MARION'S LETTER FROM HOME.
Soon after the first of January, Marion received the following letter
from her mother:--
"We have all been made so happy to-day, my dear child, by a
letter from Miss Ashton. She writes us how well you have been
doing, and how much attached to you she has become. All this we
expected as a matter of course, but what delights and satisfies
us most, is what she says of your religious influence in the
school. We knew we were sending you into an untried life, that
would be full of anxieties and temptations. With all the
confidence we felt in you, we should hardly, no matter how great
the literary advantages offered, have liked to put you where the
character of your surroundings would have been less helpful; and
to know that you, in your turn, are proving helpful to others,
is indeed a great gratification. God bless, strengthen, and keep
you, my darling, through this new year, is your loving mother's
prayer.
"It almost seems to me that we miss you more and more as time
goes. Phil counts the weeks now until you come home, and I found
the little ones busy doing a long sum on their slates, which,
when they brought to me to see if it was right, I saw was to
ascertain first, how many days before you came, and then, how
many hours. Bennie told me that to-morrow they were to calculate
the minutes, and then the seconds. I suppose they have, for I
see them studying the clock very often, particularly the minute
hand.
"So you see how we miss and long for you at home.
"Your father is busier than ever. He is truly a workman of whom
his Master need not to be ashamed. He keeps well and happy.
Deacon Simonds came in last night to ask him to have some extra
meetings, as the Methodists were going to have an evangelist
here, and might draw away people from his church; but your
father said in his gentle way, 'The parish was not too large as
yet for him to do all the work required, and if any of his
people could be benefited by the evangelist, and should wish to
unite with that church, he should wish them Godspeed.' Then the
deacon said something about the difficulty of raising the
salary, which I minded more than your father. What a good,
trusting man he is! Mrs. Hoppen ran in this noon with a large
tin pan full of delicious doughnuts she had fried for us, and
Hetty Sprague put two pumpkin-pies into my pantry window. Not a
day passes but we are cared for in some way. I laugh, for it
looks as if they thought now you are gone there was no one left
to prepare goodies for the home. Tim Knowles dumped a load of
coal into our cellar when your father was away, then came to the
kitchen door and said,--
"'Mis' Parke, you tell the parson if he'll keep up the fire of
religion in the church, I'll keep it up in his study stove, and
it sha'n't cost him a copper cent. We all d'ought to have ways
of sarving the Lord, and this 'ere is mine.' Then he hurried
away, without giving me a chance to even say 'Thank you.'
"Sometimes it seems to me as if our whole parish felt as if you
belonged to them, and they had sent you away to school, and were
to pay your expenses, they are so wonderfully kind and
thoughtful of us. Your sabbath-school class sent you their New
Year's gift yesterday; I know you will value it. Old Aunt Cutts
is knitting you a pair of blue stockings; the dear old lady is
taking so much comfort out of the work, that she has made them
large enough for you to put both of your little feet into one;
and Kate Sanders brought me her white feather to ask me if, now
you had to dress stylish, I didn't think you could make use of
it. I thanked her, and told her that you were wearing a hat so
small I was sure the feather was too large for it. I think it
was quite a relief to her, for that soiled and bedraggled
feather is to her still, 'the apple of her eye.'
"So, my dear parish child, you have a great burden of
responsibility to carry; but your mother knows how easily and
how honorably it will be borne."
Marion read this letter with a variety of feelings. It had never been
the home way to make her religious character a separate and distinct
thing. It dominated the whole home-life. Do right, _do right_! She had
almost never been told, do not do wrong, but always do right, and this
meant simply and only, be a Christian. It was such a noble way to step
upward from the beginning; not easy, oh, no, far from that, so often
doing wrong in spite of precept and example, so often hesitating,
until the delay weakened the power of doing right; yet so often, with
hope and prayer to aid her, planting her foot firmly on the upper
rung, singing as she went.
Since she had been in school her life had been so changed, such
different temptations to do wrong, such different helps to do right,
that she had thought little of her influence upon her companions. The
letter of her mother was almost a shock, as, for the first time, it
brought up to her what she felt had been her neglect.
All these months here, and what had she ever done or said that would
tell for Jesus? Three room-mates; had she ever tried, from the first
of her coming among them, to help them into a Christian life? To be
sure they had their set times for private devotions, time required by
the rules, when every pupil was expected to read her Bible, if nothing
more. That they had all done, and Dorothy had "entered into her
closet, and shut her door." There could be no doubt that she had
prayed to her Father which is in secret, and her Father which seeth in
secret had rewarded her openly; for, often, when she came back among
them, her face had been so full of sweet peacefulness. "Dorothy's
influence has been the one for good, not mine," Marion thought, with
that true humility which is a Christian grace. As for Gladys, why she
was Gladys, and there was no one like her. So generous and noble, so
true and faithful; I must learn of her surely, not she of me; but
Susan! It must be confessed, that in the busy days Marion had almost
forgotten Susan's dishonesty. She did not like her, often she found it
hard to be even patient, much less kind, to her, and Susan was
sometimes very trying. She could, and did, say many unkind words,
"spites me," Marion said to herself; but generally bore the ill-humor
pityingly, feeling sorry for a girl who could do as Susan had done.
The fact was, that while Marion did not have Susan's guilt often in
her mind, Susan never forgot it when she saw Marion. _Never_ may be
too strong a word to use; but Susan was constantly uneasy in Marion's
company, often positively unhappy, wishing over and over again she had
never heard of "Storied West Rock," especially never, never been
tempted to steal that story, and palm it off for her own.
Not a day of her life but she expected to be found out, to be
disgraced before the school, perhaps to be expelled. Poor Susan! she
is reaping now the result of her selfish lifetime ambition to be among
the noted ones, to be thought of first, and treated like a heroine!
Ambition is a very laudable thing; we should all try to do our best,
but never should it lead us into doing selfish, mean, dishonorable
things; then it becomes a sin and not a virtue.
It was the weakness, nay, something worse, in Susan's character, as we
all know, always leading her into trouble, because it was so wholly
selfish.
If Marion could have reasoned all this out as we can, she would have
had fewer compunctions of conscience as she sat holding her mother's
letter in her hand, thinking over its contents.
It was some time before she could fully enjoy all the items of family
news it contained. Then they drew her pleasantly back to the dear
home, the small parish, and the life-long friends she had left there.
Gladys had been watching her as she read the letter, amused and
interested by the different phases of feeling her face showed; when
she saw her fold it up, she asked,--
"What's happened, Marion? You've looked as if you had been at a
funeral, and then at a wedding, while you were reading it."
"I have--almost," and Marion could laugh now. "Let me read you the
last part of it; it is so like home."
Then Marion read them about the children's sum, and the parishioners'
kindness; and Gladys, as she listened, planned how she could help
Marion without her ever suspecting from whence the help came, and
Dorothy thought what a different home it must be from that she had
left at Rock Cove.
Marion, instead of studying her next lesson, as it was obviously her
duty to do, sat with her book open before her, wondering how she could
immediately enter upon a course of conduct that would give her a more
enlarged and prominent religious influence. Never once suspecting that
this was a way the tempter was taking to lead her from the true
self-abnegation which is so vital to a growing Christian character.
Single-eyed to God's glory!
Miss Ashton in the recitation looked at her inquiringly several times.
What could have happened, she wondered, to make Marion blunder so? She
was generally prompt, and, considering how much she had to do to keep
up with her class, correct; but to-day she seemed distraught, as if
her mind were anywhere but upon her recitation. She stopped her after
the lesson was finished, and asked her if she were sick; but Marion
was well, nor was she, in her preoccupation, aware that Miss Ashton
was not pleased.
She answered her carelessly, which increased the teacher's uneasiness,
and made her ask a little sharply, "What is it, Marion? You did badly
in your recitation to-day."
"Ma'am!" said Marion, looking at her in surprise.
"I said you made a bad recitation," repeated Miss Ashton. "What has
happened?"
Then the color grew deeper and deeper in Marion's face. "My letter
from my mother," she said, "O Miss Ashton, I am so sorry!"
"Sorry for what? Is any one sick?"
"No, Miss Ashton; but--but--there was so much to think of in it. I am
so sorry I did badly."
Now Miss Ashton smiled. "If that is all," she said, "I will try to
forgive you. Can't you tell me something about your home letter? I
like to hear of them."
Then Marion poured out her whole heart, thanking her kind teacher
simply and winningly for her own kind letter to the Western home, but
giving no hint of the seed of evil the letter may have sown.