These changed directly to almost overpowering mirthfulness, as the man, perhaps finding his false teeth, to which he was yet not fully accustomed, impeding his speech to some extent, in his intense interest in his subject, hardly conscious of the act, jerked them out, twirled them about in his fingers for an instant, then with a sudden recollection thrust them in again, his face turning scarlet with mortification and the last word faltering on his tongue.
Controlling her inclination to laugh, Mildred seized her opportunity. "Mr. Lord," she said, with gentle firmness, "please do not waste any more words on this subject, for I have no other answer to give you to-day than that which I gave before. Nor shall I ever have any other. I highly respect and esteem you, feel myself greatly honored by your preference, but – it is utterly out of my power to feel toward you as a woman should toward the man with whom she links her destiny for life."
With the last word she rose and would have left the room, but he intercepted her. "Not now, I suppose. Ah, my foolish impatience, which has a second time betrayed me! But I will wait – wait years, if – "
"It is useless, quite useless, I assure you," she interrupted, in some impatience. "To convince you of that, I will acknowledge that – that my heart has already been given to another."
Hiding her blushing face in her hands, she hurried from the room, leaving to her mother the task of consoling the rejected suitor.
Mrs. Keith afterward reported that he stood for a moment as if struck dumb with surprise and dismay; then muttering, "Wallace Ormsby – it must be he," was rushing bare-headed from the house, when she called him back and gave him his hat, with a consolatory word or two, which he did not seem to hear, as he merely turned about without replying, and walked rapidly away with the hat in his hand.
Mildred, hurrying to the privacy of her own room with cheeks aflame and an indignant light in her brown eyes, found herself intercepted by Zillah.
"Good girl not to say yes," cried the latter gayly, putting her arm round Mildred's neck and kissing her.
"What do you mean, Zillah? You don't know anything about it," Mildred said, repulsing her slightly and averting her face.
"Yes, I do. Mr. Lord's been asking you to marry him – I knew by his looks that that was what he came for – and I'm glad you won't have him. He's nice enough as a minister, but too old and ugly and awkward for a husband for my pretty sister Milly. Wallace Ormsby would be far more suitable, in my humble opinion," she added, with a merry twinkle in her deep blue eyes.
Mildred looked at her and took a sudden resolution. "Come in here," she said, pushing open her room door. "Zillah, can you keep a secret?"
"Suppose you try me," was the laughing rejoinder.
"I will. I am sure I may trust you."
So Zillah presently knew how matters stood between her sister and Charlie Landreth, and Mildred felt that she had another hearty sympathizer, and was safe from any more teasing about Wallace Ormsby from that quarter.
As for the latter, he of course improved his chance as they drove together that afternoon over the prairies and through the beautiful autumn woods; and Mildred had the painful task of crushing his hopes as she had already crushed those of her older admirer.
CHAPTER VII
"A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain."
Cowley.
"O Wallace, forgive me! Not for worlds would I have hurt you so if – if I could have helped it." Mildred's voice was full of tears, and she ended with a sigh that was half a sob.
His head was turned away so that she could not catch so much as a glimpse of his face.
"It is just what I expected when you went away," he answered huskily; "but I don't blame you. I've always known I wasn't half good enough for such a girl as you."
"No, don't say that!" she cried, almost eagerly; "you are good enough for anybody, Wallace; you are noble and true and brave; and father says that with your talent and industry you are sure to make your mark in the world."
"What do I care for that now?" he returned bitterly. "You have been my inspiration, Mildred; it was for you – to win you and to make you rich and happy – that I have studied and toiled and planned, and now you are lost to me!" he groaned.
"O Wallace!" she murmured softly, "I had hoped yours was a higher ambition – that you had consecrated your time, talents, everything, to Him who gave them, and whose love is better beyond comparison than any or all earthly loves."
"You are right," he said, after a moment's silence, and his voice was low and humble, "it ought to be so; it shall be so henceforward. But – O Mildred, Mildred, what happiness can there be in life without you!"
"I will be your sister, Wallace; I have a real sisterly affection for you."
"I ought to be thankful for even that – I shall be some day; but O Mildred! now it seems like giving me a crumb when I am starving – so famished that nothing less than a whole loaf will relieve the dreadful pain. And this other fellow that has won you away from me – will he – will he be taking you away from us soon?"
"No, Wallace, not soon, perhaps never," she answered in low, quivering tones.
He turned and faced her with an inquiring look. "I have misunderstood. I thought you said the – the affection was mutual."
"I will tell you all about it," she said after a moment's embarrassed silence. "I think I owe you the confidence as some slight amends for the pain I have unwillingly caused you."
Then in a few words she told him just how matters stood between Charlie Landreth and herself, withholding only the name of her favored suitor.
When she had finished, silence fell between them for many minutes. Mildred's eyes were cast down, Wallace's gazing straight before him or taking note of the inequalities of the road. They were nearing the town when at last he spoke again.
"I thank you for your confidence, dear Mildred, (you will let me call you that this once?) You know I shall never abuse it. I am sorry for your sake that he is not all you could wish. But don't let it make you unhappy. I couldn't bear that. And I hope and believe it will all come right in the end."
"Wallace, how good and noble you are!" she cried, looking at him with eyes brimming with tears. "We will always be friends – good, true friends, shall we not?" she asked, almost beseechingly, holding out her hand to him.
He caught it in his and pressed it to his lips with a low, passionate cry, "O Mildred! and can I never be more than that to you!"
An hour later Mrs. Keith found her eldest daughter in her own room, crying bitterly.
"My dear child! what is the matter?" she asked in concern.
"O mother, mother, I seem to have been born to make others unhappy!" sobbed Mildred.
"I have often thought you were born to be the great comfort and blessing of your mother's life, and have thanked God with my whole heart for this his good gift to me," the mother responded, with a loving caress; and a glad smile broke like sunlight through the rain of tears.
"Mother, what a blessed comforter you are!" sighed Mildred, resting her wet cheek on her mother's shoulder. "Mother, Wallace loves me and seems almost heart-broken because I – I cannot return it. And he is such a dear, noble fellow, too – worthy of a far better wife than I would make!"
"We must try to convince him of that, and make him glad of his fortunate escape," Mrs. Keith said in her playful tone.
Mildred laughed in spite of herself, but a little hysterically; then growing grave again: "But, mother, he does really seem heart-broken, and it is dreadful to me to have caused such suffering to one so deserving of happiness."
"I do not doubt it, my dear, and I feel for you both; but trouble does not spring from the ground; all our trials are sent us, for some good purpose, by that best and dearest of all friends, who knows just what each one of us needs, and never makes a mistake. I am sorry for you both, but I do not think either is to blame, and I believe you will come out of the trial better and happier Christians than you would ever have been without it.
"Now, dear child, I shall leave you, that you may be able to spend a few minutes with that best Friend before joining us downstairs. Try to cast all your care on Him, because he bids you do so, and because it is for your happiness."
Mildred followed the kind, wise advice; then, having done what she could to remove the traces of her tears, hastened to join the family at the tea-table in answer to the bell.
Her mother adroitly contrived to take the attention of the others from her, and no one noticed that she had been weeping.
The faces and the chat were cheerful and bright, as was almost invariably the case in that family circle, and the joy of being among them again after so long an absence soon restored Mildred to her wonted serenity.
They discussed their plans for study and work for the coming fall and winter months. The town was still destitute of a competent teacher; efforts had been made to procure one from the Eastern States, but as yet without success; therefore Mildred proposed to resume her duties as governess to her younger brothers and sisters: she could assist Rupert, too, in some branches, and wished to perfect herself in some, and to improve her mind by a course of reading.
Then, as always, there was the family sewing, beside various housekeeping cares of which she desired to relieve her mother.
Zillah listened with a mirthful look to Mildred's long list, and at its conclusion asked, with a merry laugh, "Is that all, Milly?"
Mildred echoed the laugh, and blushingly acknowledged that it was very much easier to plan than to execute, and she feared she should fall very far short of accomplishing all she desired.
"Yes," said her father, "but it is best to aim high, for we are pretty sure never to do more than we lay out for ourselves, or even so much."
"But if Milly undertakes all the work, father, what are Ada and I to do?" queried Zillah, in a sprightly tone.
"She'll be glad enough before long to let us help with it," remarked Ada quietly. "If she'd had breakfast and dinner to get to-day she couldn't have walked out this morning; and I don't think she could have taken time to drive out this afternoon if she had been the only one to help mother with the sewing."
"No, that is quite true," said Mildred, smiling at Ada's serious face, "and I'm delighted to find what helpful girls you two have become, for there is abundance of work for us all."
"Enough to leave us no excuse for idleness," added the mother, "but not so much that any one of us need feel overburdened; for 'many hands make light work.'"
"Especially when the head manager knows how to bring system to her aid," concluded Mr. Keith, with an affectionate, appreciative glance at his wife.
"Yes," she rejoined brightly, "very little can be accomplished without that, but with it I think we shall do nicely."
The little ones were asking when lessons were to begin.
"To-morrow, if mother approves," answered Mildred.
Her father smiled approval, remarking, "Promptness is one of Mildred's virtues; one we may all cultivate with profit."
"I quite agree with you, Stuart," Mrs. Keith said, "and yet it is sometimes best to make haste slowly. Mildred, my child, you have had a long, wearisome journey, and may lawfully rest for at least this one week."
"And we all need our new clothes made up," remarked Ada. "Mother, have Milly make your black silk dress first."
Mildred and Zillah chimed in at once, "Oh yes! certainly mother's dress must be the very first thing to be attended to."
"I can fit it to-night," said Mildred.
"And I cut off the skirt and run the breadths together," added Zillah.
"Come, come, you are entirely too fast," laughed Mrs. Keith. "I will not have any one of you trying her eyes with sewing on black at night. We will all work this evening on the calicoes begun to-day, and Milly shall fit a calico for me before she tries her hand on the silk. But we will give this week to sewing and reading. Cyril can read nicely now, and he and Rupert shall take turns reading aloud to us. Lessons shall begin next Monday."
Aside from her desire to be as helpful as possible to her dear ones, Mildred felt that constant employment for head and hands was the best earthly antidote for her present griefs and anxieties. So she plunged into study and work, and gave herself little time for thought about anything else, and her mother, understanding her motive, not only did not oppose, but encouraged her in that course.
Some new books she had brought in her trunk proved a rare treat to the entire family, and work, enlivened now by the reading of these and now by cheerful chat, was decidedly enjoyable.
There were many calls, too, from old friends and acquaintances, and so the week slipped away very quickly and pleasantly.
Saturday's mail brought Mildred a letter from Charlie Landreth, which gave her both pain and pleasure.
The ardent love to her that breathed in every line sent a thrill of joy to her heart; yet it bled for him in his deep grief for the loss of his sister; grief unassuaged by the consolations of God.
Her prayers for him went up with increased fervor. Earnestly, importunately, she besought the Lord to comfort him in this great sorrow, and to make it the means of leading him to a saving knowledge of Christ Jesus.
Then she sat down and answered his letter with one that through all its maidenly modesty and reserve breathed a tender sympathy that was as balm to his wounds, a cordial to his fainting spirit, when at length it reached him.
Mildred desired to have no secrets from her wise and dearly-loved mother; both Charlie's letter and her own were carried to her, and the latter submitted to her approval ere it went on its mission of consolation.
This communication from him whose love found a response in her own heart did good service in banishing from her mind, in great measure, disturbing thought about the other two.
For some weeks they absented themselves from the house, then gradually resumed their former intimacy with the family, Mildred meeting them, when compelled by circumstance, without embarrassment, but avoiding a meeting when she could without seeming to do so purposely.
CHAPTER VIII
A DELIGHTFUL SURPRISE
"There is a letter, my dear, which concerns you quite as much as myself," Mr. Keith said, putting it into his wife's hand. "It gives information which perhaps, for several reasons, it may be as well for us to keep to ourselves for the present," he added, with a smile. "That is why I kept it back until now that we are alone."
They had retired to their own room for the night, and the little ones who shared it with them were fast asleep.
"From Uncle Dinsmore!" Mrs. Keith exclaimed, recognizing the hand-writing at a glance.
Her husband watched her face with interest and some curiosity as she read, a slight smile on his lips and in his eyes.
She looked up presently with hers shining. "How good, how wonderfully good and kind they always are!"
"Almost too kind," he responded, his face clouding a little. "At least I wish there was no occasion for receiving such favors. I should have been tempted to decline, had I been consulted beforehand. But it would hardly do now that the goods are almost here. We could not well send them back."
"No; certainly that is not to be thought of for a moment," she said, lifting to his, eyes smiling through tears. "We must follow the Golden Rule, Stuart, and accept their kind assistance in educating our children just as we would wish them to accept ours were our situations reversed."
"Yes," he said, heaving a sigh, "doubtless you take the right view of it; but – ah! Marcia, wife, 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
"It is indeed, my dear husband, and we will not refuse them that blessedness now, but receive their kindnesses in the spirit in which they are offered, hoping that we may have our turn some of these days. Shall we not?"
He gave a silent assent. "Do you not agree with me that it will be well to keep the matter a secret from the children until the boxes arrive?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, indeed! we will not let even Mildred know. It will be such a delightful surprise to her, dear child! for though she has uttered no word of complaint, I am sure it must have been a great disappointment to her that you could not furnish her with a piano this fall to enable her to keep up her music. Now she can do that and teach her sisters too."
"And her playing will be a great treat to us all," added Mr. Keith, with a smile that spoke volumes of fatherly affection and pride in his first-born.
"And then the books! what delightful times we shall have over them!" she added, her eyes sparkling; "what a help they will be in cultivating our children's minds! I think our dear girl must have completely won her way into the hearts of my uncle and cousin Horace."
"As her mother did before her," he responded, with a light happy laugh.
When preparing to leave Ohio for the wilds of Indiana, Mr. Keith had sold most of their heavy articles of furniture, among them the piano. Its loss had been greatly lamented in the family, especially by the older girls and Rupert. The purchase of another had become a darling project with him, and to that end he had worked and saved till he had now quite a little hoard, earned mostly by the sale of fruits, vegetables, and fowls of his own raising; his mother paying him for these at the market price, and whatever surplus he had finding ready sale at the stores.
The lad was very industrious and painstaking, generally very successful in what he undertook – as such people are apt to be – and while generous to others spent little on himself.
Since Mildred's return, the desire for a piano was stronger than ever: there was not one in the town, nor an organ, or any kind of keyed instrument; so that there was no chance for them to hear her play and judge of her improvement; and worse still, she would be in danger, from want of practice, of losing all she had gained. But pianos cost a great deal in those days, and Mr. Keith could not just now spare the money to make the purchase and pay the heavy cost of transportation.
Money was scarce in that region then, business carried on very largely by barter. This made it easier for him to be at the expense of enlarging his house than to pay for something that must come from a distance.
There was little or no fretting or complaint over this state of things, but the children often talked longingly of the good time coming, when father would be able, with the help of what they could earn and save, to send for a piano.
That time seemed to be brought a little nearer by an act of thoughtful kindness on the part of their dear Aunt Wealthy. She had set apart from her income a certain sum which she engaged to send to their mother, at regular intervals, to be divided among them as pocket-money. The dear old lady could hardly have devised anything that would have given more pleasure. The news, as announced by Mildred on the day of her arrival, was received with demonstrations of wild delight, and evidently the little ones now considered themselves moneyed individuals, taking great pride and pleasure in consulting together, or with father and mother, as to the disposal of their incomes.
This opened up to the careful Christian parents a new opportunity for the study of the natural character of each of their children, and the curbing of wrong inclinations, whether toward extravagance or penuriousness.
One day, several weeks after Mildred's return, Rupert came in near the dinner hour, and drawing his mother aside, whispered something in her ear. There was a look of covert delight in his face, and his eyes sparkled as he added, "One's long, low and broad, mother; can only be one thing, I think – just the thing we're all wanting so much. But where could it come from?"
"Where do you suppose?" she answered merrily. "Well, the instant you are done your dinner you may go down and see them brought up."
"But father said it was your wish and his to make it a complete surprise to the children."
"Mildred included?" laughed his mother; "you are so much older than she. I will manage it. They shall all be out of the way while we unpack."
Mr. Keith came in presently, and with his arrival the call to dinner.
Mildred looked curiously at Rupert several times during the meal, wondering at his unaccustomed air of importance, the half-exultant, meaning glance he now and then sent across the table to one or the other of their parents, and the haste with which he swallowed his food and hurried from the table and the house, having asked to be excused, as he had business of importance to attend to.
"Dear me, what airs!" laughed Zillah, as he whisked out of the room. "One would think he was a man, sure enough."
"Girls," said Mrs. Keith, "I want you to take the little ones out for a walk this afternoon. It is a bright day and the walking good, and if you are all well wrapped up, you will not feel the cold."
"Not if they go at once," put in Mr. Keith.
"Run away and make yourselves ready, all of you."
"The party will be large enough without me, won't it, mother?" queried Mildred. "You know I have a piece of sewing on hand that I am very desirous to finish before night."
"Let it go, child; you need air and exercise far more than I do the dress," was the kind and smiling rejoinder.
Then came a chorus of entreaties from all the children that mother would go too.
But she would not hear of it, had a matter of importance to attend to at home; perhaps, if to-morrow should prove pleasant, she would go with them then.
And so with smiles and merry, loving words she helped to make them ready and sent them on their way.
Barely in time, for hardly were they out of sight when a wagon drove up with two large, weighty looking boxes. Rupert and two men, beside the driver, were in the vehicle also, and it took all their strength, with Mr. Keith's added, to lift and carry the boxes into the house.
"Oh, it is a piano! I know it is!" cried Rupert, as they set down in the hall the box he had described to his mother.
"A pianer did ye say?" queried one of the men, as for a moment they all stood panting from their exertions and gazing down upon the burden they had just deposited upon the floor. "Let's get it open quick then, for I never see one in my life."
Rupert ran for the hatchet, and in another five minutes the lid was off the box, and all remaining doubt vanished.
"It is, it is!" cried the lad, fairly capering about the room in his delight. "Oh, what a joyful surprise for the girls and all of us! But where on earth did it come from? Father – "
"I had nothing to do with it, my son," Mr. Keith asserted with a grave earnestness that precluded the idea that he might be jesting.
The boy looked bewildered, then disappointed. "There's been some mistake, I'm afraid. Perhaps there's another family of our name somewhere in this region, and – "
But his mother whispered a word in his ear and his face grew radiant. "Is that it? O mother, how good they are!"
"Let's git the thing out and see what it's like," said the man who had spoken before.
The others eagerly assented, and set to work at once, Mr. Keith giving assistance and directions, Mrs. Keith pointing out the place in the parlor where she wished it to stand.
"You kin play, I 'spose, Mrs. Keith. Won't you give us a tune?" was the eager request when their task was ended.
Smilingly she seated herself and played "Yankee Doodle" with variations.
They were delighted. "First-rate!" commented the one who seemed to act as chief spokesman of the party. "Now, ma'am, if you please, won't you strike up 'Hail Columby.'"
She good-naturedly complied, added "Star Spangled Banner," then rose from the instrument.
They thanked her warmly, saying they felt well paid for bringing "the thing" in.
"You must come in again some day, if you enjoy hearing it," she said with gracious sweetness. "I think you will find my daughter a better performer than I am."
"Yours is plenty good enough for us," they answered, bowing themselves out.
"It is a very sweet-toned instrument," she remarked, running her fingers over the keys; "a most magnificent present. How delighted Mildred and the rest will be!"
"I am eager to witness it," her husband said with a smile. "It is indeed a most valuable gift, and nothing could have been more acceptable."
"They're the kindest, most generous relations anybody ever had," added Rupert emphatically. "What's in that other box? shan't we open it now?"
"Books," answered his mother. "Yes, we may as well open it and spread them out ready for Mildred's inspection. Most of them belong to her."
This done Mrs. Keith again seated herself at the piano.
The young people had taken a pretty long walk, moving briskly to keep themselves warm, for the November air was frosty, and were now returning in gay spirits, eyes sparkling and cheeks glowing with health and happiness, while the tongues of the little ones ran fast, and a joyous shout or a silvery laugh rang out now and then; for the greater part of their way lay not through the streets of the town, but on its outskirts – along the river bank, through the groves of saplings, and over still unoccupied prairie land. When they came where there were houses and people to be disturbed by their noise, their mirth subsided a little, and they spoke to each other in subdued tones.
As they drew near home, unaccustomed, surprising sounds greeted their astonished ears.
"Oh, what's that music?" cried the little ones, "such pretty music!"
"Why, it sounds like a piano!" exclaimed the older ones; "but where could it come from?" and they rushed tumultuously into the house, even Mildred forgetting the staid propriety of her years.
The parlor door stood open, and – yes, there it was – a beautiful piano, mother's skilful fingers bringing out its sweetest tones, father and Rupert standing enraptured close beside her, and Celestia Ann, sleeves rolled up, dish-towel in hand, eyes dancing, and mouth stretched in a broad grin, stationed at the farther end.
"Well, I never! where on airth did the critter come from?" she exclaimed just as the others came upon the scene. "I never see the like, I never did!" she went on. "I just ran down town of an arrant, and I'd come home again and in the back door and begun to wash up them dishes, when I heered this agoin', and come in to find out what under the sun was agoin' on."
But no one seemed to hear a word she said; the children were jumping and careering about the room in frantic delight, clapping their hands, pouring out questions and exclamations. "Oh, aren't you glad? aren't you glad?" "Isn't it a beauty?" "It's just too nice for anything!" "Who did send it?"
Mildred stood silently gazing at it, her eyes full of glad tears. Father and Rupert were watching her, taking no notice of the others.
"Well, dear?" her mother said, whirling about on the piano stool and looking up into her face with tender, loving eyes.
"O mother, it is too much!" she cried, the tears beginning to fall. "Uncle Dinsmore sent it, I know; and I do believe it's one of the very two I liked the best of all we saw. He bought the other for themselves and this for us."
"For you, dear; but indeed it is, he says, not his own gift, but Cousin Horace's. The books are from him – our kind, generous uncle." And she pointed to them where they lay piled high upon the table.
"Books too!" Mildred exclaimed in increased astonishment and delight.
"Yes, he has marked out a course of reading for you – subject to your father's and my approval – and sent the necessary books and some others beside."
While his wife was speaking Mr. Keith had drawn near and put an arm about Mildred's waist; and now she fairly broke down, and hiding her face on her father's shoulder, sobbed aloud.
The children were immediately awed into silence. They gathered around her, asking in half-frightened tones, "Milly, Milly, what's the matter? are you sorry the piano's come? We thought you'd be so glad."
"And so I am," she said, lifting her head and smiling through her tears.
Her mother vacated the stool, her father seated her thereon, and hastily wiping away her tears, she sent her fingers flying over the keys in a lively merry tune that set the children to jumping and dancing more wildly than before.