CHAPTER XII
"Awake in me a truer life,
A soul to labor and aspire!
Touch thou my mortal lips, O God!
With thine own truth's immortal fire."
Sara J. Clarke.
Yes, it was joy and gladness just to be alive this sweet spring morning. The swift-flowing river gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight; the forest trees on the farther side were touched with a tender yellow green; the grass along the wayside and in the dooryards was of a deeper, richer hue, and spangled thickly with violets and dandelions, and the peach and cherry trees in the gardens were in full bloom; the air was filled with fragrance, and with the twittering of birds, the ripple of the water, and other pleasant rural sounds.
The music of glad young voices came pleasantly to Mildred's ear as she reached her father's gate, and Fan and Annis, who had been stooping over the flower-beds, came bounding to meet her with a joyous greeting.
"How is mother?" was her first question.
"Well; she's downstairs in the sitting-room cutting out sewing work."
"Yes; she's sure to be busy," Mildred said, hurrying into the house, bidding good-morning, as she passed, to Ada, who was sweeping the front porch.
Every one was busy with a cheerful, energetic activity; Zillah preparing breakfast, while Celestia Ann put out her clothes to dry; Rupert milked the cow, and the younger boys fed the chickens.
"Mother! so early at work after your sickness yesterday," Mildred said in a tone of affectionate remonstrance as she entered the sitting-room.
"Yes, daughter dear, there is need, and I am quite able for it," Mrs. Keith answered, looking up with a cheery smile. "And you are not looking so worn and jaded as I feared to see you. Did you get some sleep? and how is the poor sick woman?"
"Yes, ma'am, I slept several hours, and am feeling pretty well. Mrs. Martin died about half an hour ago – very suddenly at the last. Claudina was with her. I was asleep."
Mildred's eyes filled and her voice was husky with emotion as she told of the solemn event.
A silent shake of the head was the only answer she could give to her mother's next question, whether the dying woman had given any evidence that she was putting her trust in Christ.
A look of sadness and pain came over the face of the Christian mother also, while her heart sent up a silent, fervent prayer on behalf of her dear ones, that each of them might be found at last hidden in the Rock of Ages.
"My dear child," she said to Mildred, "let us look upon this sad event as a solemn warning to us to be more faithful and constant in the work of striving to win souls to Christ; remembering that 'the night cometh, when no man can work.' Ah! can I be sure that I am utterly guiltless of the blood of this woman, to whom I never spoke one word of warning or entreaty?"
"Mother, don't blame yourself!" cried Mildred in almost indignant surprise. "You had not even a speaking acquaintance with her."
"But, my dear, I might have had. I could easily have found some excuse for calling upon her in her sickness, had I not allowed myself to be too much taken up with other cares and duties."
"But you can't do everything and take care of everybody," said Mildred with affectionate warmth; "and you are always at some good and useful work. It is I who ought to take the lesson to heart. And, God helping me, I will," she added, in low, earnest, trembling tones. "O mother, I feel this morning that the things of this world are as nothing compared with those of the next, and I want to show by my life that I do feel so! I want to spend it wholly in the Master's service, particularly in winning souls; for, oh! the awful thought of one being lost."
That these were no idle, lightly spoken words, was proven as days, weeks, and months rolled on, by the ever-growing consistency of Mildred's daily walk and conversation; her constant effort to bring her daily life into conformity to the divine precept, "Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God;" and that other, "As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith."
The members of the home-circle were the first to feel the change in Mildred. She could hardly have made herself more helpful than she had long been, but her cheerfulness was more uniform, and the younger ones found her more patient with their shortcomings, more ready with sympathy and help in their little trials and perplexities. They soon learned to carry them to her as readily as to their best and kindest of mothers. They thought their eldest sister very wise, and liked to consult her about their plans. This gave her many an opportunity to influence them for good, and very rarely was it neglected.
Spring was a very busy season with them all; within doors house-cleaning and a vast amount of sewing – so many new garments to be made, so many old ones to be renovated and altered to suit the increased stature of the growing lads and lasses; outside the gardening, the making everything neat and trim, and the care of the poultry.
Lessons were intermitted for two or three weeks, to give the older members of the family time for their unusual labors, while the children revelled in the delights of digging, planting, and sowing, looking after their sitting hens and tending their broods of little chicks. There was a great deal of healthful pleasure gotten out of the little plots of ground appropriated in severalty to Cyril, Don, Fan, and Annis, and hardly less from their fowls; besides, the young owners were learning habits of industry and thrift; also the enjoyment of being able to give to the Lord's cause of that which had cost them something.
A beggar was a thing almost unknown in the town, and there were very few people poor enough to be objects of charity; but it was nice, the children thought, to have something of their very own to put into the church or Sabbath-school collection, especially when it was to go to buy Bibles and pay for sending missionaries to the poor benighted heathen.
The cause of missions was dear to the hearts of the parents, and they were training their children to love and work for it.
Rupert was the principal gardener and manager of outdoor matters. He had full charge of the fruit and vegetable garden on his father's ground, and it flourished under his care. But not content with that, he had his own lot and Mildred's – which he undertook to cultivate upon shares – ploughed up, then sowed them with corn, potatoes and melons.
He had his mother's talent for system; and, making the best use of every spare moment, an early riser, industrious, energetic, and painstaking, he managed to do all this without neglecting the studies, in preparation for college, which he was still pursuing with Mr. Lord.
He even found time for setting out trees and shrubs, and digging up the flower-beds in the front and side yards; doing all the hard work needed there, then giving them into the care of his mother and the older girls, who contrived to spare to the pleasing task an occasional half hour morning and evening, finding it a rest from almost constant toil with the needle.
Cheerfully busy as Mildred was from morning to night, Charlie was seldom absent from her thoughts: she followed him in imagination through all his wanderings, the unbidden tears often springing to her eyes as she dwelt upon the loneliness and hardships he was doubtless called to endure; her only comfort that she might constantly plead for him with that almighty Friend who knew it all, and was ever near to both herself and her loved one.
She hoped, she prayed, that Charlie might be restored to her, with the barrier to their union removed; but most of all, that whether she should ever see him again on earth or not, he might inherit eternal life.
Her father and mother, Rupert, and Zillah were the only members of the family who knew anything of the matter; the others never so much as suspected that their bright, kind, helpful, sympathizing sister Milly was burdened with a secret sorrow or care.
Nor did she make a confidante of Claudina Chetwood, Lu Grange or Effie Prescott, though on intimate terms with all three.
Effie's health had improved since the Keiths first made her acquaintance, but she was still feeble and often ailing. She was a girl of fine mind, very fond of reading, and very thankful to these good neighbors for their kindness in lending her books and periodicals. And she greatly enjoyed a chat with Mrs. Keith or Mildred, for which the borrowing and returning afforded frequent occasion.
She came in one morning while they were hard at work over the pile of spring sewing.
"Good-morning, ladies. Don't let me disturb you," she said, as Zillah dropped her work and rose hastily to hand a chair. "I see you are very busy, and I came to ask if you would let me help. I should enjoy spending the morning chatting with you all, and might just as well work while I talk; and I have brought my thimble," taking it from her pocket as she spoke.
"That is a very kind offer, Miss Effie, and we will be glad to have you. Take yon easy-chair and chat with us as long as you will," Mrs. Keith said, with her pleasant smile; "but that, I think, will be quite sufficient exertion after your walk."
"Yes, indeed; you must get quite enough of sewing at home," said Zillah; "it takes so many, many stitches to make even one garment, and such lots of garments to clothe a family at all respectably."
"Yes," answered Effie in a sprightly tone, "but I am fond of my needle and can use it a good deal without injury. Mildred, I see you are working buttonholes – my especial pride and delight. Won't you hand that waist to me, and find something else to occupy your fingers?"
"Do you like to make them?" asked Mildred in a tone of genuine surprise. "It is my perfect detestation. Therefore I find myself sorely tempted to accept your generous offer."
Before Mildred's sentence was completed the work had exchanged hands, Effie taking playfully forcible possession.
"My dear girl, you have a real genius for the business!" Mildred exclaimed presently. "How rapidly and nicely you work them! two done in less time than I should take for one, without doing it half so well."
Effie's eyes sparkled. "Generous praise, Mildred," she said; "but you can well afford to allow me the credit of doing one little thing better than you do it."
"I dare say there may be many others in which you excel me."
"No, I don't believe there's any other; and oh, when I hear you play the piano I feel as if I'd give anything in the world if I could play even half as well."
"Would you like to take lessons?"
"Shouldn't I!" cried Effie, with emphasis. "But, dear me, there's no use thinking of it, as I'm not likely ever to have the chance."
"I'd rather give a music lesson any day than work buttonholes," remarked Mildred laughingly; "and oh, the quantities of them to be made in this family! Effie, why shouldn't we exchange work occasionally? – an hour of instruction on the piano for an hour's sewing? Don't you think it would do, mother?"
"Capitally, if you are mutually satisfied."
Effie's face was sparkling with delight. "Oh, do you really mean it?" she cried. "Why, I'd gladly give two hours' sewing for one of music lesson, and am sure it would be worth it."
"No," said Mildred, "I think not, considering what a swift and neat needlewoman you are."
"Not much worldly wisdom in either of you, I think, my dear girls," remarked Mrs. Keith with an amused smile.
"But there's a difficulty I had not thought of," said Effie. "I have no piano to practise on."
"You shall have the use of mine."
"Thank you. I gladly accept your kind offer if I may pay for that also with my needle."
Effie spent the day with her friends, and before leaving had come to an arrangement with Mildred perfectly satisfactory to both, and taken her first lesson.
Just at its close, before the two had left the piano, Claudina and Lu came in, and, hearing what Mildred had undertaken, earnestly begged that she would add them to her class.
"Father is very anxious for me to learn," said Claudina, "and was wondering, the other day, if it would do to ask you to take me as a scholar. He said you could set your own price; he'd willingly pay it; but as you have no need to make money for yourself he was afraid to propose it. Now, Milly dear, would you be offended? Of course we should feel that you were doing us a favor, even though you let us pay for it."
"No; I don't feel at all offended," Mildred said, laughing and blushing, "and I'd be glad to do anything in my power to gratify you, girls, or your fathers; but I really haven't time."
"Then I suppose we'll have to give it up," remarked Lu with a sigh; "but I do wish this town could afford a music teacher, for I've set my heart on learning to play."
"When spring house-cleaning and sewing are done you won't be so very busy, Milly," suggested Claudina.
"Yes, very nearly if not quite as busy as now, for then I take up my governessing again."
"You're the best sister and daughter I ever heard of," was Claudina's comment.
Tea was just over, and Mrs. Keith stepped out to the kitchen for a consultation with Celestia Ann on the all-important subject of the morrow's breakfast and dinner. Returning to the sitting-room, she found her three girls again plying their needles.
"Come, come, my dears, no more work to-night," she said. "You, Zillah and Ada, may help me set everything to rights here, so that we can go on promptly in the morning; and Mildred, child, if you are not too tired, let your father have some music. It is restful and cheering to him after his day's work and worry at the office."
"I'm never too tired to play for father or mother," Mildred said with a smile as she rose to do her mother's bidding.
"There! don't wait to fold that; I'll do it," Zillah said, taking the work from her hand. "And, mother, please go into the parlor and rest yourself in the big rocking-chair, and leave this clearing up to Ada and me."
"Yes, mother, please do," chimed in the younger girl; "we'd a great deal rather, and you know we can just as well as not."
"Thank you, dears; then I will. What comforts and blessings you are to me! all three of you."
"Me too, mother? – me and Fan?" asked little Annis, following and standing beside her mother's chair with eager, upturned face and pleading eyes.
"Yes, indeed, darling! Mother wouldn't know how to do without her baby girl or her dear little Fan," Mrs. Keith answered, lifting the one into her lap and drawing the other close to her side; for Fan, too, had followed her in from the sitting-room.
"I'm not of much use yet, mother, 'cept to love you," she said, nestling closer; "but I'm going to be some day, if I live. See! I've hemmed one side o' this handkerchief; and didn't I make nice bits of stitches?" she asked, holding it up for inspection.
"Yes, indeed, darling, I can see that you have taken great pains. Why, I think after a while I shall have no need to sew at all, with so many other fingers to do the work. Go and show it to father."
Fan obeyed, was praised, caressed and taken upon her father's knee, where she sat in quiet content listening to Mildred's music.
Presently Squire Chetwood was ushered in by Celestia Ann.
"Go on, Miss Mildred," he said as he took the seat Mr. Keith hastened to offer; "there's no greater treat for me than your music; and my errand will keep for a bit."
It proved, when told, one that rejoiced them all. It was to show to Mr. Keith a letter of acceptance from a gentleman teacher with whom they had been corresponding with a view to securing his services as principal of a school which they were trying to establish in the town. It was to be for both sexes, and the gentleman's wife would take charge of the girls' department.
"I send four pupils – Zillah, Ada, Cyril, and Don," said Mr. Keith, "thereby considerably lightening your labors, wife, and Mildred's, I trust."
The squire cleared his throat. "And then, Miss Mildred – Ah! I hardly dare go on lest you should think me presuming."
"But after exciting my curiosity you can hardly refuse to gratify it," Mildred returned playfully, though she knew very well what was coming.
Before the squire went away she had consented to take another music scholar, and the terms he offered were very liberal, she having declined to name a price for her services.
"Having accepted Claudina, you can hardly refuse Lu," her mother remarked when the squire had gone.
"No, mother; and how little time I shall have left for helping you!" sighed Mildred.
"Now, Milly, don't try to make yourself of so much importance!" cried Zillah in a gayly bantering tone. "Didn't mother do without you entirely last year? One would suppose Ada and I were of no consequence where work is concerned."
"But you will be in school, child!"
"Not for the first four hours after we leave our beds in the morning, or the last four or five before we return to them at night."
"Beside an hour or more at noon," added Ada; "and if we can't do something to help mother in all that time we'll deserve to be called lazy girls."
"We shall do nicely, I am sure," the mother said, with a pleased, loving glance at each of the three faces in turn. "I think we can manage so that everything will be attended to, and no one of us overworked. I can easily hear Fan's and Annis's little lessons every day while sewing. Your five music scholars, Mildred, will occupy only ten hours a week of your time, while one of them will do an hour's sewing for you every day and the other two outsiders bring you in a nice little sum of pocket money."
"Why, it doesn't look so very laborious after all!" Mildred said, brightening.
"No," laughed Zillah, "you could take half a dozen more music scholars and not be hurt."
CHAPTER XIII
"Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief,
Or is thy heart oppress'd with woes untold?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief,
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold!"
Carlos Wilcox.
Mildred's charity, beginning at home, did not end there: very earnestly and persistently she strove to scatter blessings as "a shower of gold" wherever she went; to make every life that came in contact with hers, at ever so small a point, the better and brighter for that contact, though it were by but a cheery word or smile.
Do you say these are small matters, scarcely worthy of attention? Ah! to each of us comes the divine command, "Be pitiful, be courteous;" and the Master said of the tithing of mint, anise, and cummin, while the weightier matters of the law were neglected, "These ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone." "He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much."
It was so with Mildred; never considering herself off duty as a Christian soldier, she was as ready to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, teach the ignorant, and nurse the sick, as to bestow the kind word and pleasant smile that cost her nothing. Nothing? Ah! there were times of weariness and depression when even these trifles cost a heroic effort – a determined setting aside of selfish inclination to moodiness or irritability, or indulgence in a pleasing melancholy, because one great earthly blessing was denied her.
In this her bright, cheerful mother, always ready with a word of counsel and encouragement, was a wonderful help. Indeed, by frequent precept and constant example Mrs. Keith succeeded in making all her children, to a greater or less degree, sunny tempered and benevolent, kind and courteous.
The Dorcas society connected with their church had no more active, efficient, or liberal members than this good lady and her eldest daughter; in proportion to their ability, they gave freely of time, labor, and money. They were, indeed, always found ready to every good work, though they trusted not in their works for acceptance in the sight of God, but only in the atoning blood and imputed righteousness of Christ. "Followers of God as dear children," theirs was a service of love and joy, rendered not that they might be saved, but because they were saved.
Questions of doctrine and duty were freely discussed in the family circle, the children bringing them in all confidence to their parents for decision, the parents always appealing to the Scriptures as the one infallible rule of faith and practice – as they are in very truth.
"To the law and to the testimony: if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them." "For the commandment is a lamp, and the law is light."
One Sabbath a returned missionary preached in the morning to Mr. Lord's congregation, in the afternoon addressed the assembled Sunday-schools of the town.
The Keiths came home from the latter service very full of what they had heard of the sad condition of the heathen world, the need of money to carry on the work of evangelizing them, and the self-denying efforts some of God's children, both old and young, were making to earn and save that they might be able to give to this good cause.
Cyril had been especially interested in the story of a little boy who had raised a pig, sold it, and given to missions the whole of what he received for it.
"I mean to have a missionary pig," Cyril said to Don as they walked home together. "I'll take good care of it and feed it well, so it will be very fat, so that I can get ten dollars for it; and every cent of it shall go to the missionaries. And I'll make more besides for them out of my garden and my chickens."
"So will I," said Don; "but I shan't let 'em have all the money."
"How much, then?"
"I don't know yet."
"I'm afraid it won't do for all of us to have pigs," said Ada, overhearing the talk of her little brothers.
"No," laughed Zillah; "we'd overstock the market and bring down the price."
"I don't see what I can do then, except give some of my pocket-money; unless mother will pay me for doing without butter and tea and sugar, as some of the children do that the missionary told about."
"That's too hard a way," said Cyril; "you won't catch me trying that: I'll work for the heathen, but I won't starve for 'em."
"It would be hard; but we ought to deny ourselves," Ada returned half regretfully.
"Yes, in some things," Zillah said: "I don't feel sure about this. We'll ask father and mother."
They did so immediately on entering the house.
"Your mother and I have just been discussing that question," Mr. Keith said, "and we think that as good, nourishing food is necessary to your health and growth, it is not a duty for you to deny yourselves such common comforts as butter and sugar. There are other and better ways in which to practise self-denial."
"How, father?" asked Ada.
"It might be by denying our love of ease – working and earning for the good of others, when we would rather be at play; the Bible speaks of laboring, working with our hands that we may have to give to him that needeth."
"And who more needy than the poor, benighted heathen!" sighed Mrs. Keith.
"It won't hurt us to deny ourselves in the matter of finery," remarked Mildred.
"Or eating more than enough to satisfy our appetites, just because it tastes good," added Rupert.
"No, that is sinful in itself, because injurious to health," said his father.
"But haven't we a right to eat what we please, and just as much as we choose, if we would rather be sick than do without the good things, father?" asked Cyril.
"No, my son; health is one of God's good gifts, which we have no right to throw away. We can't serve him with a sick and suffering body so well as with a strong, healthy one. And we are told in Proverbs, 'The drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty.'"
"Father, does God want us to give all our money away to other folks?" asked Don.
"No, son, not all; our heavenly Father intends us to use some of it to supply our own needs."
"What proportion ought we to give, father?" asked Rupert.
"I think that depends upon how large our means are."
"Is not a tenth the Bible rule?" asked Mrs. Keith.
"Yes; God claims a tenth as his. It seems plain that every one should give that, or more properly pay it to the Lord; and those who are able to do more, add offerings in proportion to their ability. So I gather from this text in Malachi, third chapter and eighth verse;" and opening a Bible, Mr. Keith read aloud: "'Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings.'"
"I thought that was the rule under the Levitical law, and that the New Testament rule was, 'Give as God has prospered you,'" said Rupert.
"Yes, we are to give as God has prospered us – one dollar out of every ten, one hundred out of every thousand, and so on. The beginning of tithe-paying was not in the time of Moses, but hundreds of years before; for we read that Abraham paid tithes, and that Jacob promised to the Lord the tenth of all that he should give him. We nowhere read that Jesus abrogated this law; indeed he said, 'Think not that I am come to destroy the law or the prophets; I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil;' of the tithing of 'mint and rue and all manner of herbs,' that it ought not to be left undone. And God promises blessings, both temporal and spiritual, to those who faithfully obey this law of the tithes. 'Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house; and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it. And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground; neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the field, saith the Lord of hosts.'
"'Honor the Lord with thy substance and with the first-fruits of all thine increase: so shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine.'
"'Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.'
"'There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.'
"'He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.'
"These are not all the texts bearing on the subject, but will suffice for the present."
"Father," said Don, "God doesn't need our money, does he? Why does he tell us to give it to him?"
"For our own good, my son. Don't you remember Jesus said, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive'? He cannot be happy who indulges a mean, sordid disposition; the less selfish we are, the more ready to help others and share our good things with them, the happier and the more like our heavenly Father we shall be. Try it, my boy, and you will find it is so. And the more constantly we practise giving, the more we shall be in love with it."
"And then shall our gifts be pleasing to God," added the mother. "'Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him live; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work.'"
"Well, it seems, if we obey the Bible rule, we will give a tenth of our pocket-money, and of all we can make beside," remarked Rupert.
"And I am very glad I can earn something by teaching music," said Mildred.
"I think you can each find some way of earning something for this good purpose," the mother said, glancing smilingly around the little group.
Cyril told eagerly of his plan. Don adding that he meant to have a missionary pig too, but not to give all that he made on it.
"You must decide for yourself whether to give more than a tenth of its price," his father said; "but I think 'missionary pig' will hardly be an appropriate name unless it is entirely devoted to the cause."
"Mother," said Fan, "wouldn't it be nice for me to call one of my hens a missionary hen, and give all the money I get for her and her eggs to the heathen?"
"Yes, dear, I think it would be very nice," Mrs. Keith answered, with a loving glance into the earnest little face.
"Then I'll do it, and I hope she'll lay an egg every day."
"And I'll have a missionary hen!" cried little Annis, clapping her hands with delight at the idea of contributing her mite to the good cause.
"Ada and I haven't matured our plans yet," said Zillah, "but we'll be sure to find some way to make money, as well as the rest of you."
"Mother will help us to contrive it; won't you, mother?" Ada said, with a look of confiding affection.
The answer was a prompt, emphatic "Yes, indeed, my dear."
But Mr. Keith seemed to have something further to say, and all turned to listen.
"We want to give the missionary some money to-day or to-morrow to carry away with him. Who has any ready now?"
Cyril's countenance fell. He was a great spendthrift, and money slipped through his fingers almost as soon as it came into his possession.
"My pocket-money's all gone," he sighed, half aloud, half to himself; then nudging his younger brother, "Don, you always have some: won't you lend me a little?"
"No," said Mr. Keith, "you are not to go into debt, even from a good motive. After this, set aside the Lord's tenth of all your money as soon as it comes into your hands, and use that portion scrupulously for him in giving to the church and the poor. And, my son, I want you to form the habit of laying by a little for your own future needs. You will be a poor man if you spend all your money as fast as you get it."
"I don't," remarked Don complacently; "I save 'most all I get."
"Ah, yes, my boy, I know that, and often feel troubled about my youngest son lest he should become a hard, grasping, miserly man, loving and hoarding money for its own sake. Do you know that that is as truly idolatry as the bowing down of the heathen to images of wood and stone?"
"Is it, father?" murmured the little lad, his face crimsoning, and the tears starting to his eyes.
"It is indeed, Don; and so a worse fault than Cyril's foolish spending, bad as that is. The Bible bids us mortify 'covetousness, which is idolatry.'"