"The ancient Egyptians, Evadne," remarked Mr. Everidge the next day at
dinner, as he selected the choicest portions of a fine roast duck for
his own consumption, "during the period of their nation's highest
civilization, subsisted almost exclusively upon millet, dates and other
fruits and cereals; and athletic Greece rose to her greatest culture
upon two meals a day, consisting principally of maize and vegetables
steeped in oil. Don't you think you ladies would find it of advantage to
copy them in this laudable abstemiousness? There is something repugnant
to a refined taste in the idea of eating flesh whose constituent
particles partake largely of the nature of our own."
"Why, certainly, Uncle Horace," said Evadne merrily. "I am quite ready
to become a vegetarian, if you will set me the example. The feminine
mind, you know, is popularly supposed to be only fitted to follow a
masculine lead."
"Ah, I wish it were possible, my dear Evadne, but the peculiar
susceptibility of my internal organism precludes all thought of my
making such a radical change in the matter of diet. Even now, in spite
of all my care, indigestion, like a grim Argus, stares me out of
countenance. I wish you would bear this fact more constantly in mind, my
dear Marthe. This duck, for instance, has not arrived at that stage of
absolute fitness which is so essential to the appreciation of a delicate
stomach. A duck, Evadne, is a bird which requires very careful treatment
in its preparation for the table. It should be suspended in the air for
a certain length of time, and then, after being carefully trussed, laid
upon its breast in the pan, in order that all the juices of the body may
concentrate in that titbit of the epicure,--then let the knife touch its
richly browned skin, and, presto, you have a dish fit for the gods! The
skin of this duck on the contrary presents a degree of resistance to the
carver which proves that it has been placed in the oven before it had
arrived at that stage of perfection."
"Why, Horace," laughed Mrs. Everidge, "I thought this one was just
right! You remember you told me the last one we had, had hung five hours
too long."
"Exactly so. My friend, Trenton, will tell you that five hours is all
the length of time required to seal the fate of nations. It is a pet
theory of his that the finale of the material world will be rapid. He
bases his conclusions upon the fact of the steady decrease in the volume
of the surrounding atmosphere and the almost instantaneous action of all
of Nature's destructive forces, fire and flood, storm and sunstroke,
lightning and hail, earthquake and cyclone. Oh, _apropos_ of my erudite
friend, Marthe, he has promised to spend August with us, so you will
have to look to your culinary laurels, for he is accustomed to dine at
Delmonico's."
"Professor Trenton coming here in August!" cried Mrs. Everidge in
dismay. "Why, Horace, you never told me you had invited him!"
"My dear, I am telling you now."
"But I meant to take Evadne up to our mountain camp in August. I am sure
the resinous air would make her strong. I had my plans all laid."
"'The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley,'" said her husband
suavely. "Evadne's mental strength cannot fail to be developed by
intercourse with such a clever man. We must not allow the culture of the
body to occupy so prominent a place in our thoughts that we forget the
mind, you know."
"A fusty old Professor!" pouted Evadne. "Oh, Uncle Horace, why didn't
you leave him among his tomes and his theories and let us be free to
enjoy?"
"Mere sensual gratification, Evadne," said Mr. Everidge, as he
replenished his plate with some dainty pickings, "is not the true aim of
life. I consider it a high honor that the Professor should consent to
devote a month of his valuable time to my edification, for he is getting
to be quite a lion in the literary world. You had better have your
chamber prepared for his occupancy, Marthe. As I remember him at college
he had a fondness amounting almost to a craze for rooms with a western
aspect."
Joanna came in to announce the arrival of a visitor whom Evadne had
already learned to dread on account of her continual depression.
"Oh, Aunt Marthe!" she exclaimed, "must you waste this beautiful
afternoon listening to her dolorosities. I wanted you to go for a
drive!"
"You go, dearie, and take Penelope Riggs. It will be a treat to her and
you ought to be out in the open air as much as possible."
Evadne went out on the veranda. Through the open window she could hear
the visitor's ceaseless monotone of complaint mingled with the soft
notes of Mrs. Everidge's cheery sympathy. "Oh, dearest," she murmured,
"if you had seen this beautiful life, you would have known that there is
no sham in the religion of Jesus!"
She waited long, in the hope that Mrs. Everidge would be able to
accompany her, then she started for the Eggs cottage. She found the old
lady alone. "Where is Penelope, Mrs. Riggs?"
"Oh, skykin' round ez usual," was the peevish response. "It's church
work this time. When I wuz young, folks got along 'thout sech an
everlastin' sight uv meetins, but nowadays there's Convenshuns, an'
Auxils an' Committees, an' the land knows what, till a body's clean
distracted. Fer my part I hate ter see wimmen a' wallerin' round in the
mud till it takes 'em the best part uv the next day ter git their skirts
clean."
"But there is no mud now, Mrs. Riggs," laughed Evadne.
"Land alive, child! There will be sometime. In my day folks used ter
stay ter hum an' mind their childern, but now they've all took ter
soarin' an' it don't matter how many ends they leave flyin' loose behind
'era."
"But Penelope has no children to mind, Mrs. Riggs."
"Land alive! She hez me, an' I oughter be more ter her than a duzzen
childern,--but she ain't got no proper feelin's, Penel ain't. When I'm
a' lyin' in my coffin she'll give her eyes ter hev the chance ter rub my
rheumatiz, an' run for hot bottles an' flannels an' ginger tea. It's an
ongrateful world but I allcrs sez there ain't no use complainin'; it's
what we've got ter expec',--triberlation an' anguish an' mournin' an'
woe. It's good enuff fer us too. Sech wurms ez we be!"
"Well, Evadne, how do you do, child? I'm dretful glad to see you," and
Penelope, breezy and keen as a March wind, came bustling into the room.
"Why, yes, I'm well, child, if it wasn't for bein' so tumbled about in
my mind."
"What has tumbled you, Penelope?" asked Evadne with a merry laugh.
"The Scribes and Pharisees," was the terse rejoinder. "I've just cum
from a Committee meeting of the Missionary Society an' I'm free to
confess my feelin's is roused tremendous. Seems to me nowadays the
church is built at a different angle from the Sermon on the Mount an'
things is measured by the world's yardsticks till there ain't much
sense in callin' it a church at all. Ef you'd seen the way Squire
Higgins' girls sot down on poor little Matildy Jones this afternoon,
just because her father sells fish! Their father sells it too, but he's
got forehanded an' can do it by the gross, an' so they toss their heads
an' set a whole garden full o' flowers a' shakin' upan' down. They're
allers more peacocky in their minds after they git their spring bunnets.
The Lord said we was to consider the lilies, but I guess he meant us to
leave 'em in the fields, for I notice the more folks carries on the tops
of their heads the less their apt to be like 'em underneath."
"But what did they say to her?" asked Evadne.
"You're young, child, or you'd know there's more ways of insultin' than
with the tongue, an' poor little Matildy is jest the one to be hurt that
way. Some folks is like clams, the minute you touch 'em, they shut
themselves up in their shells an' then they don't feel what you do to
'em any more'n the Rocky mountains, but Matildy isn't made that way. She
just sot there with the flushes comin' in her cheeks an' the tears
shinin' in her pretty eyes till my heart ached. I leaned over to her an'
whispered, 'Don't fret, Matildy, they ain't wuth mindin'. She gave me a
little wintry smile but the tears kep a' comin' an' by an' bye she got
up and went out, an' ef she don't imitate the Prophet Jeremi an' water
her piller with her tears this night, then I've changed my name sence
mornin'.
"I was so uplifted in my mind with righteous indignation that I felt
called upon to let it loose, so I begun in a musin' tone, as ef I was
havin' a solil."
"'A solil?'" said Evadne in a mystified tone.
"Why, yes; talkin' to myself, child. I did think, ef there was any place
folks was free an' eqal 'twould be in the Lord's service,' sez I. 'The
Bible teaches it's a pretty dangerous bizness to offend one uv these
little ones. I'm not much of a hand at quotations, but there's an
unpleasant connection between it an' a millstun,' sez I.
"Malviny Higgins tossed her head an' giv me one uv her witherinest
looks, but I'm not one uv the perishin' kind, so I kep on a' musin'.
"'It's wonderful what a difference there is between sellin' by the poun'
an' the barrel,' sez I. 'It's unfortunet that there's only one way to
the heavenly country, an' it's a limited express with no Pullman
attached. The Lord hedn't time to put on a parlor car fer the wholesale
trade; seems like as if it was kind uv neglectful in him. It would hev
been more convenient an' private.'
"Malviny's cheeks got as red as beets an' the flowers on her bonnet
danced a Highland Fling as she leaned over to whisper somethin' to her
sister, but I hed relieved my feelin's an' could join in quite peaceful
like when Mrs. Songster said we'd close the meetin' by singin' 'Blest be
the tie that binds.' Well, there'll be no clicks in heaven, that's one
blessin'."
"'Clicks,' Penelope?"
"Why, yes, child, the folks that gets off by themselves in a corner an'
thinks nobody outside the circle is fit to tie their shoe. I expect to
hev edifyin' conversations with Moses an' Elija, an' the first thing I
mean to ask him is what kind of ravens they really were."
"'Ravens,'" echoed Evadne bewildered, "what _do_ you mean, Penelope?"
"Sakes alive, child! Haven't you read your Bible? and don't you know the
ravens fed the old gentleman in the desert, an' that folks now say they
were Arabs, because the ravens are dirty birds an' live on carrion, an'
it stands to reason Elija couldn't touch that if he hed an ordinary
stumach. As if the Lord couldn't hev made 'em bring food from the king's
table if he hed chosen to do it! It's all of a piece with the way folks
hev now of twistin' the Bible inside out till nobody knows what it
means. For my part I believe if the Lord hed meant Arabs he would hev
said Arabs an' not hev deceived us by callin' 'em birds uv prey. Folks
is so set against allowin' anything that looks like a meracle that
they'll go all the way round the barn an' creep through a snake fence if
they can prove it's jest an ordinary piece of business. They do say
there are some things the Lord can't do, but I'm free to confess I've
never found them out."
* * * * *
"Aunt Marthe," said Evadne, when they had settled down for their evening
talk, "what does it all mean? 'The victory of our faith,' you know, and
the 'Overcomeths' in Revelation? I thought Christ got the victory for
us?"
"So he does, dear child, and we through him. I came across a lovely
explanation of it some time ago which I will copy for you; it has been
such an inspiration. Listen,--
"'When you are forgotten or neglected or purposely set at naught and you
smile inwardly, glorying in the insult or the oversight,--that is
victory.
"'When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your
tastes offended, your advice disregarded, your opinions ridiculed, and
you take it all in patient and loving silence,--that is victory.
"'When you are content with any food, any raiment, any climate, any
society, any position in life, any solitude, any interruption,--that is
victory.
"'When you can bear with any discord, any annoyance, any irregularity or
unpunctuality (of which you are not the cause),--that is victory.
"'When you can stand face to face with folly, extravagance, spiritual
insensibility, contradiction of sinners, persecution, and endure it all
as Jesus endured it,--that is victory.
"'When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, nor to
record your works, nor to seek after commendation; when you can truly
love to be unknown,--that is victory.'"
"Now I see!" exclaimed Evadne. "It means the beautiful patience with
which you bear aggravating things and the gentle courtesy with which you
treat all sorts of troublesome people. Oh, my Princess, I envy you your
altitude!"