ilSg! J czew- Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of- North Carolina at Chapel Hil http://www.archive.org/details/ruthallertonmissOOhart Hutt) SUlertort. — JTronttsptrrE. >< '^'^V'>''' Did you ever see anything like her airs!" p. 141. THE CHAMELEON. 141 prepared for her. Mrs. King had come with her children, and was sitting beside me when Ruth entered. She read my annoyance in my face, and I explained to her how it was, and asked what she would advise me to do. " Do not take any notice of the matter this evening," she urged. " To send her away now to make the change would mortify the child and arouse angry feelings. If you wait till the excitement has passed off, and conscience has time to do its work, and then quietly talk to her, it will be better. At least so I should deal with either of my girls in such a case." I saw the wisdom of my friend's counsel, and did not allude to her dress at all whenever I spoke to Ruth that evening. She seemed to avoid me, however, and several times moved to another part of the room when I seemed com- ing towards her. Clara and Sue Gilbert were there, and Ruth evidently enjoyed introducing her city cousin to them. I happened to be tvery near these two girls for a moment while (the refreshments were being passed, and over- heard a remark which Clara made to her sister : " That little Ruth Allerton feels proud enough to-night; did you ever see anything like her airs? I suppose that is some of her grand 142 RUTH ALLERTON. cousin's cast-off finery she- is dressed up in, don't you 2" at which both the girls giggled. If Euth only knew how her appearance was regarded by those she wishes to make an im- pression upon, she would not enjoy the evening very much, I thought. The hours passed on, and finally the last guest departed. " Have you had a pleasant time ?" I asked the two girls as I lighted them to their room. " Very pleasant, Miss Martin. It was almost as good as the sociables we had at home last winter," Kate replied. Euth said nothing. She hurried up the stairs and passed into her room without offering me the usual good-night kiss. Poor child ! already she was suffering for her act of disobedience. The pleasure was dearly bought. CHAPTER XIII. THE COST OF RUTH'S SILK DRESS. I ISS KATE and I breakfasted alone the following morning. ^h) " Ruth is quite tired out," said her cousin, "and complains of a violent headache. She is not used to sitting up late, I fancy. It does not affect me at all, but then that is very different, for I always sit up when my mother has company, and sometimes I go to small parties, though I am not considered out yet." " It is, as you say, very different with you," I answered, quite coldly, for I held this frivo- lous girl as chiefly accountable for Ruth's act of disobedience the previous day. " Your cousin is not likely ever to enter society, as you expect to do. Her father is a missionary, and his desire for his daughter's future is, not that she should be a fashionable lady, but a humble, devoted Christian, as her mother was before her." 143 144 RUTH ALLERTON. " Oh, we are all Christians, as to that, I sup- pose," answered Kate, flushing. "We live in a Christian land, and attend to all our religious duties. I hope, Miss Martin, you do not mean to say that fashionable people can't be Chris- tians?" " I mean this, my dear young lady," I re- plied : " our Saviour has plainly said, ' No man can serve two masters,' and again, ' Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world,' and yet again it is written, ' Be not conformed to this world ; but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.' These words, and a great many more like them, prove to me that while we live, as you say, in a Christian land, and attend, because it is customary and fashionable, to all the outward duties of religion, there is something a great deal deeper and more thorough implied when we use the expression, ' She is a Christian.' I do not want to offend you," I said. "You sought my opinion, and I have given it plainly. Fashionable and Chris- tian are, in my understanding of the words, very far from synonymous terms. It is my aim to bring up my niece to regard them as distinct, and impossible to be united in one character. You perceive now why her dress last evening, THE COST OF RUTH'S SILK DRESS. 145 to say nothing of the disobedience connected with it, caused me much pain." " But," said my guest, evidently more vexed by the plain speech I had just made than she wished me to see, " I don't see how you could think it right to invite company to your house if you believe it wrong to dress in proper style to receive them." This speech was utteped rather pertly, con- sidering that Kate was a girl in her teens, and I a woman of middle age. " We probably would not agree as to what was ' proper style,' " I said. " As to inviting company, I not only do not think it wrong, but I regard it as a positive duty to meet together in a social way, and cultivate kindly feelings towards one another. People abuse this as they do every other privilege, and foolish dress, vain amusements, late hours, and all kinds of dissipation, grow out of this very innocent custom." "I don't understand the difference, I am sure," said Kate, with an ill-suppressed yawn, "but then I can't expect to, seeing, according to your views, I am no Christian." I made no answer, and the conversation ceased. After prayers Miss Kate sauntered 13 K 146 BUTH ALLERTON. out in the garden, and I went up to see my poor little Ruth. She was indeed suffering with a severe headache, and was very feverish, as indeed she always was if over-weary even : the effect, I suppose, of the African climate upon her constitution. When I saw the hot little face and swollen eyelids of the sleeping child, all severity melted out of my heart. I darkened the window*and sat down beside the bed with my knitting-work to wait till she should waken. It was not long before Ruth opened her eyes, and as soon as she saw me she flung her arms around my neck and began sobbing bitterly. I tried in vain to soothe her. " Will you ever love me again ?" she asked. " Why, dear child, I have never ceased lov- ing you, so I cannot begin again," I said, drawing the brown head to a resting-place in my arms. " You are a little sick girl to-day, and must not talk." " But I shall not get well until I tell you how sorry I am, and until I hear you say you forgive me," said Ruth. " I do forgive you," I said, " and I hope, my child, you will seek pardon from One far greater whom you have offended." THE COST OF RUTH'S SILK DRESS. 147 " Yes, auntie ; I have said my prayers, if that is what you mean." " Why did you not tell me how anxious you were to wear that dress, Euth ? I would have explained my reason to you more fully for disapproving of it, and I think you would have understood it, and felt willing to own that auntie knew best." " I did not think aboufrit after you told me to wear the white dress till Cousin Kate talked to me, and said that she would arrange it, and that when you saw how pretty I looked you would not be angry. But I don't mean to lay the blame on her ; it was all my own fault," sobbed Euth. "Well, now, let us not say another word about it, dear. Just lie down there while I bathe your head, and then I will go and tell Bridget to make you some tea and a piece of toast. Do not try to get up till I tell you ;" and with this injunction I went out, leaving the little face far less sad and anxious than when I went in. A day or two after this Euth's cousin took her leave of us, with many expressions of affection to Euth and assurances that she had had a delightful visit to Ferndale. " Mother 148 RUTH ALLERTON. and I will expect you in New York this fall, remember, little cousin, and you must make us a month's visit at least," she said, at parting. " Thank you," Buth replied ; " I will go if Aunt Phebe will let me." But the words were spoken without the enthusiasm with which last year's invitation was received. I felt a sort of relief when tea-time came, and I saw Bridget arrange the table for two instead of three, and I hope the feeling did not arise from any want of hospitality. After our evening prayers were offered, I drew my chair near the light and took up a book to read, but I laid it down again when I saw Buth bring forward her little work-basket and begin her charity sewing. " I am getting behindhand the last few days," Buth said as she caught my look of surprise, "so I thought I would work this evening." " That is a good girl," I said, " and I will take out my knitting, so that we can talk and work too." We chatted together a while, and then it occurred to me that this was a good opportu- nity for speaking of what had so long bur- dened my mind. THE COST OF RUTH'S SILK DRESS. 149 "Kuth, tell me now, truly, did you enjoy wearing your pretty dress the other evening as much as you expected ?" "Aunt Phebe," she said, letting her work fall in her lap, " I would have given anything to have had the other dress on ; it seemed so mean in me to have deceived you. The only comfort was that none of the girls looked half as nice, and I was sure they would admire me. You are going to tell me how wrong that was : I can see by your eyes. I know it, auntie dear, but it is pleasant to think people are saying pleasant things about you, now, isn't it ?" continued the honest child, looking coax- ingly up into my face. " Dear Ruth, I know it is very pleasant to be thought well of, but it is dangerous to love the praise of men more than that of God, and I fear you sought the former only that even- ing. You think that your good appearance made people say pleasant things about you. Now, I don't want to wound you causelessly, but I think it may be a good lesson to you if I repeat what I overheard one of your young friends say to another, ignorant that I was within hearing : i Did you ever see anything like Ruth's airs ?' and ; ' I suppose that is some 13* 150 RUTH ALLERTON. of her grand cousin's cast-off finery she is dressed up in.'" Ruth's face turned very red and the tears came in her eyes. " Who said that about me, auntie ?" she asked. " I will not tell you who it was, for it would make you angry with that person, and it is yourself I would have you find fault with. I told you this to prove to you that fine clothes do not win love or praise, but often just the opposite. Those who loved you best were only sorry for your foolishness, and you see, after all, Aunt Phebe knew best." " I know it," s&id Ruth, in a very subdued tone, " and I will never, never, disobey you again, auntie dear." This was not the last pang that Ruth suf- fered for her act of folly. When school com- menced again, and the vacation pleasures were being discussed at recess by the little circle of friends, the important event of Ruth's party had its full share of comment. " We had a jolly good time," said Charlie, " but I say, Ruth, how you did dash out that night ! A fellow didn't dare speak to such a fine lady. You looked just like that wax lady that stands in a hairdresser's window some- THE COST OF RUTH'S SILK DRESS. 151 where in New Haven. I saw it when I went there with father a fortnight ago ; I tell you what, it was handsome." "Oh, I suppose Kuth got her dress from New York," said Clara Gilbert, with a peculiar glance at her sister. " We common folks have to be satisfied with what we can get in Fern- dale." " It must be so convenient to have a fash- ionable cousin who can spare one of her dresses as well as not," chimed in Sue. " It is not fair to say such things, girls," said Alice, seriously. " I know that was Euth's own dress, for she showed it to me when she came home last fall." " Oh, all the same," said the persistent Clara. " Her aunt had it made over for her then, and now she coaxed Miss Martin to give her a party, just so she could have a chance to show it off." Euth told me all this when she came home that day. She was exceedingly mortified as well as angry at the injustice shown her by Clara and Sue. " I wish you would give the hateful thing away, auntie," she said, " so I need never see it again. Do give it to Mary Jane ; she 152 RUTH ALLERTON. thought it was so beautiful that night, and I know she would be proud of it." " We need not try to make any more people proud by it," I said ; 'fit has done enough of that work already. Besides, it would be much more unsuitable for Mary Jane than it was for you ; think how she would look dressed up in silk, and with her hair curled as you had yours !" " Oh, dear auntie, if you will only hide it away and never let me see it or hear of it again, I shall be so glad," the poor child en- treated. " I think I am cured of wanting to look pretty." I did put the dress away out of Kuth's sight, and for a long time, whenever she was tempted to a desire of display, the mere mention of her party silk restored her to reason. CHAPTEE XIV. CHANGES. T will not do to advance day by day, or V even year by year, through the history g) of Kuth Allerton's life. Her duties and pleasures at school and at home had not much variety, and the changes wrought by their influence upon the little girl's character were gradual though positive. She had constant battles to fight with her faults, and she had not yet learned the motive which alone makes us strong to overcome temptation, — the love and service of the Sa- viour. With Kuth, the desire to please Aunt Phebe, and have a good report of her be- haviour sent to her father month by month, were the highest incentives to well-doing ; and in spite of these, which were,, so far as they went, good motives, there were many occasions on which her vanity and selfishness gained the victory. Kuth had, it is true, owing to her religious training, a habit of prayer and of 153 154 RUTH ALLERTON. judging all her actions by the simple rules of the Bible, but it was as yet only a matter of education, and not that voluntary surrender of herself to Grod which marks the work of the Holy Spirit on the soul : she had not yet been " born again." The yearly visits to New York always proved periods of great temptation to the easily-influenced child; and as she grew older the novelties that surrounded her there were not the gas and speaking-tubes, and fine stores, but such excitement as dancing-parties, operas, and, as her Aunt Esther would say, all the enjoyments of good society. Kate did not repeat her visit to Ferndale; evidently that young lady stood in awe of what she called Miss Martin's strict notions, and much pre- ferred her cousin's society at her own home, where she could amuse her in her own way without being troubled by such uncomfortable restraints. It was during one of these autumn visits to the city that her friend and school- mate Clara Gilbert was taken ill with what seemed at first a common cold, brought on by careless exposure, but which quickly resulted in inflammation of the lungs ; and the disease ran its course so rapidly that the first news Ruth received of the matter was that Clara CHANGES. 155 was dead. The shock affected her so much that she entreated permission to come home at once, although she had been away less than half the usual time. I could not understand her strong feeling at first, and wondered at the emotion she betrayed on her return to Fern- dale. Euth and Clara had been intimate during all their school-life together at Mrs. King's, but there had never been that warm affection between them that had from the first existed between herself and both Kitty and Alice King. It was the first time that death had come so near ; the first time she had been brought to feel that it might as naturally have been herself. We went together, the day after her return, to call upon Clara's mother and sister. Euth kissed Sue and began to speak, but broke down in a fit of crying. " Yes," said Sue, mournfully, " I knew you would feel sorry for us. Only, think, Euth ! we were invited to spend Thanksgiving week in Boston, and Clara and I had each got two new dresses, and a lot of pretty things, and we had got nearly ready to go, and now " — here Sue put up her handkerchief to her eyes — "of course I must stay at home. It's so dreadfully gloomy here now I don't know what I shall do. You 156 RUTH ALLERTON. know I always looked up to Clara about every- thing." Buth looked rather disconcerted, and did not know what to say after this by way of condo- lence. She and Sue looked at the matter in very different lights. "Ah," said Mrs. Gilbert, "nobody knows what a mother suffers in losing a grown daughter. Clara was always so much com- pany for me, and she was a deal more help to me than Sue ever will be." " She suffered a great deal towards the last, I believe?" said I. " Did she have any conver- sation with Mr. Leonard during her sickness, Mrs. Gilbert?" "Well, Miss Martin," she answered, slowly, " I did tell Clara that she ought to talk with the minister, because if anything should hap- pen it would be such a comfort to know she was prepared ; but she said, ' Now, ma, don't talk like that, or I'll go wild. I shall get well ; I am not going to die ; the doctor says so;' and with that she began to cry, and felt so bad that I hushed her up by telling her I didn't mean it and that she was ever so much better." " Then you do not know how she felt in re- CHANGES. 157 gard to the future ? But surely, Mrs. Gilbert, you talked with Clara yourself on the subject?" " Talk with her myself! Miss Martin, you don't know anything about a mother's feelings, or you would not think of such a thing. And as to having the minister worrying her, poor dear ! I don't think, after all, that it mattered much that he could not see her. It is a great consolation to know that Clara was properly instructed in religion. Mr. Gilbert and I have always been particular to have the girls attend church regularly and read their Bibles, and if it is their mother that says it, there's many a church-member not so regular at meetings nor so proper in her behaviour as my Clara was. It's a great comfort to me, Miss Martin, indeed it is," said the bereaved mother. " Aunt Phebe, I don't understand Mrs. Gil- bert and Sue at all !" was Buth's comment as we turned away from the house. " Clara was not a Christian, and I don't believe she ever thought about being ready to die. Miss Ches- ter used to talk to us all so earnestly about such things, and Clara only made fun of what she said when we girls were alone together." " Ruth," I said, "I am quite sure you never 1 made fun ' of religion, but I am not sure, if 14 158 BUTH ALLERTON. death had come to you instead of Clara Gil- bert, that you would have been any better prepared to meet it." " Oh don't say anything more, please, please, auntie !" was Euth's agitated reply, and so the subject dropped. This sudden event cast a heavy shadow over the j oyous school-room. Charlie and Kitty were oppressed by the unusual quiet, and checked their noisy fun out of school hours ; but the impression was far less deep upon their hearts than those of the other scholars. Miss Ches- ter did not fail to seize every opportunity to urge this solemn warning upon them as a direct call to each to turn at once to the Saviour. Dear, gentle Alice, who had long been wish- ing to make public confession of that change which had been silently at work within for many months, and only waited for more courage to take the important step, was impelled by this solemn event to delay no longer. The Sunday after Euth's return she came forward, and was numbered among the little band of disciples in Mr. Leonard's church. I wondered how this act of her friend's would affect Euth, but I did not ask any ques- tions, for I hold that no one has the right to CHANGES. 159 peer into a young heart to see what God's finger is writing there. Ruth in her early girlhood was far more reserved in regard to her feelings than the impulsive child we have been describing in former chapters. Some- thing was to be inferred, I thought, from the fact that her New York visit seemed not to have given her the usual amount of adventure and enjoyment to talk over on her return to Ferndale. Usually my patience as a listener was taxed to the utmost for at least a week after her arrival by the long account of Cous- in Kate's sayings and doings, of the people she had met at her aunt Esther's, and the parties or public amusements to which she had been invited. Now she had very little to tell, and indeed all the information I received was in answer to my own questions. A series of private meetings for prayer and study of the Scriptures was formed about this time by several earnest-minded young girls in the neighbourhood. Alice was warmly inter- ested in these meetings, and Miss Chester, whom years of untiring zeal in trying to in- fluence the young people with whom she was acquainted to "remember" their "Creator in the days of" their " youth " had greatly en- 160 RUTH ALLERTON. cleared to all who heeded her instructions, was looked up to as a leader in their devotions and an undoubted authority in all troublesome ques- tions as to Bible truths or private duty. Mr. Leonard began to call her his assistant, in a laughing way, to be sure, but with a serious appreciation of her successful labours among the lambs of the flock. I asked Ruth one day if she had no thought of joining her friends at these prayer-meetings. " I am thinking about it, Aunt Phebe," she said ; " but," she added, after a pause, " I am not sure of myself, and I mean never to pro- fess to be a Christian till I am very certain I shall not draw back from it. You know I am not as steadfast as Alice." „ I did know it ; and this reasoning, which is so common with young people, and which I should have argued against with most, I did not seek to combat with Ruth. Her nature was, as Miss Chester had said years ago, so like that of the chameleon, that takes its colour from the pas- sions which move it from time to time, that I held it wisest for her to be very sure that it was something deeper and more likely to be per- manent than any influence that should bring about the important step. That Ruth would CHANGES. 161 become a Christian was a fact I never doubted, having in mind the many prayers that had been and were daily being offered for her to our prayer-hearing God. It was only a question of time. She did not attend the meetings, however, and my argument that to do so would not be assuming anything more than her in- terest in Bible study and religious conversation, which was very sincere, was in vain. At the close of the summer term which fol- lowed Ruth's sixteenth birth-day the little school which had been steadily conducted through all these years in Mrs. King's cheer- ful room was disbanded, and Miss Chester, the dear friend and faithful teacher, who seemed, as Mrs. King said, to be one of our- selves, went away from us to fill an important position in the missionary work at the South. We knew how well fitted she was for that self- denying service, and how truly her heart was in it, and so it seemed selfish to tell her how sorry we were. Even Sue Gilbert, whom nothing, not even her sister's death, could rouse from her indolent apathy, remarked that Ferndale would be a poor place enough when Miss Chester was gone, and that if any- body could make her good, that one was Miss 14* L 162 RUTH ALLERTON. Chester. Poor Sue ! her teacher had prayed and spoken and striven by silent example to win this worldly-minded girl to a knowledge of her soul's need, but apparently in vain. All the scholars had some parting gift to offer, and Euth also entrusted to her the earnings of her charity hours for some months past, to be used at her discretion for the poor coloured chil- dren among whom she was going. This closing of school-days was an era in the lives of all the young folks. Charlie King had separated from the little band more than a year before, to enter upon a clerkship in New Haven, from which he hoped to rise to a more independent position. Sue Gilbert had not re- turned to school since Clara's death. Alice had for a long time been regarded as a grad- uate from Miss Chester's seminary, but had continued to recite in French and German, spending a portion of each day in the school- room to the last. Kitty and Euth had kept together in their studies from the first term until the present, and now, though nominally they were out of school, they resolved to meet every morning and read together. Latterly, three or four new pupils had been admitted to the school, but the others, though courteous CHANGES. 16"3 enough, could not at once admit them to the fellowship and intimacy which had existed among the original members of the class. Kitty was a merry-hearted girl, sweet-tempered and sensible; one of the sort that everybody likes and caresses. She had not the depth of character that marked her elder sister, and did not aim at anything beyond the performance of home- duties, the "helping mother," and " cheering up father," which seemed her special province. Euth loved Kitty very dearly, and was now-a- days more in her society than ever, but she reverenced Alice as a superior being, and used her name always as a superlative of girlish goodness ; never imagining that she or Kitty could possibly attain to such heights of virtue. Nevertheless, the heroine of Euth's dreams of excellence was an unconscious and humble- minded young Christian, and limited her am- bition to perfecting herself in her studies and doing what good she might among the poor and ignorant of Fernclale. CHAPTEE XV. DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. | NE November evening, the close of one of the gray, cheerless sort of days that abound in that month, I closed the curtains and lighted the lamp earlier than usual, and then visited the kitchen to see that my cook (not Bridget, for she had married and gained a home of her own years before) had everything in readiness for supper at a moment's notice. Then I took a newspaper and sat down by the table to read. It was not of much use to try ; my eyes were wandering every moment to the door, and my ear was straining to catch the first sound of approaching footsteps. I began by saying it was " one November even- ing;" rather, it was the November evening which to this day stands out from all other evenings and all other Novembers with such startling distinctness that the mere mention of it makes me live it all over again in mem- 164 DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 165 ory. I was expecting Ruth home from New York. She had made a longer visit than usual; and of late years, since she had grown from childhood to woman's estate, and I was getting farther on the downhill side of life, I missed her sorely, and was less patient when the visit was prolonged than I used to be. This fall, too, I was yearning more than ever to see my child transformed into that new creature of which St. Paul speaks (2 Cor. v. 17). I was anxious to know if the serious im- pressions made upon her by the various events of the last chapter had remained and strength- ened, or if they had been frittered away by the worldly influences of her aunt Esther '-s home. Somehow, I felt as if the turning- point in Ruth's life, whether for good or evil, was near at hand. The letter which I had received from her the day before, and in which she had told me to look for her by this evening^ train, did not wholly satisfy me. Hitherto, however much she had enjoyed her annual visit to New York, she had seemed glad to come back again, somewhat as a child tired out with play longs to go home and rest. This time there had been more excitement than usual. Kate had been 166 EUTH ALLEETON. married the week before to a man of whom I had heard nothing but that he was very- wealthy. That was enough to satisfy both Kate and her mother. Ruth had entered with all her enthusiasm into the wedding prepara- tions ; she was one of the bridesmaids, and had looked " quite bewitching," as she wrote me in her lively account of the occasion, in the hand- somest dress she had ever possessed, given her by Aunt Esther. The newly-married couple had just started on an European tour, and Ruth's aunt was very anxious to keep her pretty young niece with her through the winter, and had written to me repeatedly on the subject. I had refused; not for selfish reasons, but because I believed that Ruth's father would agree with me, if he had known all about the matter, that Ferndale was a better place for his daughter than New York. In this last letter Ruth had written : * l I know you have good reasons, auntie, for wanting me to come home, so I will not tease you to let me stay ; but then, you kind, good auntie! just think for a moment how lonesome it will be for poor Aunt Esther, all by herself in this great house, and with no one to amuse her. She says that if I could only stay she DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 167 would spare no pains in making it pleasant, but as for going to parties, the opera, and the theatre with nobody but Uncle Holden for com- pany, she would rather stay at home altogether. You see, auntie, it would be an act of pure be- nevolence on your part to let me stay just a month or two. But I promised not to tease you, and I will not, especially as it is now too late for the teasing to have any good effect. I shall be home, without fail, in time to drink my cup of tea with you on Wednesday." It was an unwilling home-coming this time for my Euth, I sighed to think. Ever since the reading of her letter I had been trying to devise plans for making the winter pass pleas- antly to her and relieving the monotony of our quiet life, so agreeable to an old body like me, but likely, though for the first time, to prove irksome to Euth, now a little over eighteen. "Will you wait much longer for Miss Euth, ma'am? It's going on to nine o'clock, and you must be ready for your cup of tea." It was Eose speaking, the girl who filled Bridget's vacated place in the kitchen. " Nine o'clock ! Why, Eose, are you sure?" I put on my glasses and looked at the clock : 168 RUTH ALLERTON. the girl was right. While I had sat there so lost in my reveries as to forget how the hours were passing, the time for the evening train had come and gone long ago. I stood up and looked at the girl in utter bewilderment for a moment. " Shall I bring your tea in here, ma'am ?" " Tea ? No, Rose ;" for I felt just then such a sickening dread of evil come over me that to swallow a mouthful would have been impos- sible. " Go take your supper at once," I said, " for you must be very hungry, and then come to me." When she closed the door and went back to the kitchen, I sank back in my chair and tried to collect my thoughts sufficiently to decide what was to be done. I tried hard to comfort myself by thinking that the train had doubt- less arrived at the usual time, but that Ruth had changed her mind about coming that day wl*en it was too late to send me word. But no ; that possibility did not satisfy me. Ruth was very particular in such matters, and when she had written that I might expect her at a particular time, it would be a very serious cause that would prevent her from keeping her* engagement. DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 169 Eose returned presently from the kitchen ; she had caught the reflection of my anxious thoughts, and began suggesting all sorts of improbable causes for the delay. " Get ready at once, Rose," I said, " and run to the depdt and find out if the train has come in, or if not, what is the matter." She had hardly left the house when there came a hurried ring at the door-bell. It was one of our neighbours. " Have you heard the news, Miss Martin?" he asked, in an excited voice. "No; tell me, quick! what is it?" for my thoughts did not hesitate in applying the word "news" to the subject uppermost in my mind. "I heard, but I hope it is not so, that your niece was coming from New York by this train." " Yes, yes," I said, trembling with fear. " Oh, tell me quickly ! what has happened ?" " A message has just come from New Haven that a collision has occurred about forty miles beyond there — somewhere near S , I sup- pose ; the particulars were not given, but no doubt another telegram will arrive if there was any serious damage. If Miss Ruth was on board the train, she will be detained until 15 170 EUTH ALLEETON. morning. Now, don't be uneasy, Miss Martin ; I will find out all I can, and let you know as soon as any further tidings arrive." " I fear you know more already, Mr. Clark, than you tell me. Don't hesitate to say just how matters are ; I can bear anything better than suspense." The kind-hearted man paused to think how best to frame a sentence that should have just enough truth in it to quiet my apprehensions of something worse, and before he had his reply ready, Kose came running up the path, and meeting me at the door, exclaimed : " Oh, Miss Martin, there has been an acci- dent on the road, and they say ever so many people are killed. What will we do at all," ma'am ? Maybe Miss Euth is dead." " Hush, girl ! don't you see how you startle your mistress !" said Mr. Clark to Eose. But there was no need of caution ; the ter- rible possibility seemed to bring courage with it for whatever trial the next few hours might lay upon me. Of all God's promises, not one is more faithfully fulfilled in every Christian's experience than this : " As thy day, so shall thy strength be." Mr. Clark bade me good- night, assuring me again that I should be in- DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 171 formed if any further intelligence reached Ferndale about the accident. I insisted that Rose should go to bed ; though the good girl, with the common idea that it is dreadful to be alone in trouble, begged to be allowed to sit up with me. I walked up and down the room, thinking of my poor child, perhaps injured for life, and suffering among strangers, perhaps — oh what a chilling thought was that ! — al- ready numbered with the dead. It was well for me that idle speculations as to what was possible had to give way to immediate consid- erations as to what was best to be done. Should I wait for further tidings, or go at once to find and take care of Ruth ? I decided to go by the morning train to New Haven, where I could learn all that was to be known of the details of the accident, and proceed at once, if possi- ble, to the scene. A few articles were quickly packed in a valise, and a few words written in pencil to Mrs. King, which I would leave for her, explaining my departure ; and then I went to bed. Early next morning I wakened Rose to get me a cup of coffee and attend to some direc- tions about house-matters during an uncertain period of absence on my part. 172 RUTH ALLEETON. It was a dreary journey. I kept my eyes closed behind my veil, alternately offering up brief prayers for all who might be wounded and dying, and wondering how and where I should find Ruth. Ferndale was situated, as I have said, on a branch road from New Haven, and instead of proceeding directly on my way, I was obliged to wait about half an hour in that city. Of course I spent the time in making inquiries about the event of yesterday. It was the general theme of conversation, and much information was freely rendered by groups that passed me in the street, or gathered in the depdt. " A terrible disaster," said one. " They say there are upwards of fifty lives lost," said another. " All through the engineer's careless- ness," was the exclamation of a third. At such a time rumours always exaggerate facts, and I tried to hope things were not so bad as repre- sented. I was one of a dense crowd of pas- sengers on the cars to S . There were many anxious faces among them, anclnot a few women were crying. Perhaps they have husbands, bro- thers, or children among the killed, I thought, and my heart ached at the thought of so much suffering, brought about, humanly speaking, if indeed the report were true, by the wicked DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 173 carelessness of one man.* Oh what a scene of confusion met our eyes on reaching the village of S *! Fragments of broken cars were lying about ; mutilated bodies were being car- ried away, on being recognized by their friends ; mourners went about the streets. I inquired of one and another if anything were known of Ruth Allerton, describing her appearance as well as I could. " Look in here, ma'am," said a rough-look- ing man, who had nevertheless a very pitying tone in his voice, and he led the way to a building near the railroad track, where lay in rows upon the floor the bodies of men, women, and children, some mangled and bruised so that the nearest friend could hardly recognize the features, and others looking as tranquil and unharmed as if sleep had overtaken them, not death. " Is the young lady among these ?" asked my guide. With a great throb of thankfulness to God, I answered, " No." After an hour's fruitless search at one house and another where the injured travellers had * And how long shall such " wicked carelessness " go unpunished ? — Editor. 15* 174 RUTH ALLERTON. been taken, I gave the oft-repeated description of my Buth at the door of a pretty cottage, and received the welcome answer, " Yes, she is here." The lady who opened the door had preserved the handkerchief found in the pocket of her guest's dress, and showed it to me. When I saw the mark, " Euth Allerton," neatly written in the corner by the dear child's own hand, I nearly fainted from the sudden relief experienced by exchanging anxious doubt for hope. " Tell me, is she alive ?" I asked. " She is alive, and the doctor says with great care she may recover. I will tell you all, but first you must sit down and rest, for you look very tired. I did not know until that moment how exhausted I was, and gladly sank in the rocking-chair to which the lady led me. " Excuse me a moment," she said, and left the room, to return very soon with a cup of hot coffee and a tempting slice of toast. " You must eat this," she said, " and look a little less pale before I dare let my patient see you. Are you the 'Aunt Phebe' the young lady talks about?" I told her who I was, and learned that the DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 175 name of my hostess was Mrs. Miller, and while I sipped the coffee she told me all that she could of the fearful event of the previous evening : " Husband and I were on our way home from a friend's house, some way out of the village, when we heard an awful crash, as if an earthquake had shaken down all the houses in the place, and then such confusion of sounds, such shrieks for help, it made my blood run cold. We hurried through the street and followed the crowd; everybody rushed at the sound, forgetting everything else. Well, quite a way beyond the village (you saw the spot as you came, I suppose) there lay just a great heap of smashed cars and dead bodies, and all around were women screaming, and men, some running, with the blood streaming from their wounds, and others crazy with fright. All our people went to work at once separating the living from the dead, and a great work it was, you may be sure. Husband and I made our way through the crowd, and by good luck, or rather by good Providence, we caught sight of a young lady lying a little off the road, as if she had been thrown there by the shock of the col- 176 RUTH ALLERTON. lision. Says I to husband, ' There are enough just here to look after these folks ; let us take a look and see if that poor creature is alive.' So we went to her, and found her quite sense- less, with her head bruised and her arm' bleed- ing from a great gash she had received. We got a wagon and brought her right home with us, and my daughter Lizzie and I have been nursing her the best we could, . since. She suffers very much with her head, and is part of the time delirious, so you must not be sur- prised if she does not know you at first. I am so glad you have come, ma'am. You will stay, of course, till she gets better, won't you?" I nodded assent. " Then, I'll just take your bag up stairs and fix you a bed in a little room that opens into the sick lady's. You had better wait here a little while, Miss Martin, till I see if she is in a fit state to see you." Mrs. Miller left me a while, and then re- turned to say I might come with her if I would try to avoid exciting the sick girl. Could that be Ruth, so pale and wan, lying on the bed, with her head bound up and her eyes closed, looking as if she were really dead ? I advanced very softly to the bedside DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH. 177 and took her hand. She opened her eyes, and looked at me with a blank stare, and muttered some unintelligible words. I could hardly keep back the tears at sight of my poor child ; and then the fact of her not knowing me, her poor " Auntie," who had nobody in all the world to love but her— this was a crowning blow. I felt it deeply, though I had been warned. Mrs. Miller left me, with another injunction to be very careful about exciting her, and some directions about medicine which the doctor had left. My little Ruth alive and safe ! I could not be glad enough, or thank God enough for his unspeakable mercy in sparing her life. M CHAPTER XVI. ORPHAN GRACE. HILE -Ruth slept I busied myself with arranging things about the room so as to give it a more comfortable appear- ance. All had been done by the kind people who had, under God, saved my niece's life that could reasonably be expected in the haste and excitement of the last twenty- four hours, but many things were lacking which one would consider quite necessary to comfort in a sick-room at home. I hoped that Ruth would be able to bear the journey to Ferndale in a few days, but could form no plans until I had seen the doctor and knew the extent of her injuries. I wrote a few lines to Mrs. King, who I knew would be anxious to hear, and then began a letter to Mr. Allerton. On second thoughts, I concluded not to write to him by that month's mail. His health had failed so seriously of late that he had yielded to the per- 178 ORPHAN GRACE. 179 suasions of his brother missionaries and started on a trip down the coast, expecting to be ab- sent from his work about three months. An occasional journey like this had hitherto suf- ficed to restore his wasted strength, with the exception of a single voyage to England during the past nine years ; but in his last letter he had owned to greater weakness, resulting from a recent attack of fever, than he had before ex- perienced, and had written: "If this change of air and scene does not put me in good work- ing order, I think I must take a long vacation next summer, and go home to take one more look at my darling child before God calls me hence." I had not mentioned this sad news in my letters to Ruth, who was then in New York, and now saw how well it was that I had not, for in her present state any anxious thought of the past would probably have re- curred to her and increased the disorder of her mind. The darkness of the room and the absence of any sound save the regular ticking of an old clock on the high mantel-piece so accorded with my drowsy feelings that before long I dropped away to sleep. How long my nap might have lasted I know not, but a sudden movement ac- 180 RUTH ALLERTON. companied by a little cry of pain roused me. Ruth had wakened, and had hurt her lame arm by trying to change her position in bed. I went to her, smoothed her pillow, and attempted to move her, so that she would lie more com- fortably. She fixed her large eyes upon me with a vacant stare, and then said wearily, "Do go away and let me alone. Tell Aunt Esther I am too tired to go out with her this morning. I wonder if she'll think to stop at Stewart's and ask about that bundle ? They promised to send it home yesterday. Go, tell her, Mary;" and she waved her hand to me to go, mistaking me no doubt for the maid who usually waited upon her in New York. I kissed her pale forehead very quietly and said : " This is not Mary ; it is your aunt Phebe, who has come to see you. Don't you know me, dear?" She looked perplexed a moment, and then turned her head away, as if half provoked, and said to the imaginary person : "What makes you talk so foolishly, girl? My aunt Phebe, indeed ! You know she lives in Ferndale, and has no idea of coming to New York." Afraid of needlessly exciting her, I made no ORPHAN GRACE. 181 answer, but filled a teaspoon with the medi- cine I had been directed to give at this hour, and put it to her lips. She dashed it away, and began to laugh. • " I don't want any refreshments just now ; I ate enough ice cream at the party last night to last me a week." I said nothing, but refilled the spoon, and this time she swallowed its contents without a word. It seemed so strange to see Ruth in this half- crazed state ! While I knew there was nothing alarming in her wandering, it made me sad. A pleasant-faced girl, whom I guessed at once to be Mrs. Miller's daughter Lizzie, opened the door very softly and beckoned to me. I went to the door, and she whispered, " Mother says will you please go down and eat your dinner now, and I will stay with Miss Ruth." She took the seat I had occupied beside the bed. I looked back to see if Ruth noticed the change, but she was lying with her eyes fixed on the wall paper, as if she were counting the figures, and ap- parently quite unconscious of what was going on around her. I found my way to the kitchen, where the table was set for dinner, and found Mrs. Miller and a large man with very abun- 16 182 RUTH ALLERTON. dant whiskers and a twinkle in his small blue eyes that betokened plenty of fun and good- humour standing by the stove. Mrs. Miller introduced him as her husband. " Sit down, ma'am, sit down," he said, "and make yourself at home. Jane, my dear," he continued, glancing at his wife, " I don't be- lieve this lady is used to eating in the kitchen and in company with checked shirts." Here he looked down at his sleeves with a dubious ex- pression, and then up to my clean cuffs, as if noticing the difference in colour. I laughed, and told my merry-faced host that I was not at all such a fine lady as to object to a good dinner, in a clean kitchen, and with such com- pany as himself and wife. " Let us give thanks," he said, with a sudden sobering of countenance, and then asked a blessing on the meal with a devoutness of man- ner that proved to me that I was in a God- fearing household. "I hope you don't find your niece worse than you expected, ma'am?" said Mr. Miller, after seeing that my plate was supplied with a bountiful share from every dish on the table. "lam greatly relieved to find her alive and in such kind hands," I replied. " I did not ORPHAN GRACE. 183 hear any details of the accident until I arrived here, and the most that I know now is what your wife has told me." " And I was afraid to tell her a great deal, John, for the poor lady looked as pale and ill when I opened the door for her as if she had been on the cars when it all happened. Have many of the bodies been claimed and taken away this morning ?" Mrs. Miller inquired of her husband. " Yes, several ; and by the way, Jane, I wanted to ask you about something. There's a little girl that they took over to Miss Green's that has had father and mother both killed in this affair — the prettiest little piece of human nature I ever set eyes on, poor baby ! Now, Miss Green don't want her, she says — you know she never takes to children — and I was just thinking, wife, as I was coming home this noon, that maybe — " Here the good man paused and rested the handles of his knife and fork on the table, while the blue eyes twinkled in the direction of his wife's face. " Out with it, John !" she said, with a smile. " You were thinking that maybe I would take the child : was that it ?" " I didn't know but you could manage it, 184 BUTH ALLERTON. but I did not say so to Miss Green ; I thought I'd mention it to you, and you could do as you thought best." It was pretty clear that Mr. Miller felt con- fident that his wife would think best to do just the thing his own warm heart had suggested. " Well, I guess we'd better take her, poor little one ! I know I would not like a child of mine to stay long at Miss Green's. She can sleep with Lizzie, and — Yes, we can take her as well as not ; bring her along when you come up to supper." " My wife never says ' No,' when she ought to say 'Yes,' " the big man said, in an aside to me, a merry chuckle sounding in his voice and sending a gleam through every feature, even to the ends of the bushy whiskers. As we rose from the table, Mrs, Miller asked me to wait a moment, and brought from the stove some nice delicate broth, which she poured in a bowl and put on a tray covered with a fine white napkin, together with some thin slices of dainty bread and butter. "Will you please take this up with you? and if Miss Euth is asleep yet, Lizzie will bring it down again to be kept warm. The doctor won't allow me to give her anything ORPHAN GRACE. 185 more substantial just yet/' said Mrs. Miller. " By the by, the doctor said he would be in about two o'clock, so I must hurry and get my dishes out of the way, and then I will put or a clean apron and come up to see how she is getting on." I found Ruth awake, but lying very quietly, just as when I left her, and Lizzie sitting with a book in her hand, which she had been studying. " Do you go to school, my dear ?" I asked. " Yes, ma'am, only now that mother is busy she said I might stay at home for a while and help. I don't suppose there is any school to- day, for everybody in the village has some sick people or visitors." Lizzie went down stairs, and Ruth allowed me to feed her with the broth, without saying this time that she did not want any refresh- ments. I put her head gently back on the pillow, and began bathing her face and hands. A more conscious look came in her face. " You are very much like my Aunt Phebe," she said. " Tell me, are you really Aunt Phebe ? and how did you get here ? where am I?" and she looked all about her, examining even the night-dress she had on, seeming to 16* 186 RUTH ALLERTON. discover for the first time that it was not her own. " You are very sick, Ruth, and away from home, but Aunt Phebe is here to take care of you ; so don't think any more about it, but see if you cannot go to sleep a little while." I think she hardly understood all I said, for the poor brain had received a dreadful shock, and would recover very slowly, I feared; but she closed her eyes obediently, as if quite tired with the effort she had made to think. The doctor came before Mrs. Miller was ready to appear with her clean apron on, so I received him alone. He felt Ruth's pulse, asked several questions, and when I in turn inquired what he thought of the case, said : " She will get over this ; no doubt of it, but the greatest care must be taken not to excite her. Let nature do its work. I will leave a seda- tive draught, in case she is restless to-night, and I would advise, if you are a relative of the young lady's, as I suppose, that you take the entire charge of her — that is, as nearly so as possible ; it will not do for her to see many different faces about her." When Lizzie came to take my place, to let me go down to tea, Tasked her to sit out of ORPHAN GRACE. 187 Buth's sight, but so that she could see if any- thing were needed. " Here is our new visitor, Miss Martin," were the words with which Mr. Miller greeted me as I entered the kitchen. He was sitting by the stove with a little girl on his knee. A pair of bright black eyes glanced shyly towards me as he spoke, but quickly turned back towards the big friendly face that had even so soon won the little heart's entire confidence. "Now go on !" she pleaded, and began run- ning her fingers through Mr. Miller's whis- kers in a very coaxing way. "What became of the fairy woman and the little pig? and where did the princess run away to ?" " I think we will run to the table and see what our fairy yonder will give us to eat. Come along, Grace. Take'a seat, Miss Martin." It was a very winning little person, cer- tainly, that answered to his call, and stood by the table waiting for him to lift her into the seat prepared for her. Grace looked about six years old, had a happy round, face, lighted up by two great black eyes, and when she laughed shook a head full of thick black curls that danced around a pair of healthy red cheeks in a very fascinating manner. 188 RUTH ALLERTON. Mrs. Miller nudged me. " She is a darling, now isn't she ?" Grace soon finished her supper, and jumped down to make acquaintance with a great dog stretching himself before the stove. I asked Mrs. Miller in a low voice if anything had been heard from the child's friends. " Not a word yet," she said, " but we will take good care of the little blessing till some- body comes to claim her. She minds me won- derfully of my own little Mary that we lost. I wish her friends would come for her soon, for I shall get to loving her dearly, and then it will be hard to let her go." " Do you know the name of her parents ?" I asked. " No, not even that. She has lost both father and mother at one blow, and has dropped here among strangers. She will warm up our hearts, I guess." I thought, as I listened to the good woman, that if the little orphan should prove friend- less, and so be left to the charity of those who took her in, she had " dropped " into one of the happiest spots and among the warmest hearts that Providence prepares for the reception of just such homeless ones. ORPHAN GRACE. 189 When I returned to my charge, I found her restlessly tossing from one side to the other of her bed, and moaning as if in much pain. She would not even look up when I begged her to taste the gruel I had brought. All through that night she was feverish, and kept mutter- ing disconnected sentences, the burden of most of them being her aching head. Even the dose which the doctor had left failed to have any effect. I did not dare to sleep lest she should grow worse and need me, so I rested my heavy heart by pouring out all its anxieties at the mercy-seat. I had so much to ask for ; first, that Ruth's life might be spared, and then, if that were not according to the will of Him who holds our times in his hand, that she might be so far restored to reason as to be able to come repentant and believing to her Saviour, and, though in her last hours on earth, be- come the subject of that wondrous change, that passing from death to life, that should, through the unspeakable mercy of our Redeemer, make her an heir of eternal glory. Towards morning she fell into a refreshing sleep, which lasted for hours, and proved the turning-point from which she gradually but steadily improved in health. CHAPTER XVII. A CHANGED HEART. AYS of patient nursing, days of hope that the worst of Ruth's suffering was over, alternating with sad, anxious days when the struggle back to health seemed too hard for the weak frame to endure, brought us on to the bleakness of December. Thanksgiving had passed by without the usual joy and feasting. There was still too much sickness and mourning in the various houses of the little village of S to admit of the customary preparations on the part of the good housewives. It is true the dead and wounded ones in that memorable accident were not mem- bers of those homes, but most of them from distant parts of the country. Still, the mem- ory of the recent scene of terror cast a shadow over the place, and those who were not too busy attending to the sick and providing for guests, brought there in numbers by the event, had little heart for the usual merry-making. No doubt 190 A CHANGED HEART. 191 there was much fervent giving of thanks from many there who, like me, had received, as it were, their dead brought back to life again. Kuth was not yet able to bear the journey back to Ferndale ; she was, however, at the close of the first week of winter, so far on her way towards recovery that she could step from the bed to an easy-chair, and there, reclining among pillows and shawls, spend an hour or more without weariness. Her arm was no longer painful, though very weak, and her brain had recovered its healthy condition, only that severe headaches were sure to come on as reminders of her late weakness if she indulged in long or exciting conversation. The accident had left an impression of horror upon her mind, so that she was for a long time unwilling to talk about it herself, or even to hear any of the fearful details of the scene mentioned by others. Thus the subject was by common consent avoided by all the family when in her presence. One day, when with Lizzie's aid I had placed her in the large chair and drawn her to her favourite spot, between the fireplace and the window, she said to her faithful little attendant, " Run away now, Lizzie, and breathe some fresh air, or Doctor Deane will soon have two patients 192 RUTH ALLERTON. on his hands instead of one ;" and as soon as the child was out of hearing she took hold of both my hands in a caressing way, and said : " JSTow, auntie dear, I want you to sit down here by me and tell me from beginning to end all about the accident." " But, darling, I am afraid of bringing on one of your headaches; you have all along shown such a dread of the subject. Do you really want to hear all about it ?" " Yes, really, I do," she said, very seriously, " for I have never yet heard all the particu- lars of that day ; then, when you have done, I shall have something to say to you." So I began the story much as I have written it here, going back to the evening when I sat waiting for her ring at the door, and recount- ing all the minutiae of my journey next day, picturing her own death-like appearance when I first saw her lying senseless on the bed, and describing as well as I could the various stages of her recovery up to the time when she be- came fully conscious of her state and surround- ings. While I spoke I saw the tears filling her eyes and felt her hand tremble as it lay on my arm. I was afraid that the emotion the story excited would prove too much for her weak A CHANGED HEART. 193 frame, and began to blame myself for yielding to her request. " Don't be troubled, auntie, because I am cry- ing," she said; "it is not because I am nervous or unhappy, but oh, so very glad and thank- ful ! I have been wanting to tell you some- thing, but I haven't had a good chance until now, and then" — Kuth paused and hid her face on my shoulder — " it is not easy to speak of some things." My thoughts turned at once to the New York visit, and an instant fear arose that Ruth had been tempted into some indiscreet action or foolish extravagance in the way of dress, but I said soothingly : " If you are going to confess something wrong that you have done, don't be afraid, dear child, for I am quite ready to forgive you before I hoar what it is;" and so saying, I stroked the brown head resting on me very tenderly. Its owner raised it with a smile through her tears. " Your guess-work is not quite right this time," she said. " It is not of something that I have done I want to tell you, but of some- thing that God has been doing for me. Auntie, he has been showing me, in the quiet hours I have spent in this room, how unspeakably good 17 N 194 RUTH ALLERTON. he is, and how worthless I am. I wonder why- he spared my life ? Why did he not let me die there alone on the road, instead of sending Mr. and Mrs. Miller to take care of me when so many better people were dying ? I have been sinful all my life, and yet until now I really thought I was as good as anybody else. I wonder if, after all, God will forgive me ? No, I don't wonder, either, for I know he has done it already, and that the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth from all sin ! Auntie, I have so much to say to you ; I wanted to tell you how good God has been to me, how happy he is making me, and how I am longing and pray- ing to be made a true Christian. But I can't tell you all this at once. I am so tired now, dear auntie. Won't you help me back to the bed, and then kneel down by me and pray for me, — for me, your wilful, sinful Euth ?" I did as she requested, and answered her, but how I cannot at all remember. My cup of joy was full to overflowing ; my prayers were all heard, and all answered, and after this conversation I felt somewhat as the aged Simeon must have felt when he exclaimed : " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." His longings were all satisfied, be- A CHANGED HEART. 195 cause he had lived to see the Saviour, and, through him, the salvation of God brought to his people Israel. My joy was more limited, less exalted, but it seemed as much as my poor heart could hold. For many years I had been praying for and waiting for the salvation of this one soul so very dear to me, and now that God had granted all my desire I was ready to depart whenever he willed it ; my work seemed all done. I knelt beside the bed and poured out my gratitude and praise, but so brokenly that none could have understood those dis- jointed utterances but that Holy Spirit who awoke the feelings of joy such as no words could express, and the one human soul who was the occasion of it all. Ruth was too tired to talk any more, but she lay for a long time with her hand resting in mine, and glancing up to my face ever and anon with such a look of tranquil happiness on her countenance that the features seemed almost too thin a veil to hide the soul's ecstasy. After a while, she said : " Auntie, can't you remember some of those sweet hymns they sing at the prayer-meetings in Ferndale ? How I should enjoy those meet- ings now ! Please repeat some of them to 196 RUTH ALLERTON. me, — those that have the most about Jesus in them." I understood what she wanted — what we all want when our hearts are warmest with the love of our dear Saviour. The excellence of the poetry, the beauty of the similes employed, are of little account at such times ; we search for those throbbing heart-words which bring us into the very presence of Him in whom our souls delight. Euth closed her eyes and lay very quiet while I repeated these old favourites : and " Sweet the moments, rich in blessing, Which before the cross I spend," " H^w sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear !" and that other, upon whose words of clinging trust many a soul has climbed in its first reach- ing after the mighty Deliverer from sin and death, and which untold numbers of ransomed ones have whispered with their dying breath, and then exchanged for that "new song" which the white-robed multitude are singing around the throne of Grod : " Kock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee ; A CHANGED HEART. 197 Let the water and the blood From thy wounded side that flowed Be of sin the double cure, Save from wrath and make me pure." Ruth dropped off to sleep by and by ; — a quiet, restful slumber that refreshed both body and mind. Taking advantage of the leisure thus afforded, I commenced a letter to Mr. Allerton, for it was again near time for the African mail. Now I could tell him the whole story of the accident and its results without affording him anxiety, since I was able by this time to add assurances of Ruth's certain steps towards health and our probable return to Ferndale by the close of another week. I did not allude to the one subject which of all others was to cause joy to the father's heart. Ruth would like best to make known her blessed experience to him with her own pen, and it seemed prob- able she would be able to write a short note to enclose in my letter before mail day. The doctor was beginning to speak more encourag- ingly as to her entire recovery from the effects of the injury done to her head than he had hitherto done, and while he insisted upon great care being used for months to come in avoid- ing over exertion and excitement, he withdrew 17* 198 RUTH ALLERTON. the restrictions he had at first enforced in re- gard to her seeing and talking with different friends. During the past weeks many letters of sympathy and interest had reached me from Ferndale, and several friends were only wait- ing for the word of permission to be sent be- fore coming to express their affection and con- gratulation in person. There had come a note to Ruth from her aunt Esther when she was yet in a critical condition, and I had not dared show it to her until a few days before the time of which I am writing. The note expressed much regret at the dreadful occurrence ; par- ticularly as it was so likely her niece's appear- ance might be seriously injured by her fall. A package of the newest novels was also forwarded by Mrs. Holden, to help Ruth to kill time dur- ing the tediousness of convalescence, she wrote. " I shall not dare to come on to S to see you, my dear," said the note, " for you know how sensitive my nerves are, and it would make me quite ill to have to see lame and wounded people all around ; and, after all, I could do you no good, for I am no hand at nursing, and you are probably not able to enjoy company much just yet." This epistle, coming as it did when my dear child was hovering between death and A CHANGED HEART. 199 life, seemed so frivolous and heartless that I was ready to condemn the writer unjustly. She was nothing more or less than a fashion- able and worldly woman ; her expression about the possible damage to Ruth's appearance and the gift of the worthless novels were alike meant in kindness ; only they did not agree with my ideas of kindness. Sometimes the little orphan Grace would trip up stairs with Lizzie to help in bringing the sick lady's dinner ; often she would stand outside the door when some one else was entering, and shyly peep through the crack at the pale face on the bed. One day Ruth coaxed her in by the tempting offer of a share in the orange she was eating, and then exerted her powers of attraction to such good purpose that when I came in from my daily half-hour's exercise I found the little gipsy perched on the arm of the easy-chair in which Ruth sat, chattering away to her friend in high glee. After this, the ice being broken, Miss Grace was not sat- isfied with peeping through the crack of the door, but only waited there long enough to be invited in, and then leaped on the bed or arm- chair, whichever her dear " sick lady" chanced to be occupying, with all the ease and assur- 200 RUTH ALLEETON. ance of a tame kitten. Even the propriety of asking permission before she came in was ac- quired only after sundry lessons in manners which she daily received down stairs from the motherly Mrs. Miller. No one had yet come to claim the child, no letter of inquiry — though many such had lately arrived at the S post-office from anxious friends of the different sufferers — bore any reference to little Grace. All the Miller family had become so attached to the stranger pet that they felt no desire to give her up ; no doubt they would have adopted her in the place of the lost daughter Mary, of whom Mrs. Miller could never speak without tears, had their purse been as full as their hearts were warm. Grace herself, with a child's supreme indifference to the future, never ex- pressed a hope or desire in the matter. She had "grand times" in the large comfortable kitchen, with the good-natured old dog for a playmate, a share in the various good things that from day to day appeared from Mrs. Mil- ler's store-closet, and were compounded into pies, puddings, and cakes, all of which Grace " helped make," and looked forward confidently to the game of romps with Mr. Miller, which became an established custom after supper, A CHANGED HEART. 201 while Lizzie and her mother were washing and putting away the dishes. As for relatives, if the child had any, she was not acquainted with them, for to all Mrs. Miller's questions about possible aunts, uncles, and cousins, she only shook her curly head, saying, " I lived with my papa and mamma before I came here, and I suppose they will come and take me home again some day." This was her invariable answer, and the little creature, all unconscious of her loss, seemed never to think the delay strange, or to wish her mamma and papa would hurry and come for her. Ruth grew very fond of Grace, and beguiled many an hour of her convalescence in telling her stories and teaching her little hymns. Grace made no objections- to learning and re- peating these, feeling amply repaid by the applause her attainments excited down stairs, and the possible reward of a stick of candy from Mr. Miller's coat pocket when a new verse had been recited without a mistake. CHAPTER XVIII. RUTH'S VISITORS. HH NE morning the early train brought us a visitor in the person of Mr. Leonard. "Do you feel quite able to see him, my dear?" I asked as I was about to go down to the parlour to receive him. " Yes," Ruth answered ; "I have thought of him a good many times lately, and wished he would come to see me, but then I hardly dared hope for a visit. Do, auntie, bring him right up." Mr. Leonard brought many messages from our Ferndale friends, which he delivered at once, for fear, as he said, that he should forget all about them when he began talking on his own account. I asked him to come up imme- diately, for Ruth was impatient to see him. " Is she really better ? Is the child to be 202 ruth's visitors. 203 spared to us, after all?" he asked, with much emotion. " Come with me and see for yourself, Mr. Leonard; and Kuth will doubtless feel like telling you some other good news, over which I know you will rejoice even more than that she is gaining in health. Oh no," I con- tinued, in answer to his look of inquiry, " I will leave all the pleasure of telling you to Euth herself. I know she would prefer it so." • We had now reached the door of the sick- room. " Do not be surprised if you find her much changed in appearance," I said, "for this sickness has been too serious not to have left its mark upon her." " I did not know, my child, if I should ever see you again in this world," the old man said as he pressed in both of his the little thin hand Earth extended to him, her face beaming with a joyous welcome. " And if I had died that terrible day, Mr. Leonard," Euth replied, a shudder coming over her at the memory, " I am afraid it would have been without the hope of meeting you in a better world." Mr. Leonard gazed at her a moment without 204 EUTH ALLERTON. speaking, as if trying to take in the full mean- ing of her words ; then drawing a chair near hers, he sat down, and said : " R,uth, when you express so dreadful a fear in case God had called you away at that time, do you mean that now you have the hope which you had not then ?" " I mean just that, Mr. Leonard, and I was going to try and tell you how merciful and good God has been to me ; I did not know you would understand me so soon." " If you had not spoken a word, my child, I think I should have seen from your face that there had been a change wrought by some- thing besides sickness. ISTow, let me hear all about it ; I know you have much to tell," said Mr. Leonard. Ruth told him in simple, fervent language all that she had told me of the great change that had been wrought in her. She had to speak of herself, it is true, but it was without any of her former egotism. She viewed her- self now as only the unworthy receiver of God's great mercy, giving to her Saviour all the glory, and taking to herself all blame and reproach for having for so many years with- stood the Holy Spirit. ruth's visitors. 205 "You and Aunt Phebe," she said, "have tried so long and so faithfully to bring me to my Saviour, and I would not come. How much sorrow I have caused you both !" "Ah, but the joy you are giving us now more than repays our past anxiety, does it not, Miss Martin ?" said the minister, turning to me. " Let us kneel down and thank God for having brought this stray lamb safely to his fold." It was no formal prayer that followed — no mere words of thankfulness — for the hearts of the three who knelt in that quiet room were touched by the sense of that lovingkindness of our God which had granted all our petitions in behalf of this loved one. It was the voice of one who knew temptation, and trial, and the deceitfulness of the heart, by painful experi- ence, who entreated in behalf of this young disciple wisdom to see the strait and nar- row way, daily strength to walk therein, and the constant influence of the Holy Spirit that so she might " continue Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto her life's end." We sat talking together for a time of such themes as fellow- Christians love to dwell upon when some special event brings their hearts 18 206 RUTH ALLERTON. into unison and removes the thick wall of re- serve which the world builds up between them on ordinary occasions. There was a light tap at the door, and little Grace bounded in, but started back when she saw the strange gentleman. "No, no," said Mr. Leonard, rising, and catching the child in his arms. "I don't allow such little folks to run away from me;" and with the words he gave her a toss in the air which seemed to convince that frolicsome little person that she had no need to fear. Mr. Leonard seated her on his knee, and fol- lowed up the advantage he had already gained by a very animated story, which his older hearers strongly suspected to have been made up for the occasion. " You are real nice, and I like you, and I'm glad now I didn't know you were here, because then I should not have come up, and I should have lost that story," said Grace to the min- ister with a grave candour that made us all smile. " I suppose you are Mrs. Miller's little girl, eh, butterfly ?" said Mr. Leonard to her. " No, sir. I am not Mrs. Miller's little girl at all: I'm Grace;" with which conclusive ruth's visitors. 207 speech the restless child slipped down from her new friend's knee, and began climbing to her favourite seat on the arm of Ruth's chair. Pretty soon, finding she could not as usual claim her whole attention, she glided down and ran off to find more congenial society. "What a lovely child she is!" said Mr. Leonard. " She belongs to some of your neighbours here, I suppose ?" We soon related all that we knew respecting the little girl's sad history. Mr. Leonard was touched and interested by the story, and asked a second time, " Do you really not know her name? and has no one come to seek her?" I assured him that in all the weeks that had elapsed since the accident which had deprived Grace of both her parents no clue had been obtained as to where she belonged, nor if she had any friends to provide for her. "Poor lamb! poor lamb!" he said, with a heavy sigh. A glance at his watch showed him it was time to go, as he wished to return home by the train that was about to start. " I must bid you good-bye — and that means, really, God be with you ! you know, Ruth — until you return to Ferndale next week. I will send you a little book, however, by Miss 208 EUTH ALLERTON. King and her sister. I forgot to tell you they think of coming to-morrow or the next day, provided my report of you is favourable; it will be, very," he added, with a smile, " Take good care of her, Miss Martin," he said, shaking hands with me, " and bring her home as soon as possible." Ruth wanted to talk over with me the pleasant call and the many interesting words that had been spoken by our beloved pastor ; I would not allow her to weary herself with any more conversation, however, for I saw that she had already had as much fatigue as was good for her, and so insisted on her lying down and taking a nap before dinner. The next day proved stormy, so that the sick girl had a quiet rest, of which I was glad, for she was still so weak that even so slight a thing as Mr. Leonard's visit had wearied her. Mr. Miller — who had for some time been proposing to call upon her, but had not suc- ceeded, because he went out to his work long before she was awake, and when he came in for the evening she was usually too tired to see any one — contrived to spare time after dinner to go up and spend a few moments in Ruth's company. This call of congratulation Butt ailertnn. "'! It dis/&p£&&rsi You see I am getting well very fast now." p. : ruth's visitors. 209 on her recovery was quite an important event in Mr. Miller's view, and to do the young lady all the honour possible, he swallowed his dinner hastily and retired to his room, whence he emerged in due time dressed in his Sunday suit, and also washed, brushed, and shaven with a care not usually bestowed on his per- sonal appearance. When Ruth held out her hand to her preserver, as she always called Mr. Miller, he took hold of it very gently with his thumb and finger. She smiled and said, " Why, you don't know how to shake hands, sir." " Not with such a poor little wisp of a hand as that, Miss Ruth ; I am afraid I should break it off if I shook it as hard as I feel like doing." " You see I am getting well very fast, now," said Ruth. " I don't know how I am ever to thank you and Mrs. Miller for all you have done for me." ''Never mind that," said he; "just you thank the Lord — yes, thank the Lord ! Why, miss, we never would have seen you at all if he had not turned our eyes that way." " I do thank God, Mr. Miller, more than I can express, for he has been wonderfully good to 18* o 210 RUTH ALLERTON. me ; still, you must let me say how much I feel all that he has put in your heart to do for me." " It's my opinion, Miss Kuth, if you'll allow a plain man to have his say, that you have had a new lease of life given you, and that you have no business to waste it on the gewgaws young ladies like you are so fond of. You won't take offence, I hope, when I say if anybody ought to serve the Lord Jesus in a thorough-going way, it's one that's been spared like you from the very jaws of death." Mr. Miller moved uneasily in his chair as he concluded, and tried to cough, as people do when they are not quite sure how their words will be taken, for this noble-hearted man was as bashful as he was big. " Do not be afraid of my taking offence, Mr. Miller," Euth replied; "I thank you for re- minding me of the truth, and with God's help I do mean to serve him, not better than before, as I was going to say, for I have never yet served him at all. I shall not forget what you have just said, sir." " All right, then," he said, smiling. " But I want to know, before I go, how soon we are to see you down stairs. Wife keeps giving good reports of you, but I sha'n't be- satisfied that ruth's visitors. 211 you are really better till I see you eat a big piece of beefsteak." " I have done that already," said Ruth. " Oh, but I want to see you with my own eyes. You've got to sit beside me at the table and eat all I put on your plate. I'll help you to get well faster than any doctor." " Well, sir, if Aunt Phebe will give her con- sent, I think I may be able to go down to din- ner to-morrow," Ruth said. After her visitor had gone, Ruth sat leaning her head on her hand for some time without speaking. " A penny for your thoughts, my dear," I said presently. " I was thinking, auntie, of what Mr. Miller said about my having a * new lease of life granted to me, and I was wondering in what way God would like me to use it." " Then ask him to teach you, Ruth, and you will be sure to judge aright. Perhaps he has no great work for you to do, but means you to glorify him in the small duties of ordinary life. Only bring him a willing heart, dear, and he will be sure to show you the work he has for you. ' Commit thy ways unto the Lord.' 'In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall- 212 RUTH ALLERTON. direct thy paths.' These are very plain and comforting assurances for you." " So they are, auntie ; and as Miss Chester used to say, we have only to mind our present duties one at a time, for as soon as one is well done, God will see to it that another is ready for us." " Well, your first duty, then, is to try and be prudent and careful, so that you may get well soon and ready to take the next work God gives you ; isn't it ?" " Yes," Euth answered, with a smile ; " so I will lie down now and rest as a beginning. I am tired, and my head aches badly. I guess patience is another lesson I must learn. I have never been sick so long before, and some- times it makes me fretful to look out of the window and see people riding and walking and looking so happy, while I can only move about this one little room. There ! don't look so grieved, Aunt Phebe. I only feel so some- times, and then I just have to stop and think of all God's mercy to me, and that cures me at once." The next day brought us a visit from Alice and Kitty King. They had a good many bits 'of Ferndale news, and long accounts of their ruth's visitors. 213 own doings to communicate to their long-ab- sent friend. " We have been so anxious about you too, Euth, that nothing has seemed pleasant or natural at home. Everybody- we meet inquires so kindly about our friend, Miss Allerton, as if they expected us to be constantly informed of your health. How people seem to like you, Euth ! It is queer they should, isn't it ?" said Kitty, at the same time bestowing an affection- ate kiss on her friend's cheek that contradicted her saucy words. " It is very kind of people to inquire about me, and indeed it is strange, as you say, Kitty, that they should like me," Euth replied in so sober a tone that Kitty quickly answered : " There! you are taking me in earnest and are vexed, foolish girl ! or else you are taking up Alice's old style of being so humble-minded as to think herself unworthy of being loved." The lively girl gave a mischievous glance at her sister as she uttered these words. Of course our attention was thus attracted to Alice, who blushed deeply, and so gave cause for a round of questions from us all as to the reason of so much sensitiveness. " Indeed, Kitty, you are a naughty girl, to 214 RUTH ALLERTON. tease me so," said Alice, reproachfully. H I will tell Ruth and Miss Martin all about my — I mean the matter you refer to — in due time, but I don't want any help from you, so please hush." Seeing that Alice was much in earnest about her secret, whatever it was, we began talking of other things. "Oh," she said, opening her little bag, "here is a book for you, Ruth, that Mr. Leonard wished me to give you, and a letter also, — but that I see is for Miss Martin ; and here is a package that mother sent her poor sick child, as she calls you. It is something good to eat, but I don't know what. She said she hoped your landlady here would not take offence, and think it a hint that you did not get enough here." " No, indeed," said I ; " Mrs. Miller is too sensible for that. And now, young ladies, I am going to leave you for a time to entertain your- selves, while I go and read my letter. You must not be too lively, however, for Ruth can- not bear a great deal yet ; and if you want to go down to dinner to-day, dear," I said, ad- dressing her, " you must lie down for an hour at least before that time." ruth's visitors. 215 " I will take care of her, and see that she obeys you, Miss Martin," said Alice. The subject of Mr. Leonard's letter surprised me not a little. He wrote : " Ever since my visit to S my mind has been haunted by one idea, which I try to rid "myself of in vain. That dear child, Grace, whose sad story you told me, won my heart so completely that I desire to adopt her as my own. Of course I mean to propose this only in case she has not already been claimed by some one having a right to her. I have talked the matter over with my wife, and she thinks as I do — that perhaps the Lord will allow us to bring up this little orphan in the place of one of our lost darlings. I thought it best to write to you on the subject, and request you to make inquiries of Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Their opinion and wishes ought certainly to be consulted, since Providence has made them guardians of the child. Please let me know as soon as pos- sible whether this desire of mine is to be granted or not." I put the letter aside, thinking it better to wait until evening, when Mr. Miller would be at home and Grace in bed and out of hearing, before making known Mr. Leonard's proposi- 216 RUTH ALLERTON. tion. To mention it now to tender-hearted Mrs. Miller would distress her very much, and I knew too she did not like to be hindered by any one coming into the kitchen when she was busy preparing dinner. This day, in particu- lar, she was making extra efforts in that line, out of compliment to Ruth, who was to dine with the family for the first time. As I was passing through the hall I encountered Grace. " Please, Miss Martin, come to the kitchen door one minute ; Aunt Jane wants to see you, and she says she ain't fit to come up stairs just now." I found the good woman busily moving be- tween the pantry and stove, her face very red with heat and her hands white with flour. " I just wanted to ask you to insist on your company staying to dinner with us. It will be all the pleasanter for Miss Ruth, you know, and there's plenty for us all," she said, with a nod at a row of warm pies on the table, and a glance at the oven, where a monstrous turkey was browning its sides. "I've got a real old- fashioned plum-pudding in the pot," she con- tinued with a gleam of hospitable pleasure, " and as I told John, we can make believe it is Thanksgiving day, seeing we missed keeping ruth's "VISITORS. 217 the real one. You try your best, now, and keep those young ladies." On returning to Ruth's room, I found the sisters putting on their cloaks with the inten- tion of returning home at once, but when I made known Mrs. Miller's urgent request, Ruth joined with such fervour in the entreaty that they concluded to remain. Grace was there enjoying a large piece of candy and an unlimited amount of petting from the three girls. Kitty was her declared favourite, for it was discovered that she could play cat's cradle, make a rabbit out of a handkerchief, and tell fairy stories by the dozen. " You've got to live here always," exclaimed the enthusiastic child. "I'll ask Aunt Jane, and I know she'll let you. She lets everybody do just as they have a mind to." We had a very merry dinner-party that day. Ruth was the heroine of the occasion, and as such was waited on by every one, and had the choicest bits of everything put on her plate by Mr. Miller, who said that Dr. Dean had tried his kind of medicine long enough, and now he was going to see if he could not beat him at his own profession. "Ruth looks as if she had needed a good 19 218 RUTH ALLERTON. deal of doctoring to bring her thus far on the way to health," said Alice. "But, Miss King, if you had seen her a month ago, you would never have expected to have her alive with us at this- time," said Mrs. Miller. " Yes, it is good as a miracle, young ladies," Mr. Miller said, with a grave expression. " The Lord himself took her by the hand and restored her to life, as much as he did the daughter of Jairus. She ought to carry about with her a thankful heart all the rest of her days, be they many or few." " I shall be a most ungrateful creature if I ever forget all that God has done for me here at S ," Euth responded, in a low tone. Kitty glanced across the table at her in a wondering sort of way that showed that Euth had not spoken of her late experience to her friends. When the hour came for our guests to take their leave, there was a good deal of merry whispering, which warned me to keep my ears shut. With the assurance that we should, if Euth continued to improve, return to Ferndale the next week, and a number of messages sent to friends there, we bade Alice and Kitty good- ruth's visitors. 219 bye. Then I darkened the room, and insisted that Euth should lie down and take a nap, for she was looking pale and weary, and then I went into my own room and closed the door that there might be no temptation to conver- sation. CHAPTER XIX. ALICE KING'S SECRET. OU don't mean we've got to let her go, Miss Martin?" " There is surely no ' got to ' in the case, Mrs. Miller, and you have a right to say ' No/ if you are not will- ing Mr. Leonard should have Grace." " But, Jane, my good wife, we must not look at this matter in a selfish way. If this gen- tleman offers to adopt the child and bring her up as his own, we have no right to refuse. We can't do half as well by her as he can, and Grace would have small reason to thank us if our love for her made us stand in the way of her good." We were sitting around the kitchen stove that evening, Mr. Miller, his wife, and I, when I first stated to these worthy friends of the little orphan Mr. Leonard's proposal concern- ing her, and it was thus they at first received the idea of parting with their favourite. Mrs. 220 • ALICE king's secret. 221 Miller was, as I had anticipated, sorely grieved at the thought, but she was not a woman to allow her own feelings to interfere with any plan for another's good. After a few sobs and tender expressions about her little pet, she yielded to her husband's sensible arguments. " But there's one thing more to be thought of," she said, presently. " Ought we not to wait a little longer to see if the child's own relations don't come for her ? It would only be a disappointment to the gentleman to take Grade home with him and get fond of her, as he couldn't help doing, and then have to give her up." "Very true, Mrs. Miller," I said. "Mr, Leonard will of course be willing to wait what- ever length of time you think best." " Suppose, then," suggested Mr. Miller, " we have an understanding with the gentleman that we wait one month longer, and if by that time no one comes forward to claim Grace, we will give her up to him. There is an allowance of thirty days to you, wife, to do all the hug- ging and kissing and spoiling of the little one you have a mind to. That will answer, won't it?" he asked, with a smile. This suggestion seemed reasonable and sat- 19* 222 EUTH ALLEETON. isfactory to all, and on returning to my room I wrote to Mr. Leonard -accordingly. Nothing was said to Grace on the subject, for there was as yet too much uncertainty about her future for it to be worth while to disturb her little head with anticipations j so she continued to run about the house at her pleasure, to say her verses to her friend Euth, to jump on Mr. Miller's lap for stories whenever he sat down for a moment's rest, to coax Lizzie into a game of romps whenever she could spare time from her lessons, and to tyrannize over her " aunt Jane " in every way possible from morning to night. I thought sometimes that Mrs. Miller was seriously adopting her husband's sugges- tion, and indulging her little charge to the very utmost because she thought her opportu- nity would not last much longer. Certainly the number of toys that came into Grace's possession, the cakes baked for her special benefit, the saucers of dainties that might be seen at almost any time on the pantry shelf, " in case the child should want a bite between meals," were enough to make her selfish and exacting. This constant petting from every member of the household did not fail to make Grace consider herself a person of much con- ALICE king's secket. 223 sequence, and she began to act as if she were a little queen, and all around her no more than her loyal and rightful subjects. She was, nevertheless, a sweet-tempered child, and did not often abuse her privileges to any great extent, and when she did so nobody had the heart to scold her, so helpless, so dependent on our love and tenderness, she seemed. One morning Ruth and I were sitting in her room, she engaged in crocheting with bright worsteds a mat for our parlour-table at Ferndale, and I busied with the more prosaic work of darning stockings. We had sat thus for some time silently pursuing our labours, when Euth said : " Auntie, I have never told you Alice's secret. I wonder you have not asked about it, for you could not help seeing there was something unusual on her mind when she blushed so and was so afraid Kitty would betray her. You have not any curios- ity, auntie dear." "'Oh yes, I have," I answered, laughing, " but I supposed Alice did not wish to confide her secret, whatever it was, to me, and so I have asked no questions." "But," said Euth, "she does wish you to know ; she was too shy to talk of it before you, 224 RUTH ALLERTON. but she told me I might tell you all about it after she had gone." " Well, then, what is ' it ' ?" I inquired, with sufficient interest to satisfy my companion. "Why, auntie, Alice is engaged to be married. Just think of that ! who would sup- pose our Alice ever thought of such a thing as getting married ?" "It is not a very strange occurrence, my dear, that a young lady like Alice should think of that subject, and even in due time act upon such thoughts. You used to fancy, when you both were little girls, that Alice was certain to become a remarkable person and do some greater work than most girls under- take in this world. Are you disappointed in her?" "Oh no, not just that, auntie;" but the answer came so slowly that I suspected Euth was in a measure disappointed that Alice was to fulfil no higher vocation than that of most women. "'But you know," she continued, " Alice has always been so much wiser and so much better than either Kitty or myself that I was sure she would become an author or a missionary, or something else great and good." ALICE king's secret. 225 " You have not told me yet how it is that she has failed of all these high hopes of yours," I said. " Do you remember a young minister that preached for Mr. Leonard last summer the two Sundays that he was absent on his va- cation?" " Yes, I remember that I liked his sermons very much, and that he had an earnest man- ner of speaking, as if he knew what souls were worth, and was eager to be made an in- strument in saving them." "Ah, auntie, I am afraid that I thought very little then about his sermons or his earn- estness, but he had a pleasant face and voice, and I was, on the whole, favourably impressed with him. He is a nephew of Mr. Leonard's, I find, and his name is West — Edgar West, I believe." " Did Alice become acquainted with him at the time he preached at Ferndale ?" " Yes, we were all of us introduced to him then, but I did not know until the other day that he had since then paid a visit to his uncle, and then gained Alice's consent to become his wife. Mr. and Mrs. King are much pleased with him — at least, so Alice says. I suppose p 226 EUTH ALLERTON. she sees her friend in a rose-coloured light and thinks every one must." "Why, Kuth, Euth, one would think you we're actually cross with poor Alice for being happy in any other way than that your own imagination had marked out for her. Is Mr. West in charge of a parish?" " Yes, ma'am, he is settled over a little con- gregation away out in Oregon. He works very hard, not only among his own people, but for miles around, preaching and visiting wherever and whenever he finds opportunity. He has to live very plainly and undergo many hard- ships, and has a salary barely sufficient for his support. Alice will find it a great change from her pleasant home, I guess." "From what you say, Euth, it is evident that Alice will have great opportunities of use- fulness in the Saviour's cause as the wife of an earnest preacher of the gospel in such a parish. It grieves me to find that, even with your new views of life and its duties, you should have any higher ambition for your be- loved Alice than to see her thus actively en- gaged in serving the Lord." Euth did not answer for some moments; then she said : ALICE king's secret. 227 " Auntie, I see I have not looked at the matter as a Christian should. ■ I was only think- ing that all Alice's talents would be thrown away. You know what a fine musician she is, and how thoroughly she has mastered every branch of study she has taken up. I thought she ought to make herself distinguished in some way and do some great work for God." " Do you remember, dear, that sweet hymn, ' I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro, Seeking for some great thing to do, Or secret thing to know ' ? There is another couplet that contains a whole sermon in it : ' Careful not to serve thee much, But to serve thee perfectly? We must not fall into the common error of Christians, of aiming at some glorious work for ourselves or others, by which to serve the Lord. We must not yearn after martyrdom such as the early disciples endured, nor desire to set the world on fire by preaching or writing some new and exciting theory. Christ wants us to let our light shine just where he sees fit to place us ; and if that happens to be in some 228 RUTH ALLERTON. out-of-the-way corner, where it seems as if very few could see how brightly we shine, no matter ! "We are not to be held responsible for anything at all but how we shine for him." " Then it is wrong, is it, Aunt Phebe, to be ambitious in matters of religion ?" "I think so, dear; but read for yourself that account of the ambition of the twelve disciples, and how such a spirit was checked by Christ — Mark ix. 33-38." Euth opened her Bible and read the passage, then said : " But, auntie, that was not just what I meant. The disciples seemed to have a sort of rivalry as to who should be greatest. Now, what I desired for Alice was, not that she should outshine others, but that she might have a position in life where she might use her talents to the best advantage." "Well, my dear, the Lord who gave those talents will take care that opportunities are not wanting in which she may exercise them to his honour and glory. That poor little parish out in Oregon will no doubt bring into prac- tice all Alice's best gifts, and I foresee that as the wife of a humble, hard-working minister she will do more good in the world than by ALICE king's secret. 229 passing the remainder of her life in cultivated and appreciative society, or even by writing a book." The day came at last for our return to Fern- dale. Euth was still feeble, and likely to con- tinue so until the milder weather of spring should make it possible for her to spend much time in the open air; so said the physician. It was hard to part from our friends, the Millers. The debt of gratitude which Euth owed them, first for the preservation of her life, as far as human means were employed, and then for their faithful and untiring care of her during these many weeks of illness, was more than she could ever hope to repay. When she expressed this feeling to Mr. Miller the morn- ing before we left S , he silenced her by saying : " Just you thank the Lord, my dear young lady — thank the Lord," he repeated, "and trust him to pay all your debts to us ; he'll do it, never you fear." The journey home was a short one, but still very fatiguing to Euth. " I had no idea Ferndale was so far from S ," she said again and again as we passed the different stopping-places on the way. 20 230 EUTH ALLEKTON. " It seems far to you, my dear, because you are weak and easily tired. That is the way with more things in this world than travel- ling; they are far or near, easy or difficult, just according to the strength we have to bear them." At last the conductor pronounced the wel- come word, " Ferndale." Euth glanced from the car- window, and exclaimed, " Why, there is Charlie King ! I wonder what has brought him home at this time ?" Not only was Charlie King at the depot to meet us, but a large group of friends, all eager to be first in welcoming Euth home again, and to congratulate her on her narrow escape from death. Mr. Leonard was there with a car- riage. " They may all have a chance to speak to you, Euth," said he, " but I claim the priv- ilege of driving you and Miss Martin home." When we were seated in the carriage, and the horse's head turned towards home, he said : " I had ever so many questions to ask this dear child about her health and other matters, but she looks so pale and tired I must put them off till another time. Tell me, please, Miss Martin, how fares it with little Grace ? ALICE king's secret. 231 Has- anything been heard yet from her friends or relations ?" " Nothing," I replied. " You still wish to adopt her, do you, sir, if no such claim is made ?" " Yes, I fairly long for the month to end that is to decide the question. Mrs. Leonard and I have begun already to make plans for the welfare of our adopted daughter." " She is a lovely child," I said, " but she is wilful, and has other little faults natural to her age. I fear you will find the manage- ment of such a child a serious undertaking." "We are prepared for all that," he said, with a smile. " We don't expect Grace to be a piece of perfection. But," he added, more seriously, " it has been a great desire of my heart to train up one child for the Lord. He did not see it best to spare any of our own dear ones, but now, in my old age, he is about to grant me the wish of so many years." As we neared the spot Euth had learned to love as home, we saw Eose and Mary Jane Harris standing at the gate watching for us. Mary Jane was a large, stout girl now, but her plain, freckled face had changed very little since we first became acquainted with it, when 232 RUTH ALLEETON. she stood years before, in our kitchen, a hun- gry, sad child, begging for help for her mother. Mrs. Harris had, by patient working at the wash-tub and the needle, won for herself and her daughter a comfortable home and the es- teem of all the ladies who had employed her. Mary Jane, too, had borne her share of the burden, and had been out at service for some years past. Her early attachment to Miss Euth had only strengthened with time, and now, as she caught a glimpse of her old friend, the tears came into her eyes, and her " Wel- come home to ye, Miss Euth," shouted even before the horse had fairly stopped, had a very tremulous sound about it. " The dear old home ! how changed things seem since I left it ! and yet it is only a few months since then." This was Euth's first remark after Mr. Leonard drove off, and she was ascending the steps, leaning on my arm. Mary Jane and Eose had run on ahead with our travelling- bags and shawls. " Yet the place itself is exactly the same," I said; "it is yourself that has changed so much, dear." "I know it, auntie; oh how good God has ALICE king's secret. 233 been to me ! I left Ferndale a giddy, thought- less creature, and he has brought me back with a new lease of life, as Mr. Miller said, and, I hope, a new heart to serve him with." I made the tired girl lie down to rest, and forbade her coming out of her room, no matter who should call to see her, until evening. Some hours later the door-bell rang, and I stepped into the hall just in time to hear Rose dismissing some guests with the assurance that Miss Allerton was very tired, and had just fallen asleep. Finding that the callers were Charlie and Kitty King, I hastened to the door to ask them in. " If you will stay and take tea with us," I said, " and promise to do all the talking your- selves, you may see Euth, but only on those conditions." "We will be happy to stay, won't we, Kitty?" said Charlie, with the same frank, genial manner that had characterized him as a. boy. " I know Miss Martin has some good cake for tea, for Rose came in this morning to ask mother for a recipe." " For shame, Charlie ! I think Miss Martin ought to send you home again after such a speech !" said Kitty. 20* 234 RUTH ALLERTON. " Miss Martin knows that I care more for good company than for cake, and she will do no such thing." "You are nothing but a boy yet, Charlie King, in spite of your six feet and your whis- kers," said I. " But what brings you home just now, when all industrious young men should be attending to business?" " Oh, did not the girls tell you the other day ? But I suppose they were so busy talk- ing of their own affairs that they never thought of their brother," said Charlie, mischievously. I have given up my position in New Haven for a better one that has been offered me in New York, and as I am not expected there for ten days yet, I have been indulging in a pleasant vacation at home." " Will it not be grand," said Kitty, " to have Charlie living in New York, so that when we girls go there on a visit we shall be sure of an escort everywhere ?" " No doubt," Charlie answered, with a shake of his head, " you expect to make me very use- ful ; mother does not think it- will be so grand, however." "Does not your mother approve of this change ?" I inquired. ALICE king's secret. 235 " So far as the business opportunity is con- cerned she does, ma'am, but mother is afraid of the numerous temptations that a city life offers to young men. I tell her that is all non- sense, and that she ought to have more faith in me than to suppose I shall get into mischief." " Ah, Charlie ! ' let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.' You have always been a good boy, I know, but something more is needed than natural kindness of heart and uprightness to withstand the wiles and snares to which you will be exposed in a large city. If I knew that you were going from us to meet these in the strength of your mother's God, I should feel less anxiety on your account." The young man looked grave when I spoke thus, but made no answer. The religion of his mother and sister Alice was something lovely in his eyes, but he had not yet thought of the subject as one in which he was personally concerned. Euth joined us at the tea-table, looking much refreshed by her long rest. There was no lack of conversation during the meal, for the young people had all much to tell and to ask after the long separation. Euth was called upon to give all the particulars of her accident, 236 RUTH ALLERTON. and Charlie to tell over again the circumstances of his leaving New Haven, and enter into all the details of his prospects and plans for the future. Kitty sat an interested listener while her brother and friend talked over their recent experiences. With mock seriousness, she said : "It is only you and I, Miss Martin, who have nothing to tell. If Alice were here she would have the best story of all, but poor me ! I have had neither an accident, nor a lover, nor a business offer. It is rather hard to be so neglected by fortune, isn't it ?" Here Charlie passed his cup to be refilled, and made some funny comment on Kitty's speech, which did not prevent my hearing Kuth's earnest whisper to her friend : "The best experience of all that I have passed through, dear Kitty, is open to you as well. Oh, if you would only give your heart to Jesus!" Kitty did not answer this appeal — indeed, there was no chance for any reply without being overheard — and we very soon rose from the table. We passed an hour or two in the parlour listening to Kitty's new pieces which she had learned during Euth's absence and discussing plans for the next few days; "For," ALICE king's secret. 237 said Charlie, " we must be together and have all the good times possible before I go away. All work and no play must be my programme , for many a long day, I am afraid." CHAPTER XX. AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. P) S far as she was able, Ruth took part in 2 the sleigh-rides, the little social gath- erings at Mrs. King's, and all the amusements which were contrived to render the remainder of Charlie's visit pleasant. Ferndale was a quiet place, and the young people had not much variety of amuse- ment during the winter season. The principal attractions were a reading society, where all the new books that could be obtained were dis- cussed, the sewing-circle, and an occasional tea- party. Mr. Leonard had a custom, regarded with much favour by the young folks under his charge, of opening the parsonage doors one evening in each fortnight to all the boys and girls of his flock. Nobody knew how to enter- tain them as acceptably as the aged pastor ; the wonder was, how he contrived to find so many interesting matters to talk about, so 238 AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. 239 many curious works of nature and art to show them, such charming methods of making the young folks happy, and at the same time lead- ing their hearts upwards to the Giver of all true joy. One of these receptions took place the week after our return. " I want to go so very much, auntie!" was Ruth's beseeching rejoinder to the doubt I ex- pressed as to her having strength enough to spend the evening in company without being made ill by it. " Will you promise to sit still all the time, and be very prudent?" I asked. She gave the required promise, so I bundled her up as in the days when I called her my African sensitive plant, and let her go in com- pany with our young neighbours, Alice as usual taking upon herself the responsibility of looking after the dear invalid, to see that she did not exert herself too much during the evening. That it had been too great an effort for the weak frame was shown by her heavy eyes and languid movements all the next day. When Alice came in during the afternoon with her work-basket to have a friendly chat, she found Ruth lying on the sofa, complaining of head- 240 RUTH ALLERTON. ache, but still apparently much interested in the book she held. "What have you there?" Alice asked as soon as she had laid aside her wrappings and seated herself comfortably with her needle in motion. "If it is something new and worth the reading, you must lend it to me when you have finished." Ruth held the book towards her by way of answer, and Alice read aloud the title : " Lives of Eminent Missionaries." " Last evening, you know, I sat a long time in the study looking over the books ; of course I did not dare move about like the rest while I had Aunt Phebe's commands and your Argus eyes upon me. While you were all playing that game in the other room, Mr. Leonard came and sat down by me. He talked about that terrible accident, and asked me to tell him all I could remember about it. I did so, and then, after a few minutes' silence, he asked me if I remembered the day he first saw me, and the account I gave then of the way they used to spend Thanksgiving day in our African mission. Do you- remember that conversation, Aunt Phebe ?" said Ruth, look- ing over to me. AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. 241 " Perfectly, my dear," said I, " if you mean the one which led to your telling us about the thank-offerings of the Christian natives. That was the occasion of your resolving to earn money to give to the poor as your thank- offering to the Lord, if I am not mistaken. Was it not?" " It was, auntie ; and it was about my thank-offering that Mr. Leonard spoke. He said he thought so very marked a preserva- tion from death as mine has been was a direct call from God to devote myself to his service in a special manner. He told me about dear mamma's self-denying love for souls, and bade me follow in her steps. A good deal more he said, but I cannot repeat it all, and when he left me to join the group in the parlour, he repeated the text, ' What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me ?' and said, ' Keep that question before your mind, Kuth, until you have answered it to yourself and your God in such a way as shall give you most satisfaction in looking backward from your dying hour.' " Ruth had risen from the sofa while she spoke, and now stood between Alice and me, looking so earnestly into our faces that I felt 21 Q 242 RUTH ALLEETON. sure the pastor's words had made a very deep impression on her heart. " Did Mr. Leonard think you ought to be- come a foreign missionary, that he gave you this book to read?" asked Alice, who had taken up the volume and was glancing over the headings of the various chapters. " No, he did not say a word about it," said Ruth, " but after he left me I went and stood in a corner of the study by the bookcase, more by way of collecting my thoughts before I joined the company than from any desire to look over the books, but my eye fell on this one, and I asked Mr. Leonard if I might bring it home to read — not that I expect to be a mis- sionary, Alice dear, but because I wanted to find out more about that spirit of self-sacrifice and love for Christ which prompted such people as Henry Martyn, Harriet Newell, the Judsons, and others, to undergo such great trials for the sake of the heathen. I have no expectation of doing as they did, but at least I ought to work with their motive." Alice and I were silent, for we hardly knew what reply to make. Noticing this, Ruth continued, presently : "I am doing all the talking, and it is all AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. 243 about myself. Forgive me for doing so this once, auntie and Alice, for I wanted you two to know just how I feel, that you might advise me and pray for me." " Pray for you I certainly will, darling," Alice said, with much tenderness in her voice, and at the same time drawing Ruth's aching head to a resting-place on her shoulder; "but as to the advice, I am too young in Christian experience to give it to any one, especially to you, who are going so far beyond me in the heavenly race. Miss Martin and Mr. Leonard will be wise counsellors." " As for me, Ruth," I said, " I will join Alice in promising to pray for you. As for advice, the kind you need is only to be ob- tained on your knees before the Lord. If you recognize in your new lease of life, as our friend Mr. Miller calls it, a call to " some spe- cial work, be sure that in due time God will show you exactly what it is. Do not try to hurry on his plans." " I almost fear it is my old self-conceit that makes me dare to think Grod can mean to give me anything in particular to do for him," said Ruth. " Tell me, Aunt Phebe, is it wrong ? am I mistaken ?" 244 EUTH ALLEETON.' " I cannot tell you, dear child," I answered. " I do not see any evidence of self-conceit in the matter; still, you must watch your mo- tives narrowly, and be determined to have a single eye to Grod's glory, and for the rest, as I said before, only wait on him continually, and he will surely make known to you his will in due time." " What a change has come over Ruth !" said Alice to me, as I accompanied her to the door, when taking her leave. " I heard her ask Mr. Leonard if he would trust her with a class of children in Sunday-school when she should be well enough to be out regularly on Sundays. Don't you think she is very much in earnest in her efforts to be a Christian ?" "I do, indeed, Alice," I replied. "With Euth there is no halfway. I feared, a few months ago, that she was being drawn, heart and mind, into worldly pleasures, but by Go'd's grace she has become a new creature indeed. We must faithfully keep our promise to pray for her, Alice." " I will do so, Miss Martin, but I am sorely afraid the answer to our prayers will be the taking dear Ruth away from us. You will feel glad if the Lord honours you by taking AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. 245 another missionary from your family, I am sure." Alice did not wait for my answer, but tripped down the steps, and was soon out of sight, on. her way home. It was not easy to assure myself that I would be glad to have another dear one taken from my lonely home, as my sister Lucy had been. Euth had of late years seemed so like her mother, had grown into my very life so, that I thought, with far less submission and self-denial in my heart than these two younger Christians ex- hibited, of the possible sundering of this tie by that call which seemed about to be given — " Come work in my vineyard !" — by the Lord to his now willing and waiting child. Ruth and I were day by day watching for the African mail. I had lately disclosed to her the uncertain state of her dear father's health, and the probability of his coming to America the next summer in case he grew no better. She was not so much saddened by the news as I had anticipated, and rather wondered at the anxiety I could not entirely conceal. "Just think, auntie, how much good this trip on the coast may do ! If father writes 21* 246 EUTH ALLERTON. that it has benefitted him so that he can re- main longer at his work, that will, I am sure, be good news. If he is not helped by it, why, then he will soon come to America, and oh how delightful that will be ! The long sea- voyage will surely restore him to his usual health, and even if ho is feeble when he gets here, we will nurse him so skilfully that he can't help getting well soon, won't we, Aunt Phebe ?" Euth grew fairly jubilant over the thought of seeing her father again ; indeed, as I some- times told her, it appeared as if she really hoped his present journey would not do him all the good he expected, so that he might be obliged to come home for a visit. As I have said, we waited impatiently for the March mail to be due. It was a long time to wait for news of a loved one : a whole month, and often two, elapsed between the letters. Euth visited the post-office with great regu- larity, and at last, when we had begun to fear Mr. Allerton had been too ill to write, she came in one afternoon with a face so radiant that I did not need the sight of the well- marked and travel-soiled envelope to assure me that the epistle had come. She glanced AN EVENING AT THE TARSONAGE. 247 over the pages hastily, and passed the letter to me. " I have not my glasses here, dear, so just tell me what your father has to say." "He is better," said Ruth, " only not so strong as he would like. He thinks he will try for another month, working only in a lazy fashion, as he says, and if by that time he feels no better, he has resolved on coming home by the very first opportunity. That is all he says about himself," she continued, in a satisfied tone, "sol guess dear papa is, after all, not so ill as we feared, only I hope he will find that working does not agree with him, so that he will have to come home this year." " What does papa think of his little daugh- ter's narrow escape from death ?" I inquired. " The letter is almost entirely on that sub- ject, auntie. He feels too grateful at having me spared to him to talk about anything else, so he says. Ah, Aunt Phebe, it dis- tresses me sometimes to think how much papa loves me. It is so many years since he went back to Africa that he cannot remember my faults, so he imagines that I have grown to be all that he could wish ; he often writes as if he fancied me to resemble dear mamma 248 EUTH ALLERTON. very much, and how disappointed he will be when he sees me as I am !" Ruth sighed, and all the gladness vanished from her face, as this thought came across her mind. I did not tell her my opinion in the case, but I could not help smiling at such a fear as I looked at the graceful girl before me, whose ever-attractive features had lately been touched with an expression such as the old painters tried to impress on the faces of their Madonnas and female saints. No dan- ger of Mr. Allerton being disappointed with the outward appearance of his daughter, and since those truthful eyes were really an index to the feelings uppermost in Ruth's heart, he would be an exacting parent should he fail to be satisfied with her character. Somebody will laugh at this description, and say that Aunt Phebe was a partial old woman and thought her niece perfection. Not so ; there were plenty of faults still left in my Ruth. As a child she had been selfish and conceited and thoughtless : in early girlhood these fail- ings had only taken new forms, and had shown themselves in different ways ; but now, in her new life as a disciple of the humble, self-deny- ing Saviour to whose service she had publicly AN EVENING AT THE PARSONAGE. 249 pledged herself the first Sunday after return- ing to Ferndale, she was thoroughly engaged in waging war against these enemies. They were not conquered yet, nor perhaps ever would be so entirely as not to show them- selves at unguarded moments and under sud- den temptations, but they were becoming less and less powerful as the Holy Spirit gained more thorough possession of her heart's throne. Week after week glided by with little of in- cident to mark the time in our quiet country neighbourhood, if we except the two events of Charlie King's departure to the scene of his new business engagement and the arrival of Grace Leonard — for so our little orphan friend was henceforth to be called — at her adopted father's home. It was touching to see the en- joyment of the two old people in making little arrangements for the child's comfort. A small room, leading off their own bed-room, had been newly furnished, and the bright carpet and pretty curtains, as well as the style of the painted furniture, were all selected with regard to the probable taste of their expected owner. I called at the parsonage the very day that Mr. Leonard had set off on his journey to 250 RUTH ALLERTON. S to bring home his little Grace. Mrs. Leonard insisted on taking me up stairs to see the bird-cage, as she called the pretty room intended for Grace. "We thought these pictures would amuse her if she felt lonely, poor child!" and Mrs. Leonard pointed to a couple of lively repre- sentations of some kittens at play and a mon- key performing his antics to the sound of a hand-organ. There was another — a coloured engraving of a chubby girl of about Grace's age taking her first lesson in sewing — and over the bed hung the portrait of a happy-faced three-year-old boy holding a toy in his hand ; this was one of the household treasures of this lovely old couple, which God had taken back into his own keeping many years ago. The mother could look at the portrait now with a- smile, for the bitterness of the trial had passed away, and she felt that it would not be very Jong before she too would be called to the home where there are no more partings from beloved ones. " Well, Miss Martin, how do you think our daughter Grace will like her home ?." the old lady asked as we turned from the room. " I think she would be an ungrateful little AN EVENING AT THE PAHSONAGE. 251 person if she did not consider her new lot a a very happy one," said I. " But no fear of that, for Grace is as cheery as a humming- bird, and if you and Mr. Leonard will let her climb on your lap at any hour of the day to claim a dozen kisses, and keep her supplied with candy and fairy stories, she will live in perpetual sunshine." Mrs. Leonard laughed her hearty, genial laugh at my list of Grace's requirements, and that was a complete assurance that she was prepared to grant any amount of such simple demands. He who has said, " Leave your fatherless children to me," was richly providing for this fatherless and motherless one. CHAPTEE XXI. A GREAT SORROW. twHE first week of May brought an event IB of much, importance to our little circle, ft? — the marriage of Alice King. For some time previous Euth's nimble fingers had been busied in her friend's behalf, and her taste and knowledge of the New York styles had made her quite an oracle in all the important questions about the wed- ding preparations. Mr. West came on a few days before the one appointed for the event, and though nominally visiting his uncle Leon- ard, continued to spend the greater part of his time in Mrs. King's parlour. "Vexatious man that he is!" was Kitty's frequent exclamation ; "he is not content with taking dear Alice away from us altogether, but must steal from us the few remaining days of her life at home. As for Alice, she does not seem to care whether her new dresses fit her or not, and if mother or I venture to ask how 252 A GREAT SORROW. 253 a thing shall be trimmed, or what she would prefer, she replies with such sweet indifference that she will leave it all to our taste, and she is sure everything will be just right." I would tell Kitty when she expressed such murmuring that no doubt her sister was think- ing more about the new duties she was about to undertake, and the new home she was to make happy, than these less important mat- ters. Her reply would always be, "Well, Miss Martin, I can't at all under- stand religious folks. It is just as you say; Ihave heard Alice inquiring of Mr. West about the prosperity of his Sunday-school, and about the poor people in the parish, and whether it would not be well for her to try and establish a female prayer-meeting. Now, if I were going to be married, I should want to have the prettiest dresses and the nicest wardrobe possible. I would go to the city and have all my things made, and as for the wedding, you would not catch me wearing a travelling-dress and start- ing off next day without any reception, or any- thing else in proper style." "But Alice is to have her special friends remain after the ceremony," I said, " and I know that the cake is ordered, and that your 22 254 EUTH ALLERTON. mother is exerting all her skill in preparing nice refreshments for the occasion." " It don't come up to my ideas," Kitty would persist. " If I had to marry a poor minister and be shut out from society all the rest of my days in a miserable western wilderness, I would have all the fun I could beforehand." After these gay outpourings of Kitty's sen- timents, Euth would say to me again and again : " How I wish dear Kitty were a Christian ! She does not in the least understand Alice's feelings, and she seems to grow only more giddy and thoughtless." " We must pray that the Lord will change her heart," I replied, one day, when she ex- pressed herself thus. " Who knows but that he is preparing* for her some solemn event, as he so lately did for you, dear, and will thus lead her heart to him ?" " Yes, auntie, I am too apt to forget how ob- stinate I have been all these years, and how it was necessary for God almost to take my life away in order to make me yield to him." Euth was so humble now when any allusion was made to the past that I sometimes said to myself, " Can this be the little girl who A GREAT SORROW. 255 thought herself once too good and too wise to need to go to Sunday-school?" We saw Mr. West several times during his visit, ani our first favourable impressions of the young minister were deepened. He was quiet and retiring in his manners, but if any subject were introduced in conversation which touched a chord in his own heart (and any- thing relating to God's work on earth seemed to do that), his reserve quite vanished, and his countenance was at once lighted with an enthu- siasm that was contagious. " Ah, my ambitious Ruth," I said to her when Alice and Mr. West had taken their leave after an evening call on us, "I think your friend is going to do something far better than shining in society or becoming an authoress." " I think so too, auntie," said Ruth, laugh- ing ; then with a sudden shade of seriousness passing over her face, she continued, " Oh that I were as sure of doing some good in the world !" Charlie found it possible to come home to see his sister married, but returned to the city the following morning. Our dear friend, Miss Chester, was present also, to the great delight of all her former scholars. She had been 256 RUTH ALLERTON. obliged to take a vacation from her work at the South on account of her health, and it so happened that her steps were turned north- ward just in time for the greeting and farewell to Alice. She remained a week after .the de- parture of Mr. and Mrs. West for their distant home, to aid Kitty in comforting Mrs. King and lightening the first pressure of loneliness that was felt by the few remaining members of the family. It was a source of great pleasure to Ruth, this renewal of intercourse with her dearly-loved teacher. During the mild, sunshiny days of this latest month of spring, many were the pleasant walks and rides taken by the three friends, for Kitty always accompanied Miss Chester and Euth on these excursions. Our invalid had now almost ceased to need the name, and was steadily regaining her strength and a tinge of healthy colour in her face. She had undertaken the charge of a class of little girls in Sunday-school, among whom was her pet, Grace Leonard. This work was a source of much enjoyment to the young Christian. Every Sunday morning found her engaged in prayer for each member of her class, and she lost no opportunity of seeking to make the name of Jesus sweet to these little lambs of A GREAT SORROW. 257 his flock. Her interest in Mary Jane Harris still continued, and it was shown in serious efforts for her soul's welfare now, since Mary Jane by her faithful labour was able to pro- vide for her own bodily wants, as well as to help her mother by adding many a little com- fort to the widow's plain but neat and comfort- able home. Mr. and Mrs. Leonard considered their adopted daughter too young yet to be placed at school, but they gladly accepted Kuth's proposition to teach Grace an hour or two daily. The child was so fond of her young teacher that not only during school-hours, but on every possible occasion, she was by her side. Again a letter came from Africa. This time it brought the positive assurance that Mr. Allerton's health made a long sea- voyage ne- cessary, and that he proposed taking passage in a trading-vessel, which was at the time of his writing anchored at some not very distant settlement on the coast. In spite of his bodily sufferings and his ardent regret at leaving for so long a time his missionary duties, he was looking forward with great delight to seeing his beloved Euth once more arid spending some months in the company of "Sister Phebe" and his long-absent child. He could not tell 22* R 258 RUTH ALLERTON. us just when the vessel would start on its home- ward course, but said, " You may keep watching any time after the first of July for a haggard- faced, parchment-skinned old person in a very seedy suit of clothes — that is, unless I can stop long enough in New York to renew my ward- robe." Buth was all eagerness to welcome her father, and now that there was a definite hope before her, she was busy making plans for the dear guest's comfort when he should arrive. " We must have some new curtains for the west chamber, auntie, and I will lend papa the lounge in my room, it is so wide and comfort- able. Then I know you will let me choose the books he will enjoy reading out of the little library, and I will fill that shelf by the window with them." So she went on with the enumeration of her loving plans, and to most of them I yielded ready consent, knowing how important to the feeble and overworked man the little attentions to personal comfort would be, and how grateful to the eyes so long unaccustomed to civilized surroundings would be the improvements to the room suggested by Ruth's loving thought. June passed, and July was on the wane, and A GREAT SORROW. 259 the expected guest did not arrive, nor yet a letter accounting for the delay. Each morning when we met Ruth and I would comfort each other with the words, " Perhaps he will come to-day/' and as each night closed in without the fulfilment of the morning's hope, we would puzzle our brains to invent new possibilities to account for the disappointment. True indeed are the Scripture words, "Hope deferred maketh the heart sick." Ruth began to look pale and careworn, and to lose her appetite, through this daily increasing anxiety. One sultry day at the close of the month I was unusually busy in the kitchen preserving some fruit. I say " unusually," because of late years my strength had failed somewhat, and I had been forced to give up many duties to Ruth and the faithful Rose that I used to consider my own particular work. This time I was trying a new recipe with my fruit, and would not trust the matter out of my hands. I saw Ruth and her little pupil Grace pass through the gate hand in hand late in the afternoon, and so, taking it for granted they had gone for a long walk, I finished my work in a leisurely way, and then sat down in my own room. A favourite book absorbed my 260 EUTH ALLEETON. attention until the bell rang for tea, and then, before descending the stairs, I knocked at Ruth's door, doubtful if she had yet returned from her walk. Her low chair at the window where she was wont to sit at this hour on summer evenings was vacant, and I was about to turn away, thinking she was still ab- sent, when a heavy sob from the recess where the bed stood recalled me. Ruth was kneel- ing there, her face hidden in her hands and her whole frame trembling with intense emo- tion. " My dear child," I exclaimed when I saw her thus, "my poor Ruth, what has hap- pened?" She made me no answer, but turning her face for a moment, pointed to an open letter on the table, and then covering her eyes again, burst into one great cry of anguish. I took the paper and silently left the room. " Whatever trouble has come upon her," I thought, "it is best for her to meet it alone with her great Comforter first." Calling then to Rose to remove the untasted meal and take her own tea, I went back to my room to read the letter. It bore the usual marks of the African letters, but was addressed to "Miss A GREAT SORROW. 261 Ruth Allerton " in an unfamiliar handwriting, and to Ohio instead of Connecticut. It had evidently been travelling about the country for weeks, and bore several different post- marks. I glanced at the signature. It was the name of a fellow-missionary of whom Mr. Allerton had several times made mention. The terrible truth flashed across my mind at once, and I had no courage for several mo- ments to read the tidings I knew those brief pages contained. When my self-control re- turned sufficiently for me to do so, my worst fears were confirmed. Ruth's father was dead. " He had made light of his disease," wrote the sympathizing missionary, " and even up to the day before he was taken from us retained the hope of being able to take passage in the vessel then about to start for America." Then followed affectionate expressions concern- ing the loss this dear brother was felt to be, not only to the little band of labourers with whom he had been so many years associated, but to the Lord's work in that heathen land. " He was so wise and prudent and yet so zeal- ous in all his undertakings," was the wording of the letter, " that no one in the mission was so successful in winning souls to Christ as he. 262 RUTH ALLERTON. We looked up to him as our leader, and could almost have uttered the exclamation of Elisha when a greater prophet was removed : ' My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof !' " The letter concluded with many expressions of tender sympathy for the bereaved daughter. Her name, the writer said, was the last intelligible sound from the lips of the dying man. There was one sen- tence in the description of his last hours which I read and re-read, wondering what effect it would have upon Ruth's sensitive heart. It was this : " Your father, when conscious that his end was drawing near, called me to his bedside and asked me to write to you as soon as all was ovep. \ Tell my child,' he whispered, ' that for many years my prayer for her has been that God might lead her to follow her mother and me in the missionary work ; I do not ask this sacrifice of her for my sake, but I die leaving it for God's providence and her own heart to decide.' " Long I sat there in the gathering twilight thinking of the beloved brother now resting from his labours, and my heart went back to the past, and traced step by step the Lord's dealings with me and those dearest to me, up A GREAT SORROW. 263 to this present grief. Through the thin clouds on that tender-hued twilight sky at which I was gazing flowed the last rays of sunlight, tempered but not hidden by the veil between them and the earth. "Just so," I thought, " it has been with all these events that mem- ory brings before me. I could see at each new trial only the cloud itself, until, after years of experience of God's dealings, I begin to un- derstand his mercy shining through. This trial at present seems not joyous, but grievous, but some day God will surely explain it to Euth and me. I closed the window, hum- ming the two lines of that familiar hymn, " In each event of life how clear . Thy ruling hand I see !" brought forcibly to mind by the last hour's meditation ; then I went to seek my sorrow- ing Ruth. CHAPTER XXII. SELF- CONSEGRA TION. HE heavy sobbings had ceased, and while I stood listening outside of the half-open door of Ruth's bedroom, doubting whether she would feel like seeing any one that night, she said in a tranquil voice : " Come in, dear auntie ; I have been hoping you would come. It will do us both good to talk together." I entered and sat down by my child, now more mine than ever before, because of her complete orphanhood. She drew a cushion up beside me and seated herself there, put- ting her head in my lap in a way which al- ways meant a request for sympathy or caress- ing. She needed both in good measure that evening, and I was very ready to bestow them. I stroked her hair for some moments in silence, then said : 264 4 SELF-CONSECRATION. 2G5 " This news has come as a very sudden blow to you, darling. I ought, perhaps, to have told you more plainly my own fears that your father would not recover." " No, Aunt Phebe, if you had done so, it would have .deprived me of many days of happy expectations. I have enjoyed more than even you can guess in looking forward to papa's visit and building my air-castles." Directly she added : " Now I can see why I was so nearly killed at S . If I had not then learned to love my heavenly Father, how could I now endure the loss of my earthly one ? How unspeakably good God is !" " It takes a great load from my heart," I said, " to hear you speak so. God's consola- tions always far outmeasure our afflictions, if we will only reach out our hands to receive them ; and just as surely as you now see his loving reason for allowing that accident to be- fall you, so in due time you will learn to look back upon this great trial. ' What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know here- after.' Do not those words comfort you, my darling ?" "Oh, auntie, it will take me some time, I 23 266 RUTH ALLERTON. am afraid, to grow used to the knowledge that I have no longer a father. I have thought and dreamed and planned through all these weeks with entire reference to his coming home, and now, in one hour, all my hopes are blotted out. I know how I ought to feel ; I know that God is good, and that every word you have spoken is just right, but oh — " and here the poor girl buried her face in her hands and began crying as bitterly as ever. " Help me to bear it ! help me to feel aright !" " We will try to bear it together, Kuth," I said, kissing her ; " but we must not talk any longer now. Bathe your eyes, dear, and go to bed, for you are quite exhausted, and will be sick to-morrow if you do not rest now. For my sake, try not to weep any more." I knew that this argument would prevail. Even before I left the room Kuth had begun following my advice with a quiet obedience, like a little child. The next day I wrote to Mrs. Holden, in- forming her of her brother's death, and a week later received a reply, expressing her grief in the most proper language and on note paper with the deepest black edge. She was afraid, she said, that John had not left a cent for his SELF-CONSECRATION. 267 daughter; "he never had a particle of pru- dence about money matters," but she would strongly recommend her niece to write with- out delay to the treasurer of the mission to see if there was not something due to her father at the time of his death. It might be a trifle, she said, but if it was only enough to buy Ruth's mourning it would be something gained. She gave Ruth a cordial invitation to come to New York for the purpose of selecting her dresses, and offered to engage Madame B at once to make them for her, if she wished. " I wouldn't think of purchasing an article there at Ferndale," she continued, " for mourn- ing is either the most stylish or the most com- mon-looking dress one can wear, and as for country dressmakers, Ruth must not think of trusting one of them to make her things." The letter concluded with a request for an imme- diate answer, stating by what train Ruth might be expected. Ruth smiled sadly when she read her aunt Esther's worldly but well-meant suggestions. " Do you wish to go on and make your aunt a visit?" I asked, feeling very sure what the answer would be. 268 EUTH ALLERTON. "I do not care ever to see New York again," said Ruth, "and certainly not just now. As for my dresses, you know Miss Bus- sell has them nearly finished. Poor Aunt Esther would be quite distressed to see me in a suit bought and made up in Ferndale, would she not?" " Ruth, my child," I said, resolving, with a mighty effort, to enter upon a subject which had caused me no little anxious thought, " your aunt Esther and I are now your near- est relatives. She has always been fond of you, and would doubtless like to have you make your home with her. You know how often she has asked me to give you up to her. You are now old enough to judge what would make you happiest, and circumstances call upon you to decide." " Do you want to send me from you, Aunt Phebe ?" Ruth asked, very slowly and sadly. " Send you from me!" I said ; " why, are you not all that I have in the world to love ? are you not to me in the place of sister and daughter, and every other sweet relationship that other women enjoy? Send you from me! Why, I would as soon think of sending the blessed sunshine out of my dwelling!" SELF-CONSECRATION. 269 "Then, auntie/' Ruth replied, with a smile returning to her clouded face, " you must not talk of my going to live with anybody else. I shall have to adopt the language in addressing you which my great namesake in the Bible used to her mother-in-law if you talk so any more." " Will you, then, be content to live always with me, my darling ? It will not be so well for you, in a worldly point of view, as to go to your aunt Esther. I am getting more feeble each year, less able to go about with you, or to make home attractive to you, and when I am taken away, I shall have little to leave you besides this old house and its furniture. I was thinking of your future when I suggested your going to live with Aunt Esther." Ruth turned a pair of tearful eyes towards me and said : " Auntie dear, it is time for me to tell you all that is in my heart. Do not think me ungrateful or unloving to you, who have been as a mother to me all these years, when you hear my determination. Do you re- member papa's last message to me?" " I do." It was all the answer I could make, for all that Ruth was about to say flashed across my mind at that question. 23* 270 RUTH ALLERTON. " I have been thinking of those words and praying over them ever since, auntie." " And do you think it is the Lord's will that you should go to Africa as a missionary?" " Yes, auntie." " Then his holy will be done ! I will not be a stumbling-block in the path of your duty. I learned a lesson about that, Ruth, when your mother was called to that work. I used my influence against what I considered a mis- guided zeal, and advised her to be satisfied with doing Christian work about her own home. I was only fighting against Grod, though I thought I was giving her the wisest and most righteous counsel, for it was his call, and that alone, that was echoing in her soul. I will not hinder Lucy's child from doing her duty." We talked a long time together, and consid- ered Ruth's plan in all its details. " You will have to write to the Committee of Foreign Missions and make a full statement of the matter, and a formal offer of your services for the African field," I said. "Yes, and I have been thinking, auntie, that it would be well for me to go to Mr. Leonard and tell him my wish. He will be glad, I know, and will be able to advise me." SELF-CONSECKATION. 271 " Then you have not yet informed him of your resolve?" I questioned, feeling a little surprised, for our dear old pastor had called to see us repeatedly since the sad news came, and Euth kept hardly a thought secret from him. Then, too, it was he who had indirectly suggested this very step the evening of the sociable. "No, I wanted to talk with you about it first ; besides, it has taken me all this time to make myself willing. You see, auntie, going to Africa has none of the romance and charm of novelty for me that it might possess for other girls. I have heard many speak of it in a poetical sort of way, as if palm trees, orange groves, and sunny skies were all that was to be seen in Africa. I understand the realities of missionary work there, and in undertaking it it will be with my eyes open. There is nothing so very attractive in spending one's life among dirty and ignorant people, in a climate that wears out the constitution by degrees, even if the fever do not take you off at once, and where, if there are plenty of oranges and other fruits, you may suffer for the lack of a good piece of meat, and feel that you would give a cart load of tropical fruits for one Irish potato." 272 RUTH ALLERTON. Buth was laughing at her own description, but to me it did not seem at all a lively view of the case. " Are you sure, quite sure, dear, that when you come to the experience of all this you will not repent of your resolve, and wish, when too late, that you were home again in Ferndale?" " Quite sure, Aunt Phebe, because He who giveth strength to the weak has undertaken to make even me, sinful and foolish as I am, a worker for him. I know that I am called by God to join that mission, and that answers all doubts and decides all difficulties." Kuth went to talk with Mr. Leonard. The good old man was overjoyed at her resolution, and expressed the wish that he had a dozen children to follow in her steps. By his advice she wrote a business-like letter to the com- mittee, stating her wish, her qualifications for the work as regarded bodily health as well as mental ability, and asking to be sent out by the earliest opportunity. " They are not likely to refuse your applica- tion, my dear, when they know that both your parents laboured and died in that very mis- sion," said Mr. Leonard. Nevertheless, Kuth, whose feeling of unwor- SELF-CONSECRATION. 273 thiness grew stronger as her friends saw less cause for it in her rapidly-developing Chris- tian character, seemed very fearful that she might be refused by the committee. When the answer arrived, it contained a definite appointment of Miss Ruth Allerton as mis- sionary teacher to Africa, and a request that she would make preparations to take passage in a vessel that was to sail early in April for that coast. I rejoiced that she was not to go for several months at least. The trial of losing my dar- ling seemed, at times, heavier than I could bear. It was all the harder for me, too, be- cause I could not utter my selfish repinings to her and ask for sympathy, when she was cheerfully resigning all the pleasures and com- forts of life at her Master's call. That many tears were shed in secret by this brave young soldier, I knew — that the struggle was even yet a hard one for her loving heart, I was convinced by the snatches of hymns that often reached my ear from her chamber, such as, " Jesus, I my cross have taken, All to leave and follow thee," and " Father, whate'er of earthly bliss Thy sovereign will denies." S 274 EUTH ALLERTON. One day I had occasion to go in Ruth's room while she was out, and saw her little Bible lying open on the table with the marks of tears on the page. It was the tenth chap- ter of Matthew's Gospel, and there were pencil marks from the thirty-seventh to the thirty- ninth verse. The book opened most readily at some of the Psalms wherein David poured out his whole heart in sorrowful petitions to his God. Thus I knew that behind the cheer- ful looks and resolute words of my niece there was deep suffering in view of the future. CHAPTER XXIII. RUTH'S RETURN TO AFRICA. * HEN the fact became generally known in Ferndale that Ruth Allerton was going to Africa, there were various opinions expressed and a good deal of advice offered, and people called to see her, some for friendship's sake and others out of mere curiosity to ask if the report were really true. The poor girl was often grieved, sometimes much amused, and, after a time, thoroughly tired of all these questions and comments. It is so hard for even religious people to comprehend an action performed purely from a sense of duty. One friend said: "Well, Miss Allerton, I suppose, as you were born in that country, the climate will agree with you better than this, and it is nat- ural you should wish to return." Another, a man whose chief thought was of 275 276 RUTH ALLERTON. dollars and cents, remarked that " no doubt a female teacher would obtain a higher salary- out there than here at home, and living must be cheap, so that maybe it would be a good speculation, after all." Mrs. Kandolph, a friend who came to see Euth, exclaimed, " Dear me ! you will have no society at all. How will you exist there among the sav- ages ?" Others remarked, with implied reproof, that we should be satisfied with the duties that were around us, and that it was not right to be so ambitious, and so on. Sometimes, when one of these visitors took leave, Euth would burst into a fit of crying and wish that she could start off at once. She said, one day : "It is hard enough for me, auntie, without all this criticism, and it is useless to try and explain my motives, for people will not look at things as I do." Among the callers were our old acquaint- ances, Mrs. Gilbert and Sue. " Well, I never !" was the salutation of the latter. " I always thought you were a queer girl, but this notion of going to Africa beats everything." RUTH'S RETURN TO AFRICA. 277 " I brought up my girls to think they ought to be modest and retiring/' said Mrs. Gilbert. "Not meaning any offence, Ruth, my dear, but I am old fashioned in my notions, and don't approve of women making themselves known in public." * Euth heard these remarks in silence, for, as she had said, it was quite useless to explain those sacred feelings which influenced her to leave all and follow her Saviour in the thorny path which he had marked out for her. Sue Gilbert, since tjie death of her sister, had banished whatever serious impressions were made upon her by that event, and was now a dashing young woman, whose life was being frittered away in following the fashions as nearly as she could with a rather limited allowance, and making annual visits to city friends, or to some gay summer resort. Of much the same tone with these remarks was the long letter of expostulation which Ruth received from her aunt Esther. That person was greatly disappointed in her niece, " of whom she had hoped better things," she said, " but there must be a queer streak in the family, for dear John was just so crazy when he was a young man, and persisted in throw- 24 278 EUTH ALLERTON. ing himself away, in that outlandish place, against the wishes of his friends. Her only- hope was that Birth's good sense would yet come to her aid, and she would change her mind before it was time to sail." It ^was a comfort to Ruth, in the midst of all this opposition, to have long quiet talks with Mr. Leonard or Mrs. King, who heartily sym- pathized with all Ruth's feelings at this time. It rested her heart too, as she expressed it, to put her head in Aunt Phebe's lap, in the even- ing hours when we sat alone together, and pour out all her hopes and fears and desires in regard to that new, untried life before her. A long letter from Alice West, brimful of sympathy for Ruth's great loss, and encour- agement and rejoicing at her decision to be- come a missionary, afforded her great help in bearing the trying remarks of less spiritually- minded friends. Alice told of her own great happiness in her new home. Not that it was particularly pleasant, she said, to live in an old shanty that leaked like a ragged umbrella during every rain, to do her own house-work, and to have nobody about whose society she could really enjoy, but it was a great privi- lege to be able to help her husband in his work, ruth's RETURN TO AFRICA. 279 and to feel that she was, after all, of some use in the world. Shortly after Christmas, Ruth, received a letter from her kind friend Mrs. Miller, ask- ing as a great favour that she would come to S and make them a visit. The invitation was gladly accepted, for Ruth regarded them as the means, under God, of preserving her life, and also she respected and loved them as true fellow-Christians. Little Grace Leonard beg- ged hard to go too. She had by no means for- gotten her beloved aunt Jane, and the idea of a journey with Ruth was perfectly delightful to the little lady. Her adopted parents gave their consent, and so Ruth started off with a travelling companion who was very certain to allow her small chance for grave reflections. During that visit to S Ruth received a letter from Kitty King. It seemed rather sur- prising she should write, when her friend was only to be absent a week, especially as neither Kitty nor Ruth belonged to that sentimental class of young ladies who cannot be separated without expressing their emotions on sheet after sheet of foolscap. This letter, however, was quite different from any other Kitty had ever written. In it she told Ruth that the change 280 RUTH ALLERTON. so long prayed for by loving friends had come to her, and that by G-od's grace she had re- solved to lead a new life. She did not explain her change of heart as brought about by any single event. It had been slowly dawning upon her, she said, that, after all, her mother and Alice and Ruth possessed a treasure that was to her unknown, and that life was given for some better purpose than just enjoying one's self. Ruth's resolution to become a mis- sionary had set her thinking more seriously than before of the great responsibilities rest- ing upon herself, and then Mr. Leonard had oi late been preaching sermons on the Saviour's love and mercy that seemed meant just for her, and she could hold out no longer. She had already been to talk with Mr. Leonard, and now expected to make a profession of her faith, and unite with the people of God, without delay. Ruth laughed and cried with sympathizing joy when she read to me portions of this letter after her return. This one bond had been lacking between the two friends, who had otherwise been so united since childish days. Now they walked together as with one mind, and talked and prayed together, feeling their RUTH'S RETURN TO AFRICA. 281 dear Saviour very near to them. These days were never forgotten by either of them, but formed a cherished subject for memory to turn to in after years when Kitty, married, and sur- rounded by a group of her own dear ones, in a Southern State, and Ruth in the midst of a life of active loving labour among the heathen, found time each to write to the friend of her youth. The months passed rapidly by. The date was fixed for the sailing of the vessel which was to bear away from me the one comfort and joy of my otherwise solitary life. We became very silent when left alone together towards the last, for our hearts were so full that even a slight reference to the coming trial brought the tears. We were neither of us brave enough to think without emotion of the future. It is all over now. More than a year ago my Ruth sailed for her distant home. I am a lonely old woman, in an empty house, whose only occupation is to look after a few poor people, whose comfort the good Lord has en- trusted to me as one last talent to be used for him ; in the winter to knit by my quiet fire- side, and in summer to care for a few pet 24* 282 RUTH ALLEETON. flowers in the garden. Eose, faithful as ever, is still in my service, and Mary Jane occupies a position in the house between that of ser- vant and friend. She does all my sewing, and reads to me, and performs the part of amanu- ensis in replying to Euth's letters, that interest her almost as much as they do me, and in writing the latter part of this narration. The most of it is gathered from the journal I kept year after year until Euth was nearly grown, and for the rest memory has served me as well as any written record. Euth has never regretted her decision to enter upon the work of a missionary. The hardships are great, she admits, and it is of no use to deny that flesh and blood often rebel against the sufferings and privations of a life in a wMd and unhealthy country, and the heart grows sad at the experience of ingratitude and mistrust from those whom one seeks to benefit in every possible way. Nevertheless, it is the holiest and most satisfying work that God al- lows his servants to do for him, she says, and she experiences the truth of the promise given to those who leave all for his sake, of the mani- fold more blessings in this present life as well as the hope that in the world to come she shall ruth's RETURN TO AFRICA. 283 inherit that life everlasting which is to be the portion of all who believe on Jesus. So her father's hope was realized, and my life has not been altogether useless. THE END.