, she pointed again, and Ester read: "What time I
am afraid, I will trust in thee."
Almost five o'clock of a sultry October day, one of those days which
come to us sometimes during that golden month, like a regretful
turning back of the departing summer. A day which, coming to people
who have much hard, pressing work, and who are wearied and almost
stifled with the summer's heat, makes them thoroughly uncomfortable,
not to say cross. Almost five o'clock, and in the great dining-room of
the Rieds Sadie was rushing nervously back and forth, very much in
the same manner that Ester was doing on that first evening of our
acquaintance, only there was not so much method in her rushing. The
curtains were raised as high as the tapes would take them, and the
slant rays of the yellow sun were streaming boldly in, doing their
bravest to melt into oil the balls of butter on the table, for poor,
tired, bewildered Sadie had forgotten to let down the shades, and
forgotten the ice for the butter, and had laid the table cloth
crookedly, and had no time to straighten it. This had been one of
her trying days. The last fierce look of summer had parched anew
the fevered limbs of the sufferer up stairs, and roused to sharper
conflict the bewildered brain. Mrs. Ried's care had been earnest and
unremitting, and Sadie, in her unaccustomed position of mistress below
stairs, had reached the very verge of bewildered weariness. She gave
nervous glances at the inexorable clock as she flew back and forth.
There were those among Mrs. Ried's boarders whose business made
it almost a necessity that they should be promptly served at five
o'clock. Maggie had been hurriedly summoned to do an imperative errand
connected with the sick room; and this inexperienced butterfly, with
her wings sadly drooping, was trying to gather her scattered wits
together sufficiently to get that dreadful tea-table ready for the
thirteen boarders who were already waiting the summons.
"What _did_ I come after?" she asked herself impatiently, as she
pressed her hand to her frowning forehead, and stared about the pantry
in a vain attempt to decide what had brought her there in such hot
haste. "Oh, a spoon--no, a fork, I guess it was. Why, I don't remember
the forks at all. As sure as I'm here, I believe they are, too,
instead of being on the table; and--Oh, my patience, I believe those
biscuits are burning. I wonder if they are done. Oh, dear me!" And
the young lady, who was Mr. Hammond's star scholar, bent with puzzled,
burning face, and received hot whiffs of breath from the indignant
oven while she tried to discover whether the biscuits were ready to be
devoured. It was an engrossing employment. She did not hear the sound
of carriage wheels near the door, nor the banging of trunks on the
side piazza. She was half way across the dining-room, with her tin of
puffy biscuits in her hands, with the puzzled, doubtful look still on
her face, before she felt the touch of two soft, loving arms around
her neck, and turning quickly, she screamed, rather than said: "Oh,
Ester!" And suddenly seating her tin of biscuit on one chair and
herself on another, Sadie covered her face with both hands and
actually cried.
"Why, Sadie, you poor dear child, what _can_ be the matter?"
And Ester's voice was full of anxiety, for it was almost the first
time that she had ever seen tears on that bright young face.
Sadie's first remark caused a sudden revulsion of feeling. Springing
suddenly to her feet, she bent anxious eyes on the chair full of
biscuit.
"Oh, Ester," she said, "_are_ these biscuits done, or will they be
sticky and hateful in the middle?"
_How_ Ester laughed! Then she came to the rescue. "_Done_--of course
they are, and beautifully, too. Did you make them? Here, I'll take
them out. Sadie, where is mother?"
"In Mr. Holland's room. She has been there nearly all day. Mr. Holland
is no better, and Maggie has gone on an errand for them. Why have you
come? Did the fairies send you?"
"And where are the children?"
"They have gone to walk. Minie wanted mother every other minute,
so Alfred and Julia have carried her off with them. Say, you _dear_
Ester, how _did_ you happen to come? How shall I be glad enough to see
you?"
Ester laughed. "Then I can't see any of them," she said by way of
answer. "Never mind, then we'll have some tea. You poor child, how
very tired you look. Just seat yourself in that chair, and see if I
have forgotten how to work."
And Sadie, who was thoroughly tired, and more nervous than she had any
idea she could be, leaned luxuriously back in her mother's chair, with
a delicious sense of unresponsibility about her, and watched a magic
spell come over the room. Down came the shades in a twinkling, and the
low red sun looked in on them no more; the table-cloth straightened
itself; pickles and cheese and cake got out of their confused
proximity, and marched each to their appropriate niche on the
well-ordered table; a flying visit into well-remembered regions
returned hard, sparkling, ice-crowned butter. And when at last the
fragrant tea stood ready to be served, and Ester, bright and smiling,
stationed herself behind her mother's chair, Sadie gave a little
relieved sigh, and then she laughed.
"You're straight from fairy land, Ester; I know it now. That
table-cloth has been crooked in spite of me for a week. Maggie lays
it, and I _can not_ straighten it. I don't get to it. I travel five
hundred miles every night to get this supper ready, and it's never
ready. I have to bob up for a fork or a spoon, or I put on four plates
of butter and none of bread. Oh there is witch work about it, and
none but thoroughbred witches can get every thing, every little
insignificant, indispensable thing on a table. I can't keep house."
"You poor kitten," said Ester, filled with very tender sympathy for
this pretty young sister and feeling very glad indeed that she had
come home, "Who would think of expecting a butterfly to spin? You
shall bring those dear books down from the attic to-morrow. In the
meantime, where is the tea-bell?"
"Oh, we don't ring," said Sadie, rising as she spoke. "The noise
disturbs Mr. Holland. Here comes my first lieutenant, who takes charge
of that matter. My sister, Miss Ried, Dr. Douglass."
And Ester, as she returned the low, deferential bow bestowed upon her,
felt anew the thrill of anxiety which had come to her of late when she
thought of this dangerous stranger in connection with her beautiful,
giddy, unchristian sister.
On the whole, Ester's home coming was pleasant. To be sure it was a
wonderful change from her late life; and there was perhaps just the
faintest bit of a sigh as she drew off her dainty cuffs and prepared
to wipe the dishes which Sadie washed, while Maggie finished her
interrupted ironing. What would John, the stylish waiter at Uncle
Ralph's, think if he could see her now, and how funny Abbie would look
engaged in such employment; but Sadie looked so bright and relieved
and rested, and chatted so gayly, that presently Ester gave another
little sigh and said:
"Poor Abbie! how very, _very_ lonely she must be to-night. I wish she
were here for you to cheer her, Sadie."
Later, while she dipped into the flour preparatory to relieving Sadie
of her fearful task of sponge setting, the kitchen clock struck seven.
This time she laughed at the contrast. They were just going down to
dinner now at Uncle Ralph's. Only night before last she was there
herself. She had been out that day with Aunt Helen, and so was attired
in the lovely blue silk and the real laces, which were Aunt Helen's
gift, fastened at the throat by a tiny pearl, Abbie's last offering.
Now they were sitting down to dinner without her, and she was in the
great pantry five hundred miles away, a long, wide calico apron quite
covering up her traveling dress, sleeves rolled above her elbows,
and engaged in scooping flour out of the barrel into her great wooden
bowl! But then how her mother's weary, careworn face had brightened,
and glowed into pleased surprise as she caught the first glimpse of
her; how lovingly she had folded her in those dear _motherly_ arms,
and said, actually with lips all a tremble: "My _dear_ daughter! what
an unexpected blessing, and what a kind providence, that you have come
just now." Then Alfred and Julia had been as eager and jubilant
in their greeting as though Ester had been always to them the very
perfection of a sister; and hadn't little Minie crumpled her dainty
collar into an unsightly rag, and given her "Scotch kisses," and
"Dutch kisses," and "Yankee kisses," and genuine, sweet baby kisses,
in her uncontrollable glee over dear "Auntie Essie."
And besides, oh besides! this Ester Ried who had come home was not
the Ester Ried who had gone out from them only two months ago. A
whole lifetime of experience and discipline seemed to her to have been
crowded into those two months. Nothing of her past awakened more keen
regret in this young girl's heart than the thought of her undutiful,
unsisterly life. It was all to be different now. She thanked God that
he had let her come back to that very kitchen and dining-room to undo
her former work. The old sluggish, selfish spirit had gone from her.
Before this every thing had been done for Ester Ried, now it was to be
done for Christ--_every thing_, even the mixing up of that flour and
water; for was not the word given: "_Whatsoever_ ye do, do all to the
glory of God?" How broad that word was, "whatsoever." Why that covered
every movement--yes, and every word. How _could_ life have seemed to
her dull and uninteresting and profitless?
Sadie hushed her busy tongue that evening as she saw in the moonlight
Ester kneeling to pray; and a kind of awe stole over her for a
moment as she saw that the kneeler seemed unconscious of any earthly
presence. Somehow it struck Sadie as a different matter from any
kneeling which she had ever watched in the moonlight before.
And Ester, as she rested her tired, happy head upon her own pillow,
felt this word ringing sweetly in her heart: "And ye are Christ's, and
Christ is God's."