GOOD NEWS.
IT seemed to Kathie in these days as if she had her hands very full. The
weeks were hardly long enough. Yet what could be left out? The daily
call at the Darrells', or the Morrisons', for now Ethel looked to see
her every day, and used to confide to her the sums that bothered, the
thoughts that puzzled, and the many things which come to trouble little
girls; and if sometimes Kathie considered them tiresome or foolish, she
remembered how patient dear Aunt Ruth used to be with her in the old
times,--and now she had Uncle Robert saved to her by Ethel's loss.
No, neither of those could be given up, nor the school-lessons, nor the
music, nor even Sarah, who _was_ improving.
The blue ribbon had delighted her exceedingly. Kathie said, very gently
indeed,--that is, prefacing and ending it with something pleasant,--"I
think it will be much prettier for your hair than any other color." That
started Sarah upon a new tack.
"I wish you would tell me something about colors," she begged in her
next letter. "I always remember how lovely you looked that night at the
Fair, and some of the ladies too. I can't be pretty, I know, but I'd
like to look nice, so that people wouldn't laugh at me. Now that I have
begun, there are so many things that I want to know. Cousin Ellen helps
me a good deal, and she is such a rest to mother. She has the
pleasantest way of managing the children, and does such a deal of
sewing. Father said I might raise all the chickens I wanted to this
summer, and I think I'll buy a nice rocking-chair for the parlor. O, I
have crocheted two beautiful tidies, and one of them is about as good as
sold for two dollars and a half. If it isn't too much trouble, I would
like to send the money to you, and let you buy me some books. You know
what is pretty and interesting. And if you would only tell me what would
be nice for summer dresses and a hat."
The ice being once broken, discussions upon dress followed quite
frequently. When Kathie was in any doubt she referred the subject to
Aunt Ruth. It was plain that Sarah was emerging from her crude and
barbaric state, yet she showed no disposition thus far to drift over
into the frothy waves of vanity. With her other knowledge seemed to come
shrewd, practical self-knowledge.
Jim too had been made the happy recipient of some useful books. He
seemed to have a great taste for wood-working,--"conjuring," his father
said,--and talked a little of going to the city to learn a trade, but
Mr. Strong had no fancy for giving him up now, when he was such a help.
"The farm is plenty large enough for two," Mr. Strong said, "and there's
no life so independent."
But Mr. Conover felt that it ought to be rendered interesting as well.
So he asked Jim to come down to Cedarwood and take a look around, which
delighted the youth greatly, and gave him some new ideas.
The rumors concerning Belle Hadden's father proved too true. It was an
aggravated case, and each day brought new circumstances to light. It was
useless to think of holding their position in Brookside. Acquaintances
began to make ceremonious calls, or bow coldly. A few of the girls in
school openly rejoiced.
"Thank the Lord my father never stole nor cheated," said Mary Carson.
"I'd rather be a plebeian than a thief."
The mortification was too much. Belle begged and prayed that she might
be allowed to leave Brookside, and finally a visit to an aunt was
determined upon. She was a queen to the last moment, though, and said
her good-bys to the few with a haughty grace.
"Thus endeth the reign of the patricians," commented Emma Lauriston.
There was a grave, perplexed light in Sue Coleman's eyes.
"Belle was real fascinating," she said; "but I wonder that we--that some
of us hadn't more sense last winter. We all went to persecuting and
ruling out Kathie Alston, who bore it all like a saint. Belle had
courage and pride, but there was something nobler in Kathie." Yet Sue
knit her brows in silent perplexity.
"But there is another view of it that puzzles me, after all," she said,
breaking her long silence. "Where _do_ people make a distinction? Now
suppose Kathie Alston invited this _protégée_ of hers to her house, and
you or I should drop in--it would look ill-bred to take Kathie away from
her guest, and yet it is not likely her talk would interest us much.
Then as Kathie grows larger--well, it is all of a muddle in my brain. I
dare say these Strongs are good, honest, respectable people, and--there
is no use in smoothing it over--Mr. Hadden was dreadfully dishonest. All
their grandeur and fine clothes belong by right to some one else. And
yet they are allowed to go into the best society. Is it _quite_ right?"
"Not the _very_ best, perhaps," returned Emma, slowly. "A good many
people do insist upon worth, virtue, honesty, and all that."
"And then, as Kathie said, Belle was not to blame for her father's
sins."
"It seems to me now that Belle's mistake was in trying to decide who
should be greatest, and pushing down all who did not exactly suit her.
She had no right to be the judge."
"Who of us has? And here is another question. You remember Mrs. Duncan?
She went to the city about a fortnight ago, and had a business offer.
First, I must tell you that she was very elegantly brought up, but her
father died, and somehow the fortune melted into thin air. She went to
visit an aunt, and met Mr. Duncan, who was cashier in a bank. They have
always lived very nicely,--stylishly, Belle would say,--but now they
have nothing, and Mrs. Duncan has no friends who can take care of
her. She has forgotten a good deal of her French and her other
accomplishments, and teachers' situations are hard to get. Well, a Mrs.
Marsh in the city has offered Mrs. Duncan eight hundred dollars a year
to take a position in her millinery establishment. She has a marvellous
faculty for trimming,--equal to any French woman. And why wouldn't she
be just as good and just as much of a lady if she did take it? Will it
make her coarse and vulgar?"
"No," answered Emma, decisively.
"Yet I dare say the Hadden children would not be allowed to associate
with the Duncan girls. I cannot seem to get at the wrong, nor where it
comes in."
"I believe, after all, Kathie Alston has the secret,--the little leaven
which leavens the whole lump."
"Only some of us object to being leavened"; and Sue finished with a
laugh.
But though Kathie had not heard the talk, there was a secret uneasiness
in her soul as well. Sarah Strong was begging her to come up to
Middleville again, and Uncle Robert believed the relaxation would do her
good.
"Mamma," she said, thoughtfully, "there are one or two puzzles that I
cannot make quite clear to my own mind."
"What is the matter now? Any new gift for Sarah?"
"Not a gift exactly, but--a great pleasure. When I was with them in the
wagon that day, and they were both so cordial and warm-hearted, it
appeared rude, or at least impolite, not to ask them to call here. Mrs.
Strong said, 'Sarah wouldn't look well among your grand people'; but
there was such a sad, wistful look in Sarah's eyes, as if somehow she
felt that she was shut out."
"And you would like to have her come?" returned Mrs. Alston, with a
smile.
"I was thinking how happy it would make her, mamma. I don't believe she
ever saw so many pretty things together in her life,--and she is so fond
of them."
"And what puzzles you?"
"Whether it would be quite--I don't mean that I am too proud," catching
herself with a quick breath, while a scarlet flush quivered from brow to
chin.
"Whether it would be proper,--is that what you mean?" asked her mother.
"Yes"; and Kathie began to twist the fringe of the nearest tidy.
"Miss Jessie asked you to her house, you know. We lived very plainly
then, and you had to wear a cheap delaine for best dress all winter."
"Then you think I may?" she exclaimed, joyously, while her soft eyes
brightened.
"It all depends upon the manner of the asking. I think she might come
some Saturday when you were alone and have a very pleasant visit. It is
not likely she would enjoy meeting several of the girls here."
"O mamma, I should ask no one!"
"Not because we should be so ashamed of Sarah, but on account of her
feelings. It is best for little girls to exercise tact, as well as
grown-up people; and sometimes it proves awkward work trying to make
different kinds or sets harmonize. By observing a few simple rules, and
studying the comfort of both parties, you may be able to give all
greater happiness."
"Then, when I go up, I shall invite Sarah in so cordial a manner that
her mother will see that I mean every word."
"Yes; for the unkindest invitation of all is to ask people purely out of
compliment."
The smooth brow was slightly shadowed again. "Mamma," she said, in a low
tone, "can people--grown-up ladies, I mean--get along without saying or
doing things that they really do not mean to have taken in earnest?"
"They had better not say them. A Christian woman will be truthful first
of all; but it is not necessary to make candor a cloak for the
indulgence of unkind or heartless remarks. Religion, it seems to me,
holds the essence of true politeness,--to do unto others as you would
have them do unto you."
The next day Kathie was quite late in getting home, having stopped at
the Darrells'. Uncle Robert and mamma were up in Aunt Ruth's room.
"What will you give me for a letter with a grand seal as if it came from
the very Commander-in-Chief or the President? Look! To 'Miss Kathie
Alston.' What correspondent have you in Washington, we would all like to
know?"
Uncle Robert held the letter above her head. A bold, peculiar
handwriting that she had never seen before. Whose could it be?
"I am sure I don't know," coloring with interest and excitement. "I have
a gold piece in my purse."
"I will not be quite so mercenary as that. You shall tell us whom it is
from."
Kathie took the letter and broke it open so as not to destroy the seal,
saw the beginning,--"My dear little friend,"--ran her eye over the two
pages without taking in anything, and looked at the signature.
"O," with a cry of surprise, "it is from General Mackenzie! Why,"--and
then she began to read in good earnest,--"Mr. Morrison is alive, safe!
General Mackenzie found him. O Uncle Robert!"
She could not finish the rest, but buried her head on Uncle Robert's
shoulder to have a good little cry out of pure joy and thankfulness.
"Shall I read it aloud?"
She placed the letter in his hand.
"MY DEAR LITTLE FRIEND,--I dare say you will be
surprised at receiving a letter from a busy old
soldier like me, but I met with an incident a few days
ago with which you are so intimately connected that I
cannot resist the good excuse. Of course all the
glorious news and rejoicing has reached you, but we
here on the spot are hearing new things daily, some
joyful, but many sad. We went up the James River one
morning to a small settlement originally negro
quarters, where we heard a number of wounded prisoners
had been taken. We found thirty poor fellows in all,
who had suffered terribly from neglect, for though the
negroes were well-meaning and very warm-hearted, they
were miserably poor and ignorant. Half a dozen of the
soldiers had been very ill from fevers, and upon
questioning them I found one was--whom do you
think?--your uncle's substitute, a William Morrison.
That took me back to last winter at once, and to my
little friend, so do not wonder if we had a good long
talk about you and the beautiful Cedarwood of which I
have heard so much. I believe it did the poor fellow a
world of good. He was wounded and taken prisoner, and
brought up here by the negroes, as far as I can learn.
In those few days of our final successes the small
events were overlooked in the glory of the grander
ones. His wound was not very severe, but fever set in,
and for three weeks he was delirious. About ten days
ago he wrote home, but he was not sure that his
messenger was reliable. He was much better, and we
despatched those who could travel to head-quarters at
once. I fancy that he will be mustered out as soon as
possible. If his friends should not have heard, will
you please inform them? He holds you all in such warm
and grateful remembrance that it was delightful to
talk to him. I rejoice with you that he is safe, and I
do not question but that he has done a soldier's whole
duty, I thought I discerned in him the spirit of
another little soldier, who I dare say finds some
battles to fight. Give my regards to your family, and
do not feel surprised when I tell you that you may
expect me at Cedarwood some day before long.
"Truly yours,
"W. MACKENZIE, U. S. A."
"It hardly seems possible!" Kathie said, with a sob. "But they have not
heard, and they will be so glad!"
Uncle Robert began to pace the room, much moved. Of late death had
appeared such a certainty, and though he knew the life had been freely
given for his, his first emotions were those of devout gratitude to God
that this sacrifice had not been required. Then he paused before
Kathie. "My little darling," he said, "it is _your_ good news. And
though the Morrisons may hear it in a day or two from other sources, we
owe it to them immediately. Will you go?"
Kathie wanted to very much, but O, how was she ever to get through with
it! Her voice seemed to be all a quiver of tears.
"Would you like me to accompany you?
"If you will."
So Kathie bathed her face and tried to rub the little throbs out of her
temples. In a few moments she was ready, and the two walked down the
avenue.
"There _cannot_ be any mistake?" she exclaimed, pausing at the door.
"O no."
Grandmother was holding the baby, who had a slight cold and fever. Ethel
sat at the window, hemming some breadths of ruffling. She sprang up and
brought out chairs for them, and after one or two little inquiries went
back to her work. Oddly enough the conversation ceased for a few
moments, and in the silence Kathie fancied that she heard her heart
beat, it was in such a tumult.
"I believe Kathie has some news for you," announced Mr. Conover,
gravely.
Kathie rose and twined her arms around Ethel's neck.
"It is this," she said, all in a tremble,--"I cannot tell it as I ought,
but your dear father is alive, Ethel, and is coming home soon."
"Not William! Miss Kathie!" and grandmother almost let the baby fall.
"Yes," replied Mr. Conover; "we heard to-day. I have brought the
letter."
"The Lord be praised!" Then grandmother came over to Kathie, but she and
Ethel were crying softly in each other's arms.
"Child, are you one of God's own--Heaven-sent? for you bring us joy
continually."
"But it was sent to me," Kathie said, over a great break and falter. "If
I could have made it so in the beginning,--but I couldn't, and God kept
him safely. We all waited and prayed."
"And I despaired! I am worse than doubting Thomas! Ah, how good God is
to us all!"
Mrs. Morrison entered with a pail of milk "O," she exclaimed, "you have
had news! Have they found his body?"
"His body and soul. He will be back shortly. The tidings came through a
friend of Kathie."
"Dear Ethel, little one, it is blessed news! You would never have wanted
for love and kindness while Hugh and I were alive; but there's no love
quite like a parent's. How Hugh will rejoice! He never could give him up
altogether."
"Mr. Conover has a letter to read," said grandmother.
Little did General Mackenzie imagine that his words would bring so great
a joy. They all listened breathlessly, and then wanted it read over
again to lengthen out the good news. And when at dusk Uncle Robert
declared they must go, they all begged for Kathie to stay and drink tea,
and would take no refusal.
"But I must return," said Uncle Robert, "or the table will be kept for
us both."
Mrs. Morrison made some biscuits, and brought out her china, as well as
a damask table-cloth. Hugh, coming in, wondered at the feast; but
Ethel's first word told him all. She, poor child, was brimful of joy. It
did one good to look at the roses on her cheeks, and hear the little
laughs that came for joy, and yet were so near to tears.
When Kathie reached home she was absolutely tired with all the
excitement, and mamma said there must be no lessons that night; so they
took the lounge in the shaded half-light of the library, and Kathie laid
her head in Uncle Robert's lap, for it almost ached. And there they had
a tender talk.
"But we shall never forget it," she said. "It seems as if it would help
me to remember all the pains and sorrows and burdens that we can try to
bear for one another."
"It is what God means us to learn and to do. 'For no man liveth unto
himself, and no man dieth unto himself.'"
"And we are all so oddly linked in with one another,--such a little
thing brought the Morrisons here, and then my meeting General Mackenzie
gave him an interest. The news would have come in a day or two, I
suppose; but, Uncle Robert, it seemed so good, since he risked his life
in your place, that we should be the first to take the joyful tidings to
them. I haven't anything in the world to ask."
"Yes, my darling, I am so glad that General Mackenzie did find him; and
more than glad that our brave soldiers can return to their own pleasant
firesides."
"Neither of _our_ soldiers was very grand in the world's estimation,
that is, as to position, but they have both suffered a good deal for the
cause. It is so sweet to think that, though the world knows nothing
about it, God remembers."
"And that no act of self-denial or heroism goes without its reward
there. It is hard sometimes to see it passed so unnoticed in this world,
but I suppose that is where patience needs to have her perfect work."
Kathie wrote a little note to Rob the next morning, beside getting her
lessons; and before the day ended they had a letter from Mr. Morrison
himself, announcing that he was to be sent home on a furlough.
"I shall have a dangerous rival," exclaimed Mr. Meredith, in his teasing
tone, "and when General Mackenzie comes I expect to be quite
overshadowed. No stars nor bars nor shoulder-straps,--nothing but a poor
unknown private! What good could he do?"
"He followed his captain and did his duty."
"Good!" exclaimed Charlie, who was standing beside his brother-in-law.
"You will never find Kathie being caught by the glitter and show."
The old smile twinkled in Mr. Meredith's eyes.
"Well, I will promise not to be _very_ jealous. Only you know you sent
me off to war, so you ought to allow me some special indulgence."
"I!" exclaimed Kathie, coloring violently.
"Yes, you cannot disown me; I am one of your soldiers. Dear little
Kathie, I hope always to be true to my colors."
The last was uttered in a low tone, but it brought a more vivid flush
than the preceding sentence. Though now her eyes were downcast, yet in
her heart of hearts she understood.
"It seems as if Rob ought to come home in the general returning. How
glad I shall be to see the dear old fellow!"
Was Rob fighting the good fight?