TRUE TO ONE'S COLORS.
THERE was a week of great excitement at Brookside. Head-quarters were
established on the confines of the town to render it accessible to
Taunton and the adjacent places. Hundreds thronged the camp daily;
uniforms were sent down, and drilling commenced in good earnest.
Kathie began school on Monday morning. A large, pleasant room had been
obtained, and Mrs. Wilder opened with ten young ladies, though nearly as
many more had been enrolled.
"I feel as if I were drafted," she declared to Uncle Robert. "I know it
is my duty to go and do the best that I can, but I would so much rather
have remained at home."
"You find, then, that no one is quite exempt from the warfare?" and he
smiled. "Still, I think I can trust you to be a good soldier."
"I am second in the regiment," she said. "Mr. Morrison must always stand
first."
It seemed very quiet and lonesome in that large room, where you were put
upon your honor not to speak, and the silence was broken only by the
recitations, or some remark of Mrs. Wilder. A long, dull day, though the
session closed at two, there being no intermission.
Lottie Thorne was the only girl Kathie was well acquainted with. That
ambitious young lady had pleaded very hard for boarding-school, and,
being disappointed, was rather captious and critical. Emma Lauriston sat
next to her, and Kathie fancied she might like her very much. She had
met her in the summer at the rowing-matches.
But she was glad enough to get home. Rob had his head full of Camp
Schuyler, and Freddy had arrayed himself in gorgeous regimentals and sat
out on a post drumming fearfully.
"I want a little more talk about this substitute business," said Uncle
Robert, at the table. "Mr. Morrison offered to go for seven hundred
dollars. He has three hundred of his own. Now what do you think we ought
to give him?"
He addressed the question more particularly to Rob and Kathie.
Rob considered. In his boy's way of thinking he supposed what any one
asked was enough.
"Would a thousand dollars be too much?" Kathie ventured, timidly. "It
doesn't seem to me that any money could make up to Ethel for--"
There Kathie stopped.
"He will come back," exclaimed Rob.
"We were talking over Ethel's future this morning. Mr. Morrison would
like to have her educated for a teacher. I am to be appointed her
guardian in case of any misfortune."
"It ought not to be less than a thousand," said Aunt Ruth.
"I thought so myself. And I believe I shall pledge my word to provide a
home for Ethel in case of any change at her uncle's."
Kathie's deep, soft eyes thanked him.
The next day the bargain was concluded. Mr. Morrison handed his small
sum over to Mr. Conover for safe-keeping, and the whole amount, thirteen
hundred dollars, was placed at interest. Then he reported himself at
Camp Schuyler for duty.
Kathie tried bravely to like her school, but home was so much dearer and
sweeter. It was quite hard after her desultory life, and spasmodic
studying made so very entertaining by Uncle Robert's explanations, to
come down to methodical habits and details. She meant to be a good
soldier, even if it did prove difficult in the early marches.
But this week was one of events. On Thursday afternoon Mr. Meredith
surprised them all again. It seemed to Kathie that there was something
unusual in his face. Uncle Robert was absent on important business, and
at first he appeared rather disappointed.
"It is such a glorious afternoon, Kitty, that I think you will have to
invite me out to drive, by way of comfort. Are the ponies in good
order?"
"Yes, and at home. How fortunate that Rob did not take them!"
Kathie ordered them at once.
"You have had great doings here. So you came near losing your dear
uncle, my child?"
Kathie winked away a tear. There would always be a tender little spot in
her heart concerning the matter.
"It is best under the circumstances," was Mr. Meredith's grave comment.
"I should not want him to go."
They took their seats in the phaeton. "Where shall we drive?" Kathie
asked. "To--" breaking off her sentence with a little blush.
"Miss Darrell is away from home. It is owing to that circumstance that
you are called upon to entertain me"; and he laughed a little, but less
gayly than usual.
It was a soft, lovely autumn day, full of whisperings of oaks and pines
and cedars, fragmentary chirps of birds, and distant river music, Kathie
drew a few long breaths of perfect content, then with her usual
consideration for others she stole a shy glance to see if Mr. Meredith
was enjoying it as well, he was so very quiet.
"I am afraid something troubles you," she said, softly; and her voice
sounded as if it might have been a rustle of maple branches close at
hand. "Is it about Uncle Robert?"
"No, child," in a grave, reflective tone; "it is--about myself."
She did not like to question him as she would have done with Uncle
Robert.
"Kitten," he began, presently, "I have been thinking this good while,
and thinking slowly. A great many things puzzle me, and all my
perplexities have culminated at last in one grand step; but whether I am
quite prepared for it--"
The sentence was a labyrinth to Kathie, and she was not quite sure that
she held the clew.
"I am going to enlist--at least, I am going out for three months--with
my regiment. They have volunteered, most of them."
"And what troubles you?" in her sweet, tender voice, and glancing up
with an expression that no other eyes save Kathie Alston's could have
had.
"Child," he asked, "how did you stand fire last winter when you were so
suddenly brought to the front? About the singing, I mean."
She understood. He referred to the Sunday evening at Mrs. Meredith's
when she had refused to join Ada in singing songs. The remembered pain
still made her shiver.
"There _is_ something about you, Kathie, just a little different from
other children,--other girls. You often carry it in your face; and for
the life of me I cannot help thinking how the wise virgins must have
been illuminated with their tiny lamps while the others stood in
darkness. Is it a natural gift or grace?"
She knew now what he meant. She was called upon to give testimony here,
and it was almost as hard as in Mrs. Meredith's grand drawing-room. She
felt the warm blood throbbing through every pulse.
"You did a brave thing that night, little girl. I shall never forget
it--never. _Can_ you answer my question? What _is_ it?"
She could only think of one thing, one sentence, amid the whirl and
confusion of ideas and the girlish shrinking back,--"The love of Christ
constraineth us."
"It wasn't merely your regard for your mother or Uncle Robert?"
"It was _all_,"--in her simple, earnest fashion.
"I'm going out there, Kathie," nodding his head southward, "to stand
some pretty hard fire, doubtless. I am not afraid of physical pain, nor
the dropping out of life, though existence never was sweeter than now;
but if, in the other country, the record of my useless years rises sharp
against me, what shall I answer? I have never tried to do anything for
the glory of God! Child, you shame all our paltry lives!"
"O, don't!" with a suggestion of pain in her voice; "what I can do is
such a very little."
She would never know how the simple acts of her life, springing from the
hidden centre that was deeper even than her every-day thought, was to
bear fruit on wide-spread branches.
"And yet we--I--do nothing. I should have to go empty-handed."
She cast about for some words of comfort. As girl or woman Kathie Alston
would never be able to realize all the frivolousness, to say nothing of
vanity, selfishness, and deeper sins, crowded into this man's life,
which still looked so fair by outward comparison with others.
"Ever since Mr. Morrison offered to go in Uncle Robert's place this
verse has been lingering in my mind: 'Greater love hath no man than
this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' It seems to me that
it doesn't mean physical life altogether, but all the times and places
when we take something precious out of our own lives and put it into
that of others. And every man who goes now may be called upon to suffer
in some other's stead. If he do it bravely, is it not a little of the
good fruit? I can't explain all I mean, only just as the Saviour loved
us we ought to love every one else."
Edward Meredith had listened to many an eloquent sermon, and dissected
it in a purely intellectual fashion, his heart never warming with any
inward grace, or hungering after the true bread. But he understood now
the secret of this little girl's life. Not doctrine, not so much creed,
or form, or rule, "but the taking something precious out of her daily
existence and noiselessly placing it in that of others." And the same
love which enabled her to do this rendered her brave, pure, and sweet. A
child's religion, that a year or two ago he would have sneered at, and
now he had come to learn of her because he was too proud to ask others,
and perhaps ashamed.
"But you had a substitute!" she said, presently, bethinking herself.
"Yes. He has served his time out honorably, has had the good fortune to
come home without harm of any kind. You remember how Mackenzie bantered
me last winter, though he was in dead earnest. But the country is at her
extremest need now; if Grant, Sherman, and our other generals, are
strengthened by good reinforcements, it seems to me that in six months
we might have peace. I have done a good deal of holiday soldiering in my
life, but this is to be sober earnest."
He looked as if it might be.
"When will you go?"
"We start for Washington on Saturday morning."
"So soon! Does--Miss Jessie know?" Kathie could not help but ask it,
though the lids trembled over her shy, downcast eyes.
"She should have received my note this morning. I suppose she did not,
or she would have been at home. Kathie, I ought to thank you for your
rare delicacy in keeping our secret. There are some matters that one
does not like to have talked about."
What would Miss Jessie say? Of course she loved Mr. Meredith very much.
Kathie's heart ached a little in silence, but this was one of the
burdens that could not be borne by another.
On they went through lovely scenery, now and then catching a glimpse of
the river that wound around like a silver cord through its bed of green.
Here in the stillness they heard the chatter of squirrels and the sound
of dropping nuts, or an autumn-tinted leaf went floating on the air like
some gorgeous bird with his wings all aflame. Golden-rod and great
clumps of purple Michaelmas daisies starred the roadside, with frequent
clusters of scarlet sumach, pendent bitter-sweet berries with the still
glossy green leaves, and the dark tint of spruce and fir.
Kathie began to realize how her heart and intellect had expanded. She
was no longer a little girl. How she had grown within and without was a
great mystery, as well as how her soul had enriched itself with drawing
near to others, and going forth again with the sweet, half-comprehending
sympathies of girlhood.
"I have been a dull companion," Mr. Meredith said, at length. "But,
Kathie, I shall never forget the happy days I have spent at Cedarwood.
To have known you is one of the bright events in my life."
They were coming up the avenue, and saw Uncle Robert standing on the
broad porch. She might never have another opportunity to speak, and he
had been so peculiarly serious this afternoon.
"O Mr. Meredith, you won't forget--when you are out there--that there is
another service, and another Captain--"
"Pray for me, Kathie, that I may be one of His faithful soldiers to my
life's end."
She ran up stairs afterward, and the two gentlemen had a long talk in
the library. After supper Mr. Meredith said good by, as he expected to
leave the Darrells' to take the early morning train.
"I do believe everybody is going to war!" exclaimed Rob, rather
ruefully. "I wonder if we shall ever have such good times again."
Rob spent the next forenoon in packing.
"How all these things are to be gotten into one trunk I cannot imagine!"
he exclaimed, in despair.
"I fancy that you had better put the clothes in first, and leave the
'things,' as you call them, until the last," said Aunt Ruth, with a
quiet smile.
"But I shall want them all, I'm sure."
"Not your whole tool-chest!"
"Some of the articles would come in so handy."
"To assist you in learning your lessons?" asked his mother.
"O, you know what I mean. Now, mother, you won't let Freddy meddle with
them while I am gone,--will you? He always does manage to get into
everything."
"The best way will be to put all that you can in the closet of your
play-room, and give Uncle Robert the key. Lock all your drawers as
well."
One would have fancied that Rob was going to Europe, to say the very
least. After he had tumbled the articles in and out about twenty times,
he concluded that he would go down to the stable to see about some
trifle.
So his mother soon had the trunk in order, though she quietly restored
half the "traps" to their place in the play-room, and I doubt if Rob
ever missed them.
Saturday was another very busy time with him. He had to take a farewell
glimpse of Camp Schuyler, to visit hosts of the boys, to take a last
row, a last ride, a last game of ball, and one might have imagined from
all these preparations that he was about to enter a dungeon and leave
the cheerful ways of life behind.
But Rob was beginning to have quite serious moods occasionally; and the
last Sunday at home was one of them. He did not feel nor understand the
transition state as keenly as Kathie, he was such a thorough, careless,
rollicking boy. He would play until the last gasp,--"until whiskers
began to sprout," he said,--and he would make one of the men to whom
recollections of boyish fun would always be sweet.
The sermon in the morning touched him a little, and then the talk with
Charlie Darrell. The Darrells felt very badly over the present loss of
their dear friend; and Kathie just pressed Miss Jessie's fingers, but
spoke no word.
"I do mean to _try_," Rob said, that evening, to Kathie. "It seems
almost as if I were really going to war, as well as the rest of them."
"Yes," she answered, gravely; "you will find enough fighting to
do,--foes without and within."
"I have learned some things, though,"--with a confident nod,--"and I
shall never forget about the giants. What odd times we have had, Kathie,
from first to last!"
"I wonder if you will be homesick?"
"Pshaw! No. A great boy like me! No doubt there'll be lots of fun."
"But I hope you will not get into any troubles or scrapes. O Rob! it is
real difficult to always do just what is right, when oftentimes wrong
things seem so much pleasanter."
"I wonder why it is, Kathie? It always looked rather hard to me. Why
didn't God make the wrong so that you could see it plainly?"
"If we see it, that is sufficient. Maybe if we kept looking at it
steadily it would grow larger; but you know we often turn to the
pleasant side when we should be watching the danger."
"I don't believe that I can ever be real good; but I'll never tell a
lie, nor be mean, nor shirk, nor cheat! I want to be a real splendid man
like Mr. Meredith!"
Rob would never outgrow that boyish admiration. Edward Meredith would
have felt a good deal humbled if he had known how this boy magnified
some of his easy-going ways into virtues.
They had a sweet, sad time singing in the evening. Kathie had begun to
play very nicely, with a great deal of expression and tenderness; and
to-night all the breaks, all the farewells, and the loneliness to come,
seemed to be struggling in her soul. She was glad that no one saw her
face, for now and then a tear dropped unbidden.
Rob and his mother had their last talk at bed-time. Her heart was sad
enough at the thought of the nine months' absence, for at Westbury there
were no short vacations. True, she would have the privilege of visiting
him, but such interviews must, of necessity, be brief.
He lay awake a long while, thinking and resolving. How many times he had
"tried to be good." Why couldn't he remember? What was it that helped
his mother, and Uncle Robert, and Kathie? The grace of God; but then how
was one to get this grace?
Wandering off into the fields of theology, Rob fell asleep, and never
had another thought until the breakfast-bell rang. Then, as he recalled
his perplexity, he said slowly to himself, "I don't believe religion
comes natural to boys."
The parting was sad, after all. A thousand thoughts rushed into his
mind. What if he should be homesick? Here was the roomy playhouse, with
its store of tools, books in abundance, the ponies, the lake, the
boys,--O, everything! and Rob's fast-coming breath was one great sob.
"A good soldier," Kathie whispered, as his arms were round her neck.
Uncle Robert did not return until the next day. The accounts were very
encouraging. Clifton Hall had taken Rob's fancy at once. The boys were
coming in on Monday; so there was little done beside fraternizing and
being classified and shown to their dormitories. He had written a little
scrap of a note stating that "everything was lovely."
They missed him very much. Kathie began to wonder if _her_ winter
wouldn't be lonesome. No gay Mr. Meredith to drop in upon them now and
then; no noisy, merry boys such as had haunted the grounds all summer.
She began to feel sadly disconsolate.
But she rallied presently. "I must fight as well as my soldiers," she
said to herself.
The next event was Mr. Morrison's departure. Uncle Robert took both
families over the day they "broke camp."
Mr. Morrison wrung Uncle Robert's hand warmly. "It will be all right,
whatever comes," he said. "If I had not gone for you I should have done
it for some one else, so never give yourself an anxious thought about
it. I know my little lass is in good hands."
He kissed Ethel many, many times, and she clung to him with an almost
breaking heart. Kathie's quick eyes saw a duty here.