 22 Little Plum Pies Esther was in the kitchen trimming off the puffy crusts of endless pies. The old brown calicle morning dress, the same huge bib apron which had been through endless similar scrapes with her, everything about her looking exactly as it had three months ago, and yet so far as Esther and her future, yes and the future of everyone about her was concerned, things were very different. Perhaps Sadie had a glimmering of some strange change as she eyed her sister curiously and took note that there was a different light in her eye and a sort of smoothness on the quiet face that she had never noticed before. In fact, Sadie missed some wrinkles which she had supposed were part and parcel of Esther's self. How I did hate that part of it, she remarked, watching the fingers that moved deftly around each completed sphere. Mother said my edges always looked as if a mouse had marched around them nibbling all the way. My, how thoroughly I hate housekeeping. I pity the one who takes me for better or worse. Always provided there exists such a poor victim on the face of the earth. I don't think you hate it half so much as you imagine, Esther said kindly. Anyway, you did nicely. Mother says you were a great comfort to her. There was a sudden mist before Sadie's eyes. Did Mother say that, she queried, that blessed woman, what a very little it takes to make a comfort for her. Esther, I declare to you, if ever angels get into kitchens and pantries and the like, Mother is one of them. The way she bore with my endless blunderings was perfectly angelic. I'm glad, though, that her day of martyrdom is over, and mine too, for that matter. And Sadie, who had returned to the kingdom of spotless dresses and snowy cuffs and, above all, to the dear books and the academy, caught at that moment the sound of the academy bell and flitted away. Esther filled the oven with pies, then went to the side doorway to get a peep at the glowing world. It was the very perfection of a day. Autumn meant to die in wondrous beauty that year. Esther folded her bare arms and gazed. She felt little thrills of a new kind of restlessness all about her this morning. She wanted to do something grand, something splendidly good. It was all very well to make good pies. She had done that, given them the benefit of her highest skill in that line. Now they were being perfected in the oven, and she waited for something. If ever a girl longed for an opportunity to show her colors to honor her leader, it was our Esther. Oh, yes, she meant to do the duty that lay next to her, but she perfectly ached to have that next duty be something grand, something that would show all about her what a new life she had taken on. Dr. Van Anden was tramping about in his room over the side piazza, a very unusual proceeding with him at that hour of the day. His windows were open and he was singing, and the fresh lake wind brought tune and words right down to Esther's ear. I would not have the restless will that hurries to and fro, seeking for some great thing to do or wondrous thing to know. I would be guided as a child and led where ere I go. I ask thee for the daily strength to none that ask denied, a mind to blend with outward life while keeping at thy side, content to fill a little space if thou be glorified. Of course Dr. Van Anden did not know that Esther Reed stood in the doorway below and was at that precise moment in need of just such help as this, but then what mattered that so long as the master did? Just then another sense belonging to Esther did its duty and gave notice that the pies in the oven were burning, and she ran to their rescue humming meantime, content to fill a little space if thou be glorified. Eleven o'clock found her busily pairing potatoes, hurrying a little for in spite of swift, busy fingers, their work was getting a little the best of Maggie and her, and one pair of very helpful hands was missing. Alfred and Julia appeared from somewhere in the outer regions, and Esther was too busy to see that they both carried rather woe-be-gone faces. "'Hasn't mother got back yet?' queried Alfred. "'Why, no,' said Esther. She will not be back until to-night, perhaps not then. Didn't you know Mrs. Carlton was worse?' Alfred kicked his heels against the kitchen door in a most disconsolate manner. "'Somebody's always sick,' he grumbled out at last. "'A fellow might as well not have a mother. I never saw the beat. Nobody for miles around here can have the toothache without borrowing mother. I'm just sick and tired of it.' Esther had nearly laughed, but catching a glimpse of the forlorn face she thought better of it and said, "'Something is awry now, I know. You never want mother in such a hopeless way as that, unless you're in trouble. So you see you are just like the rest of them. Everybody wants mother when they are in any difficulty. But she is my mother, and I have a right to her, and the rest of them haven't.' "'Well,' said Esther soothingly, "'Suppose I be mother this time. Tell me what's the matter, and I'll act as much like her as possible.' "'You!' and thereupon Alfred gave a most uncomplementary sniff, queer work you'd make of it.' "'Try me,' was the good-natured reply. "'I ain't going to. I know well enough you'd say fiddle-sticks or nonsense or some such word, and finish up with just get out of my way.' Now, although Esther's cheeks were pretty red over this exact imitation of her former ungracious self, she still answered briskly. "'Very well. Suppose I should make such a very rude and unmother-like reply. Fiddle-sticks and nonsense would not shoot you, would they?' At which sentence Alfred stopped kicking his heels against the door and laughed. "'Tell us all about it,' continued Esther, following up her advantage. "'Nothing to tell much. Only all the folks are going a sail on the lake this afternoon, and going to have a picnic in the grove, the very last one before snow, and I meant to ask mother to let us go. Only how was I going to know that Mrs. Carlton would get sick and come away down here after her before daylight? And I know she would have let me go, too. And they're going to take things, a basketful each one of them. And they wanted me to bring little bits of pies, such as mother-bakes in little round tins, you know, clump-pies, and she would have made me some. I know. She always does. But now she's gone, and it's all up, and I shall have to stay at home like I always do, just for sick folks. It's mean anyhow.' Esther smothered a laugh over this curious jumble and asked a humble question. "'Is there really nothing that would do for your basket but little bits of clump-pies?' "'No,' Alfred explained earnestly. "'Because, you see, they've got plenty of cake and such stuff. The girls bring that, and they do like my pies awfully. I almost always take them. Mr. Hammond likes them, too. He's going along to take care of us, and I shouldn't like to go without the little pies, because they depend upon them.' "'Oh,' said Esther, "'girls go, too, do they?' and she looked for the first time at the long sad face of Julia in the corner. "'Yes, and Jewel is in just as much trouble as I am, because they are all going to wear white dresses, and she's tore hers, and she says she can't wear it till it's ironed because it looks like a rope, and Maggie says that she can't and won't iron it today. So. And mother was going to mend it this very morning, and, oh fudge, it's no use talking. We've got to stay at home, Jewel, so now.' And the kicking heels commenced again. Esther paired her last potato with a half-troubled, half-amused face. She was thoroughly tired of baking for that day, and felt like saying fiddle-sticks to the little plum pies, and that white dress was torn crisscross and every way, and ironing was always hateful. Besides, it did seem strange that when she wanted to do some great, nice thing, so much plum pies and torn dresses should step right into her path. Then unconsciously she repeated, content to fill a little space if thou art glorified. Could he be glorified, though, by such very little things? Yet hadn't she wanted to gain an influence over Alfred and Julia, and wasn't this her first opportunity? Besides, there was that verse, whatsoever thy hand findeth to do. At that point her thoughts took shape in words. Well, sir, we'll see whether mother is the only woman in this world after all. You tramp down, cellar, and bring me up that stone jar on the second shelf, and we'll have those pies in the oven in a twinkling. And that little woman in the corner, with two tears rolling down her cheeks, may bring her white dress and my work-box and thimble, and put two irons on the stove, and my word for it you shall both be ready by three o'clock, spry and span, pies and all. By three o'clock in the afternooning question Esther was thoroughly tired, but little plum pies by the dozen were cuddling among snowy napkins in the willow basket, and Alfred's face was radiant as he expressed his satisfaction after this fashion. You're just jolly, Esther. I didn't know you could be so good. Won't the boys chuckle over these pies, though? Esther, there's just seven more than mother ever made me. Very well, answered Esther gaily, then there would be just seven more chuckles this time than usual. Julia expressed her thoughts in a way more like her. She surveyed her skillfully mended and beautifully smooth white dress with smiling eyes, and as Esther tied the blue sash in a dainty knot and stepped back to see that always as it should be, she was suddenly confronted with this question. Esther, what makes you so nice today? You didn't ever used to be so. How the blood rushed into Esther's cheeks as she struggled with her desire to either laugh or cry, she hardly knew which. These were very little things which she had done, and it was shameful that, in all the years of her elder sisterhood, she had never sacrificed even so little of her own pleasure before. Yet it was true, and it made her feel like crying. And yet there was a rather ludicrous side to the question, to think that all her beautiful plans for the day had culminated in plum pies and ironing. She stooped and kissed Julia on the rosy cheek, and answered gently, moved by some inward impulse. I'm trying to do all my work for Jesus nowadays. You didn't mend my dress and iron it and curl my hair and fix my sash for him, did you? Yes, every little thing. Why, I don't see how. I thought you did them for me. I did, Julia, to please you and make you happy. But Jesus said that that is just the same as doing it for him. Julia's next question was very searching. But Esther, I thought you had been a member of the church a good many years. Sadie said so. Didn't you ever try to do things for Jesus before? A burning blush of genuine shame mantled Esther's face, but she answered quickly. No, I don't think I ever really did. Julia eyed her for a moment with a look of grave wonderment, then suddenly stood on tiptoe to return the kiss, as she said. Well, I think it is nice, anyway. If Jesus likes to have you be so kind and take so much trouble for me, why then he must love me, and I mean to thank him this very night when I say my prayers. And as Esther rested for a moment in the armchair on the piazza and watched her little brother and sister move briskly off, she hummed again those two lines that had been making unconscious music in her heart all day. Content to fill a little space if thou be glorified. CHAPTER XXIII. CROSSES The large church was very full. There seemed not to be another space for a human being. People who were not much given to frequenting the house of God on a weekday evening had certainly been drawn thither at this time. Sadie Reed sat beside Esther in her mother's pew, and Harry Arnett, with a sober look on his boyish face, sat bold upright in the end of the pew, while even Dr. Douglas leaned forward with graceful nonchalance from the seat behind them, and now and then addressed a word to Sadie. These people had been listening to such a sermon as his very seldom heard, that blessed man of God, whose name is dear to hundreds and thousands of people, whose hair is whitened with the frost of many a year spent in the master's service, whose voice and brain and heart are yet strong and powerful and mighty through God, the reverend Mr. Parker had been speaking to them, and his theme had been the soul and his text had been, what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? I hope I am writing for many who have had the honor of hearing that appeal fresh from the great brain and greater heart of Mr. Parker. Such will understand the spell under which his congregation sat, even after the prayer and hymn had died into silence. Now the gray-haired veteran stood bending over the pulpit, waiting for the Christian witnesses to the truth of his solemn messages, and for that he seemed likely to wait. A few earnest men, veterans too in the cause, gave in their testimony, and then occurred one of those miserable, disheartening, disgraceful pauses which are met with nowhere on earth among a company of intelligent men and women, with liberty given them to talk, save in a prayer meeting. Still silence, and still the aged servant stood with one arm resting on the Bible, and looked down almost beseechingly upon that crowd of dumb Christians. Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord, ye repeated in earnest pleading tones. Miserable witnesses, they! Was not the Lord ashamed of them all, I wonder? Something like this flitted through Esther's brain as she looked around upon that faithless company, and noted here and there one who certainly ought to take up his cross. Then some slight idea of the folly of that expression struck her. What a fearful cross it was to be sure! What a strange idea to use the same word in describing it that was used for that blood-stained, nail-pierced cross on Calvary. Then a thought, very startling in its significance, came to her. Was that cross born only for men? Were they the only ones who had a thank offering because of Calvary? Surely her savior hung there in blood and groaned and died for her. Why should not she say by his stripes I am healed? What if she should? What would people think? No, not that, either. What would Jesus think? That, after all, was the important question. Did she really believe that if she should say in the hearing of that assembled company, I love Jesus, that Jesus looking down upon her and hearing how her timid voice broke the dishonoring silence would be displeased, would set it down among the long list of ought not to have done's? She tried to imagine herself speaking to him in her closet after this manner. Dear savior, I confess with shame that I have brought reproach upon thy name this day, for I said in the presence of a great company of witnesses that I loved thee. In defiance of her former education and former belief upon this subject Esther was obliged to confess, then and there, that all this was extremely ridiculous. Oh, well, said Satan, it's not exactly wrong, of course, but then it isn't very modest or ladylike, and besides it is unnecessary. There are plenty of men to do the talking. But, said common sense, I don't see why it's a bit more unladylike than the lady's colloquy at the lyceum was last evening. There were more people present than are here to-night, and as for the men they are perfectly mum. There seems to be plenty of opportunity for somebody. Well, said Satan, it isn't customary, at least, and people will think strangely of you. Doubtless it would do more harm than good. This most potent argument that people will think strangely of you smothered common sense at once as it is apt to do, and Esther raised her head from the bowed position which it had occupied during this whirl of thought, and considered the question settled. Someone began to sing, and of all the words that could have been chosen, came the most unfortunate ones for this decision. On my head he poured his blessing long time ago. Now he calls me to confess him before I go. My past life, all violent, hateful, he saved from sin. I should be the most ungrateful not to own him. Death and hell he bade defiance, bore cross and pain. Shame my tongue this guilty silence and speak his name. This at once renewed the struggle, but in a different form. She no longer said ought I, but can I. Still the spell of silence seemed unbroken, saved by here and there a voice, and still Esther parlayed with her conscience, getting as far now as to say, when Mr. Jones sits down, if there is another silence I will try to say something. Not quite meaning, though, to do any such thing, and proving her word false by sitting very still after Mr. Jones sat down, though there was plenty of silence. Then when Mr. Smith said a few words, Esther whispered the same assurance to herself with exactly the same result. The something decided, for which she had been longing, the opportunity to show the world just where she stood had come at last, and this was the way in which she was meeting it. At last she knew by the heavy thuds which her heart began to give that the question was decided that the very moment Deacon Graves sat down she would rise, whether she would say anything or not would depend upon whether God gave her anything to say, but at least she could stand up for Jesus. But Mr. Parker's voice followed Deacon Graves, and this was what he said, Am I to understand by your silence that there is not a Christian man or woman in all this company who has an unconverted friend whom he or she would like to have us pray for? Then the watching angel of the Covenant came to the help of this trembling struggling Esther, and there entered into her heart such a sudden and overwhelming sense of longing for Sadie's conversion, that all thought of what she would say and how she would say it and what people would think passed utterly out of her mind, and rising suddenly she spoke in clear and wonderfully earnest tones. Will you pray for a dear, dear friend? God sometimes uses very humble means with which to break the spell of silence which satan so often weaves around Christians. It was as if they had all suddenly awakened to a sense of their privileges. Dr. Van Anden said, in a voice which quivered with feeling, I have a brother in the profession for whom I ask your prayers that he may become acquainted with the great physician. Request followed request for husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, and children. Even timid, meek-faced, low-voiced Mrs. Reed murmured a request for her children who were out of Christ. And when at last Harry Arnett suddenly lifted his handsome boyish head from its bowed position, and said in tones which conveyed the sense of a decision, pray for me, the last film of worldliness vanished, and there are those living today who have reason never to forget that meeting. Is it your private opinion that our good doctor got up a streak of disinterested enthusiasm over my unworthy self this evening? This question Dr. Douglas asked of Sadie as they lingered on the piazza in the moonlight. Sadie laughed gleefully. I am sure I don't know. I am prepared for anything strange that can possibly happen. Mother and Esther between them have turned the world upside down for me tonight. In case you are the happy man, I hope you are grateful. Extremely. Should be more so, perhaps, if people would be just to me in private and not so alarmingly generous in public. How bitter you are against Dr. Van Anden, Sadie said, watching the lowering brow and sarcastic curve of the lip with curious eyes. How much I should like to know precisely what is the trouble between you. Dr. Douglas instantly recovered his suavity. Do I appear bitter? I beg your pardon for exhibiting so unten terminally a phase of human nature, yet hypocrisy does move me to, and then occurred one of those sudden periods with which Dr. Douglas always seemed to stop himself when anything not quite courteous was being said. Just forget that last sentence, he added. It was unwise and unkind. The trouble between us is not worthy of a thought of yours. I wish I could forget it. I believe I could if he would allow me. At this particular moment the subject of the above conversation appeared at the door. Sadie gave a slight start, the thought that Dr. Van Anden had heard the talk was not pleasant. She need not have feared, he had just come from his room and from his knees. He spoke abruptly and with a touch of nervousness. Dr. Douglas, may I have a few words with you in private? Dr. Douglas's, certainly if Sadie will excuse us, was both prompt and courteous apparently, though the tone said almost as plainly as words could have done, to what can I be indebted for this honor? Dr. Van Anden led the way into the brightly lighted vacant parlor, and there Dr. Douglas stationed himself directly under the gas light, where he could command a full view of the pale, somewhat anxious face of his companion, and waited with that indescribable air made up of nonchalance and insolence. Dr. Van Anden dashed into his subject. Dr. Douglas, ten years ago you did what you could to injure me. I thought then purposely, I think now that perhaps you were sincere. Be that as it may, I used language to you then, which I, as a Christian man, ought never to have used. I have repented it long ago, but in my blindness I have never seen that I ought to apologize to you for it until this evening. God has shown me my duty. Dr. Douglas, I ask your pardon for the angry words I spoke to you that day. The gentleman addressed kept his full bright eyes fixed on Dr. Van Anden, and answered him in the quietest and at the same time iciest of tones. You are certainly very kind now that your anger has had time to cool during these ten years to accord to me the merit of being possibly sincere. Now I was more Christian in my conclusions. I set you down as an honest blunderer. That I have had occasion since to change my opinion is nothing to the purpose but it would be pleasanter to both of us if apologies could restore our friend, Mrs. Lyons, to life. During this response, Dr. Van Anden's face was a study. It had passed in quick succession through so many shades of feeling, anxiety, anger, disgust, and finally surprise, and apparently a dawning sense of a new development, for he made the apparently irrelevant reply. Do you think I administered that chloroform? Dr. Douglas's coolness foresook him for a moment. Who did, he queried with flashing eyes? Dr. Gilbert. Dr. Gilbert? Yes, sir. How does it happen that I never knew it? I am sure I do not know. Dr. Van Anden passed his hand across his eyes and spoke in sadness and weariness. I had no conception that you were not aware of it until this moment. It explains in part what was strangely mysterious to me, but even in that case it would have been, as you said, a blunder, not a criminal act. However, we cannot undo that past. I desire, above all other things, to set myself right in your eyes as a Christian man. I think I may have been a stumbling block to you. God only knows how bitter is the thought I have done wrong. I should have acknowledged it years ago. I can only do it now. Again, I ask you, Dr. Douglas, will you pardon those bitterly spoken words of mine? Dr. Douglas bowed stiffly with an increase of hot tour visible in every line of his face. Give yourself no uneasiness on that score, Dr. Van Anden, nor on any other, I beg you, so far as I am concerned. My opinion of Christianity is peculiar, perhaps, but has not altered of late, nor is it likely to do so. Of course, every gentleman is bound to accept the apology of another, however tartly it may be offered. Shall I bid you good evening, sir? And with a very low, very dignified bow, Dr. Douglas went back to the piazza and Sadie, and groaning in spirit over the tardiness of his effort, Dr. Van Anden returned to his room and prayed that he might renew his zeal and his longing for the conversion of that man's soul. Have you been receiving a little fraternal advice, queried Sadie, her mischievous eyes dancing with fun over the supposed discomforture of one of the two gentlemen she cared very little which? Not at all. On the contrary, I have been giving a little of that mixture in a rather unpalatable form, I fear. I haven't a very high opinion of the world, Miss Sadie. Including yourself, do you mean? Was Sadie's demure reply? Dr. Douglas looked the least bid annoyed, then he laughed and answered with quiet grace. Yes, including even such an important individual as myself. However, I have one merit which I consider very rare, sincerity. Sadie's face assumed a half-puzzled, half-amused expression, and she tried by the moonlight to give a searching look at the handsome form leaning against the pillar opposite her. I wonder if you are as sincere as you pretend to be, was her next complimentary sentence. And also I wonder if the rest of the world were as unlimited a set of humbugs as you suppose. How do you fancy you happened to escape getting mixed up with that general humbugism of the world? This Mr. Parker now talks as though he felt it and meant it. He is a first-class fanatic of the most outrageous sort. There ought to be a law forbidding such ranters to hold forth on pain of imprisonment for life. Dr. Douglas said, Sadie, speaking with grave dignity, I would rather not hear you speak of that old gentleman in such a manner. He may be a fanatic and a ranter, but I believe he means it, and I can't help respecting him more than any cold-blooded moralist that I ever met. Besides, I cannot forget that my honored father was among the despised class of whom you speak so scornfully. My dear friend, and Mr. Douglas's tone was as gentle as her mother's could have been. Forgive me if I have pained you. It was not intentional. I do not know what I have been saying. Some unkind things, perhaps, and that is always ungentlemanly. But I have been greatly disturbed this evening, and that must be my apology. Pardon me for detaining you for so long in the evening air. May I advise you professionally to go in immediately? May I advise you unselfishly to get into a better humor with the world in general, and Dr. Van Anden in particular, before you undertake to talk with a lady again? Sadie answered in her usual tones of railery, all her dignity had departed. Meantime, if you would like to have unmolested possession of this piazza to assist you in tramping off your evil spirit, you shall be indulged. I'm going to the west side. The evening air and I are excellent friends. And with a mocking laugh and bow, Sadie departed. I wonder, she's soliloquized, returning to gravity the moment she was alone. I wonder what that man has been saying to him now. How unhappy these two gentlemen make themselves. It would be a consolation to know right from wrong. I just wish I believed in everybody as I used to. The idea of this gray-headed minister being a hypocrite. That's absurd. But then the idea of Dr. Van Anden being what he is. Well, it's a queer world. I believe I'll go to bed. Esther Read by Pansy Chapter 24 God's Way Be it understood that Dr. Douglas was very much astonished and not a little disgusted with himself. As he marched defiantly up and down the long piazza, he tried to analyze his state of mind. He had always supposed himself to be a man possessed of keen powers of discernment, and yet with all exercising considerable charity towards his earing fellow men, willing to overlook faults and mistakes, hiding himself not a little on the kind and gentlemanly way in which he could meet ruffled human nature of any sort. In fact, he dwelt on a sort of pedestal from the height of which he looked calmly and excusingly down on weaker mortals. This until tonight. Now he realized in a confused, blundering sort of way that his pedestal had crumbled or that he had tumbled from its height, or at least that something new and strange had happened. For instance, what had become of his powers of discernment? Here was this miserable doctor who had been one of the thorns of his life whom he had looked down upon as a canting hypocrite. Was he, after all, mistaken? The explanation of tonight looked like it. He had been deceived in that matter which had years ago come between them. He could see it very plainly now. In spite of himself, the doctor's earnest, manly apology would come back and repeat itself to his brain and demand admiration. Now Dr. Douglas was honestly amazed at himself, because he was not pleased with this state of things. Why was he not glad to discover that Dr. Van Anden was more of a man than he had ever supposed? This would certainly be in keeping with the character of the courteous, unprejudiced gentleman that he had hitherto considered himself to be. But there was no avoiding the fact that the very thought of Dr. Van Anden was exasperating more so this evening than ever before, and the more his judgment became convinced that he had blundered, the more vexed did he become. Con found everybody, he exclaimed at length, in utter disgust. What on earth do I care for the contemptible puppy that I should waste thought on him? What possessed the fellow to come whining around me tonight and set me in a world of disagreeable thought? I ought to have knocked him down for insufferable impudence in dragging me out publicly in that meeting. This he said aloud, but something made answer down in his heart. Oh, it's very silly of you to talk in this way. You know perfectly well that Dr. Van Anden is not a contemptible puppy at all. He is a thoroughly educated, talented physician, a formidable rival, and you know it, and he didn't whine in the least this evening. He made a very manly apology for what was not so very bad after all, and you more than half suspect yourself of admiring him. Fiddlesticks, said Dr. Douglas, allowed to all this information, and went off to his room in High Dungeon. The next two days seemed to be very busy ones to one member of the Reed family. Dr. Douglas sometimes appeared at mealtime and sometimes not, but the parlor and the piazza were quite deserted, and even his own room saw little of him. Sadie, when she chanced by accident to meet him on the stairs, stopped to inquire if the village was given over to Smallpox for any other dire disease which required his constant attention, and he answered her in tones short and sharp enough to have been Dr. Van Anden himself. It is given over to madness and moved quickly on. This encounter served to send him on a long tramp into the woods that very afternoon. In truth Dr. Douglas was overwhelmed with astonishment at himself. Two such days and nights as the last had been he hoped never to see again. It was as if all his pet theories had deserted him at a moment's warning, and the very spirit of darkness taken up his abode in their place. Go whether he would, do what he would, he was haunted by these new strange thoughts. Sometimes he actually feared that he, at least, was losing his mind, whether the rest of the world were or not. Being an utter unbeliever in the power of prayer, knowing indeed nothing at all about it, he would have scoffed at the idea that Dr. Van Anden's impassioned, oft-repeated petitions, had ought to do with him at this time. Had he known that at the very time in which he was marching through the dreary woods, kicking the red and yellow leaves from his path in sullen gloom, Esther in her little clothes press on her knees was pleading with God for his soul, and that through him Satan might be reached, I presume he would have laughed. The result of this long communion with himself was as follows. That he had overworked and underslept, that his nervous system was disordered, that in the meantime he had been fool enough to attend that abominable sensation meeting, and the man actually had wonderful power over the common mind, and used his eloquence in a way that was quite calculated to confuse a not perfectly balanced brain. It was no wonder then, in his state of bodily disorder, that the sympathetic mind should take the alarm, so much for the disease, now for the remedy. He would study less, at least he would stop reading half the night away. He would begin to practice some of his own preaching, and learn to be more systematic, more careful of this wonderful body, which could cause so much suffering. He would ride fast and long. Above all he would keep away from that church and that man with his fanciful pictures and skillfully woven words. Having determined his plan of action, he felt better. There was no sense, he told himself, in yielding to the sickly sentimentalism which had bewitched him for the past few days. He was ashamed of it, and would have no more of it. He was master of his own mind, he guessed, always had been, and always would be. And he started on his homeward walk with a good deal of alacrity, and much of his usual composure settling on his face. Oh, would the gracious spirit which had been struggling with him leave him indeed to himself? Oh God, pleaded Esther, give me this one soul in answer to my prayer. For the sake of Sadie, bring this strong pillar obstructing her way to thyself. For the sake of Jesus, who died for them both, bring them both to yield to him. Dr. Douglas paused at the place where two roads forked and mused, and the subject of his musing was no more important than this. Should he go home by the river path or through the village? The river path was the longer, and it was growing late, nearly tea time, but if he took the main road he would pass his office, where he was supposed to be, as well as several houses where he ought to have been, besides meeting probably several people whom he would rather not see just at present. On the whole he decided to take the river road and walked briskly along, quite in harmony with himself once more, and enjoying the autumn beauty spread around him. A little white speck attracted his attention. He almost stopped to examine into it, then smiled at his curiosity and moved on. A bit of waste paper probably, he said to himself, yet what a curious shape it was as if it had been carefully folded and hidden under that stone. Suppose I see what it is. Who knows but that I shall find a fortune hidden in it. He turned back a step or two and stooped for the little white speck. One corner of it was nestled under a stone. It was a ragged, rumpled, muddy fragment of a letter or an essay, which rain and wind and water had done their best to annihilate, and finally, seeming to become weary of their plaything, had tossed it contemptuously on the shore, and a pitying stone had rolled down and covered and preserved a tiny corner. Dr. Douglas eyed it curiously, trying to decipher the mud-stained lines, and being in a dreamy mood wondered, meanwhile, what young, fair hand had penned the words and what of joy or sadness filled them. Scarcely a word was readable, at least nothing that would gratify his curiosity, until he turned the bit of leaf and the first line which the stone had hidden shown out distinctly. Sometimes I cannot help asking myself why I was made. Here the corner was torn off and whether that was the end of the original sentence or not, it was the end to him. God sometimes uses very simple means with which to confound the wisdom of this world. Such a sudden and extraordinary revulsion of feeling as swept over Dr. Douglas he had never dreamed of before. He did not stop to question the strangeness of his state of mind, nor why that bit of soiled torn paper should possess so fearful of power over him. He did not even realize at the moment that it was connected with this bewilderment. He only knew that the foundation upon which he had been building for years seemed suddenly to have been torn from under him by invisible hands and left his feet sinking slowly down on nothing, and his inmost soul took suddenly up that solemn question with which he had never before troubled his logical brain. I cannot help asking myself why I was made. There was only one other readable word on that paper, turn it whichever way he would, and that word was God, and he started and shivered when his eye met this as if some awful voice had spoken it to his ear. What unaccountable witchcraft has taken possession of me, he muttered at length, and turning suddenly he sat himself down on an old decaying log by the riverside and gave himself up to real honest solemn thought. Where is Dr. Douglas queried Julia appearing at the dining room door just at tea time? There is a boy at the door says they want him at Judge Belden's this very instant. He is nowhere, answered Sadie solemnly, pausing in the work of arranging cups and saucers. It's my private opinion that he has been and gone and hung himself. He passed the window about one o'clock, looking precisely as I should suppose a man would who was about to commit that interesting act, since which time I've answered the bell 17 times to give the same melancholy story of his whereabouts. My exclaimed the literal Julia querying back to the boy at the door. She comprehended her sister sufficiently to have no faith in the hanging statement, but honestly believed in the seventeen sick people who were waiting for the doctor. The church was very full again that evening. Sadie had at first declared herself utterly unequal to another meeting that week, but had finally allowed herself to be persuaded into going, and had nearly been the cause of poor Julia's disgrace because of the astonished look which she assumed as Dr. Douglas came down the aisle with his usual quiet composure of manner and took the seat directly in front of them. The sermon was concluded. The text, See I have set before thee this day life and good, death and evil, had been dwelt upon in such a manner that it seemed to some as if the aged servant of God had verily been shown a glimpse of the two unseen worlds waiting for every soul, and was painting from actual memory the picture for them to look upon, that most solemn of all solemn hymns had just been sung. There is a time we know not when, a point we know not where, that marks the destiny of men, twixed glory and despair. There is a line by us unseen that crosses every path, the hidden boundary between God's mercy and his wrath. Silence had but fairly settled on the waiting congregation when a strong firm voice broken upon it and the speaker said, I believe in my soul that I have met that point and crossed that line this day. I surely met God's mercy and his wrath face to face and struggled in their power. Your hymn says, to cross that boundary is to die, but I thank God that there are two sides to it. I feel that I have been standing on the very line that my feet had well nigh slipped. Tonight I step over onto mercy's side, reckon me henceforth among those who have chosen life. Amen, said the veteran minister with radiant face. Thank God, said the earnest pastor with quivering lip. Two heads were suddenly bowed in the silent ecstasy of prayer. They were Esther's and Dr. Van Anden's. As for Sadie, she sat straight and still as if petrified with amazement as she well nigh felt herself to be, for the strong, firm voice belonged to Dr. Douglas. An hour later, Dr. Van Anden was pacing up and down the long parlor with quick excited steps waiting for he hardly knew what when a shadow fell between him and the gaslight. He glanced up suddenly and his eyes met Dr. Douglas, who had placed himself in precisely the same position in which he had stood when they had met there before. Dr. Van Anden started forward and the two gentlemen clasped hands as they had never in their lives done before. Dr. Douglas broke the beautiful silence first with earnestly spoken words. Doctor, will you forgive all the past? And Dr. Van Anden answered, Oh, my brother in Christ! As for Esther, she prayed in her close press, thankfully for Dr. Douglas, more hopefully for Sadie, and knew not that a corner of the poor little letter which had slipped from Julia's hand and floated down the stream one summer morning, thereby causing her such a miserable, miserable day, was lying at that moment in Dr. Douglas's notebook, counted as the most precious of all his precious bits of paper. Verily his ways are not as our ways. End of Chapter 24, Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 25 of Esther Read This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Esther Read by Pansy Chapter 25 Sadie Surrounded Oh, said Sadie, with a merry toss of her brown curls. Don't waste any more precious breath over me, I beg. I'm an unfortunate case, not worth struggling for. Just let me have a few hours of peace once more. If you'll promise not to say meeting again to me, I'll promise not to laugh at you once after this long drawn out spasm of goodness has quieted, and you have each descended to your usual level once more. Sadie, said Esther, in a low shocked tone, do you think we are all hypocrites and mean not a bit of this? By no means, my dear sister of charity, at least not all of you, I am a firm believer in diseases of all sorts. This is one of the violent kind of highly contagious diseases. They must run their course, you know. I have not lived in the house with two learned physicians all this time without learning that fact, but I consider this very nearly at its height and live an hourly expectation of the turn. But, my dear, I don't think you need worry about me in the least. I don't believe I'm a fit subject for such trouble. You know I never took a whooping cough nor measles, though I have been exposed a great many times. To this Esther only replied by a low tremulous, don't Sadie, please. Sadie turned a pair of mirthful eyes upon her for a moment and noting with wonder the pale, anxious face and quivering lip of her sister seemed suddenly sobered. Esther, she said quietly, I don't think you are playing good. I don't positively. I believe you are thoroughly in earnest. But I think you have been through some very severe scenes of late sickness and watching and death and your nerves are completely unstrung. I don't wonder at your state of feeling, but you will get over it in a little while and be yourself again. Oh, said Esther tremulously, I pray God I may never be myself again, not the old self that you mean. You will, Sadie answered, with roguish positiveness. Things will go crosswise, the fire won't burn and the kettle won't boil and the milk pitcher will tip over and all kinds of mischievous things will go on happening after a little bit, just as usual, and you will feel like having a general smash-up of everything in spite of all these meetings. Esther sighed heavily, the old difficulty again, things would not be undone, the weeds which she had been carelessly sowing during all these past years had taken deep root and would not give place. After a moment's silence she spoke again. Sadie, answer me just one question, what do you think of Dr. Douglas? Sadie's face darkened ominously, never mind what I think of him, she answered in short, sharp tones and abruptly left the room. What she did think of him was this, that he had become that which he had affected to consider the most despicable thing on earth, a hypocrite. Remember, she had no personal knowledge of the power of the Spirit of God over a human soul. She had no conception of how so mighty a change could be wrought in the space of a few hours, so her only solution of the mystery was that to serve some end which he had in view Dr. Douglas had chosen to assume a new character. Later on that same day Sadie encountered Dr. Douglas, rather she went to the side piazza equipped for a walk and he came eagerly from the west end to speak with her. Miss Sadie, I have been watching you. I have a few words that are burning to be said. Proceed, said Sadie, standing with demurely folded hands and a mock gravity in her roguish eyes. I want to do justice at this late day to Dr. Van Anden. I misjudged him, wronged him, perhaps prejudiced you against him. I want to undo my work. Some things can be done more easily than they can be undone, was Sadie's grave and dignified reply. You certainly have done your best to prejudice me against Dr. Van Anden, not only, but against all other persons who hold his peculiar views and you have succeeded splendidly. I congratulate you. That look of absolute pain which she had seen once or twice on this man's face swept over it now as he answered her. I know, I have been blind and stupid, wicked, anything you will. Most bitterly do I regret it now, most eager am I to make reparation. Sadie's only answer was, what a capital actor you would make, Dr. Douglas. Are you sure you have not mistaken your vocation? I know what you think of me. This with an almost quivering lip and a voice strangely humble as unlike as possible to any which she had ever heard from Dr. Douglas before. You think I am playing apart, though what my motive could be I cannot imagine, can you? But I do solemnly assure you that if ever I was sincere in anything at all in my life I am now concerning this matter. There is a most unfortunate if in the way, doctor. You see, the trouble is I have very serious doubts as to whether you ever were sincere in anything in your life. As to motives, a first class anybody likes to try his power. You will observe that I have a very poor opinion of the world. The doctor did not notice the quotation of his favorite expression, but answered with a touch of his accustomed dignity. I have deserved this treatment at your hands, Miss Sadie. Doubtless I have, although I am not conscious of ever having said to you anything which I did not think I meant. I have been a fool. I am willing, yes, and anxious to own it. But there are surely some among your acquaintances whom you can trust if you cannot me. I, Sadie interrupted him. For instance, that first class fanatic of the most objectionable stamp, the man who Dr. Douglas thought, not three days ago, ought to be bound by law to keep the peace. I suppose you would have me unhesitatingly receive every word he says. Dr. Douglas's face brightened instantly and he spoke eagerly. I remember those words, Miss Sadie, and just how honestly I spoke them, and just how bitterly I felt when I spoke them, and I have no more sure proof that this thing is of God than I have in noting the wonderful change which has come over my feelings in regard to that blessed man. I pray, God, that he may be permitted to speak to your soul with the tremendous power which he has to mine. Oh, Sadie, I have led you astray. May I not help you back? I am not a weathervane, Dr. Douglas, to be world about by every wind of expediency. Besides, I am familiar with one verse in the Bible of which you seem never to have heard. Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. You have sowed well and faithfully. Be content with your harvest. I do not know what the pale grave lips would have answered to this mocking spirit, for at that moment Dr. Van Anden and the Black Ponies whizzed around the corner and halted before the gate. Sadie, said the doctor, are you in the mood for a ride? I have five miles to drive. Dr. Van Anden answered Sadie promptly. The last time you and I took a ride together we quarreled. Precisely, said the doctor, bowing low, let us take another now and make up. Very well was the gleeful answer which he received and in another minute they were off. For the first mile or two he kept a tight rain and let the ponies skim over the ground in the liveliest fashion during which time very little talking was done. After that he slackened his speed and leaning back in the carriage addressed himself to Sadie. Now we are ready to make up. How shall we commence? asked Sadie gravely. Who quarreled? answered the doctor sententiously. Well, said Sadie, I understand what you are waiting for. You think I was very rude and unladylike in my replies to you during that last interesting ride we took. You think I jumped at unwarrantable conclusions and used some unnecessarily sharp words. I think so myself and if it will be of any service to you to know it I don't mind telling you in the least. That is a very excellent beginning answered the doctor heartily. I think we shall have no difficulty in getting the matter all settled. Now for my part it won't sound as well as yours because however blunderingly I may have said what I did I said it honestly in good faith and with a good and pure motive. But I am glad to be able to say in equal honesty that I believe I was overcautious that Dr. Douglas was never so little worthy of regard as I supposed him to be and that nothing could have more rejoiced my heart than the noble stand which he has so recently taken. Indeed, his conduct has been so noble that I feel honored by his acquaintance. He was interrupted by a mischievous laugh. A mutual admiration society said Sadie in her most mocking tone. Did you and Dr. Douglas have a private rehearsal? You interrupted him in a similar rhapsody over your perfections. Instead of seeming annoyed Dr. Van Anden's face glowed with pleasure. Did he explain to you our misunderstanding? He asked eagerly. That was very noble of him. Of course! He is the soul of nobility. A villain yesterday and a saint today. I don't understand such marvelously rapid changes, Dr. I know you don't, the doctor answered quietly. Although you have exaggerated both terms, yet there is a great and marvelous change which must be experienced to be understood. Will you never seek it for yourself, Sadie? I presume I never shall as I very much doubt the existence of any such phenomenon. The doctor appeared neither shocked nor surprised but favored her with a cool and quiet reply. Oh no, you don't doubt it in the least. Don't try to make yourself out that foolish and unreasonable creature an unbeliever in what is as clear to a thinking mind as is the sun at noonday. You and I have no need to enter into an argument concerning this matter. You have seen some unwise and inconsistent acts in many who are called by the name of Christian. You imagine that they have staggered your belief in the verity of the thing itself. Yet it is not so. You had a dear father who lived and died in the faith and you no more doubt the fact that he is in heaven today, brought there by the power of the Saviour in whom he trusted, then you doubt your own existence at this moment. Sadie sat silenced and grave. She was very rarely either, perhaps. Dr. Van Anden was the one person who could have thus subdued her, but in her inmost heart she felt his words to be true. That dear, dear father whose weary suffering life had been one long evidence to the truth of the religion which he professed. Yes, it was so. She no more doubted that he was at this moment in that blessed heaven toward which his hopes had so constantly tended, then she doubted the shining of that day's sun, so he, being dead, yet spoke to her. Besides, her keen judgment had, of late, settled back upon the belief that Dr. Van Anden lived a life that would bear watching a true, earnest, manly life, also that he was a man not likely to be deceived. So, sitting back there in the carriage and appearing to look at nothing and to be interested in nothing, she allowed herself to take in again the firm conviction that whatever most lives were, there was always that father, safe, safe in the Christian's heaven, and there were besides some few, a very few, she thought, but there were some still living whom she knew, yes, actually knew, were fitting for that same faraway, safe place. No, Sadie had stood upon the brink, was standing there still, indeed, but reason and the long-buried father still kept her from toppling over into the chasm of settled unbelief. Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth, yea, sayeth the spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them. But something must be said. Sadie was not going to sit there and allow Dr. Van Anden to imagine that she was utterly quieted and conquered. She would rather quarrel with him than have that. He had espoused Dr. Douglas's cause so emphatically, let him argue for him now. There was nothing like a good, sharp argument to destroy the effect of unpleasant personal questions. So she blazed into sudden indignation. I think Dr. Douglas is a hypocrite. Nothing could have been more composed than the tone in which she was answered. Very well, what then? This question was difficult to answer and Sadie remaining silent, her companion continued. Mr. Smith is a drunkard, therefore I will be a thief. Is that Miss Sadie Reed's logic? I don't see the point. Don't you? Wasn't that exclamation concerning Dr. Douglas a bit of hiding behind the supposed sin of another a sort of a reason why you were not a Christian because somebody else pretended to be? Is that sound logic, Sadie? When your next neighbor in class peeps in her book and thereby disgraces herself and becomes a hypocrite, do you straightway declare that you will study no more? You see, it is fashionable, in talking of this matter of religion, to drag out the shortcomings and inconsistencies of others and try to make of them a garment to covet our own sins, but it is very senseless after all and you will observe is never done in the discussion of any other question. Clearly Sadie must talk in a common sense way with a straightforward man if she talked at all. Her resolution was suddenly taken to say for once just what she meant and a very grave and thoughtful pair of eyes were raised to meet the doctors when next she spoke. I think of these things sometimes, doctor, and though a great deal of it seems to be humbug, it is as you say. I know some are sincere, and I know there is a right way. I have been more than half tempted many times during the last few weeks to discover for myself the secret of power, but I am deterred by certain considerations which you would, doubtless, think very absurd, but which, joined with the inspiration which I receive from the ridiculous inconsistencies of others, have been sufficient to deter me hitherto. Would you mind telling me some of the considerations? And the moment Sadie began to talk honestly, the doctor's tones lost their half indifferent coolness and expressed a kind and thoughtful interest. No, she said hesitatingly, I don't know that I need, but you will not understand them. For instance, if I were a Christian I would have to give up one of my favorite amusements, almost a passion you know dancing is with me, and I am not ready to yield it. Why should you feel obliged to do so if you were a Christian? Sadie gave him the benefit of a very searching look. Don't you think I would be? She queried after a moment's silence. I haven't said what I thought on the subject, but I feel sure that it is not the question for you to decide at present. First settle the all important one of your personal acceptance of Christ, and then it will be time to decide the other matter for or against as your conscience may dictate. Oh, but, said Sadie positively, I know very well what my conscience would dictate and I am not ready for it. Isn't dancing an innocent amusement? For me, yes, but not for a Christian. Does the Bible lay down one coat of laws for you and another for Christians? I think so, it says be not conformed to the world. Granted, but does it anywhere say to those who are of the world, you have a right to do just what you like, that direction does not apply to you at all, it is intended for those poor Christians. Dr. Van Anden said Sadie with dignity, don't you think there should be a difference between Christians and those who are not? Undoubtedly I do. Do you think that every person ought or ought not to be a Christian? Sadie was silent and a little indignant. After a moment she spoke again, this time with a touch of hot tour. I think you understand what I mean, Doctor, though you would not admit it for the world. I don't suppose I feel very deeply on the subject, else I would not advance so trivial an excuse. But this is honestly my state of mind. Whenever I think about the matter at all, this thing comes up for consideration. I think it would be very foolish for me to argue against dancing, for I don't know much about the arguments and care less. I know only this much, that there is a very distinctly defined inconsistency between a profession of religion and dancing visible very generally to the eyes of those who make no profession. The other class don't seem so able to see it, but there exists very generally among us worldlings a disposition to laugh a little over dancing Christians. Whether this is a well-founded inconsistency or only a foolish prejudice on our part, I have never taken the trouble to try to determine, and it would make little material difference which it was. It is enough for me that such is the case, and it makes it very plain to me that if I were an honest professor of that religion which leads one of its teachers to say, he will eat no meat while the world stands if it makes his brother to offend, I should be obliged to give up my dancing. But since I am not one of that class and thus have no such influence, I can see no possible harm in my favorite amusement and am not ready to give it up, and that is what I mean by its being innocent for me and not innocent for professing Christians. Dr. Van Anden made no sort of reply if Sadie could judge from his face. He seemed to have grown weary of the whole subject. He leaned back in his carriage and let the reins fall loosely and carelessly. His next proceeding was most astounding, coolly possessing himself of one of the small-gloved hands that lay idly on Sadie's lap, he said in a quiet matter-of-fact tone, Sadie, would you allow me to put my arm around you? In an instant the indignant blood surged in waves over Sadie's face. The hand was angrily withdrawn, and the graceful form drawn to an erect height, and it is impossible to describe the freezing tone of astonished indignation in which she ejaculated. Dr. Van Anden. Just what I expected returned that gentleman in a composed manner, bestowing a look of entire satisfaction upon his irate companion. And yet, Sadie, I hope you will pardon my obtuseness, but I positively cannot see why, if it is proper and courteous, and all that sort of thing, I, whom a friend of ten years standing, should not enjoy the same privilege which you accord to Fred Kenmore, to whom you were introduced last week, and with whom I heard you say you danced five times. Sadie looked confused and annoyed, but finally she laughed, for she had the good sense to see the folly of doing anything else under existing circumstances. That is the point which puzzles me at present, continued the doctor, in a kind grave tone. I do not understand how young ladies of refinement can permit, under certain circumstances, and often from comparative strangers, attentions which, under other circumstances, they repel with becoming indignation. Won't you consider the apparent inconsistency a little? It is the only suggestion which I wish to offer on the question at present. When you have settled that other important matter, this thing will present itself to your clear-seeing eyes in other and more startling aspects. Meantime, this is the house at which I must call. Will you hold my horses, Miss Sadie, while I dispatch matters within? End of Chapter 25, Recording by Tricia G. Chapter 26 of Esther Read This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Esther Read by Pansy Chapter 26 Confusion Crossbearing Consequence But the autumn days were not all bright and glowing and glorious. One morning it rained, not a soft, silent and warm rain, but a gusty, windy, turbulent one. A rain that drove into windows ever so slightly raised, and hurled itself angrily into your face whenever you ventured to open a door. It was a day in which fires didn't like to burn, but smoldered and sizzled and smoked, and people went around shivering, their shoulders shrugged up under little dingy, unbecoming shawls, and the clouds were low and gray and heavy, and everything and everybody seemed generally out of sorts. Esther was no exception. The toothache had kept her awake during the night, and one cheek was puffy and stiff in the morning, and one tooth still snarled threateningly whenever the slightest whisper of a draft came to it. The high-toned, exalted views of life and duty, which had held possession of her during the past few weeks, seemed suddenly to have deserted her. In short, her body had gained that mortifying ascendancy over the soul, which it will sometimes accomplish, and all her hopes and aims and enthusiasm seemed blotted out. Things in the kitchen were uncomfortable. Maggie had seized on this occasion for having the mumps, and acting upon the advice of her sympathizing mistress, had pinned a hot flannel around her face and gone to bed. The same unselfish counsel had been given to Esther, but she had just grace enough left to refuse to desert the camp, when dinner must be in readiness for twenty-four people in spite of nerves and teeth. Just here, however, the supply failed her, and she worked in ominous gloom. Julia had been pressed into service and was stoning raisins, or eating them a close observer would have found it difficult to discover which. She was certainly rasping the nerves of her sister in a variety of those endless ways by which a thoughtless, restless, questioning child can almost distract a troubled brain. Esther endured with what patience she could the ceaseless drafts upon her, and worked at the interminable cookies with commendable zeal. Alfred came with a bang and a whistle and held open the side door while he talked. In rushed the spiteful wind and all the teeth in sympathy with the aching one set up an immediate growl. Mother, I don't see any. Why, where is mother? questioned Alfred, and he was answered with an emphatic, shut that door. Well, but, said Alfred, I want mother. I say, Esther, will you give me a cookie? No, answered Esther with energy. Did you hear me tell you to shut that door this instant? Well, now don't bite a fellow. And Alfred looked curiously at his sister. Meantime the door closed with a heavy bang. Mother, say mother, he continued as his mother emerged from the pantry. I don't see anything of that hammer. I've looked everywhere. Mother, can't I have one of Esther's cookies? I'm awful hungry. Why, I guess so if you're really suffering. Try again for the hammer, my boy. Don't let the poor little hammer get the better of you. Well, said Alfred, I won't. Meaning that it should answer the latter part of the sentence, and seizing the cookie, he bowed a triumphant look upon Esther and a loving one upon his mother, and vanished amid a renewal of the whistle and bang. This little scene did not serve to help Esther. She rolled away vigorously at the dough, but felt some way disturbed and outraged, and finally gave vent to her feeling in a preemptory order. Julia, don't eat another raisin. You've made away with about half of them now. Julia looked aggrieved. Mother lets me eat raisins when I picked them over for her, was her defense, to which she received no other reply then. Keep your elbows off the table. Then there was silence and industry for some minutes. Presently Julia recovered her composure and commenced with, say Esther, what makes you prick little holes all over your biscuits? To make them rise better. Does everything rise better after it is pricked? Sadie was peering apples at the end table and interposed at this point. If you find that to be the case, Julia, you must be very careful after this, or we shall have Esther pricking you when you don't rise in time for breakfast in the morning. Julia suspected that she was being made a dupe of and appealed to her older sister. Honestly, Esther, do you prick them so that they will rise better? Of course, I told you so, didn't I? Well, but why does that help them any? Can't they get up unless you make holes in them, and what is all the reason for it? Now, these were not easy questions to answer, especially to a girl with a toothache, and Esther's answer was not much to the point. Julia, I declare you are enough to distract one. If you ask any more questions, I shall certainly send you upstairs out of the way. Her scientific investigations thus nipped in the bud, Julia returned again to silence and raisins, until the vigorous beating of some eggs browsed anew her spirit of inquiry. She leaned eagerly forward with a, Say, Esther, please tell me why the whites all foam and get thick when you stir them, just like the beautiful white soap suds. And she rested her elbow, covered with its blue sleeve, plump into the platter containing the beaten yolks. You must remember Esther's face ache, but even then I regret to say that this disaster culminated in a decided box on the ear for poor Julia, and in her being sent weeping upstairs. Sadie looked up with a wicked laugh in her bright eyes and said demurely, You didn't keep your promise, Esther, and let me live in peace, so I needn't keep mine, and I consider you pretty well out of the spasm which has lasted for so many days. Sadie, I'm really ashamed of you. This was Mrs. Reed's grave, reproving voice, and she added kindly, Esther, poor child, I wish you would wrap your face up in something warm and lie down a while. I'm afraid you are suffering a great deal. Poor Esther, it had been a hard day. Late in the afternoon, as she stood at the table and cut the bread and cake and cheese and cold meat for tea, when the sun had made a rift in the clouds and was peeping in for good night, when the throbbing nerves had grown quiet once more, she looked back upon this weary day in shame and pain, how very little her noble resolves and efforts and advances had been worth after all, how far back she seemed to have gone in that one day. Not strength enough to bear even the little crosses that befell in an ordinary quiet life, how she had lost the so lately gained influence over Alfred and Julia by a few cross words, how much reason she had given to Sadie to think that her attempts at following the master were, after all, only spasmodic and visionary. But Esther had been to that little close press upstairs in search of help and forgiveness, and now she clearly saw that there was something to do besides mourn over her failures. It was hard to do it, too. Esther's spirit was proud and it was very humbling to confess herself in the wrong. She hesitated and shrank from the work until she finally grew ashamed of herself for that, and at last, without turning her head from her work or giving her resolve time to falter, she called to the twins who were occupying seats in one of the dining-room windows and talking low and soberly to each other. Children, come here a moment, will you? The two had been very shy of Esther since the morning's trials, and were at the moment sympathizing with each other in a manner uncomplimentary to her. However, they slid down from their perch and slowly answered her call. Esther glanced up as they entered the storeroom and then went on cutting her cheese but speaking in low, gentle tones. I want to tell you too how sorry I am that I spoke so crossly and unkindly to you this morning. It was very wrong in me. I thought I never should displease Jesus so again, but I did, you see, and now I am very sorry indeed and I want you to forgive me. Alfred looked aghast. This was an Esther that he had never seen before and he didn't know what to say. He wriggled the toes of his boots together and looked down at them in puzzled wonder. At last he faltered out. I didn't know your cheek ached until mother told me or else I'd have shut the door right straight. I'd ought to anyhow cheek or no cheek. This last in a lower tone and more looking down at his boots. It was new work for Alfred, this voluntary owning himself in the wrong. Julia burst forth eagerly and I was very careless and naughty to keep putting my elbows on the table after you had told me not to and I am ever so sorry that I made you such a lot of trouble. Well then said Esther, we'll all forgive each other shall we and begin over again and children I want you to understand that I am trying to please Jesus and when I fail it is because of my own wicked heart not because there is any need of it if I tried harder and I want you to know how anxious I am that you should love this same Jesus now while you are young and get him to help you. Their mother called the children at this moment and Esther dismissed them each with a kiss. There was a little Russell in the flower room and Sadie, whom nobody knew was downstairs, emerged there from with suspiciously red eyes but a laughing face and approached her sister. Esther said she, I'm positively afraid that you are growing into a saint and I know that I'm a sinner. I consider myself mistaken about this spasm. It is evidently a subtle disease. While the bell tolled for evening service Esther stood in the front doorway and looked doubtfully up and down the damp pavements and muddy streets and felt of her stiff cheek. How much she seemed to need the rest and help of God's house tonight and yet Julia's little hand stole softly into hers. We've been talking about what you said you wanted us to do, Alfred and I have. We've talked about it a good deal lately. We most wish so too. Esther could reply other than by an eager grasp of the small hand, Dr. Douglas came out. His horses and carriage were in waiting. Miss Reed, he said, pausing irresolutely with his foot on the carriage-step and finally turning back, I'm going to drive down to church this evening as I have a call to make afterward. Will you not ride down with me? It is unpleasant walking. Esther's grave face brightened. I am so glad, she answered eagerly. I did want to go to church tonight and I was afraid it would be imprudent on account of my tooth. Alfred and Julia sat right before them in church and Esther watched them with a prayerful and yet a sad heart. What right had she to expect an answer to her petitions when her life had been working against them all that day? And yet the blood of Christ was all powerful and there was always his righteousness to plead, and she bent her head in renewed supplications for these two, and it shall come to pass that before they call I will answer and while they are yet speaking I will hear. Into one of the breathless stillnesses that come while beating hearts were waiting for the request that they hoped would be made, broke Julia's low, trembling, yet singularly clear voice. Please pray for me. There was a little choking in Alfred's throat and a good deal of shuffling done with his boots. It was so much more a struggle for the sturdy boy than the gentle little girl, but he stood manfully on his feet at last, and his words, though few, were fraught with as much meaning as any which had been spoken there that evening, for they were distinct and decided. Me too. Esther Read by Pansy Life went swiftly and busily on. With the close of December the blessed daily meetings closed, rather they closed with the first week of the new year, which the church kept as a sort of jubilee week in honor of the glorious things that had been done for them. The new year opened in joy for Esther. Many things were different. The honest, straightforward little Julia carried all her earnestness of purpose into this new life which had possessed her soul, and the sturdy brother had naturally too decided a nature to do anything halfway, so Esther was sure of this young sister and brother. Besides, there was a new order of things between her mother and herself. Each had discovered that the other was bound on the same journey, and that there were delightful resting places, by the way. For herself, she was slowly but surely gaining. Little crosses that she stooped and resolutely took up grew to be less and less, until they, some of them, merged into positive pleasures. There were many things that cast rays of joy all about her path, but there was still one heavy abiding sorrow. Sadie went giddily and gleefully on her downward way. If she perchance seemed to have a serious thought at night, it vanished with the next morning sunshine, and day by day Esther realized more fully how many tears the enemy had sown while she was sleeping. Sometimes the burden grew almost too heavy to be born, and again she would take heart of grace and bravely renew her efforts and her prayers. It was about this time that she began to recognize a new feeling. She was not sick exactly, and yet not quite well. She discovered, considerably to her surprise, that she was falling into the habit of sitting down on a stair to rest ere she had reached the top of the first flight. Also that she was sometimes obliged to stay her sweeping and clasp her hand suddenly over a strange beating in her heart. But she laughed at her mother's anxious face and pronounced herself quite well, quite well, only perhaps a little tired. Meantime all sorts of plans for usefulness ran riot in her brain. She could not go away on a mission because her mission had come to her. For a wonder she realized that her mother needed her. She took up bravely and eagerly, so far as she could see it, the work that lay around her. But her restless heart craved more, more. She must do something outside of this narrow circle for the master. One evening her enthusiasm, which had been fed for several days on a new scheme that was a float in the town, reached its height. Esther remembered afterward every little incident connected with that evening. Just how cozy the little family room looked, with her for its only occupant, just how brightly the coals glowed in the open grate, just what a brilliant color they flashed over the crimson cushioned rocker, which she had vacated when she heard Dr. Van Anden step in the hall and went to speak to him. She was engaged in writing a letter to Abby, full of eager schemes and busy, bright work. I am astonished that I ever thought there was nothing worth living for, so she wrote. Why, life isn't half long enough for the things that I want to do. This new idea just fills me with delight. I am so eager to get to work. Thus far when she heard that step and springing up went with eagerness to the door. Doctor, are you in haste? Haven't you just five minutes for me? Ten answered the doctor promptly, stepping into the bright little room. In her haste, not even waiting to offer him a seat, Esther plunged it once into her subject. Aren't you the chairman of that committee to secure teachers for the evening school? I am. Have you all the help you want? Not by any means. Volunteers for such a self-denying employment as teaching factory girls are not easy to find. Well, doctor, do you think, would you be willing to propose my name as one of the teachers? I should so like to be counted among them. Instead of the prompt thanks which she expected, to her dismay Dr. Van Anden's face looked grave and troubled. Finally he slowly shook his head, with a troubled, I don't think I can, Esther. Such an amazed, grieved, hurt look has swept over Esther's face. It is no matter, she said at last, speaking with an effort. Of course I know little of teaching, and perhaps could do no good, but I thought if help was scarce you might, well, never mind. And here the doctor interposed. It is not that, Esther, with a troubled look deepening on his face. I assure you we would be glad of your help, but- And he broke off abruptly and commenced a sudden pacing up and down the room. Then stopped before her with these mysterious words. I don't know how to tell you, Esther. Esther's look now was one of annoyance, and she spoke quickly. Why, doctor, you need tell me nothing. I am not a child to have the truth sugar coated. If my help is not needed, that is sufficient. Your help is exactly what we need, Esther, but your health is not sufficient for the work. And now Esther laughed. Why, doctor, what an absurd idea. In a week I shall be as well as ever. If that is all, you may surely count me as one of your teachers. The doctor smiled faintly, and then asked, Do you never feel any desire to know what may be the cause of this strange lassitude, which is creeping over you, and the sudden fluttering of heart, accompanied by pain and faintness, which take you unawares? Esther's face paled a little, but she asked quietly enough, How do you know all this? I am a physician, Esther. Do you think it is kindness to keep a friend in ignorance of what very nearly concerns him, simply to spare his feelings for a little? Why, Dr. Van Anden, you do not think—you do not mean that—tell me exactly what you mean. But the doctor's answer was grave, anxious, absolute silence. Perhaps the silence answered her, perhaps her own heart told the secret to her, for a sudden gray pallor overspread her face. For an instant the room darkened and whirled around her, then she staggered as if she would have fallen, then she reached forward and cut hold of the little red rocker and sank into it, and, leaning both elbows on the writing table before her, buried her face in her hands. Afterward Esther called to mind the strange whirl of thoughts which thrilled her brain at that time, life in all the various phases that she had thought it would wear for her, all the endless plans that she had made, all the things that she had meant to do and be, came and stared her in the face. Nowhere in all her plannings crossed by that strange creature death, some way she had never planned for that. Could it be possible that he was to come for her so soon, before any of these things were done? Was it possible that she must leave Sadie, bright, brilliant, unsafe Sadie, and go away where she could work for her no more? Then, like a picture spread before her, there came back that day in the cars, on her way to New York, the Christian stranger, who was not a stranger now, but her friend, and was in heaven, the earnest little old woman with her thoughtful face, and that strange sentence on her lips. Maybe my coffin will do it better than I can. Well, maybe her coffin could do it for Sadie. Oh, the blessed thought! Plans? Yes, but perhaps God had plans too. What mattered hers compared to his? If he would that she should do her earthly work by laying down very soon in the unbroken calm of the rest that remaineth, what was that to her? Presently she spoke without raising her head. Are you very certain of this thing, doctor, and is it to come to me soon? That last we cannot tell, dear friend, you may be with us years yet, and yet it may be swift and sudden. I think it is worse than mistake and kindness, it is foolish wickedness, to treat a Christian woman like a little child. I wanted to tell you before the shock would be dangerous to you. I understand. When she spoke again it was in a more hesitating tone. Does Dr. Douglas agree with you? And the quick, pained way in which the doctor answered showed her that he understood. Dr. Douglas will not let himself believe it. Then along silence fell between them. The doctor kept his position, leaning against the mantle, but never for a moment allowed his eyes to turn away from that motionless figure before him. Only the loving, pitying savior knew what was passing in that young heart. At last she arose and came toward the doctor, with a strange sweetness playing about her mouth and a strange calm in her voice. Dr. Van Anden, I am so much obliged to you. Don't be afraid to leave me now. I think I need to be quite alone. And the doctor, feeling that all words were vain and useless, silently bowed and softly let himself out of the room. The first thing upon which Esther's eye alighted when she turned again to the table was the letter in which she had been writing those last words, why life isn't half long enough for the things that I want to do. Very quietly she picked up the letter and committed it to the glowing coals upon the great. Her mood had changed. By degrees, very quietly and very gradually, as such bitter things do creep in upon a family, it grew to be an acknowledged fact that Esther was an invalid. Little by little her circle of duties narrowed. One by one her various plans were silently given up. The dear mother first and then Sadie, and finally the children, grew into the habit of watching her footsteps and saving her from the stairs, from the lifting, from every possible burden. Once in a long while, and then as the weeks passed more frequently, there would come a day in which she did not get down further than the little sitting-room, but was established amid pillows on the couch, enjoying poor health as she playfully phrased it. So softly and silently and surely the shadow crept and crept until when June brought roses and abbey, Esther received her in her own room, propped up among the pillows in her bed. Gradually they grew accustomed to that also, as God in His infinite mercy has planned that human hearts shall grow used to the inevitable. They even told each other, hopefully, that the warm weather was what depressed her so much, and as the summer heat cooled into autumn she would grow stronger, and she had bright days in which she really seemed to grow strong, and which deceived everybody, saved Dr. Van Anden and herself. During one of those bright days, Sadie came from school full of a new idea and curled herself in front of Esther's couch to entertain her with it. Mr. Hammond's last, she said, such a curious idea as like him as possible and like nobody else. You know that our class will graduate in just two years from this time, and there are fourteen of us in even number, which is lucky for Mr. Hammond. Well, we are each, don't you think, to write a letter as sensible, honest, and frequent as we can make it, historic, sentimental, poetic, or otherwise, as we please, so that it be the honest exponent of our views. Then we are to make a grand exchange of letters among the class, and the young lady who receives my letter, for instance, is to keep it sealed and under lock and key until graduation day, when it is to be read before scholars, faculty, and trustees, and my full name announced as the signature, and all the rest of us are to perform in like manner. What is supposed to be the object, queried Abbey? Precisely the point which oppressed us, until Mr. Hammond complimented us by announcing that it was for the purpose of discovering how many of us, after making use of our highest skill in that line, could write a letter that after two years we should be willing to acknowledge as ours. Esther sat up, flushed, and eager. That is a very nice idea, she said, brightly. I'm so glad you told me of it. Sadie, I'll write you a letter for that day. I'll write it tomorrow, and you are to keep it sealed until the evening of that day on which you graduate. Then when you have come up to your room and are quite alone, you are to read it. Will you promise, Sadie? But Sadie only laughed merrily and said, You are growing sentimental, Esther, as sure as the world. How can I make any such promise as that? I shall probably chatter to you like a magpie instead of reading anything. This young girl utterly ignored so far as was possible the fact of Esther's illness, never allowing it to be admitted in her presence that there were any fears as to the result. Esther had ceased trying to convince her, so now she only smiled quietly and repeated her petition. Will you promise, Sadie? Oh yes, I'll promise to go to the mountains of the moon on foot and alone, across lots, anything to amuse you. You're to be pitted, you see, until you get over this absurd habit of cuddling down among the pillows. So a few days thereafter she received with much apparent glee the dainty sealed letter addressed to herself, and dropped it in her writing desk, but ere she turned the key there dropped a tear or two on the shining lid. Well, as the long hot summer days grew longer and fiercer the invalid drooped and drooped and the home faces grew sadder. Yet there still came from time to time those rallying days wherein Sadie confidently pronounced her to be improving rapidly. And so it came to pass that so sweet was the final message that the words of the wonderful old poem proved a fitting description of it all. They thought her dying when she slept and sleeping when she died. Into the brightness of the September days there intruded one wherein all the house was still with that strange solemn stillness that comes only to those homes where death has left a seal. From the doors floated the long crepe signals and in the great parlors were gathering those who had come to take their parting look at the white, quiet face. Esther Reid aged nineteen saw the coffin plate told them. Thus early had the story of her life been finished. Only one arrangement had Esther made for this last scene in her life drama. I am going to preach my own funeral sermon she had said pleasantly to Abby one day. I want everyone to know what seemed to me the most important thing in life, and I want them to understand that when I came just to the end of my life it stood out the most important thing still, for Christians I mean. My sermon is to be preached for them. No it isn't either, it applies equally to all. The last time I went to the city I found in a bookstore just the kind of sermon I want preached. I bought it. You will find the package in my upper bureau drawer, Abby. I leave it to you to see that they are so arranged that everyone who comes to look at me will be sure to see them. So on this day amid the wilderness of flowers and vines and mosses that had possession of the rooms ranged along the mantle hanging in clusters on the walls were beautifully illuminated texts, and these were some of the words that they spoke to those who silently gathered in the parlors, and that knowing the time that now it is high time to wake out of sleep. But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead? What shall we do that we might work the works of God? Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, for there is no work nor device nor knowledge nor wisdom in the grave wither thou goest. I must work the work of him that sent me while it is day, the night cometh when no man can work. Awake to righteousness and sin not. Awake thou that sleepest and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light. Redeeming the time because the days are evil. Let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober. Chiming in with the thoughts of those who knew by whose direction the illuminated texts were hung, came the voice of the minister reading, and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Right, blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth, yea, sayeth the spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them. So it was that Esther Read, lying quiet in her coffin, was reckoned among that number who, being dead, yet speaketh. The busy, exciting, triumphant day was done. Sadie Read was no longer a schoolgirl, she had graduated, and although a dress of the softest, purest white had been substituted for the blue silk in which she had so long ago planned to appear, its simple folds had swept the platform of music hall in as triumphant a way as ever she had planned for the other. More so, for Sadie's wildest flights of fancy had never made her valedictorian of her class, yet that she certainly was. In some respects it had been a merry day. The long sealed letters had been opened and read by their respective holders that morning, and the young ladies had discovered, amid much laughter and many blushes, that they were ready to pronounce many of the expressions which they had carefully made only two years before, ridiculously out of place or absurdly sentimental. Progress, said Mr. Hammond, turning for a moment to Sadie, after he had watched with an amused smile the varying play of expression on her speaking face while she listened to the reading of her letter. You were not aware that you had improved so much in two years now, were you? I was not aware that I ever was such a simpleton was her half-provoked, half-amused reply. Tonight she loitered strangely in the parlors, in the halls, on the stairs, talking aimlessly with anyone who would stop. It was growing late. Mrs. Reed and the children had long ago departed. Dr. Van Anden had not yet returned from his evening round of calls. Everybody in and about the house was quiet, air Sadie was slow, reluctant steps, finally ascended the stairs and sought her room. Arrived there she seemed in no haste to light the gas. Moonlight was streaming into the room, and she put herself down in front of one of the low windows to enjoy it. But it gave her a view of the not-far-distant cemetery, and gleamed on a marble slab the lettering of which she knew perfectly well was, Esther, daughter of Alfred and Laura Reed, died September 4, 18-something, aged 19, asleep in Jesus' awake-to-everlasting life. And that reminded her, as she had no need to be reminded, of a letter with the seal unbroken lying in her writing desk, a letter which she had promised to read this evening, promised the one who wrote it for her, and over whose grave the moonlight was now wrapping its silver robe. Sadie felt strangely averse to reading that letter. In part she could imagine its contents, and for the very reason that she was still halting between two opinions, almost persuaded, and still on that often fatal almost side, instead of the altogether, did she wait and linger and fritter away the evening as best she could, rather than face that solemn letter. Even when she turned resolutely from the window and lighted the gas and drew down the shade, she waited to put everything tidy on her writing table, and then, when she had finally turned the key in her writing desk to read over half a dozen old letters and bits of essays and scraps of poetry, ere she reached down for that little white envelope with her name traced by the dear familiar hand that wrote her name no more. At last the seal was broken, and Sadie read, My darling sister, I am sitting today in our little room, yours and mine. I have been taking in the picture of it. Everything about it is dear to me, from our father's face smiling down on me from the wall, to the little red rocker in which he sat and wrote, in which I sit now, and in which you will doubtless sit when I have gone to him. I want to speak to you about that time. When you read this, I shall have been gone a long, long time, and the bitterness of the parting will all be passed. You will be able to read calmly what I am writing. I will tell you a little of the struggle. For the first few moments after I knew that I was soon to die, my brain fairly reeled. It seemed to me that I could not. I had so much to live for. There was so much that I wanted to do. And most of all other things I wanted to see you a Christian. I wanted to live for that, to work for it, to undo, if I could, some of the evil that I knew my miserable life had wrought in your heart. Then suddenly there came to me the thought that perhaps what my life could not do, my coffin could accomplish. Perhaps that was to be God's way of calling you to himself. Perhaps he meant to answer my pleading in that way, to let my grave speak for me, as my crooked, marred, sinful living might never be able to do. My darling, then I was content. It came to me so suddenly as that almost the certainty that God meant to use me thus, and I love you so, and I long so to see you come to him, that I am more than willing to give up all that this life seemed to have for me, and go away, if by that you would be called to Christ. And, Sadie, dear, you will know before you read this how much I had to give up. You will know very soon all that Dr. Douglas and I looked forward to being to each other. But I give it up, give him up, more than willingly, joyfully, glad that my father will accept the sacrifice and make you his child. Oh, my darling, what a life I have lived before you! I do not wonder that, looking at me, you have grown into the habit of thinking that there is nothing in religion. You have looked at me, not at Jesus, and there has been no reflection of his beauty in me as there should have been, and the result is not strange. Knowing this I am the more thankful that God will forgive me and use me as a means to bring you home at last. I speak confidently. I am sure you see that it will be. The burden, the fearful burden that I have carried about with me so long, has gone away. My Redeemer and yours has taken it from me. I shall see you in heaven. Father is there, and I am going, oh, so fast, and Mother will not be long behind, and Alfred and Julia have started on the journey, and you will start. Oh, I know it. We shall all be there. I told my Saviour I was willing to do anything, anything, so my awful mockery of a Christian life that I wore so long might not be the means of your eternal death. And he has heard my prayer. I do not know when it will be. Perhaps he will still be undecided when you sit in our room and read these words. Oh, I hope, I hope, you will not waste two more years of your life. But if you do, if, as you read these last lines that I shall ever write, the question is unsettled, I charge you by the memory of your sister, by the love you bear her not to wait another moment, not one. Oh, my darling, let me beg this at your hands. Take it as my dying petition, renewed after two years of waiting. Come to Jesus now. That question settled, then let me give you one word of warning. Do not live as I have done. My life has been a failure, five years of stupid sleep, while the enemy waked and worked. Oh, God, forgive me. Sadie, never let that be your record. Let me give you a motto, press toward the mark. The mark is high, don't look away from or forget it as I did. Don't be content with simply sauntering along, looking toward it now and then, but take in the full meaning of that earnest sentence and live it, press toward the mark. And now, goodbye. When you have finished reading this letter, do this last thing for me. If you are already a Christian, get down on your knees and renew your covenant, resolve anew to live and work and suffer and die for Christ. If you are not a Christian, oh, I put my whole soul into this last request. I beg you, kneel and give yourself up to Jesus. My darling, goodbye until we meet in heaven. Esther, read. The letter dropped from Sadie's nervous fingers. She rose softly and turned down the gas and raised the shade. The moonlight still gleamed on the marble slab. Dr. Van Anden came with quick, firm tread up the street. She gave a little start as she recognized the step, and her thoughts went out after that other lonely doctor, who was to have been her brother, and then back to the long, earnest letter and the words, I give him up. And she realized as only those who can know by experience what a giving up that would be, how much her sister longed for her soul. And then, moved by a strong, firm resolve, Sadie knelt in the solemn moonlight, and the long, long struggle was ended. Father and sister were in heaven, but on earth this night their prayers were being answered. Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth, yea, say of the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.