CHANGING PLANS.
THE following Sunday saw Edah at the Communion for the first time in
her life. It had been customary for all the pupils of the school to
return home immediately after the Offertory, under the supervision
of some of the elder girls, while the teachers remained. But on this
particular Sunday morning so many of them asked permission to stay,
that Miss Anderson thought it best that all should do so, except the
very youngest, who were sent home under the care of the nurse and
matron.
Milly was very much impressed with the solemnity of the scene which she
now witnessed for the first time,—the silence of the church after the
congregation had retired—the space allotted for mental devotion—the
solemn and beautiful service, and the impressive words with which the
elements were delivered to each of those now kneeling at the Chancel
rails. Especially when her friend Edah went forward with the rest, did
she feel a strong desire to be with her—a wish that she too might be
admitted into the band of Christ's followers, and she resolved that
from that day she would place the subject first in her mind, and never
rest till she had come to a conclusion upon the subject.
And she kept her word. She devoted all her spare time to studying the
Bible, not only with all the force of her clear mind, but also with
earnest prayer for the assistance of the Spirit; for it signifies
little with what mental power we attempt to grapple with the truths
of God's word, unless, at the same time, the illumination of the Holy
Ghost accompany our efforts. She made diligent use of all the means of
grace placed in her way, keeping, at the same time, close watch over
her own temper and disposition, and when the decisive time came, she
chose as might have been expected—she chose the strait and narrow path,
which leadeth unto eternal life, and threw all her talents and all her
influence on the side of Christ.
Mr. Wardwell remarked to Miss Anderson afterwards that in the whole
course of his ministry, he had never talked with a candidate who seemed
to have clearer ideas as to what she was about to do, or a more humble
desire to lean upon the arm of God for strength.
But this was entirely in accordance with Millicent's natural character:
whatever she did was done thoroughly. She never commenced any thing
hastily, but whatever she began was carried through.
More than a dozen of the school-girls were confirmed at this time,
and about the same number from the town, and it was remarked long
afterwards that those who took this important step under Mr. Wardwell's
ministry were noticeable for the steady consistency of their life
and conversation. They were especially noticed as being "useful"
Christians. Few of them were known to shirk their share of work as
Sunday School teachers, as visitors of the sick, and comforters of the
destitute, whether of body or mind. Indeed, Mr. Wardwell's definition
of the requirement to be in charity with all men was somewhat wide,
and comprehended a great deal more than the simple fact of having no
quarrel with any one.
The time passed as rapidly as it always does with busy people, and
school-girls especially, and vacation was very near. It had been
decided that this vacation was to be spent by our two friends mostly in
a retired watering-place on the sea-shore, and they were anticipating a
great deal of pleasure, when something happened to over throw all their
plans.
The letters were always brought into the dining-room at dinner-time,
and there distributed to their owners. One day Milly and Edah each
received one. Milly's was a model of epistolary elegance—seal,
envelope, and paper being all according to the latest fashion, while
through all the vulgar contact with dunning letters, lawyers' packets,
and so forth, an odor of violets still lingered around the delicate
page. Edah's, on the contrary, was without an envelope, not remarkably
well folded, and the direction was written in a large boyish hand, with
a decided slope into one corner. Edah smiled as she looked at it.
"Really, Edah," said Milly, laughing, "your friend does not trouble
himself much with the minor elegances of correspondence."
"It is from Sam," said Edah, laughing in her turn, as she broke the
seal. "Poor fellow, his literary abilities have never been particularly
well developed; but after all, he is a good boy in his way, and likes
to write to me. Indeed, if it were not for him, I should never hear
from the family at all."
She began reading her letter, with a smile on her face, which vanished
as she went on, and she grew very grave.
"Is there any thing the matter?" asked Milly, observing the change.
"Why, yes; they are in rather an uncomfortable state, according to Sam.
Mrs. Champlin is very unwell, indeed, and so is the baby, and Pauline,
the next to the youngest, is very delicate. I hardly see how they get
on at all."
"There is another daughter, is there not?"
"Oh, yes, Susan. She is about fourteen, but from what I saw when I was
at home, I should not imagine that she would be of much assistance. I
must write to-day, and ask Sam to let me know more particularly. But
what says Miss Concklin, for I presume that elegant epistle, which
forms such a contrast to poor Sam's, is from her?"
"Oh, just as usual! She is very kind and affectionate, longs to have
the vacation arrive, that we may be with her; says my father is well,
but much absorbed in business, as usual; sends her love to yourself,
and her kind regards to Miss Anderson. Stay, here is a postscript.
"'The arrangements are all made for our party to the sea-shore, and we
have every prospect of a most delightful sojourn. The party will be
smaller than was at first proposed, but I think it will lose nothing in
point of pleasantness. Be sure to come home the first day possible.'
"How delightful it will be!" she said, refolding the elegant sheet, and
restoring it to its envelope.
Edah did not reply. She was reading her brother's letter again; and
three or four times in the course of the afternoon Milly saw her refer
to it.
"You study that letter, Edah, as if it were a mathematical problem.
What is there in it so very entertaining?"
"Nothing very entertaining, but something rather interesting. I have
been seriously considering whether I ought not to give up this party to
the sea-shore, and go home to nurse mother. If she is so unwell, and
the younger children also, it seems to me as if they must need help."
Millicent looked at her as if she had proposed to go to the moon.
"Give up going to the sea-shore, and go home instead!" she exclaimed.
"Why, Edah, what are you thinking of? It will overset our plans
entirely."
"I do not see why," returned Edah. "You could go just the same; and
although it would not be quite as pleasant for you, it would make no
difference to the others, whom I hardly know at all. It seems to me as
if I would be useful at home, in a good many ways."
"But, my dear child, what could you do? You know hardly any thing about
work."
"True; but then you know I am a pretty good nurse, at least so Miss
Anderson thinks, and I am good at sewing. Then there is another thing.
I fear, from what Sam says, that they are rather straitened in means:
the family is large, and father has not attended much to business
lately. Mr. Liston promised me a hundred and fifty dollars to spend
upon this journey, in addition to my allowance, and that would go a
good way towards making a family of children comfortable."
"But it will be such a sacrifice for you."
"It will be a sacrifice; I cannot deny it," and Edah sighed as she
spoke. "The children are terribly spoiled, and mother has no sort of
authority over them. I liked Sam the best of them all. He is a rough,
noisy fellow enough, but then he is warm-hearted and affectionate.
Susan seemed to me to be both jealous and selfish, but perhaps I might
judge differently now. The younger ones are like all spoiled children,
as far as I know. Sam, and Pauline, who was almost a baby then, took a
great liking to me, and I always intended when I had a home of my own,
to take Polly to live with me. But then, Milly, the sacrifice to myself
is not what I ought to think of: if I can be useful, that is the main
thing."
"That is true," admitted Milly, rather reluctantly; "but, will Mr.
Liston consent?"
"If he does not, it will be the first time he ever contradicted me
in his life," said Edah, laughing; "except once, when I wanted some
gunpowder to play with, like the boys in the street. Mr. Liston is
somewhat prejudiced against my father, it is true—unjustly as I think;
but after all, he likes to have people act from principle, as he says,
and then he likes to have me do as I please. I do not anticipate any
objection from him."
"Well, Edah, I cannot find it in my heart to dissuade you, sorry as I
am to have our plans broken up. But do not decide hastily."
"Oh, no; I shall wait for another letter from Sam, I ant going to write
to him this afternoon, and see what he thinks of the idea."
Sam's second letter arrived in a few days, and quite decided Edah upon
abandoning her plan of amusement for the summer, and going home to
nurse her stepmother, who, according to Sam's account, was in rather
a critical situation. Mr. Liston made no very strong objections to
her plan; as Edah said, he never contradicted her in any thing, not
actually dangerous.
Miss Concklin, Millicent's aunt, raised the loudest cry. She could
not conceive, she said in a letter to Milly, six pages long, that
Miss Champlin was under any obligations to her father's second wife.
Mr. Champlin had never done any thing for his daughter, and she had
no expectations from him. As far as she could learn, they were not at
all desirable people for a young lady of Miss Champlin's fortune and
expectations to associate with, and really, she must think that Miss
Champlin showed a very singular taste, in preferring the company of a
set of vulgar relations and spoiled children, in a country village, to
the society of some of the first people in the land, both in regard to
station and cultivation. But of course Miss Champlin must choose for
herself.
Milly only laughed over this letter: she knew her aunt well enough to
be aware that her anger at the disappointment would exhaust itself in
words, and that she would then appreciate Edah's conduct. Severely as
she knew she should feel the loss of her friend's society, she would
not say one word to discourage her from the resolution she had formed.
And it was now settled that as soon as school was out, Edah should go
at once to Brooksville, where her father resided.
"A year ago, Edah," remarked Milly, "you would hardly have thought of
doing such a thing. I do not mean, of course, that you would not have
done it for me, if I had been sick, but you would not have thought
yourself called upon to make such a great sacrifice for any one."
"I hope I am very different from what I was a year ago," returned
Edah. "A year ago, I should never have thought of going to church in
the rain, as we did yesterday; and as to wearing a gingham dress and
woollen shawl, I really believe I should have stayed at home every
Sunday for six months rather than do such a thing."
"I do not think you care so much for dress, as you did," said Milly.
"I hope I am not growing careless about it; am I?"
"Oh, no; you are as neat as ever, but you do not spend so much time
upon it as you used to. I remember your saying, last summer, that you
could not possibly dress in less than an hour, and now you find a good
deal less than that sufficient. And you do not spend nearly so much
money upon it."
"I know I do not. It does not seem right to waste so much upon mere
personal adornment, when there are so many better uses for money. The
difference between a twelve-dollar lace collar and a twelve-shilling
French worked one, would furnish a very good Sunday School library; and
how is any one the better for wearing a twelve-dollar collar?"
"No better," said Milly; "for besides the expense, the worked collar
is much the prettiest in my opinion. I remember, last summer, when the
Miss Reeves had just been at our house with a great display of Honiton
lace in collars, sleeves, handkerchiefs, &c., my father, who seldom
notices dress, asked me how long it had been the fashion for ladies to
wear ragged lace. Aunt Maria was quite indignant. But you know, Edah,
some people say, 'What would become of the people that make these
things if no one wore them?'"
"They would make something else, I suppose," said Edah; "and moreover,
I never heard that these people felt themselves bound to wear articles
after they went out of fashion, out of compassion for the people that
made them. I confess that question has puzzled me a little; but for all
that I cannot think it right to spend so much money for mere finery,
when it might be profitably employed in other ways."
"I was speaking of your being altered, Edah," said Milly, after a few
moments' silence; "I notice it more in your temper than in any thing
else. You are much less quick and impatient than you used to be."
"I am glad to hear you say so, Milly, for I assure you, I cannot see
the alteration in myself half as much as I wish I could. No one knows
how earnestly I strive and pray for a Christian temper; but every
little while something happens to upset me, and I find myself speaking
and feeling in a way, that when I think of it, makes me almost ready to
despair of myself. This very morning, Mary Snowden vexed me so, that I
hardly knew how to control myself. It does seem to me that she takes
pleasure in annoying me."
"She takes pleasure in annoying every one," said Milly. "Nothing
delights her so much as to put any one out of temper. I cannot
understand that sort of disposition myself."
"I confess I can," said Edah. "I have sometimes—I hope not lately—felt
something of it myself. A good many girls think it shows wit to
tease people, especially when they are irritable. It is a fact that
I am sometimes afraid to open my mouth before Mary Snowden, she will
invent so many ways to annoy me. I have tried every way to conciliate
her, but it seems as if the more I endeavor to be on my guard, the
more determined she is to throw me off it; and she puts on such a
face of surprise and contemptuous pity, and shrugs her shoulders so
significantly if I show the least annoyance, or even try to defend
myself ever so gently, I don't know how to bear it at all sometimes."
"It is strange enough," said Milly, "that any person should take
pleasure in seeing one betrayed into sin, but I believe it is often the
case, much oftener than people acknowledge to themselves. You will have
to keep a double guard over yourself at home."
"Yes," sighed Edah: "I almost dread it; but after all, the discipline
will be good for me. I have spent all my life so easily and pleasantly,
that I can hardly say I know what trouble is. You must write to me very
often, Milly, and tell me all that you are doing. I shall find time to
write to you, whatever else I have to do."
The next day saw Milly in New York, preparing for her excursion to the
seaside, and Edah in the stage-coach on her way to her father's. Her
heart almost sunk within her as she drew near to Brooksville, and saw
the village before her, but she tried to keep up good courage. Her
father received her at the gate affectionately enough, but Edah was
shocked to see how much he was altered. His eyes were red and watery,
his hands trembled, his figure was bent, and Edah thought his breath
smelt of spirits. Sam received her with a noisy demonstration of
kindness, which drew down a reproof from Susan for being so rude. Susan
herself was cold, and almost uncivil, and answered Edah's inquiries
about her mother very shortly.
"She is very unwell, indeed," she said, "and quite unfit to be troubled
with company."
"But I am not company," said Edah, good-naturedly, and taking up little
Pauline, who came to her side. "I have come to be of some use, if I
can. Sam wrote to me that mother was very unwell, and the baby also,
and I thought if that were the case, it would be more than you could do
to take care of every thing."
"I am much obliged, I am sure," said Susan, in a tone which seemed to
express something very different from her words; "but I don't know that
I have made any complaint. Do get down, Pauline; how troublesome you
are!"
But Pauline still kept her seat, and looked at her sister with an air
half of defiance, half of fear. Susan would have proceeded to force,
but at that moment she was called into the kitchen, and went out,
leaving it to Sam and Pauline to show Edah her room, which she was glad
to find pleasant in its aspect, and in comfortable order, with windows
which commanded an extremely pretty prospect. Pauline was unwilling to
leave her even here, but by alternate coaxing and scolding on Sam's
part, she was at last prevailed on to go down stairs, and leave her
sister to herself.
Edah unpacked her trunk, and took out her presents for her mother and
the children. She then dressed herself in a pretty French calico frock
and black silk apron, and went down stairs. She was passing a half-open
door, when she heard a baby cry, and a feeble voice said:
"Susan, is that you?"
"It is Edah, mother," she said, entering softly. "Susan said you were
asleep, and I did not like to disturb you."
Mrs. Champlin was sitting up in bed, holding the baby in her arms. She
was very thin and pale, and seemed hardly able to support the weight of
the puny little creature. She seemed very much pleased to see Edah, and
kissed her affectionately.
"It is very good of you, I am sure," she said, with an appearance of a
good deal of feeling, "to come and stay with us, instead of going to
your friends, but I am afraid we cannot make it very pleasant for you."
"I did not come a-pleasuring, as nurse says," replied Edah, smiling;
"but from Sam's account of things, I thought Susan must need some help,
and came to see what I could do: so let me take the baby to begin with.
You do not seem fit to hold him at all. What a tiny creature it is!"
"Very small," assented Mrs. Champlin; "he has been sick ever since he
was born. If you will hand me that little bottle of milk, I will feed
him."
"Do let me try," said Edah, bringing the bottle; "I am sure I can do
it, and do you lie down again."
She took the child accordingly, and began feeding it, not unskilfully,
while Mrs. Champlin sank back on her pillow, and watched her at first
rather anxiously, and then apparently with some amusement.
"Why, you get on very nicely," she said at length. "Do they teach
baby-tending at your school?"
"No," said Edah; "but I have played with Mrs. Wardwell's baby a good
deal, especially since I knew I was coming here, and she taught me to
feed and dress it. I thought, as you had a young baby, it would be
convenient to know, and, besides, I love the little things dearly."
So saying, she removed the handkerchief she had tucked under the
child's chin, and straightened out its clothes quite scientifically,
addressing to it, at the same time, some of that highly rational and
instructive conversation in which nurses are accustomed to deal, and
with which babies are at all times greatly delighted. She was engaged
in this manner, and in relating to her mother the incidents of the
journey, when Susan entered.
"So! You seem to have got yourself into business," she said, in a tone
which was a shade more gracious than any she had yet used. "Do you like
babies?"
"Very much," said Edah.
"I am glad of it, for I don't. I never can get on with children, and
Sam and Pauline plague my life out."
"Sam is one of the children, is he?" said her mother. "He is a whole
year older than you are."
"He is old enough to know how to behave himself, then," returned Susan;
"but he don't, and I believe he never will. Tea is ready, Edah, or
perhaps I should say Miss Champlin."
"I think, Susan," said her mother, "that I will go out into the other
room to-night, as Edah is here. I can lie on the sofa, and Sam will
draw me out in the rocking-chair."
Susan made some objections, but her mother prevailed, and was drawn
into the other room, greatly to the delight of Pauline and Sam.
"Really, mother," said Mr. Champlin, "you are getting quite smart. Edah
must be a good doctor, I think. But come, let us have our supper, for
it is past the time."
"I think sister ought to make tea, Susan," said Pauline, as Susan sat
down before the teaboard. "She is the oldest."
"Of course she ought," struck in Sam, while Mrs. Champlin looked
uncomfortable, and Susan, in a voice trembling with anger, replied,—
"Oh, of course, I am nobody, now that 'sister' has come. I am only
good for something when there is work to be done. But I am sure she is
welcome to the place, if she wants it."
"But I don't want it Susan," said Edah, gently. "I never do like
to make tea, and to-night I am very tired. Besides, Sam, I am only
company, you know."
"But you said you were not company," persisted Sam, "and you will have
to do it now, for Sue looks so cross, she will turn all the milk sour."
Susan looked more angry than ever at this provoking speech, and was
about to rise from the table, when her father, in a peremptory voice,
commanded them both to be quiet, and Susan to make the tea, adding that
their squabbles were enough to drive one crazy.
No grace was said at the table. Sam employed all his wit, which,
indeed, was not small, to annoy and provoke Susan, while she, on her
part, was sullen and silent, resisting all Edah's attempts to draw
her into conversation. Pauline asked for every thing on the table,
interrupted everybody, and regularly refused to do every thing that
Susan inquired of her. She showed great alacrity in waiting on her
mother, however, and seemed very affectionate both to her and the baby.
It may easily be imagined that the meal was not a very pleasant one
under these circumstances, and Edah was glad when it came to a close.
She produced her presents, which were received with great delight, and
even Susan smoothed her brow and seemed pleased when Edah presented her
with a pretty new dress, and a pair of nice under-sleeves, saying, in
rather an apologetic manner—
"It is not a very sentimental present, Susan, but I did not know what
you would like, and I thought, perhaps, you would not have seen any
thing like this. It is quite new in style."
"It is very welcome, I'm sure," said Susan, unfolding and admiring
it; "for I've hardly a decent dress to put on. See, mother, isn't it
pretty?"
"Beautiful," replied Mrs. Champlin, "and it will be very becoming, if
you get it nicely made up."
"I declare," said Sam, "it makes you look quite handsome, Sue."
"You are a judge, no doubt," returned Susan, but not ill-naturedly; "I
am very much obliged to you, Edah, for remembering me. I did not expect
it."
"Why not?" asked Edah.
"Ob, because nobody does; that's all. I am nobody here—only, as I said,
when there is work to be done."
"You must be very useful then, I am sure," said Edah; "when I was
fourteen, I was the last person thought of when there was work to be
done. I suspect you are a good deal before me now in housekeeping."
"Susan is a good housekeeper for her age," remarked Mrs. Champlin; "she
makes excellent cake and bread, and sews very nicely."
These compliments quite conciliated Susan, and Edah was surprised to
see how well she appeared, and how pretty she was, when her face was
not deformed by an angry flush, or an expression of sullenness. She
could not help thinking that some of her bad temper might be the result
of unfortunate circumstances, and resolved to do her best to conciliate
her and gain her confidence, and to remove the jealousy which had
evidently been roused in her sister's bosom towards herself.
When eight o'clock came, Susan informed Pauline that it was time for
her to go to bed, but Pauline declined listening, and appealed to her
mother, who decided that she might sit up an hour longer on Edah's
account, if she would promise to go to bed quietly at the end of that
time.
Susan seemed to take this permission a good deal amiss, and had quite
an argument with her mother on the subject; but Pauline had her own
way, and stayed up as long as any member of the family. Sam was deeply
engaged in one of his new books all the evening, and took but little
share in the conversation. As for Mr. Champlin, he went out immediately
after tea, and did not return till bedtime.
Edah made her long ride and her fatigue an excuse for retiring early to
her room, when she sat down to write in her journal, as she did at the
close of every day. She had just finished, and was taking up her Bible,
when Susan entered, without knocking, which a little annoyed Edah.
She drew a chair to the table, without waiting to be asked, and sat
down, saying as she did so, "I thought you were in a hurry to go to
bed. I suppose the truth was, you wanted to get away, and have a little
peace and quiet."
"Not exactly," said Edah, "though I always like to have a little time
before going to bed; don't you?"
"No," answered Susan, "not unless I have an interesting book to read.
What a pretty Bible that is! But why do you have two?"
"One is a Prayer-Book," said Edah. "I think it a very pretty one!"
"Are you an Episcopalian?" asked Susan, abruptly.
"To be sure," replied Edah: "are not you?"
"I am not any thing," said Susan. "We hardly ever have church here, and
when we do, Mr. Willson is so dull, I can't bear to hear him. I don't
like the service either: it is so long and tiresome, and I never can
find the places."
"I could soon show you about them," said Edah; "and when you come to
understand the service, I am sure you would not think it tiresome. But
what do you do on Sundays when there is no church?"
"Sometimes I go to the Methodist meeting and sometimes I stay at home.
Father never goes: he sits at home and reads the newspapers, or goes
over to Strong's. Sam goes to Raeburn to church, when he does not stay
at home to plague me. Did you ever see such a tormenting boy as he is?"
"It is a pity he has got into the way of making such speeches," said
Edah, "for he seems very intelligent and affectionate."
"You will find out how affectionate he is after a while," returned
Susan. "Your being here is a new thing now, but by and by he will tease
you just as he does me; though perhaps he may do differently, as you
have something to give him, and I have not, and even if I had, I should
be ashamed to bribe him. As for Pauline, she makes it the object of her
life to tease me, and mother always takes her part. She never spoiled
me so, I know. Do you read your Bible every night?"
"Yes," replied Edah, "and every morning."
"What is the use of reading it so much?" asked Susan. "You must know it
all by heart, I should think."
"Not half as much as I wish I did; but I find something new every time
I read."
Edah looked at her watch as she spoke, and Susan took the hint.
"I see you are wanting to get rid of me," she said, rising, "and no
wonder. What an elegant watch! I suppose Mr. Liston gave it to you. It
is a nice thing to have rich relations and friends. Well, good-night!
You need not hurry about getting up, for we are not very early risers,"
and so saying she disappeared.
Edah, left alone, turned again to her reading and prayer. Tired as she
was, she did not close her eyes for a long time, but lay thinking of
the events of the day, and of her new situation. It was certainly a
very different one from any in which she had ever been before, and she
could not but foresee a good many annoyances and trials of temper, for
she perceived that Susan was jealous of her, and she had already seen
enough of that young lady to know that she was not very likely to put
any great restraint upon her feelings. Sam and Pauline seemed to her
easier to manage, though the one was turbulent and mischievous, and
the other thoroughly spoiled. Mrs. Champlin appeared kindly disposed
towards her, and the baby was certainly an object of pity. Her father
she had hardly seen, but she thought him a good deal altered, and not
for the better.
Edah saw that she should have occasion for all those principles of
action which she had lately acquired, but she resolved to be patient
and gentle, to try to control her unruly temper, and with a prayer for
grace to do all things to the glory of God, she fell asleep.