"WHAT WOULD YOU DO, DEAR?"
SHE joined in his laugh, albeit there was a tender look in her eyes.
After a moment, she said gently:—
"It is not scheming, Evan; I am only trying to set about the work for
which I have been chosen. I'll tell you how it all came to me. I was
reading—my morning reading, you know—after you had gone, taking little
dips here and there, in the fashion that you think is so unsystematic;
and I came upon this verse:
"'He is a chosen vessel unto me'—
"You know, about Paul? Well, it came to me with a sudden sense of
awe and beauty—the being chosen of God to do a great work. I stopped
reading, to think it out. What a grand moment it must have been to Paul
when he realized it! And I began to feel almost sorry that we lived in
such different times, with no such opportunities.
"I stopped right in the midst of my folly to remember that I was as
certainly chosen of God as ever Paul was; for assuredly I did not
come to him of myself, nor begin to love him of myself, and therefore
he must indeed have chosen me. And I wondered whether probably each
Christian had not a work to do as definite as Paul's; a work that would
be given to no other—unless, indeed, the chosen one failed. I did not
want to fail, and I asked God not to let me.
"Then, of course, I set to wondering what my work, or my part of some
other person's work, could be. It was the morning after you had told me
that about Esther Reid. You cannot think how that impressed me. I could
not get away from the wonderment as to how her work was prospering, and
whether there were chosen ones enough, or if there might possibly be a
little place for me. I couldn't settle anything, and finally I decided
to look at Paul's work a little while.
"Of course, it was not reasonable to suppose that the duties of the
great apostle had anything in common with my bits of effort; still, I
said, the directions given him may help me a little. And, Evan, what do
you think was the first thing I found! Why, this:
"'The God of our fathers hath chosen thee, that thou shouldst know his
will.'
"Surely, so far, the things for which both he and I were chosen were
parallel. I looked further:
"'And see that Just One.'
"That was the very next. Was not I, too, chosen for that?
"'Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty.'
"I said over the beautiful promise, to assure myself that it was true,
and went on:
"'And shouldest hear the voice of his mouth.'
"Was it not strange, Evan? Certainly I shall hear my King speak, often
and often, when I get home. Only think of it! So far, Paul was not
ahead of me. I hurried to find another reference to Paul' work, and I
found this; let me read it to you."
Her bit of dainty sewing was suddenly pushed to one side, and up from
the depths of the rose-lined work-basket came a small, plainly-bound
Bible, much marked. A rapid turning of the leaves, and the eager
disciple read:
"'I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister
and a witness, both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those
things in the which I will appear unto thee.'
"Now, Evan, you know the veriest child can be a witness if he knows
anything about the facts; and I do certainly know some wonderful things
about Jesus to which I could witness. And, besides, isn't it reasonable
to suppose that he will appear to me every day with things for me to
witness to? And then I read this—Paul sent to the Gentiles, you know;
but for what?
"'To open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from
the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins,
and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in
me.'
"Evan, was there ever a more wonderful work to do in the world than
that? And yet I cannot tell you how it made feel to discover, or at
least to realize, that a great deal of it was my work. Of course I
naturally began to ask myself, What Gentile was there for me to reach?
Whose eyes must I try to open?
"Do you know, that very afternoon I met Mr. Reid, and heard of those
boys. They interested me from the first, and what he told me about his
sister increased the interest. Then when I saw them!—Evan, if ever boys
were in the power of Satan, they are; and to think that they may have
an inheritance among them which are sanctified!
"This morning, when I saw where some of them lived, and imagined how
they lived, I felt stunned for a moment. It seemed to me impossible.
What means could possibly be found of sufficient power to fit them for
such an inheritance? And then directly came the closing words of the
commission:
"Through 'faith that is in me.'
"Evan, God will save them, and I think he will let me help."
"Amen!" said Mr. Roberts, and his voice was husky.
When his wife was in one of her exalted moods, he always admired her
with a sort of reverence. He had been for years an earnest worker.
He carried business plans and business principles into the work; he
studied cause and effect, and calculated and expected certain results
to follow certain causes, like a mathematical problem. Not that he by
any means forgot the power of faith, or in any sense attempted to do
his work alone. He was a Christian who spent much time on his knees.
But little Flossy brought so much of the childlike, unquestioning
spirit into her work, that sometimes he stood in awe, not knowing
whether he could follow her. It was not so much a mathematical problem
to be worked out, as it was the faith that can remove mountains.
"As a little child relies
On a strength beyond his own;
Knows he's neither strong nor wise,
Fears to stir a step alone."
Mr. Roberts often found himself quoting these lines when his wife gave
him glimpses of her heart; and at such times he had no hesitancy in
deciding that the steps she took were not alone, but the Lord was with
her.
The postman's ring broke in on their quiet.
"I hope there are letters from home to-night," Mrs. Roberts said—"real
long ones. It is a week since we have heard."
"And I ought to hope that they would require a first reading in
private," her husband answered, as he seized his neglected pen. "It is
the only way in which these business letters will get answered. I find
the temptation to talk to you irresistible."
One letter! But that was of comfortable dimensions and weight.
"It is from Marion," Mrs. Roberts said, delight in her voice, after the
first glance at the familiar writing. She was presently lost in its
many pages, and the business of letter-writing went on uninterruptedly
for some time.
Mrs. Marion Dennis had not forgotten her fondness for her pretty little
Flossy, nor forgotten that—softly innocent little creature though
she was—she possessed a wisdom far above those who are credited with
having keen insight; even a wisdom so subtle, and withal so tender,
that its source could only be Infinite Wisdom. So she, in company with
many others, was learning to turn to the friend so much younger than
herself, as one in whom she could safely confide.
"DEAR LITTLE FLOSSY—" so the letter ran—
"I suppose, though you should live to be a white-haired old lady,
sitting with placid face and fluted cap and spectacles, in your
high-backed arm-chair, in the most treasured corner, mayhap, of some
grand-daughter's choicest room, I, writing to you, would still commence
'Dear little Flossy.' That I have to cover it from prying eyes by the
dignified and respectable 'Mrs. Evan Roberts,' is almost a matter of
amusement to me.
"I fancy I can see you making a journey through some of the Chautauqua
avenues, picking your way daintily towards Palestine, bending lovingly
over the small white stones that mark the village of Bethany—a pink
on your cheek, born, as I thought, of the excitement of being among
those tiny photographs of the wonderful past, but born in part, I now
believe, of the fact that Mr. Evan Roberts joined us in our walk. Oh,
little mousie, how quiet you were!
"Well, many things have since transpired. We are old married women,
you and Ruth, and Eurie and I. I suppose the contrast in our lives—the
outward portion of them, I mean—is still as strongly marked, perhaps
more so, than it was when we were in Chautauqua together. We were girls
then; we are matrons now, and with the taking on of that title, Ruth
and I took special and great responsibilities.
"To-night it rains. Dr. Dennis has been called to the upper part of the
city—away out to Springdale, in fact—to see a sick and dying man, and I
am alone and almost lonely. If I could summon any one of the three to
my aid and comfort, I would. I am almost as lonely as I was on some of
those evenings in the old boarding-house. Still there are differences:
the smoky old stove is not—a summer warmth floats through the house,
born of steam; no ill-smelling kerosene lamp offends your aesthetic
friend to-night, but the softest of shaded drop-lights sheds a halo
around me. Isn't that almost poetic?
"Moreover, oh, blessed thought! I have no examination-papers to
prepare, no reports to make up; nothing to do but visit with you.
Also, I will admit just to you that this is another and most blessed
difference between this and my lonely past—at almost any moment now
I may hope for Dr. Dennis's ring; and when he comes, all sense of
loneliness will instantly depart. Ah! Flossy, dear Flossy, this is
such a difference as even you cannot appreciate! You had your mother
and father, and all your dear home friends, and I had no one; and,
besides—here I hesitate, lest you may be too obtuse to understand the
reasoning—you have only added Mr. Roberts to your circle of treasures.
He is grand and good, I know, and I like him, without even a mental
reservation; but, my dear, I have added Dr. Dennis! Can human language
say more?
"Nonsense aside, sweet little woman, God has been very good to you
and me. Yet, Flossy, do you remember how, during those last months in
which we were together, I fell into the habit of telling you a great
deal about the thorns, and admitted to you once that they pricked less
when they had felt your soothing touch? I want to tell you something.
Our Gracie—I am so sorry for her, yet I don't know what to do. She is
living a most unhappy life, and of course she shadows our lives also.
"I told you, dear, about Professor Ellis. He is still trying to
convince poor Gracie that I, being her stepmother, must be her natural
enemy; reminding her that before I came into the family, her father was
entirely willing to receive his calls, and allowed her to accept his
attentions. Don't you see, it isn't strange at all that the poor little
girl should believe him and turn from me. She has many injudicious
helpers in her father's congregation. There are those who sigh over her
almost in my hearing.
"'Poor Gracie!' they say. 'How changed she is! She used to be so
bright and happy. There is something unnatural in these second-mother
relations. All high-spirited children rebel.'
"Imagine such talk helping Gracie! Meantime, what do you suppose can
be Professor Ellis's motive? I cannot think that he cares for her; I
almost do not believe that there is enough purity left in him even
to admire a pure-hearted young girl—certainly not one with such high
ideals and earnest ambitions as Gracie had.
"'Why does she admire him?' I fancy I hear you asking.
"My dear, she doesn't: she thinks she does, and at seventeen such
thoughts sometimes work irreparable mischief; but left alone, one of
these days she would make the discovery that she was flattered by his
attentions, because he is nearly fifteen years older than she, and
is brilliant in conversation, and quoted as the finest musician in
the city. I wish I knew more things about him. What I do know shows
me plainly enough the sort of man he is; but with these guileless
young things it seems as though one had to unmask wickedness very
thoroughly before they will believe that it is anything but gossip or
misrepresentation.
"He has gone away for a six weeks' vacation; I don't know where, nor
does Dr. Dennis. Gracie knows, but does not enlighten me.
"Flossy, dear, could you give me a little wholesome advice, do you
think? I wonder, sometimes, whether I was not too complacent over
my proposed duties. Such schemes as I had! I was going to be the
blessedest stepmother that girl ever had. That would not be saying
much, possibly. Don't we all incline to think that the second mothers
must be wrong, and the sons and daughters poor abused darlings? But I
loved Gracie, you know, and she seemed to love me, and to be so happy
over the thought of our near relationship.
"There is very little happiness from any such source during these days.
Gracie has retired into dignity. She can be the most dignified young
woman on occasion that I ever beheld. She is not rude to me; on the
contrary, she is ceremoniously polite—calls me Mrs. Dennis, and all
that sort of thing, when necessity compels her to call me anything. But
she speaks as little as possible; sits at table with us three times a
day, when she cannot secure an excuse for absence that her father will
accept; says, 'Yes, sir,' and, 'No, sir,' obediently to him, and, 'No,
ma'am, thank you,' to me; and that is the extent of our conversation.
Generally her face is pale and her eyes red, and at the first possible
moment she begs to be excused, and retires to the privacy of her own
room and locks her door.
"Her father has stopped her music lessons; at least she preferred to
have them stopped rather than take lessons of any other person, so she
practises no more. She continues her German and French, and secures
good reports from the professors; but there is an air of weariness and
dreariness about everything she does, that makes one alternate between
a feeling of deep pity for her and a desire to box her ears or shut her
up in a corner until she can behave herself. As a rule, however, I am
sorry for her. I was young once myself; I was undisciplined; I had no
mother, and I had a thousand wild fancies, any one of which might have
ruined me.
"What do you think you would do, dear, if Mr. Roberts had a daughter
and you were her mother? You are all in a flush now, and have laid down
this sheet and said aloud, 'What an idea! Marion does say the most
absurd things!'
"Well, then, if you were Marion Dennis, and stood before God in the
place of mother to Grace Dennis, what do you imagine you would do? I'll
tell you my policy. I am uniformly cheerful in her presence—gay, if I
can make gaiety out of anything—not toward her father, you understand,
because I can fancy that might irritate her. I really try to be gay
toward Gracie herself; but can you imagine an attempt to be cheery
with a tombstone? I study as much as I can her tastes, in the ordering
of dinner and desserts, and arrange the flowers that I know she likes
best; and, in short, try to do all those little bits of nice things
that I feel certain you would do in my place. And just here I may as
well own that I learned these small prettinesses studying you—never
should have thought them out for myself.
"Flossy, Dr. Dennis is one of the most patient and long-suffering of
men, but it is very hard for him to be patient with poor Gracie, harder
than it is for me: first, because I know by personal experience just
what a turbulent young creature a miss of seventeen or eighteen can be;
and secondly, because it is upon me her displeasure falls most heavily,
and that naturally he resents.
"Why am I writing all this to you? I don't know, childie, really, save
that I remember what a curious way you have of telling Jesus all about
your friends and their trials, and I remember with great comfort that
you are my friend. Don't imagine me as miserable; I can never be that
so long as Christ is the present helper that he is to me now; and you
do not need to be told that I daily thank him for giving me my husband.
But I think you will understand better than many would how earnestly
I desire to fill the place of mother to my bright young motherless
Gracie, with her dangerous beauty and her dangerous talents, and her
capacity for being miserable. Oh, I want to do more than my duty! I
want to love her with all my heart, and to have her love me. If it were
not for that man, who always hated me, and who, I believe in my heart,
has sought her out and is pressing his attentions upon her because he
sees a possibility of stinging me through her, I might hope to fill the
place in her heart that I thought I could."
The letter closed abruptly at this point, and was finished a few days
afterwards in a different strain, giving plenty of home news, and being
full of the brightness which always sparkled in Marion's letters; but
it was the first two or three pages to which Mrs. Roberts turned back,
and which she thoughtfully re-read. Then she interrupted the busy pen:—
"Evan, are not the business letters nearly done? I want to read this to
you, and then I want to talk with you."
"Delightful prospects both of them," he said with energy, as he added
the last hurried line, signed, and delivered to his wife to enclose
in its envelope, then pushed aside writing materials, and sat back to
enjoy.
"It isn't all delightful," his wife said, shaking her head. "I did hope
that poor Marion was going to have a few years of rest; her life has
been such a hard one."