THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS.
EDAH now considered her plans for the winter as settled, and began
to make her arrangements accordingly, for she was very much given to
making a systematic division of her time, and giving to each hour its
regular employment. She thought that by rising early enough she could
perform all her household duties before breakfast, and be free to sit
down immediately afterwards with her books or her work, or to instruct
Pauline, who had become really fond of study, and was making very good
progress.
She found many interruptions, however, to this plan. Mrs. Champlin
often exacted the whole of her attention, or some of the neighbors
would drop in to spend an hour or two, or sometimes Susan would take
a perverse fit, and persist in interrupting her just when she was the
most engaged. She sometimes found it hard not to be irritated under all
these hindrances, especially as she grew more and more interested in
her studies; but she made great efforts, and felt that she was really
gaining very much in regard to temper. She forced herself to lay down
her books cheerfully, and to attend to Mrs. Champlin's long stories
about nothing, and what was still more difficult, she obliged herself
to bear with perfect gentleness all her complaints and insinuations,
which sometimes put Susan, and even Sam, entirely out of patience.
Still, with, all her interruptions and hindrances, she continued to
have a good deal of time, and really made good progress in her studies.
She did not forget Mr. Willson's remark about the Sunday School, and
was anxious to make a beginning, but she did not exactly know how. She
thought it over and over, and at last decided to do nothing till she
could ask Mr. Willson's advice.
One day, two of the neighbors' children came in to play with Pauline.
They were pretty little girls of ten and eleven years old, and Edah,
who had taken a good deal of interest in them, was always glad to see
them. Pauline, who was very assiduous in entertaining her visitors, was
on this occasion showing them the new hymn-book that Edah had given
her, when Sarah Bell proposed that they should sing some of the hymns.
Nothing could please Pauline better. They sang one after the other, and
Edah joined her own sweet and cultivated voice to those of the children.
"Sister," said Pauline, "I wish you would sing that chant out of the
Prayer-Book that you sang the other night—the one you said they sang in
church."
"The Gloria in Excelsis, do you mean," asked Edah; "the one that
begins—'Glory be to God on high'?"
"Yes," replied Pauline. "Now, listen, girls."
Edah sang the glorious old chant, and the children listened with
breathless attention.
When she had finished, Abby Bell said, drawing a long breath—
"I never heard any thing like that. It seems as if it took me right up
into the sky. Do you know any more such hymns, Miss Champlin?"
"They are not hymns—they are chants, Abby," said Pauline, proud to
display her superior knowledge. "Sister says they always sing them in
her church, and some day she is going to take me there."
"I wish there was a church here," said Sarah Bell. "In B—, where we
lived when I was a little bit of a girl, there was a church and a
Sunday School, and Abby went all the time."
"Miss Champlin," asked Abby, "why can't 'you' have a Sunday School—just
for us children, you know? There would be Pauline, and Sarah, and I,
and I know Lizzie and Kitty Smith would like to come, and Mary Crampton
and her little brother. It would be so nice."
"Oh, do, do!" exclaimed Pauline. "It would be just as nice as it could
be. Do, sister, won't you?"
Edah smiled.
"But what should we do for books?" she asked.
"Oh, we could do without just at first, and perhaps we could get some
after a while," said Sarah. "We could learn lessons in the Testament,
at any rate, and you could explain them to us, and we could sing. It
would be delightful."
"Do you think your mother would be willing?" asked Edah.
"I know my mother would, and I am sure Lizzie Smith's mother would like
it," said Abby. "May I ask her, Miss Champlin?"
"You may," said Edah, after a moment's consideration; "and if they are
willing, you may come here next Sunday, at two o'clock."
There was a little whispering among the children, and then Abby said,
with some hesitation—
"Miss Champlin, may we ask the little Fisher children? They are poor,
you know, and their father is a bad man, but their mother is a good
woman, and they are nice little things. They live on the hill, back of
our house."
"Certainly," said Edah; "ask them by all means. I wish, Abby, that you
would come round on Saturday afternoon and tell me how many there are
likely to be, that I may make arrangements accordingly."
Abby promised to do so, and the children went home full of their plan,
and impatient to put it into execution.
The next day Edah had an opportunity to send to Raeburn, and she
wrote a note to Mr. Willson, mentioning her project, and asking some
directions as to beginning. She was agreeably surprised on the return
of her messenger to receive about thirty books, new and old, suitable
for a Sunday School library. Mr. Willson gave her his advice as to the
course best to pursue, warning her against attempting too much, and
giving the plan his cordial approbation.
"Did you see any one else at Raeburn?" asked Edah of Mr. Bell, who had
executed her commission.
"I saw Miss Laurence at the parsonage, and some one else was there that
I'd as soon have expected to see a'most anywhere else, and that was
long John Van Dake. They say he is getting to be a real steady fellow.
But I say, Miss Champlin, what's this about the Sunday School? The
children are so full of it they don't know whether they are on their
heels or their heads, hardly."
Edah smiled, and explained the project to Mr. Bell, who approved of it
entirely.
"I like the notion very well," he said. "I'm not sure but I should like
to come myself, though I suppose you wouldn't take me. The young ones
shall come, if 'she' is willing, and I know she will be."
Mr. and Mrs. Bell had a habit of speaking of one another as "he" and
"she," as if there were no other he and she in the world.
Towards evening of the same day came over Jube, with the usual basket,
and a note from Annie:
"I am sorry to tell you, my dear Edah," she wrote, "that the matter
is decided, and we are really going away for the whole winter. If it
were not for my mother's health, and for the sake of poor Lulu, who,
we hope, will be benefited by the sea voyage, I should not know how
to feel reconciled to it. Mrs. Millar will stay in the house and keep
things in order, and father says he shall leave the key of the library
with you, so the old place will not be quite deserted; and, moreover,
Dick will be up several times in the course of the winter, if he stays
in New York. My superfine brother Addison is going to Europe, where, I
presume, he will acquire a new stock of airs and graces wherewith to
astonish the natives and more thoroughly to disguise his native geed
sense and kindness of heart. I send you some packages of tracts, of
which Dick has supplied me with a perfect magazine, and which you may
find useful. We are counting on one more visit from you before we go."
On Saturday afternoon came over Abby Bell, her eyes sparkling with
delight.
"We are coming, Miss Champlin—all of us. Sarah and I, and Kitty and
Lizzie Smith, and Mary Crampton, and Polly Fisher; and Jane and Selina
Bostwick will come too, if you will let them. They are quite big girls,
you know, and Selina can sing beautifully."
"We shall have quite a school," said Edah. "I must be sure and have
seats enough provided. I think we will meet in the kitchen, and then
we shall not disturb mother, and you must be very careful to come
punctually."
Edah was both surprised and ashamed at the reluctance she felt to
mentioning her plan to the family, but she felt that it was necessary
to do so. Mrs. Champlin wondered that she should put herself to so much
trouble, and thought she would soon be tired of it, but she was in a
good humor, and made no substantial objection. Susan thought it would
be very disagreeable to have the children running in and out all day
Sunday.
"But they will not be running in and out," said Edah; "they will only
come in at the side-gate, and go quietly into the kitchen, and as
quietly go away again."
"What good will it do them?" asked Susan. "Do you suppose it will be
any better for them than if they read their Bibles at home?"
"Perhaps not, if they read them," replied Edah, "and yet I think it may
give them rather more interest in the matter, and they will have their
little books and tracts too."
"From which they will derive great benefit, no doubt; Sunday School
books are usually so very entertaining and instructive! However, if you
like to amuse yourself in that way, I don't know why you should not,
only I don't think those Fisher children will be very nice playmates
for Pauline."
"They will not be playmates for her at all," said Edah. "I do not
propose to have any play in school, and after school they will go home."
"Now, Sue," said Pauline, "you are only talking so, just to be
contrary, you know."
"There," returned Susan, "that is a good beginning. If you teach them
all as good manners as Pauline has acquired, you will be a benefactor
to the community. For my part, I think—"
Susan stopped short, and Edah, seeing that she was a good deal out of
humor, thought it best to drop the conversation for the present. She
took an opportunity when she was putting Pauline to bed to tell her how
very improperly she had spoken.
"You do a great deal of harm," said she "and make me a great deal of
trouble, when you talk so, and you know you would not like to have any
one speak so to you."
"I don't think!" said Pauline, hanging her head.
"But you must think! 'Don't think' is youngest brother to 'Don't care,'
and does quite as much mischief. You must think, and you must ask God
to teach you to curb your tongue."
Pauline promised to try and do better. She was really improving very
much in every respect, but the habits of her little lifetime were not
to be conquered all at once, and every little slip she made was noted
and commented on by Susan, because she knew very well that it annoyed
Edah. It is a strange pleasure certainly which some people take in
seeing others do wrong, especially those who are trying with all their
might to do right. This was not always the case with Susan; but certain
it is, that there were times when it was her greatest delight to see
Edah's color rise and her eyes flash, and to see her utter some hasty
retort or angry sarcasm, and it really seemed as if she lent all the
energies of her mind to bring it about.
On Sunday afternoon at two o'clock, the children made their appearance,
for the most part shy and silent enough. They were all nicely dressed,
with the exception of Polly Fisher, who was, however, clean and neat.
She was a mild-looking little morsel of a child, with large gray eyes,
and "lint-white hair," and Edah thought there was something very
prepossessing in her almost infantine countenance: she was surprised to
learn that Polly was twelve years old. Selina and Jane Bostwick were
dark, pale girls of thirteen and fifteen, with good manners, but very
silent and shy. Mary Crampton and the little Smiths were nice little
children about nine or ten, and Pauline was the youngest child present.
Ruby-Anne came in just as the children were taking their places.
"Law sakes! What a nice little school!" she exclaimed. "I suppose you
will take me too, won't you?"
Edah would rather have preferred not having any grown-up spectators
at first, but she did not see how to avoid it in this case, and Ruby
took her place with the rest. After a few words spoken to the children,
Edah requested all present to kneel and join her in the Lord's Prayer,
and when this was concluded, she read a collect or two from her
Prayer-Book. Mr. Willson had sent her among other things, half a dozen
hymn-books, and when the prayers were finished, she selected a hymn,
which was sung to a familiar tune. Jane and Selina had sweet, though
uncultivated voices, and Ruby-Anne joined with the rest.
"Children," said Edah, when the hymn was finished, "why have we come
together here this afternoon?"
There were several answers. "To have a Sunday school," said one. "To
learn about God."—"To study the Bible," said others.
"Those are all very good answers," said Edah. "We have come to have a
Sunday School, to study the Bible, and I hope to learn something about
God and our duty. I think the best way to begin will be to read over
some verses, as of course you have not learned any lesson to-day, to
talk them over, and then you can learn them for next Sunday. We will
begin with the second chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and take seven
verses for our first lesson; but first, can any one tell me what is the
meaning of the word Gospel?"
"I believe it means good tidings," said Selina, modestly, after a pause.
"That is quite right. When the angel came to the shepherds on the
plains of Bethlehem, he said, 'I bring you glad tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people.' But why is the Gospel good news?"
"Because it tells us how to be saved," said Pauline.
"Yes, because it tells us of a Saviour. It tells us how good God was
in sending His only Son into the world, to die for us that we might
be saved if we believe in Him and obey Him and love Him. We wish to
understand that good news, and to know all about it. Suppose your
father were in some distant place—in Europe, for instance—and he should
write you a letter, telling you that you might come and see him there,
and giving you directions how you must come, and promising you money
for the journey—you would be very anxious to understand the letter
properly, would you not?"
"'I' should," said Mary Crampton.
"Well, this is what Christ does in the Gospel. He tells us that if we
will, we may meet Him in heaven; He tells us how to come, and promises
us His Holy Spirit to help us on the way. But suppose any child should
get such a letter from her father, and should just put it away on the
shelf, and think no more about it—suppose, too, that unless she did
attend to the letter and go to meet her father, she would certainly
starve to death in a little while, or be carried away and made a slave
of. Would you not think her a very strange child?"
"I don't believe any child would be so foolish as that," said Mary
Crampton.
"You think not, Mary. Yet this is just what people do who neglect the
Bible—who put it away on the shelf; and take no pains to understand it."
"But people are not starved to death because they don't understand the
Bible," said Pauline.
"Not in this world perhaps, but in another world, my dear; have you
forgotten that? Our lives do not end when we stop living here and our
bodies are buried in the ground, do they? What becomes of our souls
then?"
"They go to heaven," answered little Jemmie Fisher.
"All of them?" asked Edah. "Do the souls of all sorts of people go to
heaven, Jemmie?"
"Only Christians go to heaven," said Selina Bostwick.
"And what becomes of the others?"
"They are lost," said Selina solemnly, after a pause.
"Yes," said Edah, "unless we learn the way to heaven in this world and
set out in that way, we shall never find it, and the sooner we set
out, the more sure we are of reaching the end of our journey. It is to
learn about that way that we come here this afternoon. But it will do
us no good to learn the road, unless we set out in it; we must remember
that: a great many people know the way, who I fear never take one step
forward therein. Now we will read over the lesson for next Sunday, and
see if we understand it."
The lesson was accordingly read—a verse by each child in turn; and
Edah gave such explanations as she thought necessary. She did not like
to keep them too long at first; so she made her remarks as brief as
possible. All the children, except Jemmie Fisher, could read pretty
fluently, and he made out tolerably, by dint of spelling, and being
told the hard words by his sister. Edah gave them a short recess,
telling them not to go away from the door or make any noise, and she
was glad to find that they obeyed her. After they had taken their seats
again, she said—
"Children, there are some words which I wish you to learn to repeat
altogether. They are called the Apostles' Creed, and they tell what all
Christians believe. I will say it all for you, and then we will repeat
it sentence by sentence till we learn it. The meaning of the word Creed
is belief."
She repeated it slowly and seriously; then taking the first clause,
she said it with them three or four times, till they seemed to know it
perfectly.
"I used to know that when I was a little girl," said Ruby-Anne. "I
guess I'll say it too; it will kind of help them along."
"Do, if you please," said Edah, and accordingly Ruby-Anne's voice
chimed in with those of the little ones. In the course of half an
hour the older ones had it perfectly, and then Edah dismissed them,
after singing another hymn, and giving them their library books. They
all went home, feeling very nicely, and Edah herself was greatly
encouraged by this favorable beginning. She thought it very likely
that she would have more trouble as she went on, but she did not
mean to be discouraged. She was especially pleased at being able to
keep the attention of the children fixed, and at finding them all so
well-behaved, and looked forward with much pleasure to meeting them
again.
The next Sunday all the children made their appearance, with the
addition of two or three new faces, and Edah was gratified to find that
they had not only learned the words of their lesson, but also that they
remembered and comprehended her explanations. She pursued the same
course as before, and with the same success, and there seemed now a
fair prospect of the school's flourishing, and being useful not only
to the children, but to herself. She was surprised to find, when she
sat down to think over the verses of the lesson, how very indistinct
her own ideas were on the subject, and how much of study and meditation
were necessary in order to put them into an available shape.
She was careful not to fatigue her pupils by too many explanations; but
instead of their being in a hurry to get away, she found them rather
unwilling to go, and very desirous to hear "some more."
This week was destined to be one of trial to Edah. In the first place,
the Laurences set out on their journey. Edah had expected to miss them
very much, but she was not prepared to find such a blank in her daily
life as their departure created. It made her feel desolate not to be
expecting to see Annie, or to hear from her, or to ride over to Spring
Bank herself. She felt that there was no one left to her.
She had, it is true, formed some acquaintances in the village,
particularly with Mrs. Bell, the mother of Abby and Sarah, and with
Miss Gilmore, a useful, painstaking maiden lady, Selina Bostwick's
aunt, who was much interested in her plans for the Sunday School, and
promised to help her whenever she needed assistance; but still they
were not very cultivated people, and knew nothing of many of the things
which interested her. Mrs. Bell, in particular, thought it very strange
that any one should take so much pains to learn a foreign language,
when there were so many books in English yet unread, and she could
hardly believe that any one whose mind was so much taken up with books
and such things could have any attention left for household duties. She
was obliged, however, to confess, when Edah laughingly brought in for
her inspection a shirt which she had just finished for Sam, that she
could not have made it better herself.
Captain Laurence, who was a good deal of a book-collector, had, as
he said, made her free of his library, and she was at liberty at any
time to carry home whatever volumes she wanted—a precious privilege
in a country where books were by no means as plenty as blackberries.
Edah took up a course of history with Sam, who had become very fond of
reading aloud, and she hoped to make it profitable to both of them.
Moreover, she had herself become very much interested in some of our
most excellent old English divines, and she was especially delighted
with the Scripture Meditations of glorious Bishop Hall, which she
studied until she knew them by heart. Still, all these advantages could
not make up for the loss of the society of her friends, and she missed
them more and more every day.
A few days after their final departure, she was out in the yard, when
her attention was attracted by an old negro who was lingering near the
gate, and she went out to speak to him. The old man seemed to have some
difficulty in getting out what he had to say, and hesitated, till Edah
said, good-naturedly—
"What is it, Uncle Jake? I am sure there is something on your mind yet."
"Well, missy, that's a fact. You see I didn't like to trouble missy,
if I could get along without, but it's mighty hard times, and this old
feller don't make out very well."
"But I don't understand you yet, Jake? Do you want me to help you in
any way?"
"No, missy; I don't ask nothing of nobody, only to be paid. You see,
missy, I used to work for Mr. Champlin, time and again, hauling boards
and driving, and so on, and sometimes he paid me, and then again he
didn't; but I didn't get nothing for most a year before Mr. Champlin
went away—that's a fact. So I got Mr. Bell to draw off the 'count,
'cause I always kept a 'count, and here it is. You see, missy, I knew
there was a good deal going out, and I didn't like to disturb the
family; but I'm mighty poor this fall—that's a fact."
Edah took the account. It seemed all fair enough, and the amount was
fifteen dollars. She knew that Mr. Bell would have had nothing to do
with it unless it were all right, and she felt sorry not to have known
of it before.
"You must be paid at once, Jake, of course. I wish you had called
before, though I am much obliged to you for your consideration. Walk
into the kitchen and sit down, and I will get you the money."
"Missy is very kind. I guess I will sit down, for this old feller gets
tired mighty easy, now-a-days."
Edah was startled, on counting over her stock of ready money, to see
that it would take half of what she had in hand to pay Jake. It was
more than two months to Christmas, when she would receive her next
instalment, and what were they to do in the mean time?
"Do you ever work for Mr. Strong, at the Eagle, Jake?" she asked, as
she gave the old man his money.
"Yes, missy—sometimes."
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Well, he's a hard man, that's a fact—a regular skinflint, he is. I
never see his match for that. Missy had any trouble with him since
Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage?"
"Captain Laurence paid up the mortgage! What do you mean, Jake?"
"Don't missy know? Laws sake, I's sorry I said a word."
"But what is it, Jacob? I must know all about it," said Edah.
"Well, missy knows Strong was agoing to take Miss Champlin's things,
and the old Captain he heard of it, and he come over and wanted Strong
to make over the mortgage to him. Strong swore he wouldn't at first,
but he knows which side his bread's buttered, and he dusn't offend the
old Captain, you see, so finally he let him have it, and the Captain
paid him the money; and if old Strong didn't swear tall, when the old
Captain was out of hearing, it's no matter. Real gentleman the old
Captain is, missy—none of your new-come-up folks, they ain't. My oldest
boy and girl was brung up there. Missy's seen my Jube and Sally at the
Captain's, I expect."
"Are Jube and Sally your children, Jake? I did not know that. You must
be glad to have them in such good hands."
"Yes, missy, thank the Lord, they's well brought up. Jube is a good
boy, and helps his old daddy a sight, he does. I's a deal to be
thankful for, that's a fact. Well, I thank you, missy, and bid you
good-morning. If you have any little jobs to do, Jake will be glad to
do them for you."
"Sam," said Edah that night, "old Jake says that Captain Laurence took
that mortgage, and paid Strong the money. Did you know any thing about
it?"
"No, indeed!" replied Sam, looking perfectly confounded. "Do you
believe it, Edah?"
"Why, Jake says he was there at the time, and that Strong did not
want to let him have it, but that he dared not offend him, and so the
Captain paid the money."
"How should he know any thing about it?"
"Perhaps Mr. Willson told him. You know he knew all the circumstance;
for he was here the same day, and we talked it over with him."
"And the Captain was at Strong's the next day, I know. I remember
seeing the young black horses standing there, hitched to the post.
That's the reason we have heard no more from Strong. But what do you
mean to do about it?"
"It must be paid in some way," said Edah. "I would not pay Strong, if
I could help it; but now the debt is to Captain Laurence, and that is
quite another thing. It must be paid at some rate."
"It ought to be, certainly; but I declare, Edah, I don't know how. I
have only twenty dollars left."
"And I have only twelve, since paying Jake. I shall not have any more
till Christmas, and then only fifty dollars. But come in here—" they
were standing at the door of Edah's room—"and I will tell you what I
have been thinking. Talk low, so as not to wake Polly."
Sam sat down accordingly, and Edah went on: "Do you know whether they
have found a teacher for the school yet?"
"I know they have not," replied Sam. "I heard them talking about it at
the post-office to-night."
"Do you think they would let me take it?"
"You!" exclaimed Sam, with so much vehemence that Polly started in her
sleep. "I guess they would, and be glad of the chance; but you would
not think of doing it, would you?"
"Why not?" asked Edah. "Don't you think I am competent to teach a
common school?"
"But would you be willing to do it? Just think how it would take up
your time, and hew tired you would get. You would have to give up your
Spanish and drawing almost entirely; and then to have to teach and
manage all sorts of children—boys and girls, rough and smooth, just as
they come."
"I have thought of all that," said Edah. "As to the children, I have no
fear but that I should manage them, for I am fond of children, and they
almost always like me. It would be hard work at first, but I should get
used to it, I presume. As to the Spanish and drawing, I should have to
give them up, to be sure, but they are not of so much consequence. I
shall never feel easy a moment till this debt is paid."
"What in the world are you talking about?" asked Susan, putting her
head in at the door.
"About ways and means," said Edah. "Come in and join the committee,
will you? I thought you were asleep."
"So I was, till your talking waked me. And what about ways and means?
Ways to spend money, and no means of getting it, is what it signifies
in our case usually; but what new call is there for money?"
Edah explained what she had heard.
Susan listened in silence, and then said, in a voice which struggled in
vain to be calm—
"Captain Laurence is very kind, but I almost wish he had let it alone.
I should not care whether Strong ever got a cent of it or not, but now
the case is altered. I don't like the idea of Captain Laurence losing
by us. How much is it?"
"About one hundred and thirty dollars."
"We never can pay it in the world," said Susan.
"I am not sure of that," replied Edah. "Sam says that they have not
yet engaged a teacher for the district school, and he thinks they
would take me, if I applied, and in that way I could earn something. I
suppose they would give me, at least, twelve dollars a month."
"Sixteen," said Sam. "I heard them say they would give sixteen, if they
got a teacher that suited them."
"Well, sixteen dollars a month would go a good way, if well managed,
and then I could save my allowance towards the debt, and in time we
could get enough."
Susan tried once or twice to speak, and then, bursting into tears, she
said, through her sobs—
"I declare it is a perfect shame—you just support the family now, and
when it comes to paying father's whisky debts besides—for they are no
better—I think we had better break up, and go to the poorhouse at once."
"You forget, Susy, that I am going to spend the winter here," said
Edah, smiling, and trying to speak gaily, though the tears stood in her
own eyes, "and I should not like to spend it in the poorhouse at all.
And after all, what harm will it do me to teach a few months? A great
many girls do it from choice; and besides, Sue, you forget that it will
give me a chance to extend my Sunday School—my pet, as you call it."
"I believe that is at the bottom of it, after all," said Susan, trying
to laugh in her turn; "but it does seem a perfect shame that you should
have to give up all your own tastes and studies for the sake of earning
money for us. If I were in your place, I would just go off to New York,
and leave the family to its own devices."
"I don't believe you would do any such thing," interrupted Edah.
"I have been trying to think of some way in which I can earn
something," continued Susan, "but I don't see how I can. I am pretty
good at sewing, and I thought I could get some dresses to make; but I
cannot sew lately, it gives me such pain in my side, and makes me cough
so."
"You must not think of such a thing," said Edah, earnestly. "You do
enough, and more than enough, in waiting upon mother and taking care of
Eddy, and you could not be more useful in any other way. Well, then,
since the committee approves of my plan, I shall make the proposition
to Mr. Bell to-morrow. I am sure of his good word, at any rate. And
then I shall be the school-ma'am, and you will all have to be very
respectful to me. I shall allow no liberties, I assure you."
"And what will become of your drawing and Spanish, and your
history-reading, and all that?" asked Susan.
"The drawing and Spanish will have to wait a while," replied Edah; "the
history will go on as usual, as it only occupies the evenings. Perhaps
I may contrive a little time for drawing, but if not, I must do without
for the present."
"Well," said Susan, "all I can say is, I should like to know how you
came by your disposition. You did not get it by inheritance, I am sure
of that."
"If you will believe me, Susan," replied Edah, earnestly, "I have
got whatever there is of good in me from my religious principles. It
is to these, and these alone, that I owe any power of good, or of
self-sacrifice. I used to think of nothing but myself, and my own
pleasure; and now, though I know I often fail, I also know that my
greatest desire is to do the will of God, and to glorify Him."
"I am sure you do it," said Sam.
Susan made no remark, but she kissed her sister good-night with unusual
affection.
"One thing more before the committee rises," said Edah. "Don't say any
thing about it to mother till it is all settled and decided. She might
object, and make it difficult to arrange matters. I do not exactly like
to act without consulting her either, but, as she is now, I think it
will be best. So we will keep it all quiet till I have seen Mr. Bell
and the committee."
"You don't know what a queer dream I had last night," said Pauline, at
breakfast. "I dreamed that Sam, and sister, and Susan were all in our
room talking about keeping a school for Captain Laurence, and that Sue
cried about it. Wasn't it curious? It seems to me just as if they had
really been there."