THE MISSION MEETING.
SATURDAY came, and with it the missionary meeting. Therese had not yet
recovered her senses, but there were signs of improvement. Her pulse
was better, and she swallowed what was put in her mouth.
"Oh, I do hope she will live," said Marion as she slipped into the room
and stood looking at her playmate. "How pale she has grown!"
"That is a good sign," said the doctor.
"Don't you think she will live, Uncle Duncan?"
"I cannot tell, Marion; I hope she may, unless her mind should prove to
be hopelessly gone. That has been my fear from the first. In that case
we can hardly wish for her life, for we have reason to believe that she
is prepared for death."
"I should not have thought that Therese had so much feeling," observed
Marion, "she always seemed so lively and cheerful. Some girls in her
situation would never have held their heads up at all, but Therese was
always ready to help in any fun that was going on. If I had been in her
place, my spirits would have been so depressed I should not have been
able to enjoy anything."
Doctor Campbell smiled a queer little smile which at once set Marion
to thinking whether she had said anything which her uncle could think
silly.
"If you were burdened with any great trouble, you would find, my dear,
that you could not afford to be depressed. Really afflicted people are
seldom what is called low spirited. They cannot afford it. Depression
of spirits properly so called usually comes from derangement of the
liver."
"Just like a doctor," thought Marion. "Don't you mean to go down to the
meeting, Uncle Duncan?" she asked, aloud. "Mrs. Parmalee expects you at
least to tea, you know."
"Mrs. Parmalee must excuse me," answered the doctor; "I think this
afternoon will be the turning-point with my patient, and I do not like
to leave her."
"Is Uncle Duncan always so much interested in his patients?" asked
Marion of her aunt as they walked down toward the village.
"Why, hardly," answered Mrs. Campbell, smiling. "If, for instance, I
had a severe cold in my head, I should hardly expect the doctor to
stay at home for me. He is naturally much interested for Therese, both
because it is a remarkable case and because she is an unusually bright
and interesting girl placed in very unhappy circumstances. I suppose
Duncan would do his duty by a patient in any case, but you can hardly
expect him to feel exactly the same amount of personal interest for
them all."
Marion said no more, but walked on, considering whether she would not
have the heiress of McGregor deserted by all her friends and left
to the care of strangers in a brain fever, or whether a lingering
consumption would not be more interesting.
When they arrived at the parsonage, they found the roomy parlours
filled to overflowing. All the district school girls were present. Even
Matty McRae had not been able to keep to her resolution of staying
away, though she had done all the mischief in her power by repeating
the story of Marion's watch to every one she could get to listen to
her. Almost all the girls belonging to the missionary society had
brought their work, and there was a great deal of talk going on, which
ceased on the entrance of Mrs. Campbell and Marion.
Mrs. Campbell went round among the girls, speaking to those she knew
and admiring the work, some of which was indeed remarkably pretty.
"How is Therese to-day?" asked Kitty as soon as she could get hold of
Marion.
"Uncle Duncan thinks she is better, but I can't see any change in her,"
answered Marion, rather pettishly. She had been very sorry for Therese
at first, but latterly she had begun to feel that the sick girl was
attracting rather more than her share of interest. "She can swallow and
she has grown pale and shuts her eyes, and Uncle Duncan says they are
all good signs. I don't believe but that she might be roused if Uncle
Duncan would let anybody try, but he won't."
"Of course he knows best," said Kitty. "Oh, I do hope she will get
well."
"I'm sure I hope she will, for it isn't very convenient having her sick
at our house so long," returned Marion. And then, feeling that this was
not a very amiable speech, she added, hastily, "Of course I don't mind
it myself, but it makes so much more work for Aunt Baby."
"Of course mamma will take her home as soon as Dr. Campbell thinks she
can be moved safely," said Kitty. She turned away as she spoke, and
Marion, as usual, began to wish her words unsaid.
If she had considered her words as much before she spoke as she did
afterward, she would have saved herself and other people a great deal
of trouble.
"And now what do you wish most to hear about?" asked Mrs. Campbell as
soon as she had found a seat between the folding-doors where she could
see everybody. There was a short silence, and then one of the little
girls said, "Everything, please."
"But I can't tell everything at once, you know," said Mrs. Campbell,
smiling. "Where shall I begin?"
"With little Rachel, please, Mrs. Campbell," said Lizzy Gates, who
was apt to be the spokesman wherever she was, not from any particular
forwardness, but because, as she expressed it, she "could never see
anything waiting to be done without trying to do it." "Please to tell
the girls the story you told me the other day up at your house about
how Dr. Campbell found Rachel in the first place."
"Very well; I suppose I may as well begin there as anywhere. If I do
not tell you what you wish to know, you must ask questions."
I shall not attempt to give the substance of Mrs. Campbell's little
lecture, interesting as it was. When she came to a conclusion, there
was a general cry of—
"Oh, Mrs. Campbell, don't stop. Go on, please."
"My dear girls, my lungs are not made of cast iron," said Mrs.
Campbell, smiling, "and I think you have had a pretty long 'screed,' as
my father would say. Do you know that I have been talking to you for
more than two hours?"
"It doesn't seem possible," said Laura Bryant, who had heretofore taken
very little interest in the missionary society. "It does not seem any
time at all."
"That is a very pretty compliment, my dear."
"It wasn't a compliment, it was true," answered Laura, bluntly.
"Compliments may be true as well as false, Laura. If I should say you
were a very attentive listener, that would be a compliment, but it
would also be true."
Laura hardly knew whether to be pleased or not. She was not accustomed
to politeness, or even civility, at home. All the Bryants thought they
showed their sincerity by being blunt and rude and saying the most
disagreeable things possible, especially to each other. Nevertheless,
she felt, as everybody must, the charm of sincere good breeding.
"What I like is that you make everything so real," said she. "When I
read of such things in books, they never do seem real. I cannot make
myself believe that these Turks and Syrians and Arabs are people having
the same feelings as we have."
"I know," observed Lizzy. "I have had the same feelings about places I
have never seen. I am not quite sure that I really believe in China,
after all."
"You are like the old lady who said it had never been revealed to
her that there was such a place as Jerusalem," said Mrs. Campbell.
"I believe many people have the same feeling. It is one of the
difficulties which the mission boards have to contend with. There are
numbers who would be ready to give if they could only see the need
with their own eyes, but they cannot do that, and it has never been
'revealed' to them that there are any such places or people or things
as the missionary papers tell them of. That power of realization is one
of the many uses of imagination."
"I never thought of that," said Emily Sibley, a grave, pale,
prim-looking girl, one of the oldest in the school. "I always supposed
imagination was something to be put down—a kind of disease of the mind."
"Not at all, my dear. Imagination is as much a faculty of the mind
as reason. Like that, it should be regulated and controlled and
sanctified, but no more 'put down' than reason should be 'put down.'"
"My father don't believe in missions, any way," said Matty McRae, who
had listened in spite of herself. "He says the churches go running
about after foreign missions and such stuff, and neglect the poor at
their own door, and that every dollar given to the heathen takes five
dollars to send it."
"If your father will take pains to inquire for himself, Matty, he will
find both these statements untrue," answered Mrs. Campbell. "He will
find that the churches which do and give the most for foreign missions
are those which are most active and generous in all kinds of charitable
work at home, and that the statement about the money is quite as
incorrect as the other."
"Why don't some one disprove them, then?" asked Lizzy.
"They have been disproved over and over again, but that does not
prevent their being repeated on every occasion."
There was a little whispering in one corner, and somebody said, as if
speaking a little louder than she meant,—
"Yes, I will ask her too; I want to know how it was."
"Ask her what?" said Mrs. Campbell.
Little Mary McIntyre stood forward, flushed and rather scared, but
evidently determined to know the truth.
"Well, Mrs. Campbell, I don't know but you'll think me impudent, but I
don't mean to be, so I hope you'll excuse me."
"I will when I know what there is to excuse."
"Well, somebody has been telling everybody that you gave Marion a
present of a watch that cost more than a hundred dollars, and folks
say—some folks do—that they won't give money to missionaries to buy
gold watches with. And I thought I would just ask you how it really
was."
"Quite right, Mary. I will answer your question to the best of my
ability. In the first place, the watch did not cost a hundred dollars,
but only sixty. Secondly, it was given to Marion, not by me, but
by Mr. Van Alstine, her stepfather, who is a quite wealthy man.
Thirdly, supposing I had given my niece a gold watch, it would by no
means follow that the cause of missions was any poorer. Mr. McRae is
agent for a sewing-machine factory; but if he should give Matty a
watch, nobody would have a right to suppose that he paid for it with
his employers' money. That would be a very unkind and uncharitable
conclusion."
Mrs. Campbell had known nothing about Matty's connection with the story
of the gold watch. She was therefore very much surprised when all the
girls looked at her significantly and Matty coloured and looked just
ready to cry. She saw that there was something amiss, and with her
usual ready tact she hastened to change the conversation.
"Suppose any one wished to be a missionary; what would be the best way
of going to work to get ready, Mrs. Campbell?" asked Emily Sibley.
"I hardly know how to answer you except by saying that the better you
are prepared for usefulness at home, the more useful you are likely
to be abroad. Some experience in teaching is very desirable, and a
district school or a class in Sunday school is a very good training.
Then one should be well acquainted with the best methods of doing all
sorts of household work; and, in short, usefulness in the home-field is
the best preparation for usefulness in the other."
"Now, really, my dear girls, you must not quite eat Mrs. Campbell up
at one meal," said lively little Mrs. Parmalee, coming into the room
presently. "Consider that you have kept her on the stretch for three
mortal hours. Now put away your work and come and have some tea. You
have learned as much as you can remember, I am sure."
"We have not been learning at all," said Mary McIntyre, indignantly.
"It has been just as interesting as it could be."
"Mary doesn't go to the Crocker school, that's certain," said Lizzy,
joining in the universal laugh. "Never mind, Molly; some time or other
you will find out that learning can be interesting. Oh, there! Don't
cry," as the sensitive little girl's cheeks grew scarlet and her eyes
overflowed. "There was not a bit of harm in what you said, and the
girls were not laughing at you at all. Were we, girls?"
"No, of course not," said Kitty. "I remember when I used to have the
same feeling when mamma was sick so long in Paris, and I had Miss
Milliken for a governess. She meant to be good, and she was, but oh, so
dry. I was reading the 'Tales of a Grandfather' for my English lesson,
and she made it as dry as the Fourth Reader."
"How fond Kitty is of talking about the time when she was in Paris!"
said Laura to Marion in a whisper. "She thinks she is ever so much
better than the rest of us because she has been abroad," continued
Laura. "Mother says she shouldn't think the Tremaines would want to
say much about that, because Mr. Tremaine gambled away all his wife's
property there. I do hate such stuck-up, aristocratic folks, don't you?"
The conversation was interrupted by a call to tea. It was the custom
in Holford on all such occasions for the ladies of the congregation to
send in refreshments. The table was bountifully supplied with all sorts
of good things, to which the girls were fully prepared to do justice.
They all stood round the room, while Lizzy Gates, Kitty, and two or
three others waited upon them, and there was a great deal of eating,
laughing, and talking. Marion was one of the waiters, and after the
rest had finished sat down with them to "eat her supper in peace," as
Lizzy said.
"Oh, Mrs. Campbell, please stay with us," said Kitty; "I think we have
earned that privilege by our arduous labour. Don't you, girls?"
"Yes, indeed," was the general answer.
And Mrs. Campbell, nothing loth, sat down again. She was fond of the
society of young people, and naturally gratified by the interest shown
in what was most interesting to her. She had been at a good deal of
pains, and had spent valuable time which she could ill spare in writing
letters to the little missionary society in Holford; and taking Marion
as an index of the state of feeling among its members, she had been
vexed and disappointed by the apparent indifference.
"Girls, we ought not to ask her another single question," said Kitty at
last; "it is a shame to make her talk so much, when she is so tired.
Marion, I shouldn't think you would ever know when to stop."
Marion coloured, conscious that she had hardly even made a beginning.
"What a pity poor Therese could not been here!" said Lizzy. "She would
have had more questions to ask than anybody. I think Therese would make
a good missionary."
"Is Therese a religious girl?" asked Mrs. Campbell.
"Oh yes, indeed, Mrs. Campbell," answered Kitty, eagerly. "I do think
she is a real Christian, and mamma says so too. She is so faithful
about everything. I do think she makes a conscience of the least thing
she undertakes."
"That is a good trait, certainly," said Mrs. Campbell.
"And then she is so much in earnest about everything she does," added
Lizzy. "Oh, she is a splendid girl; I do hope she will get well."
"Mamma says Therese has great talents," observed Kitty; "she says she
never knew a girl on whom a thoroughly good education could be better
bestowed, and that it is a pity she should not have the chances some
girls are throwing away."
"Why doesn't your mother send her to school, then?" asked Marion.
"She cannot afford it," answered Kitty, simply. "You know we are not
rich at all, and mother could not afford to keep Therese unless she
saved her the expense of another girl. If it were only Therese, we
might do it, but we have to help other people who have more claims upon
us. I wish it was different, I am sure, for I love Therese dearly."
"Therese thinks she has a splendid chance," said Lizzy; "she told
Marion and me so that very day she was taken sick. Don't you remember,
Marion? She said she was just as happy as she could be, and that there
were very few girls who had as good a chance as hers."
"I am glad she thinks so, I am sure," said Kitty; "we do help her all
we can."
"I'm sure I wish I had somebody to help me," said little Mary McIntyre,
who was one of the party and had hitherto listened in silence to the
conversation. "You wouldn't laugh at what I said about learning,
girls, if you went to school to Miss Smith. She does make everything
so stupid, and she says I ask frivolous and foolish questions because
I want to know about the people who live in the countries in the
geography," continued Mary, forgetting her shyness in the recital of
her wrongs; "and for my part, I think it is quite as important to know
who lives along the rivers is to know just how long and how wide they
are."
"You must consider, my dear, that Miss Smith has a good deal to do,"
said Mrs. Campbell, sympathizing with the little girl; "but, Mary, if
Miss Smith does not answer your questions, you should try to find out
in other ways. You must use the opportunities you have, and you will
find that others will grow out of them. But, my dear girls, doesn't
it strike you that we have been sitting an unconscionable time at the
table, and that our friends will wonder what has become of us? I think
we had better return to the drawing-room."
"Hasn't it been a delightful time?" said Kitty to Marion as they
were putting on their hats to go home. "I don't think I ever spent a
pleasanter afternoon in my life. Your aunt is so interesting."
Marion assented rather languidly. She had not enjoyed the afternoon,
and was glad when it was over. Marion had, somehow or other expected
to have her own consequence greatly enhanced by her aunt's coming.
Mrs. Campbell was her property, and should have reflected credit upon
her. But nobody had seemed to think of Marion at all. She was only a
girl among the rest of the girls, and no one treated her with any more
consideration than if she had been little Mary McIntyre.
"Marion," suddenly exclaimed her aunt as they were slowly and rather
silently walking homeward in the twilight—the "gloaming" Hector
McGregor would have called it—"how came you to give the girls the idea
that I did not want anything said or any questions asked about the
subject of our mission before the lecture?"
"I don't know, I am sure," answered Marion; "I got the idea from you
somehow, and I thought myself the lecture would be more interesting if
it was all new to them."
"You gave them a false impression," said Mrs. Campbell, "and me also. I
thought the girls cared nothing about the matter, and I was very much
hurt that it should be so after all the pains I had taken. You ought to
be very careful in such matters."
"I am sure I did not mean any harm," said Marion, with a sigh.
"And you did not do any, as it turned out, but you might have done a
great deal," said Mrs. Campbell. "You see how the story has gone about
your watch. Do you know who began that?"
"It was Matty McRae herself," said Marion, laughing and forgetting
her own annoyance for the moment in the remembrance of Matty's
discomfiture. "Didn't you see how all the girls looked at her?"
"I thought I noticed something peculiar," said Mrs. Campbell. "Poor
child! I did not mean to mortify her so. I mentioned her father because
he was the only agent I could think of at the moment."
"I should think you would be glad," said Marion. "I am sure she
deserved it for telling the stories she told."
"I dare say she did, but still I am sorry. It seldom does people good
to hurt their feelings."
"I am sure I wish people would remember that where I am concerned,"
said Marion, with another sigh.
"Why, who hurts your feelings, Marion? I thought everybody was very
considerate and kind to you," said Mrs. Campbell.
"If it was you, Aunt Christian, you wouldn't think so," said Marion,
with another sigh.
"Perhaps you are too easily hurt."
"I dare say I am. I know I am very sensitive, and am hurt by a great
many things which other people don't mind at all."
"If that is the case, there must be something wrong," said Mrs.
Campbell. "A sore spot is usually a diseased spot and needs to be
cured."
"I don't understand you, Aunt Christian."
"Why, if your finger is sore, you know that something is the matter
with it," said Christian. "Anybody's hand may be hurt by a hot iron or
by being pinched in a door; but if you shrink from having your hand
touched, or even looked at, you must know that it needs the doctor."
"And what do you think is the best cure for over-sensitiveness, aunt,
supposing that I am over-sensitive?"
"I think usually the best cure lies in removing the cause of the
disease."
"What is the cause?"
"It is different, of course, in different cases. As often as any way,
perhaps oftener, it arises from too much thinking about ourselves."
"I don't think I am so very self-conceited," said Marion, in an
offended tone.
"I did not use the word 'self-conceited,' I believe, my dear. There are
different ways of thinking about ourselves, and I was going to say that
they are almost all equally bad. That would be going too far, but I do
think the true remedy for over-sensitiveness is self-forgetfulness."
"I don't see how one would go to work to forget one's self."
"In various ways. Instead of thinking what others ought to do for you,
busy yourself in thinking what you ought to do for them. Instead of
dwelling on your own feelings, put them aside and try to enter into the
pursuits of other people. In short, to sum up all in a little, 'Let
this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.' 'For even Christ
pleased not himself.' See, here is Uncle Duncan coming to meet us, and
he looks as if he had good news. I hope poor Therese is better. Well,
Duncan?"
"Therese has opened her eyes and spoken," said Doctor Campbell. "She is
quite rational; and if we can only tide her over the dangerous time,
she will do well."
"What do you mean by the 'dangerous time,' Uncle Duncan?" asked Marion.
"The time when she shall begin to remember," answered Doctor Campbell.
"Barbara is sitting with her; and, Marion, my dear, you must try to do
up the work and attend to everything about the house, so as to leave
your aunt at liberty to sit with Therese."
"Yes, that is always the way. The drudgery always comes to my share,"
thought Marion, indignantly. "Just as if I could not sit with Therese
and manage her just as well as Aunt Barbara!"