"Try, both of you, to save in order 'to have to give to him that needeth,' and to 'provide things honest in the sight of all men.' We must first pay to the Lord his tenth, then to our fellow-men what we honestly owe them; after that give to the needy what we feel able to spare from our store. Not pull down our barns and build greater, there to bestow our surplus goods, while we take our ease, eat, drink, and be merry, and neglect to relieve the distress and suffering of the poor and needy."
"Like the rich man in the Bible," said Fan. "Father, was he a very bad man?"
"Probably not what the world calls bad; we are not told that he was dishonest, drunken, or profane; but he was selfish and covetous – caring for the good things of this world and neglectful of eternal things; and selfishness is sin as well as covetousness. They seem to go together and shut the soul out of heaven. The Bible says, 'Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners shall inherit the kingdom of God."
"I thought coveting was wanting other people's things," remarked Ada.
"That is coveting," replied her father, "and so is that inordinate love of gain, which leads men to drive hard bargains, and to heap up riches at the expense of leaving those to suffer whom they are fully able to relieve. When the Lord gives us large means, it is that, as his stewards, we may distribute to others. Well, Rupert, what is it?"
"I have the money I had saved toward buying a piano. I will give a tenth of it now."
"That is well. Who else has anything for the missionary?"
"I have a little of the pocket-money Aunt Wealthy supplies," Mildred said. "I wish I could give more now. I hope to when the money comes in from my music scholars; but that will not be for some time, you know."
"I haven't much money," said Fan, "but maybe I can sell my eggs. I have a whole dozen."
"I'll give some of my money," said Don.
"And I," "And I," said Zillah and Ada.
Mrs. Keith also promised something, and Mr. Keith added that he, too, would give, and they would collect it all and hand it to the missionary before his departure, which was to be the next afternoon.
"Father, is it right to pray for earthly prosperity?" asked Rupert.
"That depends very much upon the motive. The apostle James says, 'Ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts.' It is not the asking he condemns (he seems, indeed, to reprove them for not asking), but the wrong motive for so doing. Let us compare Scripture with Scripture. The Psalmist tells us, 'Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows; for so he giveth his beloved sleep.'
"In Deuteronomy we are told, 'Thou shalt remember the Lord thy God, for it is he that giveth thee power to get wealth.' Evidently we cannot attain to worldly prosperity except by God's help – his blessing on our efforts. We may work for prosperity, and we may pray for it, from either a right or a wrong motive, and certainly in either case we are approved or the contrary according to the motive that actuates us. 'Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.'"
"What would be a right motive, father?" asked Ada in her grave, earnest way.
"The desire to have the ability to 'provide things honest in the sight of all men,' to help on the Lord's cause – the work of the church – and to give to the poor and needy. Many desire wealth for their own ease and indulgence, for the consequence it gives them in the eyes of their fellow-men, or as a means of gaining power over them. It cannot be right to pray for it from such motives – that is the sort of asking the apostle condemns."
Mrs. Keith was turning over the leaves of the Bible. "Let the Lord be magnified, who hath pleasure in the prosperity of his servants," she read aloud. "What the Lord takes pleasure in, and what he promises upon conditions, it cannot be wrong to ask for, unless from a wrong motive," she remarked. "And it is clear to my mind that if it be wrong to pray for prosperity, it is also wrong to work for it; certainly a Christian should never engage in anything upon which he cannot ask God's blessing. But we are commanded to be 'diligent in business,' and told that 'the hand of the diligent maketh rich.'"
"Yes," said her husband, "'Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.' If we are careful not to divorce these two which God hath joined together, we need not fear to ask his blessing on our labors."
CHAPTER XV
"The whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school."
Shakespeare.
The new school had opened the previous week, and was now in successful operation. Zillah and Ada were pursuing their studies with redoubled zeal and interest, finding a constant spur in the desire to keep pace with, if not outstrip, the other members of their classes.
Mildred was often applied to for help in the home preparation of their lessons, and her assistance, always cheerfully and kindly given, received with due appreciation.
"With such good help at home," they would say, "we ought to do better than any of the other girls; for there isn't one of them who has a sister so capable of explaining whatever in their lessons they find difficult to understand, or so willing to do it."
"I am only returning to you what mother has done for me in past days," Mildred answered more than once; "and if I did not do it she would."
"Yes," was the rejoinder, "there isn't such another mother in the town, or anywhere else, for that matter."
The little boys, accustomed to passing most of the day in the open air, after conning their tasks on the porch or in the shade of the trees, found the confinement of the schoolroom very irksome.
Mother and Mildred were frequently appealed to for sympathy in their trial; and the demand was always sure to be met with bright, hopeful, cheery words of encouragement to patience and diligence. "They must be willing to bear with a little discomfort in the pursuit of the knowledge which was so important to their future success in life – must try to learn all they could, that they might grow up to be wise, useful men, capable of doing God service, and of helping themselves and others."
Hitherto the little fellows had been kept out of the streets and carefully shielded from the snares and temptations of association with the evil-disposed and wicked. The time for a trial of the strength of their principles had now come, and parents and elder sister looked on with deep anxiety for the result.
The perfect openness engendered in them by never-failing sympathy in all their little childish joys and sorrows, plans and purposes, now proved a wonderful safeguard. Why should they want to hide anything from those whose interest in and love for them was made so apparent? They did not; and so many a wrong step was avoided or speedily retrieved.
In that first week of school Cyril had got himself into disgrace with his teacher by a liberal distribution among his mates of gingerbread and candy, for which he had spent his whole store of pocket-money.
The good things were carried into the schoolroom, the master's attention drawn to them by the constant munching and crunching among the boys.
A search was promptly instituted, the remainder of the feast confiscated, and an explanation called for.
"Who brought these things here?" was the stern demand.
"I, sir; I brought them and gave them to the fellows, and so am more to blame than anybody else," Cyril said, rising in his seat and speaking out with manly courage and honesty, though his cheeks were in a blaze and his heart beat fast.
"Then, sir, you shall be punished with the loss of your recess and being kept in for an hour after school," was the stern rejoinder. "I will have no such doings here."
There was not a word of commendation of the boy's moral courage and readiness to confess his fault; and he had to endure not only the loss of his play-time, but also was severely lectured and threatened with a flogging if ever the offence should be repeated.
He went home very angry and indignant, and his mother being out, carried his grievance to Mildred. He poured out the whole story without reserve, finishing with "Wasn't it the greatest shame for him to punish me twice for the same thing? I'm sure the loss of my recess was quite enough, 'specially considering that I owned up the minute he asked about it. And then the idea of threatening to flog me! Why, I haven't had a whipping since I was a little bit of a fellow, and I'd think it an awful disgrace to get one now I'm so big; 'specially at school; and I say nobody but father or mother has a right to touch me. And nobody shall; I'll just knock old Peacock down if he dares to try it; that I will!"
"O Cyril, Cyril, you should not be so disrespectful toward the teacher father has set over you!" Mildred said, striving to speak quietly though between indignation at the severity and injustice of the treatment the child had received, and the mirth-provoking idea of his imagining himself able to cope with a man, she found it no easy matter. "I'm really sorry you have wasted your money and broken the rules."
"No, I didn't!" the boy burst out hotly; "he'd never made any rule about it; though he has now, and says I ought to have known and must have known that such things couldn't be allowed."
"Well, that seems rather unreasonable; but I suppose you might if you had stopped to think. You know, Cyril dear, how often father and mother have urged you to try to be more thoughtful."
"Yes, but it seems as if I can't, Milly. How's a fellow to help being thoughtless and careless when it comes so natural?"
"Our wicked natures are what we have to strive against, you know; and God will help us if we ask him," she answered, speaking that holy name in low, reverent tones.
Don, who had waited about the school-house door for Cyril, and walked home by his side, was standing by listening to the talk. "O Milly! we don't like that school!" he said, with a look of weariness and disgust; "It's so hard to have to be shut up there, and obliged to sit still most all day long. Won't you ask father to let us stay at home and say lessons to you again?"
"Oh yes, Milly, do!" Cyril joined in. "Fan's ever so lonesome without us, and we'll be as good as we know how; study hard, and not give you a bit of trouble."
Mildred explained that the arrangements had been made for the summer, and could not now be altered.
"And surely," she concluded, with an encouraging smile, "my two little brothers are not such cowards as to be conquered by little difficulties and discomforts. Don't you know we have to meet such things all the way through life? and the best way is to meet them with a cheerful courage and determination to press on notwithstanding. 'The slothful man saith there is a lion in the way.' 'The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns.' Don't be like him."
"Does that mean that folks are lazy when they give up because things are hard?"
"Yes, Don; and if we are so ready to do that, we are not likely to get to heaven; because that is no easy matter – with our sinful hearts, a wicked world, and Satan and all his hosts to fight against. We have to 'fight the good fight of faith' – to 'lay hold on eternal life' – to 'press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus' – to 'run with patience the race that is set before us.' Jesus said 'The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.'"
"Milly, what does that mean?"
"That to get to heaven it is necessary to strive very, very earnestly and determinately."
"Milly, how can Don and I fight that fight?" asked Cyril. "Do tell us."
"Just as grown people must – by loving and trusting Jesus, and striving earnestly every day and hour to serve God in doing faithfully the duty that comes nearest to hand. And don't you see that the principal part of yours at present is to be good, faithful workers at school, and obedient to your teacher, because father has given him authority over you when you are at school?"
"Yes, I 'spose so," sighed Don. "But O Milly, I did want to run away this afternoon and take a nice walk, 'stead of going to school. It's so nice down by the river and in the woods 'mong the birds and flowers."
"Yes, I know it is, Don; but it would have been very wrong to go without leave; and I can't tell you how glad I am that you resisted the temptation."
Now that money was wanted for the missionary, Cyril was sorry for having spent his so foolishly.
"I was very bad to waste it in that way," he said regretfully; "it was all because I didn't think; but I mean to think after this, and try to make the best use of all the money I get."
The new school was nearly as great an affliction to Fan as to the little boys; she was so lonely without Cyril and Don – hitherto her inseparable companions and playmates; and now it depended upon her to run errands for her mother and sister when they were in too great haste to wait the boys' leisure; and Fan, being extremely timid and bashful, found this no small trial.
It was Monday morning; the scholars were trooping into the schoolhouse – the Keiths among the rest.
At home Mildred was in the parlor giving a music lesson; Fan in the sitting room waiting for mother to come and hear her read and spell.
Mrs. Keith came in and sat down at her writing desk.
"Fan, darling, mother wants you to do an errand for her," she said, taking up her pen.
"What, mother?" the child asked half plaintively.
"To carry a note for me to Mrs. Clark. I want you to take it there immediately, and tell her you will wait for an answer. And then, as you come back, call at Chetwood & Mocker's and ask for a yard of calico like the piece I shall give you, and also how they are selling eggs to-day by the dozen. Then I will buy your dozen of you, and you will have the money for the missionary."
"Oh mother," sighed the little girl, "I don't like to go to the store all alone, or to Mrs. Clark's either. I don't know her."
"I am sorry my dear little girl is so bashful, but that is something that must be overcome, and cannot be except by refusing to indulge it. You may take Annis with you, though, if you choose."
"Thank you, mother; but Annis is so little that I'll have to do all the talking just the same."
"Well, dear, you can talk quite prettily, if you only forget to think about yourself. Try to forget little Fan Keith, and think of the messages she has to deliver, the questions she must ask, and you will find there is no trouble at all."
"O mother! please let somebody else go."
Fan had put down her book, gone to her mother's side, and was standing there looking pleadingly into her face.
Mrs. Keith bent down as she folded her note and pressed a loving kiss on the white forehead.
"My little girl will go to please mother and the dear Lord Jesus. There is no one else to go now, and the errands cannot wait for the boys to come home from school."
"Will it please Jesus, mother?"
"Yes, dear, because he bids you honor and obey your mother, and also to deny yourself when duty calls. You know one part of the errand at the store is to help you to the money for the poor heathen."
"Mother, I'd rather do 'most anything else for them; but I'll go to please you and the Lord Jesus. And I want Annis to go too. Will you, Annis?"
"I guess I will! I'd like to," the little one answered joyously.
It was a busy morning with Mrs. Keith, and getting Annis ready for the walk involved some small loss of time; but she considered the pleasure she would thus give her little ones well worth the sacrifice.
"Now, Fan," she said, when the children were about to start, and she had put the note and sample of calico into the little girl's hands, with a repetition of her commissions, "remember that you are the errand girl and have all the responsibility, because Annis is too little; but you are mother's big, useful girl. I know you are glad to be a help and comfort to mother."
The tender, loving words infused courage into the timid little heart for the moment, and the two set off with bright faces; but Fan's clouded again, and her heart beat fast as she neared Mrs. Clark's door.
Had it not been open her timid little rap would hardly have been heard; and her message, delivered with the note, was given in tones so low that the lady had to ask her to repeat it, while she bent her ear to catch the words.
At the store it was even worse. Not yet recovered from the embarrassment of her call upon Mrs. Clark, Fan stumbled and stammered, said she wanted a dozen calicoes for her mother, and to know how they sold eggs by the yard.
Then catching the mirthful gleam in Will Chetwood's eyes and seeing the corners of his lips twitching, she hastily drew back as far as possible into the shelter of her sun-bonnet, quite overwhelmed with confusion by the sudden consciousness of having made a terrible blunder, her cheeks aflame and her eyes filling with tears.
"I think it is a yard of calico like that in your hand, that you want, and the price of eggs by the dozen, isn't it?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yes, sir; that's what mother said," Annis spoke up briskly.
Fan was quite beyond speaking, and kept her face hidden in her sun-bonnet, and hurried away the moment her little parcel was handed her.
Mildred was alone in the sitting-room as they came in.
"Where's mother?" asked Annis.
"In the parlor, talking to Mr. Lord. You got the calico, Fan? Here, give it to me." Then catching sight of the child's face as she drew near, "Why, what's the matter? what have you been crying about?" she asked in a tone of kindly concern.
"O Milly, I couldn't help it! I don't like to go errands!" cried Fan, bursting into tears again.
Mildred drew the little weeper to her side, wiped away the tears, kissed the wet cheek, and with kindly questioning drew the whole story from her.
"And Mr. Chetwood was laughing at me, I know he was! and I don't want ever to go there any more!" concluded the child, hiding her burning cheeks on Mildred's shoulder.
"Oh! you needn't mind that," Mildred said; "just join in the laugh. That's the way Aunt Wealthy does; and your mistake is very much like some of hers."
"Then I don't care so much, for nobody's nicer than Aunt Wealthy – unless it's mother and father and you."
"You needn't except me. I'm by no means equal to Aunt Wealthy," Mildred said, smiling, and stroking Fan's hair.
Annis had run into the parlor, and they were quite alone.
"Milly," said Fan, after a moment's silence, "I thought God heard our prayers?"
"So he does, Fan."
"Yes, but I mean I thought he would do what we asked."
"Not always, because we often ask for something that he sees would not be good for us. But what are you thinking about? have you prayed for something that you didn't get? Perhaps you expected the answer too soon. We often have to wait and pray again and again many times, and at last the answer comes. And sometimes it comes in a better way than we had thought of."
"I'll tell you, Milly," Fan said slowly and hesitatingly, "I prayed that Mrs. Clark mightn't be at home; but there she was."
Mildred could scarcely keep from smiling. "That wasn't a good or right prayer, little sister," she said, "because – don't you see? – it was selfish, and almost the same as disobeying mother; since if the prayer had been granted you would have been prevented from doing her errand."
"Milly, I didn't think of that," Fan answered penitently. "I won't pray that way any more."
"No, dear; a better prayer would be for help to overcome your foolish timidity. We will both ask our kind heavenly Father for that."
CHAPTER XVI
"Whither my heart is gone, there follows my hand and not elsewhere."
Longfellow.
We will pass briefly over the events of the next five years, during which there were few changes in the Keith family but such as time must bring to all.
The lines had deepened somewhat on Mr. Keith's brow and the hair on his temples was growing gray. The anxieties and burdens of life pressed more heavily upon him than upon his lighter-hearted, more trustful wife; she having learned more fully than he to "lean hard" upon the Lord, casting all her care upon him, in the full assurance that he cared for her and "that all things work together for good to them that love God;" she looked scarcely a day older than at the time of Mildred's return from her visit to Roselands.
These had been years of toil and struggle to feed, clothe, and educate their large family of children. They had thus far been successful, but only by dint of good management, close economy, and hard work.
Rupert had completed his college course and gone into the drug business in connection with Dr. Grange.
It was a great joy to Mildred that her earnings as music teacher had assisted largely in paying the expense of her brother's education. Rupert found it hard to consent to this, but finally did so with the distinct understanding that he was to repay the money with interest. "The sisterly kindness," he said, "I can never repay."
"Yes," Mildred returned, with an arch look and smile, "you can; by showing, in like manner, brotherly kindness to Cyril and Don."
"As I certainly hope to do," Rupert responded with hearty good-will.
And now he and Mildred were pleasing themselves with the thought that the worst of the struggle was over. Zillah and Ada were done with school, though still pursuing some studies with Mildred at home; it had been decided that Fan and Annis could and should be entirely educated by the older sisters; and so Cyril and Don were the only ones whose tuition would still be an item of expense to the parents – an expense of which the good daughter and son each hoped to bear a part.
Rupert would be able to do so after awhile – "by the time the lads were ready for college" – and Mildred could assist now; as she was still teaching, and finding it more profitable than ever.
It sometimes seemed weary work, but she would not give it up; indeed, the joy of helping to bear the burdens of the dear father and mother far more than repaid her for her self-denying toil.
The town had grown very much, and one of the new-comers was a music teacher; but Mildred had established a good reputation, and had always as many pupils as she cared to take.
In all these years she had heard not a word from Charlie Landreth; yet her heart remained true to him.
She did not seclude herself from society, but generally took part in the innocent pastimes of the young people of her own station, and was always cheerful and pleasant, not seldom even gay and lively; now and then she accepted the escort of one or another of her gentlemen friends, but she would not receive particular attentions from any. Still one or two had determinately sought her hand in marriage, but only to meet with a gentle yet firm rejection.
Wallace Ormsby still continued on the most friendly terms of intimacy in the family, and after two years had passed without news of his favored rival, ventured to renew his suit. The result of this effort convinced him of the utter hopelessness of ever winning the coveted prize. He grieved over this second disappointment for a time, but of late had begun to turn his longing eyes in a new direction, and Mildred perceived it with pleasure.
Wallace had been taken into partnership with Mr. Keith, and she would gladly welcome him into the family, for she had, as she had said, a truly sisterly affection for him.
Zillah and Ada were budding into very lovely womanhood. Of the two, Zillah was the more strikingly handsome and the more sprightly; full of innocent mirth and gayety, witty and quick at repartee, she was the life of every company of which she formed a part.
Ada's manner was more quiet and reserved, but suited well with her intellectual countenance and the noble contour of her features. They were inseparable, and whenever opportunity offered Wallace Ormsby was sure to be with them.
Speculation was rife among the gossips of the town as to which "he was courting," or whether it might be that he was in love with both. Mildred, with her better opportunities for observation, and vision sharpened by keen sisterly affection, presently settled that question in her own mind, and satisfied herself that in this instance the course of true love was likely to run smooth.
The little coterie of which Mildred and Wallace had formed a part was broken up – the other four having paired off for life; it was known now that Claudina Chetwood was engaged to Yorke Mocker, and Lucilla Grange to Will Chetwood.
It was the afternoon for the meeting of the ladies' sewing society. They were preparing a box of clothing for a Western home missionary. The whole Keith family took a deep interest in the good work; each one had contributed toward it; the three older girls were at the meeting, busily plying their needles, while at home the mother was finishing a garment, the two little girls sitting beside her hemming towels: all for the box.
Indeed, the interest was very general in the church, and there was a goodly gathering of ladies in Mrs. Prior's parlor, where the society held its meeting this week. The room was large and the busy workers had grouped themselves together here and there as inclination dictated: Mildred, Claudina, and Lu forming one group; Zillah, Ada, and several of their young companions another; while a third was composed of older ladies.
The three heads in the first group were very close together, the three voices conversing earnestly in tones too subdued to give any of the others an inkling of the subject of their talk. But there were wise surmises.
"I reckon they're planning for the weddings," whispered one elderly lady to her next neighbor, indicating by a motion of the head whom she meant.
"Likely," was the rejoinder. "Do you know when they're to come off?"
"No; but before long, I guess. I don't see that there's anything to wait for."
"Unless for Mildred and Wallace Ormsby to make it up together, so that the whole six can pair off at once and so make a triple wedding. It would be a novel and pretty idea, now wouldn't it?"
"Yes; and I used to think that would be a match, but I've changed my mind. It's plain to be seen now that it's one of the younger sisters he's after."
"Mildred's young enough; doesn't look a day over twenty, though I suppose she's really twenty-three or four."
"About that, I suppose; but she could easily pass for eighteen. I wonder if she's made up her mind to be an old maid. If I can read the signs Wallace was deeply in love with her at one time; and it's said she's had other offers."
"I don't doubt it; she's too charming to have escaped that, if the young men have any taste. Yet she's not so handsome, after all, as Zillah. I wonder why she wouldn't have Wallace; he's fine-looking, and an excellent match every way."
"Perhaps she left her heart in the South. I've thought I could see a change in her ever since her visit there. Well, I don't believe her mother's in any hurry to have her marry and leave, for there never was a better daughter or sister. I've heard Mrs. Keith say more than once that she didn't know how she could ever do without Mildred."
"And she may well say so," joined in Mrs. Prior; "the other two are uncommon nice girls, but Mildred bears off the palm to my thinking. I hear folks wondering now and then how it is that Mr. Lord has lived single all these years. I don't profess to know anything for certain about it, but I've strong suspicions that he's tried for Mildred Keith and couldn't get her, and can't be content to take anybody else."
"She seems cut out for a minister's wife," remarked one of the others.
"Yes; she'd make a good one, I don't doubt," assented Mrs. Prior; "but I don't blame her for refusing him (if she has done it); it's a kind of a hard life, and he's too old for her and too absented-minded and odd."
The girls – Mildred and her mates – were talking over the arrangements for the approaching nuptials. The young men wanted a double wedding and the girls were not averse to the idea, but the parents of each wanted to see their own daughter married beneath their own roof.
"My father says the ceremony ought to be performed in his house, since one of the contracting parties in each case is his child," said Claudina; "but Dr. Grange can't see the force of the argument."
"No," said Lu, "both he and mother say that it is always at the house of the bride's parents the ceremony should be performed."
"Can't you compromise by having it in the church?" asked Mildred.
"That is what we'll have to do, I presume," said Claudina, "if we are to have a double wedding. And O Mildred! if you and Wallace would only make up a match and let us have a triple one, I think it would be just splendid."
"And so do I," chimed in Lu. "Now what's to hinder?"
"A good deal," replied Mildred with a smile and a blush. "I doubt if it wouldn't make three or four people unhappy for life."
"What can you mean! I've been perfectly sure for years past that Wallace adored you," was Claudina's surprised exclamation.
Mildred's only reply was a quiet smile.
"And I dare say he must have popped the question before this," Claudina went on teasingly; "so now do be good and obliging enough to fall in with my plan, for it's a capital one. Isn't it, Lu?"
"Oh! just lovely," was the eager rejoinder. "Mildred, do; that's a dear!"
"Indeed, girls," Mildred said, her eyes dancing with merriment, "I do like to oblige, but in this instance it is beyond the bounds of possibility. Whatever you may think, Wallace does not want me, nor I him."
"Well, then, all I have to say is that neither of you has good taste. And I'd set my heart on the match," Claudina said in pretended indignation.
Meantime the younger girls were chatting gayly among themselves, flitting lightly from one theme to another – school affairs, pleasure parties, dress, and beaux; teasing each other about the latter, as young girls will.