 Author's Note of Mildredette Roslums This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Amy Mildredette Roslums by Martha Finley Author's Note My story may seem to end somewhat abruptly, but it is to be continued in a future volume. The date of this tale is about four years earlier than that of Elsie Dinsmore, the first of the Elsie series, and anyone who cares to know more of the little eras of Viamid will find the narrative of her life carried on in those books. M.F. End of Author's Note Recording by Amy Chapter 1 of Mildredette Roslums by Martha Finley This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy Chapter 1 Prayer Ardent Opens Heaven It was near noon of a bright warm day early in October. Mrs. Keith was alone in her pretty sitting room, busily applying her needle at the open window looking out upon the river. Occasionally she lifted her head and sent a quick admiring glance at its bright, swiftly flowing waters and the woods beyond, beautiful and gorgeous in their rich autumnal robes. There was a drowsy hum of insects in the air, and mingling with it the cackle of rejoicing hen, the crowing of a cock and other rural sounds. The prattle of child's voices, too, came pleasantly to her ear, from the garden behind the house where the tender little ones were at play, calling, once and again, a tender motherly smile to her lips. Yet a slight cloud of care rested on her usually, calm and placid features and thought seemed very busy in her brain. It was of Mildred she was thinking. Father and mother both had noticed with a good deal of anxiety that the young girl did not recover fully from the severe strain of the long weeks of nursing that had fallen to her lot during the past summer. She was much paler and thinner than her want, had frequent headaches and seemed weak and languid, a very little exertion, causing excessive fatigue. Only last night they had lain awake an hour or more, talking about it, and consultant together as to what could be done for the dear child. They feared the severity of the coming winter would increase her malady and wished very much that they could send her away for some months or a year to a milder climate. The difficulty, apparently an inseparable one, was to find means. It took no small amount to feed, clothe and educate such a family as theirs, and sickness had made this year one of unusual expense. As the loving mother sat there alone, she had turned over in her mind, plan after plan for accomplishing this, which for her child's good she so ardently desired to do, but only to reject each in turn as utterly impracticable. Aunt Wealthy, she knew, would gladly receive Mildred into her pleasant home, for as long a time as her parents might be willing to spare her. But still there was the money to be provided for the journey, and besides, a yet milder climate than that of Lansdale was desirable. But the slight cloud lifted for Mrs. Keith Brow, and a sweet expression of perfect peace and content took its place, as she bethought of her best friend and his infinite love and power. He could clear away all these difficulties, and would do so in answer to prayer, if in his unerring wisdom he saw that it would be for their real good, their truest happiness. Her heart went up to him in a silent petition, and then a sweet, glad song of praise burst half unconsciously from her lips. As she ceased, a wrap at the door into the hall, which as well as the outer ones stood wide open, caught her ear, she turned her head to see a tall gentleman, a fine-looking middle-aged man standing there, and regarding her with a pleased smile. Uncle Dinsmore! Is it possible? Oh, how glad I am to see you! She cried, dropping her work and springing toward him, with both hands extended. He took them, drew her to him, and kissing her affectionately, first on one cheek, then on the other, said Gailey. I flattered myself you would be, else I should not have traveled some hundred of miles for the express purpose of paying you a visit. Fair and sweet as ever, Martian, time deals more gently with you than is his want with the most of the world. Ah, I remember you as always given to pretty compliments. She returned, with a pleased but half incredulous smile, as she drew forward the most comfortable chair in the room, and made him seat himself therein, while she relieved him of his hat and cane. So I have taken you by surprise, he said inquiringly, and with a satisfied look. I did not even know you were at the North. When did you leave Rousons? Were they all well? Are any of them with you? One question at a time, Marsha, he said, with a good, humored laugh. I left home in June, bringing all the family with me, as far as Philadelphia. They are visiting now in eastern Pennsylvania. I went on to New York a month ago to see Horace off for Europe, then concluded to come on into Ohio and Indiana to have a look at this great western country, your Aunt Wealthy and yourself. I purpose spending a week or two with you, if quite convenient and agreeable, then to return, taking land still in my way, and paying a short visit there. Convenient and agreeable, she cried, with a joyous laugh and glad tears shining in her eyes. Sunlight was never more welcome, and the longer you stayed the better. You came by the stage? Where's your luggage? Yes, by the stage. My valise is, ah, half-rising from his chair, with extended hand, as a handsome, intelligent-looking lad of fifteen or sixteen, in working-dress, but neat and clean, came in from the hall, carrying a valise. I found this on the porch, he began, but broke off abruptly, a sight of the stranger. Rupert, our eldest son, said Mrs. Keith, with a glance full of motherly pride directed toward the lad, Rupert, this is Uncle Dinsmore, your cousin and Horace's father. The two shook hands warmly, Rupert, saying, I am very glad to see you, sir. I've heard mother speak of you so often. The gentleman answering, Thank you, my boy. Yes, your mother and I are very old friends, though I am older than she, by a score of years or more. That must be your uncle's, Rupert. Take it to the spare room, said Mrs. Keith, glancing at the valise. A fine-looking fellow, but all Keith, isn't he, Marsha? Remarked her uncle, as the lad left the room. Then a zero bounded in at another door. Ah, this one's a stand-hope. Come and shake hands with your uncle, my man. Don and the two little girls were close behind zero, and these had scarcely been introduced when Mr. Keith came from his office, bringing with him Mildred, Zilla and Ada, whom he had met on the way. Mr. Dinsmore was a stranger to them all, but everyone seemed glad that he had come to visit them, and he was quite charmed with the cordiality of his reception and the bright intelligent faces and refined manners of both parents and children. They made him very welcome, very comfortable, and spared no exertion for his entertainment. Being an observant man, he soon discovered that Mildred, toward whom he felt especially drawn from the first, was ailing, and immediately proposed taking her home with him to spend the winter in the sunny south. This was on the afternoon of the day succeeding that of his arrival. As he and Mr. Mrs. Keith sat conversing together in the parlor, the young people having scattered to their work or play. The father and mother exchanged glances, each reading in the other's face a longing desire to accept the invitation for their child, mingled with a sad conviction that it was impossible to do so. This Mr. Keith presently put into words, accompanied with warm thanks for the intended kindness to Mildred. "'Tot-tot,' said Mr. Dinsmore, "'don't talk of kindness. The obligation will be on my part, and as to the impossibility, it is all in your imaginations. I, of course, shall bear all the expense of the journey, and, no Marsha, don't interrupt me. I owe it to you, for I can never repay the kindness you showed your aunt in her last sickness, and to pour horrors on myself after she was gone. And you owe it to your child, not to refuse for her what is really necessary to her restoration to help.' "'Dear uncle, you are most kind. You must let me say it,' said Mrs. Keith, with tears in her eyes. I will not deny that the expense is the greatest obstacle, for the family purse is low at present, and I will not let my pride stand in the way of the acceptance of your generous offer. But there are other difficulties. I do not see how I could get her ready in the few days to which you have limited your visit here. I'll stretch it to a fortnight, then, if that'll answer.' He returned, in a sure, quick, determined way, that bespoke him little use to opposition to his will. Besides, he went on, "'What need of so much preparation? Purchases can be made to much better advantage in Philadelphia, and sewing done at Roselands, where we have two accomplished seamstresses among the servants. I've heard Mrs. Dinsmer both that one of them can cut and fit, make and trim a dress, as well as any man to make her she ever saw.' Mrs. Keith expressed a lively sense of his kindness, but suggested that in all probability Mrs. Dinsmer found plenty of employment for the two women in sewing for herself and family. Her uncle scouted the idea of searching that they had enough to do to keep them out of Miss Chief. Mrs. Keith was driven from her last refuge of excuse. I'm trothed to tell, was not sorry to have it so. Mr. Keith gave consent, milked with summoned, and the plan laid before her to her great astonishment and delight. "'Oh, Uncle Dinsmer, how kind!' she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing, her eyes sparkling. "'It seems too good to be true, that I shall see Roselands, the beautiful place Mother has so often described to us. "'But no, no, it will never do for me to go and leave Mother, to bear the cares and burdens of housekeeping and the children all alone.' She cried with sudden change of tone. "'How could I be so selfish as to think of it for a moment? Mother, dear, I don't want to go, indeed I do not. "'But, my dear child, I want you to go,' Mrs. Keith said, smiling through unshed tears. "'You need rest and change of scene, and though I shall miss you, sadly, I shall enjoy the thought that you are gaining in many ways and in the prospect of soon having you at home again.' "'Yes,' said Mr. Dinsmer, "'travel is improving, and you can go on with your studies at Roselands, if you fancy doing so. You have an excellent, thoroughly educated lady as governess, and masters come from the city twice a week to give instruction in music and drawing. You shall share their attentions, if you will. "'Come, it is not worthwhile to raise objections, for I can overrule them all, and I'm quite determined to carry my point.' "'Mr. Keith,' he added, rising and looking about for his hat. "'Suppose we take a walk round the town, leaving the ladies to talk over the necessary arrangements.' "'The gentlemen went out together, but the next moment Mr. Dinsmer stepped back in again, to hand Mrs. Keith a letter, saying, as he did so, "'I owe you an apology, Marsha, for my forgetfulness. Whore isn't trusted this to my care, and it should have been given you immediately on my arrival. "'Au revoir, ladies,' and with a courtly bow he was gone. "'Mrs. Keith broke the seal and unfolded the sheet. There was an enclosure, but she did not look at it until she had read the note, which she did almost at a glance. Her was very plainly written and very brief. "'Dear Marsha, excuse the hasty line, as I am going aboard the steamer, which is to carry me to Europe. I know my father wants to take Mildred with him on his return to Rosalinds. I hope you will let her go, and that you will do me the great kindness of accepting the enclosed trifle, to be used in providing her with an outfit, such as you may deem suitable. "'It is a very small part of the debt I have owed you, ever since the death of my loved mother. Your affectionate cousin,' Horace Stinsmore. "'The tear-genrous fellow,' she exclaimed, tears starting to her eyes, then as she unfolded the banknote. "'A trifle indeed! Mildred, child! It is a hundred dollars!' And the tears rolled down her cheeks. "'She will not take it, mother, surely,' said Mildred, her cheeks flushing hotly, her pride up in arms at once, at the thought of coming under such an obligation, even to a relative. "'My child,' said Missuske, I could not bear to hurt him, as I well know he would be hurt by a rejection of his kindness. We will accept it, if not as a gift, as alone to be repaid some day when we are able. Another reason why I feel like we ought not to let pride lead us to refuse this is that it seems to have come, it, in your uncle's invitation also, so directly in answer to prayer.' She went on to tell Mildred of their anxiety in regard to her, and in particular of the petitions she had been putting up on her behalf, just before Mr. Dinsmer arrived. "'Ah,' she said in conclusion, how good is our God! He is fulfilled to me his gracious promise, and it shall come to pass that before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear.' A moment's silence, then Mildred said in half-tremulous tones, "'Oh, it is a blessed thing to trust in God. I hope my faith will grow to be as strong as yours, mother, and I hope I am thankful for this money. But, mother, am I very wicked to feel at something of a trial to have to take it? I hope not,' Mrs. Keith answered, with a smile on his eye. "'I do not want to see my children too ready to take help from others. I trust they will always prefer any honest work by which they may earn their bread, to a life of luxury and ease and dependence. That they will always remember the command, every man shall bear his own burden, but, since we are also told to bear one another's burdens, and that it is more blessed to give than to receive, I must believe there are cases where it is right, yes, even a duty, to accept some assistance from those who give freely and gladly, and from their abundance, as I know cousin Horace does. "'Well, I must not try to be so selfish as to grudge him his blessedness,' remarked Mildred playfully, though tears still shone in her eyes. "'But, mother, how are you going to do without me?' "'Oh, very nicely. Zilla and Ada are growing very helpful, and this is no longer me a baby, and—' "'Wait, there is Celestia Ann!' She exclaimed joyously, suddenly breaking off her sentence, as a casual glance to her window showed her the tall muscular figure of their former, and most efficient maid of all work coming in at the gate. "'Oh, if she has only come to stay, I shall feel as if I can be spared!' cried Mildred. "'Mother, how strangely difficulties are being taken out of the way!' End of Chapter 1. Recording by Amy. Chapter 2 of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter 2. "'Tis you alone can save, or give my doom, Ovid.' Celestia Ann had come to stay if wanted, of which in her secret soul she had no doubt. Want of self-appreciation, not being one of her failings. She knew her own value quite as well as did anyone else. "'If you've got a girl and don't want me,' she remarked, upon announcing her errand, "'it don't make no difference. I'm not particular about working out this fall. If I was, this place is enough, though I am free to own, I feel a little more at home here than anywhere else,' and said, "'Great story by you all.' "'We have a girl,' said Mrs. Keith, but she leaves us in another week, and in the meanwhile I should be glad to have two, as Mildred and I will be very busy with the preparations for her journey.' "'Journey?' "'Is she going off, taint on her wedding trip, is it?' I heared there was talk of her getting married, and I said, then I was bound to have a finger in that pie, making the wedding cake.' "'Oh, no, she's quite too young for that yet,' Mrs. Keith said with a slight smile. She's only going south on a visit to some relations. "'And I want you to promise to stay and take care of mother till I come back, Celestia Ann,' added Mildred. "'Well, you've got to promise first that you'll not stay forever,' prudently stipulated Miss Hunsinger. "'When are you allowed to come back?' "'Next spring.' "'Hmm. Well, I don't mind engaging for that length of time, provided my folks at home keeps well, so I'm not needed there.' "'Then it's a bargain?' queried Mildred joyously. "'Yes, I reckon.' And Celestia Ann hung up her sunbonnet behind the kitchen door, and set to work at once with her wanted energy, while Mrs. Keith and Mildred withdrew to the bedroom of the latter to examine into the condition of her wardrobe, and consult as to needed repairs and additions. They quickly decided that no new dresses should be purchased and very little shopping of any kind done, until her arrival in Philadelphia, as she could, of course, buy too much better advantage there, and learn what were the prevailing fashions before having the goods made up. Mrs. Keith had never made dress in matters of primary importance with herself or with her children, yet thought it well enough to conform to the fashions sufficiently to avoid being conspicuous for singularity of attire. "'We must give thought enough to the matter, to decide how our clothes are to be made,' she said, and it is easier to follow the prevailing style than to contrive something different for ourselves, provided it be pretty and becoming, for I think it a duty we owe our friends to look as well as we can. And on this principle she was desirous that Mildred's dress should be entirely suitable to her age and station, handsome and fashionable enough to ensure her against being an eyesore and annoyance to Mrs. Dinsmore, whose guests she was to be. The fashions were so slow in reaching its western towns that I know we must be at least a year or two behind. She remarked in a lively tone, as she turned over and examined Mildred's best dress, a pretty blue-black silk, almost as good as new. "'That doesn't trouble me so long as we are at home, but I don't want you to look utre to our relations and their friends, because that would be a mortification to them as well as to yourself. So though this is perfectly good, I think it will be best to try to match it and have it remodeled.' "'Mother,' said Mildred, when it comes to buying dresses for myself, how I shall miss you. I'm afraid I shall make some sad mistakes.' The young girl looked really troubled and anxious as she spoke, and her mother answered in a kindly reassuring tone, "'I am not afraid to trust your taster judgment, so you need not be. I shall not know where to go to find what I want, or whether the price asked is a fair one.' "'Well, my dear child, even these trifling cares and anxieties you may carry to our kind Heavenly Father, feeling sure that so-away will be provided out of the difficulty. Probably your aunt or uncle or some other friend will go with you.' The mother's tone was so cheerful and confident that Mildred caught her spirit and grew gay and light-hearted over her preparations. Although the dress-making was deferred, there was still enough to be done in the few days that they allotted time to keep both mother and daughter very busy, which was just as well, as it left them no leisure to grieve over the approaching separation. The news that she was going so far away and to be absent so long created some consternation in the little coterie to which Mildred belonged. Claudina Chetwood and Luke Range declared themselves almost inconsolable, while Wallace Ormsby was privately of the opinion that their loss was as nothing compared to his. A month ago he had decided that life would be a desert without Mildred to share it with him, but he had never found courage to tell her so, for he feared the feeling was not reciprocated, that she had only a friendly liking for him. He had hoped to win her heart in time, but now the opportunity was to be taken from him and given to others. It was not a cheerful prospect, and Mildred was so busy, there seemed no chance of getting a word alone with her. My mother told me you were going away Mildred on a long journey and for a length and stay. Mr. Lorde remarked, inquiringly, and with a regretful tone of his voice, as he shook hands with her after the weekly evening service. He had been absent from town for a week or two. Yes, she returned gaily, putting aside with determination the thought of the pardons that must wrench your heart at the last. I'm all ready, trunk packed and everything, and expect to start tomorrow morning. Ah, it's unfortunate. We shall miss you sadly, may I? But someone called to him from the other side of the room. He was obliged to turn away without finishing his sentence, and Wallace Ormsby seized the opportunity to step up and offer his arm to Mildred. She accepted it, and they walked on in silence, till they were quite out of ear shot of the rest of the congregation. Then Wallace opened his lips to speak, but the words he wanted would not come. He could only stand her out a trite remark about the weather. Yes, it's beautiful, said Mildred. I do hope it will last, so, at least till we get to the Wabash. However, we go in a covered vehicle, and I suppose we'll not get wet even if it should rain. I wish you weren't going, cried Wallace impetuously. No, not that either, for I think. I hope the journey will do you good. But, oh, Mildred, I cannot bear the thought that you may. That somebody else will win you away from me. I don't presume to say that I have any right, but I love you dearly and always shall. I do think I could make you happy if you only could return it, he went on speaking fast, now that he had found his tongue. Oh, Mildred, do you think you could? I don't know, Wallace, she said, her voice trembling a little. I have a very great respect and a scene for you, affection too, she added with some hesitation and feeling the hot blood surge over her face at the words. But I don't think it's quite the sort you want. You love somebody else, he whispered hoarsely. No, no, there's no one I like better than I do you. But we are both very young, and perhaps you might learn to like me in time. He queered eagerly, tremulously as one hoping even against hope. Yes, though I do like you now, but I'll have to be something stronger, you know, and I couldn't make any promises now, neither must you. I should be glad to, he said, for I'm perfectly certain I should never repent. He bade her good night at the gate, saying he would not make it goodbye if he might come to see her off in the morning. Certainly Wallace, she said, you were like one of the family. You've seemed that to all of us, ever since your great kindness to us last summer. Don't speak of it, he answered hastily. You conferred a great obligation in allowing me, for it was the greatest pleasure in life to be permitted to share your burdens. End of chapter two, recording by Amy. Chapter three of Mildred at Rosalinds by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter third, how poor a thing is pride. The parting was no slight trial to her, who went, or those who stayed behind, particularly the loving, tender mother, but both she and Mildred bore it bravely, though the heart of the latter almost failed her, as she felt the clingy arms of the little ones about her neck, heard their sobs and saw their tears, and again as she found herself clasped to her father's and then to her mother's breast, with many a fond caress and low-breathed word of farewell and affection. Wallace rung her hand with a whispered word of passion and entreaty. Oh Mildred, darling, don't forget me. I'll remember you to the day of my death. The weather was fine, the air crisp, cool embracing, and when the town and a few miles of prairie had been left behind, their way led through woods beautiful, with all the rich tints of October's most lavish mood. Mr. Dinsmar exerted himself to be entertaining, and ere long he and Mildred were chatting and laughing, right merrily. They took dinner at a farmhouse, newly built on the little clearing in the forest, finding themselves not daintily served, but supplied with an abundance of good, substantial, well-cooked food, bread, butter, coffee, ham, and eggs, and two or three kinds of vegetables with dried apple pie for dessert. After an hour's rest for themselves and horses, they traveled on again, reaching a little town in time to get their supper and nights lodging at its tavern, where the fair and accommodations were on par with those of the farmhouse. They had found the roads rough, those they passed over the next day, were worse still, mostly corduroy, over the rounded logs of which the wheels passed with constant jolting, and where one had been displaced or rotted away, as was occasionally the case, there would be a sudden descent of, first the four, then the hind wheels, with a violent jerk that nearly, or quite, threw them from their seats. They reached Delphi on the Wabash, where they were to take a steamboat, sore, weary, and very glad to make the change. A night at the Delphi Hotel, on the next morning they went aboard the boat, which carried them down the Wabash, and up the Ohio to Madison, where they landed again and passed part of a day and night. Embarking once more on a larger craft, they continued on their way up the Ohio, as far as Portsmouth, whence a stage carried them across the country to Lansdale. Miss Danhope had not received the letter, which should have informed her of their coming. She was sitting alone by the fire, quietly knitting and thinking, perchance of the dear ones far away in pleasant planes. When the loud and prolonged toot toot of a horn, followed by the roll and rumble of wheels, aroused her from her reverie. The evening stage, she said half aloud, then rose hastily, dropped her knitting, and hurried to the door. For surely it had stopped at her gate. Yes, there it was, a gentleman had alighted, and was handing out a lady, while the guard was at the boot, getting out their trunks. She could see it all plainly by the moonlight, as she threw the door wide open. Who can they be? she asked herself, as she stepped quickly across the porch and down the garden path, to meet and welcome her unexpected guests. The next moment, Mildred's arms were about her neck, and both were weeping for joy. Dear child, this is a glad surprise, cried Miss Stanhope, straining the young girl to her breast. But where are the rest? Here, I'm the only one sister wealthy, said Mr. Dinsmore, lifting his hat with one hand, while the other one was held out to her. Haven't you a word of welcome for me? Arthur Dinsmore, my brother-in-law, she cried, taking the hand and offering him her lips. I was never more surprised or delighted. Come in, come in, both of you. You must be cold, tired, and hungry. I hope you've come to make a long stay. Simon will carry in the trunks, she went unwrapedly, as she seized Mildred's hand and led the way to the house, half beside herself with the sudden delight of seeing them. She had many questions to ask, but the comfort of the weary travelers was the first thing to be attended to. She removed Mildred's wraps with her own hands, rejoicing over her the while, as a mother might, over a lost child restored, and would have done the same by Mr. Dinsmore, if he had waited for her. She soon had each coasily seated in a comfortable armchair beside the blazing fire, Simon kindling fires in the spare rooms, and Phyllis in the kitchen, preparing a tempting meal. You couldn't be more welcome than you are, brother, or you, Mildred, she said, coming back from overseeing all these matters, but you might have started rather better, perhaps, if you had sent me word that you were coming. I wrote from pleasant planes, he answered. The letters had either been lost or delayed in the mails. Ah, well, we won't fret about it, she responded cheerily. I at least am far too happy to fret about anything, she added, feasting her eyes upon Mildred's face. Dear child, you were worn and thin, she exclaimed presently, her eyes filling. That nursing was far too hard for you. How I wish I could have saved you from some of it. But you've come to stay all winter with me and have a good rest, haven't you? No, no, she belongs to me for the winter, interposed Mr. Dinsmore, before Mildred could open her lips to reply. If you want her company, sister Wealthy, you must even make up your mind to be our guest also. What is to hinder you from shutting up your house and going with us to Roseland's? I'm sure I need not say that we would be delighted to have you do so. You were very kind, brother, she said, giving him an affectionate look. But there are reasons why it would not do for me to leave home for so long a visit. Where is Horace, my dear sister Eva's son? I wish he had come with you. Poor boy, and she sighed deeply. A slight frown gathered upon Mr. Dinsmore's brow at that. He is hardly a subject for pity, he remarked. He has just sailed for Europe with pleasant prospects before him, and in apparently excellent spirits. He looked fixedly at her, then glanced at Mildred, and taking the hint she dropped the subject for that time. She was at no loss for topics of conversation, so eager was she to learn all that she could be told in regard to the dear ones Mildred had left behind. Also she felt a lively interest in the family at Roselands, though they were not actually related to her, being the child of the present Mrs. Dinsmore, who was a second wife and successor to Horace's mother. But finding herself alone with Mr. Dinsmore the next day, Miss Danhope said, you tell me Horace has gone to Europe? Will he be long absent? It is quite uncertain, he answered carelessly. He may prolong his stay to a year or more. He has his child with him, I hope. His child? Mr. Dinsmore seemed much annoyed. Certainly not, he said after a moment's disturbed pause. What could he do with her? But I really hoped he knew nothing about that ridiculous affair. Pray, how did you learn it? Horace told Marcia and requested her to write the particulars to me, unweltly answered meekly, and she is still with her guardian, the poor little deer. Yes, and will be I trust for years to come, that mad escapade of horses, for I can call his hasty, little-timed, imprudent marriage by no other name, has been to me a source of untold mortification and annoyance. It was not a bad match, except on account of their extreme youth. Miss Danhope said, in a tone between assertion and inquiry, consider it so most decidedly, he returned, his eyes kindling with anger. I'll see Grayson, the daughter of a man who, though wealthy, has made all his money by trade, was no fit match for my son, and I consider it a fortunate thing that she did not live. It would have been, in my estimation, still more fortunate if her child had died with her. Miss Danhope was shocked. Oh, Arthur, how can you? She exclaimed, tears starting to her eyes. How can you feel so toward your own little granddaughter, poor motherless baby too? Truly pride must be a great hardener of the heart. Old Grayson's grandchild, he muttered, rising to pace the floor in a hasty, excited manner. Please abolish me by not mentioning the subject again, he said, it is exceedingly unpleasant to me. Miss Danhope sighed inwardly. Arthur, she said, pried goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. She did not broach the subject again during the remainder of his brief stay with her. I'm going out for a look at your town, he said, taking up his hat. I hope, turning back at the door with his hand on the knob, that Mildred has heard nothing of this affair, he remarked inquiringly. She knows all that I do, I believe, Miss Danhope answered quietly, and seemed to be Horace's wish that she should be told. Mr. Dinsma went out with a groan, and Mildred, coming in at that instant by another door, heard and inquired somewhat anxiously of her aunt, what was the matter? Miss Danhope thought it best to tell her and advise the avoidance of any allusion to Horace's wife or child, when her and her uncle's presence, unless he should himself take the initiative. Mildred promised to be careful, though why he should feel so I cannot understand, she added. I, for my part, feel the greatest interest in that little child, and regret exceedingly that I shall not see her. But Cousin Horace's feelings toward her are more inexplicable still. How can he help loving his own little baby girl? Seems to have no one else to love and cherish her, except the servants. It was now an hour since they had left the breakfast table. Miss Danhope's morning duties, connected with the care of the household, had been attended to. Phyllis and Simon had received their orders for the day, and the good lady might conscientiously indulge herself in Mildred in the lengthened chat. Both had been longing for, ever since the arrival of the latter, the previous night. Of course, the first and most absorbing interesting topic was the home circle of pleasant planes. That thoroughly discussed, they passed on to friends and neighbors, both there and here, each finding numerous questions to ask the other, and many a bit of news to give. What has become of poor Mrs. Osburn and Frank? Mildred inquired. Ah, she has gone home at last, and is forever done with pain and sickness. Miss Danhope answered. It was hard for Frank, but a blessed release to her poor dear woman. It was three weeks ago she went, and a week after Frank came to bid me goodbye. He's going to work his way through college, he told me, and make his mark in the world. And Millie, my dear, she added with a slightly mischievous smile. He hinted pretty broadly that when his laurels were won, they would be laid at the feet of a certain young girl of my acquaintance. If I thought there might be some faint hope that she would not deem it presumption. And what did you answer to that, Aunt Wealthy? Query Mildred with heightened color and the look of mingled vexation and amusement. He's such a mere boy, she added. I never thought of him as anything else. Of course not, nor did I. But he's a good, true noble fellow, bright and intelligent above the ordinary, and very modest and unassuming with it all. He will make a fine man. Yes, I think so too. And if he happens to fancy one of my younger sisters, I'll consent with all my heart and do what I can to further his suit. Aunt Wealthy shook her head and smiled. It's not what he wants now, but who knows? Time does work wonderful changes now and then. Mildred's thoughts seemed to have wandered away from the subject. She was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, Aunt Wealthy, do you know what sort of person? Tell me, what am I to call her? Mrs. or Aunt Dinsmore? What would you do about it? I should ask her what title she preferred and act accordingly. No, I have never met her and no very little about her, except that she is not a pious woman. An uncle is not a Christian either, Miss Stanhope said sorrowfully, as Mildred paused leaving her sentence unfinished, believes nothing more necessary to secure salvation than an honest, upright moral life. My dear child, you are going into an atmosphere of worldliness and will need to watch and pray, keeping close to the master. Ah, what joy that we need never be farther away from him in one place than another. Yes, that was what Mother said, murmured Mildred. Tears fell in her eyes at the thought of the many miles now lying between Herm and that loved parent and friend. She promised to pray daily for me that I might be kept from the evil and you will do so too, Aunt Wealthy, will you not? Indeed I will, dear child, was the earnest response. End of chapter three, recording by Amy. Chapter four of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter fourth. Wear this for me, Shakespeare. Your traveling suit is very neat and becoming very ladylike, Miss Stanhope remarked with an approving glance at Mildred's trim figure. I don't think your uncle Dinsmore can have felt that he had any reason to be ashamed of you. I hope not, was the smiling rejoinder and I did not see any indications of it. But how about the rest of your wardrobe, child? I fear you had small choice of material and pleasant planes and very little time for making up your purchases. We might do rather better here if we could persuade your uncle to lengthen his intended stay. Thank you, auntie, dear. You are always so kind and thoughtful, Mildred said. But I don't think he could be persuaded and indeed I should not like to have him delayed for my sake because I know he and his wife are anxious to get home before the cold weather sets in. She went on to explain her plans and to tell if her cousin Horace's generous gift. That was just like him. He's an open-handed noble fellow. Was Aunt Wealthy's comment. You'd need never hesitate to take kindness from him because he enjoys it and is abundantly able. But I must not be outdone by him. She commented with a smile, rising and going to her bureau for they were in her bedroom now. Or rather, I wish to do my share in proportion to my ability. Mildred protested that her wants were already well supplied, but playfully bidding her be quiet and let older and wiser heads judge with that. Ms. Tanhout proceeded to take a key from her pocket, unlock the drawers of her bureau and bring forth her treasures, a quantity of rich old lace that the finest lady in the land might have been proud to wear, several handsome rings, a diamond pin, and a beautiful gold chain for the neck. They are old-fashioned, dearie, she said, but no one will mistake them for pinchback and colored glass. She added with her low musical up as she threw the chain about Mildred's neck and flipped the rings upon her fingers. The girl's cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. I want Wealthy, she cried. How can you trust such treasures to my keeping? Old-fashioned indeed. They are all the more delightful for that, assuming that one does not belong to the mushroom gentry, but to a good substantial old family. But you must not let me use them. Let's say they should be lost or stolen. I should be frightened out of my wits in either case. Not since, child. You would have no need for the loss would be no more yours than mine. I shall never wear them again, and they will all belong someday to you or your sisters. Miss Dan Hope said, turning to her bureau once more. Lifting out something carefully wrapped in a towel, she elated in Mildred's lap saying, this too you must take with you. You will want a handsome wrap in Philadelphia before you can go out to buy, and this will answer the purpose even better than anything you'd be able to purchase. Won't it? She queried with another of her sweet silvery laughs. Mildred fairly caught her breath in delighted surprise. I want wealthy, your beautiful India shawl. You can't mean to lend that to me. That is just what I mean, Milly. Stand up a minute, dear. She answered gaily, taking it from its wrappings and draping it about the slender girlish figure. There, nothing could be more becoming. I can only lend, not give it, because it is already willed to your mother. But it is to descend always to the eldest daughter. Not wealthy. I'm afraid to borrow it, something might happen to it. So please, put it away again. Touch, child, something might happen to it at home. Suppose the house should burn down with everything in it. Wouldn't I be glad the shawl was saved by being far away in your keeping? It was very rich and costly and highly prized by Miss Dan Hope as a gift of her favorite brother, Longs instead. He had been a wanderer, lived many years in China and India whence he had sent her, from time to time, rare and beautiful things, of which this was one. Then at length he came home to die in her arms, leaving her the bulk of his fortune, enough to make her very comfortable. Her means were ample for her own needs, but not for her abundant charities, for she spent little on herself but gave with a liberal hand. Yes, I know you would, auntie, Mildred said, passing her hand caressingly over the soft, rich folds. But in my wildest dreams, I never suppose you would lend this to me. And if I were in your place, I don't think I'd do it, she concluded with an arched look and smile. You are a careful little body and I'm not afraid to trust you. You must carry it with you, my child, and wear it too, as a favor to me, for you can't suppose I feel willing to have Mrs. Dinsmore's aristocratic nose turn up at a niece of mine for lack of a little finery that lies idle in my bureau drawer. Ah, if you put it on the hat score, I can't refuse, left Mildred, her face sparkling of pleasure. Oh, but you're good to let me have it. It is so handsome, auntie. Seems like a whole outfit in itself, she went on, dancing about the room in almost wild delight. Then, sobering down a lips and standing before the glass to note the effect. I don't think, she said, that I had seen it over half a dozen times before when worn on some grand occasion by your mother. And it has always inspired me with a kind of awe as something to be looked at from a respectful distance but by no means handled, so it seems almost beyond belief that I am actually to wear it. The few days Mr. Dinsmore, at a point to their visit to Lansdale, flew rapidly by, all too rapidly for Ms. Danhope, who was loathed apart with them, Mildred especially, but the young girl, full of youthful agreness to see the world, was hardly sorry to go in spite of her sincere affection for her aunt. They returned to the Ohio River as they had come, striking it at the nearest point where they once more embarked on a steamboat, taking passage for Pittsburgh. They were again favored with pleasant weather for the most of the time, and Mildred enjoyed the trip. Mr. Dinsmore was very kind and attentive to her comfort, and she made some agreeable acquaintances among her fellow passengers. They dined and spent some hours at a hotel in Pittsburgh and took the cars for Philadelphia. It was a new mode of travel to Mildred, and not what she would have chosen. She had read newspaper accounts of railroad accidents and felt in going upon the train that she was risking life and limb. But she kept her fears to herself, determined not to be an annoyance to her uncle, and he never suspected how her heart was quaking, as she took quiet possession of the seat he selected for her. We were early, he remarked, with a glance about the almost empty car, as he sat down beside her, then looking at his watch. Yes, fully 15 minutes to wait before the train starts. Well, that's a good deal better than being too late. Mildred, there's something I want to say to you before we join your aunt, and perhaps this is as good a time as any for it. Don't be alarmed, as she gave him a startled look. It's nothing unpleasant, only that I would rather you not say anything to Mrs. Dinsmore about your father's circumstances. My dear, I'm not meaning to wound your feelings, he added hastily, for she was blushing painfully, and her eyes had filled. I think quite as much of him, and of you all, as if you were rolling in wealth. But my wife is, well, does not always see things precisely as I do, and it will make us more comfortable all around if she is left to suppose that your mother is still in possession of the fortune she once had. He paused, and Mildred, understanding that some answer was expected from her, said a little tremulously, for she was hurt. I cannot act a lie, Uncle Dinsmore, and poverty ought not to be considered a disgrace. Of course it shouldn't, and I'm not asking you to practice deceit any more, than just to keep things to yourself. Which others have no right to pry into. It need not be difficult. For Mrs. Dinsmore is not one of the prying kind, and Horace and I will regard it as a favor to us, if you will simply leave it to me, to take care of your expenses, without question or remark. This last was spoken with such winning kindness, of tone and manner, that even Mildred's pride was disarmed, grateful she has shown in her eyes as she turned them upon him. My dear good uncle, she whispered, laying her hand upon his, with a gesture of confiding affection. I don't know how to thank you and cousin Horace, but I cannot refuse to do as you wish. But indeed, you must not let me be any more expense to you, than if I were but an ordinary guest, instead of the extraordinary one I am. She added, laughing, to hide her emotion. I'll show up my own way about it, you may depend. Whatever that may chance to be, he answered, with mock severity of tone. Mildred laughed again, this time a really mirthful happy laugh, feeling her heart grow strangely light. After all, she could not help being glad that Mrs. Dinsmar was not to know their comparative poverty, that she herself was not to be looked upon as a poor relation, who might be snubbed at pleasure, and perhaps twitted with her lack of means, or were still treated with lofty or with pitting condescension. Yes. Mr. Dinsmar went on, half to himself, half to her. Wealth is but a secondary matter, after all, family is the main thing. I believe in blood, and what nothing to do with your povrenal aristocracy, be they ever so rich. Well, what say you, my dear? For Mildred's face had grown very thoughtful. I am afraid I am naturally inclined to think just so, but... Well, are not my views correct and proper? He asked, good-humoredly, as she paused with a look of some confusion. It's not character what we should look at, rather than anything else, she modestly inquired. It's not true nobility that of the heart in life. It is what father and mother have taught me, and I think too, is most consistent with the teachings of God's word. At that moment, there was a sudden and large influx of passengers. Some of them talking noisily, and her query remained unanswered. End of Chapter 4, recording by Amy. Chapter 5 of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finlay. This liporvox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter 5. Walk boldly and wisely in that light thou hast. There is a hand above that will help thee on. Barely's Festus. Well, my dear, what do you think of her? Asked Mr. Dinsmore, addressing his wife. Mildred had just left the room to Don Bonnet and Shaw, preparatory to a shopping expedition. She and her uncle had arrived in Philadelphia late the previous night, and Mrs. Dinsmore and the children having already retired. Mildred's first sight of them had been at the breakfast table this morning, the male being partaken of in the private parlor, belonging to the suite of apartments that Dinsmore's were occupying in one of the best hotels of the city. I am agreeably disappointed, I must confess. Mrs. Dinsmore replied to her husband's query. She has decidedly pretty and extremely ladylike in manner and appearance, even her dress, though not quite in the fashion, bespeaks her a person of taste and refinement. In fact, I think I shall enjoy playing chaperone to her and introducing her to all our friends at the south. Ah, I thought you could not fail to be pleased with her, Mr. Dinsmore said, looking much gratified. And I knew you were, and you bade her call you aunt. I imagined she had been a little troubled to decide just how she was to address you. Well, since I find she's not the sort one need feel ashamed of, I have no objection to her claiming relationship, though there is none at all in point of fact. But if she had proved the awkward, ungainly, uncouth girl I had expected, I should have requested her to call me Mrs. Dinsmore. Remarked the lady languidly. I wonder if she has much shopping to do. I hope not, for I really do not feel equal to the exertion of assisting her. Driving about in a carriage and sitting in the stores, I should not think it need be so very fatiguing, remarked her husband. Of course not, Mr. Dinsmore. Men never do see why anything should fatigue their wives. She retorted with some pet tunes. Then Miss Worth and I will have to manage it between us. You expect her today, do you not? She was to come today, but of course she won't. People never do it, they promise. The fact is, she oughtn't have gone at all, leaving me here alone, Miss Servants and Children, so selfish and inconsiderate. Leaving me here all alone, with Children and Servants, so selfish and inconsiderate. But my dear, it would have been very hard for her to go back, without having spent a short time with her family. And her pleasure is to be considered before my comfort, of course. Really, I had hoped your comfort had not been neglected. Mr. Dinsmore said, in a tone of some irritation, he glanced from the richly attired figure in the easy chair opposite his own, to the luxurious appointments of the room. What more can you wish? The entrance of Mrs. Dinsmore's maid, bringing her bonnet and shawl, saved the lady the necessity of replying to the somewhat inconvenient query, and her husband turned to the morning paper. Then Mildred came in, Mrs. Dinsmore standing before the peer glass, saw the girl's figure reflected there, and the latter could not help enjoying her start of surprise. What an elegant shawl, she exclaimed, turning hastily about to take a better view. Real India, you needn't be ashamed to show yourself anywhere in that. Though your bonnet is quite out of date, as you warned me, she added, by way of preventing too great elation from her praise of the shawl, no matter, interposed Mr. Dinsmore, throwing down his paper, we'll soon set that right, the carriage is waiting, or any of the children going. Yes, Adelaide, Louise, and Laura, Mammy, and Fanny, had taken the younger ones out. The three little girls came in at the moment. They were gaily and expensively dressed in the height of the fashion. They looked curiously at Mildred, then Louise. The second in age, a child of 10, whispered to her mother, what a fright of a bonnet, it's not in the style at all, and I don't want her along if she's going to wear that. Ah, shit's no matter, returned the mother in the same low-key. She won't be seen in the carriage, and will drive directly to Mrs. Browns and get her a handsome one. Oh, what a pretty shawl, cousin, exclaimed Adelaide, real India, isn't it? Come on, Mama, and all of you, she added, hurrying into the hall. It's time we were off. Adelaide always wants to direct the rest of us, complained Louise. I wish, Mama, you'd make her know her place. Touch, touch, remember, she's three years older than you, but your children are going to stay behind if you are going to quarrel, said Mr. Dinsma, standing back to let his wife and Mildred pass out first. No, no, Papa, that won't do, because we're to be fitted with hats and shoes, left the youngest of the three, putting her hand into his. Besides, I didn't quarrel. That's true enough, Laura, he answered, leading her down the stairs, and in fact, I believe no one did but Louise, who is apt to be the complainer. The drive to the milliners was so short, the Mildred thought they might as well have walked. She would have preferred it, as giving her a better opportunity to see the city, but no, in that case, she would have had to mortify her friends by an exhibition of her unfashionable headgear. The next half hour was spent in turning over ribbons, flowers and feathers, discussing styles, and trying on bonnets. At length one was found, which pleased both Mrs. Dinsma and Mildred, but the price asked, seemed to the latter extravagant. Do you think I ought to go so high on? She asked in an undertone, is it worth it? I think the price reasonable, and the hat no finer than you ought to wear, returned Mrs. Dinsma coldly. Mildred, blushing, turned to the saleswoman, saying, I will take it, and began counting out the money. Stay, said her aunt, you will want a hat for traveling in. A plainer and less expensive one was selected for that purpose. The handsome bonnet put on, the bill paid, and they returned to their carriage. Mildred feeling pleasantly conscious of her improved appearance, yet a trifle uneasy at the thought of how fast her money was melting away. Their next visit was to a fashionable shoe store. Mrs. Dinsma had the children and herself fitted with several pairs each, and by her advice, Mildred too bought slippers for the house and heavy walking shoes. You must have, besides, a pair of gaiters to match each handsome dress you buy. Mrs. Dinsma said to her as they re-entered the carriage. That announcement filled Mildred with dismay. At this rate, her purse would be emptied before the demands upon it were nearly satisfied. What was she to do? She had been eager to select her dresses, but now was thankful for the respite, afforded her by Mrs. Dinsma's declaration that she was too much fatigued for any more shopping, and that therefore they would return to their hotel. I'm going to lie down till it is time to dress for dinner, and would advise you to do the same. She said to Mildred as they re-entered their parlor, and our heroine retreated at once to her own room, glad of the opportunity to think over her perplexity and solitude, and ask guidance and help of her best friend, who, as she rejoiced in knowing, was abundantly able and willing to help her on every time of need. She cast her burden on him, then threw herself on the bed, and being very weary with her long journey, soon fell asleep. Two hours later she was roused by a knock at her door. She sprang up and opened it to find a porter there with an armful of brown paper parcels and a note for her. Is there not some mistake? She asked in surprise. No, Miss, number ninety-five, and here's the name on the note and the bundles. Ah, yes, it is my name, sure enough! She exclaimed, Well, you may bring them in. The man laid the packages down and departed. While Mildred, only waiting to close the door after him, tore open the note. My dear niece, so it ran, you must please excuse the liberty I have taken in selecting your dresses for you. Your Aunt Wothey put some money into my hands to be laid out for you. The letter containing her remittance, and also one from Rosalinds, which hurries us home, came to hand a few minutes after you and Mrs. Dinsmer had left the hotel. Miss Worth arrived while I was in the act of reading them, and with her assistance I ventured to do your shopping for you. The contents of the parcels sent to this are the result. Hoping they may suit your taste, I am your affectionate uncle, A.D. For some minutes after the note had been hastily read and laid aside, Mildred's fingers were very busy with twine and wrapping paper, bringing to light beautiful, costly things, while her cheeks burned with excitement and her eyes danced with delight, or filled with tears of mingled pleasure and pain. She could not fail to rejoice in such will of lovely things, yet it hurt her pride of the independence that she must take them as gifts, and that from one who was scarcely related to her, for while she knew that Mr. Dinsmer must have paid a large proportion of the price from his own purse. There were materials for three beautiful evening dresses, a sage-colored merino, fine and soft and all wool-delain, royal purple with an embroidered sprig, also three silks, a black, a dark brown, and a silver gray, each rich and heavy enough to almost stand alone. And there was a box of kid gloves, one or two pairs to match each's dress, the rest white for evening wear. Nor had suitable trimmings for the dress had been forgotten. They were there in beautiful variety, ribbons, buttons, heavy silk fringes, nothing had been overlooked. Mildred seemed to herself to be in a dream. She could hardly believe that such riches were really hers. But there came a wrap at the door, an opening. She found Mr. Dinsmer standing there. May I come in? he asked with grave cheerfulness. She stepped back silently, her heart too full for speech, and passing in he closed the door. My dear child, you will excuse me, he began, but throwing her arms around his neck, she burst into tears. Oh, uncle, you are so kind, but it is too much, she sobbed, hiding her face on his shoulder. Nonsense, the merest trifle, he said, stroking her hair. But if you don't like them, like them, she cried. They're just lovely, every one of them, but no, no, no bucks, he said gaily. If they serve your taste, it's all right. The gaiders and Mrs. Dinsmer says they were necessary to match the dresses. Can be made near our home, and we'll have two days, Friday and Saturday for sightseeing. This is Thursday, and early Monday morning, we leave for Rosemes. But oh, uncle, you shouldn't have spent so much money on me, began Mildred. I, child, you're not wealthy, you mean. Didn't you read my note? Yes, sir, and I know I must thank her for a part, but only a part of these beautiful things. Dear me, how very wise we are, he said, jocosely, and chucking her playfully under the chin, yet perhaps not quite so wise as we think. Now, if you want to do me a favor, just call to mind or talk in the car as the other day, and say no more about this. Mrs. Dinsmer and Miss Worth know nothing but that I had money of yours in my hands, and I've used it in doing your shopping for you, and it is decidedly my wish that they neither know nor suspect anything further. Will you oblige me by being quiet about it? I would do anything I possibly could to oblige you, uncle Dinsmer, she answered, looking into his eyes with hers full of grateful tears. Ah, that's my good girl, he said. Now dry your eyes and we'll go down to dinner. It is to be served for the family in our own parlor, and it is probably on the table now. Dinner was on the table, and as they entered, the family were in the act of taking their places about it. Miss Worth, the governess, was with them. She was an intelligent-looking, but rather plain-featured woman of perhaps 35. Her manners were unobtrusive. She was very quiet and reserved, seeming self-absorbed. Mildred's first impressions were not too favourable. The thought in the girl's mind was, she's a disagreeable old maid, and I'm sure I shall never like her. Yet the face, the slightly sad and care-worn when at rest, would by many have been preferred to Mrs. Dinsmer's in its faded beauty and listless or fretful and annoyed expression. The bright fresh young faces of the children pleased Mildred better than either. There were six of them in all. Arthur, Walter, and Emma were all younger than the three little girls, whose acquaintance she had made in the morning, the last named Amir Baby. They were pretty children and not ill-behaved, considering that they had been used to an almost unlimited amount of petting and indulgence. Miss Worth has been telling me about your dresses, Mildred, remarked Mrs. Dinsmer. I hope you will like them. I should think from her description. They must be very handsome. They are very, Mildred answered with a vivid blush. I don't think I could possibly have been better suited. And turning to Miss Worth, she thanked her warmly for the trouble she had taken in her behalf. It was no trouble and you are heartily welcome, Miss Keith. Returned the governess, a smile lighting up her features into positive comeliness. Mr. Dinsmer changed the subject by proposal to take his wife and Mildred to some place of amusement for the evening. How thoughtless you are, my dear, said Mrs. Dinsmer. I am sure Mildred must be too much fatigued by her journey to think of going out. I doubt it, he returned laughing. What do you say, Milly? But I don't think I am, she answered brightly, a two hours nap this afternoon having refreshed me wonderfully. Then we'll go, he said. There's an opportunity to hear some fine music and I don't want to miss it. You will go with us, Mrs. Dinsmer? No, she said coldly. I do not feel equal to the exertion. She was not an invalid, but had barely escaped becoming such through extreme aversion to exercise a body or mind. Mr. Dinsmer then extended his invitation to Miss Worth, overruled her objection, that she feared the children would require her attention by saying that the servants would give them all the care they needed and insisted upon her acceptance unless she too must plead fatigue as an excuse for declining. Before the governess had time to open her lips and reply, Mrs. Dinsmer suddenly announced that she had changed her mind. She would go and really, she could not feel easy about the children unless Miss Worth were there to see that they were properly attended to. It was a disappointment to the latter who seldom enjoyed such a treat, but she quietly acquiesced, sighing inwardly, but giving no outward sign. Shall we walk a ride? queried Mr. Dinsmer, looking at Mildred, who distances about four squares. Oh, let us walk! She was about to exclaim, feeling an eager desire for the exercise and to look at the buildings in brightly lighted windows. But Mrs. Dinsmer decided this question also with an emphatic. He will take a carriage, of course. What can you be thinking of, Mr. Dinsmer? They have left the table and Mildred was considering how she should excuse herself, that she might retire to her own room and finish her letter to her mother. When Mrs. Dinsmer said, you must show me your pretty things now, Mildred. There'll be plenty of time before we have to dress for the concert. Dress? echoed Mildred in dismay. Really Aunt, I have nothing more suitable to wear than this I have on. Glancing down at the blue-black silk she had been wearing all that day. What matter? That's neat fitting and handsome enough for any occasion. Interrupted Mr. Dinsmer. We'll do very well if you don't throw back your shawl. Remarked his wife, glancing a scan at the really neat ladylike and pretty dress. Place will be crowded and warm, said Mr. Dinsmer. And if you find your shawl burden some Mildred, you are to throw it back and be comfortable. His wife gave him an indignant glance. She can take a fan, she said shortly. I'll enter one that I'll not be ashamed to see her carry. Mildred was glad that she could say she had a pretty fan of her own and would not need to borrow. And with it said she would doubtless be able to refrain from throwing back her shawl in a way to exhibit the unfashionable make of her dress. Mrs. Dinsmer graciously condescended to approve of the purchases made by her husband and the governess, saying she really thought she hardly could have done better herself. And it was an immense relief to know that the thing was done without any worry or responsibility coming upon her. She was so ill-able to bear such things. On hearing which, our heroine felt unspeakably thankful that her assistants had not been asked. Mildred enjoyed the concert extremely, also the sightseeing, which, with a little more shopping, fully occupied the next two days and the church going of the day following. She found time before breakfast Saturday morning for doing her packing and finishing the letter to her mother. On Monday morning there was little time for anything, but breakfast, before they must go and board the steamer, which was to carry them to a seaport town within a few miles of Rosalinds. End of chapter five, recording by Amy. Chapter six of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Amy. Chapter six, or the glad water of the dark blue sea, Byron. It was Mildred's first sight of the ocean. The November air was chill, but the sun shone brightly and well-wrapped up. She found the deck not an uncomfortable place, so kept her station there all through the passage down the river and bay, though Mrs. Dinsmar very soon retreated, shivering to the cabin and called in nurses and children, with the exception of Adelaide, who insisted upon remaining with her father and cousin and was, as usual, allowed to have her own way. There we have a full view of old ocean, Mr. Dinsmar said, as they steamed out of the bay. You never saw anything like that before, Mildred. Yes, the Great Lakes look very similar. She answered gazing away over the restless waters, her eyes kindling with enthusiasm. How grandly beautiful it is. I think I should never weary of the sight and should like to live where I could watch it, day by day in all its moods. Rosalinds is not so very far off to the coast, said Adelaide. A ride of a few miles in one direction gives us a distant view. Oh, I am glad of that, Mildred exclaimed. And we will place a pony and servant at your command, so that you can ride in that direction whenever you will. Added Mr. Dinsmar, Mildred took her eyes from the sea long enough to give him a look of delight that fully repaid him, nor did she spare words, but told him he was wonderfully kind to her. Tell about being on the lakes, cousin, pleaded Adelaide. When was it, and who was with you? There had been a little homesickness tugging at Mildred's heartstrings, and that last question brought the tears to her eyes and a tremble to her lips. She had a short struggle with herself before she could so command her voice as to speak quite steadily. But when she had once begun, it was not difficult to go on and give a circumstantial account of their journey to Indiana, especially as Adelaide proved delighted and deeply interested listener. Thank you, she said, when the story had come to an end. Do tell me more about your brothers and sisters, everything you can think of. What a lot of them there is. I think Cyril and Don must be comical little fellows. Yes, and very provokingly mischievous at times, Mildred said, laughing at the recollection of some of their pranks, which she went on to describe for Adelaide's entertainment. But the sun had set and the air was so cold that they were compelled to seat the shelters, the cabin. They found warmth and brightness there. Mrs. Dinsmore was half reclining on a sofa, her husband reading the evening paper by her side. Well, I'm glad you've come in at last, she said with a reproachful look directed at Mildred, was really very thoughtless to keep Adelaide out so late. She didn't keep me, mama, answered the child with spirit. I could have come in any minute if I had chosen. I was not even asked to stay. Don't be pert, Adelaide, said her mother. Dear me, how the vessel begins to rock. I shall be deathly sick before morning. That would have been less likely to happen if you had followed Mildred's example and stayed on deck as long as possible, remarked her husband, turning his paper and beginning another article. I should have caught my death of cold, she retorted snappishly, or perhaps he wouldn't have cared if I had, and I think it's quite insulting to a chit of a girl like that, held up to me as an example. Mildred had walked away and did not hear this last remark. Adelaide had slipped her hand into Mildred's and was saying, I like you cousin, we'll be good friends, shan't we? It shall not be my fault if we're not. Mildred said, forcing a smile, for Mrs. Dinsomer's fault finding had hurt her feelings and caused a decided increase of the homesickness. But determined to overcome it, she gathered the children about her at a safe distance from their mother and told them stories till interrupted by the summons to the tea table. They had a rather rough sea that night and the next day, causing a good deal of sickness among the passengers. Mildred, taught by past experience, fought bravely against it, seeking the deck soon after sunrise and spending almost the whole day there in company with her uncle. The second day she experienced no difficulty and was joined by her cousins, but Mrs. Dinsomer kept to her birth to the end of the voyage and when the vessel arrived in port came from her stateroom, pale, weak, and disconsolate. The last stage of the journey was made in carriages. They reached Roseland just as the sun was setting amid a mass of crimson, golden, amber-colored clouds forming a gorgeous background to a landscape of more than ordinary beauty. "'Oh, how lovely!' cried Mildred as her uncle handed her from the carriage. I was prepared to be charmed with the place, but it exceeds my expectations. "'Let me bid you welcome and hope that first impressions may prove lasting. "'You'll stay here most enjoyable,' he said with a gratified smile. But now Mildred's attention was taken up by the reception that had been prepared for them, just such in one as she had often heard described by her mother. The plantation was large, the dwelling also, and a dozen or more of house servants headed by the housekeeper, who was a very respectable white woman, had ranged themselves in a double row across the veranda and down the wide entrance hall. Their faces were full of delight, their hands held out in joyous greeting, glad words of welcome in every tongue, as master, mistress, guest, and children, with their attendance, past slowly between the ranks, shaking hands and making kind inquiries right and left. Some of the older ones remembered Mildred's mother and our heroine's heart warmed toward them as they sounded, Miss Marcia's praises, and a verb that her daughter bore a striking resemblance to her in looks. "'Mrs. Brown, this young lady is my niece,' said Mr. Dinsmore, laying a hand on Mildred's shoulder and addressing himself to the housekeeper. "'And I commend her to your special care. "'Please see that she is well-weighted upon "'and once for nothing that house or plantation can supply.' "'Here, Rachel, too young mulatto girl, "'I put you, Miss Mildred's weighty maid. "'You are to be always at her call "'and do whatever she directs.' "'Yes, Massa,' the girl answered, "'dropping a deep courtesy first to him, "'then to Mildred, whom she regarded "'with a look of smile and approval. "'This child, very glad of the chance. "'Shall I show it away to your room now, Miss?' "'Mildred gave a smiling assent "'and was immediately conducted "'to a spacious, elegantly furnished apartment, "'or an open wood fire blazed and crackled, "'sending around a ready light "'that rendered that of the wax candles "'in the heavy, highly polished silver candlesticks "'on the mantle, almost a superfluity. "'Mildred sent a very satisfied, "'appreciative glance about her, "'then turning to her young handmaiden, "'who stood quietly awaiting her orders, "'asked if there were time to change your dress before tea. "'Yes, Miss, plenty time. "'Where are your trunks, Miss?' "'Oh, here to come,' slipping out of the way "'of two of the men's servants, "'as they entered with Mildred's luggage. "'Mrs. Brown followed close in their rear, "'bait them on strap the trunks before leaving, "'inquired of Mildred if there were anything more "'as she could do for her "'and said she hoped she would be very comfortable. "'Rachel is young and has not had much experience "'in the duties of ladies made, "'she added, "'but I think you will find her trusty and willing. "'Would you not like to have her unpack your things "'and arrange them in the bureau and wardrobe? "'Then the trunks can be put away out of sight "'until they are wanted again. "'Yes, that will be very nice,' said Mildred, "'producing the keys. "'But will there be time before tea?' "'Hardly, I'm afraid, Miss Keith, "'if you have any change to make in your dress, "'but later in the evening, if that will answer. "'Oh, yes, quite as well. "'Mrs. Brown took her departure. "'Mr. Dinsmer looked in for a moment "'to see that his young guest had not been neglected "'and how she was pleased with her new quarters. "'Then Mildred, left alone with her maid, "'opened a trunk, laid out the dress and ornaments "'she wished to wear, "'and proceeded with Rachel's assistance "'to make a somewhat hurried toilet. "'The tea bell rang and Adelaide's bright face "'peaped in at the door. "'Ready, cousin, I'll show you the way. "'They entered the supper room looking fresh "'and blooming as two roses. "'Mr. Dinsmer signed Mildred "'the seat of honor at his right hand "'and complimented her on the becomingness "'of her attire. "'She was the only guest. "'The children were all allowed to come to the table. "'And they were a merry family party, "'everybody rejoicing and being at home again, "'after an absence of several months. "'The table was loaded with delicacies, "'skillfully prepared for old Phoebe, the cook, "'with a real genius in the culinary art, "'the cloth with the finest mask, "'the service of rare china and costly silverware, "'and the attendance all that could be desired. "'Cleared in excessive fatigue, "'Mrs. Dinsmer retired to her own apartments, "'immediately upon the conclusion of the meal. "'You look quite too fresh and bright "'to be thinking of bed yet,' Mr. Dinsmer remarked, "'laying his hand affectionately on Mildred's shoulder. "'Will you come to the library with me?' "'She gave the police dissent, "'and they were soon cosily seated "'on either side of the fire there, "'a table covered with books, papers, "'and periodicals drawn up between them. "'How do you like this room?' Mr. Dinsmer asked. "'Oh, very much,' Mildred answered, "'sending a sweeping glance from side to side, "'noting all the attractions of the place, "'from the rich turkey carpet, "'handsome rugs, comfortable chairs, couches, and tables, "'to the long lines of well-filled bookshelves, "'statues, statuettes, and busts, "'and two or three fine paintings on the walls. "'That is right,' he said with a pleased smile. "'I want you to feel perfectly at home here, "'coming in whenever you please, "'and staying just as long as you like, "'reading, writing, studying, or lounging, "'helping yourself with perfect freedom "'to books and writing materials. "'For whatever is in the room is entirely at your service.'" Mildred was beginning to thank him, but he cut her short with, "'Never mind that, here's better occupation for you,' handing her a package of letters as he spoke. She took it with a joyful exclamation, "'Letters from home? "'Oh, I've been so hungry for them.' "'Yes,' he said, enjoying her delight, "'but don't run away, "'for she'd risen to her feet, "'evidently with that intention. "'Perhaps there may be a bit here and there "'that you'd like to read to me, "'and if they bring tears to your eyes, "'I'll not think the worst of you. "'Asides, I shall be too busy with my own correspondence "'to take notice.' So she sat down again, and presently forgot his presence in the interest of those written pages, which seemed almost to transport her into the very midst of the dear home circle. It was a family letter, everyone, from her father down to little Anna's, contributing something, the little ones having each dictated a message to Sister Millie. But the greater part was from her mother, giving him pleasing details of doing, sayings, and plannings in their little world. The smallest successes and failures, the apparently trivial occurrences, the little joys and sorrows, little trials and fixations and little pleasures, the maker-morrow, the happiness of daily home life. The mother's sweet, loving, trustful spirit breathed through it all. There were little jests that brought the smile to Mildred's lips, or made her laugh outright. Me, she read aloud to her uncle. There were words of faith and patience that filled her eyes with tears. Then at the last, wise, tender motherly counsels that stirred her heart to its end most step. She would have given a great deal at that moment to be at home again, within sound of that beloved voice, looking into the dear eyes, feeling the gentle touch of the soft, caressing hand. Oh, could she stay away for months? The tears would come. She rose across the room and stood before a painting, with her back to her uncle, who at that instant seemed wholly absorbed in a business letter which he held in his hand. Recovering herself, she came back to the table. Mr. Dinsma looked up. I think we must have a ride tomorrow morning, Millie. You and Adelaide and I shall it be at nine o'clock. Her eyes grew bright and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She was very fond of riding on horseback. I shall be delighted to go, uncle, she said, and can be ready at any hour that may suit you best. He considered a moment. I should not be surprised if you and Adie find yourselves inclined to take a long morning nap after your journey. He said, we will stay directly after breakfast, which will not be earlier than nine. Now I see you are wanting to retire. So bid me good night, and away with you to slumber's suite. And with a fatherly kiss he dismissed her. Mildred's room was bright, warm, and cheery as she had left it. Rachel was not there, and the trunks had vanished also, but the opening of wardrobe doors and bureau drawers showed their contents neatly bestowed therein. An easy chair stood invitingly before the fire and dropping into it, Mildred gauged her letter as a second perusal, mingling laughter and tears over it as before. She sighed softly to herself as she folded it up, then glancing about the spacious, handsomely appointed room, smiled at thought of the contrast between her present circumstances and surroundings, and those of a few weeks ago when she was occupying a small, very plainly furnished room, and instead of having it made at her beck and call, was constantly waiting upon and working for others. The rest and ease of the present were certainly very enjoyable, yet she had no desire that the change should become a permanent one. Home with all its toils and cares were the sweetest year of its place on earth. Rachel came in to replenish the fire and asked if there was anything more she could do for the young lady's comfort. No, thank you, my wands are fully supplied, Mildred said with a smile. I think I shall get ready for bed now. Den Missy wandered slippers and nightclothes, remarked the girl hastening to bring them. Shall this child take down your hair and brush them out? Yes, Mildred said, when I have put on my dressing gown, and I'll read to you while you do it. Thank you, Missy. This child would be very glad to hear reading. The girl answered with a look of pleasure. Can't read none herself and never expects to know how. That's for white folks. And I'll read the Bible to you every night and morning while you do up my hair, Mildred said. It is God's word, Rachel. He has led her to tell us a way to heaven, and we need to know what it says. Expect who does miss, responded the girl, with wide-open, wandering eyes fixed on Mildred's face. But nobody never told me that before. Then here is work for me to do for the master, thought Mildred, and sent up a silent petition. Lord, teach me how to lead her to thee. End of Chapter 6, Recording by Amy. Chapter 7 of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter 7. O thou child of many prayers. Life hath quicksands, life hath snares, longfellow. A bright ray of sunshine, stealing in between the silken curtains, fell a thwart Mildred's eyes, and woke her. The fire was blazing cheerily on the hearth. Rachel was at hand to wait upon her. And she found it by no means unpleasant to sit still and have her hair arranged for her skillfully, instead of doing the work with her own hands, as she had been accustomed to do, since she was quite a little girl. She occupied herself the while, in reading aloud from the Bible, according to promise. And Rachel seemed well pleased to listen. Her toilet completed. Mildred went to the library to answer her letter, while waiting for the breakfast bell. And there Mr. Dinsmore found her. That is quite right, he said. Send my love to them all. But don't close your letter yet. You'll want to tell your mother about your ride. We'll take one that used to be a favorite with her. Mildred looked up brightly. I shall enjoy it all the more for knowing that. You were accustomed to riding on horseback, he said inquiringly. Enough to be able to keep my seat on a well-behaved steve, she answered laughingly. I hope to improve very much under your tuition, Uncle Dinsmore. Jip, the pony I have assigned to you while you stay is quite safe, I think, sufficiently spirited but well-trained, he said, giving her his arm to conduct her into the breakfast room for the bell had rung. I hear you are going to ride, Mildred, Mrs. Dinsmore remarked as they rose from the table. Have you a riding habit? Mildred was very glad to be able to reply in the affirmative. The horses were already at the door. She hurried to her room and was down again in a few minutes, arrayed in a manner that entirely satisfied Mrs. Dinsmore. It was a delicious morning. Riders and steeds seemed alike in fine spirits, and Mildred had seldom found anything more enjoyable than the brisk canter of the next hour over a good road and through new and pleasing scenes. On their return, Mrs. Dinsmore followed her to her room. You must have some of your dresses made at once, Mildred, she said. Can you get out the materials and come to the sewing room to be fitted? The black silk should be first, I think, and finished this week, but you may have it to wear to church next Sunday. You are very kind, Aunt, Mildred said, looking much pleased, but I'm not the services of your seamstresses. Needed just now for yourself and the children. No, there is nothing hurrying, was the reply. We all had fall dresses made up in Philadelphia, and you must be prepared to show yourself to visitors, for friends and neighbors will soon be calling on you, as well as on us. Of course I shall take pride in having them find my husband's niece suitably attired. Mildred was nothing loath to accept the offer. In fact, was filled with an eager desire, natural to her age, to see how all these beautiful things would look when made up, and how well they would become her. But her love of independence and the industrious habits in which she had been trained, I like forbade her to leave all the work to Mrs. Dintzmer's maids. Her own deft and busy fingers accomplished no small share of it, the greater part of every day, for the next two or three weeks being occupied in that way. Mrs. Dintzmer disliked exertion of any kind, and seldom took a need on her hand, but she had no distaste towards seeing others employed, and generally spent her mornings lounging in the sewing room, ready to give her opinion in regard to styles of trimming and so forth, and enjoying a comfortable sense of conferring a great favor thereby. The black silk was completed in time to be worn on Mildred's first Sunday at Rosens, and Mrs. Dintzmer, subjecting her to a careful scrutiny when she came down ready dressed for church, assured her that she was quite a stylish looking young lady, whom she herself was not ashamed to exhibit to her acquaintance as belonging to the Dintzmer family. A glance into a pure glass in the drawing room told Mildred the compliment was not undeserved, and I fear there was no little gratified vanity in the smile with which she turned away and followed her aunt to the carriage, waiting for them at the door, and that the consciousness of her finery and its becomingness seriously interfered with the heartiness of her devotions in the house of God, and the attention she should have given to the preaching of the word and services of prayer and praise. She was in some measure aware of this herself, and felt condemned on account of it, but was not helped to recover lost ground while a worldly conversation carried on about her during the greater part of the day. There was a good deal friendly chat in the vestibule of the church after the close of the services, neighbors and acquaintances gathered about the Dintzmer to welcome and congratulate them on their return from their late trip, an inquire concerning their health and enjoyment of their lengthened sojourn in the north. Mr. Dintzmer was extremely hospitable and fond of entertaining his friends, nor had he any scruples about doing so on the Sabbath, and at his urgent invitation to a gentleman and a very gaily dressed and lively young lady accompanied his family and himself to Rosens to dine and spend the remainder of the day. The talk was just what it might have been on any other occasion, of politics, amusements, dress, anything and everything, but the topic suited to the sacredness of the day. And Mildred, while yielding to the temptation to join in it, felt painfully conscious that in doing so she was not obeying the command, remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy. It was late in the evening when the visitus left and she retired to her room weary and sleepy, hurried through the former devotion, giving but little heart to it, and was soon in bed and asleep. She tried to do better the next morning, but her thoughts ran very much on dress and the vanities of earth. How could she help that? She asked herself, half despairingly, half an excuse, she must assist in making her clothes and decide too how it should be done. Another dress was begun that day and head and hands were fully occupied over it. Her uncle insisted on a ride or walk every day, callus began to come, hours had to be spent in the drawing room and work on the new dresses to be pushed all the harder the rest of the day to recover lost time. Then she must attire herself in her most becoming finery, drive out with Mrs. Dintimer to return her calls, during which the talk generally ran upon the nearest trifles, furnishing no food from mind or heart. Flatteries and compliments were showered upon her heroine for she was pretty, graceful and refined, quick and repartee, self-possessed without being conceited, well informed for her years and a good conversationalist. Her aunt and uncle were altogether satisfied with the impression she made, but her parents would have been sorely troubled could they have known how the world and its vanities were engrossing the thoughts of their beloved child to the exclusion of better things. They were brilliant entertainments given in her honor, first by Mrs. Dintimer, afterward by others who had been her invited guests. The weather continuing, remarkably mild and pleasant for some weeks, they were excursions gotten up to various points of interest in the vicinity. There were dinner parties and tea drinkings, days when the house was filled with gay company from morning to night, or when Mr. and Mrs. Dintimer visited in like manner at the houses of neighboring planters, taking mildered with them. Then there were drives to the city in the daytime to shop for more finery, in the evening for the purpose of attending some place of amusement, now a concert, now a lecture, and at length the opera and the theater. Into these latter and questionable, not to say forbidden places of resort to one weird as mildered had been, she was at first decoyed, but becoming intoxicated with essential sweets. She went again and again of her own free will. Thus for a month or more, she ran a giddy round of worldly pleasures, scarcely taking time to think and refusing to listen to the warnings and upbratings of conscience. But her gayities began to tell unfavorably upon her health, the recovery of which had been her principal object in leaving home, and she was obliged to relinquish them in part. Then a long storm set in, confining her to the house for a week and keeping away visitors. She was forced to stop and consider, and a long loving letter from her mother coming just then, freighted with words of Christian counsel, had a blessed effect in helping to open her eyes to her guilt and danger. In the silence and solitude of her room, the scion of the wind without, and the rain in sleep beating against the windows, the only sounds that reached her ear mildred red and wept over this letter, and over the mental review of the life she had been leading since coming to Rosens. To a mere whirbling, it might have seemed innocent enough, but not so to mildred's enlightened conscience. A butterfly existence was not the end for which she had been created, yet she could not shut her eyes to the fact that that was the best that could be said of her life of late. She had been neither doing nor getting any good, but rather the contrary, injuring her health by her dissipations, setting an example of worldliness, and falling behind in the Christian race. She had not neglected the forms of religious service, had attended church every Sunday, read her Bible, and repeated a prayer night and morning, but all, as she now saw it with grief and shame, with a sadly wandering heart, thoughts full of dress and earthly vanities. Alas, how far she had wandered out of the way in which she had covenanted to walk, and that though she had proved in days past that, wisdom's ways were ways of pleasantness, and all her pasts were peace. And as she questioned with herself whether she had found real enjoyment in these bypasses of worldliness and sin, she was forced to acknowledge that in spite of much thoughtless gaiety and mirth, there had been no genuine solid happiness, but instead a secret uneasiness which she vainly strove to banish, and could only forget for a time in the giddy round of amusement. Should she go on as she had begun? No, by the help of God, she would turn and find again the path she had left, even as her mother, in this timely letter, advised and entreated. Mrs. Keith knew, to some extent, the worldly atmosphere of the house into which her young daughter had gone, and she had written with the fear in her heart the mildred might come to its temptations, even as she had done. She entreated her to be on her guard, watching unto prayer and thus keeping close to the master. And, dear daughter, she added, should you ever find that you have wandered, who is not a moment in returning to him, and pleading for cleansing, for pardon, and restoration to his favor, through his own precious blood, let not Satan tempt you to stay away one moment with the lie that the Lord is not ever waiting to be gracious and ever ready and willing to forgive, or that he would have you delay, till your repentance is deeper, or you have done something to atone in some measure for your sin. God's time is always now to the backslider in heart or life, as well as to the impenitent sinner, and to both he says, him that cometh unto me, I will know wise cast out. End of chapter seven, recording by Amy. Chapter eight of Mildred at Rosalinds by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter eight, I have deeply felt the mockery of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt with here. Mildred had been alone for several hours, very profitable ones to her when opening the door in answer to a gentle rap. She found Mr. Dinsmar standing there. If you will invite me in, he said with a smile, I may perhaps accept. Do come in, uncle, she replied, returning the smile. It is very pleasant here, and I can give you a warm welcome. See, my fire is blazing cheerily, does not that easy chair look inviting? Yes, he answered, taking her hand and gazing searchily into her face, seeing something there that puzzled him greatly. For though the traces of tears were very evident, it were a look of peace that had been formed to it of late. But what is the matter? Not bad news from home, I hope. No, oh no, she said, they were all well and nothing amiss when mother wrote, but her eyes filled and her lips quivered as she spoke. Home sick, I'm afraid, he said kindly, patting and stroking the hand he held. The natural effect of news from there, I suppose, especially in this wretched weather. But don't give up to it, my dear. We'll find ways to make the times pass pleasantly in spite of the storm. Home sports, amusing books. You were very kind always, dear uncle, she said with a grateful look, but it is not that. I've been living too much from your amusement of late, and with burning cheeks and tear-dimmed eyes, she went on to explain in a few rapid sentences how condemned she felt on account of the waste of time and opportunities for improvement, and the worldly conformity of which she had been guilty, and how she had determined by God's help to do so no more. He listened in much surprise, but did not interrupt her. When she had finished, there was a moment's silence. She said to mid-downcast eyes, her breath still heaving with emotion, he gazing musingly into the fire. Presently, he turned to her again with a kindly smile. Thank you, my dear, for your confidence, he said pleasantly, but really, I do not see that you have done anything to be distressed about. It strikes me you were fairly entitled to a few weeks of playtime. After the fatigues of that long nursing and the journey here. Perhaps so, she said, but I haven't taken just the right sort. So much excitement and such late hours have wearied instead of resting me physically, and on my spiritual nature, the effect has been still worse. I blame no one but myself, she added humbly, and with a deprecating look into his grave, somewhat troubled face. I'm afraid I've been your tempter, he said, though I meant well, but I ought to have remembered the strict ideas entertained by your parents in which they had brought you up. Well, what can I do to retrieve my error and to help you in living as you think you should? It mostly depends upon myself, I think, she answered thoughtfully, but if you will not oppose me in declining invitations to what I deemed to be wrong or questionable amusements and will excuse me from attendance in the drawing room on Sundays, when there's company, it will help me very much. My dear girl, he returned, you are, of course, perfectly free to do exactly as you please in both respects. We appreciate your society, but if you think best to withdraw it from us, we can only submit. I will arrange with Mrs. Dinsmore that young people shall be invited on weekdays and only older people whom you will not feel called upon to entertain on Sundays. She thanked him warmly, and you will give up the opera and theater, he said inquiringly. I thought you enjoyed them very much. I did, she answered, blushing. Then why resign so innocent of pleasure? It is not innocent for me, uncle, she said, lifting her glistening eyes to his. It utterly destroys the spirit of devotion. I come from them with my mind full of the play and thoughts about dress and the gay people I have seen, and with no heart for prayer or the study of God's word, and the short-lived pleasure I derive from them is nothing to be compared with a sweet peace and joy they rob me of. But if you persist in such a course of conduct, you will be sneered at as self-righteous pure tanical and whatnot, politely to your face, more disagreeably behind your back. I am willing to be singular for Christ, she answered her eyes kindling. Oh, how little that would be to bear for him, compared with what he endured for me. How much less I resign than multitudes of others have given up for him. Moses chose rather to suffer a reflection with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. It's seeming the reproach of Christ, greater riches than the treasures in Egypt. And you purposed to begin doing something in the way of study and the cultivation of your accomplishments? He said inquiringly, not unwilling to change the subject of conversation. Yes, uncle, I should like to accept your generous offer to let me share the instructions of Adelaide's masters in music and painting, French and German, and Miss Worst's in the higher mathematics. All that will keep you pretty busy, even without the reading you're sure to do, he commented with a smile. Usefully employed, she answered brightly, and that I have learned from experience. It's a way to be happy. The first year Mildred had to bear came from Mrs. Dinsmer, who heard with great fixation her husband's report of the young girl's resolve. Ridiculous, she exclaimed, if there's anything I do detest and despise, it is your rigid, puritanical secretary who stands ready to cry out sinful, wicked, every sort of enjoyment. I am too much provoked. She is really a pretty and ladylike girl and has attracted a good deal of attention so that I was actually growing quite proud of her and took pleasure in showing her off, but that is all over now, of course, and there'll be no end to the annoyance I shall have to endure in hearing her criticise for her odd behaviour and in parrying questions and remarks as to how she came by such strange notion. Well, my dear, it can't be helped, Mr. Dinsmer responded between a smile and a sigh, but if I were you, I should very decidedly snub anyone who should offer disparaging remark about her to me. Being myself, I certainly intend to do so. Can't be helped. I believe you could reason her out of it if you would. I'm flattered by your belief, but do not share it, he said with a bow of acknowledgement. Nor, if I did, would I attempt to change her views. It would be too great a responsibility and a breach of the trust her parents have reposed in me. The conversation was here brought to a conclusion by the summons to the dinner table. Mildred made her appearance with the rest and was greeted by Mrs. Dinsmer with a cold inquiry after her health, followed by a covert taunt in regard to her resolve to forsake the worldly amusements in which she had of late indulged. Mildred bore it with patience and humility, not answering again, though the flushing of her cheek showed that she felt the unkindness keenly enough. Do you intend to make a complete hermit of yourself and go nowhere at all, queried the irate lady? Oh, no, Aunt, return Mildred pleasantly. I hope still to take walks, rides and drives and do not object to calls and social visits or to concerts or lectures unless attending necessitates the keeping of later hours that are good for my health. To it have been wiser to my thinking if you'd be gone as you meant to continue. Yes, Aunt, it would, Mildred said, again, coloring deeply. And I wish I had, but it is better to do right at last than not at all. Do you not think so? Don't ask me sharply. Adelaide, Louise, and Laura, you may consider yourselves fortunate in having a cousin who is more capable of deciding questions of duty than your parents. I trust you will not fail to profit by your excellent example, not that which she has set you observe, but that which she is going to set you in the future. The children giggled while Mildred colored more deeply than before. A frown had gathered on Mr. Dinsmore's brow. Children, if you cannot behave properly, you must leave the table, he said sternly. Then with a displeased look at his wife, I for one highly approve of Mildred's resolve to do what she considers her duty. And it is my desire that she be allowed to follow the dictates of her conscience in peace. Mr. Dinsmore was an indulgent husband and seldom found fault with anything his wife chose to do or say. But experience had taught her that when he did interfere she might as well submit at once. The subject was dropped and never revived again in his presence. With her accustomed prognosis and energy, Mildred sought out Ms. Worth that very afternoon, made arrangements for recitations and began her studies. She determined to devote four hours a day to them and her accomplishments. As she was accustomed to early rising and the breakfast at Rosens was late, it would not be difficult, she thought, to secure two hours before that meal. The other two she would take during Mrs. Dinsmore's afternoon siesta and the elaborate toilet which usually followed and thus be as much as ever at that lady's command as a companion either at home or abroad. Mrs. Dinsmore had few resources within herself with a march or two ennui and could not bear to be alone. And Mildred esteemed it both a duty and a pleasure to do all in her power to add to the comfort and enjoyment of her kind entertainers. She had succeeded thus far in doing so and some measure to all from her uncle down to baby Anna. The children had found out weeks ago that cousin Millie possessed an apparently inexhaustible fund of nursery tales and songs and could teach them many amusing games. They would have been glad to monopolize her and entered many a complaint of the shortness and infrequency of her visits to the nursery. Thinking of that now, she resolved to try to give them more of her time and attention. Perhaps she could mingle some instruction with the amusement she furnished them and she would be very glad to do so for her heart was filled with pity for the young things as she thought of the great difference between their mother and hers. The one observed in her own selfish pleasures and paying no attention to the cultivation of the minds and hearts of her children. The other giving herself with earnest, whole soul devotion to seeking the best interests of her darlings, teaching and training them for happiness and usefulness here and hereafter. Precious mother, what a blessing to have been born your child, Mildred mentally exclaimed as she thus dwelt upon the contrast between the two. Recalling with tear-dimbed eyes, the loving care that had surrounded her from her very birth and in which each brother and sister had an equal share. While Mildred thus lay her plans, Mrs. Dinsmer was somewhat similarly employed. Reclining upon a softly cushioned couch in her boudoir, idly listening to the pattern of the rain against the window, she mused in discontented mood of Mildred and her unexpected resolve. It interfered with her schemes for she had purposed filling the house with gay young company during the approaching Christmas holidays and making the two weeks one continued round of festivity. To be sure, she could do so still, but Mildred refused though to take part in much of the sport but throw a damper upon the enjoyment of the others, besides giving occasion for unpleasant criticisms. Mrs. Dinsmer's vexation increased as she turned the matter over in her mind. But a bright thought struck her and starting up with something like energy, she exclaimed half-aloud. Why, that's the very thing and I'll do it at once. Hey, Gar, addressing her maid, bring me my writing desk. End of chapter eight, recording by Amy. Chapter nine of Mildred at Roselands by Martha Finley. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter ninth. There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away. Byrum. Dear me, another dull, rainy, tedious day, said Mrs. Dinsmer the next morning, as she turned from the breakfast table, walked to the window and looked out upon the garden and fields where everything was dripping with wet. Well, the storm never end. No hope of visitors today or of setting out to see anybody. I shall be literally eaten up, won't we? Here's Mildred, remarked Mr. Dinsmer. I've always found her good company. Hmm, she has no time to waste upon me. I am quite at your service, Aunt, said our heroine pleasantly. Indeed, what's to become of your all-important studies? They have already had two hours devoted to them this morning. Besides two last night, so I think I've fairly earned the pleasure of your society for so much of the days you care to have mine. Return the girl in a sprightly tone. Mrs. Dinsmer looked languidly surprised and pleased. You are an odd girl to rise so early when you might just as well indulge in a morning nap, she said. I don't find it difficult if I have gotten to bed in good season the night before, said Mildred Galey. I have been trained to it from childhood, my father being a firm believer in the old age. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. And it is really very pleasant after one is fairly up and dressed. Yes, and I dare say we would all be the better for it if we would follow your example, said Mr. Dinsmer. You are altogether mistaken as far as I am concerned, remarked his wife pettishly. My best sleep is in the morning. I suppose people differ about that as well as in the amount of sleep they require, observed Mildred, some meeting eight hours while others can do quite as well with only four. Yes, admitted her uncle. Constitutions differ and I have no idea of asking my wife to give up her morning nap. There is a possibility of carrying the thing to an extreme. Remember that, Miss Milly, he added playfully, and don't let that sensitive conscience of yours force you up at un-Christian hours. And how am I to decide what I such, sir? She asked, laughing. Mildred laid herself out that day for her aunt's entertainment and with a success they restored her almost entirely to favor, at least for the time being. The following day there was a slight abatement in the storm and some gentleman called. One, a young man who had been in her escort on several occasions and whom Mildred liked very much as a friend, inquired particularly for her. He had come with an invitation to a public ball to be given a week later by a military club of which he was a member and to ask that he might be her escort thither. Mildred declined with thanks. He seemed much disappointed and pressed her for her reasons. I have several, Mr. Landred. She said coloring slightly, but meeting his eye unflinchingly. I find that late hours injure my health. That is one. Another is that I have been brought up to consider it wrong to attend balls. Why more so than go into the theater? He asked. I do not know that it is. Excuse me, but you go there. It is true, I have been several times, but that was very wrong in me and I do not intend to go again. Mildred said humbly and firmly, but the color deepened on her cheek and her voice trembled slightly. The words had cost her no small effort, but she was glad when they were spoken. It seemed to lift a low from her heart and conscience. Mr. Landred looked full of regret and surprise. I am sorry, he said. Will it be taking too great a liberty to ask why you think it wrong? It seemed a difficult and trying thing to undertake. Mildred hesitated a moment, her eyes cast down, her cheeks burning, but remembering the words of the master. Whosoever, therefore, shall confess me before men. Him will I confess also before my father, which is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny me before men. Him will I also deny before my father, which is in heaven. She answered, because I profess to be a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. And as such, to take his word as my rule of faith and practice, that word bids us, whether, therefore, ye eat or drink or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God. And I find it impossible to obey that command in attending such places of worldly amusement. We're very young to give up all pleasure, he said with an involuntary sigh, why not to have some happiness, some enjoyment in you? I should say it'd be quite time enough to resign all these things when we arrive at middle age. Ah, you quite mistake me, Mr. Landra. She answered, looking up brightly. I only resign a few miserable, unsatisfying pleasures for those that are infinitely higher and more enduring. He gazed at her incredulously. Religion has always seemed to me a very gloomy thing, he said, very good and valuable on a deathbed, no doubt. But I should rather do without it till then, I must confess. I would not, she answered earnestly. I want it to sweeten my life all the way through. Mr. Landreth, believe me, it does do that as nothing else can. I've found it so in my unlimited experience, and I know that my parents have been theirs, which has extended over so many more years. I've seen them wonderfully sustained by it under sore trials, and I've noticed that in times of happiness and prosperity, it more than doubled their joy and gladness. Godliness with contentment is great gain. Well, Miss Keith, he said after a moment's pause, I think you deserve that it should be gained to you in some way, since you sacrifice so much for its sake. Ah, you are determined to consider it a sacrifice, I see. She returned smilingly. And I deserve that you should, she added sorrowfully. Excuse me, he said, I do not doubt your sincerity, but the Christians with whom I am most intimately acquainted seem to me anything but happy, if I may judge from their countenances and the gloomy austerity of their lives. Ah, if I could only show you my mother, exclaimed Mildred, if you could know her as I do, you would tell a different story. Mildred afterward repeated this last remark of Mr. Landreth to her aunt. Yes, said Mrs. Dinsmore, with an expressive shrug of the shoulders. I know all about that, and you understand it too when you've seen his aunt, or rather his uncle's wife, Mrs. James Landreth and her house. By the way, we must call there. She called on me one day, not long since, when we were out. What does she like? asked Mildred. Don't ask, wait till you see her. No description could do her justice. At least none that I could give. Mrs. Dinsmore answered a little impatiently. Mildred's curiosity was excited, and she was eager to make the proposed call. After a few days delay for good roads and good weather, she and her aunt set out, taking an early start, as they had a drive of some miles before them, and designed paying several other visits. The Landreths live in the suburbs of the city, Mrs. Dinsmore remarked, and I have ordered Ajax to drive there first. I always like to get disagreeable things over. I wish, said Mildred, that one might confine one's calls to those whom it is a real pleasure to visit. Of course, it would be delightful if one could, said her aunt, but there's no use in talking about it. You can't tell people. I don't wish to keep up acquaintance with you because your society is not agreeable to me. No, of course not, returned Mildred, laughing. Do you suppose Mrs. Landreth calls on us, too, because the customs of society require it? Really, I can't tell. I know she doesn't enjoy it because I'm not one of her sort. I'm certain she looks upon me as a very worldly-minded, wicked woman, a kind of heathen, in fact, and perhaps she considers herself doing missionary work and coming to see me. The house and grounds are handsome, Mildred remarked with some surprise, as they lighted at Mr. Landreth's door. Outside, Mrs. Dintma returned significantly. Mrs. Landreth was at home and they were shown into the drying room. It was a spacious, rather dreary-looking apartment, very plainly furnished and almost wholly destitute of ornament, with the exception of a few old family portraits. The only really attractive objects in the room were a brightly blazing fire and a very fine painting over the mantle. This last riveted Mildred's attention in a moment and cheeks claimed at its beauty. Yes, whispered Mrs. Dintma, it's the one handsome thing in the house and she's always at her husband to sell it. Why? And Mildred's look expressed unfeigned astonishment. Praise it to her and you'll hear all about it. Their hostess entered. She was tall, angular, of shallow complexion and strong feature. Her black hair, streaked here and there with gray, was drawn straight back from a forehead crossed by many lines. Caps were much worn even by youthful matrons at that day, but Mrs. Landred had resorted to no such artifice to conceal from view the partially bald spot on the top of her head. Neither did the close fitting black stuff gown hide one angle of her stiff ungainly figure. Her movements were ungraceful. Her countenance with solemn as might have befitted a funeral occasion. She is certainly far from pleasing in appearance, thought Mildred, furtively scanning the unattractive face and mentally contrasting it with the dear bright cheerful one that had made the sunshine of her childhoods home. Mrs. Landred's face served as a good foil even to Mrs. Dinsmer's faded beauty, a fact of which that lady was by no means unaware or intolerant. The two conversed together for some minutes, Mildred sitting silently by. They were speaking of the weather, then of some common acquaintance of whom she knew nothing. And not feeling interested, she half unconsciously suffered her eyes to wander about the room. You do not find much to admire here? Mrs. Landred said interrogatively, turning abruptly to her. There are no pretty trifles scattered here and there is that Rosens. I admire that painting over the mantel exceedingly. Mildred answered with a blush and turning her gaze upon it again. Such a lovely sunny landscape. It gives one a restful feeling just to look at it. Yes, it is a fine painting, but I've often told my husband that I think he committed a sin in putting so much money into an unnecessary luxury, something we could do perfectly well without. The Bible bits speak in tend with food and raiment, and we ought not to indulge yourselves in anything more or to spend much on them while there are so many deserving objects of charity in the world. That is why you finally so plain in my attire and in the furnishing of my house. Mr. Landred holds different views and would like house and wife to look as well as those of his neighbors, as he often says. But I must act according to the dictates of my conscience. But don't you think it a duty to try to please your husband and make his home attractive? Mildred asked modestly, I know my mother considers it hers and her great pleasure also. Quite natural then that you should, but doubtless I am an older woman than she and yours should teach wisdom, rejoin Mrs. Landred, somewhat loftily. Yes, madam, I suppose they should. But do you think people are always wise just in proportion to their age? Of course not always. Mr. Landred is older than I. But now to return to the original topic. We are taught that we have to practice self-denial and to give liberally to the poor. The interest of the money paid for that picture, $5,000, would enable me to largely increase my benefactions if I had it. Besides, how much useful work the artist might have done in the time he spent, wasted, one may well say, in painting it. I cannot think the time was wasted or that God would have given him the talent if he were not to use it or that it is wrong to surround ourselves with beautiful things if we have the means. Friendship Mildred, still thinking of her mother's practice and the opinions she had heard her express. Mrs. Landred gave her a look that said as plainly as words, I consider you a very opinionated and silly young person. And Mrs. Dinsmer arose to take leave. That woman, she remarked as she threw herself back in her carriage, has done more to discuss me with religion than anybody or anything else. She is always parading her self-denial and benevolence, always looks as solemn as if it were sin to lack. Seems unhappy herself and anxious to make everybody else so. If that is Christianity, I want nothing of it. And I know that is just how Charlie Landred feels. But it isn't Christianity, Aunt, Mildred said earnestly. Do you not know some Christians who are very different? Yes, there's Mrs. Travelette, I am, we are going now. She is always cheerful, quite merry at times and a great deal better women to my thinking than Mrs. Landred. Though she doesn't appear to think so herself. In fact, she's too good for me, gives me an uncomfortable sense of my own inferiority in that respect. Are the Landres poor, asked Mildred? Poor child, exclaimed Mrs. Dinsmore laughing. Wouldn't Charlie and his uncle be mortified if they could hear that question? Poor, no indeed, Mr. Landred could afford 20 paintings as costly as that. But he isn't allowed to enjoy one and the house looked for alarming comfortless from Garrett to sell it. And is she really so benevolent? She gives a great deal to missions and to the poor on the church. But I think it would be well for her to remember that charity begins at home and to bestow a little kindness upon her husband and his nephew. If they were beggars, she would perhaps think it worthwhile to pay some attention to their comfort. As it is, they get nothing from her, but sermons and lectures on their worldliness and wickedness. But Mr. Charlie Landred doesn't seem to me like a bad young man, said Mildred in surprise. He isn't, said Mrs. Dinsmore. He's a thorough gentleman and has no vices. There isn't a finer young man in the country round. But he isn't pious, so of course she considers him a rep or break. I have heard my mother speak of Mrs. Traveller as a lovely Christian lady and an intimate friend of Aunt Eva, said Mildred, willing to introduce a new topic. Yes, and I always feel that she is making comparisons, unfavorable to me, of course, between Mr. Dinsmore's first wife and myself. So I can hardly be expected to be very fond of her. But isn't it possible that you may be mistaken on Tisaba? I'm not given to fancies, was the ungracious rejoinder. Then there was a short silence broken presently by a query from Mildred. Has Mrs. Traveller any daughters? No, only a son and he's away in Europe. The families, ours and theirs, have always been intimate. Edward Traveller and Horace inseparable companions and they went to Europe together. It seems odd I should have been here so long without meeting Mrs. Traveller. She's been away, went north with her son and did not return till quite recently. She caught up Rosalinds the same day Mrs. Landred did an inquire for you. Mildred was greatly pleased with both Ion and its mistress. The grounds were extensive, beautiful and well cared for. The house, a fine old mansion, handsomely furnished, abounded in tasteful ornamentation. There were articles of virtue scattered throughout its rooms, rare and costly bits of painting and sculpture, also less expensive at dormants, singing birds and blooming plants and flowers, all showing a refined and cultivated taste and forming together most harmonious and charming whole. Mrs. Traveller was perhaps some years older than Mrs. Dinsmore and with her too, youthful bloom had fled, but it had given place to a beauty of another in higher order, the illumination of a richly cultivated mind and heart. She was attired with simple elegance and a due regard to her age, circumstances and what best became her style of beauty. Her manner was simple and cordial, her conversations brightly, her voice low and sweet-toned. You resemble your mother, she said with a kindly smile, taking Mildred's hand in parting and gazing earnestly into her face. I remember her well, for I saw a good deal of her in her visits to Rosalinds and truly to know her was to love her. Someday soon, if your aunt can spare you, you must spend a day with me and we will have a long talk about her. I want to hear all you have to tell. Oh, I should be delighted, Mildred exclaimed, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling. Mrs. Traveller had found the way to her heart and from that moment they were fast friends. End of chapter nine, recording by Amy.