IN A NEW WORLD
Meantime the panorama of Elizabeth's life passed on into more peaceful
scenes. By means of the telephone and the maid a lot of new and beautiful
garments were provided for her, which fitted perfectly, and which
bewildered her not a little until they were explained by Marie. Elizabeth
had her meals up-stairs until these things had arrived and she had put
them on. The texture of the garments was fine and soft, and they were rich
with embroidery and lace. The flannels were as soft as the down in a
milkweed pod, and everything was of the best. Elizabeth found herself
wishing she might share them with Lizzie,--Lizzie who adored rich and
beautiful things, and who had shared her meagre outfit with her. She
mentioned this wistfully to her grandmother, and in a fit of childish
generosity that lady said: "Certainly, get her what you wish. I'll take
you downtown some day, and you can pick out some nice things for them all.
I hate to be under obligations."
A dozen ready-made dresses had been sent out before the first afternoon
was over, and Elizabeth spent the rest of the day in trying on and walking
back and forth in front of her grandmother. At last two or three were
selected which it was thought would "do" until the dressmaker could be
called in to help, and Elizabeth was clothed and allowed to come down into
the life of the household.
It was not a large household. It consisted of the grandmother, her dog,
and the servants. Elizabeth fitted into it better than she had feared. It
seemed pleasanter to her than the house on Flora Street. There was more
room, and more air, and more quiet. With her mountain breeding she could
not get her breath in a crowd.
She was presently taken in a luxurious carriage, drawn by two beautiful
horses, to a large department store, where she sat by the hour and watched
her grandmother choose things for her. Another girl might have gone half
wild over the delightful experience of being able to have anything in the
shops. Not so Elizabeth. She watched it all apathetically, as if the goods
displayed about had been the leaves upon the trees set forth for her
admiration. She could wear but one dress at once, and one hat. Why were so
many necessary? Her main hope lay in the words her grandmother had spoken
about sending her to school.
The third day of her stay in Rittenhouse Square, Elizabeth had reminded
her of it, and the grandmother had said half impatiently: "Yes, yes,
child; you shall go of course to a finishing school. That will be
necessary. But first I must get you fixed up. You have scarcely anything
to put on." So Elizabeth subsided.
At last there dawned a beautiful Sabbath when, the wardrobe seemingly
complete, Elizabeth was told to array herself for church, as they were
going that morning. With great delight and thanksgiving she put on what
she was told; and, when she looked into the great French plate mirror
after Marie had put on the finishing touches, she was astonished at
herself. It was all true, after all. She was a pretty girl.
She looked down at the beautiful gown of finest broadcloth, with the
exquisite finish that only the best tailors can put on a garment, and
wondered at herself. The very folds of dark-green cloth seemed to bring a
grace into her movements. The green velvet hat with its long curling
plumes of green and cream-color seemed to be resting lovingly above the
beautiful hair that was arranged so naturally and becomingly.
Elizabeth wore her lovely ermine collar and muff without ever knowing they
were costly. They all seemed so fitting and quiet and simple, so much less
obtrusive than Lizzie's pink silk waist and cheap pink plumes. Elizabeth
liked it, and walked to church beside her grandmother with a happy feeling
in her heart.
The church was just across the Square. Its tall brown stone spire and
arched doorways attracted Elizabeth when she first came to the place. Now
she entered with a kind of delight.
It was the first time she had ever been to a Sabbath morning regular
service in church. The Christian Endeavor had been as much as Lizzie had
been able to stand. She said she had to work too hard during the week to
waste so much time on Sunday in church. "The Sabbath was made for man" and
"for rest," she had quoted glibly. For the first time in her life since
she left Montana Elizabeth felt as if she had a real home and was like
other people. She looked around shyly to see whether perchance her friend
of the desert might be sitting near, but no familiar face met her gaze.
Then she settled back, and gave herself up to delight in the service.
The organ was playing softly, low, tender music. She learned afterward
that the music was Handel's "Largo." She did not know that the organ was
one of the finest in the city, nor that the organist was one of the most
skilful to be had; she knew only that the music seemed to take her soul
and lift it up above the earth so that heaven was all around her, and the
very clouds seemed singing to her. Then came the processional, with the
wonderful voices of the choir-boys sounding far off, and then nearer. It
would be impossible for any one who had been accustomed all his life to
these things to know how it affected Elizabeth.
It seemed as though the Lord Himself was leading the girl in a very
special way. At scarcely any other church in a fashionable quarter of the
great city would Elizabeth have heard preaching so exactly suited to her
needs. The minister was one of those rare men who lived with God, and
talked with Him daily. He had one peculiarity which marked him from all
other preachers, Elizabeth heard afterward. He would turn and talk with
God in a gentle, sweet, conversational tone right in the midst of his
sermon. It made the Lord seem very real and very near.
If he had not been the great and brilliant preacher of an old established
church, and revered by all denominations as well as his own, the minister
would have been called eccentric and have been asked to resign, because
his religion was so very personal that it became embarrassing to some.
However, his rare gifts, and his remarkable consecration and independence
in doing what he thought right, had produced a most unusual church for a
fashionable neighborhood.
Most of his church-members were in sympathy with him, and a wonderful work
was going forward right in the heart of Sodom, unhampered by fashion or
form or class distinctions. It is true there were some who, like Madam
Bailey sat calmly in their seats, and let the minister attend to the
preaching end of the service without ever bothering their thoughts as to
what he was saying. It was all one to them whether he prayed three times
or once, so the service got done at the usual hour. But the majority were
being led to see that there is such a thing as a close and intimate walk
with God upon this earth.
Into this church came Elizabeth, the sweet heathen, eager to learn all
that could be learned about the things of the soul. She sat beside her
grandmother, and drank in the sermon, and bowed her lovely, reverent head
when she became aware that God was in the room and was being spoken to by
His servant. After the last echo of the recessional had died away, and the
bowed hush of the congregation had grown into a quiet, well-bred commotion
of the putting on of wraps and the low Sabbath greetings, Elizabeth turned
to her grandmother.
"Grandmother, may I please go and ask that man some questions? He said
just what I have been longing and longing to know, and I must ask him
more. Nobody else ever told me these things. Who is he? How does he know
it is all true?"
The elder woman watched the eager, flushed face of the girl; and her heart
throbbed with pride that this beautiful young thing belonged to her. She
smiled indulgently.
"The rector, you mean? Why, I'll invite him to dinner if you wish to talk
with him. It's perfectly proper that a young girl should understand about
religion. It has a most refining influence, and the Doctor is a charming
man. I'll invite his wife and daughter too. They move in the best circles,
and I have been meaning to ask them for a long time. You might like to be
confirmed. Some do. It's a very pretty service. I was confirmed myself
when I was about your age. My mother thought it a good thing for a girl
before she went into society. Now, just as you are a schoolgirl, is the
proper time. I'll send for him this week. He'll be pleased to know you are
interested in these things. He has some kind of a young people's club that
meets on Sunday. 'Christian Something' he calls it; I don't know just
what, but he talks a great deal about it, and wants every young person to
join. You might pay the dues, whatever they are, anyway. I suppose it's
for charity. It wouldn't be necessary for you to attend the meetings, but
it would please the Doctor."
"Is it Christian Endeavor?" asked Elizabeth, with her eyes sparkling.
"Something like that, I believe. Good morning, Mrs. Schuyler. Lovely day,
isn't it? for December. No, I haven't been very well. No, I haven't been
out for several weeks. Charming service, wasn't it? The Doctor grows more
and more brilliant, I think. Mrs. Schuyler, this is my granddaughter,
Elizabeth. She has just come from the West to live with me and complete
her education. I want her to know your daughter."
Elizabeth passed through the introduction as a necessary interruption to
her train of thought. As soon as they were out upon the street again she
began.
"Grandmother, was God in that church?"
"Dear me, child! What strange questions you do ask! Why, yes, I suppose He
was, in a way. God is everywhere, they say. Elizabeth, you had better wait
until you can talk these things over with a person whose business it is. I
never understood much about such questions. You look very nice in that
shade of green, and your hat is most becoming."
So was the question closed for the time, but not put out of the girl's
thoughts.
The Christmas time had come and passed without much notice on the part of
Elizabeth, to whom it was an unfamiliar festival. Mrs. Bailey had
suggested that she select some gifts for her "relatives on her mother's
side," as she always spoke of the Bradys; and Elizabeth had done so with
alacrity, showing good sense and good taste in her choice of gifts, as
well as deference to the wishes of the one to whom they were to be given.
Lizzie, it is true, was a trifle disappointed that her present was not a
gold watch or a diamond ring; but on the whole she was pleased.
A new world opened before the feet of Elizabeth. School was filled with
wonder and delight. She absorbed knowledge like a sponge in the water, and
rushed eagerly from one study to another, showing marvellous aptitude, and
bringing to every task the enthusiasm of a pleasure-seeker.
Her growing intimacy with Jesus Christ through the influence of the pastor
who knew Him so well caused her joy in life to blossom into loveliness.
The Bible she studied with the zest of a novel-reader, for it was a novel
to her; and daily, as she took her rides in the park on Robin, now groomed
into self-respecting sleekness, and wearing a saddle of the latest
approved style, she marvelled over God's wonderful goodness to her, just a
maid of the wilderness.
So passed three beautiful years in peace and quietness. Every month
Elizabeth went to see her Grandmother Brady, and to take some charming
little gifts; and every summer she and her Grandmother Bailey spent at
some of the fashionable watering-places or in the Catskills, the girl
always dressed in most exquisite taste, and as sweetly indifferent to her
clothes as a bird of the air or a flower of the field.
The first pocket-money she had been given she saved up, and before long
had enough to send the forty dollars to the address the man in the
wilderness had given her. But with it she sent no word. It was like her to
think she had no right.
She went out more and more with her grandmother among the fashionable old
families in Philadelphia society, though as yet she was not supposed to be
"out," being still in school; but in all her goings she neither saw nor
heard of George Trescott Benedict.
Often she looked about upon the beautiful women that came to her
grandmother's house, who smiled and talked to her, and wondered which of
them might be the lady to whom his heart was bound. She fancied she must
be most sweet and lovely in every way, else such as he could not care for
her; so she would pick out this one and that one; and then, as some
disagreeableness or glaring fault would appear, she would drop that one
for another. There were only a few, after all, that she felt were good
enough for the man who had become her ideal.
But sometimes in her dreams he would come and talk with her, and smile as
he used to do when they rode together; and he would lay his hand on the
mane of her horse--there were always the horses in her dreams. She liked
to think of it when she rode in the park, and to think how pleasant it
would be if he could be riding there beside her, and they might talk of a
great many things that had happened since he left her alone. She felt she
would like to tell him of how she had found a friend in Jesus Christ. He
would be glad to know about it, she was sure. He seemed to be one who was
interested in such things, not like other people who were all engaged in
the world.
Sometimes she felt afraid something had happened to him. He might have
been thrown from that terrible train and killed, perhaps; and no one know
anything about it. But as her experience grew wider, and she travelled on
the trains herself, of course this fear grew less. She came to understand
that the world was wide, and many things might have taken him away from
his home.
Perhaps the money she had sent reached him safely, but she had put in no
address. It had not seemed right that she should. It would seem to draw
his attention to her, and she felt "the lady" would not like that. Perhaps
they were married by this time, and had gone far away to some charmed land
to live. Perhaps--a great many things. Only this fact remained; he never
came any more into the horizon of her life; and therefore she must try to
forget him, and be glad that God had given her a friend in him for her
time of need. Some day in the eternal home perhaps she would meet him and
thank him for his kindness to her, and then they might tell each other all
about the journey through the great wilderness of earth after they had
parted. The links in Elizabeth's theology had been well supplied by this
time, and her belief in the hereafter was strong and simple like a
child's.
She had one great longing, however, that he, her friend, who had in a way
been the first to help her toward higher things, and to save her from the
wilderness, might know Jesus Christ as he had not known Him when they were
together. And so in her daily prayer she often talked with her heavenly
Father about him, until she came to have an abiding faith that some day,
somehow, he would learn the truth about his Christ.
During the third season of Elizabeth's life in Philadelphia her
grandmother decided that it was high time to bring out this bud of
promise, who was by this time developing into a more beautiful girl than
even her fondest hopes had pictured.
So Elizabeth "came out," and Grandmother Brady read her doings and sayings
in the society columns with her morning coffee and an air of deep
satisfaction. Aunt Nan listened with her nose in the air. She could never
understand why Elizabeth should have privileges beyond her Lizzie. It was
the Bailey in her, of course, and mother ought not to think well of it.
But Grandmother Brady felt that, while Elizabeth's success was doubtless
due in large part to the Bailey in her, still, she was a Brady, and the
Brady had not hindered her. It was a step upward for the Bradys.
Lizzie listened, and with pride retailed at the ten-cent store the doings
of "my cousin, Elizabeth Bailey," and the other girls listened with awe.
And so it came on to be the springtime of the third year that Elizabeth
had spent in Philadelphia.