TWO TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE.
"Sunshine and hope are comrades."
THE early morning light streaming into Bethany's room, aroused her to a
vague consciousness of having been in a storm the night before. Then she
remembered the garden roses beaten to earth by the hail, and the flood
of doubt and perplexity that had swept through her heart with such
overwhelming force. The same old problems confronted her; but they did
not assume such gigantic proportions in the light of this new day, with
its infinite possibilities.
All the time she was dressing she heard Jack singing lustily in the next
room. He was impatient to try the new brace, and paused between solos to
exhort her to greater haste. She knelt just an instant by the low
window-seat. The prayer she made was one of the shortest she had ever
uttered, and one of the most heartfelt: "Give me this day my daily
bread." That was all; yet it included everything--strength, courage,
temporal help, disappointments or blessings--anything the dear Father
saw she needed in her spiritual growth. When she arose from her knees,
it was with a feeling of perfect security and peace. No matter what the
day might bring forth, she would take it trustingly, and be thankful.
About an hour after breakfast she wheeled Jack to a front window. It was
growing very warm again.
"It doesn't hurt me at all to sit up with this brace on," he said. "If
you like, I'll help you practice, while I watch people go by on the
street." He had often helped her gain stenographic speed by dictating
rapid sentences. He read too slowly to be of any service that way, but
he knew yards of nursery rhymes that he could repeat with amazing
rapidity.
"I know there isn't a lawyer living that can make a speech as fast as I
can say the piece about 'Who killed Cock Robin,'" he remarked when he
first proposed such dictation; "and I can say the 'Peter Piper picked a
peck of pickled peppers' verse fast enough to make you dizzy."
Bethany's pencil was flying as rapidly as the boy's tongue, when they
heard a cheery voice in the hall.
"It's Cousin Ray!" cried Jack. "I have felt all morning that something
nice was going to happen, and now it has." Then he called out in a
tragic tone, "'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way
comes.'"
"You saucy boy!" laughed Mrs. Marion, as she appeared in the doorway. "I
think he is decidedly better, Bethany; you need not worry about him any
longer."
She stooped to kiss his forehead, and drop a great yellow pear in his
lap.
"No; I haven't time to stay," she said, when Bethany insisted on taking
her hat. "I am to entertain the Missionary Society this afternoon, and
Dr. Bascom has given me an unusually long list of the 'sick and in
prison' kind to look after this month. It gives me an 'all out of
breath' sensation every time I think of all that ought to be attended
to."
She dropped into a chair near a window, and picked up a fan.
"You never could guess my errand," she began, hesitatingly.
"I know it is something nice," said Jack, "from the way your eyes
shine."
"I think it is fine," she answered; "but I don't know how it will
impress Bethany."
She plunged into the subject abruptly.
"The Courtney sisters want to come here to live."
"The Courtney sisters!" echoed Bethany, blankly. "To live! In our house?
O Cousin Ray! I have realized for some time that we might have to give
up the dear old place; but I did hope that it need not be to strangers."
"Why, they are not strangers, Bethany. They went to school with your
mother for years and years. You have heard of Harry and Carrie Morse, I
am sure."
"O yes," answered Bethany, quickly. "They were the twins who used to do
such outlandish things at Forest Seminary. I remember, mamma used to
speak of them very often. But I thought you said it was the Courtney
sisters who wanted the house."
"I did. They married brothers, Joe and Ralph Courtney, who were both
killed in the late war. They have been widows for over thirty years,
you see. They are just the dearest old souls! They have been away so
many, many years, of course you can't remember them. I did not know they
were in the city until last night. But just as soon as I heard that they
had come to stay, and wanted to go to housekeeping, I thought of you
immediately. I couldn't wait for the storm to stop. I went over to see
them in all that rain."
"Well," prompted Bethany, breathlessly, as Mrs. Marion paused.
She gave a quick glance around the room. She felt sick and faint, now
that the prospect of leaving stared her in the face. Yet she felt that,
since it had been unsolicited, there must be something providential in
the sending of such an opportunity.
"O, they will be only too glad to come," resumed Mrs. Marion, "if you
are willing. They remembered the arrangement of the house perfectly, and
we planned it all out beautifully. Since Jack's accident you sleep
down-stairs anyhow. You could keep the library and the two smaller rooms
back of it, and may be a couple of rooms up-stairs. They would take the
rest of the house, and board you and Jack for the rent. Your bread and
butter would be assured in that way. They are model housekeepers, and
such a comfortable sort of bodies to have around, that I couldn't
possibly think of a nicer arrangement. Then you could devote your time
and strength to something more profitable than taking care of this big
house."
"O, Cousin Ray!" was all the happy girl could gasp. Her voice faltered
from sheer gladness. "You can't imagine what a load you have lifted from
me. I love every inch of this place, every stone in its old gray walls.
I couldn't bear to think of giving it up. And, just to think! last
night, at the very time I was most despondent, the problem was being
solved. I can never thank you enough."
"The idea!" exclaimed Mrs. Marion, as she rose to go. "No thanks are due
me, child. And Miss Caroline and Miss Harriet, as everybody still calls
them, are just as anxious for such an arrangement as you can possibly
be. They'll be over to see you to-morrow, for they are quite anxious to
get settled. They have roamed about the world so long they begin to feel
that 'there's no place like home.' Jack, they've been in China and
Africa and the South Sea Islands. Think of the charming tales in store
for you!"
"Goodness, Bethany!" exclaimed Jack, when she came back into the room
after walking to the gate with Mrs. Marion. "Your face shines as if
there was a light inside of you."
"O, there is, Jackie boy," she answered, giving him an ecstatic hug. "I
am so very happy! It seems too good to be true."
"Cousin Ray is awful good to us," remarked the boy, thoughtfully. "Seems
to me she is always busy doing something for somebody. She never has a
minute for herself. I remember, when I used to go up there, people kept
coming all day long, and every one of them wanted something. Why do you
suppose they all went to her? Did she tell them they might?"
"Jack, do you remember the plant you had in your window last winter?"
she replied. "No matter how many times I turned the jar that held it,
the flower always turned around again towards the sun. People are the
same way, dear. They unconsciously spread out their leaves towards those
who have help and comfort to give. They feel they are welcome, without
asking."
"She makes me think of that verse in 'Mother Goose,'" said Jack. "'Sugar
and spice and everything nice.' Doesn't she you, sister?"
"No," said Bethany, with an amused smile. "Lowell has described her:
'So circled lives she with love's holy light,
That from the shade of self she walketh free.'"
"I don't 'zactly understand," said Jack, with a puzzled expression.
She explained it, and he repeated it over and over, until he had it
firmly fixed in his mind.
Then they went back to the dictation exercises. It was almost dark when
they had another caller. Mr. Marion stopped at the door on his way home
to dinner.
"I have good news for you, Bethany," he said, with his face aglow with
eager sympathy. "Did Ray tell you?"
"About the house?" she said. "Yes. I've been on a mountain-top all day
because of it."
"O, I don't mean that!" he exclaimed, hastily. "It's better than that. I
mean about Porter & Edmunds."
"I don't see how anything could be better than the news she brought,"
said Bethany.
"Well, it is. Mr. Porter asked me to see their new law-office to-day.
They have just moved into the Clifton Block. They have an elegant place.
As I looked around, making mental notes of all the fine furnishings, I
thought of you, and wished you had such a position. I asked him if he
needed a stenographer. It was a random shot, for I had no idea they did.
The young man they have has been there so long, I considered him a
fixture. To my surprise he told me the fellow is going into business for
himself, and the place will be open next week. I told him I could fill
it for him to his supreme satisfaction. He promised to give you the
refusal of it until to-morrow noon. I leave to-night on a business-trip,
or I would take you over and introduce you."
"O, thank you, Cousin Frank!" she exclaimed. "I know Mr. Edmunds very
well. He was a warm friend of papa's."
Then she added, impulsively:
"Yesterday I thought I had come to such a dark place that I couldn't see
my hand before my face. I was just so blue and discouraged I was ready
to give up, and now the way has grown so plain and easy, all at once, I
feel that I must be living in a dream."
"Bless your brave little soul!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Why
didn't you come to me with your troubles? Remember I am always glad to
smooth the way for you, just as much as lies in my power."
When he had gone, Bethany crept away into the quiet twilight of the
library, and, kneeling before the big arm-chair, laid her head in its
cushioned seat.
"O Father," she whispered, "I am so ashamed of myself to think I ever
doubted thee for one single moment. Forgive me, please, and help me
through every hour of every day to trust unfalteringly in thy great love
and goodness."