DECIDING.
It was about four weeks later in the season. Miss Eunice's "tea-party,"
which had not been held for a long time, was gathered at the great
house; not now in the pleasant sitting-room, but on the still pleasanter
shaded lawn, where the girls occupied pretty rustic seats, while the tea
was spread on little green tables, around which they were grouped as
inclination prompted them.
All the members of both classes were there, with the exception of Bertie
Sanderson; and there were quite a number of new faces. Some were present
who had lately stood very close to death, and others whom the solemn
thought induced by the public catastrophe had led to seek for a better
life than one of mere amusement. All were glad to come together again;
but there was a subdued tone in the gladness, and some voices were not
as gay and careless as they were a month ago.
The fever had passed away. There had been no more cases, and only that
one death. The rag-room girls and the invalids had gone back to their
work; the hospital was closed; Mrs. Robertson had returned to her
family, with for once a thankful heart. For, besides that she had been
very well paid for her services and loss of time, the pestilence had
spared her own dear ones; and they were all there to welcome her as she
came back to her home.
Moreover, she had become very much attached to Gretchen and the other
girls whom she had attended during their illness, and hated to let them
go back to the tender mercies of Mrs. Doyle and the other boarding-house
keepers, where they would be sure to be not only uncomfortable and badly
fed, but also very much neglected in case of any new illness which might
easily result from their weak, enfeebled condition. Her motherly heart
thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts finally ended in
her fitting up a large garret-room, which had never been occupied, with
four little white beds and other necessaries and conveniences, and
taking the four convalescents home with her as permanent boarders. The
girls, while paying no more than they had heretofore done, profited
greatly by the change. They had plain and wholesome, because
well-cooked, food, plenty of cleanliness and fresh air, besides the
elevating and refining influence of a home where Christian living was
inculcated, not so much by precept as by practice. God "setteth the
solitary in families," not boarding-houses or institutions; but that is
the only true family which takes care "in all its ways to acknowledge
him." If such families all over our land would open the arms of their
exclusiveness each to take in one or more of the waifs and strays of
life, and throw around them the arms of Christian love, they would be
taking a long step toward answering their own daily prayer of
"Thy kingdom come ... on earth as it is in heaven."
Katie and Tessa were pleased, girl-like, with the addition to their
family party, and, though the boys grumbled a little at first, being, as
boys are apt to be, a little shy of girls' society, they soon became
used to the change and glad to enjoy the evening occupations that were
rendered possible by so large a number.
It had always been a source of great anxiety to the widow, lest her
boys, deprived of a father's watchful authority, would, as they grew up,
wander off at night, fall under bad influences, learn evil habits, and
grow up worthless, dissipated men. But thus far she had been successful
in keeping Eric and Alfred at home with her and their little sister, and
now, just when the restlessness common to their age might have drawn
them away, a new interest was presented in the shape of a "home reading
society," which held its sessions on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday
nights; Wednesday evening being devoted to Miss Eunice's "tea-party,"
Friday to the church service, and Saturday to games.
Mrs. Robertson had plans of a more solid nature for the winter, but till
the warm summer weather was over, this seemed enough. The books read
were historical stories, biographies, and the like, taken from the mill
library by special permission. The boys were generally the readers,
while the girls were encouraged by their motherly landlady to repair and
keep their clothes in order, a branch of womanliness apt to be much
neglected by factory operatives, who often marry and enter upon family
duties without even knowing how to hold a needle.
Of course, the widow's time was now so fully occupied that she could not
go out to work in families, as she had been wont to do, but the money
paid by her boarders more than compensated for that. Her heart, as well
as her hands, was quite full, and having no time to brood over her
fallen condition, she did not worry and grumble so much as formerly, and
was happier than she had ever been since the doctor died and left her to
battle with the world alone. And thus she learned to realize the truth
of that scripture:--
"He that watereth shall be watered also himself."
Bertie Sanderson did not die with the fever, though all around her, even
the doctor, had at one time quite given up all hope of her recovery. She
slowly struggled back to life, and as soon as she was able to bear the
journey her aunt took her to the city with her for more complete rest
and change. Katie did not see her again; for, having once got away from
the infected house, it was not thought best either for her brothers at
home, or her companions in the mill, that she should risk exposure
again. She often longed to know the state of her former companion's mind
on recovering her senses. If she remembered that exciting conversation;
if she were really penitent for what she had done; and if she had taken
her companion's advice and sought the forgiveness and strength of her
Saviour. But no one could tell her. Indeed, there was no one she could
ask, for she felt intuitively that Mrs. Sanderson was not a person to
understand this sort of thing, and she could not summon courage to ask
Bertie's father. Of one thing she was sure, however--her companion had
not as yet openly confessed her share in the reports which had so
affected Katie's reputation, and she must still wait in patience till he
to whom she had "committed her way" should make it clear.
The reading for this Wednesday afternoon had been exceedingly solemn. It
was about the danger of being "almost persuaded" to do one's duty, and
then leaving it undone; the uncertainty of another opportunity
presenting itself, and the importance of deciding for Christ _now_. At
its close Miss Eunice had said:--
"My dear girls, we have in the weeks that have gone by carefully
considered the subject of religion and God's claims upon every one of us
for the consecration to him of our hearts and our lives. We have seen
that the steps we are called upon to take are repentance, that is,
forsaking sin in intention as well as being sorry for it; a steadfast,
living faith in Christ Jesus as our Saviour, and a resolute
determination to spend the rest of our lives in his service by keeping
his commandments and doing his will.
"We have learned, also, that of ourselves we are none of us sufficient
for any of these things, but that God is ready--nay, anxious--to give us
his Holy Spirit in answer to our asking, and that this Holy Spirit will
work in us the repentance and faith, as well as give us the strength to
carry it out amid all the temptations of our daily lives. To-day's
lesson has been upon the importance of deciding, and the danger of
delay, in such a serious matter. I think the lessons of the past few
weeks have helped to impress this latter fact upon us; and I am glad
that our pastor has just written me a note to ask that all of you who
have made up your minds to confess your Saviour openly at our communion
Sunday, the first week in September, which will be just two weeks from
to-day, will send him your names at once. He desires to see and talk
with each one of you separately, that he may satisfy himself of your
being in a fit condition for so important a step. I have a paper here on
which you may write your names; but before you do I want you to examine
your own hearts faithfully and as in the sight of God, to see whether
you honestly and sincerely 'repent you of your sins past, have a lively
and steadfast faith in Christ our Saviour, and intend to lead a new
life, following the commandments of God and walking from henceforth in
his holy ways, that so you may not be guilty of making a deceitful and
false profession.' And now let us pray."
The girls all knelt down, and their teacher prayed that these dear girls
might have a right judgment in all things, and decide, "not lightly nor
after the manner of dissemblers with God," to confess Christ for their
Saviour, and give themselves to him in the way of his appointment. Then
there was silence for many minutes, that all kneeling there might
carefully examine their own hearts and make this most important decision
of their lives in the very realized presence of God himself.
After this the tea-table conversation was not a very gay one, and the
girls went home uncommonly early, many of them before leaving writing
their names upon the sheet of paper which their teacher presented. To
some it seemed too awful a thing to do; to others, as to Katie
Robertson, the awe was softened by the glad sense that Christ was
pleased with this act of acknowledging him; and still others were
greatly strengthened by this first act of self-committal, from which
they would now be ashamed to draw back.
"Fifteen names; God bless them all!" said Miss Eunice, as she looked
over the paper with her sister, whose own name headed the list. "I am so
glad! And yet there are two or three more that I would like to see
there; perhaps they will decide yet. But, Etta, what shall we do with
this one?"--pointing to Katie Robertson's.
"I don't know, unless we consult Mr. Morven." For the young lady had
begun to realize the help and strength there is in talking over
spiritual matters and difficulties with one well qualified to give
advice and help; and many a deeply interesting one had followed that
first Sunday afternoon's conversation between Etta and her pastor.
"We might do that," said the elder sister, musingly. "And yet, I hardly
like to, either; for, you see, we don't know anything definitely against
the child, and I should be sorry to create a prejudice against her
should she prove to be innocent. At the same time, I do not like to take
the responsibility of assenting to the public religious profession of a
girl who has such an accusation as theft hanging over her."
"I have almost a mind to tell her the report, and ask her what it means.
I have somehow shrunk from doing so because it seems an absolute insult,
and whenever I see the child I can not believe there is any truth in the
story. I wish I knew more particulars."
"Who was your informant? Oh, I remember!--Bertie Sanderson--and she is
out of the way now, and can't be questioned."
"I never believed in, nor liked, Bertie; but I don't think she is bad
enough to invent such a slander, making it out of whole cloth. She said
Gretchen knew; but I never thought of asking her. She is as truthful as
the day."
"I would ask her," said her sister. "And there she is by the gate--come
back for something, maybe."