"began about Jacob and read right on" until Mrs. Rheid's light step
touched the plank at the kitchen door. There was a quiet joyfulness in
her face, but she did not say one word; she bent over to kiss Marjorie as
she passed her, hung up her gingham sun-bonnet, and as the tea kettle was
singing, poured the boiling water into an iron pot, scattered a handful
of salt in it and went to the cupboard for the Indian meal.
"I'll stir," said Marjorie, looking around at the old lady and
discovering her head dropped towards one side and the knitting aslant in
her fingers.
"The pudding stick is on the shelf next to the tin porringer," explained
Mrs. Rheid.
Marjorie moved to the stove and stood a moment holding the wooden pudding
stick in her hand.
"You may tell Hollis," said Hollis' mother, slowly dropping the meal into
the boiling water, "that I have found peace, at last."
Majorie's eyes gave a quick leap.
"Peace in _believing_--there is no peace anywhere else," she added.
XII.
A BUDGET OF LETTERS.
"The flowers have with the swallows fled,
And silent is the cricket;
The red leaf rustles overhead,
The brown leaves fill the thicket
"With frost and storm comes slowly on
The year's long wintry night time."--_J. T. Trowbridge_
"_New York, Nov_. 21, 18--.
"MY DARLING MARJORIE:
"You know I hate to write letters, and I do not believe I should have
begun this this evening if Miss Prudence had not made me. She looks at
me with her eyes and then I am _made_. I am to be two weeks writing this,
so it is a journal. To think I have been at school two years and am
beginning a third year. And to think I am really nineteen years old. And
you are sixteen, aren't you? Almost as old as I was when I first came.
But your turn is coming, poor dear! Miss Prudence says I may go home and
be married next summer, if I can't find anything better to do, and Will
says I can't. And I shouldn't wonder if we go to Europe on our wedding
tour. That sounds grand, doesn't it? But it only means that Captain
Will Rheid will take his wife with him if the owners' do not object too
strongly, and if they do, the captain says he will let the _Linnet_ find
another master; but I don't believe he will, or that anybody will object.
That little cabin is just large enough for two of us to turn around in,
or we would take you. Just wait till Will has command of a big East
Indiaman and you shall go all around the world with us. We are in our
snuggery this evening, as usual. I think you must know it as well as I do
by this time. The lovely white bed in the alcove, the three windows with
lace curtains dropping to the floor, the grate with its soft, bright
fire, the round table under the chandelier, with Miss Prudence writing
letters and I always writing, studying, or mending. Sometimes we do not
speak for an hour. Now my study hours are over and I've eaten three
Graham wafers to sustain my sinking spirits while I try to fill this
sheet. Somehow I can think of enough to say--how I would talk to you if
you were in that little rocker over in the corner. But I think you would
move it nearer, and you would want to do some of the talking yourself. I
haven't distinguished myself in anything, I have not taken one prize, my
composition has never once been marked T. B. R, _to be read_; to be read
aloud, that is; and I have never done anything but to try to be perfect
in every recitation and to be ladylike in deportment. I am always asked
to sing, but any bird can sing. I was discouraged last night and had a
crying time down here on the rug before the grate. Miss Prudence had gone
to hear Wendell Phillips, with one of the boarders, so I had a good long
time to cry my cry out all by myself. But it was not all out when she
came, I was still floating around in my own briny drops, so, of course,
she would know the cause of the small rain storm I was drenched in, and I
had to stammer out that--I--hadn't--improved--my time and--I knew she was
ashamed of me--and sorry she--had tried to--make anything out of me. And
then she laughed. You never heard her laugh like that--nor any one else.
I began to laugh as hard as I had been crying. And, after that, we talked
till midnight. She said lovely things. I wish I knew how to write them,
but if you want to hear them just have a crying time and she will say
them all to you. Only you can never get discouraged. She began by asking
somewhat severely: 'Whose life do you want to live?' And I was frightened
and said, 'My own, of course,' that I wouldn't be anybody else for
anything, not even Helen Rheid, or you. And she said that my training had
been the best thing for my own life, that I had fulfilled all her
expectations (not gone beyond them), and she knew just what I could do
and could not do when she brought me here. She had educated me to be a
good wife to Will, and an influence for good in my little sphere in my
down-east home; she knew I would not be anything wonderful, but she had
tried to help me make the most of myself and she was satisfied that I had
done it. I had education enough to know that I am an ignorant thing (she
didn't say _thing_, however), and I had common sense and a loving heart.
I was not to go out into the world as a bread-winner or 'on a mission,'
but I was to stay home and make a home for a good man, and to make it
such a sweet, lovely home that it was to be like a little heaven. (And
then I had to put my head down and cry again.) So it ended, and I felt
better and got up early to write it all to Will.--There's a knock at the
door and a message for Miss Prudence.
"Later. The message was that Helen Rheid is very sick and wants her to
come to sit up with her to-night. Hollis brought the word but would not
come upstairs. And now I must read my chapter in the Bible and prepare to
retire. Poor Helen! She was here last week one evening with Hollis,
as beautiful as a picture and so full of life. She was full of plans. She
and Miss Prudence are always doing something together.
"23d. Miss Prudence has not come home yet and I'm as lonesome as can be.
Coming home from school to-day I stopped to inquire about Helen and saw
nobody but the servant who opened the door; there were three doctors
upstairs then, she said, so I came away without hearing any more; that
tells the whole story. I wish Hollis would come and tell me. I've learned
my lessons and read my chapters in history and biography, and now I am
tired and stupid and want to see you all. I do not like it here, in this
stiff house, without Miss Prudence. Most of the boarders are gentlemen or
young married ladies full of talk among themselves. Miss Prudence says
she is going back to her Maple Street home when she takes you, and you
and she and her old Deborah are to live alone together. She is tired of
boarding and so I am, heartily tired. I am tired of school, to-night, and
everything. Your letter did not come to-day, and Will's was a short,
hurried one, and I'm homesick and good-for-nothing.
"27th. I've been studying hard to keep up in geometry and astronomy and
have not felt a bit like writing. Will has sailed for Liverpool and I
shall not see him till next spring or later, for he may cross the
Mediterranean, and then back to England, and nobody knows where else,
before he comes home. It all depends upon "freights." As if freight were
everything. Hollis called an hour ago and stayed awhile. Helen is no
better. She scarcely speaks, but lies patient and still. He looked in at
her this morning, but she did not lift her eyes. Oh, she is so young to
die! And she has so much to _do_. She has not even begun to do yet. She
has so much of herself to do with, she is not an ignoramus like me. Her
life has been one strong, pure influence Hollis said to-night. He is sure
she will get well. He says her father and mother pray for her night and
day. And his Aunt Helen said such a beautiful thing yesterday. She was
talking to Hollis, for she knows he loves her so much. She said
something like this: (the tears were in his eyes when he told me) 'I was
thinking last night, as I stood looking at her, about that blood on the
lintel--the blood of the lamb that was to keep the first-born safe among
the children of Israel. She is our first-born and the blood of Jesus
Christ is in all our thoughts while we plead for her life--for his
sake--for the sake of his blood.' Hollis broke down and had to go away
without another word. Her life has done him good. I wish she could talk
to him before she goes away, because he is not a Christian. But he is so
good and thoughtful that he will _think_ now more than he ever did
before. Miss Prudence stays all the time. Helen notices when she is not
there and Mrs. Rheid says she can rest while Miss Prudence is in the
room.
"I am such a poor stick myself, and Helen could do so much in the world;
and here I am, as strong and well as can be, and she is almost dying. But
I do not want to take her place. I have so much to live for--so many, I
ought to say. I thought of writing a long journal letter, but I have not
the heart to think of anything but Helen.
"Hollis is to start next week on his first trip as a 'commercial
traveller,' and he is in agony at the thought of going and not knowing
whether Helen will live or die. I'll finish this in the morning, because
I know you are anxious to hear from us.
"In the morning. I am all ready for school, with everything on but my
gloves. I don't half know my geometry and I shall have to copy my
composition in school. It is as stupid as it can be; it is about the
reign of Queen Anne. There isn't any heart in it, because all I care
about is the present--and the future. I'll send it to you as soon as it
is returned corrected. You will laugh at the mistakes and think, if you
are too modest to say so, that you can do better. I pity you if you
can't. I shall stop on the way to inquire about Helen, and I am afraid
to, too.
"School, Noon Recess. I met Hollis on the walk as I stood in front of
Helen's--there was no need to ask. Black and white ribbon was streaming
from the bell handle. I have permission to go home. I have cried all the
morning. I hope I shall find Miss Prudence there. She must be so tired
and worn out. Hollis looked like a ghost and his voice shook so he could
scarcely speak.
"With ever so much love to all,
"YOUR SISTER LINNET.
"P. S. Hollis said he would not write this week and wants you to tell his
mother all about it."
* * * * *
The next letter is dated in the early part of the following month.
"_In my Den, Dec_. 10, 18--,
"MY FRIEND PRUDENCE:
"My heart was with you, as you well know, all those days and nights in
that sick chamber that proved to be the entrance to Heaven. She smiled
and spoke, lay quiet for awhile with her eyes closed, and awoke in the
presence of the Lord. May you and I depart as easily, as fearlessly. I
cannot grieve as you do; how much she is saved! To-night I have been
thinking over your life, and a woman's lot seems hard. To love so much,
to suffer so much. You see I am desponding; I am often desponding. You
must write to me and cheer me up. I am disappointed in myself. Oh how
different this monotonous life from the life I planned! I dig and
delve and my joy comes in my work. If it did not, where would it come in,
pray? I am a joyless fellow at best. There! I will not write another
word until I can give you a word of cheer. Why don't you toss me
overboard? Your life is full of cheer and hard work; but I cannot be like
you. Marjorie and Morris were busy at the dining-room table when I left
them, with their heads together over my old Euclid. We are giving them a
lift up into the sunshine and that is something. What do you want to send
Marjorie to school for? What can school do for her when I give her up to
you? Give yourself to her and keep her out of school. The child is not
always happy. Last communion Sunday she sat next to me; she was crying
softly all the time. You could have said something, but, manlike, I held
my peace. I wonder whether I don't know what to say, or don't know how to
say it. I seem to know what to say to you, but, truly Prudence, I don't
know how to say it. I have been wanting to tell you something, fourteen,
yes, fourteen years, and have not dared and do not dare to night.
Sometimes I am sure I have a right, a precious right, a sacred right, and
then something bids me forbear, and I forbear. I am forbearing now as I
sit up here in my chamber alone, crowded in among my books and the wind
is wild upon the water. I am gloomy to-night and discouraged. My book,
the book I have lost myself in so long, has been refused the fourth time.
Had it not been for your hand upon my arm awhile ago it would be now
shrivelled and curling among the ashes on my hearth.
"Who was it that stood on London Bridge and did not throw his manuscript
over? Listen! Do you hear that grand child of yours asking who it was
that sat by his hearth and did not toss his manuscript into the fire?
Didn't somebody in the Bible toss a roll into the fire on the hearth? I
want you to come to talk to me. I want some one not wise or learned,
except learned and wise in such fashion as you are, to sit here beside
me, and look into the fire with me, and listen to the wind with me, and
talk to me or be silent with me. If my book had been accepted, and all
the world were wagging their tongues about it, I should want that unwise,
unlearned somebody. That friend of mine over the water, sitting in his
lonely bungalow tonight studying Hindoostanee wants somebody, too. Why
did you not go with him, Prudence? Shall you never go with any one; shall
you and I, so near to each other, with so much to keep us together, go
always uncomforted. But you _are_ comforted. You loved Helen, you love
Linnet and Marjorie and a host of others; you do not need me to bid you
be brave. You are a brave woman. I am not a brave man. I am not brave
to-night, with that four-times-rejected manuscript within reach of my
hand. Shall I publish it myself? I want some one to think well enough of
it to take the risk.
"Prudence, I have asked God for something, but he gives me an answer that
I cannot understand. Write to me and tell me how that is.
"Yours to-day and to-morrow."
"J. H."
* * * * *
"_New York, Dec_. 20, 18--.
"MY DEAR JOHN:
"I have time but for one word to-night, and even that cannot be at
length. Linnet and I are just in from a lecture on Miss Mitford! There
were tears running down over my heart all the time that I was listening.
You call me brave; she was brave. Think of her pillowed up in bed writing
her last book, none to be kind to her except those to whom she paid
money. Linnet was delighted and intends to 'write a composition' about
her. Just let me keep my hand on your arm (will you?) when evil impulses
are about. You do not quite know how to interpret the circumstances that
seem to be in answer to your prayer? It is as if you spoke to God in
English and the answer comes in Sanscrit. I think I have received such
answers myself. And if we were brutes, with no capacity of increasing our
understanding, I should think it very queer. Sometimes it is hard work to
pray until we get an answer and then it is harder still to find out its
meaning. I imagine that Linnet and Marjorie, even Will Rheid, would not
understand that; but you and I are not led along in the easiest way. It
must be because the answer is worth the hard work: his Word and Spirit
can interpret all his involved and mystical answers. Think with a clear
head, not with any pre-formed judgment, with a heart emptied of all but a
willingness to read his meaning aright, be that meaning to shatter your
hopes or to give bountifully your desire--with a sincere and abiding
determination to take it, come what may, and you will understand as
plainly as you are understanding me. Try it and see. I have tried and I
know. There may be a wound for you somewhere, but oh, the joy of the
touch of his healing hand. And after that comes obedience. Do you
remember one a long time ago who had half an answer, only a glimmer of
light on a dark way? He took the answer and went on as far as he
understood, not daring to disobey, but he went on--something like you,
too--in 'bitterness,' in the heat of his spirit, he says; he went on as
far as he could and stayed there. That was obedience. He stayed there
'astonished' seven days. Perhaps you are in his frame of mind. Nothing
happened until the end of the seven days, then he had another word. So I
would advise you to stay astonished and wait for the end of your seven
days. In our bitterness and the heat of our spirit we are apt to think
that God is rather slow about our business. Ezekiel could have been busy
all that seven days instead of doing nothing at all, but it was the time
for him to do nothing and the time for God to be busy within him. You
have inquired of the Lord, that was your busy time, now keep still and
let God answer as slowly as he will, this is his busy time. Now Linnet
and I must eat a cracker and then say good-night to all the world,
yourself, dear John, included.
"Yours,
"PRUDENCE"
* * * * *
"_Washington, Dec._ 21, 18--.
"DEAR MARJORIE:
"Aunt Helen sent me your letter; it came an hour ago. I am full of
business that I like. I have no time for sight-seeing. I wish I had!
Washington is the place for Young America to come to. But Young America
has to come on business this time. Perhaps I will come here on my wedding
trip, when there is no business to interfere. I am not ashamed to say
that if I had been a girl I would have cried over your letter. Helen was
_something_ to everybody; she used to laugh and then look grave when she
read your letters about her and the good she was to you. There will never
be another Helen. There is one who has a heartache about her and no one
knows it except himself and me. She refused him a few days before
she was taken ill. He stood a long time and looked at her in her coffin,
as if he forgot that any one was looking at him. I told him it was of no
use to ask her, but he persisted. She had told me several times that he
was disagreeable to her. Her mother wonders who will take her place to us
all, and we all say no one ever can. I thank God that she lived so long
for my sake. You and she are like sisters to me. You do me good, too. I
should miss your letters very much, for I hear from home so seldom. You
are my good little friend, and I am grateful to you. Give my best love to
every one at home and tell mother I like my business. Mother's photograph
and yours and Helen's are in my breast pocket. If I should die to-night
would I be as safe as Helen is?
"Your true friend,
"HOLLIS RHEID."
* * * * *
"_The Homestead, Jan_. 4, 18--.
"DEAR FRIEND HOLLIS:
"Thank you for your letter from Washington. I took it over to your mother
and read it to her and your father, all excepting about the young man who
stood and looked at Helen in her coffin. I thought, perhaps, that was in
confidence. Your father said: 'Tell Hollis when he is tired of tramping
around to come home and settle down near the old folks,' and your mother
followed me to the door and whispered: 'Tell him I cannot feel that he is
safe until I know that he has repented and been forgiven.' And now, being
through all this part, my conscience is eased and I can tell you
everything else I want to.
"Look in and see us in a snow-storm. Mother is reading for the one
hundred and twenty-second and a half time somebody's complete works on
the New Testament, and father and Mr. Holmes are talking about--let me
see if I know--ah, yes, Mr. Holmes is saying, 'Diversity of origin,' so
you know all about it.
"Sometimes I listen instead of studying. I would listen to this if your
letter were not due for the mail to-morrow. Father sits and smiles, and
Mr. Holmes walks up and down with his arms behind him as he used to do
during recitation in school. Perhaps he does it now, only you and I are
not there to see. I wish you were here to listen to him; father speaks
now and then, but the dialogue soon develops into a monologue and the
master entertains and instructs us all. If you do not receive this letter
on time know that it is because I am learning about the Jew; how he is
everywhere proving the truth of prophecy by becoming a resident of every
country. And yet while he is a Jew he has faces of all colors. In the
plains of the Ganges, he is black; in Syria, lighter and yet dusky; in
Poland his complexion is ruddy and his hair as light as yours. There was
a little Jewess boarding around here last summer as olive as I imagine
Rebekah and Sarah, and another as fair and rosy as a Dane. But have you
enough of this? Don't you care for what Livingstone says or Humboldt?
Don't you want to know the four proofs in support of unity of origin?
I do, and if I write them I shall remember them; 1. Bodily Structure. 2.
Language. 3. Tradition. 4. Mental Endowment. Now he is telling about the
bodily structure and I do want to listen.--And I _have_ listened and the
minute hand of the clock has been travelling on and my pen has been
still. But don't you want to know the ten conclusions that have been
established--I know you do. And if I forget, I'll nudge Morris and ask
him. Oh, I see (by looking over his shoulder) he has copied them all in
one of his exercise books.
"You may skip them if you want to, but I know you want to see if your
experience in your extensive travels correspond with the master's
authority. Now observe and see if the people in Washington--all have the
same number of teeth, and of additional bones in their body. As that may
take some time, and seriously interfere with your 'business' and theirs,
perhaps you had better not try it. And, secondly, they all shed their
teeth in the same way (that will take time also, so, perhaps, you may
better defer it until your wedding trip, when you have nothing else to
do); and, thirdly, they all have the upright position, they walk and
look upward; and, fourthly, their head is set in every variety in the
same way; fifthly, they all have two hands; sixthly, they all have smooth
bodies with hair on the head; seventhly, every muscle and every nerve in
every variety are the same; eighthly, they all speak and laugh; ninthly,
they eat different kind of food, and live in all climates; and, _lastly_,
they are more helpless and grow more slowly than other animals. Now don't
you like to know that? And now he has begun to talk about language and I
_must_ listen, even if this letter is never finished, because language is
one of my hobbies. The longer the study of language is pursued the more
strongly the Bible is confirmed, he is saying. You ought to see Morris
listen. His face is all soul when he is learning a new thing. I believe
he has the most expressive face in the world. He has decided to be a
sailor missionary. He says he will take the Gospel to every port in the
whole world. Will takes Bibles and tracts always. Morris reads every word
of _The Sailors Magazine_ and finds delightful things in it. I have
almost caught his enthusiasm. But if I were a man I would be professor of
languages somewhere and teach that every word has a soul, and a history
because it has a soul. Wouldn't you like to know how many languages there
are? It is _wonderful_. Somebody says--Adelung (I don't know who he
is)--three thousand and sixty-four distinct languages, Balbi (Mr. Holmes
always remembers names) eight hundred languages and five thousand
dialects, and Max Müller says there are nine hundred known languages. Mr.
Holmes can write a letter in five languages and I reverence him, but what
is that where there are, according to Max Müller, eight hundred and
ninety-five that he does not know a word of? Mr. Holmes stands still and
puts his hands in front of him (where they were meant to be), and says he
will tell us about Tradition to-morrow night, as he must go up to his
den and write letters. But he does say Pandora's box is the story of the
temptation and the fall. You know she opened her box out of curiosity,
and diseases and wars leaped out to curse mankind. That is a Greek story.
The Greek myths all seem to mean something. Father says: 'Thank you for
a pleasant evening,' as Mr. Holmes takes his lamp to leave us, and _he_
says: 'You forget what I have to thank you all for.'